#one of these days I will finish the family portrait wip i have

[morganali-art]

FFXIV October - Day 24 Childhood

Françoise was a very serious, young girl - both in temperament & countenance. She had inherited her father's eyes, but her mother's stern brow.

Henri, by contrast, was a most anxious little lad who kept to his sister's side as a shadow.

-----

I've had some sketches for Cessalie x Artoirel kids kicking about for a while, and they finally got names because I was forced to name my Stardew Valley children 😂

[drivestraight]

wildcard!!! I know that you are more focused on writing works centering max, lando and oscar. I wonder if there is any chance you will write about lestappen again in near future. I just love your lestappen works so much and I'm sorry if this question makes you feel uncomfortable 🥺🥺

from here

near future no, but here’s about 5k of my abandoned (little brother of the) prince of monaco charles x driver max wip ❤️ as a gift

The Guardian is first in the round of interviews. A woman named Marie sits across from the sofa, beside cameras, light panels, and mics.

“To start,” Marie says, donning a sympathetic smile. Max struggles to take her at face value. “I want to acknowledge that I’m sure this isn’t how either of you would have liked your relationship to come out. How are you two doing?”

Max tries his hardest to keep a neutral expression. He scowled his way through the hours of media prep yesterday and got scolded each time.

He shifts on the sofa. For a couch made for royalty, it is not very comfortable.

Of course, it comes much easier to Charles, who returns a warm smile. He keeps his eyes on Marie, but places a hand on Max’s thigh, to comfort him. God, everyone’s going to love this, aren’t they?

Horribly, the physicality does help. Max takes a deep breath.

“You’re right,” Charles responds. “It is not at all ideal, but we are thankful for all of the grace that has been extended to us these past few days.”

Max purses his mouth.

Marie glances at him, waiting for agreement. Instead, Max busies himself with studying the details of the room they’re in. The Salle Des Gardes: cobalt walls, beautiful flower bouquets, and centuries-old portraits framed with gold. It’s so beautiful it makes Max uncomfortable.

At his silence, Marie moves on, smiles, and says, “Well, it’s great to have you both here.”

“Yes,” Charles says, “it is. Right Max?” he probes, squeezing Max’s thigh.

Somehow, Max manages not to glare. He clears his throat and manages to hum in concurrence.

“So,” Marie says, “I guess we can start from the beginning. I’m sure everyone would like to know how you two met.”

Max is grateful at how quickly Charles jumps to respond, “I have been a big fan of F1 ever since I was a child,” he replies, “but I did not meet Max personally until the Monaco Grand Prix in 2021.”

“On the podium?”

It was collateral damage, really, Max’s champagne spray getting all over Charles during the celebration. Max hadn’t even known, until Charles told him many months later.

Charles nods. “Yes, on the podium. A little after the race, he was invited to dine with my family, as the winners always are, and we… liked each other. We got on very well that night.”

Yes, Max thinks. We talked, we ate, we drank, we got into a huge fight about Ferrari, we got kicked out of the venue hall, then we hooked up in the toilets upstairs.

Sure, they got on well that night.

“We started seeing each other quite a bit, after,” Charles finishes.

They saved each other’s numbers, and every now and then, between Max’s races and between Charles’ royal obligations, they’d meet up in Monaco.

“Who asked who out?”

Charles turns his head and looks at Max, expectantly.

Max glares, but Charles only lifts a brow, unwavering. “I did, I guess,” Max concedes, trying not to roll his eyes at the way Charles glows, dimples pressed deep into his cheeks.

In a way it’s true. Max had been the one to shove Charles up against a wall and kiss him, drunkenly and furiously.

For the next two years, it was easy, despite who they were, perhaps because of who they were. They were on the same page about what it was they had: purely an arrangement of convenience. Entirely physical, no-strings attached. They’d meet in Max’s flat, maybe have a drink and talk about the most recent race, and get to it. After, Max would let Charles use his shower, then Charles would leave. Not once would Charles ever sleep over.

Still, they were exclusive, in a way. Max found something good, something safe, something easy, with someone who was on the same page as him. They were physically compatible. They wanted the same things from each other. Max didn’t see a need to look elsewhere, and neither did Charles.

Max had no interest in making it any more than it was. Neither did Charles.

For two years, it was simple like that. Max bribed his doorman, and Charles swore his security detail to secrecy. Charles hadn’t told anyone about Max. Max hadn’t told anyone about Charles. No one needed to know. What was there to tell? The F1 world champion and the Prince of Monaco’s little brother were friends with benefits? They were barely friends.

“Yeah?” Marie asks, looking surprised. “What was it about Charles that interested you?”

Charles’ expression is rapt and curious, his focus singularly on Max now.

Well, Max thinks. If they want him to speak from his heart, that’s what he’ll do.

“Of course,” Max says, smiling for the first time since the news broke, “it was not his personality.”

Marie laughs, amused. Charles makes an unbecoming noise, his entire face scrunching up.

“Max!” he squawks, outraged.

“What?” Max asks innocently, tipping his head to the side. He is starting to have a little fun. He finds Charles’ hand on his thigh, lays his over his knuckles, his thumb brushing at his wrist. “I thought we were of course wanting to be honest today. Your personality is not the first thing people notice about you.”

Annoyed, Charles purses his lips. “And what is?”

Max hums in faux contemplation. “Your face, of course.”

Charles’ brows knit together. Max relishes in the fact that Charles is the one on his toes this time. “You only like me for my face?”

Rolling his eyes, Max says, “It is the only good part about you.”

Charles squints, licks his lips, and levels Max with a look. Max knows that look: he is thinking, planning. 

It is pin-drop silent for a short moment. Suddenly, the room feels very small.

Charles leans in closer, marginally, but enough that Max’s breath hitches, and slides his hand higher up, his fingers firm against the inside of Max’s thigh. “Really? None of the other parts you like?” 

Max lets his eyes wander: from the mole on Charles’ cheek to the one on his neck, from the dip of his Cupid’s bow to the stubble on his chin. It is distracting and it is unfair, how beautiful Charles is.

“Really,” Max says, gaze returning to Charles’ eyes. He will hold his ground, even if he doesn’t mean it. “None of it.”

/

Thirty minutes later, Marie and all the cameramen leave. They are given half an hour in private to rest before their next interview. Le Parisien this time. At least then, he thinks, they’ll be more significantly more interested in Charles than they will be for him.

Even though they’re technically free now, the palace made it clear that they are not to leave this room until they’ve finished the last interview.

Once the doors shut and they are alone, Charles turns and glares at him.

Since the news broke yesterday morning, this is the first time they’ve truly been alone.

“Your team will not be happy with that. You saying you like me only for my face.”

Of course that’s what Charles will take from the interview. After Marie asked all her questions about the genesis of their relationship, her questions pivoted to Max, about what it means for him to be the first openly gay Formula 1 driver in decades.

Each time he was asked a question, Charles squeezed his knee, running circles with his thumb. 

Max hadn’t met with his PR team beforehand—Monaco’s royalty took priority, monopolized him and all of yesterday. He had no idea what Red Bull wanted him to say, what the optics were, so he spoke from the heart.

His answers were simple: it means nothing to him. It means nothing to what he has achieved. He never wanted to be an inspiration. An icon. An idol. If he is, then he is, but that was never his intention, that was never his goal.

Nothing changes.

“Obviously, I was joking,” Max mumbles, standing up and pacing around in front of the sofa. There’s a whole table filled with refreshments, and Max is hungry—he’s always hungry—but the season is in full swing, and he needs to keep his weight down. He wishes they had Red Bull or something, but they only have tea and coffee. He settles for shoving his hands into the dress slacks he was forced into, pressing the tip of his Oxford shoe against the border of the carpet. “And I do not think your team will be very happy with you feeling me up on camera.”

Charles huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, defensively. “I had to make it seem like we like each other, after what you said.”

Max scoffs and sits back down on the couch, toying with the seam of the green plush pillow beside him. “I think everyone is pretty convinced that we like each other,” he mutters, and then, mortifyingly, his stomach growls. Loudly. It’s the afternoon now, and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

And Charles stands all of a sudden. Max watches, confused, as Charles makes a beeline to the table of refreshments, shoes clacking against the hardwood until he reaches carpet. There is a way about how Charles moves, magnetic to the eyes. He grabs a small scone, then heads back to Max.

Closer and closer, until he’s settled between Max’s spread thighs, towering over him.

Bossily, he shoves the scone in front of Max’s face. “Eat. We have a long day.”

Max sighs. He’s explained this to Charles before, his diet. “Charles,” he says, hoping that’s enough, not wanting to give the whole spiel again.

“It is a royal order,” Charles says seriously. He presses the scone against Max’s mouth.

Max angles his head away. “I am Dutch, if you didn’t know.”

“You live in Monaco,” Charles insists, “and I am the Prince.”

Max snorts. “You are the little brother of the Prince.”

In lieu of a verbal response, Charles sighs and places his hand on Max’s cheek, leveling Max with a look, that same one from before. His palm is soft, smooth, but his thumb is firm where it presses against the seam of Max’s lips, coaxing his mouth open. The ball drops; the rally ends. At the end of the day, Max is starving. He cuts his losses and bites, gaze fixed on Charles as he chews on the stupid scone. Once he’s swallowed, he expects Charles to let up, but Charles raises a brow, pressing the scone against Max’s lips again. Max groans, understanding, and takes another bite, and another, and just as he’s about to finish the scone, Charles quickly pulls it back, and eats the last bite himself.

Max rolls his eyes. Of course. Charles giggles, and wipes off a crumb from the corner of Max’s lip. Even when Max’s face is clean, Charles keeps his hand on Max’s cheek, smoothing out his frown.

They linger like this for a few moments, and Max feels the anxiety leftover from the interview start to dissipate, his shoulders laxing.

“I know you did not want this,” Charles says quietly. “I did not want it either.” Max swallows, his chest feeling tight. “But it’s like this, and we have to do it together. If it is to work, we have to make it look real.”

“I know,” Max says, starting to feel bad. Charles got fucked over with all of this too. Today, Charles is more calm, more—present, than he was yesterday, a quiet wreck in the briefing. His mental resiliance really is something. He places a hand on Charles’ waist, pulling him in closer. “I was of course there in the briefings.”

Charles pokes harshly at Max’s cheek, like he is trying to sculpt an artificial dimple. “I do not think you were listening.”

Max closes his thighs around Charles’ legs. He is very warm, and they have half an hour before the next interview. Hm. They might as well spend it wisely.

“Can you read my mind now? Is that another one of Prince Charles’ royal powers?”

Before Charles can respond, Max tightens his grip on his waist, before sliding his hand lower, to grab at Charles’ ass. Charles’ eyes widen, his mouth parts in surprise, and he sucks in a gasp.

“Max,” he whispers, blushing a soft pink. His hand drops to Max’s shoulder to steady himself.

“We of course have time,” Max points out, bringing his other hand to Charles’ other cheek, tugging him closer through the fabric of his slacks. “And we have a long day.”

It’s been months since the last time they did this. Not since before winter testing.

Max only now realizes how much he’s missed it.

“Not here,” Charles mumbles shyly, looking around, as if there’s anyone else here. Despite his protests, he doesn’t make any effort to fight Max’s hold.

Maybe, Max thinks, Charles misses it too.

“Why not?” Max asks. “Do you not like being watched by the portraits? They are your ancestors, right? I don’t think they’d mind.”

Charles sighs, but Max catches a small smile on his face. Regardless, Charles shakes his head, stubborn. “It is not the portraits I am worried about. What if someone comes in?”

“It will be their fault for not knocking,” Max snorts. At Charles’ withering glare, he sighs and says, “No one’s going to come in. There are guards outside.”

“Still,” Charles argues, pink all the way up to his ears now. His eyes drop to Max’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “We will be… messy for our interview.”

“But it will seem like we really like each other a lot,” Max jokes, grinning.

Charles doesn’t take the joke well. He pouts and pinches Max’s ear with his fingernails. Max laughs and releases Charles’ ass. “Fine, fine,” he concedes. “At least come here?”

Charles pulls his mouth to the side. “Will you behave?”

Max shows Charles his palms, hands positioned before his chest. “I will behave,” he assures.

Charles shoots him one last look, before sighing and climbing up onto the sofa, knees on either side of Max’s lap, and sitting. Immediately, he buries his face in the side of Max’s neck, his hair tickling Max’s ear, and lets out a contented noise.

Max barely got any sleep last night, all wired up, and from how exhausted Charles looks—feels, melting into him, breathing softly, maybe the first moment of silence he’s had all day—he can tell it must have been the same for him.

For a few minutes, they stay like that. Max closes his eyes, stroking Charles’ back. There are too many layers between them. Max kind of wishes he took his suit jacket off, or at least his tie, before he asked Charles to sit on his lap. Too late now, Max thinks, nosing at the spot below Charles’ ear. He notices, in this time, that Charles must be wearing a new cologne. It is nice; he smells nice. Charles always smells nice.

Max presses a harmless kiss on the side of Charles’ neck. Then another and another, until no space is left unkissed. He moves to the center of Charles’ throat, and Charles lets it happen, lets Max pepper small kisses along the ridges, his mouth closing, softly, over his carotid, Charles’ heart pulsing like a rabbit between Max’s lips. Charles likes that: the little kisses. When Max reaches the cut of his jaw, he starts to be a bit more bold with it—licking and biting gently, Charles’ stubble rough against his tongue, tracing the contours of him.

Charles starts to let out little pants, his hips starting to roll ever-so-slightly. Max slides a hand between their chests, what little space is left between them, and finds Charles’ crotch, gently palming over the bulge. He’s half-hard already. Max hums, pleased.

Finally, he makes the move and makes it stick: firmly, he kisses Charles, right on the lips. It is a tender kiss, but deep and filled with intent. No more pretense.

Breathily, Charles mumbles against his mouth, “This is not behaving.” He sounds annoyed, but he keeps kissing Max back, keeps grinding his ass on top of Max’s crotch.

Max pulls away, laughing when Charles immediately chases his mouth and makes an unhappy, surprised noise, laughing when he opens his eyes and sees Charles’ eyes: dark, pupils wide and wanting.

“Okay,” he says, voice a little raspy, even to his own ears. “We can stop.”

Charles’ jaw drops. Outrage is a cute look on him. “Oh,” he says, brows furrowing, exhaling through his nose, “you are—”

He doesn’t finish. He only shakes his head, grabs Max’s face with both his hands, firmly, and kisses him, furiously.

Charles’ mouth is soft and plush, but his kiss has a fire to them, an intensity; this part has always been the easiest, with him. The physicality. Everything else, that’s the difficulty.

Their noses brush, and Max pivots away, only slightly, to kiss at the corner of Charles’ mouth, light and teasing. “Yeah? What am I?”

Charles finds his lips again, positions Max’s head right back where it was, and plants a kiss square on his mouth. “Horrible,” Charles says, and kisses Max again. “Annoying,” he says, and kisses Max again. “The worst,” he says, and kisses Max again.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that, of course,” Max says, helping Charles take his suit jacket off. “We have to seem like we like each other.”

Charles doesn’t deign him with a response, merely rolls his eyes and tosses the jacket to the side. He is gorgeous like this: eyes blown and glossy, his mouth parted, wet, begging to be kissed.

So Max kisses him again, his hands rucking Charles’ button-up from his slacks, until he can slip his hands under the fabric, finding his waist. He uses this newfound leverage to flip their positions, to maneuver Charles so that he’s on his back and horizontal on the ugly, uncomfortable sofa. Charles yelps; his chest heaves, and his throat bobs. He is so pretty like this: in the painfully bright light of this room, it is even more vivid, and for the first time since the news broke yesterday, Max thinks, maybe this will be worth it.

Max takes the moment to burn the sight of him into his retinas: his mousy hair messy around his head like a halo, his kiss-swollen lips parted and wanting, his clothes, even, rumpled and wrinkled in a way that Max knows he hates, in a way that he never lets anyone see.

Half an hour. Half of that is probably gone by now, Max reckons. They’ll have to hurry. He can take his time, another time.

He forces himself to focus. He takes off his own jacket before he forgets, shoves Charles’ thighs apart so that one leg is splayed off the couch, then he drives his knee between them. He swoops down once again, and Charles sighs dreamily into his mouth. Max slides his hands down Charles’ chest until he’s found the buttons of Charles’ slacks, undoing them with deft fingers.

“This is—” Charles starts, lifting his hips, helping Max pull his bottoms to his thighs. Multi-tasking, Max kisses down his throat, skips down to his stomach, and kisses at the happy trail leading from below his belly-button. Distracted, Charles moans and writhes beneath him, throwing his forearm over his eyes. Cute.

“What was that?” Max asks, amused. He kisses Charles’ hip bone lightly, and wraps his fingers around the base of Charles’ length, adoring the way Charles’ hips buck at the touch. He traces a vein with his thumb, his precum making the slide easy, then spits into his hand—not like they need it—and starts to jerk him off. Brows knitted together, Charles squirms, so Max keeps his body steady with a hand on his stomach, feeling the flutter of muscle there. 

Charles tries again, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can meet Max’s eyes. His face is pink, and his breaths come squeaky. He scrunches his nose, prissy and aristocratic, and says, “This is a very old couch. And my suit is very expensive.”

Max sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll keep you clean,” he promises, and takes Charles into his mouth, hollows his cheeks, and sinks as far down as he can go.

/

Against all odds, they have some time to spare. They spend it fixing each other’s clothes and sex hair, making each other look at least somewhat presentable. Unfortunately, while Max had kept his promise and kept Charles clean, Charles hadn’t returned the favor; now there’s a probably irreparable stain on the antique couch. Oops, Max thinks, and he makes Charles sit on it for their next round of interviews.

It isn’t so bad.

Thankfully, F1 was the only one they’d been on video for. Charles, for the rest of the day, is hazy-eyed and loose-limbed. Max capitalizes on his distraction, teases Charles as much as he can and knows how to—Charles lets it all happen.

And he seems, almost, as if to enjoy it.

But maybe Max is projecting.

/

By dinnertime, Max is finally released. Charles is whisked away by his brother before Max even tries to get a word in, so he doesn’t try. He gets driven home, orders Brad-approved takeout, and calls his dad. Lets him know how the day went. After, he calls his mum, then his sister, and then Raymond. At 8 PM, Brad comes over for training. They talk about things that don’t matter. At 10 PM, Max showers, brushes his teeth, turns off the lights, and crawls into bed. He checks his messages. He frowns when he notices that Charles hasn’t texted. Max isn’t sure why he was expecting him to.

He checks his other texts. He sees that Gemma has texted him his media schedule for the weekend. He doesn’t bother reading it, leaves it for tomorrow. He puts his phone down on the table, closes his eyes, and thinks.

In all this time, the world hadn’t stopped spinning. Even now, it doesn’t stop spinning. Media day is in three days. Infinitely worse: it’s Monaco. Charles will be there; for all of it, he will be there. Normally, WAGs and—now, Max guesses—BAHs are off-limit topics, but there’s no guarantee his sexuality will be. They will want to prep him. Make sure he doesn’t say anything stupid. Charles will be there, and they will have to act in love. Max will have to dodge cameras and avoid journalists the entire weekend. He will have to make statements. He will have to respond. Charles will be there.

On Sunday, Charles will be on the podium.

On Sunday, Max wants to win.

Too much to think about. Too much to worry about.

One day at a time, Max thinks. One day at a time.

/

Voici got a hold of the story first. Apparently, evidence had been slowly building up for months���quotes from Max’s building neighbors and a now-fired member of Charles’ security detail.

The most incriminating evidence, however, were the pap photos taken of them kissing in Max’s car.

They’d been so careful—but maybe, over the last few months, they’d grown complacent.

The story broke the day of the cancelled race in Imola, first thing in the morning. Four hours later, Le Parisien got a hold of it, and that’s when shit started to really hit the fan.

Red Bull was blindsided.

So was the Crown.

/

Max had been blissfully unaware until around noon when he woke up. For many hours, quieted by Do Not Disturb, his phone had been blowing up with calls from Raymond, from Christian, from his father. Everyone important in his life. Before he got a chance to call any of them back, he spotted the ESPN notification at the top of his screen:

Max Verstappen: Formula 1’s reigning world champion and first gay driver in decades?

Below that, an Apple News notification:

Monaco’s Sweetheart breaks hearts worldwide? The inside scoop of Prince Charles of Monaco and Max Verstappen’s 2-year long affair.

In a way, nothing in any of the reports had exactly been false.

/

Max was driven to the palace, silently escorted to a meeting room, and he was seated next to Charles, who was quiet and playing with his hands in his lap and looked like he might throw up. In that moment, Charles looked—small. Charles looked—afraid. Max had never seen him like that before. Max wanted to say something, wanted to ask him if he was okay, but the meeting was in full swing; they hadn’t even paused for Max’s entrance. He settled with placing a hand on Charles’ thigh, his heart rabbiting in his chest. Charles laid his hand over Max’s. It was all Max could do. Max was afraid too.

Once he arrived, however, they switched to English, and explained the plan they came up with while he was sleeping: to confirm the status of their relationship, and run a full press tour. Immediately, without coordinating with Red Bull. That the Prince’s little brother was not only dating a man, but dating the F1 world champion, needed an immediate response, and Charles’ image takes priority over Max’s.

They needed to take control of the narrative, spin it in the right way: They’re in love.

Max didn’t understand. He interrupted halfway, “But we’re—” He glanced at Charles, silent beside him. “We’re not actually—”

Finally, Charles spoke up. He lifted his head, turned to Max, and said, “It does not matter.”

“But—”

“Max,” Charles said, with finality. His eyes were shaking. He looked more upset than Max had ever seen him. “It does not matter.”

And that was that.

/

Tuesday morning, Red Bull post official statements on all their social media platforms, and Max’s social media manager posts a statement from him that he didn’t write. He doesn’t see any of it himself. He stays offline.

That afternoon, he’s in a few virtual meetings with marketing, and they confirm with him the schedule Gemma sent, that they’ve canceled the shootings he had with Checo, and that they want him to focus on keeping a low profile.

He has done more than they needed him to, thanks to the insistence of the Crown.

The interview with Marie won’t be released until Thursday, but Red Bull had received an early preview from the Guardian. To his surprise, the team is satisfied with it. They of course aren’t exactly pleased with some of his responses, and they request that he answer differently and less abrasively next time, but Max is guessing that their expectations were so low that he managed to exceed them, somehow.

They hadn’t even wanted him to speak to any press in the first place. Neither had Max, obviously, but Charles—it would have been silly if Charles had done the interviews alone. Charles needed him there. So.

Wednesday, he streams on Twitch with RedLine. It wasn’t exactly news to them or anyone close to him, the gay thing, but the Charles thing, well—it was a surprise to everyone. Even Max. The boys ask him if he wants them to steer clear from making any jokes about it, and Max says he doesn’t care either way. The last thing Max wants is for his friends to walk on eggshells around him; the last thing Max wants is for things to change any more than they already have. So Crane jokes about it, Bennett jokes about it, and Max also jokes about it. They permaban anyone in chat who jokes about it.

 And that’s Wednesday.

/

Thursday isn’t the hell he was expecting it to be.

Red Bull managed to pull strings and get Max out of the press conference and TV pen appearances, and Checo’s been left to handle the fanzone all on his own, so Max stays inside the Red Bull Energy Station, keeps his head down as much as possible, ignoring the roars of reporters outside, only speaking with his engineers and mechanics.

Tomorrow, though, he won’t be able to get around media.

Don’t worry about the press, GP tells him in the paddock, clasping a hand on his shoulder. It’s all noise. Just focus on driving. Nothing changes, at least from our end.

Max tries his hardest to believe it.

[mystery--mist]

Ok, first at all, thanks a lot @hypnoticmoth for considering tag me ♥ People don't usually tag me in... anything in general XD So it makes me happy when they want to include me X) heh~♥

No wednesday but I have a lot of WIPs, justly myself cause... busy with a lot of things :") I'll try to post from the oldest to newest. Surely I will redraw the most of the WIPs

Previous Tag!

I tag before showing my WIPs cause I don't want to disturb peeps with my pics :")

Dunno who tag honestly, I usually tag friends and mutuals cause a lil trust but I don't think I have a lot of mutuals here... uuuhh let's see...

Don't feel forced to do it anyway! >o<

Tagging: @dimneo1010 you bitch, I mention you cause I want to annoy you :3 ♥

@smthaboutusss we are mutuals :"3c but I hope you don't mind ♥

@strawberry-aliik you mutual :"D ♥

And feel free to join, random peep ♥

Beware, there's some suggestive pics below :")

Valentino and OhMamaWho-

That's... the second time I drew Valentino (?) This is from 24th April. Only erotic, no explicit. And nope, that's not Angel nor an Oc :") Guess who

When I finish you'll see heh

The 2 Alastor Haters

An attempt to draw an icon of my 2 top husbands together who don't get along with Alastor :"D It was my first time drawing Vox and Lucifer :")

Vel and Vox

Teaming up both because they kick doors with style. Actually Valentino would be in the background just vibing lol

Vox and Morgana

Ah yeah, that's my Hazbin Oc intimating with Vox :") It meant to be erotic/suggestive but not explicit, they are not naked actually XD

VoxVal Doodle

Cause yeah StaticMoth X) I was even drawing Val with more insect legs here

Human Valentino Concept Design

I was trying to design my own version of a young human Valentino when he was an Art student college. Some of my inspirations were Joel (Valentino VA), Freddie Mercury and Elvis Presley. The girl next to him meant to be the human version of his real lover when he was alive. All that from the AU with Dim,

Kinsona / Veesona

Yeah my Kisona with Valentino XD I didn't finish the design aaaah-

Sad Vox

I hated so much how I used to draw Vox (like really, he looked ugly ;-;) that I didn't even want to draw his face. So I didn't finish this one. Surely I'll redraw it better.

VoxVal Doodles

It meant to be a whole canvas about VoxVal and there I even designed my fankid Vanexa :") Need to continue ona day and render some doodles. And finish Vanexa design too eeek...

The Real NSFW (Censured)

We don't talk about my Shark Vox and my first RadioStatic NSFW ^w^ Keep scrolling down

VoxVal Portrait Family

My most recent and last WIP I think. This was for the Hellaverse Kid Week but I didn't have the time to finish it. I only have to render with lighting and a background but I am full unmotivated now for that :") I mean the background ugh...

Ok that's all, actually I have some more WIPs but I think this is enough. I am a big mess for unfinish drawings :") Sorry

[a-little-bit-of-ravioli]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @the-real-azalea-scroggs! Had to wait until I was of my phone because doing these is a nightmare on mobile lmao

1. How many works do you have on A03?

18 as of a few days ago!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

157,937! Which is. Only a fraction of the word count in my Docs folder. Be prepared.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mainly write for The Legend of Zelda; specifically Linked Universe! In fact, that's all that's posted on my Ao3 currently, since my fall into that fandom began with me uploading there! Pre-Ao3 I wrote for Black Cat (Anime/Manga), Megaman NT Warrior, various Pokémon things, Assassin's Creed, Yugioh, Final Fantasy XIV and Octopath Traveler! Some of these I still write privately, but I haven't gotten around to re-posting any.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Whistling on Deaf Ears - My longest fic on Ao3, focusing on Wild and Twilight's friendship and how good intentions can lead to disaster.

Iconoclasm - Warriors deals with the room full of portraits in Cia's palace. The Chain also deals with it, but with a bit more fire.

Deserving - Twilight finally tells Rusl that he was the wolf in the village during TP, but that also means dealing with some heavier topics. Colin half overhears them and forms his own conclusions.

Something Greater - The start of the "Hyrule can see magical auras" series! In this one we deal with Legend and his many rings.

Ocean Magic - Mermaid Legend and Zora Time have a race and then fight one of the Big Octos from WW! Fun times.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Every single one!! I love comments, they give me an excuse to ramble about my fic more!! I am always down to ramble about every single insignificant detail of any line and/or section. If you ever want more background info about one of my fics, look to the comments!

So please, I adore comments, I treat them like treasures, not responding to them would be a CRIME.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

There's no contest; Inevitable, my (so far) only MCD fic.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmm, that's hard to quantify. I usually try to end fics on a hopeful note regardless. I'd say possibly either Deserving, where Twilight reconnects with his family, or Shimmering Blue, Striking White, where Time meets the Fierce Deity settled down on Satori Mountain and they both get closure.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no! I've been blessed with mostly amazing and patient readers, even when my upload schedule isn't the best.

9. Do you write smut?

No, not really. I've attempted it, but I'm too asexual for it lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

Very, very rarely. Mostly privately, and only very specific ones. Only a single one has had an actual plot, so far (more on that one in question 15!).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also a nope! I tend to write for smaller fandoms, where these things don't tend to happen a lot!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! But it's been a while. Over a decade, in fact! I tried to find the fic to link it here, but it was on the German fanfic website fanfiktion.de, and my friend who posted it back then must have deactivated her account, because it's nowhere to be seen (I still have the Word file though!). It was a Multi-Crossover that started as an RP in a forum, and we took turns turning the RP into prose one chapter each. "If a Hero Turns to Dark" was its title. We were edgy teenagers.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Hissssss. Bad question. Shoo. They are all equally important!!

But it's probably TenRose from Doctor Who.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

One of the very few crossovers I've ever worked on; a crossover fic between Assassin's Creed and Doctor Who, that I have mapped out in both chronological and timeline order, and yes, those are different. I only ever wrote about a quarter of it, since my primary audience of it disappeared when we graduated. I doubt I'll ever pick it back up properly, and if I do it'll probably go through heavy rewrites first since it's so old. Finishing it is a nice thought, but realistically, after 9 years it'll never be high priority enough for it to actually happen.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, especially arguments, and emotional impact. I've been told I do really well making characters feel alive and believable! Also I like to believe I'm decent at setting a scene and giving it the vibe I want it to have!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with dialogue tags when nothing much is happening besides the talking. I always feel it's too bland, and fall back on the same phrases. My scene transitions could use some work too.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done this with Japanese phrases, because I was a massive weeb. Usually I followed them up with their own translations, though; I'm not the biggest fan of footnote translations, unless they are properly linked to. Simple dialogue tags are my favourite way of indicating a language switch.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Black Cat the Manga/Anime! It's a series about an assassin turned bounty hunter trying to live a life separate from his murdery past, but getting dragged back into things by still wanting to avenge his best friend's death. The series has a special place in my heart and my bookshelf, it left an imprint on 13-year-old me that will never leave.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Probably Jailbreak, uncharacteristically enough! It's one of the only fics I never got stuck in once. Writing it was a great feeling from start to finish. I love writing all of my fics, but that was a special few days.

Tagging @ahrva @nowhere-to-go-but-down @silvercaptain24 and @aeghina! And anyone who wants to do it, really, go wild

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks!

Five Lines Tag

Rules: post a line from your WIP that follows the prompt

My prompts, which are: A line about the weather A line about a secret A line said sarcastically A line about home A line about an animal

Let's see what MG3 has in store

A line about the weather

“Avymere!” they hissed, waving eagerly.

The Duchon jumped, spluttering slightly as they squinted in confusion. Elsind caught the exact moment when they put together who the strange human shouting at them was. The changeling jogged up, a mirthful expression on their face.

“Greetings.” Avymere gave them a nod. “Enjoying the weather?”

Elsind couldn’t have honestly told you if it was sunny or cloudy, they just took Avymere by the hand, practically hopping in excitement. Tentatively, a smile made its twitching way onto Avymere’s face as well. It looked terribly strange sitting there. Not the sort of expression crafted for portrait sittings or cabinet meetings. This wasn’t a smile Avymere used often, as it was a rare honest one.

A line about a secret

“Cool your jets,” Astra made a soothing gesture. “We’ll be fine. These jobs’re gonna get done, no matter how much Antonin thinks he can stall for time. Besides, even if he is a pisswad, helpin’ us is in ’is best interest.”

Marius shook his head. “You don’t understand. Maybe you would if you’d actually thoroughly read the contract. Antonin isn’t going to give you shit once you finish the third job. It says in the contract that you must accept his decree of completion for the agreement to be fulfilled. I don’t know how to make it any more clear, but he’s not going to give you that godsdamned decree.”

“But why?” Mashal crossed his arms, confused, while Astra gave an indignant scoff in the background. “We— We’re trying to keep this city from being conquered. The entire Montane family will be killed if Vermir gets her way. He has no reason to not work with us.”

“Oh, you poor kids.” The banker sighed, shaking his head. “Do you know what a wartime economy would mean for this family’s finances?”

A line said sarcastically

“Oh, Avy….” Elsind sighed sadly. They got up and, from the sounds of things, began to put together a small tray of food.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Avyemere choked out. Even talking made their leg hurt. “I should be strong enough. I’m meant to be. My people deserve better.”

“Better than some elf half-delious with pain and stress? Yeah, I agree. But also, you deserve better, too. You shouldn’t have put that much pressure on yourself—no one should have to.” The bed dipped as Elsind sat back down. “Why don’t you get some food in you, take your meds, and see if that helps? I guarantee at least some of this is just your body wanting calories so it can heal your leg.”

Glancing over, Avymere saw that Elsind had prepared a small plate of cut fruit from the little coldbox at the end of the room, as well as a mug of steeping tea. Again, they felt even more tears threaten to break past their eyes at the sight.

A line about home

Here, away from the crowd, Astra could admit to herself that she was terrified. Divine magic or not, Vermir had nearly killed her twice before, and that was before she’d taken the sorcery of half a city. However, her terror was a strangely resigned thing. This was odd, as Astra had never been resigned about anything a day in her life.

Tomorrow’s gonna happen, she thought. I might die, I might win, I might end up lookin’ over a world conquered by that eikodoro monster knowin’ I was too weak to stop ’er. All I do know is that I’m tired a’ bein’ scared. Let’s just get this nonsense over with and call it a day. I miss my cat. I miss my folks. I wanna go home and get scared about little, petty things for a while.

A line about an animal

Tramping through the mud were dozens of hardbitten teamsters, all calling and crowing like birds greeting the sun. Horses snorted and stamped, so much bigger than Elsind had ever imagined, and much smellier, too. Wagons stood in rows like tarp-covered neighborhoods. The wind flowing down from the looming Siegewall Mountains whipped at hair, clothes, and anything not nailed down, kicking up massive clouds of dust that caused Avymere to cough uncontrollably.

“How do we know how to talk to?” Elsind asked, tapping his fingers nervously. Given the noise of the crowd, he nearly had to shout to be heard.

“We need to….” Avymere trailed off as they peered through the crowd. Their expression remained a serene mask, yet Elsind was a connoisseur of faces, so he picked up on the subtle furrow of their brow. The Duchon was as lost here as he was.

I'll tag @leahnardo-da-veggie @wyked-ao3 @jev-urisk @daisywords @theink-stainedfolk and anyone else who wants to play :)

Your prompts: A line about the weather, A line about a secret, A line said sincerely, A line about a house, A line about water

[shady-tavern]

A little poll to help me decide

Just so you know, I will still write both, but you guys get to decide which one gets to be finished and published first!

Little WIP excerpts for both stories under the cut (subject to change, these are still rough outlines, so be aware that the final product might look different):

Fantasy Story (currently only titled "nyeh!"):

You had once heard that being cursed was the worst thing in the world. To be twisted into something else, to no longer be capable, to lose your youthful beauty, your voice or whatever else you valued. To be forced to hide in the dark and stare longingly at people going on about their day.

How happiness was leeched away, food tasting lackluster and smells itching in your nose and nothing felt right anymore. Like looking through cracked glasses.

But curses weren't anything you had to content yourself with. They were about as important to your life as distant kingdoms and great battles with heroes slaying equally great foes, of dragons nesting on top of mountains and fae princes stealing away mortal women to make their queens.

That hadn't always been the case for your family, however. Your ancestors had been great mages and adventurers, people with big names and bigger legacies. People who had awed and charmed and impressed the populous to the point where they were still spoken about, their portraits found in history books.

There was even a portrait of one of your great-great-grandma's in the local library, painted by someone with magical powers, for it looked like she was going to leap straight out of the painting on her horse.

She was a gorgeous woman with a kind face and a brave set to her shoulders and she had protected the entire barony you lived in against an ancient evil. She had been the first to make a name for herself and all her children followed in her footsteps.

Well, until your grandparents and their children. Every time you walked past her portrait on your way to class, you wondered if she was disappointed. If she had known that the greatness in her bloodline would run dry like a river.

Your parents certainly thought so, the bitterness and fear over being mundane well instilled into them by their already magic-less grandparents. Family gatherings were a tense and somber occasion and you hated them. Every time you were asked if your magic had shown already. If you were, finally, at long last, the one to break the streak of misfortune.

As though they could claw their way up to greatness through you. Even at a young age, you realized you didn't want that. Their expectations felt like boulders being strapped to your person and then being told to go climb a mountain.

Looking at the painting, at the regal woman portrayed who had saved so many and had been humble all her life, using her skills to better those around her, you decided that she would not have been disappointed in you.

Sometimes you imagined her voice when you sat curled up at your desk, eyes heavy from studying and your parents voices echoing in your head, telling you to look at more magic tomes. As though they could will magic into your veins by tossing as much spell theory at you as possible.

You imagined that your great-great-grandma would gently pat your head and tell you that it was alright. You had done well and should go to sleep, she'd take care of things. You imagined her saying all the things history books had written down and that bards sang about even to this day.

How she would cradle the week, encourage the cowardly and shelter the injured. 

Your other ancestors were just as impressive, but...she was always seemed more present than they did. It was probably because of the painting, though. You knew your family's history well enough, you had studied everything trice over.

Sometimes it frustrated and hurt you, that your parents and grandparents couldn't just be happy. They had more money than they could ever need, the people still spoke highly of your family and they were welcomed warmly. Your uncle was even advising the king despite having as much magic as a dresser drawer.

"I'll leave when I'm old enough," you told the portrait in a whisper. "I'll go somewhere no one knows me and I'll be happy."

If a painting could look encouraging, this one did. Or, so you imagined.

*.*.*

Hero/Villain Story (currently titled "Heart Song"):

The world was full of music and to you, that was beautiful. Everyone you met was surrounded by a melody, some louder and some quieter, some sad and some joyful, some struggling and changing tunes as they tried to find themselves and others marching forward, no matter the mismatched tones and half-broken sounding lyrics.

It had been a struggle, growing up, to not get lost in the music constantly. Your parents hadn't understood what was going on, dragging you to doctors and trying out different medication, until you had been old enough to find the words, the proper explanation, to tell them how you saw the world. 

A gifted child, your lot were called. People born with abilities that showed as early as when they were infants or sometime late in their adulthood. But the powers always revealed themselves and very, very rarely were not put to use.

You had found yourself responding to melodies that had wanted to be heard and seen and recognized even before you understood what they were, singing back at them clumsily until they had lost a hurt edge, until they had found meaning, until the song surrounding a person's heart rang like clear bells with the sounds of hope-relief-healing.

Becoming a hero had, in a way, been the only sensible conclusion. You wanted to help and you could help, so why wouldn't you? Why wouldn't you help sand down rough edges, help people over a bump in their road, help someone hurting to find the strength to reach out?

Your parents had thankfully been the sensible ones and had cautioned you against accepting just any hero gig, any contract that was extended to you. You had been so excited you had nearly accepted the first offer without question.

But...hero contracts, as you had quickly learned, were rather intense. There was so much red tape surrounding everything and your parents really hadn't liked some of the wording of some of the passages and with great reluctance and perhaps a couple of tears, you had tossed the offers for a job into the trash.

Right up until Redemption & Recovery had reached out to you. They had been a comparatively tiny organization back then, doing their best to help others with the funding they got. Almost all members were volunteers and they offer they extended had, admittedly, looked pitiful compared to the promised salary of the big hero offices.

But their offer had been just what you had looked for. Next to no red tape and your values and their aligned. The moment your parents gave their tentative green light you had called them straight away, telling them you wanted to work with them.

In the years that had followed, you had made quite the name for yourself and the organization, which had grown in members and funding until it was one of the biggest. You were so proud of everyone and their hard work. 

While you had become the face of R&R, fighting and going to interviews and fan meetings and doing your best to be present online, everyone else had been hard at work behind the scenes. Networking and outlining and signing contracts and keeping the unyielding desire to make the world better alive, no matter how big the organization got.

Redemption & Recovery focused heavily on not only offering recovering villains all the tools to keep healing and improving, but they also offered services to the public to help people stay away from the villain business in the first place.

You still didn't have much of a salary compared to other famous heroes, but that worked just fine for you. You rather donated as much as you could feasibly give to R&R, to help finance the services they offered, the therapists and doctors they had on the payroll, as well as housing aid and financial advisors to help people get back on their feet.

You still received offers from the big offices, who hoped to poach you from R&R and the latest offer had you choking on your breakfast when you had seen the salary and other perks they had offered. It had still gone into the trash, because the red-tape situation had been as bad as ever.

Besides, you were perhaps a bit...unique, among the heroes. The big offices would probably find working with you rather headache inducing.

You raced around a corner, heart in your throat at the sound of hurt-terror-helplessness that filled the air ahead of you as thickly as the dust and smoke that had yet to settle. You leapt over rubble and debris, your breath catching when you heard another bit of building crumble somewhere to the left.

And among the injured civilians, the panicked people, one melody rang louder than the others. Loud enough to drench everything in agony-hatred-despair like a wailing siren.

You had heard bits and pieces of this particular melody in the past and you knew exactly who it belonged to. Eclipse, a high-level villain known for laying waste to entire city blocks whenever he appeared. 

He was one of the villains who broke heroes left and right if they weren't strong enough to stand up to him and who had endangered many a civilian carelessly. No death count yet, but he was getting closer and closer to it every time he appeared.

Official sources weren't sure if he even had full control of his powers, considering the often haphazard destruction and his at times visible frustration. Whatever was going on, however, everyone agreed that he needed to be stopped before he ended up killing, no matter if it was intentional or not.

Eclipse's focused face turned into a mask of fear the moment he noticed you from the corner of his eye, head snapping around to stare at you.

[burning-academia-if]

I decided on doing monthly updates for BA, so I'll be doing a brief overview of November's progress! I'll also add an 'around the blog' section because some notable things happened/were posted! I doubt this part will be monthly, but if I have a busy month here, I'll add it since I know it's easy to miss some things!

Progress Report:

Updated the demo back in the start of November with general fixes.

Finished the (very rough) first draft of Chapter 1! Current word count is just over 23k, but I'm going back to edit and add scenes/flavor text.

Added scenes/notes to the general outline.

Finished Chapter 2's detailed outline.

Decided to officially add in the poly routes! (remind me to update the main post with them at some point lmfaO). These routes include: Beck/Rook for Dawn and Day paths, Rook/??? for Night path, and Rhea and Zoe for Dawn and Dusk paths! Beck/Rook and Rook/??? are triads ie all 3 of you have romantic feelings for each other. Rhea and Zoe is a V ie they both have romantic feelings for you but not each other (although they'll have a close friendship).

Around the blog:

Painted and posted all the RO portraits!

1k follower bonus stories: Rook's and ???'s

Favorite ask/answer: Some facts about MC's family and Orpheus/Eurydice

General:

With all that out of the way, progress may slow a bit and I might be a little more scarce because I finally got a job! I can't say when Chapter 1 is going to be out, but it should be no later then January (I also made a chaotic decision to do two game jams in December because why not?). This is mostly because I want to finish setting up all the stat pages and have them ready for the next update as well! I'm guessing after edits Chapter 1 will total anywhere between 25k to 30k words. With all that being said, have a very wip preview of chapter 1:

[Text version]

'...You...are..."

You grimace, eyes blinking once. Then twice. You've never slept walked before in your life, but now you find yourself with one hand bracing against the sink counter in the bathroom. Your other hand hovers, palm out, gaze latched onto it by an unknown force.

"What…?" You stumble back, eyebrows furrowing as you take a look around you. Something is wrong. Something is wrong.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Regencylark please!

From the WIP File Game. Well, this is what contains the draft for Portrait of Mrs. Hawthorne, but also it includes the start of another Regency Everlark fic that I started and didn't finish, which is inspired by Sense and Sensibility. I got sidetracked into PoMH, though, idk why I kept them both in the same document other than I got the idea for them on the same day.

Should I work on the Sense and Sensibility-inspired one once I wrap up PoMH?

Upon his graduation, Mr. Mellark’s presence then brought with it an assortment of young ladies visiting. Mrs. Mellark had determined to find a suitable match for her son, and his fortune depended on making an advantageous marriage. When Mr. Mellark returned to Victor Park from town, Mrs. Abernathy invited young, rich, single women to stay with them. Always a different rotation of young ladies with perfect accomplishments and a need to perform them for the young man. It quite put out Mr. Abernathy, who should have preferred to smoke his pipe and read his newspapers in peace without the excitement of romance. Mr. Abernathy was then both aggravated and hopeful when Miss Madge Undersee came to visit along with Mr. Mellark’s usual stay at Victor Park. The young woman was quiet, sensible, and rich. Shortly after her coming, the Everdeens put up an old family friend from when they lived in Seamshire, a Captain Hawthorne, newly rich from the war and from Mrs. Everdeen’s report, he should soon take Miss Everdeen to be his wife. Temporarily, it made his house more active with visitors, but once the young people married, he could have his estate back as it had been when a bachelor.

Thank you for the ask!

[naranjapetrificada]

What is Exhibit.txt about?!

Yay! Thanks for asking 😊

It's kind of like, a list of significant objects? With notes about circumstances through which they could be discovered, like if they could all be put together in an impossible museum exhibit of the relationship. I started it during one of the many times this fandom has made think about the unfathomable existence of time as a concept.

The "exhibit" is starting to feel more like a memory palace for me as a fic writer though, so idk that it will ever turn into anything I'd post as its own thing? Anyway, objects include:

Discolored red fabric an early naturalist found while dissecting a sea turtle that thought it was about to catch a tasty jellyfish. It was actually two discoveries because he "discovered" the sea turtle species and it was named after him.

A half-finished (for extra devastation) portrait of two figures from the legs down by an unknown artist

A silver spoon so corroded from seawater that it took modern imaging to read the monogram "bSEt"

A brick from a house where a couple of "old sea salts" retired with "a few servants" including "a cook" who made special biscuits to give out to local kids on one "random" day each year (the day was Eid-al-Fitr because I'm a "Roach would have been born to a Muslim family" truther. So would Oluwande in that era tbh!!!!)

...I'm beginning to see where the urge to frame my current longfic WIP with fake academic articles comes from.

There are also scattered notes in the file that make me think I was ruminating over like, historical queer ephemera and how even if we never know details about specific queer forebears we might be able to still "sense" that they came before us or whatever and that makes us feel better about our own existence? Honestly seems like I might have been Going Through Some Stuff. I started it way before season 2.

Let's keep playing! Ask me about any of the cryptically titled docs in my WIP folders!

[sagemonsters]

Heyo! It’s been a hot second since I’ve posted about any writing activity in my life—the end of my university semester + some familial troubles has really kept me away from my drafts—BUT I’m getting back into the swing of things! I have a new WIP that I’m hoping to finish the second draft of before my autumn semester starts on August 22nd.

The WIP doesn’t have a title for now, but is best described as “Dungeons & Dragons meets Indiana Jones meets monster romance” and is a cis male centaur x AMAB nonbinary human/elf hybrid romance novella. I’m hoping to publish it on Kindle and/or Smashwords once I’ve finished the draft and made all necessary edits.

The story takes place in a high fantasy setting inspired by the pre-Islamic Middle East and northern Africa. If I may gush… the setting itself is what made me fall in love with the story. I’ve been listening to the Fall of Civilizations YouTube channel and really vibing with the episode about the Nabatean civilization + looking at some stunning photography of the real-world Namib Desert along the west coast of southern Africa.

The first draft of this nameless WIP was set in a generic kitchen sink fantasy universe in the standard western European flavor, and I really didn’t click with it; even adding my favorite biome (temperate rainforest) as the backdrop for an important location didn’t make me have fun with what I was writing. However, once I changed the setting to something more geographically & culturally distinct, I started to enjoy it a lot more.

But characters are important too!

Taji Seventhborn is a linquist-mage who specializes in translating a variety of ancient languages into a variety of contemporary ones. They’re newly graduated from a thaumaturgic university in the (ofc fictional) city of Al-Darabous, and struggle with a mild anxiety disorder. Taji is the POV character for the entire novella.

I used the Baydews 2.0 picrew to make a portrait of them, which I’m not 100% happy with because it makes Taji look 14 rather than their actual age of 24. However, it’s still nice to have a visual representation of the character.

Cimitrius Firefoot is the centaur character and love interest. He’s a little older than Taji at 27 and is a warrior rather than a mage. He leads a band of adventurers, and was contracted by Lord Sindiso (along with Taji; that's how they meet) to guard an expedition searching for an ancient temple somewhere among the ghost-wracked dunes of Tindaalo Desert.

Excerpt below the cut!

Taji took a deep breath and looked around the Square. Even though dawn had not yet broken, there were plenty of people about. Veiled women filled pitchers with water from the fountain, their bangles tinkling as they moved, and the first wagons were being admitted through the massive, studded ironwood doors of the Victory Gate on their way to the marketplace. Shutters were being opened in the windows of the tenement buildings that flanked the Square, and street vendors pulled their hand-carts into position in preparation for hawking food, drinks, trinkets, and everything else under the sun. Another busy day was getting ready to dawn in Al-Darabous, and—for the first time—Taji would be leaving it all behind.

Their nerves jangled like the delicate silver chains that the Emperor’s court dancers tied into their braids. They scanned the two major thoroughfares that fed into the Square over and over, shifting their weight from food to foot as time wore on. The gray dawnlight blushed into the full brilliance of morning, and a cacophony of bells tolled in the high white towers to mark the occasion. Taji pulled the papyrus letter out of their pocket and read the last lines for what might have been the thirtieth time:

Prepare and outfit yourself for a long journey through the desert, and meet us in the Square of the Leaping Gazelle before sunrise on the seventh day of Firefall.

[bythepen98]

WIP

I had a hard time deciding with what part of that tomione fic to draw so I pretty much procrastinated for most of the day ngl (only started working later at night). Happens when I get overwhelmed and feel indecisive bc there are lot of good scenes but it doesn't feel right making only one or two sketches about it. Not to mention, I'm not actually used to drawing anything that's not a portrait or stationary? Like characters posing for a photoshoot (for lack of a better word), or just them standing like a model. That kind of thing.

My usual style didn't vibe with what I wanted to do for the fic so I decided to do a comic-scene thing similar to that shikanaru one I made. Only shorter bc it'll take me ages to finish if I did all (current) 13 chapters even if there's no color. I'm way too impatient for that, plus I don't have that much free time this week since my relatives are here to visit and I usually join them when they're out sight seeing. Family bonding and all that.

I'm quite excited for this though, and I'll just see it as another learning experience if nothing else.

[deatherella]

WiP

I'm sure you've all noticed it's been awhile since I posted much of anything. Ever since my family and I were sick over Christmas and the week before and two after, I've just had no get up and go. I start things and leave them sitting half done. The sets I posted this month were mostly half finished projects from last year.

My irl projects are getting the same treatment. I just get distracted at almost everything. And I'm sick of feeling like this. Might be the winter blues, but this lack of productivity started when I was ill.

My Wallpaper of the Week sets are parked in "Walls" in Homecrafter waiting their turn at getting finished. I have some done but never made swatches or previews.

So, coming soon are:

More wallpaper and floors.

4to2 Soloriya sets. Quite a few are part done over here.

4to2 13Pumpkin's latest sets - cute desk set and her new dining set. One is almost done. Haven't decided whether or not to make the desk as the mesh is with the two shelves above it as one mesh or separate into a desk and one shelf. I just see visions of me breaking the mesh repeatedly trying to put slots on the shelf. Maybe a omsp a the two heights. Any feedback on that is helpful.

More deco sims. Around a dozen sets by REIGNINGSIMS. a family in the park set that someone requested, (found a rug mesh that would work great for the blanket on the ground, too), neutral props deco sims set 2.

Some military funeral stuff that I started making for last July's theme at GoS about the 70's. Made a military coffin, folded flag, flag to put over the coffin and portraits for an easel,

Surprises for you all for an upcoming HellHasSpoken event.

Valentine's goodies. Just little things mostly.

There may or may not be templates ready for bodyshop. Can't remember.

I'm just slow as molasses these days, hopefully this slump in life will end soon and I can finish my irl and sims projects more readily.

[findusinaweek]

Fandom ask game: 4, 6, 16?

Oh! Hi! 4) Mmm. Attack On Titan, off and on. I think any large fandom kinda just sucks to be in through. I'm not really in the fandom. More like hanging off the edge asking "May I please see Ymir and Erwin?".

Fruits Basket fandom in 2007?-2013 as an Akito roleplayer because Akito is a terrible person. I can't deny that. So everyone expects you to roleplay them in their worst moments. But I was more interested in the religious/familial hierarchy roles they fulfill and the gender fuckery from the manga. And most other people in the fandom circles I was in were there from the anime. So...not only was I roleplaying from a different gender, I was roleplaying with entirely different motivations than the others and it made everything rather annoying. I hated their favorite characters and they hated mine (which is fair, Akito and Shigure are terrible people that are meant for each other.). Honestly, anime fandoms in general have been pretty awful. And that brief trip into Homestuck. Oh yeah. The Borderlands fandom. I love more terrible people in those games.

6) The Locked Tomb because it has very visually appealing fanart and everyone keeps selling me on it. But I don't have the mental energy to finish a book.

I'm playing both Disco Elysium and Hades but they are very hard for me to get into gameplay wise. I really like the fandoms though. So I need to actually play the games.

Barbarians but I don't have the energy for subtitles either. I'm just full of mental blocks lately, but things are getting better.

16) Ok, here are some things I'd like to do:

I want to make a smutty Alexidas comic? series of pictures? to this song. I've had it planned out for months. I have the...references. I have time.

On the same note I want to do a comic of Deimos! Alexios and his...child self? to this song. I think it'd be healing?

I want to write the Eruri modern au/record shop au fic that I made a playlist for in 2018.

I want to make a series of Kassandra pictures in AUs.

I want to make a lithograph of Brasidas.

I want to singlehandedly make a sequel to Dream Daddy but it's just a Mary Christiansen and maybe Val but I've already dated a Val and that went badly dating sim. You can date her and she leaves Joseph for you. You live the rest of your days in a happy group with Amanda and Mary's terrifying children and Robert visits often and gets in recovery for alcoholism.

Uh. I want to write a lot more weird little fics for AC Odyssey and apparently they will all have to do with hair.

I want to finish my WIPs.

I want to start the planned depressing yet wholesome Steddie Christmas/holiday fics I had dreamed up.

I want to make some filthy Borderlands stuff. Idk what kinda stuff. I haven't thought that far. Just. Some stuff. Should exist.

I want to make a massive oil painting portrait of Eliot Waugh from the Magicians. Also one of Brasidas. Also one of Kassandra. Also one of Erwin Smith. Also one of Anna Karenina. Also one of...ok my teenage dreams were oil portraitist so that's just...a thing I want to do.

I want to learn how to sew really well and recreate every outfit Villanelle ever wears in Killing Eve.

I want to learn the shanties in AC Odyssey and record myself doing every voice so I can just do harmony with myself.

I want to write a fic to go along with the Alexidas pieta to explain how I feel about Alexios grieving.

I have a lot of dreams.

[ihopeineverloseyou19]

28, 44, 46 for the writing ask!

28. Do you like writing requests?

I’ve never got a request to write but if one day I receive one I’ll be happy to try them

44. Share a snippet of your current WIP?

Broken picture frames surrounding her younger self, after her father closed the door for the last time, he never came back, little pieces of glass in the floor of her bedroom when she found out what he had done, Emily destroyed the only family portrait the three of them together had, a Christman gift from her late grandmother, whom gave her the picture, because it was a day of remembrance, the day everything around her would change. - It’s from Trying to change (nobody said it had to be for the better) Still not posted but will be soon

46. Favourite sentence/paragraph you ever wrote?

A little paragraph from Exile, you can find it on my masterlist if you are courteous about how the fic goes. 

Those unsaid 'I love you’s' made her have a difficult time sleeping since she came back. Because what they once had finished long ago. That was what she told herself after the first night JJ and her spent in Paris, that was what she repeated herself after the last kiss they shared before JJ had to leave. At her front door, like they were just finishing a date, it wasn't quick. Emily likes to think that they both lingered a little, mouths still pressed against each other before JJ abruptly pulled back and left.

More questions from the ask game thing here

[professorsaber]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

No one tagged me for this, but I saw it posted by @walker-lister and wanted to jump on board.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

20

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

94,345

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Doctor Who (so far only the Twelfth Doctor [but caveat under question 14]) and Back to the Future.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Portraits of a Romance (Doctor Who)

Loose Ends and Loose Memories (Back to the Future)

The Post-Game Wrap Up (Back to the Future)

r/ThePinheads: Guys, Marty McFLy really *is* a time traveller!!! (Back to the Future)

Their Song Is Almost Over (Doctor Who)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try! I love getting them, so it seems polite if nothing else. But on occasion I don’t have the time and then the notification gets buried in other emails and I forget to.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

“Their Song Is Almost Over” ends with both Clara and the Doctor dying after 20,000+ years together, which is probably the closest I’ve come. I suffer from major depression and so nothing I write has a negative/angsty ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Honestly I feel like I could say “Their Song Is Almost Over”! Clara and the Doctor have 20,000+ years together and an afterlife together, to boot. In the same continuity is also “That She May Find Her True Love First,” in which Clara reunites with the (original, non-canon, female) Fifteenth Doctor a few centuries after breaking up with her predecessor.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Once, on a fic I posted on FF.net and not AO3, someone just wrote “FAIL.”

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I’ve only written smut once—"I Need You, Now More Than Ever". To quote the summary, “Escaping a planet after a ‘date’ where everything went horribly wrong, the Doctor and Clara find comfort in each other.” So hurt/comfort with sex. There was a four-year gap between me writing it and posting it.

I might do something smutty for Marty/Jennifer one day, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not anymore. The stuff I did as a kid was sorta a massive crossover between just about everything I was interested in, but I wrote little that could be called “fics.” Most of it was me and my friends doing what you call LARPing when you’re an adult. The universes involved a shitton of original characters on top of at least Pokemon, Sonic the Hedgehog, Star Trek, Animorphs, Men in Black, and Honey I Shrunk the Kids: The Series (when I could sneak it in).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really, though I’ve taken part in a Discord server game that involves writing a fic one line at a time. (Results here.)

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

The only ship I’ve ever actively shipped shipped is Whouffaldi, AKA Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswald. All my DW fics involve them, though bits involve either Thirteen with Clara or later, original Doctors with Clara.

I have a soft spot for Marty/Jennifer in BTTF as well. That’s mainly the reason I’ve never been able to get through the “Marty gets permanently stranded in time” fics out there.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Oh dear god. First, none of them are posted—I strongly believe in posting only finished works. But in all probability I’d say I’m never gonna finish the Mire AU, a Whouffaldi AU that I wrote about 22,500 words for. It was supposed to be a preemptive fix-it for “Face the Raven,” but I later decided that I wanted my Whouffaldi fics to have Clara become a Time Lady instead of using the Mire kit.

Two BTTF ones—Meet the Family and Psychology 135—have been on the drafting board about ten years but are much, much more likely to be finished.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Shit, this is hard! I’ve been told though that I’m good at characterization, and also that I weave in just enough background detail to make it all seem real. So I’m going with that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I spend far too much time on pointless background detail that I can’t fit into the story, I have difficulty finishing anything (especially of great length), and I think my descriptions can be too bland.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

In one of my BTTF fics just a few days ago, I decided that something Doc said was actually from his German grandfather, so I went to our Discord server and asked two German users for a translation. If there weren’t German speakers on our server, I might have used Google Translate and then double-checked with Wiktionary, but in all probability I’d have not done it at all.

BTW, it’s “Ein gesundes Maß an Neugierde ist immer etwas Gutes.”

19. First fandom you wrote for?

This is a complicated question, as you could say I wrote “fanfics” before I was aware of fanfiction or fandom as concepts (see question 10). In high school, c. 2005, I finished a Transformers: Beast Wars fic but never posted it, but I still think that’s the first.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

I might also have to say “Their Song Is Almost Over”! To quote another one of these asks I did, “ wrote it in a single sitting, it’s epic in scope, [and] it gives a ship that got an at-best bittersweet ending in canon a gloriously happy ending.”

For BTTF, I’m not sure really. Perhaps “Moving Day”? Because I accomplished so much in such a brief space (compared to my previous BTTF fics), and I loved focusing on Jennifer.

Tagging @bg-sparrow, @daryfromthefuture, @synthsays, @mythical-bookworm, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[blamemma]

Can you tell us something about the maxiel artist au? Like some facts about it or something. 😊

it is my brain child. my magnum opus. my most beloved and my most hated. my wip I fear the most but also enjoy researching and writing the most. you can read the chapter breakdowns below tho and basic premise if you would like x

it is basically a 5 chapter fic that follows 5 different art eras, where either max or daniel is the artist or the subject. and then an epilogue which makes me giddy when I think about it.

so like ch. 1 is greek sculptures with daniel being a sculptor, who keeps on having incredibly vivid dreams about god max and decides to sculpt his body, all muscular lines, toned chest, thick thighs - an exploration of the body (max's body really). Daniel never sells the piece because he's compelled not to, he physically can't. keeps on having dreams about max. ch. 1 is the only one that's finished but still needs heavy editing and reading through etc. is at the moment 8,000 words so the fic is going to be longggg I think :/ also have a thought for the end of this chapter that I am mulling about but unsure about

ch. 2. is a toss up between two different eras which I am still fumbling around with and researching so not really wanting to share yet x (placement of whether it is chapter 2 or 3 is dependent on its time period)

ch.3 is romanticism era. Max is a travelling artist, old horse carrying his supplies who travels around Europe, painting scenery with romantic elements (not like romantic love but like themes and motifs of that era) and then selling them on so he can get to the next place. Arrives in X (haven't even put down a sentence yet for this chapter, think it will be my hardest chapter but I am still looking forward to writing it) and stumbles into a market where Daniel, a farmer, is selling his produce. Max is starving, been travelling for days, but is more entranced by daniel than his food. Stands and stares for a while until the market dies down and everyone packs up. Daniel comes over and talks to him, offers him shelter and food when max explains who he is. they fall in love max paints the barn where they first fuck, the gaping fields, the sprawling mountain sides. sets up a stall next to daniel's at the market selling his art for very cheap. privately paints parts of daniel, his face his hands (!!!!!!), his arms, thinks he's better at painting landscapes than people, but paints daniel portrait one day and places it at the market and daniel is astouned by it and wont let max sell it. offers to pay for it himself. someone offers max an insane amount of money for it though... more to this chapter than just that, again still working out the niggles, not my most planned and cohesive chapter but we'll get there x

ch. 4 poet daniel, sketcher max, they are both the artist!! (or maybe not I have a second idea for who max will be but I'll dive into that more when I commit more to writing this chapter). both come from rich, old money families, spend their time exploring, devouring art, making their own, old friends turned to lovers, secretly sleeping with each other behind their wives backs. 1920s American vibe trying not to be your cliche great gatsby but that is the inspo almost....

ch.5 mY MOST BELOVED MY MOST CLOSE TO HOME. was a rough idea in my head and then these photos came to light X and the plan came to me in an instance in my head. film photographer max in berlin (I SO want it to be based in berlin but this could change), exploring the city for the first time, away from home, a camera and a rucksack, so many different people and styles and daniel has been living there for 3-5 years knows the good places open max's eyes to so much max wastes so much film on daniel, candid photos of him, photos of him naked in bed, photos of him in clubs, photos of his tattoos, of his hands (again) (this fic is just a study of hands) of him far away, close up. max develops all the photos himself, lets daniel watch but not touch, the photos are a collection of their love and them falling in love hard and fast. daniel steals max's camera often, takes photos of max because he thinks max is BEAUTIFUL HANDSOME SHOULD BE THE SUBJECT SOMETIMES but max just doesn't see it gets embarrassed (THE PHOTOS LINKED WHERE HE LOOKS SHY AND TRYING TO TAKE THE CAMERA AWAY) . I predict this will be the longest chapter because I'll just get lost in it and it already has a lot committed to it already in terms of words I have put down...

epilogue. TO ME!!! the plan i have for the epilogue is chefs kiss perfect to me how I want it to end maybe one of the first things I planned and chucked a few paragraphs down on even though u need to go through all of the other 5 chapters to understand the epilogue (don't mean for this to be so vague but I don't think I will ever give much of the epilogue away because I just want it to be a nice surprising ending idk)

sorry this became so rambly but i am enjoying writing this and researching this so much I actually don't know if it will ever get published and if it does it wont be any time soon at all but I get some reading or writing done for it everyday and I just am really enjoying it idk....and thank you for asking xx <3