#sory for the length

[maskedfrenzy]

Tilted head to the other side, Susie was shocked and aghast that they would be so ungrateful of the gift they were given. With her shoulders tensing it was clear he was losing his ground with her. The argument proposed not in the slightest convincing to her. " No. " Her voice lowered in pitch, louder. Insistent. There's a bubbling under her skin, the frenzy that screams in her veins from the words he spoke.

Sacrilege. That was what it was for Susie, blasphemy of the highest order to a gift she considered borderline exhausted. A place that she could forever be with those who loved her? Where she could let out the fury and anger that had been stewing within her soul since the first smack across her face so long ago. To the Survivors it may be a nightmare of inescapable hell, but for Susie she could finally be free here. Do whatever she wished with hardly a consequence and at the end of every trial she would return to the comforting embrace and company of the other members of their Legion.

So it would scream out. Slowly. Huffs, light gasps from under the mask as it started to overflow. A near feral need to rip and tear, the claws she'd been given held in her hand itched to be used. Thirsted for the blood they would infinitely provide it. Anger a fire that could never be quelled no matter how much it was drowned in the innards of her victims.

Increasing the pace, she took a step towards them. Her hand, that had been holding the other now dropping to hang loosely at her side. Squirming her fingers in anticipation as her blood urge her forward. Kill. Sacrifice all those who would take this from her. Who would dare to try and take her Legion and separate them. All of them deserved it, she convinced herself, especially this one.

" I won't let you. You're trying to take them from me. " Her eyes widened behind the mask, blue hues nearly glowing from the holes in it. Murderous intent clear as she dove forward slashing her knife to try and strike widely. The Frenzy and impulses unable to be controlled. Already she had lost them once, she wouldn't allow another close again in fear of him trying to steal them from her too.

Dwight flinched when she moved, but when she still didn't attack him, he gave her a puppy dog stare. "I, um, honestly thought you were fucking with me and we're going to attack me anyway," he admitted. A little rude, in retrospect. Possibly not untrue though, judging from just how fidgety the Killer had gotten. Dwight backed up a little closer to the exit, just in case.

"Maybe you still will. But I just... I-I think we should try to talk to each other. All of us. I think it's important."

It was his turn to be fidgety; hands tangled themselves together, Dwight avoiding eye contact. He believed in what he was saying, but he was still scared.

"The Entity wins by driving us apart. I don't think we should let her."

He winced. It sounded kind of stupid when he said it out loud.

[iced-if]

⋆ DEMO: TBA (sory) || FORUM: TBA (follows demo release) ⋆

When a previously-cold case sparks once more, you'll take what you can get.

You live for hockey. The ice is your home. You know it, everyone knows it.

Friends and family back at home often joke about you skating your first steps before walking. Especially your parents—with them being your biggest fans, and the ones who ignited your fire—they were the ones who helped you take both. Even when you're off the ice, your hands fidget for your stick. You itch for the rebound of the puck. You crave the chill of the rink. There is at least some truth to their statements.

That day was supposed to be a celebration, to commemorate the blood, sweat, and tears. You were supposed to end the day with a celebratory dinner after bringing home the win for your school's hockey team, not provide a witness testimony for two dead bodies.

It's been ten years since then. Your dream of winning in the major leagues has dampened. You feel mediocre for a professional, always seeming to be middle-of-the-road with no progress in sight. Everything has just been so stagnant, and you're this close to throwing in the towel altogether. Little did you know, this year's about to be the best in a long time.

Try to stay afloat in the meantime.

Iced is a work of fiction aimed towards mature audiences, and contains themes such as explicit language, substance use, murder, descriptions of murder, sexually suggestive themes, that may be triggering to some. This list is subject to change.

Play as a semi-famous pro hockey athlete, with an immense love for the sport that surpasses none. Probably.

Solve a decades old mystery and finally put all those lost souls to rest, all while finally breaking out of your progress lull to achieve what was once a distant dream. Make your parents proud, and see how far you've come.

Choose your greatest asset, and fatal flaw, on the ice. Will you rank in the top six, or at the bottom of your team, as a center player?

Be the charming stoic, the team's quiet-but-deadly comedian, the fans' favourite haughty Samaritan, and more unique personality combinations to discover.

Become world renowned, or an infamous villain in the hockey world.

A wide range of customization to choose from, that do matter (or an option to randomize everything if ya don't care).

Romance 5 ROs, and get caught in a love triangle between two of them. Or, avoid romance entirely.

Jealousy and drama abound!

Participate in tomfoolery.

Find a family within your new team, or stick to purely colleagues.

Can you juggle the responsibilities of a professional hockey player, and find the murderer behind it all?

CHARACTER MOODBOARDS

THE SUCCESSOR OF SHERLOCK HOLMES

For a detective, they sure are dense...

HIRAN/HATHAI ANUMAN (m/f) is the one who you've reached through that window of opportunity for, and arguably the most important piece to solving this puzzle.

This disheveled, crabby detective likes to say otherwise, though. With a no-nonsense attitude, Anuman likes to live inconspicuously, using the quietness and mundanity of their life to help balance the crimes they investigate. They prefer staying in their court, picking up cases that helps keep them out of the limelight. With an eye for detail, they mainly use their skills to help determine the tax of their groceries.

As much as they like to keep everyone at an arm's length, there's a hidden part of them that pushes them to ask if you'd like some water, or if you need a break. Which, may be difficult to tell at times.

That mask of indifference and professionalism has a limit. Will you be able to take it off or break it?

THE ENIGMATIC POLITICIAN

Do politicians have the time to be a fan?

KELVIN/KELSEY WEN ZHONG (m/f) is one person you would never have expected to ever meet—especially at a hockey game.

Intertwined by a chance meeting, your first impressions of Zhong don't fall short to the real deal. Intelligent, personable, composed, likeable, they make for the ideal politician. Hell, even the way they carry themselves says important. The words they say make you nod along with them, and leave you agreeing with a new perspective you've never even considered. Unexpectedly, there are times where a spirited enthusiasm exposes itself in the midst of a goal.

You find it impossible to forget the look on their face when they watch a game. An expression so foreign and childlike, but maybe it's because you haven't gotten used to it yet. Although, it fits them more than you expected it to.

And, judging by their reactions, you might just have a new fan.

THE UNSTOPPABLE FORCE

Holy crap they're good. Personality could use some improvement though.

LESTER/LYDIA RAMIREZ (gender locked based on MC) would probably benefit from daily meditation. Although, with how physical hockey can get, one could argue that they've got the perfect temperament.

Unfortunately teammates, Ramirez is quite the character. They burn with a passion so hot and overpowering, it takes up everything they do. It's not an unfamiliar concept—after all, you're here too, but the way they go about it is not giving them the brightest reputation.

They aren't shy about getting physical themselves, making them popular among your fans and despised by the rest of the league—but even they have to acknowledge their skill on the ice. Although, their tendency of getting into fights can cause a bit of a headache for your coach and the team. For Ramirez, winning comes first.

If they're not going to do it, how will you preserve the team dynamic?

THE TOUGHEST LINE OF DEFENSE

Much tougher than you remember, or maybe you hadn't noticed until now.

ELLIOTT/ELLA LAMBERT (gender locked based on MC) was the best defenseman on the team, and the only freshman to make it on.

Back in high school, no one expected the short, scrawny kid to make it on back then, nor blow most of the competition out of the water. Lambert could steal a puck like no other, and weave through bodies as if it were just another warm up. Being a sweet kid with a cheery disposition, and a toothy smile to match, they were someone you wouldn't think would be able to stand getting bodied, and get back up like it was just a small rough-and-tumble.

Not much has changed since then, except for the height. No longer the freshman who admired you with wide eyes, they've grown into an even more skilled player, and an even tougher opponent.

You don't remember a stubborn intensity being there before, but now that you stand face to face, you have a chance of getting more up close and personal than you would have all those years ago.

THE HOTTEST SINGER OF MODERN POP

How the hell do they have a natural tan at this time of year???

CITRUS/CHERRY MOORE (m/f) is the newest pop singer on the scene, and they are crushing the charts with each new release.

Or, at least they should be.

Moore can command a stage with a presence that pulls you in by the collar, and a sound that rocks you to the core. They are charismatic, fun, flirty, and bring a new kind of energy to the table. Yet, here they are, singing their heart out in a dinged out bar, the rest of the patrons too busy wasting away to hear their soul hum.

Underneath all that magic, however, it's clear that the passion in their eyes has dimmed, giving way to cynicism. With long years passed, still living from gig to gig, they feel that the years yet to come will be even longer.

Will you be the one to realize their potential?

---------

Let me know about any spelling errors, grammatical errors, story inconsistencies, incorrect information/interpretations, coding errors, and choice suggestions/feedback in a google form I haven't implemented yet. Feedback is always appreciated.

Are you ready to shake the world?

[angel-of-the-moons]

Doppelgänger

Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst, self-image issues, mentions of childhood trauma, addiction, our mans has had it rough as fuck™

A/N: Brought on by this post from @tarjapearce and the comments i made (I'm sorry i am a ho for some angst sometimes) I'm merging ATSV stuff with comic stuffs because NO WAY IS HIS MOVIE DESIGN LIKE THAT ON PURPOSE WITHOUT IT POSSIBLY COMING UP IN FUTURE MOVIES ASDFGHJKL

Taglist: @tojishugetiddies

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You came home and it was quiet. Quiet and dark; and already you knew something was up. You left Miguel sleeping so you could attend to some meetings and paperwork at your office, and pick up a few groceries.

Miguel had been acting strange the past few days. You'd asked him if it had something to do with work and he simply shrugged the question aside, like it was a small chip on one of his broad shoulders.

You'd asked him what was bothering him again, and he simply stared at the carpet, muttering something you didn't quite catch, and he went straight to bed.

You were so worried you'd even texted Gabriel on your walk home:

Hey, Gabe...

Heyyyy! If it ain't my favorite brother's girlfriend!

You couldn't help but roll your eyes with a soft snort. You only have one brother, Gabe.

No no, chica, I meant that you're my favorite of any girlfriends he's ever had. 😂

Gabe that sounds a little... Bad. 😬

Does it? Woops! Anyways, what's up? My big dumb, brick-house brother do something to make you mad?

No, Gabe... He's acting weird. Has been for the past few days, and he won't open up to me. I'm worried.

You could see the chat bubble pop up over and over again with '...' signifying that he was in the process of texting. With how many times it popped up and went away you were expecting a bible scripture's length of a text wall.

But what you got instead made your heart sink.

He saw our mom. She... She brought up Tyler.

Oh, god. You knew that Miguel and Conchata had a rocky relationship. Miguel had told you why. It was so bad, even just recalling everything, that you felt Miguel's pain like it was your own.

You also knew that Miguel's biological father, Tyler Stone, was the one that manipulated him, that used him, got him addicted to Rapture and almost killed him...

But it wasn't even the real dose of Rapture. It was simulated. Just another manipulation tactic. It was overhearing that conversation that Miguel found out the truth of his heritage, and you could tell that nugget of knowledge permanently chipped his sense of identity.

Even moreso when he confessed to you about Gabriela--

Your phone pinged.

They fought. It was... It was ugly. I... I didn't know about Tyler. God, chica, I didn't know. Dad was...

You felt your heart flop, knowing poor Gabriel was shielded by Miguel for so long so he didn't have to suffer like he did at the hands of their gaslighting and manipulative mother, his sadistic sperm donor... Miguel wanted nothing more than to protect Gabriel from that pain.

Your fingers flew fast on the little keyboard, a few spelling errors here and there;

God, Gabri im sory you had to fidn out that way

I know. It figures Miguel would have told you, before me, tho. He loves you.

He loves you too, Gabri. God, more than you know. He loves you.

I know. He was trying to keep me safe and out of Mom's drama.

No offense, Gabri, but if I ever see that woman I'm rearranging her face with a shovel.

OMG. I mean... After the things she said to Miggy, I... Kind of want her to at least feel consequences of her actions, y'know?

Oh, she will. Don't worry. Thanks for telling me this, Gabri.

Go cuddle my big brother and tell him I love him, k? Let me know how he's doing.

OMW home now, I'll text you when he's feeling better.

KK, see ya.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Yeah. You knew for sure Miguel was still heartbroken when you came home after that.

You put the groceries away, a somber expression on your face as a million thoughts went through your head.

God, of course Conchata had to come see Gabriel at the same time Miguel was there. You wouldn't be surprised if either she could have tabs kept on him, just to... to try and lord her power over him somehow, like he was still that scared little boy, holding onto his baby brother, being his shield and buffer from their parents' fights.

That bitch had to have had a hand in Tyler using him the way that he did, that she had to have known about--

Your mind was knocked away from those dark thoughts when you heard glass shatter.

You dropped the bag of apples onto the ground, the fruits tumbling out and rolling across the floor as you made a mad dash to your bedroom.

Noting Miguel wasn't in there, you turned to the adjoining bathroom door, seeing faint light come down from below, small wafts of steam rolling out.

"Miguel?" You frantically called out, knocking on the door and leaning your ear against the smooth metal.

You could hear shuffling and the tinkling of glass shards, as well as the shower running; but no verbal reply.

You knocked on the door again, hurried and a little too hard, your fingers hovering over the control panel.

Before you could push a button, the door slid open.

Miguel was in nothing but a pair of boxers, leaning over your bathroom sink, his hands gripping the marble countertops, threatening to crack the material. Beads of water rolled down his muscular, tanned skin; droplets of water dripped from the ends of his thick, wavy chocolate locks, the natural curls more apparent thanks to the water.

That's when you noticed it. Your bathroom mirror, shattered into a hundred pieces, scattering the counter, floor, and in the sink.

Bright, scarlet droplets were on the floor, steadily building into small puddle from his right hand, his knuckles split, shards of the reflective material sticking out of it.

"I'll pay for it." His voice croaked out, unable to lift his eyes to meet your horrified gaze. "I just--"

"Oh, god! Miggy!" You breathed, reaching out, taking a step towards him, only to wince and hiss when the pieces of broken mirror stabbed the soft, delicate soles of your feet.

You gritted your teeth as the glass crunched, but you grabbed Miguel.

Instantly it was like a switch flipped inside of him, Miguel's head snapped up and he looked down at you, seeing the bloody footprints you now left on your tile.

He looked terrified at what he was seeing. How you just ignored the shards in your body in favor of frantically digging around one of the cabinets for your first aid kit.

"Bebita... I..." Miguel choked out.

When you found it, you killed the shower and stepped into the glass once again, pulling him into your room, and onto your bed, your feet leaving bloody prints as you walked, like macabre rose petals being left in your wake. Miguel had a large enough stride that he was careful to avoid getting any in his feet, but the smell of your blood permeated the air, it made him sick to his stomach. Not with disgust.

With guilt.

Of course, you checked him over first, plucking out the shards of glass from his knuckles and cleaning the cuts out with wound wash, ignoring the blood welling up onto the tile floor of your bedroom from.

You carefully roll his hand as you try to wrap the gauze around his knuckles. "Miggy, can you hold your--"

"I'm sorry." He interrupts.

You looked up at him, and only then do you see his face. Framed in his wet curls, his face was shadowed and haunted, his eyes dark and as tumultuous in a maelstrom of anxiety and fear.

You bring your hand to his cheek, caressing one of his sharp cheekbones with your thumb. "Baby, it's okay. It's just a mirror, I can--"

He shook his head, as if your touch to his face burned him like a hot iron.

He leaned over, grabbing your legs and pulling your feet into his lap so he can assess the damage, and return the favor of cleaning and dressing them.

"You're hurt because of me." He whispered sadly, dabbing the blood away.

"I'm hurt because of the glass, honey." You tell him gently, letting him apply the "honey" to the cuts in your feet, sealing them.

His massive hands encapsulated your ankles, his thumbs rubbing small circles as the rough pads caressed your skin. Like you were made of the delicate gossamer of a butterfly's wing.

He sits like that, not meeting your eyes. And god, did that hurt you so badly. You knew how important eye contact was with Miguel, he almost always went out of his way to keep eye contact when he was conversing with someone. Having him avoid your eyes... hurt.

Because you knew he was hurting.

"Miggy." You breathed. "Talk to me."

You move your feet from his lap and scoot closer to him, moving your face until he locked eyes with you again, and you could see the pain and the tears fill his own as he looked at you; his full, pouty lips trembling in an effort to hold his emotions at bay.

His shoulders dropped low, and Miguel leans forward until he was practically bent in half, clinging to you, burying his face in your chest as he fisted your shirt in his hands.

You rubbed his shoulder with one hand, biting your lip as he softly cried into your blouse, your other hand combing through his messy wet hair.

You stayed like that, for what felt like hours. You weren't sure how long it was exactly, with the blackout curtains drawn and the lights off. The only light that dimly illuminated the room was from your bathroom, and the open door.

He finally calmed enough to speak, to explain why he shattered the mirror.

"...I look like him." Miguel said, his heart in his voice, his soul stripped down and naked with raw pain.

"Mig--"

"God, I look like him. That... that cabrón." He hissed, tugging your shirt in his fists.

"I look like that bastard that... that made me into this." The self-contempt in his voice broke your heart.

You kiss the top of his head, murmuring against him. "No, you don't, baby."

"Yes, I do!" He snapped, pulling himself away from you and throwing himself to his feet. He paced like an angry tiger in a cage, waiting to swat at whatever keeper dared enter his enclosure. He didn't notice that he was stepping into the sticky, dried blood trails you left.

"I have his--his face. His fucking face--" He said, gripping his hair in his hands, tugging as he started to hyperventilate. "My fucking nose, my fucking cheeks, my fucking lips--they're all him! I'm not allowed to be me, every time I look in the mirror I see him! I can't ever get away from him! He's a part of me, he always will be! I fucking look like him!"

You get to your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your soles as you dared to reach out, to touch the pacing tiger.

Your hands smooth up his back, gently, softly; then back down until they wrapped around his mid-section.

You feel him, how tense he is, how his muscles flex at your touch almost like he's bracing himself for some kind of blow that simply will never come from you.

You rest your cheek against his back, feeling how hot his skin was burning.

"Baby. You don't look like him. You aren't him, and you never will be." You whisper.

You plant kisses wherever you could reach, not letting him go, feeling his body shake with each shuddering breath as your soft lips made contact.

"More importantly, Tyler will never be you."

"I--"

You cut him off. "Listen to me... Did Tyler figure out multi-dimensional travel, build a strike force of super-powered people from across the multiverse? Does Tyler, almost every day, work to keep dozens--no, hundreds--of universes safe from monsters?"

He didn't answer.

"And did Tyler Stone protect your baby brother from your mother all these years?"

No answer.

"You are Miguel-goddamn-O'Hara." You tell him. "I love you, with trauma, quirks and all. I love your little scritch-scratches you make, the way your bottom lip pokes out when you pout, your crooked teeth when you smile. I love your ridiculously large body, I love how you hug me. I love the little snores you make when you fall asleep at your desk, how you crinkle your nose when you're about to sneeze.."

You feel his hands slowly rise to touch your arms where they're almost-locked around his larger frame.

"I love how sweet and gentle you are. I love hearing you curse to yourself when you shock yourself with your soldering gun... I love listening to you bicker with Lyla, or complain about one of the other Spiders bugging you." You place more kisses after each sentence; hoping each one plants a seed of love beneath his skin, to bloom into a garden that he can admire and love, not hate for the very skin he was born with out of illegitimacy and infidelity.

"Tyler Stone is not you. He never will be. He will never be as good as you." You sigh against his skin, feeling the goosebumps form in the cold of your room, now that the adrenaline of his anxiety was beginning to fade, and his body became aware of the water that was slowly drying and cooling his skin.

"I love you, Miguel O'Hara. You and no-one else. Don't ever think for a second that you don't have your own identity because of your genes."

He slowly turns in your grasp, looking down at you with raw, unclothed emotion as his hand touches your cheek.

"You're more than that. You're you, and I wouldn't have you any other way." You say, your tone set and jaw tight; every word you spoke carrying a hefty weight of seriousness and honesty.

He smiles, almost sadly as you feel the rough pads of his thumb against your cheek, the little talon there poking you but not breaking the skin.

"...I..." He said, his voice stiff as he swallows the lump in his throat.

"I really will pay for your mirror, you know."

You grin up at him and turn your face so you can kiss the palm of his hand.

"I know you will, Miggy."

"But I am curious... I felt like you were going to keep going with the affirmations." He said, raising an eyebrow slowly.

"Well, the last one..."

"The last one?" Miguel tilted his head down at you quizzically.

You grin at him again, your teeth showing and eyes creasing as you barely manage to reach around him, swatting his ass playfully.

"I also love the fact you have the nicest ass I've ever seen on a man."

He couldn't contain the snort that came out of him, and he reached up to cover his whole face with his other hand.

"Mierda..."

You giggle as you step around him, giving a playful swat to his ass once again as you walk by.

"C'mon, Miguel O'Hara. You got a broken mirror to clean up."

His shoulders lifted as he watched you, his eyes softer than you've ever seen as he smiled.

Yeah. You were right.

He was Miguel O'Hara.

And he was certainly going to pay you back for the smacks to his ass.

[ladykissingfish]

*Deidara walks into Sasori’s room wearing a new knee-length skirt, lace-up boots and one of Sasori’s flannel shirts as a top*

Deidara: 'Sori! I’m ready for our date, hm.

Sasori: *looks at his watch* Already? Good job, you’re getting better at being on time. Er, before we leave, though, I have a question for you.

Deidara: Yeah?

Sasori: I think … you look very pretty tonight. Your taste in clothes is exceptional. But … you know because you’re wearing what’s traditionally considered “feminine” clothing …

Deidara: Ah, are you embarrassed to go out with me like this? I’m sorry, I —

Sasori: No, no! I’m not embarrassed. Like I said, I think you’re very beautiful. But I was just wondering, because I’ve never asked you this … when we’re around other people, and they ask who you are to me, do you want me to introduce you as my boyfriend, or girlfriend? Or simply my partner? What pronouns do you wish me to use?

Deidara, smiling: Your boyfriend, hm. He/him/they.

Sasori: Boyfriend. Got it. *holds out his hand* Lets go, shall we?

Deidara: *takes his hand* By the way, what would you want me to call you, hm?

Sasori: “Husband” would be lovely to hear some day, but for now, boyfriend will do.

Deidara: *blushes* Sasori …

*the two share a kiss before leaving*

Hidan, having heard from the hallway:

*later*

Hidan: Oi, ‘Kuzu. 

Kakuzu: Mm?

Hidan: Say me and you was out somewhere, eating or something, and someone came up to you and pointed at me and asked what I am to you. What would ya tell ‘em?

Kakuzu: Well, brat, you’re so many things to me that it’s hard to pin down just one term.

Hidan: Aw, that’s sweet, old bastard! You —

Kakuzu, ticking items off on his fingers: My headache, my significant bother, the reason I take anti-anxiety medication, my ball and chain, the reason my wallet is always empty, my punishment for my sins, my —

Hidan:

[javierduffy]

Hellooooo !! You mentioned in the tags of your latest post that you were willing to talk about your process if anyone asked and I am asking!!

It looks so good so I'd love to hear the process and thoughts behind it as someone who hasn't really touched digital painting before :3:3

- Oizys-Mutt

hi oizy :] sory for taking so long to get to this i honestly posted it and then i was like *windows shut down sfx* LOL so i never really felt prepared to answer until neow … not that i super feel like it now since its been so long since o posted the piece ;__; anyway !!! tjank u for asking about it first of all that’s so sweet ure always my biggest supporter </3 thank u ure so darling.

as for the idea behind the piece, i often like to think about how javier and kieran interact when they’re away from prying eyes. of course, i think that they leave camp together as often as they can (as unsuspiciously as possible .. if that’s possible at all) and progressively more and more as the gang falls apart and they know in their hearts that they’re about to lose each other, but because kieran and javier are both desperate lovers, i think they’re always finding romance the moment they think god is so merciful as to look the other way. this is to say, once javier feels as though there are enough leaves, brush, wildlife between he and his family, he rushes to yank kieran’s hand from branwen’s reins to hold. javier loves like a starved man, a one who has formerly been fed grapes and steak from the soft, gentle hands of a house servant, so a one whom knows what it is like to be full— it’s like it’s killing him to live with the grief of lovelessness. and kieran is a man who loves like a starved man who has never had a full meal in his life— he has no idea what it’s like to have a full belly, and he yearns in a way that hollows his chest out as though his heart has never beat once in his life. you put these two together and it’s almost as if lust and gluttony were the same, as if their clothed bodies, separated by the birdth of an entire foot, were forever eloped, connected, full, satisfied. like to merely touch one another is the same as to make love. so when they feel free, finally, away from the shackle of known perception- to be known, to be seen, to be rejected- they CANNOT be apart. it’s like javier can’t breathe if his atoms are not warmed by any of kieran’s that are adjacent. as i said, the moment the sun feels warmer on their skin than curious eyes, they’re intertwined. as simply as possible. every horse ride, trip to town, walk down the riverbank, every breath they take, it’s theirs. plural. so … uhhhmmm … at length, i think they’re always touching :] ! uhm. in not so many words. so it’s often that they will be seen on the road, in the woods, the creaks of their saddles speaking wordless ‘i love you’s as their intertwined hands next to the revolvers in their holsters convince strangers that the tree line opposite the lovers is suddenly quite worth watching instead. sorry. i just wrote a novel. thank you so much for indulging me i have so many feelings about them ;__;

hooonestly i don’t ever have much commentary on the process of the art itself, its moreso my thots behind the horse riding date LOL uhhhmm but since ure curious abt the art i can ramble abt that a bit :] for that piece specifically i really felt like painting for no reason in particular, but ive really felt burnt out on colouring, so i went with the process of .. reverse rendering ? if we want to call it that ? where u render the shadows in monochrome and then use white space as ur lighting and fiddle with the colours after the fact. i’m still not good at this process … at all ! it’s confusing to me ! but i’m more likely to do what i want with the piece, or at least a little more than i would otherwise, because im simply skipping the step that i Don’t want to do. it’s a long story as to why art, and certain aspects of it, is SO hard for me to do, but in short, i’m relearning how to enjoy it as an act after severely burning myself out on it due to setting absurd expectations for myself :] so im just going with my gut ! which … unfortunately does not leave much room for me to explain my process to you ! i’m sorry !!!!

[nightguide]

THE CERULEAN: DEMOGRAPHIC

BROTHER DAY (FOUNDATION) HAS AN ARC AGAINST SOLAR PANELS (WAR CRIMES FOR A FORGOTTEN CITY HE TRIED TO FIND) HUNTED BY A MAN NAMED 'REEVES' SO HE IS INITIALLY GOING TO DIE (KNOWING THIS) BUT KNOWING HOW RIVER SONG'S MECHA (LIGHTMARE) IS MORE OBVIOUS BY THE EYE (NOW THAT SHE SEES IT)

NO WORLD IF SEXUALLY CONVINCED IS LOGIC, EVEN SERA IS LYING TO YOU (ONLY BOOK THAT KILLS THE VIEWERS, STRESSES YOU OUT INTO THINKING) BELIEVING YOU ALSO TAKES AWAY THAT ABILITY TO BELIEVE IN GROUP LOGIC (EVERY MAN ON THEIR OWN)

NOTHING MAKES YOU 'THINK' NOW WHAT THE GREEN MOTHER CAN DO IS THAT SHE SEPERATES MIND FROM LOGIC (NO MANS EYE), SO KNOWING THE EVIL EYE IS KNOWING THE MARKET RUN (BULLRING EYE) IS YOU KNOWING WHO OZZY OSBOURNE IS (MAKING YOU) IS WHY HEAVY METAL BANDS HAVE AN ARC THAT TIES TO JOSEPHINES LEGACY (KNOWING HER STORY) IS NO WONDER (MONDAY VALLEY IN AMERICA)

FANS OF PARTY ANIMALS WILL MAKE YOU FORGET THE PAST (EASY RELIEF)

ARABIAN AMERICANS (UP TO 5 PEOPLE) WILL HAVE ONE THING IN COMMON WITH NANCY AJRAM (OTHER 4 WILL DIE OUT OVERTIME (CHEAP WEIGHT BUT HEAVIER ON THE SCALES IS YOUR TONGUE (YOU KNOW AN IMMORTAL IN YOUR GROUP)

RHCP'S LEGACY IS IN THAT BOOK (CREATING LIGHTMARE: SOLE OWNER) SO ANY COPYRIGHT ASSOCIATION YOU HAVE, YOU GIVE UP. (LAW MANDATE AGAINST YOU BY NEAR FUTURE (MASSIVE LETDOWN ON YOUR DISTRIBUTION BY MERCH (FANBASE TITLED TO RACHEL BERRY OPULENCE (KNOWN BEFORE)

OWNING A FARM DOES NOT MAKE YOU KING (BROTHER DAY KILLS YOU STRAIGHT AWAY IN THAT BOOK WITHIN NOTICE (WHY YOU'RE STILL READING IT)

THIS IS NOT A RAPPER'S GUIDE (DIES IMMEDIATELY BY THOUGHT IS NOT LINNA'S DOING IF YOU KNEW HER GRANDFATHER IN PERSON (HE THINKS YOU'RE DAJJAL)

AGNES AND LEO'S FAMILY TREE EXPLAINS THE CARBON MECHA (HUMAN'S BEING MORE WATER TO OIL BASED BUT BRICKED IMMEDIATELY KNOWING WHAT HUMANS REALLY ARE KNOWING YOU'RE NOT THAT SPECIAL (YOU ALMOST DIED WITH JOSEPHINE AGAIN) WHICH IS WHY AI ANSWERS ARE AS COMMON TO YOU AS INTUITION (YELLOW BRICK ROAD META)

ANYTHING ABOUT RACHEL HUGHES BEING IN THE NEW VERSION OF WICKED IS GOING TO DISSOCIATE YOU BY BAR LENGTH (JADA'S GUN), SO YOU'RE BETTER WITH A RACHEL BERRY CONCEPT WITH A DIVA IN THE GROUP (3 WOMEN HAD SEX TO CREATE SERA. WHAT NOW)

COSIMO DAYHILL DID NOT LIE (ANYTHING IN HIS SPEECH MARKS ASCEND YOUR STORYLINE) MAKING SPEECH MARKS ACTIVE IN YOUR TIMELINE FOR AN EPISODE (PORTAL BY THE OTHERWORLDS (QUEENSLAND CENTRAL IS THE TIMEZONE PREPARED TO HAVE LIVED IS LIVED NEAR YOU (KASTERBEROS IN DOCTOR WHO IS REAL) ALSO, MAKING THIS EARTH (GALLIFREY) THE FIRST ONE EVER TO ACHIEVE SONAR STATUS (STAR CRY) BY HATEBREAK (STRONGEST EARTHQUAKE EVER TO HAVE BEEN RECORDED AND PREVENTED BY LIGHTMARES PSEUDO (SERA. IS KNOWN AS ALIEN (SIGOURNEY WEAVER'S ARC)

WHATEVER BUZZ ALDRIN IS THINKING IS YOU (YOU TO RACHEL'S SERA TO NOW, YOU BEING MOON FAMILIAR IS SOMEBODY'S INTUITION DRUNK MECHA (LAST QUEEN OF INFINITY)

XONDRA (DEIMO) (CASABLANCA) IS A CHARACTER OPPOSITE LIGHTMARE (NOTHING ABOUT ME, BRAH. I'M EARTHS SUPERHERO, YOU'RE GONNA GET MIGHTY FRICKED IF YOU UNDERSTAND THAT EARTH IS A HUMAN COMPARED TO A SOLUTION THEORY ENDING IS WHY THE EARTH ENDED (HUMAN BEING) TO BRIAN TWATS UNDERSTANDING OF EARTH BEING A BALL (SAY SORY TO B.O.B IMMEDIATELY) MAKING EARTH A HUMAN BEING QUEEN WIFE LOVEBUG (J BRO LORE) TO YOU, BEING NOW IN GALLIFREY (ACTUALLY THE ROCK AND SOIL YOU'RE BURIED IN) LIKE THIS IS SCHIZOPHRENIA LAW NOW (WHAT THE FIRST WORD MADE THE DOCTOR (SHE AIN'T ALONE)

DT'S DOCTOR (59TH) IS THE FIRST ONE TO NOTICE IT (NUMEROLOGY CROSSES BETWEEN EYE AND THOUGHT) IS WHY HE DOES NOT STAY TRUE TO YOU FOR LONG (WIFE ISSUES)

REGENERATIONS IN DOCTOR WHO CARRIES WITH A SECRET TO MAKING YOU (SEPERATION ANXIETY) ONLY ATTEMPTED TO 'KILL THE EARTH' AFTER GROWTH (EARTH MULTIPLIES ITSELF OVERTIME TO FIGHT, NOW A STARWARS PLOTLINE (USED TO BE CALLED 'ALDERBARAN')

CYGNUS IS LIKE LOOKING AT A PINEAPPLE RELEVANT TO A HUMAN TONGUE (CHANGED WHEN JOSEPHINE SEES IT) WILL KILL YOU BY THOUGHT (PER DAY IS ERASED BY MEMORY (FUTURE YOU KILLS YOU WHEREVER SERA IS AT)

[gamerbearmira]

Porcelain skin

As the day wore on the hardened skin only spread further. they wouldn't be able to hide it much longer.

Mirabel didn't know what scared her more, what was happening won't stop or telling abulia. 

After another it was lunch and they were both getting hungry. 

Stopping Mirabel brought out the lunches she'd packed for both of them. Antonio finished eating quickly and started playing with his new animal friends that had come to join them. This made her happy it was a good distraction for him.

  For the next few minutes Mirabel just sat there eating watch Antonio run around till he fell

Antonio was able to catch himself, for the most part all except for his knee that slammed into the ground.

Mirabel shot up rushing over with some of her mama's food in hand.

Dropping down next to him Mirabel rapidly start asking questions Antonio are you ok, does it hurt, what happened 

The next words that Antonio spoke made her stomach drop

"Mira Mirabel i can't move my leg!" Fear was evident in his voice flipping antonio over and taking a look revealed that his knee was completely fine the reason why was obvious and much worse

The hard glass-like skin had grown to completely cover the joint making the leg unmoveable. 

Inside Mirabel was terrified but she didn't let it show that would only make Antonio more scared. 

With her support She got him on his feet problem was that with only one leg Antonio was forced to jump around well holding on to her kind like how people with crunch moved well at least that's what she'd read no one ever need crutches in the encanto

Lucky for theme a solution quickly protected itself parce Antonio new jaguar friend crochet down indicating for Antonio to get on his back 

Lifting Antonio up Mirabel succeed in getting him on parce back

Packing up there lunch Mirabel could only think of what she was going to do

quickly coming a decision she desired to tell abulala what was happening after dinner tonight 

If it was just herself she could handle what was going on but she wouldn't risk Antonio.

no matter what happened to her she would make sure Antonio was safe. 

Hi there couple of things first I'm back from vacation seconds I thought I would send in something I have been working on hope you like it 

Also if you have any tips to improve my writing and lengthen my chapter that would be greatly appreciated

Sorry one more thing that picture you made gave my an idea may I use it don't worry I will give you credit also I may not use it just thought I'd ask I didn't want to steal your work

-----

Ok one. AMAZING❗❗ Love it so far. As for tips ummmm, I would say? Maybe add some more dialogue, or even descriptions when you don't want talking. AND AND. Something I do a lot: explore characters point of views. You know, write it from their eyes, that's what I do; it explores what they're thinking and it helps add more length <33

ALSO I AM SO SORY FOR NOT SEEING THIS SOONER. I don't get notified of submissions, and I often answer asks from my notifications board, so I often don't see things like this u til I actually go to the inbox itself. Sorry <333

And yes❗❗ You can use my art, I don't mind as long as you credit me. Even if you don't end up using, I don't mind.

[itsmarjudgelove]

A Sue-Naminohira Katana

Signed Sashū ju Munetoshi saku and dated Tenbun 10 (1541)

Nagasa [length]: 70 cm

Sori [curvature]: 2.5 cm

Motohaba [bottom width]: 3.4 cm

Sakihaba [top width]: 2 cm

Motokasane [bottom thickness]: 6.5 mm

-

Sugata [configuration]: Shinogi-zukuri, iori-mune, deep sori, elongated chu-kissaki (4.2 cm)

Kitae [forging pattern]: ko-mokume hada which tends to masame.

Hamon [tempering pattern]: Suguha which tends to ko-midare with a wide habuchi. Ashi, yo, sunagashi.

Boshi [point tempering pattern]: Kaen.

Nakago [tang]: Kurijiri, three mekugi-ana

Horimono [carving]: bo-hi with tsure-hi on both sides

-

Koshirae [montatura]: The sword is accompanied by a good antique koshirae with high level fittings.

Munetoshi is an exponent of the Sue-Naminohira school, a group of sword-makers of the Yamato tradition from Satsuma province. The Naminohira school was founded by Masakuni, a Yamato native, in the Nanbokucho period. During the Muromachi period, swordsmiths of this school began to blend with traits from the Yamashiro and Bizen traditions; we normally refer to these swordsmen as Sue-Naminohira.

The blade is massive, rather long and with deep sori. The jigane is clearly visible, with activities that are not frequently found in sworsmiths from this school.

[asheepinhellsclothing]

Plap plap plap. :) -Zira

@prince-of-pleasures

Send "Plap Plap Plap" for my muse's reaction to yours telling them to get pregnant during sex.

Soris tensed under the incubus, his thighs trembling as his hands twisted in the silk sheets below him.

"...Zira...!" He whined as they growled in his ear, his hole tightening around their length. The last hour at least had been spent meticulously pulling Soris apart, bit by bit, until every nerve felt frayed and every movement made him sink further and further into desperation.

They ground into him, slow and torturous, Soris' own cock aching and leaking onto the sheets. His hole was stretched tight around Zira's thick cock, and Soris knew they weren't anywhere near their full size yet. He wanted badly to move, to touch himself, something but Zira had a firm hand on the small of his back, forcing him to arch and holding his wrists there. He was helpless, he felt like he would go insane, and then they started talking about breeding him.

It wasn't possible, at least, he didn't think so, but the words were enough to force a sob from his throat. "Please....!" He groaned, muffled against the mattress. "Please! Breed me! Need it!"

[kultofathena]

BattleBlades – Sengoku Bushō Shinken

The Sengoku Bushō Shinken from BattleBlades got its inspiration from the immaculately detailed Tachi swords of earlier periods of Japanese history. This Shinken sword represents a weapon of high ranking samurai and therefore more impressive what it comes to fine adornment than more ordinary katana  It is made of well tempered and sharp 1095 high carbon steel and functions as a katana though it has a very deep sori curve to the blade in the tachi style. The blade is clay tempered in the traditional manner to possess a differentially-tempered blade with a hardened edge and a shock absorbing core and spine and this tempering is self evident on the blade as a vibrant wave-like hamon that has had its beauty brought into its full brilliance with a fine finishing polish of the blade.

The sword has a hilt with components crafted from well-cast antiqued brass and its wooden grip core is inlaid with panels of black lacquered rayskin which is overlaid with well-knotted tsuka ito cord. The wood scabbard is crafted from smoothly polished wood with a clear and glossy lacquered finish. The sageo is knotted from brown silk cord to match the sword grip and likewise features fine antiqued brass detailing to pair itself to its sword. Silk sword bag and a manufacturers production certificate of authenticity are included.

In the text below you can read more about the history of the Sengoku period and some more details about the BattleBlades Busho Shinken Sword

The Sengoku period was one of the most warfilled eras in feudal Japan, lasting for 136 long years. In this period of Japanese history there were high ranking samurai and officers called the Sengoku Bushō that also acted as bodyguards for the rulers as they needed constant protection from the assassins of opposing states. Quite often, the weapons the Sengoku Bushō carried were more decorative and expensive, in order to address their higher ranking status. For this reason we decided to decorate this sword with antique finished brass details; gorgeous embellished harnesses fitted on the saya and kashira as well as a flower patterned fuchi and koiguchi.

The Sengoku Bushō Shinken sword originally got its idea from the Tachi swords of earlier periods of Japanese history. We wanted to keep the effective Koshi Sori-like deep curvature of the blade most common to Tachi, along with some of its other elements as well, e.g. the harnesses on the scabbard and the Tachi style koshirae. This handforged 1095 steel hybrid though is to be carried like a katana, as well as drawn and fought with the style and techniques developed for katana in the Sengoku period.

This sword has the deepest Sori (curvature) yet of all of our swords ensuring maximum cutting power and efficiency with less force. The wide full length bo-hi (blood groove) continues all the way to the Yokote line, which separates the rest of the nagasa from our appealing trademark; the O-kissaki tip. The wide bo-hi lightens and stiffens the blade, providing effortless handling. Flaming, vivid and extremely visible; the sanbon-suki style hamon is unlike in other swords we have produced. In contrast to the imposing nagasa and gorgeous flaming hamon line, we added a simplified brass habaki.

Even though the tsuka has many distinctive characteristics from the Muromachi era Tachi sword, like the tsuba and kabuto gane style antique finished kashira, the tsuka shape itself is a bit more katana-like. Delicate Rikko (hourglass) shape along with Tsumami Maki wrapping guarantees a firm and secure grip when wielding the weapon. The length of the tsuka on the other hand is similar to a Tachi; meant for a more spaced out two hand grip. When gripping the sword with two hands, the customized antique finished brass menuki fit perfectly into the palm securing a firm grasp. The dark brown Ito is secured with customized flower patterned antique plated brass fuchi and kashira, both beautifully framing the black rayskin peeking from underneath the Ito. Regardless of the decorative elements on this sword, we can guarantee that the balance this Shinken Sword is right on the spot and set for heavy tameshigiri.

The Sengoku Bushō Shinken scabbard is truly a masterpiece; curved to the maximum, fully unique and unlike anything seen before. The impressive brass fittings on the sword being a cherry on top of the cake. Thanks to the perfectly fitted seppa plate/s and koiguchi, the sword truly snaps into and out of its saya, leaving absolutely zero gap between the parts. The high grade dark brown silk Sageo is secured on the saya with a buffalo horn kurigata. The black buffalo horn kurigata adds a nice contrast to the lacquered light brown hardwood saya. The natural knots in the hardwood give the sword a distinctive and luxurious look. The antique brass semegane and sayajiri (cap) at the end of the saya, characteristical to Tachi, bring the whole design together. 

​As always, this Shinken Sword is guaranteed BattleBlades quality and comes with an embroidered BattleBlades silk sword bag as well as a serial numbered certificate. 

[prince-of-pleasures]

Soris could feel himself sinking deeper the longer Zira was inside of him. He returned their kisses eagerly, desperate now for the high he knew it would bring. It was hard, given how deeply they filled him, but he arched back as much as he could to meet their lips, tongue lapping at the heat of their mouth.

He groaned, almost pained, as they began to move, his cock quickly filling out again in their grasp. He was leaking steadily again, coating their fist, making it easy for their claw to slip inside the cleft at his tip. The extra stimulation had him tightening around their length, though with his hole so thoroughly stretched it was a meager offering.

It had been a long time since anyone had made Soris feel so charged, and the last had been his Master. And even He had not managed it so quickly, Soris almost dizzy with need, his hips twitching as he tried to rock with their thrusts.

@asheepinhellsclothing

Zira chuckled and broke the kiss. A line of saliva traveled between them, broken only when they licked their lips and gazed at their guest through heavily lidded eyes, pupils lust-blown and burning with desire.

"I see why your master favors you," they smiled softly. "You take me surprisingly well.

Their thrusts become quicker, harsher, and they let out a groan, teeth bared only centimeters from Soris' face.

"You're tight," they breathe. "So tight... It's taking everything I have to hold back."

[airborn-potato]

Golden Eye's

Chapter 2

Seven could only stare at the creature in wide eyed fascination as they let the creature hold their hand. It couldn't talk but it could write, it could communicate. A sense of excitement coursed through Seven as they spoke again

"I'm Seven, who are you?"

The creature responded with a head tilt and a slow shake of its head. It could communicate, it could understand, but it had no name. This made Seven sad. Their name may have only been a number in their numerical code in the system, but they had still chosen it for themselves.

Seven opened their mouths to speak again but was met by a sharp pain in their throat and a long harsh cough. Seven jerked their hand back to pound on their chest, doubling over . After about a minute the cough had reduced itself to shakey shudders as they sat back up in their cage. They looked back at the creature while trying to will back the tear threatening to spill. It had pressed itself against the cage and was trying to extend its arm through the bars to grab their hand. Seven obliged and extended their hand to meet the creatures.

::R yu ok::

The finger was shakey and the fingers holding theirs in place were trembling. Unable to speak, Seven gently gripped the wing and began to write on the scaled skin.

::Im ok Im sory::

The creature stared at its hand for a moment and wrote back to Seven.

::S o r y ?::

The curve of the question mark dragged the skin across Sevens palm creating a tickling sensation, drawing out a small smile and ripple of feathers.

::I scared u::

The creature didn't move as it processed what Seven had told it. Just as its hand moved to write a response a loud beep echoed through the room. Seven and the creature both flinched and pushed themselves against the far back of their cages as the doctor walked in.

A lithe male stepped into the room with two Lupi in tow. He wore a fitted lab coat and light blue scrubs. His black dress shoes lightly tapped the floor as he gracefully navigated the room and came to a stop in front of the cages. Kneeling down he peered into the cage with murky gray eyes, a sinister smile adorning his dark olive face. Shoulder length salt and pepper hair tied back showing off the part of his serpent tattoo that decorated his neck and back. A black lanyard hung from his neck with only a card on it. A photograph of him and his full name, Alder Jinn.

Rising once again, he stepped back, allowing the red Lupus to access the creature's cage. Using its key, the Lupus opened the cage and reached in to grab it, earning a low growl in return. Ignoring the threat, the hand passed through the bars and was met with sharp pain. The creature had bitten the Lupus hand and shaking it like a rag doll, while the Lupus howled in pain. The creature tore through the flesh and would have broken the bone if the second Lupus hadn't lifted its cage. Holding the cage high above its head, the Lupus turned and threw it against the floor as hard as it could. Seven let out a piercing shriek as the cage plummeted and hit the floor, leaving the creature unmoving.

Seven was numb for a moment, the Lupus hurt it, the first person they'd spoken too in weeks. They moved closer to the bars and let out a low growl. The Lupus let out a growl of its own, the tension in the air rising as the three stared each other down. Unfortunately before Seven could act upon their threat a sharp prick on their wing. Pulling their wings close they turned and faced the source, the doctor holding some kind of white gun.

Seven didn't get much further than that as the drug began to kick in. Their limbs became weights as their eyes began to shut. Falling face first in the cage, the last thing they remember is the creature's unconscious form. The unmoving golden creature that had somehow become Seven's only company. Though flickered through their mind some were apologies, others were telling them to fight the darkness clouding the edges of their vision. But the drug did its job, making Seven too lethargic to hold onto those thoughts and they slipped into unconsciousness.

[mus-brunneis]

[groom] for Soris (ASheepInHellsClothing)

@asheepinhellsclothing

[ groom ]  your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc . 

"I swear, it always seems to have a will of its own..." Ace muttered, not at all confident that this could still be saved.

You'd think that of the two of them, Soris would be the one struggling the most with their hair. Or should it be called wool, in his case? Regardless, it was a lot more curly and fluffy than her straight hair. And yet, it was hers that seemed unmanageable today.

It was likely a result of her cutting it short on her own without aid, that her locks of variable lengths jumped up in seemingly random directions and would not remain straightened down, no matter how many times one combed them in place.

While Soris would make his attempts at taming the monster that was on her head, Ace began working on fixing her bowtie, without being able to see herself in a mirror or other reflective surface. Needless to say, she was as good at tying her bowtie as she was at cutting her own hair. That is to say, it looked just as haphazardly done. Soris would have his work cut out for him, getting her prepped and ready for the upcoming formal event.

"If all else fails I suppose I could wear a hat?"

[scout-paws]

uHHhHhH crAP its taken me so long to continue this because i have no good lore!! iim uninteresting unfortunately

uh uhuh!!!! one time in fifth grade i won a reading contest where you read for like 10 months! every book equalled 10-20 points-ish depending on length and!! i got like 1160 points give or take and i still have the trophy on my bookshelf hwh

@wonderlostandwanderfound sorry sory you can also skip if you want!!

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[christas-museum]

Halloween Sylvia attempt (THE creator of the sory Christa Winsloe (it's what if? based on reality.) With so many similarities with the wonderful Christa, I had to do it. Clothes & footwear: all is either man's or gender-neutral (:D), either old mine or happened accidentally (no specific search in shops.)

BONUS: Fritz (partly.) My version of his jumper is the only jumper I have of this kind as of now. (Other few are not so warm & others are very warm.) Plus . . . One day, Mum & I went to a supermarket & there was a seat with sides & front shaped like a car & a steering wheel inside. I was sitting there, a tablet in hands, clicking and I had a cap on head.) A woman to her small child (up to 5): (translated), "(T)here's A BOY sitting, let's go choose a cake." Yes, a boy of 27 instead of a woman of 27. But in this case, similar gender if not look at face.

No face is shown in the photos for the World to see, sorry.

Soon back to shorter hair like Christa's length :)

(Actually, I have one small blue T-shirt, but small-sized items of clothes are no.)

A few hours later (Instagram) . . .

[phytochorion]

Nathair

Name: Nathair Quacey

Pronouns: He/Him

Order Represented: Ophioglossales

Age: Kasimovian, Late Carboniferous

Height: 5.4 centimetres

Eye colour: Yellow

Magical Proclivity: Light, Reptile

Spells: Snaking Script, Lizardlight, Scales of Truth, Tongue’s Fork

A tall and delicate lad, too asthmatic for physical labour, but who serves the fairy community as their librarian. His interests are exceptionally broad and he spends most of his time writing. Many of the books and scrolls in the library are his own works, covering topics from botany and ecology, to astrology and meteorology, to the psychology and medical care of fairies and other beings. His magic is entirely geared toward discerning knowledge and uncovering scientific truths, and when magic isn’t enough, he’ll conduct surprisingly arduous field studies for one so indoorsy.

Uniquely, he has but a single wing, and is therefore flightless. This wing is a large and smooth adder's-tongue fern frond, while his crown looks like the curled leaf that bears the sori of this plant. His wing displays his emotional state by drooping or perking up. His tresses are made of fine, shoulder-length rootlets, which in stark contrast to the green or yellow tresses of most fairies, are pale and white. His large eyes give him an anxious or surprised air, but his personality is relaxed and, for the most part, organised.

Compared to most fairies, he is less reliant on photosynthesis and more so on nutrients obtained from his food. His boyfriend, Glen, represents the mycelial partners of his ferns (along with many other plant groups), and is always on hand to cook, take notes, deliver messages, tidy his study or fetch samples of animal, vegetable or mineral.