#ta for ts

[we-all-horny-here]

It's that time of the year again, welcome all to the (semi) yearly redraw, where I can actually see just how far I've gone in my art journey

Previous versions: 2022/2020/2019 As well as under the cut.

Comms Ko-fi

[orbmanson7]

"Anger is… anger has been all I've had for a very long time. Years, maybe since…ugh, I don't know, but everything I've done, everything I've pushed for was because I was Angry.

Angry at being passed over, being disrespected, ignored.

That sort of anger, it empowers you, right until it slips out and hurts someone.

I hurt someone. And then one day, I suddenly have this thing that takes all that rage and it holds it, tells me it's right, that it's Me.

It didn't stay [in my leg] because of some [ghostly] master plan. It stayed because I wanted it."

-Quote from The Magnus Archives, Ep 131 'Flesh'

[Redrawn from my old comic]

[loganslowdown4]

Logan: There are 10 types of people in the world. Those that understand binary code and those that don’t.

Patton:

Virgil:

Roman:

Patton: Did you just make a joke?

Roman: *starts giggling*

Virgil: *smirks* Didn’t think you had it in you, L.

Logan: Wait, you all understood why it was funny?

Roman: Well yeah, Teach, we understand what binary code is. *keeps smiling at him*

Patton: We’re so proud of you!

Logan: Oh.. uh, thank you. It’s… it’s nice to be understood. *smiles*

Virgil: Wow.

Roman: *whispering* Is this your influence?

Patton: Nope. This is all him. *getting teared up*

[torturedbitchesdepartment]

you’re all wrong robin is actually about kermit the frog’s nephew

wait to go tiger :)

[busstop-on-cornelia]

Thinking about How Did It End? and how she BEGINS the song by actually telling us how it ended. They just weren’t a match. They contradicted each other. She couldn’t have what she wanted, and what she wanted wasn’t him.

She’s doing the Post Mortem analysis, performing an autopsy on the corpse of their entanglement, and these are the conclusions she finds. And no one believes her. No one understands.

The whole song everyone is asking “how did it end” when she’s already made it clear. It should be obvious. But they don’t want to see the reason.

It gets to the point I think she starts to doubt herself a little: why couldn’t I make it work? Why couldn’t I just buckle down and do it?

She starts the song mocking the incessant public infatuation with gossip, only to begin to doubt herself in the last chorus. And I think that’s the effect of public opinion. Cycling through self-acceptance and self-doubt because everyone is telling you you’re wrong. No matter how firmly you believe in yourself, being constantly scrutinized or subject to opinions is bound to make you doubt yourself.

She knew why they couldn’t work out. It’s obvious: they’re not compatible. But no one believes that two lovely, seemingly straight people couldn’t have a lovely, seemingly straight marriage/relationship. And so, after hearing this constantly, after feeling the pressure to conform, she begins to doubt herself.

[edupunkn00b]

The Vulture, Chapter 5: Judgement

Prev - Judgement - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Musician—and Roman—finally wakes.

WC: 2040 - CW: Some swearing

-

Death tore his cloak, ripping out a large square of thick cloth from the hood. “Give me the water,” he said, looking at the vessel the Star clutched to his chest.

“You’ll—” He didn’t finish, pointing instead at the spot of flesh the single drop of water had temporarily revived on Death’s hand.

Death said nothing and reached for the vessel. Gaze focused on the Musician, he dipped one edge of the cloth in the restorative water. He hissed at the contact, water scalding hot and burning cold at once.

One arm curled around the Musician’s back, Death cradled him close, slowly wiping away remnants of sweat and blood and soil from his brow, his cheeks. He dipped the cloth into the water again, skin and muscle growing rapidly over dusty bones at every spot the water touched.

He wrung out the cloth and moved to clean the Musician’s hands. Nails blunt, the Musician bore small calluses on his fingers, hours and hours of practice on a lyre and harp leaving indelible marks on each fingertip. His forearms were decorated with burn scars from pottery kilns, the muscles in his hands and arms thick and ropy from forcing lumps of clay into the forms of his visions.

Farmers and warriors both always assumed artists’ hands to be soft, fragile things. Death chuckled to himself as he wiped away the last of the grime from the Musician’s hands.

Perception was rarely reality.

Finally, Death moved on to the Musician’s wounds. The Star’s water ran down his own nearly completely restored hand, only cracks left in the thin, pale skin revealing his true form beneath it. The rest of him remained, old bones aching for a touch of the burning water. A taste, however fleeting, of what they’d once been.

With gentle, soft brushes of the cloth, Death began to clear away the dried and congealed blood from the Musician’s chest and shoulders. When the cloth became too soiled to be of use, he’d stop and dip it again, not quite numb to the burn of the water as it trailed down the bones of his own arm, dripping and soaking through his leg and bits of his torso.

As the water grew rust colored, the Star would tip out the vessel onto the earth and refill it with clear water from his spring. As the others watched, Death would begin again, wiping away the blood and dirt until fresh skin was revealed.

At last, the Musician’s chest was clean, his wounds healed to bright red scars that likely would fade with time.

Death chuckled again. By the time he came to collect the Musician in old age, those scars might be mere silvery lines tracing his body, the tale of this day written in flesh.

His raspy laughter rattled in his chest, rousing the Musician. Eyelids cracked, he reached for the arms holding him, eyes snapping open when warm skin touched bone.

“Morte!” he cursed, pushing Death away with wobbly arms. Death kept him from falling into the spring, hold firm around him as he flailed.

The Musician’s robes fell open, revealing the worst of his scars, and he froze, staring down at his healed injuries with mouth agape. “So I failed,” he whispered.

The rustle of leather and silk drew his attention and his eyes grew wide as he looked up and into the Hierophant’s.

“I failed,” he said again.

Before anyone else could speak, the Musician faced Death. “Take me, then,” he conceded and hung his head. “It’s my time.”

“No!” Death called as the Vulture swooped down, claws out and beak open in a cry.

“He’s ours!” he cawed. “He’s ours, all ours!” The Vulture struck again, a scrap of white linen dangling from his claws. This time he left jagged red lines along the Musician’s belly, blood welling along the gashes.

“I said no!” Death shouted, shielding the Musician from the Vulture’s next attack. Scrambling to his feet, again he wrapped the Musician in his own cloak. He wound the rough cloth tightly around his arms, muttering. “Stop fighting me! I’m on your side.”

Drawn by the Vulture’s cries and her master’s voice, Bones trotted close, then bowed her forelegs, head and neck low to the ground. Carrying the Musician, Death mounted her and set her off on a gallup toward the falls.

The Musician’s forfeiture of his own life meant there was only one voice left to stop the Vulture’s claim.

Kicking up a cloud of sod and clover, Bones raced on as the Vulture screamed his protest. He dove down and Bones skittered, dodging his broad, heavy wings. He screeched again, taking aim now at the newly grown flesh on Death’s hands. 

Reins stuttering, Death wrestled Bones back onto the path toward the falls.

But he would not loosen his grip, sickly green blood flowing. A few drops hit the ground and the foliage sizzled at the contact, leaving a trail of black ash in their wake.

“Nearly there,” he promised Bones, egging her on. “Nearly there,” he promised the Musician. And himself.

The Vulture swooped down again, clawing at the Musician’s hair. Death curled over him, shielding him, gaze locked on the tiny blue light glowing in the distance.

Hooves pounding the earth, Bones galloped on, stopping only when the light blazed, surrounding them in a blinding glare.

“Why have you come?”

The voice was deafeningly quiet, felt more than heard as it rumbled over the ground and up through their bodies.

Death covered the Musician’s face with one arm, wincing in sympathy at Bones’ pained whinny. “We’ve come for an audience with the Judge,” he called out, voice clear, even as fear tempted him to turn back the way they’d come. Surely they could find another way to outrun the Vulture. Couldn’t they?

“Be still!” the voice commanded and a nearby tree rustled and shook, the menacing flap of the Vulture’s wings finally silenced. The Musician shifted in Death’s grip, pushing past the cloak to see for himself what had stayed the Vulture’s chase.

The Vulture pleaded his case to the disembodied voice. “This human had given his life. Willingly,” he spat, the orange glow of his eyes cutting through the blue haze. “But Death refuses to accept it. You know the law, you must—”

“You know the law,” the voice replied, unrushed and unperturbed.

A shape began to resolve in the glare, gradually taking on the familiar form of Justice. Scales fastened to the thick braided belt around his waist and his sword sheathed, Justice looked more human than deific. Save for the glint in his eye and the strength of his stare. “None but Death may declare a person’s time on this plane has ended.”

The Vulture cried again, wordless and angry. He clacked his beak but Justice merely returned his stare until the great bird took flight, leaving them alone.

Justice approached, whistling softly to Bones. Like with the Star, the old horse nuzzled the side of his head and his hand, accepting soft pats. After a while, Justice met the Musician’s eyes. “Since Death will not yet take you, you have much to do here for our Kingdom.” He smiled and offered the Musician his hand. “If you will accept, of course?”

Swallowing audibly, the Musician looked between Justice’s soft eyes the color of the sea at night and Death’s dark, empty holes where eyes once had been. They’d been green then, just like the Musician’s. Finally, he nodded and slid down from his perch on Bones’ back.

“I accept,” he said, bowing his head to Justice before turning back to Death. Bones had already begun to follow the path back into the forest and away from the Kingdom of Light. “Until my time, then,” he called to his retreating form.

“Until your time,” Death said and disappeared into the woods.

~

The longer paw on Patton’s cat clock crawled, making it’s way twice around the cat's smiling face before Roman made a sound.

Janus sat with Patton in one corner of the room, their quiet murmurs washing over them. Logan perched on one side of the bed, periodically checking Roman’s pulse or his temperature. Lucas bounced around the room, pent up energy rivaling Virgil’s pacing.

Remus sat on the floor, half-draped over the side opposite Logan. He rested his chin on the bed close to Roman’s head, whispering. He'd started with outrageous threats to dip his swords in paint or convince Thomas to eat a bug, hell bent on annoying him out of his stupor.

But Roman’s continued stillness began to unnerve even him and he switched to soaring tales of adventure in the Imagination. Princes gone to save the day, dastardly foes, heart-pounding chases, anything to draw him out. Sure, he snuck in shit to make him mad, but any reaction would be a good one right about now.

When Janus and Patton fell quiet ,and Lucas and Virgil dropped to the floor, pretending not to listen, he let his whisper grow and included them all in his tale.

Finally finally finally, Roman mumbled, “You never said how many foes it took to fell this Musician Prince.”

A grin split Remus’ face and the room itself seemed to breathe again. “Dozens,” he murmured, hurrying to help as Roman struggled to sit up.

“Hmm,” Roman sighed, leaning back against the pillows Logan set at his back. “An honorable defeat, then. Still,” he added, side-eyeing his brother. “It would’ve made a better tale if he’d been victorious.”

“Yeah, and why the hell am I the villain in this little tale of yours?” Lucas stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. A bit of his—exaggerated—scowl melted when Patton drew an arm over his shoulders.

“Aw, Kiddo,” he grinned. “You’re his peer in the story, his partner. And aside from the orcs—”

“Fuck the orcs!” the twins muttered in unison.

Patton giggled and gave Lucas’ shoulders a squeeze. “Aside from them, there are no bad guys in the Imagination. Just a bunch of people doing their best.”

“That is a remarkably balanced and cogent interpretation, Patton,” Logan murmured, adjusting his eyeglasses. Tending to an imagined loose dressing on Roman’s shoulder, Remus watched them both from the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Patton shrugged and looked down at his feet before giving them all a wry smile. “Maybe the village in Re’s story isn’t the only place that’s proof the two Kingdoms don’t make a lot of sense all separated like that.”

“Indeed,” Janus murmured. He leaned over the side of the bed and brushed back a bit of hair from Roman’s eyes. He blinked back sleepily. “We should leave you to rest.” He looked at the others, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “We have much to talk about in the morning.” 

Roman opened his mouth as though to protest but Janus held his gaze. Finally he nodded. “In the morning.”

Stifling his yawns, Roman gracefully accepted each Side’s head pats and farewells as they left. But when Remus approached, his hand shot out from under the covers. Hand trembling, he gripped his brother’s sleeve. “Would you stay? Just…” He looked to the hall, nodding when Patton gave him one last wave before slipping through and shutting the door behind him. “Just for a while? Maybe… maybe tell me more of the story? What… what did Death do next? How did the Musician get back? Did the Vulture stay away or—”

Head thrown back, Remus laughed and sat with his brother. “Would you believe a bunch of ravens found the Vulture and chased him all the way back to the Kingdom of Darkness?”

“Really?” Roman said, smiling. His eyes fell shut and he laid back, minding his bandaged shoulder. “What did they have against him?”

“Well, they’re not called a murder for nothing. But it’s what happened after that you probably wanna hear about.” Grinning when Roman scooted over a few inches on the bed, Remus sat up next to his brother, feet kicked up on the bed and head pillow under his arms. “So, after the winter snow melted, both Kingdoms sent out another pair of emissaries. The Kings had heard how emissaries kept staying in the village and…”

[sarahfeezy]

anyone else feelin The Black Dog?

[ivysangel]

THEY KILLED THE SEXY WHITE DILF WHAT????

[lovewithoutreason]

Who is still active here? Swifties, who should I be following? Pls drop their @ in my ask <3

If they're over 25, that's a plus! I need to find my crowd here!

[omnipresentseer]

Happy borbday!!! We don't talk much (?), but here's a nice bird for you: the Japanese Snow Fairy (A.K.A "シマエナガ") [Aegithalos caudatus japonicus]

[Image Descriptions: Two pictures of a Japanese Snow Fairy, a species of bird that is very round, fluffy, and mainly white. Its wings have black and orange additional colours. In the first image, it is photographed in a 3/4 view, facing to the left side of the image, with a winter-ridden forest behind it, and a branch under it. In the second image, the birdie is seen from the front, and it seems to be tilting its head like a confused puppy (though it is unknown if that is the actual reason), on a thinner branch than the previous image — the background shows a snowy area with the tree the branch comes from, blurred with the snowy background. /End of Image Descriptions]

ITS SO CUTE THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! <3

[persaephone]

“what a shame she’s fucked in the head”

[jaratedeguadalupe]

modern au where virgil is janus's roommate and co-parent a cat that was abandoned and randomly showed up on their doorstep, they take care of it because the cat just likes them the most 

[queenaeducan]

greg ellis being in hogwarts legacy is the least shocking twist of 2023

[carp-from-space]

☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇

The smell of rosehip and cardamom wafting trough the intimately spaced tea house relaxed every fiber of your muscle. You believe you have been here before, but could have sworn last time you stepped across the threshold, it was trough a doorway in an alley across the river. Or maybe it was even a town across the sea. You can't quite remember anymore.

Non the less, the hostess greets you warmly with your favorite; at least what you would call your favorite in this particular tea house.

Ossana being multi dimensional being serving you tea. According to house policy, no responsibility is taken for experiencing any metaphysical visions of the patrons.

[beepmon]

i honestly hate having a notp like why am i such a hater for someone’s else’s ship esp when i don’t think it’s like fucked up it just gets on my nerves. i have no moral issue it’s just that these ships piss me off every time i see them