#the starter is a bit long

[touchedbydestiny]

@multi-royalty // @multi-royalty-main liked the starter call for elijah & tatia // accepting

        it had been several moons since tatia and her daughter settled near the village of mystic falls. it was hard to build a life in a strange world, especially because she was alone with her child. fortunately, she could rely on the help of harald and tove, who had ventured this journey together with her. the pair already had three children, who happened to be almost the same age as linnea. and, ever since settling down near mystic falls, she also has met a woman named esther who had offered also often offered her help.

       esther and her family have lived in the new world for two decades. she had helpful knowledge about nature and the plants in this world, which were partly so different from tatia’s home.

       today, esther wanted to show tatia a place where medicinal plants grew, and the young woman had visited esther’s house. to her surprise, however, esther did not seem to be present.

       "esther?"

       she circled the hut in search of esther, hoping she might be in the adjacent garden but found a young man instead. she knew this must be a son of esther – she had often seen the family together from a distance.

       "excuse me, i didn’t mean to disturb. esther had invited me to show me something, but she doesn’t seem to be here…" she paused as she eyed the young man, whereby subconsciously a small smile appeared on her lips.

       "you must be elijah, right?" esther has told her about her children: finn, elijah, niklaus, kol, rebekah, and henrik. and although she has never interacted with esther's children before, she has already often seen them.

       "i am tatia."

[xxplastic-cubexx]

If that's how you draw Erik, then wtf does your Pietro look like? Is he just younger and paler than his pops, but mostly unchanged in the facial department?

we gotta workshop him a little but heres some quick (heh) doodles

[sickosdotjpg]

honestly think one of the hottest things a person can do is sneeze into the cowl/collar of a turtleneck sweater or similar

[thistransient]

It's that time again...

[jazzy-art-time]

It's somewhat healing to draw the fursona that you used as a child !!

[why-the-heck-not]

no those aren’t weird sex noises coming from ur neighbour’s apartment; it’s ur local insomniac slap & folding bread dough in the wee hours of the morning

[newdestination]

[Starter for @gamblingrimsley ;; The Couch Incident]

Ingo folds his hands over his chest, eyes resolutely affixed to the ceiling. He can feel his headache throb in time to the beat of his heart, nausea twisting in the pit of his stomach and light sparking in the corners of his eyes. It’s not the worst headache he’s ever had, certainly, but it’s not exactly easy to think around the pain running tracks through his skull either, ricocheting like a broken off arrowhead. Nanu had been generous enough to allow him to stay and rest while they were out, and he’d certainly be remiss to not exercise that particular kindness. Ingo isn’t entirely certain he would have made it back to their hotel with his lunch or ability to think intact, had he attempted to make the return trip; the volume and light levels of the modern era are a completely different beast.

Cities here are alive— they practically breathe beneath the skin of concrete and asphalt, bodies flowing like blood through streets and veins. It feels like the world is constantly screaming within the bounds of proper civilization, caught in a net he doesn't know how to escape from. It tangles and cuts and weaves itself beneath his skin— his temper runs hot and his attention runs cold, and it feels like he's losing pieces of himself out in the streets of Sinnoh‐turned‐Unova‐turned‐Alola. They're all the same smear of color, rusty and raw.

Ingo... Ingo would have fit right in.

It makes Nobori feel foreign. Out-of-place. Like there are Zoroark howling at his door with those horrible sounds, metal screeching in the hazy afternoon. He can convince himself that he can open that door and let them in, but his own strikingly mortal body always seems to fail him at the last step. It hurts. He wants it to stop.

Sometimes he thinks this place is going to eat him alive.

Sometimes he's certain it already has.

Ingo can feel the small paws of an alolan meowth pace a small circle in a halo about his head, tapping inquisitively at the sides of his face before abruptly flopping down right into the nook of his shoulder. There are uncaring little paws kicked up over his mouth, furry and small. The world sings with starburst light behind his eyes at the slight pressure they bring, lancing through his head like a hot iron rod.

He’s not suffocating— he supposes it could be worse. Ingo can hear a small chuff from Gliscor somewhere down on the floor, but his partner doesn’t rise to defend Ingo’s honor or dignity— the ace is plenty used to its trainer being used as a glorified jungle gym to say the least, no matter the barely metaphorical nails being dragged through the tender side of his face.

He tugs the brim of his cap lower over his eyes in an attempt to block out the dim sunlight filtering in through the windows, dappled across his face in soft waving patterns. Ingo had turned the lights off after Nanu and his brother stepped out, but his migraine is still protesting under the fragmented eye of the harsh sun; he’s just glad none of the pokémon he’s sharing the space with seemed to mind the change in light, either. He can faintly hear small feet give chase across the room, a soft pitter-patter that strikes so loudly that it reverberates through the roots of his teeth. Meowing. Hisses and spitting and purring croons so soft he could knead it into a cloud.

...

He's not making much sense even to himself at this rate. It hurts. 

…Perhaps it wouldn’t cause too much trouble to take a nap— that usually helped at least to some degree, and the warm, purring body sprawled across the right side of his face is awfully convincing…

(It doesn't take very long for Ingo to fall asleep right there on Nanu's couch, feet dangling awkwardly off the far edge of the arm rest.)

[shsl-baby]

They’re never quite sure how to feel around Mukuro.

It’s not very often that the two end up alone together. Yukiko scampers after Junko constantly, like it’s the one thing they were born to do, but when they finally get brushed off enough times to wear them down into giving up for a bit, they find themselves fidgeting awkwardly with the loops of their overalls. Sometimes they wonder if the other twin even likes them, but then Junko thinks something up and they get swept into whatever it is like a whirlwind, and they’re back to nipping at her heels for any sort of attention.

This is one of those in-between moments. The times when Junko’s not there, when there’s no grand scheme to play out for her. There’s nothing being asked of them, and left to their own devices, they’re quickly growing bored. But they don’t dare say that out loud, because in the end it’s not about their boredom, is it?

“Muku-chan.” The childish nickname falls from their mouth without a second thought - some found it cute and others found it annoying, but either way they got a reaction out of it. They stand slightly taller than usual on an icy park bench, arms spread on either side of them. “Watch this.” They bend at the knees, seeming to cook up some kind of idea for a trick in that head of theirs, but as they go to jump off the bench their boots slip on the winter frost and they go scrambling into the snow with a soft oomf. They lie there a moment before standing up shamefully, dusting their clothes off, clumps of snow stuck in their bright red hair and wetting their freckled face.

“... Nevermind.” They mutter softly. Is the red on their cheeks from the cold or from embarrassment?

@despairs-memorial from x

[thorsiffe-dragonheart]

Brokenbrow (pt. 2)

For: @elenaramirez Location: The Punch Cage

Part 1

Thorsiffe raised their fists in victory, a grin spreading upon their lips. Once the joy of battle fell upon them, everything else became a murmur on the back of their mind, and only now did they truly take in all those calling out to them. They rounded the ring, laughing and punching the air in triumph, reveling in their glory.

Looking out the ring, Thorsiffe met the eyes of a stranger they had not yet seen in the years they had come here. They tilted their head, giving her a curious look for a moment, before their lips curled up into a grin again. They winked at her, before punching into the air one last time.

Another brief rest, another bottle of water chugged, and Thorsiffe stood in the ring once more. The announcer's voice boomed throughout the room again. "We've seen Dragonheart, the northern wolf, take on the deadly Nightshifter and brave the Inferno... However," the earth rumbled as their new opponent stepped into the ring. Thorsiffe's eyes sparkled with excitement, even as they wished they'd hold such power.

"Can they take on the divine might, of the God of War?!"

Their new opponent was a deity; such was obvious, and furthermore his scent confirmed it. He was a giant of a man, almost as big as their Egil, standing around two meters tall and with chiseled, bulging muscles. His short black hair and beard were well kempt, his tanned skin was painted in gold, and his golden eyes seemed to bore right into Thorsiffe's soul.

"Could you not come up with a more creative name?" they teased, giggling and taking their stance.

"Come mock me again once you've claimed a dragon's heart, pup," he responded stoically, voice low and rumbling as the mountain.

Thorsiffe charged. Part of them wished to call upon Vegrleita, to let it sing upon the air and give them a chance against this foe. However, Vegrleita was a weapon of war and war alone. Their foe's name might invoke it, yet this fight was far from it. They would make due with the fire of their blood and the thunder in their bones.

They spring onto one foot, readying themself for a kick, but are immediately swept off their feet instead. The moment they hit the ground, Thorsiffe rolls backwards and onto their feet.

The ground shakes as God of War takes a step upon where they just lay, and Thorsiffe could not help but wonder if they would have survived, had such a step been taken upon their chest.

Within the blink of an eye, God of War is upon them. His massive fist shoots out towards their face, and it is all Thorsiffe can do to move their head aside just in time. Another step forward from their foe. They meant to act, but even before the violence moves from their brains to their bones, the wind is knocked out of them as God of War brings his knee up into their stomach. They were quite sure they would have been knocked up into and through the ceiling had he not held back. A courtesy they were grateful for. Still, they are lifted a ways into the air and let out an undignified yelp.

They might never win this match, but they would never go out without a worthy attempt.

Before their feet even touch the ground, Dragonheart's hands get a grip of God of War's shorts. Of course, he immediately knows what they intend to do and starts to wind up a kick. However, Thorsiffe had telegraphed their intentions with intent. Grinning, they lift him up by the shorts the moment their feet hit the ground. Instead of trying to kick him up and roll him over their thigh though, they take another step forward and spin around, letting God of War's own kick spin them around and throw him onto his back.

Their foe grunts in pain and frustration, but Thorsiffe laughs. Before they can do anything else they're sent flying. They can't even really tell which limb he used this time around. It doesn't matter either. Their foe had thought himself invincible, thought them unworthy to bring him pain. He had been wrong.

Thorsiffe crashes through the cage's fence and into a wall. The world goes dark, blood trickling down their brow, but their grin remains upon their lips.

[phereshift]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: Share the last line you wrote or drew and tag other people to do the same

Tagged by @cozy-fish-crow <3 I've put everything under a read more so that this post isn't terribly bothersome but it's all star wars nonsense atm.

Open tag again from me... I'd love to see what some of you are up to if you wanna share! I'm just too scared to @ mention people haha.

Anywayyy I'm so glad I've been tagged because I have had this drawing of Cody in the works for the whole month! I want it done SO badly, I wish I had more time to work on it than just a few minutes every day. I'm hoping that posting a preview will alleviate my suffering a little bit. The last line was somewhere in this mess since I was fixing up the armour and working on his vambraces. Still so much work to go on this though :c Little spoiler that I AM using this drawing to fuel my 'stained glass windows in star wars' agenda but... you'll have to wait and see what I mean >:3

Writing wise... I haven't really been actively working on anything but I did write a little bit of ghost!Jango the other day to give myself a break from drawing. Just having some fun with concepts and exploring the extensive resources on Mando'a that people have put together. The start was spooky but it very quickly devolved into nonsense lol so that's what you all get to see.

Still. Survivors. Obi-wan lets out a breath, relived. “Our ghost,” he says, after a pause, “He’s not on Galidraan.”               “No,” Satine says. “Maybe he used to live here. Maybe he followed his soldiers home.” She shrugs. “Shouldn’t that be your area of expertise?”               “Me?” He laughs, shooting her an incredulous look. “What do I know about Mandalorian ghosts?”               “You’re a Jedi!”               “Yeah,” he says, “From Coruscant. I don’t know if you forgot, but we don’t have ghosts—”               “Oh, shut up.”  

[heartsbreaking-migrated]

her heart was still pounding. the sound of the clapping echoed in her ears and happy tears streaked down her cheeks. one moment she was waiting with her team mates, then the next she was on the floor grinning up at the audience and the cameras waiting to hear her name called. first she won bronze for floor and that would have been enough. it was more than expected actually, considering how she was competing with and against some of the best gymnasts in the country. but then she was called again and she got to go through it all over again for floor, where she won silver. not only that, but her team was going to compete in the national championship! they'd made it by the skin of their teeth but they were going! it was hard to even think about how sore her body was or the nap she so desperately craved like she had been while they were waiting for scoring. everything was electric, and the weight of the three medals, the third and final being from their team win, around her neck were a physical reminder of how hard she'd worked for this. the hard work wasn't over by any means, but she got to celebrate now.

first came another group hug with her teammates, an ecstatic circle of blue congratulating each other and talking about how they were each going to celebrate. most of the team was going out to dinner together, save for a few who had family and friends who'd come for the event. gracie was one of those. she knew it was kind of meant to be a surprise, but when she'd heard there were two tickets booked in the floyd name rather than the one she hoped for given the finals were being held in san diego this year and only a short distance away from the air base gracie had an idea of who else might be coming. in the locker room she pulled on her ucla blue sweatpants and warm up jacket over her leotard, leaving the medals on so she could show them off. she carried her gym bag over one shoulder and the flowers the team had all been given in the other hand as she went to find her brother. she checked her phone for a text and saw he said were waiting by the end of the hall leading to the rest of the gym. leave it to bob to find the most out of the way, least populated area to meet up she thought with a smile. gracie headed in that direction, scanning for the sign telling her where to look. it took a few minutes of pushing through crowds and accepting passing congratulations for her to see them.

it wasn't just bob waiting with flowers under a bright red exit sign, but mickey too. excitement flooded through her all over again, and she picked up her pace until she was in front of them. her bag slipped off her shoulder and she awkwardly pulled them both into a hug. "i'm so happy to see you both! i'm so glad you made it!"

SURPRISE STARTER for @fyrewalks / mickey garcia & bob floyd*

[serabellyms]

  PLOTTED STARTER !     ⤷ @downs1de ✧ rustin cohle.

Finally, finally, she'd been able to take some leave. It was difficult, given the intensity of her training, but now that there were final evaluations for those who'd be deemed N7 status (and her passing all of the previous levels with flying colours), she had time to wait until she'd know whether she'd been chosen for such an esteemed vocation. It'd been a difficult journey, and so far... she'd passed. Now, she had a chance to take a break, and she’d sent a message to Rust, letting him know where she was staying if he’d like to come visit. She hadn’t received a message back, but she figured he’d see it eventually.

What she didn’t expect was hearing a knock at her door late at night. She was up in a flash, grabbing her sweater and pulling it over her head to conceal the garish scars that marred her arms and shoulders. Who would be coming at this hour? She hadn’t received any messages; surely if it was emergent, one of her COs or her training officers would’ve sent her a message. Raising a hand, she pulled her pistol close with her biotics, setting it out of sight in case of an intruder, but somewhere she’d know where it was. No need for her to answer the door holding it; she didn’t exactly need a gun to defend herself, after all.

Opening the door, she was... surprised at what she saw. Dishevelled was one way to describe it; clothing rumpled, tie loosened, and a half-abused bouquet of flowers that looked like it'd been bought hours ago. The only saving grace was his hair; it always looked like that, a little tousled. The rest was easy to figure out; even if she couldn't smell the alcohol yet, she certainly knew the look of a man who'd had one too many drinks.

At least he'd taken a cab, identified by the car that was leaving now that she'd opened the door. Oh, god, what did you do? At least he looked... okay, for the most part. No bruises or cuts, which mean no fights, but something had happened. Sighing softly, she reached for his arm to gently coax him inside, resigning herself to... whatever this was. If he'd come to her in this state, there had to be a reason he'd picked her over everyone else.

"C'mon," she encouraged, guiding him to the couch. "Do you... want some coffee, or do you just want to sleep it off?" Either option didn't matter to her; she doubted she'd be sleeping much, given she'd be too damn busy worrying. Once he was sitting, she pulled two glasses from the cupboards, filling them both with water; if nothing else, she’d get him to drink at least one glass of water, and she herself probably needed one. Of course, water wasn’t the only thing she grabbed; reaching into the fridge, she juggled one of her usual electrolyte drinks, knowing that ought to be a hell of a hangover cure for a non-biotic.

Setting the glass down in front of him as well as the bottle, she took a seat next to him, sipping the second glass of water herself. “Drink. The water first, then that. It’ll at least save you from being dehydrated in the morning. They’re, uh—they give them to us after… long stints groundside.” Hopefully he wasn’t apt enough to notice her cover-up; she’d yet to tell him about their real purpose: to keep biotic soldiers hydrated, given the amount of calories and electrolytes burned in combat generating and controlling mass effect fields.

[tragedia]

i'm still finishing her pages, but consider this a little reyna tabris starter call.

[spidersins]

november 19th

he'd managed to hide away in his room for the majority of the day, the pretence of needing beauty sleep enough to deter the residents from bothering him further. he'd sat cross-legged on the dishevelled bed, multiple arms cradling himself in an embrace he could no longer remember how to accept from anyone else. his fur felt wrong, his skin prickling like it was stretched too tight over old wounds that would never heal.

the baggie lay on the nightstand, a spectre of temptation sealed in cheap plastic. its presence louder than any voice, louder even than valentino’s grating laugh still echoing in his mind. ❛ a little something to celebrate with, amorcito.❜ the bag thrown at him like some cruel party favour, a scribbled pink note stating happy death day stuck over the plastic.

the memories clawed at him like rabid dogs—blood on his hands, the crash of gunfire, the aching cold that seeped into his chest as endless snowfall swallowed him as he bled out alone.

alone

angel’s fingers trembled as he reached for the baggie. his thoughts were loud, too loud to compete against the deafening silence in the world outside. he needed it to stop—it had to stop.

❛ fuck it❜ he muttered, voice hoarse and thick as if it was fighting to stay steady. he tore the baggie open with a sharp tug of his claws, spilling a small heap of powder onto the back of his hand. the action felt automatic, a muscle memory, like getting on his knees for a john or flashing that fake smile to every leering sinner that crossed his path.

he inhaled sharply, the chemical burn scorching his senses, but he barely flinched. it was an old pain, one he knew intimately, like a song stuck on repeat in the back of his mind. the high came swiftly, wrapping around him like a too-tight hug, suffocating but familiar.

and for a moment, one, blissful moment, the pain dulled. the room tilted, shadows in the corners of the room melted into softer shapes, the suffocating weight lifting just enough for him to breathe again. he slumped back against the headboard, the ceiling spinning in slow, hypnotic circles above him.

fuck, he needed to get out of here.

—

he didn't know how the fuck he'd managed to avoid the others—for once it seemed luck was on his side.

he could feel the the bassline pounding, relentless and deafening like a frantic heartbeat. the air was thick, perfumed with sweat, smoke, and sin—an intoxicating cocktail that pricked at angel’s senses as he swayed under the kaleidoscope lights of the club.

his pupils, blown wide, devoured the dim glow as sweat slicked his fur, his movements erratic and disconnected as he downed another drink bought for him. he knew the taste too well, saccharine and venomous, knew the feeling, first the warmth, syrupy and seductive, spreading through his veins before the haze of the concoction took hold.

hands—so many hands—brushed against him, greedy fingers tugging at his arms, his waist, his ass, nails digging into his thighs. it burned where they touched, uncoordinated limbs moving to push them off as he stumbled towards the bar. of course they'd touch—why wouldn't they? he wasn't anthony, he was angel dust, the commodity. no matter where he went, he wasn't safe from their leering gazes, from touches that hurt more than comforted.

anthony was dead.

the euphoria soured into nausea as the room spun, the line between memory and nightmare blurring. he saw valentino’s smirk, felt the sharp pain of claws dragging across his skin. he heard charlie's voice, so broken and disappointed as she pleaded with him ' you can do better, angel. '

the thought of her face twisted his stomach into knots. charlie. sweet, naïve charlie, who thought she could save someone like him. he hated her for it in that moment, hated her for the way she looked at him like he was worth something, like he wasn’t just a broken, used-up addict crawling through hell on his knees. but most of all, he hated the thought of the disappointment he’d see in charlie’s eyes if he returned to the hotel. the heartbreak he’d cause her.

the self-loathing was heavier than the high, a suffocating weight that dragged him into the dark. the sinner sucked in a sharp breath, leaning forward to bury his face in his trembling hands. a laugh—brittle and unhinged—broke from his lips. he staggered against the bar, clawed fingers gripping the edge for stability as the room spun in drunken abandon. his breath hitched as his gaze caught his reflection in the smudged mirror behind the rows of liquor bottles. mascara smeared, glitter flecked, and a hollow vacancy in his eyes that mocked him. he looked away quickly, his throat tightening with a cocktail of disgust and shame.

and then he felt them—unwelcome hands pawing at him, touching with a grip that didn't care if it hurt, if it bruised. ❛ get the fuck offa me. ❜ his voice came out in a snarl, words slurred but vicious as unwelcome hands remained on his body. a spark of rage ignited, searing through the drug-induced fog. ❛ get your fuckin' hands offa me! ❜ the scream tore from him, raw and feral, a sound that silenced the music for a heartbeat. his body reacted before his mind caught up, one of his four fists smashing into a faceless stranger’s jaw. another swung wildly, shoving another handsy demon away, their laughter morphing into startled curses.

he stumbled back ( when the fuck had the heel to his right boot snapped off? ) , the club’s stifling air pressing against him like a vice. the crowd surged, murmurs and glares following him as he shoved his way through, barely keeping his balance.

he needed out.

now.

[tempportal]

There aren't too many things that can ruin Five's favorite class of the day — there's just something so soothing about the usual late afternoon Potions lesson, with the light clinking of the cauldrons, the gentle hissing of steam and vapor, the soft bubbling of all the various liquids as they boil and simmer on their burners, and the precision of the work, the exact measurements and repetitive movements inherent in potionmaking — but finding out he has to pair up with Prue Starling, the golden girl of Gryffindor House, to make a childishly simple draught that really only requires one person anyway, is almost enough to make him turn around and walk right back out of the dungeons.

Okay, so maybe Five has never actually had a full conversation with Prue Starling before, and he's making an unfair judgment of her based on her reputation. Sue him. He's never actually had a full conversation with any of the other students at Hogwarts before, not even his own housemates, so it's not like it's anything personal. It's just that he's not here to make friends.

But he is here to get full marks in all of his classes, so he doesn't turn around and walk right back out of the dungeons like he very much wants to. He just gets to work, gathering the ingredients and settling in the seat beside his partner without complaint, or even any outward expressions of hostility. Maybe he should just count himself lucky it was only Starling, because there are far worse Gryffindors he could have easily ended up with.

Right on cue, his gaze drifts over to Dolores Ramirez, two desks down, infuriating as always in her bright red robes. Even when she's nowhere near him, she manages to be a distraction, joking around with her own partner so loud the whole room can hear it.

Five pointedly turns back to his own seatmate, refocusing his attention on their potion instead. The cauldron must have already reached a boil, because his face is burning all of a sudden. Even so, the liquid inside their shared pot is distinctly greener than it should be at this stage...

"Did you already add the first round of moonstone?"

@powerof3in1 l liked

[mused-like-roses]

Closed Maes Hughes starter ~ @the-expatriate

Well this was a person he didn't recognize off the bat... it was a small quirk Maes had; knowing most people by their name and/or face including those in the Military. When it came to new recruits, citizens of Central, or even passerbys, it was a curveball for him. That sort of information was a double-edged sword at times, sometimes it meant it was a friendly person or other times it was the total opposite. Never judge a book by the cover, but the former seemed rather apparent from the looks of her.

"Hello there!" Maes gave off a friendly smile once he made his way up to her and gave a small wave. He was just as hospitable as he was to everyone else. "You must be new to Central City judging by your looks. You happen to be lost by any chance?" Came the questions, at least the ones after the important one pertaining to who he was.

"Oh, and before I forget; I'm Lietuenant-Colonel Maes Hughes of the Central Military Command. Pleasure to meet you Miss!"