#vermilion doodles

[hopelessbaddays]

Oh, can you hear the voice that overwhelms my brain?

It forgos any logic, playing the insane

Yet all I do is paint

Eating away, this vermilion is all I paint

Toxic pigments smother all that remains

Vermilion - CircusP feat. Kasane Teto SV

[furyfromabsolution]

vermilion marker ^_^

[floofyflooftheallmighty]

hehehheheheh new crackship <3

[aumberine]

finished/recolored old sketches because toxic twink yaoi

characters are vermilion and cyan

[merakiui]

re: pathetic virgin riddle who gets off to your notes.

(cw: nsfw, yandere, unhealthy behaviors, obsession, riddle has a big imagination and an even bigger crush on you <3, also he’s very gross with your notebook)

riddle knows it’s wrong. when he steals your notebook, that is. theft is a very real crime with very real repercussions. but he couldn’t help it! you’d left it on the desk and the classroom was devoid of students and he only happened to peek inside the room as he was passing…

he’ll return it to you. of course he will; he’s not a criminal! stealing breaks the rules and he is not one to break the rules. it will be a cold day in hell before he does something so brazen. so filthy and against the rules he upholds. so he tells himself he’s just holding onto your notebook. he didn’t steal it. sure, he’d lied when you asked if he’d seen it because he wasn’t ready to relinquish something so precious. but lying doesn’t break any specific rules. lying is a means of skirting around the truth. he’ll give you your notebook when he sees you in class next. he promises himself this.

but it sits on his desk for the week, and you’ve been asking around. riddle almost doesn’t want to touch it. he fears he’ll leave fingerprints and you’ll know he was the one to take it. but he can’t resist the urge to flip through a few pages. it’s late at night; studying is wearing him down. normally he’s not one to pull all-nighters, but with final exams approaching he needs every spare moment he can get to organize a study guide for himself.

it’s not like he’s studying anyway. he can hardly focus, not when his hand is slicked up and wrapped firmly around his half-hard cock. it’s a haze; he’s used to it—getting off to release some pent-up stress. it’s normal. still, he feels a sliver of gross shame when he reaches for your notebook, peeling the cover back to peer at your alchemy notes. you’re a messy note-taker. it’s obvious you get bored in class; there are doodles and scribbles in the margins. you’ve written your name in fancy lettering. you’ve crinkled the page edge. you’ve even started a few games of tic-tac-toe with your seat mates. there’s so much character in this notebook. he’s fascinated with the way you write, the way you transcribe notes, the way everything is so genuinely you.

riddle runs his hand up his shaft and a shudder races up his spine. slowly, so slowly, he sets a pace that mirrors his scandalous thoughts. he thinks about you sitting in class, pen between your fingers, watching the professor lecture or maybe dozing off in the back. maybe you occasionally tap your pen against your lips—your pretty, plush, kissable lips. he wonders what you taste like. how do you kiss? is it starved and desperate? sweet and slow? dominating and determined? would you kiss the same mouth that’s tasted the teeth marks in your (now missing) pencil? not that you’d ever know… but would you? would you love him in spite of filthy infatuation?

he hums low in his throat, easily pleased by these fantasies. kissing and touching… it’s vanilla, but it’s everything he wants. he wants to press himself against your body, fuck into your tight warmth in the confines of his canopy bed, enshrouded in deep vermilions, and hold you close as you cry through your climax. you’re the prettiest in red. he would know. he’s thought of you in red, slept with thoughts of it like it’s a vision granted by the stars.

he flips the page in your notebook. his grip tightens; his thumb runs over his soft, pudgy tip, where the smallest amount of pre-cum beads. sensitive, as always. he sighs like it’s been squeezed out of him, prompted by visuals of you in red, of you pressed into the mattress, of you on your knees and locked in a collar, your mouth open to receive him. great seven, your notes are a mess. he should tutor you. god, he should. he should bend you over the desk and pound the answers into you so you’ll never forget a thing. maybe your notes will become more organized then.

he sucks in a breath through grit teeth. you’re cute when you focus. you’re cute when you let your mind wander. you’re cute when you lick your fork clean at the unbirthday parties and voice your satisfaction, sugared words falling from your lips like the sweetest honey. he’ll feed you lots of sweets if it means you’ll always smile. he’ll lay you down on the table, ruin the pristine tablecloth, and indulge in you all to prove you’re sweeter than a strawberry tart. who cares about the rules. he really should, but sometimes he wants to break a few with you. sometimes, though he knows it’s wrong, he wants to defile the rose garden. let it reek of sex and sweat. let everyone know you’ve been claimed. let them see the impression he’s left on you, whether in the form of bruises or love bites or a wrinkled, disheveled uniform. let them hear the way you’ll sob in pleasure when he fucks you like an animal who knows of nothing but the primal instinct to breed and breed and breed…

riddle flips to a new page. he whines, arches in his chair, grabs at the desk with his free hand. sweat rolls down the valley between his shoulder blades. oh, the things you do to him. your notes are so messy. he loves it—loves you. loves, loves, loves you. he thinks of locking you away in his room. you’d be like his pretty doll, accessible to only him. he’d dress you accordingly—put you in prim, modest outfits, only to tear them off like they never even mattered. if there’s anyone he’d willingly uproot his life for, it’s you. you drive him mad. mad with love. mad with lust. mad with envy. mad with every single emotion he’s ever felt. you have such a chokehold on him! he’ll never let you go. he’ll never let you out of his mind. you’re stuck in the little cage he’s constructed in his head, living more than rent-free. you live willingly, mostly. but then he’s certain you’d disagree with his affections.

he flips the page.

your notes are uniquely you. if he brings the page close enough to his nose, he’s certain he can smell you. sometimes he’s envious of the beastfolk and their keen sense of smell. he wants to engrave your scent onto his being, pin it to his nostrils so he’ll always know you. he wants to keep you in the queendom of roses so that, eventually, you’ll smell of roses and every other sweet bloom like him. and then it will be a shared scent. then it’ll feel like he’s imprinted something on you. he’ll stake his claim, keep you as his, treat you just as you deserve to be treated. he’ll love you more than you’ll love yourself.

riddle’s a mess. he’s panting, bucking into his hand as he chases an orgasmic high, thoroughly desperate to cum (although ideally there’s a carnal part of him that wishes so fervently to do it inside). there are so many secret spots strewn throughout campus, each one perfect for a lewd tryst or two. he thinks of the time you watched him during equestrian club. you asked so many questions about horses and he’d answered all of them. you wrote some facts down; he finds them in this notebook. your way of writing is wonderfully enthralling. he could read your words forever. you could ride him forever. what he’d give to be beneath you on a bed of straw in the stables while you fuck yourself on his cock. he’s filthy; he knows it’s wrong. he knows you could get caught, but that’s what makes it so appealing.

his grip on your notebook is bruising. he’s not reading any of your words anymore; he’s too dazed to commit anything to memory—although most of it is information he already knows. seven, you’re going to be the death of him. he wants you so badly.

riddle, caught in a spiderweb of lustful daydreams, fucks faster into his hand, squeezes himself in a desperate attempt to simulate the constrictive embrace of your walls, all while gasping and groaning. he cums with a shiver; it spills over, sticky and thick and plentiful. he’d feel humiliated if he wasn’t so overcome with an exhilarating relief. he’s hunched over his desk, his heart beating like a drum. blood rushes wildly in his ears.

it’s only when he’s come down from his high that he realizes he came all over your notebook. it’s messy and filthy. he stares blankly at it, wondering if it’s possible to magic away. it is. but then… no, it’s wrong. very wrong. he shouldn’t. he really shouldn’t.

it’s wrong. he should clean it or overwrite it with a simple spell. he shouldn’t. it’s so wrong. and he’s good. he’s supposed to be, at least.

riddle catches you after class the following day. he tells you a student recently turned your notebook in to him and he’s returning it on behalf of the unknown student. you thank him sincerely, sigh about how you’re so relieved it’s back in your possession. you thought you’d never get your notes back. you need these to pass. riddle offers you a smile and tells you to keep it closer next time. your notebook might not be found so easily if you lose it again.

but if you do lose it, he’ll make sure to keep it out of range when he’s masturbating. at least only one page was tainted. you’ll stumble upon it; he’s certain of this. but then he wants you to. he wants you to see the proof of what you do to him. the way you get him so worked up. you’ll never know it’s him, but that’s for the best. next time, he won’t be so careless in handling your things.

next time, he’ll cum where he’s meant to: inside you.

[sleepymoonlady]

Roevember Day 2: Roots

Vermilion Rose had lived in Ul'dah for most of her life. It was home, for better or for worse, for her and her family for almost as long as she could remember.

Almost.

She had had another home--her first home. The house she and her sister were born in. The house with grey stone walls stained a hundred colors from her and her sister's doodling. The house that would get icicles in winter, that her and her sister would break off and pretend to swordfight the other children with. The house where her mother would take her into her lap, in that cozy chair by the fireplace, and tell her stories of dashing knights and beautiful princesses and fearsome dragons. This house in a quaint little logging village in western Coerthas was her first home--but it was home no longer. Not since the little family was uprooted, and four became three.

A lot had happened since then: they moved to Ul'dah, mum remarried, and their family grew and healed. Their family put down roots again, even though they all thought that might never happen. Then, Rose had set off on her own, an adventurer, and had been through countless trials and tribulations. She saw Bahamut savage Carteneau, despite her best efforts to stop it. She left Eorzea to see the world, then returned and found herself fighting the Empire a second time. She had experienced so much love, and laughter, and loss, and sorrow. She had been triumphant, and she had suffered bitterly, but she always knew she had a home to return to.

But never, in all those years, had she even thought to visit her old home. Not until she found herself in Falcon's Nest. She hadn't even considered making the trip North at first--she was just there to buy supplies for the journey that she was going to be making with Alphinaud and Estinien. But her mind kept wandering to her new home. Ul'dah. After all that happened that night, that horrible night, she had lost everything. Did her family even know she was alive? Were they safe? Would the Crystal Braves and their cronies kick the door down looking for her, she wondered? Mama would be furious--she'd... Twelve help her, Rose hoped she wouldn't try to fight the Braves.

Rose shook her head, trying to push the thoughts out. There wasn't much she could do now. Mama and mum were smart--she had to believe they'd lay low. She had to believe there would be a home waiting for her when she could finally return. If she could return. What if she never cleared her name? What if...

"Oh, SOD this." Rose groaned. She wasn't used to just thinking. She acted! And now, she couldn't. And it was driving her insane. Against her better judgment, she decided to take a break from shopping and just take a walk, despite the frigid winds howling like a banshee across the highlands. Maybe, just maybe, that would clear her head. At the very least, it'd sate her curiosity--she hadn't seen this part of Coerthas since before the Calamity. Before it had been smothered to death by the permanent blanket of ice and frost that descended in Bahamut's wake.

She didn't intend to seek out Hemlock when she departed Falcon's Nest. She only intended to walk aimlessly, take in the scenery, occupy herself with something other than her worries. But after a couple hours of walking, she recognized what was in front of her. That was Hemlock's front gate, all right. She remembered watching carts full of freshly-chopped lumber going in and out. She remembered the heady smell of pine that they carried, that suffused the village. She remembered the bustle of lumberjacks, the yelling of children.

She smelled nothing now. She heard only the howling of the wind whipping past her. Hemlock's gate lay open, its fences scattered and broken, the wood left to rot. The small but formerly lively village that lay past it was...

It was dead. Rose had heard the term "ghost town" used before, but never until now had she realized just how real that turn of phrase was. The Hemlock she remembered was a living, breathing, vibrant thing. The place she saw before her now was as cold and quiet as a corpse. She had thought for sure, that someone must still live there, even though she knew that most of the western highlands were abandoned once the ice had set in. They were unlivable, utterly barren, the soil cracked and frozen. Logically, she knew this. But still, she half-expected old miss Jautefeaux to totter out of her home, still smiling that gentle half-smile. She thought maybe her old friend Alwault might still live there--he was always helping his father whenever he could. He had wanted to take over the family business even back then.

But there was nobody. Nobody and nothing. Slowly, she made her way to her old home. Frozen over or no, it still looked... mostly the same. Maybe a bit smaller. She traced her fingers over the front door. Had anyone moved in after they had to leave? Or would she find all of the furniture still there, lying half-rotten in the corners they were hurriedly shoved into during the family's flight from Coerthas? Gingerly, she reached for the door handle. Then she hesitated--this didn't feel right. Like rifling through the pockets of a corpse at a funeral. Her old home was gone. No matter what happened to this building in the years afterward, it wasn't her home anymore. Shakily, the roegadyn sighed, as she felt a tear freeze halfway down her cheek. There was nothing for her here.

As she turned to walk back to Falcon's Nest, she couldn't help but feel strangely grateful that she had seen this place again, despite it all. Hemlock may not have been her home anymore--nor anyone's--but Ul'dah still was. Once, the Inquisition had torn Rose from her home. But she had put down roots in Ul'dah, despite everything, and in Azeyma's name she was not going to let those thrice-damned Monetarist pigs do the same.

Resolved, Vermilion Rose spoke an oath into the icy winds--a promise that she would not lose another home.

[yorkistarbomb]

This song is so fiddleauthor coded it makes me want to die. So instead i make a lyrical breakdown of certain section to cope. Listening to this song from Fiddleford’s perspective!!

“That evening, just me and you

Through rosy tinted hues 

A promise of fairer winds that never blew”

—> — . —  . —  . —>

I can imagine that this scene takes place back when Standford and Fiddleford was in college. With Fiddleford bringing Stanford out to enjoy the morning view but, Stanford stays wrapped up in his speech about how they’re going to be part of something bigger. Blinded by his own “rose tinted glasses” as they discuss the future. 

These lines also reference the saying, “red sky in the morning, Shepherds warning” Although the rose-tinted sky gives the atmosphere of romance between the two, it’s actually a warning of storms approaching. Doomed yoai, what can I say. 

“Vermilion claims to say the sun will stay”

—> — . —  . —  . —>

This obviously being attributed to a false promise of the future, perhaps even by a certain yellow muse?

“And yet my heart holds close the storm as it breaks”

—> — . —  . —  . —>

Stanford continuously reaching for a dream thats doomed to fail. Leaving Fiddleford to watch as his friend hurdles himself into the gates of hell.

“I could live to be a hurricane

Turn into a tempest, violent, silent in the eye

All whirling, gusting, wuthering”

—> — . —  . —  . —>

Gay Yearning. Yeah. To me this encapsulates just how willing Fiddleford was to destroy his entire life to forget what he saw in that portal, to forget him. So he could live without the guilt of leaving him to suffer on his own. 

“Could it be enough to change the way you use my name?”

—> — . —  . —  . —>

Even so, deep inside Fiddleford still remembers the tender moments with Standford. With the potent feeling of wanting for something more, warped and shredded along what’s left of his memories.

“Remain in weekday

(I’m okay)

I stay for all that aches”

—> — . —  . —  . —>

Despite what he suffered from the project with Stanford, Fiddleford never went back home to his wife and kids in California. Perhaps from the guilt that he could have a hand at ending the world, being an absent dad, being ashamed for allowing himself to be caught up in something much bigger than himself, and leaving behind the man that he loved.

Burrowing in the cycle of self hate and substance abuse.

“Didn't you see the news today?

I heard they said it looked like rain

All the words I left unsaid that day

Stained the sidewalk drop by drop with gray, oh

Rain or shine, my heart won't dry

So why can't I look away? 

The weather forecast's calling for another cloudy day”

—> — . —  . —  . —>

Yeah this part speaks for itself 

Blessed with a fiddleauthor doodle as a thanks for reading to the end //>w<//

[masterofdemise]

Pluto doodle, drew his Vermilion Vows suit again because I love him in Vermillion Vows so much...

For a few days, I managed to not think about Pluto and then he hit me like a truck as per usual.

[vuelode-irbis]

Some studies and silly doodles of my field practice from weeks ago

ID: several drawings of birds. Top left there's a Cassin's kingbird painted realistically, its legs aren't drawn; to its left, its scientific name (Tyrannus vociferans) is written, while to its right, there's a note in spanish that translates to "This individual pecked at me", with an arrow pointing to this bird. Following towards the right, there are three scanned drawings of birds drawin with pen and colored digitally, they're an american coot, a great egret and a curve-billed thrasher. Below these, there's another scan of a vermilion flycatcher, colored realistically except for the fingers that hold it. Its head feathers are fluffed up, and it is raising its wings; it has its scientific name written above his head (Pyrocephalus rubinus) and a little note written in spanish that could translate to "angery", like "angry". On the other side, there's a photo taken through binoculars where the Cassin´s kingbird has been redrawn over the original, it is sitting on a branch and looking to the right. Below this, there's a doodle of the artist's fursona, running towards the left with urgency, holding a table, a bird guide and binoculars.

[smilingberryy]

Some lil art of a bean I gave attached arms too and turned into a lil creatur named Vermilion! Realized I never posted the doodles I have of em here but this is the lil guy:D!!!

The lil guy has 2 bigger friends, Purple and Red (who I dont have art of yet but he has a lil blue cap), and since it is set in a universe where the beans are infact different than humans, they have a human friend they live with (who I have also not drawn yet, these are literally my plushies or keychains or lil clay fellas I made and decide to make a fun story for myself out of cause I love Among Us its cute who Wouldn't want some alien bean thing living with you I'd think it would be fun!! Or something along the lines of an experience!!)

(Old doodles of Purple)

[xxl1zardb3ansxx]

More WOF fanfic b/c I finished another chapter! T/W angst

A new topic?

Star was in art class, listening as the teacher Turtle was explaining some history about Pyrriahan art. 

“Around 1,000 years after the scorching, dragons began making pottery and jewelry. Most of the jewelry pieces were little pendants, made with sea glass, and colored sand. The pendants were for people of high power, or gifts for a dragon’s loved one. These could include friends, crushes, or spouses. This is the first part of our new topic. If you choose to do the pottery section you will learn blah…blah…blah…blah” Star had started zoning out after the pendant part. I could make one for Blizzard. Star then didn’t even pay attention, she just pictured what she would make for Blizzard. 

~~~Later~~~

Star was on her ledge during the rest period, She was sketching the design of the pedant in her sketchbook. It would be a blue crescent moon with little white specs of colored sand. Star decided to use a gold cord, to point out Blizzard’s beautiful white scales. Star couldn’t help but draw Blizzard in the margins of her sketchbook. Just then, Vermillion walked in, right behind Star.

“Whatcha’ drawing?” Vermillion said, leaning over her shoulder. Star slammed her sketchbook shut and glared at him.

“It’s for art class. We’re making pendants. Out of uh, sea glass, and stuff.” Star said, going a little fast to get it over with.

“Oh? Can I see your sketchbook then?” Vermilion asked, with an awful smile.

“No. I uh, don’t wanna show you.” Star said, moving her sketchbook away a little. It was too late. Vermilion had reached over and snatched the sketchbook from Star’s hands. He opened it and began flipping through the pages. Blizzard walked into the room and turned her head a bit in confusion.

“What’re you doing?” She asked, looking at Vermilion.

“Hey, get a look at this.” Vermillion said, turning the sketchbook towards Blizzard.

“No, don't!” Star shouted. But it was too late. Blizzard saw the page. The page with almost a million little doodles and sketches of her. “Heh-heh. Looks like somebody has a little crush.” Vermillion snickered. Blizzard’s expression was unreadable. Confusion? Surprise? Disappointment? It didn’t matter. Star ran out of the room. Her talons clacked on the floor. Tears flew off her face. Hide. HIDE. Star ran, hearing Blizzard call after her. Luckily there were no other dragons in the halls there to whisper and gossip about her. Star forgot about hiding within the school and spiraled into the chilling evening air. She flew north, so that some of the mountains could hide her. Star landed in a little grassy area and dashed into a cave. Tears were still streaming down her face. Stupid! Stupid! You should’ve known you can't have things like that. You should’ve known it would happen. It always does. Star pushed herself into a corner and slammed her talons on her head, over, and over.

[puppy-selfship]

i remember sometime around last year i doodled a mermaid au for mermay about rose hunter and amity and ive been thinking about it again and i just aiagvgh. i dont have like a plot or anything but both hunter and amity are land dwellers who just happen to frequent the dock and rose (who is part vermilion snapper) cant help but take interest in them . they never approach either one of them but they like splashing water up towards their direction and then hiding because its funny to mess with them . but im def thinking itd be very little mermaid ish where rose wishes to have legs so they can go up to the surface to finally meet the two of them

[snowwy-sprites]

OCkiss22 Day 4 - Safe

And then Ranka dies like a week later.

[1ndieblue]

Oh right I have sonic ocs

[aumberine]

oc shitposting, woo

this is basically a 'get to know my ocs' type deal

[cryptic-oats]

Oh shit! Some angry & evil looking villains have appeared out of nowhere!