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thelegendofstella · 3 years

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Sephiroth’s true eye color (among other things)

Ever since I got into FF7 stuff I’ve wondered about Sephiroth’s rather inconsistent eye color over the media he’s appeared in (which is a lot), and I think I finally have an answer for it, as well as answers for other slightly unexplained phenomena. Warning you now, this will be fairly long and full of spoilers for multiple games in the series, yet hopefully informative.

Sephiroth is best known for his green, cat-pupiled eyes, among other things, and that’s generally the accepted eye color for him in fan works and such. But his eyes are actually light blue, and not just mainly in spinoffs. There will be a TL;DR in about the middle of the post for one interesting point, and another at the end for the whole post in general.

Disclaimer: This isn't intended to be a "this is the right way to portray Sephiroth's eye color" gatekeeping thing, this is just an analysis of an element of character design that went way too deep and is breaking Tumblr as we speak hfsdgyfudgfsd

Evidence, theories and such under cut-- all 63 images (yes, you heard me, be warned) either come from various wikis as official art/screenshots/etc. or are my own screenshots:

In Final Fantasy 7, where this mess all started, his iconic official art has green eyes:

But in all other art, models, etc. for the game, even the Ultimania scan, his eyes are light blue (or some sort of blue in general):

Of course, you could argue that Sephiroth’s official art also has blue eyes if you stare at it hard enough, but at first glance it’s more green than blue, and with the amount of green-eyed art I’ve seen, I’m sure many people have just accepted that his eyes are green and nothing more.

Several other games in the main series also portray Sephiroth’s eyes as light blue, sometimes borderline colorless depending on the lighting:

I particularly curse Advent Children for it’s washed-out aesthetic because in the darker scenes it completely masks Sephiroth’s real eye color. Thank the gods for HD screenshots.

However, there is a very interesting phenomenon that only seems to happen in Last Order, the 25-minute animated retelling of the Nibelheim Incident and Zack and Cloud’s escape 5 years after. No one seems to have noticed this yet, to my knowledge, so I’ll go through this as clearly as I can.

When Zack confronts Sephiroth in the reactor, the latter’s eyes are light blue:

It isn’t very obvious due to the mako glow tint and his face being in shadow, but I’d think green eyes would look different here, so they are light blue. They stay light blue for a while after this, until Zack begins to fight him and parries him onto the ceiling (anime physics...), resulting in this peculiar scene:

Light blue into green. Literally, you can see it happening in the actual video. This happens a second time when Sephiroth has Cloud skewed on Masamune, just more subtly:

Again, light blue into green(er). Definitely something funky going on here. It goes back to light blue when Cloud tosses him away, though:

And speaking of Cloud... he, too, shows very obvious eye color change directly after this scene, as seen below:

In the video they are visibly, animatedly glowing, it’s not just me discerning between two different flat shades of color. Keep in mind this is before he gets mako poisoned and Jenova-celled and whatnot, so this isn’t due to SOLDIER enhancements. What gives?

Here’s my take: it’s the Lifestream. People are made of Lifestream like everything else in in the FF7 universe, and it’s common knowledge that Lifestream/mako can do some pretty weird shenanigans. SOLDIERs are literally pumped full of the stuff and have seemingly superhuman abilities, and that’s just the lower-ranking ones. But the series has also placed a lot of emphasis on willpower, which Cloud post-experimentation struggles with due to the J-cells and stuff. A lot of people with particularly bright or “glowing” eyes have expressed an incredible amount of willpower, some of which include Cloud, Sephiroth (unsurprising), and Aerith:

Aerith’s eyes have always been incredibly bright in the series, regardless of which game you reference. Remake especially makes this obvious, as it seems like every close-up shot of her makes her eyes the centerpiece regardless of lighting, setting, etc.:

Like, seriously, they almost seem to glow they’re so bright. But here’s the kicker: Aerith is a Cetra, and the Cetra, obviously, communicate with the Planet... or, in other words, have an incredibly strong willpower that influences things. It’s been stated before by various people and media that Sephiroth and Aerith are two sides of the same coin, but not quite like this, I think. Cloud shows a similar phenomenon in his close-up shots as well, though the artificial SOLDIER glow is most likely contributing to most of it:

Compare these to younger Cloud in the Nibelheim flashback, when he was more innocent and had no need for incredible willpower, artificial or not:

Going back to Cloud in Last Order, the point we can make about him in particular is that when he was stabbed, literally at death’s door, he drew on his inner Lifestream for the strength to toss Sephiroth away. People have wondered for years about how this moment was even possible besides Protagonist Syndrome, and this may be the answer.

If this is the case, then this could apply to anyone: Aerith, Sephiroth, Zack, hell even Tifa seems to have slightly glowing eyes in the Remake sometimes-- and sure, it may be just the game engine making sure we can actually see their eyes in key cutscenes... but it ties into canon lore and actually makes sense, so I’m sticking with that. It’s also not a coincidence that Aerith specifically has green eyes, too, since the Lifestream in general is green-colored and whatnot.

Midpoint TL;DR: people with lots of inner willpower can call on their own Lifestream to give them strength, resulting in “glowing” or even color-changing eyes depending on how much Lifestream/mako they have in them. SOLDIERs, for example, would fall in the latter category... the most extreme being Sephiroth.

Now that's we're back at Sephiroth, another interesting point is that his eye color in Remake is consistently light blue, or some blue variation depending on the lighting, with green centers, as seen below:

Cloud obviously shares the same eye color pattern by this point because it's implied that he has the same if not slightly more mako in him than Sephiroth, which very conveniently also equates to him having the same if not slightly more willpower than Sephiroth.

An honorable mention goes to the Remnants, since they, too, follow the light blue with green centers pattern, appearing to fluctuate between the two colors at certain times:

With all of that said and done, I’ll wrap this up by going through Sephiroth’s appearances in side games and other franchises as quickly as I can:

1) The Dissidia series (Dissidia, 012/Duodecim, NT, Opera Omnia) almost always portrays Sephiroth with light blue eyes in art, renders, and models, occasionally with a hint of green in them:

A very interesting exception is NT Sephiroth's Safer Sephiroth costume, which has completely white eyes in all three of its alts. Yes, it's basically just a cosmetic costume, but it's still worthy to note for comprehensive purposes:

2) World of Final Fantasy’s Sephiroth has light blue eyes:

3) Record Keeper Sephiroth’s sprites are very obviously based on the original FF7 official art where he has green eyes (yes, I checked the colors by hand, they're all in the greener sections of the color wheel):

4) The Kingdom Hearts series is particularly unique because it features a blue-eyed Sephiroth but with an explicit reason for it. Kingdom Hearts 1 simply says that Sephiroth is part of Cloud’s past, but Kingdom Hearts 2 literally has Cloud saying “I'll get him. This time we settle it. Me, and the one who embodies all the darkness in me.”, and then explicitly clarifying that it’s Sephiroth he’s talking about. Sephiroth even shares Cloud’s facial shape, which is particularly obvious in KH2 renders:

All other Sephiroth appearances in the KH series also feature him with blue eyes, except for any usage of material from other media.

5) Itadaki Street games feature Sephiroth with green eyes:

6) Puzzles and Dragons features a rare teal-eyed Sephiroth:

And finally 7) All other Sephiroth appearances in spinoffs and other media feature him with light blue, blue, or rare teal eyes, except for sprites, which are (most likely) reused from Record Keeper:

And that’s FINALLY a wrap. All my evidence for Sephiroth’s actual eye color in one place, and even a theory on why it can potentially fluctuate between that and the iconic green.

Actual TL;DR: Sephiroth’s eyes are actually light blue in 90% of his appearances, and the remaining 10% either comes from temporary green-ness or partial green-ness thanks to mako/Lifestream stuff, or spinoffs.

There is one small point I’d like to make at the end of this, and that is the remaining mystery of why Sephiroth’s pupils are even slitted and cat-like in the first place. That... is far more ambiguous in terms of evidence than the eye color. Some series, particularly the Kingdom Hearts series, have them as regular round pupils, while others sometimes if not most of the time give him the cat-like ones. I may make another in-depth analysis post trying to figure it all out, but for now I’ll say that it may just simply be a result of the Jenova cells he has or something along those lines.

If you made it this far down and didn’t just instantly scroll past my massive log of images and sundry, thank you so much for reading all of this! If you did just instantly scroll past, I don't blame you. I guess I'm in proper Sephiroth hell now, lol.

I hope you have a great day and that things turn out well for you fhjksdgfyhughuhyudfs

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bookcoversalt · 4 years

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Have you noticed the latest edition of Charlie Bowater can only draw one (1) face? She did The Princess Will Save You and Cast In Firelight both YA Fantasy set to be released this year. And they are how you say... the same fucking cover

Ah yes so you saw the same tweet I did

I know I literally just posted that we cannot outlaw book covers from looking like each other, but ! Oof!

The only thing that softens the blow here is that Charlie has improved at representing nonwhite features such that characters look like POC rather than tan white people, although,, that bar was low. Anybody remember the ACOTAR coloring book.

(Would you have guessed that 2/3 of these people are nonwhite? Or even that they’re supposed to be three different men? I guess all the men in Prythian have the same haircut?)

But that minor victory is mostly lost in the quagmires of the fact that Charlie’s style is to give everyone instagram face:

I wouldn’t even call this “Sameface” necessarily: that implies limitation, that an artist is only capable of drawing a single facial structure competently. Bowater is incredibly technically talented, she just chooses to give everyone catlike fae eyes and the cheekbones of a starving nymph. (My previous post on this here.)

But I don’t really blame her for that, or for these hilariously identical, nearly devoid of personality covers. Artists are allowed to do whatever they want. Artists who make art for covers are being art directed by designers and marketing teams who bear responsibility for how the finished pieces turn out.

No, this is our fault, as a community and an industry and..... society, kind of, for valuing character portraits that are “pretty” (“pretty” being an extremely loaded, culturally subjective concept) over art that actually Says Something About The Story. Bowater’s style happens to dovetail perfectly with what we currently collectively find pretty, and so we’ve put her art on a pedestal at the cost of everything else art can or should do for our stories.

And this is understandable: in contemporary western culture, pretty is a value unto itself. Seeing our characters portrayed as pretty denotes them as special, as smart, as powerful. It’s almost impossible to de-program ourselves from that reaction. There are approximately five kajillion studies on how beautiful people are at personal and professional advantages; how they’re perceived to be happier, healthier, more successful, and how those perceptions can translate into realities. (Nevermind how thinness and whiteness enter that equation, see above note about “pretty”.) I would love to see more “average” or weird- looking characters abound (and be accurately visually represented) in the YA/ Genre lit sphere, but for now... everyone is pretty.

Which sometimes means everyone is pretty boring.

But that’s just the specific, "What’s the deal with Bowater’s success in book circles and her style and all the sameiness” part of this equation. What if we backed up and asked: why character art at all? Beyond a question of “pretty”-ness (and general obvious Artistic Quality), why do we gravitate towards it, what's the purpose of it, how does it fall flat in a general sense, and how can it be utilized more effectively?

This is something I think about all the time. I follow writers on social media (because..... I am a writer on social media, regrettably), and we have an enormous collective boner for character art. “Getting fanart [of the characters]” is one of the achievement pinnacles constantly cited when people get or want to get published. Commissioning character art is something we reward ourselves with, or save up for (WHICH IS GOOD AND CORRECT. FREE ART IS GREAT BUT DO NOT SOLICIT IT. PAY YOUR ARTISTS). And like???? Same????? We love our stories because we’re invested in our characters. Most humans, even prose writers, are visual creatures to some extent, and no matter how happy we are with our text-based art, it’s exciting to see our creations exist in that form. So we turn that art into promo material and we advocate for it on our covers-- because it’s so meaningful to us! It goes with the story perfectly!! Look at my dumb beautiful children!!!!!

But on an emotional level, it’s hard to grasp that it only means something to us. Particularly when you take into account the aforementioned vast landscape of beautiful visual blandness of many characters (in the YA/ genre lit sphere, that’s pretty much all I’m ever talking about), character art can be like baby photos. If you know the baby, if that baby is your new niece or your friend’s kid, if you’ve held them and their parent texts you updates when they do cute shit, you’re probably excited to see that baby photo. But unless it’s exceptionally cute, a random stranger’s baby photo isn’t likely to invoke an emotional reaction other than “this is why I don’t get on facebook.”

Seeing art of characters they don’t know might intrigue a reader, but especially if the characters or art are unremarkable-looking, it’s doing a hell of a lot more for the people who already have an emotional attachment to that character than anybody else. And that’s fine. Art for a small, invested audience is incredibly rewarding. But like the parent who cannot see why you don’t think their baby is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BABY IN THE WORLD???? I think we have trouble divesting our emotional reaction to character art from its actual marketing value, which.... is often pretty minimal. This is my hill to die on #143:

Character portraits, even beautiful ones, are meaningless as a marketing tool without additional context or imagery.

I love character art! I’m not saying it should not exist or that it’s worthless! Even art that appeals to only the one single person who made it has value and the right to exist. And part of this conversation is how important for POC to see themselves on covers, whether illustrations or stock imagery, particularly in YA/kidlit. I’m not saying character portrait covers are “bad”.

I am saying that I have seen dozens and dozens of sets of character art for characters who look interchangeable, and it has never driven me to preorder a book. (Also one character portrait for a high-profile 2019 debut that was clearly just a painting of Amanda Seyfriend. You know the one. There’s nothing wrong with faceclaims but lmfao, girl,,,,)

I’m sure that’s not true for everyone! I am incredibly picky about art. It’s my job. There’s nothing wrong with your card deck of cell-shaded boys of ambiguous age and ethnicity who all have the same button nose and smirk if it Sparks Joy for you.

But if your goal is not only to delight yourself, but to sell books, it’s in your best interest to remember that art, like writing, is a form of communication. The publishing industry runs on pitches: querys, blurbs, proposals, self-promo tweets. What if we applied that logic to our visuals? How can we utilize our character design and art to communicate as much about our stories as possible, in the most enticing way?

Social media has already driven the embrace of this concept in a very general sense. Authors are now supposed to have ~ aesthetics. “Picspams” or graphics, modular collages that function as mini moodboards, are commonplace. But the labor intensity and relative scarcity of character art visible in bookish circles, even on covers, means that application of marketing sensibility to it is less intuitive than throwing together a pinterest board.

Since we were talking about it earlier, WICKED SAINTS, as a case study of a recent “successful” fantasy YA debut, arguably owed a lot of its early social media momentum to fanart.

(Early fanart by @warickaart)

The most frequently drawn character, Malachiasz, has long hair, claws, and distinctive face tattoos. WS has a strong aesthetic in general, but those features clearly marked his fanart as him in a way even someone unfamiliar with the book could clearly track across different styles. Different interpretations of his tattoos from different artists even became a point of interest.

(Art by Jaria Rambaran, also super early days of WS Being A Thing)

Aside from distinctiveness, it's a clear visual representation of his history as a cult member, his monstrous powers, and the story’s dark, medieval tone. The above image is also a great example of character interaction, something missing from straightforward portraits, that communicates a dynamic. Character dynamics draw people into stories: enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, childhood rivals, platonic life partners, love triangles, devoted siblings, exes who still carry the flame-- there’s a reason we codify these into tropes, and integrate that language and shared knowledge into our marketing. For another example in that vein, I really love this art by @MabyMin, commissioned by Gina Chen:

The wrist grip! The fancy outfits! These are two nobles who hate each other and want to bone and I am sold.

In terms of true portraits, the best recent example I can think of is the set @NicoleDeal did for Roshani Chokshi’s GILDED WOLVES (I believe as a preorder incentive of some kind?):

They showcase settings, props, and poses that all communicate the characters’ interests, skills, and personality, as well as the glamorous, elaborate aesthetic of the overall story. Even elements in the gold borders change, alluding to other plot points and symbology.

For painterly accuracy in character portraits on covers, I love SPIN THE DAWN. The heroine looks like a beautiful badass, yes, but the thoughtful, detailed rendering of every element, soft textures, and dynamic, fluid composition form a really cohesive, stunning illustration that presents an intriguing collection of story elements.

The devil isn’t always in the details, though: stark, moody, highly stylized or graphic art with an emphasis on textural contrast and bold color and shape rather than representational accuracy can communicate a lot (emotionally and tonally) while pretty much foregoing realism.

The new Lunar Chronicles covers are actually the best examples I found of this (Trying to stay within the realm of existing bookish art rather than branch into All Art Of Human Figures Forever):

Taking cues from styles more typical of the comics and video game industries. (Games and comics, as visual mediums, are sources of incredible character art and I highly recommend following artists in those industries if you want to See More Cool Art On Your Timeline.)

TL;DR: Character art and design, as a marketing tool (even an incidental one) should be as unique to your story and your characters as possible, and tell us about the story in ways that make us want to read it. I tried to give examples because there are so many ways to do this, and so many different kinds of art, and I could give many more! But I’m bored now. So to circle all the way back:

These are not just bad because they look like each other, although that is embarrassing and illuminating. These are bad covers (although,,,,, PRINCESS is the far worse offender, at least FIRELIGHT suggests a thoughtful cultural analogue) because a desire for Pretty Character Art overrode the basic cover function to tell us about the story. We get no sense of who these people are, what their relationships are, what these books are about beyond the most general genre, or why we might care. The expressions are vague, the characters generic-looking, the compositions uninteresting and the colors failing to be indicative of anything in particular.

They’re somebody else’s baby pictures.

(And yes, that’s the CRUEL PRINCE font on PRINCESS. I better not have to do a roundup post but it’s on thin fucking ice.)

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rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years

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The Revived - Chapter 16:

This is chapter 16 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo, Ranboo, Michael

Word count: 3504

Cw: implied loneliness, discussions of bad coping mechanisms, jokes about drugs, guilt

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The evening in the mansion was rather quiet and peaceful, all things considered. Michael had immediately handed the drawing to Wilbur, who reluctantly kept it close. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Tubbo or Ranboo to see it. Not so much because of his own appearance in it, but because he realized that the sight of his ghost counterpart would likely bring up some bad memories.

Another thing that was mostly quiet during the evening was the actual ghost counterpart, much to Wilbur’s dismay. It was simpler, to distract himself from it when Ranboo and Tubbo were talking to him during dinner, or when Michael wanted to show him something, but it bothered him nonetheless. Tubbo and Ranboo had let Wilbur stay in a medium-sized bed in an almost empty room, with a couple of boxes in the corner. Wilbur had promptly excused himself to it, once the silence in his mind, and the chaos from outside, became a little overwhelming.

“Ghostbur?” Wilbur asked, once the door was closed safely behind him.

There was a moment of silence before he heard a quiet gasp. “Oh! Hello!” Ghostbur said, sounding excited to be addressed, but disheartened nonetheless.

“Did you have a good day?” Wilbur asked, taking a deep breath, a little relieved to hear the familiar voice again. “You didn’t say much, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Ah, sorry!” Ghostbur said.

“There’s no need,” Wilbur said, gently. “You can talk if you want to, or remain quiet if you want.” He shrugged, because it shouldn’t matter to him after all.

“Right, right…” Ghostbur said, and Wilbur wasn’t entirely sure if it was understanding or defeat.

Wilbur strolled towards the bed, and sat down, at the tempting mattress. His limbs grew heavier at the feeling. He hummed, thinking of what to say. “Did you know Michael drew you?”

“Huh?” Ghostbur asked, a bit of interest creeping into his tone.

“He did! He made a little crayon drawing of you and Friend.” He laughed slightly at the sentence, “And me.”

“He did?” Ghostbur said, familiar excitement slipping into the words, “What does it look like?”

Wilbur went on to explain as many details of the drawings he could reasonably give, despite the minimalist art style. The ghost listened intently. It was strange, the peace Wilbur suddenly felt, as the ghost sounded gradually happier, and he was sitting there alone as the night grew darker outside. Eventually, the inevitability of sleep snuck up on Wilbur. It felt strange, unfair even, to leave Ghostbur hanging like that. Not that Wilbur concerned himself with it of course, but it was a bit sad to think about the silence Ghostbur would experience, as soon as Wilbur drifted off to sleep.

But it happened nonetheless, and the darkness surrounded him, carrying him to rest in a matter of minutes, all the events of the past day slipping away calmly. They wouldn’t bother him until he turned to the waking world again.

The next morning he awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the sun barely visible, but still visible enough to fill the room with a faint light. He stretched in the bed, before lying there for a few moments. His mind wandered, mostly refreshing his mind of yesterday and if there was anything he was supposed to do again. He remembered Ghostbur’s gloominess from the day before with an awkward feeling in his chest. He mumbled, “Good morning.”

A few moments passed with no response. Wilbur slightly frowned, “Ghostbur?”

“Oh! You were talking to me!” Ghostbur’s tiredness showed through his voice. It wasn't tiredness from a lack of sleep that made your voice gently crack on itself, but rather an exhaustion that couldn’t be fixed with rest. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” Wilbur sat up from the bed, swinging his legs over so he was sitting normally. “I don’t remember being able to sleep that well in limbo, can you?”

He hoped it was different for the ghost. That maybe he could also have a copy of Friend there for him instead of only having a faint grip of reality through Wilbur. “Nope. What did you do for fun here?” He heard a sigh from Ghostbur.

Wilbur pursed his lips. “I mean, it wasn’t really the best place in the universe.” He heard a small hum of acknowledgment. “Sometimes I walked down the tunnel. I would go ‘til my legs were tired. Then I tried to go for longer.” The words slipped out effortlessly, yet his voice became quieter the further he got into it, “I timed myself in my head, the quickest I could collapse was… two minutes? There were some seconds added on, but I can’t remember.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll try that.” His voice wasn’t enthusiastic- something Wilbur was grateful for.

Wilbur shook his head, “No no no, I’m a bit of a hypocrite. You shouldn't follow in my footsteps.”

“Don’t worry, maybe I’ll run the way you didn’t go! Wait- why shouldn’t I run where you did?”

Wilbur sighed, “I didn’t mean that. I just meant you shouldn’t do what I did. I’m just…” Wilbur wanted to say he wasn’t a good role model because while it certainly was the honest truth, he didn’t care for the truth all that much. Information gives you the upper hand. “It was just a dumb decision and I don’t want to waste your time.”

Ghostbur’s voice was clearly dismayed, “There’s nothing much else to do. I mean- sometimes I can imagine stuff in my head! Like when I would play with Michael!” His excitement picked up at the end, but it wasn’t at the same level it used to be.

Wilbur tried smiling, “Yeah. That’s good. You should continue doing that.”

“I try to, but then it makes me sad. The feeling doesn’t go away anymore.”

Wilbur would’ve stood up from the bed and walked downstairs, but he didn’t want to end the conversation. “Doesn’t go away anymore?”

Ghostbur sighed, “Yeah. When I was alive, I would talk to people. Then- I think something bad would happen. At least that’s what other people said. After it was over, I would be talking with friends again! It was nice because I felt better a lot sooner than other people would.” Ghostbur paused for a moment. “I’ve heard that people get sad for multiple days, and I’m glad that never really happened to me. I wish it didn’t happen in general though. They deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah… being sad isn’t that fun.” Wilbur felt oddly empty at the words, the simplification of them making him remember the past. The days he went without sleep, trying to figure out how to win the election. The look of concern he got when Tommy told him that he should rest. Yet, he supposed those days weren’t exactly sad. They weren’t cheery, but they weren’t sad either. They held an odd sort of void to him, blending together before he even knew they started.

He’d known about it, partially. About how Ghostbur was shaped by the good and didn’t remember any of the bad things Wilbur had experienced, nor the bad memories he had on his own. Yet it was quite another to hear him say it. To hear him speak of it as if it was something natural. Feeling better faster than others, because the memories slipped away. Wilbur hadn’t realized that wouldn’t be the case anymore. Perhaps forgetting was more merciful.

Wilbur stood up from the bed, “I’m gonna go eat some breakfast.”

Ghostbur seemed excited once more as he clapped. “I love breakfast so much! It’s one of my favorite meals.”

Wilbur nodded as he let out a sound of amusement, “Good choice.”

He walked to the door of the room, opening it slowly, afraid of disturbing any peace inside the house. He peeked his head out and looked both ways, yet he couldn’t see anyone awake. He exited the room, closing the door behind him. He carefully made his way downstairs.

When Wilbur entered the barely set-up dining room, it was as if the entire place hadn’t quite woken up yet. Tubbo was languidly standing on one side of the room, half doing the dishes, and half making breakfast. On the floor on the other side, by an open box of whatever furniture or household items it contained, Ranboo was sitting up against the wall, flipping through a book. Michael was sitting right next to him, once again leaning over a piece of paper, happily doodling on it with crayons.

He walked to where Tubbo was, making his footsteps loud enough to be heard, but not enough to startle him. Tubbo turned around, a welcoming smile on his face, “Good morning.”

Ghostbur cheerily replied, “Good morning!”

Wilbur stood next to the boy, looking over his shoulder, “Whatcha making?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I’m just cutting up some apples right now. Makin’ pancakes. American ones specifically, because Ranboo says English ones are just sad crepes.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. He was surprised the centrist even had an opinion on food. He seemed to stay neutral on so many other regards, yet pancakes were where he drew the line, “What a weird guy. What should I start doing?”

Tubbo furrowed his eyebrows for a moment before speaking, “You’re a guest, you aren’t going to be the one cooking.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes as his tone returned gentle, “Like old times.”. He spent so many days making breakfast in L’Manberg that he hadn’t even thought that things were different. Most of those early moments were spent with Tubbo before he went undercover as a spy. They both couldn’t stay asleep or didn’t sleep soon enough and decided to just start the day. They formed the routine of the person in the kitchen, decided what they were making, and the other helped until it was finished.

Tubbo looked away, his posture more rigid. Wilbur pursed his lips, he ruined another moment. Another peaceful moment was torn out of Tubbo’s head by the hands of a person he only invited to his home out of pity. He forced words to roll off his tongue, ones that didn’t belong but had to be placed there, “Just joking, man.”

Tubbo hesitantly laughed, “Yeah,” He returned his gaze to the fruit in front of him. Wilbur slightly narrowed his eyes, not out of anger, but the confusion that persisted ever since his return. Everyone asserted that everything was different, but it all lingered in his head all the same. He could picture L’Manberg in its glory along with the uniforms that fit his soldiers perfectly. Yet no one else could.

“Michael, no!” a voice from the other side of the room suddenly exclaimed, Wilbur immediately turned his head. He was met by the sight of Ranboo, worriedly trying to pull a piece of paper out of Michael’s mouth. Only a small part of it was stuck in there as if Michael had merely tried to lick it and had decided to chew on it afterward. “Let go, it’s not food.” Ranboo tried. With a sharp pull, Ranboo landed on his back with the paper in hand, and Michael looked disappointed.

Tubbo’s squinted, looking confused and concerned at the same time. “Didn’t we take away the yellow crayons?”

Ranboo sighed deeply, “Orange.”

“Michael doesn’t eat orange though?” Tubbo said.

Ranboo sat up and looked at Tubbo with a completely deadpan expression. “You haven’t considered the implications of light orange.”

Tubbo gasped with realization. “Oh,” he rushed towards the packet of crayons, picking out the orange ones hurriedly. Ranboo discarded the paper, and Michael watched with crossed arms, looking a bit annoyed at the whole ordeal. Wilbur couldn’t contain some light laughter as the scene unfolded.

Not too long after, breakfast was served. It was a lot less strained than Wilbur had perhaps feared. They chatted about Michael’s strange habits of eating crayons along with similar childhood stories. Light-hearted chuckles passed around the table, with Michael joining in occasionally. Even when they all finished their plates, they continued to sit. They only started moving when Michael seemed fussy with his high chair. Tubbo quickly took him out, setting him on the floor again.

Tubbo picked up the dishes from the table. “I’ll clean these up. You and Michael can play for a bit.” Wilbur nodded and got up from his seat at the same time as Ranboo. Wilbur felt a pulling sensation on his pant leg, he goofily smiled when he looked down and realized it was Michael.

Ranboo took the plates from Tubbo’s hands. “You cooked breakfast, it’s only fair that I wash the dishes.”

Tubbo gently pulled on them back. “And you played with Michael all morning.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes as he set the plates onto the kitchen counter. “Oh my, it’s so hard to be a Dad. Wow, it’s so difficult to just watch a child when the child is still waking up.”

Tubbo groaned, “I can’t believe you.”

Ranboo nodded. “I make such good points that you can’t even try.” While he seemed disinterested in the beginning, a small smile appeared on his face.

Tubbo sighed, “Yeah. I really can’t compete with the world’s best dad and husband. If only I could wash the dishes to pay him back.”

“Awww, I think they’re flirting again,” Ghostbur cooed.

Ranboo let out a laugh, “Sure sure, maybe tomorrow.” He quickly leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Tubbo’s forehead.

Tubbo scoffed, “Bitch.” He playfully punched Ranboo’s shoulder before heading off in Wilbur's direction. Wilbur even forgot he was there, wrapped inside the domestic peace of their family. He blinked and looked down at Michael, the child still pulling gently on Wilbur’s pant leg.

“We’ll be in Michael’s room,” Tubbo called out to Ranboo. Ranboo nodded and continued putting the dishes in the sink. Tubbo started walking up the stairs and Michael quickly followed. Wilbur was walking a bit slower than before. Cautiously perhaps, though he wasn’t certain why. He smiled at Michael.

“Ooh, what are we going to play with Michael?” Ghostbur asked, though it was said in such a way, that he likely didn’t expect a response. Wilbur let out a relieved breath, at least a little comforted by the fact that Ghostbur had been talking this morning. It was going to be alright. Wilbur held on to the faint thread of a connection for now, each word from the ghost feeling like his one chance to take a breath.

As they returned to Michael’s barely furnished room, Wilbur almost felt as if he’d settled into a routine. It was silly really, having been there for just one night, but the walls seemed familiar. Familiar in a way that was a lot less suffocating than most familiar walls Wilbur could think of. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to settle into that feeling. It wasn’t there to stay, but he could pretend it was for the time being. Though the warmth almost seemed to burn him.

Soon enough, he found himself sitting on the floor, playing with little toys shaped like various animals and other mobs. While Wilbur found it difficult to figure out exactly what they were playing, he released a scream from a toy he’d dubbed the Skeleton King, as Michael played the chicken protagonist, defeating the king for the last time. Ghostbur chimed in every once in a while, despite him knowing even less of what was going on. Ghostbur suggested that the chicken hero had a friend who was a ghost cow, and Wilbur had decided to incorporate it into the story. Partially just to please Ghostbur, though the smile on Michael’s face was priceless.

He looked over in Tubbo’s direction. The boy was feeling the walls when Wilbur realized they had a bit of crayon on them. Not much, but enough to notice if you looked close enough. He gasped quietly at the thought in his mind. He reached in his pocket, feeling the sugar cane in his hand. A small grin slipped onto his face as he discreetly crushed it up, forming a small pile of sugar in his hand.

He shuffled slightly towards the edge of the table, gesturing for Michael to come along. The toddler tilted his head but walked over to where Wilbur was. Wilbur barely resisted laughing as he put the sugar on the table in a thin line. It wasn’t the neatest one in the world, but it would have to do.

Wilbur spoke loud enough for Tubbo to hear, “Alright, first you get it in a line. It can be a bit hard to do sometimes, but you can always use the edge of a sword or a piece of paper if you’re really desperate.” Tubbo raised an eyebrow as his eyes widened at the scene. He immediately ran over, picking Michael up as he quickly placed the child farther away from Wilbur. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t understand the situation as he attempted to run back to Wilbur.

Tubbo grabbed onto Michael’s shoulders before he could go far, turning the zombie piglin around to see him. His voice was tense, but still light enough. “Michael, how about you play tag with Dad for a bit, okay?”

“Tubbo doesn’t sound okay,” Ghostbur supplemented. Although Wilbur could’ve been able to read the room himself, the ghost’s voice was always a nice echo in his mind.

Michael huffed, looking between Tubbo and Wilbur. Tubbo nodded, showing him the direction of the door. He even slipped a smile into his voice, although the one on his face seemed tense, “You can go down the stairs by yourself.”

Michael squealed excitedly as he ran out of the room, his footsteps heard as he excitedly ran down. Tubbo closed the door behind him as his eyes met Wilbur’s. A foolish grin sat on Wilbur’s face, “Your reaction was priceless!” He cackled as he casually pushed around the sugar on the table.

Tubbo sharply exhaled, “Wilbur.” His voice was sharp and jagged in a way Wilbur didn’t quite expect.

“It’s just some sugar in a line. C’mon, man, you can taste it yourself.” He picked a bit of sugar from off the table and put it in his mouth, making slightly exaggerated expressions as he emphasized that it wasn’t anything bad.

Some of Tubbo’s edge disappeared, but at least half of it remained, “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t hurt Michael it’s just-” He cut himself off with a sigh. He looked away from Wilbur’s gaze and back at the wall with some crayon on it. “L’Manberg.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “What about it?”

They waited a few moments in silence before Tubbo hesitantly spoke, “Why did you start L’Manberg?”

Wilbur stated his answer automatically, “To declare independence from Dream. You were there, Tubbo.”

Tubbo shook his head, “No no, what was the original purpose of L’Manberg?”

Wilbur thought for a moment. Tommy’s disks flew into his mind, but L’Manberg was never really centered on them, only Tommy and Dream did. He drifted onto the idea of community, but that was found after the nation was formed. Power maybe? Power seemed like a nice answer, but it somehow didn’t feel right on his tongue. He snapped his fingers as a look of realization came across his face, “Oh! We were gonna set up a drug empir- oh.”

History really does repeat itself in an ironic way.

Tubbo pursed his lips as he couldn’t meet Wilbur’s gaze, “Yeah.”

“Tubbo…” Wilbur’s voice trailed off before he continued again, “I mean, L’Manberg is over and done with. It’s not too big of a problem.” Wilbur scooped up the remaining sugar on the table and dumped it into his mouth.

Ghostbur seemed flabbergasted, “What are you eating? It seems… good? Is that the right word?” Wilbur nodded but Ghostbur couldn’t see.

Wilbur moved his gloves against each other, removing the rest of the remaining substance from himself. “Sugar never really loses its touch.” He stood up from the table. He slightly frowned when he spotted the cloudy look in Tubbo’s eyes. “You… okay?”

Tubbo met Wilbur’s gaze for a moment before looking towards the door. “I know it was yesterday when you read the destruction of L’Manberg, really, it’s a new day. But-” Tubbo shakily exhaled, “Just because you got to destroy all of your hard work, doesn’t mean you’ll get to destroy mine too.”

Wilbur sympathetically looked at the boy as he walked closer. Tubbo tensed up noticeably. Wilbur stopped a few steps in front of Tubbo. “Tubbo.” A gentle assertiveness filled his voice, “Tubbo look at me.” Tubbo narrowed his eyes for a moment but met Wilbur’s gaze. Tears laced the boy’s eyes, the shine of them giving it away.

Wilbur took a breath, “Dream is in prison. L’Manberg is… gone.” The word felt bitter on his tongue. “I don’t have anything against you. I- I care about you being happy. I wouldn’t do anything to purposely ruin it.” Wilbur opened his arms for a hug.

Tubbo stepped forward as Wilbur’s chest lept and a small grin went across his face, but Tubbo side-stepped at the last moment, opening the door just a bit behind Wilbur. Before the door closed, Tubbo mentioned a whisper into the air, “It’s okay.” The words seemed to waver slightly as if they were meant to comfort himself and not Wilbur. The door clicked and he was alone once more.

#c!wilbur #c!wilbur soot #c!ghostbur #ghostbur #c!tubbo #c!ranboo #wilbur angst #wilbur soot angst #dream smp #dsmp #ghostbur angst #tubbo angst #c!michael #michael_beloved #dream smp fic

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

Text

Embarrassment | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask | Smut

"if requests are open can i just get zsasz being really dumb but with some praise and/or daddy kink thrown in?" anon

A/N: I hope my interpretation of this is alright with you. I went with ZsaszMask here, since you didn't specify who Zsasz would be with; and since he wasn't exactly listed as a character for Reader fics, I assumed you were just asking for ZsaszMask. I really hope I got that right. If not, let me know, please!

summary; Victor commonly mispronounces words, the wrong person hears it and mocks him for it to Roman’s face. Roman gives his boy a treat and then praises him because, yes, he isn’t very skilled when speaking, but he is still such a good boy for him! With it, smut ensues.

notes; TW // Implied Murder (non-descriptive); Very quick, throw-away mention of Child Abuse in the first paragraph. KINKS: Daddy!Kink; Praise Kink; Slight pet play, too; Anal Sex; Quick Prep. PWP/Loose plot; Lemon; Smut; kind of Emotional Hurt/Comfort, too, but like, they are ZsaszMask, don’t expect too much; A little softness in the end, too.

Roman absolutely hated it when someone mispronounced words in any way, shape or form. It made his blood boil. Mostly, he believed, it was because of his parents. If he had said something wrong, even if it was just the pronunciation, then he would be punished. Obviously, he tried to avoid that at all costs as time went on, which made him hyper-aware of when other people butchered a word or even an entire sentence, as a side effect.

Unfortunately, his partner in crime and lapdog had a rather slurred way of speaking and mispronounced a lot of words. He still wasn't sure if he was just stupid and wasn't educated, or perhaps he really was just lazy as all hell.

Either way, it happened multiple times a day that Zsasz would say something wrong. Roman has stopped being truly annoyed with him for it after a while. By now, he just corrected him and moved on. Of course, he had tried to teach Victor, but he just didn't really catch on to it; and frankly, he had better things to do than teach a grown man to speak properly.

Now, usually it wasn't even a big problem anyway, since Roman was basically the only person Zsasz really spoke to. So no one normally witnessed Victor's poor speaking skills. If anything, they were his staff anyway, so it didn't matter, they wouldn't dare say something about it.

Until, of course, one day the wrong person had heard it after all.

Roman had been conversing with a potential business partner, when Victor came back from running an errand for him. It was like clockwork; when Roman was talking, he wasn't to be interrupted, so he waited until he was done to tell him anything important that might have happened on the errand. He only ever interrupted him when it absolutely couldn't wait.

Obediently, Zsasz stood next to Roman and waited. When he was done talking, he lifted his hand and excused himself to the man he was speaking with, so Victor could tell him whatever was burning on his tongue.

"Boss, Johnson's guys have defiantly got the message. Expecially himself. He's retreating now and trying to get on your better side again, but I doupt you want that. D'you?"

Roman didn't even bother to correct him, though he clenched his fists to try and stop the urge to do it anyway. They were in public with someone he didn't trust and he didn't want to humiliate Victor like that. He knew that he tried at least a little, after all. Especially when they were with someone he didn't know.

Before Sionis could even reply anything, a terribly mocking cackle sounded from his right. It was that fuck he had been trying to get a deal with.

"Is he really that fucking stupid or does he just act like it, huh? God, that's embarrassing. I can't believe you let him run around talking like that, Mr Sionis," he sneered.

For just a split second hurt was reflected in Victor's eyes. It was like a punch to Roman's gut. Zsasz was basically never hurt by anything or anyone, only few people, among which was Roman himself, could achieve that.

Zsasz straightened up and acted like he didn't hear anything, assuming his usual position behind where Roman sat, so he could watch over him.

"Well, I believe that business deal we had planning to get going is over now. Thank you so much for coming in, but it's time for you to leave, 'kay?" Roman said clasping his hands together and a big fake grin on his face, his tone strained.

The other man sputtered. "Excuse me? We were just in the middle of-"

"Yes, yes, I am aware. Anyway, I do not want to keep talking to you any longer. So get out!" His anger became more palpable by the second.

Some of his men escorted the fake fuck out, after he whispered to one of them to knock him out and bring him to their closest warehouse.

Then Roman turned around to face Victor, who looked rather dumb-founded.

"Boss?"

"C'mon, baby. I'm having him brought to the closest warehouse we own. Then you can go and have some fun with that stupid fuck, hm? How's that sound, my boy?"

His eyebrows climbing up his forehead in surprise, Victor nodded. Obviously, he knew that this deal was actually a little important to Roman, but nothing seemed to be more important than his pet being happy.

Sometimes, he really despised that.

They went to the warehouse, when it was all set up and he gave Victor all the freedom he could have wanted with the other man. It was beautiful, a sight to behold, really. The way Victor freed people from this awful world was always breathtakingly stunning to him. But when he was also upset by one of those people and had creative freedom? Just marvelous, a true masterpiece that came out of it. Such as the tally, that now sat in the crook of his elbow, always visible, always a reminder.

Eventually, they arrived back at home, aroused from the beautiful way this fake fuck has been slaughtered, and Roman also had the urge to indulge his little boy and praise him for always being so good for him. So he was set on doing just that.

As soon as they came into the bedroom, he grabbed Victor's wrist and turned him around to face him, smashing their lips together in a searing kiss. Zsasz moaned into it, opening his mouth a little. Roman slid his tongue into the other's mouth immediately, fucking it in and out of Victor's mouth, playing with his tongue.

After doing just that for about a minute, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against Victor's, panting.

"Be a good boy for Daddy and undress yourself and then lie down on the bed, 'kay?" Roman rasped, kissing Zsasz once more before twirling his finger to signalise him to get going.

Sionis kept watching his boy, while he undressed, folding his clothes and putting them on a nearby chair. He had taught him so well. When he was completely naked, Victor lied down on his back on the soft mattress of their bed. Then he looked at Roman, waiting for further instructions.

Getting rid of his shoes, socks, blazer and gloves, Roman climbed onto the bed and over Zsasz. He was only wearing a plain black shirt and his dark blue suit pants, now. He lifted Victor's legs, spreading them, and kneeled between them, situating them over each of his thighs, pressing his hard cock against the other man's ass. Then he leaned over Zsasz, bracketing his head between his forearms with which he supported himself on the bed. Their faces were merely half an inch apart, breathing each other's air.

"You're my good little boy, aren't you?"

Victor could only nod for a moment. Roman nipped his ear and grinned against it, his lips brushing his ear shell.

"Yes, you are. And you know what? I'm very proud of you, baby. You're always so good to me, always so good for Daddy, hm?"

Zsasz keened in the back of his throat, pushing up his hips. Fuck, he was so easily desperate when it came to being praised by Roman.

"Soon, baby. Be patient, 'kay?" Another nod, another keen. "Use your words, baby, c'mon."

"Yes, Daddy!"

"That's my good boy," he murmured.

Then he leaned back a little again, so he was able to really look at Victor. It was hell on his back, but he didn't care, as their chests and stomachs were pressed together, feeling each other breathe heavily. Victor's hard cock was poking his abdomen, just like his own was pressing against his crack.

"You've done something truly remarkable with this asshole, y'know? What a work of art! Oh, Victor, I'm so lucky, baby."

"Thank you, Daddy," Victor replied the way he was taught to, and fuck, it had Roman's cock twitch.

Roman smiled at him, fondly, adoration clear in his eyes. "I always appreciate how dutiful you are, how you know exactly when to do what, when to speak, what to say. You're so good at it, my boy. Such an obedient little doggy, aren't you? Yes, you are, of course you are."

He leaned down to press a couple of sweet kisses to his lips, smiling into them. Victor gripped onto his bicep and back, trying to keep him as close as possible, unable to not touch him.

"Didn't I disappoint you, though?" Zsasz asked, looking so unsure and like a kicked puppy.

"No, no of course not. Oh, baby, my sweet boy, never you. He was a stupid fake fucking fuck, 'kay? He didn't know you, didn't know to respect me and my assets. And now he's paid for it, hasn't he? Then you mispronounced some fucking words! Now what? He had no fucking reason to talk about you like that, especially not to me. Fuck, I wish we could kill him again, baby. The fucking audacity of this fucker!"

"But I embarrassed you."

"No, you haven't. The only embarrassment there was this fuck thinking he was being funny and saying something of value. Like I said, baby, you're so good for Daddy. Always."

He kissed him again, and again, and again. Then he finally got rid of his pants, underwear and shirt, before diving back in and devouring Victor's mouth with fervor. While he was doing that, he was blindly retrieving the lube from the bedside table and clicking it open, squirting some onto his fingers.

Roman shifted a little, so he could reach down and insert one lubed up finger into Victor's behind, making him moan into the kiss with it. He moved it in and out quickly, stretching him enough to insert a second finger, sicossoring them to stretch his rim for a third finger. It was a quick preparation, as Victor was used to it, but also really liked it when it burned, so they made sure to stretch him enough to not damage him or Roman, and then they were ready to go.

Sionis grabbed the lube once more and spread it on his hard cock, slicking it up thoroughly. Then he guided it into Victor's stretched hole, pressing in slowly but surely. When he was fully sheathed inside of him, they both moaned in unison into their still connected mouths.

Then Roman started thrusting inside of Victor, pulling out and shoving back in, in a quick, brutal rhythm that drove them both crazy.

"Such a good boy. Oh, baby, you're so good for me, look at you. Taking it so fucking well, hm? Ah, fuck! Yes, so tight even after I've been fucking you almost every day for the past decade, huh? Fuckfuckfuck, you're so good, such a wonderful little boy. Just for me, aren't you? You're only my good boy, aren't you? Say it!"

Victor's eyes rolled back, as Roman repeatedly hit his prostate, but he still tried to get out a sentence in-between desperate little moans, "Y-yes, ah, yes! Only yours. Your good boy. Ah, yours! Daddy!"

"Fuck, shit, Victor, ah, I'm gonna come. Oh, baby, I'm gonna fill you up so good, huh? Because my baby deserves the best, hm? Fuck!"

As his thrusts became increasingly erratic, Roman grabbed Victor's cock in his hand and jacked him off in quick movements and a tight grip, making him paint his own chest and stomach after just half a minute. Zsasz moaned loudly and completely unintelligible as he came.

Roman followed him soon after, pressing inside of his partner and staying there, filling him up with his warm, sticky come, moaning and groaning loudly and almost like a porn star.

After a few seconds, in which either of them caught their breaths, Roman pulled out and collapsed next to Victor, their legs tangled, their faces an inch apart and panting.

When they've come down from their orgasmic highs, Roman stroked over Victor's chest, smearing his come over it and rubbing it into his skin, smiling. The scars made it a unique and pleasant sensation to him.

"Don't let that fucker get to you, 'kay? You aren't embarrassing. I don't care that you butcher most words that come out of your mouth. It doesn't make you less of a good little boy for me, alright?"

"Okay, yeah. Thank you," Victor rasped, pressing a kiss to the other's lips.

It was all so fucking soft.

Under different circumstances, it would make Roman feel sick; but even he had a soft spot, which apparently only consisted of this human lapdog called Victor Zsasz.

#tw daddy kink #tw implied murder #tw mention of child abuse #child abuse mention tw #tw kink #roman sionis #victor zsasz #zsaszmask #lemon fic #birds of prey #harley quinn birds of prey #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #ewan mcgregor #chris messina #roman sionis fanfiction #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask fanfiction

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mistytpednaem · 3 years

Text

So, what’s up with Another Me?

Honestly, I tried to draft this post, but the mental block made me decide to just go for it stream-of-consciousness style. Which I hope doesn’t bode poorly or anything. But here goes!

The Past and the Present

As you may know, I’ve been at this for a while now! Since 2014, in fact. In that time, I’ve gotten through the prologue and... most of chapter one (fun fact: I do have the entirety of this story mapped out! We are transitioning into what should be the final scene of this chapter. Originally, I wanted to make this post - or something along these lines - once I finished the chapter, but I figured since the year was about to end I’d be better off doing it now).

Now, let’s not mince words: that is a long time. I have six chapters total (not counting the prologue) mapped out for this comic, and there is more I’d like to do beyond it (what I like to call Arc 2, or, as you may or may not know: The Part Where My Pet Character Marco Evangelisti Actually Shows Up). If I keep going at the current pace, I will probably not be done within my lifetime. So, if I’m aware of this, what gives?

... I mean, damn. There’s a lot I could point to; I was finishing my degree until 2016, and I suppose that takes something out of you. I have unreasonably high expectations for myself, as the people closest to me know. “2020 was a bad year for everyone,” I tell myself, before I also go on to say, “but even though updates slowed down even more this year, it’s not like they’ve been particularly speedy for the past couple of years, and I haven’t had that bad of a year anyway, so that’s a shoddy excuse.” And then some semblance of reasonable thought comes over me and reminds me my grandfather had a stroke in March of last year and passed away in early June of this year, and I’m like “I mean, okay, I guess I’ve been through SOME things.”

But lighthearted reflections aside, there are more actionable problems I have identified - such as, in an overarching sense, my attitude. My friends made me realise this some time late last year, and while I’ve been trying to work on it, I have to admit I’ve made very little progress: at some point, I developed a seriously unhealthy relationship with my art. Here is how my workflow has tended to go:

Start scripting update. I have a small readership, but that’s okay; I am grateful for every suggestion, I can work with this, and I AM building towards something that excites me.

Script done, regardless of insecurities. It’s time to start working on the actual panels. This sketch didn’t come out exactly the way I intended, but hopefully it still works (alternatively: this sketch looks promising! I am excited about this sketch. Sometimes, I do feel happy with my sketches).

Oh dear. I was hoping the lineart would help a little (alternatively: oh dear. the lineart completely ruined this perfectly fine sketch). Maybe it’ll still look alright with colour?

Oh no. I hate it, actually. I suppose I’m too sloppy; I should be more careful next time.

(Repeat for however many panels i have planned for an update, typically with mounting guilt the longer I take on each one, because I keep taking longer and longer and, to my eyes, there is no improvement.)

Well, as my friends keep reminding me, done is better than perfect. Let’s post it!

The update is posted to a small readership and a quiet response, which, again, is okay, but leaves me wanting for feedback that I cannot get because I am reluctant to spread the word for several reasons, one of them being that I’ve convinced myself my work isn’t good enough.

Rinse and repeat, with the process continuing to be slow - if not turning exponentially slower - because apparently when things make you feel bad your brain starts wanting to protect you from them.

Apologies if this is a little harsh, but it is genuinely the most sincere breakdown of The Whole Deal that I can produce.

The good news is there are things I can do about this! Not easy things, granted, as they tie deeply into a lot of the recurring neuroses in my life, but in theory, the more I embrace imperfection, and the less I worry, the faster I should be able to work, and I should start getting some serotonin out of the whole thing again. In theory. This is not the only issue, however, and I have good and bad news about the other issue I’ve identified:

I don’t think the forum adventure format is working in its current shape.

It’s not about the suggestions - I love working with suggestions! Reader interaction is fun, it’s already shaped a good number of things and I hope it continues to do so. It’s more of a matter of visibility. Tragically, forums are not the most In Vogue things these days, and that reflects itself in, well, poor visibility. I’ve tried to remedy this by allowing suggestions through MSPFA, Tumblr and Twitter as well, but honestly, it hasn’t helped much. I think I’ve only gotten one or two suggestions through MSPFA? And don’t get me wrong, I’m sure this is in great part because of my passive role in getting the word out! But it’s all contributing towards this strange, shrinking spiral of a feedback loop.

The good news is that, since I have identified this problem, there should be an actionable solution. The bad news is I’m not quite sure what form that solution should take just yet.

The Future

Whew, that was a lot. So, what’s in store for 2021 and beyond?

Well, er, like I’ve implied, I’m a little unsure. But that’s my default state of existence, so let’s go over what I think.

When I finish chapter one, I would like to find a proper hosting place for AM. As I said, I don’t think the forum thing is quite working out, and MSPFA is a wonderful website, but I feel AM has little to do with most of the content on it beyond the second-person narration and the script-style dialogues. Whether that means a change in format is needed along with the change in hosting, I’m not sure; I would like to keep the whole “one panel per page with text underneath it” deal, which... should be doable on most places, but in this current year, I’m frankly not sure how it would come across, haha.

(I’m also not sure what this hosting place should be, mind you; potentially a wordpress blog with a layout tailored for comics, but drawing isn’t actually my day job, so I’m not sure how viable paying for a domain name might be. Or hosting, for that matter, should I need it - but imgur has been friendly enough of an image host so far.)

What I do know is that I want to keep the suggestions, even though I’m not entirely sure how well that will work without a forum structure. Comments on a post, perhaps? Maybe. But we can’t forget that this doesn’t solve one of the other big issues, which is my reluctance to advertise. And there’s still, you know, my unhealthy, unreasonably high standards affecting my entire workflow.

... But that all kind of comes back to one thing, doesn’t it? The fear of taking the plunge? That’s what I need to overcome. Plans are a good first step, but they mean nothing if I don’t act on them. Which is part of the reason I’m talking about all this - so people can hold me to my plans.

(Plus, like, offer feedback and opinions. That’s very valuable too.)

This whole Future section is a whole lot more uncertain than, I think, even I hoped for when I started writing this post. But I hope what I’m trying to say comes across in some kind of way - not just in the sense of this being elucidating (which, don’t get me wrong, hopefully it is!), but also as far as conveying my feelings to my friends and readers is concerned.

I’m going to keep trying, and I know I’m a little lacking in the Doing department, but now you all know what’s been on my mind. Thank you all for the support, stay safe in These Trying Times, and hopefully we can all keep growing together.

#another me

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priorireverte · 3 years

Photo

Congratulations Snapey!

Your application for Severus Snape has been accepted. I really love how much depth and thought you put in to how his history and life shaped him in to the man he was when he died. I am so excited to see how he’ll be shaped by his untimely un-demise. If he ever gets past the initial panic and doomandgloom.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Snapey, He/Him

TIMEZONE:GMT

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Probably 2 paras a week with occassional explosions of activity flooding the dash

ANYTHING ELSE: Got a looooot of experience. Lots. Also my Snape is both a bad person and a good person because I read the books. I don’t know if this is the place for it, but Severus, being a product of the 1970s has a lot of internalised homophobia, and while, I, Snapey, like to think I’m pretty up to date on prejudice and privilege, this grumpy old turd isn’t. If I post something that’s ruining your ability to enjoy the RP even if it isn’t in the triggers list, or you’re not in the thread, let me know. I never want fun to become work.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Severus Snape

BIRTHDATE: January 9, 1960

DEATHDATE: May 2, 1998

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Male, he/him, probably heteroromantic, definitely bisexual but low self image, so get past that, suitors. He is comfortably male despite his more feminine aspects.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

OCCUPATION: Returned

FACECLAIM: Adrien Brody/ Louis Garrel, either works, got plenty of age appropriate gifs. Got more sneers for LG tho :D

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

POSTBELLUM:

At first Severus thought that what he was experiencing was the effects of a brain starved of blood and oxygen, combined with hypovolemic shock. Nothing made sense, but that was all well and good when he thought the world around him was a delusion. His behaviour at first was unusual, almost excitable. Every night he went to sleep, sure that this would be the time he never awoke and finally his consciousness would fade into the ether. Morning always came. And oddly, his dying neurons never provided an image of either of the two wizards he had served for more than half his life….nor did they show him the boy he’d made it his life’s work to protect in anything but scraps of conversation and images on newspapers. All in all the delusion was a strange one but it had to be false…didn’t it?

It started to become clear to him that this was not the case, and he was neither awaiting trial for his crimes nor being nursed back to health- the wound that should have been on his neck was not even visible, though sometimes he was sure he almost felt the sharp stab of Nagini’s fangs into his throat. Finally, he realised his position, and the old guarded Severus returned.

PERSONALITY:

Severus’s personality appears to many to be a mystery. Equal parts anger and sadness, all held tight behind a number of walls. Deeply traumatised by the events of his childhood and youth, Severus hides a great deal, afraid to show too much of any emotion, lest it be considered weakness. The only emotion he allows himself to experience around others is anger, since his upbringing has told him it is the only feeling a man is allowed to have. Rage makes him feel for a moment to be powerful.

Severus is quintessentially Slytherin, despite what the late Albus Dumbledore may have implied with his heinous ‘sort too soon’ comment. Resourceful, practical, and driven, Severus has the makings of a great wizard. If only he had got his name into the history books for something else.

His strengths lie in logic, creativity, and problem solving, but he takes them too far at times, seeking to analyse and overanalyse every action. Looking too deeply for too long.

Severus, despite his former jobs as Head of Slytherin, and later, Headmaster, is not a leader. He has never been such, and never will be. He is solitary partially through choice, as he feels it more comfortable than to have to watch his words and wait for whatever fresh hell will be foist upon him.

His interaction with other living things has always been a weakness, be it plants, creatures magical and mundane, or other humans. He does not trust them and they often do not trust him. And considering all that he is….can you blame them?

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Severus’ family comes in three parts.

His home, a muggle father tossed about on the sea of Thatcherism in the industrial north and a pureblood witch for a mother who had greater concerns than the welfare of her son. It was not a happy home, even though it had moments of brightness.

Lily Evans, his best friend during childhood and a lamplight in the dark of the almost slums of Cokeworth. Her effects on his character and personhood were immeasurable.

Lastly, the Death Eaters, and specifically those he was at school with. As a boy with nowhere to belong, caught between the bright academia of Hogwarts and the dingy grime of Cokeworth summers, the Death Eaters offered him something he had long craved. A disenfranchised, talented youth, he lapped up their promises and made one of the defining choices, and mistakes of his life.

HISTORY

Poor, working-class, neglected, too smart for his own good. Severus had the deck stacked against him at an early age. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, as the cliche goes, Severus succeeded monumentally in the Wixen world. A star Potioneer, an expert in the Dark Arts, an occumplished Occlumens. But those would be victories hard won, working twice as hard as his housemates, for scant praise.

While his childhood was grim, there was some hope, borne by Lily Evans. The girl was bright and vibrant and importantly, a witch. Severus did not know tthe manner of her importance on his future only that he was sure she would be a part of it.

The first stumbling block to their friendship was their Sorting, but even that did not yet spell doom. They still spent plenty of time together, exploring spellcraft and potions, though Severus’ interest was always very practical and with a Darker bent to it. Their housemates however, had different opinions. While Lucius Malfoy’s favour protected him for his first two years from much of the open Blood purity rhetoric by which point he had proved his worth to his housemates, it was always there in the periphery, and the poison dripped slowly into his ear, along with the promises of power and whispers of a world where he never had to deal with muggles like Petunia and his father.

Come his fifth year, in the dead of winter, his distrust for authority, bolstered by the lack of interference from his teachers into the campaign of bullying he had endured, hit a new peak. Not only had his terrorisers attempted to kill him (Severus surprisingly believed better of Sirius Black than to use an ignorant friend as a murder weapon- and worse of James Potter, sure that the other boy had only come along because of the consequences it would have on Remus Lupin’s continued freedom), but there was to be no speaking of the incident and certainly no real material punishment. Add in the stress of standardised testing and the pressure to prove himself every bit the wizard his mother’s blood made him, and once summer rolled around and the sun and blood was high, he lashed out at his stalwart friend, ending a seven year friendship in an instant.

He tried to make amends at first, but pushed away, sought some small comfort in the bosom of brotherhood. And soon enough he was standing shoulder to shoulder with them in a war. As time passed and he began to realise that the aims of this organisation, and more importantly, the methods, were not only distasteful but in direct opposition to those morals he still held, his loyalty began to waver. And once again, a push in the form of an overheard prophecy and Severus found himself knelt at Albus Dumbledore’s feet on a windy November night begging for mercy. For himself, but more importantly for his old friend, no faith in the man who had been his master.

And so began the cat and mouse game, where Severus was always the mouse, tossed between two cats, two masters. Adding to the stress of being a teacher barely older than his oldest students was the constant threat, the fear of discovery, and of the sword hanging above the Potter’s heads.

When news of the Halloween attack on Godric’s Hollow reached him, the bottom fell out of his stomach. He felt -and not for the first time- that perhaps his death at Remus Lupin’s hands in the Shrieking Shack at 15 had been fated, and it was this divertion from the tapestry woven for him that had lead to so much anguish. Certainly he felt like a dead man walking then. And all the worse for knowing that the real target of the attack had survived. It was in an attempt to make amends that he put his life into Dumbledore’s hands. He clung to the last shred of Lily inside himself and out.

Harry Potter- the boy who would occupy many of his waking moments. Even before the boy came to Hogwarts, before seeing the cocky, miniature James Potter sitting in his class, glaring at him with Lily’s eyes, Severus lay awake many nights wondering how the boy would turn out. He hoped, of course, for more of Lily. More of that bright, almost holy, goodness. Time and distance had toyed with his memories somewhat, so when he recalled Lily, he no longer thought of the arguments, or the paranoid way he had viewed her friends, or even his anger at her. A resigned grief and loss was what he felt. But Severus had never had the easy way of things, so when fateful 1991 rolled around, while he knew he was in for seven long years, he could never have predicted how long and how hard they would be.

Firstly, the boy had neither of his parent’s genius. He was lazy with his work and only too eager to play silly quidditch games, putting himself at risk and Severus into mild heart palpitations. Not only did he have to continue to worry about the safety record of his potions class, but watch an ever worsening parade of Defence against the Dark Arts teachers, and a worrying resurgence of the old ways in the Slytherin common room. He tried his best to be the teacher he had never had, but in loco parentis meant something different from his perspective, and he was a stern taskmaster. His colleagues, those he should have been able to bond with at least a little were all older than him, and somehow less mature. They were frivolous in many ways he could not afford to be, they seemed to have no idea of the depths to which mankind could sink, and they doted on Potter.

Three years and multiple apoplectic rages later, terror re-entered Severus’ life. A growing itch on his arm, a darkening Mark until at last, the thing Dumbledore had somehow known would come, came. The Dark Lord returned. And so did Severus. Now he was older, and less susceptible to the Dark Lord’s flattery and promises, but the knife’s edge he walked grew ever sharper the more he ingratiated himself into the Dark Lord’s graces, no longer part of what had once been akin to a family.

And so the Order was resurrected, but he didn’t belong there either, and no-one let him forget it. Nevermind that he was now not only supposed to teach the boy Potions-which he had no skill in- but also Occlumency -which he was even worse at. As the year grew darker, with an ever more invasive ministry presence, and an ever more combative pupil, he found himself removing more and more memories, reliving them each time he returned them to the cramped tense space in his mind. He could feel all he had worked so hard for crumbling beneath him; he was losing his Slytherins to a side he dare not tell them the cruel truth of, the boy he had promised to protect was increasingly reckless, and under it all, like a viper hiding in the long grass, was the very real threat of the rising Dark Lord.

When at long last, the Headmaster aquiesced to what had now become his yearly routine of applying for the Dark Arts post, he knew that a monumental shift in the balance was coming. And he was not wrong. Not only was he to protect Potter, but Draco Malfoy. He was now a trusted lieutenant of the Dark Lord, and almost sole confidant to Headmaster Dumbledore. Severus retreated further into himself, socially and mentally. He knew he did not know all that either wizard had planned, but he knew enough. He knew that he had been used even worse than he had thought. There was no protecting Potter for the memory of those lost, or the hope of those yet living, there was just …maintaining him. Until the time was right. Until the finl chess move, trading one piece for the black King. It ate away at him. Every time he saw Lily’s eyes in that hated face, and knew that the boy must die, had always had to die. And then clever Draco, letting Death Eaters into the school. And first he had to stun Flitwick, in the midst of a growing companionship, if not quite friendship, and then….on the tower…

It probably came as no surprise to his supposed allies that he had betrayed them. And though he now had as sure a position among the Death Eaters as any wixen, was now truly embraced by them. It felt dirty. He felt dirty. Every spell he cast, no matter which side it was for, no matter to what end. It was as if the smog of Cokeworth, kept at bay for so long had finally spread throughout his veins, curled around his nerves, even around his magic.

The office, gifted to him by men he held nothing but disiluusioned distaste for felt colder and lonelier than his self-imposed isolation in the Dungeons had. He had long felt alone, but never had he been so truly alone as when he sat, surrounded by long dead wixen who had held the post before him, in a school that had been more pain than home. But he endured. He had sworn to. It was perhaps the only thing he had left to cling to. And so he did what he could, to lessen the suffering of others, to save them where he could. And the whole year, he knew that should he choose, he could fall back in with the old crowd, could abandon the plans a portrait whispered to him. Could deserve the hate in every glance from old colleagues, every whisper from the students. Could be the traitor they all thought him.

Only stolen glances at a scrap of paper never meant for him and a torn photograph kept him alive those dark days. It was almost a blessing to be ousted from the castle. Almost. The boy was alive, though Severus knew it couldn’t last, mustn’t be allowed to last.

And then came the battle. The grass he had picnicked on torn up and the dirt churned into mud. The loft battlements brought down to rubble. And he couldn’t find Potter to tell him, if he even would have listened. Lucius gave him a summons from the Dark Lord, and unwilling to break cover when there was still a chance to find the boy, he answered it. Back in that dirty old Shack, back where he should have died at 15. And this time, 23 long, hard-fought years later, he did.

And in those final moments, blood and memories pouring from him, all that he was, muggle blood flooding out along with the wixen, left him, but at least, at that last moment, he saw her eyes again, and there was no hate to be found. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. He hoped he had done enough.

OOC EXPLORATION:

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? Getting to flex my RP muscles in a seriously challenging environment, exploring a post-war Severus who isn’t free, who isn’t happy, and who has to once more adapt and survive.

ANYTHING ELSE?

The cot creaked as he sat up. Another day in this fresh hell. Only it couldn’t really be hell, because there were others here who didn’t deserve it. He closed his eyes briefly, but only briefly, because while there were safe people here, there were also very unsafe ones.

His hypervigilance, forged as a child, sharpened during his school years and honed to a razor’s edge by his years of spying and supervising children around cauldrons served him well as he made his way towards the canteens, watching as another no-longer dead wixen was dropped off. The Unspeakables still hadn’t let on their plans or what they knew of these Returned.

He waited patiently for some space, knowing he would feel safer with a cup of coffee in his hand, and less irritable to boot. As he poured his cup he turned suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He was being watched. He didn’t know if it was by friend or foe, not that he had many of the former. Severus almost hoped it was the latter. He had too often caught glances thrown his way that held an uncomfortable level of respect.

Of course he wanted that, had always strived to be respected….but this was…not right. He drew his issued robes tighter about himself. The mug felt warm in his hand, and he slowly raised it and took a sip, peering from behind the greasy fringe at his fellow inmates, daring them to meet his gaze.

Show yourself…

#prioriannouncement #prioriacceptance #severus snape #admin.emmy

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heungtanbts · 5 years

Text

Claim Your Throne

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre/warnings: hades!au; implications of smut and a lot of sexual tension but das about it.

word count: 2k

“You were jealous when Lady Anthara was up there with me.”

From where you’re sitting on your bed, you shoot him a disgruntled look. “And how exactly are you so sure of that? You were all the way up there on your throne, and I was much too far and deep within the crowds for you to even see me.”

Hoseok stands from the purple velvet arm chair and begins to leisurely pace around your chambers, a long cloak of onyx smoke trailing behind him.

“When I first became ruler of the Underworld, I had a hard time sleeping.” Hoseok reminisces, clasping his hands behind his back as he paces. “A hard time functioning in general, actually. Why? Because it was too noisy for me.”

You can’t stop yourself from snorting. “What, the walls aren’t sound proof enough for Your Highness?”

He just smiles, ignoring your comment. ”As soon as I rose to the throne, I began to hear countless voices in my head. Agonized moaning and groaning, desperate pleas, pain-ridden wailing, a harrowing symphony of voices of the wretched. I came to realize they were coming from all the souls of the Underworld. And I could hear every one of their thoughts.”

Hoseok slows his pacing to a halt, shaking his head with a sad smile. “I figured it must be a curse that I am forced to live with, a small price to pay for full dominion over the Dark Realm.”

All the sass and rebellion inside of you dies in that moment, your heart genuinely feeling for him. “That sounds... awful.”

Everyone knows the king of the Underworld is a powerful being that controls the army of the dead, but you’re pretty sure no one knows of this fact, one of the many secrets and hidden pains that lie behind the power. Though it doesn’t seem to bother Hoseok, at least visibly, as he shrugs it off immediately. “I quickly learned how to tune all the voices out. I had to, if I didn’t want to drive myself insane and wallow in eternal sorrow with them. Now I am very good at it and only hear what i want to hear.” From where he stands, his dark eyes find yours, and as if to further prove his point, he follows up with “So you think Lady Anthara is too weak and spineless to be my queen, huh?”

You freeze, the realization daunting. He can hear your thoughts as well. All of them.

“Its funny,” He makes his way over to the vanity, his movements painfully unhurried and relaxed as he unbuttons the cloak from around his neck, “I’ve mastered the art of tuning out the voices and multitude of thoughts, and yet,” he hangs the pile of billowing obsidian on the back of the chair, his gaze finding yours, “I can’t help but hear yours.”

The way your heart jumps in your chest nearly startles you, but you refuse to let that show. Instead you frown disapprovingly to cover it up. “Well I’d appreciate it if you could stop listening in and ignore mine too, please and thank you. It’s quite the invasion of privacy.”

You watch as Hoseok takes a seat at the edge of the bed where you are stationed, leaning on a hand on the soft mattress and looking like the origin of sin while doing so, strands of raven hair falling into his even darker eyes. He’s not even doing anything, not even touching you - he’s just sitting, all the while looking like the true king of the Underworld - powerful, majestic, incredibly sexy. In contrast, he tilts his head to the side, looking almost adorable and playful, well, as adorably playful as the overlord of the dead could be.

“I would stop if I could, love, but one - I can’t for some reason, and two - frankly,” his eyes twinkle darkly, “I don’t really want to.”

A surge of enraged heat rises inside of you. “Why you-“

Hoseok sighs nonchalantly, tracing his long index finger in the black silk, “You know, normally if anyone were to try to command me, let alone raise their voice at me like that, they’d find themselves taking a nice long swim with all the other souls in the River of Eternity.”

“Are you threatening me?” You retaliate, not feeling intimidated in the slightest. It’s obvious Hoseok, the conniving Dark Majesty Hades, is trying to mess with you, to get you to give in, but to what?

“No, I’m merely stating what normally happens in those cases. This is obviously not normal. Just so happens that you, my dear, defy all the odds.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Whatever do you mean?”

“You crave power, glory. The right to rule and have subjects bow at your feet. You crave me.”

His forwardness catches you off guard, a pit forming in your stomach. It’s true, deep down inside you long with all of your soul for those things. While most maidens of the Dark Realm want nothing more than a lover, the finest of wines and hot, passionate sexual escapades, you want those things and more. So much more. It annoys you to no end that he has guessed correctly about you. But that is all that it is - just a mere guess that happened to be correct. “What being doesn’t crave power and glory to some extent? And although you are objectively adequate in your looks and physique, you have no proof that I have ever thought such things.”

Hoseok clears his throat, “And i quote, ‘He’s so hot, I just want him to rip off his robes, come lay with me in my chambers, and grind up on me with his c-“

“That’s enough!” You rapidly cover his mouth with your hand, feeling crimson heat flood your cheeks. “At least you could have the decency to not say all of that out loud!” You’re absolutely mortified that he heard all of that. That means he knows just how long you’ve been pining after him, drooling over his power, daydreaming of his beautiful body all over yours, imagining holding his hand as you sit side by side on the throne. He knows everything.

“Unfortunately, I quite like my cloak so I opted to gently disrobe instead, against your wishes.” He smirks knowingly. “However, the rest of your sinful thoughts and fantasies I can most definitely make a reality.”

“Not unless I die from embarrassment first” You groan, head falling into your palms, ashamed.

Suddenly you feel Hoseok lean forward, so much that when you uncover your face, you find being cornered to lay back on the massive bed, head cushioned by ripples of black silk as he cages you in with his hands. He towers over you, his knees straddling one of your legs as you sink deeper into the mattress. The mouth-watering lines of his lean, carved body are visible even through the dark fabric of his robes as he hovers over you so closely, you can feel the heat, the raw power, radiating off of him. His eyes have somehow grown even darker, pupils blown out and brimming with lust, and that sight alone triggers another cascade of heat within you, this time not to your cheeks from embarrassment, but somewhere lower, a region where embarrassment no longer exists.

He takes his time trailing the back of his fingers down your cheek, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his surprisingly cool skin, his touch leaving shivers in his wake. Hoseok makes his way down the column of your throat, moving up and down the sensitive area in a light feathery motion that drives you mad.

“I must say,” your eyes open at the sound of Hoseok’s sultry voice as he continues explore the map of your body, grazing his fingers down your arm to draw light circles in the palm of your hand, “I do agree with you.”

“Agree with what?” you choke out, much too caught up in the way his fingers now dance across your collar bones and at the neckline of your bust. Your breathing is becoming more embarrassingly rapid and haggard by the minute, and it seems no matter how much air you take in, you’re still drunkenly dizzy from Hoseok’s scent and mere presence. He lowers himself down to an elbow so that now his body is laying on top of yours, melding into your shape and warmth, and you almost jump into the River of Eternity right then and there.

“Your thought that you’d serve to be a much greater queen than any other maiden out there.”

Your eyes widen, his tantalizing game momentarily forgotten. “God dammit, Hoseok, you just had to hear every single thought that crossed my mind, didn’t you?”

“I couldnt resist.” He leans in dangerously close, leaving barely any space between his lips and yours, “I can’t resist you.” His hot breath puffs against your lips temptingly, your heart rate sky rocketing at the feeling of his free hand now traveling further south to play with the hem of your shirt, Hoseok, Hades, is the omnipotent ruler of the Underworld, the most authoritative being in the Dark Realm, so why is he giving the Demon of Lust a run for his money with all his unbearable sexiness and god-forbidden ability to tease you to near death?

Hoseok suddenly laughs, the moment of thick tension broken, moving his head to the side to chuckle heartily into the crook of your neck. At first his reaction baffles you, but then in dawning realization, you immediately scowl. Seriously, damn him and his ability to hear your thoughts.

When his laughter finally dies down, his expression becomes serious, no signs of jest anywhere to be found. “Be my queen. Come, share in this great power of mine. Rule the Underworld by my side, as one of- no, as the most feared ruler in the universe. The Queen of Death, the Empress of the Dark Realm. Come, my love, come claim your throne.” Hoseok’s proposition is sinfully inviting, and to make matters worse he brushes his hips against your leg seductively as he says this, and you’re not sure exactly which “throne” he’s implying you should claim.

You find that you have a very difficult time ignoring the way your heart rams against your chest at the thought of spending the rest of eternity by his side, overseeing the Underworld together, indulging in the power and glory as one body, one unit. Having all of the Dark Realm at your feet, bowing in reverence and fear because of you, their feared Queen. You squirm slightly under Hoseok’s carnal gaze. Now you really don’t know which throne seems more tempting.

At your reaction, Hoseok’s lips curl up into a grin, “ I take that as a yes then?”

“I beg to differ, I haven’t said anything yet.” You quip defensively. It’s no lie that you crave power just as much as Hoseok does, that fact is just as obvious as the suffocating tension that lies between the two of you. This here is a power play you don’t want to give into so easily, all for the sake of your greed and pride. Your sanity is slipping between your fingers as the seconds pass, and you hate to admit that at this point, you’re barely hanging by a thread. Ideally, you not only desire complete domination over this world that he has claimed - you want complete and utter power over Hoseok himself.

But completely opposite to how a ruthless, all-mighty ruler would act, Hoseok begins to scatter soft kisses all over your face. Rather than bring out the overwhelming authority you know he possesses and is just teeming with, instead he forces you to bow at your knees with his sensual touches, his lips lingering for a moment too long at the corner of your lips, knowing you want more than that, need more than that.

“On the contrary, you’ve already said quite a bit, my love.” Hoseok murmurs in between kisses, pausing every now and then to admire your flushed cheeks and lustful gaze.

You huff in a weak attempt to hide just how affected you are. “Will this ‘thought reading’ thing ever stop being so annoying?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “You may have said a lot with your thoughts, but actually you’ve said much more with your body, with your eyes. So much so that I didn’t even need to hear your thoughts to know.” He presses himself against you, eliciting an involuntary moan from your lips. “Come claim your throne, my queen - please.”

And that’s all it takes for you to give in, wrap your arms around his neck and urgently pull him towards to you, your lips finally finding where they belong - molded to his, whispering sweet nothings and eternal promises of pure pleasure against them. In the moment, you may have won by holding out until he gave in, but you both knew you were already done for the moment he stepped foot into your chambers. It was a losing battle from the very beginning, starting from the day his power and might claimed your heart many, many years ago. It’s been far too long since then, and finally, finally it is time to rightfully claim what is yours - tonight, you will claim your throne.

---

A/N: i had a dream about hoseok as hades. i know little to nothing about greek mythology and the actual story of hades. i also did not intend for this to end up being about hoseok as super sexy, mind-reading, sultry king of the Underworld but that’s how it turned out sooo YEAH. also i guess i’m counting this as just a regular one shot. i hope you all can share in my pain with me thanks kbye.

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fantroll-purgatory · 4 years

Photo

@theshieldswordandcrown

I’d like it if you guys could look over my tea man for me! (Art by my friend lythaeriahomestucks. I haven’t made him a sprite yet.

Oofadoofa it’s been a while. Hi I hope your roleplay group is fun!

World: Alternia, but the draft is a lot further off than in canon, because none of my group is interested in roleplaying interstellar space battles or politics, especially considering the amount of setup that would have to go into making deep space believable. Though I think Friendsim’s stated they’re dragged off planet at 9 sweeps, so he’d still have a little time before getting dragged underground anyway.

Name: Oolong Matcha. Yes, they’re both types of tea. It started off as a quick joke, but I’ve grown to love it. Not only is matcha green, like his blood, but he’s a gardener, and really enjoys tea.

Mmmmm I mean joke trolls are famously canon in Homestuck. See: SWIFER EGGMOP or the salt and pepper shaker troll BUTTT mmmm. I feel like naming a character based at least partially on Japanese monks Oolong would deserve some side-eye. But I like the matcha bit! So let’s see…I like him being a gardener since monastic gardens were very much A Thing, and one of the famous still-extant ones is at Rievaulx abbey, so maybe we give him RIVULX, which sounds sufficiently trollish and is obvious enough for someone to get the reference.

Age: 9.69 Sweeps, or 21 Earth years.

Theme/Story: He’s partially themed after monks, specifically Irish and Japanese, which was originally an excuse for his bald head, but ended up influencing his clothing, calm demeanor, and lusus. I was also, oddly, thinking of 4chan – not maniacs like /pol/, but just average people who don’t get out enough, like to chatter about anime or cooking, and generally act like a bit of a dipshit. Fatherhood is definitely a theme with him as well – he’s already a father figure to two other trolls.

Hmmm. I like the broad concept, but I think we can tighten up a little on the “monk” theme by expanding it. Review Goals: General overview, classpecting advice, filling in missing details like fetch modus or lunar sway, etc.

Strife Specibus: He greatly prefers to snipe threats before they reach him, but if he’s forced into melee, he’ll grab a pipe and go berserker nuts. He takes satisfaction in neutralizing threats, especially if he’s protecting someone or something. He’s not averse to talking things out, but dislikes putting others on the line.

Hmm. None of that is a strife specibus, though I suppose you’re going for riflekind and pipekind. Generally void players use fistkind since it’s the absence of a weapon, but if you want to give him another option besides hand-to-hand melee may I suggest poisonkind? He could use something from his garden, like monkshood :3c. Or if you want to give him a melee weapon he could use the sansetsukon per the 36th Chamber of Shaolin, which would double as a symbol reminder since he could arrange the segments in a backwards s. Fetch Modus: ;;3;; I have absolutely no idea.

What about a clue modus where the items are obscured but contain details describing them? With the caveat that some of them will have similar color/taste/textures listed. I think this might be fun because there are actually *two* famous detectives with the last name Monk, Adrian Monk and William Monk.

Blood Color: Jade.

That works great, especially with Friendsim’s reveal that many jades are indeed monastic/cloistered.

Lunar Sway: Not sure.

Given that he’s a monk and you have painted him as someone unlikely to cause conflict or rebel against the system, I think he’d be a Prospit dreamer.

Title: Knight of Void, someone who exploits what little secrecy and irrelevance he has for all it’s worth. He was first conceived as a Bard, to fit into a fansession, but I eventually decided it didn’t fit what the character had developed to be.

Symbol and Meaning: I made it up, and it doesn’t have a name. It’s an infinity symbol, broken in the center - like this, but flipped 90 degrees clockwise. I guess it could tie into his aspect by…destroying infinity, I guess, but I really haven’t put that much thought into it.

If we’re going by the EZ, he would be Virittanius, the Deliberate. Which I think fits him quite well! It also looks like a further corruption of the sign you gave him, so I may toy with that a little in the redesign. Handle: I feel like I might have given him a serious handle at one point, but if I did, I forgot it, so for now, it’s oolongMatcha. Just his name. Considering his classpect and desire for secrecy, this makes about as much sense as a rain barrel made out of crackers, but I’m not sure what to give him.

Since his new initials are RM, maybe revenantMyiopsitta. Revenant, of course, to hint at the fact that he’s part of the blood caste most commonly associated with rebirth after death, and Myiopsitta being the genus for two types of parakeet: the cliff parakeet and the monk parakeet. So we have his true identity as well as the unusual nature of his hive, both concealed in plain sight. Quirk: he types in all lower case and likes putting his horns in his emoticons! ’:) Maybe doing it like (:; would make more sense, as it’s his right (our left) horn that’s busted.

I like it! Depending on his redesign you may also want him to uƨe backwardƨ ƨ’ƨ to mimic hiƨ ƨymbol.

Special Abilities: Supreme Dadliness. Jokes aside, he’s a crack shot, even with his impeded vision, and has been successfully flying under the radar his whole life.

If you still want him to be a crack shot even with the changes I suggested above, maybe he uses blowdarts to poison his enemies from afar?

Lusus: His father is a MASSIVE white snake; I was thinking some kind of constrictor. Personality-wise, he’s close to a prototypical 50s dad. He’s a safe haven for his son and those his baby cares about, and is exceedingly patient, to the point of letting a small child fingerpaint on him. He’s also willing to carry Oolong in emergencies, though I’m not really certain that would work in real life, movement-wise.

I feel like the snake can be a little overplayed as a lusus. If we want to give him something similar to a mother grub as a jadeblood, why not a massive butterfly based on the monk/dusky friar? It also gives you the mechanics for how his dadderfly would carry him around in emergencies.

Interests: He used to spend a lot of time alone on the internet - I originally conceptualized him as a very lonely NEET, to the point he had to find his wallet to remember his own name - but has become more adventurous and friendly, spending more time with his girlfriend and friends (and he has friends now!) He’s very proud of his garden and fruit trees, some of which are rare, difficult to grow properly, and/or dangerous (offering more security).

Huh! You don’t explain *how* he goes from isolated to friendly, but I’d hope that gardening is a way for him to reach out to others since it’s a hobby you can commit to on your own but bond with other hobbyists.

Hive: He lives out in the woods by himself, though not so far from other trolls that he can’t take the day to go shopping or see his mate. His hive is surrounded by his garden on all sides, and has a very visible path down the center (making it easy for him to see anyone approaching, and shoot if they’re a threat). Trees surround it, and dangerous plants are strategically placed to make going through his garden unpleasant at best (it also makes weeding a pain, but he thinks it’s worth it). His hive is especially unusual in that the porch is raised up to the second floor with large poles, and you have to use a ladder to get up to it (unless you’re snakedad, in which case you go up the poles). He has a remote so he can let it down from the ground, as well as access to it on the platform, so he can let people up himself. I don’t think the ground level has a door. I’d be happy to submit pictures, if you want.

Feel free to show us pictures, but I like the concept a lot!

Appearance: Tall and rail-thin, excepting his oddly curvy hips. (I figured due to jades being majority female, developing jade males might be exposed to more than the usual amount of estrogen and androgens. Also I’m way more used to drawing women than men and his initial outline was a gal for like ten minutes.) He shaves his head bald. (This is because A) I didn’t want to bother trying to figure out men’s hair - I almost never draw dudes - and B) he’s partially themed after monks, who often shave their heads. I don’t remember why he says he does it.)

…man, I’m gonna take issue with the way you phrased this description. There’s a lot of gender essentialism going on in your explanation there, and given that a number of us mods are trans and nonbinary I feel obligated to point out a few things:

1) Trolls are bugs. They’re not even mammals. They aren’t exposed to androgen or estrogen or any hormone to give them a certain body shape. It is quite heavily implied that when the mother grub gives birth it is to a bunch of larvae.

2) I know that Homestuck lore has given us largely jade girls and one jade trans guy but that’s no reason to assume that jade men are broadly more “feminine” by default in *any* dimension

3) Even if trolls *did* work like humans, it rubs me the wrong way to see someone talking about a man’s “oddly” curvy hips like I’ve got guy friends both trans and cis with wide hips and the only reason to remark on it at all is because We Live In A Society that forcibly genders people in relation to physical characteristics.

…So I am otherwise taking your description at face value. ______ Matcha is tall, rail thin, with curvy hips and a bald head. I will probably add some little fangs, per the Alternian fashion guide.

He wears leggings (unless it’s very hot) and long tunics or robes, usually tan, with his symbol emblazoned on the breast. He goes barefoot if he can. His right (our left) horn is broken, due to an accident in his youth (I think he fell onto something?), amusingly improving his vision, since his unbroken left horn points in front of his left eye, obscuring it somewhat. His face could almost be described as delicate, and his default expression is calm.

I don’t knooooow that tan is a color trolls wear all that often in Alternia, so I will see how I can rework that in the redesign. I get him being barefoot, but I may give it a shot spriting him monk shoes for if he wants to go on an outing. :3c For his broken horn…hm. When we see trolls with physical damage, it is almost always something more significant than just “childhood accident” (see: every troll in Homestuck except Equius who somehow had like 3 simultaneous accidents?). I have an idea for his horns that I will get to in the redesign, and I will probably add a hook to his front horn, both because it’s a jadeblood trait and because it seems suitably horrifying to constantly have a sharp implement millimeters from your eye.

Personality: Oolong is a nice, fatherly young man, well regarded by most he meets. He really really likes tea. He has a beautiful, dangerous mafiosa matesprite in a rustblood named Andora Ingenu, and they adore each other. He’s also taken on the substitute dad role for an adorable young fuschia who lives in the swamp near his forest, Lillie Waters, teaching her how to cook (and keep her tools clean) and rescuing her from other fuschias. He’s very protective of his and his loved ones’ privacy and safety, and spends a LOT of his time in the massive gardens around his hive, of which he’s deservedly proud. He is very good at being sneaky, and sometimes takes the time to run around seeing what he can get away with, especially in the realm of snatching seeds up for his garden. He sells whatever plants he can grow for money, especially fruits and vegetables, but he doesn’t really enjoy sales. He doesn’t put a lot of stock in blood superiority, but doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He’s oddly well adjusted for someone who spent most of his life alone.

I like this description! Also looking at his close compatriots, it looks like I can swap the tan in his design for rust or fuchsia. We already see jadebloods wearing a fair amount in the red/burgundy/purple spectrum, so it should fit right in with the others.

Land: I don’t remember if I’ve come up with one. If I did, I feel like it may have heavily wooded areas, dark and tangled and difficult to navigate.

Hmmm. What about Land of Rough and Reflection (LORAR)? Covered in rough terrain, with pools to contemplate oneself. Unbeknownst to your troll, there are switches at the bottom of each lake (deeper than he could ever hope to dive and hold his breath) that must be flipped to drain the lakes and free the consorts from the underwater caves in which they’ve been trapped for generations. His land would initially seem completely empty and without guidance, and it neatly parallels his own situation before he began to socialize.

I hope you like him! :) I’d love to see what you guys think of him.

He’s certainly an interesting troll, and I hope I’ve helped by way of sharpening up on his theme! Let’s move on to the redesign.

Top to bottom as usual!

Hair - I gave him some stubble courtesy of fan-troll (I have never managed a post without plugging fan-troll/tajazzled’s sprite sheet and I’m not gonna stop now)

Horns - I wanted to make his other horn sort of…curve away from his head so it looks like his symbol from above?

Eyes and brows - they didn’t change but big ups to fan-troll for giving me bases to modify!

Mouth - this is a modification of Sollux’s mouth but I gave him lil fangs and a little lower lip definition

Robes - I just modified some of Kanaya’s robes, appropriately enough! I decided to go for a red/pink shade that was between rust and fuchsia so he could fit in while subtly broadcasting his allegiance

Shoes - they’re John’s but with buckles! :B monk shoes

Aaaand that’s about it for my critique! I hope this helped!

-TR

#jadeblood #submission #oolong matcha #oolong #matcha #theshieldswordandcrown #rivulx #rivulx matcha #review #redesign #tr review

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elyvorg · 5 years

Text

How (not) to draw Kaito in left profile view: A Kaito Fanartist's Lament

If you're familiar with my blog, you'll know that I've drawn Kaito a lot. And contrary to apparently a large proportion of this fandom, I actually enjoy drawing his ridiculous hair! Usually. From a lot of the more commonly-used angles, it has a very distinctive shape to it which I find fun to get down.

But from certain angles? Not so much. In particular, it is not a coincidence that none of the drawings I've done of Kaito have ever been composed such that he's in a left profile view. Because I am not at all comfortable with drawing his spiky fringe from that angle. The rest of his hair is still fine - it is always very UP, just draw a lot of spikes going UP and you can't go too far wrong - but his fringe, from this angle, is a Problem. Here is a chronicle of my adventures in trying to figure this problem out.

First, let's look at some sprites of Kaito from the angles that give his hair its most distinctive shapes, in order to get a sense of the shape his fringe is "supposed" to be.

Front:

Pretty straightforward, and pretty consistent between the sprites and various illustrations drawn from that angle, give or take a spike or two. Kinda downwards, about as far as his nose or mouth for the longest spikes, and also pointing about 45 degrees to his left.

Right 3/4 view:

Also pretty straightforward and consistent between different depictions. I personally consider this the most distinctive and iconic shape of Kaito's hair, so if any angle should be considered "correct" and the thing to use for reference in case of inconsistencies, I think it should be this one. Note how from this angle we can see more than we could from the front that his fringe spikes not only point to his left but also outwards from his face at least a bit. They do not fold back around to the left side of his face towards his left ear.

Right profile view:

This still seems fairly consistent with the other sprites we've looked at so far, at least as far as one can tell considering that his fringe spikes are partially hidden behind his face and pointing away from the camera. All of them are fine to look at, because any awkwardness in foreshortening of the spikes is mitigated by the fact that they're pointing away anyway, and they're not getting in the way of his face from this angle. There are however slight inconsistencies here between the different depictions of this angle, in exactly how far outwards from his face his fringe spikes are angled, and how long they are.

I personally like drawing Kaito from this angle a lot and have done it a bunch of times. It's pretty surprising to me to realise that the official artists almost never have (this was basically all I could find; that third one is some merch something or other from the wiki using what should be his opposing Debate Scrum sprite but for some reason the actual one they use in the game is a mirrored version of his left profile view, grumble grumble).

Left 3/4 view:

Now we're getting into possibly being a liiiittle more inconsistent with the other angles. At this point his fringe spikes should probably be pointing a little less downwards and to the left and generally more towards the camera than they actually are. Not that I blame the artists for not drawing it that way, though, because foreshortening is hard, probably especially when it's spikes. Nonetheless, these are still all quite consistent between different depictions of him from this angle, so getting his hair to look right from this angle is still fairly simple as you just need to copy this basic shape.

(The arrows are pointing out something else of note, namely the only downwards-pointing spikes in Kaito's hair that aren't on his fringe, which are only found on the left side of his head. Illustrations of Kaito from an angle that should have these spikes visible are incredibly inconsistent on whether they even exist or not, so while I personally choose to include them in my depictions of Kaito's hair whenever relevant, I think it can be considered equally correct not to do so).

But now for the left profile view, which for some reason has been used in official drawings way more than the right profile view despite the fact that even the official artists clearly don't have a clue how to keep it consistent, as we are about to see. There are a few different approaches they can take.

The Too Backwards:

On its own, aesthetically, this looks fine. But that's not the angle that his fringe spikes go at at all! This is incredibly inconsistent with his hair as seen from most other angles, particularly the right 3/4 view, in which clearly those spikes are not going to end up anywhere near behind his left ear. The spikes are very straight and should not be bending around his forehead to point backwards like this.

The Too Short:

This time, the spikes are probably angled about right; mostly downwards, maybe a bit forwards, any “leftwards” would be pointing into the camera from here and so not visible, and not doing any kind of wrapping backwards around behind his ear. But if you look at any of his regular sprites, the spikes are meant to be long enough to be down about as far as his nose or mouth. These barely go down past his eyes... which has the incidental benefit of keeping his eye unobscured. As it happens, the Too Backwards approach also incidentally results in mostly not getting in the way of his eye. Hmm. Starting to sense a pattern here.

The Too Forwards:

Now this is a novel idea! Only one regular illustration in the whole game uses this approach, such that I had to dig into the closing arguments (which I otherwise left out of this because their art style is a bit different anyway) to find another similar example. This overlaps with the Too Short approach a lot in terms of angle, but these spikes are longer while still not blocking his eye from view. But maybe in doing so they've ended up pointing just a little more forwards than they really should be? The one on the left here, while seeming closer to correct than the rest we've seen, still looks a little off to me. (Maybe it’s just that there isn’t even attempt to foreshorten and imply they’re pointing into the camera.)

So if none of these are quite correct and consistent with the shape of Kaito's hair as seen from other angles, what should it look like? The best way to be sure is to take an image of Kaito from the right profile view, flip it, and then redraw the hair spikes to be on the near side of his face while keeping the silhouette the same, since that should be the same from either side. So I went and did this both by tracing one of the official right-profile sprites, and then with one of my own drawings of Kaito from a right profile view, and...

look at this ridiculous doofus how does he even manage to see anything that's approximately 45 degrees to his left (he probably doesn't)

...here we have the problem. The shape that Kaito's fringe is probably supposed to make from this angle blocks his eyes to varying degrees depending on exactly how you're angling it within the realistic bounds that it could be at. The Too Forwards approach kind of has the right idea but is probably exaggerating the forwardsness just slightly to avoid having that happen. I suppose it depends on which right profile image you use for reference, since they're all slightly inconsistent between the tiny handful of official ones that even exist.

I can try and do the anime artstyle cheat of having the eyes be visible through the hair anyway, but that's usually only forgivable because the fringe of hair blocking the view is probably thin enough that you'd be able to kind of see their eyes through it regardless. Here, though, there's such a large volume of foreshortened spikes in the way that I don't think one can reasonably get away with this. If the point of an art piece were to obscure Kaito's eyes and therefore his expression, then this particular angle would be great and incredibly useful. But otherwise, if he's supposed to be expressive? Eeehhhhhhh.

Leaving us with a conundrum of either drawing Kaito's hair correctly and how it should look from that angle but awkwardly obscuring his face in the process, or drawing something that leaves his face perfectly visible and readable but very clearly isn't consistent with what his hair is doing when he's seen from any other angle. This is also not even getting into the part where foreshortening is hard and I'm not sure how well I managed to do that when trying to draw the spikes "correctly"; they still don't look like they're pointing into the camera as much as they probably should, but how do you even???

So, to sum up, and to give the advice that I myself have been following all this time: how best to draw Kaito in left profile view?

Don't.

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 spoilers #kaito momota #the kaito hair mystery #i'm not even sure why this post happened it just kind of did #was messing around with drawing what it 'should' look like and figured i might as well share my Important Research Findings #maybe it'll help someone else who's struggling to draw this space dork's hair?

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theanoninyouraskblog · 5 years

Text

Well, well, well.

@erasermic-aus

Looks like henry and windy are at it again. Lets give them hell shall we.

Mmm look at that delicious hint. Alright you know the drill lets look at obvious stuff first.

1: We’ve got a recording microphone. Specifically based on the shape it looks like we either have a condenser mic (specifically a large condenser mic) or a Ribbon microphone. Knowing what we do about Present Mic canonically (He has a radio show) we can assume this Mic also has a radio show (or a vlog, we’ll get to that later) which means he’s probably using a Ribbon Microphone given that they’re said to have the most natural sound and are usually used for recording human voices.

But we can take this further.

Hizashi’s Microphone is a mounted mic on stand... obviously (they help with audio quality). And he appears to have a pop filter on the front (basically it makes audio not sound like shit or in the words of an expert: “One of the simplest recording gadgets is the humble pop filter... positioned between the vocalist and your microphone to block plosives – those percussive P and B sounds that cause annoying low frequency bumps.”- a random fucking website, I did this research myself, I’m not sighting it if I don't have to.)

2: Red eyes. Now Hizashi canonically in the Bnha comics has read eyes, it was changed for the show... for atheistic reasons I guess? This isn’t some measly one off, because Windy and Henry aren’t sloppy. Lets take a look at what versions of Mic have green eyes. The mad hatter. Waiter Hizashi. That's it... there aren't that many full color pictures of hizashi with his eyes colored/open.

But lets look at who has red eyes. God’s Abomination, specifically when it’s villain mic and hero eraser. (there's no fully colored version the other way round so I’m just sort of assuming his eyes are green when it’s hero hizashi and villain eraser, would make my job soooo much easier being able to draw that conclusion) BUT NOPE I can’t make that clear decisive cut of red means evil, because guess what... HERO MIC HAS RED EYES IN SCREECH’S AU.

But you know what we do know.

Mic isn’t a hero. Henry told us as much.

Odd emphasis on not there... implies he’s a villain. But we wont rule out civilian yet.

Now we get to talk about this:

Firstly, that one eye visible one eye not is a fucking trope in the art world.

Want to know why?

Nah, I’m joking it’s been around a lot longer than him. But the glasses glare and the one eye is a very common theme. Don’t believe me?

That hiding one or both eyes on dangerous characters thing? Also a fucking trope.

Want a list of popular anime character with only one eye showing??? I have one!! https://www.ranker.com/list/best-anime-characters-with-one-eye-showing/ranker-anime Want a whole fucking page about it? https://www.animecharactersdatabase.com/tags.php?id=1085 Here's the data base!!!

Want videogame examples? Undyne (undertale), Sans (undertale), Garry (Ib)! The list goes on!

And doing something with a character’s eyes is always a trope! Character got possessed??? Guess what you can change the eyes to clue your audience in! You’re character just went fucking feral? SLITTED PUPILS ARE THE WAY MY DUDE. Aizawa Shouta just activated his quirk? Zoom in on them eyes, change color and do a weird color fracture.

Super powerful character has eyes flash? Totally normal, robot character’s eyes change color when scanning? One eye changes color?

Heterochromia is also super common.

This implies that Hizashi is dangerous, since it’s not happening before a fight as far as I can tell, it just implies he’s a dangerous man and not to be messed with.

Also remember how I mentioned vlogging? There is the off chance Hizashi is blogging and that’s why his attention isn't on his microphone. Or he could be looking at photos, or something... maybe a kidnapped and tied up Aizawa... who knows.

3: Now lets look at that dialog.

“He was amazing!” We can infer that the he in this situation is probably Aizawa... though it could technically be anyone. But we’re going to stick with Aizawa.

He was amazing? Well sounds a bit like Hizashi talking about Hero Aizawa, having seen Aizawa on patrol or even having fought him. One this is for sure, this is probably an obsessive mic. The sort that fixates on Aizawa or the like. Seems to me like a villain obsessing over a hero. Now, subtler details.

1: Lets take a look at this background. That’s glass right there which means this isn't Hizashi’s house, this is a recording studio. And Hizashi is either the host or is being interviewed, and we can rule that out due to the fact his feet are up and it’s fucking rude to do that if your being interviewed.

Now this could also be a police interrogation room, but the chair lends to it not being so, as does his posture and the mic itself. No this is a recording studio which means Mic defiantly has his own show.

Not only that, he’s a public figure. And probably a villain!

2: Hand guestures are something distinctly Hizashi. As someone who speaks with their hands the same way he does, expressing with hands isn’t just a thing for other people, you move your hands by yourself, reminding yourself to put on socks with motions, etc. But that, that's an odly specific position.

Now talking with your hands is a common phenomena, books have been written about it, it allegedly conveys strong leadership and the like... however it’s also a trait sociopaths and psychopath are known to mimic in order to endear people to them. Now let me put up a sociopath/psycopath checklist (The tests are very similar and I didnt feel like doing both) and lets look at Present Mic as a character.

GLIB and SUPERFICIAL CHARM — The tendency to be smooth, engaging, charming, slick, and verbally facile. Psychopathic charm is not in the least shy, self-conscious, or afraid to say anything. A psychopath never gets tongue-tied. They have freed themselves from the social conventions about taking turns in talking, for example. ✓ Hey, look Charm? Never gets tongue tied... hmmm

GRANDIOSE SELF-WORTH — A grossly inflated view of one’s abilities and self-worth, self-assured, opinionated, cocky, a braggart. Psychopaths are arrogant people who believe they are superior human beings. ✓ This one is a little harder to check off, because he’s not nearly as self centered, but cocky? yeah... yep, so he gets half a point here.

NEED FOR STIMULATION or PRONENESS TO BOREDOM — An excessive need for novel, thrilling, and exciting stimulation; taking chances and doing things that are risky. Psychopaths often have low self-discipline in carrying tasks through to completion because they get bored easily. They fail to work at the same job for any length of time, for example, or to finish tasks that they consider dull or routine. ✓ I dunno if you’ve met Hizashi, but this fits in rather well.

PATHOLOGICAL LYING — Can be moderate or high; in moderate form, they will be shrewd, crafty, cunning, sly, and clever; in extreme form, they will be deceptive, deceitful, underhanded, unscrupulous, manipulative, and dishonest. ✓ If he’s a villain he checks this easily. Especially if he’s a public figure AND a villain.

CONNING AND MANIPULATIVENESS — The use of deceit and deception to cheat, con, or defraud others for personal gain; distinguished from Item #4 in the degree to which exploitation and callous ruthlessness is present, as reflected in a lack of concern for the feelings and suffering of one’s victims. ✓ See above

LACK OF REMORSE OR GUILT — A lack of feelings or concern for the losses, pain, and suffering of victims; a tendency to be unconcerned, dispassionate, cold-hearted, and non-empathic. This item is usually demonstrated by a disdain for one’s victims. Ehhh… I really need to see more of this version of Hizashi to determine that.

SHALLOW AFFECT — Emotional poverty or a limited range or depth of feelings; interpersonal coldness in spite of signs of open See above.

CALLOUSNESS and LACK OF EMPATHY — A lack of feelings toward people in general; cold, contemptuous, inconsiderate, and tactless. Once again see above

PARASITIC LIFESTYLE — An intentional, manipulative, selfish, and exploitative financial dependence on others as reflected in a lack of motivation, low self-discipline, and inability to begin or complete responsibilities. Nope.

POOR BEHAVIORAL CONTROLS — Expressions of irritability, annoyance, impatience, threats, aggression, and verbal abuse; inadequate control of anger and temper; acting hastily. ✓ Acting hastily? Yep.

PROMISCUOUS SEXUAL BEHAVIOR — A variety of brief, superficial relations, numerous affairs, and an indiscriminate selection of sexual partners; the maintenance of several relationships at the same time; a history of attempts to sexually coerce others into sexual activity or taking great pride at discussing sexual exploits or conquests. Cannonically this would make sense but we wont check it.

EARLY BEHAVIOR PROBLEMS — A variety of behaviors prior to age 13, including lying, theft, cheating, vandalism, bullying, sexual activity, fire-setting, glue-sniffing, alcohol use, and running away from home. Dunno yet.

LACK OF REALISTIC, LONG-TERM GOALS — An inability or persistent failure to develop and execute long-term plans and goals; a nomadic existence, aimless, lacking direction in life. This man wanted to be a radio host. That's not a fucking stable job Hizashi. This is poor planning. ✓

IMPULSIVITY — The occurrence of behaviors that are unpremeditated and lack reflection or planning; inability to resist temptation, frustrations, and urges; a lack of deliberation without considering the consequences; foolhardy, rash, unpredictable, erratic, and reckless. ✓ No duh

IRRESPONSIBILITY — Repeated failure to fulfill or honor obligations and commitments; such as not paying bills, defaulting on loans, performing sloppy work, being absent or late to work, failing to honor contractual agreements. ✓ if He’s a fucking villain.

FAILURE TO ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR OWN ACTIONS — A failure to accept responsibility for one’s actions reflected in low conscientiousness, an absence of dutifulness, antagonistic manipulation, denial of responsibility, and an effort to manipulate others through this denial. ✓ if He’s a fucking villain.

MANY SHORT-TERM MARITAL RELATIONSHIPS — A lack of commitment to a long-term relationship reflected in inconsistent, undependable, and unreliable commitments in life, including marital. Nope

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY — Behavior problems between the ages of 13-18; mostly behaviors that are crimes or clearly involve aspects of antagonism, exploitation, aggression, manipulation, or a callous, ruthless tough-mindedness. Dunno yet

REVOCATION OF CONDITION RELEASE — A revocation of probation or other conditional releases due to technical violations, such as carelessness, low deliberation, or failing to appear. Dunno yet

CRIMINAL VERSATILITY — A diversity of types of criminal offenses, regardless if the person has been arrested or convicted for them; taking great pride at getting away with crimes. …..✓

Let me spell this out for you, Hizashi is displaying an oddly exaggerated handmotion, even for the most exuberant of hand talkers. (Generaly talking with your hands never gets outside of a box, here I’ve drawn the box on mic for you.)

The larger box is where most people talk and people why are shy or have been bullied/are self conscious of their hands talk in the smaller box.

He as a character ticks of most of a psychopathic checklist and if he is indeed a psychopath he could have learned that hand motion endear people to you. Now I’m not saying he is a psychopath, most people tick off at least 4 of those boxes, I’m just saying it’s possible.

3 yep that eye is still confusing me, he defiantly seems like he’s looking at something and the more I look at that smug expression the more I think it’s Aizawa tied up and gagged in a chair with his own capture weapon glaring at him.

4: That's a nice chair. That's a nice chair. Not interrogation I guess. But something about that chair irks me.

Alright nitpicky now.

Posture:

That's not fucking relaxed posture. That’s posturing to give of the air of being relaxed. Mic may have been relaxed when he crossed his legs but those arms are not relaxed. Look at the stiff angles. That’s a man who’s up to something.

And lastly, no, no I could not figure out what kind of shoes Mic is wearing, and I don't think it’s relevant.

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ladybuvelle · 5 years

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Dear mun, this probably should be a munday question but I am too impatient to wait: What do you think about the fact that probably in every iteration of Sona she is basically always the curviest woman around? Like does it affect you in your way you think about her? Or does it annoy you that sometimes it reduces her to "musician with a big ass and a massive rack" or anything along those lines? Or is it an absolute nonfactor? Maybe something you even additionally like about her?

// Well I mean, since it’s a question ABOUT Sona then it’s fine XD Munday would imply it’s about me! But hm. I’m of several minds about this sort of question.

When I started RPing as Sona, it was a very spontaneous decision I made several years ago in a roleplay chatroom that happened to have a League of Legends channel. Before then I’d never played a pre-established character. The idea seemed weird to me that people would even want or think they could RP as a character someone else had made and written out. It felt presumptuous. But being in a bad place in my life at the time and desperate to try anything new and find any kind of happiness, I made a new account and picked my main in LoL to play as: which at the time was Sona. I loved her play style in the game and I was pretty exclusively playing as her.

So initially I enjoyed Sona’s character for a lot of reasons that had nothing to do with how she looked. If anything, her look was kind of a problem. She’s basically a copy of Miku Hatsune. Even her whole thing about being mute as opposed to being a Vocaloid that sings and her theme of music is pretty obvious.

And beyond that, the whole blue-haired pigtail thing? A bit hard to take seriously!

When it comes to Sona’s figure as well, there’s totally a difference between fanon and canon. The community over the years would have to believe she’s s t a c k e d. While her chest certainly isn’t small, I would like to point out that Janna’s model actually has her chest jiggle. (Fun fact: Sona and Janna both have the same VA) Though it’s also hard to deny even glancing at, say, Muse Sona’s insane cleavage on her model. Like, woof. Those puppies are packed in there. As for her other curves, I don’t think we need to go into detail about DJ Sona and the massive booty.

But the models in-game have a variety of reasons why they’re designed the way they are. They have to be made with visibility, recognition, silhouette, and camera angle taken into account. There’s a rhyme and reason for most decisions why models look the way they do, and lately they’ve gotten a lot better and more detailed as well. Sona’s a bit mid-level by now I guess? She’s ‘newer’ than some still old champs since her VU, but graphical progress is moving very quickly in League.

I say this because there’s also the official art and splash arts to take into account. In most of Sona’s splash art I’d say she’s curvy, but not outrageously so. And she’s certainly not as thick as I tend to draw her.

On that subject: I’m a plus sized person myself. When I draw females I tend to go a little overboard on the waist and hips because that’s the kind of figure I have myself. ‘Plus size’ isn’t just one particular ‘look’ either; people gain weight in a variety of ways, and plus size can also just come down to being a very tall or broad person as well. In reality, I very much doubt Sona would qualify as plus size. She’s small and slim. While I would like it if she were a little softer and rounder, perhaps, it doesn’t make me like her any more or less as a character.

TL;DR while I do think a lot about Sona’s appearance (probably due to being an artist and drawing her a lot), it doesn’t actually effect my perception of her that much. The argument could be made that if she looked different would I have been drawn to her as much, but I honestly couldn’t say. I was drawn to her play style initially, SO...

I will say, however, that just because I’m an “enlightened” individual or whatever the fuck when it comes to how Sona looks, it’s worth noting how painfully obvious it is that many fan artists... aren’t. Especially those who draw porn. I very VERY rarely look up fanart for Sona because all too often, for SOME reason, she’s relegated to some very questionable acts. I somehow suspect it has as much to do with her being mute as it does with her body shape, but that’s just my theory. Sona being mute is likely one of the most key deciding factors in how and why people portray her the way they do aside from her boy shape, tbh. Without a voice she lacks personality on a surface level. From there it’s easy to just treat her like an object. Or even “ship” her based on her disability, which is.... yeah.

As a final thought, and from a realistic and artistic perspective, I don’t think people really realize how different people can look in different clothes. Sona’s skins tend to have her in close-fitting clothes on top and more wide gowns on the bottom (except for DJ, which leads to the whole headcanon for me that she’s hiding it all under that skirt). But if you put her in a sports bra and some baggy clothes? Suddenly she’d look a LOT different. What you wear and how you wear it can make all the difference in presentation. Makeup as well is like that.

#headcanon #ask #art talk #a whole bunch of stuff!#thank you for the question <3 #Anonymous

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iconiceyescardiff-blog · 5 years

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royallyanxious · 6 years

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Horizons - Chapter 12 (Final Chapter)

I dedicate the last chapter of this story to my wonderful beta @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 who has been supporting me and my ideas for half of a year. I also dedicate this chapter to my artist @magical-octopus who has created wonderful art to this fic. Without you guys I wouldn’t finish this story. Thank you.

Masterpost

word count: 4979

AO3 LINK

Previous Chapter

At first Lo was really cautious around the loud and sharp-tongued Joan. They somehow reminded Lo of Patton, but rude and much less charming. However, after learning each others coming out stories and sharing the struggles they had with their identities, Lo had proudly declared Joan part of their little group by inviting them into the workshop.

“This is absolutely incredible what you’re doing here!” exclaimed Joan, leaning over a bubbling plasma in the jar. “Is this thing alive?” they asked, poking the thick glass.

“It’s hard to call it ‘alive’, it just has an ability to move because of various chemical reactions that constantly occur within the plasma.” explained Lo patiently. “You could easily make it in your own house. But be careful, despite of how it looks, it is extremely frigid.”

It was clear that Lo was happy that they finally could show their workshop to someone else. It’s been over a year since they had a regular customer. Not that Lo really craved for clients, it’s just they, as every scientist and inventor, had a big thirst of showing their pieces of work to the world. Lo watched Joan roam around the room with proud smile on their face. For the rest of the crew it was part of the daily life, but for Joan, everything was new. And they were really smart with their questions, what made Lo even happier.

Behind the door Roman and Virgil were having a quiet but pretty vivid conversation regardless an unknown subject. Lo was slowly starting to get used to them constantly arguing. All of their disagreements, no matter how important, were conducted with fiery passion but always ended with mutual agreement, compromise and words of respect for the other side. The couple wasn’t really shy about their feelings for each other. Especially Roman, though it was quite easy to predict. At the same time Virgil was willing to give Roman literally anything the other could have dreamt of. Together they made the sappiest couple Lo had ever seen.

Lo glanced at Patton standing few steps away from them. Their gazes crossed and Lo felt the blush creep on their face. They tried to hide it by adjusting the glasses, but basing on Patton’s reaction - with poor effect. Few days ago, after long conversation, they decided to keep their feelings hidden from their friends for now. Though they weren’t afraid of being outed, they just came to conclusion that they need time to decide how this relationship could actually work and if they were ready for this.

Slowly rocking back and forth, Lo hummed to themselves. To think that their life had took such a weird and twisted direction and that so much had changed over past year...

“Hey. What’s that?” Joan pulled Lo out of the maze of their thoughts.

“Hm?” asked Lo absently, directing their steps to Joan who was pointing at something on the shelf.

“This dark glue, what is it for? It has Patton’s name on it.” asked Joan innocently.

Lo’s eyes widened. It was one of the treatment oils for Patton. They’ve never needed to hide it, since they had no guests and they also never told Joan that Patton in fact had an artificial body. Lo felt Patton’s presence behind their back and glanced over their shoulder, trying to seek help. They had no idea what to do and they didn’t want to tell anything that would harm Patton.

Patton didn’t hesitate even for a second, gracefully passing Lo by, and taking the bottle out of Joan’s hands. He sent them a bright smile.

“It has my name on it because it’s for me. It’s like a medicine, you know…” he explained, taking the cork out of the bottle. The room filled with the heavy scent of thick, oily liquid.

“Bet it doesn’t taste any good.” said Joan, moving a step back. “What kind of herb is that?”

“Oh, well…” Patton laughed quietly. “You see, that’s no herb. It’s exactly what it looks like. An oil.” Putting the bottle right under Joan’s nose.

“Ugh. Definitely doesn’t taste good.” they said when Patton took the bottle away and put the cork back into its place. “What is it for?” asked Joan again exactly when Patton turned around to put the oil back on the shelf.

Lo saw every little move of his body. They saw something akin to a shrug, they saw a shiver going down Patton’s spine, they saw how his body stiffened for a moment. But when Patton faced them again, he was smiling. His eyes shaped like a little crescents.

“Thanks to that little baby, I’m not rusty inside.” declared Patton with the brightest smile as though he was informing them that the weather was going to be sunny and warm for the next week.

There was a moment of silence between them before Joan burst into laughter.

“You should have seen yourself, Patton!” they kept giggling cheerfully, while Lo and Patton exchanged confused looks. “You should have heard! Patton! You almost sounded as though you could really get rusty inside!” They finished when they finally calmed down.

“But I was completely serious, Joan.” said Patton seriously, and Lo looked at him with surprise in their eyes. They were almost sure that Patton would try to hide that aspect of his being. “Don’t seem so shocked, Lo. There’s no point in hiding this.” pointed Patton as if he was reading in Lo’s mind. “The truth, Joan, is that I’m one of Lo’s marvelous creations. See?” He asked, and without a warning, unbuttoned his shirt revealing a silver, almost smooth surface. He had never asked anyone to cover it with more human-like colour. That part of him, the one close to the heart had to remain the way it was.

Patton watched Joan’s movements. He knew what they were doing. Though Joan didn’t spend much time with the group, Patton felt that he could trust them. He just felt it. And he also felt the mixture of amazement and disbelief in their heart. It wasn’t negative emotion though.

“Do you want to check yourself what’s inside?” asked Patton smiling lightly.

Joan shook their head firmly.

“I don’t need any proof.” They declared. Patton started buttoning his shirt again. “Besides, it doesn’t really matter. You’re cool dude, Patton. And I’m not a person who judges by the cover.”

Something about these words made Patton feel so ordinary and he was surprised at how good this felt. That’s right. He wasn’t a machine. He was just Patton. Cool dude, Patton. It sounded wonderful.

Curiously, driven by an inner force, Patton looked at Lo. They were beaming, causing Patton’s smile (if it was possible) to become even wider.

Finally, they left the workshop and, stumbling into Virgil and Roman making out in the hallway (apparently it was the perfect finale of their fight), they arrived to the kitchen where Patton almost instantly started making tea.

“Someone open the door, Remy is waiting outside.” said Patton casually and indeed few minutes later the barber walked inside the room, followed by Roman and Virgil.

Patton took a fresh tray of cookies out of the cupboard. Lo had no idea when Patton made them. The sweet taste made them share their concerns out loud.

“Patton’s like a fairy godmother! He has his ways!” chuckled Roman.

“You know what they say, through the stomach to the heart.” added Joan, winking at Lo.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” mumbled Lo burying their head between the shoulders, in order to make themselves look smaller.

“Oh you don’t? I’m pretty sure you do.” snickered Joan. “Isn’t that right, Patton?”

The glass which Patton was cleaning for Remy jittered, but the man himself didn’t say anything, shaking his head only. It was hard to tell if it was denial or just a poor attempt to avoid the subject.

“Wait, wait, wait! What are you saying?” gasped Remy. He looked between Patton and Lo. “Guuurl! I mean… guuurl!” he whistled.

“What are you imply- Oooohh…” Virgil’s eyes widened. “Well, that for sure explains a lot.”

Patton laughed lightly as Roman without a word said, started clapping loudly.

“Follow your dreams, Pat!” he said finally.

“Well, this is it of trying to keep this quiet, I suppose.” Lo coughed awkwardly. “All I wanted to ask for is that you shouldn’t treat us differently just because we are in…” they stopped to take a deep breath. “Just because we are in a romantic relationship.”

Clearly holding back his tears, Patton leaned over and hugged Lo from behind tightly. The couple earned a soft ‘aw’ from Virgil.

“I never thought I would see this pal in a relationship, to be honest.” said Remy, nodding. He was visibly delighted with such a turn of events.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Lo frowned, resting their elbows on the table.

“You have a terrible personality, that’s what!” snorted Remy, crossing his arms on the chest. His silver wrist was reflecting the daylight, making it look like it was made of white gold.

Virgil turned his head away trying to hide the smile. Remy and Lo arguing always put him in a good mood, for some reason.

His eyes travelled around the room. He felt happy here, in this old kitchen, surrounded by people who didn’t judge him by his social status and about whose status he didn’t care at all. He was thinking of his father, whom he hadn’t seen in weeks. What would he say if he saw Virgil sitting here? Maybe it was a little bit of a cruel thing that he wanted to do to himself, but he wanted his father to see him. Just to have the last proof that this man wasn’t a good person nor a decent father. A confirmation of something Virgil had been suspecting for years… If he had that last, final proof he could just start over. Somewhere, maybe far away from here.

“Virgil? Oi, Virge, honey?” Roman nagged his ribs. Virgil shook his head, sending Roman a confused look. “You appear to be troubled with something…” he added, voice a little bit more quiet, discreet. The rest of the table was still playfully arguing with each other.

“It’s alright. Just some… stuff on my mind.” he smiled wanting to calm Roman down.

Even if the latter was unconvinced he decided to give up the subject for now, since it clearly was uncomfortable for Virgil.

“Oh! By the by! You have no idea what a little bitch told me!” recalled Remy.

“I think you meant ‘little bird’.” Patton shook his head.

“I said what i said.” Remy clicked his tongue.

“Nice one.” pointed Joan, leaning back on their chair.

“Anyway, little bitch has told me that today is a certain gala…” Remy started slyly. “The exact same event Lo and I took part in some time ago…”

Patton gasped loudly and suddenly the whole room fell silent. Even Joan who wasn’t introduced into the subject could clearly feel that it was some big deal.

“Let’s go there.” said Patton finally. His voice was calmer than the ocean after the storm.

“But Patton, do you-” Lo stopped in the middle of the sentence not sure what they wanted to say. They wanted to say something. It felt appropriate to say something but they had no words.

“I really want to go. Last gala was a turning point in the life of most people in this room. It affected us all.” cleared Patton, getting up. “It’s only fair for me and Roman to go and see this event ourselves. Of course, if the rest of you don’t wanna go, I will understand.”

“True. I am where I am thanks to that gala. I want to see it with my own eyes.” agreed Roman and took Patton’s hand in his. “I will gladly accompany you, friend.”

“If Roman’s going so am I.” said Virgil, sighing.

“And I’m gonna tag along whether you like it or not.” Joan raised their hand.

Lo looked around and sighed.

“I suppose, I’m going too… Now?”

“It’s impolite to be late to the party.” smiled Remy, already standing in the doors.

~~~

Going outside was a whole new experience for Patton. His eyes were shining whenever something new appeared on the line of horizon. The way down the street was filling Patton with incredible amount of joy. He kept pointing how different the world was from the things he had read in the books. Occasionally, he was also frowning and shyly stated that he remembered some aspects from the time he was still small, round and nameless.

All the time he was tightly gripping Lo’s arm (sometimes digging his fingers a little bit too hard), as if he didn’t want the wind to take him up in the air, as if he was looking for an anchor. And Lo was happy to serve this purpose. Patton’s eyes were filled with an awe and that was the most wonderful reward anyway.

“Everything smells so nice.” whispered Patton dreamingly. Remy and Lo exchange confused looks. For them the air smelled like dirt, mud and pollution.

“One day we will take you outside the city. The air is much purer there…” said Roman, recalling the memories from his past. “It smells like freedom and joy. It is truly no match with the vapors we breathe in here. The fresh air makes you feel like you could do everything!”

Joan’s lips quirked up. They saw the look in Roman’s eyes that they remembered from the time they lived together. His hazelnut orbs were radiating with foggy dreams with a pinch of adventure. Only one thing was new, was it sadness or maturity… Joan couldn’t state which one was that, for sure.

It was Sunday and the streets were quite busy and crowded. They probably wouldn’t drag so much attention if Virgil, looking like his elegant, expensive, high-quality self wasn’t there with them. And he knew that. He knew that way too well. He saw that in the eyes of the merchants and passerbys. And he was ashamed because he knew that the others were too absorbed to see that.

That’s why he made sure to be left behind by accident. He felt in his bones that they wouldn’t notice and that his silent person was almost unnecessary. The last thing he wanted was to ruin Patton’s first trip and drag too much attention. They would simply rejoin at the gala. Virgil was good at disappearing. Even his own father didn’t remember him for most of the time. Who knows- maybe he had already wiped the memory of his son out of his memory?

He slowed down his steps, letting the crowd slip between him and the rest of the group. He had no problem making his way through. Lower social classes were just as prejudiced as higher classes. Another proof that in fact everyone was the same. Virgil sighed, watching Roman’s back and his curly, soft hair disappearing in the sea of people, and turned into narrow alley. He knew the way. And if he didn’t, he would find it.

And so Virgil was strolling, through the blissfully empty area filled with nothing more than old, rusty shacks and homeless cats. Everything smelt like fish, which shouldn’t be surprising considering the fact that it was the harbour district, but this fact came to his realization for the first time in months.

Suddenly, through coated with clouds sky, peaked the sun. Its warm rays poured on the streets of the city. Virgil smiled, instantly deciding to turn into yet another, more light street when a person stood in his way. The sun was lighting this man from behind. Honey-like rays were warming up the color of his hair, making it look like liquid golden copper.

Roman looked utterly beautiful and enchanting.

The expression on his face did not.

“You thought you’d run away from me?” He asked, arms crossed on the chest.

“It’s not that… It’s just…” Virgil blushed. “God, I just didn’t fit into the scenery…”

“You mean you’re too good for us after all?” Roman’s eyes hardened.

“Shit, no.” Virgil shook his head. Anxiety raising up in his stomach. Of course that he would say it in a wrong way. Of course that he made a mistake even though he wanted to do something good. “I just bought too much attention on you. I didn’t want to ruin anything…”

For a moment, Roman’s eyes remained sharp as knives before the serious look softened. It might have been the longest moment in Virgil’s life.

“No one cares if you drag attention, Virgil.” said Roman finally taking a step closer. In the sun, he appeared like an angel. “You are part of the group. In fact, you helped to bring us together. Besides, weren’t you the one who said that we are all equal?” he asked with a wink.

Virgil exhaled loudly. It felt as though a great bourden was taken from his heart. His lips melted into a delicate, shy smile.

“That I said for sure.”

“Wonderful.” grinned Roman taking Virgil’s hand and pressing a butterfly kiss on his knuckles. “Now, we should probably go. The rest promised to wait for us in front of the entrance. They were worried too, you know?”

The smile on Virgil’s face widened, though his eyes shined with disbelief. He shook his head.

Somehow covering the same way with Roman was much more pleasant. The nasty scent in the air suddenly didn’t bother Virgil anymore and the cats seemed almost majestic. Soon they entered a big square. A hangar was situated on the opposite side. It wasn’t hard to notice a small group of people standing in front of the main door. Joan waved to Roman.

“Took you long enough to find him, Roman.” snorted Remy with fake annoyance.

“Oh, please Remy. We had more time to explore this incredible place!” giggled Patton.

“Yes, that was pure delight.” agreed Lo, even though all of them knew that they said that only because of Patton.

“Sorry about that.” mumbled Virgil, looking at the ground.

“Oh, don’t sweat it, honey.” smiled Roman, and Virgil growled.

“I thought that we agreed on the pet names.”

“I couldn’t miss an opportunity to embarrass you in the fellowship.”

“Hey, ladies. Keep the flirting in the bedroom.” Remy snapped his fingers and pointed at the door. Lo and Patton were already coming inside.

The hall was just as Lo remembered it. Cold, metallic and a little bit rusty. It felt like nothing had changed since the last time they were there. They looked at Patton beside them.

Everything had changed.

It felt weird that this time- they weren’t there in the role of a scientist slash inventor. Just a simple visitor. Visitor with their friends. They thought that probably somewhere in the crowd, there were the people who kicked them out of the event last time. Maybe even that bastard Josh. This thought made them a little bit tense.

Meanwhile Patton and Joan looked like they entered a playground. They kept running around the whole building, nagging the people (that was mostly Patton) and asking many questions (mostly Joan). Lo once again scanned the space. It seemed to be safe for now.

Remy visibly kept his distance close to Lo. They weren’t sure why, but also didn’t mind. They never minded Remy’s company and if they could bring some sort of comfort just by their presence, they would gladly allow that. With surprise, Lo thought that maybe a year ago, they wouldn’t have thought about Remy this way. They would still do that sure but they just wouldn’t dwell into these warm feelings. Lo changed and they knew that.

The next few events rolled like an avalanche.

Firstly, Virgil gasped and Roman cried because Virgil dug his long fingers into Roman’s arm.

Secondly, some man yelled “YOU”.

Thirdly, Patton, on his way to Virgil, accidentally stumbled into a table and some invention fell down causing a loud clash.

Lo turned around, worry filling his eyes. Everyone in the hall of the hangar fell silent.

“You!” repeated the man, pointing at Virgil. His face was distorter with anger, while Virgil’s one showed pure horror.

It wasn’t hard to notice the resemblance between these two. Even though they weren’t exactly the same, their eyes were shaped in a similar way, not to mention general face features. Even their aura was similar.

“What are you doing here?” growled Virgil, trying to keep himself calm. Roman squeezed his shoulder from behind.

“I’m trying to achieve something in which you failed. Boy.” Replied the man, the last word being spilled with venom and hate.

“Suddenly just a ‘boy’?” Virgil laughed. “Well, I should have expected that, father.” He said the last sentence a little bit louder, dragging attention of most people nearby. Their curious eyes were piercing Virgil and his father. And for once Virgil didn’t feel fear.

“I knew I’ve heard that voice already.” whispered Roman quietly.

In front of them was standing no one other than Coenraad van Dijk, tha same man who led to Roman’s parents death. Rage filled Roman’s veins. His knuckles turned white. He wanted to stand in front of Virgil and protect him from all the bad that could come from Virgil’s father. And then kick this creature into the sea. He wanted revenge. But there are battles one should fight alone. Some battles just weren’t his own. No one could win this fight better than Virgil. All Roman could do was loyally standing beside. He knew that Virgil would fight in his own name too. He looked around himself, Lo, Patton, Remy and even Joan were already standing by his side. Roman smiled. “You’re not alone, Virgil.” he said out loud.. “And, say just one thing and I will fight this man till the last drop of my blood.” he added.

“Look at you, Virgil.” Coenraad said through clenched teeth, apparently Roman’s words didn’t reach his ears. “You surround yourself with the most pathetic bunch in the world. Didn’t I raise you well? You could live in the luxuries till the end of your life!”

“Enough.” stated Virgil quietly but without a result.

“Instead you chose living with human garbage. Do you think I haven’t heard about your financial problems? Oh, I have. I just choose not to do anything about it. You shouldn’t have failed me. You should have-”

“I said enough!” repeated Virgil, taking few steps forward. He glanced over his shoulder. “Each of them is ten times better than you!” He turned to face his friends. “Do you see this person in an apron? That’s the genius of our times! The man beside them-” Virgil pointed at Patton. “Yes, the one with glasses. This is the miracle, true scientific miracle. So much more of a human than you. Remy over there? One of the most honest and helpful people I know. Joan… Well, I haven’t known them for long, but I know from a trusted source that they’ve been through a lot and look! They are still standing! And finally,” Virgil’s voice softened. “Do you see the man with a soft halo instead of hair? Whose eyes are the most treasured thing on the world? This man over there is a survivor that escaped you. The one who had been so strong, even though world and you tried to break him. The one who absolutely won me the moment I saw him. Roman del Rey himself.”

Virgil turned back to Coenraad, whose eyes were wide with shock for a moment. Virgil couldn’t tell what was behind that surprise: was it the fact that Virgil had finally stood for himself or the fact that Roman was alive and well. Probably a mixture of both. He watched Coenraad’s eyes travel to Roman’s face, looking for a resemblance to his parents. An anger and embarrassment flashed through his face, when Coenraad’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted to say something. He was however cut off by Virgil, who wasn’t gonna let his father interrupt him ever again. Who wasn’t gonna let his father disgrace Roman any more.

“With these people having my back, I can say that I don’t need you in my life.” he said and without a warning punched his father right in his face. And then again.

Blood was covering Virgil’s knuckles and he was panting heavily. The moment passed, seeing his father resting his hand on his knee, the other trying to stop the nosebleed, broke something in him. He let his handkerchief fall down. Coenraad grabbed it quickly and it hit Virgil how pathetic his father looked. The humiliation was visible in his posture, eyes and could be felt in the air. And suddenly Virgil’s didn’t pity him anymore. Because he realized that the eyes of the audience were the worst punishment his father could get.

“My mercy is the last thing you deserve. Not to mention Roman’s forgiveness.” Virgil said calmly. “This is the last time you’re gonna see me. Don’t look for me. You wouldn’t be able to find me anyway since, I assume, you’ve been blinded by your fortune and ego, since a long time ago.”

He didn’t feel any shade of guilt when he passed his father by. The rest of the group followed his footsteps.

Roman kept his head high. He was hurting. He was hurting that his parents’ murderer was still alive. But he knew that he couldn’t kill him. Neither now, nor ever. He was better than that. However, he did smile when Joan spat at Coenraad’s feet.

In the entrance, a man stopped the group. More precisely- he stopped Lo and Patton. Lo blinked. Round face… notebook made out of leather… something was similar about that guy. It took him a moment to recognise him- the head of the jury.

“I’m sorry, Mister…” The man started, ignoring Lo’s quiet denial. “I would be interested in buying your magnificent invention.” He pointed at Patton. “You can be rich! Because it is truly wonderful! It looks just like a normal person!”

Lo blinked few times, trying to proceed man’s words. Patton beside him shifted on his spot.

“But sir,” said Lo finally. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Patton is a normal person. Therefore he is not for sale.” They said calmly. “Now if you excuse us, we have a business to attend. Something more worthy of our presence.” Their hand found its way to Patton’s. They were about to walk away when Lo stopped for one last time and looking straight at the male in front of them said: “And it’s not a ‘mister’. Please respect that.”

Patton shot Lo a bright smile and squeezed their hand. He could feel pride vibrating through Lo’s body. For the first time in their life, they stood for their right to be addressed the way they wanted in public.

The door closed behind them. Even though it was raining, the sun was peeking behind clouds. Lo looked at the sky and their lips spread in a wide grin. The rainbow was running bright and colorful across the sky.

From the building, the group could hear the angry screams of Coenraad van Dijk.

~~~

Epilogue

They were standing on the front part of the deck. Gentle wind caressed their faces and hair. The view was wonderful. Sky was clear as they were drifting through the middle of the sea, towards the unknown. It was a warm evening and so where the feelings in their hearts.

It was Roman’s idea, actually. Being clear that they wouldn’t find peace in the place they used to call home, Roman suggested moving to the country from his memories.

Joan offered help.

Remy decided to tag along, he said that his life would be boring without that mess.

Logan said that he needed inspiration anyway.

Patton didn’t even question the idea.

Virgil had nothing to miss for anymore.

Golden rays were reflecting in the water, making it look as though they were sailing through the ocean of gold and diamonds. And Logan thought that this was inspiration. Not the dark box he used to live at. He looked to the back at Patton. His fluffy, brown hair was ruffled by the wind. That was his other inspiration. He knew that only now, at peace with himself, he could start over. His machines stayed at home. Maybe someone would find them useful someday.

With the corner of his eye, Patton caught the sight of Logan staring. He smiled and his smile was somehow brighter than the sun. Logan mirrored the smile. It was genuine. Patton looked back at the sea. For a moment, he thought he saw something under the unclear water. Maybe it was past or maybe a jellyfish. He would never know. He looked back at Logan. His smile widened.

Virgil couldn’t say that he wasn’t nervous. He went against everything he was taught from the youngest age. He thought of his mother, watching over him from the sky. Hopefully she was still rooting for him. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Chilly wind touched his skin but he didn’t shiver.

Roman was leaning over the balustrade. Even though he spent those last couple of years living in the harbor, he had forgotten how the sea really smelt like. He took a deep breath in, a soft smile decorating his lips. Thinking about all the changes that were about to come, he closed his eyes. Everything would be different from now on, but he was sure that it was just the natural course of events. The first cogwheel was already on the route, there was no way to stop it. Roman opened his eyes.

They were sailing towards their new horizons.

The end.

If you liked this fic and appreciate 6 months of my hard work you can consider supporting me on KO-FI.

#vic writes horizons #horizons

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dmyear3 · 6 years

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Notes on installation:

Performativity of interaction - bodily presence - wooden sound (think about acoustics in further work - a sound element is interesting and adds to notions of materiality) - worn vs self-supporting/installed as object (obscured/transformed body vs invisible “ghost”/body existing only in representation and suggestion: immaterial-material physicality)

Intentions and feedback:

For this semester I am focusing on works that reference and/or interact with the body, while recalling the aesthetics of theatrical costuming and various traditional garments. Working with these ideas, I am trying to speak about how the physicality of the body is related to culture and the formation of identities, and the blurring of definition between subject and object that comes with the act of performative representation. At the same time I am using the anatomy in order to draw out some sense of deeper bodily emotion that is more personal, while still tying into my conceptual basis.

For this tutorial, I displayed a wearable “coat” made from transparent plastic sheets hand-stitched together with woollen yarn, the surface of which is painted with distorted and merging white figures. The intention was that this piece would be seen on a naked torso, with the real skin of the wearer or performer visible beneath the representational bodies. This would allow subjective and objective figures to become synergised through joint movement in performance.

Rather than showing the group the piece on a human body, I hung it on a wooden board as a makeshift coat-hanger which was suspended from above on another length of yarn. The stretch of the wool and lightness of the board meant that the piece had a lot of its own movement: slowly spinning in the air currents and bouncing around when pushed. This allowed the piece to take on the role of its own performer within the space, interacting kinetically with those around it. This was an experimental set-up, but ended up having a lot of interesting qualities that related back to that relationship between subject and object, as well as the idea of physicality being reflective of a bodily presence and performative “selfhood”.

On the wall behind the hanging wearable piece, I displayed a series of three masks. The first is a rough and only vaguely face-like construction of paper, plastic and yarn. The second is made mostly from contorted figurative drawings on canvas assembled to form a structural face, with string added as continuation of the linework seen in the bodies. The third is the most obviously human-looking face, with eyes a nose and a mouth, and is made from playdough painted with white acrylic which has been partially absorbed and cracked. These masks here operated as companion pieces to the main piece, adding to the connotations of performance and costuming, and showing a further cross-disciplinary continuation of this project’s focus and aesthetic.

My pieces were quickly noted as being meant to be worn, though this brought up a question of whether they serve any actual function or not. The low-fi nature of the materials used, as well as the hand-crafted nature of the stitching of the garment and shaping of the masks gave the impression of the works being “whipped-up” in a way that implied they are not meant to be seen as exquisite. In using the clear plastic it was apparent that the garment is intended to be transparent and seen through rather than concealing the body – this is an openness of form that allows the artwork and the body to be seen as one. A conversation was also brought up on the definition between wearable art and costuming: wearable art standing as its own piece and costuming existing only as a prop for something larger. My work was perceived as the former, though it was still understood in their design that my works are intended to be worn during a performance of some kind – with an implication in their presentation that one of the masks would be worn alongside the coat like an outfit. The consistent colouring furthers the connectedness of these pieces, which adds to this implication. The display of this garment itself was a main point of interest, with a general consensus being that if it were displayed on a mannequin it would read more like a costume than like an artwork, as it did on the hanging board. The way the piece was constantly moving with the air flow in the space was noticed, and this alongside its position at a roughly human height added to its interest as an installation work and referral back to the body.

The body was picked up on as the focus of these works, though I was interested in how the figurative paintings on the coat were interpreted by the group. They were seen to be without gender (with a mix of those that lean more towards masculine or feminine) and totally objective – not referencing any specific people and existing purely as forms and compositions. Their body type however was noted to be consistently starved and weak-looking. While this was partially self-representational, here their appearance was seen as tormented and ghostly. A mythological reference was brought up here, of Hades wearing the damned souls of the underworld on his body.

This relates to the main point of conversation during this tutorial, which was the reading of cultural influences within the work. The use of the wooden board suggested a crucifix and a connection to Christianity, while the coat was perceived as a kimono and being inspired by East Asian culture. Meanwhile, the masks were seen as having very tribal qualities (this was something I hadn’t actually even thought of, as I had been inspired mostly mostly Italian commedia dell’arte masks). The “primitiveness” of my designs added to this reading of ancient tradition in the work. I found it strange that this conversation came back a few times to the “kimono” aspect, with an implication that it was nearing a kind of cultural appropriation. The piece was somewhat inspired by the most basic design qualities of a kimono (open front and wide sleeves), but I didn’t expect that to dominate the discussion as much as it did, as this design was only intended to recall a vague idea of traditional clothing rather than referencing Japan specifically. While I do think labelling this slight influence as cultural appropriation was a bit over-the-top, it had an interesting relationship with the Christianity and tribal angles and the conversation fed into a very broad and interpretive sense of cultural, religious and ritualistic connotations. Concepts such as rebirth and the wearing of another body were described as pan-cultural archetypes and symbols of power, for example found in both Christianity and Japanese culture, and this adds to this variety of interpretations of the work. It was also said however that all the pieces seemed like they were from a single culture that the viewer had been allowed to witness.

In terms of fine art references, connections were made to performance artists based in ritualism and power dynamics such as Mike Parr, as well as fashion designers such as Martin Margiela in the way that clothing interacts with the performative nature of the body.

Moving forward with this project, I think I need to be more aware of the cultural readings of my work in order to both minimise any form of insensitive appropriation, and work with these readings in order to manipulate the perception of the work by my audience. I’m also more interested now in how my wearable pieces operate as installations, and in the ways that they might be interacted with other than just wearing them. The way the suspended garment took on its own bodily presence in the space was particularly fascinating to me, and opens up a lot of new thinking about art pieces acting as their own performers. I will continue to experiment with immersive/interactive installation set-ups, while still beginning to document these pieces on the body as intended and as single components of larger performance and photographic works. When talking about references, Christian said that in this methodology of making art that is performative and ritualistic there are many extreme and confrontational artist practices that I am aligning myself with. This is exciting to me, and has inspired me to research further into performance artists that deal with similar themes to my own – and to further develop my own ability and confidence in performance so that I can fully realise my ideas theatrically as well as visually.

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