#no idea if i want to line this and then use ink+water

[httpdwaekki]

soothe | h.j.

summary: you were well aware of jisung's anxiety, but you notice he takes a certain interest in the ink on your skin.

wc: 966

warnings: brief mentions of anxiety, mentions of the reader having tattoos. not proofread at all. lowercase intended.

a/n: i used to color and trace my tattoos when i got anxious so i was just thinking about ji doin the same thing. also it is very late and i'm running on a solid 4 hours of sleep but i wanted to write something so now we have this LMAO. anyway i hope u enjoy and as always, drink water, eat something, and take ur meds. <3

my library

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

you were well aware of jisung's anxiety. you yourself suffered from it so you understood, the feelings and frustrations that came along with the sinking feel.

you weren't always sure what would trigger the uneasy feeling in the boy, but you were there no matter what. you knew sometimes you just had to put on an anime and hold him until he felt better.

other times you'd sit and listen as he voiced this thoughts running rampant in his head.

however there was something new that you noticed you would lay with him. he'd trace the ink along your skin, drawing every line and every shading etched into your soft skin.

you noticed it when you were laying on your bed one day when the ugly feeling settled in his tummy once again. jisung was in front of you, his back to your chest, yours leaning against the head board, arms wrapped loosely around his torso, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his stomach.

jisung was barely paying attention the show lowly playing on the screen. not that you were either, hyper focused to gage any change in his demeanor, making sure he was relaxing.

that's when you felt it, the soft brush on your arm, right where your favorite flower was inked into the skin of your forearm. you glance down, watching for a moment, as he traced the lines one by one before moving on to the next section of art.

you couldn't help the heat the rose to your cheek, as he careful recreated the marks so beautifully etched onto your skin. as you watched you had an idea. you place a soft kiss to his hair before lightly tapping his tummy.

"get up for a second bub, i'm gonna grab something quick." you felt him tense, turning his head towards you, hesitating for a moment. "i'll be right back jagiya, i promise. less than 2 minutes." he slightly nodded before sitting up. you place a kiss on his shoulder as you scoot out from behind him.

quickly making your way to your office, you find exactly what you were looking for. you quickly grab it, making your way back to your room. you find jisung in the same place you left him, expect he looked zoned out, toying with the strings of his hoodie.

you sit beside him, placing a gentle hand to his puffy cheek. you looks up, boba eyes shining with worry. you could practically see the thoughts clouding his pretty mind. you give him a smile before placing the bag of colorful markers in his lap.

he looks down at the bag and back to you, confusion now present in his eyes. "so you could color them in if you want." you shrugged, getting up, kissing his forehead before moving to lay behind him once more.

you lightly pull him back into your embrace, arms finding home around him once more. his head positioned on your collarbone, under your chin, relaxing into your touch.

a few moments later you hear the sound of plastic rustling and the familiar sound of markers clashing against each other. once he found the color he was looking for, quietly taking the top off, and begin carefully coloring each one in.

you had a perfect view at his art from above him. your other hand continuing the soothing circles on the skin of his stomach. you smile and you watch him go from coloring to watching the tv. you place a kiss to his hair once more, as he finishes coloring in your ghost. he caps the marker, placing it back in the bag, before carefully setting the colorful ink on your bedside table.

he turns around as he makes his return to you, his turn to wrap his arms around you. you gladly take him into your arms as he shoves his face into your neck. you stay there for a moment before he places a kiss in the junction of you neck and shoulder.

"you okay, ji?" you asked softly. he nods, "i'm okay baby, thank you." he gives you one more squeeze before pulling back.

"what would i do without you, hm?" he asks, placing peck to your lips. your lip turn upwards slightly, "i'm just helping you, jagi, you deserve to be happy." he kisses you once more, this time with a bit more passion.

"you're gonna make me start crying." he mumbles against your plush lips. "okay well don't do that, cause that'd make me sad." you shake your head. "how about i order us some take out and we just stay like this for the rest of the night?" you offer, staring into his boba eyes.

"and if you wanna talk later, i'm here to listen okay?" he nods, falling back into your embrace. "i love you okay? i'm always here, whenever, where ever, you say the word i'm there." you place a kiss to the side of his head.

you feel his breathing start to become uneven, panic arising in your chest. "ji? hey, hey, talk to me baby." you pull him back to look at you. big eyes now brimmed with tears. "what's going on in that head of yours, hm?" ask, rubbing his cheeks.

he shakes his head. "nothing, i just really fucking love you. i don't know what i ever did to deserve you." he says, tears slowly making their way down his face.

"you're you, you deserve everything i can give you and more, okay?" he closes his eyes, nodding his head. you place kisses over each eye lid and finally his forehead.

you pull him back to you, and that's where you stay for the rest of the night. wrapped up in each other, eating ramen before falling asleep in each other's arms.

p.s. new username ah !! i used to be voidreams but i wanted a change hehe. but i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are always appreciated but never expected :3

#han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung fic #han jisung imagine #han jisung fluff #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids fic #hurt/comfort #tw: anxiety

[morganbritton132]

Wait wait wait, in light of the recent update, I gotta ask - has Eddie ever passed out while getting one of his tattoos? I'm kinda obsessed with the idea that he's well known in a few of the local parlors, having new ink done every few months, and he's this badass middle-aged rockstar with jagged scars and covered in demonic imagery but all the artist just know him as Ed The Fainter and always have a cool wet towel and a bottle of water waiting for him. I also like to imagine that those times when Steve's there waiting for him, he and the receptionist or whichever artist is on break at the moment get a bet going about how long it'll take for Eddie to pass out / how long he'll stay out.

If this doesn't line up with what you imagine for the emtts feel free to say so and I'll just grab my headcanon and shove it into a different au, but I wanted to share in case you found it as endearing as I do :D

I love Eddie being Just Some Guy at his local tattoo parlor.

Like, the older guys that would’ve seen him in his heyday are just so used to this dork that it doesn’t even faze them when world famous guitarist Eddie Munson walks in for a tat. The younger ones don’t recognize him even if they do listen to his music.

It’s only after he gets popular on Tiktok that those guys are like ‘wait a minute is The Fainter with the pre-school teacher husband famous?’

Eddie doesn’t faint all the time.

There’s no rhyme or reason to when he does. He doesn’t have a problem with needles or with blood (at least in the quantity that you’d get with a tattoo), but sometimes he’ll just be chilling out getting a tattoo and the whole world will dip out from under him. He’ll wake up a bit later, soaked in sweat and confused.

He thinks it’s a bit embarrassing, but Eddie’s always been able to laugh at himself and make other people laugh too. It’s a bit of a routine for him when he goes. The whole shop makes a big show of getting him some water and something to eat, and they ask if he wants to take a break a lot no matter what tattoo he’s getting or where it’s placed.

The first time Steve goes with him to get a tattoo, it’s specifically to make sure he doesn’t get ‘Steve’ tattooed on his ass after Eddie lost a bet with Lucas. Eddie getting a touch up to an old tattoo and zonks out halfway through. Steve goes into full panic mode so now the shop has protocols for Eddie and Steve.

Once Steve learns that this is just something that happens (“Like at the blood drive, Eddie!” “Don’t remind me of the blood drive.”), him and Eddie’s main tattoo artist, Meg, always make a bet on if he’s going to pass out or not. Steve is scary accurate at this game which is good because Meg says she’s going to get him in her chair when he loses.

Also, Eddie has a series of tally marks tattooed along the top of his worst demo-bat scar. He adds to it every year and when Steve asks about it, Eddie just say, “That’s the number of years that I’ve been the luckiest man alive.”

There are thirty-five tally marks. If you were to calculate how many years that Steve and Eddie have been together, you’d get – “Thirty-six.”

“What?”

“We started dating summer of ’86,” Steve says, “That is thirty-six years ago. Summer of this year will be thirty-seven.”

“Well, ’86 had a lot of ups and down. Wasn’t really my year, was it, Steve?”

#Eddie and Steve weren’t even getting blood drawn at the blood drive #they were just volunteering and bam! one moment Eddie’s watching someone get their blood drawn and the next he’s on the floor #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

[givemeonereason]

Meditations: First Flight

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Rating: Cotton Candy

Dragon Ball Masterlist Givemeonereason Masterlist

Plot: You meet up again with Piccolo. Is that a good or a bad thing?

A/n: I back burned this one for a little while (like two weeks) I wrote a portion of his and lost it due to Tumblr crashing on me. I was PISSED. Creators work so hard on their stuff and things happen. No ones fault in particular. A lot of the time you have to just step away for a moment and then get back to it.

╒══════════════════════╕

The day is dragging on…

You stare blankly at the black pen you’ve been twirling between your fingers. Ink smudged into your middle finger, exposing the intricate lines of your identifying pattern.

You look to the time on your desktop computer, 4:48 pm.

Kami, could the last twelve minuets of this day be over!

You set the pen down on the desk and sigh.

I just want to see him….to see if he’s even there.

My…the green Martian guy from that “Nam” place.

Not Mars!

You tap your finger against your forehead.

Stupid.

You look out the window towards the hill. His white, flowing cape catches your eye.

I remember now, Namek.

5:00

You hurry out of the office towards your compact car. You dropped your work bag and purse in the trunk. Just your small lunch bag with you as you started up the side of the hill.

“Hello.” You stood near where he sat.

There was no answer. His eyes remained closed. You almost would have mistaken him for a statue had he not readjusted the position of arms against his chest.

You walked over to his side. “Piccolo?”

“Not now, Nail.”

“What?”

His eyes shoot open when you touch the shoulder pad of his cape. You jump at his suddenness. “Gosh, don’t do that. You scared me half to death.” Your hand pressed against your chest.

You took a breath before sitting down beside him. “What is the nail about?”

His eyes are closed again. This is going to be a difficult question to answer. “Not what, but whom.”

You scrunched your face in confusion. Do you even want to know at this point?… “Okay, whatever Yoda.”

The crack of a soda opening broke him from his concentration once more. “Oh, I brought you one if you’d like.” You pulled out the carbonated beverage from your lunch bag and set it down onto the grass beside you. “I also have corn chips. Please help yourself.”

He looks down at your tribute beside him. “I do not eat, nor drink this. However, thank you.” He looked to you nodding his head in thanks.

“Oh. I had no idea.” An over loud crunch as you bit down into the chip in your hand. “What exactly do you eat?”

“Nothing. I only need water to survive.”

“Nothing!?” You’re shocked. He is an alien, what exactly did you expect? Only the best prime rib, rare…or juicy bugs?

Yuck!

Crunch.

“Could you please be more quiet?”

You tried chewing slower, moving your mouth in what felt like slow motion. A damn chip going down the wrong pipe.

You coughed!

Coughed!

His tone is irritated, “are you okay?”

You got the tickle out of your throat and took a sip of your soda. “Yeah, it’s just the wrong pipe is all.” You swiftly changed the subject, “so I tried looking up some info on Namekians online and it didn’t come up with anything.”

“Where Namek used to be, there wouldn’t have been technology to know of its existence. Only the Briefs were able to locate it.”

You turn excited, “you mean the smartest family in all of existence?”

He rolled his eyes, closing them when he felt the pull of his eyelids. “I don’t know about all of time….”

You didn’t hear him mumble that under his breath. You looked towards the sky riddled with white fluffy clouds. “Space is a mystical place. There are so many galaxies out there, planets with life that we don’t know about.” You look to him. “I’m sure you know about so much life out there, right?”

He’s looking out at the water of the lake in the valley.

Small crunch, crunch.

“How did you…”

Surely she knows about King Piccolo?

“I was hatched from an egg that my father regurgitated.”

“Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhha?” You choked on another chip and began your second coughing fit.

I knew she would react this way.

Piccolo, she is only human. It was is if he could hear Kami calming him, bringing him back to his center.

He gritted his teeth and hunched over where he floated.

You cleared your throat from overly coughing, putting the bag of chips down. “I don’t think I should eat any more chips right now. Imagine, that would all I be known for, asphyxiating on chips.” Gesticulating as you speak. “She died doing what she loves most, eating!” You tried pretending to heartily laugh, but it ended up making you actually laugh. And then cough, again. “Okay, I should really stop.”

She’s just a human.

You noticed his silence when you became more lax, leaning back against your palms firmly on the grass. You intently studied him. His brows furrowed, the rich green of his cheeks deepening in the afternoon light. His headdress wrapped tightly around the to of his head, making his pointed ears push out more on the sides.

All things considered, He is quite a beautiful creature, is he not?

You shook your head, trying to shake the thought from your mind.

You noticed the purple of his gi when his cape fluttered to the side as a squall of air passed through. The wind making him look ethereal. You watched with widened eyes as the shifting draft whipped your hair into your face. You pushed the strands away.

If you could just get closer.

You looked away, blush heating your cheeks.

“Hatched from an egg, huh?”

He said nothing, remaining still, and effortlessly floating statue.

And curiosity got the better of you. You got up and walked over to him, standing slightly of to his side. You looked closer at him. His sharp jawline against the oversized shoulder pads. Surely, his shoulders weren’t that wide. You reached out, but he caught your wrist in his hand, only opening one eye to look at you suspiciously.

“I….I….I was….” You couldn’t get any words out. His grip was tight enough to send a pang up your arm. “You’re hurting me.” When he let go you pulled your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin at your wrist.

He doesn’t apologize. He just goes right back to shutting himself out.

She’s only human.

Despite the roughness you received at his hands, you didn’t move away. You simply turned out towards the view in front.

Why is he being this way?

Maybe I should just leave him alone from now on?

I just..

I don’t know why I came back again here today.

“So, are you evil? You sit here so peacefully, but are you some sort of bad guy?”

Please don’t be a bad guy. Please.

Your heart flutters when you hear the deep tone of his voice. You didn’t realized how much you needed to hear him speak. “That’s not for me to say.”

You shut your eyes.

Please, don’t.

“Do you believe me to be malevolent?”

“No.” You are unwavering, standing there firm in your opinion.

I just know, I can feel it.

He placed his feet on the ground. He’s looking at you, your eyes closed, fists closed.

He sighs deeply.

Don’t.

In an instant he grabs you by the waist, pulling you at his side. A small upward push and he takes off flying in the air.

Everything was so quick, but when you finally realized you were several hundred feet off the ground you screamed. It was guttural, ultimate fear. The wind blowing into your face as he flew took your breath away. You turned as much of your upper body you could and pushed it into side of his abdomen, hands white-knuckled, gripping onto his gi.

You heard the deep reverberations in his chest. “What of it now? Do you really believe me to be good? Are you honestly that gullible?”

You pressed your face tightly against his chest, your body shaking. You can barely breathe. You feel as if you might pass out.

Piccolo is seething. His grip on you tightening. His teeth clenching.

Piccolo…Kami is calling out to him.

I don’t understand these people! She barely knows me and yet she trusts that I would not harm her, nor anyone else?

Piccolo…

How can humans be so weak?

A draft swept up into his face, the sweet smell of your perfume catching him off guard.

He stopped flying. Citrus and floral notes rushing through his senses.

He looks down at you in his arms. Your shaking body against his, tightly gripping onto him with all your might. Whimpers vibrating against the exposed skin of his chest. Your hair whipping about as the wind rushed around you both.

She’s…she’s weak….no, soft. She’s soft.

He looked about the ground below to find a place to land. Slowly, he floated down, placing your feet down onto the dust covered ground.

You couldn’t hold your own weight, dizzy, you fell down to your knees. Your hands pressed against the dirt catching your fall. You scrape your fingers against the dust and grabbing at some debris and balling your fist.

The ground. The ground. The ground.

You’re shaking uncontrollably, tears welling up in your eyes and spill over down your reddened cheeks. You can’t help but sob, crying hard, defeated and frightened.

Piccolo shifted, his hand very lightly reaching out towards you.

Soft.

I’m sorry.

When you catch your breath you look up at him, your eyes red and glassy from crying, your nose running. You're hunched over, fist clenched. You could hit him if you had the strength. As if that would help anything.

“You’re fucking crazy you know that!” You coughed, your voice ragged from being unused. “You can’t just do that! You can’t take people and fly off like that. Normal people don't fly!” You start to cry more, wrapping your arms around yourself, lightly rocking back and forth.

He crouched down at your side, hesitating when he reached out to gently brush the hair that was sticking to your wet cheeks away. You shivered at his touch. Holding your arms tighter against yourself.

His voice was low, full of sorrow. “I am sorry.”

You turned your face away from him, skin still hot from anger.

“I was out of line. I acted on my own anger and irritation.”

He wiped away a tear rolling down your cheek. "Please, forgive me."

In one scoop he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. Floating above the ground where he stood. He placed you down into his lap. You curled so gently against him, gripping at his gi.

He's seething with anger on the inside. His eyes closed, but his mind was ablaze.

How can....why would I? Why do I even care about this?

Something so trivial as a human woman, and yet I care about her feelings.

I care about the way she views me.

This ultimately doesn't matter in the slightest.

The light shivering pulled him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes and looked down at your frame in his lap, holding onto the obi around his waist.

With a swift pull at both sides, he wrapped his cape around you as much as he could, gripping you closer against him.

You sunk deeper into his lap, relaxed. Your soft breaths and light snoring have a soothing rhythm, falling into a peaceful slumber.

Shifting in his lap, grabbing onto his forearm, your nose rubbing against his skin sending a shiver through him. His head falling forward when he caught the smell of your perfume once more.

Just a little while longer.

We can stay like this.

━━━━━━»» ««━━━━━━

He nudged you awake, the daylight fading into the western sky. You groaned, pulling his arm tighter against your chest.

Though he has such a strong voice, this came softly. "You have to wake up. I need to take you back before it becomes dark."

You rubbed your eyes, blinking, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

He feels your eyes on him, looking down, his face relaxed in the twilight glow of the evening. "Do you think you would be able to trust me? I need to take you home."

You sit up and look about you, there is no way you would be able to call for a ride here.

"I don't want to fall." Your body shook from the thought of what happened earlier.

He picked your chin up to look at him. His eyes widened by his own actions. He pulled his hand away, his voice returning its strong cadence. "I had no intention of dropping you."

Without protest he slips his arm under your legs and firmly holds your waist in bridal style. Your grip on him just as tight as before. No looking down. You pushed your face into his shoulder. He smells like nature; this beautiful mix of deep woods, dew on grass, crisp morning air and something else you couldn’t quite pin down.

Piccolo flies to the top of your work building, placing you down onto your feet near the roof access door. “I will find a new place to meditate. I do not want to frighten you any longer.”

“No!” Your voice came out louder than you would have liked. “You really don’t have to.”

He shook his head and turned away.

“I just didn’t like the flying. It really scared me.”

Don’t go.

Please.

His back was still to you. He turned his cheek slightly but not enough to look at you. “Goodbye.”

No.

“Please don’t leave yet.”

He was already flying away.

“Come back!” You screamed after him.

“….I forgive you.” You stand there watching him until he’s out of sight.

Can we just start over?

My green alien man, who can fly, with me.

Next time I won’t be so scared.

“Piccolo…”

╘══════════════════════╛

© 2023 givemeonereason

Don’t steal other people’s works! Respect creators!

Reblogs and likes appreciated :)

Tag List:

#green king #slug man #piccolo x reader #dragon ball z piccolo #piccolo and you #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball z fanfiction

[bbyquokka]

a garden of flowers

– in which yn gets a special tattoo !!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | hwang hyunjin x gender-neutral reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | fluff – 18+ is strongly advised!

𝐂𝐖 | platonic relationship, trans masc reader (FTM), tattoo artist hyunjin, top surgery scars – if i have labelled anything incorrectly/missed warnings pls lmk!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 1.5k ~ ( 1,514 )

𝐀/𝐍 | i got sent a video a while ago (i cant find it now, sad) so i wrote a lil something that was inspired by the video. don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. curious as to what is next? here is my wips list! i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“hi. i heard you do specific tattooing.” you smile at the employer. he looks up at you, tattoos decorating his muscular arms and fingers, pierced nose and lip with a stretched ear. he smiles at you warmly and nods.

“that's us! each employee does specific art and tattooing as well as piercings. anything you want in particular?”

“i don't have an idea for the design per say but i have a relatively big scar that i want incorporated into the tattoo.”

the employee hums and nods as he listens to you, soaking up all the information. his curly hair falling in front of his eyes which causes him to have to push his hair back every five seconds, revealing an eyebrow piercing and a small face tattoo above the brow that you didn't notice at first glance.

“and where is the scar, if i might ask?”

“my chest.”

“ok! we have the perfect employee for that. give me a sec.” you nod, thanking him as you watch him walk to the back room, jumping as his loud voice bellows out through the store.

“hyunjin! customer for ya!!”

“jesus changbin! do you have to shout?” the man named hyunjin comes out of the back room, rubbing his temples. hair long and dyed black with streaks of red. half up, half down. eyeliner lining his lower water line, septum pierced and a few tattoos dotted on his skin. “you're going to scare the customers.”

“please. they love it when i shout.” changbin smirks and winks cheekily, causing hyunjin to blush faintly and gently push him. “and i know you do too. you love it when i’m vocal.”

“fuck you, binnie.” 

“you wish.” 

hyunjin rolls his eyes before approaching you. he clears his throat before extending out his hand to shake.

“hello. i'm hyunjin.”

“hey hyunjin. i'm yn.”

“so yn, tell me about this tattoo design?”

“well, i don't have an idea per day but i do have a scar across my chest that i want to incorporate.” hyunjin nods.

“well, you've come to the right store. i specialize in tattoos that are centred around scars whether that be cover ups or something else. if you don't mind, i would like to brainstorm some ideas with you and do a few doodles.”

“sounds perfect!” you grin.

“great. right this way.”

hyunjin and you spend an hour or so brainstorming ideas. you showed him your chest scar, specifically telling hyunjin what you’ve visioned, however, you want the end design to be a surprise to you. you were a  little worried about showing hyunjin your scar but, much to your relief, he didn't judge. in fact, it seemed like he didn't care at all.

“can i ask you a personal question?” hyunjin asks as he drags the tattoo needle along your chest. you wince a little in pain, taking a few deep breaths before speaking. 

“go ahead.” hyunjin wipes away the ink with some tissue before returning back to tracing the outline.

“how did you get this scar?”

“top surgery.” 

“oh! i see. how was that?”

“fucking scary but so so worth it.”

“oh really?”

“yes. to wake up from surgery to look down and see that my boobs have gone, was a huge relief to me.”

“how was it? the whole process and whatnot?”

“lonely.”

“lonely? why?” hyunjin's eyebrows furrow together.

“ever since i told my friends and family that i'm transgender, they just left.”

“that's pretty shitty of them.”

“well, people fear what they don't know. knowledge is power and when people are met with something that's unknown or unfamiliar to them, they run away in fear because they don't understand. i would have happily educated them but… yeah.”

“how did you know that you’re trans? sorry if this is too personal by the way. please stop me if i'm overstepping.” you laugh softly and shake your head.

“no, it's ok. honestly, i wish more people like you would ask.” you look up at the ceiling as hyunjin tattoos you. “i guess i've always known from such an early age but because i was young, i didn't understand why i wasn't like all the other girls that were interested in dolls and make-up and disney princesses.”

“what were you interested in?”

“the standard boy stuff. diy, football, mud, eating worms. i liked shorts and t-shirts, not dresses and ballet shoes. as i got older though, i understood a lot more. told my parents and they told me it was just a phase. well, they made me believe it was just a phase.”

“fuck. that's rough..”

“well, the whole process has been rough. months and months of waiting to be seen by doctors. appointments after appointments. a huge waiting list just for T. and to top it off, mental health issues.”

“i assume knowing you're in the wrong body fucks with your mind; to put it politely of course.” you laugh and nod your head.

“pretty much, yes. looking in the mirror and seeing that my hair and face was changing, y'know facial hair and my voice getting deeper was good but then when i strip naked, look down and see i have boobs and a vagina, it's just heartbreaking. it takes a toll on your mind.”

“why do you want me to incorporate the scar instead of covering it?”

“because i'm not ashamed of it. it's part of my journey. i want to show it off and, even though i do miss my breasts in a weird way, i'm proud of myself for making it this far and for being strong. i'll never be ashamed or hide who i am now because i've spent years hiding and feeling ashamed.”

“i like you yn. you're strong and know what you want in life.”

“thank you, hyunjin. it means a lot to me.” you smile softly at him as he grins at you, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“so, are you done now? with your breasts gone and whatnot?”

“maybe. maybe not. i've been debating about bottom surgery but it costs twice as much as top and well, it's a whole new thing to get used to. i'm completely transforming my intimate area for something new and unknown. in a way, yes i do want bottom surgery but i know i'll be alone during the process.”

“i'll come with you.”

“what..?”

“i'll come with you. i'll hold your hand and be there for you, whether you decide to do it or not.”

“hyunjin, we barely know each other. you're a tattoo artist that’s tattooing my chest.”

“ok. and? i like you yn. platonically of course however, i can't deny this strong connection that pulls me to you. hearing your story, i want to protect you and be the friend that you've always wanted and deserved. you shouldn't have to face something that's this big alone.”

“it's just surgery, hyunjin..”

“yes but it's a major thing to you so you deserve to have someone there by your side. to have a familiar face to wake up to.”

“and if i don't decide on the surgery?”

“then i still want to be that familiar face to wake up to.”

“hyunjin, i–”

“look–” hyunjin turns the tattooing machine off and looks at you. “whether you decide to get bottom surgery or not doesn't make you any less of a person. you're still you and you should look back on all the great achievements and be proud. masculinity shouldn't tackle or dominate you, you dominate masculinity besides, gender is fluid these days so be what you want to be. just as long as you are happy, healthy and comfortable then who gives a shit.”

tears roll down your cheeks slowly. you wipe them away with the back of your hand as you sniffle, hyunjin smiling softly at you before finishing up the tattoo.

“thank you.. i needed that.”

“we all need that extra love, regardless.”

a comfortable silence falls upon you both. the buzzing sound of the machine tattooing your skin being the only thing ringing in your ears. one hour later and hyunjin turns off the machine before gently wiping the extra ink off your skin.

“ready! want to see it?”

“fuck yes!” hyunjin laughs before standing up. you follow suit, following him to the full length mirror.

you gasp in awe and shock as you look at your new chest tattoo. flowers of various shapes and sizes decorated in a line along your scar. butterflies and bees for that extra touch and design. 

“holy fuck.. thank you. thank you so so much hyunjin. i love it.” tears well in your eyes before falling down your cheeks. hyunjin laughs softly, his own eyes welling up.

“ah fuck, now you've got me started.” you both laugh as you wipe away tears. hyunjin wraps up your chest tattoo and tells you about aftercare. 

as you gather your belongings and walk to the door, you turn on your heel and give hyunjin a gentle and genuine smile

“thank you for today, hyunjin. it's nice to know i have someone to lean on in the future.”

#kwritersworldnet #wkcnet #straykidsland #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x you #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

[raparopa]

Could I request a Tolya X reader where they are on Nikolai’s ship at night and reader can’t sleep so she stays up reading poetry and he joins her? 🤍🤍

a/n: I am alive☠️With all this studying, I was completely lost and I really want to get back into my rhythm! I don’t know if I will succeed, but I will try very hard, maybe slowly and not right away, but I will try. I've got a lot of requests, I'll try to sort them out for now, but if you have any ideas, don't hesitate

warnings: none (I had to use lines from poems by famous authors, because poetry is not my forte)

pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x reader

do you understand or feel it?

I couldn’t find a place for myself: I tossed and turned in bed for an hour, drank tinctures for sleep, counted the crows that were jumping in my head - and none of these methods helped me. Didn't help me sleep.

Usually, sleeping on board our ship was more than good. The soft swaying of the waves, the light of the stars penetrating into the small porthole of my cabin - it was all so beautiful and good. Exactly until this evening. I don’t know what caused my insomnia, but not being able to just relax in a cloud of blankets and pillows, as well as one adorable heartrender by my side, was just killing me.

Therefore, I couldn’t find anything better than to walk along the empty deck and gaze at the stars, taking Tolya’s collection of poetry with me. He found something in the poems and I was wondering why exactly they amazed him so much, because before I had no time at all to escape from business and devote myself to... art?

I quietly walked along the creaking wood, plopped down on one of the boxes and turned my gaze to the clear, dark sky. The silver disk of the moon sparkled, surrounded by a vault of small stars, filling everything around with its cold light. There was a smell of salty breeze and oil, splashes of water could be heard somewhere, and I again thought how disappointing it was that on this good night I couldn’t just sleep.

-So, so... Let's see what we have here that makes Tolya go so crazy?-The book opened easily and I began to leaf through the pages, reading the first lines to find the poem I liked.

…And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes…*

I raised my eyebrows; the lines sounded promising.

...Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies...**

Poetry at night, in the light of the moon, absorbed me more and more, and now I understood why Tolya carries this little book with him everywhere and no longer understood why people did not allow him to read them out loud.

I re-read and re-read, looked for new things, mentally noted the works that were imprinted in my mind and heart, thought about how I would ask Tolya to buy a collection for me or tell me how to choose the most interesting one.

Immersed in my thoughts and tender lines of light poetry, I did not at all notice the cautious steps that appeared on the deck.

-...as fair art thou, my bonnie lass, so deep in luve am I...

-...and I will love thee still, my dear, till a' the seas gang dry.*** - a strange voice rang out over my ear and strange hands wrapped around my waist. - Good night, my heart.

I winced, immediately slamming the book shut and rolling my eyes in pseudo-annoyance, trying to hold back a smile.

-Tolya! You scared me, Saints, don't do that again or I'll hit you.

He laughed, pecking me on the cheek and resting his chin on my shoulder.

-You weren’t in bed, I thought something happened, and you’re sitting here and reading poetry.- Yul-Bataar giggled. -I expected anything, but not this, Y/N. You... pleasantly surprise me.

-I couldn’t sleep, I decided to take a walk and thought it would be nice to take something to read...

-And how? Poetry isn't for everyone, you know. Not every person is able to understand the meaning and feelings embedded in ordinary poetic lines, in ink written on paper. When you read poetry, you must either understand or feel.

I turned my head slightly to see his smiling face, clutching the volume of poetry in my hands.

-Well? And you?-Tolya asked again.

-What?

-Do you feel or understand, when you read these lines, my heart?- He quickly took his book from my hands, lovingly and gently opening it.

I thoughtfully followed his movements, digesting the words he said, trying to grasp their essence.

-Don't know. I haven't read enough to fully...dive into this. I think I need to get to know a lot more to feel poetry.

-Do you want to feel it?- Tolya’s warm embrace immediately disappeared, which made me instantly freeze. He walked around the chest on which I was sitting, opened the collection and began to look for something in it.

-What are you going to do?- I asked, admiring his silhouette, which so softly curved around the silver light of the cold stars. Tolya smiled mischievously, without taking his eyes off the pages.

-Once, you want to feel poetry in your heart, Y/N,-he put his palm to his chest. -Then let me show you this path and read some wonderful things?-He looked up at me and smiled tenderly.

I smiled back, bowing my head.

-I would be glad if you honored me with this, dear,- I responded, involuntarily giggling.

-Then, as expected, every bard is entitled to a reward. For each poem I want to receive... - Tolya thought theatrically, rubbing his chin. - For a kiss. Is the lady happy with this price?

-Cunning fox!- I laughed, squinting from the sharply elevated mood. -But, yes, the lady agrees to the conditions of the cunning bard.-I had to bite my lip so that my smile did not sparkle like a mirror reflecting the light of the sun.

-Then let's start! Bright star, would I be stedfast as thou art... ****

Or maybe this insomnia was not a punishment after all?

**“She Walks In Beauty” by Lord Byron

***“A Red, Red Rose” by Robert Burns

****“Bright Star” by John Keats

#shadow and bone season two #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #tolya yul bataar #tolya yul bataar x reader #tolya yul bataar imagine

[laurellerual]

Arya Lady of Harrenhal during the Long Night

At the bottom of my inbox there's an anonymous message from months ago that says “could you do Arya with Nymeria during the long night? Fighting together?”. I haven't replied yet and the reason is that when I think about this scene, the image of GOT 8x03 pops up in my mind. Will Arya fight through the Long Night, sword in hand? I'm not that sure.

Then the other day I came up with this idea that I proposed to you in a survey: “Winterfell falls, the northeners have to escape South, Harrenhal is the main citadel, Arya as lady of Harrenhal during the Long Night”. And I must say I'm surprised with the result. It won "I see where you are coming from, and I like it" with 33% of the votes.

But many, rightly so, have chosen "I'll wait for you to elaborate", so here we are.

A role

So Jon and Dany are the ones with the army and the dragons, Tyrion is the smart one with the experience and Bran is the one with the magical powers (sorry I'm simplifying, just to summarize). It's not hard to imagine that they'll find their place in the White Walkers storyline.

And Arya? Use the valyrian steel sword she doesn't have to slay the undead? Will Jon allow her to be on the front lines? Is Arya really stupid enough to think she can do it?

She will be at most 12/13 years old and the only sword lessons she has received are those of Syrio, she is not a great swordswoman, especially if she has to face adults on a battlefield. The things that the FMs are teaching her don't seem suitable for this kind of situations. I guess she could contribute by warging Nymeria and leading her pack, but if that is the case it wouldn't be necessary for her to be physically there.

Whatever this role is it must be relevant 'cause Martin counted her among the five key characters, one of the first to be created and then decided to waste a lot of ink by telling us about her.

Harrenhal

I start with the assumtion that the Battle for the Dawn will take place in the Riverlands, that it will not be possible to stop the White Walkers at Winterfell and consequently there will be an exodus of people from the North to the South. If you don't agree or you want an explanation about it, you can read my last post: Harrenhal during the Long Night.

And which of the main characters has a strong relationship with Harrenhal?

Thematic connections

The girl has a long and complex relationship with her mother's native land and a strong thematic connection with water that you surely have read about in other metas. Most of the major events in Arya's life take place here.

Not only the Red wedding, meeting Jaqen, the Weasel soup, the separation from Nymeria, but also Mycah's death in which she realizes for the first time that her father is not as powerful as she thinks, that the injustice of the world is deeper than she thought and that especially for the nobles the suffering of the smallfolk is totally irrelevant.

Harrenhal is the castle of which she becomes the ghost. And she really is the ghost of Harrenhal, standing in front of that Heart tree, probably like her late aunt years before, as she hears a voice from the trees reminding her of her real name.

Useful knowledge

Arya knows these lands directly, crosses them, lives them, knows their inhabitants, their opinions and sides in the war. It isn't a theoretical knowledge but a practical one. As Jon Snow recalls "The map is not the land, my father often said".

But it's even more intimate than that because Arya dreams of those lands every night, she sees them through Nymeria's eyes. The wolf is currently the only undisputed ruler in that lawless place. Do you remember the image of Harrenhal tormented by the tremendous howl of the wind and wolves outside the walls?

Arya also knows Harrenhal on all its levels. She physically scrubbed the floors of every floor of every tower and she scoured all the walls in search of an unguarded gate.

She has experienced the classes and roles that exist within the castle and its management. She had to deal with armigers, cooks and blacksmiths. She has worked her way up the chain of command from the humblest of servants to cupbearer and lord's messenger.

Skills and leadership

In the books we see her many times in positions where she is the person who has to make decisions, lead a group, organize little plans.

One of the main themes of her journey is justice, mercy, power and its abuse.

Then there are more or less direct parallels such as the one between Arya and Aegon the unlikely or the list of things that would make Aegon/young Griff a good ruler according to Varys.

Let's see some quotes in the books that tell us about these aspects of the character:

The one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household.

His father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know t

he men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger."

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms.

Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his great sword. “If you would take a man 's life, you owe it to him go look him in the face and hear his last words di lui,” she 'd heard him tell Robb and Jon once.

Can I be lord of a holdfast?

And here I stop because there are many others. If you are interested in this, there are meta only on this topic around tumblr.

An interesting that that connects Ned's teachings and those of the FMs is the concept that power and service are closely related.

Now let's see what FM training consists of: the ability to blend in with people, listen, gather information, learn many languages. We can add her natural ability to make friends and allies of all kinds.

This seems like the perfect package to manage a castle full of frightened people from all over the world (there will be people arriving with Dany as well), from every social class, every side of the war, who have nothing in common but the hope to survive.

Disconnected thoughts and possible parallels

This would be a very poetic situation that completes the parallel with historical Nymeria by placing Arya at the head of a group of refugees fleeing their destroyed home. In addition to giving her the possibility and the power to carry out the reflection on justice in a place that has seen so much injustice.

It's also funny how Lady Whent is introduced with great expectation right into Arya's chapters, where she thinks she can ask for her help. Yet she will never meet the Lady of Harrenhal.

And isn't it funny how she decided to name her direwolf after "some old witch queen in the songs"?

From the Alys Rivers wiki page: In 132 AC during the regency of Aegon III, a number of broken men and predatory outlaws began to gather at Harrenhal under the rule of a sorcerous witch queen. Mmmh interesting… this sound familiar, the Brotherhood without banners?

There is also Sharra, another witch queen of the Riverlands from the Age of Heroes.

Conclusions

In this place where Shagwell the Fool sang about Weasel soup maybe in the future there will be songs about Arya and the ten thousand wolves.

Thanks for reading. Mine doesn't want to be a theory that speaks of the character's endgame, but of its role during the Long Night. Let me know if I've given you something to think about, if I've convinced you, if you have other ideas on what this role might be. Or if you want to write a fanfiction with this plot.

Edit: I just discovered an old thread with a similar topic. I haven't read it yet, but I'll leave it here for the record.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #arya stark #harrenhal #the long night #arya meta

[talonabraxas]

A Color Diagram

(From book, "The Anatomy of the Body of God")

The Geometry of the Tree

The drawing itself is a meditation, as anyone who has experimented with the quasi-spiritual exercise of exploring the results of drawing with a compass and a straight edge. These are the tools of Euclid and Pythagoras, the early Greek mathematicians, and also probably were used much earlier by the unnamed architects who built the pyramids and other structures. The game here is to intuitively contemplate the analogies–remembering that what's at stake is also the frontier of in here and out there, of mind and so-called objective reality.

It begins with a contemplation of the empty page. Yet there is the contemplator, who is also the potential artist. There is the idea of doing something–perhaps not even clear what–just something, of drawing. There is the idea of making a mark, of having a mark-maker, a pencil or its equivalent, a finger on sand. Not in the air–part of this paper-and-pencil idea has to do with a mark that will stay still, that will sit there, an extension of mind, an expression of will, a putting out there so that it sticks what is only glimmeringly becoming in the mind. So a toddler may experience the miracle of a crayon and paper–or before that, what? His own poop and a wall?

What if, as the esoteric students of many millennia suggested, what we do is in the "image of God," not just humans, but actions, and all the world. What exists in the divine milieu, the essential underlying principles, is manifested in what we call reality–even if that manifestation is only partial, only a tiny shadow of the greatness that expresses us. Thus, artists are known to express their frustration that their best efforts are only incomplete gestures, mere efforts at capturing the magnificence, the numinosity, of their mystical experience.

What if, speaking poetically, God wanted to express in a relatively static, dense context, in a form that wouldn't dissolve, like dreams, like water, a creative inspiration. She might begin by making a figurative mark on a figurative piece of paper. The paper is space-time, the mark is–well, we call it the "big bang." But at first it was just a mark, a gesture of God.

By the way, this initial point is the beginning of drawing the tree of life diagram. It is the first sphere, a radiating sphere–like a very dense ink on a very absorbent paper–starting infinitely small, but being Divine, almost infinitely energetic, and spreading over a billion or more years.

Becoming, yet going nowhere. That calls for a second geometric event: the extension of a point as a line. In geometry, this moves from zero dimensions to one dimension. A line–but a line can be of any length, it can be infinitely long. There is no defined space yet. There's a sort of direction, but no form. It's perhaps poetically related to the light in the darkness described in the first chapter of Genesis in the Bible, or that wonderfully ambiguous word, "firmament." The kabbalists really contemplated this creation story, seeking the deepest meanings, including the ingenious idea that we are constantly, every moment, creating and being re-created as part of this divine process. It didn't just happen then. Like here and there, then and now may be equally an expression of our deepest habits of thought.

We don't even begin to have a diagram yet, we're just setting the stage for a process of diagraming, but pausing to contemplate how necessary it is to set this stage, to have a pen, a piece of paper, one who makes the mark, who moves, who stays involved in the creative process, proceeding from one step to the next. Each of these elements may have metaphysical meanings, equivalents.

(What have I been smoking? Naw. You see, when you really think about it, you don't need to alter your state of consciousness; the science-fiction / poetry activity is a stretching agent enough.)

Okay, so you point, line, and at some point, you say–wait, something else is needed. At least let's pick another point so that the line has a limit. A limit? Well, if you want to draw anything, you've got to have a limit. Two points. A beginning and an end. Oooh. Okay, let's stop this line...here. Wow, in all the time we've been talking, you've made the line really, really long. Depending on divine perspective and your belief in the limitations of the speed of light, let's just say that this line is... well, what? Several billions of miles long? Whatever, it won't fit on the paper. So let's have just you make it, not God, and let it be, say, four or five inches. We can work with that. Two parts of a line–pen, straight edge. Now what. Well, pick up the compass. A new tool–really, it could even be just the straight edge, the line itself, only able to move in a new way, in another dimension, off of the line. The line makes an angle, and fools around. A little angle, a bigger angle, a 90 degree angle, hey, why not go all around.... oooh, look what you made, a circle.

Circles are very heavy, very primal, very magical. People have written a lot just about the circle. It's one of the first designs kids make as they learn to draw. And it defines a space. It's very two-dimensional. No longer just a one-dimensional line. It's got two dimensions. A little bending here and there and you could make a triangle, a square, a figure with all kinds of edges and curves. But let's stay with the circle.

For now, we'll stop. The construction of the diagram deserves a separate paper from here, the compounding of circles, edges, angles, triangles, cross-connections. But it's very elegant, and its construction partakes of what the ancient yogis called the making of mainly circular (sometimes square or triangular) diagrams for meditation called "yantras." The point is to contemplate the "deeper"meanings of such configurations, what dimensionality, space, regularity, symmetry, and other fairly basic categories mean, and why, in a world suffused with chaos, we nevertheless also find amazingly widespread evidences of the operations of mathematical expressions in space–i.e., geometry.

[hexagonspress]

you are (not) becket by @gyzym

Here, it's simple: you and me and your dead brother are all swimming in the sick stillness of the water after the storm.

Titles: Mrs. Eaves Body text: Garamond Case title: OCR A Extended

3,079 words | 108 pages

Binderary book 2 (these are absolutely not in order of when I finished them. This was a frantic ten-minute case-in on the morning of the 27th before being three minutes late to work because I was washing my glue brush.): Pacific Rim is a story that went inside my ribcage and my brainstem and won't ever leave. It was my first exposure to a character who's dead from the beginning and who haunts the story for the rest of it and I think about Yancy Becket every two days and I will for the rest of my life. And thus, from there, I get here, where "my name is Becket and I didn't ask to be your gravestone. Like I wanted this, Becket, I swear to fucking god" is just a line that is tattooed on my brain. I've cried over this fic a bunch of times. It makes me feel ice-cream-scooped out in the middle of my chest. I love it and it needed to be in printed form.

More pictures/design/process under the cut.

Design and Construction Case and covers: Flat-back case binding with bradel board covers and spine. This was my first time experimenting with layered materials for the case, because I wanted to mirror the missing pieces that are such a prominent part of the vibes of the fic to me, and oh boy. Layer 1 was on the front board, Hollander's Mango Leaf tissue in blue. Layer 2 was a full-cloth binding with Hollander's pearl linen cloth in charcoal grey, with the upper left half of the title text cut out using a Cricut. Layer 3 was again on the front board, Hollander's Lokta paper in natural. All of the title text was cut out with a Cricut and then I ripped the paper in half (an ordeal) and glued it down with a glue stick. I chose to tear the front because there's a lot of imagery of being torn free versus letting go in Pacific Rim in general, and this fic specifically, and yknow, it felt right.

Insides: No endbands; the book was too small for the pre-sewn ones to work. Endpapers are black cardstock and torn Lokta paper. The casing in was done with PVA, gluing a small tongue of the black cardstock to the case, and then I glued the torn Lokta paper over the rest of the bare board to create a faux endpaper. The torn papers are the same idea that I mentioned with the cover. The front paper is a torn piece of a whole - Raleigh, after Yancy. Mako, after her parents, after Stacker. Yancy. The back is a set of torn pieces pasted back together - Raleigh-and-Mako, without the people they've lost. Yancy, after. I don't know. I think about this a lot. (Also, I'll come clean. The black ink on the back endpaper is eyeliner. My deepest most sincere apologies to any archivists. I don't own black ink and it was three in the morning.)

Typesetting Typeset was done in InDesign. It's nothing fancy. Grief, in real life, and in the way that it is in Pacific Rim too, is a stark thing, and I wanted to reflect that. So, no headers, no page numbers even, and just plain black page breaks for each of the numbered sections. Garamond, my beloved.

We All Do It, or, the Mistakes Section Honestly, this was one enormous oops after another. Since the book's so small each page had to be cut out individually and I won't even get started on the number of mistakes I made doing that. Then I utility knife trimmed and sanded down the edges maybe six times because I couldn't achieve a straight line (I had to change my knife blade. This did not occur to me). The top margin is like 1.3 times bigger than the bottom margin. The Lokta paper faux endpapers were because I cut the original cardstock papers an inch too short and didn't feel like cutting them again. And then the big one...I measured for the case and then didn't write down which measurement was width and which was height. The case is literally the wrong orientation and I didn't realize until I put the block in and the top/bottom margins were wrong. I'm so fucking lucky that the margins were already so small that the block covered all the exposed board so I just cased in anyway but I did have to sit on my floor in despair for a good ten minutes.

Here's the French link in progress because I didn't want to end on my series of fuck-ups. This was incredibly fun but I never want to make a book this small again. That's a lie. It's going to happen again but better. <3

#binderary2023 #pacific rim #pacrim #fanbinding #bookbinding #my books

[pansyfemme]

i unfortunately don’t have any questions i just want to hear you talk about art supplies 😔

oh well. thats not particuarly hard to do.

im real hyped because in the ‘my child is autistic and i have zero idea how to shop for him’ manner my mother let me pick my own gifts this year for xmas so i will be in possession of some sennelier oil pastels shortly. ive used them several times before, but theres really no competition. i say this about almost no media because i believe theres something for everyone- but there is one oil pastel brand and its sennelier. working with them will make you feel like you are working with a completly unfamillar medium even if you’ve only ever drawn in oil pastel before. They’re just incredible. incredibly pricy too.. oh well. I’m also planning on picking up a box of Carandache neocolor I. they’re wax pastels, basically crayons but actually good. my mother lives by the Neocolor II, their watersoluable cousin, but i enjoy water resistance as much as i do soluablity. and as someone who works in so much wet media, its nice to work with a sketching media that provides resist as i do not lose or smudge the sketch as heavily. Plus, i love sketching with crayons and other chunky media. Also on my mind is a new lightboard -_- only had my old one for a year and a half before it died.. sigh. I want a bigger, heavy duty one sometime but i do not have the studio space for that.. one day.

In terms of pens, my special interest within a special interest, my kaweco sport is still my baby in terms of writing pens. Used to think i was more of a lamy guy.. but whew! im a convert. Kaweco pens are so well designed it makes my jaw drop sometimes. I just adore them. Love their lead holders too! And no, my brush pen rotation has not changed. I use my kuretake no.40 and kuretake no.13 interchangably.. i do not know better brush pens on the market, they’re just perfect in every way possible. made the switch fully to platimum carbon cartridges about a year ago and i do not regret it one bit, they’re the only ones i’ll use from this point forward. The ink darkness, permenance and waterproofing is just perfect, and it’s given me much less feathering than i had with kuretake, Akashiya (as much as i love akashiya in every other regard) and pentel cartridges. I tell people this all the time, but the ink you put in your pen is as crucial as the pen itself. Akashiya Sai Thinline, of course, is my preferred colored disposable brush pen. just wish the color range was wider! They’re truly special tho, the muted pallete, the fact they’re waterproof, the long thin shape of the bristles.. gorgeous. because of the recent trend of ‘watercolor brush markers’ (big fan, dont get me wrong) its pretty difficult to find colored brush pens that aren’t waterbased. I’ve had a scheme to make my own brush pens someday using my personal ink collection, but that depends on my ability to find a bristle tip body that is leakproof, cheap enough to get several of, and actually retains a point. People rave about just filling aquash style brushes with ink, but those leak.. a LOT. and keeping their tips consistantly wet has a habit of making their sharpness go away, which is fine if you’re painting, not so much for lineart. So. while i do get real autistic trying to find the best brush pens for lineart.. at the end of the day, i always end up just hand lining with a paintbrush and ink lol. it’s still the best way. (if you’re curious i normally do my colored lineart in liqutex acrylic ink, specifically the muted colors series because they’re perfect in every way shape and form.)

like i said. not hard to do. it’s like asking me to talk about music. i will, just can’t promise it will be understandable to anyone but me.

#im hyping myself up to focus my efforts on one or two sustained peices rather than a million little peices like usual #i have a potential commission i hope my client is serious about this time because they’ve asked a few times #but if not or even if its small im hoping to start a lifesize nude self portrait in mixed media with a focus on oil pastel lol #ive been having a really strong image of mounting kitchsy tacky patterned fabric on wood panel and then painting totally over it nearly #obscuring it.. kinda like how artists tone their canvas but pattern

[feathered-serpents]

Also the wedding has great potential for some Atreus Sindri reconciliation, if they haven't made up already by this point 👀

Its been awhile since the Atreboda wedding discussions but that’s because of how long I spent answering this ask

It does!

I have a lot of ideas for how Atreus and Sindri reconcile, but the common denominator in them all is that Atreus has to instigate. I think Sindri becomes trapped in his grief, he can’t really break out on his own

I’m now imaging a very ridiculous quest or DLC that’s “Atreus tracks Sindri through realm after realm just to invite him to his wedding” and it’s just as perilous as any other quest in the game except the end goal is literally just to get an invitation to Sindri. The thing is Atreus is unhinged enough to do that.

Oh no I lost control of my body and accidentally wrote 1552 words about this. Whoops. Enjoy.

____

When Atreus first finds his new forge, he sees the rust. The scraps of blades and armor carelessly thrown about. The place is quiet and black. The only sign of life an echo of a hammer and a glow, far into the forge.

That’s where Atreus finds Sindri, over this “forge.” Facing away from him. Hammering something molten into a point. The blackness and the glow made him no more than a dark shape.

“What do you want?” Sindri spits with a voice made of venom and smoke.

Atreus did not answer right away. Instead, he became- distracted. By a forgotten fascination in watching the dwarves forge. He’d used to do it as a boy, while his father bickered with one, the other would work and Atreus got lost in the rhythm of it. The steady, sure swing of the hammer, the clang of it in the molten metal, the sparks that flew free. After one hammer swing, nothing about the molten blob below it would look different, but by the twelfth, there’d be the suggestion of a breastplate, by the hundredth it would be there truly, and already better than any human smith could hope for, and by the thousandth, it would be perfect. Beyond perfect. Dwarven perfect. It would all be done in a day.

At this moment, the thing Sindri hammered had no true shape, and there is enough of a glint off the hammer that he can see the head had been rounded and worn to the handle.

“Here to waste space?” Sindri picks up the half-pointed molten thing with his bare and blistering hands, dunking it into a basin of water Atreus hadn’t noticed until now. The chamber fills with boiling steam and his eyes water.

Atreus had wanted to say something else before this remark. Greet Sindri. Tell him he'd missed him. Tell him he was sorry, but he didn't. He just blurted out his reason for being there, when he couldn't think of a way to say anything else:

“I’m getting married.”

The hammer stopped.

Sindri froze. The way people do when they've just been told something confidently when the thing itself makes no sense at all.

“Married…?”

He turned around then, quickly, and Atreus finally saw his face. Patched red, skin flaking from the heat of a constant forge. Soot had sunk into every line of his face, like ink, giving him a look like a living etching, Line and color brought together to suggest a man where there was none.

But his eyes were there.

They had landed in the perfect center of Atreus’ chest. and they’d landed there with intent. Once they’d settled they filled with shock. Then confusion. Sindri’s eyes flicked frantically around in the dark. Lost. A panic in them Atreus didn’t know the name for. Finally, Sindri looked up, and he found his face.

For the first time in ten years, Atreus looked Sindri in the eye, and he saw his friend. There and pure and alive in front of him.

His friend saw him for just a moment before he flickered away and a dark, hardened thing took his place.

"No," said Sindri.

"Sindri-"

"Whatever you want-" Something caught in his throat. He coughed. Then rasped out the rest. "It's gone. I lost it."

I lost it. Atreus thought of the thing on the anvil. Of the things scattered around this half-tamed forge.

"I..." He tried to keep his eyes on Sindri but Sindri wouldn't hold his gaze. He'd stare off behind him, or at his feet, or over his head. Anywhere but his face. "I don't want anything."

"I don't believe you." Atreus felt the venom in Sindri's voice in his veins. "You think anything's changed? You think I've spent one moment missing you-" This time the cough choked him. Sindri cleared his throat violently, he spits something black and wet at Atreus' feet.

"Whatever you want, my answer is no."

The steam of the water no longer boiled the air, but Atreus' eyes still watered.

"I want-" He bit his tongue. "I'd like... you to be at my wedding."

Sindri met his eyes for another brief, rare moment. The shock was back but... not the same kind of shock as when he'd first looked at him. This shock was- softer. One blink away from pride. And like his eyes before it flickered away to be replaced by the hard thing.

“Why?”

Atreus only shrugged. “I just want you there.”

Sindri turned his back to him then. Turned to the thing on the anvil now too cooled to effectively forge any further. Perhaps that is why he did not pick up his stump of a hammer again. Perhaps that is why he did not do anything but stand and stare into the embers.

“What have they been calling you?” Sindri said. “Lord of Tricksters? God of Mischief? They don’t know you, Loki. You’re just fucking stupid.”

Atreus nodded in unseen agreement.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something large and smooth. Anyone would've thought it a polished amber stone, but not Sindri. Atreus placed the seed on a low stone table, covered in tools just as worn as the hammer. It glowed there. Taking the burning light from the forge and turning it gentle. He'd hoped Sindri might turn around one more time when he heard the gentle knock of seed on stone, but he didn't. Sindri had faced him for as long as he could stand.

“You can use this to find us," Atreus said. He thought about saying what he'd wanted to at the start. The apologies. The declarations. He heard them in his head and felt them on his tongue.

He let the impulse pass. “Thanks for letting me see you, Sin," he said. And he left

And as Atreus walked back out into the open air, somewhere behind him a hammer started again.

____

Atreus did not see Sindri at the wedding.

He tried not to feel the grief that gave him, and if he were honest, it wasn't hard. Not today at least. Today was for him.

For him as much as it was for Ironwood. For his friends. His family. His father. It was a day for Giants as well as Gods. A day for a world without Odin and before it all, it was a day for Angrboda.

He would mourn what needed mourning tomorrow. Today was for her.

It was a long day, but they'd been warned it would be. Thus was the danger of a wedding where the guests only slept when they chose to.

"I saw a godly wedding last a month once," Mimir had told them. "With a little luck, I'd say we get yours done in three days."

They don't think it lasted three days, but by the time they managed to escape their wedding night had solidly transformed into a wedding dawn, and still, they languished on their way. They raced each other aimlessly through the Ironwood like the day they met.

Angrboda had learned to change her shape not long ago and she changed into a fox to match his wolf, hiding in the brush for him to sniff her out. When he found her she ran and made Atreus chase her through the fireflies and the ferns and the forest until she became a woman again and let him catch her.

When they did make it back, it was truly morning. The light clear and gold on the roof of their painted home.

They found it there.

They nearly didn't find it. It blended so well against the wood of the table Angrboda used to mix all her powders and paints together. The dark wooden box was placed perfectly between all her colors and they found it.

It was heavy- not heavy- but heavier than Atreus expected for something that barely filled his palm. He had some trouble opening it as the lid had no hinge, it simply held on by how perfectly it fit the box. Atreus would find the brand on its underside in a day.

Inside were rings.

The rings were not extravagant. There were no heavy-colored stones, no engravings, no strange shapes. The rings were just two smooth nearly identical bands of amber.

When they looked more closely, they could see hints of shining color inside. One ring has thin veins of a bright blue inside, following the natural roads of the patterns in the stone. That ring fit Angrboda, more perfectly than any ring could.

The other carried flecks of gold inside. Dozens of them. Beautifully small. Suspended in the band like yellow leaves in the wind. That one fit him.

The bands held no great magic. They would not make more of themselves again and again and again or turn into some great killing weapon. The rings simply felt like home, and they had been made for them.

And Atreus finds nothing to mourn today.

#God of War #god of war: ragnarok #god of war ragnarok #atreboda #sorry this took so long i went insane

[ichigoli]

Yumi and The Nightmare Painter Shadowbox Master Post 1:

The Yoki-Hijo

I am head over heels for making these Cosmere Shadow Boxes. I would love to find a better mold than the 4" coasters but for now they are so pretty! I don't even know what I'll do with them but for now I'm happy the exist.

To begin, I once again sketched out a design trying to focus on strong silhouettes, and cut out each layer on a different piece of card stock. I decided to go with warm colors to push the heat of Yumi's environment and give some good contrast to the Painter Box coming soon.

Learning from the Mistborn Shadow Box, I was worried about such delicate shapes floating in the resin and messing with the depth. So I tried something that worked out ok with a fabric backing I did for a commission for a friend. I painted the paper cut outs with resin and let them cure on a silicone mat to hopefully give them some more rigidity and less buoyancy in the resin.

I wanted to lean in to the "traditional" vibe that Yumi's side of the story has, so I included real natural elements as part of the resin inclusions.

Real pressed flowers and gravel give the work a more grounded (sorry) element which will contrast nicely with what I have planned for Painter. I also decided to have some fun with it and "stacked" some rocks up the sides. The flowers floating in the sky are such an iconic part of her world that I had to include them.

I didn't take pictures of the individual layers going in this time around because, thanks to the resin painted over each piece, the long curing time between each layer became unnecessary so the process was a lot faster this time around (yay, we're learning!) But you can see the added flowers and some of the gems acting as stand ins for the Hijo floating around the stacks. I know they aren't "book accurate" but I wanted just the tiniest bits of Cyan and Magenta in Yumi's piece. (Keep an eye out for their parallels in Painter's piece)

I'm really fond of the way the resin soaks into the light card stock like water. It creates a very specific kind of translucency that lends itself to the "atmospheric fade" that creates a light illusion of distance and depth.

A quick check through the bottom to preview how it all looks before we add the resin on to the final backing paper layer...

The pale lemon yellow paper pics up a lot of depth from the resin soaking in. I also swirled in the littlest bit of gold luster-dust and a drip of orange ink to the corners for a little depth of color before putting the paper down and more resin over top.

And the final reveal:

A little flat with the simple background, but that's expected. The contrast is exactly what I was hoping for. I mixed a little bit of the glow powder seen beneath the Shadow Box there to help boost the reflectivity of light which can be seen bleeding up around her knees a little bit which I hope helps evoke that heat her land is known for.

When backlit, the rein soaked into the card stock gives the whole scene an almost dreamy quality as the stone stacks fade but Yumi remains stark and crisply focused.

A few close ups of details and how lovely the layering looks peeking through the open spaces.

<3

No preview of Painter yet, I am still trying to puzzle out a good silhouette for him that will show what he's actually doing when he's hunched over a canvas without being able to use internal contours... but I can share that I bought some EL wire and hope to line his piece with real hion lines!... once I figure out how to make the wire Cyan and Magenta along the places I want it to go.

Once Painter is done, I don't plan to stop. Maybe Warbreaker next... or Stormlight, though I have other plans for that behemoth.

Real talk: Anyone who wants to float an idea, I wanna hear it. These are too fun to stop. (I could maybe even be talked into parting with one if the situation arises)

#yumi and the nightmare painter #Cosmere #epoxy resin #paper craft #shadow box #id in alt text #because I love you

[writingdeliberately]

Hi!!

Welcome to my blog, I don’t know if I want to have a screen name or not, but I’m writing deliberately!!

I am 18 years old and I use the She series pronouns! I'm a witch and a queer and a creative!!

I’m an actor and writer and I plan on going to college for both. I write plays, poetry, novellas, shorts stories and mini essays! feel free to ask me about anything or to see snippets!!!

I’m currently working on four projects

The Ruby Project: a queer fantasy novel about found family, the importance of humans and anti-capitalism

Pyne’s Cove: a magic realism novel loosely inspired by parts of my high school experience, highlights community, female friendship and chronic illness

How to relax in water: a short story based off the painting Relaxing in Water by Liu Xiaodong

Poetry Project: my book of poems at over 5000 words

I’ll share bits and pieces of each, feel free to ask about any!!

Anyway here’s my favorite song at the moment

Finished projects!!

How to Find Simon: a ten minute play about being gay in the woods at night.

Pen and ink: short story about a writer struggling with the idea of sharing her art

Elevator music: a 10 minute play about two people on the brink of spiral getting stuck in an elevator

Falling out of line: a piece of flash fiction about a couple breaking up in a line for a musical

While I'm up here: a dramatic monologue (literature not theatrical) about a burnout actor spiraling as they announce an award on live tv

#writingdeliberately #writeblr #writing #poetry #ruby project #amateur writer #introduction #intro post #ask me anything #queer #Spotify #sing street #witch

[aliatori]

Light as a Feather, Dark as Brine

The Forsaken and the Forsworn | Early Years | Hugo Melançon | 3k words | T rated

The true heat of summer proves an unwelcome guest on the shores of Watcher’s Cove. Whether it’s because of the preternatural damp of the Umbra and its fog-wreathed waters or some consequence of the storm wards lingering off the coast remains a mystery to Hugo.

Today, it’s a mystery he does not care to solve.

Sun cracks through the velvet grey clouds and bathes the black sands in gleaming light. Warmth permeates past his rough-spun, Fold-made shirtsleeves and straight to his bones, chasing off the deep and lingering chill within them. The ink of his bondmark is as new as the flatness of his chest this Rising; his sanctified skin tightens as if recoiling from the light, but Hugo quickly dismisses it as a flight of fancy. The Fury has more important matters to concern herself with than a single young man barely initiated into her mysteries.

So he’s been told.

Were he alone, Hugo would indulge in a moment of forbidden idleness away from prying eyes—stretch out in the sun, light a roll of smokeleaf bartered from his fellow deckhands back aboard the Boiling Brine. But he’s not alone, and there’s work to do.

There’s an older acolyte from the Siren’s Maw with him. Camille. For guidance, so the Furysworn claim, but Hugo’s not so easily fooled. Only the novices like him—the ones whose inductions to the fold were borne in force or violence—are subjected to ‘mentorship’ when about their roster tasks at the fold. It’s one of the many reasons he’d rather be aboard the Brine.

Still, she’s not bad company, as far as his minders go. She doesn’t share Hugo’s reservations about enjoying the unexpected summer day either. Stripped to the waist, her bondmark undulates across her muscles as she raises her free arm and shades her eyes, black ink a void against her brown skin. The bucket full of oysters clacks like a sack of bones where it dangles from the other.

“About halfway through the best stretch,” she says, shaking her bucket for emphasis. “We keep harvesting this good, there might be a free evening in the offing for us.”

“Seems unlikely.” Hugo looks down at his own bucket, battered pilfered metal heaped heavy with clusters of oysters. An ache thrums through his tendons in anticipation of the repetitive task of shelling them, of digging for precious Fury-black pearls beneath their slimy tongues.

“Not if I have anything to say about it. I’ve got plans after sundown I intend to keep.” Camille takes a deep breath. She faces west, brushing sand from the gentle slope of her breast as she thinks. Then she turns to Hugo, eyebrows lifted in conspiratorial arches. “Follow me. I’ve got an idea.”

Inwardly, Hugo bristles at the command, but he’s learned well these past four Risings the importance of obedience to those more blessed with Xeheia’s favour than him. He flicks his fingers in silent agreement, pursing his lips at the salt-crusted state of his brown leather gloves; soon, they’ll be fit only for the scrap pile.

He follows Camille for a quarter of a turn, he guesses. His boots, necessary to avoid jagged cuts and paying unintentional salt prices during such harvests, crunch along the sand. A sea wind gusts in from the water and whips his hair, now down to mid-back and in dire need of cutting he’s yet to earn, into a frenzy, lashing at his lips and eyes. Hugo pauses to tie it back though it means breaking into a light jog to catch up with Camille by the time he’s finished.

She stops at the point where the beach curves around the sheer cliff face, the area pockmarked by tidepools before dropping off to the seafloor proper.

“Most folks don’t come this far or want to get waist-deep wet just for some oysters. They love clustering on the long stretch of rock on the opposite side. It’ll be enough to finish these and earn our keep for one day.” She runs her finger along an invisible line, pointing to the middle distance.

Hugo also doesn’t want to trudge back to the Cove in sopping clothes, wet and sticky and deeply uncomfortable, but there’s no point in voicing his objection. There never is here. He sets off towards the area Camille indicated, bucket in tow, resolved to finish this as quickly as possible.

“Hold a moment,” Camille says, lifting a hand. Hugo clenches his jaw and stops. “I’ll help a different way, this time.”

She shakes her arm until a bone-laden bracelet slides from her forearm to her wrist, draped over enough of her palm for her to curl her fingers backwards and clasp it. Camille closes her eyes as she runs her fingertips along its jagged surface. A frisson of the Fury’s magic along his newly marked skin confirms Hugo’s suspicions—it is Camille’s focus, and she’s using it to dip into communion with Xeheia.

Moments later and the pull of the Fury’s tide becomes frustratingly apparent; Hugo’s flesh and spirit surge towards it, denied and out of reach of the Watcher’s embrace due to his lack of a proper focus. Camille opens her eyes, ink-black and luminous, and Hugo hungers—not for her, but for the power she teems with.

“It’s tough to keep hold without the brine, but I can get enough hold to do…” Camille trails off, gesturing in supplication to the water.

Hugo watches as the grey waters of the Umbra retreat further from the shore, rippling backwards as though blown back by a strong storm wind. There’s a narrow gap just big enough for the two of them to fit, granting them access to underwater portion of the rocky beach—and its copious amount of oysters, as Camille promised.

“Hurry,” Camille says. The eldritch twist to her rich voice, the evidence of the Fury’s presence, sends a bullet of yearning tearing through Hugo’s core. “I can’t keep this up for long.”

Hugo steadies himself, nods, and jumps down into the gap with her. They work quickly, boots squelching in the wet seafloor sand as they strip every inch of the miniature wall, oysters clacking and pinging into the buckets in a staccato rhythm. Hugo focuses on the pervasive smell of the sea—salt, rot, fish—with every breath, trying to ignore the way his bondmark sizzles like lightning made flesh.

Once his pail overflows with his harvest, Hugo reaches high above his head to balance it on the edge of the tidepools above him, then climbs back up, careful to avoid cutting himself on the jagged edges. Camille wordlessly hoists her bucket in his direction; he takes both towards the shore as she makes her own climb out.

As soon as she joins him on the shore, she releases her focus and her grip on the Fury’s magic. It echoes through Hugo like the deep crack of a spine, punching a breath of relief and exhaustion out of him. Camille sways on her feet. He offers her an arm and a questioning eyebrow, but she shakes her head.

“Thanks be to the Fury for her storm and her sea,” Camille intones.

“Thanks be to the Fury,” Hugo echoes, his part of the call-and-response.

They make it back to the Cove without incident to deliver their bounty. True to her word, their combined harvest earns them both a reprieve from evening duties. Camille inclines her head, offers a wink when Furysworn Barbier has her broad back turned, and slinks off into the twisting tunnels of the Cove for her own pursuits. Some social engagement, no doubt. Hugo pays enough to attention to know Camille’s popular amongst her cohort of shipmates and acolytes.

As for Hugo? His plans have changed.

-----

By the time Hugo gets back outside the Cove and descends to his favourite beach, the sun sets in a dazzling display, red spilling across sky and water like blood.

Time and time again, Hugo’s presented a crux for his focus for approval, the last step in his initiation, and time and time again, Furysworn Eloi has denied him. The Fury demands sacrifice, he tells Hugo. She demands a salt price worth the taking. What sacrifice is there in the bits and trifles he’s embarrassingly brought to the Fury’s altar for consideration?

Hugo will no longer be denied.

He bears her mark, he senses her presence, and he deserves her gifts. Why else would they have bothered to bring him here at all? Xeheia is his as much as anyone’s here, and if she wants a sacrifice, a sacrifice she will get.

Secret caves and smuggler’s nooks abound around Watcher’s Cove. Hugo knows the path to his favourite by heart.

He finds the hideaway as he last left it: the lean-to constructed from pilfered driftwood, blankets appropriated from the scrap heaps to soften the ground, a rusted lantern with dimly glowing fauna scraped from the walls of the Cove. It’s salt-rotted and damp, but it’s his.

Creature comforts are not what Hugo’s in search of tonight, however. Tonight, he looks for creatures of the literal sort.

The signs are there. On a natural shelf carved into the dark grey rock of his nook, offerings of a different sort rest: a bronze coin from foreign shores stamped with a face he doesn’t recognize, a discarded triangle-shaped gold earring, and three buttons of varying sizes and shapes. Hugo’s befriended the unkindness of ravens that also call Watcher’s Cove home, and in return, they leave him bits and baubles they’ve found, including the hoop now pierced through his own ear.

He can remember the mainland books his mother read him better than he can recall the shape of her face or the colour of her favourite dress. In a flight of fancy, he named the ravens after characters in those stories, the last remnants of a different life: Reyr, Skafti, Finnur, Eldmey. One in particular, the one who leaves the trinkets, bonded to Hugo swiftly.

It’s only now Hugo’s intent sinks into his body, spreading like delayed poison. Nausea churns in his stomach, and a suspicious ache tightens in his chest, a familiar one, a pale imitation of what he felt after a different slaughter in a different place. Red and black, black and red, spreading across a distant deck.

Can he really do this?

He scoffs aloud, disgusted by his own weakness. No wonder the Fury’s found his propositions lacking. Xeheia’s influence and power are as boundless as her very Depths, Depths Hugo has only glimpsed in brief through brine-hazed ritual.

He won’t be kept from them longer. He’s no longer a shaking child with a stolen gun. He will be—is—a force to be reckoned with. On his terms.

Cold salt spray kisses his ankles and soaks his worn-out boots as he scatters his handout. Bits of oyster, thinly sliced with the knife hanging at his hip, spread from the entrance of the cove to where Hugo sits and waits.

It could have been any of the ravens swooping in from the distant cliffs.

But of course, it’s Akkeri.

Perfect.

Hugo schools himself to stillness as Akkeri pecks at the flecks of fresh shellfish, gobbling them up in greedy tosses of his head. He was ten-and-three the first time he escaped to this nook, the first time he found the unkindness living here. Akkeri had been a fledgling too, a bold scavenger, wary of Hugo but determined to steal the bone buttons right off his shirt nonetheless.

Now, he’s even more fearless, tilting his head at a crooked angle and fixing Hugo with a gimlet eye. He lingers just out of arm’s reach. Hugo can’t catch a full breath, like his lungs are full of water.

You don’t get something for nothing. This was a lesson imparted to Hugo long before Watcher’s Cove, before creche and brine and deepest dark. The fold only heightens the stakes:

You consume, or you are consumed.

Akkeri caws, raucous and impatient. Hugo hands over the last of the oyster, a cool sliver in his palm. Stone joins the water his lungs. Tension bleeds through his chest which has nothing to do with the fresh scars across it.

Hugo pounces.

Lulled by longstanding trust, Akkeri doesn’t struggle much in his grip at first, aside from the cawing protests at his newfound confinement. But as the moments pass, he begins to thrash; Hugo’s hands tighten in a vise-like grip, barely big enough to hold him. Akkeri’s nearly the size of a hawk, and realizing the imminent danger, struggles with all his might, talons glancing and wings thrashing.

Hugo knows the feeling.

And he knows the swiftest way to end it.

Akkeri fixes Hugo with one black eye. His body’s almost hot in Hugo’s grasp, his tiny bird heart beating in frantic pulses against Hugo’s palm. It’s like the Fury herself guides Hugo’s hand to Akkeri’s neck. He calls out louder, his cries echoing off the cavernous walls.

The caws stop when Hugo twists his wrist and snaps Akkeri’s neck in a near-effortless motion. The hollow crunch echoes through Hugo’s spirit like Akkeri’s final cry throughout the cave.

In an instant, he’s a warm, dead weight in Hugo’s hand. A promise and an offering.

As Hugo reaches for the knife in his belt, his vision blurs, smearing the cavern into shades of blue and black and bleeding red. Hugo blinks hard to clear it and only then realizes he’s crying. There’s no matching pang in his heart or ache in his chest— only the traitorous shake of his chest and shoulders as sobs he can’t control hiccup through him. Only darkened speckles of stone where his tears fall.

A salt price is a salt price. Let the Fury have two this evening.

Hugo walks to the mouth of the cave where twilight spreads across the sky, Akkeri’s body cradled reverently in one hand. He kneels on the stone beside the ocean, gazing out at the salt-dark of Xeheia’s sea, and withdraws his knife from his belt.

It’s easy, too easy, to invert Akkeri’s body, his clouding eyes unseeing as they face the water. To tuck the blade against his neck and slit his throat with one firm pull. To hold him upside-down over the Fury’s altar and watch the steady flow of red as it vanishes in the sea. Smaller droplets join the waters from the tears still coursing down Hugo's cheeks.

Despite his foolish crying, his voice does not crack or waver as he declares, “Xeheia, Watcher of the Depths, accept this sacrifice given in your name. Let this salt price be a gift worthy of your blessing.”

----

The next time Hugo presents his would-be focus to Furysworn Eloi’s black, unblinking gaze, there’s no doubt in his mind of the Fury’s approval.

Long hair braided, eyes painted, and garbed from head to toe in Fury-black, Hugo presents a painting of the perfect aspiring acolyte.

The necklace he fashioned by hand drapes across his collarbones. Leather cord and punctured shells form the bulk of it, accented by long, black feathers that brush the skin of his bare chest. Akkeri’s skull, picked clean by the members of his own unkindness and the Fury’s tide, sits in the center, its weight tucked beneath the hollow of Hugo’s throat.

Eloi sneers. “Feathers? They’ll be worn down by salt and sea faster than you can ask the Fury to forgive you for your carelessness.”

Hugo inclines his head in the deference Eloi expects, even if his words don’t match. “If I have to make another, I will, and consider it her due worship.”

“Then go on. Let’s get this over with.”

Without the ceremony Hugo deserves—and with a grave trespass even for a novice—Eloi grabs at Hugo’s focus. His fingers close around the raven skull. Hugo fights down the nausea of being touched at all, let alone so intimately violated.

A heavy pause descends like the heartbeats counted between lightning and thunder. Hugo’s bondmark thrills with an electric surge as the eddies of the Depths rise within him.

Eloi gasps, releasing the skull as though burned—and he has been burned, by an errant spark of the lightning dancing along Hugo’s skin.

Because Hugo’s called to the Fury.

And the Fury has finally answered.

#the forsaken and the forsworn #hugo melançon #cw: pet death #cw: animal death #my writing #started thinking sometime this year about how Hugo got his focus and here we are #rounding out the F&F anniversary weekend with some real sad feels #qliatori

[cheapsweets]

The aromatic Narngreg

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge, from @maniculum

Initial pencil sketch, lines in dark sepia ink using sailor fude nib fountain pen, and Derwent inktense yellow paint with a water brush.

I'm getting more confident with my linework (one of the reasons I'm using pen and ink is to encourage myself to go for it, and any mistakes I'll suck up and learn from), but it's still tricky keeping the fine lines where I want to focus on detail. I'll take a look through my pens and see if I've got anything with a (normal) fine nib and see if that's any good for drawing with (much as I've loved working with dip pens in the past, the convenience of fountain pens is very compelling!)

Reasoning below the cut!

There is an animal called the Narngreg, multi-coloured, very beautiful and extremely gentle. Physiologus says of it, that it has only the dragon as an enemy. When it has fed and is full, it hides in its den and sleeps. After three days it awakes from its sleep and gives a great roar, and from its mouth comes a very sweet odour, as if it were a mixture of every perfume.

This creature is extremely gentle, and has very sweet breath, so my first interpretation was that it was definitely not a carnivore (cats and dogs not being particularly known for their fragrant breath!). However, as mentioned in the last paragraph, this creature has very prominent claws, so how to interpret this?

One of the options was to consider that it might be insectivorous, or even mellivorous; I liked the idea of it having honey as at least a large part of the diet, as I could have interpreted the 'sweet' breath more literally! Bears and mustelids such as honey badgers (no spots, but fits the black and white colouration mentioned below) both use their claws to tear into bee nests, and anteaters, pangolins, aardvarks, etc all have impressive weaponry.

In the end, I actually took my main influence from a couple of extinct animals; chalicotheres and ground sloths such as Megatherium. This informed the general anatomy (including the longer forelimbs, barrel chest and even the shape of its head.

Since we know it is Very Beautiful (Very Powerful) I wanted to jazz it up a little, hence the absolutely gorgeous mane, cool beard, and tuft on the tail. The dentition (prominent caniniform teeth) is actually taken directly from (arboreal) sloths...

As cute as it would have been to draw a Narngreg all curled up and sleepy, it made more sense to draw it having just woken, and giving its 'great roar' - the lines could be indicating the sound, it's sweet breath, or both!

When other animals hear its voice, they follow wherever it goes, because of the sweetness of its scent. Only the dragon, hearing its voice, is seized by fear and flees into the caves beneath the earth. There, unable to bear the scent, it grows numbed within itself and remains motionless, as if dead.

I took a look at some of the other artists interpretations of this challenge after I'd drawn my piece, but before writing the description, and it seems like I've undergone a similar thought process to @coolest-capybara (though I feel like she's gone all in on the idea, whereas I only referenced it), by having some of the creatures from previous challenges appear. I skipped the birds (more down to time and how best to respresent them, because most of them were on the small side), but we can see a Kraegrat scenting the air, and further back an elephant from the Choglaem illustration. Raising its titanic head from behind a wall of trees, we can also see the Choglaem itself, though it doesn't seem very impressed; time to 'flee into the caves beneath the earth' methinks...

The Narngreg is a beast dabbed all over with very small circular spots, so that it is distinguished by its black and white colouring with eye-shaped circles of yellow.

I suppose three colours (black, white and yellow) counts as multicoloured... 🤔 I wanted to go for a more straightforward line drawing with this one, so didn't consider the colouration too much, but since the yellow markings were such a key part of the description, I wanted to include them. I went with more stylised eye shapes, rather than going with actual circles, mostly because it seemed a little more naturalistic this way (and more fun!). I tried to get the markings to wrap realistically around the body, but I'm not sure how successful I was there. On the baby, I opted for yellow dots rather than the adult markings, to link it to the adult but show a clear difference between them.

The female gives birth once only, for a good reason. Once the three young have grown within their mother’s body until they are strong enough to be born, they hate having to stay there any longer. They scratch with their claws at the womb which is laden with its fruit, as if it prevented them from being born. The mother, overcome with pain, pushes them out and after this the seed which penetrates into the scarred and distorted womb does not take root, but flows out again unused. Pliny says that animals with sharp claws cannot bear children often because they are badly wounded internally by the movement of their young.

I think that's a pretty big assumption Pliny old chap, any observation to back that up? 😜 Obviously the main thing we learn here is that these creatures (inlcuding newborns) have prominent claws, with (as previously mentioned) heavily influence a lot of the other design decisions. Thinking about it, I probably should have drawn three babies rather than just the one! (The rule of threes seems very prevalent amongst bestiary authors!). The baby is rolling around and having fun, since it doesn't need to worry because every creature (bar dragons) loves it!

As I'm sure @maniculum has already spotted, we also have some typical African (specifically, Egyptian) flora scattered around too... Those trees are fun and I'm definitely going to use them in the future!

#narngreg #maniculum bestiaryposting #bestiaryposting #my art

[yournightowl]

Your NightOwl #033

The oldnet was wild, but it was (a lot more) free.

Today if you go online looking for satellite photography and you run into paywalls and corporate privacy blockers And the occasional giant splotch of black ink covering the map. Here there be monsters (or state secrets, or a proxy-war or some mega-rich idiot's condo)

So it's nice that theres still so much geographical data back here for me to browse through. Can't even find Eawama on a map these days but there's a ton of failures like it littering the globe if you go back far enough. Not buried in the sands of time, either- a lot of them are sticking out pretty far. They're BIG failures. It'd take a lot of sand to bury them.

┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴

The failed space elevator's pretty well-known. Practically a digital tourist trap. But i was really happy to find the Line. ｀(^▼^)´↑

For those not in the know, the Line was some graphic designer's idea of what a 21st century should look like Pretty on paper or your preferred 3D modeling program, but not at all practical in terms of engineering, demographics, economics or even traffic. How the hell they even got to the point of breaking ground without someone pointing out all the issues Well maybe they did point out the issues but no one wanted to hear it. Or maybe they got their tongue cut out for doing so.

They didn't run out of money or steel or enthusiasm, funnily enough- construction halted cause they ran out of water. Water for construction, water for utilities, water for workers… All of it dried up. (´ཀ`」 ∠) Couldn't even wash their hands after breakfast by the end, so they just Left all their shit where it was （・⊝・∞） and went back to slightly more feasible ego-driven architectural endeavors.

i guess at the very least their accident was big enough to be seen from space. So there's that. Although the great wall of china's got em beat there, by only a couple thousand years. ◕‿↼)

Using much simpler technology And much the same methods of coercing labor.

looking upon mighty works and weeping, your nightowl

#unfiction

[higgyisobsessed]

big fakemon post??

when I was in high school, I wanted to make a fakemon region based on Canada. I still kinda do, but not nearly to the extent of interest I did then. Anyway, I have drawn and designed some fakemon that I am pretty proud of and thought it would be neat to share some of em

Geodot, Ohkoden, Minerodon > this pseudo-legendary line is based on the idea of a dragon with a den and hoard of gold, except the dragon is both! It starts as a smol geode, similar in appearance to Roggenrola. > ohko stone (aka dragonstone) is a rock that has a unique texture from water erosion. Erosion and refinement plays a role in this Pokemon's evolution, as it reveals the treasure hiding within. > the wing talons (?) gave me some trouble. I knew I wanted rocky, cavernous wings, but they originally looked very disconnected. Then I figured that, instead of having the talons on some arms from the serpentine body, I'd put them on the ends of the wings, giving this dragon similar anatomy to that of a wyvern. That choice really made the wings look cohesive. > I was originally going to have it be different colours rather than just gold, one for each stat (based on what its nature boosts). The forms would be called Amethyst Form, Ruby Form, Gold Form, etc. The thing about this was that I thought gold was the most relevant, since it is a dragon and gold is the goal in alchemy and all that fun stuff.

Migopu > Ice/Flying bc it lives in cold climates. > ptarmigan + lagopus makes its name. This is a mix of ptarmigans and the snowshoe hare, with ideas of snowshoes and skiing. The genus name Lagopus comes from hare+feet, based on how fluffy ptarmigans' feet are. That inspired me to give it the feet of a snowshoe hare, which are big enough to spread the hare's weight so that it does not sink in snow. > the colours are meant to reference rock ptarmigans, which have a bright bit of red on their faces in winter plumage. These Pokemon are excellent at walking on and sliding across the surface of deep snow.

Arboreelis > an eel that flies in the night skies of the region! it is meant to look like the colours of an aurora. There are two theories to how these Pokemon work: either they are drawn to the electricity that creates auroras, or they use their electrical powers to form auroras. > name comes from aurora borealis and eel. Ice/Electric because auroras are electrical phenomena in polar locations

Glubmerge, Glubmarine > fish + compass + sun dial + toy boat + submarine. kinda a random mix, but I think it's really cute. Water navigation fish! > Water type. glub + submerge, glub + submarine

Inkuaill > ink + inkwell + quill + quail > quills come from birds. this bird evokes paper, ink drops, inkwells, and the inking pens > I know I know I KNOW I already have a game bird but. they're completely different concepts ok > Normal/Poison because ink?? and because while it can fly, game birds are more known for being on the ground and running.

Frigeret, Boreabbit, Harfrost > HOARFROST! I mean mr rime has rime in its name which is the same thing just formed differently but,,, IDC we need some hoarfrost rep > what is winter throughout life? As a wee baby, it's a threat. The ears are meant to be like muffs or mittens, working to protect the blue-nosed baby. Frigeret (Normal) does not yet have mastery over ice. Even when awake, this little guy looks like it is permanently asleep, as if frozen. Frigid + leveret. (Note: hares are born with their eyes open. Frigeret can open its eyes tho?? idk i wanted it to look more frozen and cold, so the closed eyes thing is closer to rabbits here) > as a child, winter is the season of fun! Snowmen, snowballs, snowforts, sledding, skiing! When I was a kid, winter was my favourite season. The fun in this form is also based on Jack Frost, a sprite-like figure meant to explain the snow and cold in winter. This is what makes Boreabbit an Ice/Fairy type. Boreas + boreal + rabbit > getting older (even just as an adult), winter becomes more of an inconvenience. From driving to the cold to the later sun, the fondness of winter fades even before the aching bones from changing weather. Grouchy, Harfrost is meant to be closer to the idea of Old Man Winter. Still Ice/Fairy. hoarfrost + hare (ALSO the 'hoar' in hoarfrost means showing signs of aging!)

Nimbark, Halestial, Cirruscruff > cloud dogs? CLOUD DOG EVOLUTION LINE > Nimbark (Normal) is a lil spaniel with the big ears! These ears are so fluffy, they evoke clouds! One must be very careful when grooming because the ears are delicate but tangle easily. > Halestial (Normal/Flying) is a papillon dog! The big rounding ears are colourful, based on sun halos, also called sun dogs! These are rainbow circles around the sun, indicating a very cold day. > Cirruscruff (Normal/Flying) is a Newfoundland dog! Super big fluffy boy. It's super reliable and loyal to its trainer. These clouds are darker bc every image I see of a Newfie has dark fur > these bred dogs also represent the two main colonizing forces in Canada! Cavalier King Charles Spaniels are British bred dogs, and Papillons are French bred dogs. Newfies are Canadian dog breeds. > the idea of a fluffy, loyal, guardian angel cloud dog is based on my own dog, Merlin. He is a Morkie Poo, which doesn't really relate to this, BUT he is whitish and fluffy and soft and makes me think of clouds and I love everything about him and if I have a guardian angel dog it's this boi

#pokemon #fakemon #higgy's art #dog fakemon #bird fakemon #fish fakemon #pseudo legendary fakemon #dragon fakemon #rock fakemon #rabbit fakemon #eel fakemon #plot twist! it ended with me talking about how much i love my dog