#sunders sketchbook

[returntosunder]

Dream sketchbook doodles <3

Mental health is really low atm, and I thought drawing Dream in my sketchbook would help. It did somewhat

This was drawn with Highlighters, Pens, and Crayons

[starquestingfordrarry]

My Shit, Master List

(it's all drarry)

Fic

Over 10k

Simulation Theory | E | 35k

An offer to test out a new invention for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes turns into a whole lot more when Harry discovers who has the other part of the paired set.

With Love in Her Luminous Eyes | T | 30k includes art by myself and ItsPhantasmagoria

The Demiguise lived in Grimmauld Place, and she lived all alone.

Half Sick of Shadows | E | 39.7k

Harry and Draco have been sleeping together for months, and it's fine. It's enough for Harry. But when things finally start to feel like the more Harry's been hoping for, a strange tapestry project has him worrying he won't ever get the chance. Or: the one with sheep, dragons, and a whole lot of weaving metaphors.

Of easy wind and downy flake | E | 14k | gift for ItsPhantasmagoria

It’s snowing in July, and it’s Malfoy’s fault. Or, the one where the house wants the boys to kiss.

Strange Entanglements (the particles of us) | E | 15.3k | gift for wilfriede

Harry and Draco are colleagues, buried in their own sub-sections of the Department of Mysteries. When Draco's career-making experiment goes terribly wrong, they end up far closer than either could have imagined.

People Are Boring | E | 14.3k | Dronarry

“Alright, what’s your terrible news?” Draco braces himself on Harry’s desk. “Weasley’s hot.” “You’ll have to be more specific, there are a lot of hot Weasleys.” Draco makes a strangled, groaning sound in his throat. “The Weasley. Weasel. Weasel-by. Your Weasley.” Harry’s heart jumps to his throat, and his stomach drops to his shoes. “Ron’s back?”

All These Winding Threads | E | 35k | for @amomorii Erised 2024

The tides of Draco’s accidental magic pull him under and leave him gasping. There’s a hungry ache that sits deep in his bones, growing worse every day. Soon it’s all he’ll be, a starving skeleton clawing at its throat. He needs a solution. Unfortunately, that solution looks an awful lot like Harry Potter.

Under 10k

Measure My Lordship With Thine Vulgar Aye | M | 1k

Draco buys some Muggle magnets for the office.

Round Robin: Mud, Bath & Beyond (chapter 5) | E | 7.2k

Draco and Harry are up to something on a Muggle Studies field trip (to a field).

Draco L Malfoy (the L stands for legs) | E | 1.8km | gift for NoxNoir

Harry could spend the rest of his life in the embrace of Draco Malfoy’s legs. If he was lucky, he would.

We Don't Have Thanksgiving, Potter, But You're Still Getting Stuffed | E | 1.6k

Harry stuffs the turkey, Draco stuffs Harry

His Favorite Word | T | 0.2k | gift for minty_petals

Harry has a new favorite word

Eyes All Aglow | G | 3.4k

Sequel to With Love in Her Luminous Eyes. Lenore's first Christmas.

Lover, Tempt My Vow | G | 1.2k

Draco has something to ask. Sequel to Measure My Lordships With Thine Vulgar Aye

Your Hot Hands | E | 7.5k

Draco always wanted to know where Harry Potter disappeared to. This is not what he expected.

'Neath Arbor Eaves | E | 3k

Harry and Draco are stranded in the Forbidden Forest. What horrors lurk in the shadows?

both lips on the mirror | E | 4.1k

Harry doesn't mean to watch Malfoy masturbate

Dear Horntail, Yours Opaleye | E | 1.4k | Includes Art | gift for lumosatnight

Anonymous Quill Acquaintances: Feeling lonely? Find companionship on the page! Now accepting listings for our next issue - interested parties should mail in a completed profile form, creature-based pseudonym, and 1 Galleon.

a soft white damn | T | 4.2k | for KatIsSleeping

Harry and Draco have detention. It does not go as planned.

Art

Drawtober 2023 | E | Digital

I couldn't convince myself to turn you away | T | Digital | gift for arminaa

to the sundered earth | G | Digital | gift for apricitydays

Muggle Studies, Lesson 1: Recreation | G | Digital | gift for Inheartofwinter

Phallus impudicus | E | Digital | gift for DodgerKedavra

Branta canadensis | G | Digital | for FellyTone

[Panville] Shouldn't Be Looking At You | G | Digital | Gift for DrPansyParkinson

Drawtober 2024 | E | Digital

Drarry Sketchbook 2024 | E | Digital

Amorata | E | Digital | gift for maraudersaffair

Special Delivery: Owl Post Banner | G | Digital | gift for Owl Post Community

In the meadow we can build a snowman | G | Digital | Gift for poppyhills

Drarry Sketchbook 2025 | E | Digital

[shivasdarknight]

Just some ancient designs - wonder who they were sundered into?

Top is Charon, who goes by they/them exclusively. They're the seat of Azem (though they loathe the job), and Hermes' younger sibling. Very outspoken person who's tired of how long it takes to get anything done in the Convocation. They're also responsible for the modern Carbuncle, as well as the Proto-Carbie; a concept meant to be "so cute you can ignore how truly annoying and evil it is" - though, that calls into question their definition of "cute".

Bottom is Khione, who goes by she/her. Khione is one of Charon's lovers along with Venat! She's a researcher in the Words of Lahabrea and specualizes in varying reptilian creatures, yet 9/10 of what she conceptualizes winds up in Pandaemonium. Oops. Often seen with a sketchbook, muttering to herself.

More accurate doodles of them:

[stynamo]

My wife knows how upset I’ve been about working all the time so she took my shitty sketchbook drawing of Shattered Glass Sunder, digitized it, and coloured it. I’m so happy. It looks so good. Hope she shows y’all soon.

[marlyena1]

Trying to figure out the final panels for this super project. It's time for the big punch. So many more thumbnails to go! #imani #sunder #illustration #bluepencil #brawler #fighter #boxer #redshoetribe #duckandweave #comic #comicprocess #comicart #thumbnails #wip #rmcad #rmcadwip #sketchbook (at Rocky Mountain College of Art + Design (RMCAD)) https://www.instagram.com/p/BylDuUQh2wN/?igshid=12n2t5jrgroi2

[the-evisceration-station]

forget the dots now

Pairing: (One-sided?)Chani/Yeleen

Warnings: attempted rape, minor violence, minor blood, swearing

AO3 Link

Chani goes to the party even though it’s not her scene. She goes because Candy wants her to. Candy’s friend Dakota is in town and going to be there, and he’s got his friends too, and she tells Chani it’s going to be fun. Chani hardly thinks of parties as fun; too loud, too much, too fake. Parties smell like beer and corn chips, and music she doesn’t like pounds so hard she can’t hear herself think.

So maybe Candy isn’t the only reason she goes, maybe she also goes so she can quit thinking for awhile. So that garbage music can boom through the walls and explode between her ears, and push out all the thoughts of Yeleen that keep pissing her off. They usually go a lot like this: She pushes a tendril of textured curls out of Yeleen’s face and softly cups her palm to her cheek, watches hard eyes soften as she presses a kiss to the corner of Yeleen’s lips, feels a tingle as Yeleen’s hand drifts to her hip and—

And it’s awful, stupid, stupid-awful thoughts like these that push her to going to a party that’s probably going to be stupid-awful too. It’s not that Chani judges anyone for going to parties, but they just aren’t her thing. That’s one of the key issues here, Chani doesn’t believe in judging people without due cause and Yeleen judges anybody who walks different, or walks different, or looks different. Different like Chani is.

“Morticia,” she can hear Yeleen taunt in her head, three syllables hissed harshly with contempt.

It’s so stupid. Chani isn’t going to apologize for dressing how she does, for daring to go to Anteros in her preferred attire. This isn’t high school anymore and she isn’t having Yeleen’s petty attitude. Or at least, she didn’t think she was.

Chani’s eyes keep slipping in Yeleen’s direction. Maybe sometimes she watches the sun glint off the gold hoops of Yeleen’s earrings in the quad. Maybe she started drawing her, maybe hates herself a little bit for letting the profile of a bully grace the pages of her sketchbook.

Maybe she started drawing her and doesn’t hate herself at all, because art should be about expressing yourself. Not just about the perfect presentation Yeleen is so overly concerned with and uppity about. Art should be a place where you’re allowed to unleash the things that feel ugly and messy, just as much so as the things that look pretty and neat.

And her attraction to Yeleen is without a doubt, the ugliest, messiest feeling she has. Chani’s libido and her brain simply aren’t on the same page with this one. It’s frustrating. She keeps going back and forth with herself, trying to make sense of these feelings she does not want to have. It’s driving her bonkers.

The party is supposed to be a reprieve from the torture. A torture in itself, maybe, but certainly a lesser one.

Chani wears a top that’s sheer from the collar down to the bodice, then solid black from there, and a high-waisted waterfall skirt with realistically sculpted silver skull buttons. She applies an extra coat of midnight lipstick Yeleen would revile at the very idea of kissing off her.

Dakota whisks Candy away at the party, flanked by another girl by the name of Laeti with neon barrettes like lollipops in her hair. Chani hardly every drinks alcohol but tonight she does. Tonight she finds a boy who is everything Yeleen isn’t. Tall as a tower, ginger boy with his carrot orange hair cropped ultra short and freckles smattered all over his powdered doughnut skin. A face full of glittering piercings that would make Yeleen scream.

Chani drinks a plastic cup full of warm, sour beer without wrinkling her own pierced nose. He looks her up and down, swipes a studded tongue over his lips like he’s staring at a juicy steak. Hardly classy. Chani almost rethinks her decision, but then he’s asking what kind of music she likes and they have enough taste in common to keep her standing there.

He even knows the singer Jay, and Chani can tell he really knows him— it’s not some kind of front just to impress her. And that’s cool, cause Jay is a little obscure. So she’s into her second cup of beer when he suggests they go outside, get away from the garbage music that’s playing and talk some more about the good stuff.

Even though the blaring garbage music is also what she came for, more or less, she still follows him out. Follows him down the path, until the clinging party scents of beer, corn chip, and bonus marijuana dissipate into the better smells of dew and clover. Talking about music becomes talking about mystics, somehow. Chani isn’t sure quite when the conversation takes a turn.

She’s kind of a mystic too, maybe, she says as much and his lips quirk up. She sees the moon in his eyes and then he’s fanning his fingers so she can read his palm under the starlight. Yeleen would never let Chani read her palm. Yeleen would roll her eyes and scoff at the simple idea of palm reading, for sure.

His heart line is wavy. Many lovers then, but none serious. He’s promiscuous. She notes this with a hint of teasing and this is when he kisses her. Kisses her hard, pushes her up against the wall and fervently smashes his mouth over hers. Crams his tongue in so abruptly, the piercing clacks against her teeth.

She tries to get into it. She wants to be into it. But his shoulders are so wide they block her view of the sidewalk and as her fingers dance down to the clavicle, she finds them antsy for a more narrow set. He plunges into her space and she touches his chest, but her hands are irresistibly disappointed to be pressed to the flat of firm pectorals over the supple softness that would be Yeleen’s mounds.

This isn’t working the way she hoped it would and he’s moving so fast it’s dizzying. One hand already squeezes her breast as the other fumbles for the silver skulls that close her skirt.

“Wait,” Chani gasps against his mouth. “Slow down…”

She’s not sure she wants this anymore. She isn’t sure if she wanted to go all the way to begin with, really.

He pauses. His hands don’t retreat. His fingertips skim the edge of the first skull button, waiting.

“I want to go back to the party,” she decides.

“What?” he huffs, brows raised.

“I want to go back,” Chani repeats, grasping his wrist and tugging his hand off her breast. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t happening tonight.”

In a snap, he goes from incredulous to irate.

“Don’t be a tease,” he seethes.

He moves toward her again and Chani shoves him back.

Her first “no!” is an angry shout.

Her second “no,” is a plea he snuffs out with a hand over her mouth.

Chani struggles as a deluge of icy panic floods beneath her skin. She flails and attempts to bring her knee to his groin, but he drives his weight against her. The thin fabric of her shirt tears against the brick. His broad chest crushes the breath out of her lungs.

He grips the waist of her skirt, muscles in his arms rippling as he forcefully jerks. Silver skulls rain down, clacking with finality against the concrete. Her skirt slips down, the cool night air nipping her thighs. The brick scrapes her back as he gruffly hefts her up.

He’s released her mouth but Chani cannot speak against the painful pressure of his weight pinning her to the wall. Her dangling legs are boxed by his firmly planted ones. She struggles madly to kick him anyway, boots helplessly grazing his shins. The brick bites deeper into her back, her skin stinging as it sunders against the rough texture.

He whips his cock out and Chani’s brain goes blank, possessed by a blind, primal panic. She cannot pull her eyes away, finds her gaze glued to veins pulsating in the hardened member. He seizes her boy shorts in a fist and yanks them down to her knees. Chani throws her head back, squirming to free her arms and gouge her thumbs into his eyes.

But he is thrice her size and she cannot budge against the prison that is his mass.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it,” he scoffs irritably, inconvenienced by Chani’s desperate struggles.

He talks like someone who’s just gotten stuck in a too-long line at the cinema concession stand, while Chani cannot talk at all. She can’t even draw a full breath. Choking as his cock rubs along her thigh, fear devours her insides. Everything Chani is made of recoils from what is about to happen.

He is a heartbeat away from penetration. He is going to split her open under the moon, against this brick, and Chani’s world is never going to be the same. She knows this in the pit of her stomach, sick beyond sick and unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Let her go!” roars a lioness disguised as a girl. “Right now! I already called the cops and I am not afraid to use this!”

Ginger Boy (Chani distantly realizes she doesn’t remember his name, doesn’t recall if he’d even introduced himself) goes rigid. The tip of his cock is so terrifyingly close, she can feel its heat against her entrance. He drops her without a second thought, hastily cramming it back into his jeans as he rapidly retreats.

Chani skins her knees as she lands in a heap, rubbery legs unable to take her weight. Her chest heaves as she gasps for air. Ginger takes off down the path like hot coals burn under his feet. She numbly raises her eyes to Yeleen, standing there with her pepper spray extended in one hand and her phone lit up in the other.

“Are you okay, Chani?”

It’s the first time she’s heard Yeleen call her by her name. Not Morticia, or Elvira, or Bride of Dracula. If everything that just happened didn’t, maybe Chani would be able to enjoy this. Maybe she’d be able to memorize the way her name sounds in Yeleen’s mouth or get flustered with herself for even wanting to.

But as is, it’s nothing more than an absent observation.

“Did you really call the cops?” she hears herself asking.

“No, but I can if you want.” Yeleen comes closer in slow steps, like approaching a skittish animal.

For a moment Chani is just frozen, braced on her skinned knees and palms and aware of being more naked than clothed. The back of her shirt is shredded, her ripped skirt pools around her boots, underwear still yanked down somewhere in between. She rises on her knees and shakily pulls them back up.

“Do you want me to call the cops?” Yeleen asks gently.

“No,” she answers, sounding level, somehow. “I need to get my buttons.”

“What?”

“My buttons,” she repeats, crawling around as her mind locks onto the sudden, urgent goal of retrieving them. “He ripped off my buttons, help me find my buttons!”

“O-Okay,” Yeleen agrees hastily, getting down with her.

Chani searches for silver glints in the dark. Her focus on accomplishing this simple task is like an anchor. It delays the breakdown she doesn’t want to have at all, but especially does not want to have here. Not out in the open or in front of Yeleen, the garbage music from the party barely a block away.

“How many buttons are there?” Yeleen asks.

“Six.”

“I’ve got two so far.”

“I’ve got three, there’s one more. Keep looking.”

“Chani, we should get you—“

“Either keep looking or leave me alone!” Chani demands shrilly.

She rarely raises her voice to anyone. But she seriously needs to find her buttons and maybe it is better if Yeleen leaves. Yeleen, who is mean and calls her childish names. Yeleen who would turn her nose up at skull shaped buttons anyway. Yeleen who she can’t stop thinking about, fantasizing about, Yeleen who kisses like a goddess in her impossibly stupid dreams. Dreams that prompted Chani to pick her would-be rapist out of the crowd in the first place.

Yeleen doesn’t leave like Chani expects her to. She keeps crawling with her, silently searching for the last button.

Chani finds it facedown in a crack in the cement, nestled in weeds growing between. Relieved, she plucks it up. Yeleen gives her the two she’d found. The reunited siblings smile up at Chani with their pewter-carved teeth, a bit scuffed up, but otherwise unharmed. She clutches them tightly to her chest, as though it could herald the apocalypse if they hit the ground again.

Somehow, she still can’t find the strength to stand up and Yeleen crouches across from her. For a moment, it’s like she’s going to put her hand on Chani’s shoulder, but she pulls back and messes with her curls instead.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?”

“I have my phone,” Chani says. “It’s in my skirt pocket.”

The skirt still wrinkled around her ankles, undoubtedly too torn to pull back up. Her phone never fell out though. Chani can tell, she still feels its weight when she crawls and in the brighter patches of moonlight, she can make out its rectangular bulge.

Yeleen nods, plump lips pursing as she gives Chani an uncertain look.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” she asks next.

“No. He didn’t actually, um— I mean, he almost, but—“ Chani shallows, words sticking in her throat like needles. “He would have. If you didn’t show up when you did.”

Yeleen shifts uncomfortably. “Who was he?”

“I don’t know. I met him tonight at that party.” She nods her head toward the beat of the music she can still hear playing in the distance.

“Since when do you go to parties?” Yeleen arches a brow, taking on a hint of the judgmental tone Chani is more used to.

Since you started fucking with my head, she thinks bitterly.

“It was a favor for Candy,” she snaps, too shaken up to keep her cool. “Why are you interrogating me when I’m the one who got attacked!?”

“I—I’m not,” Yeleen stammers. “I just want to know what happened.”

“What happened?” Chani echoes. “That guy just tried to rape me, that’s what happened!”

Drawing strength from her ire, Chani hefts herself to her feet. Her shirt immediately slips down her arms and as she scrambles to push it back up, she trips over the skirt. Yeleen springs up like a jack-in-the box and catches her before she can face plant.

Chani just sags into her, limp against the steady band that is Yeleen’s arm around her waist. She inhales her scent, this buttery, slightly honeyed smell. Maybe a hair cream or a lotion of some kind. She forces herself to step back before she can get too attached to the moment, before she can get too comfortable in the offhanded embrace of this person who looks down on her like a insect in the dirt.

Yeleen lets her go as she moves away. Chani vainly tugs up her torn skirt. It slips right back down her hips as Yeleen gapes down at her own palm. She looks freaked out. Maybe she’s scared some of Chani’s weirdness rubbed off on her.

“Your back,” she gasps softly, eyes darting up. “Chani, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s not bad,” she mutters absently, more focused on fiddling with her clothes just to give herself some cover. She doesn’t even have a bra. The top came with its own padded cups, so at the time a bra felt unnecessary.

The skirt won’t stay up but she tucks her skull buttons into its pocket. So few dresses and skirts have decent pockets that can actually hold things. When she ordered this skirt, the decent pockets were one of the things that convinced her to do so, to bite the bullet and pay that ridiculous shipping price.

“Here,” Yeleen says, shrugging off her jacket.

Chani exhales in relief and all but snatches it. She slips her arms into the sleeves and hurries to snap all the buttons closed. It’s a big jacket on Yeleen and Chani is a tad shorter than she is with a slighter build to boot, so it fits almost like a short dress. The hem falls far enough to cover her underwear. Yeleen’s body heat lingers in the fuzzy material of the lining, and Chani tries to insulate herself in it.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Yeleen asks.

Chani steps out of her ripped skirt, bundling it up in her arms and holding it close. Like a timid kid might clutch a stuffed animal in a crowded daycare. Her phone vibrates inside the pocket and she has no desire to see who it is.

“I don’t think so,” she murmurs uncertainly.

She doesn’t want to go back to the party. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital. She doesn’t want to go back to her dorm. There are many things Chani does not want, but in this moment, she hasn’t the faintest clue of what she does.

Yeleen idly fingers at her earring, head tilting sideways like she’s considering something.

“Okay, so sometimes when I need some space or I don’t feel like cleaning up after Candy, I stay at my friend’s apartment. She’s out for the weekend, it’s just me and her hermit crabs. You wanna head back there?”

Chani tries to absorb the information, but her mind is still reeling from what nearly happened. Nearly. That’s the thing, it didn’t, even. But it could have— it was going to. Her chin throbs where he clamped his hand over her mouth and she can still taste the sweat from his palm, the one with the wavy heart line. She didn’t have time to read any more. Maybe if she had, she would’ve seen a danger sign.

“Chani?” Yeleen prompts, sounding more weary than frustrated.

“Your friend won’t be mad?”

Yeleen shakes her head.

“Okay,” Chani agrees.

She doesn’t want to see her roommate tonight. Usually they miss each other anyway, but on the off chance she was there, Chani wouldn’t want to be seen. Or spoken to. In all honesty, she thinks she’d like to curl up in a cozy little coffin and die.

She’s as mortified as she is traumatized. She curses herself for going to the party in first place. Wants to smack herself for talking to this guy just to take her mind off Yeleen.

And the kicker is, he’s probably the only reason she’s face to face with Yeleen right now. He was her attempt to escape Yeleen and all he did was draw them together. Well, no, that’s not right…that’s definitely not all he did…but in any case, Chani’s night out ends with Yeleen. Yeleen’s jacket swathed around her torso and Yeleen’s aroma wafting over her nostrils, and Yeleen looking at her like a person for the first time ever as she taps away on a ride share app.

And on any other night, these would be positive developments in her and Yeleen’s nonexistent relationship. But tonight, when her clothes are ripped and her mouth is sore, and she’s still shaking like a furless baby bat, Chani doesn’t know if it was worth the price.

_______________________________________________________________________

The apartment is close by. The price of the driver doesn’t even break into the double digits and Yeleen covers it without complaint. Chani follows after her on autopilot, trying not to be as rattled as she feels. Nothing actually happened, right?

But it’s like something happened. Because Chani can still feel the weight of his chest as it stole the air from hers. He was so much bigger, so much stronger.

She wanted to go for the eyes. It doesn’t take much physical prowess to gouge out an eye. Those squishy, gelatinous bulbs burst easily enough even under a child’s thumb. But you have to have access to your thumbs to do that, access to your arms, and Chani couldn’t get them out from under his immoveable mass no matter how hard she tried. She might as well have been straining against a hippopotamus.

“Hey, Chani?”

Chani glances to Yeleen, deceptively nervous Yeleen with teeth scraping the corner of her lip and index finger skimming the inside of her earring.

“That’s like the tenth time tonight,” Chani murmurs.

“Hm?” Yeleen raises a brow.

“You’re calling me by my name tonight. A lot.”

“Oh…” Yeleen blinks rapidly, as though this is new information.

“I like it better than the things you usually call me,” Chani hums quietly.

Yeleen glances to the flamingo shaped rug on the floor. She exhales and looks up again, fingertip slipping from her earring.

“I’m sorry about before. It was uncalled for me to go off on you like that.” Yeleen folds her arms. “I could blame it on the stress of the new semester or whatever, but that wouldn’t be fair. And it wouldn’t be a real apology.”

“No,” Chani says. “It wouldn’t.”

“So I won’t do that.” Yeleen looks her in the eyes, calm and sincere. “I am sorry I was rude.”

“It’s okay,” Chani accepts earnestly, holding her stare. “So what were you gonna say before we got off track?”

“You wanna go to the bathroom, so we can take a better look at your back?”

That’s the last thing Chani expected her to say. She reflexively hugs Yeleen’s jacket tighter around her, unsure what to say or what to do with her face.

“I know you didn’t think it was bad,” Yeleen continues stiffly, looking rather unsure herself. “It probably isn’t. But I’m thinking we should look at it in the light. Just in case.”

“Okay,” Chani agrees. “You’re probably right…”

“This way.” Yeleen jerks her head down the hall and leads Chani to a bathroom that’s neat, but loud.

Flamingos must be her friend’s favorite bird because the motif persists in here. A ceramic flamingo toothbrush holder grins up at Chani with a beak full of pearly whites. The soap dish features a flamingo in large, cartoonish sunglasses. Pink silhouettes of flamingos on one leg pattern the shower curtain. The plain hand towels on the rack sport a shade of pink close enough to match.

Chani stands with her back to the sink as she unzips Yeleen’s jacket. Yeleen hovers near the toilet, eyes roaming, like she isn’t sure if it’s okay to look yet. Chani shrugs the jacket down to her elbows, wearing it almost like the thin, onyx wrap she’d donned at senior prom. Her shirt slides forward without the jacket to catch it and her back is totally exposed.

She glances over her shoulder to peer at the damage. Red furrows raked into her flesh reflect back at her. Dried blood and dead skin cling to ragged edges of them, a few still sluggishly seep even now. They’re ugly wounds but they aren’t serious, as far as Chani can tell.

Yeleen’s eyes flash in the mirror, growing wide. Chani can’t meet her gaze, but watches the movement of her hands from her peripheral. She gestures toward the rim of the shallow tub, and Chani welcomes the pleasant, if irrelevant thought of how nice her hands are.

She follows their prompting and dutifully sits on the rim of the tub. Yeleen pulls out a first aid kit drums her fingers against it, hesitating.

“Is this okay?” she asks, somehow sounds far less confident now than the lionheart who faced off against GingerBoyAlmostRapistHeWouldn’tFuckingStop—

“Chani?” Yeleen repeats softly, and Chani takes a breath as the way her name sounds in Yeleen’s mouth pulls her back to the present.

“Sure,” she says. “Thank you.”

Yeleen shuts the toilet lid and sets the kit down on the fuzzy fabric of its flamingo printed cover, taking a seat behind Chani. Chani puts in effort to stay here in the present, in this very tight, very pink bathroom with the sound of Yeleen’s neat hands rustling through the first aid kit. She tries to focus on this and not the darker thoughts that threaten to claw their way to the surface like lagoon monsters leering in the depths.

“Sorry if it stings,” Yeleen says so soft, it’s nearly a whisper.

It does sting, when Yeleen presses peroxide sodden gauze to her back. She can feel it fizzing in her wounds and she uses this pain too, to ground herself in the here and now. The sharp, clean scent of the antiseptic fills the air and Chani drinks it in, using it to cleanse the tastes that unwanted tongue spat into her mouth.

“How are you doing?” Yeleen asks. And Chani knows what she means, but it almost sounds like a greeting. Part of the introduction they never had.

“Okay, I guess,” Chani mumbles.

Yeleen’s fingertips are warm. Chani can feel them trembling the slightest bit as she clumsily work the soaked gauze against her skin. Excess moisture squeezes out and rolls cooly down her skin.

“What were you doing there?” Chani asks. “When you saw us?”

“On my way to the same party, I think,” Yeleen replies uncertainly. “Castiel was going to be there…”

“Same one then,” Chani confirms. “I saw him there. Arguing with Nathaniel.”

“Ah.”

Chani wonders if Yeleen wishes she was there instead of here. Chatting it up with Castiel. Letting loose.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” Chani asks. It’s not as if she’d called out. He silenced her no’s and it was dark outside.

“What do you mean?” Yeleen asks warily.

“How did you know it wasn’t consensual?”

There’s a moment of silence. Yeleen tosses the wads of gauze into the wire rubbish bin, pale red with watercolor clouds of Chani’s blood.

“I didn’t,” Yeleen says. “Not for sure. Part of me was hoping you’d tell me to put the mace down, that it was a misunderstanding.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know.”

Yeleen wipes the stray trickles off her intact skin.

“I guess I should get your knees before I put it away…”

Chani looks over her shoulder and offers Yeleen a weak smile. Something swells in her when Yeleen smiles back.

_______________________________________________________________________

Yeleen lets Chani borrow some pajamas.

“Sorry there’s nothing in black,” she teases, an effort that is off and stiff, but an effort nonetheless.

Chani grabs this lavender nightgown simply because it’s the first garment of clothing in reaching distance and she needs to throw something on. She collapses on the mismatched day bed Yeleen assured her she was allowed to sleep on and hugs the big, plush flamingo with the goggly eyes.

“My friend’s cool,” Yeleen reiterates, plopping down beside her. “She doesn’t mind if I have people over, as long as they don’t screw with her stuff or leave a mess.”

“I won’t do any of that.”

“I know,” Yeleen peeks at Chani from the corner of her eye as she picks up the DMP remote. “Wanna Netflix and chill?”

“I don’t mind having something on, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to chill,” Chani admits, suppressing a shudder.

Yeleen opens her mouth to speak, closes it as her gaze darkens.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, hushed.

“Not really, but, uh, could you…stay close to me tonight?”

Yeleen’s hand crawls across the short stretch of floral sheets that separate them. It hovers over Chani’s for a tentative heartbeat and Chani takes the initiative to turn her palm up and welcome its presence. Permission granted, Yeleen takes Chani’s hand and gives it a hearty squeeze. Chani squeezes back and exhaustedly lays her head on Yeleen’s shoulder. Yeleen doesn’t let go of her hand or push her away.

When Chani opens her fingers, Yeleen’s slip through. Their hands intertwine like it’s the most natural thing in the world but Chani knows better than to look too much into it. But the rest of the night plays out as peacefully as possible, all things considered.

And in the morning, when Chani wakes up with a mouthful of pink fuzz in her mouth and the plush flamingo squished under her head, she sees her clothes folded on the nightstand. They've been mended, every silver skull sewn back into place.

[ikesenmotonari]

5 things tag!

aaa thank you so much @tacogawa​ you beautiful taco!! oh man i’m gonna get into serious detail here am i??? let’s see

5 things in my bag

1. keys. my house key has a custom finding nemo print on it lol. 2 mango keychains, tmnt raphael lego keychain, keychain from denmark that looks like a ship’s wheel, and a bnha keychain even though i barely follow the series anymore

2. fast food coupons. mcdonalds and burger king coupon sets from the mail, though i think the mcdonalds ones expired by now? update: nope, apr 14

3. wallet. it looks like a tomato slice.

4. a two-day-old mcdonalds receipt. a vanilla cone! the moments mcdonalds gives me ice cream are moments i tend to cherish. ... i should throw this out tho lol

5. a dollar store lock. for work lockers!

5 things in my room

i think the most interesting thing in my previous room was that all the old commissions and prints i got are framed! they make awesome decorations

this is my sister’s room LMAO but she moved 3 hrs away so i’ve claimed it as my cave for now!

1. a bunch of notebooks + sketchbooks. where i write dnd things, fanfic notes, character sheets... a lot of stuff!

2. mini versions of things. i have a small saxophone in a little case that was given to me by my awesome piano teacher as a semi-late christmas present. then there’s the cutlass letter opener my sister (not the one that moved away) bought. i once accidentally stabbed myself with it. i stole that one from her room and it just adds to my pirate hoard

3. oh yeah, a pirate hoard. various pirate history books and novels in a shelf here. conveniently tucked behind the cutlass letter opener.

4. a protoman exe plush collectible. did i ever mention that i was a huge megaman battle network fan? now you know. do i have a blog focused on mmbn? ... maybe. ;)

5. sister’s map of middle earth. she is a huge lotr fan. it’s right above my bed just in case i want to yeet myself into the sundering seas.

5 of my favourite things

oh uhhh im not sure if i can pick many favourites that really stand out to me but here we go!

1. my phone. kinda self-explanatory.

2. my bed. i love to sleep. and lie down and decompose every once in a while. (often.)

3. all my bread plushies. i have... four. mr toast, mr loaf, catdog bread and bread. as in it’s just a huge fucking bread pillow my friend gave me. actually, mr toast was also given to me by a friend! and catdog was given to me by my sister -- they’re all gifts, but mr loaf i ordered for myself.

4. books. all of them. all the ones i read and the ones i have yet to read.

5. muse album collection. i have all of them save for the live ones and extras. unfortunately the closest cd and dvd stores closed down :( so i had to order simulation theory online. muse is my favourite band!!

5 things I’m currently into

1. i’ve been playing aq3d for the past three days. listen, it’s a free mmorpg where i can be a fucking pirate. give it to me.

2. 2000′s bops. idk who has me on discord but whenever i’m listening to something on spotify, most llikely it’d be a relic of my elementary school musical interests.

3. naturally: pirates. ;) i hopped on this train since i was five and the ocean is in my veins. it’s definitely not something i’m going to drop soon.

4. jason momoa. ...................... hhhhehehe,

5. talent competition shows. it’s a guilty pleasure of mine but i love watching the voice. or... more like listening to it? and same with world of dance or america’s got talent. i care little for the judging aspects of it, tbh.

5 things in my to-do list

i don’t keep to-do lists unless they’re like... super duper important, and i’ve done the super duper important stuff. so i only have one thing.

to me: update your fucking fic you loser

the rest is just... improvise, bay bee!!!

tag time!! you’re it! (throws bread)

@nyktoon-in-otomeland @ikesenhell @tsundere-mitsuhide @daeva-agas @acrispyapple i love all of you! sail on, ye scallywags!

[alchemisland]

Moors Mutt - Rambles in Eden (excerpt)

Another large chunk of the new Moors Mutt chapter to whet your appetite. Excuse any minor errors, they'll be mercilessly culled before she goes Wattpad live. Enjoy, you sick fucks.

IV. Rambles in Eden

At sunrise we departed, tramping toward a horizon aflame. Great greenery stretched as a carpet for our tread. Dawn's jewels, the stars of morning which are night's silver sisters, sundered underfoot. Leaves crunched, brittle things long past season returning to aether.

In the shadow of his hovel, I saw he had set plates of milk and egg in humble deference to the fae folk said to inhabit the ancient tombs and mounds of the Isles. A race, it was said, of otherworldy beings driven beneath the furrows as the plague of mankind spread, its boils gaping swordwounds, always fatal. Sperrin and surrounding holds were made immune to degeneracy by hard-headedness. Thackeray's 'Sketchbook 1842' soaked thusly on the practice; "Crude as their barn religion seemed to the imperial beholder, there is yet intricacy in their practices and archaic wisdom therein. If a faith's claim to true institutional status is the number of its adherents, there are yet more worshippers here in these bog towns and stone deserts, who bear saints names, than ever had Patrick driven toward the cliffs and below the ravenous tides fizzing like musket charges." I pondered briefly the egg dish, Thackeray had made no mention, while Fergus lifted a knee, the rusted joint of waking Talos, then swung the dangling appendage in a cumbersome fashion to shift a scarred moggy.

Lar seemed smaller inside. The bar frame served to deemphasize his ample stature, a kingly six foot one or two stood stock straight; more kingdom keep than tavern, and a fur mantle he wore over his coat most Heraclean.

He took great stomping strides, as in a childhood tale my mother fireside imparted of a giant who wore seven league boots. His ever-bailed fists hung like cudgels at his side, never stumped for purpose.

In his great shadow, one felt gratitude for civilisation. A concept which, for men like Lar, was voluntary. A hardy buck like him allowed us lilluputians exist. Every second a short man like me spent not being torn limb from limb by a man like him was a second lived by his decree.

'Lar, let me ask you something. In the house yesterday I found a bill of sale for an old church somewhere in the demesne. Do you know it?' I asked.

'Know it? Took first communion there. As did he.' Lar nodded toward Fergus who jostled delightedly, pulling the second of three bags across his vast flank. 'Everyone did, before she got her claws in.'

'You're joking? I didn't think to ask last night, I thought you wouldn't be interested.' I couldn't believe my luck. I need only hide the means by which the knowledge was gained, lest I trigger supernatural anxieties both doubtlessly held. No, it's all well in the Adelphi bubbling hookahs and talking about dreamlands, but that talk doesn't go for much around here. 'This is fortuitous. Oh, lash me for assuming. What age were you when the church closed?'

'After my first communion.' Lar answered curtly, but I sensed a question within.

'I'm not Roman Catholic. Happy now? My father was a man of private faith. Distrustful of institutions, he encouraged us, and others, to think for ourselves and not puzzle over mysteries of man's making.'

'That explains a lot.' said Lar, papist to the root.

'I'm no heathen. I know my bible well as any bishop. Like I said, he was a man of strong individual faith. Had plans for the priesthood once. Even unfulfilled, it's a noble ambition. Does that satisfy your piety?'

'What stopped him?' said Lar, speaking to indicate he was most unsatisfied. I saw glinting around his neck a pendant freshly-clad, its chain lightly linked, an effigy of holy Saint Anthony sun-crowned acentre against a gold rondure; a talisman he had doubtless proffered from its hallowed coffer hidden in the rafters, in hopes of warding away eidolons stirring from hades at our brazen charge.

I shrugged my shoulders, 'Insitutions?' I said without confidence, 'He didn't talk about it. So, enlighten me if you will Padre, what age is communion? Twelve - or is that Consternation?'

'It's Confirmation.' said Lar through gritted teeth. 'Communion is the unleavened bread. Usually the ceremony takes place when the child is seven years old, least that's what age I was.'

'Right. And Lady Sizemore, you would not deny she was a woman of means?'

Lar scoffed, loosening phlegm. 'I would not.'

'I had presumed so. Her estate is vast, her house lavish, its contents irreplaceable, its memories priceless, but she was not ostentatious in herself. Lar, I know we're out for the beast and don't worry, I still intend keeping up with the thing, but my heart is really set on figuring this thing about. See, I have had cause to see her financial records, public and private. Aside from maintenance costs and the occasion queenly feast, she seemed positively a pincher of pennys, a scrimper.' When our eyes met Lar squinted suspiciously, waiting for more. 'I mean to say Lady Sizemore seemed modest despite her earnings, yet enormous costs were incurred purchasing the church and moving the cairn. I want to know why its so special.'

'You'll soon find out; Talbot Church is our current destination.' said Lar, looking more than pleased with himself, and I bailed a fist and considered delivering my literal interpretation of someone being pleased as punch. How much I wanted to know, how much he did not say, it drove me mad. Still, I was delighted. It seemed I would know soon why I was chosen to receive this particular vision, of the old church, the young priest and the stone, oldest still.

'Truly? An angel. Art thou an angel? Thou art, truly. Who else so cherubim in cheek and lobe!' I nearly clicked my heels. 'How serendipitous I should inquire. Let me ask another question; what's there now?' We had slowed now, each of us, in anticipation of local colour. If trips to the outdoors had a purpose, twas this, tramping blind and giving life again to what has passed, and perhaps in gratitude if a higher place exists than this, they dead will bid us good fortune.'

'Nothing much anymore. There's been a church on that ground since before any Bishop in Rome ever lied. The first Christians arrived, little more than farmers turned missionaries, armed with twisted staves. Stone by stone they built a home for their desert god. The Gods of ancient Albion were not of the sun, blithe were they to effulgence. Came they from beneath the clod where the snake weeds grow. Slithered out from the eel bores and swam the narrow estuaries like boneless longships. Their worshippers were dark and twisted as their idols, taking every chance to spurn the advances of the interlopers, but such savagery cannot be upheld. Hate is not enough. Hate is the infernal speed, the thud of knuckles, the thunder at the antler crash of rutting stags, but it is a fickle thing, a false security, sapping and parasitic. By generations, these savage men became curious. They had killed so many, sundered their doings and mocked their skygod, yet still the missionaries adhered to his tenets. Perhaps, they thought, this God is some powerful thing. And with that, the spell of the old ways was broken. Already as the tribesmen made their first ginger steps up the slopes, the slopes we ourselves will ascend, the suckered whips and shadowed protrusions of the old ones retracted to the otherworld, down into the deep dells and dark delvings and the dwindling darks of earth. Came they curious and unarmed, bid the missionaries impart this wisdom worth dying for, worth suffering for. This site was not alone chosen for its useful vantage and strategic defensive position. The arriving zealots had observed natives worshipping standing stones, more ancient than the predeluvian cultures of hyborea and Tartaria. Such megaliths were known to hold great arcane power. The priests need only convince the tribes that power was theirs, a demonstration of their gospels infallibility, done easily within a generation. Priests controlled education, taste, oversaw cultural changes, discarded blasphemous and mysterious rites. Soon, the brood knew nothing of the traditions held by their forbears, and epoch of strife began.'

'Ah. So the priests came, withstood the assault and incorporated the existing idols into their own pantheon? How cunning, deceitful and a tragedy I should say too.'

'All-seeing though their God was, people will always do as they please. The old ways survive unchanged, even to this day the older townsfolk meet for the mysteries. When Fergus and I were bairns enormous crowds travelled from far afield to celebrate the imbolc, until she rooted out the cairn and left the church to rack and ruin. It shouldn't have been allowed.' Lar nodded, the ire of its sundering still upon him fresh, running like new fire in his veins and I saw with each clumping step he drove the point of his boot into the softening ground, like a knight's lance in a fallen pikeman's back, spending his annoyance in this manner.

When I saw his shoulders raise with tension lifted and gait restored, I probed further. 'Do you know the priest?'

'Er - yes. Tarbuck I think his name was.'

'What about Talbot - as in Talbot Church?'

Lar raised a suspicious brow, like a furtive otter arching from the swell, they were thin, brown and sleek, I'd say manicured if I did not know him better, but I suppose I did not know him well at all. His mouth began to turn and I watched him instead of speaking, trying to clear my mind in anticipation of inquest. At last he spoke in words most considered, rising to be heard over Fergus hyucking. 'Yes I suppose that sounds right. Talbot. Couldn't tell you more than that. Why are you asking if you already know? Consider that my question. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're withholding information, partner.'

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.' What could I tell him? That I had seen a faceless priest with mucky vestments out for a midnight walk? Where did I see him? Funny you should ask, in bed. In bed? Well, yes. I was in bed, but my mind was to the church called be the peal of silent bells. No, it was best to withhold until I know more, and still all this time there was the beast out there somewhere, presumably furious at being picked second.

I was met with silence. More space came between us. Knowing Lar and Fergus would soon disappear from sight, I was forced to shout over the wind, 'Why did she move the Cairn?'

Lar shrugged again. True to his word, he could not tell me more than that. 'Winter.'

I had thought much since waking from the strange dream, about the church and lady Sizemore, about the familiar priest and the sympathetic plight implied in his step and dimmed blue eyes. I had forgotten much of the dream's stark imagery. Only this impression of the man and his spade daubed in clay burying his secrets remained. I found most curious the relocation of the cairn. Lar had not seemed confident in imparting the true reason for its transfer, that Lady Sizemore was told the house wouldn't stand another winter despite having done so two hundred years; to me, that seemed a spurious motive and something worth inquiry.

[returntosunder]

Some traditional art from when my power was out. Im not sure where i was going with this. I just thought it would be cute if he held some fluffy clouds

This was drawn with Markers, color pencils, highlighters, and some different color pens.

[totally-not-an-al1en]

I posted 427 times in 2022

That's 212 more posts than 2021!

7 posts created (2%)

420 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sunder-the-gold

@starship-nine

@your-local-bambi-lesbian

@momolady

@theselkiesea

I tagged 98 of my posts in 2022

#monster fudger - 7 posts

#monsterxhuman - 7 posts

#d&d - 4 posts

#my writing - 4 posts

#ask game - 3 posts

#fate grand order - 3 posts

#unus annus - 3 posts

#dnd - 3 posts

#jeanne d'arc fate - 2 posts

#food - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 98 characters

#the words ‘stone cold jane austen’ have been sitting in my sketchbook for months and ronan finally

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

1 note - Posted May 30, 2022

#4

For the OC asks! 1, 2, 13, 14, 25 and 26 😁

For this I’ll be using my OC Lee Bromax, my most recent D&D character, a half-orc monk!

1. Weapon of choice?

He’s a trained martial artist, so he prefers to fight unarmed. Because he busted his hands up and it never healed right, he’s incredibly skilled with his legs and feet! (He was trained in aikido before his injury.)

2. Any magical powers?

Not in the arcane sense. He’s got the power of ki on his side, letting him push his body to do cool shit every now and again. His favorite trick is Flurry Of Blows, so he can throw three kicks in six seconds. (Soon it’ll be up to four kicks and I can’t wait!)

13. What is their attitude toward losing?

Lee is a very good loser. He’s no stranger to getting knocked down, but he hears no bell until he’s officially knocked onto his ass.

14. What is their ultimate move?

He’s only level three rn, so he doesn’t have any real Monk-style Super Moves, but for now it’s Relentless Endurance. Which means that once per long rest, when he gets knocked to 0 hp, he can instead fall to 1 hp. He didn’t hear no bell.

25. Are they good at fighting in teams or do they fight alone?

Lee is used to either one-on-one, or free-for-all fights. Being in teams is a little new to him, but he’s getting used to it.

26. Any special quirks?

Like I said, he can’t punch without hurting himself these days, so he’s pushed himself to master the art of legwork-based martial arts. Aside from that, he’s rather simple as a person. (Like, biting into a whole-ass loaf of bread because he’s hungry king of simple.)

1 note - Posted May 1, 2022

#3

7, 18, 26, 39 and 42!

7: What was your life like last year?

Honestly it took me a minute to remember lmao, but in all honesty I was still feeling the loss of Unus Annus and I had just gotten a solid job, so a little bit of good with the bad really

18: Do you miss how things were a year ago?

Absolutely not, my life now is far and away less detestable by my standards! I have a girlfriend, a job I know I can stand, and I’m doing far better mentally.

26: Idol(s)

If I had to guess, I’d say Ben Parker or my old man. Humble and generous men doing what they can for the people around them.

39: Favorite sport(s)

… Do eSports count? 😆 Honedtly I’d say I’m trying to get into boxing and MMA. It seems like, aside from an interesting (and rather painful) career, it’d be useful if I need it in a pinch. If we’re counting eSports tho, I’m gonna say Overwatch or Super Smash Bros Ultimate.

42: Favorite books

I don’t really have one favorite book. My favorite series growing up was Percy Jackson/Heroes Of Olympus, and recently I’ve been reading Arsene Lupin out of curiosity. My favorite short story is Call Of Cthulhu, hands down. (I’ve been meaning to read more horror anyhow.)

1 note - Posted January 5, 2022

#2

In light of the Stray game coming out, I welcome all cat pictures to be put in my inbox so they can wander about this empty tavern I call my blog

3 notes - Posted July 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I Am Not Immune To Pretty Lady In Armor

14 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ghostofatree]

Starting a few weeks before the Scarborough trip and finishing a week after I was going back to my roots as a sculptor in building a rupa (form)of the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gotoma Shakyamuni, who was a prince living near present day Nepal about 500 BCE. He is the central teacher figure of Buddhism who is considered to have woken up from the bad dream of ordinary life to the way things really exist, permanently sundered the bonds that caused him suffering and become no longer ego but deathless. Philosophical concepts such as these seemed very strange when I grew up programmed with ideas of sin and the sacrificial blood of salvation. The Buddha was a man, his teachings are not supernatural. He born as we are and what he achieved we too can achieve. This rupa was designed as a gift for the Liverpool Buddhist Centre Sangha (community). My excellent revolutionary socialist step(ish)-nephew volunteered for the very arduous modelling which included casting his whole body but particularly his face. The alginate covers the eyes, the ears, the mouth (so one cannot say if it is terribly uncomfortable) and finally the nose. (Meaning he could only breath through a straw!) Ben managed to maintain not only the half lotus position but the serene un-panicked smile of an enlightened one despite these discomforts. Not being a Buddhist he still taught me much about patience and stillness over this period. The pieces were assembled to a detailed life size sculpture and in the Tibetan tradition offerings of flowers, gold, incense and mantras were included and hundreds of names it was dedicated to were sealed inside. In this case in a ceramic box sitting at his heart. This is invisible to the viewer but serves as a symbolic spiritual battery to empower the image. These shots show some of the casting process, the polychroming of his patchwork robe and the rupa in situ at the Buddhist Centre plus notes. #sketchbook #archive #memories #buddha #triratnabuddhism #triratna #liverpoolbuddhistcentre #manchesterbuddhistcentre #rupa #offerings #buddhastatue #sculpture #lifecasting #sacredart #shakyamuni #westernbuddhist #liverpoolartist #lifemodel #castingresin #alginate (at Liverpool Buddhist Centre, Triratna Buddhist Community) https://www.instagram.com/p/CCgTGlTAmiy/?igshid=1w0ouwsu6vvq8

[void-illustration-blog]

Dragon of the Rust Lands and Rust Border Hydra. When the Rust Dragon is pushed to travel further and further for food it is forced into territorial disputes with neighbouring predators in habitats bordering the Rust Wastes. Incursions of Rust Dragons into border regions has spiked following the incomprehensible sundering and the appearance of anomalous entities obscured by impenetrable rust clouds. . . . The Rust Wastes are an area I have been working on featuring esoteric anomalous humanoid entities performing unknown labours. The already foul lands are beset by further corruption upon the reactivation of long forgotten godly artifice. Heavy glitch aesthetics with inspiration taken from old depictions of demons including the entity in the piece 'The Ghost of a Flea'. More work coming soon on the Rust Sundering. . . . #dragon #drawing #illustration #fantasy #conceptart #sketchbook #sketch #colour #colourful #watercolour #inking #ink #dragondrawing #dragonart #fantasydrawing #fantasyart #charecterdesign #creatureart #creaturedesign #bestiary #worldbuilding #dailydrawing #dragondesign #brownpaper #tonedpaper #dungeonsanddragons #monsterhunter #monsterhunterworld https://www.instagram.com/p/B0OTgGJgU7z/?igshid=5nvwizs8p978

[horned-lyzz-blog]

Did this on SketchBook Pro... quite quickly.

Someone saw this animation from World of Warcraft, Mist of Pandaria called The Burdens of Shaohao ? I’ve watched it the last night... it was... such a beautiful story that made me crying, explaining what and how the last emperor of Pandaria did to save Pandaria. It made me want to drawing for the first time the emperor Shaohao.

I loved so much this video, the story, the animation... I recommand you to watching this video with each parts. ;)

Part 1 : Doubt.

Part 2 : Despair.

Part 3 : Fear.

Part 4 : Anger.

Part 5 : The Sundering.

Enjoy ! ;)

Shaohao (World of Warcraft) belongs to Blizzard.

Whole art belongs to me.

[marlyena1]

anatomy and posing for the final punch in this giant 2 comic project. page one is done and being mounts. final size for that is 20"x36". Pics to come soon! . . . . #comics #indiecomics #comicbooks #traditionalart #comicbookart #comicart #comicproject #comicprocess #wip #redpencil #bluepencil #makingcomics #illustration #redshoetribe #sunder #imani #rmcad #characterdesign #brawler #fighter #draw #drawing #sketchbook #actionscene #fight #knockout #actioncomic #anatomy #artanatomy #gesture (at Rocky Mountain College of Art + Design (RMCAD)) https://www.instagram.com/p/By3ESWzBQjt/?igshid=j22kwtvbnke9

[michakristine-blog]

This is our first workshop with Craig and Steve, we were introduced using hand tools, such as palm sunders, drills, rivets etc. I definitely like to be adventurous and try the hand tools, so then I can be familiar with it and be able to use it in the future. During this workshop, we got to experience tackling some of the tools doing it with our hard back sketchbook. This is one of effective ways of being able to get used to for doing some construction artwork in the future.

[returntosunder]

Doodled these in my sketchbook the other day. Currently working on some designs rn so yeh

These are concepts still, so Might change later but idk i kinda like em. Especially Dreams

Drawn with pens and highlighters