#SAP AMS

[apprisia]

SAP Application Management Services & AMS Consultant for SAP S4HANA

Get SAP S/4 HANA Application Management Services (AMS) & Support Services with 30-minute response time for all your SAP Systems and Modules and a Dedicated Support Team.

https://www.apprisia.com/services/sap-support/sap-application-management-services-ams/

[techwave1]

In today’s fast-paced business environment, organizations constantly seek innovative ways to enhance efficiency, improve decision-making, and optimize operations. SAP Application Management Services (AMS) provide a robust solution to manage and streamline your SAP ecosystem. From reducing operational costs to enabling seamless updates, SAP AMS empowers businesses to stay agile and competitive.

[rendevok]

“Take my hand” pages 16-18

1 -> 3 - day 4 - swap

[zecoritheweirdone]

wanna preface this by saying that i am. So normal. anyway i just spent the last week redrawing scenes from mystery skulls animated but as that hermitcraft au i posted about a couple times. you guys should watch msa it is. so so good.

[onlymagpie]

I'm gonna be predictable and ask for sth Regis x Geralt related if you feel like it!! 🥺🥺 Best of luck with school and everything!

Post-battle checkup!!

thank you 🥹 for the luck and the request! this was nice to draw :3

[doodleodds]

Still feel like always returning after 2 years? /pos

I'd love to see more of your art if you're still doing it, I love looking at your older art hope you have a great day✨️✨️

Haha yeah, I'm still around! Has it really been two years since I last posted?? Good lord. Here's something summery that I finished up as a thanks for sticking with me :) I hope YOU have a great day! ✨️✨️✨️

bonus image of how many times i had to export to make sure my timing was right lmao

[aquilathefighter]

not to get overly emotional about a rat ive never met but Neil banging out the tunes day is so special. Rats only live 2-3 years, and we're coming up on 20 since that fateful day!

How wonderful for an animal to be loved by thousands for tenfold of his lifespan! I hope Neil's family knows how beloved their special pet is 💛

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[yannisdesk]

Everyone talking about violyn's babies has me thinking...

Disclaimer: "Buh-but how do they reproduce??" Idk, that's between them and the arcane.

Moving on...

We all know those Kiramman genes are STRONG. Look at the portraits of Caitlyn's ancestors. The same eyes, high cheekbones, and chin passed down through like four generations with Caitlyn. So I think most of them would have some prominent Kiramman features.

Lucky kids.

Most of them would have hair in shades of purple (Vi and Cait's hair mixed together) - lavender, magenta, eggplant, indigo, and of course violet :D. A couple would have Vi's puppy-dog shaped gray eyes, and also her freckles. Their features would be puzzled together on their kids, one having Cait's eye shape but Vi's color and vice-versa, some having Cait's angular face while others getting Vi's heart-shaped one.

Again, very lucky kids.

Due to both Vi and Caitlyn being tall, their kids would also be giants. The unhinged mongoose gang.

And then there would be that one kid of theirs. They have the biggest, roundest eyes ever and chubby cheeks. Everyone says they look like... their auntie.

BEFORE any of you accuse me of insinuating that Caitlyn in this scenario cheats on Vi with Jinx - lmao no. This child just simply resembles her aunt more than her mom. It's not uncommon in the slightest for kids to resemble their aunt/uncles more than their parents. Vi & Jinx share 50% of the same DNA with each other as full-blooded sisters, so one of Vi's children favoring Jinx is not out of the question at all.

And who knows? She might also have blurple hair. And she will be loved and cherished by all. Vi might slip up and call her "Powder" when she feels inadequate at something. Ironically, she will also end up being Caitlyn's favorite.

When the kid first starts resembling Jinx, Caitlyn has a flashback to when she tried to insult Vi by saying "It's her [Jinx's] blood in your veins" and realizes the umpteenth time how stupid she was being.

[seoulmatez]

weekends with rinnie. . . sleeping in a bit later than usual, blanketed by the sun because you both forgot the close the curtains all the way the night before. waking up to sweet kisses, on the tip of your nose, the corners of his eyelids. doing your normal stretching routine — albeit, a bit slower, more lazy, more touchy. enjoying breakfast outside together, sharing smiles around spoons and over the rims of coffee mugs. walking through the city and partaking in some window shopping — pointing out keychains and cleats you’d think would be fitting for each other. stopping for a treat at the gelato stand on the way home (he gives you his first bite and you offer him your last). lounging on the couch atop plenty of pillows and beneath warm throw blankets, the television playing the show you two only watch in the presence of one another. you fall asleep on his shoulder a couple episodes in and when he notices you’ve gone quiet, he turns off the tv (and makes a mental note to start that episode from the beginning) and carries you back to the bedroom. you snuggle up to him when he joins you on mattress and rin thinks that there’s no other way he’d rather spend his weekends.

[nightly-nightcat]

day 160 - return of wings

[dammit-tazmuir]

WE ARE ALL OF US FOOLS. Mercy's hair isn't pink or strawberry blonde or rose gold or ginger or auburn or any of the options we usually consider.

You noticed the colours first, beneath that harsh and unlovely light: that the hair was a dead flower or apricot colour, and that the skin and lips and brows were of a similar hue, so that beneath the nacreous cowl the saint looked like a painting with a very limited palette; and the eyes …

But the Emperor wrapped his arms around his Lyctor as though she were a precious and runaway child; he pressed her to him, drawing down the hood and tousling that overripe rose-tinted hair, heedless of the curtseying, bowing Cohort officers in the wake of his passage.

Your eldest sister, looking distinctly green around the gills and checking long strands of her overripe-rose hair for globs, had also risen—but the Emperor said, “You. Stay,” and she froze.

Her prismatically white Canaanite robe was wrapped very tightly around her, as though she were cold, and she had bound back her peach-coloured hair as though it were a wimple.

Mercy had it worst: the knot of hair at her neck had come down, and now was springing loose in pale, rose-gold strands, and she was actually sniggering.

The Lyctor at his left was combing out her hair—it tumbled in a heavy mass around her shoulders, that curious heart-of-a-yellow-rose colour, that pinkish, reddish, goldenish shade that was not entirely appealing.

She stood there with her shoulders heaving and her hand pressed over her face, pinky-reddish hair coming out of her braid, looking unhurt but pretty sorry for herself.

And she cocked her flower-coloured head to the side so that her sweaty hair fell over her face, in that sizzling, gulping heat, and she stared at us,

At one point, she threw her head back as though she were going to yell aloud, and that weird-hued hair shivered over her back.

The collapsed body on the floor, Mercymorn’s hair tumbling close to his feet in rosy, bloodied tangles.

It's not any of these colors.

It's all of them.

A lot of us already accept that she's using flesh magic to make it an unnatural colour. I propose one step further: It's literally changing slightly every scene, sometimes even mid-scene. Sometimes it's multiple colours at once, in ombres or streaks. Occasionally it's a colour unknown to mortal eyes that only Lyctors can see, the one Gideon describes as just "weird".

[lucksea]

havent decided how i want the introduction to go yet but i imagine it would roughly be one of these two

[sunjestic]

doodle dump for kintsugi art,,,, again 🫣