#SURPRISE got in just in time!

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

in the dark of the longest night

elriel month prompt three: happy solstice

A special thank you to @duskcowboy for this collaboration! She approached me with her absolutely stunning idea for art and asked me if I'd be interested in telling the story behind her commission, promptly knocking me out of my writing slump. It was a pleasure working on this with you & PLEASE check out the stunning artwork that goes along with this fic here.

It was well past midnight as Elain knelt on the cool stone tiles of the small patio just outside her bedroom, the square paved alcove smattered with a collection of decorative pots that she attentively cared for. Her fingers had grown frigid and cold from the frost, but she continued her work, brushing the freshly fallen snow from the leaves of her beloved plants.

Elain had always been able to adapt to most conditions and environments with ease. Her ability to read a room and conduct herself with a graceful poise not many possessed was a strength of its own. She was able to flourish both in the spotlight and on the sidelines and was content to do both. However, every year since her arrival to Velaris, she found herself quietly savouring the dark tranquillity that was so unique to the night of Winter Solstice.

As a human, she’d always missed the flowers whenever the winters would roll around, the lands left grey and covered in sleet for months below the wall. But here, in Prythian, she’d been introduced to varieties of flowers that would thrive and bloom even in the dead of winter. Not many, and not in any massive palette of colour, but the few she was able to collect were still better than the arid dirt flowerbeds that she’d been forced to tolerate in her former life.

Snowdrops, Alpine Roses, Winter Aconites, Glory of the Snow; she had gathered their various bulbs and planted them all. Some were currently mere green seedlings, the frosts of Solstice a tad too harsh for their needs. Others had already sprouted, boasting their starry blue, pink and white petals, the bright blooms peeking through the ice. 

Elain had enjoyed tending to her small garden in the winter, taking to simply wrapping herself in her fur-lined blue cape and heading out to her courtyard to check on the plants’ progress. The garden exuded a different type of silence and serenity in the winter. It wasn’t riotous and alive like it was in the summer, nor in the metamorphosis of its rebirth like the spring, but rather a steady and muted calm which helped her slow her racing mind.

So, when sleep would elude her like it often did these days, she’d find herself out on her small patio in the moonlight, hands caked with frosty earth to pass the darkest lonely hours. 

Still dressed in the fine amethyst gown she’d worn for the Solstice party, Elain was crouched beside a large pot of her favourite winter blooms, her Black Tulips. She smiled at the striking obsidian flowers, the deep, opulent colour of the petals so at odds with the freshly fallen white snow that delicately clung to its folds. The merchant in the Palace who had sold her the bulbs had told her they were also known colloquially in Velaris as Queen of the Night. The thought made her smile.

As she continued her work in the tranquillity of the quiet night, the crunch of snow under a heavy boot made her freeze momentarily, before a soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She knew he was more than adept at masking his presence, ensuring he could gather that all important sensitive information without the possibility of being found. No, he could move through this world without producing a single sound. That misstep was solely for her benefit, an indication for her ears alone, to enlighten her to his presence in the dead of the longest night.

From her position on the patio, she glanced towards the vast gardens of the river house beyond her stone balustrade and spotted the handsome Shadowsinger striding toward her private courtyard. He was still clad in his Solstice finery too, the tailored black jacket hugging his warrior’s physique splendidly, the lapels falling open to reveal a fine black shirt beneath that did little to conceal the swells of his muscled chest. He wore an easy smile, his siphons gleaming atop his scarred hands in the night as his shadows trailed behind him like wisps of dark mist.

Arriving at the edge of her small terrace, he halted. His wings remained tucked in tight behind his back but the image he created, as if he had been born from the night—materialised from the very corners of darkness— was not lost on Elain as she stared up at him from her crouched position. 

“Everyone turned in rather early this year,” he offered as an explanation for his appearance.

It had indeed been a shorter affair than years past. They had still made it past midnight as they usually would, but she too had noticed Cassian and Nesta slink off shortly after Feyre’s birthday cake had been served. Feyre and Rhys had followed not far behind as Nyx had finally fallen asleep in a sugar induced coma on his father’s shoulder, his plump lips open and frosting smeared across his rosy cheeks. Mor had been eager to open another bottle of wine and lingered for a while longer, but soon everyone else had dispersed to their various accommodations.

Feyre and Nesta had never been ones to relish in a party, and Feyre still shied away from celebrating her birthday. She also supposed those who were happily mated couldn’t wait to be alone once more. 

A small pang of jealousy needled its way into her heart to nestle beside the happiness she felt for both her sisters at the thought. It wasn’t their fault, but she did envy them for being able to openly be with the one they truly loved… That in their cases, the Cauldron, or the Mother— or whatever deity that deemed itself important enough to pull the strings of fate— had indeed chosen correctly.

Standing from her crouch she dusted her hands off on her cape and tucked her cold hands inside its warm pockets.

“I suppose they were just eager to be alone once more,” she offered slyly, hinting at some of the couples’ very public displays of affection. 

It wasn’t unusual for Feyre and Nesta to be affectionate towards their mates, but for some reason, she found it particularly hard to witness around the Solstice holiday. Elain pushed thoughts of longing aside. She was getting good at doing so.

Azriel huffed a laugh in response. “Mated couples can be quite insufferable.”

Indeed. But she just smiled knowingly in response, the secret glances they had traded and eyerolls they had stifled throughout the Solstice festivities earlier in the evening sparking a warm glow in her chest. It was nice to know he understood her.

Azriel came another step closer, and it was then that she noticed he had been carrying something in his hands, her gaze catching on what he held between his fingers.

“In all the haste, I didn’t get the chance to show you these.”

He held out his hand, offering Elain what she could only describe as a bunch of thin, rolled up paper straws, about eight inches long.

She glanced from the paper sticks in his hands and back to his face, trying to mask the utter confusion she felt at his perplexing offering, not wanting to offend him or seem ungrateful for the strange gift.

Slowly reaching out her hand to take one, she asked tentatively, “Sorry, but— what are they?”

Azriel smiled, a dimple appearing in his smooth cheek as his head tilted to the side, his dark hair falling into hazel eyes. Beautiful. He was so beautiful. Elain never tired of it.

“They’re called fire flowers. They’re an old tradition from the Winter Court and customary at times of celebration. I thought you’d appreciate them.”

Elain’s confusion only grew. Fire flowers? She had never heard of such a thing.

“Do I…plant them?”

Azriel chuckled this time, his hazel eyes gleaming in the surrounding darkness.

“Let me show you,” he responded simply. 

Separating one of the paper straws from the bundle and handing Elain the rest, he removed a flint from his pocket, lighting the end of the stick and then holding it out before him.

At first nothing happened, or so she thought, until she noticed a small round red bud at the tip Azriel had lit. The small droplet glowed in the darkness where Azriel held the fire flower between them. Before she had much time to ponder on it however, a spark shot out from the lit tip like a small slash of lightening in the night sky, startling Elain and causing her to jump a surprised step back. The spark was followed by another and another and another; streaks of light flying in all directions with the radiant bud glowing at its centre.

Elain’s mouth popped open into a delicate O at the glittering display. The sparks looked like petals.

The fire petals danced and fizzed as the stick held between Azriel’s fingers withered until they finally slowed down in momentum and waned, the dark night enveloping them once more in its embrace.

Elain stared at the place where the fire flower had glowed, so bright and majestic for all of a few brief moments before it had been swallowed into the veil of darkness once more. It had been there one second, and the next…gone.

An unexpected, nostalgic feeling of melancholy threatened to engulf her. How could something so bright, so joyful, only be granted such a fleeting moment in time to shine?

The thoughts came crashing down upon her suddenly, but she allowed them to take their course. They seemed poignant in this moment. 

It elicited thoughts of her human life, so brief and fleeting. And although her new life in this fae body was something she had well-adjusted to since, she still found herself wondering sometimes, what if?

Overcome with emotion, her bright eyes lined with unshed tears, she looked up at Azriel. “May I try one?”

He smiled, his handsome face a display of heart-shattering beauty. “Do you really like them?” he asked somewhat trepidatiously. 

She’d never known the spymaster to be unsure of himself. She smiled again, broadly this time. She needed him to know how meaningful his gift was, regardless of the size of its gesture. He had clearly thought she would enjoy them, and he was right.

“I love them. Azriel, thank you.”

His shoulders sagged slightly, as if he had been holding his breath for her reaction, but he didn’t say another word as he edged closer to her, striking the flint once more, the small sparks enough to light the end of the fire flower.

This time Elain watched with wide eyes as the glowing bud slowly formed, growing on the end of her straw before the sparkling petals started dancing and crackling quietly in the night, before its bright light once again waned and ultimately winked out. 

Life, death, rebirth.

Elain shivered at the thought and Azriel, mistaking her reaction as a result of the cold air, sidled up to her and wrapped a mighty wing around. His proximity warmed her almost immediately as he sheltered her from the icy wind. She tilted her head up and gave him a soft smile of thanks, her thick unbound curls cascading down her back with the movement. Hazel eyes met her own as a flash of heat passed between them, but he just offered her his own dimple-popping smile in return.

Azriel lit sparkler after sparkler for them as they spent the remainder of the long night outside. Snow had begun to softly fall around them, but they barely noticed it quietly blanketing the world around them. Elain and Azriel simply relished in each other’s presence amongst the flowers and nightfall, conversation flowing freely once more between the Shadowsinger and the Seer.

*******

EM tag list:

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@elriel-month

[remxedmoon]

black hole.

(full version below! also, tap to see the full effect!)

aaaaa i saw this trend on twitter and had to hop on the bandwagon!! and of course i had to play around with transparency again. it’s enrichment for me. also!! shoutout to this drawing for giving me actual wrist pain. not from actually drawing or anything but from having to resize the pieces 20 times because discord wouldn’t display them properly. but hey it turned out cool and that’s all that matters heart emoji

anyways!! here’s the full version + the version without the star! because for Some Reason i fully rendered the coin knowing it would get covered up. miseries!

[killjoy-prince]

House M.D. but it's when Wilson says House's name

[puppyeared]

Um so. I remembered The Incident while I was hanging out with Odile

[buttercupshands]

So.

Act 5, huh?

Oh, and that.

"You can start breakdown now."

Finished the game couple of days ago and had some thoughts I needed to process a little. Like. Yes.

So anyway I actually didn't plan this and just wanted to redraw some sprites to just make sure I understand how to draw Siffrin correctly (still working on that!)

What did I learn from this? How fun it it to draw on a canvas that literally doesn't let you draw with colors without some layer cheating when necessary. Never tried it.

The beans. Sleeping beans.

Basically what happens when you want to sleep AND draw. Draw characters sleeping on your behalf.

Doesn't help, but at least it's cute.

I have no idea what was going on in my mind as I drew this. Feels like a fever dream of 'I want to sleep' at 4 am and 'Hm...' of thinking random things

Also that phone craft sign. Still too funny to imagine. I had to.

[im-smart-i-swear]

coming back home.

@barrenclan

[ganondoodle]

random (human) demise gesture sketch turned painting

(and version without bg)

[blue-mood-blue]

I’ve grown to appreciate the aus where Shen Yuan enters the story as “Shen Yuan” - same name, probably similar face, generally able to interact with PIDW as himself and change the story through his added presence. I like the sense of “if only you’d been here, things might have been better the first time around” of it all.

And I was thinking, it’s a funny coincidence in that scenario that someone named Shen Yuan gets put into… another Shen Yuan. What are the chances? What a weird twist of fate that Airplane would pick out the name that his most dedicated critic could slip into seamlessly.

What about a version where it’s not coincidence at all?

Airplane goes to school with a kid named Shen Yuan. He’s prickly and hard to approach and a little intense, but Airplane is persistent. In fairness, Airplane is relentless - and maybe it’s a good thing that they end up being friends, because they’re a little too much for anyone else to handle. They balance each other out. They’re the “weird kids” in class and they’re okay with that, because even when they don’t have any words for it, they know they’re not like their classmates, not really. That’s okay; they don’t want to be.

Recesses and breaks are consumed with the elaborate stories that Airplane wants to tell, and all the holes Shen Yuan pokes into them. It’s not mean-spirited, though, even though Shen Yuan isn’t the kind to temper his words. It’s passionate. He cares about those stories the way Airplane cares about them, and it can’t be mistaken for anything else when they lean together conspiratorially across the lunchroom table. They’ve both got notebooks filled with details and characters and monsters. Shen Yuan’s practically got a whole bestiary sketched out in wobbly childhood attempts at art, entries fervently scrawled beside them. Airplane prattles out plots nonstop, always with the promise of shining eyes and being asked “what happens next?”

They come up with a whole world together. Airplane’s going to write about it someday. Shen Yuan is going to read every word.

Shen Yuan misses school. Shen Yuan starts missing school a lot.

Airplane goes to the hospital room instead. He doesn’t think to worry, because Shen Yuan is okay - that’s what he says. He looks okay, and he’s a kid, and it doesn’t feel real that anything bad should happen to a kid. He doesn’t think to worry. He doesn’t think to say goodbye.

It’s one of the older Shen brothers who catches him on the way up to the room one day, in the hallway just outside - snaps at him to go the fuck home, and when Airplane hesitates, pushes him into the elevator and tells him not to come back. “Tells” is a generous way to describe the way the words come out - a growl, a hiss, the sound an animal would make when a hand got too close to a wound.

(It’s not fair to name a villain after him, even if the name never really comes up in the story. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He’d lost a brother minutes before, and he was getting his brother’s friend out of the way so he didn’t have to… see. It isn’t fair, but then, none of it is fair.)

Death feels very real after that.

The notebooks get shoved into a closet, and it’s not until Airplane’s moving out and one falls on him from a high shelf that he thinks about it again. He’s written things, lots of things, but nothing as ambitious as this - nothing as important. It could be good, he considers. He’d promised. Shen Yuan wanted to read it.

The problem was that no one else does, not for a long time, not until Airplane has whittled himself and his art into a corner and into such an unfamiliar shape that he has to wonder how it’s still his own face he sees in the mirror. He has to eat. He has to pay rent. Shen Yuan would yell at him, but Shen Yuan isn’t there to yell at him, and who cares. Who cares if it could have been better? The people who actually are here love it, and it’s paying his bills, and sometimes stories don’t go the way they’re supposed to and the world is fucking unfair. It doesn’t matter.

(It does. But he shoves that thought away along with styrofoam cups and soda bottles to the bottom of a garbage bag.)

Authors are not gods and their power is limited, but Airplane exercises just a sliver of what he’s been granted and gifts an inconsequential sort of immortality. He thinks about making him a rogue cultivator, maybe the kind that goes around documenting beasts and compiling his findings. He thinks about making him someone too powerful for death to touch, or too important to threaten, but when Airplane looks at the world he crafted and everything that’s become of it, it feels like the kindest thing he can do for Shen Yuan is a childhood where he’s loved, and a death that’s peaceful. What does it say about that world, that he’d kill off his best friend too early again instead of making him live there?

(The best writing he ever does is the only, shining moment of humanity that his scum villain ever displays: a lament about death that comes too early, about a brother gone too soon. The commenters praise him. The commenters flatter over how real the emotions feel. The commenters don’t get any response from Airplane on that chapter.)

Death is incredibly real when it comes for him too early, too, still hovering over his keyboard with the story technically finished and incredibly incomplete. Airplane could tell himself that’s because the written version can never be the version in the writer’s head, always shifting and with every possibility still on the table, but he knows better than that. The System knows better than that, with its condescending message about “improving” his writing and “closing plot holes” and “achieving his original vision”...

…and he’s a child again. He’s a child in his own story, he’s Shang Qinghua now without the benefit yet of a peak or cultivation or anything, and maybe he’s a little bitter, and a little scared, and…

And Shen Yuan - with longer hair, with robes, with a couple of older kids watching him from across the street, but undeniably the prickly little boy who used to sit down imperiously across from him and tell him everything that was wrong with the chuck of writing that had been handed to him last period, but with that smile that said he was only invested because he knew it could be better and they were going to make it better - marches up to him with a fire in his eyes and a frown that warns of a coming tirade.

“You told it wrong,” is the first thing he says.

Shang Qinghua wants to ask how him how he’s here, how this is possible, or maybe laugh because, yeah - yeah, Shen Yuan has no goddamn idea how wrong he got absolutely everything.

(Shang Qinghua wants to say “I missed you” and “why did you leave so soon” but he’s here now. He’s right here.)

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry. It all kind of… spiraled out of control.”

Shen Yuan frowns, but then it dissipates the way it always does, and his eyes shine with ideas the way they always used to. “That’s okay,” he relents, grabbing for his hand. “We’ll fix it. We’ll make it what it was supposed to be.”

[seagull-scribbles]

They’re out of time (cancelled)

<prev [5/7] next>

[ahollowgrave]

hey come here

reblog your own work. reblog it as much as you want. the dashboard is chronological (mostly) so you gotta put it back out there!! ok bye

[c6jpg]

Hunters fight not for fame, but to aid the people whenever they are summoned.

[bythepen98]

Doodles || Tomarry || Childhood friends/Growing Up Together au

(Ignore the not-so-time-period-accurate outfits)

Think of this as a timetravel au where Harry accidentally gets sent back to the past in Wool's orphanage at a young enough age where he barely notices the changes caused by the time displacement and thus grows up nonethewiser to his destiny as the Chosen One. Even when, objectively, his life at the orphanage could be considered worse considering the growing lack of food, his environment's state of decay and overall unrest happening outside the orphanage's walls, something about his situation felt right(?).

He'd always felt disconnected and out of place based on the few memories he still had from living with the Dursleys but now, it felt like he was home in a way. Like something finally clicked in his brain, his soul.

His instant connection to Tom helped cement that fact. It wasn't easy at first because the pull they felt when they first met was so strong that it scared Harry shtless and Tom, already half-full of resentment by this point, was horrified feeling anything to anyone that wasn't disgust. In the end, it didn't take long for them to meet halfway since they were still children and curiosity at the connection lured them in like candy; Harry wanted a special friend of his own and Tom convinced himself that Harry was worth his time because there was no way anyone ordinary could elicit such a soul deep response from him.

Tom has a mean streak and is more bloodthirsty than his charming facade would show but is honest about it with Harry. Although he doesn't have much to his name, Tom is serious about his self-imposed role as Harry's provider, giving him gifts (from the money he steals) during his birthdays and keeping him as warm and well fed as possible (by bullying the other kids into surrendering their share).

Sometimes, Tom....worries.....that his methods would eventually drive Harry - who has such an inherent goodness in him, so often kind to people who don't deserve it - away but what he fails to understand is that Harry's love and loyalty to the first friend he's ever made trumps any kindness he has for others. He'll never like needless violence and won't react if he was being targeted but all bets are off if he even a catches a whiff of plots against Tom. If he has to help hide a body or two in the future so that they won't be separated by something as inconvenient as jail or the law, then that's nobody's business but his own.

P.S. This Harry will probably go to Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin like in other fics. It just feels right. Probably should've drawn him wearing a yellow tie but only just got the idea as I'm typing this. Tom would rather eat slugs than go to the Hufflepuff common room but he's more than willing to entertain Harry at the Slytherin common room at every available chance. They have their own seat there and everything.

P.P.S. They also co adopt a tiny(??) baby snake when they realize they can both speak parseltongue and bring him along to hogwarts. Imagine being parents at the big old age of 10 to a possibly magical snake that may or may not grow past nagini-level size.

P.P.P.S. Future power couple in the making. Didn't think that far ahead whether I wanted Tom to go the political route or Dark Lord Voldemort style minus the horcruxes. Don't ask for me the details, just know that with Harry's help, Tom finds a way to prolong their lives without the consequences that come with using horcruxes. They may or may not discover that Harry is in fact a horcrux of Tom already but will never get the answer as to how it happened. Harry worries but Tom just chocks it up as the universe's way of paying him back for his shtty pre-Harry childhood. Ironically the type to believe in soulmates and destiny while Harry is a bit more skeptical on that front.

Alternatively, they could also decide not to do anything too significant -politically- at all and instead retire to the country side while doing research on as many branches of magic as they can. A bit laughable because of Tom's world altering ambitions and Harry's indulgent, enabling behavior but at the same time, anything's possible.

[unhetalia]

I think Nations are generally stronger than the average human. If an adult male can carry up to 80kgs without too much difficulty, a fully grown Nation can do around 3x that amount, no matter their gender.

Alfred is an abberation in that he could carry animals that weigh at LEAST 400kg as a child. This has nothing to do with the US' status as a superpower because it's been that way since he was a child (and also because my headcanon doesn't connect the Nations with their countries in that way).

Without delving too deep as to why, I've always liked the idea of Alfred's increased strength coming with a few caveats -

1) As he's gotten older, his strength has acquired limitations it never had when he was a child - the main one being that using it requires energy. If he wants to be able to lift a car, he absolutely can, but he needs to eat a lot, otherwise his blood sugar will crash. Alfred eats a lot and constantly, and this is part of the reason (the other part is that food is delicious).

2) Alfred is so used to relying on his strength, it's become his weakness without him even realising it.

Alfred views exercise the same way most modern humans view it: he exercises to stay healthy. He hikes, he bikes, he plays sports, and if he thinks he's gained weight he promises himself he'll go to the gym (he doesn't).

Nations like Arthur, Ivan, Erzsebet and Gilbert - to name a few - who don't have super strength, hone their bodies into weapons with purpose. I love to imagine (for many reasons) a sweaty Arthur, hands wrapped in boxing gauze and wearing a tank top ... erm. Punching stuff. I distracted myself there. ANYWAY. They're incredibly disciplined about maintaining their skills and fitness.

Alfred is reliant on his super strength. If it disappears one day, he's actually a lot less capable of defending himself than he thinks.

[seiwas]

instagram dump with your selfship! (model/actor!au sel x satoru ver.)

seltoru behind-the-scenes dump — work days and winding down~

liked by sstoru and others

sellybelly last week's shenanigans ✨ 1: shoot day! 📸 2: nails sponsored by mr. gojo satoru 💅 3. loved our outfits for the awards 🥺 (thank you dior! 💫) 4. that feeling when you change into home clothes tho >> 5. maybe he's pretty sometimes 🙄 6. caught him in the act (texting me during a meeting 😭) 7. satoru in hair & makeup (some good sleep he's had there 🤧) 8. our lil treat to end the week 🍓😋 9. phone hijacked by mr. gojo satoru 🧿🧿 👁️👁️

sstoru knew you were obsessed with me 😌

thanks for the tag my love @tteokdoroki this was so so fun 🥺 tagging: anyone else who wants to do this!! it's so pretty and so fun 🥺

[buttercupshands]

Had another one of "YOU HAVE TO DRAW NOW" moments

I actually did the scene above on my second try of the battle, lv 90 doesn't exactly make it easy to lose

Also I think it's time to show those sketches too

The Siffrin practice once more, but this time a bit earlier

Also first try on figuring Loop's full body ref too

Also this little thing, not as polished as digital would've been

Imagine my reaction when I accidentally gave Loop a flower after trying already and they accepted it. I adored that 'yeah we won't speak of this, but I accept your stupid flower' scene more than anything and it was pure text after little scene

[tgcg]

OOOOOOOOOOOOOH! I get it now, your name are both Karkat and Dave usernames

im on a rampage