#also sorry for the paragraph lmao

[synthwayve]

Wishing a very happy birthday to my good friend and mutual @karnaca78 !!! Here are your guys! Your designs are a BLAST to draw and I loved trying to do something sort of mimicking art nouveau, since you expressed liking those works before!

Silly birthday wishes under the cut lol

It’s crazy to think we only started talking some months ago in 2023. Your art is incredible and your writing is masterful to a degree I can’t put in words, and I’m beyond honored and thrilled that it was your writing that got me to break out of my shell and talk to you! I appreciate your kind outlook and your passionate attitude, you’ve got this great vibe about you that reminds me why I love this fandom to bits and I’m sure I’m not the only person here who looks up to you immensely, not just as a creator, but as a person! You make this space a brighter place every day! I hope the day treats you well ( ´▽` )ﾉ🍰🎁 thank you for everything!

[cuethediscoandthedrinks]

a little bit different! here u go (update: part 2 here!)

tsu'tey x courting season (part 1) ⋆｡ﾟ✧｡⋆☾

in which tsu'tey's teaching becomes a little too distracting *insert coy gasp here*

"look. up.", "forward", "still! still, stay." were the commonly repeated phrases uttered from a rather irritated tsu'tey; he'd been doing his utmost to teach you the ways in both stalking and hunting prey for the past few days, but the lack of recent improvement was beginning to rear its head.

what began as full strides to complete posture, correct technique and a rather impressive set of shots to some oblivious prey, had since morphed to wavering bow aims and fidgeting feet. tsu'tey's flattened ears, narrowed eyes and short, curt hisses through his sharp-fanged teeth did nothing but worsen the situation.

he'd not yet clocked just how much his behaviour influenced your ability to focus; perhaps due to the rather overt forms of mate-pairing within the omaticaya clan, but more likely the amount of sheer effort you'd been exerting in restricting your swishing tail, picked up breaths and lip-bites at his snarls and sighs--these should be inciting some element of fear, which they did, but unfortunately did little to qualm the ever-increasing arousal pooling in your lower abdomen.

"..aaaassshk! stop it. this is sloppy, water-like, like wet leaves. no. look straight." through gritted teeth he'd hissed the commands, his long nimble fingers swiftly restructuring your messy bow technique, then rearranging your shoulder and elbow to better aim at the small animal a few meters away. the necessity for virtually-silent signalling and language was abundant, yet his irritation at your lack of awareness and focus was enough to illicit some restrained hisses and bared fangs nonetheless.

straightening up, you lifted your chin, squinted your eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and let the arrow fly. whizzing past the foliage and thick, aged tree trunks surrounding you, it missed the shot by more than a few inches. had it not been for the multiple target hits yesterday, tsu'tey would have been much harsher; although his response to the failure remained strict and firm.

landing a sharp, stinging smack to your right cheek, you couldn't help but let the short gasp escape your lips; your eyes glossed over with small unshed tears, expression contorting into one of badly-masked shock and humiliation. all the while he snarled in exhasperation, "lost. this..no focus, it ends. today. i will not see it..more - yes?" he let out, eyes now baring into your wide shiny orbs; his expression never softened, only seeking out your response, a meek "..yes." leaving your mouth as you cast your eyes to the ground in shame.

he only let up after seeing the plumes of rose staining your blue cheeks; eyebrows woven into a straight line, bottom lip bitten in some strange mix of embarrassment, and something he couldn't quite place. the only tell-tale sign of a conflicting emotion being the brightly glowing dots littering your skin; most commonly associated with arousal--but tsu'tey's disappointment in your lack of focus on the task at hand overshadowed any intrigue at your murky expression.

you, on the other hand, had been doing your utmost to ignore the rising heat burning in your stomach; the once small spark of arousal having almost burst into a flame of need from his harsh words and stinging touch. the burn of his hard smack to your face still rippled through your body, reaching your lightly throbbing pussy in lighting speed.

not only had tsu'tey been closely instructing you, but so as to avoid scaring off the small prey, he'd been whispering. and not only whispering, but whispering up close. his soft beads and coarse braids gently dangling against your exposed neck and collarbone; hot, sharp breath fanning against your skin; humiliatingly curt instructions doing nothing but further distracting you.

he'd not noticed, but you'd been biting your lip to qualm any questionable sounds that may escape--the wetness was slicking up your folds, you could feel it. every time tsu'tey rearranged your posture, using one of his long toned legs to push yours closer together, you could feel the slight squelch of your sticky juices sliding all the way from your swollen bud to your clenching entrance; surely he noticed the squirming? the eyes cast down, the blush painting its way across your face? his hard expression never ceased, so likely not.

but as he continued waiting for another slinth to cross your path, posture almost marble-like in its stillness, head high, ears up, listening for any movements, you felt the increasing arousal begin to spread without any means of stopping it. the silence and stillness only exacerbated the shame you felt from your body's response; such an inopportune moment, and were he to find out he likely would cease all hunting practice entirely.

yet the prospect of being caught out, and the humiliation of the situation made your nipples perk up, heartbeat quicken and slickness begin to drip down your thighs; heat-infused panic rippling through your entire body, as the hot musk of your potent arousal began to fill your nostrils. if you could smell your own essence, there was little likelihood that it hadn't reached his keen senses too - this only being confirmed by the quick shift in tsu'tey's demeanor.

his straight back and focused, observant eyes had since widened in confusion; barely enough to give away his full mental process, but paired with his ears now swiveled away from the lush forest above you and instead to your shaky form, it seemed that tsu'tey had since caught on to the real reason you were having such trouble. his eyes briefly met yours, only to confidently cast downwards to your cloth-covered mound; his lack of awkwardness or insecurity about the matter only made you squish your thighs together more, and soon enough he'd relaxed his posture and pursed his lips.

leaning down closer to your figure, you couldn't quite make out what he was doing until you dared look up at him; he was smelling you. his eyes were still dead-set on your pussy, but he'd began to take keen sniffs of the air between the two of you as his tail-tip lightly batted against the forest floor.

the only betrayal of tsu'tey's intrigue being the light huff and hum he let out as he took one last smell of the thick, murky scent of your arousal, announcing curtly "...you..are in heat.", lifting two muscled blue arms up to untie his constricted braids, the thick dark locks soon cascaded around his wide shoulders. he'd then began to undo the knots on his loincloth, eyes still taking in your form as he soon rid himself of the remaining material--"take it off..get on your knees."

part 2? :)

[jouyato]

practice piece w/ the boys (reference+frameless below)

refed Christ Embracing St. Bernard by Francesco Ribalta but i dont have the cunty baroque colouring style. thats also where the inscription below the frame comes from.

[arklay]

RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY

To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?

For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.

Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.

The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.

In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.

Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.

[reunioninn]

Daisuke's Notes on Venom's Concept and Design:

Like Millia, he was raised in the Assassin's Guild from an early age. He adores Zato.

He was set up to be a long-reach character and flier. I wondered what kind of character I should make. Originally, he had a cello. He actually had a fan for a weapon before Anji did. He also had a large cross, which I thought was the best concept, however, we were told that it was OK to have it as a part of his design, but not to hit anyone with it. When I was struggling, I went out to play games as a distraction. One time, as we were playing billiards, we talked about how interesting it would be to have a fighter who fights with a pool cue. But I thought the character would be too boring with just the cue alone, so I made it so that his hair also covered his face and added a mark on it with a bit of paint. Since the head had such a strong personality, I wanted to keep the body simple. However, I wanted to change the overall shape of the body to make it similar to Zato's, so that's why the legs are like that. As for the pants design, if I wanted to keep it simple, I would have made each leg the same color, but that would've made his figure appear more naked. To find a way around this, I made one leg light and the other dark to add more of a mysterious flair.

[vigilbutts]

i've been silently stewing on this for A While in my little corner but i wish this community would participate in the "send an ask to the person you reblog this ask meme from" thing that other rp communities do on this site. there's been a number of people i've heard from or noticed being bummed about getting few or no asks for these memes within the gw2 tumblr community, and like... maybe as a community we should go back to following that little rule? just something to consider, perhaps.

IF YOU ALREADY DO THIS OR NEVER STOPPED DOING THIS! THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE! I HOPE YOU GET MANY ASKS! 🥰💕

[kinnbig]

ooh trick or treet!! 🎃

hello beloved here is an ArmKhun flavoured treat for you from a lil oneshot WIP I've had in my drafts for way too long 👀💖

It's the third outfit that does it.

Really, Tankhun isn't sure why he's surprised. The outfit is to die for. Tankhun looks incredible in it. He should almost certainly have anticipated some kind of reaction.

Perhaps it's different because it's just the two of them this evening. Usually, a bigger turnout is inspired by Tankhun's Pre-Party Styling Parties (wherein the afternoon before any excursion to Hum Bar (or really, to any function that Tankhun might care to attend - he's branching out these days, he's even been on a boat) is spent drinking cocktails and grazing on canapés and, most importantly, showcasing all of Tankhun's potential looks for the evening) - but today Chay has an audition, and Kinn and Porsche are away on business, and Pol was called away after barely ten minutes of partying (because one of his frankly ridiculous number of sisters rudely decided to give birth during Tankhun's gathering, which for some ungodly reason required Pol's presence) - and so now there's just Arm.

Arm, leaning against the wall in Tankhun's bedroom, wearing a surprisingly tasteful (albeit uninspiring) sky-blue button-up and holding a cocktail glass that no longer has a cocktail in it - because the entirety of said cocktail now finds itself staining the front of the aforementioned sky-blue shirt.

Tankhun had just swept aside the curtains of his dressing room to reveal his new outfit (his favourite so far; sheer, slinky mesh on top that clings exquisitely across his chest and waist and yoga-toned abs, if he does say so himself; expertly paired with a pair of flowy, delicately-patterned trousers with gorgeous corset detailing on the waistband; heeled, glittery boots; and a selection of fine silver jewellery, including a stunning body-chain that fastens quite eye-catchingly against his throat and waist), and Arm had looked up as he entered and promptly spilled his drink all over himself.

The thing is, Arm doesn't really even seem to have noticed. His eyes have gone very wide, and Tankhun can feel them on him; feel the heat of Arm's gaze on his skin as it traverses over him; feel Arm taking in the dark smudge of kohl around his eyes, the cling of shimmery black mesh to his torso, the caress of the delicate silver chain against his throat and sternum and waist - and Tankhun knows he looks good, of course he does, but the way Arm is looking at him stirs something molten and exhilarating deep within his gut.His blood seems to crackle.

Arm wants him.

It creeps through his veins, heady and powerful and intoxicating. Arm wants him, and it's so incredibly, electrifyingly perfect, because Tankhun has wanted Arm since the night he took off his clothes in Yok's bar.

(Or at least, the night Arm took off his clothes in Yok's bar is when Tankhun first allowed himself to admit that he wanted Arm; an earnest agreement to Yok’s drunken, filthy confession, whispered through a conspiratorial grin into Tankhun's ear, "I'd let that bodyguard of yours do more than just guard my body, I'll tell you that much," - but in truth, if he thinks about it: it's been longer than that. Much longer.

If Tankhun is honest with himself, he knows that this clawing, aching want has been simmering inside of him for so long that it feels perfectly at home in his rib cage; woven into the very fibre of his being; part of every single cell in his body as if each one had been designed to contain it - as if deep down, at his core, Tankhun had been built to yearn. To long. Like this. For him.)

Now, Arm stares at him with unmistakable desire, and Tankhun stills, for a moment, and lets the thrill of it hum down his spine; shuddered and singing and stuttered like wind-chimes in the breeze.

And then he tuts. "Oh," he says, and Arm startles at the sound, his eyes snapping to meet Tankhun's before abruptly dropping again, embarrassed, a pink flush rising high on his cheekbones as he inspects the damage to his shirt, "this won't do at all."

✨🍬 fic writer ask box trick-or-treat! 🍬✨

[the-raging-tempest]

pretty pretty please can you talk more about ginger zrise i have a mighty need to know what he’s looking for im trying to make that man a father

LMAO Hi! You know what. I’m always happy to go on a ramble! Sure. Sure. Okay JESUS CHRIST this turned into a monster. Watch me live try and figure this out

What is he looking for? That’s a question I haven’t really considered. I’ll be honest. But you know what I’ll get this version of him more fleshed out.

I see him having some things in common to og Zrise. I think he still likes strong personalities. He is probably not drawn to the stoic or quiet type immediately. As much as he loves his sister he is not a fan of dragging things out of people. I think he still is drawn to those with confidence. But for a different reason and he probably admires a different kind of confidence. I think it’s not envy anymore. It’s appreciation. I think this version of him is much more into people who have a good impact on others. Once again og Zrise was very envious of that but now it’s admiration. I think he still likes a chase but no longer a fight (to get affection that is) LMAO

I think this version of him is the type to passively admire a lot of people. But he’s a little hesitant about love or getting too close. He can certainly flirt and tease in a playful manner. But once things seem to cross into moving towards more intimate / romantic / sexual I see him kind of sheepishly backing off. Very ‘hah well you called my bluff and I can’t ante up’

I imagine because no Calistrian clergy, no training, no sex work, he’s very different in that department. I think he probably has some experience but not much. I don’t think he’s ever been in love before.

In my mind I think he’d easily make casual acquaintances. Harder for him to have long term friends. Not super intentional on his part. But it’s half not wanting to hurt people when he has to go wander. But also I think he’s sheepish about someone who looks at him with a deeply curious eye. I also still see him as the type to not really be locked down. Still working and traveling a lot. Just now with completely different intentions.

I see him as hesitate about romantic love because I think he’s actually scared about being drawn in too many directions. He’s worried about loosing focus. Which is funny for someone who worships the goddess of love. In his mind it’s that romantic love ‘eludes’ him. He’s kind of waiting for it to knock him on his ass. Love is something he’s not looking for but when he finds it I image he’ll be a wreck (affectionate).

I think he’s still worried about not being a good choice for someone. But not because he’s self destructive but he’s just a little flighty and finds it hard to open up. Very surface level friendly and kind but a little shy or sheepish. Worrying any feelings he would grown could be a burden to someone. Also he still loves dueling, combat, using his battle prowess to do good. He’s much less blood thirsty, but it means he worries about getting injured or dying and breaking someone’s heart. I think if he did fall in love a lot of these insecurities would fall to the wayside.

This version, unlike his og self, is the sibling that can have children biologically should he choose. The cursed making whoever has it infertile. So his mother is CONSTANTLY trying to set him up with ‘eligible singles’ usually women. Heirs are important to nobles. Though he would reject this. I think he’d really resent the heteronormativity. He’d still be very bisexual but his mother would say things like ‘I thought I was a lesbian and I’m not anymore.’ LMAO

Another reason he’s anxious about falling for someone. Because then he’s gonna have to break it to his mother and sister…

Zrise as a father… this version at least… getting emotional about it… this is hard. This is like so so so far from og Zrise but… it’s just stripping away all the curse and deep deep self loathing. Hmmm I think it wouldn’t be his first instinct to want to be a father. I think he would worry about the kind of parent he’d be. But I think he’d also want to be better than his mother and his father. But once he had a child or heard he was going to have one… I think that baby would have him wrapped around their little finger… and now I’m crying thanks

[caramellashton]

'this is like wanting your kid to get better by yelling at them and hitting them… you know it won't change/fix anything.'

EXACTLY I have been saying this for so long!! it's not gonna work and it's just gonna make everything worse. it's not a form of activism to just bully people until they conform to what you want; humans are autonomous people capable of choosing good, and like. we could be in the fandom of another band that doesn't even try, whose fans have given up on them and are just there for the music and the drama, but it's like the minute they do try to do something good they have to do activism a certain way and it almost becomes a kind of purity culture and purity culture is famously about control and not good for anyone.

but it's also people trying to be funny in the comments with thinly veiled frustrations that come out as insults about their appearance (which especially gets to me bc like. does body positivity stop if you're famous? or are they just idealised figures/bodies/personalities for us to look at and pretend our bodies don't change over time and we don't like it when they remind us that they actually do?) or their partners or how they express themselves. and it's the aura of entitlement that erodes their right to autonomy and individuality that gets me, not only because the way we get the creative music they make is them expressing that.

anyway i do think we as a fandom can do better and i want to attempt to start a conversation about that rather than trying to call people out in the comments. still thinking of how. there's a lot of people in the fandom who are struggling and exasperated with life and relate to their songs and the pressure has to come out somewhere; it ends up being in comments they feel like won't ever be seen except for by people who agree with them, at people who seem to far away and too big to ever see getting hurt by their comments. at least that's what I assume happens. but yes, they were bullying a cat

I agree with everything...

Was it always like this? It can't be because this is too much, none of the hate was on me and I couldn't take it, I wonder how the guys (or any celebrity) feels, being judged about the tiniest move you do, it's crazy I would totally lose my mind.

That's not how life is... yes I would love to be a fan of good people but if the gf/partner of the artist you're a fan of is bad and their friends are bad what does that make them? Maybe it's on you, maybe YOU should pick better idk 😭.

[buwheal]

damn sorry about the lack of asks (<- lying /j) Im working on number 26 right now but i spent a lot my time earlier messing around with my dvd player instead. Oops. I will probably regret wasting my time like that.. BUT i have two key frames done and the third one sketched out... if im counting right theres three more (Same pose with minor tweaks, but still a unique frame nonetheless) before i get around to the minor animations and gluing it all together. I could probably do these faster if i didnt like doing gifs so much. Somebody stop me!!! anyways goodnight.

[dark-falz]

And here's the new PSO inspired magic circle I wrote! (that's tailored to specifics that I'm not getting into) As well as the traditional Algolian seal (I've broken down a bit of it here) and the first magic circle I built

I'M GETTING MUCH QUICKER AT THIS!

I drew every symbol instead this time, I find it to be the one thing easier to draw on tablet than paper, I think I'll go back to the other method next time tho it looks neater.

Ok into a bit on how its wrote/the magic building for those curious :3

So I went over a bit on it yesterday but here's the full circle that there was no way I was fitting in that tiny space.

Magic Circles are now the thing I study when I'm having my after work drink at the bar ^^;

The 3 outer circles (I keep referring to as Muut Ditts Poumn circles) while they all hold the main energies, they're all lions :3 The alchemy symbols for essence pokes out of them and toward the middle text. Leo as well as the 2 Divine beings, each associated with the Sun and the Moon. In the outer ring, where the Photon Blasts would be listed, I have other Gods that represent different phases of the Sun and the Moon, Moon Gods being separated by the female end of the ankh, as the moon is of feminine mother energy against the masculine father energy of Leo's ruler, the Sun. Sun gods border the rising & moon signs of the initiator. I probably put a bit more time into the order of the names in the ring, but PSO isn't actually conjuring magic outside our hearts and is allowed to be whatever about that.

I'd also only use the Ankh with Egyptian Gods as I only work with them aside from "celestial bodies". There is more detail on the significance of the ankh in the first post. The reason its positioned sideways is I learned horizontal lines can be a negative aspect, where as vertical lines are always positive. I still have a horizontal line in this, but with it being only one, the numerology plays in to it enough, I also didn't HAVE to add it but felt it necessary. The magic numbers are 1 and 7.

The Divine are placed in their directions in accordance to the element. Sun to the South for Fire, Moon to the West for Water. Leo is placed east due to the affinitive candle color. East represents air which is the main element of the target.

The alchemical symbols I used aren't all available text symbols, but here's what's there. (I've used so many reference books for these and they don't match each other either it just is what it is I guess)

Top Circle: (Symbols unavailable) Triangle: ♀ Planet - Venus | Metals - ♀ Copper, Brass | Zodiacs - Libra, Taurus Sides: Symbols for crystal and lapis lazuli (Divine specific) Bottom Circle: (Symbols unavailable) Triangle: ♂ Planet - Mars | Metal - ♂ Iron, Brass | Zodiacs - Aries, Scorpio Sides: ☾ Moon | Metal - ☾ Silver | Zodiac - Cancer Steel - Saturn | Metals - ♄ Lead, ♂ Iron, Steel | Zodiacs - Capricorn, Aquarius (steel is Divine specific) Right Circle: (symbols unavailable) Sides: Planet - Sun | Metals - ⊙ Gold, Brass | Zodiac - Leo

I was also able to place the alchemy symbols a bit neater this time because I didn't have odd numbers of them like in the Algolian Seal spell. The circles with the points in the outer circles represent wax, there is also a wick symbol in each of them as well as different things to dress the candles with such as oil, herbs, and fumes.

Sorry its not quite as in depth as the Algolian Seal inspired one, since its more religious sided I figured I'd skip the deeper details. Hope it was a fun read and it helps if u wanna build magic circles one day or something :3

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Harrison, he mouths to himself in the mirror. The bathroom is filmy or maybe it’s him—he’s in chrysalis, bloated in his own becoming or suffocation or whatever the fuck. The thing is, he doesn’t need a god and might be a king, but he’s also a man with a pounding headache. He tries again, his mouth shifty like cornmeal, like ash: Harrison. What do kings do when they get migraines? Buy a donut? Eat a saint? His eye sockets are vacant, his cuticles spinning into one another, hair sentient from the pool. Harrison. The walls smell like Jeremiah’s hair gel, Jeremiah’s fingerprints, Jeremiah’s latest cologne. In a minute, the paint could start peeling and Harrison could pick up the chips, tack them to his jaw like they’re gold stars or little HELLO my name is stickers. HELLO my name is, HELLO my name is, HELLO my name is. Harrison. Harrison. Harrison. He kneads his cheeks like he’s sourdough, pinches his eyebrows, goes: Harrison, sticks his fist in his mouth, tries again—Harrison. Jeremiah knocks on the door, says something about leaving soon, a friend waiting on them.

if u were a king and u had a migraine would u buy a donut harrison wants to know

[fairyhaos]

yenananan omg i just saw the cutest edit of shua sotpjdksbd HIS NEW HAIR IS LITERLALY KILLING ME I CANTTRJSJHSBS im having a shua onsessioj https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeaX8mf8/ -veenon anon

[joshu link]

ohhh omg this is so cute!!! and pls ikr his new hair is just sooo >< i literally love it sooo so much

[kicktwine]

hello! I know you said you don't read fics a lot, but do you have any union x fic recs? My brain is spinning missing link and I need Something for it to chew on,,

scrambles down the hallway SMACK slams into the door skitters to open the door fumbles it trips into the room

read anything by @corishadowfang rjght now (specifically dandelion seeds and on the edge of daybreak)

but I also really enjoy this one (unfinished, but very very cute! I’m so fond of it. there are turtles. First chatfic I’ve read that feels Good to read), this one (ouchie but also AUGH so sweet!!, not khux-era it’s chirithy and ven specific), and! This one (OOF OUCH OWIE OW OUCH. OW. you like the final fight against ephemer and skuld right)

[hermits-hovel]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury

[part 1 here!]

the long-overdue second part! thank you @cadrenebula!!

quick disclaimer though, this got… long. obscenely long. unnecessarily long. I take these prompts and just... run. I’m very sorry 8′]

20. bandaging/stitching up an injury CW: blood/gore, mentions of stitching (obviously)

If there is aught Ancel can be grateful for, ‘tis the fact that the heavy downpour would help wash away and mask the scent of blood from any nearby beasts.

All the rest—the rainstorm itself, the enshrouding darkness of the night, the dead dragon he was towing, his many wounds—he could do without.

===

Scrape…

Scratch…

Scrape…

… Slip.

His jaw collides with the ground, and in a fit of frantic indignance, Ancel pounds his fist against the slick rocks as if to punish them.

“Gods—Damn it all!”

Still, he wastes no time rising once again to his feet. His legs burn, his body aches, and he’s all but certain he’s losing blood somewhere—but there exists little time to register any of that, not with a more pressing matter at hand.

Dragons are often drawn towards their fallen brethren; he doesn’t know why, and doesn’t care to learn. All he knows is how dangerous it could be to leave a freshly killed nuisance laying in undesirable locations, lest one risk attracting an endless chain of them.

And so he spits, bends down, grabs the tail of the young wyvern, and resumes dragging its corpse towards the cliff’s edge. He pulls intermittently, steps and yanks, to accommodate the dragon’s weight and to keep himself established upon the wet terrain. He cares little how much his wounds feel fit to burst at the overexertion.

And once there, ‘tis with a grunt of effort that Ancel heaves the body over the edge. He watches it tumble down, collide with the rocks and grow ever fainter until the rain-wrapped darkness swallows it from view.

That would have to do.

With the deed done, his adrenaline begins to wane, and it hits him all at once—the damage he’d sustained in the struggle.

===

As Ancel reenters the hollowed threshold of their cave encampment, he inhales softly, deeply, gathering every onze of composure he yet has before proceeding further in.

The dim light of the campfire still shines, dusting the area in a warm, modest glow. To the back wall rests their supplies and weapons haphazardly scattered about, and in their midst lays one chocobo in deep slumber.

So too does Estinien, not too far to the right of the cave. Whether or not his resting is at all restful remains to be seen, with his features strained and breath laborious as his body continues fighting its current illness.

Thankfully, the sounds had not roused him; or so it would seem.

Ancel notes that the cold cloth he’d supplied him with had fallen away, and he suspects it had grown warm by now. He would need to refresh it.

But first…

Approaching the leftmost side of the cave—his side, he established—Ancel limps towards his makeshift bed with the aid of his lance, and once there, carefully lowers himself down. He swallows any inclination to gasp from the shooting pains across his body.

And promptly curses himself upon releasing a soft hiss of breath through his teeth.

His recklessness, his folly.

‘Tis utter folly. To engage a dragon without armour, let alone without a plan is entirely too dangerous, and he’d known it full well when he grabbed his lance and charged at the beast. 

But there had been no choice, no time.

Praise Halone though he does for his triumph, She did also welcome unto him due repercussions for his haste. The monster did not succumb without a fight, and had made diligent use of its jaws and claws. As Ancel peels down his rain and blood-soaked breeches, he learns the severity of it—the reason his left leg in particular is nigh impossible to walk upon.

Even in the feeble light he can tell. The gash in his thigh is viciously wide, and the surrounding flesh is pocked and punctured with memories of the dragon’s teeth. Blood still flows in thin rivulets, pools high in divots and drips onto the blanket below; nearly his entire leg is smeared red.

It takes a concerted effort to keep his breath soft and steady at the sight of it. No matter how lightheaded he is, he would need to work quickly.

===

The sudden movement out of the corner of Ancel’s eye startles him, and had he been in a less compromising position, he might have felt compelled to grab a weapon.

Alas, he can find little relief in realizing the movement belongs to Estinien. The man had surrendered a short series of waking gasps before rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. 

Almost immediately, his eyes fixate dazedly upon Ancel.

Ancel, whose bloodstained lance is leaning against the wall, whose hair is yet damp and dripping from rainwater, whose bare shoulders are draped with a spare blanket.

Boasting a very bloodied thigh. Flanked by various flasks and medical supplies. Noticeably haggard and weak as he struggles with a makeshift compression band.

Damning, to say the least.

“… ‘Twas not my intent to disturb your rest,” Ancel claims calmly. “If I have.”

“What—“ Estinien swallows the graininess in his voice. “What have you done?”

“I know how it looks, but I assure you, I’m well. Worry not.”

Try as Ancel might to concentrate on his ministrations, any hope of doing so is fated to fail. He spies yet more movement in his periphery, and paired with a distinct shifting noise, his heart nearly stops when he realizes—

Estinien has pulled himself to his feet.

In complete defiance of his lingering vertigo, he begins staggering over. Ancel might have succumbed to the shock had he not been promptly consumed by an immediate and overwhelming opposition to the notion.

“Estinien, no,” Ancel scolds sternly. “Did you not hear me? I can handle this.”

But the knight does not listen. He drops clumsily to his knees next to Ancel and swats his hands away from the bandage. “You’ve lost so much blood you’re paler than I,” he mutters and places a palm upon Ancel’s chest, pushing firmly. “Lay back.”

“You—“ Ancel gasps, indignant as he keeps himself propped upright. “Perish the thought! You’re—still running a temperature, Estinien, I can feel it.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

“Estinien.”

“I need—“ Estinien stops short, as though rethinking his statement; after a short exhale and a resigned shake of his head that he rephrases, “Let me do this.”

A strangely-worded request, and a peculiar tone he’d struck besides.

There rings the barest hint of urgency, a kind Ancel hadn’t heard in Estinien’s voice before. ‘Tis not that of a man delivering orders in combat, nor of a caretaker advising in earnest. It sounds more desperate than that, as if he were afraid of what could occur if he doesn’t carry the task through.

The thought of Estinien being gripped with apprehension is enough to stave off Ancel’s objections for the time being. He reaches up, clutches the blanket around his shoulders, and allows himself to lay back against the rocky surface of the wall.

In truth, he admits, ‘twould not likely matter who took up the deed. Utterly robbed of their strength, neither of them seemed in the best condition to be administering such delicate operations. While Ancel holds little confidence in Estinien’s enfeebled hands, he can’t say he had much faith in his own, either.

Once Estinien finishes fastening the tight band, he pauses to inspect the wound closer, then takes one of the flasks at Ancel’s side. He observes it for a moment before looking to their scattered belongings.

Ancel thinks to inquire his intent—after all, he’d already gathered what was needed—but instead watches with mounting confusion as Estinien places the flask down, leans over, and retrieves one of their discarded belts. That confusion only escalates when he loops the leather and holds it to Ancel’s lips.

“Bite,” Estinien instructs.

… Ah. For the pain.

Too tired to argue, Ancel takes the belt between his teeth and shifts his position somewhat, looking to brace himself for the inevitable discomfort.

The feel of Estinien placing his hand—alarmingly warm still—on his knee does well to earn his focus at the very least. And then, the flask is inverted, and liquid is poured directly into the gash.

As expected, the pain is instantaneous, a piercing, nauseating sensation that makes Ancel flinch. His muscles seize with the effort it takes not to twist away, and a deep hiss saws into his lungs as his teeth dig into the leather of the belt. A final, muted whimper escapes his throat without consent.

Estinien murmurs something Ancel can’t hear, but there’s no reason to ask him to repeat it. He had already taken a cloth and gotten to work gently cleaning the wound, his features drawn stiff with concentration.

And as ever, perhaps spurred by a need to avert his focus from his howling nerves, Ancel’s thoughts wander as he takes the sight in.

The situation brings to mind the first time the two had met—when Ancel pulled Estinien from their flaming barracks and administered the selfsame treatment to the gaping wound in his leg… albeit with markedly less efficiency. 'Tis with a sentimental whim that Ancel thinks to drop the belt and remark upon the parallel, but he quickly dismisses the idea.

He doubts Estinien is the reminiscing sort. And that was in the event Estinien even recalled the encounter; it took him an age just to remember Ancel’s name, after all.

When did they truly become friends, then? Had they at all? Those sound like questions Estinien would avoid answering, and in a way, Ancel finds himself similarly inclined—afraid of the answers, afraid of differing answers.

At least, for his own part. Estinien, on the other hand, never seemed to care quite as much; at least, only ever cared as much as he needed to.

Mayhap… he would merely find the question ridiculous.

‘Tis easier to never ask, then. An aching mystery indeed, but a safer one. And that was well.

That’s… how we are.

===

“Almost…” Estinien mumbles, pausing to wipe his forehead with his arm.

He had gotten the wound partway sutured, and by now, Ancel had grown fairly accustomed to the pain. The belt in his teeth helped stave it away, but his wandering thoughts and overall weariness likely played their parts in that endurance.

Estinien had also managed to tidy his leg quite nicely, enough to locate scratches and punctures that could hardly be seen in the mess of crimson. Dried patches and smudged fingerprints yet remain, however, and Estinien’s hands had grown horrendously stained. While this was to be expected, and he seemed wholly unbothered by it, Ancel can’t help but feel remorseful.

He takes the belt from his mouth, just for a moment. “There—“ A grunt as Estinien pushes the needle through again. “There are enough clean cloths for your hands.” Wince. “E-ere you dress the wound.”

Estinien nods, though it was unclear if he truly heard. Mayhap he’d already thought of that.

Aye, he is remarkably efficient in spite of his illness. Trembling fingertips did lead to accidental pricks, and by the Fury are his searing hands still utterly distracting against Ancel’s own cold flesh. But beyond the way Estinien endeavours to breathe, and the intermittent pauses he takes to ensure he stays sitting upright, one might struggle to tell that the man had taken ill at all.

‘Tis rather surreal, his manner of care—his demeanour now. Firm, as expected, but careful, delicate, so distinctly unlike him.

... Mayhap, then, 'tis not so difficult to tell that Estinien was out of sorts.

The thread tugs a final time, and the wound closes. Estinien cuts it loose with the nearby blade, and then sets both items aside before shutting his eyes.

Regaining his stamina before initiating the last step, like as not.

Ancel shifts ever-slightly, lowering the belt from his mouth and placing it at his side. He takes the liberty of removing the bandage around his upper thigh, grabbing the blade and easing it under the tight binding. Once he cuts it loose, he surrenders a sigh of relief.

“... Tell me true,” Estinien urges.

Ancel freezes, but regards him in silence.

“A dragon,” the knight continues, “entered our encampment. Did it not?”

Ancel swallows, feeling a hot wash melt over his body. It seemed remarkably like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, despite knowing the necessities of his actions; despite how obvious it had been what manner of creature had gifted him his wounds.

But Estinien doesn’t appear angry at all. In fact, his tone and expression both are nigh indecipherable.

“… It wandered too close,” Ancel confesses, setting the blade down. “‘Twould have entered the cave and cornered us. No recourse but to engage ere it could do so.”

“Killed, or wounded?”

“'Tis dead, no question. I discarded its body over the cliffside. None of its kin will happen upon it, or us, Fury willing.”

Estinien nods, and after drawing another weary breath, opens his eyes. He turns his head slightly, slowly, and takes one of the few remaining clean cloths with intent to rinse his hands.

The silence feels suddenly naked, dialogue now missing where it should have been. Estinien has more to say.

Given the right questions.

“… Had you heard it, then?” Ancel prods meekly. “The struggle, that is. Did it rouse you after all?”

There is no answer at first, but he can hear the gears turning in Estinien’s head as he wipes the blood from his hands. And what was once a demeanour indecipherable suddenly grows notably troubled.

“Outcries reached my ears while I slumbered. ‘Twas clear as a bell in my head.”

Ancel can’t help the pang of discomfiture that strikes him at the way Estinien words that answer. He wants to respond, but not a cohesive sentence comes to mind.

Instead, he can only furrow his brow and watch his comrade cast the bloodied cloth away in favour of retrieving a new one—one he uses to dress Ancel’s wound. He does so wordlessly at first, but upon fastening the cloth in place, Estinien speaks again, eyes lidded and voice falling as quiet as it had ever been.

“Rather than wake me,” he says, “the sound engulfed my dreams. Commanded them. And no matter how real I knew the danger was, my limbs would not listen.”

His eyes fall shut, and his brows knit with slight strain—a wince, almost—and it passes as soon as it appears. Estinien confesses then, in a tone no different, yet no less haunting:

“I could not wake—only watch.”

It takes Ancel a moment to fully process his words, to realize their meaning—and then, try and fail to determine why Estinien had spoken them in the first place. ‘Tis the first time, perhaps, that he’d heard him say anything so unguarded, so…

… Personal.

“This sounds more like a nightmare,” Ancel whispers, “than a dream.”

There comes no verbal response, and no movement either at first. But after a slow, utterly telling blink, Estinien shifts and takes another roll of bandages, obviously intent on finishing what he’d started without any further elaboration.

He doesn’t need to elaborate—his earlier persistence now has its answer.

Concern and sorrow twist and churn in Ancel’s chest. Without giving himself a chance to hesitate, he lifts his hand to Estinien’s and takes the roll between his fingers, pulling it gently. It comes away as effortlessly as breaking a fruit from a vine; no resistance, no reaction.

“Estinien…” The name leaves him as an aching whisper, but the man in question offers no response.

Completely blank. He has finished speaking.

The silence continues to marinate between them, stagnant and heavy as though time had ceased to pass altogether. Ancel pulls his lips into a thin line. 

What could he say? What wouldn’t sound hollow? Did any such combination of words exist?

What does Estinien want to hear?

A smile, one weary and lost, forces itself onto Ancel’s lips.

“‘Tis… fortunate, then, that I survived,” he ventures. “To see the danger passed. To greet you as you awoke.”

Estinien’s eyes flicker to Ancel, his expression unchanging; yet there lies consideration beneath his exhaustion, hesitation beneath his discomfort.

Still too saccharine for his liking. Ancel’s smile turns apologetic.

“Ah... n-nevertheless. I think…” Ancel shifts to the side, granting more space on his makeshift bed. “You have... more than done your part for the day.” He peels the blanket from over his shoulders and lays it out over the area, covering the spot that had pooled with his blood earlier.

Sitting upright, he gestures to the freed space. “Lay down and rest proper.”

Although partway certain that Estinien would refuse outright, the man simply pauses—calculates. Hardly a beat passes before he begins to slowly shift and lower himself down 'til he’s laying on his side, a heavy exhale escaping him.

Relieved with his compliance, Ancel relaxes his shoulders and begins to wrap the bandages around his leg.

===

‘Tis finished at last—each wound he sustained, patted clean and dressed appropriately.

And now he can rest. 

He can rest... assuming he can first refresh the damp cloth he’d given Estinien earlier.

Assuming he can do so without waking him again.

Estinien himself appeared to have succumbed to slumber already, but he’d done so at a far closer proximity than Ancel would have liked; his own fault, granted, but nevertheless a hindrance. Moving without disturbing the knight may prove a challenge, but ‘tis better than allowing his head to burn. 

Better than falling asleep here. And so Ancel begins lifting himself. 

... Only to be stopped. He hardly makes it a few ilms forward before a warm palm rises and presses itself flat against his stomach. He flinches and freezes in place, his eyes darting immediately to the culprit: his fever-addled comrade.

Still laying on his side, eyes shut, but Estinien’s arm is indeed raised and braced against Ancel with notable intent.

“Is something wrong, Estinien...?”

“Rest.” The word is hardly audible, bogged by exhaustion. Ancel blinks, taken aback by the request.

“I—… I was about to,” he clarifies. “To refresh your cloth. Then I’ll move… t-to your side of the—“

“Rest here.”

Spoken more clearly, yet Ancel is certain he misheard this time.

Myriad questions cross mind—the whys, the well-beings—and hundreds more that he would never dare inquire.

Is this something you normally ask for?

This is not something you… would normally ask for. Is it?

Why now do you ask?

‘Tis the fever, no question, reducing Estinien’s ability to care, melting his steel-clad guard down into a viscous mercury. He isn’t thinking at all. He would never ask anyone of this.

Are you even awake?

“Now,” Estinien mumbles, impatience lining his voice.

Aye. Barely awake, but awake nonetheless.

Ancel thinks, for a moment, to decline politely. ‘Twould have been easy to do so. But instead he pauses, left considering Estinien’s words from earlier.

How shaken he seemed to be from his dreams, how they proved enough to spur him into action. His ‘need’, as he phrased it ere correcting himself, how easily he succumbed to his own frailty once he saw it through.

‘Tis an instinctual guess to say this feels similar. An urgent measure, a weary precaution, Estinien’s backhanded method of seeking purchase—a sense of control where he no longer held any.

A need for security; a request for comfort.

"...”

When Ancel lowers himself, ‘tis with slow and watchful movements at first. He keeps as much of a gap between them as he can, but something about doing so begins to feel... unkind, somehow.

Once he is laying upon his back, Ancel shifts himself closer, ‘til their bodies are but ilms apart. His arm arches over Estinien’s frame, though he keeps his palm on the ground.

He expects little response from this—none, in fact—but is taken further aback by the precise opposite. Estinien’s hand does not leave his stomach, but it instead remains and furls into a fist. He takes shockingly well to their new proximity and curls in even more, nudges himself closer, lays one side of his burning head against his comrade’s pounding heart.

Indeed, upon experiencing this, Ancel feels suddenly as though he’s the one who’s taken ill.

“Is...” 

Is that sound going to bother you?

Ancel can’t bring himself to ask the full question, but Estinien doesn’t seem to notice; doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, in fact. Though only the top of his head is visible, he appears to be unconscious already.

The relentless burning of his skin is more apparent than ever, and briefly does Ancel consider the threat to his own health. Sleeping so close to Estinien would put his own condition at risk, without a doubt.

Yet there exists no true mind between them. 

He finds that he cares for the risks about as much as Estinien seems to; mayhap, they both care more for the nervous pulse now making its paces through both of their skulls.

Aye... ‘twould seem the sound of a beating heart to guide his slumber is what Estinien wanted to hear.

[wereh0gz]

Will never understand how someone can claim to be a Sonic fan and also be bigoted

Like. Bro. You apparently like a franchise that's all about living life to the fullest, being unabashedly yourself(!!) and opposing oppression(!!!!) because it's the right thing to do, and you're still a homophobe? You're still a transphobe? After seeing Sonic's gay little ass beat the shit out of a robo fascist and fight the evils of the universe with the power of friendship??

Like are we even fans of the same thing or???