#and then i was like she was my favorite and ive never drawn her! i must fix that mistake

[cozylittleartblog]

had a(nother) nightmare

[cpyclopse]

Ponys <3

[goldiipond]

at some point when i can gather my thoughts i would like to make an in-depth post (would probably end up being more of an essay honestly) about how tpn treats its characters of color because like. there's definitely a colorism problem with anime/manga in general and i think tpn has some really solid black and brown characters for a medium that is severely lacking in that department but there's also some things it handles poorly and it would be good to explore that i think

[arolesbianism]

I should rly start eternal gales posting again I need to make sure the ppl who follow me know how much Tali and Aris make me to insane so that the isat au can have its full effect but alas I am allergic to drawing the human eg cast like 99% of the time and rn the only thing stopping that from being 100% is that I like fucking around with different art styles sometimes

[meejijis]

Suddenly wanted to go look for my cringey comic I've made way back in 2010 when I was in my weeb phase so I went onto smackjeeves, hoping to find it, only to find out that apparently I'm a few years late learning that smackjeeves SHUT DOWN on December 2020........ That. Really sucks. A lot. What the fuck 😭😭😭

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I hope in "A second chance" the reader won't die. 😭I would love to see how Helion helps her get through the traumatic experience of the difficult birth.

A court of Hope and Second chances part IV

It was Madja who had stopped the bleeding. It was Madja who had put the healers in place, drawn from their powers, and did what she did best - save lives. She lingered long into the night, tending to your unconscious body. Making sure you were comfortable and at ease. No sense of discomfort.

Helion hated it all. He hadn't moved from the side of the bed. He had stayed back, allowing them all to do what had to be done. Only interfering when a handful of healers tried to move you from the bed so they could clean the sheets and wash you off all the blood and grime. That was when Helion scooped you up into his arms gently. He hated that he hadn't thought about his daughter or where she was until Madja had told him that the baby must be hungry by now. Another panic set in there. Where was she? Who took her?

"Handed her to lord Vanserra, my high lord", Helion's gut twisted for a moment because the first thing he thought of was Beron and even the thought of that made him want to tear the world apart. But it had to be Lucien. Then again Helion hated that there was this fear deep down. What if Lucien just took her and ran? What if he will never return her? Bring her to Beron himself? He wouldn't, right?

Helion wasn't even sure where he was walking. He allowed his senses to guide him fully. The door he came across was used rarely. It was only you who used them because this place was made purely for you. He was doubtful that he would find Lucien here because he doubted that you had shared this place with him just yet but if his heart was telling him to, he had to check just in case.

Climbing a handful of stairs, Helion submerged from the bottom level. And it didn't take him long. Lucien was there his back slightly turned to Helion. He had picked your favorite spot under the glass cupola. The sound of trickling water up here was soothing and added to the humming that filled the space this almost felt like a sanctuary.

Helion stepped closer. Lucien was rocking from side to side softly. His eyes fixed on the little bundle in his arms. So captivated by it that he didn't even hear anyone approaching. It's the way the little girl looked right at him too. Her big golden eyes stared at him. Not amber like Helion's, no, golden like Lucien's. Her tiny fist firmly gripped her brother's finger. The rest of his palm rested on top of her chest, without a doubt proving a soothing warmth.

Just Helion steps onto a fallen leaf, the crunch making Lucien quickly pull the bundle closer to his chest as he whipped his head up, fangs out as he snarled. So protective. So scared. Like a lost animal protecting the last sacred thing in the world. Helion wondered often how Lucien would be when she was here. He knew that the fireling stuck around because he was excited to have a sibling, to maybe try the concept of the family once more. He assumed the protectiveness was going to kick in eventually but it happened sooner rather than later.

"My boy, it's just me", Helion said softly as he inched closer. Only then did the high lord notice the way Lucien's chest was raising up and down frantically. He was scared. Worried. "I won't lose her", the words sounded broken and Helion's heart ached once more today. He had heard the horrors of his childhood, the things he endured and he hated himself for it. Because he should have stopped it somehow. Should have known, "You won't. She's in your arms, isn't she? It's already one of the safest places she could be". Lucien's eyes welled up with tears as he leaned in pressing a gentle kiss to the baby's cheek.

"Mom?", he asked, drawing back. Helion let out a deep sigh, "Stable and looked after". He hoped that was true. That it will all be okay. That you will wake up and then he was never going to let you go. No harm will ever come your way. There was no life without you for Helion. "We need to...", Lucien rasped, "Yeah... we'll bring her to Y/N", Helion nodded, stepping aside, leaving enough space for Lucien to get up from the floor, "You did very well, Luci", Helion placed his hand on Lucien's shoulder, squeezing it softly, before the two headed back to the bedroom.

The lights were low there. Madja was gently stroking your hair as the two males walked in. Helion for what felt like a thousand times that day had nearly dropped to his knees as he saw you blinking up at the healer. "My love...", he crocked out, you flinched slightly but your eyes met him in an instant. He halted in his movements, he didn't want to frighten you anymore. You still looked so fragile and pale. Cheeks had barely regained the healthy tinge of pink.

"My baby..?!", you muttered, eyes so fearful, Helion wished he could chase it all away. "Waited patiently with he brother to see you, Ma", your eyes fell onto Lucien, expression softening instantly. You reached your hands towards the two and Lucien wasted no time to head over to you. He carefully lowered the babe into your arms who instantly started to sniffle as if she only now realized, only now that she felt you, a big missing part of her. Only now realized just how hungry she was.

Helion watched as you softly brushed your finger over her round cheek, before reaching to cup Lucien's face. The fear melting off his bones. Madja didn't want to rush the moment but the babe quickly announced her hunger loudly. The healer quickly helped you up, carefully placing another pillow behind your back. And here Helion started to wonder if you blamed him. Were you mad at him? For everything that happened. Because he felt guilty and he wondered if you knew that? When happy grumbles and suckling filled the room, Helion let himself close his eyes. His body felt uneasy now that he stopped with so much adrenaline still flowing through his body. He felt a warm palm on his chest, he knew it was Lucien before he even opened his eyes, "Look after her, stay here", the younger male said, before slipping away from the room.

The baby was sleeping soundly in your arms, yet Helion hadn't moved from his place at the end of the bed ever since. "You're mad at me?", you had asked after a while. Your voice was so small, Helion couldn't help but hate it. "Me?", he quickly asked, "Why would I be mad?", "Because of everything that happened", your words struck him to the core. The last breathing creature he blamed was you. "You've been standing there all cold and distant... you didn't even...", your eyes filled with tears but you quickly tilted your head back. Helion erased the distance between you two, quickly lowering himself on the side of the bed, "I didn't know if you wanted me here. I thought... I thought you blamed me for it all". You furrowed your eyebrows at him, "Why would I?", "I should have had better healers here, should have been here from the start, should have been able to do more, should have...", you quickly raised your hand, cupping the side of his face, pulling him slightly closer to you. There was still so little energy in your body but you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to your lover's, "You were here, that's all that matters". Helion carefully rested his arms on your hips, breathing in your scent, that now was tightly mixed with the baby's. Listening to the steady sound of your breathing. The way your heart was beating. But Helion equally as much felt the fear that still ran through your body. He noticed the slight shake of your arms as you held your daughter.

"I'm so scared I'll die or she...", you muttered Helion cut in, "You will not, neither of you will, I won't let it happen", now both of his palms cupped your cheeks, making you look up at him. "I'm so scared no one will hear me", you crocked out, pressing the sleeping babe tightly against your chest. "I will always hear you, even when you think that no one will. I will always hear your call".

[cripplecharacters]

so, the posts on this blog about facial difference inspired me to make an oc with facial difference- specifically strabismus and a port wine stain. she's pretty much become one of my favourite characters to draw and develop, ive taken care to make sure she doesn't fall into shitty tropes. however, i have had one problem- in the world she lives in, rebels like her cover their face most of the time. ive been really struggling on how to design her mask/covering in a way that doesn't feel shitty, and doesn't feel like it's trying to cover her facial difference. and i know that technically it's not as bad if she's not the only character who wears a mask, but i still don't wanna push it, if you know what i mean? so it would be awesome if you could give suggestions on how i could handle her mask. here's a reference of her for. reference, and some ideas ive had for masks. thank you for taking the time, and for this blog in general!

[Image description: Traditional drawing of a light-skinned girl with pink straight hair, smiling. She has a large port-wine stain on the left side of her face, and her right eye goes inward. Around her are three headshot sketches;

first shows her in a bandana that goes over her nose with "bandana doesn't obscure FD but hides smile + necklace" written above, second shows a half-mask that covers only the right side of her face, with "early concept, feels tacky, shows port-wine stain but not strabismus :(", third shows a domino mask, with "domino mask, do I even have to explain? No-go" next to it. End image description.]

Hi!

I think that something close to the second one would actually be kinda fun (no irony or sarcasm). If we're talking about a story where everyone wears a mask, having the character with FD wear one that covers everything except for the FD is actually subversive! I never thought I would say that, but it does feel like it is.

Not sure how strict of a design should it be, but a diagonal - her bottom right to her top left - mask would be nice!

I tried to write down a detailed description of what I mean but it was coming out rather overcomplicated, so I hope you're okay with me doing a few demonstrative sketches; a diagonal and rather-silly option, an idea for the bandana with a drawn smile and the kind of tie that would show her necklace, and an idea for the half-mask but with an eye with strabismus painted on the mask.

So here are the suggestions! I haven't drawn in a while so my skills are kinda rusty, but I hope it conveys the concept! My personal favorite would be the first one - I know it barely counts as a mask but then again, in comics it's common that someone is unrecognizable when they wear a pair of glasses, so maybe it's not as farfetched haha.

The second one would be totally fine by my standards, but I'm assuming that her necklace has some kind of significance in the story, so maybe she could cross it at the back and tie it in the front instead for it to be more visible (or wear the necklace over it even?).

I think that doing something like on the third drawing above would be okay if there are also a lot of moments where her actual strabismus is shown. In general, I think that the idea of a character with a facial difference wearing a mask just to paint it on the mask is kinda silly, and I feel like it would fit her character. But for something like that to work, she would need to have the mask off often. If you choose to do that, I suggest your first time showing her to the viewer is with her mask off, both for the usual reasons I mentioned before but also because strabismus is often used as a gag in art. For me, seeing a character wear that kind of mask with no context would be kind of eye-rolling - but seeing a character with a crossed eye put on a mask with the same exact kind of eye, go and join their friends at doing rebel things? That's actually something new!

I enjoy that your character seems to be on the rather joyful and happy side, I like that :-) (smile emoji)

I hope this helps!

mod Sasza

[ladystoneboobs]

[Bran, to Theon:]“But you’re Father’s ward.” [Theon, to Bran:]“And now you and your brother are my wards. [...] You’ll tell them how you’ve yielded Winterfell to me, and command them to serve and obey their new lord as they did the old.” -Bran VI, aCoK “He[Ramsay] is a great hunter,” said Wyman Manderly, “and women are his favorite prey. He strips them naked and sets them loose in the woods. They have a half day’s start before he sets out after them with hounds and horns. From time to time some wench escapes and lives to tell the tale. Most are less fortunate. When Ramsay catches them he rapes them, flays them, feeds their corpses to his dogs, and brings their skins back to the Dreadfort as trophies. If they have given him good sport, he slits their throats before he skins them. Elsewise, t’other way around.” -Davos IV, aDwD [Roose, to Theon, about Ramsay's mother:]"[...]I was hunting a fox along the Weeping Water when I chanced upon a mill and saw a young woman washing clothes in the stream. The old miller had gotten himself a new young wife, a girl not half his age. She was a tall, willowy creature, very healthy-looking. Long legs and small firm breasts, like two ripe plums. Pretty, in a common sort of way. The moment that I set eyes on her I wanted her. Such was my due. [...] This miller’s marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day." -Reek(/Theon) III, aDwD

something something the way theon tries to rectify his childhood trauma by taking his captor's place as lord of wf and taking ned's younger sons as his "wards"/hostages, while ramsay repeatedly reenacts different versions of his own conception by hunting and raping peasant women. except theon fails in his role reversal when (unlike him in his own captivity at wf) bran and rickon escape custody. and ramsay enhances roose's "dismal day" by killing all the women he catches to prevent any more bolton bastards and further punishing those of them who fail to give him "good sport" (which his mother apparently did not give roose) while those who do satisfy him are "honored" with a quick death (and a canine namesake). and then the consequences of theon's failure to replace his captor/cold noerthern father figure include losing wf to house bolton and becoming the new "reek"/another of ramsay's dogs. (meaning he made himself ramsay's prey but gave him "good sport" in the experience)

ramsay starts out as deceptive dark trickster figure/evil adviser/devil on theon's shoulder in clash but he's also a dark mirror of theon, and a more successful one at that, not just better suited to villainy but more able to get away with his crimes. neither will ever be truly accepted by their fathers but ramsay is made heir once he's the only son while theon is rejected as such despite his better birth. ramsay profits from the alleged kinslaying of his actual brother by blood, while theon is more openly condemned (and seen as still not punished enough) for (falsely) killing stark boys who were never his actual kin. it's almost as if ramsay is an evil force who came into being to find theon and was drawn to him upon his return to the north. we first learn of the bastard of bolton's existence after theon returns to pyke and learns of his father's invasion plans, then his last hunt with the original reek just shortly precedes the ironborn attacks, all so that he's captured and waiting in wf right in time for theon's real plan to go into action, and we don't actually meet (disguised) ramsay in-person through dialogue with rodrik cassell or any other northerner but only when theon arrives as the new lord to free him from the dungeon. as the first reek may have corrupted ramsay, ramsay-as-reek corrupts theon. reek belongs to ramsay and ramsay belongs to reek.

[sweethartlullaby]

hi again! i really loved part 2 of the cheating scenario i loveee your writing! i think the breakup and make up idea is good, could u write it ? 🥹

word count: 1027 genre/theme: angst (ofc), new beginnings as always, imagine who you would like... find part i here find part ii here find part iv here sweethartlullaby ꕤ masterlist songs: can't go back - troye sivan (recommended by anonymous!)

He has anemones today. 

No yelling. Just wait for her.

He sits on the bench just outside of your apartment and he waits. It’s a Friday, which means that you’ll be home early, which is soon. He checks the flowers and makes sure that they aren’t wilting. He used to buy flowers for you early on, but after a while, he just stopped.

He got comfortable.

He hasn’t touched a drink in months but he still finds it tempting when you reject him. He has been in this exact spot for weeks now. Every Friday, he sits there and he waits for you to come back home, wishing that this time, you’ll look at him and hopefully speak to him. 

All the times he has done this, you walk past him and never come out again. He waits outside for an hour or so before he leaves the flowers on the bench and walks away. And every Friday, he tells himself that he has to try, that maybe this time it truly is different. 

He keeps checking the flowers, sometimes standing to stretch out his legs as he checks the time. It should be any minute now.

And then he finally sees you. 

You are walking slowly this time and he fights the urge to call you. He sits there and he wishes and waits. And then you do the impossible. 

You approach him and he is too startled to say anything. He just moves to the side as you sit and leaves ample space between the two of you. 

“What are they?” You murmur.

“Uhm,” He can feel his heart thump against the flesh in his chest. 

“A-Anemones.”

You only chuckle weakly.

“For new beginnings?” You finally turn to him and he has to keep it in himself to not burst at the seams.

“Yeah, the old man told me they were his wife’s favorite.”

“Did they break up too at some point?” You ask.

“Didn’t get to ask.” He places the flowers near you and retreats back to his own space.

It’s silent for a while and he can feel his hands shaking but he isn’t sure if it is because he is excited that you’re finally acknowledging him or because he’s too nervous for what you’ll say. 

“I keep all of them.” You suddenly say.

“Sorry?”

“They’re all, at least the alive ones, in my living room. You give so many that I have some in jars that I saved.” You laugh a little and he finds himself smiling as he fidgets with his fingers.

Silence again. 

“I thought you’d have lots to say, considering you’ve been coming here for a long time.”

He only nods slowly. He had so much to say before but now that he’s here, he can’t find the right words to blurt out. His silent stature now is quite a contrast to the thought that he would be on his knees, begging her to take him back. 

“So, do you?” 

“Hm?” He asks. 

“Do you have a lot to say?” Your eyes are glassy and all his nervousness has washed away. He just stares back and he finds himself lost in you. He has looked at you a million times, kissed you a hundred, and held you for longer. Yet he feels that he is looking at you for the first time again. He is just as drawn, just as enticed, and just as helpless around you. 

“I…” He takes a deep breath and he is about to speak when she bursts into tears. He can only stare for a moment. He doesn’t know what to do as you sob in front of him. 

“Why’d you even do it? Why’d you cheat?” He opens his mouth to speak.

“Why couldn’t you just break up with me like a man or tell me how you felt?” You beg and he shudders. He thought that you were better, that you had moved on from him. 

But you look so torn here now. And he feels so helpless, just like that night you told him to leave. He sees the tears in your eyes and he tries to stop himself from blurting out the tells of blame he used to say to himself each night. 

You pick the flowers and caress the petals gently. 

“You could’ve just left.” You murmur, shaking his core. You were right. He could have. So why didn’t he?

“I-”

“No,” His voice trembles.

“No, I…need to say this. I am sorry.” He looks right at you. He hopes that this reaches the both of you. He doesn’t want nights of torment anymore. And he knows, he knows it is unfair for him to ask for forgiveness, for so much from you. But he needs to hear you to say that you forgive him. 

But he doesn’t. 

You sob silently across him and he feels that it’s hours before he decides that he should leave. He wants to stay but your cries have died down and only the moon sits by with the both of you. He should let you be. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have gone to see you. Maybe he is pressuring you too much. 

He stands to leave. 

“Stay.” You say.

He stops.

“Just stay with me for a while.”

He sits. 

“Just be here for a bit. I’ll probably still be mad at you tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, all the way until Friday where I’ll see you here again.” 

“And then I’ll be sad again before the cycle begins again.” 

He stays silent. 

“But I don’t want it to stay that way forever.” You say softly. The two of you sit there, with only each others’ breaths audible. He is trying to take in that you want things to change between the two of you. 

“And yet, I don’t know what I can change.”

You finally stand and he thinks that you’ve changed your mind. 

But then you say, “So I guess I’ll see you next Friday then.”

He looks at you with wide eyes and a small smile breaks out of him. 

“I’ll see you next Friday.” 

a/n: thank you so much for requesting again! i know that this one took a while but i'm off my break so i have less time! but i will still try to write a bit :( i also wanted to say please drop in the comments any thoughts you had about the fic! whether it's song recs you think fits well with this one, or who you imagined. i'd love to hear what you thought about it! hope to see you soon!

[transhuman-priestess]

Lesson

A short story, by Ivy Michaels.

The following story contains a graphic depiction of surgery, with all the drugs and violence involved. It also includes graphic descriptions of pain. That is, in fact, the idea behind writing it.

And yes, this is smut.

“You know, dear, you’ve been such a good pupil these last few weeks.” Her voice comes to me through the curtain. I hear the click-clack of her heels on the linoleum floor, making an off-beat rhythm with the beeps and hums of monitors and pumps. She draws closer, and continues, “I think we’ve worked enough on theory, it’s time to move on to your practical lessons.”

The curtain is drawn back and I open my bleary eyes to see her. She’s dressed in the uniform she always wears. Rubberized olive drab canvas, sleeves pulled over the gloves, all seams taped over. Her face is mostly obscured by a surgical mask. Her hair is tied up under a paper hair net, though I can see a few strands of raven hair. All this despite the hood she wears with the clear face plate. I think she likes hiding her face from me, she’s never let me see it. Not all of it, not all at once.

“My darling,” she says, as kind and bubbly as ever, “you did so well on your nephrology unit last week, that I thought I’d give you a little treat!”

Images flash in my head. A slideshow of dissections. Parts of organs labeled. Ureter, renal artery, nephrons.

“Ah!” she says, approvingly, “I see you remember well!”

This is how it always is. She always knows what I’m thinking. I don’t know how that works. I have vague memories of sitting in a chair with my head in a device to immobilize it, but I can’t remember if that was a dream or an actual procedure. Memories are like that here. I know I haven’t been here long, but it feels like forever.

“I know you don’t understand, honey,” her voice falls to a gentle coo, “but don’t worry, I promise you will, eventually.”

I don’t mind it here, really. She’s very sweet to me. She teaches me things about myself I never knew. The other day, I think, she showed me where the vagus nerve is. I had forgotten what the bones in my palm are called, so she showed me how easily I could be disabled simply by applying a small electric shock to that nerve. The name of the bones was “metacarpals”.

That might seem harsh but she means well. Not in the sense that I’m rationalizing, either. I may not be able to remember why I’m here, but I sense that I am here by choice. I know it in my core It is, in fact, the only thing I know for certain.

“So, dear, are you ready?” she asks, “I’ve prepped room #5. The one with the seafoam green tile. I know it’s your favorite."

I hardly have to think about an affirmation. The bed thunks beneath me as she releases the brakes and begins rolling me into the hallway. One of the few things I recall from my time outside is this sensation, when I was very small, of being rolled through a hospital corridor on a cot. I can’t remember why I was there.

We turn a corner and my eyes come to rest on a pair of two-way doors, steel painted beige, with thin sheets of stainless to protect the doors from the impact of a gurney. Small windows of reinforced glass. The doors swing open and the cart jolts with the transfer of momentum.

Inside there are three other figures, all dressed identically to her, save for tinted, opaque faceplates. They are standing off to the side. Sometimes, they observe closely, sometimes they aren’t present at all, but always they listen to her commands, and never do they touch me without her explicit instructions. It makes me feel safe, knowing that she is the one in charge.

“Alright, dear, hold still while we move you to the table.” She grabs me by the shoulders, gently cradling me. One of the other figures grasps my legs, and together they move me onto the operating table. A second figure connects an IV line to the port in my arm. There’s a large mirror on the ceiling, so that I can observe.

“For this one, dear, you have a choice. Would you like the pain, or no?”

I want the pain. I always want the pain.

“Very well then. Paralytic only.” She nods to one of the figures, who hangs the appropriate bag on a hook above the table.

“Flex your fingers, dear.” She commands. I comply. After a few seconds I experience the sensation, curious as always, of being unable to move. An electric thrill of anticipation flies through me. It is almost time.

She unbuttons my gown, starting from the top, exposing first my breasts, then my stomach, and finally my groin. “Oh!” she says, “someone’s excited.” Of course I am. She’s never taken off my whole gown. This is something special.

“Oh,” she says, “I almost forgot, we’ll need to intubate.” One of the trio of assistants wheels over a cart with a ventilator. She takes a tube from it and tilts my head back, ever so sweetly. I feel the tube go down my throat, down past the epiglottis, my body trying to fight but finding itself disarmed by the paralytic. For ever so brief a moment I cannot breathe, and then I feel the beautiful sensation of air returning into my lungs.

“You did so well. I’m so proud of you!” she praises me as she applies tape hold the breathing tube in place.

“You know, this hood is very warm.” She says, and reaches up to unzip the hood from her suit. This is new. She hands the hood to one of the assistants, before bending down next to my ear and whispering, “I’m so proud of you.” And then she kisses me on the forehead, through her mask.

Standing back upright she says, “Okay, I’m going to make an incision…here.” she traces a line gently with her finger, from my sternum down, around my navel, ending at my pubic bone. “Are you ready?”

I am so ready that, if not for the paralytic, I think I might sob. She looks at me through the overhead mirror. I can see her smile through the surgical mask. “Very well then.”

She presses the scalpel to my flesh. Just a light pressure at first. Then, a stinging, and finally the burning, electric sensation of nerve endings being torn from their neighbors. It is the most incredible, all-consuming feeling. I can feel my brain trying desperately to force my limbs to push her away, to run from the room. I don’t want to, but I cannot, by myself, suppress the survival instinct. I feel tears well up in my eyes and flow down my cheeks.

“Very, very good.” she tells me, reaching up and stroking my hair. “You’re doing so well. Now, let’s see if you can tell me the names of everything in here.”

And gently, ever so tenderly, she slips her hand into my abdomen. I can’t remember what sex feels like, but I’m sure it doesn’t even come close to this. Knowing she’s so close to me is intoxicating. I feel her hand touch my small intestine.

“Very good!” she says, as she works her way up, to my stomach.

“That’s right” before moving on to my liver.

“That’s three for three! Very good!” the warmth in her voice fills my heart with joy. She’s so gentle. The pain is incredible, but it feels so good, because I know she’s the one causing it. I know she loves me, and I love her.

“Moving further down,” she continues, pulling her hand out, much to my disappointment. “Oh dear, don’t worry, I’ll be right back in in one moment”

And once again she plunges into my abdomen. The white-hot fire of the incision has faded slightly to merely red-hot smoldering. I feel her touch my sigmoid colon. “Excellent.”

Her hand moves to my left kidney. “Very good!”

I feel her grasp my bladder. “Perfect.”

She sighs, “It’s a shame I can’t reach your prostate from here, love.” A laugh.

“But that will be for later.” She stands and looks at one of the assistants. “Okay, sew her back up. Be gentle.” She must sense my disappointment, though, because she turns back to me. “Oh don’t worry, my dear, there’s one more thing left.”

It takes a while for the assistant to finish closing the incision in my abdomen. Time moves strangely in here, so I couldn’t say how long. By this point my body has numbed the incision area all on its own, leaving only the faint pulling and tugging of the sutures to be sent to my brain.

She walks back over and stands at the foot of the table. “You did so well there. I’m so proud of you. As a reward for how well you’ve done so far in your lessons, I’m going to perform one last procedure today.”

And with her most gentle touch yet, she pulls my legs to either side. “I know how much these bother you.” For a moment I panic, but she’s quick to reassure me. “Oh, not your legs, hon.” And it clicks.

“I’m going to cut right here.” she traces a line down the center of my scrotum. “And you’ll be rid of these forever.”

I feel the cold steel of the scalpel press in. The faint sting followed by the roaring thunder of pain. That high, heady feeling of endorphins rushes in again. I feel her, very faintly, reaching in and grabbing my right testicle.

"So, I know you hate these things. I hated mine, too.” She squeezes, hard, sending yet another rush of pain up and into my abdomen. “So I figured, why not simply take them away?” I feel the odd sensation of cold steel on my vas deferens. “Are you ready?”

I am.

I feel, for the briefest moment, a zing of pain and then the loss of signal that indicates a part of my body was severed. I feel her tying off the end.

“That’s one down. Time for the other.” Another hard squeeze on my left. “You’re taking this all so well! I’ll be sure to reward you when you’ve healed.” That same zing, that same loss of signal. I feel tears welling up. Not tears of pain, but joy, and love. I feel the repeated sting and tug and sting and tug as she sutures me back up.

“Okay love,” she says, at my side now, stroking my hair. “we’re going to push the painkillers now, and bring you out of the paralysis.” And with that, I feel the rush and the heady fuzz of opioids entering my system, the relief washing over me like a cool shower on a hot summer day.

“I want you to flex your fingers. Just keep flexing them.”

At first I can’t. I try and I try. But slowly, I start to feel them twitching, and after not too long I feel myself able to make a weak fist.

“Very good. You’re such a good girl.” Before I can say or even think anything, she reaches up, and removes first her cap, and then her hair tie. A shoulder-length crop of raven curls falls out. And then, to my amazement, she reaches up to her ear and removes the mask.

I see her face for the first time. I’m able to take in her sculpted jaw, her chin. She has a beauty spot on her right cheek. Her green eyes fill with warmth and, for the first time, I see her smile. “Let’s get that tube out.” She removes the tape on the tube. “Okay, I need you to take a deep breath. On three, I want you to exhale as hard as you can. One, two, three!” I blow and the tube slides out. I cough quite a bit.

Rather uncharacteristically, she tosses the tube aside. “You did so good today babe.” She comes in close, leaning over me, and our lips meet. Her kiss is so soft, so tender. I’m so lucky to have her. After what might be hours, or maybe no time at all, she pulls away.

Shakily, with a voice that hasn’t seen use in a long time, I say, “Thank you, Teacher.”

[revasserium]

Hello, hello! I would like to request a drabble with Leona Kingscholar and the prompt, "after a gunshot wound" + fem! reader, please. Make the ending happy, please. I can't stand sad endings.😥 Thanks!

reqs are open :) @savanaclaw1996

after a gunshot wound (mafia!au for my 31 days of aus)

leona; 2,147 words; angst w/ a happy ending bc... u just said that the end had to be happy, right? lol; also cw for blood and guns

clean hands.

no one would mistake him for a murderer, not by the soft of his hands, the tenderness of palms, but as he tears off his ruined gloves with his teeth, the blood still warm and dripping even as it coagulates against his skin, he wonders what the world might think if only they knew the truth — that being a prince to a dying empire also means courting death.

and he has never been one to fuss over keeping his own hands clean.

unlikely savoir.

if you were to ask him why he saved you, why you of all people, leona doesn’t think he’d be able to find an answer. because the answer — the true answer — is far too pedantic: that his body moved before his mind could catch up. that before he really knew what he was doing, he was already at your side.

“this… isn’t how things are supposed to go —” you cough, feeling the pain ricochet through your whole body from the base of your spine, the side of your waist wrapped in layers and layers of bandages.

“yeah, i know,” he says, one leg propped on the other, his hair twisted in a hasty braid, tossed over his far shoulder. he’s cleaning a gun — one of his favorites, an old smith and wesson 29 — wiping down the sides and the handle with a meticulousness that people would never usually associate him with.

“daddy always said —”

“— that if you needed more than six shots to kill someone… you’d probably end up dead first,” leona finishes, a smirk quirking his lips as his hands pause over the glinting metallic barrel. “i remember… he taught me too.”

you sigh and lay back on the pristine white sheets, staring up at the hospital’s linoleum ceiling.

“do you miss him?” you ask, not really looking at him.

“what kinda question is that?” he asks, and his voice is a low, seismic rumble, almost too quiet to hear.

“it… you should’ve… i mean —” your words catch in your throat and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth, almost dislodging the iv hooked up to the back. leona tuts before gently tugging your hand back down.

“i should’ve saved him? bullshit — he’d kill me himself if he got outta there and you didn’t.”

“but —”

“shh… don’t think about that… you need to rest.”

you’re vaguely aware of the buzzing warmth spreading through your limbs from your right arm before your eyes fall shut and your breathing evens out once more.

by the door, ruggie cocks his head.

“when’re you gonna tell her, boss?”

leona slates him a dark look, “when she’s ready to hear it.”

not where but when.

“mr. kingscholar, back again today?”

“yes, room —”

“i know the one, sir. uhm… it’s just —”

the nurse purses her lips, her eyes flickering from leona’s deadpan face to the room down the hall, the lights always kept low, the blinds always drawn.

“just say it already.”

the nurse jumps at leona’s voice, but she swallows and nods.

“it’s almost been… a whole year now… don’t you think we should move her to the longterm ward? the rooms are bigger up there — and there’s more natural light — i’m sure she would —”

“no. that one’s fine. and… she can’t be moved.”

he doesn’t look up as the nurse nods tersely, watching as he makes his way to the end of the hallway, the last door on the right. he takes a breath as he stands in the doorway, his eyes catching on your sleeping form.

he pulls a revolver from his pocket, drops into the seat next to you, turns down the dial for your sleeping drugs, and slowly starts to clean.

when you wake up this time, your eyes are a little bit clearer, but your gaze is still unfocused when they land on him.

“l-leona? wh-what happened?”

“you were shot,” he says, matter of fact as he turns his eyes back to his gun.

“yeah… i feel that. but… where… when…” you frown, trying to feel along the side of your body where the bandages are. they feel stiff, and somehow, the pain is too far away. leona tuts as he tugs your hand away.

“don’t mess with your bandages — you’ll never heal properly that way.”

you purse your lips as your hand goes slack in his.

“you got… new gloves.”

“huh? yeah — course i did. i couldn’t keep my old ones.”

you nod, letting your head fall back onto the pillows, staring up at the barren landscape of the hospital room ceiling.

“leona…?”

“hm?”

“i… i want to go home.”

leona goes still, his whole body feeling like a wound spring, his stomach clenching inside him as he stares at the gun in his hands. he has to curl his fingers into his palm to stop himself from shaking.

“ye-yeah. we’ll get you home. i promise.”

“when?” you ask, turning towards him, your eyes wide and hopeful.

he casts you a smile, and somehow, even after all this, it’s the bravest thing he’s ever had to do.

“soon.”

time warp.

“you can’t keep doing this.”

“the fuck i can’t.”

“boss — it’s not fair —”

“don’t talk to me about fair —”

ruggie winces as leona’s fist smacks into the punching bag, nearly knocking it completely sideways as he lets out a frustrated snarl, ripping off his boxing gloves.

ruggie takes a deep breath, “it’s been almost two years. the hospital bills alone are getting insane —”

“so what? it’s not like we’re strapped for cash —”

“but how’s this doing either of you any good? i mean —”

“oh, you think i want this? you think i enjoy this fifty first dates shit? this… this — weird, time-warp where every time i go to see her i’ve gotta pretend that — that everything’s just happened? that i’m not the reason she’s in that bed to begin with?!”

leona’s chest is heaving by the time he finishes, his face pushed up against ruggie’s almost nose to nose. and still, ruggie steels himself to hold his ground.

“you’re not the real reason she’s in that bed.”

“i was the one who shot her!”

“you were the one who saved her.”

leona shakes his head, sinking his now-bare fist into the punching bag once more. ruggie chews on his bottom lip, resisting the urge to turn tail and run. but he’s had enough running for a lifetime — this at least, is something he needs to do.

“she — she deserves to know,” he says.

but leona only swallows and shakes his head.

“i… i don’t know how to tell her.” and it’s the first time that he’s admitted it to himself, out loud at least. and even the words are crippling — the breath seeps from him as he sinks down against the wall, letting his head thunk back, his hair falling loose from it’s haphazard ponytail.

“well…” ruggie says, joining him on the ground, casting his eyes up as well, a light grin pulling at his lips, “you start with one word, and then the next… and then sometime after that, it should get easier.”

and try as he might, leona can’t help the laugh that stumbles up and out of his throat — torn from him almost like ripping off a scab, leaving him feeling red and raw and restless. he shakes his head, letting his shoulder bump against ruggie’s.

“you’re a shit best friend.”

ruggie smiles, “and you’re a shit boss. but hey — we can’t have everything, can we?”

the first time.

and the next time he goes to see you, he tells himself that it’s the last time he’ll do this. but when he walks into your room, it’s to find you already awake, staring up at the ceiling. when he breaches the threshold of the room, your eyes slide over to settle on him, and a faint smile graces your lips.

“hey you.”

leona blinks.

“uh — h-hey… did the sleep drugs wear off?” he can feel his heartbeat thrumming a too-quick baseline at the back of his throat and he wonders if one of the nurses had screwed up your daily doses of anesthesia.

“they must’ve… what time is it?” you look around for a clock in the room. there isn’t one but leona looks around with you.

“not that late,” he says, dropping into the chair next to your bed, “are you… hungry?”

“starved,” you say, laughing as you try to sit up and he reaches out to wrap an arm around your shoulders. you’d never been fragile, not even when you were a tiny little girl, but just now beneath his hands, he laments at how breakable you seem.

“i dunno if you’d like any of the hospital food but… i could try paging for one of the nurses.”

“no, it’s okay. the only good stuff at a hospital is the jello anyway.”

leona laughs, nodding as he props you up on a pile of pillows, sitting back and staring at you in mixed awe and trepidation. it’s the most he’s heard you say in… god — years? years. and he can’t help marveling at the sound of your voice, just as sure and strong as it’s always been. he used to jam a finger in his ears and yell that you were too loud but now, he thinks he’d like nothing more than to fall asleep to it, just to hear it and hear it and keep on hearing it.

“then… how about we get outta here later and i take you to a proper dinner?”

your smile is sweet and just on the other side of teasing.

“leona kingscholar. are you asking me on a date?”

he sighs, shaking his head, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the top of his nosebridge as he pinches.

“yeah — sure, if that’s what you want to think.”

you regard him for a moment before you drop your gaze to the back of your hand, the iv needle still taped firmly in place.

“i’m… not quite sure what to think… i mean — what’s a girl supposed to think of a guy who’s been lying to her for the past two years?”

leona feels his whole body go cold, but you’re still smiling as you look at him, your hands folded neatly in your lap. so, he forces himself to move, to lean forward and reach for your hands, and when you don’t stop him, he doesn’t question why your touch feels a little bit like salvation. why you’ve always kind of felt like that to him.

“i — i’m sorry.”

“i know… i know you are,” you reach up to tug at the ends of his hair, “it’s gotten way longer y’know… it’s one of the things that gave it away.”

he laughs, the sound both helpless and mercifully light as it spills from him.

“shit… i should’ve known it’d be the hair. you always were so damn obsessed with it.”

and when he looks up, it’s to find your cheeks tinted with a color he hasn’t seen in two long years and it takes everything inside him not to reach out and press his palm to it, to reach out and catch it, to save it and cup it close to his chest like a firefly’s dying light.

“can you blame me? you’ve got gorgeous hair,” you say, even now running your fingers through it and he lets himself sink to the sanctity of your touch.

“so… i guess i owe you an explanation,” he says, finally looking up as your hand drops and he bites down the urge to grab it and press it back to the side of his face, to kiss at the patch just inside your wrist.

“yes, that’d be nice,” you say, your voice as casual as it is light, and he knows, even before he starts speaking that he is forgiven, and it’s all he could’ve ever, ever hoped and prayed for.

you, alive; him, forgiven.

and, given those circumstances, he thinks that he really has no other reason to keep on deflecting anyways. so, leona takes a deep breath and tries to remember ruggie’s words — one word, and then the next —

“so two years ago… your dad came to tell me that there was going to be a coup…”

[blamin8r]

These are my personal designs/references for SMG4 because of how much I draw fan art for it. You can tell which ones are my absolute favorites to draw based on how much I’ve changed them basically. It’s organized by Recolors, The Girls, Non-Human, and Excess (sorry Kaizo)

Mario: I gave him stitches on his outfit because of how often he explodes and gets hurt (Luigi fixes his clothes since that’s less expensive than constantly replacing them), and those dark marks on his face from when Zero grabbed him and did that weird crap during the 10 year anniversary video. I also gave him a star pin on his overalls too.

SMG4: There’s so much. I made him shorter, changed his body type, gave him darker skin, scars from when he was possessed by the TV Adware dude (and other various scars), eyebags, a jacket, IV on his gloves, and the arrow from the USBs. He also has the arrow on the back of his jacket, but I haven’t drawn his back view before with this design so that’s never been visible in my art yet.

SMG3: I made him even shorter than SMG4, gave him longer hair, matching scars to SMG4, darker skin, a cape, black gloves, platformer boots, the USB arrow, and I changed his body type. The back of his cape has the same skull design that’s on his hat and boots too.

Luigi: I didn’t change too much to him, just his shirt, a flower pin, and some scars. Also he’s round like Mario but not the “skinny brother” because I don’t personally believe in that. (Though whenever he takes off his shirt he immediately becomes a buff man because SMG4 logic)

X: This one was fun. He already has dark skin on his recolor self, so I also went ahead and gave him curly hair, a beard, eye bags, a beanie, hoodie, changed his height, and gave him a cool weird eye thing because why not. He and FM also have similar eye colorings to 3 and 4

FM: He’s the only recolor I decided to make not chubby but instead kinda fit since he’s a police officer. I also gave him a police styled hat, badge, different shirt and gloves, longer hair, a bunch of scars, piercings, and steel toed boots. He looks pretty cool :D

Minion: Parts of her design I did out of pure spite. Her body type matches SMG4’s but she’s a bit shorter, an overalls skirt thing, matching hat, pink gloves, some long socks, and I kept her mustache but just made it smaller. Why? Well, I haven’t headcanoned SMG4 as trans (unlike what a lot of my friends and mutual have done), but I did do that for Minion, because in my mind, she basically has SMG4’s exact body type, including the reproductive organs. But she’s still a woman. And I also believe that women (cis and trans) shouldn’t have to feel shame for having facial hair or body hair, so I kept that there, again, out of spite for people who really feminize her body in a stereotypical way in their personal designs for her.

Meggy: I’m not an extremist for Inkling Meggy or anything, I do like her as a human, but I’m still not sure why they chose to make her a human and not just a squid that’s not Nintendo styled. So instead I just gave her some other squid attributes, like the typical tentacle hair thing, but also some fins on her arms and legs. Her skin is a little darker and she has freckles now. I made her outfit more black and orange themed because I personally hate the dull whites and browns on her outfit. To reference two of her other outfits, I had her keep her college jacket tied around her waist, and her glasses on her shirt since I feel she probably needs them for reading still. I also gave her more sports styled clothes like her shorts and the knee pads. And I removed her goggles because I despise drawing them, she has too much accessories on her head and that one section is so annoying to draw. Lastly, I made her a bit muscular because there’s no way every single one of the girls has the exact same body type.

Tari: Her design just got updated when I was in the middle of working on this, and it’s really good so I only changed her body type by making her chubby and added a gradient to her hair.

Saiko: Her outfit is cool minus the colors, so I gave her a more pink and black theme for her outfit colors. I also made her more muscular and gave her some scars since she’s known as the more violent one in SMG4 who carries that massive ass hammer just casually.

Melony: I looked up where watermelons came from, and they came from Africa apparently, so I made her black (also because all the human characters are white/light skinned so I changed that) and I think it makes sense with her hair too because of the thingies that come down over her ears. It also makes the pointy things behind her hood make sense too. I changed her body to have more body fat and gave her some stretch marks and cellulite to go with it. I like her hoodie, but you can’t tell me that’s all she has on, so I also gave her some shorts, since she gets sexualized so much.. She also has shoes too, those socks would be so nasty otherwise. Her diety form is gonna have actual armour because that makes more sense than just a different colored hoodie.

Belle: I changed nothing about her, not because I don’t like her or think her design is perfect or anything, (she’s great and I miss her ;-;), but I actually chose to keep her as is just because people who look like her and have her body type still exist, they’re just not the only one or the main one. Humans vary a lot.

Karen: I didn’t change much, but since she’s a single mother, I made her body look a little more like a middle aged woman, and gave her a sweater her kids made for her too that she wears proudly.

Shroomy: I know there are multiple characters that are technically naked, but I felt that Shroomy should at least have a Boy Scouts outfit on, he lives in a world with Toads which do have clothes so it didn’t feel right to have just the badge thing over him

Bob, Rob, Boopkins, and Jub Jub: I kept them as is because there’s not much to their appearances anyway, minus a few rips and tears for Bob’s outfit.

SMG2: I made his body a little more proportional so that his head was at least not larger than the rest of his whole fucking body, and I gave him some excess scars since he and SMG1 have been around for the longest, and have probably been through a lot together. I also gave him sleeves, shoes, glasses, and matching gloves that all the SMGs now have. His antenna thing is also thicker because I don’t wanna make it too thin.

SMG1: His body is also more proportional, but that’s mainly because I didn’t like making his torso long. I also gave him clothes to match 2 a little more but darker. He’s got excess scars as well, and his gloves are opposite to 2’s similar to how I made 3 and 4’s gloves opposite of each other. He’s also got glasses like 2, and they match their head shapes.

Kaizo: I fucking love Kaizo, he looks so damn cool to me, so I kept his outfit the same, just changed up his body. He’s more muscular and has more demonic features (pointed pupils and ears, tail, more sharp teeth, forked tongue, claw-like nails), as well as a bunch of scars everywhere on his body. Plus more body hair, and based on a Kaizo design I saw elsewhere (I forgot who made it) but I made the ends of his hair dyed red because it looks cool. And piercings.

Swag and Chris: I love these two, but I couldn’t think of how to change Swag and Chris besides making them a buff and old. (To me, they’re at least in their 30’s or 40’s). I do believe in dilf Chris tho, so make whatever assumptions you want from that.

Whimpu: I actually really don’t like Whimpu, mainly for his personality, but also because of the Waifu Factory episode, it just really made me uncomfortable with how objectified and dehumanized the anime girls were in it, and he was a big part of that. Still, I wanted to change him a bit since his design is a little plain. He’s still plain, but a bit less. I added acne, buttons on the tie, and a shirt pocket with a pen in it.

Steve: I hate how I end up drawing Steve, but I didn’t want him to look too human in a normal way, because a part of his charm is being this weird block dude. So he just looks like a more blocky human with dirty clothes, a lot of scars, and a beard.

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 26, 2021 4:00 a.m. a balcony, somewhere

time somehow seems to simultaneously slow to a crawl and race beyond the speed of light. grant doesn’t remember when they’d ended up perched like lovebirds at the pinnacle of a staircase, peering out over the night-drenched landscape, but it must have been a while ago. customers have long since stopped streaming in and out of the restaurant on the street below.

he remembers in better detail the stream of their conversation–they’d shifted from food and a strangely peaceful, humorous discussion of kicking the bucket to movies, and at some point, paranormal stories came up along the way.

it’d be hard to forget talking to yunha.

there’s something curiously enrapturing about her, something that had drawn him to her when he first made eye-contact with her.

the look in her eyes, maybe. it’s piercing, like she’s baring right through your skin and into your soul, but not malicious or judgmental. it’s friendly, it’s curious, it’s playful.

the way she speaks, maybe. she’s the most engaged conversationalist he’s ever encountered. everything you say, whether she agrees or disagrees, is met with affirmations and a lot of nodding. yes, yes, of course. i see, i see. i understand. ohhh, wow! really?

she’s unraveling every shard of the puzzle that is his personality and piecing it back together in one whole picture, analyzing it. figuring it out. appreciating it.

or maybe it’s the sweetness that radiates off her. she appears unafraid to smile, instead all too happy to flash those pretty, crooked bunny teeth for the world to see.

“so, i'm going to guess you’re not accidentally good at singing.”

she seems not to mind revealing her own puzzle pieces either, and the more she says about herself, the more fascinated he is with her. with who she is. with what makes her tick.

“i hope it’s not an accident,” yunha replies, laughing, “because shit, then years worth of practice was a waste.”

“time enjoyed is never time wasted.”

the unabashed cringe of the line garners an immediate eye roll, but she still seems to find it funny.

they’ve definitely been sitting here a while. grant straightens his back, fixing his gradually slouching posture, and is is met with an immediate flash of pain, distinct from the chronic dull ache underlying every day of his life, that radiates down every vertebra.

“what got you into music, though?”

yunha’s rosy pink lips purse in thought as she dwells on the question.

“a lot of things. my parents like music. i listened to a lot of different kinds of songs my whole life, first with them, and then later with my friends. i had some time between classes and studying to spend having fun, but i couldn't spend any money, so my friends and i would go to this music store. we walked around and picked random albums to listen to on the headphones. we never bought anything.”

grant nods supportively. “what’s, like, the first album you remember really liking? or albums. you don’t have to pick one.”

“ah! i treasure so many albums. seo taiji and boys IV. i think that’s still my favorite nostalgic album ever. i also remember fondly, um, this girl’s in love with you by aretha franklin. i heard that at the music store, and i was so impressed by her talent. i still am.”

“i'm not a music expert. surprise! i know, i know, i'm sorry to tell you, i did not practice for centuries for that wonderful spice girls performance earlier. no, but seriously, i most often just listen to the same old emo stuff i liked when i was 13. so, unfortunately i don’t know the first album at all, at least not yet, but i do know the second one. you have fantastic taste, that’s a classic.”

despite his ignorance, yunha still smiles from ear to ear. “you should look up the first one! look up, like, seo taiji ‘come back home.’ that’s the most popular song on the album. i don’t wanna bias you, so listen on your own and make your own opinions.”

“wilco. and if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you turn the interest in music into a skill? you are talented, but i know it's very much a skill. it does take a lot of practice to become tangibly good at music.”

“to express myself,” yunha says plainly, “it’s easier to tell your story in art than talking about it, and singing is free. you don’t need supplies to learn it. but yes, i needed that kind of outlet, you know? i always liked singing, always did it, but i needed more than only entertainment from it over time.”

“oh yeah, art is helpful. i really should have gotten on that train earlier. i got on board about a year ago. it's much better for you than intellectualizing everything. or at least that's what i tend to do. do you perform, by the way? outside of karaoke, that is."

"sometimes. but also, not in a long time."

there falls a brief, but peaceful lull in the conversation. grant’s eyes draw to black night sky as he recalls the last haphazard art he’d created–the mushy-gushy attempt at processing the universe. seeing it hanging above him now, his thoughts are no less conflicting. light pollution washes out the shining sea of stars, but the sky still retains its beauty, its bewilderment. visible or not, an infinite chain of dimensions and celestial bodies exist in the vacuum of space, orbiting independent of him, yet factoring in the tiny fraction of his mass on the mass of the earth in their delicate ballerina dance across the fabric of spacetime.

the universe must have created me for some reason, for something other than anguish.

his own words. again. ever-present.

“i miss seeing the stars.” yunha’s buttery soft voice breaks his concentration. “you can’t see anything here.”

“polaris.” grant raises his left arm and draws his index finger across the sky until it hovers above the only star he’s seen thus far. “technically, that means we should be able to see sirius, too, but we don’t need to get all science-y and talk about magnitude and that polaris isn’t–”

“i would like it if you did.”

she was thinking of the stars, too.

synchronicity.

“aw shucks! well. i’ll say this, polaris isn’t the brightest star. we just talk about it way more frequently because it has the most cultural significance in the northern hemisphere for, you know, navigation reasons. but hey, give it about 12,000 more years, and it even won’t be the north star anymore. thank you, wobbly earth axis. but also boo, woobly earth axis, because it's a little sad to think about.”

yunha’s eyes glitter with fascination. “it’ll be something else?”

“yep! the next north star will be vega,” he explains, “come on down, you’re the next contestant!”

“maybe we’ll see it happen.”

“if my consciousness is still floating around as little dust particles, that’d be pretty sick. you know? forget fly me to the moon, fly me to vega. why not?”

“i don’t think i'll be dust,” yunha says, not missing a beat at all, even as her focus remains fixed on the faintest twinkle emanating from polaris, “it’s kind of troubling. you don’t want to be, like, stuck in the whole cycle of the universe, but if you’re still here, you can see some really beautiful things.”

“ah. reincarnation?”

“if you’re asking me, you’re not going to be dust. either you escape the suffering or you come back in some kind of physical form, human or not, and you try again.”

grant thinks about it for a moment. and then the feelings, like usual, spill out at once.

“i'm not going to lie, that idea has always given me the heebie-jeebies. i think it’s very cool as a concept, but i'm, like, man, i don’t want to do this shit again. also, look, we're doing the thing again. oh, and shit, that sounded judgmental. i just run my mouth too much."

"most people don't know they lived before. you can't really remember your other lives without a lot of study," she answers, "and no, you don't. i prefer to hear your real opinion. it's actually stupid when people tell you what they think you want to hear."

"do you ever wonder what you were up to last go-around?"

"not too much, but i always heard strange birthmarks and scars are signs from your last death. fears, too. things you avoid. so, i guess, like, a clown stabbed me in the neck with needles."

"are you afraid of storm drains, by any chance? if so, i think pennywise had it out for you."

"hahaha." yunha shakes her head. "wait, i have to ask. is it not worse thinking you can only live once? that's not uncomfortable? feeling like you have to make everything perfect in your one lifetime?"

"oh no, it's terrifying. dying and just being done with everything is eerie, too, because there are nice things to do and see here in the real world. you’re right about that. and yeah, there is a lot of pressure to get it all right. also, that's not even mentioning that there are people i love that i don’t want to be gone forever. i'd like to think they remain somehow. conscious or not. i kind of think they do, but i don’t know. am i contradicting myself? capital-P probably."

“you don’t know what to think.”

grant immediately bursts out laughing. “yeah, no, absolutely not. i do not know. i just kinda waffle around and hope some scientist throws out some numbers and whatnot that proves some explanation of everything correct. but that’s impossible. it’s literally impossible. we can’t even simulate or predict the wacky physics that were going on at the exact moment the big bang happened.”

“not to be, like, all quirky, but...” yunha reaches over, patting him on the shoulder. “maybe don’t think about it? you’re gonna go crazy. you can just not know? and it's fine. this doesn’t mean anything anyway. the answer to anything is already in you, it’s not out there.”

and then she, too, starts giggling all over again and her cheeks blush deep red from sheepish cringe.

another stereotypical line, but he doesn't mind. they sound better coming from her than him anyhow.

a second later and she checks the time on her phone. her cheesy smile erodes into a slight frown.

“ahh, i really need to leave soon. i have a schedule in the morning.”

grant checks the time as well, drawing the sleeve of his hoodie up just enough to read the minuscule roman numerals on his watch.

on the watch an ex-girlfriend gifted him. not päivi, but...

4:00 a.m.

fuck.

right.

you’re leaving the country in two hours.

[nordidia]

Regardless of how much attention they got, what are three things you've written or drawn that you're most proud of?

oh i love this question...

so i think what i get most proud of are my long comics,, despite the drawings being simple, i think i put alot more effort into just finishing them than i do like. coloured pieces etc... doing full pieces is more leisure than struggling to finish a long ass comic yknow. especially if its mental health related, i put alot of effort into them

so i think the one im most proud of is the sunset duo comic about PTSD flashbacks the way i experience them.,. i never really saw people talk about how they are for me so i decided to do it myself

alot of people find comfort in it because they also have been longing for someone to talk about those kinds of flashbacks, where its not really pictures or specific memories, but more the feelings you felt during it. alot of people who have repressed memories have flashbacks this way it was very... cathargic. its the first thing that pops into my head when people ask about my emotion-comics. i think its my favorite

another one i really like is this one.

its my first deep comic like that, and it kinda kicked off something in me, knowing what i wanted to create. its kinda old now, and my art has evolved somewhat, ive been thinking of re-doing it sometime

alot of my comics that are like this are based on my own struggles, and i make them to deal with my own, hoping that posting them will make others feel less alone. i also base leo on my irl bff like 98% of the time, and this was one of them.

i think that it marks kind of "the first" of stuff that i've gotten feedback on that it has helped others, and looking back on it gives me alot of motivation to continue doing art

hmm third one i really love is this one, with april

i had this huge idea of going into detail about things, my own take on things. and i held that idea until i started drawing, and as i got to the end i realised: "wait.. i dont want to think about this. i dont want to have a take on someone's pointless suffering. i dont want him to have to remember it either. why do all comics have to elaborate on the struggling and then everything being okay? thats not how it works" and ended up completely re-writing it. i think it made it alot more in character too

at the time, i was in therapy. and we would often talk about what i do in my daily life and i would talk about the comics i make. and this was one she really liked hearing about, and she had a lot of praise for the way i ended it when i told her about my trail of thought

i hope this is comprehensible jdajkgfdsjk !!

i thinik. i like my art that includes leo .. is some of my favorite... i like writing him. he's very kind. he loves and respects raph alot, and i think he understands raph on a deeper level in some way. i cant explain it but. yueah!!! if i could have a fourth favorite it would be this one

[crestoflames]

What do you think of MC x Wayne? The devs' most favorable pairing above all the characters, in spite of Stella being the #1 popular Li. Isn't he supposed to be our otp for the main player? I know that you don't seem very fond of Wayne lately because of how he feels and treats your main Li, especially how he is going to feel about that character's unfortunate outcome in one of the bad endings involving a character's death? Also, who will you romance if you are not together with Reese? Oscar or Stella, perhaps?

gotta be honest, this feels like bait.

first off - i’m so confused by a lot of this. i don’t think the devs ever said mc x wayne was their favorite pairing, or that it was supposed to be an otp for the player character??? the way the game works is that there is no “otp” for the player character - you can choose to romance whoever you want, or no one at all; it’s all dependent on your individual playthrough.

second - i don’t really think ive said that the reason i dislike wayne is because of how he treats reese. i mean, that definitely doesn’t help, but my main beef with him is how he treats the MC. he acts like you’re an idiot who can’t make decisions for yourself (but only if you make decisions he doesn’t agree with - very controlling) and denies the MC autonomy by refusing to listen when they tell him to stop doing things, like following them around or threatening to hurt their friends (which, in the case of reese, he actually goes through with). he’s also just an asshole, and i don’t enjoy the way he talks about a lot of people and creatures.

in general, his behavior and personality remind me of creepy asshole guys i’ve had to deal with in my past, and it kind of baffles me when people try and paint him as a good guy. he’s not meant to be a good guy. i think a lot of people know that and that’s why they’re drawn to him (and i get it bc i have plenty of villains i love lol), but I’ve seen just as many people who act like it would be crazy to want to get away from Wayne and the best course of action is to let him have full control and “protect” you all the time. like, if you want that for your playthrough, that’s great, go for it. but i take umbrage with the idea that it’s an objective reality that everyone needs to accept.

now, all this is to say that i do think he’s a well written character. i like him as an antagonist and i think the devs did a great job of creating him in a way that elicits real fear. love him as a character, but despise him when i’m actually experiencing the game as MC, and when people act like I’m committing a crime by disliking him and i need to change my opinion. everyone seems to get it when you say you hate sybil, but if you say you don’t like wayne, people act like you’ve confessed to murder.

moving away from that rant, this message is just baffling in general lmao. quickly addressing most everything else - i’m fine with the concept of mc x wayne, everyone can ship what they want, it’s just not for me, and i dont want to be told that it is the “canon route/best route” and everyone should love it and choose it or whatever. ive never really talked about stella so idk where you got that i would want to romance her??? she’s one of the characters im just not attracted to bc she’s not my type. i will always choose reese in every playthrough bc i feel like im abandoning or betraying him if I don’t, but if I couldn’t choose him, I would choose oscar, followed by kaneeka.

i’m hoping this is enough to end any more questions from you, because if you come back with more bait/troll type messages, I’ll probably just block.

[bells-n-doodles]

For the oc asks thing: 19 and 28? :D

Okay this actually took so long to answer because I never had time to formulate one LOLLLLL

BUT HOLY SHIT JHDASHKGDASHJGDSWJHGJHDWSG THANK YOU FOR ASKKKK

this is gonna be long so under the cut we go

#19

These two! Zalene and Bilu!! (Bilu on the left, Zalene on the right) They’re two of the main characters in my original story The Linking Gardens and I love them sooooooo much they’re amazing

They’re kind of my comfort characters as well as some of my favorite characters I’ve ever made and they’re just amazing and I don’t know what else to say

Ive also drawn them a lot. For a long time. (They’re 3 years old by now)

#28

HER.

This is Artemis, aka my most mentally unstable OC. Driven to her goals no matter what and with the curse/gift of feeling everyone’s emotions constantly, she ends up going insane and being locked inside of this weird…prison crystal thing… for eternity. Then she gets out. After being subjected to sensory deprivation for 8 years. She’s just fucking insane. She will attack everyone in sight. She’s fun.

she also has like… the highest kill count and ruining people’s lives count out of all of my ocs.

she’s also a comfort OC in regard to her intense empathy, which is something I also have :/

but yeah!! I love her, and she’s also really scary! 🥳