#demilia

[ganondoodle]

accidentally focused on drawing this for like 2 hours somehow bc i suppose i have gone too long without drawing a proper demise and hylia doodle, woops

[pocketseizure]

Long ago, in a time now lost to the ages, Hyrule was a formless void roiling with primal darkness. Seeing potential in this untapped energy, three goddesses descended from the source of light to shape Hyrule according to their will. They bestowed three sacred virtues upon their daughter before leaving her in the land they created, where the god of the earth waited to grant her a gift of his own.

1200 words . ( on AO3 here ) . illustration by Hylias_Disgrace

[thenoeyebunnynobunsusmaingallery]

Oc : Demilia D Miveli

She is the oldest oc of mine. I have been working on her for 10 years, I believe.

[demilypyro]

on the occasions when i talk about you with other people i refer to you as demilypyro rather than demily because i don't feel like we're on first name terms. you're a professional and all

You will refer to me as the esteemed Miss Demilia Pyro

[herrlindemann]

Till, The Colliseum in Denver, Colorado, America - 20 May 2012 / © Peter DeMilia [HQ]

[444names]

Names generated from Greek and Ukrainian female given names

Acachka Acana Acandra Adone Adoslaida Aeoda Aeodo Afroda Afrosia Afrosyna Agara Agarisa Agatina Aikia Aikilina Albia Aldana Alefthouni Alekla Alektrysa Alene Aleophi Aleria Aleristina Aleroubov Aleta Alexa Alexanaia Alexisia Aliaris Alikolia Alinia Alippate Allika Allisa Althi Althy Andia Anditlana Andra Andronoula Anesa Angeli Angeliana Angeliya Angena Angene Angeni Anjelikia Antha Anthea Anthi Anthina Antiniya Anzhene Anzheris Apheodiya Argareiana Argia Arika Arine Arinie Arisoula Arissanka Arterina Artha Artra Athoe...

Basika Bohda Bohdanya Calefanda Calena Callana Calya Casha Caskevi Cassiantia Chalya Chana Chlome Chlomeda Chlometa Chria Chriana Chriantora Chrinia Chrisa Chrisia Chriya Chropi Chroslata Chryna Chrysa Chrysena Clexana Clianya Cosia Costia Cosyna Creia Crena Cymara Damalia Damarina Damfiline Dania Danie Danthilia Danya Darise Darya Deinia Deissia Delenya Demedochka Demia Demilia Demis Demisia Demotimoni Denie Dessa Didina Didrista Dioulana Dorespina Dorysa Drudocha Drudoxisia Druno Drunya Drusla Effira Effrona Effrostira Efpra Efthae Eftia Eftijani Eftippe Ekasilia Ekasta Ekatia Eleksa Elektorisa Elene Elera Elerista Eleriya Elesia Elesyna Elewte Elexi Eliana Elianna Elisiliya Eliya Emara Emarisanna Emiana Emini Eminia Erissa Eudmis Eudorina Eugena Euphea Euphrina Evdijandra Evdoria Fayis Fayithi Fayiti Fayiza Filania Filiya Galika Galiki Ganya Halewte Hanta Helyna Herina Heris Herya Hloria Iannateria Ilenia Inesyna Inesypa Ioandroda Iphilika Ireis Irena Ireta Irisenie Iristaniya Iriya Iryska Ivandra Izola Julia Junced Junoubov Junya Kalena Kalesa Kaletamfie Kaline Kalissa Kalla Kaloe Kalya Katea Kateftina Katera Kathi Katinaina Katsa Khlora Kilia Kiliani Koria Krissa Ksena Kyrone Kyrosika Lamfia Lavetzia Leska Lessa Lexia Lidana Lidiandra Lilippe Linia Lioni Liudores Lugatine Lugelanna Lugeleni Lugeliya Lyania Lyudonia Lyura Maidiya Maidoki Maliya Margiris Marianna Maris Marisa Marisia Marista Marka Marysa Marysandra Marytani Mayidra Melia Meliki Meliky Melinayis Metantina Metigorya Metra Miria Miriya Myria Myrodora Myronoula Nadne Nafie Nafympra Nasha Nasia Nasina Natala Natemine Nateriana Natheodora Natia Natija Natinia Natippa Neone Neria Neristina Nespa Nitlana Oksanthe Olefthe Oleina Olektra Olenia Olera Olycana Olyna Ophana Ophina Ophria Orytacia Ourossa Ourosya Palia Palioris Palymara Pamfirhi Panastina Pandra Pargira Paria Parista Phalaretra Pharia Phemedra Phina Phippe Rayis Rayista Reniya Rheoris Roditsia Roksa Rozalia Rozavanais Rozavetra Salafyma Selia Serenayia Serinasia Smala Smara Sofila Sopina Sotiana Sotiania Sounia Staciana Stalyca Stasia Staxia Steme Sterisia Stylia Styna Stynie Taina Tamarysa Tamfia Tasikilia Tataliya Tatea Taterina Tatina Tatrinia Tatta Tattalia Tayine Tayis Tayma Teklahna Tektryni Tetanta Tethe Tethi Tethoe Tetja Tetraxi Tetrudoxia Tetya Thaidia Thaina Thaisiani Thalcyone Thana Thanesi Thanya Thanyaksa Thara Thedorgira Theni Theodia Theodijane Theonasta Thera Timilia Toulana Ulyna Valeklyna Valexia Valia Valiya Valoriya Valya Valyna Vanthea Vargia Varia Vasili Vasiliadia Vassa Vassia Vastia Vastya Verisa Victone Vikilika Viola Vionia Viotina Virhaisa Virosouno Xania Xantalia Xrina Xristi Xylina Xylla Yandija Yantaxiana Yanthe Yelana Yelenira Yevanna Yevgeletya Yevgena Yevheopi Yosia Yosyna Zachana Zacia Zelioula Zhaia Zhara Zoresa Zorgiopi Zorgirhia Zorina Zorinie Zorkaska Zoyana Zoyanae

[corseque-art]

an old comic idea I want to return to in the next few weeks.

[yourstarringrole]

she's all i wanna be

today, she is lorelei andez.

she wakes up at 4 a.m. she gives herself time to rejuvenate from a night drenched in liquor and secrets. she lights a candle and cleanses herself with burning sage and crystals. she takes a half-an-hour long bath, because lorelei values her ‘me’ time for self love.

she does her make-up, going with as little as eyeliner, blush and a little bit of highlighter. lorelei believes in the afterglow of her sun-kissed skin, so she will believe in it too. she glues on a pearl, just under each black butterfly wing accentuating her eye shape.

she looks herself in the mirror for a moment. she grabs her favourite tube of lipstick. she puts it on, and on the mirror writes ‘xoxo’. she hesitates for a faction, then kisses the reflection of herself.

she undresses. the sunlight bends at her will. she decides on a lace bralette and her beige blazer with black jeans and 3-inch stilettos. lorelei lives for champagne gold and rings. she puts on 5 rings in total, even the one made of jade that she swore never to put on due to it’s history. she puts on her signature designer cologne.

she makes herself breakfast. sliced avocado and egg toast, with a side of earl grey. she doesn’t rush herself, lorelei does not like to be rushed. she places her phone on the other end of the table, she doesn’t need to be distracted focusing on herself. she takes 7 bites out of the toast and decides it was enough to last her through the morning.

she packs her purse with her phone, her wallet and keys. her headphones are in its casing, along with chocolate and a water bottle. she checks for her lipgloss and spare earrings, lorelei’s always the one to be prepared for any occasion, and does up the magnets. she places her laptop in its carrier and puts on her vintage sunglasses.

she sits in the lecture hall, taking notes for the english literature lecture. she kept her handwriting neat, aligned with the grids of her notebook and in elegant cursive. every once in a while, she takes a sip from her fruit-infused tea, not missing a beat of the discussion on of Shakespeare’s Othello. she sits at the middle rows, front and centre. she participates occasionally, because lorelei would know everyone’s watching her every move.

she takes the subway home, missing her stop on purpose. she watches the daylight drain from the rain-stained windows of the metro and reads her French novel. she feels another sit next to her and smiles at them. they smile back and make brief conversation. they exchange phone numbers, the stranger leaves. she feels a foreign feeling swell in her guts and sighs. lorelei loves this feeling.

she unlocks the door and places the fresh ingredients on the counter. she changes out of her day clothes into her oversized sweater. she pulls her hair up to a bun and makes caesar salad with a poached egg and parmesan cheese. she has it with a cup of apple tea, on the couch, with her favourite series playing on the television. lorelei knows the best way to cure a hectic day.

she cleans herself of makeup and does her skin care routine. she cleans off the mirror and does her nails to the radio. she dances to her favourite songs in her room and drinks a few more glasses of water, because that’s what lorelei loves about nights in her room alone.

she was out like a light by 10:30 p.m.

---

today, she is tate reynolds.

she wakes up at 6:40 a.m. she lays in bed for 10 minutes more. she gets over her existential dread and puts on her favourite pairs of stockings. she flips through her magazines with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, on the floor of the living room. she leaves the curtains open and bites back a smile when the sun rays warm up her skin. tate may hate mornings, but the sun, before it ripens into a sweltering afternoon, is her reason to live on.

she puts her playlist on full volume and curls her hair. she sings to herself in the mirror, making a mental note to keep the beautiful little art form to herself and herself only. tate loves to see herself energised and thrilled for the day yet to come. she plays around with her perfumes and draws text emojis on her cheek, flushed from all the dancing. she decides on a small ‘:p’ and twirls her hair in between her fingers.

she turns on her stereo and undresses. she decides halfway to undo the blinds and lay in the sun spot on her bed. she gets up when her phone chimes with a text, because tate always knows what to say, and responds after a few moments of consideration. she pokes another hole in the new belt she bought and threaded them through the loops of her suit pants. she switches out her bra for a red corset top and an oversized black cardigan. she layers her pearl necklaces and weaves a ribbon through her hair.

she has another cup of coffee, with skimmed milk and vanilla this time, and made herself pancakes with assorted berries. she buries her toppings in whipped cream and has it on the carpet, leaning against the corduroy loveseat. she puts her hand up against the sunlight and squints, letting the halo of gold filter through the gaps of her fingers. tate is immortal, and the sun is her only eternal companion.

she finishes the stack of pancakes and places the dishes in the sink. she saves the cup of coffee for later, because tate cannot stay awake at all without it. she picks out her heels, 6-inch nudes with attached silver chains. she puts on her safety pin earrings and lays on her sofa, awaiting her friends’ notice. she thinks, tate tends to overthink a lot of things, weighing the pros and cons of the outing.

she sits, shotgun, in her best friend’s Porsche. she listens to them gossip, never intervenes. she watches the malibu sun float along the light-bleached clouds and closes her eyes. she takes initiative to undo the roof of the car and link her streaming service to the speaker system. she plays infinite by lyn lapid, because the song has made home and lives in tate’s heart, and takes in the scent of leather and oceans. she is forever 16, and she doesn’t have the luxury of dying young.

she lets her friends pick out her clothes in each store. she tries them on, and whether she likes it or not, she showcases it to them. she treats them to gelato and smiles when they get it on the tip of their noses. tate loves each one of her friends with her own life. she sits with them, on the beach, with her magazines while they splash each other with saltwater by the shoreline. she thinks to herself, this is the life lorde talks about in her songs, and lets the golden sky devour each longing inch of her skin.

she invites her friends over. she borrows to them her stash of hoodies and they stay in for the night. she takes pictures with her polaroid camera and films moments of their sleepover on her video camera. she captures as much of the euphoria bleeding from each second that passes as she possibly could, and records it all on rolls and rolls of video tape. tate will miss them, and she always does her best to keep as many pieces of them as her fingers and memory would allow her to.

she talks to them. about her life. they listen and kiss her on the cheeks. they rope her into a hug, and god, it feels so good to be touched again. they tell her it’s okay, and for once she believes them, because tate knows the consequences of not trusting her friends enough. they pop open a bottle of tequila and they make cake together. she smooths out the frosting and sneak in extra pieces of chocolate truffle. they sit, together, under the midnight sky, out on the front porch with pieces of the cake, and feel.

she falls asleep last, by the window seat of her room, with a bottle of half-empty liquor, at 2:37 a.m.

---

today, she is demilia locke.

she wakes up at 9:49 a.m. she doesn’t want to get out of bed. she stays in bed for another 2 hours. she puts on her reading glasses and lights a candle. she gathers her tablet and stack of annotated books and flipped through them, reading over every highlighted verse with nostalgia. she browses on tumblr, through all the feeds with aesthetic quotations and low-quality images that seemed cut out from a magazine.

she pulls a hoodie on, over her oversized band t-shirt. she doesn’t bother fixing her hair, because who was going to see her like this anyway? she washes her face and sits on in the dry bathtub with her face in a white fluffy towel for a few minutes.

she slices up an assortment of fruit to the steady rainfall. she accidentally cuts her thumb. she runs it under cold water and leaves the little wound alone. she tosses the fruit pieces in a bowl and pours herself a mug of hot water. she lays on the carpet and feels the centre of gravity shift inside of her. it sinks, down her veins, until it gathers like a bruise where her skin connects the floor.

she has her fruit salad in silence. the silence helps demi think. she traces her eyes over the walls, over each pigmented pattern etched on. she blows on the hot water and admires the way white smoke drifts off until it thins into invisibility. she takes a sip and breathes out a sigh.

she washes the dishes and dries them off, putting back to where they originated from. she returns to her room, to her bed. she removes her laptop from her backpack and places it above her sheets. she opens it, runs her fingers over each sticker surrounding the display retina. each one has it’s story, and demi loves each one more than she did life.

she opens another word document and stared at the blank page. she couldn’t feel anything. she puts on her writer’s playlist. the only thing she could hear was her heartbeat choking her by the throat. she slams the laptop shut and lies down. maybe she cries a little, but that’s okay, creative burnouts happen all the time for demi.

she feels horrible. so she turns on her current series. she takes pictures of scenes and matches lyrics to them. she whispers each lyric to herself, sacred as any oath and smile a little when it planted a soft candle-like glow inside of her chest.

she opens her laptop again and types. she spills her guts out onto the page, until grey and white blurs with ink. she feels a hollow beckoning that came with its catharsis, one that strangely brings her enough peace to look up. it was dark outside, her clock reading 4:19 a.m.

she writes some more, and passes out somewhere in between the lines of passing time.

and she woke up.

today, she is eris darklight.

[ganondoodle]

after a few days of art depression, im back !

..back on my bullshit ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ

[loquaciouslass]

they hate each other a lot and this peace agreement is going to fail in like ten minutes when hylia eats an entire lizalfos

[jerseystylephotography]

undefined

August 17, 2018 - The Gaslight Anthem open a three-night stand at The Stone Pony in Asbury Park, New Jersey.

Jared Hart opened, Dave Hause & The Mermaid played the middle set.

Fantastic night that I was thrilled to shoot.

(c)JerseyStyle Photography 2018

[unh0lyblasphemy]

So like, a year ago when I played skyward sword, I fucking lost it when it came to Hylia and Demise. So I wrote this fuckin plotbunny like the second we beat the game. It's probably still my favorite thing ever. Enjoy. Hylia is appointed by the goddesses to guard the triforce. Demise is appointed to guard Hylia. Him being her personal bodyguard and protector. Instead of Hylia being a huge pain in the ass like Demise was thinking she would be, she's kind and playful. She prefers to spend her day away from the temple and out in the woods, of course, dragging Demise with her. Eventually they fall in love, which is a mistake. Demise grows impatient with Hylia one night, telling her that the goddesses should find another to guard the triforce so they could leave and live their own peaceful lives. She refuses and reminds him that it is her duty as a goddess. Demise grows angry and leaves. Soon after Hylia discovers she is pregnant and hurries to find Demise with the good news. She finds him, but he is angry, losing control. The demon sword, Ghirahim is with him and Demise just grows angrier the more time Hylia is there. She is forced to leave by Impa and spends her time alone, caring for herself and the unborn. Months pass before any word of Demise is heard and Hylia begins to lose hope in ever seeing him again. One morning she is awoken by the sound of marching and angry voices. She finds that Demise has an army and is coming for her. She cannot defend herself, being close to 8 months pregnant now and instead stands her ground at the entrance. Demise sees her and falters, seeing what she has done alone without him. He regains his ferocity as Ghirahim toys with his head, reminding him of power. Hylia still stands, knowing her Demise is still in there, still waiting for her to call to him. When they stand face to face, she's shaking, tears are dripping to the ground. Demise feels remorse course through him as he gazes upon her beautiful face. He ignores it, instead just staring. She tells him this can be fixed, they can be happy. She can be his forever and him hers. She shows him what their love can do, what they can do. Demise listens, pushing himself to believe her, to put his trust in her once more. He grips his sword, Ghirahim, and raises it. Hylia is read for the end. She embraces it, her head turning and her eyes closing. Demise drops the sword, surprising her. He kneels in front of her, his head resting on her swollen belly. He vows to protect her and their baby.

[herrlindemann]

The Colliseum in Denver, Colorado, America - 20 May 2012 / © Peter DeMilia

[corseque]

You know when you go back and read something you wrote, and you forgot the details so you're kind of seeing a fresh view of it? It might be the complete lack of anxiety talking, but I just I re-read my demilia comic script/notes, and it's so perfectly attuned to my sensibilities... if I could translate at least half of its magnificence into an actual comic it could affect/complicate how fans might see the basic plot of the series, and the motivations of the characters (and the characters' descendants) I'm not that great at drawing or drawing quickly, so that part might be a wash, but I'll get to practice a lot..

[moneyhealthfinance-blog]

David DeMilia: Cybersecurity protections for banking and finances

David DeMilia: Cybersecurity protections for banking and finances

Fintech programs may have made it more convenient to conduct everyday banking and finance transactions through electronic portals, but with internet-based services being vulnerable to cyberthreats and phishing scams, balancing the ease of online banking with an astute attention to cybersecurity is crucial to safeguard personal and business finances from cybercriminals and harmful malware.

[closetarchive]

Dark academia is a style that focuses on the culture of upper-class Europe. This consisted of classic literature and the glorification of schooling and prepiness. While it was still considered to be alive, the style resurfaced in popularity through Tumblr where fandoms such as The Secret History and Harry Potter added onto the visuals and aesthetic of it. The clothing worn closely resembled school uniforms, where plaid pants or skirts are worn on top of a dress shirt with a sweater vest. Usually the colors commonly used were black brown and beige. Sometimes a bit of dark neutral tones. It can be assumed this was in order to stick with the preppy look.

Images from (In order)

DEMILIA

tendancehunter

etheralacademia