#maybe in the next one

[vashkaiser]

Base pose reference by mellon_soup on tiktok

Trying to get used to CSP and my new drawing tablet. Was just supposed to be a warmup, but that's always a lie I tell myself -wheezes-

[unicyclehippo]

You’ve been nailing it with these last drabbles! If you’re looking for prompts, taste?

'this is the tree?'

orym looks grave. appropriate. or not, seeing as laudna never got one.

the tempest rests her hand against gnarled bark. smiling, she says, 'this is the sun tree. the sign of whitestone and a very old friend. and-'

'- where she was hanged,' imogen interrupts.

orym, at her knee, sends her a look of... it's not reproach. it's gentler than that. disapproval, maybe.

the tempest blinks. beneath her antlers—imogen can't tell if they're growing out of her head or whether it's a headress—her calm expression twists. still calm but weightier, lined with grief, memory.

'it was a different whitestone. the same tree, but,' her fingers stroke gently along the ridged bark. 'you wouldn't recognise it if you had seen it then. it was dying, like everything else here.'

imogen, too close and too frayed to close her mind, is surprised—angry—to catch sorrow in her thoughts. for the tree. laudna had been hanged - had actually died back then but her sorrow is for the tree?

the tempest continues. 'i am sorry for not warning you. my ability requires a certain type of tree - size, mostly, but age and power doesn't hurt - and this is... well. in closest proximity. we are in a hurry, aren't we?'

imogen wants to tell her that this has nothing to do with her. she bites her tongue instead, hard, and recasts a spell to calm her mind.

green eyes catch the subtle motion of her hand and they sharpen, wary, before recognition blooms. she looks like she wants to say something. imogen sets her chin stubbornly; the tempest looks away first.

'from what i understand, you need help bringing a friend back.' she looks sidelong. out of the corner of her eye, imogen sees a bundle of yellow. 'i've sent ahead to my friend - a cleric - who can help with this sort of thing.'

'they've done it before?' FCG asks.

'she has.'

'and she'll help? she's - willing?' orym adds. 'we asked - we asked a lot of people and they all said this kind of thing is a miracle and protected. but you've done it before, for me, tempest -'

'she'll help, if she can,' the tempest says, and then smiles. 'hello, orym.'

orym returns the smile like the moon reflecting the sun. he stands taller, as though a weight has been lifted, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. a little colour returns to his face, wan and drawn as it has been.

'tempest.' he bows low—tries to, at least, but she catches him. curls her fingers around his shoulder and holds him tall.

'you're not my guard anymore, orym—you don't need to bow.'

'you didn't let me bow then, either. if i remember right, you said you'd lose me under everyone.'

the tempest's cheeks flame red.

imogen doesn't like it. it's too - it's too normal a thing for someone who is going to help them perform a miracle.

'that wasn't- you - i did when you were a guard,' she says, nearly splutters. 'that was when you were ten. and it was a legitimate concern back then,' she says with a little laugh, holding her hand down around her knee, and it makes orym smile broaden into a grin, a cheeky expression, light-hearted. rare for him, usually so solemn.

a fire burns in imogen's belly. all week she's been feeding it—fear and anger and guilt and guilt and guilt—and it has kept it all at bay, kept her going when she wanted to curl up in the dark and. stop. but not, they're talking—orym, her friend, laudna's friend and this - this miracle woman, his perfect hero leader - and they're talking and laughing like they haven't a care in the world, like the world isn't fucking broken. the fire flares, crackles in her belly, her chest, her hands.

'this reminiscin' is real swell,' imogen says, tone scorched dry. cracking. 'real fun. but i'd like to do something. now, if that's alright with you. or do we have to wait for everyone to hug and introduce themselves first?'

'imogen—'

'don't. don't try and calm me down because i am already calm, orym. laudna is—' imogen swallows. that word - that awful word - tastes like ash and embers, burns all the way down. 'we have to do something.'

'we are. she brought us here, where laudna's going to have the best chance—' he stops when his tempest touches his shoulder again.

'i should have explained,' the tempest says, and imogen can tell from her intent that it is part apology and part anchor point, weighted steadiness. it might even have been calming, as intended, if not for the fact that it was way too fucking little, way too fucking late. 'my friend isn't in whitestone.' she forestalls six exclamations with a raised hand. 'as soon as she sends back to me that she is ready, i will bring her through.' she pats the tree again.

'how long-'

'once i hear from her, she will arrive as quickly as we did. just a few seconds. after that...' the tempest shakes her head. the gesture dislodges a flower nestled in her antlers; it falls from its perch and drifts to the ground, disappears behind one enormous root of the tree. 'i would only be guessing.'

from where he is perched on a massive knot of roots, chetney says, 'guess, then. you're the awesomely insanely powerful one here, aren't you?'

orym tenses at his tone but the tempest doesn't even blink.

'this afternoon or tomorrow, if all goes well.'

'this afternoon?'

'if all goes well,' the tempest emphasizes.

imogen nods jerkily. 'this afternoon,' she says again under her breath, squeezes her eyes tight. 'this afternoon. this afternoon.' nerves chew at the tight leash she keeps lashed around her control; when it frays—again—imogen twists her hands at her side, lets her power grip her emotions in a tight fist and lock them down. 'this afternoon.'

for a moment, everyone stands still and silent. no one wants to speak; no one wants to break the moment, delicate as spun glass. they hold it, hold their breath, and let themselves think - hope - that by the time sets their little family will be complete once more.

imogen feeds her brimming hope into the fire before it can break her spell.

//

they wait. five minutes. ten minutes. imogen has to step away—her eyes keep returning to the tempest, lingering, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign of disappointment that might come from the other end of her sending—but moving away doesn't help at all because the sun tree looms over them and imogen keeps searching the branches like there will be a - a plaque or something, some sign that this is where it happened. she rubs at her eye, jabs her thumb into the painful spot beneath her brow and presses hard in a vain hope that it'll help ease the mounting pressure.

ashton shoulders up beside imogen; he's light on his feet and she doesn't notice until he says,

'hey.'

'hey, ash.' imogen's eyes dart over to them. 'you alright?'

they snort. 'stole my question.' imogen stares at them, wills herself to say yes, say something. ashton nods. 'yeah. me neither.'

'does your head hurt after last night?' he just looks at her and she qualifies, 'does it hurt any worse than normal?'

'nah.'

'good. good.' imogen rubs at her eye. drops her hand to her side and strokes a finger over pate's beak.

'can i ask you something?'

imogen tilts her head. it's not a nod, because she can't muster one, but close enough.

'what did you mean? about the tree?'

pain flares behind her eyes. imogen squeezes her eyes shut, hisses.

'fuck. shit - are you okay?'

she doesn't answer. 'laudna died. ages ago, decades ago. this is where it happened.'

'fuck.'

'like. this tree.'

'fuck.'

imogen laughs, just a little huff of air out her nose. 'yeah. that about sums it up.' she looks at the tree. looks at the tempest—still waiting. 'she was there.'

'the tempest?'

'mhm.'

ashton pauses to think about it. then says, heartfelt, 'fuck.'

//

they have been waiting close to an hour when the tempest stands to her feet and tilts her head, eyes going glassy in that way imogen often sees when she is speaking into someone's mind. then, she smiles.

'she's ready. stand back, please. watch your feet mister pock-o-pea.'

'better move, chet, or imogen'll shove you,' fearne teases, and the gnome grumbles but scrambles away from the trunk, down and over the roots until he's standing with the rest of them.

the tempest lifts her staff, touches the gnarled top of it to the trunk; again, they all watch as the bark shifts, wood grain buckling and bowing, and it creaks and groans and splits, green light spilling from the oval gateway.

in a matter of seconds, a small figure—blonde, gnomish, armoured—steps through the gate, which buckles at the edges before it slams shut behind them with a hideous groan of wood, like trees contorting in a fierce wind, moments from breaking. imogen doesn't remember that happening when they came through; she cuts a look over at the tempest and finds her leaning hard on her staff, face grey with exhaustion.

'keyleth. you look awful.'

the tempest laughs. immediately stoops to collect the hug offered to her. 'yeah, well, you treestride three times in a day and tell me how you feel after.'

'three times?'

'it was necessary.'

'we've talked about over-exerting yourself-'

'pike,' the tempest interrupts, gently. 'i'm alright. but our guests are not.'

at that, the newcomer—pike—finally looks around herself. she takes them all in and their keen, knowing look in her eyes that is somehow understanding instead of judgemental, assessing.

'oh dear. that's a lot of unhappy faces,' she says, voice sweet. 'hi there, i'm pike. i'm the head cleric of sarenrae, the everlight, here in whitestone. what's going on?'

with a look to imogen, and a gentle smile when the words stick in her throat, unmoving, orym says, tone reverent, 'blessed of the everlight, we have - a problem.'

'a lot of problems,' ashton adds.

chetney grunts, shoots a stern look across the party. 'but one immediate problem, right?'

'right. kind of a - a big problem, and it's - ashton, do you have her?' fearne asks softly.

pike frowns, looking between them all as they talk but don't say anything. then her eyes are on imogen and imogen can't breathe because the cleric is as reassuring as she is powerful—it hangs around her like a heat haze, her power, and it's terrifying because imogen has spent the last week in exhaustion, casting and recasting on herself to stay calm and the very moment this - this cleric, this healer turns up, her calm is gone and she feels—everything. everything. her power wraps around imogen like a warm hug and it's awful because peace ought to be cold, a cold hug, a cold hand on her cheek, a cold kiss against her forehead, and her calm shatters.

imogen cries out, lurches back with hand raised as if to ward off an attack. a shield, weak, fizzles around her even, instinctual.

'imogen?' ashton sounds startled but his hand is already on his hammer, resigned to the fact that this cleric, their best hope, is attacking them.

'it's fine,' she gasps, 'i'm fine, i'm fine.'

pike is still staring but imogen ignores her, fights against the invasive press of eyes on her to recast her calm. it holds but barely, and it makes her stomach lurch when she realises what it feels like. a sheet of glass dividing her mind. her eyes flicker to ashton, unwillingly, but she doesn't stop the spell. she drags in a breath, fortifies herself. then meets pike's eyes.

'our friend is gone. she - we need her back. i - we need her back. i'll do anything. money, a - a favour, anything.'

the cleric nods but doesn't linger long on her vehemence. 'when you say gone,'

'she's dead,' FCG tells her. imogen closes her eyes. 'we couldn't - i revived fearne,'

'and i revived orym,' fearne says, taking his hand. 'but i couldn't - we could only bring one person back.'

the cleric nods again. 'that sounds terrible.' the words are trite but there's so much warmth and understanding again that a part of imogen softens, relents.

it was terrible. it is terrible. and it still hurts, still feels like the world is breaking, broken, but this powerful cleric sees their hurt and somehow it helps, a little. it's a relief. after so many no's, the fact that she hasn't said no is—it's a relief.

'well. i can't do anything here,' pike says, and claps her hands sharply. 'the chapel is prepared for this sort of thing—'

'pike, wait - hold on.' the tempest kneels, whispers in her ear.

'oh.'

'what? what is it?' imogen demands.

pike gestures to ashton and his bundle. 'may i look at her?'

'why?'

the cleric raises her hands in surrender, peace. she steps forward; imogen wavers, not wanting to be caught in the balm of her presence again but unable to abandon lauda. again. she locks her knees in place and stays, breathes out shakily as she is enveloped in that gentle heat.

ashton lays laudna down, cradles her shoulders in one arm and unwraps the cloth with their other hand.

pike stares down at her. 'i see it,' she murmurs, looks across at keyleth with a nod. 'can you send to—'

'i already did. they'll meet us at the chapel.'

imogen's fingers twist in her handkerchief. 'what are you talkin' about? are you - did you bring us all the way here to tell us you won't help?'

'no. i want to help - i will help,' pike assures her. 'but you need to know, your friend - she's undead.'

'she's not—'

'i'm sorry but she is.'

'she's not,' imogen snarls. 'she's wonderful and vibrant and alive, she's more alive than anyone else in the world.' when the cleric just stares at her sadly, the fire in imogen's belly reaches a point where heat turns to power and she reaches out, her hand and her mind, and connects her mind with pike's. not digging in, not delving, but opening her own instead. opening it, pouring it out—glass shattering, calm shattering—so that pike can see - see laudna as she walks, talks, breathes, eats and sleeps. see laudna laugh, mischievous, as they spook a traveller out of their gold. see laudna cry, from hurt, from fear. see laudna at her side, earnest and sweet and good. the images come fast, two years worth of laudna, of a cool balm against her senses, of kindness unconditional, of trust and everything else that imogen cannot, will not, put into words but which pike can see and sense regardless.

pike lifts her hand. with a pulse of magic, the connection is severed. ended, gently.

'please,' imogen says, voice cracking, and drops to her knees next to laudna. takes her cold hand between both of her own. 'please help us. please.'

[89cats]

cats that have been laying in the sun and their fur is so warm and they’re so sleepy and content, ya know?

[yuckydraws]

(Click for better quality)

Oh, to be a lil pretty fairy in a magical secret forest. Taking a lil nap on a lil tree with twisted, wild branches. Just peacefully dreaming of what your next lil foraged meal will be. Perhaps you’ll catch a lil swim in the river, or pull a lil prank on some humans tomorrow. But right now? You’re gonna catch a lil sleep.

[mikichko]

no thoughts, head empty except…

adoptive parents au with you and nanami where you’ve got little yuuji, nobara, and megumi sandwiched between you and nanami during a particular bad thunderstorm.

first couple months out of the orphanage is difficult. even more so with the loud noises so it was decided you were having an impromptu sleepover. yuuji is stretched over nanami’s chest,nobara leaning on his shoulder, legs stretched toward you, and megumi next to her curled into your side.

painting a beautiful portrait of your family of five

[quietplace26]

So this au is basically about how Akito can summon The Fox Devil from Chainsaw Man, or at least, something similar to it.

Kon! au

It all started out as a innocent trip to see some distant family.

Akito was just a small boy and Mari was just a baby. Their parents had wanted to get away from the city for a while, so they planned a trip to the countryside to visit some relatives.

When they arrived, Akito's relatives immediately usured his parents inside so they could chat about adult things.

So being the mature boy he was, Akito promised his parents that he could look after Mari while they and the other adults talked.

This leaves both Akito and Mari alone with their older cousins who start asking Akito to come play with them in the nearby woods.

Akito of course declines at first. Not only was he was watching Mari, but those woods made him nervous...

Unfortunately, his cousins wouldn't take no as an answer, and after some more pushing from his cousins, Akito finally agrees.

With a sleepy Mari cradled in his arms, Akito follows his older cousins into the woods.

The group of children eventually stops in front an old shrine where Akito's oldest cousin tells Akito to head on in as he and the others were getting a few things.

This turns out to be a big mistake as Akito's cousins showed their true colors and proceeded to lock the young boy in the shrine.

"T-this isn't funny! Open the door!" Akito hits the door with his fist, begging for his cousins to open the door, but all they did was laugh and the young boy hears them start walking away, leaving him and Mari locked up.

Akito felt like he was going to cry. He should've stayed at the house like his parents asked him too.

A pudgy little hand pats his wet cheek, making Akito glance down. Mari was staring up at him from his arms and looked very much like she was going to cry as well.

"N-no! Don't cry Mari!" Akito didn't know what to do! His cousins had his bag that had Mari's toys and blanket in it, so he had nothing for Mari to play with!

Wait... There was one thing he could do that'll make Mari smile!

"K-Kon!" Akito knew Mari like when he did a fox hand sign, so he tried it. "Kon, Mari! Kon!"

It does the trick. Mari giggles, and started to babbling happily. It was almost she was saying kon as well.

Akito sighs as he leans back against the locked door behind him. "I really hope mom and dad find us soon..."

As the young boy dozes off, he never notices multiple glowing red eyes watching him and Mari from the darkness...

Akito slowly wakes up to the sound of Mari giggling. "'On! 'On!"

Why was she trying to say Kon? Akito wakes up with a yawn. "Mari? What-" Akito freezes, a cry of terror erupts from his mouth as he saw what was before him and Mari.

He and Mari weren't in the shrine anymore. They were somewhere else, and they weren't alone.

What looked looked like a fox was sitting in front of them. A massive fox with multiple glowing red eyes scattered across it's face, and nine long, luscious tails swaying behind it.

Akito throws himself over Mari, curling around his baby sister protectively. "Please don't eat us!"

The fox just tilts it's head curiously, and all of sudden, a calm female voice fills the room. "I will not eat you little one."

Akito slowly looks up, tears streaming down his face as he did. "Y-you won't?"

The fox shifts her massive body around till she was face to face with the young boy. "You have my word."

Despite knowing full well that he shouldn't trust the creature in front of him, Akito gives the fox a weak smile. "Okay... I-I believe you."

She makes an odd huffing sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "I am pleased that you are no longer upset little one."

Apparently Mari had enough of sitting in her brothers protective embrace, so with a few wiggles, the baby escapes Akito's arms and crawls over to the fox's massive snout, hugging it with a happy giggle.

The fox immediately stills, making Akito start fearing for his and Mari's life again, but the fox just melts to the floor with a pleased rumble as she let Mari continued hugging her snout.

Soon Akito comes over to join his baby sister, lightly petting the massive fox's fur in awe, murmuring a quiet, "So pretty..."

The massive fox Akito and Mari were petting was actually a Kitsune. One that had been originally living in the shrine Akito and Mari were locked into. She had no name, as it was lost to time itself, and she never really cared to reclaim it.

She never really cared much about humans, as they weren't worth wasting her time on, but when she saw these two tiny humans, these tiny kits, she knew they were special. They were hers. Her kits.

But regardless of wanting nothing more to keep these human kits all to herself, she reluctantly helps the siblings get back to their parents as she knew she couldn't raise these human kits like they were actual Kitsune kits.

But that didn't mean she couldn't look after them. Protect them if need be. All Akito or Mari needed to do was to make a silly little fox hand sign, call out the word "Kon", and she'll be there to assist them! No matter the cost...

[poempaw]

specify which and bonus points if you say why!

[d-alpha]

man I was really hoping to see Miles pull out the hammer that Spider-Ham gave him

[collieii]

someone probably said this already but in spiderverse i think it's interesting how when pavitr was first introduced everyone thought something bad was gonna happen to him bc of how confident and optimistic he was. and then in the actual movie we see that something bad was supposed to happen to him (police chief dying!) but it doesn't! miles stops it! and miguel berates miles for this, says it's going to cause the universe to collapse or whatever.

there's this idea that tragedy is inherent to spidermans growth, and while it's true that some spiderpeople learn important lessons through loss, no one stops to ask, is it really necessary? yeah, maybe the chief was supposed to die. but why does spiderman have to be formed through tragedy? why do we (as heroes) have to let people die? pavitr didn't lose anyone, and he's still a good spiderman! maybe, if he doesn't suffer, he'll end up better off for it!

so while miguel is arguing for all this big picture stuff about saving the multiverse he's lost sight of what it really means to be a spiderman, he's not looking out for the real individual people. yeah it's just one person who would die, but that one person means something to someone. shrugging and saying "stuff just sucks sometimes, we can't do anything about it" is the opposite of what superheroes do. pretty obviously, miles arc is also a reflection of the struggles people face in real life, working within unequal systems, where it's easy to shrug and say "that's just the way it is" and not ask "but why does it need be this way? can't we do something about it?"

miguel is arguing that you can't have your cake and eat it too. presumably, miles and co. are going to find a way to get around that and change things for the better (and maybe that's why miles has that line about two cakes in the advisors office!)

[anniilaugh]

”So.. somebody forgot to mention it’s their birthday, huh.” 💚💛

[inkskinned]

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

[puppyeared]

me when the laikas comet. is this anything

@laikascomet

[thequeensbastardenglish]

but why did I decide to give kara so many sex hang ups??? this has just made writing sex scenes so much more difficult

[flambo19]

Congrats to Arlecchino on the gender as well as the army of child soldiers

[humans-are-tasty]

[hychlorions]

(looks at the time) ooh... the bitching hour