#perfect lorian

[armanasims]

All grown up (Teens & a couple of little ones)

Perfect Genetics Challenge: Farr Legacy

(Top to Bottom, Left to Right)

Gen. 10 Heir: Oasis & Daydream

Sebastian & Frederich (Gen. 11 Heir)

Leigh & Justin

Dahlia & Julia

Zenith & Lorian

Micah (Oasis' Brother) & Lea

Gavine & Gael

Lisette & Amil

Holland & Uma

Many thanks to all cc & pose creators!

[imogenkol]

— I COULD LOVE YOU…

I commissioned my wonderful and talented friend @rcrisdraws for a much needed kiss between my brainrot couple. As you can see, it is absolutely stunning. The lighting and mood is so peaceful, which is what they desperately need, and I’m obsessed with the way Bix is pulling Imogen in with both softness and conviction 🥹 it is perfect. Cannot thank you enough for yet another gorgeous piece, Cris 💕 If you get a chance, commission them!

tag list (ask to be added or removed!):

@adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned

@voidika @kyber-infinitygems @voidbuggg @zeenmrala @inafieldofdaisies

@statichvm @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t

@unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @a-treides

@shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042

@theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed @leviiackrman @mandalhoerian @strangefable

@jacobseed

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request dark soul with platonic yandere lothric and Lorian for the ashen one?

I'll try my best, sure!

BIG Thanks to Dark Souls/Gears Anon for providing me a direction to go in for this! It helps a lot :) 💜

Yandere! Platonic! Elder Prince Lorian + Younger Prince Lothric Concept

(Ashen One! Darling)

Pairing: Platonic - Sharing

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Unhealthy attachment, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Kidnapping, Isolation, Overprotective behavior, Angst, Soft yanderes, Forced companionship.

Anon brings up a good point, you'd have to know these two beforehand in order for them to have a platonic obsession.

Fate likes to play sick games when it comes to these two.

In your past you served the Twin Princes.

The two have always been neglected and you were the only one to show any kind of care to them.

You could be a childhood friend, maybe they saw you as the parent they never had, somehow they have been attached to you.

Which may have been the reason you were killed.

Their father, Oceiros, was obsessed with making the perfect heirs to continue the Age of Fire.

Seeing you as a poor influence, you were sacrificed to the First Flame.

As you were weak you didn't change much.

Which is what made you an Unkindled, in fact you became The Ashen One.

The princes most likely did not forget about you.

You were close to them and they most likely resent their father for multiple reasons now.

Fate must've been what brought you back to them.

You were brought back because The Flame was not linked by the Twin Princes.

Your journey is what makes you stronger than you were.

Perhaps you were simply some servant before.

But death after death has encouraged you to become stronger.

You fight many foes by the time you see the Twin Princes.

You barely recall them by the time you get past their three guards.

Lothric and Lorian remember you, however.

At first he expects another Unkindled to try and force him into his role, to kill him and his brother.

Which is why he prepares his brother, Lorian, to kill you.

That is until Lorian recalls who you are, even in his changed state.

Lothric does too.

It's strange... you've changed so much.

You've become stronger since their father cast you into the fire.

Lorian says nothing, staring down at you as you remember who these people once were.

However... Lothric sobs.

Lorian quickly responds to his brother's sadness as the younger prince makes gestures to you.

"Drop your weapon and come here! Please, this is not your fate. We will not fight you, my Unkindled."

I imagine Lothric would be the one to quickly scoop you into his arms and embrace you.

Lorian embraces you both and they most likely don't let go for awhile.

For once, according to them, fate had decided to play nice.

After you were torn from them you were given to them again.

You may struggle at first but they refuse to kill or harm you.

Lorian is a defender of both of you in return for your affection, you are their beloved companions.

As the eldest brother he kills any foes who come to harm his brother or you.

Lothric, the sickly man, clings to you as if he's scared to lose you.

He's scared you'll be torn from him again, as a result he clings to you like a child to a toy.

You all may be changed... but they still remember and recognize you.

Many will die before they even think of letting you go.

If you tried to leave them then Lothric may order you caged.

Both princes cling to you as they've had no one else to cling to.

They yearn for some sort of compassion from you, be it a friend or parent.

You'll be treated well here... you'll even be well protected.

All they ask is for you to never leave them again...

For that they'll give you everything you wish as you watch the Era of Fire fizzle out.

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK BONUS CHAPTER 5: DEPICTION OF THE DEMON LORD

sorry for the hold-up! i totally forgot to make a teaser illustration. anyway, a little bonus chapter to keep you all company while i work on the behemoth that is chapter 20. this one takes place between the events of chapters 11 and 13. say, didn't yuga promise a little someone else he'd get a portrait too..? the descriptions in this chapter are based on this BEAUTIFUL portrait by @renthehuman . keep it in mind as you read!!

thanks again to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading!!!

ao3 mirror

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Potent jealousy was festering in the Demon Lord since the portrait of his co-lieutenant was finished. It was beautiful, indeed, but he hadn’t missed one crucial detail. When first meeting Yuga, it was him she flocked to instantly, singing praises of his beauty, and urging for him to be painted. And though indeed, he was the first to be sketched, the first full-fledged painting was not in his honor. 

Nevertheless, this affront was soothed most thoroughly by the spoiling he received after. Zant’s portrait had hardly been framed or manicured fingers were already rapping on his door, urging him to join him in his workspace for his next masterpiece. Yuga felt the urge to paint like she did hunger or fatigue and to be deprived of it turned her jittery and ravenous.

Of course, Ghirahim did not keep him waiting. He spent hours under the watchful, yet manic eye of the Lorian sorcerer, his form dancing across pages upon pages of sketching paper. After feeling like they had become properly acquainted (though, really, it felt far more like an excuse to spend more time ogling), Yuga set up her backdrop, and the two sussed out their composition.

Said brainstorming did not take long. Yuga wanted, most wholeheartedly, to capture beauty. In her eyes, beauty had uncountable forms. Pertaining to himself, Ghirahim thoroughly agreed with his definitions, but often, Yuga’s judgment over beauty and hideosity seemed… Haphazard. Loosey-goosey, if one would. Her fussiness over their backdrop was most apparent in this. They would only be stationed here in clear skies when the heavens were a vast, clear blue. 

Deciding on a subject was not particularly difficult. His reputation as a warrior was thoroughly known, in the flesh and through legend. In fact, it was all his previous portraiture, crude as it was, would focus on. Truly, the carnage he caused was beautiful, but his being – be it his sword or his scabbard, could not be excluded from this pride. Never had it been done justice before. In this portrait, the sensual, perfect form of Demon Lord Ghirahim, would be clear as day.

Perhaps a little too clear. Motivated partially by the desert heat, but mostly a drive to accentuate every fold of fat or muscle he had, they decided he would be depicted without even a shred of clothing.

There he lay, splayed alluringly on a fainting couch crowded by cushions, the dry desert heat wafting past his skin through the window behind him. Across him in the atelier was Yuga, half-seated on a wooden stool behind her canvas, her pencil scraping delicately, yet decisively, on parchment and canvas.

Just as the gentle sounds of graphite lulled him into a bit of comforting system maintenance, Yuga pulled him out of his haze with a clear of the throat. “So…”

Ghirahim turned his head to look at her, but quickly adjusted, remembering he was posing. “So?”

“I do hope you did not expect to spend the next few hours simply sitting in silence. Do you happen to be in the vein for a bit of a chat?”

Ghirahim met the playful smirk that peeked past the canvas with a cock of his brow. “You intend to wring information from a demon? Bold. I’ll have you know, I could have your soul for that.” 

Yuga rolled her eyes in response, slinking back behind the easel. “Then, say, you do snatch my soul from me. Who will paint you?”

Such an air of light bantering was impossible to pass on. He knew it well from his time at this court, and precisely how fine the line was between playful snipping and a threat upon one’s life. A line he fondly trampled. But with a woman like Yuga, whose well-groomed talons were as blood-drenched as his own, true peerdom nestled comfortably. 

He could say whatever the Hell he wanted. “I suppose I can afford to spare you until it’s finished.”

Shrieking laughter emitted from the Lorian. “Oh, wonderful! I’m being held hostage. Hanging around you lot becomes more and more quaint by the day!”

Ghirahim joined her in her amusement. Taking a moment to fiddle with the pearls ‘round his neck, he considered Yuga’s offer. He had a fickle generosity with his candor, preferring to either keep still or prattle on and on about the endless intrigue he’s accumulated in his many years of wandering the Surface. With those he had no ulterior motives for, he preferred to be silent. Still, he mused on. Wouldn’t it be boring to simply lay here for hours? He did plenty of that with their other lieutenant.

Yuga wasn’t the most trustworthy person, but… “Alright, then. I’ll bite. How can I sate your curiosities?”

“Ah, yes. I did not expect your secrecy to win over your ever-so-vain self, and I adore you this way!” Her face emerged from the side of the canvas once more, wagging the blunt end of her pencil at him in emphasis. “If you’ll allow me to ask, Demon Lord. It is precisely the matters related to your title that interest me. The Demon King you served before our Master, what was your life under him like? Anywhere near as luxurious as your current dwellings?”

Ghirahim squinted. Indeed, Gerudo Palace was a comfortable, sophisticated place. Yet, he felt a stab concealed in Yuga’s question. Did she assume that, millennia in the past, Demise’s dwelling was less grandiose? Forbid it all, did she insinuate she thought them primitive? “I don’t like the implications your question carries.”

Yuga gasped, waving a panicked hand under the canvas. “Forgive me! None were intended.”

His eyes wandered as his temper fizzled out. The atelier was as cluttered and stamp full of colors as he imagined the inside of Yuga’s mind to be. He took the new awkward silence as meditative and traced the colorful patterns on the ceiling frescoes, marking complete and total perfection. Not a single tile was off-size. How very typical.

Though painting was the Lorian’s forte – a practice by all means best done in silence – Ghirahim could tell the quiet was making her anxious. He decided to shake his grievances off. “Let me reminisce, nonetheless. Hmm…” A smirk returned to his face as he saw a curl-framed face peep excitedly at him. “Though loyal to my King I may be, I can’t really speak on His rule beyond the rift. I am strictly a Surface demon, you see. The Palace built above the rift through which we entered was grand, for certain. Oh, how it eclipsed the sun from every angle! Though lacking in the pointless, indulgent little comforts I have now, life there was truly paradise.”

It was then that Yuga rose, quietly hovering toward him to assess him from up close. Ghirahim’s eyes fluttered shut as soft, well-groomed hands found his chin, turning his face to marvel at his angles. He allowed her.

“My Master left me to my whims, to go wherever I pleased, do as I pleased, so long as I returned to His hand when the time for battle came. Perhaps I didn’t have the world in silks and jewels, nor an artisan to paint my portrait,” he smiled, peeking past his lashes to the woman hovering over him in close inspection. Nails scraped past his skin when Yuga’s hand retracted. “But I could truly be myself under His rule. After He fell… Oh, it was below me, truly. How many thousands of years I spent wandering, trying to keep patchwork tribes from tearing each other apart! Though I grew used to such a bare lifestyle, never did I enjoy it. Yes, this indulgence is a welcome change.”

In his wallowing, Yuga returned to her place, gliding graphite past her canvas. Sharp eyes met, and his painter pressed the end of her brush on a sore spot. “There remains something you miss, doesn’t there?”

“Of course. I am a Blade, Yuga. I am meant to be wielded. And now I am not.”

The lines of her brows raised, Yuga spoke in praise, gesturing to his form across her. “Yet you’ve made quite the image for yourself, standing here as a man!”

“I know, my friend,” he spoke with a sigh, rubbing his legs together in a bit of a tic. “I can only afford to show myself as pure perfection. But this scabbard is a mere hobby compared to my true self. I do wish Master could show you soon, the true glory of me, my edges carving through sunbeams and veins alike.”

Hands clasped together, Yuga smiled with delight. Her eyes then shot back open, besieged by another burst of energy that she immediately directed to her canvas. “Oh! I can hardly wait.”

Another day was reserved for the careful study of his facial features, as he’d done with Zant. Eyes bored into him stiffly enough to make the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. Somewhere, he suspected this session was less about actual study, and moreso to tingle the Sorcerer’s endless appetite for otherworldly beauty. Hylian physiques must have started to bore him.

Yuga sat in front of him atop a footstool, hunched over a sketchbook with a curvature to his spine inadvisable for anyone his age (and decades younger, for that matter). Ghirahim would have found his sheer concentration offputting, were he not well and truly drunk on the delicacy of admiration.

For both their sakes, though, he ought to snap the Lorian out of it before he lost his marbles. Taking advantage of a break where Yuga was more fixated on his sketches than his model, Ghirahim spoke. “You say I am to sit still for this part, but surely, I can lend an ear.”

Roused immediately by the lilt of his silvery voice, Yuga looked up to him with a playful grimace. “Devilish thing. Is it safe for me to impart more than simple small-talk on you?”

Ghirahim scoffed. Was more persuasion truly in order? “I told you of life at my own Court. Won’t you share some of yours?”

Having lost some of his feverish drive, Yuga lowered his gaze to his sketchbook, scribbling away. “Oh, I suppose it’s harmless enough.”

His eyes calmly lidded, Yuga settled into a more lighthearted pace. Juggling the weaving of a tale and sketching a model seemingly lulled him into a more pleasant mood. Or, perhaps, a smothered one, only staving off an inevitable explosion of creative impulse. Whether his delight to talk about himself would keep that mess at bay remained to be seen – but, Ghirahim knew, their egos were of nigh equal size. He had an idea that it would hold.

So, Yuga recollected his life’s tale, for as far as he wished to share it.“My usurpation was a slow one… If it was one at all. I thought to stretch out my time as an advisor until little Hilda rose to the throne, and I am thoroughly satisfied with my decision.”

Ghirahim made a further inquiry with a glance and a subtle rise of the brow, but even movement so small got him a scolding. One flick on his sitter’s bare skin later, Yuga resumed his tale. “It’s not like my home in Sakusa was lacking in any way, but it was less… Indulgent. And by far more egalitarian! A world where your every need is accounted for by servants was fully alien to me, and I took to it readily. I do so enjoy to preen, and be preened, as you know.”

Ghirahim responded with a loaded hum, bringing a smile to Yuga’s face. “Times were drastic, with monsters running rampant and more and more pieces of our land falling to the void. But the Court was a realm all of its own, where I could mingle with courtiers, advisors, and scholars all I pleased. It was hard work, certainly – I juggled jobs from royal portraiture to the young Lady’s education, but tasks outside my contract took far more of my time, I reckon. Gossip is never mere gossip in a Palace, as you know. It is veritable politics!”

Chewing oh-so-undignified, absentmindedly on the blunt end of his pencil, Yuga hummed, mulling on his earlier confidence. “No, I took to simply enjoying my time until the ruling King and Queen, so fortunately, passed on early. My poor, beautiful Hilda, only fourteen winters she’d lived before her orphaning. Of course, a ruler so young needed a regent… How lucky I was! I hadn’t even plotted their demise, yet I benefited from it, all the more,” Yuga cackled to himself, before a more manic spark lit in his eye. Graphite crumbled under the pressure of his pushing against the canvas. Each wild stroke of his pencil rushed forebodingly against the paper, interrupted only by the grating squeaks of scrawling. “And how satisfying it was to gaze down at those who glared at me with judging eyes. One so lowly, marshes-born, now puppeteering their Princess at the throne.”

Paper wore underneath the unrelenting push of his straining, bony hands, and Yuga snapped back to focus with a gasp. “... Oh, look at me! I’ve gotten your jawline all wrong. I’ll need another page…”

For once, the lamentless Lorian seemed embarrassed about his burst of anger, in how hastily he cowered by his supply cabinet. After the rustling of paper died out, Ghirahim addressed him carefully. “I take it your fortune, too, did not last, then.”

“No, it did not,” Yuga sighed, again taking his seat beside him. His expression softened, then, an overcast sky clearing out into white puffy clouds, the sun concealed behind them. “But under this King… I don’t know, Ghirahim. I have a good feeling. Apart we may be, though it pains me, I feel just as confident by his side.”

Apart. Yuga had not divulged the full details, but his bond with the Master was a peculiar one, in his time. A soul-bond, not unlike his own with Demise… And though he could see it pained Yuga to cast its possibility aside, he made peace with it, somehow. A bond he once lived for, now reduced to a nostalgic daydream, and compromised through mere company. Ghirahim was perplexed. How could anyone manage such a thing?

Surely, he would not have to.

That following day was once again one of scolding. A crackled bruise, perilously just barely concealed by the strap of his top, besmirched his collarbone. Of course, he could rid himself of such petty ailments in an instant, but he had a bit of a weak spot for such souvenirs of affection. 

Yuga did not share the sentiment. The second he laid his bare body on the swooning couch, the Lorian let out a scandalized cry and demanded he get rid of it. Ghirahim obeyed his request, mostly because he feared the bulging vein at his painter’s neck would burst if he didn’t.

With everything once again perfectly going according to Yuga’s wishes, their usual lighthearted chatter resumed. Ghirahim shimmied comfortably into the pillows. Frankly, Yuga wasn’t the only one intently studying an object of interest. With so much eye contact, Ghirahim took the opportunity to get a good look at his painter. He was aged, certainly, but not thoroughly so. Careful maintenance of his skin resulted in a rich sheen, but even that could not stave off the tellings of papery wrinkles at his eyes and nose. Above all, Yuga was excessively flashy, adorning himself with different colors each day. Today, a fresh gradient of lime-green and blue seemed to be his idea of ‘tasteful’. 

Something else caught his eye, though. A little something that has irked him nearly every time they met. “You know, Yuga, something has been bothering me.”

Yuga laughed, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Have mercy, no!”

“It concerns your choice of accessories,” Ghirahim replied, snagging his curious gaze with a squint of his eyes. “I daresay, either I’m as much of a trendsetter as I expected to be, or you think to steal my thunder.”

For a moment, Yuga seemed confused. His eyes similarly squinted, bringing more and more of those flashy cosmetics on his lids to light. Realization struck, and he exclaimed a laugh. “The earrings, you mean? I thought it was a funny coincidence myself,” he snickered, prodding at the cyan gem dangling from his earlobe. “I assure you, I’ve owned these years before meeting your lovely acquaintance.”

Ghirahim puckered his lips, pondering. “And yet, I don’t consider the two of us close enough companions to start matching our looks.”

Yuga quickly retreated behind his canvas. “Don’t be so drastic, dear boy,” he chimed, waving a clawed hand past the canvas to pacify him. “Besides, they’re not entirely similar. Yours are perfect diamonds, whereas mine are more teardrop-shaped.”

“Not everyone has your painter’s eye, Yuga, the layfolk won’t notice such details,” Ghirahim sighed, now more playful than making any serious demands. Really, he just wanted to confirm the coincidence… But Yuga always had a habit of running away with his every word, out of sheer fondness of his company. At least, he could only assume. Still. in that fondness, blunders arose. Ghirahim wanted this one corrected post-haste. “Speaking of. You seem to be making quite a few assumptions about my age.”

Yuga’s hiding was quickly cut short. Red curls bounced into view as he quickly peeked past the canvas, his mouth tight with embarrassment. “Am I? You must beg my pardon, but if you are my senior, then I must ask you to refer me to whoever blends your cosmetics.”

Ghirahim hummed, idly observing his pearlescent nails. He truly did prefer being in control of the conversation! “I assume you are no older than… Give or take, fifteen-thousand. Are you?” He drawled, cocking his brow with a smirk.

Yuga’s eyes widened, a gasp escaping him as he hurried back to his painting. If the revealing of his age seemed to motivate him into a burst of inspiration… Well, it was a worrying idea. Ever-astounded, Yuga continued to babble. “My! Demon lifespans, of course. No, I regret to say I’ve not even walked this life for a century. I must seem positively juvenile to you!”

Dropping back into his practiced pose, Ghirahim let out a laugh. “No comment,” he said at last, bullying his companion into an effective silence.

With the campaign for Death Mountain on the horizon, their free hours grew fewer and fewer, as did the opportunities to meet up during Yuga’s preferred hours of lighting. That day was one of rare fortune where they had three hours to spend under the bright afternoon sun – and not a minute more. Major qualms arose that day when Ghirahim made a last-minute adjustment to his accessory; a gift, he claimed. Yuga cared absolutely none for it. He was too proud of the rendering on his trademark blue diamond earring and refused to paint over it for simple pearls and larimars. 

And so, the sword spirit lay there huffing and grumbling, leaving his portraitist to work on everything except the insufferable pout he was giving him.

To make matters worse, Ghirahim interjected with another inconvenience. “Ah, yes. My apologies, I forgot to tell you. I’ve gotten a little tangled up and double-booked. Zant might drop by for a visit.”

Not looking up from his canvas, Yuga smeared more purples together on his palette. “So long as you stay still, you can invite the whole palace over, for all I care.”

As foretold, an hour into their appointment, a knock at the door caught them both by surprise. After the chime of Yuga’s response, the door opened, and Zant slipped through.

… Who immediately gasped in scandal over the scene before him. “Ghirahim,” he exclaimed, approaching the canvas timidly to hide from him, finding his depiction easier to shelter with. “I understood that you were to model for your portrait, but… A nude!? ”

“Indeed,” Ghirahim laughed, tilting his head coquettishly. “Yuga and I decided extravagant clothing would only distract from my features. This form is far more representative of me, no?”

Zant seemingly mustered up the courage to face him, as he stepped out into the open. What a calf! They’ve bedded before, what was the issue now? “Well! Such a portrait is made to be viewed, is it not? Would you have yourself displayed in such a way, for others to see?”

Ghirahim was now more amused by his bugging than annoyed. This was no standard prudishness, there was a weakness somewhere. A soft underbelly just begging to be jabbed into. “If I did not, I wouldn’t be lying here as we speak. I have the feeling you have an issue with it, though.”

And there was the reaction he hoped for! Zant’s cheeks flushed instantly, a stammer rising from his throat. His hands retreated quickly in his sleeves, a tassel or two yanked inside each for nervous fingers to fiddle with. “Issues? No, no strict objections! I simply… If you were to, say, bare yourself, before those outside of me, I would at least wish to hear about it beforehand!”

Unimpressed, but committed to his bullying, Ghirahim cocked a brow. “Mm. And, were I to tell you, would you forbid me from doing as I wish? Do you demand such strict monogamy from me?”

“You are too hasty! Now, of course, as your companion, I would have certain… Inhibitions, about,” Zant rambled anxiously, until he suddenly remembered his whereabouts. His helmet quickly clattered to cover his face. “Must we do this in front of Yuga?”

Yuga responded with great nonchalance, perfectly masking his intrigue with the carefree dapping of his brush. “Oh, pretend I’m not here.”

Immediately Zant whipped around, highly agitated. “As if! Gossiping fiend you are, Lord of Lorule!” Crossing his arms with a huff, Zant seemed to take a moment to cool down. Perhaps the sun bothered him – it was noon, after all, and the room far too bright for his Twilit complexion. “Fine. Paint away, it is no concern of mine. Ghira and I will resume this conversation at a later time.”

Ghirahim smirked, endeared by the nickname that slipped his tongue. “I have all the time in the world now.”

His tranquility from seconds ago faded very quickly. “Your distaste for privacy never fails to baffle me!”

Feeling victorious, Ghirahim finally released him from his teasing and sunk back comfortably into the sofa. “Of course. Well, what did you need me for, anyway?”

With a bit of a whine, Zant composed himself. His arms dropped back down to his sides in an effort to seem calm, and he approached. “I was hoping to pen myself into your schedule – We’ll need an entire day, after all. And, well, I will be more than happy to enjoy your company after we settle this…”

Yuga hummed with great intrigue. “Planning something big, now, are you?”

Ghirahim leaned his head to try and peep past the canvas blocking the Lorian from his view. “Whatever happened to ‘not being here’, Lord Yuga?”

Pretending that exchange never happened, Zant continued. “As I said. I shall have my preparations done by to-morrow. Would the day after suit your schedule?”

His inner calendar visualized behind his eyelids, Ghirahim pondered. “Not a chance, I’m afraid,” Ghirahim shook his head. “Captain Imanu requested my presence on the training fields that noon.”

Their squabble to find a single day they could spend was challenging. The available dates were, after all, incredibly limited, and their time was short. In the end, he would have to shuffle around a few appointments to clear this single day… But none of his underlings would dare lift a finger to disagree with him, either way. Less enthused he was about divulging his agenda to both of them at once.

Zant seemed pleased by the end of it, though. Invigorated by the chance to show his forte, his confidence returned to him. Spinning on his heels, he turned to the mass of painting behind him. “With that out of the way… Yuga, you would not mind I have a proper glance at your work, would you? I am most curious.”

Engrossed in his work, Yuga scoffed, his brush halting for not even a second. Grasping its chewed end between his ring and pinky finger, he momentarily removed the spare brush held in his mouth to speak. “My permission matters little, I believe. You’d sneak a peek either way. It’s hardly a subtle canvas.”

Taking his defeated tone as a ‘yes’, Zant eagerly cantered over to join Yuga’s side behind the canvas, leaving nothing visible but his black trousers and gaudy slippers. He gasped, cooed, and hummed, watching his machinations intently. “Words escape me, Yuga. You truly depict him well.” The Lorian’s reply was one of smug satisfaction, but soon, cahoots bloomed. A bit more hushed, Zant leaned closer and pulled him along in his schemes. “But you must not forget to sculpt the bridge of his nose more delicately. It is one of his finer features, in his words and mine, after all.”

Yuga took to this bout of accolades with great enthusiasm. Words of praise poured from him with the same ease as he breathed. Zant was more discreet, then, taking to admiring him through the proxy of his portrait. But Ghirahim knew his intentions, and he struggled to conceal the flush it brought to his cheeks. To be admired so thoroughly by two at once, both with drastically different intentions… How intoxicating! How addictive! He was beauty incarnate, he was a lover. Moonbeam, stars, and sun; pearls and silver shimmers in the heat of the desert. He was art . The next hour-and-a-half would be torture on his composure, he could see it already.

Days flew by, hours to paint snuck between sessions of diplomacy and military training. Just when Ghirahim thought the painting to be finished, it seemed last-minute adjustments were in order. Yuga announced his displeasure with a shrill grunt, steam nearly spouting from his nostrils. “I have made up my mind!”

Never did Ghirahim think he could tire of lounging in such a comfortable pose. Thus he refused to do so, sitting straight in his usual spot. Arms folded, he watched Yuga lug around vase after vase to place them wherever he desired. “Whatever could be buzzing about in that skull of yours this time?”

Petals caught in his curls, Yuga looked disheveled as if he’d gotten caught in a rose bush. “Flowers! I need more of them. Far more!”

Oh, if only that clown could decide on where he wanted those vases already. The grinding of stone on stone was starting to grate Ghirahim’s ears. “Am I to develop a pollen allergy?”

Yuga snapped at him, dropping another armful of bouquets into a brass ewer. “I’ll make you develop rust if you don’t keep your snide little comments to yourself. Just let me work! ”

Wreathed in the cloud penstemons and marigolds, Ghirahim luxuriated for his final sitting. No matter if those flowers were like chains keeping him tied to this sofa. Yuga simply wasn’t the type of man you said no to. For now, he’d amuse himself with the gaunt shape hunched by the supply closet, mumbling and grumbling about running low on red pigments…

At long last, the painting was finished. His physique was intricately captured in warm tones, a picture so vivid the desert sun could be felt from its canvas alone, even in the chill of evening. Candles flickered against the just-dried varnish, the golden glow disturbed only by the shadows of the two men before it. Ghirahim had thrown his arms around Yuga’s shoulder in a side-hug, giddy as he was about the massive stroking of his ego. Even now, Yuga stood cooing and complimenting him, fiddling with his hair and rubbing over his gloves. 

Yet he unlatched himself very quickly when the door creaked open, an unlikely, massive form ducking through. King Ganondorf Dragmire stood at the doorway, his expression gruff, but with a light spark of intrigue.

“I heard tell of another portrait,” he said, causing Ghirahim’s core to drop heavily in his chest.

Yuga, on the other hand, was nothing but excessively fair-tempered. “Ah, Milord! Perfect timing. I just had it framed!”

“Master Ganondorf,” he stammered. Ghirahim found a sudden heat rise in his chest. Embarrassed, he could never be, but suddenly, he found himself worried about such a depiction. Already he was uncertain how the Demon King would approve of such a vain subject as portraiture… But one so revealing? Among the audience of his form, displayed so lavishly, he hadn’t expected his Master. At least, not until he could estimate his reaction! 

The redness in his cheeks made his life that much more miserable when, concealed behind Ganondorf’s massive form, Zant slipped into the atelier, his hands folded at his back. Ghirahim gritted his teeth, pointedly avoiding the Twili’s gaze. He could still turn this around! “How honored I am to meet you at this unveiling! It’s a gorgeous painting, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed,” Ganondorf rumbled, marching over to stand by his side. The first hints of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as his eyes explored the painting, drinking in its sandy yellows and warm purples. With one blink of heavy lids, his eyes turned to the blade beside him. “It suits you, Ghirahim.”

It suited him. That it did! But how intimately did his Master understand? How his sensuality was within his reach, if only he would call upon it? His head turned to a misty whirlpool all on its own, swimming with thoughts of past affections and potential ones in the future. Now Ganondorf not only acknowledged but praised this side of him. They viewed this masterpiece in joint silence, and Ghirahim thought to keep it that way, lest he fumbled any future chances at intimacy.

A clear of the throat immediately snapped Ghirahim back to reality. His co-lieutenants seemed similarly affected. Though Ganondorf’s expression darkened, it looked almost like compensation… Did he imagine the darkened red over his ears and nose? A trick of the candlelight? No, Master. You cannot hide any temperature rises from this sword. 

Yet any smugness was quickly stifled by the Demon King’s words. “I am aware Lord Yuga performs his best when I leave him to vent his creative pursuits. However, Blade, do not let me notice this… Side project, burdening the upcoming campaign.”

Ghirahim quickly shook his head, appeasing him with a bow. “I would not dream of it, Master.”

Ganondorf seemed satisfied with the answer. He took one last look at the painting, then at the men responsible for it, and with a curt nod, turned to make his leave.

They stood in a polite line before the painting, all half-bowing to salute their King farewell. With Ganondorf now halfway down the hall, the concept of decorum became entirely alien to Ghirahim. He yanked Zant down by the sleeve, prompting him to shriek, as he hissed with equal ire and mirth into his ear. “You brought him here, didn’t you, you villain?”

Zant’s fear quickly turned to amusement. “What a mischief-maker you take me for! I only mentioned off-handedly that your portrait was finished, and his curiosity took him for a walk on his own accord!”

“Mmmh… How convenient that would be for me!” Ghirahim snarled, baring his teeth. Zant yelped once more when his ear was tugged. “Such praise and interest from my Master, unprovoked? You try to sell dreams to me.”

Shaking himself free, Zant responded to his ramblings with a grin, his teeth like spikes jutting out from his gums with a meaty shk. He loomed toward him, pressing his lips to where Ghirahim’s hair draped between his ear and his temple and crooned. “I could pinch you, and see if you wake…”

A subtle gesture of his head toward Yuga served to remind Zant they were not alone, his irrepressible affections once again making him forget all about his sense of honor. The shrill laughter that followed almost drowned out the mechanical whirring of a helmet, hastily assembled over a flushing face.

Almost.

[blaiddfailcam]

Suddenly reminded of how the Soul of the Twin Princes resembles the wings of the angels, and the fact that Lothric uses angelic magic, and latches to Lorian's back not unlike the angelic larvae to the Pilgrims of Londor... I still like to think it all implies that Lothric, instead of becoming a dragon through his father's attempts to "perfect" their bloodline, was born Lorian's guardian angel incarnate.

And it's neat how Elden Ring further explored this concept of twin souls with each Darian/Devin and Radagon/Marika...

[jackiesarch]

— WIP DEFINITELY STILL WEDNESDAY YEP

tagged by @cloudofbutterflies92 @corvosattano @adelaidedrubman @lordundying @inafieldofdaisies and @marivenah to share a bit of a wip and…well. i’ve not got much on account of the crippling creative stagnation. but i do have some very heavily wip olly.

tagging (opt in or out here!) @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @cptcassian @delicateweapon @thedeadthree @belorage @gwynbleidd @firstaidspray @faarkas @risingsh0t @queennymeria @florbelles @shallow-gravy @socially-awkward-skeleton @nightbloodbix @henbased @roofgeese @strangefable

enjoy my emotionally stagnant little shit who’s finally realizing he can’t live up to the expectations people have of him 💜

“Come,” May says quietly. She gestures him closer, shifting to accommodate him. “Come here.”

And so he does. Not unlike a little boy, Oliver leans over and allows himself the indulgence of resting his head in his grandmother’s lap.

The tears mortify him, but he can’t stop them from coming. Oliver turns his face inwards, pressing his cheek to the soft, pink fabric of the blanket May has draped over her legs.

“What’s the matter?” May asks. Her voice is measured but melodic, a carefully controlled lullaby meant to both soothe and pry all at once. “Hm? What’s wrong?”

<*>

“I don’t think I can be better than this,” he finally admits, his voice wobbly and thick. “I don’t think I can.”

Her fingers stop moving, opting instead to drift down to his back and rest there, warm and comforting through the back of his plaid flannel.

annnnnd a bit more from later on in the scene:

“There’s good in you, Oliver. If there wasn’t, you wouldn’t have cared about hurting a cat. You wouldn’t care about what your grandpa might think.”

May’s hand rubs a warm circle into his back, easing the tension from his rib cage. Eventually, she lets her palm come to rest there.

“You’ve made mistakes. I know you know that,” she carries on, that same, soft voice never faltering, never wavering.

“Grandpa didn’t want you to be perfect, mouse. He just wanted you to try. He wanted you to find the good in here,” she murmurs, tapping his back, just above his heart, “and let it out.”

[jamessunderlandgf]

—OCS and AURAS

hai 😌 tagged again by my beloved jackie @gwynbleidd to throw my kids into a uquiz on color auras we are COOKING today ✨ will throw some tags @shellibisshe ⚜️ @bloodofvalyria ⚜️ @loriane-elmuerto ⚜️ @jendoe ⚜️ @scalpelsister ⚜️ @simply-jason ⚜️ @jacobseed ⚜️ @florbelles ⚜️ @unholymilf ⚜️ @cetra ⚜️ @pitchmoss ⚜️ and you! my brain is mush!! 🫶🏻

—UMBER

book spines, suits, coffee, deep soil, violins, bear fur, staircases. your essence is umber: you are strong and silent, rarely ruffled. yet, you are unmoored; tender and drifting, you are unsure of your motivation save for to do good. many find you generous and stalwart— but melancholy. you are the keeper. you are the ungrudging. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of brown, beige, hickory, and garnet, who share your profound determination. you are also drawn to the flamboyant magenta and gold, who will help you grow and show you how to follow your heart without guilt. however, you may struggle to get along with the self-focused personalities of royal and crimson who rarely compromise.

—IVORY

lace, marble, china dishes, doves, paper, bones, vanilla shakes. your essence is ivory: you are a piece of history, sturdy and eternal. others believe you to be gentle; they don't see the pressure that is threatening to crack you. you seek control and organize your life into rows. you are the overseer. you are the porcelain. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of grey, noir, pearl, and ashen, who share the pressure you put on yourself. you are also drawn to the expressive rose and lilac, who will help you grow and learn that things will be okay even if they don't go right. however, you may struggle to get along with the indulgent personalities of sky and apricot who need too much stimulation and decadence.

—NOIR

drops of ink, eyeliner, crows, spiders, charcoal, painted nails, the night. your essence is noir: you see the world for what it really is and have the desire to perfect it. you embrace all of reality with zeal; there is an order to everything, even the thoughts that drip with darkness. your spirit is undeniable and some may call you quietly passionate or idealistic. you are the conquerer. you are the reformer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of grey, ivory, amaranth, and hickory, who share your passion for betterment. you are also drawn to the creative magenta and indigo, who will help you grow and let go of your reservations that you must be perfect. however, you may struggle to get along with the philosophical personalities of navy and amber who seem aimless.

[statichvm]

PERSONAL PALETTE / Q&A TAG.

i was tagged by @leviiackrman to use this website to generate a palette for my name and do this fun little personal survey! thank you jess. 💜

tagging @jackiesarch @unholymilf @florbelles @shallow-gravy @adelaidedrubman @blissfulalchemist @chuckhansen @queennymeria @socially-awkward-skeleton @roofgeese @confidentandgood @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @indorilnerevarine @cptcassian @risingsh0t @nightbloodbix @simonxriley and @kyber-infinitygems

APPEARANCE;

i’m over 5’5” // i wear glasses/contacts // i have blonde hair // i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing // i have one or more piercings // i have at least one tattoo // i have blue eyes // i have dyed or highlighted my hair // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces // i sunburn easily // i have freckles // i paint my nails // i typically wear make-up // i don’t often smile // i am pleased with how i look // i prefer nike to adidas // i wear baseball hats backwards

HOBBIES AND TALENTS;

i play a sport // i can play an instrument // i am artistic // i know more than one language // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition // i can cook or bake without a recipe // i know how to swim // i enjoy writing // i can do origami // i prefer movies to tv shows // i can execute a perfect somersault // i enjoy singing // i could survive in the wild on my own // i have read a new book series this year // i enjoy spending time with friends // i travel during school or work breaks // i can do a handstand

RELATIONSHIP;

i am in a relationship // i have been single for over a year // i have a crush // i have a best friend i have known for ten years // my parents are together // i have dated my best friend // i am adopted // my crush has confessed to me (does the proposal years ago count?) // i have a long distance relationship // i am an only child // i give advice to my friends // i have made an online friend // i met up with someone i have met online

AESTHETICS;

i have heard the ocean in a conch shell // i have watched the sun rise // i enjoy rainy days // i have slept under the stars // i meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach // i know what snow tastes like // i listen to music to fall asleep // i enjoy thunderstorms // i enjoy cloud watching // i have attended a bonfire // i pay close attention to colours // i find mystery in the ocean // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favorite season

MISCELLANEOUS;

i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // i am the mom friend // i live by a certain quote // i like the smell of sharpies // i am involved in extracurricular activities // i enjoy mexican food // i can drive a stick-shift // i believe in true love // i make up scenarios to fall asleep // i sing in the shower // i wish i lived in a video game // i have a canopy above my bed // i am multiracial // i am a redhead // i own at least three dogs

[shellibisshe]

— how do others perceive you?

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton to take this uquiz ! thank you!

tagging @jackiesarch @lizzywizzy @risingsh0t @loriane-elmuerto @florbelles @heroofpenamstan @roofgeese @confidentandgood @leviiackrman @marivenah @indorilnerevarine @denerims @jendoe @phillipsgraves @unholymilf @shadowglens @chuckhansen @queennymeria @shallow-gravy @adelaidedrubman @blissfulalchemist @purplehairsecretlair @minaharkers @poisonedtruth @shegetsburned @derelictheretic @dickytwister @nuclearstorms @reaperkiller and anyone else!

full of golden light

the smell of soup cooking in the other room. golden hour sunlight peeking in through the windows. laughter that bounces against the walls and smiles you can't help but mirror. you're easy to approach. your best feature is probably your smile. you don't mind looking silly if it makes people laugh. you're not easily embarrassed. you're calm and you make people feel at ease. you're a good listener because you really really care what they have to say. people leave every interaction with you feeling just a little bit more loved. you're a kind soul, and people can see that. you mean so much more to people than you know.

green with envy

valentine's day. feeling breathless beside the ocean. the ambiguous time between late spring early summer. pastel, clean colors and alphabetical organization. you're more than a little intimidating. your best feature is probably your hair. to many, you look perfect. you're good at putting on a brave face, good at pretending to have it all together. you're afraid people won't love you if they see your flaws. let me tell you a secret: they will love you more.

lightning never strikes the same place twice

midnight phone calls. original art hanging on the wall. indie music. the color blue and the feeling of knowing someone your whole life. you have a striking appearance. your best feature is probably your eyes. you're a rare soul, hard to figure out and impossible to forget. you probably don't speak often, but each word carries weight somehow. even when you're joking, you're revealing a tiny piece of you. you want to be loved so badly. you don't know that you already are.

[armanasims]

Perfect Genetics (hair, eyes, and skin) x Patriarchy (Strict) x Trait (Exemplar) Legacy Challenge

I don't know if anyone is interested in trying this type of challenge. I recommend it because it is fun and ridiculously challenging (T T)

Legacy Challenge Rules: Succession Laws

It took a long time (years and 3 laptops)...and I made it to generation 10, Oasis Farr, pictured above with his wife, Daydream)

So...I decided to continue on to generation 11. It took quite a few tries (because Daydream has unique genetics as well)...but we made it!

Generation 11: Frederich Farr (Heir)

Traits: Libra, Absent-minded, Artistic, Good.* Loves Chinese music, pancakes, and the color violet.

Honestly, I wanted to give up after after I got to the 8th child. However, I persevered...and lucky number 13 produced our heir!

It's a pretty crazy household, but it's fun to watch them!

In case you are interested:

Top picture (L-R): Amil, Lorian, Gavine, Dahlia, Julia

Middle 1: Frederich (heir), Zenith, Lisette

Middle 2: Sebastian, Leigh

Bottom picture: Justin, Lean (spare, if necessary), Gael

[imogenkol]

— OCS AS CHARACTER TROPES

tagged by the lovely @corvosattano to do this uquiz! Thank you 💕

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @gwynbleidd @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed

THE DISQUALIFIED

the disqualified [noun, origin unknown] refers to a character who's became too numb to the concept of the world, to the point of deeming oneself not able to express any sort of emotion, whether positive or a negative one. this state is usually the one to follow after feeling too much, as if to balance out the overwhelming sensation of human emotion. living up to their title, they often consider themselves 'disqualified' from being a human, forsaken and unloved, abandoned by the world they've never had interest in. they don't know where they belong or where should they go - every second of breathing air is a waste of oxygen someone worthier could use. the disqualified symbolize the constant state of feeling nothing but tiredness, state where all is merciless but the end. this is the one and only test outcome where i as the writer shall personally interfere - please, my most beloved disqualified, keep longing to feel again. there's so much you've never felt and so much you'll desire to feel again. in the words of Osamu Dazai (who's the creator of the title 'the disqualified' I so happily stole) - "Everything passes." a statement as short as it is true - everything passes, even the numbness. after it, you'll experience so much more beauty of the world - beauty that might pass just as the numbness did, but in it's temporary and unique nature lies the reason why it's to be cherished. so, please, try to hold on a bit. sometimes, holding on is the best we can do and most of the times, it's just enough. - a (former) fellow disqualified

THE ICARUS

[noun, greek origin] refers to a character, first curious and childish, who got so bored of the world's rotten nature they lost all hope in living. as the last resort to find the spark in the world of dying stars, the icarus may have attempted numerous times to touch the blazing surface of the sun, hoping to see any kind of redemption in the reflection of their face in the sun's flames. as a result, their wings were melted down and their bones broken by the harsh landing, yet that still didn't stop them from trying all over again. the people of icarus' nature often believe their place is with the stars and their desire to burn amongst them causes them to forget the beauty of the land they've abandoned, merely flying over it - the world has stored so much beauty for them they often struggle to see through the rays of sun and yet, it is still there. the most beautiful of flowers grow upon the lands their feet haven't even touched and maybe, just maybe, if they spared a bit of their time to give the (them forsaken) world another chance, they'd see that sky might not be the home they truly desire, but one they ve seeked just because they have seen only the worst of the world. - a fellow icarus

THE FALSE MUSE

the false muse [noun, latin origin] refers to a character that attempts to be perfect in order to receive certain amount of praise, or to inspire others to go in their footsteps. they tend to seek the spotlight, the podium, the gaze of the people looking up to them, with praise and validation being what keeps them pursuing the way of living they did before. the false muses surely have their goals, but the biggest one is to simply be better than yesterday and worse than tomorrow, to be in a constant state of self improvement they'll never deem enough. this is what leads them to the ocassional state of burnout, state one may describe as trying so hard to please the artist you become the opposite of a muse - hence why they're called false ones. the false muses might be tempted to think that they’ve never achieved perfection, but the truth is, there's no such thing as perfection, nor is there a way to achieve it. all muses could long for is merely the perfect version of themselves and they’ve achieved that already, over a thousand times.

THE SAINT

the saint [noun, latin origin] refers to a character that has taken upon themselves the role of saint via listening to prayers, concerns and troubles of others. characters falling under this cathegory are obviously merely metaphorical saints, which is a quality many people struggle to realize. the saints are said to be helpful and caring under any circumstance, believing that making themselves useful increases their self worth in the eyes of people they care about. they often forget that they are indeed humans in roles of saints, that they still have human limitations and problems that can potentially pile up until they fall from the metaphorical heavens they occupy...yet mostly, this doesn't stop them from taking burdens from people and putting it on their own back in hopes of being more responsible in taking care of them. there's strange naivety in the good they do, slight hope that they can take everything and anything they try to fix and help out with. this naivety is often replaced with denial and regret as soon as one realizes that sometimes, it's impossible to pose as a saint. but that's just the tragic cycle of them - trying to help out, getting dragged from heavens by the burden they voluntarily stole, falling, laying on the ground wide-eyed and tired before climbing back into the clouds again. as of now, there's no cure to being one of the saints - it is up to them to realize that they are not responsible for anyone's happiness apart from their own and that it's not selfish to put them before others. it's natural and - as much as they want to stray away from it - human. - a fellow saint

[maletofujoshi]

whos your favourite boss on the extended souls series purely combat wise and who's your other fave based on design alone

clarifying statements: i have not played ds2 nor bloodborne (it’s actually the fault of 10 year old me that my brother and consequently i never got to play bloodborne. rip)

sister friede takes the cake as the best boss mechanically. like. the way that fight makes you think about positioning and rewards you for being smart about it is lovely, her and ariandel’s animations are perfect and telegraph shit really well, and the three phases are all distinct with the last phase being breathless and wonderfully tense. and on top of that, there’s this meta bit to her of Where in your play through do you actually get to her. because reaching from first meeting gael is possible and the experience of coming back to rise to the challenge with time and the experience of beating her at like, level 20 by ramming ur head against the wall are both wonderful. it’s like a non-linear win win. also she’s soooo cute

design/aesthetic wise… god this is hard. okay. bed of chaos. just that name and then that design and that completely esoteric way of engaging with the fight, sucks, but also it really feels like running into some true ancient and dignified chaos. also the twins lothric and lorian. also honestly…? luminary mohg. i like a guy with delusional confidence and an eye for mood lighting that opening cutscene too is perverted and electric... oh also sister friede goes hard on this front too. she’s incapable of going gentle when it comes to anything. i feel bad for ariandel. if you know what i mean. if you know what i mean

[thedeadthree]

LIOSLAITH eladrin necromancer; fawn of the feywild (dnd)

the hot one: You're that one hunk that EVERYONE has a crush on. Your wit and charm is known to make fangirls faint, and half of the entire fandom's thirst posts are about you. You could eat a cookie and everyone would lose their shit. Congrats, dude.

LHYSA the bane of rulers; the assassin (the witcher/dai)

morally grey: You helped the hero's once, but only for money. And you sold them out later, but only to save your daughter (twin brother) from slavers (certain death by witch hunters, the wild hunt, the chantry). Your actions and motives are constantly contradicting, with no end in sight. Twitter and Reddit are divided in very different ways. Tumblr wants to eat you raw.

AYRENN the painted phoenix of plaithus (the exile)

should have been the villain: You're a good guy, but you shouldn't have been. Your appearance, your skillset, your backstory, it would have been perfect. But no, they had to make you a hero. I guess you were just too good to be true. You will always be a villain in our hearts.

RULES:

make your oc in this picrew.

take this uquiz to find out what the fandom would think of you if you were a fictional character.

my beloveds @confidentandgood, @blackreaches, @shellibisshe, @risingsh0t, @leviiackrman, @spectorss, @adelaidedrubman and @marivenah tagged me to do this cutest quiz + picrew tag! ty so much!

tagging: @griffin-wood, @saintsilver, @florbelles, @arklay, @steelport, @belorage, @lustyargonianmaid, @flyntz, @celticwoman, @blissfulalchemist, @aceghosts, @trinnaeste, @heroofpenamstan, @shadowglens, @nokstella, @yennas, @loriane-elmuerto. @jackiesarch, @manghhos, @aelyosos, @chuckhansen, @queennymeria, @rosebarsoap and you!

[lorian-ain-dal]

“You don’t like your dress, child?” Lorian still looked at her with the intensity of a collapsing star.

“No” Mina’s heart reached her throat. “It’s alive.”

“All things are alive” Lorian chuckled, a sound so pleasant to the mortal ears. “One needs to know how to pull that life from them, order them to live… openly. Order them to live even against their will.”

“Why am I here… please?” she added, because she felt she should. He seemed not completely sane. Like all things in this place.

He clicked with his tongue, and shook his head, not losing his perfect smile.

“Eat” he only said. “These apples are delicious. You probably never tasted such sweet flesh.”

[jackiesarch]

— OCS AS TAROT PAIRS

tagged by mine beloveds @corvosattano and @unholymilf to lovingly drag some children (and their partners.) through the mud — thank you!

tagging @florbelles @shallow-gravy @confidentandgood @roofgeese @risingsh0t @loriane-elmuerto @chuckhansen @queennymeria @shellibisshe @adelaidedrubman @belorage @nightbloodbix @cptcassian @leviiackrman and anyone else who wants to play!

— ACE OF CUPS + TEN OF CUPS

your romance is the love story that seems only possible in movies. it starts from a youthful first meeting, innocent. and from what may seem like a lifetime later, you both end up happily in union, perhaps even married! your coupling is the epitome of emotional fulfillment and devotion. neither of you thought you'd end up here, but damn if you aren't glad you did.

— THE DEVIL + THE EMPEROR

there's only one religion for the two of you, and that religion is the other. you two are very nearly unhealthily obsessed with one another, and that's just how you like it. when they touch you, they can feel the blood pumping under the surface of your skin. your hearts beat for one another. when the day comes that one stops, the other will soon after. until then, you both will live out your lives in perfect, gothy paradise.

— THE TOWER + THE LOVERS

meeting this person shook your whole world. crumbling down is everything you thought you knew about life and love. their warmth, their generosity, their naivete, their knowing...! you don't know how anything made sense before them. all you know is that nothing will make sense afterwards.

[burnwater13]

Dank Farrik! By the time the Mandalorian got him home to the cabin, he was convinced that Grogu had a cold and needed soup, rest, and a bath and not necessarily in that order. Grogu’s plans for a dark and stormy night would have to wait. The bubbles in the tub were just too much fun to play with as long as his dad wasn’t forcing (no pun intended) him to get out before he looked like a dried jogan fruit.

He liked playing with the bubbles. It was definitely a thing a Jedi could do, but no Jedi was encouraged to do it. If you had a delicate hand and were capable of concentration in the midst of so much silliness, you could fashion almost anything out of bubbles. 

At the beginning of bath time, when the bubbles were big and sturdy, Grogu made clouds, storms, and oceans out of them. Being in the tub helped a lot for that. It also helped that anytime his dad asked if he was ‘okay in there’, Grogu would cough and sneeze and put on a good act for the Mandalorian to assure him that he wasn’t just sloshing the water around. It should go without saying that he was of course sloshing the water around to make the bubble tidal wave all the more realistic. 

As the bath went on, Grogu would build huge starships out of them and pretend that they were galaxy hoppers. Going from one galaxy to the next in a search for the most delicious frog soup he could find. That adventure made him hungry, but he hadn’t tired of the bubbled yet. They were smaller now, and less elastic than the original bubbles, but they were useful, none the less. 

Grogu already knew that he was going to go to the Mudhorn festival dressed as Kuiil, but he hadn’t decided which costume his dad would wear. As funny as it would be to have Din wear the custom Fennec had the Anzellans make, pit droids were only frightening to the Mandalorian and having seen the costume, Grogu was certain the word ‘adorable’ would be used more than once to describe the tall human if he wore it. He was not going to be wearing it.

So, Grogu practiced with the bubbles and tested a variety of costume ideas on a bubble version of his dad. Not a full sized version because he didn’t have that much water left in the tub to make fresh bubbles. No, this Bubble-lorian was just a little taller than Grogu. Which allowed him to tweak things after giving them a good once over. He’d found being able to stand in the water he was using for his bubble art made it  last longer.

The first costume he tried was Bo-Katan’s armor. He giggled and shook his head. He didn’t think he could get his had to wear a red wig, but the rest of the armor looked good on him. Then he tried Moff Gideon’s battle suit, but that gave Grogu the creeps. Uff. Then he tried it as half Tusken and half High Magistrate and Yippee! He’d designed the costume for his dad. 

He wished that he had his markers with him so he could a quick sketch. He was liable to forget the little details that made it so perfect, like the small pit droids carrying the ends of robes, or the gaffi stick made out of beskar. The best he could do was just stare at it for a minute and try to memorize it. 

“Grogu? Are you done yet? I have some nice frog soup for you and then you need your rest.”

Grogu barely paid attention to his dad’s voice, but then he heard the door knob turn and rather than go through a game of ‘lock/unlock/lock’ again, he simply waved his hand and changed the costume on his ‘mini-me’ version of his dad.

“Buddy, I do think you’d look good with a beard some day. But not today. Not even made of bubbles. That’s going to make your soup taste funny.” 

Grogu started laughing so hard that he slipped into the water and the bubble version of him dressed as the Mandalorian blew up into gobs of bubbles in the air, floating all around the small room. His dad hadn’t even noticed him and addressed his whole complaint to the Bubble-Gro-lorian. It was the funniest thing Grogu had seen in a long time.

“So much for training and discipline. Come on buddy, use the Force and get up, then we’ll get you dried off. You still need to rest before you come back in here and clean up the mess you made.”

Dank Farrik! That was not The Way! He was sick. His eyes were still red. He had a cough, it just sounded like a cackle. Maybe that Moff Gideon costume was the right one after all…