#the pictures turned out a little more sepia like

[secretariatess]

She's gained herself the reputation.

[flowercrowngods]

Loving Eddie Munson is a full body experience. Steve can feel the lightness in his chest and the heaviness in his arms, can feel his hands tingling and his legs itching — itching to stay, to follow, to buckle and fall and float.

Eddie’s touch leaves goosebumps on Steve’s skin, his smile leaves a giddiness, his laugh a shortness of breath because, suddenly, Steve is laughing, too. Because of Eddie. With Eddie. Forgetting to breathe because he takes it away with gentle touch and playful wink, rendering Steve useless and utterly devoted.

But even when his eyes closed and they’re not touching, Steve isn’t safe from feeling this love in his entire body. Because Eddie is there. He’s always there; in his thoughts, his memories, this week‘s calendar, yesterday‘s Polaroid picture, tomorrow’s dreams.

Or here, right now, in bed, so close that warmth is radiating off him, but not close enough to touch yet. But Steve only needs to reach out with his pinkie and he could wrap it around Eddie‘s. Only needs to shift his leg just so to brush his knee against Eddie‘s thigh.

He’s there, he’s here, and Steve can feel him. Can hear Eddie’s smile in the air, can feel the the love in the safety of their little box-spring bubble, can smell belonging in his own shampoo mixed with Eddie‘s scent, can taste the words still that Eddie pressed to his lips earlier.

Loving Eddie Munson is a full body experience. All senses and more. Past, present, future. It’s all there, in the centre of Steve’s chest, slightly to the left as if always reaching for Eddie, drawn to him. Like the Fates knew upon the creation of humans that Steve’s heart would long for Eddie’s. His body would defy the laws of anatomy if it had to, he knows.

It makes him smile. It makes him want to cry, too.

Eddie is so close, so warm, so perfect and so still for once. And Steve wants to cry because the lightness in his chest needs to be filled somehow.

“You have your thinking face on, Stevie,” Eddie whispers then before Steve can lose himself in it, before he can let go and fall; fall so hard, fall without a landing, and still have Eddie catch him.

Eddie always catches him. Even when Steve isn’t falling. That’s another thing about loving Eddie Munson.

He doesn’t open his eyes, leaves them closed, the dim light of the room painting the world behind his eyelids in a beautiful sepia tone. That’s what he wants his future to look like. Not bright and loud and colourful. Just like this. Calm, serene, quiet, and with Eddie by his side. He deserves it. They deserve it. After everything, they deserve a future that will become a sepia past, the kind that will make people feel it in their whole body, too. The kind of story that will make them smile and cry at the same time, the kind that leaves behind lightness and space and the feeling that love could conquer worlds. The story of Steve and Eddie. Sepia-pretty, full of love and adoration and tingling hands.

He hums. “Not my thinking face.”

There’s no elaboration; because while Eddie knows Steve loves him, is in love with him, irrefutably, and can’t imagine loving anything or anyone as much as he loves Eddie, Steve still can’t tell him this. It’s his little secret. His safety belt in a world that moves so fast outside of this bedroom, outside the dim light, outside the safety they’ve made for themselves and each other.

“What’s that face then?” Eddie asks, but Steve just smiles. Hums. Dismisses the question, locks away the answer.

It’s the face that says, I love you so much, I can’t even stand to look at the world because that would be one sensation too many and I would break. Surely, I would break.

Eddie, however, refuses to let him go that easily.

“Stevie,” he sing-songs, moving closer until warmth turns to touch and lips are brushing over his face in butterfly kisses.

Steve smiles, a laugh bubbling out of his chest that’s still entirely too light, and leans both into and away from the touch, shy and brave at the same time.

“Stevie, baby,” Eddie continues, brushing kiss after kiss to his eyes, his brows, the tip of his nose. So warm, so close, so much and yet not enough, but still the perfect amount.

It doesn’t make sense and it doesn’t have to, not when Eddie kisses his smiles into Steve’s skin and leaves them in his memory for all eternity. Breath has left Steve’s lungs and he only lives because Eddie kisses him, loves him, adores him so entirely.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Eddie begs ridiculously — still smiling, still grinning, still laughing into Steve’s skin. Every time Eddie laughs, Steve feels so young. As though he were a little boy, because only children feel this kind of joy, this kind of safety and invincibility. That’s what people say, at least. They’re wrong. Obviously, they’re wrong, but Steve doesn’t fault them, because they don’t have Eddie Munson in their bed — and they never will.

So maybe it’s another secret of his now.

“It’s nothing,” he says, playfully pushing away Eddie’s face, only to chase after it just a second later, hovering above him. It’s Steve now who laughs into Eddie’s skin, who chases faint blushes on sepia skin with his lips and leaves a trail of kisses in a familiar path from his forehead down to Eddie’s lips; right into his heart.

He rolls his hips into Eddie’s and swallows the breathy sigh, the hum, the moan, only realising now that he was starving. He was bursting with emotion and still he was starving.

“Doesn’t feel like nothing,” Eddie breathes into his mouth, reaching for Steve’s hands with his own until their laced fingers rest above his head and he’s meeting Steve’s eyes with this rare look of quiet devotion. Staring for just one second. Two. Three.

It’s that look that makes Steve fall. It’s that look that catches him.

That makes him say, “I love you so much it’s like my body doesn’t know what to do with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate, wouldn’t know how even if he wanted to. But the way Eddie’s face shifts into something soft, something so vulnerable, makes Steve feel like maybe he’s not alone with it.

He swallows and buries his burning face in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Not shying away from vulnerability — not with Eddie, not anymore — but not quite strong enough yet to meet it head-on. Face first. Eyes open.

“That’s what that face was.”

Eddie frees his hands from Steve’s grasp only to wrap his arms around his middle, holding him tightly and securely. Like he’s loving him with his whole body, too.

“I love you, Stevie,” he says. Quietly, like it’s not for the world to hear, not right now. Like it’s only for him. Only for Steve. “So much. So, so much. I don’t even know what to do with it most of the time, either. You’re okay, baby, you’re so perfect. Don’t even have the words for it.”

“Words are overrated,” Steve says, lifting his face to press his lips to Eddie’s in a conquering kiss. Licking his way into Eddie’s mouth, he swallows any and all words that might have followed, just to make a point. But Eddie doesn’t seem to mind.

Steve pulls away just for a beat, his body still on top of Eddie’s, and rolls his hips once more.

“But you can show me.”

Oh, and Eddie does.

[felinefractious]

hey, so my brother sent me this person's cat online and was wondering why it was cross-eyed. i've learned a lot of info from you so i tried my hand at guessing, but i don't want to believe what i said just because i think it's right.

i told my brother the cat in question looks to me like a tabby x ragdoll mix. i know ragdolls are commonly seen with higher chances of cross-eyes, and when i tried to search 'ragdoll tabby' i only got them mixed, not the pattern itself.

i brought up how the weird white patch on the cat's muzzle could be coming from the ragdoll's side, and the pointed out that the [from what it looks to me] shorter fur and less puffy build could be the tabby.

here's some more pictures of the cat [again this cat isn't either of ours so i can only send what i can find. however the cat owner is softwilly on social media]

regardless if you end up helping me with this i do appreciate what you do as i've learned SO much about cat genetics through your page and being a cat lover it's like a treasure trove of cat education! have a good day/night :]

Hey, I’m glad you enjoy the blog! I like your icon, hyenas are awesome.

So “tabby” is not a breed, it’s a pattern. That feels like a good place to start!

Our adorable little house cats were once upon a time descended from the African Wildcat, so the default/wild-type appearance before all of the mutations and breeds and such came into play would resemble this ancestor.

Talk about family resemblance!

The Domestic Cat on the top [source] is a shorthair black tabby, closely resembling the phenotype of the African Wildcat on the bottom [source].

A mutation on the agouti (tabby) gene causing an increase in the production of black pigment is where out solid colored cats come from.

UC Davis page on Agouti

Due to other genes which determine and influence the presentation of the tabby pattern we have quite a few tabby options now. To keep it simple these are primarily mackerel, spotted, classic and ticked but can be modified even further the more genes we add in (bengal modifier, wide band, etc).

Since tabby is the original flavor cat the majority of stray/feral cats you encounter will be sole flavor of tabby but various types of tabby patterns are permitted in many, many, many different breeds.

The white smudge on the face as well as the bib and mittens are due to one of several mutations on the KIT gene. These mutations are very common in domestic animals which is why piebald patterning is so widespread in domestic varieties but rare uncommon in wild specimens.

UC Davis page of Dominant White & White Spotting

So although this is a mutation and not part of default settings it, like solid cats, is incredibly common to find cats with white markings in the wider stray/feral population as well as in a huge variety of cat breeds.

Here is a black tabby point Ragdoll with white mittens [source].

The distinctive masked pattern is caused by mutation which effects pigmentation, ranging from being fully normally colored (wild type) to albinism. In between this range we have colorpoint, mink, sepia and most recently mocha… but I’m only going to discuss colorpoint right now.

The colorpoint pattern is a form of albinism influenced by body temperature, turning the cat into a living heat map. Pigment is turned off in warm areas and is produced normally in cool areas, such as the extremities. So if you peeled the colorpoint off of this Ragdoll they’d look a lot more similar to the cat you’re sharing!

UC Davis page on Colorpoint Restriction

This is another mutation notably absent from our default wild-type and is a little less common than solid or white-spotted but still pretty well distributed throughout the stray/feral population as well as being accepted in many breeds.

Unfortunately there seems to be a higher incidence of strabismus (cross-eyed) in pointed cats than those with full color expression, not just Ragdolls. Nystagmus (involuntary eye movements) is also unfortunately common, which @the-adventures-of-dave’s Kepler (Bengal) has.

But pointed cats don’t have a monopoly on these problems! There are plenty of pointed cats without eye problems and there are plenty of full expression cats with eye problems. Sometimes cats are just cross-eyed, just like how sometimes people are just cross-eyed.

The truth is most cats aren’t any breed or a mix of any breeds, they’re just… cats!

Cats and cat breeds aren’t all that similar to dogs and dog breeds. Cat breeds are a relatively new occurrence, often have allowable outcross with other breeds, and comprise a miniscule portion of the overall feline population.

Pedigree, Purebred, Mixed Breed, Random-bred - What’s the Difference?

What’s the Breed of Your Cat?

So this is all a very long way to say that the very dashing cat you shared is most likely a black tabby Domestic Longhair with white spotting and the strabismus is likely unrelated.

[sanhatipal]

"Noble d'Apchier"

A little watercolor painting of Chloe,with the Zorn palette! I found out about this palette a while ago and I really wanted to try it out! (More on that below )

Chloe's hair is something I adore, it's gotta be one of my absolute favourite character designs ever,I love how swirly and fluffy it is,very fun to draw. I've drawn her normally before,I wanted to do one with her vampire eyes and fangs too. I decided to try to draw a white fuzzy rim around the foreground against the plain background,for a change,like in some of the VnC panels.

The Zorn palette,or Apelles Palette was a colour scheme used by Anders Zorn in the late Victorian/Early Edwardian era. It ,or something similar,might have been used by artists of old civilizations too, because it avoids the use of blue and green entirely: which would eliminate the need for rare pigments . It's essentially a colour mixing challenge,to draw the entire paintings with 4 pigments,2 basic colours: Ochre yellow, Vermillion,and Black and white,which can be mixed into different shades. It can be an excellent exercise and means for portrait painting

Modern artists use red instead of vermillion,but the essence is the same. So that's what I did too. I considered using vermillion,but I realised that it would introduce a lot of yellow tint, making the picture very warm. Which is usually something I prefer honestly,but not what I was going for here. Also,I need to consider the fact that I'm a watercolour artist,which is very different from the original intended palette. Zorn used oil paints,but other artists use it fine for gouache and acrylic too, however,that too is different from watercolor, because instead of mixing with white, I'll be diluting with water,which changes the composition of the palette considerably. So I went with these supplies: ochre yellow and red watercolor pencils (for me, basically watercolor pigments,I don't use them to draw,I grind and dissolve them in water),white and black watercolor tubes,and white ink. In addition: lineart with sepia,grey and black brush pens,which are well within the bounds of the palette

To be honest,I ended up not using the white paint tube at all,water makes more sense to me. I didn't use anything else though,and stuck with the original materials.And the results:

Does it work? Hell yeah. It's not perfect,but I'm happy with how she turned out

Was it restricting? That's kind of the point,to paint with some limitations

Was it hard? Honestly? No. Not at all. It's definitely very different from what I'm used to,I use a lot of colours both as is and mixed,but this was surprisingly easy. Perhaps because of my subject,which didn't have much colour to begin with

Do I recommend it? If you want a small challenge,or to experiment or practice colour mixing,definitely

Will I do it again ? Absolutely. I feel like I haven't utilised much of the potential of this palette. I ended up using mainly red and black, hardly any yellow at all. So I'd like to do something more colourful with this palette, perhaps a sunny painting of a gingerhead girl with flowers,and for this I'll probably use vermillion,not red

Anyways, that's all! If you read all this,thank you for your time!!

[yandere-toons]

I saw one of the anon ask if your write for underverse.

Do you think you could gives a scenario with yandere nightmar sans? Anything really. Just a small drabble is all I ask:)

Warnings: implied depression, blood, fantasy violence, grief.

Word Count: 3.125

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The cloud cover had swallowed the sky in a veil of fog and torrential darkness, but on nights when the crickets sang no more and the frogs kept to the water, it parted under the patchwork of stars waiting to twinkle at the unconscious countryside.

The moon's eye skirted the ribbons of a tattered curtain and fluttered across the wooden frame set atop a bedside table, which bore the crumpled photograph of a family. Those rising curves of joy on their lips, the same assault of happiness his brother oozed like the sun bled heat, drew a low hiss from deep within Nightmare.

The thrashes of a tentacle or two whipping the air overhead punctuated the rumbling crackle rolling between his gritted teeth. Every second he brooded, the shadows of lamps, bedposts, and a chest of drawers thickened and stretched farther. The room grew dank and instinct with pressure until breathing was akin to having a pair of hands wrap around your neck and squeeze.

That facial atrocity had a name; smiles, he recalled, but even the word repulsed him like the acrid stink of vomit. It conjured up visions of two siblings reclining under the shade of a tree swaying with bountiful leaves, of promises made and then broken, of a schism between brother and brother, light and dark.

You played among the joyful souls in the photograph and shared in their touches and sandwiches, looking a far different person than the heap of sweat and nerves turning over in your bed. Nightmare allowed his gaze to linger for a bemused instant before the pull of that bitter edge lurking in his every thought called him back to the happy little fools and their sepia stares.

The willingness with which they shoved at him a sick buoyancy defied his power and mocked his work. The urge to tear that lightsomeness away from them and plunge them into misery began to burn within him, spurring his tentacles to writhe until one whacked the picture frame off the table.

It flew into a spinning collision course with the wall and caromed off it to crack the peace of a fitful sleep. The battered frame thudded against the hardwood floor, lying face down in a pool of glass shards.

You jumped into a scrambled consciousness at the clamour like a cannonade, and your eyes, encrusted with an awkward mix of bleary and vigilant, swept the room in anticipation of some calamity. Motionless and impregnable darkness, perfect camouflage for any terrors, met your search rather than the feared intruder charging through the door or the tremors of an earthquake.

Howling winds raged past your walls and produced a sustained groan approaching something human, a cruel and grotesque imitation of a lost soul calling out. Each gust tapped the windows like the fingers of someone asking to be invited in from the cold.

This shallow comfort allowed you a moment to peel back the sheets, wherein you noticed and floundered with how tangled about you they had become. With a streak of adrenaline pounding as drums in your head, you fumbled out of bed and made a beeline for the light switch protruding from the adjacent wall.

As your next step pressed down upon a sleek and scattered surface, a crunch popped the silence as a needle would a balloon. Sharp pain sliced the sole of your foot, and in the excruciating jolt up your leg, the skin seemed to catch fire.

You clamped your teeth on your lower lip and sucked in a puff of air, withholding the yelp that had leapt to the roof of your mouth. Opening your eyes from a tight squint, you peered down into the shadows and reached out to something by your foot.

The rigid ends and cool, smooth sides of a wooden rectangle slid against your fingertips. The silvery gleaming of crimson droplets on the clear sheen of fragmented glass was reflected in the coarse surface of a wrinkled photograph, its image spotty and worn away around the edges.

Those who helped form some of your happiest memories looked back at you, and this reminder took the pang from your foot and redirected it to an ache in your heart. A wave of dizzying exhaustion and the urge to slump into bed again washed over you, no matter how much you had slept the previous days away.

Time had faded many of their features into obscurity, but the twist of that old contentment they left with you was a wound forever open. You rubbed your thumb across the bumpy, sandpapery face of someone no longer around, and just for a moment, the distant peal of their laughter echoed from a room you had not touched in months.

How sweet to drink from the bottle of grief until you found it had no bottom. The tower of dirty dishes by the kitchen sink rose higher, and each time you chose a third nap over chores, Nightmare got stronger. He fed on your lethargy and silent aches like a flea on a dog's back, every bite taking a little more out of you.

Sleep, once a beloved respite from the agony of an empty house, now plagued you with hair-raising visions of inhuman faces hovering outside your windows, looking in while you had no voice to deter the eyes moving over your body. As you fought against your sheets as if they were a beast at your throat, something insidious whispered for you to fall into that comfortable trap and let the idea of escaping it, the burden of hope, slip away.

In the centre of the bedroom, a sphere of brilliant starlight glimmered in the image of the heavens. Its rays upon you were like the sun on your skin after a bleak and drizzly winter. This beacon promised a better future as it dimmed into the shape of a golden-eyed face, which chased away the darkling tendrils coiling around your bed.

The nips of biting air, once thick enough to drown in, lifted, and you grew weightless, seeming to float between silk sheets instead of your mangy bundle of loose threads, a mattress of clouds rather than your glorified boulder, and a velvet pillow instead of your flat-as-a-board, handmade one.

Dream walked among the dark and the cold and filled it with your fondest smell from childhood. He had no flesh or muscle, a being of pure bone cloaked in the greens of seafoam, the pinks of twilight, and the yellows of gold.

An eternal warmth flowed from him, calming the shakiest voice and stilling the throbs of your pulse to a steady and relaxed rhythm. He glided to your bedside in golden boots and cast one sympathetic look at the draggled sheets before pulling them back to their rightful place, careful not to disturb you as he did so.

Dream hummed a soft melody with the earnest compassion of a parent soothing their child. It was quiet to keep you asleep but distinct enough to spread the snug blanket of security over your thoughts.

The taut lines of veins bulging along your neck and forehead, the ball of pain swelling in your jaw, and the shaky curls of your fingers bunching handfuls of the sheets all started to wane. When you were sinking into your first minute of genuine rest in ages, the mood in the room dove faster than a flightless bird over the side of a cliff.

It was a plunge so steep and abyssal that you cried out at some ghastly vision while Dream staggered as if one wrong footfall away from falling. He recovered in a moment of resigned understanding of what lay behind him, but many more seconds passed before he found the strength to turn and confront the corrupted shell of his brother.

Dream saw the thrill of malice rush onto Nightmare's face as your sounds of distress rang and tilted his head down, hardening his frown. In the privacy of the gloom, Nightmare glowered at Dream with an eye that blazed against the black sludge streaming o'er him.

“Well, always here to spoil my fun, aren't you, brother?” Temptation and menace intertwined in his voice, honeyed and gravelly at once. It snaked through the crisp air and commanded awe with the booming richness of a king, and it burrowed into the back of the mind as whispers beguiling lost souls into letting loose all vices.

The visceral rage with which he spat the word “brother” so contorted his face that all sleeping mortals who looked upon it would have awoken screaming. Around his pupil expanded a vast sea of black, aglow with a fervour that dulled when Dream marched to the end of the bed and stood between him and you.

Nightmare collapsed his exaggerated snarl into a more subdued look of amusement, as though the idea that Dream could block his path was the peak of wishful thinking.

Dream, his eyes never wavering lest a moment's hesitation allowed Nightmare to slink near, swung his hand to the side and swished his lustrous cape. The threat of a golden bow sparked in his open palm, a sight that twisted the corners of Nightmare's mouth like a gulp of sour milk.

“You poisoned their grief, Nightmare. They need to heal.” Dream uttered this sentiment with unflinching certainty and gave to it a sublime voice meant to lighten the spirit of all who heard it; however, to the blackened soul residing in Nightmare, it only starved him.

He fixed a spiteful grin on Dream and widened his eye until it resembled a pit. “They don't want to heal. They're tired.” The venomous spiel rolled from him as it would a demonic salesman, and had you been awake to listen, you would have believed him. “They want to be told it's okay to give up.”

Dream glanced over his shoulder at your tussle with imaginary tormentors, his narrowed eyes pierced with a gleam of pity. He could have implored his brother to make an exception, but asking Nightmare to leave a cry for help untroubled was like the gazelle begging the lion for mercy.

Instead, he was readying another point of argument when an instinctive sweep of his arm deflected the sharp tip of a slender tentacle hurtling towards his skull.

Nightmare retracted the tentacle through a strip of moonlight, allowing it to glisten and weave before disappearing. The faraway ticktock of a clock stressed the passing of each second, baiting an attack from either brother and counting down to the moment when noise so bloodcurdling would rip the air asunder and forever banish peace from the area.

All at once, you sprung to an upright position and wailed as if you might never have the chance again. Your eyes, open wide but seeing nothing, held a glassiness that contrasted with your mindless thrashing at a hidden assailant. You began to hyperventilate between shouts for someone to get out of your house, and the guardian in Dream took hold as he hurried over to stop you from tumbling out of bed.

Before he could land one final step to reach you, a tentacle swooped down and knocked him into the chest of drawers across the room. It clattered and overturned a lamp atop it, which smacked the wood and threatened to roll off the edge. Dream cracked open one eye before the other and unhooked himself from the metallic handles.

Under the wan cover of night, Nightmare appeared to slide over the floorboards like some amorphous blob of black and blue. He eclipsed the moon on your weeping face, his tentacles bobbing on invisible waters and casting writhing shadows upon the wall behind you.

His head snapped towards Dream's weakened but defiant stance, and as flecks of silver silhouetted much of his body, his teeth were distorted into fangs that shone through the ooze cascading down him. A twinge of fear skittered the length of Dream's spine; the creature before him was his brother in name only, having become drunk on your anguish and consumed by a sort of eldritch savagery.

With each shriek rocketing out of you, Nightmare dispersed further into the darkness and outpoured his evil into every crevice. He propelled himself onto a tentacled throne and towered above Dream, who sensed the cold and aching drain of his presence in all directions and scoured for even a fleeting whiff of positive emotion.

The air stood still when Dream glimpsed the needle-like tentacles poised around him in the dark. They awaited a silent order to volley forward and gore him, an order made imminent by the resonant chime of the clock striking a new hour. Against his collarbone sat the round clasp of his cape, which he clutched with one hand overlaying the other.

Dream shut his eyes, tucked his chin into the back of his hand, and visualised a portal to the nearest spark of happiness. A blinding surge of starlight enveloped him, then vanished moments before a tentacle speared the chest of drawers in a shot that would have run through his rib cage.

Nightmare deflated a bit, disappointment gnawing at him that he did not get to see his brother's golden blood splatter the hardwood floor. He yanked his tentacle free of the unlucky drawer, paying no mind to the sizeable hole it had created, and resumed basking in your sorrow like a lizard in the sun.

* * *

A hulking weight sat on your chest, and with every swell of breath you forced down, it sucked half of it back out of your lungs. You might as well have been a pair of eyes without a body, with the absolute numbness coursing through your limbs begging the question of whether they were still attached.

The darkness crept a little closer, bottomless and braver with each sweep of your eye. Waves of black and splotches of silver melded into a gaunt face dripping wet. Malevolence seeped from the monstrous entity pouring out of the unknown depths of that corner, the kind that threw babies into crying fits and ripped frantic barks from every dog in a neighbourhood.

The snowy radiance of a moon free to dominate the sky glinted across teeth whiter than any dentist could hope. They filled out a lipless mouth as the entity, a living nightmare, engulfed the floor and ceiling in an ever-growing current of blackness. His jaw unhinged far beyond the limits of nature to yield a gaping hole lined with vertical strips of muck, each as dark and slippery as a jagged rock hanging in a damp cavern.

A dozen tentacles snaked out his back and pulsated outward, their slender lengths draped in inky slime. He loomed over your paralyzed state and dredged up all memories of fear and pain until your heart thundered with the desire to burst out of you. The sheets tucked in tighter to the point of constriction, and tears brimmed for the silent scream wrenching around your mind.

The place where his right eye should have been was overflowing with tar, and his left eye glowed like the beam of a lighthouse. Turquoise with a tinge of midnight blue watched your struggle and revelled in it with the passion of a vindictive god.

To peer into his eye was to lose yourself down a tunnel that winded through every facet of despair, hatred and horror, to behold a creature who embodied it all and realise you could do nothing but wait. Such a gaze crushed you, and it never even had to touch you.

Periodic buzzes, beginning as a foghorn but then rising to a metallic trill, came and went every few seconds. They invaded the room with an unquenchable urgency that your brain raced to identify, shrilling louder and louder until your body jolted forward in an abrupt return of control.

You inhaled as if having swum from the deep of a lake, but instead of bouncing your forehead off the warped skull, you passed through nothing but clear space. The instant before your eyes began darting, the flicker of a figure dissolved into a patch of darkness in your peripheral vision.

The first rays of dawn shimmered across the hardwood floor and dappled the shadows with all the colours of fire. A clash of pinkish and gilt swirls subsumed much of the dark, delivering you from the trenches of a receding night to the peach-tinted embrace of a day starting anew.

The jarring call of a telephone poked your ears and vibrated on a round table in the corridor.

Following you to the bedroom doorway was the impulse to ignore that plea for your attention and continue languishing beneath the same old sheets. The ease with which you could lay back down and slip away from everything tapped you on the shoulder and beckoned you to sleep.

Dust bunnies wafted after your feet, which you heaved and then slammed down again a mite closer to the ringing as if wading through the reeds of a billabong. A slew of thoughts on the taxing demands of holding a conversation, on the dreadful risk of exposing how badly you were drowning, tugged at you like an impatient child.

When you picked up the cooling metal of that telephone, the voice of a dear friend hit you as a refreshing breeze on a hot day. They talked to you and listened even if you let out a sombre remark or stumbled over familiar words, a nearly forgotten sound, like a song unheard for years.

Eventually, they said, “How about lunch at your favourite place today? My treat.”

You hugged the cord with each finger of one hand, and with the other hand, you pressed the cradle to your abdomen. A dab of moisture started to blur your vision, enabling you to take a breath without the air of heartsickness that had milled around the home for so long.

Watching you lean into the handset, into that faint voice daring to help, and allow yourself the ghost of a smile was like acid on Nightmare's eye. The frenzy of hunger stabbed him as the intoxicating taste of misery, a minute ago so bountiful, was evaporating.

What rapture it would be, twining one of his tentacles around that interloper's neck and squeezing until they never spoke another word. The vision of their bulgy eyes reddening as they clawed at the tentacle in vain, forced to look him squarely in the face and give every detail of their agony, to entreat his mercy only to be denied, flashed to him.

It kept him in the shadows and replayed before his mind's eye, each time seeming nearer to reality, to soothe the roaring emptiness in his stomach.

[kogetaikid]

Alright new AU idea.

I deadass thought of this immediately after watching the TADC pilot.

I don’t have a name for this AU but it’s an alternate timeline at the end of Deltarune chapter 7 where Kris and Susie are in TADC in which I’m definitely not making this on Scratch or anything…

It’s kinda why I made this image:

(Also Kris and Pomni will be separate people in this AU)

TL;DR:

No more dark worlds, Asriel came back from college, but through them though Kris managed to make a friend, Susie. And even after finally getting rid of the SOUL, Kris and Susie continue to be friends. One day, they are hanging out at Kris’s house and finding weird things under their bed while Asriel is studying. Kris and Susie find two old headsets and decide to put them on, and I think you know what happens next…

MAIN STORY:

End of Deltarune chapter 7

After the day is saved permanently. Kris and Susie return to the light world.

(I do think something big would happen in chapter 7, but being a fan of Toby Fox, I think the last light world scene, if there is one, will just be normal with a slight twist)

Asriel has came home from University and just as Kris is about to walk home

*Bright lights shine from the inside

Susie: …well. Guess I should go now.. Erm, have fun with your brother I guess.

*Leave Susie?

Yes ❤️ No!!!

[Upon choosing “Yes”]

Susie: Well, see ya.

*Susie left the party…

[Upon choosing “No!]

Susie: …? Maybe later, I’ll let you see your brother right now.

*Susie left

Entering inside the house

(Slowed version of “You can Always Come Home” plays)

[walking to the dining room]

[Asriel and Toriel are talking inside at the dinner table]

Toriel: So I said, “Have an egg-selent day!”

Asriel: Hehe. But what happened with dad?

Toriel: Oh don’t worry about him…

[Asriel noticing Kris]

Asriel: Kris!

[Asriel get up and hugs Kris]

Asriel: Oh I forgot, you don’t like hugs like that.

Toriel: Why don’t you go clean yourself up Kris?

Asriel: Don’t flush any bath bombs in the toilet!

[Kris walks to the bathroom]

(Extras)

[Attempting to go to your bedroom]

Asriel: Going to sleep already? Why am I not surprised?

Toriel: Come on Kris. You’ve been missing your brother, have you not?

[Attempting to go back outside]

Asriel: Mom’s said you’ve made a friend lately.

Toriel: You’ve had the strangest adventures, had you not?

Toriel: I must have been dreaming if that wasn’t the case.

Asriel: Mom, what the hell are you talking about?

[Interacting with the couch]

*The remote is wedged against the cushions.

*You can’t help but feel nostalgic…

Toriel: KRIS! GO WASH YOUR HANDS!

[Trying to call Toriel]

*ring, ring…

*Click!

Toriel: Kris, please go wash your hands.

[Interacting with the trash can]

*The trashcan is emitting a strong rotten floral scent

Asriel: You were always a weird kid, Kris.

Asriel: And somehow…

Asriel: No offense but you’ve gotten weirder.

Toriel: ASRIEL

Asriel: HEY! IM BEING HONEST!

In the bathroom

[interacting with the sink]

*One last thing to do…

*Wash your hands?

Yes ❤️ Not yet

[Upon choosing “Yes”]

*You turn the sink up loudly.

*…

*You lift your arm…

[Kris tears out their SOUL]

[Kris breaks their SOUL, the screen goes blank]

Kris: Finally. Freedom.

Sepia Flash forward ass shit

(Some goofy ahh remix plays)

[Image of Kris, Toriel and Asriel eating cinnamon-butterscotch pie. They seem happy]

Kris: It was weird at first, without the SOUL’s control, but I was happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.

[Image of Kris sleeping like a maniac]

Kris: I can finally sleep normally, nothing controlling me. No stings, just wings.

[Picture of the SOUL]

Kris: No more forced interacting with people I don’t even know

(I literally am playing Omori while waiting for Deltarune Chapter 3, so tell me if I’ve forgotten anything or forgot something about a character’s personality. I appreciate your feedback)

[Picture of The Deltarune]

Kris: Admittedly, I’ll miss the dark world. At least I don’t have to deal with that little fluff.

Kris: Susie, Noelle, Berdly, everyone, do they feel the same way?

[Picture fades. Blank screen for an awkward five seconds]

Morning

[Kris’s room. Susie shaking Kris]

Susie: Kris wake up!

[Kris lifts their head]

Kris: Susie?!

[Susie puts Kris down]

Kris: How the HELL did you get in here?!

[If you choose to remove Susie from your party earlier]

Susie: Sorry, Kris. Just never had a friend as good as you before. Your brother let me in.

Susie: I wanted to check up on ya, but I’ll leave…

[Susie slowly walks out]

Kris: Wait! You can stay!

Susie: What? Kris, you seem different…

Kris: Yeah about that…

Susie: …don’t worry

Susie: The only thing weirder than your family were these last few days am I right!

Kris: yeah…

Susie: WOW! THIS FRIEND THING IS EASIER THAN I THOUGHT!

Susie: (kinda miss Lancer though…)

*Susie has joined the party

Susie: …

Susie: So what do we do?

Kris: I dunno.

[Susie goes to Asriel’s bad and starts digging for stuff inside]

Susie: Hey! Let’s see what creepy stuff is under Asriel’s bed!

Kris: …

[Kris jumps high into the air like a fuckin cat and starts going gremlin mode under Asriel’s bed]

[Kris and Susie dig out two video game controllers, one knock off one and a normal one, I-CEE’s coupons (I hope I spelt that right but I’m too lazy to search it up), magazines, a Yoshi plushie, etc, but then, they find something unexpected]

[Susie and Kris slowly pick up two dusty headsets,, they seem to have already turned on]

(“The Door” plays)

[The lights get brighter, the surroundings get darker]

Susie: Geez Kris. Didn’t know you and your bro had VR.

Kris: we don’t-

Susie: I only seen these things on TV. Let’s try them out!

Kris: Yeah sure!

[If you chose not to remove Susie from your party earlier]

Susie: Your mom let me in.

Susie: I kinda want to do this friend thing more with you.

Kris: Hehe, same here…

Susie: Y’know I haven’t really had a friend until you arrived.

Kris: …

Susie: DUDE IT’S NOT THAT I LIKE LIKE YOU!

Susie: (I already like Noelle, geez…)

[Insert anything that was highlighted in neon purple. Sorry, I ain’t writing all that shit again but in going on a fucking flight soon]

Putting on the headsets

[Insert dramatic flashing lights]

[Kris and Susie Collapse. Screen goes black for an awkward five seconds or smth]

The Amazing Digital Circus

[bit-crushed remix of TADC theme plays]

[Insert pixelizated version of TADC intro aight I’m done writing this.]

[Black screen

Susie: GOD $&@!ING ¥?#%@IT WHATEVER YOUR NAME IS WHERE THE $&@! ARE WE?!

Caine: Nu uh uh! I’m sorry but we can’t have that foul language.

PS: I know there is very little TADC in here, but I promise that the majority of this AU will take place in the digital circus. This was just the prologue.

PSS: So Kris will be a jester. I don’t have a design for Susie but I might make her an acrobat or smth

PSSS: The SOUL somehow manages to respawn in the digital circus, so Kris is screwed (don’t ask how, I’m still figuring that part out)

PSSSS: Like I said earlier please leave any suggestions. (Constructive criticism only unless it’s THAT BAD)

PSSSSS: VOTE FOR THE AU NAME RIGHT NOW!

[corcordium1983]

Not to be sappy on main... but I'm going to be incredibly sappy on main. Six years ago I was Not Doing Well™ and I found an escape in books and films, and I fell in love with a story about two boys somewhere in Italy in the mid-eighties. I recently reread the book and realised it doesn't quite resonate with me anymore, but that's OK, because it gave me one of the most precious and treasured things in my life: my friendship with @timobeechalamet. Matilde, who always makes me laugh and, bless her, has to listen to basically every waking thought that goes through my head. Matilde, who never judges me when I admit I'm struggling with something, and who is always willing to lend an ear if I need to vent. Matilde, who has introduced me to so many great artists, so many good books and films, which has in turn enriched my life infinitely. Matilde, who despite adversity is doing amazing things and will go on to do even more amazing things, and I will be so happy to see it. Matilde, who despite living on opposite ends of the continent, never lets the distance come between us (perks of being introverts I guess). Matilde, who I literally could not picture my life without. If my calculations are correct, we met IRL for the first time exactly 6 years ago to this date, when we went to wave Elio and Oliver goodbye at the Prince Charles Cinema in London. I've been pondering lately how on earth it's only been six years, when it feels like you've been in my life forever, so to honour the occasion I came out of poetry writing retirement to write you a little poem. I don't say it enough, but I love you. 🖤 For Matilde

What does it mean - Before I knew you? I have always known you My essence always reaching for yours Through the ether

I observed our elliptical orbits Slowly, then surely, congrue In times of twilight I could sense Your silhouette whispering with the promise Of a hand to hold

Time folds in on itself I watch your sun-dappled childhood Through a lens of knowing That only comes with age

Your memories were gifted to me retroactively I cherish them like I do my own And you know my mother Though you never got to meet her

Flicking through the photo album Of pictures from my childhood I see the sepia-hued ghost Of future-you, readying to take form I hope I haunt your pictures, too

For now, we can rest in the comfort Of finding someone  Whose trajectory matches your own When the universe does not always comprehend Your singular, brilliant, spark

I want to see you into old age With memories shared - not just borrowed My whispered secrets and shouted truths All of them, I want to give to you

So don’t you say “Before I knew you” I was always waiting for you You were always already here

Thank you, for holding my hand

[cheapsweets]

The stately Raggfong

My response to this week's BestiaryPosting challenge, from @maniculum

Once more, I ask you to consider, are birds jerks? The authors of medieval bestiaries seem to think, yes, they are!*

Initial pencil sketch for the proportions, then Sailor fude nib fountain pen for the inking, with Rohrer & Klingner Sepia ink, on A5 paper (90gsm).

I'd already determined that for the next bird that came up, I wanted to try putting more detail on the feathers; unfortunately I fear this may have gotten in the way a little, as it makes it more difficult to see the chicks the Raggfong is holding in each of it's claws. Hopefully what I was trying to achieve comes across enough! :D

*except for coots; coots, apparently, are awesome.

Reasoning below the cut, as per usual...

"The Raggfong is so called because of the sharpness of its eyes, for it is said to be of such keen vision that it glides above the sea on unmoving wings, out of human sight, yet from such a height sees small fish swimming below and, swooping down like a missile thrown from a siege engine, it seizes its prey on the wing and carries it to land."

- That's quite some description already! My first thought was of some kind of dragon, soaring high above the seas, except that a) we've already had a dragon, and b) the description later states that we're talking about a bird. I tried to make its eye nice and big, to represent it's sharp vision, and we have the suggestion of waves down below (and a very worried looking medieval fishie...!).

"When the Raggfong grows old, however, its wings grow heavy, and its eyes grow dim. Then it seeks out a spring and, turning away from it, flies up into the atmosphere of the sun; there it sets its wings alight and, likewise, burns off the dimness in its eyes in the sun’s rays. Descending at length, it immerses itself in the spring three times; immediately it is restored to the full strength of its wings, the former brightness of its eyes." - This is all cool, but I couldn't work out how best to represent this without detracting from what else I wanted to do with it.

"It is also said of the Raggfong that it exposes its young to the sun’s rays, holding them in its claws in mid-air. If any of them, struck by the light beating down from the sun, maintains a fearless gaze without damaging its sight, this is taken as proof that it has shown itself true to its nature. But if the young bird turns its eyes away from the rays, it is rejected as unworthy of its kind and of such a father and, being unworthy of being begotten, it is considered unworthy of being reared."

- The Raggfong definitely seems to be an ocean bird; it doesn't read like a hawk, which confused me a bit at first, since how is it grabbing things (including its chicks) with webbed feet? However, after a little research I found that some waterbirds (including coots!) have lobate feet; lobes of skin on either side of the toes that expand when it swims, but probably wouldn't get in the way when it held things. I wasn't able to include enough detail to show this, but cool fact nontheless.

The legs were based on an osprey (just in terms of managing to hold something within its claws), and the general body shape and wings on a cormorant (mostly because I could find reasonably good references!)

We can see the Raggfong holding up two of its chicks, one in each claw; the one on the left of the picture stares defiantly at the sun (I'm not convinced this will help its keen vision...), but the one on the right of the picture is more sensible and is looking away... :(

"The Raggfong condemns it not in a harsh manner but with the honesty of a judge."

- Birds. Are. Jerks. :p

"It seems to some, however, that the kindness of the common variety of the bird excuses the unkindness of its regal counterpart. The ordinary bird is called [redacted], coot; in Greek, [redacted]. Taking up the young Raggfong, abandoned or unacknowledged, the coot adds it to its brood, making it one of the family, with the same maternal devotion as it shows to its own young, and feeds and nourishes the young Raggfong and its own brood with equal attention."

- The description of the Raggfong as 'regal' informed how I approached the head. I wanted to make it at least a little fancy, and considered a variety of options (including long, flowy eyebrows - and even a lyrebird/bird of paradise inspired tail before realising that would decidedly get in the way of catching fish) before I settled on a grebe-inspired crest, loosely resembling a crown.

Now coots, I know what they look like! In the bottom right we see a parent coot with three of its babies, as well as a young Raggfong it adopted. Its nice to know that some of these bestiary entries have a happy ending!

As an aside, I haven't managed to capture exactly how scrungly baby coots look; they are absolutely delightful! :D

[pinkartwitch]

“In the midst of the kitchen stood a tall woman Frigga vaguely recognized with sepia skin and black hair shorter than most men’s. She wore an old, stained apron over simple worker’s clothes and her trousers were tucked into steel-toed boots with the stretched-out raggedy laces tied around each ankle. Apparently she’d been gathering up ingredients and baking tools from different cabinets when the heiress surprised her. She stood between the industrial stovetop and a substantial island, and she’d brought out one of two stools from its place at the counter’s opposite side. Frigga wanted to shrink back but she’d already been spotted. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anyone was here!” she apologized, her hand rising to fiddle with the thin golden chain necklace she wore. “No no! Come on in, Miss. You alrigh’?” The woman looked at Frigga, a soft concern in her eyes, and put her things on the island.” Blood and Thorns - Chapter 1

If you were a witch, what kind of magic would you specialize in?

This is a picture I’ve tried to draw before but never posted because I didn’t like how it turned out. I’m still not 100% with it, but I like this one much better so it’s going to get called done! I’m rapidly closing in on my goal of having 1 painting for every chapter of my book, and I’ll be making a big deal of it when I do so stay tuned for that 💖 It’s a long-term project very dear to my heart, and the more lesbians and witches I get to draw the better! Drawing scenes in a dark academia setting is so much fun, and I love adding bits of ambient magic wherever I can.

Little aside, I’ve been kind of all over the place for the last few weeks so I’m hoping to get back to my regular posting schedule with today. I had a lot of fun at the art gallery (see prev. post), and I’ve also had a lot going on personally so thank you everyone for your support oxoxo

If you like this, please reblog (it really helps artists out!!), leave a like or comment, and consider following me for more (I update at least once a week) 💖

Available for commissions! For more information, please check out  my post here: https://www.tumblr.com/pinkartwitch/739257460225916928/novas-art-commissions

If you’d like to read Blood and Thorns for free, my original story about magic, personal agency, and queer love that overcomes oppression, you can here: https://pinkchaosstories.tumblr.com/bloodandthorns

[cephalog0d]

Not tagged by anyone but inspired by @dangerousdan-dan enabling my Feelings about my Reverse Robins. (I wrote way more than I intended and this is a longish snippet of that, sorry XD)

Steph's dad is back in the picture and the older kids are having a Moment. (Ages: Steph - 17; Tim - 18; Damian - 23)

“I don’t suppose he’s telling the truth and putting his criminal career aside,” a voice said from the darkness. Damian dropped lightly down from the roof and settled next to Steph. He reached for her bowl of trail mix, but she yanked it out of reach before he could touch it. “Ah ah! Gloves off, mister!” “I have a door, you know,” Tim muttered. He was predictably ignored. Damian sighed heavily but did in fact remove his glove before reaching out again. Steph shifted the bowl back to her stomach and didn’t stop him this time. “Anyway, no, he’s absolutely up to something, I just haven’t figured out what it is yet. I guess he’s more paranoid after last time.” “Do you think he knows you were involved?” Tim asked, sitting up a little straighter. Damian did not react quite as obviously, but he did go suspiciously still and stop chewing his handful of snack mix. “Nah, I don’t think it’s that specific. He just knows it went wrong before so he’s being more careful.” “Maybe he does know and his attempts at reconnecting are intended to give you a false sense of security,” Damian suggested, making a face as he dusted crumbs off of his hand. Tim made a vague noise of agreement, fingers drumming absently on the arm of his chair. “Well it’s working great so far,” Steph said dryly. “I can safely say that unless his goal is ‘annoying the absolute shit out of me’, he’s definitely failing.” “Do you want us to lock him up again?” Tim asked. “I just told you I don’t even know what he’s planning.” “Not necessarily an impediment,” Damian said mildly. Tim tilted his head in agreement. “Do not try to frame my dad just to get rid of him,” Steph said emphatically, pointing a finger at each of them in turn. “He’ll just be out again in a month and even more paranoid with an even bigger chip on his shoulder. I’ll figure out what’s he’s up to and take care of it.”

(Tim and Damian never get along better than when there's a Family Problem they feel the need to take care of.)

No pressure tags for @outtoshatter, @dangerousdan-dan, @sepia-stained-sunset, @bess3714, @roseandgold137, and @kayrielwrites (or anyone else who wants to play!) if you've got anything you'd like to share!

[rotworld]

16: Blood Oath

an emergency situation sends you and your partner to an unorthodox couple's therapist.

->explicit. contains dubcon, blood drinking, inappropriate therapist behavior, arranged relationship, ntr/cuckolding into threesome, terato.

.

.

.

The waiting room is windowless, lit only by a handful of flickering candles in colored glass. The shadows are thick and what little you can make out is dull and indistinct. You can see the glint of a picture frame on the wall but not what’s inside of it. There’s the silhouette of a coffee table in the corner and a pile of indistinct magazines. Elias checks in at the desk with a woman whose eyes have the same reflective shine as his and settles into the stiff chair beside you. His expression is pinched, his arms folded over his chest. He doesn’t look at you. 

“I never noticed this place was here before,” you say. “I come through this part of town all the time.” 

“Mhm,” Elias says. 

You tug nervously at the thick fabric of your turtleneck, fingers grazing the gnarled scar tissue underneath. You’re rambling, spewing inept, fumbling conversation, saying whatever comes to mind. Elias hums in acknowledgement or nods but that’s all he gives you. He stares straight ahead and nothing and you can’t read him at all, have no idea what he’s thinking. It makes your stomach turn. “We should find more nightbound places to hang out. You’re always just going wherever I go—not that I mind, I don’t, at all, I just…it can’t be good on your eyes. I could be better about things like that, I think. I could be better about a lot of things.” 

“I’m not mad at you,” he says. 

He should be, you think. His breathing is shallow and a little ragged, a sickly, phlegmy sound rattling in his chest whenever he inhales. He’s tense; in pain. You’ve been partners for almost two years and he’s always had this powerful, unshakable air about him. It’s not just how he looks, but the leather jacket and confident swagger probably doesn’t hurt. He walks into a room and people turn to look, primed for fight-or-flight. Doesn’t matter if they’re nightbound or not, they can feel the power thrumming under his skin and they know not to fuck with him. Every bar in this city has an Elias story. People fear him, look up to him, know they can count on him.

Then the Dusk Council assigns him a partner and it’s like he’s been declawed. Can’t even win a fight in his favor without getting mauled in the process.

A door opens. Elias is on his feet, putting himself between you and the newcomer in an instant. His broad outline blocks your view entirely and you can see him bristling, his wheezing turning to growls. 

“Elias? Ah, and that must be your partner. I’m Dr. Griffiths. Follow me, please.” 

He doesn’t relax until you squeeze his hand. He squeezes back but he still doesn’t look at you. There’s shame written all over his face. 

Dr. Griffiths’ office is just down the hall. He tells you to take a seat as he lights a few extra candles, adding just enough brightness for you to see more clearly. It’s cozy and vintage. The floor is maroon carpet and there’s a Victorian sofa with a wooden frame across from his desk. The walls are lined with bookshelves and faded, sepia photographs. Dr. Griffiths is wearing a suit jacket and nothing underneath it, flashing a stripe of pale skin down to form-fitting trousers. He’s Elias’ opposite, built tall and thin rather than stocky, his features soft, almost androgynous. 

You settle beside Elias on the floral cushions, his ripped jeans pressed against your thigh. Dr. Griffiths doesn’t sit down, instead leaning against his desk with his hip cocked and his gaze uncomfortably intense. Some time passes in silence, the ticking of a clock the only sound.

“To begin,” he says suddenly, making Elias flinch, “I’d like to commend you both on your decision to come here. I know that must’ve been difficult. That you’re here, that you came together, is very promising.” He pauses. You can tell he’s studying you both carefully, his gaze flicking from Elias’ straight-backed, rigid posture to you, curled nervously beside him. “You’re double-latent, correct?” he asks you. 

“Oh. Yeah,” you say, sheepish. “In my family, people usually wait until they get partnered to start studying or practicing. Safer that way.” 

“But you still haven’t.” He smiles reassuringly at your timid nod. “I can tell by scent. Very pleasant, just a bit muffled still. You’re…unripe, shall we say?” Elias looks at him sharply. “Should we get the hard part out of the way first and talk about what brought you here?” 

Elias glares at the carpet. Gently, you thread your fingers together. He squeezes so hard it almost hurts. “I…” He starts. Stops. Takes a deep breath, gathers his thoughts. “I fucked up.” 

“No, you didn’t,” you say. “It was my fault.” 

“No it fucking wasn’t—” Dr. Griffiths clears his throat. You and Elias look at each other guiltily. “We were walking home from Gisela’s, this bar,” Elias says. “It was late, and kinda quiet, and there was a hunter following us. I don’t know how long he’d been there.” 

“You didn’t hear him approach?” Dr. Griffiths asks. 

“I—no. I didn’t.” Elias runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Anyway, I killed him. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. He was armed but nothing serious.” 

“Were you injured?” 

You swallow hard. Elias squeezes your hand again in reassurance, and then lets you go. He shrugs off his jacket first and then, without hesitating, peels off his shirt. You don’t want to look, but you force yourself. That’s your fault. Those huge blisters, the still oozing, pulsating mass of burns across his shoulders and down his chest happened because of you. That gaping wound through the chest, so deep you can see bone and quivering organs, should be nothing but a swirl of rough, regenerating tissue by now. 

Dr. Griffiths asks the obvious question, the one you’ve been waiting for. “Why haven’t you fed?” Elias’s lips press into a tight frown. “You’re extremely malnourished. You should’ve sensed the hunter before he was close enough to do this much damage, and you should be healed by now.” 

You fidget, crossing and uncrossing your legs. “It’s hard for me to feed him,” you admit. Dr. Griffiths approaches slowly, mindful of Elias’ watchful stare. He takes your opposite side, pressed close just like Elias. “What do you mean by that?” he asks gently.

But he knows already. You can tell. He’s looking at you—at your throat. At the exact spot on your turtleneck you keep picking at. He makes eye contact with Elias as he reaches up and hooks two fingers into the fabric and tugs it down. The scar isn’t that old. It’s a puffy ridge, twin spots joined by faint, bumpy lines, a blurry replication of Elias’ fangs. Elias digs his fingers into the knees of his jeans so hard he rips the holes even bigger, his nails hardening into claws.

“Because it hurts a lot,” you say, your voice dying to a whisper. 

Dr. Griffiths smooths his thumb over the scar. “The pain is that much stronger than the pleasure?” You must be staring at him the same way because he glances from you to Elias and back again, eyes widening in surprise. “Elias,” he says patiently, “am I understanding this correctly? Your partner has never climaxed from your bite?” 

Blood rushes to your face with dizzying speed. Elias looks as mortified as you feel, his eyes wide and his hands shredding bloody holes into his jeans, shrugging helplessly. “Is that supposed to happen?” you ask, your voice pitched in disbelief. 

A smile slowly works its way across Dr. Griffiths’ face. His grip slides from your neckline to the bottom of your sweater. You feel his cold fingers against your skin. “May I?” he asks. You’re too stunned to answer, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not asking you. His gaze is fixed on Elias over your shoulder, and Elias, his jaw clenched and his chest heaving, nods stiffly. 

You yelp when your sweater comes off in a flurry of movement and you’re suddenly in the therapist’s lap. Dr. Griffiths slips out of his jacket and he shifts right in front of you. He’s a different kind of nightbound than Elias. He becomes leaner and gaunt-faced, bones prominent beneath the skin. Thin, leathery membranes extend from his underarms, long, clawed fingers forming the rigid frame. He wraps one winged arm around you loosely, a gentle but firm grip on the small of your back keeping you trapped against him. You’re already trembling, the sight of a nightbound’s true face associated with agony. Dr. Griffiths strokes his palm up and down your spine, the membrane of his wing like a strange skin blanket moving across your skin. 

“This isn’t uncommon at all,” Dr. Griffiths says quietly. “It happens most often in isolated communities. Without a proper mentor, many nightbound never learn the proper feeding method. I assume you exclusively fed from hunters before being partnered and therefore this was never a concern.” You don’t hear anything more substantial than a grunt from Elias, but Dr. Griffiths considers it an answer. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. But you do need to learn. Look here, Elias. Shift, please.” 

You feel the couch dip beneath his increased weight. Elias is much larger when he shifts, tall enough to loom over both of you. In contrast to Dr. Griffiths’ smooth, hairless body, Elias is covered in a fine brown fuzz. You hear him rumbling the way he always does when you’re upset, the tip of one wingclaw grazing the nape of your neck reassuringly. You feel so small sandwiched between them. You glance up and find Elias peering down at you, his large, pointed ears pricked as he listens to your rushing heartbeat, dark eyes reflecting your nervous expression. His features are caught somewhere between a human’s and a bat, his lower face more protruding and snout-like, fangs extended.

“Comfy?” he asks, teasing. His voice is an even deeper rumble like this. At least he doesn’t look so crestfallen and guilty anymore.

“A little snug,” you say, masking the nervous flare in your stomach with a laugh. “But I’m good.”

Dr. Griffiths cups your chin and has you turn your head, baring your neck to him. The posture makes you shiver and Elias tries to get closer. You feel his body heat radiating through Dr. Griffiths’ wing. “You should have your venom prepared before you bite,” he says. “It should bead at the tip of your fang. If you can’t taste it, you’re not ready yet. Until you become more proficient, you shouldn’t linger. The bite should be quick and clean.” 

He wasn’t lying about the quick part. Dr. Griffiths ducks his head against the curve of your neck and shoulder before you’ve fully prepared for the movement and his fangs sink into your flesh.

You aren’t ready. You aren’t even close. It feels nothing like Elias’ bite. It’s heat and electricity flooding your veins, pure pleasure beneath your skin. His venom shoots straight to your sex you let out a sobbing whine, bucking your hips against him desperately. You can’t hold back a sobbing whine as you arch into Dr. Griffiths with a cry and cum untouched. He keeps you still through all your squirming and moaning, ignoring the insistent movement of your hips. He’s half-hard from the blood and you hump the bulge in his trousers shamelessly. 

The high lingers even when his fangs come out of your skin with a wet, sucking sound. You’re slumped against him, hazy-eyed and unsure of where you are or what you were even doing. A gentle claw smooths through your hair and you keen, leaning into the touch. People are talking above you, the words slowly becoming unmuffled, more understandable as you come back to yourself.

“—possible your venom production has also been affected, in which case you’ll need to work a little harder to supplement it. Feeding should be intimate, yes? Treat it as such. This is your oathbound partner. Your bite should please them.” 

You’re being lifted, turned around. Your back rests against Dr. Griffiths’ chest and you’re staring blearily at Elias. The wound in his chest stands out even more now, a cavernous hole gouged into his fur. The glaring, organic red is more obvious when it’s surrounded by fur. A miserable whimper builds in your throat. Elias bends down, nuzzling against your cheek. He bends further, nosing against your throat, your chest, pressing kisses down your abdomen. Your breath hitches when his claws hook into your pants, tugging at them insistently.

Dr. Griffiths lifts you, helping Elias get you undressed. His slender claws cup your thighs, pulling your legs apart. You’re embarrassed to be so turned on again already, but the venom hasn’t worked its way through your system yet. You’re still sensitive everywhere, whimpering just from Elias caressing your hip. 

“Relax,” Dr. Griffiths whispers, his voice warming your ear. “Your partner needs the practice. You just keep yourself nice and open, hm? We’ll do the rest.” His hands slide up and down your thighs. “Use your hand, Elias. Mind your claws.” 

It’s a little awkward at first. You’ve never tried doing anything like this while he’s shifted. Elias’ hand is firmer, the flesh of his wing extending from his palm. He rubs your sex with slow, deliberate strokes, carefully watching your face for every small reaction. He looks relieved when you start moaning and grinding back against him. Dr. Griffiths keeps massaging you, one hand trailing up your chest. He’s incredibly aware of his body, using the bony ridge of his wing to graze your nipple in teasing, back and forth motions. He rolls the hardening nub between his thumb and foreclaw, making you gasp and arch your back. 

“It’s good to do this even when your venom is properly potent,” he purrs, his tongue darting out to lick along the shell of your ear. “We’re predators by nature. Use your instincts to your advantage and pay attention to your partner’s body. Find where they’re weakest to your touch.” 

Elias is a quick study. He figures out exactly where and how to touch you to get you writhing, so needy and overstimulated you have tears in your eyes. You cum on his hand and he lets out a pleased rumble, his tongue curling between his fingers to lap up your mess before he’s right back at it. You can’t think straight. Your sex throbs and the pleasure keeps coming. Dr. Griffiths has both of your nipples teased into hardness and he’s kissing your neck, his teeth playfully scraping the bite he left behind. You can feel the venom in his fangs tingle across your skin, a warm, pleasant heat in every playful nip. 

“Elias!” you sob. You’re ready. You want it. He looks up and your eyes meet. 

You met in a crowded auditorium, one introduction in a chaotic sea of them during a mass pairing ceremony. You were afraid. You’d heard stories. Elias was big and intimidating, all muscle and hard angles, dressed in black. You were afraid to make eye contact, but when you finally did, you saw a cautious sort of happiness. Someone who was used to having things go horribly wrong, afraid of this new, wonderful thing that had just appeared in front of them. You exchanged the basics, names, hobbies, occupations. 

“I’m not, like, fancy or nothing,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. 

“I don’t care about that,” you said, and he looked at you like you’d thrown him a life preserver after a week stranded at sea, like the nicest thing he’d ever seen.

That’s how he looks at you now.

“I’m gonna bite you,” Elias warns. You nod. You can’t help but tense up a little bit, but you accept it, accept him, no matter what. Elias works you right to the edge of another orgasm with quick fingers slick with your cum. He sits up without stopping or slowing his pace, nuzzling his face against your neck. He finds an unmarred space—a fresh start. You’re breathless and begging him for it, your hips stuttering, your sex sore and throbbing, the pleasure starting to hurt. Elias kisses you. You hear a growl as he licks away Dr. Griffiths’ scent, swirling his tongue across your skin.

He hesitates. His fangs rest against your soft throat for just a moment, wavering, just pricking the skin. You feel the thick ooze of venom tingling across your neck and then, finally, he bites. It hurts. It still makes you cry out and dig your nails into his shoulders, but you don’t let him pull away, because it’s good. There’s something pleasant there for the first time, a heated, throbbing sensation. You can feel how much he loves you, how he shakes, how hard he tries and how much of himself he puts into the moment. He suckles at the wound only briefly but it’s enough to completely fill his cock and make him rut against you, his enormous shaft grinding hot against your belly. 

The bite is numb by the time he lets go. You pitch forward and he catches you, enclosing you in a cocoon of his wings. You feel floaty and a little delirious but not completely out of it. You’re mostly present, catching bits of Dr. Griffiths’ praise and advice. Mostly, you let yourself relax and drift. Elias’ heartbeat slows to a contented, soothing rhythm. The membrane of his wing rubs up and down your back and he keeps rumbling so softly you think he’s unaware of it. 

“That was beautiful! You both did wonderfully. I can tell you’re well suited to each other. I know our elders meant well, but partnering often leaves much to be desired…”

“Not for me,” Elias says. “They’re perfect.” His thumb claw gently strokes your cheek and you burrow deeper into his warmth, smiling against the rough, warm patch of skin where his chest has already begun to heal.

[the-fiction-witch]

Witch's Wand P9

I smiled as I woke up in the cosy patchwork bed with Nigel beside me, I turned giving him a little kiss before I climbed out and grabbed the wand, I barely wanted to leave but I have to find Jack, so I unlocked the door and returned back to the house, I quickly moved to the next room opening it to a small cream and wooden room with sweet brown wooden furnishings most with dust and littered with trinkets, I opened the wardrobe seeing some similar dresses, but smaller petticoats and skirts, slightly thinner I suppose I picked a small skirt and blouse and slipped them on. One item did seem odd as I saw this ... dark green military uniform, but I used the wand and opened up the door to reveal a sweet little firelit cottage littered with wooden furniture and small trinkets, I walked in and found the place rather cosy I admit, and it did remind me of home somewhat, I looked to the mantle seeing pictures sepia tones photos and drawings, as well as military photos of men in uniforms, even metals mounted in frames on the mantle.

'Latimer.T.'

"Latimer..." I muttered,  

"That's our name don't wear it out buttercup," a voice spoke up,

I jumped and turned to see the small kitchen where a familiar blonde man stood drying some dishes in some black trousers and a crisp white shirt, "is it now?"

"It is, you still getting used to it being yours?"

"A little,"

"You're too cute," he smiled setting the last dish down and coming over to kiss my cheek and wrap his arms around me,

"So... remind me of it again?" I smiled 

"Ummm Hello, Mrs Y/n Latimer my sweet little buttercup, you're beloved husband Timothy Latimer."

"of course my sweet beloved husband,"

"Hmmm cute." he smiled giving my lips a kiss, "Now? As the dishes are done and the fire has made the house all nice and cosy, shall we buttercup?" he smirked turning me to face the bed as he kissed up my neck, 

Damn! What is it with these guys all being so damn horny!

"Okay," I blushed,

"Perfect," he growled as he tugged up over to the bed and stripped off down to his cotton underwear, Immediately he laid down excitedly with a pillow "Come on then buttercup" he smirked

"What? What... uhh what do you?"

"Come on... its Thursday, you know what I want," he growled,

"Well you uhh may have to remind me,"

"Ummm I want you to sit on my face buttercup, you always taste best over me."

"Ohh uhh uhh... okay," I blushed a little but moved to kneel on the pillows holding the headboard so I hovered above his face "You can pull me down where you need me to-" I began but he happily moved my skirt and got me where he needed me,

"Umm so wet already? Such a beautiful little buttercup" he answered gently holding my thighs and tugging me down until he was comfortable and he began to softly kiss me "uummmm buttercup" he groaned stroking my thighs as he kissed and nibbled at my skin

"Uhhh Timothy" I gasped holding the headboard and trying to make sure I didn't move too much

"Ummmm ummmm, I love you so much!" he groans between his kisses,

"You're really enjoying it this much?" I blushed playing with his hair a little,

"Uhhhh so much buttercup, I wanna do this every night if you'd let me, but I know your cute little legs get tried, trust me if I could I'd have you sit on my face and I'd eat you all night every night" he moans his kisses getting more intense

"Uhhh really?"

"Really y/n."

"Ummm it is very nice, but I can't help but feel like I'm not doing much"

" just relax buttercup, let me take care of my lovely girl,"

"What about this?" I asked gently moving my hips which gave me more pleasure and his grip tightened

"Uhhhh fuck! Yes!" He groaned, "ohh yeah! Ride my face buttercup ummm!" He moans kissing, licking and now even sucking to give me more pleasure "Uhhhh so adventurous tonight buttercup," He groaned

"Uhhhh Timothy!"

"Fuck! You feel so good" he groans his hand moving up to grasp my breast

"Uhhhh!" I squealed my legs getting weak I leant back a little and noticed just how hard he was so I giggled and moved my hand back to rub in his erection

"Uhhhhh fuck! You are amazing! You're so perfect! How did I ever get such a perfect thing like you! Uhh keep going I'm already close buttercup," He groans speeding up his kisses and sucking so I sped up my hand and it wasn't long

until I hit my wall squealing as I grabbed the headboard hard throwing my head back trying not to squirt or clamp my thighs down on him "Ahhhhhhhh timothy!"

When I calmed down a little and caught my breath I noticed I had squirted a little which made me turn bright red as I moved a little,

"Ohh timothy I uhh I -" I began

That was honestly the hottest experience of my life and the fact that you literally rode my face until you squirted on me is literally going to go down as one of the sexiest things I will ever experience!"

"It uhh it was?"

"I love you so much, you are so sexy, beautiful, and amazing, Thank you very very much buttercup"

"You're welcome Timothy" I smiled

"Buttercup?"

"Yes, Timothy?" I blushed,

He smirked and pulled me down onto his lap until he slipped inside me "uuuuuuuhhh! Holy-" he moans, I began to move his eyes rolled back and he moaned "uuhhh you feel so good buttercup! Uhhh don't stop y/n" he begs moving his hips to thrust up into me as I ride providing us both with waves of pleasure we did our best to both stay quiet and slow but I knew how close I was getting and I began to get faster and more merciless on him which he enjoyed massively biting his lip hard trying desperately not to moan "I'm close y/n! I'm so close buttercip! Please!" he pleads "please, please! You have no idea how bad I need you!" he groans moving his hands from my waist to my breasts groping them through my dress and playing with my hardening nipples "ohh yeah... fuck! Uuuuuuuhhh!" he groans as he began rubbing and stroking my clit which was enough to throw me over the edge I covered my mouth as I froze up pleasure Washing over me

"Uuughhhh!" He groans as my tightness has thrown him over the edge too he buries himself inside me filling me up he collapses completely against his pillow gasping for breath, "... I love Thursdays buttercup," he growled. 

"yeah I uhh I think I do too." I blushed, 

"come here let me give my buttercup a cuddle," he cooed cuddling up to spoon me with his arm over my waist, I smiled and enjoyed the cuddle and the few kisses until he fell asleep.

Once he had been sleeping a while I got up and fixed my skirt grabbing my wand, I smiled giving his head a little kiss before I unlocked the door and headed back into the small room and the house. 

[karinzany]

tag game: 3 books, 3 movies, and 3 songs

that changed your life or you just love.

thanks for the tag @lumochiart! I appreciate how you never forget about me when it comes to these tag games (and I will do the previous ones too!!)

About the books 📚:

Isabel Allende is my favorite author. I read "The city of beasts" when I was 13 and fell in love with her writing. It is part of a trilogy (Memories of the Eagle and the Jaguar) which I absolutely reccomend if you enjoy magical realism, the literary genre that she has mastered to perfection. Her first novel, "The House of the Spirits", it's a great example of that. It's very reminiscent of "100 years of Solitude" by Gabriel García Márquez. They both follow the story of a Latin-American family across generations, and they are so whimsical but at the same time incredibly raw when depicting reality. Although it is not considered a trilogy, "Daughter of Fortune" and "Portrait in Sepia" both include characters from "The House of the Spirits", and to this day they are my favorite books from her.

José Saramago won a Nobel Prize for a reason. "Death at Intervals" (pictured aboved), "Blindness" (which has a great film adaptation) and the sequel "Essay on Lucidity" are all amazing philosophical exercises that start with a very simple premise, respectively "what if people stopped dying?", "what if everyone turned blind?" and "what if everyone casted blank votes?". And the results are absolutely astounding. He never names his characters, nor he specifies in which country the action takes place (although we can tell it's Portugal), so that we can focus solely on the actions of the characters when faced with these dillemas. I couldn't reccomend them enough. I've read his books in Portuguese, but I'm confident the English translation does them justice.

Patrick Süskind isn't an author I know well, but "Perfume" is certainly one of the most memorable books I've ever read. The descriptions of the visuals and smells of 18th century Paris are so vivid that you feel like you're really there. You get inside the mind of the murderer, and you can understand, in a twisted way, how he can turn death into something so beautiful. And the ending of the book, my God! I couldn't forget it even if I tried. It's the culmination of his character, and it shows you what he considers to be the true meaning of love. It also has a film adaptation.

About the movies 📽️:

"The Little Mermaid" and "Barbie in the Princess and the Pauper" are self-explanatory, absolute animated classics from my childhood.

"The Secret Garden" (In Portuguese, "O Jardim Secreto", picture I took of my VHS) is based on the novel with the same name by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I watched this movie compulsively when I was little. The songs were amazing, and it was actually scary in some parts. The ending is slightly different than the novel, and surprisingly I enjoyed the movie a lot more! Which literally never happens. So yeah, if you somehow find this specific version of the movie on the internet I definitely reccomend a watch. It holds up very well even as an adult (also much better than the live-action).

About the songs 🎶:

I don't know if you could tell, but Florence + the Machine is my favorite singer, since I was 11. She had one album that I listened on repeat. They were the only songs on my old MP3 player. To this day, I have her entire discography saved on my phone, so I can listen to it even without internet.

"Between Two Lungs" is from the first album, "Lungs", and it makes me want to run into the woods and scream my lungs out. "Shake It Out" is from the second album, "Ceremonials" (my favorite), and it is very dear to my heart, since I've sang it in two school competitions already (with 9 years in between the two).

"King" is from the fifth album, "Dance Fever", and it did things to me. "I am no mother, I am no bride, I am King." My aroace heart loved the song. Even though I know the original interpretation was an argument between two lovers, I also read it as an act of defiance to your parents, your loved ones and to the society in general that wants to shove into the role of what a woman has to be. But I don't want to be a mother or a bride. I want to take control of my own life. I want to be King. On YouTube, there's also a poem version that is equally beautiful.

I'm tagging @portgas-d-ani @lorillee @alwayshasacold @caseyd1a @tinycurlyfry @vgprincess @tevali @zhabk4 and anyone who wants to participate!

I've spent more time answering this than I thought I would, but you don't actually have to explain your choices, I did it of my own volition! You can just post the pictures >.<

[thelaithlyworm]

I posted 2,772 times in 2022

That's 118 more posts than 2021!

301 posts created (11%)

2,471 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@llywela13

@regionalpancake

@procrastinatorproject

@tuibelle

@dduane

I tagged 1,530 of my posts in 2022

Only 45% of my posts had no tags

#dmbj - 178 posts

#cats - 112 posts

#the lost tomb - 77 posts

#podfic - 62 posts

#writing - 56 posts

#star trek picard - 53 posts

#nirvana in fire - 45 posts

#meta - 44 posts

#dracula daily - 41 posts

#star trek - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 110 characters

#sometimes you just need to see a girl in an increasingly ragged dress beat the complete shit out of bad people

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I Am Having A Very Bad Day

Any pictures of fluffy animals would be most welcome.

49 notes - Posted January 13, 2022

#4

Love Like The Galaxy is killing me. I’m going to be dead before this is over.

*spoiler*

Okay, so Heroine’s marriage to Cupcake has been cancelled due to external reasons and it wasn’t easy for any of them but Heroine made a, like, sweet and honourable choice and is now getting pilloried in public for it because people are shits. I mean really. Shits. I’m weirdly invested in how Cupcake and his new bride’s life is going to turn out. She was kinda objectionable when introduced but she’s gone through a lot and I hope the pair of them can make things work. (The General gets bonus points for being there, all quietly supportive for Heroine, and saying (even though he desperately wants her to withdraw so he can marry her), ‘I’m not going to advise you. I know whatever choice you make will be the right one.’ and just quietly killing me.)

But!

The General has lost So Much Social Credit of late. First, by pressuring her family to let him marry Heroine - and he had the Emperor right there, pressuring away. (Look, I know, and the Emperor knows, that those two will be a good match. But it’s an inauspicious start which reminds everyone involved that The General is a... Duke? Probably a Duke in European terms and Heroine’s family are minor gentry just recently raised to extremely minor aristocracy and without any damn backing. Or to put it another way, as far as they can see - if The General mistreats their very young daughter, there is sweet eff all they can do about it. And he has an... ominous reputation, well-deserved.)

Second... Oh god, he’s trying, he’s trying so hard, to be respectful and, and nice, but somehow, turning up with a file of troops to invite himself to family breakfast* and stiffly telling a horrible joke, and informing the Heroine she shouldn’t eat so late in the day because it’s bad for the digestion (and I swear, he was trying to talk that out, he expected her to talk back to him and explain her reasons but she’s depressed and intimidated and he comes across as v. overbearing)...

Has now surrounded Heroine’s Family House with armed guards. Purely, I believe, to show respect and to guard them from harm but. Oh god.

He is just so awkward. Never have I seen a man try so hard and fail so badly at Being Nice.

I’m dying.

* Like Darth Vader sitting down with a cup of tea with his little finger crooked out because he read that you should do that in an etiquette guide, earnestly making smalltalk...

51 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

#3

[ID: "A scattering of black and white and sepia photos of women in scanty, Victorian-era dress, most notably a middle-aged woman with a kind face, Big Hat, and stripy stockings. Shuffled into the pile is a policeman in full uniform sitting in a chair for a portrait. Title reads, Owed, by copperbadge, read by Thimblerig" End ID]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Discworld - Terry Pratchett Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rosemary "Rosie" Palm/Samuel Vimes Characters: Samuel Vimes, Rosie Palm Additional Tags: Drunkenness, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Prostitution, but really it's quite a nice story, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes, Podfic, Repod Summary:

Vimes owes Rosie more than money.

*

Repod of something I did two and a half years ago by @copperbadge​ because it’s a lovely story and it wasn’t a bad podfic at the time but Jesus H Christ I have learned a lot about projecting from the diaphragm since then.

(My question is, did that relationship between them exist before ‘John Keel’ wrote that letter...?)

62 notes - Posted July 18, 2022

#2

DMBJ Meta: Bai Haotian

So, since I’m in the middle of a Sound of Providence rewatch (I’m up to the murderous puppet theatre), I’m also having thinky thoughts about one of the supporting characters, Bai Haotian, also known as Xiao-Bai (Little Bai).

She’s present in the webnovel as well, incidentally, though she and Warehouse 11 are much less filled out. Anyway. (Some spoilers to follow.)

So Little Bai is a short drink of water, tiny, bright-eyed, who appears when Wu Xie enters W11. She’s extremely helpful, and also extremely mysterious, but after several mini-adventures it’s revealed that the giant flaming crush on him is entirely genuine and also, she’s a third-gen manager of the Warehouse (which is why she knows so much). In season 2, she’s recruited for the Thunder City arc as a diver; in the second half she’s involved in the W11 shenanigans that fill out the season. 

She’s adorable in her own right, but what interests me in the narrative sense is how much she is like Wu Xie when he was a Baby Adventurer, Very Staunch. Young, brilliant, family connections to weird shit but also very sheltered, doggedly loyal to the people she admires. She’s got a lot of talent but also needs some teaching and seasoning before she can compete in the big bad world. Does that sound like our Xiao-Xie? And it’s nice to having someone in that ingenue role since he’s thoroughly aged out of it by now, but also.

If we treat Xiao-Bai as an analogue for Young Wu Xie, in that story Old Wu Xie is a mash-up of two different roles - Xiaoge (his long-time crush) and San-shu (uncle, mentor, tricksy manipulative bastard). And I think that Wu Xie, at least, is aware of the parallels.

So when Wu Xie tells her, “You’re young: you don’t understand the difference between love and worship,” is he also talking to his younger self? Is he looking back fifteen years to the young sprat he was and kindly patting that boy on the head for being enormously silly but sweet? Does he think whatever his *waves hand helplessly* Thing with Xiaoge is, it’s stronger than that or does he also worry that after all this time he’s still... the wide-eyed infant to Xiaoge’s tired self. I mean, on the surface level she’s just found out he’s dying and he wants her not to grieve so much so he’s trying to de-escalate her feelings, and that’s a solid bit of story-telling right there. But Xiao-Bai, and Piaopiao for that matter, have a lot of parallels and resonant themes with what’s going on with the Iron Triangle, and I think this is one of them.

And! A large part of drama plot is Wu Xie’s drive to prove that San-shu (the first one, at least, the one before the Xisha Shipwreck Tomb) was a decent man. That whatever bloody deeds he had done, he was forced into it, that he meant well, that he was doing his best.

The point being, this is Wu Xie post-Sand Sea, where he spent most of a decade being tricksy, manipulative, pragmatic, bloody-handed, using his allies as harshly as his enemies. The actor Zhu Yilong made sure we remembered that every morning he spent extra time painting a bloody great scar on his neck. The text reminds us by bringing in Jiang Zisuan and his accusations which are... inaccurate regarding A-Ning’s death but not without weight, either. Wu Xie’s walked in the footsteps of Third Uncle: he’s done some shit. So it’s interesting to me, and sweet, and bittersweet to be honest, in this quest to prove San-shu was a good man, just how much work Old Wu Xie puts into keeping Xiao-Bai, this mirror of his younger self, safe.

Also she’s cute. Did I mention she’s cute? OMG I could just die.

Anyway, back to the show... Run from the clams, my good man! Run!!

62 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

other people, intellectuals: *some drollery about cats, so independent and aloof*

my cats: Mother, did you see me? I did a thing, were you watching? Come into the garden, Mother, for the sun shines brighter on the grass when you are there. Mother, if I don’t crack open your chest and sleep nestled inside your ribs tonight I might literally die. Mother. Mother. Did you see me, Mother?

2,204 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[monaarcclinic]

The Benefits of Online Homeopathy Consultation for Women’s Problems: A Holistic Approach to Health

In recent years, women have increasingly turned to alternative forms of medicine to manage their health, with homeopathy standing out as a preferred choice for many. As healthcare becomes more digital, online homeopathy consultation for womens problems is gaining popularity as an accessible and effective way to address a variety of health issues, including hormonal imbalances, weight loss struggles, hair loss, and menstrual irregularities.

This blog will explore the benefits of online homeopathy for women’s health, examining why so many women are choosing homeopathy and how it can provide lasting solutions to some of their most common health concerns. Whether you’re struggling with hot flashes, irregular periods, or weight management, online homeopathy offers a personalized, non-invasive, and effective treatment option.

Subsection 1: The Convenience of Online Homeopathy

For many women, time is a precious resource. Managing a household, career, and personal life can leave little room for health appointments. The advent of telemedicine has revolutionized healthcare access, making it easier for women to receive the care they need without the hassle of traveling to clinics or waiting for appointments. Best homeopathy online consultation services offer flexibility, allowing women to book appointments at times that suit them, receive expert advice from the comfort of their homes, and even have remedies delivered directly to their doorsteps.

This convenience extends to follow-up consultations as well. Women undergoing long-term treatment for chronic conditions like PCOS, hypothyroidism, or menopause symptoms can have regular online check-ins with their homeopaths to track progress and adjust remedies as needed. This ongoing support is one of the key reasons why more women are embracing online homeopathy consultations for their healthcare needs.

Subsection 2: Hormonal Disorders and Homeopathic Treatment

Hormonal imbalances can manifest in various ways, including irregular periods, weight fluctuations, mood swings, and fertility issues. Many conventional treatments for these problems focus on symptom management rather than addressing the root cause. Homeopathy, however, aims to restore balance to the body’s natural systems.

In online homeopathy consultation for women’s problems, practitioners take a holistic view of health, considering both physical symptoms and emotional well-being. Remedies like Pulsatilla, Sepia, and Natrum Muriaticum are often prescribed based on a woman’s individual symptoms and overall constitution. For women experiencing irregular periods or fertility challenges, homeopathy can offer a gentle and effective path to hormone regulation without the side effects commonly associated with synthetic hormones.

Subsection 3: Weight Loss and Homeopathy

Weight management is a common concern among women, particularly those experiencing hormonal shifts related to pregnancy, PCOS, or menopause. While diet and exercise are important, many women find that these efforts alone are not enough to achieve lasting weight loss. Homeopathy offers a unique approach to weight management by addressing the underlying causes of weight gain.

During best homeopathy online consultation sessions, homeopaths look at the bigger picture—assessing metabolism, digestive health, stress levels, and emotional factors that may be contributing to weight gain. Remedies like Calcarea Carbonica, Natrum Muriaticum, and Lycopodium are commonly used to aid weight loss by improving metabolism and balancing hormones.

Subsection 4: Managing Hair Loss and Skin Problems

Hair loss, acne, and other skin issues are often the visible signs of deeper imbalances within the body, particularly when related to hormonal changes. Homeopathy aims to treat these conditions from the inside out, focusing on restoring overall health rather than just targeting the symptoms. For example, women experiencing hair loss due to thyroid issues or PCOS might be prescribed a remedy like Thuja or Silicea.

Online homeopathy consultations make it easy for women to address these issues in a discreet and convenient way. They can discuss their concerns with a practitioner from the privacy of their own home and receive personalized treatment recommendations. Regular follow-ups ensure that their progress is monitored, and remedies can be adjusted as needed for optimal results.

Conclusion: A Natural Path to Better Health

The rise of online homeopathy consultation for women’s problems offers an exciting new avenue for those seeking natural, holistic solutions to their health concerns. Whether managing hormonal imbalances, weight issues, or skin conditions, homeopathy provides a personalized approach that targets the root cause of these problems, promoting overall health and well-being.

With the added convenience of online consultations and the availability of best homeopathy online consultation platforms, women now have greater access to this form of treatment than ever before. By choosing homeopathy, they can embark on a journey to better health—one that is natural, gentle, and effective.

[tizzymcwizzy]

idk if anyone has asked this before but how do you manage to make your traditional art come out w a clear and crisp quality when you upload it bc i've been trying to figure out how to improve that for my own art

i might've answered this before i don't mind repeating myself

STEP 1: make sure you have good lighting!

take your photos next to a window on a bright day, not in direct sunlight because that can cause glare or over expose the image, but next to a window where the ambient light is even across your piece

taking pics on a rainy day or after the sun sets? no problem! all you need is bright ambient lighting, like what you'd find in a well lit bathroom, light that isn't shining directly on you, but reflecting off the walls, diffused and even

when taking your picture you wanna make sure there are no shadows, be it cast shadows from your hands, or shadows on one side of the page due to focused light

here's a side by side:

on the left side there's this gradient of value across the image because the light is just hitting the page from the top, and there's some visual striping caused by my lamp

on the right the image is evenly covered in light from a nearby window, so there is no gradient

of course the left image is exaggeratedly bad but if you photograph and edit with uneven light your end product will be passable, but not as great as it could be

here are some more examples post edit, notice the gradient across the drawing and the shadow on the bottom half

again not TERRIBLE but not ideal

STEP 2: photograph straight on, up close and crop tastefully!

when you're taking your picture stand up if you can, and i mean it, just get right on top of the piece and make sure your camera is parallel, because taking a pic at an angle can really distort the proportions of your drawing

also make sure you're fitting as much of the drawing into your picture as possible, you don't wanna lose quality unnecessarily by photographing from a distance

and when you crop, try and get out as much unnecessary space as you can, of course give the image breathing room, don't crop down to the edges of your image, but also try and cut out your thumbs or desk if you're going for that crisp professional look

all the rules in this section can be broken if it's done intentionally!

here are some examples of off angle/weirdly cropped drawings with my desk in the background but it's on purpose:

STEP 3: time to edit!

so this part is really going to depend on what software you personally use to edit and getting familiar with it, i use my phone's built in editor which is the google photos editor, ive used ios photo editing, ive used photoshop and procreate and most programs generally have the same couple of editing scales so im going to be general

FOR BLACK AND WHITE ART:

1. turn the saturation aaallllll the way down

we don't want the yellow of the pages or the warm light of your lamp or the blue tone of the sun on our white paper, unless you're going for a black and white in sepia sort of look, then edit to your discretion, but in general for black and white i eliminate all color

2. crank the brightness and contrast (highlights/white point/exposure/brilliance) UP and turn the black point/shadows DOWN

we want to create as much visual contrast as possible and make the darks REALLY dark and the brights REALLY bright, especially if you have a drawing that has very little midrange values, this worked well for my stamps, but for a pencil drawing you want to keep those details and middle values so the settings won't be as extreme

depending on what program you use the names and effects of each setting might be a little different, so fiddle around to find out what everything does!

here's a before and after

FOR COLOR ART:

1. increase saturation! (and vibrance on ios) depending on your piece and your camera and the medium and the lighting your image and its colors can come out a number of different ways, but usually cameras will not capture the vibrancy of real life colors. and personally i just like boosting them anyway :) i think it looks really nice!

2. turn the brightness and white values up, but not too much, we don't want to wash out any colors but if you have a white of the page we still want that to be bright white

3. turn the black point/shadows down just a little, we don't want to completely overpower the light and color values with darks and shadows, but we still don't want it to look washed out and dull

and lastly (for both B&W and color) fiddle with some other specialized settings! play with curves! or pop, or HDR or whatever other slider you have access to, figuring out what each does and which ones you like will help you get your final image closer to your tastes

happy editing and art making!!! i hope this was helpful :)