Multifandom Art Blog

|| Soleil || 25 || autistic || || They/them || side blogs are Soleilthegay and Sparksofthesun || https://linktr.ee/Muragos

[muragos]

Leyendecker study

Details under cut

[muragos]

Fourth of July has me feeling a type of way…

[muragos]

How we feeling about the armor?

[sparksofthesun]

6/18/26

The Mirror

When I was small the dark had a name, and that name was Bloody Mary, and you only had to say it three times before she came. I believed that the glass was not a surface but a mouth, and if I looked too long I would be swallowed into the other side of it, some cold dimension with no door back to my own. Or worse, that she would come through to my side, and the last thing I would see was my own frightened face beside hers. So I learned to navigate by feel. I pulled the blanket above my eyes each night against the view of the great sliding mirror of my closet door. I crossed the hallway to the bathroom with one hand over my face and the other searching the wall for the switch, refusing the dark glass any chance to show me what was waiting inside it.

I did not understand yet that the thing I was afraid of had nothing to do with a woman in the glass, and everything to do with the woman down the hall.

Later the mirror became a place I went to rehearse. My mother told me I rolled my eyes, though I never knew I was doing it. I had a habit of glancing left when I was thinking, and I could not hold anyone’s gaze for long, and these small involuntary things were read as defiance and punished as defiance. There was hot sauce on the tongue. There was the wall, and the ache that climbed my legs the longer I stood against it. So I stood before the mirror instead and tried to learn my own face as a language I kept getting wrong. I practiced the smile, the frown, I practiced anger, and stillness, holding each one until it might fall across my features naturally when the moment called for it, so that I would not be caught again wearing the wrong expression at the wrong time.

When my body began to change, the mirror turned against me entirely. I watched the boys in my classes remain children, goofy and unbothered and free of consequence, while everything about me became something to be policed and corrected and ashamed of. The dress code that affected only the girls. The cruelty over the hair on my legs, the hair under my arms, the strap that showed at my shoulder. The way a crowd would dissolve if I so much as mentioned that I was bleeding. I ate what the boys ate and was called fat for it. I dressed and moved the way the boys did and was called a dyke for it. I was told that girls mature faster, that I was meant to be an adult at twelve while the boys around me got to stay young. I cut my own hair. I wore beanies. I wrapped fabric around my chest and layered with tight sports bras to flatten what I had not asked to grow. I hated the reflection that insisted on becoming a woman in front of me, all that effort spent only to be dismissed, and I envied the boys and their effortless belonging so deeply that it took me years to untangle the envy from something truer underneath it. I wanted to be a boy. I wanted the ease they were given for free.

There is a thing my hands do at the mirror that I have a name for now. Dermatillomania, common in OCD minds like my own. I see every blemish and every imperfection and I feel the pull to correct them, to make the surface clean, and so I stand there and I pick until the correcting has made everything worse, until the redness and the broken skin are a deeper flaw than the one I started with. Then the shame arrives, the way it always does, and the shame is its own loop that feeds the very thing that made it. It began in those same years, when my body was changing in a hundred ways I could not stop, and this was the single change I could pretend to govern. I could not stop any of it, but I could clear the acne. I could hold dominion over that one small territory of my own face, and so I did, and so I still sometimes do, control and the loss of control collapsing into the same gesture.

These days I look into the glass and find my eyes have gone dead in it. I see my face, but it arrives from a great distance, as though I am watching it from somewhere behind my own eyes rather than living inside it. The expression it holds is not mine. The movements are not mine. I only watch as some other entity works the strings of the puppet that the world insists is me, and I cannot say, in those moments, whether I am the doll or the thing standing behind it in the dark.

And then, sometimes, the mirror becomes a door that opens the other way. I was told both times not to look, once on acid and once on mushrooms, and both times I looked, because I have never been able to refuse the glass its chance to show me something. My face melted and bloomed into a kaleidoscope. I gazed into my own eyes and fell straight through them, down into the consciousness and the mortality and the soul waiting at the bottom, and that was frightening, the way the truth often is. But once, I looked and saw small green sprouts pushing up through the skin of my face, reaching toward a light I could not see, and I felt joy. I have hated this face for most of my life, but to watch it become a place where something living chose to grow, to see my own ruined and rehearsed and dissociated reflection hosting the smallest green proof of life, was the closest I have come to forgiveness in that glass.

[muragos]

Closet cosplay for Ragatha. Went and saw the finale in theatres yesterday. I have complex feelings about it…

[muragos]

WIP update 😗

[muragos]

Haven’t drawn my OC Muragos in a hot minute so I’m gonna do a kind of master sheet reference thing for her 🫡

Lowkey why are people harder to draw than dragons 😶

WIP (obviously)

[muragos]

Her husband, Eurian, and his horse I don’t have a name for yet. Very rough. Im gonna render all the concepts once I have more consecutive off days lol

[muragos]

Haven’t drawn my OC Muragos in a hot minute so I’m gonna do a kind of master sheet reference thing for her 🫡

Lowkey why are people harder to draw than dragons 😶

WIP (obviously)

[muragos]

Going back to drawing dragons like god intended

[muragos]

I think I rendered too close to the sun

[muragos]

Okay goodnight pookies. I should be finished soon 🤞

WIP

[muragos]

Oh.

I had a coworker earlier today tell me that her type was women with black hair and blue eyes. She was looking right at me when she said it. I was like “oh cool! You’d love Shadowheart!” and started info dumping about Balder’s Gate.

I have black hair and blue eyes.

[muragos]

Lineart officially done 😩

WIP

[muragos]

Art nouveau borders are hard. Why do I do this to myself

[muragos]

I’m tempted to try and make an Arcane Tarot card set… but then I looked up how many cards are in a tarot set and that is a lot. Maybe I could just do the major arcana.

If I were to do that I’m thinking I might try and make prints or something one day.

[muragos]

First sketch from my new iPad 🙂‍↕️ I’m gonna render it after work.

Dudes I haven’t drawn in so long it feels like a missing piece of me has returned

[muragos]

Yeah anyways my arcane hyper fixation is back 100%

I think I was also super obsessed like exactly a year ago so it must be a seasonal thing. Spring= arcane or something like that.