Little chibi guardians. Finally, after years, I've been able to play Destiny with friends. Moth and his ghost chrysalis and the new warlock light, Wraith!
Redrawing some characters from a story of mine that's been in the works. Nice to see the progress I've made in a year or two as well. This is Cecil, the Luna moth and Layette the Orchid Mantis. In progress
Finished playing Pokemon Scarlett recently after not playing any pokemon game for quite a while. I fell in love and had to draw myself as a gym leader.
Meet Dew/Dewdrop, my FNAF Security Breach OC. I never thought I'd be making an OC for this, but Sun/Moon has a death grip on my heart. So, I made them a cloud animatronic friend.
Dew's story is that she was introduced to the Daycare as an assistant when the reviews started to fall. She helps Sun and Moon with supervising and events but she specializes with children who have special needs and interactions with parents.
All four of her hands contain noise cancelling headphones for when a child experiences sensory overload and needs that type of support. Her hands also double as speakers when needed. Her hair can change with her mood or with special events. Rainbows when she's happy, rain when she's sad, sunset to let the children know it's approaching nap time, etc.
Her other functions include being a nightlight and music box. She can play various sounds such as rainstorms/thunderstorms, crickets chirping, nature sounds, white noise, etc. When playing things like thunderstorms, her hair will react accordingly - having soft flashes of light to simulate lightning in the clouds. Her freckles also act as twinkling stars during "night time"
She very rarely can express anger but definitely specializes in the debilitating motherly disappoinment. She absolutely adores children and loves problem solving with them - guiding them along until they reach a solution themselves.
Moth has really inspired me to create a lot of art and this includes writing, which normally isn’t anywhere near my cup of tea. Moth is most certainly an idiot most times but he isn’t exempt from the hardships that most definitely come with being a guardian. So, I wrote something that’s been in my head for a while now. I hope you enjoy! It’s better read with thunderstorm and rain in the background.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVKEM4K8J8A
This is Moth’s favorite time to be at his hideaway in the EDZ, when the clouds become too heavy to bear their weight and brings with it the symphony of thunder. He lays here now in the makeshift bed he’s crafted from an old frame, tucked inside the space out of reach of the rain, and watches as it pours in sheets at the edge of the broken foundation. Although nature tempts him with it’s soothing lullaby, he does not sleep. Whether by choice, or not, he isn’t sure. The gentle tug of insomnia on his eyelids fits nicely with the desire to enjoy this peace while it lasts. Come morning the world around him could no longer be recognizable, so he memorizes it now in this false silence.
Inhaling the humid air, Moth is drawn to gaze at the sleeping figure of Crow nestled up against his side, having succumbed to the realm of dreams. How he wishes to join him there, to roll over and form a barrier between Crow and the world, but the thought of waking him suffers too much like a sin. Comforted by the deep even breathing beside him, Moth returns his lidded gaze up to the ceiling, interlocked fingers drumming an imaginary beat on his chest, eyes darting immediately to the face like imprint he discovered in the paint chipped concrete not long ago. The rain picks up, harder and harder as it drenches the earth in waves and from it, Moth is lulled to close his eyes - to listen for the impending thunder as lightning blinds the sky.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Thunder rattles the landscape and deafens the unoccupied space, echoing along its vast expanse.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
A whisper.
A mumble? Crow doesn’t often talk in his sleep but it’s enough to convince Moth to abandon his attempt at slumber once more. Yet, checking on the sleeping form dredges up such a rapid flux of panic that Moth can feel his heart sink and catch in his throat all in the same nauseating motion. A face so familiar yet unrecognizable pierces his soul with its glare, a phantom visage shrouded in tainted shadow and the deep hues of anguish and yet Moth can’t bring himself to look away. Although he does not feel the bone rattling chill of stasis on his skin, he cannot move all the the same, frozen helplessly in place as the ghastly yet vague figure of Uldren Sov reaches out for him with a tenderness unbefitting of the past prince. A ghost of a touch upon his cheek causes his vision to blur. It feels like nothing against his skin, but brings searing pain to every nerve beneath it nonetheless. A mouth unmoving whispers his sins like it’s reading straight from the source and Moth can’t decide whether to find solace in the eyes brimming with hatred or the void like hole with skin torn asunder on the man’s forehead - a wound of his own creation. Words unknown to both of them line the edges of Moth’s lips, through it seems not even here he can know the sound of his own voice. His heart screams the sorrow his throat will not let him, though it falls on the deaf ears of nightmares.
The orchestrator of Moth’s petrified state, the visage of Uldren Sov coos a symphony of venom dipped atrocities as he trails ethereal fingers along Moth’s cheekbone, over the sharp curve of his nose and up, between his brows to rest, fingertips to his forehead. Agony blooms in its place and spreads out over his face, piercing beneath the layers of flesh and muscle to cast its roots into his skull. The heat of a 1000 suns crawls its way up Moth’s throat, seemingly plugged there by his heart so firmly lodged in place and Uldren, with emotion bleeding from his eyes, pushes against Moth’s forehead. Where he should meeting resistance, none is to be found. Eager fingers pierce the flesh, digging as if trying to renovate the space in his own image. Digging, so that he may add another link to the chain that binds them.
Moth should scream. IS screaming. . . but finds himself trapped in the type of silence he so greatly despises. The burning in his throat sears like its seeping through the flesh of his neck, pouring out in its refusal to be contained.
Moth bolts upright, eyes snapping open to the familiar darkness, his jaw nearly unhinged as the shattered scream he sings quickly devolves into a gurgle when the taste of iron coats his tongue. Feeling the scorching bile churn in his gut, Moth flings himself fully off the side of the bed, struggling with sluggish limbs to the pull the weight of his body toward the crumpled edge of the building while his legs kick at the cocoon he managed to weave out of the bedsheet. In dire disregard for anything besides expelling the red tinged contents of his stomach over the side of the structure, Moth pays no heed to the crunch underneath his frantic limbs or the blackness incomparable with the night that seeps in at the edges of his vision. His hunched form is wracked with violent shudders that are not born from the cold rain now soaking his head and shoulders. When he collapses back from the barrier of rain, he begins the harsh heave of refilling empty lungs. Only when he goes to wipe his mouth does he notice the scrape of something foreign against his skin and the familiar bone-deep chill that jars his frame.
“Moth?”
Forgetting that he wasn’t alone here, Moth is drawn from one horrid realization to another as he shifts his crumpled position on the floor, turning his wide-eyed gaze along the sea of ice leading up to his bed where it wholly consumes the piece of furniture. The floor, wall, and ceiling that surrounds the bed-frame now glitters with a radiant brilliance as lightning illuminates his transgressions. Despite the previous events, Moth’s mouth has never felt so dry as he stares unseeing a the destruction of his own unconscious making.
“Moth?”
The terror masked as concern draws Moth’s partially unfocused gaze up, and the sight that greets him nearly has him doubling back to the crumbling concrete edge. Standing so flush against the furthest wall that he could almost be mistaken as a part of it stands Crow, disheveled with wide shock filled eyes and his legs partially frozen to the floor. it takes Moth’s mind far too long to catch up with what he’s seeing and when it finally registers, his heart shatters in his chest - and he finds himself jealous of it, wishing that he too could crumble into a thousand useless pieces and melt between the floorboards. Moth wants so badly to go to Crow - to be the barrier for him against the world, but recognition of the lethal cage he would create corrodes a space in his chest where his heart used to be. . . and the look in Crow’s eyes sows the seed to thoughts Moth already chants.
With fingers still stiff from frigid ice, Moth manages to close his hand into a fist as he bring it to his chest and signs his apology until the sun crests the horizon.
Long Destiny ramble post ahead. Can't get the brain to turn off.
Recently, whenever I listen to heavy rain and thunderstorms, the same thoughts come to mind.
Moth finds both sorrow and solace in the EDZ, for what once stood as a testament to humanity, but also how nature reclaims and survives in the face of collapse. There's a special kind of silence to be found in the EDZ, one unlike any other. Not exactly the kind that has complete absence of sound, but one that offers its own sort of serenity in the music of the wind in the trees, the melody of crickets at night, and the way thunder seems to linger in the empty space where humanity used to reside.
Moth prefers not to be alone. Alone can brew a concoction of nasty thoughts. It can bring the nightmares usually reserved for the darkness of closed eyes to the forefront like bad remakes - lets the tremendous weight of a guardian's sins threaten to topple them from their golden pedestal that they're so highly regarded upon. But sometimes, in the silence that nature fills, alone brings reprieve.
In the collapse that makes up the EDZ, Moth has made a space for himself. High up in a decrepit building, where nature and waged wars have torn it partially down, Moth appreciates alone. A space, a room unknown of its past, now offers the guardian shelter from unending chaos. Here, Moth collects trinkets, bobbles, and anything else of interest that he's found throughout his galactic travels, and slowly but surely creates himself a home away from home. One that's mostly untouched by the title of "guardian". Here, the awoken man, so used to his own silence, lays in his makeshift bed, listens to the bugs serenade the earth, watches the rain pour so thickly the world beyond it no longer exists, appreciates the silhouette of what remains as it's illuminated by lightning, and notices after awhile that the stars in the sky are no longer where they started out to be. But also, here in the false silence, Moth adds his own broken chord when the nightmares become too much for his unconscious self to handle.
However, this space isn't always meant for being alone, as said, Moth prefers not to be alone. I like to think that sometimes, when Crow, too, suffers the weight of the galaxy's burdens, he comes to partake in the false silence, and each time, Moth has some new old age artifact to show him. So far, their favorite is probably a deck of unfinished cards. It's missing a few and several of them have been crumpled and squished, but it's the company that comes with the games and not the game itself. Moth shows Crow how to play some wack version of Go Fish, though the game is made easier when the crumpled cards are memorized by their unique petrified states.
Although sometimes alone makes the title of guardian a bit more breathable, Moth will always light up when Crow comes to share it.
P.s. I like to think that Crow and Moth both drift soundly off to sleep here and sleep soundly until a ether mining unit drops in early morning and scares them both half to death.
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