#asoeiki

[kumanaru]

commission done for asoeiki !

[moonraccoon-exe]

I'm SORRY COONIE BUT YOUR GUARDIAN DAEMON SKYROCKETED AS MY SUPER FAVOURITE FIC I STILL HAVEN'T GOTTEN MY REVENGE ON YOU FOR MAKING SUCH A DELICIOUS SINFUL FIC THAT MADE ME RE-READ THOSE PARTS OVER AND OVER AGAIN YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS YOU HEAR MEEEEEEEEEEE

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SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

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JUST YESTERDAY I WAS THINKING ABOUT THE GUARDIAN DEMON FIC, I DON’T KNOW WHY, AND THEN YOU DROP THIS IN LAKSJDKA THANK YOU SO MUCH I REALLY LOVED WRITING THAT AND I’M SO SO SO SO SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HAPPY THAT YOU LIKED IT!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YOU THREATENING ME WITH REVENGE IS HONESTLY THE BEST THING OF MY LIFE, I’M CURIOUS BUT ALSO AKLSJDKAGJ NO NEED TO TAKE REVENGE BECAUSE YOU KNOW I’M SENSITIVE AND I’M GOING TO E X PL O DE BECAUSE I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL, DO YOU WANT ME TO D I E?!?!!

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THANK U FOR REPLYING TO THAT POST AND THANK U FOR THE KIND WORDS AND KLAJSGK THANK U CORQI GIVES ME LIFE I CRY

[yuu-be-good]

Thanks for the Ko-fis Eiki!!! Have some cute corqi :D 

@asoeiki

[aliatori]

CONGRATS ON 400 FOLLOWERS!! I HOPE IT REACHES TO 500 SOON YOOOOOOO!!!!! If I'm not too late, could I request for Cor x Ignis "meaning"? I know a friend who loves the pairing and it'd be a pleasant surprise x3~~

Hello my dear—sorry for the delay. I hope you (and your friend) enjoy some Cor/Ignis below.

“Again.”

Ignis grimaces as he struggles to catch his breath.  Cor’s had him doing the same drill for what must be close to two hours, though without his phone nearby, he has no way of confirming the time.  Darkness is not only Eos’ constant companion, it’s Ignis’s, and he’s spent the better part of a year learning how to fight again.

How to not be a liability.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Ignis.”  The nuance in Cor’s voice has been made far more apparent now that Ignis can’t be distracted by the steely blue of his gaze, the memory of which has stayed crystal clear.

This particular nuance makes Ignis’s heart pound against his ribs, a different kind of demanding rhythm that has nothing to do with physical exertion. “Of course, Captain.” It’s hard to feel dignified whilst drenched in sweat and dressed in threadbare clothing suitable for training, but Ignis summons what resilience he can and calls a lance to hand, his connection with Noct’s magic one of the only things still in tact.

No one in possession of all their faculties would describe Cor as a soft man, but Ignis has learned the value of his other traits in the course of a year: in discipline, in consistency, in competence, in unshakable self assurance. Perhaps Ignis has learned the value a little too well. He’s come to rely on these sessions with Cor in ways that have far more to deal with his own personal desires rather than his interest in being combat ready.

But above all, Cor has never pitied Ignis, and pity is the one thing Ignis has had enough of to last the rest of his life.

There’s no more time for introspection once Cor barks out the order to begin.  There’s only the feel of steel in his hands, the swing of his arm, the thump of the lance sticking to the target, and the process repeating again.  Not only is this an exercise in accuracy without sight, it’s an exercise in stamina, in improving his other capabilities to make up for the lack of sight. When Gladio had first suggested training with Cor, Ignis had balked at the idea, but he’s long since come to see the benefits, both in his combat ability and in…

Well, his mood.

He doesn’t miss a single throw. 10 targets, 20 hits, all accompanied by the thud of success. Hopefully they’re in the correct areas for maximum damage, but at this point, Ignis is quite pleased with the improvement from when they began this venture.

“Better,” Cor declares, and Ignis can’t stop his heart from leaping into his throat at the praise.

“Thank you,” Ignis says, breathless again, adjusting his visor out of nervous habit. “I believe I’ll be ready to take the field again soon.” He pauses. “With your approval.”

Cor snorts, a noise Ignis has learned counts as a laugh for The Immortal. “If only everyone were as eager to take on daemonic hordes as you. I’d have a lot more soldiers to work with.” Heavy, booted footsteps indicate Cor’s approach.

“It’s important to me. I…” Ignis falters, unsure of how much he should confide in Cor. Perhaps it’s because he’s exhausted, perhaps it’s because he greatly admires the man now standing beside him, perhaps it’s because he’s lonely, but whatever the reason, Ignis lets the words flow freely. “I’ve always been motivated by purpose. With Noctis gone… joining the fight would give meaning to my days once more.”

There’s a pause, a shift, and suddenly Ignis can feel the heat radiating from Cor’s body, can smell the earthy spice of his sweat. “Why do you assume battle is the path to meaning?”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “You’ll forgive me if I take that question with a grain of salt, given that it comes from one of Lucis’ most lauded soldiers.”

When Cor chuckles, Ignis feels the air leave his lungs in a rush, which makes it even harder to breathe when Cor takes hold of his bicep. “When you’ve been embroiled in as much death and chaos as I have, you learn to find meaning in unlikely places.” After a heartbeat, Cor’s face is so close that Ignis can feel his breath ghosting against his lips.

Pulled in by Cor’s gravitas, Ignis reaches one tentative hand up, running his fingertips in slow motion along the sharp line of his jaw, tracing out his features in bold sweeps. Cor doesn’t pull back and instead simply waits, as though waiting for Ignis to reach some forgone conclusion.  As Ignis reaches Cor’s lips, he hesitates for the briefest instant before continuing his path, delineating the thin line.

“Don’t hesitate.” Cor speaks the words against Ignis’ fingertips, as confident as ever, though there’s a low husk to his tone that sends a shiver through Ignis.

Ignis slides his hand to the back of Cor’s neck and pulls him closer. As soon as their lips meet, Cor takes charge, licking into Ignis’ mouth like he belongs there, tasting of mint and giving one ragged exhale through his nose.

Perhaps he does belong there, Ignis thinks, and then he stops thinking altogether.

[chocobostrinket]

49 for the micro story ask? = w= Loqi ~~~

Thanks for sending something!! :D :D :D

~If there was one thing that Loqi missed, it was the stars. 

He sat on the edge of a roof,feet dangling over the side as he looked up at the sky. A pointless venturethese days. There was nothing but the darkness now, an abyss made of ink andsmoke. Occasionally, like clouds, the darkness would thin, and you could get aglimpse of the sun. But the stars. The stars were too far away and too dim tobe seen when night fell. He was surprised by how strongly he did miss them. Buthe supposed it made sense. 

A soft sigh left him, and heclosed his eyes, trying to picture what constellation would be above him now.He reached through his memories and brought what he knew to the front of hismind. Ixion should be above him, here in Lestallum. Ramuhs guide he sent tothose who sought justice. Or was it to defend? He couldn’t rightly recall, buthe was certain that would be the dominant constellation at this time. 

If he was at home, it would bethe three lost messengers above him instead; Ifrits chosen who fell when hedid. Loqi had always thought that was such a sad story. Their loyalty beingrewarded with ruin. One he recalled was struck down by Leviathan, who’sconstellation was to the north of the three. Another struck down by Ixion, inRamuhs stead. He could never remember the third. But he knew he hadn’t likedtheir fate the most. 

He didn’t realize how far he’dlet himself slip into his thoughts until he heard movement beside him. Had hebeen on edge, he’d probably have been startled. Instead, his face was passiveas he opened his eyes and turned to look at who it was. Though he couldprobably guess. And if he had guessed, he would have been right. 

Next to him now sat Cor, whooffered him a wave in leu of a greeting. Loqi nodded back, and then returned tolooking at the sky. Though, there was no point. Habit he assumed though, tolook for familiar stars. Cor glanced upwards, as if trying to see what he wasstaring at, and then returned his gaze to Loqi.

“In Insomnia, did they teachyou how to find your way home with the stars?” He asked, genuinely curious,turning away from the sky to return Cor’s stare.

Cor shrugged, “It was optional,even back when I first joined. Maps and landmarks were mostly used tonavigate.” 

It wasn’t an answer, but Loqididn’t press. Instead he said, “Back in Niflheim they did, a requirement formost of the noble houses who’d been in power then.”

He looked down at the city as he spoke, brightly lit to ward offdemons, and saw the occasional hunter or kingsglaive scurrying around on thestreets.

“It used to be a point of pride, I think. To be able to say thatwe could find our way home with only the stars.” Loqi shrugged then, “I thoughtit to be an outdated practice, but I find myself glad that I learned.” 

Cor had been watching theground, his eyes occasionally catching on someone he knew, and said, “Hard tofind your way when they’re obscured.” 

A phrase double in meaning. Itamused Loqi enough that a smile pulled on the corner of his mouth. He had beenadrift lately and was well aware of it. As a former general, he hadn’t givenmuch thought to life outside of that. And as the years passed in the dark, hefound himself more and more confused about what he wanted to do. As a hunter,he had short-term goals to reach for, but when he wasn’t on missions he didn’treally have anything. His life was a blank space now, and if light returned,his time spent as a hunter wouldn’t be needed anymore. It made him uneasy. 

It was easier to think aboutthe stars instead. It was why he came up here, to get away from those thoughts.Cor knew well what he was thinking, having once been just as lost. Adistraction would be best for now, a temporary fix. When the light returned,he’d help him figure things out. If Loqi wanted, that was.

“So, what stars would be in thesky right now?” Cor asked, looking up into the dark. 

A small smile graced Loqi’smouth in full then, and he turned to look back into the sky. He beganexplaining the stars places, and how sometimes meaning could be found in thepatterns. 

“Or so they say,” he’d justify,and then recall some of the stories that went with the sky. As he spoke, hetraced the patterns he remembered. He also pointed out the western light, aconsistent star that you could always see. And right as he pointed at it, justby chance, the scourge cloud grew thin enough the he and Cor both caught afaint glimpse of it. 

That surprised him so much,that his arm drifted slowly back down to his side. It had only been a moment,so quick he could have imagined it. But he’d seen it, he was sure. Next to him,Cor had also seen it, and if he were a more emotional man, he’d have probablysmiled. Instead, he reached over and put a hand on Loqi’s shoulder, squeezingonce, and then got up from his spot. Perhaps it was a sign he’d find a path totravel. Eventually. 

“I should probably go backinside. Things to do and all.” He said before heading off.

“Alright.” He replied andclosed his eyes again as he heard Cor’s footsteps recede into the distance.

[wftc141]

Art by @asoeiki

Devil-Dog

[worldbuildguild]

I’m embarrassed to say that I am struggling at the proportion of the smaller guy in this hugging scene >_<! For some context, the smaller left guy is 165cm, the taller right guy is 191cm. I’m so sorry for the trouble if you can help!

Gosh, this is so cute! I needn’t say more than that I am a sucker for romantic drawings. And, don’t you worry. Size differences, especially when in these sorts of poses + not displaying full bodies are sometimes a nightmare to figure out. You really weren’t that far off. 

(Mod Seraph here- I’m proofreading for Mod Wackart and I’d just like to say that your pose and idea is SUPER cute!!)  There’s a slight cheat to referencing height difference between your characters. It’s a website that compares and illustrates height differences. You plot in the height of your character ( granted, it’s in in inches, so us metric people will have to make do ). Then, it churns out a picture for you displaying the general size difference based on the average human proportions. It is really clever and can be found here ( mrinitialman.com) Here’s a comparison of your boys, for an example. v

From this, I could determine that the smallest guy’s torso height would correspond to the space between the lower abdomen and beneath the pecs of the larger one. Then, I went and manually drew that out myself. 

I also angled his leg a little bit more. Take that for whatever it is, coming from someone who adores and delves into these sorts of things maybe a little too much. But when you express affection as intense as this, you want to mingle your body as much with the other person as possible, closing gaps between you and the subject of your affection, and trying to sort of wrap yourself around them.  What I like to do is to map out where my characters are interacting physically. Then, I pull back and take a good look, to see if the emotional intensity conveys sufficiently. 

It’s a really minor thing, but you have enough of a grip on so many basic concepts that this could easily be your next step. 

- Mod Wackart ( ko-fi )

[ninemoons42-lestallumhaven]

(Original prompt from this AU seed by @moonraccoon-exe and reblog-tags by @asoeiki // musical inspiration is Bryson Andres covering “Secrets” by One Republic HERE)

Quick Fic Pick 36: till all my sleeves are stained red

The wind tastes and feels different, here: and no sooner does he have the thought than he has to swallow, hard, because he’s suddenly remembering the scents of sylleblossoms, of dog-roses, of larkspur and lavender, and -- those flowers grow in so many places but they’ve always been the wildflowers and the tamed and cultivated garden-blooms of his childhood, their bright colors the background to the days and the long moon-kissed nights, the clear skies that allowed him to see so far. 

The flowers that clung to the mountain-tops, that carpeted the valleys, and he’d had his share of glorious sun-warmed days, climbing those steep slopes and throwing his voice and the notes of his violin to the skies, to the distant snows on the horizon, to the flowers that danced in the cool breezes and now he won’t be smelling those mountain-scents thick and heavy in the back of his throat, not for a while, not when he’s cast here and adrift, and the breezes here smell of sea-salt and different flowers. Of aconite and petunia and moonflowers. Different gardens. Different winds.

He grits his teeth. He forces himself to breathe. He is here, in a different place, and it is a different day, a different time. He is starting, here. He is starting over with his life. No one knows Ignis Scientia, on these clogged roads, on these stone-dust sidewalks, and that’s the whole point. That’s the very reason he’s here.

Rush of voices and warmth behind him: the swinging doors of a coffee shop. Familiar idioms, familiar accents, on the other side of those lace curtains, those sturdy grass-green cups and saucers. He’s grateful to have found his friends, his fellow exiles, people who understand what it means to have sky and rock and soaring slopes overhead, and he’ll play for them, too, for Ravus and Lunafreya and the people crowding into their coffee shop.

But this is his first day on these streets of Insomnia and -- he has to play for himself. He needs to play for himself: to fix in his mind who he is in the here and now, and who he was on the day he left Altissia for good. He needs to play and remember; he needs to face this new city, this new sky, this new him, with the salt already catching on his boots and his collars and the battered case that contains his violin.

Crimson-stained wood, and the smell of the rosin that lingers on his skin, and the graceful length of the bow: and he plucks out a quick sprightly run of notes. In the air of this place the timbre is far brighter, far louder, and that’s an unexpected blessing, an unexpected encouragement, and maybe he smiles, as he senses a tall and interested presence behind him and he catches a glimpse of hopeful white, hopeful blue, hopeful purple. 

He looks over his shoulder and they smile, and Luna throws him a thumbs-up, where she’s standing outside the coffee shop and Ravus is cradling a large steel mug in his hand: they’re his audience no matter what he does today, whether he does well or does poorly. 

So he takes a deep breath. Violin pinned between his chin and his shoulder, and fingers on the strings, shaping the chords, shaping the harmonies -- he pulls the bow across, smoothly, and the notes fly away from him, flow away from him, as he begins to play --

The words of the folk song unspool in his mind and there are faces peering at him. Two boys in school uniforms, holding hands: raven hair and blond, gelled spikes falling and tossed on the salt-breeze, and they’re actually singing softly -- he can hear their voices over the melody he’s playing, and he smiles and flourishes the bow for them and keeps playing. 

Teeth and ears and tails stopping just across the street: two huskies on the leash, flanking the tall woman in heels, who produces a phone from her purse and raises it in his direction. He hopes he doesn’t look odd, if she’s taking photos or video of him -- he’s inspired, instead, to tinker with the melody and he throws in a skirling waltzing interpolation, playful, and the schoolboys laugh and nod their heads -- 

Money, flash of coins, flash of bills, falling into his violin case -- he launches into a new tune. His own composition, sweet mournful tuneful air, and he hears something like surprise from behind him -- sees the boys’ faces go blank with interest -- and there’s movement, approaching, slowing and coming to a stop.

Gray sweatshirt, gray sweatpants, and the breeze that catches at the backwards-facing sports cap, that lifts it clear off and spins it away, revealing shock and surprise and brown eyes, and Ignis has never been the focus of such keen expressions, such rapt attention -- this boy who has just stopped and is still actually jogging in place, who is frowning to follow him and his music, that he plays and plays and so he loops around again to the beginning of the piece, repeats in a different key -- half a step higher, half a step darker -- 

Ignis blanks Luna and Ravus and the boys and the dogs and the woman and the jogger out, in favor of playing all the way through to the actual end of the piece, the notes released like a flock of surprised birds, and he catches his breath because he’s never played this part in public before -- the complicated arpeggios and crescendoes of the finale, crashing onto him in its abrupt glory, and he ends with the final pull of the bow across the strings, ends with all the notes smashed together, and he flings his arm up and away and he’s pointing at this different sky, with the different wind and the salt and the flower-scents swirling around him.

And the eyes of the boy who’d been running, fastened on him where he’s finally come to a stop, too, feet planted on the sidewalk, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, wide, wide.

Ignis smiles at him.