#cherieofthedragons

[cherieofthedragonsart]

Pencil sketch WIP of Isaac Newton and MC from Ikémen Vampire. I couldn't resist creating a sweet and happy moment between them.

Sketch by @cherieofthedragonsart 3/2021

[trulycertain]

I’ve been meaning to paint Charlotte for ages. This is for @cherieofthedragons​‘ fic The Mysterious Flower Shop, a faerie MysMes AU where custom MC falls in love with a mysterious florist who has amnesia and a voice in his head and may not be entirely human... (I’ve been doing tone-reads and commenting on it, and it’s marvellous fun. Full of lovely imagery, and I was very excited to try and do it justice.)

[writingwithcolor]

(1/2) I'm writing a female robot character who is East Asian in appearance and forced by programming to hunt down my MCs, a Mexican American woman and a white-appearing robot. I have one other East Asian character, a male Filipino scientist and father figure. The robots in this work run the gamut of races in appearance. My East Asian robot is numbed in emotion from having been forced to do horrific things, and connects with these emotions, gaining her freedom throughout the course of the story.

(2/2) I want to handle this character respectfully. I’m concerned about running into the Dragon Lady stereotype. I also worry because as a robot, she’ll have no culture to connect with of any kind. She is not sexualized or treated as exotic. The plan is to make her a MC in my next work and give her a love interest (this is a romance series). Do you have any advice for this situation? 

Asian Robot and Dragon Lady Stereotype

If she’s not sexualized, that takes out one bit of the Dragon Lady stereotype, although I’m not seeing how it would be connected, since anger/aggressiveness is a huge component of it, tbh. Also, who created this robot? Western folks? Asian folks? If it’s the latter, there’s justification for an Asian culture there, in my opinion.  

It should also be noted that the Philippines is southeast Asia, not east Asia, and have very different histories and cultures. This is a pretty fundamental distinction.

–mods Lesya and Jess

[crisontumblr]

Honey Buddha Boy: A 707 Playlist [link]

Alone Together - Fall Out Boy The Real Thing - FEMM Do You Wanna Know? - Alkaline Trio If God Smokes Cheap Cigars - Envy on the Coast The Only Hope for Me is You - My Chemical Romance Good Enough - Evanescence Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back - My Chemical Romance Landing Feet First - Bayside Anything for You - Ludo Modern Romance - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Not gonna lie; I’m a little bit nervous about this one. See, this is for a Minion Gift Exchange and I was assigned Cherie! Turns out we’re both into Mystic Messenger and we both have similar taste in favorite characters!

Writer’s block kept me from producing the fic I wanted to write. (I still have the idea, though, so I definitely owe you that one Cherie.) I can’t draw. What I can do, however, is put together a sweet-sweet character-based playlist. So...that’s what I did! I hope it proves suitably enjoyable. <3

[angstmongertina]

“Come on, just wear the Santa hat for a little bit?” for Jihyun/Eunbyeol

Finally finished another one. I’m only like over a full month behind. :P

How do end ficlets? Fuck, I don’t know. And I’m too tired to care right now lmao.

For Jihyun, Christmas has always seemed a bit overrated. Of course, as a Christian, he knows the tradition of the holiday, knows the story and the meaning. He’s been to church and heard the story of the birth of Jesus.

For that matter, he’s acted in the story of the birth of Jesus, clad in white as the angel Gabriel while Jumin, much to everyone’s great amusement, played the role of Joseph.

But beyond the purely religious aspect, Christmas was never an important part of his life. For his father, it was only a time for increased business and revenue as everybody searched for presents for the holidays. Of course, house was decorated every year with a Nativity scene and a tree but even that was cold and artificial, more for adhering to tradition than in any genuine attempt to celebrate. It was something he had simply been taught to accept as a young child, and later reveled in, eschewing the foolish materialism of the world for his family’s more practical views.

That changed, but only somewhat, when he chose to pursue his own path. After all, Rika had her own experiences with Christmas and though she never explicitly stated anything, when he asked, he could see the wariness in her eyes that she always bore when referring to her parents and her childhood. Instead, they chose to focus on others instead of themselves, dedicating each holiday to providing joy to the less fortunate, always pushing themselves for more.

Until she went too far.

But Eunbyeol… There is still a childlike delight in her face whenever she speaks of Christmas, eyes alight with enthusiasm that was breathtakingly captivating. When he confesses a lack of experience in the festivities, her response is bright and instantaneous, working out a plan for their own personal Christmas celebration after their fundraiser, in spite of her own hectic holiday schedule.

Thus, he finds himself accompanying her shopping for decorations and a tree, watching as she darts from ornament set to ornament set, asking for his opinion before hurrying off so quickly he’s not sure if she even heard him. Still, he must admit he enjoys the entire thing, if only as a glimpse of their possible future.

Even so, there are some things he really feels he must draw the line at, and wearing ridiculous outfits while trimming the tree is one of them. He’s not entirely sure when she had the time to purchase truly appalling Christmas sweaters but somehow she did and he can’t help but regret giving her full control over their celebrations.

Particularly since their friends should be arriving any minute.

“No. I’m not changing into that.” He indicates the red and green atrocity in her hands, barely able to repress the horror in his expression.

For another moment, Eunbyeol watches him with a pout before her lips twitch up, seemingly involuntarily, and her cajoling facade cracks soon after. He watches, torn between amusement and exasperation, as she collapses onto the couch beside him, laughing so hard tears glisten in her eyes and slide down her cheeks.

“Do I want to know?” he asks when she has finally regained some semblance of calm.

Much to his great chagrin, his fairly innocuous question sets her off once more, and he finds himself waiting, arms crossed in front of his chest, for her explanation.

At long last, she regains her composure, though her amusement remains evident from the persistent twitching of her lips. “I’m sorry. I just… I had originally considered gifting you and Jumin matching sweaters and…” She waves one hand vaguely at him, valiantly fighting a battle to prevent from dissolving into giggles a third time.

Then again, to be fair, the thought of Jumin’s expression upon opening such an… impractical present is enough to make him chuckle as well.

His amusement fades with incredible speed as soon as he feels cloth settle on his head, but Eunbyeol moves faster, capturing his wrist before he can tear the offending article off of his head.

For a second, he stares at her. “Eunbyeol.”

“Jihyun.”

“What did you put on my head?”

She blinks at him. “What?” Her voice is even enough that he sighs, already preparing himself for a compromise of sorts that works out more in her favor.

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s festive. There’s a difference.”

The fact that he can’t quite seem to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching in response to her instant reply only supports the inevitability of her victory, for lack of a better word.

Still, he shakes his head. “Well, at the very least, I look ridiculous.”

That manages to make her pause, at least, though there’s no sign that she’s even considering backing down. Instead, her expression turns pensive. “It’s just a hat. Come on, at least it’s better than the sweater, right?”

He knows that it’s a weak argument just as well as she does, but even so, he presses his lips together to adopt some semblance of sternness. It won’t last against her, but he’s determined to stay resolute for as long as he can regardless.

Judging from the sparkling in her eyes, however, he’s not going to hold out much longer.

That fact is confirmed when she sidles even closer, face drawn into a look he can only describe as sad puppy dog eyes. “Come on, just wear the Santa hat for a little while?”

There is no resisting her. He knows this and she knows he knows this, and he doesn’t bother trying. He only allows a sigh to escape his lips. “Fine.” His voice is heavy with reluctance, though he grins in spite of himself at the triumphant smirk that crosses Eunbyeol’s face.

She knows better than to gloat, however, and instead only adjusts the hat on his head. “Merry Christmas! And I should say, you don’t look ridiculous at all. Besides,” she murmurs, shifting closer to press a kiss to his cheek, “you could never look ridiculous.”

He rolls his eyes, though that does nothing to quell the slight heat in his cheeks. “Merry Christmas, love,” he says before moving to kiss her properly.

[daremixfest]

A pair of elf!Alistair remixes

Today’s remixes are presented as a semi-planned matched set.  (ie When Cherie asked Aphreal to beta a remix of the same fic she’d already remixed, Aphreal decided to abuse her modly powers to coordinate posting them.) 

Remix #1: Heart’s Shelter Remixer #1: @cherieofthedragons Pairing: Alistair/f!Mahariel Rating/warnings: Teen Summary:  Elvhen Alistair escapes an unhappy life at Redcliffe and finds his way to Clan Sabrae, where he falls head over heels for Abeytu Mahariel. Unfortunately for him, she doesn't seem to know he exists. That is, until a tainted mirror changes their lives...

Remix #2: Wise Enough Not To Remixer #2: @aphreal42 Pairing: Alistair/f!Cousland Rating/warnings: Teen, canon-typical violence, canon character deaths Summary:  Alistair is sent away from Redcliffe not to train as a Templar but to work as a servant in the kitchens at Highever, where he becomes a friend (or possibly pet project) to the teyrn's daughter. When Highever is attacked, Duncan recruits both the Cousland daughter and the elven servant who trains her mabari. Moved outside of the bounds they've known, the two new Grey Wardens come to terms with grief and the loss of their home, a sudden responsibility for saving the world, and what it means to be equals. 

(Inspiration taken from the original premise from @feynites, as well as brainstorming conversations with Celery when she was plotting out parts of Shem-blooded.) 

Original fic: Shem-blooded Original author: @celeritassagittae​

Cherie has also produced a pair of elf!Alistair portraits as a study in contrasts for two very different interpretations of the same initial premise. 

[aphreal42]

Jellyfish for Lista in the mermaid orific

Jellyfish - a thousand little stings

The cave was dark, nearly impossible to see anything. 

Except when the sun was at exactly the right angle to shine through the hole in the stone ceiling and reflect blindingly off the water, dazzlingly bright to dark-adapted eyes, leaving afterimages that made it nearly impossible to see anything. 

The rocks were, as rocks tend to be, hard. 

The seaweed was, as seaweed tends to be, squishy and slimy and smelly. Also cold, although not as cold as the rocks. 

Plus, everything was wet. Everything. The rocks, the seaweed, her clothes, her hair, her skin. The air. 

A person could get tired of eating shellfish. 

Especially raw shellfish because there was no way to cook it when everything was wet. 

A tiny scrap of sky glimpsed through the hole in the ceiling was enough to prove that a world existed beyond the cave, but the stone walls got closer in every day, and eventually the cave would close its mouth and swallow her up the rest of the way and there would be nothing but darkness. Wet, cold darkness. 

Shivering, Lista stared at the swatch of pale blue sky. Maybe a gull would fly over today. 

[withthebreezesblown]

Am I too late? The Devil: The pain and delight of giving in to temptation.

Thank you for the prompt!!!

I’ll break your heart.

She doesn’t question it. After her father, after Bethany, she’s sure it’s what her heart was built for. Better to accept it with a laugh than fight it with tears. Which really is her standard approach to so many things. Still, if she’d had any wisdom, she might have stayed away.

Marian Hawke has been called many things, but wise has never been one of them. Like a bird beating itself against a glass window, she keeps sashaying into Anders’ clinic with suggestions and innuendos dripping from her lips. His usual response is a dry, restrained sort of amusement, but every now and then, she gets a reaction.

There was the time she came in with a poisoned cut from hip to knee, batting her eyes at him once she was down to an undershirt and her smalls. “So what are you going to do with me, big strong healer that you are?” And he’d muttered, so quietly that if he weren’t leaning over her, shifting her body to apply the salve to draw out the poison, she wouldn’t have heard him at all, “You’ve never heard of half the things I’d like to do to you.” Surely the way her head went light and her heart went to pounding were just a reaction to the poison seeping into her bloodstream.

There was the day he had healed a handprint bruise around her throat, and she’d glared at him after. “What kind of cheap-shit healing service is this? My mum’s not even a mage, and I always got a kiss from her when she bandaged me up.” She’d held her throat out pointedly, expecting nothing, when he’d leaned in, forehead resting against her temple, nose brushing along her jaw until his lips met her neck.

She’d heard the shake in his breath when he pulled away. “All better now, poppet?”

It’s a game. A tease. She takes a step forward, and he takes one back.

Until the day he doesn’t.

Maybe she should have seen it coming, should have understood he was being honest and laying himself bare by the way he’d tilted his head down so that he’d had to look up at her when he’d told her, “You can’t tease me like this and expect me to resist forever.”

But it’s Marian, to whom everything is a game, to whom the only way to win is to never forget you’re only playing. She just laughs. “How long will it take before I drive you mad?”

The truth is, his lips on hers, his hands on her face, in her hair, terrify her. Heart beating like a wild rabbit, caught, trapped, she keeps promising herself it’s only a game. It’s only ever been a game.

It’s only that night in the afterglow of the world breaking apart and coming back together around her, real, real, so very, terribly real, as he whispers against her skin, “I love you; I love you; I love you,” that she understands that temptation isn’t a game that can be played without putting something at stake. It isn’t his lips on every inch of her skin that teach her the size of what she has lost. It’s his words, expanding and expanding inside her. When he says it again, though her mouth refuses to move, the place inside her that echoes it back is infinite.