#halovien

[shahdraws]

Robin- Honkai Star Rail

I finally got around to drawing Robin from HSR this week :)

I had a lot of fun messing around with the lighting and composition on this piece :)

[kayoroi]

[   . . .   ]                    he   feels   ridiculously   out   of   place ,   like   a   fish   out   of   water   ——   &   though   he'd   brought   his   companion ,   taroumaru ,   as   always ,   there's   a   lingering   sense   of   dread   /   a   feeling   of   isolation   from   the   rest   of   the   world .   (   it   has   to   be   the   silence   that   is   evoking   the   foreboding   apprehension ,   if   a   pin   were   to   be   dropped   from   across   the   room   he'd   swear   he'd   be   able   to   hear   it ,   loud  &   clear .   )   ❝   i   hope   it's   okay   if   taroumaru   waits   by   the   door ,   i   don't   want   him   to   . . .   uh   . . .   track   in   more   mud   than   he   already   has . ❞   because   he'd   stepped   right   into   a   mud   puddle   'fore   their   arrival   &   they   had   already   been   running   late   ——   if   he'd   taken   the   time   to   wipe   his   best   friend's   paws   off   they'd   be   even   later   &   he's   already   anxious   enough   just   being   in   @halovien's   presence .   if   need   be   he's   more   than   inclined   to   clean   up ,   once   he's   excused .   ❝   ayato   won't   be   able   to   make   it   today   so   i   was   . . .   sent   in   his   place .   ❞   unwillingly ,   if   that   detail   mattered   at   all .   [   &   though   he's   well   aware   that   there's   no   one   ayato   trusts   half   as   much   as   he   trusts   him   it   still   makes   him   uncomfortable   being   his   substitute   for   the   time   being .   ]   ❝   he   tried   to   make   it ,   i   swear .   ❞

[dominicus]

                    and   so   ,   with   his   words   ,   they   ,   too   ,   intertwine   fingers   in   communion   with   that   above   .   corpses   always   remind   him   of   the   war   that   plagued   their   early   years   ,   but   the   thought   is   cast   away   as   quickly   as   it   had   come   .   instead   ,   they   focus   on   the   task   at   hand     —     salvation   for   this   poor   soul   .  ezra   feels   a   horrible   sadness   overcoming   ,   as   ever   .   but   just   like   that   ,   their   attention   is   requested   .   he   thinks   a   swift   ,     ❛   amen   ,     ❜     before   rising   to   follow   .     (     he   could   spend   eternity   here   ,   mourning   just   one   dead   ,   but   gabriel   always   moves   faster   than   him   when   addressing   the   passed   .   it   wasn't   always   that   way   .     )     he   can't   help   the   tears   that   flow   already   .   they   never   did   get   rid   of   that   habit   .     ❛    gabriel   .     ❜     a   longer   stride   to   catch   up   .     ❛    we   could've   given   them   a   moment   longer   .     ❜     but   it's   never   enough   ,   a   statement   said   more   often   than   not   .     ❛    but   i   helped   make   some   of   the   preparations   before   ,   so   it   shouldn't   be  too   much   .    ❜

                    @halovien     .

[starblazes-a]

「 SQUEEZE 」 bc why not

( subtle nsfw / accepting !! )

            𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄  𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄,  but  at  some  point  Sunday  had  started  taking  up  residence  in  her  room.  It  was  nothing  egregious;  her  room,  according  to  him,  was  simply  the  most  quiet  part  of  the  Express  due  to  its  separation  from  the  rest  of  the  crew.  The  large  expanse  of  it  also  meant  that  it  was  an  invariably  more  comfortable  and  accommodating  living  space  reminiscent  of  the  lavish  arrangements  he'd  been  used  to  on  Penacony.  And,  since  no  one  else  seemed  to  particularly  trust  him  in  full  just  yet,  Stelle  surmised  it  was  also  some  strange  self-imposed  punishment  to  keep  himself  in  check—  on  the  off  chance  she  had  to  break  out  her  baseball  bat.

            Whatever.  Stelle  isn't  really  surprised  that,  once  again,  he's  taken  up  space  on  her  couch;  though  he  pays  her  little  mind  beyond  the  occasional  hum  of  acknowledgement  when  she  speaks.  His  nose  has  been  buried  in  a  book  for  a  good  system  hour  at  this  point.

         What  are  you  reading?  she'd  asked.

            He  hadn't  looked  up.  A  book.

         No—  I  know  that;  what  book  are  you  reading?

            Sunday  had  the  audacity  to  merely  show  her  its  cover  instead  of  verbally  giving  her  an  answer.  Stelle's  irritation  fluttered  a  moment,  but  then  she  reeled  it  in.  It's  wasn't  worth  it.  If  she  kicked  his  butt  now,  she'd  never  hear  the  end  of  it  from  Himeko  and  Mr.  Yang.  She  was  the  one  that  had  been  the  deciding  factor  in  his  tenure  on  the  Express,  after  all.

            In  hindsight,  maybe  Stelle  should  have  been  less  of  a  pest.

            At  present,  she  tries  peering  over  his  shoulder  a  few  times,  but  ultimately  gets  a  wing  blocking  her  view  or  he  turns  the  book  away  just  enough  she  can't  see  its  contents.  Stelle  highly  doubts  it's  because  he's  reading  something  potentially  sensual.  Somehow,  she  can't  imagine  the  esteemed  former  Oak  Family  head  and  the  concept  of  sensuality  existing  in  the  same  space.  He's  pretty  to  look  at,  certainly,  but  a  little  too  uptight.  A  little  too  straight-laced.

            She  opts  for  annoying  him  instead.  She's  good  at  that.  Stelle  pokes  him  once  in  the  arm  with  little  reaction.  Then  again,  this  time  at  his  side.  If  he  reacts  at  all,  it's  hidden  behind  that  damn  book.

            May  I  help  you,  Miss  Stelle?

            ❝   No,  I'm  fine.   ❞  The  reply  is  punctuated  by  a  gloved  finger  pressing  into  the  curve  of  his  cheek.  She  thinks,  for  half  a  second,  she  can  feel  him  tense.  Stelle  cracks  a  grin.

            It  goes  on  like  this  for  several  minutes.  She  pokes  and  prods,  invading  his  personal  space  just  enough  to  test  the  waters  repeatedly  without  being  wholly  invasive  and  unkind.  Her  touches  never  linger  for  more  than  a  second  and  never  with  more  pressure  than  a  feather  lightness.

            It  must  have  finally  reached  a  boiling  point  because  the  next  thing  she  knows,  Sunday's  own  gloved  hand  is  sinking  into  the  soft  flesh  of  her  thigh  and  squeezing.  Hard.  It  feels  like  a  reprimand.

            She  had  planned  to  poke  him  yet  again,  but  that  thought  derails  off  its  proverbial  tracks  instantaneously  with  the  contact.  Stelle  is  stricken  into  dumbfounded  silence.  Where  had  that  come  from?

            The  trailblazer  is  unsure  if  he  even  realises  the  intimacy  of  such  a  gesture.  She  hates  that  her  cheeks  warm  just  thinking  about  it.  That  he  has  any  sort  of  effect  like  that  on  her  at  all.  With  a  startled  clearing  of  her  throat,  Stelle  withdraws.

            Her  phone  is  suddenly  far,  far  more  interesting  and  she  misses  the  subtle  upturn  of  his  lips  behind  his  reading.

[viaetor]

@halovien ㅤ/ㅤ based on our convos. ♡

ㅤㅤwings. on one’s head. that was new. and fascinating. the caeling couldn’t help but fixate his golden gaze on those greyish feathers, unconsciously stepping closer to the stranger as he observed the subtle upward shiftings. winged beings were surprisingly sparse in the cosmos, and he’d never met anyone like the man standing before him. he wasn’t a bird, was he? he had no visible beak. and he couldn’t be a klavi’yn, either, since there was no lava coming out of his mouth… oh, his wings flapped! what was the word mortals used to describe what gave them warmth in their stomachs to the point they wanted to giggle and squeeze their object of interest again? ah, right. adorable.

ㅤㅤ“can you fly with those?” though they certainly didn’t look very aerodynamic…

[rapscallion-rumble]

Happy Holidays

[remembranced]

@halovien // c.

This was likely the first time he'd met someone affected by Lady Bonajade who hadn't already fallen into immeasurable ruin. It had all the hallmarks of a Stellaron, but wasn't what he was inquiring into. What had begun as some hope of spreading intel on Amphoreus had dovetailed into an unexpected--but not unwanted--meeting with the former Oak Family Head. As a former Memokeeper, he couldn't help it; their ilk were inexorably drawn to the makers of history no matter who they were, and someone who'd spent much of his life in a land that was the offspring of Remembrance and Enigmata was no exception.

"...There might be a way of defying that deal you two were more or less forced to make," the entity insinuated, arms folded as he leaned against a slanted wall of the Party Car, mostly unnoticed (Aeons, was Shush's voice disconcertingly familiar--). "As a Doctor of Chaos, we're one of the few factions that deals closely with the occult. If you were contracted into a deal where you can't communicate directly with your sister, you have to approach this like... the fae. I'm not saying it'd be a magic bullet, but every contract has its loopholes. Even hers."

[stagehunt]

✧･ﾟ @halovien sent: ❝ r-really vasha, you needn't be so gentle with them. ❞ gabriel clears his throat, mentally scolding himself for the slight crack in his voice. his wings spread out across his shoulders, grand and fluttering when the blond so much as grazed them. he damned them for being so sensitive, yet he truly couldn't be too upset when it also felt so, so wonderful. his wings were often tucked back within his hair due to their size, so having them unfurled in their whole glory for the other to caress left him feeling expose. he was uncharacteristically shy and demure about it, golden gaze trying to remain indifferent ( though failing, if the blush across his cheeks were anything to go by ). ❝ i'm not fragile. you don't need to touch them as if they're glass. ❞ / unprompted, always accepting.

gabriel   is   terribly,     sickeningly   sweet.   his   gaze   tracks   those   wings   of   theirs   with   such   keen   interest   so   often   that   he   had   given   up   on   any   pretext   of     not     being   utterly   fascinated     —      by   the   soft,     delicate   things   that   would   betray   the   halovian   with   a   slight   flare,     a   fidget,     flitting   as   though   they   had   a   will   of   their   own   in   such a   manner   that   had   aven’s   words   trailing   off,     distracted,     and   an   apologetic   smile   playing   on   his   lips:          he   hushes   the   other   now,     guides   him   to   settle   back   down   against   his   chest   and   relents   with   a   hand   straying   to   card   through   his   hair,    soothing.   they’re   bigger   than   he   realized,     now   that   the   entire   wingspan   is   laid   out   before   him   like   this.     divine.     but   still   gentle,    still   soft   beneath   his    featherlight   touches.        “ you're cute,     birdie.      ”        he   could   humour   those   claims   nonetheless,      would   be   content   to   keep   him   here,     soft   and   pliable,    merely    admiring     without   disproving   that   which   is   patently   false…     but   he   knows   there   is   an   unspoken   trust   in   being   allowed   this   close     —     being   allowed   to   touch.   gabe   would   never   permit   it   if   this   wasn’t   okay,    and   if   it   became   too   much,    he   would   stop   in   a   heartbeat.      “     but   are   you   sure…?     ”     his   hand   returns   with   the   ghost   of   a   touch,     just   to   watch   with   satisfaction   as   their   shoulders   tense   in   anticipation,    the   wing   ruffled,    and   he   huffs   out   a   laugh   that   is     embarrassingly     fond.   smooths   the   feathers   back   out,     a   movement   as   gentle   as   his   hands   were   capable   of   producing.     “    seems   pretty   sensitive   to   me.     ”