#warm-up

[giannathemon]

I decided to experiment just a little bit with my reepersfield group's face structures. I over all need to get better at faces and altering my OC faces lol

[esorydoolb]

On the decision to take a life, by V

I see the hate of many people. Their stern, ice-cold eyes while giving me the order to eliminate a mere “inconvenience”, with the same nonchalance as if making me open the windows to clear out the bad air in the room. Then, they expect me to express the same professional self-composure of indifference while I carry out my contract, as if it was something completely natural to move around like a snake, carry a hand-held cannon in my left hand, finger on the trigger, ready to switch off someone’s life with a single pull of my steady index finger.

The thing is, it almost came frighteningly natural to me. The decision to carry out work that nobody with a normal conscience would ever agree to? Already made, back when I was still a fledgling in the business, barely a whisper of my name in the streets. So, the next logical step to climbing up that latter of competence, professionalism, ruthlessness, all the same really – the next step was to take a life, obviously. And I knew already that I was capable of doing my work. It was just a matter of closing my eyes to the ice-cold feeling that drenched my guts when I executed the kill, the stinging of guilt that ripped through me like the bullet through the poor fool’s brain matter. It hurt for a second, then it started to bleed, my hand slightly trembling from the rush of adrenaline. But like a door that opened itself in front of me, I saw a way of escaping this feeling. And I kept striving forward, opening doors after doors and executing targets after targets without an end in sight. Running from my demons.

[lcsvisualnovel]

"Every racer needs a warm-up before starting a race."

Even Lucien himself does other sports other than racing with a car. This Frenchman wants to practice his legwork before his leg race. Remember how he once said that "[Il] [est] français"?

[sailorashes]

Make your own tasty turkey stock the day after Thanksgiving by simmering the carcass with vegetables and seasonings you probably already have on hand.

[secrets-and-shadow]

"Acclimating Malyck to everyday Tyrian life."

Kyris on bsky, with her ever-asute eye, called me out (in a friendly/humorous way!) on my word choice of "acclimating" in the previous sketch, with the various ways it can be interpreted, lol. She said I could also blame her for encouraging me, so you can thank her for giving me the idea for Malyck's line, which the rest of this sketch followed from there. ;p

It's pretty much a playful follow-up to that "candy cane" warm-up drawing with the both of them from two days ago.

You can interpret this as innocently or not-so-innocently as you please (that's sort of what holds my interest in drawing these) (probably applies to much of my art) - there's no "full" version of this drawing, so any interpretation is reasonable in my book!

It doesn't really interest me saying definitively one way or the other - I personally love seeing different interpretations for my art (it's reasonable if you don't feel this way for your art; no judgment from me - we're all different!) - imo my intention hardly matters for this specific drawing, when I literally have not drawn or thought too much more than what's in this frame. :p

Perhaps consider these as your personal Rorschach tests? Lol. I've always had a personal preference toward art which invites viewers to draw their own interpretations.

[whyday]

Inspired by “내 이름 아시죠” by 장민호

CW: self-harm

This isn’t necromancy, you tell yourself. And because it isn’t necromancy, it isn’t desecrating the dead. You just…

You just need to know, is all.

There won’t be any damage to any corpses, no harm to the soul. Sure, there’s a price to be paid, but that’s the case with any magic. The important bit’s that unlike necromancy, the target of your magic will be completely safe and unaltered.

Self-pep talk given, you finish the magic circle, your hand’s motion long familiar, almost to the point of muscle memory. You’ve practice it countless times just for this moment.

Next comes the final filter.

With the sterilized box cutter you specifically prepared for this purpose, you force yourself to watch as you cut into the tip of your the ring finger of your left hand, just enough to draw a bit of blood. The last time, you looked away and ended up cutting the wrong place.

“Blood calls to blood,” you murmur as your blood glides down and drips toward the floor.

When that drop lands, a high-pitched ting echoes throughout the room, and the floor ripples like the disturbed surface of a body of water as the magic circle glows.

You wait.

If you’d done the research and modifications right, nothing should show up. This isn’t a summoning. No, it’s—

… hello?

Your gasp is completely unbidden and sharp enough to choke. With burning eyes, you ask in the wobbling voice of a lost child finally finding home, “Dad?”

[whyday]

In the stories, it was always the humans who died first, their non-human partners outliving them by lifetimes.

Reality proved so different.

“I’m sorry,” Rakk signed, its limbs slow from age and near-death.

Anya caught two of its wrists and gave it a small little shake—gently, gently, it was so breakable now—a shorthand sign for it’s okay and all forgiven and forget it.

How do you know which one applies, she’d asked once, years ago, fumbling through unfamiliar signs. She’d learned sign language just to communicate with it, not that it’d needed her to. Rakk had been able to differentiate between the sounds that Anya made to piece together her language, but Rakk’s vocal chords were too incompatible with human ears; despite months of effort, she hadn’t been able to distinguish one word from another.

This time, it seemed it was Rakk who couldn’t understand her, shaking its head in a human gesture it’d adopted.

“I’m making you a—”

She frowned.

“What was that?” she signed, unsure if it was a new word or if Rakk’s declining dexterity had slurred the word beyond her comprehension.

Ever-patient, Rakk signed the word again, the motion slow and over-enunciated. She tried to follow the movement of its lower set of arms, mostly to help her memorize the sign.

“One whose mate has died,” it explained.

Widow, she realized.

Biting the inside of her lip as subtly as she could so it couldn’t see, she signed the word for widow back to it. Once Rakk followed the motion back—she didn’t have enough arms for its sign language, but it didn’t have enough fingers—she said,

“I chose you.” Her signs were sharp and pointed, allowing no room for any counterarguments. “Spouse or widow, it all just means that you’ll always be a part of my life.”

Even when it died, it’d define her—what she was, who she was and became, they’d all hold traces of Rakk and its absence.

“Romantic,” it replied, twitching the left-side of its arms in an added motion that she’d learned translated to fond and teasing.

Anya took a hold of one of Rakk’s arms and pressed a light kiss on its hard shell. It was smooth and cold against her lips, no different from usual. She wondered how its body would change when it died, if there was a physical difference the way human corpses were different from human bodies.

“Let’s go to your home planet,” she suggested vocally, unwilling to release its arm to sign the words. “You haven’t been back in years; it’s just right that we go back now.”

Close to death or not, Rakk should be able to make the journey. Its species was apparently very well-suited for space travel, unlike humans.

Rakk shook its head. “It’ll be hard on you.”

But she only lightly bit its arm, not hard enough to actually break its shell, of course—she’d have to put in real effort into her bite for that—but just to show her displeasure.

“Only for a bit,” she said, knowing better than to lie. Once she was planet-side, she was sure she’d adapt to the new environment. Space travel aside, humans were a very adaptable species.

Rakk would likely die there. Anya didn’t know if she’d stay afterward, but with the way Rakk spoke of home, it clearly wanted to go back. A few weeks of discomfort was worth it.

“Let’s go back, mm?”

“Fine,” Rakk finally replied, its left arms twitching.