feeling-quilly
Stop. Drop. Scroll.
Hello. This is where I dump my random sketches, fan art, drabbles, and meta for my various obsessions, which vary as wildly as my attention span so beware ye all who enter here.
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I’m tired of people acting like Zhongli is a serious and chill guy who would never cause problems on purpose as if he isn’t one of the biggest menaces out of the Seven. He used to throw mountains at Venti for annoying him. He, the god of history, starts fights among historians for shits and giggles. He tried to gaslight the Traveler into thinking he was totally not at the Chasm guys really Aether/Lumine you must be seeing things maybe you should go see Baizhu. When Qiqi wanted “Cocogoat” milk he was like “Oh yeah sure totally let’s go look for it” knowing damn well it was a wild goose chase. He made the Traveler sing to a flower and then was like “Oh would you look at that” when a Whooperflower jumped out to maul them. I love him. He’s like a cat pushing things off the counter to see how people react. I would pay to see him interact directly with Neuvillette because I know for a fact he’d get on that man’s nerves and argue about water tasting just to feel something. Furina used freedom from godhood to take a nap and Zhongli used it to give psychic damage to anyone who talks to him longer than 5 minutes. Iconic.
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12 Days of 12 Kingdoms
What is Twelve Days of Twelve Kingdoms (#12K12Days)?
12K12Days is December fan event from Dec 12-23, dedicated to the magical world of Twelve Kingdoms (Juuni Kokki/十二国記). Participation is low stakes/commitment, join in in the fun if you want to, and boost if you can!
Interpret the prompts however you wish, and all types of fannish work is encouraged: the classic fanart and fanfic to meta content like essays, analysis or even personal anecdotes and stories relating back to your experiences with or fondness of Twelve Kingdoms!
Rules:
• Join in on any day of the event and post some fan-work you’ve created.
• Tag it with #12K12Days so we can find your work across tumblr, dreamwidth, and Riboku's 12K fan-server on discord.
Optional: Event organizer Lukadian has offered to collect and compile any works created specifically for this event in a simple zine for people to print and staple theirs at home, or to simply enjoy all in one place in an online format!
You can submit to the zine here (https://shorturl.at/fuBUX) until Dec 30.
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Very brave of me to make a set of illustrations that's 90% hands
Anyway. This is about my personal theories/headcanons about the vision requirements
EDIT: I made a post elaborating on my theories/headcanons! Check it out if you wanna know a bit more :D
EDIT (again): Just so you know (bc ppl keep mentioning it in the tags), I am well aware Archons don't personally give out visions😅 The Archons' hands are supposed to be more symbolic, since it IS heavily implied they have a subconcious affect on who gets one, even if they don't actually have any active say in it
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ASHES
What if Alhaitham's study burns down....
Disclaimer: I don't know anything about arsons and firefighting so please take this with a truckload of salt.
Uploading old comic to tumblr. This was first posted on twitter and IG and hoyolab on 19 Feb 2023.
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My love for this character is 50% his canon portrayal and 50% how much the fandom loves making him suffer.
I’m so sorry Giyuu. You don’t deserve this, but will we stop? No.
How to Make Sushi
with Tomioka Giyuu
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Quick PSA for anyone who reads a lot of fic on tumblr
readability bookmarklets are your friend
a lot of people have themes that are really hard on the eyes and being able to click a button and have it all thrown into a nicely customizable and easy to read format is great
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Closer shot~
**Please do not crop, edit or remove my watermark!
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Tapastic \ DeviantART \ Facebook \ Pixiv / Patreon / Instagram
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Can we just for one second?
Gif Sources: lovestruckhook shipsxahoy
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do you ever think about the fact that the first time Killian saw his ship, it was after his brother found a way to free them from a life of servitude and abuse, and that it must’ve been the first time in years that he felt free?
and that he spent several years happily serving with his brother on that very same ship, and it was the last place he saw Liam alive?
and that the ship that freed him granted the same freedom to Milah, and that they fell in love and built a life together on board? and that Killian had to watch another person he loved die on the ship that was his safe haven? and that the Jolly, which had once seemed so lucky, felt somewhat cursed after her death?
and that he still held onto the Jolly, even with the tragic memories clinging to it, because it was the only place that had ever felt like home, and the only thing he had left to love?
and that he risked taking the ship back to Neverland, in spite of knowing how risky that was, because at his core Killian is a good man, and he was finding his way back to the light?
and that when he was separated from Emma during the missing year, he put all of his passion and frustration and loss into finding the Jolly again, even to the point of sacrificing his morality to get it?
do you ever think about the fact that after ALL of that went down, Captain Killian Jones still traded away his ship in order to save Emma Swan?
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the brothers jones: an evolution
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#I can die happy now. #CS IS BACK. #EVERYTHING SEEMS TO BE GOING BACK TO NORMAL.
#i'm trying very hard to leave this fandom and all these ship wars behind#but then#then this show gives me beautiful moments like this#and I just get sucked right back in#captain swan#ouat
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I have no excuse for this. It just..kind of happened. Despite the thousand and one other more important things I should have been doing with my time.
What am I doing with my life?
Drawing transforming cat boys in leather suits, apparently.
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Prize Ship (3/4)
This is part three of my CSSV gift to @feeling-quilly. Extra long chapter, I know, and I could have broken it up but, why wait longer? Enjoy!
Summary: At the height of the war, Lieutenant Killian Jones captures an enemy ship, and discovers Crown Princess Emma Swan aboard. Which is more important: love or loyalty?
Rating: T
Also on: FF.net / AO3.org
Chapter Three - Breaking Bulk
Killian held his sword to the woman’s neck as he gripped her arm tightly, mostly to prevent her from hitting him again. She didn’t move, her eyes wide in both fear and surprise. The pain in his head pulsed sharply and he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep for the next week straight, but his job, his duty, came first.
“I’ll ask once more” he said roughly. “What are you doing on this ship, Your Highness?”
She looked startled. “Y-you know who I am?”
He nodded, then swallowed hard, the nausea still lurking in his gut. Quick head movements were out of the question, for now. “Aye, but that’s not what we need to discuss right now, is it?” He tugged her toward the ladder, and she seemed too shocked to put up a fight.
In the light from above, Killian couldn’t help but notice her striking beauty, the platinum yellow hair and deep green eyes he’d seen earlier just a small part of her alluring attractiveness and grace. She was dressed plainly, clad in a simple blue dress with a dark cloak wrapped around her shoulders, but the clothes seemed to taunt at a hidden radiance more than they could pretend to be the garb of a commoner. Her hair was tied in a braided loop against the back of her head, a few golden strands hanging loose against her cheeks. He could see the slight dimple in her chin, her skin smooth and pale in the dim light. And her eyes…
He was captivated.
He was in trouble.
Keep reading
#aaaaaaaaaaah#so much happy I can't even#cs ff#cs au#captain swan#lieutenant duckling#killian jones#emma swan#gift#nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable
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Prize Ship (2/4)
This is part two of my CSSV gift to @feeling-quilly. I hope you like it!
Summary: At the height of the war, Lieutenant Killian Jones captures an enemy ship, and discovers Crown Princess Emma Swan aboard. Which is more important: love or loyalty?
Rating: T
Also on: FF.net / AO3.org
Chapter Two - Seize and Capture
He was heavy. Heavier than he looked.
Emma had snaked her left hand behind his head to catch his fall somewhat, but she wasn’t prepared for just how much he actually weighed. She nearly toppled over beside him as she tried not to let him hit the floor too hard. She winced inwardly - even in the dark she could see the slow trickle of blood from his temple, and the area around it was already starting to bruise.
His breathing was slow and even, and she let out her own pent up breath of relief with a sigh. She had no intention of killing anyone, least of all the capable and surprisingly handsome Lieutenant of the Jewel, but she needed to escape and this was the only way.
She waited a moment to catch her breath. Her lips still buzzed from the kiss a minute ago, the taste of him in her mouth. Not a bad kiss, she admitted as she watched him sleep, his dark hair falling across his face, making him look very… young. He’d have quite the headache when he awoke but he should be fine, she reassured herself.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, as she slipped past him into the doorway she had seen earlier.
Keep reading
#so happy I could cry#cs ff#cs au#captain swan#lieutenant duckling#killian jones#emma swan#gift#nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable
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Prize Ship (1/4)
This is my CSSV gift to @feeling-quilly. Hi! It’s been great getting to know you these past weeks! I absolutely loved your prompt and I hope you don’t mind that it kind of turned into a multichapter (oops), which should be up as soon as I have a chance to edit it. I did a lot of research on naval history and prize captures in the 18th century, and I had an absolute blast doing it. I took a few liberties with the layout of the ships and I’m sure there are still some anachronistic and historical errors, for which I apologise.
Summary: At the height of the war, Lieutenant Killian Jones captures an enemy ship, and discovers Crown Princess Emma Swan aboard. Which is more important: love or loyalty?
Rating: T
Also on: FF.net / AO3.org
Chapter One - Shot Across the Bow
“Prepare to go aboard!”
Lieutenant Killian Jones heard the warning from the Captain as he steadied his grip on the ropes, balancing almost effortlessly on the narrow rail of the Jewel, prepared for the jump across ships. Sword drawn, the comforting weight of his loaded firearm at his side, he turned to the group of men assigned to his command.
“Ready your weapons!” he shouted.
The sound of two dozen swords being unsheathed rang out against the noise of battle. Cannon fire echoed around them as the enemy ship desperately tried to fight them off. The war had been going on for nearly ten years, this ship just one of many that had been captured by both sides, but Killian knew that this time it was different. It had always been just a matter of time before his king managed to finally subdue their enemies in the kingdom of Misthaven, but this ship was told to contain valuable information - the location of an item that could help the Enchanted Forest finally win the war.
Both crews knew that as they fought fiercely on the decks of the Yellow Beetle. Blood covered the wooden planks, severed limbs and ghastly wounds from cannon fire contributing to most of the carnage, though a hefty bit came from the violent hand-to-hand combat that was being waged on the enemy ship.
It was a losing battle, Killian knew, but not for his king. Not this time.
With this secret information, they would finally hold the key to defeating the usurping kingdom once and for all.
This was the battle that mattered.
Keep reading
#I love this to bits#cs ff#captain swan#cs au#lieutenant duckling#killian jones#emma swan#gift#nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable
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Drifting Ashore In Your Arms (1/3)
This story is a gift from @ohmyjones, my fantastic CS Secret Valentine. She gave me the prompt ‘stranded on an island AU’ and mentioned that she enjoyed elements of Lost, so here’s my own take on it. Parts 2 and 3 will be posted over the course of the rest of today, but please enjoy part 1 and have a very happy Valentine’s Day!
i - Dawn
She woke to the sound of the sea. It whispered in her ear as the waves welled up underneath her, caressing her awake with its cool touch. She could taste the salt on her lips and feel the silt-like sand slipping through her fingers as she slowly pushed herself up, blinking against the bright rays of the sun rising up from the ocean horizon.
Her fingertips bumped against something warm.
She looked down and found a man stretched out on the beach next to her.
A man who was achingly familiar, from the slant of his brow to the curve of his lips to the scruff lining his jaw. Even the startling metal hook where his left arm abruptly ended was less of a surprise than it should have been. Flecks of dried salt clung to his dark eyelashes, but he did not open his eyes, nor did he stir. He might as well have been carved from marble, for he was so still. For a terrible moment, she wondered if he was dead.
But when her fingers found his wrist, there was a steady heartbeat in his veins, perfectly in time with her own. She pressed her forehead against his and could feel his feather soft breaths fan across her cheek.
Alive. He was alive. A knot of fear buried deep in her chest loosened, and a strange sense of longing and relief welled up in her heart she rested her head against his chest and listened to his slow, even heartbeat. Even his scent was familiar, of leather, rum, and open seas.
"Who are you?" she asked.
He didn't answer. He didn't stir. He slept on in perfect stillness, dreaming of what she could only guess at.
"Who am I?" she asked again, and still there was no answer save for the sound of the waves. No readily apparent clues save for the clothes on her back and the man she had woken up next to.
She shivered as a chill ran down her spine.
She couldn't shake the feeling that she had forgotten something she couldn't afford to forget.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
She had scoured the shoreline for clues before giving it up as a lost cause. There was no floating debris, no shipwrecked vessel, not even a single plume of smoke on the horizon. The sea had no answers to offer.
She spent another hour doing nothing but waiting, willing the nameless man to open his eyes.
But he never woke.
By the time the sky started clouding over with an ominous rumble, the high tide was rolling in, and she had to either move or be swept back out to sea.
It was an ungainly struggle to get both of them away from the shoreline and into the cover of the trees. He was heavier than he looked, almost six feet of nothing but densely packed muscle underneath that black leather, but she had grit her teeth and bent her back, huffing and puffing as she half-hauled, half-dragged him up the beach. She nearly dropped him a dozen times, but something inside her refused to give up and wouldn't even entertain the idea of abandoning him. Even as the slight drizzle crescendoed into a heavy downpour, she soldiered on.
She must have been such a sorry sight – drenched to the bone, blinded by the rain, and stumbling blindly over rocks and roots as she buckled under the weight of a full-grown man – that some cosmic entity decided to take pity on her, because she finally found a rocky overhang jutting from the side of a cliff that was wide enough to shield them from the rain. She nearly collapsed with relief as she dragged both of them under it. The ground was rough and scraped her palms raw, but it was also dry and solid and safe.
The rain was coming down in sheets now, and it was almost too dark to see anything beyond the confines of their newly acquired shelter. Every sound was drowned out by the deafening downpour; it was as if the entire world had shrunk down to just this tiny patch of dry earth.
Now that she was no longer exerting herself, she could feel the exhaustion settle in. Her soaked clothes and waterlogged hair leeched the warmth right out of her skin. She did her best to wring them out, but with nothing dry to change into and no fire to use as heat, there was else little she could do.
She glanced over at her companion, hoping against hope to see some sign of waking, but he remained as still and motionless as ever. Sighing, she softly smoothed the damp bangs out of his face, and then placed a finger over the pulse point in his neck, searching for his heartbeat with bated breath.
To her relief, she found it immediately. It still thrummed evenly under his skin. In fact, he radiated heat, his bare skin almost searing to her rain chilled touch.
She shivered. Maybe if – she could –
No. She was too cold and too tired to bother with excuses.
So she crawled under his arm and curled into his side, trying not to think too hard about how familiar the weight of his hand on her shoulder was, or how neatly her head fit against the crook of his neck, or how much of a comfort it was just to have someone to hold. She ignored the small part of her that wanted to cry in relief, because he was warm, he was alive, and everything seemed alright when she closed her eyes and turned her face into his chest.
She fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
She dreamed of dark closets and raised voices. A stranger taking her by the hand and leading her to a smiling couples who knelt down to hug her. A house she had never seen before. The same couple, their smiles fading as she entered the room. The woman's belly swelling up with a new baby. Fewer and fewer smiles. Being led away by another stranger, his grip harsh and tight on her hand no matter how she strained and cried.
She dreamed of hard beds and bland meals. She dreamed of stealing chocolate bars and eating them nibble by nibble in order to savor the taste for as long as she could. She dreamed of more houses she had never seen before, more strangers leading her from place to place to place until it was all a blur of forced smiles and hard eyes and meaningless words.
She dreamed of a warm hand on her shoulder as she watched another smiling couple lead a different little girl away.
She dreamed of a sad, tired voice.
"You'll find a home of your own someday, Emma."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When she woke up, her clothes were dry, her face was damp, and she was cold.
It took her a moment to realize that the weight of the hand on her shoulder was gone.
It took her another moment to realize that her arms were wrapped around someone. Someone much smaller than her, with a mop of dark hair, who shivered and curled into her side when she moved away.
A child. A child who stirred and blinked sleepily a few times, looking up at her in bleary confusion. A boy with the face of an angel and the lightest blue eyes she had ever seen, and yet...and yet, she had expected brown eyes, for some reason, and a very different face. Rounder, more impish, with lighter hair and a cheeky smile.
"Liam?" the boy murmured, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. When he received no immediate reply, he stiffened, his eyes widening as he repeated with more alarm, "Liam!"
His gaze darted everywhere, searching in vain, before finally locking onto her. His eyes filled with apprehension and instinctive wariness. His small shoulders hunched up defensively, he shrank in on himself to make a smaller target, and he unconsciously took a step backward.
She knew that look. It was the look of a child who had been hurt once, and didn't want to be hurt again.
But even though the tremble in his voice gave him away, he still jutted out his lower lip and demanded bravely, "Where's Liam?"
"I'm not sure who that is," she answered as honestly as she could.
Not good enough, it seemed, because he took another wary step away from her.
"You're lying. He wouldn't...he wouldn't just leave me. Where is he? What did you do to him?"
"I don't know. I don't even know how you got here. There was a man with me, he...did you see where he went?" she asked, hoping against hope that the boy would have more answers for her than she did for him.
He sized her up for a moment. Weighed her words. Just when she thought he was about to answer, however, he spun on his heel and bolted.
She swore under breath and bolted after him. She couldn't let a child run off alone into the forest, no matter how confusing and nonsensical his sudden presence might be.
She had underestimated just how fast a ten-or-so-year-old child could run, though. In the scant few seconds head start she had inadvertently given him, he was already disappearing into the foliage, darting nimbly around trees and undergrowth like a hyperactive monkey.
She barely kept him in her sights, following after the occasional flashes of his white shirt and his dark hair. She didn't bother calling out; nothing she shouted would convince him of her good intentions. Her best bet was to catch up to him before he hurt himself and calm him down face-to-face. Which, it was turning out, was easier said than done, because when she chased him into a clearing, her heart almost leapt out of her throat at the sight of the small boy scaling a fifty-meter sheer cliff bare-handed.
He was clearly not a typical ten-year-old boy, not if had enough strength to haul himself up by the fingertips, and enough confidence – or recklessness – to make leaps from one foothold to another, even while high up enough that the fall would severely injure him. She didn't know whether to be relieved at his apparent skill, or worried that she would have no way of following him. Perhaps if she circled around the cliff face, she could find another way up.
Just as she turned to search for a different path, however, she saw a black shadow out of the corner of her eye. It came from the dark forests at the top of the cliff, a dark blur that was shaped mostly like a bird, no bigger than a seagull, but it shed ominous wisps of black vapor. It circled overhead once, twice, and then made of steep dive straight towards the boy. She screamed a warning, but it was too late; the shadowy animal slammed into him and knocked him from his handhold.
By some miracle, he caught himself, but only barely. His fingers had latched on an exposed root, and now he swung precariously across the cliff side, dangling by just one hand. The root twisted – snapped –
She broke into a dead sprint and made a diving leap just as he fell.
She collided with him in midair and tucked him into her embrace, bracing herself and curling herself around him as they hit the ground hard. They rolled once, twice, then finally came to a stop in a clump of ferns.
For a moment, she just groaned as everything hurt. She felt like she had dislocated her shoulder, but everything else seemed intact. Oh, and she was alive. That was always a plus.
"Still in one piece, kid?"
There was a pause, then the boy slowly bobbed his head up and down in her embrace.
She gingerly let him go even as she scanned the skies for that black shadowy...thing, but it had disappeared as quickly as it came.
"What...what was that?" he asked, his voice much more subdued than it had been earlier.
"No idea. But we shouldn't stick around to find out," she answered grimly. It was most definitely not any animal she had ever seen
He finally looked up at her, and asked in a wavering voice, "Do you think it got my brother?"
Liam must be his brother's name, she guessed, and from the look on his face, might just be the only family he had left. She placed a gentle hand on his head – his hair was feather soft – and injected as much confidence in her tone as she could muster, "I'm sure your brother is fine. He's probably looking for you right now."
He nodded mutely again, and gingerly picked himself out of her arms before scrambling to his feet.
She groaned as she picked herself out of the clump of crushed ferns, and realized she still didn't know the boy's name.
"What's your name?" she asked bluntly, seeing no need for preamble.
"Killian," he answered softly. He dropped his gaze, and looked up at her hesitantly through his bangs, "Um."
To her own surprise, her mouth moved on its own.
"Emma. My name…it's Emma."
. . .
For a kid who had woken up in an unfamiliar place to an unfamiliar face, then had nearly plummeted to his death, Killian was handling himself rather well. He seemed content to quietly plod along behind her as they picked their way back to the makeshift shelter they had left behind. She nearly lost track of him several times – he could be halfway up a tree before she even noticed he had gone, and only the soft thump of falling fruit told her where he had gone. They made a bit of a game out of it, seeing who could spot something edible, but he had sharp eyes and quick hands, so she was losing rather badly. The spoils were all piled into her red jacket, which had been turned into a makeshift hamper.
She didn't miss the way he would keep glancing over his shoulder, his eyes searching for someone who wasn't there. Nor did she miss the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching, his brow furrowed and his lips quirked in a not-quite frown, as if he couldn't quite figure her out.
He seemed completely thrown when she asked him normal questions like, 'You doing alright, kid?' or 'Do you need a break, or should we keep walking?'
She knew a lost boy when she saw one.
But not completely lost. Not like her. Not yet. There was still a spark of innocence about him, and despite his initial suspicion, he was willing to talk to her now that she had apparently proven worthy of his trust. He gradually started answering her questions, first in single words, then in short sentences, and then soon enough, his entire face was lighting up as he told her about his big brother Liam, how Liam had showed him how to tie an overhand knot the other day, how Liam was going to join the Navy and Killian was too, how one day, they would both be famous heroes whose exploits were legendary in every realm.
She couldn't help but smile as he came up with fantastic ideas, spun from nothing more than a fleeting rumor or a bedtime tale. Killian, it turned out, was a quiet kid by circumstance, not by nature, and with just a little prodding, it turned out he had a head full of imagination and a heart bursting with of dreams.
"When we find Liam, you should come too," he said in complete earnestness.
She raised an eyebrow at him. He ducked his head and blushed, stumbling over himself to explain how they were going to be heroes, and heroes didn't leave nice people behind. It'd be all wrong.
It got a laugh out of her as she ruffled his hair and teasingly reminded him, "And exactly who was saving who today?"
"You can come with us and be a lady knight," he offered, pausing to size her up. "I think you would be a good knight."
And it was a warm thought, to imagine herself as a lost girl, adventuring across the seas with two brave sailor boys. It was warm enough to put a smile on face, up until the moment when they finally reached the rocky overhang, and it proved to be as empty as it had been when she left it.
Her face fell immediately. She had thought...she had hoped that the man - whose name she didn't know, whose face she couldn't forget – would be waiting. That he hadn't left without a word in the middle of the night, that he would be awake and aware and there to answer the thousand and one questions swimming through her mind.
She had expected him to be there for her, and was irrationally hurt and disappointed that he wasn't.
"What's wrong," Killian asked, and his worried voice was enough to snap her out of her fugue. He was looking up at her with those impossibly bright blue eyes again, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he could read her better than he should, better than any kid should. She couldn't even hide her disappointment towards a stranger from a ten-year-old, what in the world was wrong with her?
So she forced a smile and asked him to gather up twigs for a fire. He didn't look convinced at all, but he obeyed. They relapsed into mutual silence, the boy returning to his subdued demeanor and her retreating behind emotional walls she didn't even realize she had.
It was only when night fell again, and they had nothing to do but sit beside a crackling fire, that they spoke again. Liam had not shown up. Neither had anyone else. They were alone, and the world felt like it had shrunk down again, restricted only the warm circle of light cast by the flickering flames of their camp.
Killian said, "I miss Liam." His eyelids were already slowly blinking with drowsiness, but his voice was quiet and sad. He looked so very small in the firelight, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head lolling to one side as he stared into the flames.
She had no words, but she put her arm around him, and willingly leaned into her.
"I am always going to miss Liam," he continued, his eyes drifting shut, and his voice was different – deeper, older, and full of grief.
"But Liam," the boy whispered, not really a boy at all, just as he drifted into sleep. His last words were barely audible and muffled as he turned his face into her side, "He would have loved you."
And Emma could only hold him and wonder, for a long time, if she too was waiting for someone who would never come back.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
next - part ii - noon
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