Posing practice with Hunter and my oc Diana. :]

The instagram algo didn‘t like this one, so I decided to post it on here to. x]

Your art is so skrunkly!!!

omg thank you!! :0 💗💗

Please Tell Me I'm Wrong (Matt Murdock Drabble)

Character/s: Matt

Word Count: 841

Inspired By: Habits by Genevieve Stokes

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @glitchybrit @lost-girl-of-onceuponatime

A/N: This is my first fic in what feels like an eternity. I've been struggling with my body and I know that writing always helps. I understand this can be a triggering topic so please, if you need to, don't read it! Your body holds you and cares for you and you should remember that. Don't hurt it for trying to hold you, hug you, keep you together. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLISTS / TAG LIST 

There is a softness to you unlike anyone else. In the way you feel, in the way you are, in the way you exist.

Stretch marks, pale and pulsing, as alive as the pooling veins beneath your skin. They live and breathe, they move with you despite your own thoughts. They are stuck to you, tattooed, the ink still wet and staining. Across thighs, arms, calves, stomachs, back. On all the worst places, you’ve decided one day on a whim. On all the worst places. It is an anthem, a tune, you can’t get out of your head. Every time you look, or worse, feel, your own body you are filled with a disgust, a hatred, a shock that one cannot shake by simply “loving” themselves. It goes deeper, this misunderstanding. It is a language outdated, abandoned long before you were born, with no hope of learning. It is a genetic mistake. Why can’t you look like them? Why do you have to look like you? An error in your code, a fault in the solar system, the system itself. Tall, thin, wispy. No one has ever called you wispy. Fragile. Delicate. If they had, it would be in a mocking tone. A joke. You could never describe yourself as such without lying to yourself, to the mirror. Part of you wants it to shatter at the idea of you. Another dreads that, as if it could ever happen. There are bumps, lumps, rolls, patterns etched into the backs of your thighs. There is a number on the scale in which your body sits comfortably, safely at, and yet you find no home in this body of yours. There is no warmth. It is a war that has lasted a lifetime, that will be the end of you one day, you are sure of it. 

He does not feel the same way. How can he when he can’t see it?

Your one saving grace. He does not see the way you examine yourself so brutally, with too much attention. Spots of every shade, dark and red and all kinds of angry. Across your cheeks, between your thighs, in the inbetween of your body. Your awful, tortured body. There are thousands of poems comparing bodies unlike yours to stars, to the sea, to something beautiful. Something to yearn for. Something desirable. Scars are only ever wanted when they’re not on you. When you don’t wear them. It is an all consuming hatred. It follows you from every reflective surface, every dream and nightmare, every time you get dressed in the morning and strip yourself in the dark of night. It is awful. It is hurtful. It pains you, and yet, you put none of it into words. How can you? It's delusional. You’re being cruel. 

He doesn’t have to see to understand. The sighs, the way your whole body tenses when he hugs you, his hands moving up and down. You reject yourself in the fullest way. You have never done anything, believed in anything, half-assed. It is devastating, the way you see yourself when you undermine everything about you. The most stunning creature he has ever fallen for, been lucky enough to fall for him. Your skin, that has protected you from every bump and bruise, every hurdle life has ever thrown at you. Your hands, soft and sweet, holding on to him, holding yourself when you’ve been at your loneliest. Your legs, curved and strong, holding you still, like stone, impossibly stubborn. He reads your stretch marks with the tips of his fingers. They tell a story of a life, lived to the fullest, surviving the worst anyone could imagine. Your scars reminders that you have, and continue to, heal despite it all. Matt has never found an imperfection with your body. He has tried as hard as you do, but there is nothing. The spots, the scars, the bruises and bumps, it is a collection, the history of you, what you’ve endured. 

A history of who you are. Without it, without you, it would just be a body. A skeleton. You bring it to life. You make it laugh until it cries. You make is scratch against his morning stubble, in need of kisses. You hold it against him in the cold of night, the two of you fitting together perfectly, in the steam of the shower where he washes your hair, impossibly close as if he’s afraid to lose you in that moment. He will, eventually. When you’re standing in front of the mirror, afraid to look at the entirety of you. When a picture is taken and you hadn’t realized, left to study the image, the act. He loses you again and again, falling back into old habits, so he makes the most of it when he has you all to himself. When he has your mind and body. It's then that he reminds you until he's out of breath how captivating you have always been, hoping one day it will be enough to change your mind.

Since @diana-westmoon put a post about sharing unrefined stories onto my dash and @i-am-a-world told me to waste time only when I don't have any I have decided to make another attempt at doing exactly that.

Unless I forget all about it immediately there will be the occasional Enyr-&-Allyn-posting from now on.

A few tidbits for the start, then the first part of the story.

Tidbit Number 1

The relationship between Enyr and his patron, the Thief who Stole from the Gods is sort of like the relationship of Odysseus and Athena in Epic! The Musical (and eventually goes just as sour)

Tidbit Number 2: the first time I ever wrote about something kind of like this, neither Allyn nor Enyr were the protagonists. Well sort of. It's complicated.

Tidbit Number 3: I've been daydreaming about this story for years. Only some of it is formatted as an audiodrama script. Because this story has evolved over time in some parts the characters have different names. Different pronouns. (Allyn has xe/xir now) It would take ages to clean this mess up. But the first part, where our heroes are introduced and shooed off onto their quest is good to go! I tried really hard to make it presentable.

But hey. Ultimately I just want people to see and enjoy this story. Maybe that'll even help get me unstuck from the point where the story has been for at least the last two years.

Extra Tidbit: Taras' theme song is Birds of a Feather by Fish in a Birdcage

Anyways.

The Tale of Enyr and Allyn

Part 1 Chapter 1: Enyr

A long way from here, on the far side of a vast ocean, there is a group of four islands. And on the biggest island there stands a proud city. In the beginning, there was no settlement there. There was in fact nothing of note there on that tiny rock. A few birds maybe. But all in all it was merely empty.  Accounts of how and why people eventually began to live there vary. Folks who live on the neighboring continent may tell you of a traitor, a liar, a thief who fled to the most remote island like a coward to avoid punishment for stealing from gods. Those who live on that island and its neighbors however tell quite a different tale. In this story, the thief is a hero, who stood up to unjust, violent gods and used their newly gained power to protect those who could not thrive on the continent, those who were too different or unwanted to find a home there.  The truth, as it tends to be with some stories, is somewhere in the middle…. This is the tale of Enyr the adventurer, who knew the Thief better than anyone, and of his trials, hardship, betrayals and love. And of Hearthkeeper Allyn who wanted nothing to do with any of them, and got caught up in them most unfortunately anyway. 

In his youth Enyr decided to follow one of the gods worshipped on the islands, as many young islanders were doing at the time. Of course the Thief, as an entity of the wild stormy sea and the great unknown, could hardly be worshipped in temples. Whoever wanted to truly worship them had to set out on a journey and dedicate his life to travel. And so Enyr chose the life of a sailor.    Scene change: maybe indicated by music?

Scene 2: ENYRs time as a sailor and a life changing meeting Luke: And that life suited him well. He worked hard and when the work was done he could also loosen up and celebrate. All things considered he was a perfectly normal person. In fact, the only thing worth mentioning about young Enyr was his almost eerie knack for predicting the weather. This may not seem like that big of a talent, but keep in mind that in this part of the world the weather is largely caused by the whims and fancies of a fickle god. This strange quirk only seemed to get more and more accurate the longer he spent out at sea and soon people joked that Enyr knew if the weather was going to change before the Thief themself had even decided. Maybe it was these jokes that eventually drew their attention, maybe it was the fact that on that particular night he was the only one who was still somewhat sober. One could now speculate about fate and chance at length but do those things really matter?  Fact is that in his seventh summer as an adventurer at sea, our young friend was approached by a rather familiar stranger after a night of drink and dance…   SOUNDS: outside of a lively pub at night, laughter, music etc. can be heard, although somewhat muffled. SOUND: Slow footsteps   Enyr: (sings, very off-key, he’s clearly somewhat drunk):   Adventure at sea is the life for me, I don’t get homesick no When the captain calls and the storm rolls in A-floating I shall go Now raise your glass another time Drink and beverage ho! Like the birds on high we must look to the sky A-floating we shall….go ( He trails off. The footsteps stop)   (Beat)    Enyr (contd): Who are you?  Luke: If he had been entirely sober, he may have been able to recognize the figure leaning against the wall sooner, but as it was, at that moment he had no idea that he was speaking to his god. Only that sixth sense he had developed for the weather nagged at him: This person felt like storm season air.  The Thief (clearly amused): Who, me? I am but a stranger on the breeze. A traveler, if you will.  Enyr: Hm. You… You look so… familiar. (hiccups) The Thief (barely suppresses a fit of loud laughter): I have one of those faces. Enyr (confused): What'd you want?  The Thief: Hearthkeeper Allyn, one of my sisters most important acolytes, has been dispatched on a rescue mission. But like my sister, xe is not a traveler, so I was asked to lend a ship with crew to the cause. To guarantee xir safety and the success of the mission.  Enyr: But I don't (hiccup) sail for you, stranger, I sail for…  Luke: Suddenly the young sailor felt very sober indeed, as the proverbial coin dropped at last. The weight of his situation dawned on him. This merry stranger in front of him had once raised the islands out of the sea as an act of defiance. What reason could they possibly have to want to talk to him?  Enyr (voice wavering with doubt): And…I’m supposed to what, lead that crew for you?  The Thief: Maybe. If you think you are the right person to carry out this task when you wake up tomorrow.  (Beat) Why do you look so surprised? I wouldn't force you to do this against you will… and I certainly wouldn't ask this of you without giving you something in return.  Enyr: What would you give?  The Thief: Do you know what exactly it was that I took from the three continental gods?  Enyr: Of course I do. Everyone (hiccup) knows that. Why?   The Thief: Because I have something to give as well. And unlike them I am not too set in my ways to give it freely.

Next time: Allyn really really doesn't want to go on an adventure but it's about a kid so fiiiiine

Also there's a scene later where Enyr and Taras consider getting really wasted as part of their totally serious last ditch effort rescue mission and now that I think about it, it would be hilarious for Taras to go "oh you're one to talk booze. One time you got so utterly pissed you didn't even recognize when your god tried to talk to you" but there's no way they could know, this was literally before their time. And my totally amazing badass hero would totally have been too embarrassed to tell that little fact to anyone ever.

(also please ignore Luke. He's there because I thought I could find a home for this story in the podcast Among the Stacks which is why this is in script form also. But ultimately...nah. i have to figure out something else for Luke)

Anyways.

@/diana-westmoon already said this but uhh

Harumi with 'revived' by derivakat anyone? 👀

F*ck- It‘s my favorite oc‘s birthday! Aaaaaaaah!

Skiá

Chapter 1 - Crash (I rewrote this chapter and wanted to show it to my friend (:3), so here it is)

A crack. A loud and heavy crack sounded behind the dark-haired truck driver, who was currently driving towards Shuniah. It was late in the evening and almost completely dark outside.

With a loud squeak the young driver hit the brake and stopped the truck, to see what happened. His face became an annoyed grimase, once he left the car and walked to the wagon behind it, where he noticed that nothing had happened to the truck.

Slight goosebumps crept up his arms. He owed this to the cold of spring as well as his own fear, which both followed him at every turn. Hastily he pulled out his flashlight.

A few metres behind the vehicle was a big furrow in the street, which hadn‘t been there before, but was empty. Nothing seemed to lead to anything that could have caused the hole, except for a few smoke rings, which, however, hung barely visible above the ground.

The driver shuddered and rubbed his other arm with his free hand to remove the goosebumps, before he looked around some more.

At this moment a shadow appeared behind the tired man, which slowly approached. The driver didn‘t seem to notice though till it stopped about one meter away from him. The man turned around and directly looked into the white eyes of the shadow creature.

This would be his end, he knew it. He would die young and never be able to enjoy the possibilities of life. But the moment he wanted to start screaming and begging for mercy, the shadows disappeared as if they had never been there and a pale woman, yes a teenager, of small stature came to light. Tiredly she looked at him with her light-grey eyes, before laying her hand on his shoulder and opening her mouth to speak.

“For fuck’s sake, please get me to the next city.”

Introducing:

Diana Westmoon and her friends:

Monica Kita

Nell Kita

Jake Ika

Isabella Ika

Trix Ika

and Cho Ika

Is there a recap for the rena cinematic universe somewhere? /gen I think it‘s really cool and I love your art!

No but god damn it there should be,,

I'll try and summarize as best as I can but please keep in mind this is gonna be mainly from my character's pov. If other RCU members wanna rb with a summary of their characters please feel free too!!  ​​​​

Rena the 69th clone of butch hartman. Butch hartman was once a kinda shitty normal guy but he wanted to become a god like NonXD and their siblings so he made a clone of himself to experiment on. (He's also trans (ftm) so that's why his clone is a cis girl like that one Danny Phantom theory, anyways) after he made this clone he named her proto (short for prototype) but she later chose the name Rena for herself making her Rena 1!

Butch hartman started dating this king guy who I think is French but I might have made that up but anyways Rena 1 gets suuuuuper fucking jealous because she is in love with butch hartman even tho she's his clone it's really weird she's weird. So this King fella actually has one of the gods under his control, this god is vermin and they lost their memory (just like popular dsmp member ranboo) so that's why Hartman wants to date him, to try and get close to this god.

(TW: SA mention, death, violence)

Vermin is very fond of the King, and the king isn't necessarily a great guy but he's not malicious. So Hartman and the King are dating for a bit and the king realizes he's ace and Hartman doesn't really care. Hartman is a horrible person and that's all I will say for that you can guess what happens with them.

The whole dating Hartman thing leads the king to ban sex (or sex cults depending who you ask but it really doesn't matter) so now not only.is their relationship rocky but so is the king's and his kingdom's. Rena 1 takes advantage of this and goes up to Hartman and is all like "heyy we should kill your boyfriend :) it would be so sexy and cool" and Hartman just agrees because he wants to turn this whole thing into a coup so yada yada king gets beheaded and vermin runs away traumatized.

So Hartman with his small but passionate mini army have now successfully taken over the kingdom. But aww shit vermin ran away. So Hartman is like "Rena 🥺👉👈 can you please go capture that filthy bastard? Bring his rat ass to me 😚 please 🥰" and Rena 1 being the simp she is is all like "yes sir!"

so rena 1 goes out and finds vermin but is like oh shit i have empathy and let’s xem go so she goes back empty handed and hartman is PISSSSED. so anyways like a week passed and she keepes doing shit that pissed him off and eventually he chokes her to death (it’s a lot more dramatic im just better at comics trust me please)

now hartman is like “well, i can just make another one” then processed to keep making rena clones but they can like kinda remember the shit he did to the previous rena and anyways he just keeps killing them and remaking them it’s very unhealthy like this is not how you cope with your emotions hartman.

so anyways we get around to rena 69 which is the one that is alive and kicking. she escapes hartman before he could kill her. she ends up in hell for a bit then finds this super hot ram chick (@romanticisms-slut) and they have a kid ( @racoon-child) the kid and rena end up on the mc server which rena is convinced is still hell because she’s an idiot. 

then this political race starts and rena teams up with vermin (they dont recognize each other just dont think about it too hard) and they hire @fawfulgod as the campaign manager. Rena ends up wins but water anon the middle sibling of non and vermin does a hostile take over with @tack-tick​ and @icrazy-snowyowl so rena, zilch (fawful) and vermin go into hiding with help of zapp ( @chekhxvsgun) and then rena gets all sad n shit and starts canonically writing king julien fanfiction.

zilch get’s kidnapped by tica and she puts him in a sand pit. then rena rescues him (link1 & link2) and that’s kinda where we’re at rn if you have any questions please ask ^-^ my fingers hurt 

If you get this, answer with three random facts about yourself if you feel comfortable! Then send this to the last seven blogs that are in your notifications. Can be anonymous or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog!

Oo!! FUN!! >:D!! OKAY *cracks knuckles* Hmmm skdfmoawe this is tough I sometimes forget everything about myself when asked to share something lol XD skdfamowe

OKAY 

1. I read the Lord of the Rings trilogy in the course of two weeks when I was eleven 

2. I take a self defence class and can kick sixty times in thirty seconds (speed, nyoom) 

3. I have over three hundred original characters bouncing around in my brain, most of them with their own story ideas and worlds skdfmawef I counted. :’) 

Thanks for the ask! This was kinda fun to brainstorm about myself ksadmfowe <33

Hi. ^^ I just wanted to drop by and tell you that I love your art and all of your aus. They‘re all super cool and I hope you have a nice day. x3

thank you so much! You’re very kind!

Boop.

@diana-westmoon

14 and 17. :3

14) What do you like drawing the most?

People and faces :)) I like giving things emotion and I like figuring out how to fit everything together to get the exact emotion I want. You should see the pages in my sketchbooks completely dedicated to trying out different pairings of eyes, mouths, and eyebrows, like, that kind of stuff feels like a code I get to crack idk it's fun.

17) What would you absolutely refuse to draw?

Hmmmm. Simple answer the stupid penis doodles I will nEver And They get on my nerves so much

Sovereign (Druig Oneshot)

Character/s: Druig

Word Count: 1,241

Inspired By: Dinner & Diatribes by Hozier

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @fangirlsarah16 @diana-westmoon @lost-girl-of-onceuponatime

A/N: I feel like this might be a lil *smexy*. Not overtly smexy, just like on the verge of *smexy* and I'm obsessed. I love this man. I hate him and I love him and that is all I have to say. Picture kings and queens. Picture wanting so badly it hurts. Picture this song okay? 💕  Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLISTS / TAG LIST 

His whispers could be dangerous. Gun powder and gasoline. Goosebumps. The sharpest edge of the dagger nestled between your teeth. Go ahead, you’d insist, cut off my tongue, make me bleed. It, like him, walked a thin line. They were brazen, him and your knife, sharp, impulsive, but never stupid. Blunt. His words barely there against the opaque of the background. Slight reflections in the glass of your wine. Caught in inhale before your next breath. Light laughter, a distinct air of grace and commrodery, enough of a crowd never to quiet. An act of protection, enough so to let him do whatever he pleases without getting caught. Perfect conditions. And yet, he remained careful. Almost hesitant, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks at the mere thought of you and him. Crimson, maroon, almost bloody. Not rare enough. Well done. You want to laugh, to break the serious of his desperation, but it is too fun. There is no thrill like it. The chase. He has become starved of affection, of touch and that alone is enough to drive a man mad, that much you are sure of. Already he had grown wild with bared teeth. His smile, wide, hungry, towards them, but his eyes never leave you. He wouldn’t dare. Across the room, across the table. Wherever you are, whatever the distance, he makes it clear: you are the only thing that matters. Bowing at queens, shaking the hands of kings, he wears a civil, even respectful, tone on the surface. Beneath it there is little thought of them, their many wars, their successful harvest. 

He is thinking of you. 

He listens thoughtlessly. They demand attention, eyes, but he only sees you, hears you. The clink of your fork, the scrape of your knife, the flash of heat across your face when you’ve had a tad too much to drink. That is what he cares for. That is what he notices. They speak of war, treaties, of your kind who have lived forever and will continue to do so, protecting them, their people and their livestock. Primitive, and yet, elegant. Endearing. The castle walls are sharp, rocky, lit by candles. Together they are red and orange, casting yellow shadows across the dinner table. Endless. It seems they have invited everyone and placed them between you. It infuriates him, you know, unable to touch you, to place his hand in yours beneath the runner. Seated at opposing ends, you listen to the sister kingdom. Their fears, their worries and woes. You cannot unhear what he’s said in passing. Dreamlike, as if it never really happened at all, what he’d do when you were alone. . . . They wore their crowns with pride, jewel encrusted, the same you dug and plucked from mother earth herself centuries before. They, like you, he decides, understand there is an art in beauty. A beauty that, for now, goes untraceable. 

How it kills him. 

You laugh with the wealthy, those fortunate to land themselves at the kings table, the opposing palaces fraternal twins rather than identical. Drastically different and yet mirror images. Strip them of their sigils, their coats of armor, even their crowns, and they would be indistinguishable. People. Humans. Nude. Druig wants nothing more than to do the same to you, rip with his teeth, but he must be patient. Earn it. In one evening he had become primitive. Savage. Wicked. They look up to you as their gods, their peacemakers, the very notion that brought all of you to this table: to come to agreements. They have shared the same land, same ideals, and the same table, yet when it comes to their armies, their brutality, their strengths, they are nothing but weaknesses. Stubborn. Vengeful. They cast themselves into the age before man: barbaric. If only you could talk them down, take control. If only the seconds melted as quickly as they promised, he couldn’t help but think. Beg on his hands and knees, he would have moved the moon himself if it meant getting to be with you sooner. It is your duty that they come to harmony. There must be no rush. Without this, without the dark wines and heavy courses, they would tear at one another. Eye for and eye. Lmib for a limb. Life for a life. Since they were born they have been in battle. Their soldiers are dwindling in faith and in numbers. Their people lost in their grief. Only aristocrats sit with pride in their spines and pleasure in their resigned smiles. They act under pressure with a grace their people could never begin to understand. Not because they are better, but because they only think of themselves. Unempathetic. Merciless. Deadly. 

If they wanted to last, if they wanted to survive, they would have to put an end to the carnage. 

He undressed you with his eyes as you spoke passionately, proudly, from one nation to another. One look, that was all it took. One of affection, of knowing, one that made him choke on his own breath. Only he paid that much attention to notice. The other side listened, though not without their own judgment. They wanted crucifixion, not expectations. They were hushed as quickly as their murmurs grew, Druig taking control. This was the last place he wanted to be. These were the last people he wanted to be with. Patience my love, you urged silently. If it were up to him their eyes would have already been swirling in the same gold you wore around your neck, your wrists and fingers. Decisions would have been made and put into act. They were to remain separate. Secular, but courteous. As your insistence, always, it would be up to them. Learn to survive, evolve as one, and all would be well. Their kingdoms could live on for thousands of years. Choose not to, and be the first to watch their castles burn, their people die, until there are none. You have watched too many choose to live in their own fury. Nothing good has ever come from that.

He fists slam nito the hard oak of the table as they struggle to come to rapport. 

You want him to do it again. 

He leans in towards you. The king begs with him, but he has come to his own accordance for them. The fighting is silly. Childish. They are above that. They should be if they want to be so widely respected. He signs the scroll for them. A hint of gold in his eyes. He wouldn’t dare, not under your watch, but it does not mean he cannot use it as a warning. They settle, each of them leaving their signature. At the bottom two kingdoms have become one. Not through marriage, but understanding. There has been enough blood spilled on the battlefields. Druig stares past them to you, raising his glass. You raise yours. Together you toast. Hopeful this newfound kingdom will not collapse in on itself with civil war, but rather grow past this grief and thrive into the realm it has always imagined. He is relieved, not for their kinship, for you. You, neither his Adam or Eve, but his apple. Good and evil, powerful and fiercely intelligent. Risky. The one he cannot have, not at this moment. The one he has been warned of. He wants nothing else. A sip for a sip. The wine sweet, full, rich. 

Just like you.

So I made a thing. and I am so not sorry. Am living the @ameliapodcast meme life.

Drugs lol

@aaronsciencia this one's for u pal

When a (Mr) mime is in your office

Idk it just felt right somehow

@diana-westmoon @ellgiotto I will literally never stop.

If you know, you know.

@theameliaproject-outofcontext 🤷‍♀️

Which one do you like most? @ameliapodcast

This is my post to spam photos of my comfort characters in no particular order, because I need it rn.

[Credit to SAD-ist]

[Credit to myself]

[Credit to JJGGrt]

[Credit to @speren0x ]

and more, but I need to go eat cake. x3