Sango | Season 3
Sango | Season 3
sliding into the dms*
* demon massacres
Back on my bullshit, hoping to draw more soon. Rarely am I pleased with both linework and flats, but this one came out alright.
Drew a bust chibi of my gal Natalia, felt like her toyhouse profile needed an update to the avatar
Doodled some demon ocs and a demon hunter, the demons are Lucifer and his seven spouses! The demon hunter is Bishoy and he’s baby
My demon hunter, Breytburn
This is hands down, the best piece of art I have ever done
Pinup of my demon hunter, Varrik!
Here’s my demon hunter character, Verra they\them
Demonique and the Hellhunters is one of my favorite reads right now !!!
Do you guys remember this awesome scene? I FELT LIKE SCREAMING BACK THEN WHEN I READ IT FOR THE FIRST TIME!
Will Herondale, my whole heart *sobs* ❣
FINALLY. I did a victory dance when I finished this XD
One-shot for Now Comes the Night Bat/Silm fusion. Title from I Am A Stone by Demon Hunter.
You have never wanted any of this.
The others with their capes and their code names and their 3 am conversations over commlinks when they should have been watching their backs instead of cracking one horrible joke after another—they wanted this. They enjoyed the chase, the fight, the intrigue, the risk of it all.
You never have. You preferred security: solid ground beneath your feet, stone walls around you, gun in hand, a tripled-locked gate with a guard out front.
Your uncle and your father feuded for years while the city fell to chaos around them. Your cousins and your siblings, caught up in the flow of madness, went mad themselves. You have spent too many nights listening to their cries of triumph and distress, their victories and their defeats, their whispered hopes and their desperate despair as they fought to hold back an enemy they could never overcome.
You hated it all: the fear, the rage, the loss, the backbreaking realization that no matter how much effort they poured into it—no matter how many punches were thrown or how many criminals put behind bars—there would never be an end. As the bodies piled up, your anger curled hot and tight in your breast like a bullet burning to be released.
Your cousins died. Your siblings cried. Your father and uncle came to blows and the family split so evenly down the middle, you could have sworn it was deliberate.
Where does one go from ground zero? How does one recover from such utter desolation? Night after night your brother sobbed into your arms after the nightmares woke him, and you sat still as stone, willing yourself not to break under the weight of his grief.
Is it any wonder that you decided to strike out on your own path? You have always been the independent one. Earliest to walk, to talk, to run, to build, to dream. Your dreams were practical things. You walked your beat with a gun on your belt and a badge on your breast and you thought maybe, this way you can make a real change. Tear out the rot at its roots and sow the field anew. The city was a dark, filthy place, and you understood why the others had fought (misguidedly) so hard to save it.
You loved it, too.
But the rot was too deep, the darkness too impenetrable, and piece by piece it took from you the very things you loved: the skyline bright with stars, the river wild and free, the quiet nights and the sunlit days and the smiles of people who knew no fear. The rot took it all and twisted it down into something bitter and hollow and biting.
Finally it took your brother. A single bullet shattered the sanctity of your family home and you knew at last the utter despair that had plagued your uncle and cousins for so long. The rot seeped onto your very soul.
Time to take a risk. Time to forge that anger into a shield to hide what few shards remained of your shattered soul.
A mask to obscure your face, gloves to cover your fingerprints, a modulator to distort your voice. During the day you walked your beat in a different man’s shoes. You even bleached your hair–something you’d once sworn never to do because it made you look like that one cousin you hated.
You have come to loathe every second of it. You do it anyway.
Your father relies on you more than ever these days. You no longer claim your place as his son, but to see you alive, hidden in plain sight, brings him peace. He has done this right at least. He has raised you well.
You’ve always been the dutiful son, haven’t you? The strong one. The stable one. Unwavering in your thought and focus. Not bright, hardly brilliant, never fast. Steady. Like a stone.
But put anything under a great enough weight and even stones will crack.
Illidan and Malfurion. Two sides of the same coin.
guild pvp shenanigans ft ape noises, throwing bikes, and chests full of meat
Commission finished in the stream today! I wanted to go for four hours, but managed to finish it under that time.
If you can actually make eye contact you are too close.
Just a scribble to get myself drawing again. I might clean it up and take it forward.
Drew my favorite pairing in peccatum demonium, Louis and Mariana
Bands & Monsters! ☠️🤘🏼
Aimee Interrupter + Demon Hunter! 👹
“Count me amongst the enemies to demons.”