⭕🤍🔵 VHS icon for @bludcult !! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
⭕🤍🔵 VHS icon for @bludcult !! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
I’ve been working on some Legend of Zelda oc’s!!!! I just really wanted to try my hand at making my own loz story, idk what I’m gonna call it yet but for now I’m calling it “Goddess Hero”
Immediately I knew I wanted to go crazy go stupid on the gender and I think I outdid myself bc I didn’t realize how hard it was to tell apart Link and Zelda lmao,, you can really only tell because of Link carrying the Master Sword.
I’m working on proper ref sheets for the main four pictured here, we got Link (they/them or aer/aers/aerself), their best friend Auretta (she/her), Zelda (she/they) and Impa (he/they)
feel free to ask about them in the meantime! :)
[DO NOT REPOST/REMOVE COMMENT]
i want these panels to be from a good comic so so badly but they are not
[id: two panels from x-men fairytales #3. In the first panel is a silhouette of a pair of scissors in scott’s hands, pointing toward jean’s neck. jean is saying: “Please, the spell’s already starting to take hold. I can’t do it myself...if you love me...”
the second panel shows jean and scott facing each other. jean has wrapped her hands around scott’s, holding the scissors with him./end id]
“What’s with the hesitation?” asked Etsuko. Alexa ducked an attack before explaining.
“Well, this bomb could very well blow up this entire mountain,” said Alexa.
“Yea? Well we might need that fire power to destroy this monster,” said Etsuko, obliterating an attack at the cost of a few cuts.
“Cough it out.”
“We could also be blown up with it,” said Alexa. Etsuko sighed.
“Alright, what are our other options?” asked Etsuko.
“Uh, hmmm. I’m setting this thing to a timer, but we’ll need to get out of here very quickly. At most it goes to one hour,” said Alexa. Etsuko sighed.
“No worries, just set it up and lets blow this joint,” said Etsuko. Alexa nodded, going along with her orders. She double checked to see if everything worked and then set the bomb.
“Alright, let’s get out of here!” said Alexa, running while dodging a few more attacks.
...sometimes the magic is in a stumpy No. 2 pencil, this one is barely an inch long, I’ve had it rolling around in my pencil box for years, it makes the best marks! It’s so old the eraser has rotted and fell off last night while I was drawing (I wasn’t even using it.)
tw: gore, abuse fiction
There was blood on Naomi’s hands, and a ledger behind her that was longer and redder than her own hair. Her job paid well, but there were still times that it bothered her. Being a state assassin was sometimes draining, though there was a sort of freedom to it at the same time. She didn’t own herself, none of her skills belonged to her, and her time left, life available, was promised, contracted to the government. She was gifted weapons and death and a bank account that never ran out for her services. For these things, and though some would call her nothing more than a dog on a leash, she was allowed movement that civilians would never have.
She was allowed revenge civilians would never enjoy.
Kat was her closest—and only, if she were being honest with herself—friend. For what this animal had done to her, he would pay.
Kat, with her light brown hair, and kind blue eyes, was too soft for this world. She’d shown up at Naomi’s door at nearly two in the morning, scraped, bleeding and sobbing. Molting bruises darkened the porcelain skin around her left eye, and black streaks from her makeup ran over her cheeks, along the tracks of tears that snapped rage through Omi’s chest like dragon fire.
From there, and once she was sure Kat would be safe at her apartment, Omi had taken a mere night and drawn him in, the abuser. She’d shown up at his normal drinking hole, putting herself in his line of sight with her short, skintight dress. When he’d taken notice (which hadn’t been but ten minutes), she’d begun the honey pot. He was easy to manipulate, as morons often were, and he followed her happily out behind the bar to the dark alleyway after less than thirty minutes of chatting. His knuckles were still scraped from Kat’s cheeks. Her knife weighed on her thigh, as noticeable to her as the vengeance swirled in her gut, dumping pre-fight adrenaline into her veins.
The bar was on the wrong side of town, so even if he managed to get a scream off—which he wouldn’t, she was a professional, after all—no one would come to help. Omi loved her town.
She shoved him against the back wall, a flirtatious smile curling her lips when he growled something obscene and decidedly ugly. She pressed into his space and breathed a hollow compliment into his ear as she slid the knife from its sheath.
Omi wasted not a moment as she flicked the blade, the smooth, well sharpened steel slashing across the man’s vocal cords, damning his last few minutes alive to be rendered silent. He gurgled. His eyes widened in shock and pain, and she took immense pleasure in seeing herself through his perspective. Her form reflected in the water-glass of unshed tears as she loomed over him.
He saw a demon before him, one that had disguised itself as beauty. He’d misread the sharp grin and dark eyes as sexual lust and a kind of dalliance, instead of the blood lust and want for violence it really was. He didn’t, nor would he ever, understand. In his mind, he’d never done anything wrong, he didn’t deserve this.
The knife she’d used to slit his throat, the one still dripping with his blood, plunged into his chest, pain striking like lightening through his body. She pulled it out, and blood, his precious life, followed behind as water to a busted damn. He tried to shove her off him, but she was stronger than he was, and she slammed him backwards, his head cracking against the worn bricks. His vision wavered, and in that split moment, he imagined he could see the ghosts on her shoulders.
The knife ripped through his stomach, and twisted, and he tried to scream, to wail, begging God for mercy. He would not find that here. Omi leaned forward, blood splatter across her cheeks lending to the wild look in her eyes.
“This is for Kat,” she whispered, barely audible above the sickening noise of blood purling from his throat.
The knife, her precious tool, had been forged for her and her job specifically, and had no issue breaking through the man’s chest bone to tear open his heart, like he had torn open Kat’s. There was no remorse, as there sometimes was in her job, when she watched the light fade from his eyes, and his body slump to the dirty alley ground. As she sheathed her weapon and called for a clean-up service, she wiped the foul blood from her face, spitting it back onto him from her lips.
Kat wouldn’t have approved, but what she didn’t know about wouldn’t kill her.
Tam Lin is not inherently a queer narrative but damn does it work well as a queer narrative
Working on a short animatic about a story I wanted to tell for like, ever. Think "the Happy! show but Naruto" or something lol
I'll update as soon as it's finished! ✨
Shattered; crazed. Rollerball on A4.
Katherine: I’m gonna need a human skull, and I can’t have you ask any questions why.
Pixl: Only if you also don’t ask why.
Katherine: What… Okay sure.
Pixl: *Takes out 7 pristine human skulls* Take your pick.
Katherine: This one is fine.
to hands that
Memory or wraith
WIP(still) of Kaal
The best kind of ensemble cast of characters in a work of fiction is "every character feels like they're from a completely different genre"
oh my god.....