Lovely work! And the artist’s website has a neat explanation of the meaning behind the piece, along with some mesmerizing videos of the numbers gently swaying and spinning as people wander through. It’s very magical :)
here’s draco in his magical rainbow cloak, after all is well again! this story means so much to me. thank you for trusting me with this idea @wetassdrarry❤️
Many of you guys requested Kanera so this is for you!!! <3
Realized I’ve never drawn Kanan and Hera in their Season ¾ outfits so decided to tackle that! Drawn to repeated loops of Promare’s Inferno OST which heavily influenced the Free Falling Happy Kanera mood. (It was originally gonna be sad lol)
ALSO. I. HATE. FEET. HAAAAATE. IT BRINGS SUFFERING. FEET ARE THE DARK SIDE. I HAD TO REDRAW THE BOOTS SOMANY TIMES UNTIL I JUST GAVE UP. XD
Hello! Here’s another sequential based on the Simon Snow trilogy books by @rainbowrowell. This one is a scene from Wayward Son in Chapter 21 when Simon and Baz are messing around with foam swords at a renaissance fair during their trip to America.
Thanks to the patient Snowbaz fans who leave very kind comments on my previous Simon Snow fanart, hope you enjoy this one!
Hawke dropped his hand from his chin and straightened from the mirror, a grin already tugging at his usually-stern mouth as he turned away from the wash basin.
“Good morning to you, too,” he greeted.
The elf in the bed grunted, stretched his arms up above his head. Hawke’s heart always gave the most undignified leap at the sight of him. Hawke was a grown man, not a teenaged girl in pigtails, and yet he could feel an immediate grin stretching his face.
Fenris was always particularly endearing first thing in the morning – soft and sleepy, hair a soft rumpled halo. He didn’t like sleeping in the nude, instead opting to steal Hawke’s shirts, which positively swallowed him, and Maker but Hawke didn’t think he’d ever be able to prepare for the sight of him in the soft early morning glow, collar slipping tantalizingly over a shoulder, eyes warm and fond when they touched his own.
Warm and fond didn’t stop Fenris from meeting his idiotic grin with a scowl.
“Why do you always get up so damned early?” the elf demanded. Petulant, that was what he was first thing in the morning. Hawke would never understand why it delighted him so. Sometimes Hawke suspected that, now that he was safe and free, Fenris was trying to make up for years’ worth of sleep that had been lost while on the run. There were mornings where dragging him out of bed proved a true challenge – mostly because it was so very tempting just to crawl back in with him.
“It’s habit,” Hawke answered, crossing back to the bed. “Farm boy, remember?”
“You can’t keep using that excuse for everything,” Fenris grumbled, but he reached for Hawke as the mage planted a knee on the mattress, and his mouth beneath Hawke’s was gentle and yielding.
“I like it when you stay all night,” Hawke said when they parted, pressing his forehead to the elf’s, the lyrium dots humming warm against his skin. Fenris grunted, eyes drifting closed, and it seemed he was almost asleep again, sitting up in bed, before he gave himself a shake and drew back.
“I suppose you have no end of death-defying idiocy planned for us today,” Fenris mused, idly accusing as he looked away and scrubbed a hand back through the tousled mess of his hair.
“I could probably come up with a few ideas, if pressed,” Hawke murmured, and they kissed again, soft and slow and lingering. Fenris was often most affectionate first thing in the morning. On anyone else Hawke would have even used the word snuggly. His arms twined with heartwarming leisure around the mage’s big shoulders as he lay back, pulling Hawke with him into a welcoming nest of pillows.
He could feel his smile against his lips, how one corner of his mouth curled higher than the other, and Maker but how had he survived so many years without this, without him?
“Your beard,” Fenris said sternly, the low gravel of his voice vibrating against his lips as Hawke turned his attention to the column of his throat. He groaned when Hawke rolled his hips into him – there were other benefits to spending the night together – but he would not be deterred. “I meant…what I said.”
“I’m not going to shave it,” Hawke muttered, distracted by the taste of his quickening pulse against his tongue.
Fenris grunted and gripped at him, moving suddenly. Hawke barely had time to register surprise before he found himself on his back, Fenris seated firmly on his hips.
“Good,” Fenris said, twining his fingers with Hawke’s, pinning his arms as he leaned over him. The lips he pressed to the mage’s were insistent now, hungry.
“Wait,” Hawke grunted between kisses, brow furrowing. “You would really leave me for shaving my beard?”
“Don’t test me,” Fenris warned, nipping at his lips, pulling his arms up above his head.
“I should have known you were only in this for the facial hair.”
Hawke liked the sound of Fenris’s laugh, the sight of his smile in the early morning brightness, light in his eyes and in his manner, the very vision of a man who was well and truly free.
Written for @llamagoddessofficial and to preface this, this was written before Llama wrote the how they met imagine. Just… really felt inspired and wanted some good soft Bog God Skull. <3 Also, I just wanted to feed this bean and give him offerings.
–
You pause at the edge of the bog, looking out into a wasteland of mud, acidic water, and charred trees. The trees make you think of skeletal hands, belonging to giants lost to the black depths of the water, reaching for one last bid for freedom. A freedom they would never have because of the greed of mortals having long since ruined the land, and their connection to a Forest God.
This is amazing, thank you so much for writing it- I have no idea how it managed to slip under my radar, but I absolutely adore it. Forest God Skull always appreciates any love directed his way.
When I run through the deep dark forest long after this begun Where the sun would set, trees were dead and the rivers were none And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place But there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace
If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land. —2 Chronicles 7:14 (ESV)
“…perhaps she will get to Aslan’s country in the end—in her own way.” —C.S. Lewis, in a letter to a fan
