#clockworkgalaxies

A couple of artfight attacks so far!

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Zine Contribution: Merch

Why do you love Marichat? I have a hard time with the second hand embarrassment that comes with the other parts of the lovesquare and I always felt that with Marichat, Marinette and Adrien are able to be more themselves in this dynamic and it always felt more natural to me. That's really what drew me in. It's fun and teasing and there's lots of potential for being good friends as well as a ship.

If you could wield any miraculous, which one would you use and why? I think it would be a toss up between the snake miraculous or the rabbit miraculous. Both of them involve some time powers and I've always found that fascinating!

aaa I love this line here you go: 

( sometimes you are erased before you are given the choice of stating who you are / grey ) 

For a long moment, they are silent, the ocean waves crashing in against the shoreline in the distance, the sound of cicadas ushering in the heat of summer with their frantic, listless hum. 

Finally, Grey says, “I was given my name by the men that took ownership of me. It wasn’t pity or mercy. They saw a dog on the street, something feral, and put it to work.” 

His head cocks to the side, a tell that Evie has only recently learned to identify. It means that he is cycling through his own thoughts, pulling words from the mire, making sense of his own trauma. His eyes crease, once, and finally, he breathes out and says, “I didn’t understand then that I should mind it. I was nothing - not a human, not even an animal. This body didn’t belong to me. Not yet. So I let this world shape me. The sea, the blood, the violence. All of it.”

His gaze cuts to the side, his hand coming to rest at the edge of his throat.

“And then,” he says, “I met him, and my world changed. It was not just that I knew then that I would do anything for him. It was that I learned for the first time what desire felt like - the want for my own humanity, to learn myself, create myself, in the eventuality that I would hand it over to him.” 

He looks up and Evie breathes out sharply at the lupine way that he moves, his body scarred and sun dark, the sweat of another day of hard work still held to his skin like ichor from open wounds.

“Still,” he continues, “I didn’t realize it. The only person you should ever make yourself for is yourself. And it wasn’t until I was erased from his world, torn down by the waves and cast back into the black pit of land that I’d been born from, that I realized.” 

He turns to look at her, his eyes as brutal and uncut as the storm-driven sea. 

“Sometimes,” he says, “we have to die to learn ourselves. I am something that crawled back from the dead to find the weight of my own name. Perhaps I never told him then who I had become, but now I know that person. I know myself.” 

His breath bates in his throat, hand falling back to the wide breadth of his thigh. The summer wind runs its fingers through his raven black hair, the moonlight slashing his throat and leaving a scar. 

🌈 Do you use more warm or cold colors? 

I think I use more warm colors lately? I really love to gear towards reds and pinks.✨ How often do you draw?

Hi there! Thanks so much for taking an interest in my bun art! It really means a lot!! 

The hands are rough and uncaring as he’s dragged around the filthy alley. He tries to call out for help, but his throat and tongue feel numb and thick, and he can’t do much more than moan quietly. Something in the needle they jabbed him with, he thinks.

“Gonna have to cut that pretty hair a’ yours,” one of the men growls, grabbing his braid and yanking him aside by it. “Shame. Woulda made you more valuable, but yer too recognizable, Highness.” The others with him laugh derisively, and Valerie balks. “Aw, now, don’ be shy. Ye’ll still make us a fortune.”

They drag him away from the weak sunlight streaming into the alley and into a dingy old building. He can hear soft crying from another room, hushed, frightened words. Someone pushes him down into a chair, and his wrists are clamped down with grimy leather straps. He looks around, fearful, as one of his captors grabs a pair of rusty shears.

“Hol’ still,” the man grumbles, grabbing hold of Valerie’s braid and pulling his head back again. He hears the scissors snip once, twice, then they’re closing down on the base of his braid, and he feels his head grow lighter as the two feet of hair is severed. When the last of it comes away, he tries to cry out, but all that comes out is a soft moan, followed by tears.

The leader of the gang comes back to look at him. He takes his lopsided spectacles and tosses them on the floor. Then he hands up the locket. “This, we’ll sell this too,” he says. “Separate, a’ course. Oh, don’t give me the look, we know what’s in there.” He grins with yellowing teeth. “Your pet Paladin ain’t gonna save you this time.”

Valerie surges forward in desparation as he watches the locket containing the miniature sun leave him, carried away by the cruel man. He’s left alone, then, in the dark room smelling of fear and despair.

---

It’s an hour later that the gang returns. One of them grabs Valerie by his freshly mangled hair, holding his head steady while another snaps a heavy iron collar around his neck. Another frees him from the straps on the chair, and he’s manhandled out of his fine clothes and into dirty, torn, ill-fitting rags.

“That numbing agent oughta wear off soon,” one of them says, tapping Valerie’s throat. “But here’s the score. You don’t tell anyone who you are, or we cut out your tongue.” He holds up the rusty scissors that were used to cut his hair earlier. Valerie stares at them numbly, shaking. “Nod that you understand.” Heart pounding, he nods, and they start to drag him away into the next room.

The floor is covered in cages, and the cages are full of people. Grimy, beaten, downtrodden. Some of them look up when Valerie’s pulled in, but most seem uninterested, too full of their own despair to care. One cage is opened, and he’s shoved into it, folded down in the too-small space. “Anyone asks, your name’s...” The man thinks a moment. “Roy. Fittin’ for a former... well, I won’t say it in front of your new friends.” He grins. “Behave for us, and you might get a soft master.”