#rough drafts

I hope this helps in some small way :) I'm always open to questions and comments on process! <3 Take care!

aphobia vs slut shaming and they've been doing it like this all their lives

Funny concept on what I plan to make for the 6th-grade teacher AU.

More Rough Drafts of DB Oc

Though I may need to steal some people musical talents so I can pray I can make a decent soundtrack for the visual novel 🥲

No pyre is built for Thórgestr. Senua should be grateful for that. She doesn't want to watch him burn to ash. But burial is not easier. The Björg fold earth over him into a mound circled with stones. Senua remembers, heart-sick, their walk to Freyslaug weeks ago. The way he had growled at her—this is how we honor our dead—until they had come upon torn up graves, blood-soaked mud. Outside Borgarvirki, she helps with the digging, stays silent through the funeral rites. No tears yet. Heart-sick, heart-stone. The Furies chatter and moan. She ignores them. She wandered through a barrow mound once, vainly following her lover's voice. Dillion is a never-healing ache. Thórgestr, now. He—he is— A body broken. His lifeblood still clings to her hands. Hands that cup his cold face, his head, the seat of his soul—hold him just once before she lets Fargrímr pull her away. Not far. She lingers outside the circle of stones long after the ceremonies, until lonely night has come, only Furies for company and the strange colors in the sky for light. The dam bursts and her grief rushes through her. Words come spilling out of her mouth, then. Wishes. Bargains. Who is listening? Fargrímr said there are no gods in this cruel land. And the new gods, the giants—well, she defeated them. Here is her victory. A man who believed in her, who followed her—gone. Cold. Bones underground. Send me back, she cries. Let me save him. Who listens? She weeps until exhaustion comes. Her tears water the unforgiving earth until, even in the cold and the dark, sleep finds her. Spirits whisper in the wind, in the cracks between stones. Wishes answered. Bargains made. She wakes in the cold, merciless waters of the sea.