Slightly Obsessed With His Hands...

Slightly obsessed with his hands...

I've been watching Voltaire's Gothic Homemaking YouTube channel (seriously its great go check it out if you haven't already) and a few observations I've made:

-DAD JOKES. I mean I already knew he loved em but GODS he loves em. Especially the dirty ones. (Thr Black Caulk bit... omgf lol...)

-He has such delicate hands! (They make me think thoughts...)

-Holy crap my bedroom is bigger than the main room of his apartment! I knew nyc apartments were small but damn! (Iir, he said it's 10x11, not including the bathroom or kitchen)

you have to stop giving me these brain worms... 😅

I NEED to draw a female version of Voltaire,,

WIP GAME!

"black unicorn" has me very intruiged 👀

Black Unicorn is the story of Ardor de las Montañas, the... well... black unicorn. He is created by a necromancer from volcanic fire and the corpse of a white unicorn as a soulless harvester of life blood for the necromancers magic. One night the volcano erupts again and the necromancers magic and the horrific thunderstorm and molten rock create a magical explosions which awakens a soul in the created creature. Horrified by the memories of his deeds he breaks his reins and flees from the necromancer. For a long time he hides in a dark forest until one day he meets Pequeño, a mandrake in the shape of a child, a servant to a witch who was murdered. The created creatures without masters set out on a journey to avenge the murder of Pequeños creator and ward.

She had only gone a short way when she saw something in the faint light slipping between the trees. She saw the lower half of a face and slender fingers playing a wooden flute. A couple of intrepid sunbeams came hurtling through the thick canopy and bounced off a boot as polished as the kings crown. Something seemed strange to her but she couldn’t quite see through the trees. The flute player stopped and put the flute down. “I can see you, child,” he said with a deep voice. There was music in his voice as well which seemed to echo through the forest. The girl swallowed. “Will you eat me? Cause if you want to eat me I must warn you that I am poisonous. I’m not actually a child, I’m a mandrake.” The flute player laughed. “I have no interest in eating you, child.” The girl peered into the trees. Between them a small glade was being illuminated by the morning sun which made it harder for her to see him sitting on a fallen log where it was darker. “Why are you hiding in the dark? Are you scary?” She could just make out a grin. “What is a mandrake doing all alone in this big forest?” he asked back. “I asked you first,” the girl replied. “Fair enough,” the flute player said and jumped off the log. As he stepped into the light in the glade the girl let out a small gasp and shrunk back into the dark on her side of the pool of light. She realised quickly why it had been so hard to see him in the dark. All his clothes were black: his shiny boots with their pointy toes, his tight fitting pants, his sash tied into a knot at the back, his shirt with two pairs of cufflinks and his tunic. He had black hair sticking into the air like a mane, his eyebrows and long eyelashes were black and he had black paint around his white eyes like some kind of mountain savage. But the blackest of all was the horn in his forehead, sticking almost half a metre into the air. It looked like it was made out of melted black rock. It had a kink in the middle as if it had grown around something and there was a crack in the top of it. She thought she could see something red in the crack but she wasn’t sure. Of all this though what she found the strangest was that he was wearing what could only be described as a bridle with a metal ring around the base of his horn and straps going down across his nose and the back of his head. From two smaller rings on the side of his face hung two straps which looked like torn reins. “What are you?” she whispered. “I am a black unicorn. Ardor de las Montañas, at your service,” he said with a big smile and bowed. She thought she saw a flash of fangs. “You are scary,” she said. “Thank you.” “But you’re not black,” she continued. “Why are you a black unicorn?” He kneeled down in front of her. “What colour is this?” he asked and pointed at his horn. “Uh, black,” she replied. “There. Black horn, black unicorn. That’s all there is to it.”

Vorutanian adopts a Krakowian.

A purple krakowian treasure chest for various "vorutanian" treasures.

thinking about the likkle babby again...

I miss orville... 😢