#I'm trying to create them with good story and looks like art

[venolfy]

„Lonely adventure to this place was a mistake”

Story:

The whale swallowed another catch. Unfortunately, Ashley decided to split up with Kelly and Pablo, but he really wanted to go alone to a place he remembered quite well. Something only he and Scotty knew. But also is deadite Scotty, who has returned to find out if Ash really hasn't forgotten his friend for so many years.

--------

Sorry for being dead, but I have private things on my mind all the time and want to banish them with creating something with my hands.

Also, this is another GID art which I created in the last weekend.

I haven't made any for a very long time and this idea for art waited a few months for me to finish it xD

I had to remember some things and use one new thing that improves the art of making shibari in Blender. I noticed that it's not as well done as you can see up close.

Sorry, but I tried.

Btw... it's not a rope, it's cables. As you can see, very flexible cables xD

#my art #art #fanart #the evil dead #the evil dead 1981 #evil dead #evil dead series #ash vs evil dead #ashley joanna williams #ash williams #evil dead ash #ashy slashy #evil dead the game #evil dead fanart #ash x scotty #guys in distress #guys in troubles #shibari #sorry for any mistakes #I'm trying to create them with good story and looks like art

[daincrediblegg]

no you know what I'm going to scream about the stuff I talked about in the tags of this post publicly

I'm tired of the well-meaning "don't feel bad if your work only gets 20 notes your genius is what counts and do it for you!" bullshit. I've had a good handful of friends who have straight up DEACTIVATED in recent months because their work was not getting reblogged AT ALL. No, it wasn't from lack of not being well-liked, no it wasn't from lack of trying to make sure it was getting out there to the people they knew would engage with it. It was because no matter how much they were praised privately for their work, when push came to shove, absolutely NOBODY reblogged it and gave it the audience that it was due, and I'm tired of people shoving the "unsung genius" narrative as an excuse for it. Nothing excuses that. And the boop event really proved that.

because I know given the opportunity, indiscriminately pressing a button (sometimes 10 thousand times, as I did) is not beyond this website's capability. y'all loved doing that. and look at what it wrought. nothing but love and affection and happiness. just from a couple of quick clicks of a little paw button. sure. nobody knew who you booped but the other person (which is how likes used to work on this website, btw). there was an element of anonymity to it. but that is kind of the core of this website that no other social media platform still has: the ability to be anonymous. and hyper-curating a blog on here like you might on twitter or instagram to project an image is simply not viable. and hey. you wanna know a secret: literally nobody cares what you post or whether it goes with the "theme" of your blog or not. yeah. I know. CRAZY concept in this day and age. but literally. I myself have reblogged things that have had nothing to do with whatever I am currently fixated by and you know what happened to my follower count? not a damn thing. in fact, I actively try to reblog things specifically BECAUSE it's my friends who made them (even though I'm not always good at KEEPING UP WITH HOW MUCH THEY POST @prismatica-the-strange will NEVER GO UNRECOGNIZED by me).

And you know what fucking sucks? I have to deal with this too. surprise right? you ever wonder why I reblog fics or art I post like 20 times the day that I post them? do you ever wonder why I ask about tag lists and beg for asks all the time? IT'S BECAUSE EVEN I GET LIKE. 5 LIKES ON THE THINGS I POST. AND THE REST OF THE REBLOGS ARE MINE SO I CAN MAKE SURE THAT PEOPLE WHO WANT TO SEE WHAT I MAKE GET TO SEE IT. and I say that knowing that I'm certainly not an unpopular blog, or an unpopular writer. I know that people love the stories that I create. Hell, half of the people that I've talked to about lady terror have told me that they consider her to be canon (AND EVEN SOME!! THOUGHT SHE WAS!!! WITHOUT EVEN HAVING WATCHED THE SHOW! WHICH IS STILL SO SO WILD TO ME!!!) But especially in the last 4 years (which really dates this phenomenon), my posts, no matter how well received they've been amongst people I've talked to about them directly, I still go into the notes and at least half (often more than half) are MY reblogs to make sure people saw what I posted. and it happens every single time, and I can't tell you how much it crushes me considering that it used to be that I would be able to post it only once, and people would reblog it sometimes even HUNDREDS of times.

It's not about popularity. it never has been. it's not about anxiety. or shifting website cultures. even if you lurk, the simple fact is, that if you want people to keep making what you love. you have to reblog. your theme won't suffer because you reblogged a fanfiction that you really admire. your posting won't be ruined because you reblogged some fanart from someone in a different fandom. really. I promise. and if people do unfollow you for that? who needs em. followers come and go but you should NEVER have to cater to them. on this website it has ALWAYS been the other way around. lean into it. make it yours. put stuff you ACTUALLY WANT to be seen and that you love and appreciate on your blog. no matter how old it is, how new it is, no matter how niche or off-theme it is.

so please. if you really want to show your appreciation for someone's work? you reblog. it's really as easy as that. check the tags. add some when you reblog if you like. but please for the love of god reblog. it's as easy as booping and even more rewarding for the people who you reblog from. if you want to let someone know that their work is genius and appreciate it? show it. reblog. then DM them if you're too nervous to say what you want to say but not in a public forum. but for christ's sake. REBLOG.

#fanfiction #fanart #reblogging #boop

[luna-lovegreat]

Wait...

It's November. It's November first. Yesterday was October 31st, so October is over. ...it's over. Is it over?

Inktober, artober, whumptober, flufftober, linktober, every tag ending with -tober that's been circulating for the past month... is it over? I don't know why it's just hit me but...

This matters. So I will try to get the message across, even though I'm not the best at it sometimes

Fanartists, fan writers, artists, fic writers, people making comics, every single one of you that has created art for the past month...

Thank you

This is my first October on tumblr. When I started seeing the "tober" tags, seeing the posts from artists with wips, saying they were going to make something every day to a prompt, making masterposts to update with each day, I thought "cool"

But every day this month, I have gotten on here and smiled.

And I don't mean smiled. I mean I smiled at least 20 times every time I got on the app because I saw all the art and fics. I got to see artists/writers connect stories through different day prompts. I saw people having the most brilliant ideas and creativity, flowing from their hands into their posts. I saw artists responding to continuous asks, telling them how amazing they are. I saw artists getting behind, and keeping going.

I saw Free. Beautiful. Emotional. Amazing. Original. Creative. Art.

Every day

I haven't committed to anything of this before, so I can't directly relate to what you guys were thinking and feeling. But I'm willing to guess; I think you probably enjoyed it, because most won't do such a huge project unless they enjoy it. I think you probably saw it as a challenge you were willing to fulfill, and an opportunity to grow and develop your skills.

... but I'm also willing to bet you did it for us. For people like me, who love art, but don't do this specific type, who are in fandoms, who love tracking and watching you art and sending you compliments, who take joy in your work. For the other artists (and writers!) who admire each others styles and love to learn from each other.

If anyone ever tries to tell me that humans are inherently evil again, I will strap them to a chair, pull up these posts and say look. Look at what these people did. Look me in the eyes and tell me these sorts of actions don't come from the most loving hearts. Tell me these people don't want to make others happy, that they aren't inherently good. And I will tell you you're wrong.

I have so much going on, yet somehow it slipped into my life that I was constantly looking at your art for the joy of it without me even noticing.

And how is it possible. That we have such a beautiful community of people here that we will share. And communicate. And exchange compliments. And literally do things and send asks solely for the purpose of making someone smile.

I'm almost crying by now. God I can't express it well enough! But I am so. So. Grateful

You guys brought me a month of joy! You gave headcanons, and art, and stories!

Even yesterday, Halloween, I was blown away. Because I had expected... I didn't expect anything. And then I log on and see people sending happy halloween asks, exchanging doodles of candy, and headcanons and gifs.

And some are still catching up to the schedule or whatever, and that's ok! But at the beginning of this post, when I was simply realizing it was November, I asked myself "is it over?"

Is it over?

... I don't think so. I've seen artists say they're going to continue and expand on a piece they made and especially liked this month. Some people are still continuing, catching up to a voluntary deadline. All those masterposts with your whump/fluff/link/ink tober art? I know many as well as myself will be going through, looking over your posts with smiles, catching up on some things they missed this month... it will continue in the people and artists I didn't know existed before, but now follow. In the skills and growth in creativity! In the community we've grown, and art you've made, and the art to come, at a normal rate like every other month, even if it's not October anymore!

But my artists, writers... thank you so much. I don't know if you guys know how valuable and amazing you are. How incredible it is that you exist! People say it's amazing we exist under a sky of such stars, but how incredible is it that you made a stranger on the internet smile every day! Your life is so. So. Valuable. I can't even express how grateful I am that you exist, that you somehow are selfless enough to share the most beautiful parts of yourself simply to create, and to create joy. Thank you so so much.

(And this applies to all artists, in any fandoms, not just mine. And I'm just as grateful to people who couldn't do something every day, or only one day! You still share your art, you're just as... incredible. You are incredible.)

Okay.

So I'm gonna do this, and if others want to do it in the reblogs that's great! I do not care at all about reblogging or likes, but I want to make the people that have brought me such joy some appreciation- I hope I can bring you even a smidgen of the light you have brought into my life. So I'm gonna tag all the artists/writers I know of/can think of that have done any sort of October challenge, all of you creators that have made me smile. If people wanna want to tag others in the reblogs or replies to spread love that's cool.

(Basically I don't know social customs or anything at all, so if you don't want me to tag or if I was supposed to do something different or something let me know I have no idea what I'm supposed to do)(if I like accidentally tagged someone who isn't an artist/writer or forgot someone I follow... sorry)

@skyward-floored @kikker-oma @adrift-in-thyme @blueskittlesart @zeldaseyebrows @smilesrobotlover @bahbahhh @soso-dedeck @lennsart @arecaceae175 @illcamp @breannasfluff @solarfire-art @26kabeuchi @cathianemelian @truffeart @scribbly-z-raid @uniquevoidflowers

To all the artists and writers out there: thank you so much!!! You are amazing and I'm glad you exist. Your life is precious, and you matter. Thank you so much for sharing your beauty with us, we love you too!!!!!

... yeah. Just want yall to feel loved... because you are. Again, thank you. Thank you so so much to my beautiful creators who create joy as well as art, who keep storytelling alive. Just... thank you.

:)

#inktober #whumptober #artober #flufftober #linktober #lutober #sentences and stuff later in tags #loz #linkeduniverse #artists on tumblr #art #original art #artists #writers #writers on tumblr #fan fic writing #artist appreciation #love #fanart #fanfiction #fanfics #I have anxiety and I am so scared right now #I don't know social rules- I don't know if I've messed up #but I'm willing to mess up if it makes you smile #I love you guys #please know how precious you are. just by being you #if this gets one notes that's ok #if it gets thirty that doesn't feel like failure to me #I will be kind #nothing can take that away from me

[ckret2]

Chapter 53 of human Bill Cipher not properly appreciating the fact that Mabel is his only friend on Earth:

Mabel has read a book about Bill's home dimension and is prepared to interrogate him all about where he comes from.

Bill is willing to do anything to avoid being interrogated.

(Featuring SEVEN illustrations, provided by 🌈 MABEL 💖)

####

Flatworld, from what Mabel had read, was probably literally the worst place to ever exist. 

The book was a hundred pages of an old-fashioned formal-sounding super boring guy rambling on about the most egregiously evil society Mabel had ever had the horror of reading about.

Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes—which in concept sounded half nerdy and half adorable—but they'd made a brutally oppressive government organized by quantity of sides, with infinite-sided circles at the top and three-sided triangles at the bottom, and one-sided lines—women—oppressed into near silence. Career options, educational opportunities, who you could love, were all determined by your sides. Irregular shapes—quadrilaterals that weren't squares, triangles that weren't equilateral, anyone with a side too long or too short—were presumed from birth to be criminally insane. Each generation had sons with one more side than their father—and they had to, because having higher-ranked sons was the only way families could climb out of poverty. When babies were born with too few or irregular sides, poor families abandoned them—or worse—and rich families put them through oft-fatal bone-snapping surgeries to regularize or increase their sides. Knowledge of the third dimension was considered heretical, and anybody claiming it was real was locked in an insane asylum.

There was a lot of mathy stuff in the book about a square meeting a magical sphere and going on educational adventures to the higher and lower dimensions; but most of it passed by her in a blur. When she'd finished reading last night, Mabel had lay in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about dead baby shapes and fighting the urge to wake Bill up just so she could hug him; until she'd finally drifted off and woken up in her own bed.

At least, thank goodness, the bit about banning colors so lower shapes couldn't contour themselves to look like higher shapes was false. But she was sure that at least part of the story was true. And it had happened to somebody she knew. It was a lot to process.

So she processed it the way she usually did the stories that weighed on her: by creating a self-insert and pulling out her art supplies.

####

"You're drawing fan art of Flatworld?" Bill asked warily.

"I wouldn't call it fan art. I'd say it's more of a... thoughtful artistic critique. I don't think I'm a 'fan' of the second dimension," Mabel said. "No offense."

"Sure."

Mabel had designed a shapesona of herself: a pink heart with a rainbow-colored outline, a big sparkly eye, and skinny black stick limbs like Bill's. If, as Bill had said, colors weren't illegal, she didn't see any reason she couldn't be rainbow. The heart shape was maybe unconventional, but Bill hadn't said she couldn't be a heart yet, so she was sticking with it for now.

She'd honestly expected Bill to come over and interrogate her about her creation long before now. Usually, when she was doing art and he was unoccupied, he was hovering right by her, examining her work and dropping hints—some more subtle than others—that she should draw him next. But she hadn't immediately noticed when he'd silently drifted into the room, and she wasn't sure how long he'd been there before speaking up. He was still leaning on the wall, arms crossed, watching askance from halfway across the living room as Mabel worked with her crayons, as if she were playing with a chemistry set and he was trying to figure out if she was building a bomb.

"Is Flatworld really about your world?" Mabel asked. "Did you tell Edward Bishop Bishop all that stuff? With the circles and all the laws about shapes and stuff?"

Bill mulled over the question, staring into space. Mabel had never seen his face look so inexpressive before—at least, not since his first night as a captive, after he'd gotten all the screaming out and had looked too exhausted to feel. "We talked," he conceded. "I'm surprised you got your hands on it. I suppose Stanford brought it up."

Something in the back of her mind pricked up defensively—what was that supposed to mean, he was surprised she got her hands on it?—but she pushed it back down. "Yeah, he told me and Dipper about it when you guys got home yesterday," Mabel said. "But you brought it up to me first!"

"No I didn't. When?"

"A few weeks ago? You mentioned Edward Bishop Bishop."

"I don't remember that," Bill muttered. "I probably didn't think you'd make sense of it."

"Hey!"

"You didn't make sense of it! Ford had to tell you about it."

"Yeah, but—mean!" She shoved aside her drawing and started on another one, grumbling, "I could've made sense of it if I'd looked it up."

What was up with Bill today? He wasn't usually this much of a jerk. To her. Lately. Plus, she thought they'd really had a moment yesterday! But Bill had had a rough couple days. Maybe he was just tired and cranky. 

A wiser person might just leave well enough alone. But a wiser person wasn't exploding in their brain with curiosity about just how bad Bill's life had really been. There was something itching at the back of her head, had been itching since she'd woken up—something about Bill, something important, she was sure of it—but she couldn't quite put together what it was. She just needed to talk to Bill long enough to figure it out.

"So..." She glanced up from filling in a shape yellow, "were lines really executed if they didn't make noises all the time so everyone always knew where they were and they couldn't sneak up and stab anyone?"

Bill scoffed, rolling his eyes, as if the very idea was stupid. "It wasn't that extreme. Making a peace cry is like a human saying 'coming through' when they're trying to squeeze past somebody. Lines are just taught to do it in public because it's easier not to see a line, that's all."

"If they didn't, were they executed...?"

"No. They were just rude."

That was a relief. Mabel had been worried for her fellow ladies. She was plenty noisy, but she didn't think she could remember to make constant sound any time she was around other people. She turned back to coloring her newest drawing, but watched Bill out of the corner of her eye. "Is it true that rich people killed almost all of their babies by giving them surgery to break their sides?"

The corner of Bill's mouth curled in a sneer. "Do I look like a pediatric surgeon?"

"Um." Not a welcome question. She tried to backtrack to something softer. "So, in the second dimension, the outside of your body is just your outline and your guts are everything inside the outline, right?"

He gave her a wary look. "Yeah."

"So your bow tie is basically in your stomach."

Bill sucked in a deep breath; but quickly caved in to the need to be the most correct person in the room. "More like around my esophagus, but. Sure."

"So, where did you wear it when you were back in the second dimension? Was it on your side? Did you have to wear two so people could see them from both sides—"

"I didn't need a bow tie then."

Mabel stared at him. "What do you mean, you didn't 'need' it? What do you need it for now?"

Bill ignored the question. "You know, I didn't think Flatworld was an interesting enough book to deserve this much attention! Especially not from you. You like fun stories." It felt oddly like he was criticizing her for having read it.

"Well—yeah, but it's about your home! That makes it fun!"

Bill raised his brows.

"Right? Doesn't it?"

"Kid." Bill laughed condescendingly. "Don't give me that. You read an entire book. In the summer. About math. With a downer ending where the narrator goes insane and gets locked up. That's some people's idea of a fun time, but I know it's not yours."

Maybe "fun" was the wrong word—but it was still important. She was glad she'd read it. She'd cared about it. She'd cared enough to know Bill was describing it wrong. "That's not what happened. The square got locked up because he kept telling everybody the third dimension's real."

"Like I said! He went insane!"

"But he's not insane. Everyone says he is, but he's right about the third dimension! It's everyone else who's stupid!"

"So what," Bill said. "The things he knows mean he'll never be able to see the world the way other shapes do, and no matter what he does he'll never be happy with his home. If that's not insanity, what is?"

Last year, she'd heard Bill agree when Gideon called him insane. She'd always wondered. "Is that why you're insane?"

Bill shot Mabel a furious look. That was the wrong thing to say. "Shooting Star—"

(Oh no, she thought, he's using my full name.)

"—what's with the third degree." Bill crossed the room to lean on the other side of the table. He gave her the guarded glare of a guilty suspect facing down a cop in an interrogation room—and trying to figure out whether he could kill the cop before he was stopped. "What do you think you're trying to dig up?"

"I'm not trying to 'dig up' anything," Mabel said. "I just want to learn more about you!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you do! Who doesn't wanna know all about me! And right after I trusted you yesterday! Do you think you're the first person to start digging into my history? 'Hey, does anyone know what made Bill Cipher so crazy'?" Bill laughed bitterly. " You're not even the first Pines to try it. Not even the second."

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" said Mabel, right before it dawned on her that that was exactly what she was trying to do.

"Right. I'm sure whatever you learn will make a nice two-page spread in Journal 5. Another secret you and Fordsy can add to your Mysteries, huh? Think he'll draw the dead babies?"

She thought back to Portland—to asking Ford what had made Bill so awful. I think if anyone’s ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Mabel shook her head. No. She didn't want to be that. "I'm not Grunkle Ford's spy, I'm your friend. I just—I just want to understand you—"

"Yeah, and the 'friends' who understand you are the most dangerous kind." Bill laughed harshly. "Your uncle and brother couldn't figure me out! And Sixer's been trying for years! So what makes you think YOU can?"

He was calling her stupid. He'd been calling her stupid all day. That was why he was so surprised she'd read the book.

"You—shut up!" She wadded up her latest drawing and flung it in Bill's face. (He snatched out of midair.) "All I did was read a book I thought was important to you, you jerk! I thought you'd like that!"

She hadn't meant for that waver to enter her voice. But she was exhausted from too little sleep and worrying about dead baby shapes and worrying about Bill's fear of death and worrying about what Ford had said about not giving Bill a second chance, and now Bill was being a jerk, and maybe he was just exhausted and upset too, but he was treating her like she was stupid—and there was that pathetic little waver.

But it made Bill pause in his onslaught; for a moment, he averted his gaze. Still, he said, "Maybe if you'd thought to ask—"

"You were asleep! I was being nice! And letting you sleep! In my bed!"

"But—"

"Just go away!" She pointed at the doorway.

Bill's face hardened again. "Fine!" He flung his hands in the air and stomped from the room. "Who wants to hang out with you when you're in such a bad mood, anyway."

Mabel glared at her stupid drawings so she didn't have to watch Bill's stupid back as he left.

Why had she bothered?

When Bill was out of sight, she dropped back onto her chair, pulled her sweater over her face, crossed her arms on the table, and buried her head in them.

####

Bill didn't think to smooth out the paper Mabel had flung at him until he was out of the room.

On one side she'd drawn Bill—properly triangular—with an expression that he thought was supposed to be fear and on the other side several angry-looking shapes, pentagons and hexagons, colored gray and black, being led by a pale figure shaped like a human skull and wielding a scythe; and between them, a bright pink heart, standing in front of Bill protectively, hands on its "hips," glaring down the would-be assailants.

The corners of Bill's mouth sagged down.

####

The bell rang and the shapes began filing out of class, muttering to each other about how they thought they'd done on the test. As the triangle cheerfully left the room, the teacher caught him by the arm again to pull him over. "Just a minute," she said. "I want a word with you."

Oh, he bet she did. Breezily, he said, "Sure thing! What is it?"

"Who was the first triangular president?"

"Wh— Th—" He spluttered indignantly. "There's been like—seven of them."

"Nine. And I'm only asking about the first one."

"How should I know!"

"You knew an hour ago."

He sputtered again. "That was— That was a multiple choice test! And it was an hour closer to when I'd studied! And I can focus better in the classroom! You can't expect me to remember anything in the hallway. You're using intimidation tactics. How could anyone focus under these conditions—"

"I don't know what you're doing," the teacher said, "or how you're doing it. Maybe I never will. But..." She sighed, and the anger seemed to leak out of her, and that only made him more nervous. "But whatever you're doing—you won't be able to do it forever. What will you do when you're out in the real world and you didn't learn anything in school?"

Her pity was worse than being hated had been. At least when he was hated, he knew she only looked down on him because she had something against him. What did he do with pity? With concerned warnings about the "real world"? He'd never heard anybody use the phrase "the real world" as anything but a threat. He hoped he was never out in the real world.

"Who cares! I'll never need any of this!" He should have shut up there. He didn't: "You're just jealous that me and my family make a million times more lying to everyone than you'll ever get trying to teach them the truth!"

His teacher gasped in shock; but before she could say anything, he was halfway down the hall with no intention of slowing down.

The next day, he stayed home, and his mom visited the principal. The day after that, he had a new teacher.

####

He was stupid. He knew that. He didn't know when he'd gotten stupid—if it was because he'd started touring so much and missing classes, or if he'd always been dumb and just didn't notice it before he registered just how often he was using his all-seeing eye to pick up answers that other kids couldn't see. It had crept up on him. But there it was. He was stupid, and he was too stupid to figure out what to do about it.

There was a big difference between being able to see everything, and actually knowing anything. And he might be all-seeing, but an idiot like him would never be all-knowing.

####

A trillion years later, he still didn't remember the name of the first triangular president. And look how far he'd gotten without it.

Lunch was toast and peanut butter. The toaster was the only source of heat he could use without having to ask his captors for access; and peanut butter and bread were the most nutritious foods he could reach without asking his captors to open a cabinet or fridge. He was sick of toast and peanut butter.

He wasn't about to ask Mabel to help him get lunch.

Well. He'd succeeded. He'd known just the right thing to say to get Mabel to lay off and drop the topic. Did he feel accomplished?

He stared out the window as he ate—there were hazy gray clouds on the horizon, beyond the trees, slowly inching closer—and he tried not to look at the picture Mabel had flung at him.

####

Mabel felt dumb about being upset that Bill thought she was dumb.

Because of course he did. Sure, he liked her art and he liked dance music and games without rules; sure, he was a willing student when it came to stuff like making friendship bracelets or artistically mixing sprinkles; sure, he was a weirdo fun guy; but he was also a Smarty McSmartypants, just like Dipper or Ford. And Mabel was the Girl Dipper who brought home C's. And even a weirdo fun Smarty wouldn't want to hang out for long with someone who couldn't keep up with nerd talk. He probably just... put up with her for as long as he could stand pretending he took her seriously, but he'd finally lost his patience...

And shown his true, jerky colors again.

Maybe Ford and Dipper were right about him; maybe he couldn't really change.

Except... there was something he'd said. And right after I trusted you yesterday. When he'd cried in front of her. When he'd told her about his fear of death.

He was being a jerk because he thought she'd betrayed him. But by reading a book?! Why couldn't he ever just explain himself? Did he think whatever was bothering him was obvious, and she was stupid for not figuring it out?

Something she almost but didn't quite remember thudded like a drum inside her brain. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dome.

From the entryway, Bill called, "Hey, star girl. I—"

He stopped in the doorway. Mabel had taped 28 pieces of paper together, drawn on a door knob, written "DOOR" at the top, and taped it across the doorway into the living room. Irritably, Bill said, "It doesn't work like that. This is obviously paper."

"Bill," Mabel grumbled. "Go away."

"No. I'm gonna say something to you."

He didn't phrase that like he was giving her a choice in the matter; but all the same, she said, "I don't wanna hear it."

"You know that horror story about a bride with a velvet ribbon tied around her neck, and her head falls off and rolls down the stairs when her husband unties it?"

She did. She and Dipper had read a book of scary stories to each other on Halloween a few years ago while waiting for it to be late enough to go trick-or-treating. In spite of herself, he'd piqued her curiosity. She reluctantly turned to look at him. "Yeah? So?"

Bill was leaning in the doorway, head tilted against the doorframe so he could see Mabel around the paper door curtain. "That's why I wear a bow tie."

Mabel blinked. "Wait—if you didn't, your head would fall off? What part of you is your head? How did it come off? Were you decapitated? Did you get decapitated for knowing about the third dimension—?"

"It doesn't keep my head on; it keeps my skin on."

Mabel's nose wrinkled. "Gross! How?"

"Remember how you said my outline is my skin and all my organs are inside the outline," Bill said. "That didn't change when we left the second dimension! We had to get exoskeletons on our top and bottom sides so solids like you can't stick you fingers in our guts. My bow tie keeps it tied in place."

"Whoa." So that was why they hadn't seen Bill's organs before. "Do you ever take it off?"

"Mostly when I'm eating!" He knocked on the doorframe. "So can I come in now?"

Of course. He'd been using information to buy his way back into her good graces. (No—that was what somebody who didn't think Bill deserved a second chance would think. He was making up for earlier by answering one of her questions about him.)

She took a deep breath, turned to face Bill, and said, "You didn't talk to me like a friend earlier."

"I—" Bill grimaced, looked at the ceiling for help, and conceded, "I mean—It's how I talk to my friends, but all right, I know you're not used to that—"

"Nobody should be used to that!" Mabel said. "What would Love Bunny say?"

"Wh—?! I— Th— You—" His voice cracked as it jumped higher, "What do I care what a cartoon rabbit thinks about—"

"What. Would. She. Say."

Bill's face screwed up in agony. He crossed his arms. "Ugh."

"Biiill?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bill said, "She'd say my breath smells like I've been eating mean beans."

"Aaand?"

"I'm not going to say it. I won't say it."

"And you need to eat your nice rice!"

Bill let out a long, slow sigh.

"Say it!"

"This is my penance," Bill muttered toward his feet. "This is my penance. This is fair." He took a breath. "And... I need to eat my nice rice."

Mabel nodded. He'd confessed his sins.

"I think we're out of nice rice," Bill said, "but I've had the peanut butter of kindness and the toast of remorse. Good enough?"

She considered it. "Yeah. You can come in."

Bill batted aside the paper door curtain and ducked into the room. 

He sat across the table from Mabel and set down the paper she'd chucked at him amongst her others. Mabel glanced at the drawing, embarrassed of it now; but Bill didn't say anything about it.

He just propped his cheek against his hand and started looking over her other art.

Mabel sat there with her hands under her legs, watching his spotlight eyes rove over the table, feeling like she was waiting for a teacher to grade a poster she'd made for class. He saw a stop sign red octagon in sunglasses that was labeled "Bill's parole officer" and snorted. She wasn't sure if it was an amused snort or a derogatory snort. His gaze stopped on her attempt to figure out how Flatworlder anatomy worked, and didn't move farther. She'd probably gotten everything wrong, hadn't she?

She couldn't stand waiting for him to pass judgment on her art. "You think they look dumb, don't you."

Bill took a moment to reply. He didn't look up from her drawings. "I don't think you're dumb, Shooting Star."

"You think I'm dumber than Dipper and Grunkle Ford."

Bill winced. "I don't." At her dubious look, Bill amended, "Only Stanford! And that barely counts, all humans are dumber than Stanford. It doesn't mean I think you're dumb-dumb"

"Could've fooled me," Mabel muttered.

"You bet! I'm good at fooling people. All I have to do is say things I don't mean that make people feel the way I want." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "I wanted you to feel like the conversation wasn't worth it. That's all."

She stared at him. "By letting me know you think I'm stupid?!" She chucked a crayon at his face. "You could have just told me you didn't want to talk about Flatworld!" Her voice was getting that stupid waver again. "If I'd known, I would have dropped it! I didn't want to upset you!"

"I wasn't upset, it's just a stupid thing to complain about! It's just a dumb book! It'd—it'd take a real loser to be bothered by talking about a dumb book! I'm not..." He sighed harshly. "I know you weren't trying to get on my nerves, kid. It'd mess up your sticker chart." (Mabel hadn't even realized he knew about her sticker chart.) Almost inaudibly, he added, "M'sorry."

She'd never heard him apologize before.

She let out a slow breath. "Biiill. I don't think you're a loser."

He muttered something she couldn't make out as he flipped his hood on and pulled it down over his burning face. "Forget it. Move on. It's in the past!"

"If you're so embarrassed—"

"Not embarrassed!"

She chucked another crayon at his chest. "Then why are you telling me this now?"

Bill shut his eyes; took a deep breath; and, with a look of solemn dignity, and no small amount of pain, he said, "Because. Teddy Tender says. Our friends can't help us feel better if we don't tell them why we feel bad." He almost, almost managed to say it without sounding sarcastic.

Mabel burst out laughing. Bill pulled his hood lower.

Bill didn't even like Teddy Tender—he thought he was the stick in the mud of the Color Critters—and he certainly wasn't actually trying to follow Teddy's friendship lessons. He was just... saying something he didn't mean to make Mabel feel the way he wanted. And he wanted her to feel better.

No matter what anyone else said, he could change. And he was changing.

"Apology accepted," Mabel said. "Gold star!" She peeled one off a nearby sticker sheet and held it out.

Bill eyed it, like a man so hungry he was too nauseous to eat eyeing a pizza; and then snatched it from her and stuck it in the middle of his hoodie.

Mabel said, "And... I guess I'm sorry for getting all diggy about your home world." Even if she hadn't known it was bothering him, she probably should've guessed, shouldn't she? With how crabby he'd gotten. "I just got all excited and curious and... kinda worried about you after reading that book?" She sighed. "I understand if you don't wanna talk about it. You probably hated your dimension."

"What? He lurched forward with the vehemence of his denial—"Of course I don't hate my dimension!" Mabel leaned away at the sudden rage that had flared up in his eyes; but it died just as quickly and Bill immediately reeled himself back in, sitting back, crossing his arms: "I mean, come on, kid, use your head: you read a book about a culture. We're talking about an entire dimension. Would you hold a grudge against Jupiter if an ant bit you on Earth?"

Even as casually as he played it off, Mabel was sure he hadn't meant anything as calm and measured as claiming it was technically irrational to hate an entire dimension. He meant—emphatically, with his whole heart behind it—that he didn't hate his home dimension, at all.

Then why didn't he want to talk about it? (Then why had he destroyed it? Or was not hating it just another fiction he'd made up because he'd prefer that reality? Or was the destruction itself a lie? He hadn't mentioned it once since they'd started talking about Flatworld. Or did he think she didn't know about that and didn't want her to know? Or...)

Something had been churning in her subconscious since she woke up, and now—watching Bill ball up around himself as he squirmed around the things he didn't want to say—it finally dawned on her. Two words. Another piece of the Axolotl's poem. She tried to hold the words in her head until she could write them down, repeating them over and over—Misses home. Misses home.

Quietly, she asked, "Then... don't you want to remember it?"

His face spasmed, like it was nearly cracking in two—and then smoothed out. His face was blank. He didn't answer for a moment. "The last time I told a human more than two sentences about where I'm from... he gave me the universe's most depressing geometry textbook."

Oh. Maybe Bill was following Teddy Tender's friendship advice. "That's because you were talking to a boring old-timey math teacher, duh."

He laughed wryly. "You may have a point!"

If Bill assumed anybody prying into his history was either looking for the reason something was wrong with him, or publishing a whole book about the super bad parts... No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to her. "So you didn't dislike Flatworld? You just dislike the book?"

Bill grimaced. "Did you read Eddie's biography?"

"No?"

####

As soon as he'd buckled himself into his seat for the drive to Northwest Manor, Dipper read the summary on the back cover of Flatworld, and then the paragraph-long author biography underneath it:

Edward B. Bishop, born in 1838 in England, was an accomplished mathematician, writer, theologian, and closet occultist, as well as a professor at the esteemed University of Fancyton. He published twelve books, the last of which was Flatworld in 1884. After sentencing his square protagonist to a two-dimensional asylum for preaching of the existence of the third dimension, he himself succumbed to an ironically similar fate: three months after publication, he was committed to an asylum for insisting that two-dimensional alien invaders intended to conquer the Earth and were persecuting him for revealing their existence, a delusion he maintained until his death from sleep deprivation in 1886. His most enduring legacy is inventing the margarita glass, which he claimed came to him in a dream. 

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Ouch."

####

"Never mind, don't worry about it," Bill said. "But no. I didn't like the book."

"You poor thing! All this time you've been homesick for the second dimension, but the only things humans talk about is the bad stuff!"

"Don't call me that."

"Do you want to talk about the non-depressy stuff instead? Like..." Mabel wracked her brain for something nice she'd read in the book. She winced. "Uh... I'm sure there's something. You could choose the topic?"

Bill didn't look directly at her. He just looked over all her drawings again. "Tell me why you want to know so badly."

It was basically the same question he'd asked earlier—what's with the third degree—but his tone was different. Mabel swallowed hard and repeated, "Because... I'm your friend. It's crazy that we've been friends for like a month and I barely know a-ny-thing about who you are or how you grew up! By now, I'd usually know about a friend's family, favorite subject, favorite animal, opinion on glitter, and biggest life dream! Plus all the stuff humans have in common—like, 'do you breathe?'"

This time, Bill didn't argue with her answer. (He could have called her a liar. A month ago, she had just been trying to find out what was wrong with him. But this version of the truth she'd made up was better.) "You already know I'm pro-glitter in all contexts and my life's work is to throw an eternal party. What else really matters?"

"Those are the two most important questions," Mabel said seriously. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you have glitter in the second dimension?" He'd already reassured her that they'd had color, but it was hard to imagine glitter in such a bleak world.

"Sure."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

She looked around at the morning's art production, pulled over the first drawing she'd done of her shapesona, and grabbed a bottle of glue to draw a thin line around the heart.

Bill watched as Mabel carefully sprinkled several separate colors of glitter on the line of glue, like a master chef adding a precise amount of spice to a gourmet recipe, to create a glitter rainbow gradient; and then he slowly sat up and leaned toward the table again. "So, who's this freak?"

Mabel gave him an exasperated look. She decided he'd meant "freak" neutrally; but she'd clearly labeled the heart "ME IN FLATWORLD," she thought it was pretty obvious who this freak was.

But Bill cheerfully went on, "He's the most hideously disfigured shape I've ever seen."

"Hey!"

"I'm not joking, it hurts to look at this guy. At least he's symmetrical, but woof."

"She's not a guy! She's supposed to be me in Flatworld," Mabel insisted. "She's a powerful lady and I think she's beautiful." She paused. "Can a heart be a girl?" Lines looked boring, but Flatworld said that girls were all lines and all other shapes were boys. (Or were they? When they'd talked at the mall, Bill had been very clear that he considered himself a triangle instead of male or female, which scuttled the "all polygons are male" concept. Maybe Edward Bishop Bishop had made that part up?)

"She can be anything she wants," Bill said firmly. "I don't see any gender cops around here, do you?"

Good point. "And when there's no cops around, anything's legal."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"Grunkle Stan says it!"

"Wise man." Bill leaned forward further across the table and tapped a finger on the deep cleft at the top of the heart. "Personally, I'm more worried about that agonizing-looking birth defect. I'm surprised she survived past infancy!"

Mabel glared at him, but she supposed she couldn't argue. A heart was a pretty irregular shape. And according to Flatworld, almost all irregular shapes were executed in childhood or else imprisoned in adulthood, since they thought irregular shapes would grow up to be depraved, imbecilic criminals—

"Wait," Mabel said. "Wait. Last year, when I called you an isosceles freak—"

Bill cut in, "It was 'monster,' but go on!"

"Was that, like..." Mabel's voice dropped to a whisper, "a slur on Flatworld?"

Bill fought to keep his face straight as he decided how to respond. He went for the funniest answer. "Yes."

Mabel clapped her hands over her mouth and squeaked, "Nooo!"

"It's actually pretty impressive a human managed to come up with it!"

"I'M SORRYYY, augh I didn't know!"

Over her anguished whines, Bill went on, "It's just a good thing you didn't say 'scalene'! I would've had to wash your mouth out with drain cleaner!"

Mabel had pulled the collar of her sweater over her face. From within Sweater Town, she asked, "Was that the first thing I ever said to you?"

Bill choked back a laugh. "Yeah, it was."

She squealed in embarrassment and slid under the table.

"Heck of a first impression, star girl!"

"i'm sorryyy."

Bill reached under the table to pat the top of her head. "Ahhh, it was funny. Get up here." 

As she climbed back into her seat, Bill added, "I'm getting back at you now, I'm not done making fun of your medical miracle yet. You know what she'd look like as a human? A headless, neckless body with an eyeball shoved six inches down her esophagus." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually... that sounds kinda cute."

"Eww, Bill."

"It is, it's cute. Like a clumsy puppy with a neurological disorder! I guess that's how the hideous Miss Heart here must look to humans!"

Mabel looked over her art again, wondering if she should change her shapesona, considering Bill's reaction to it. 

So, maybe she was creating a freak. She didn't see any shape cops around here. She kept drawing. "I'd be fine," she said. "You like weird freaks! You'd keep me safe."

A stricken look crossed his face. He was momentarily silent as he watched Mabel start another picture. And then, as though he were only considering it for the first time, he said, "Yeah. I guess I would."

His gaze drifted to the wrinkled picture of Mabel's shapesona standing protectively in front of Bill. "Freaks can't afford to tear each other down."

####

(THIS is the chapter that's been giving me hell the last few weeks. Months. Last few months. I'm so glad to finally have it out, and I hope y'all enjoyed!! This chapter probably brings up a lot more questions than it actually answers—and completely different questions based on whether or not you've read Flatland lol—so I can't wait to hear what y'all think.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

[tizeline]

I’ve never seen a separated au with Leo being raised by big mama, what do you think that would be like? (Since he’s kinda rebellious)

For the record, there are AUs where Leo's been raised by Big Mama, the ones I know of are Gemini AU by tangledinink and True Colors AU by v-albion. I'm not super familiar with either of them, but they're there if you wanna check them out.

That being said-

LEO being raised by BIG MAMA omg I have THOUGHTS

Listen, I don't see enough people compare Leo to Big Mama, but he's quite similar to her. Splinter and BM never got a kid together, BUT IF THEY DID that kid would literally be Leo he's basically just a fusion of the two of them!!

As I've mentioned several times before because I love bringing it up, Leo is strategic, quick-witted, observant and good at talking. In the show (as well as in my own AU) Leo's strengths aren't really recognized, let alone aknowledged for a big portion of the story. Because of that, for a long time he doesn't really get the chance to develop these skills, as much potential Leo has to become a master planner his impulsiveness and inexperience has a tendency to get him into trouble.

BUT! All of these skills also happen to be skills that Big Mama has and would value in Leo. So if he were to actually have to opportunity to not only be raised by BM but also trained by her for his entire life. If he got to properly learn strategy, planning, manipulation...?

... Holy shit Leo would be terrifying.

Think about it, canon!Leo managed to out-smart BM in Many Unhappy Returns without any real experience, just imagine what he could do with a whole life-time of training.... yikes!

Not sure what exactly Big Mama and Leo's relationship would look like. In my opinion she would view him as her son and love him dearly, especially if she knew that he's Splinter's biological son.... it's just that BM has interesting ways of showing affection. ("The love of my life just proposed to me?? Great! I'm gonna lock him up in my gladiator fighting ring for the rest of eternity!") She'd at the very least be quite controlling, I imagine.

As you pointed out, Leo can be quite rebellious, so that mixed with Big Mama's obsessive need to be in complete control of everyone around her would certainly cause some tension. Actually... considering how clever Leo would be in this AU... uh oh.

All of these qualities that BM initially appreciated and encouraged in Leo, what if, as Leo became more and more capable, Big Mama started to eventually view them in a more negative light? If she feels like she's loosing control over Leo, if she interprets Leo's rebellion as not just a normal teenage need for independence but rather him malicously working against her. What if she starts viewing him not as an asset or as a tool, but rather a threat?

If BM has reason to believe that Leo might try to overthrow her and take control over her criminal empire, she might take preemptive action and get rid of him before he has the chance to get rid of her.... Not like murder-get-rid-of, I don't think she'd just kill him, lol! But like lock him up, maybe throw him into the Battle Nexus, I dunno. Anything that would allow her to remain in control of both him and her business.

As for Leo, maybe he would actually try to overthrow BM. Considering he was raised by a literal mafia boss, his moral compass is gonna be a bit wack. Maybe Leo's desire for control over himself would cause him to try to seize control over his mother's business. Oooooorrrrr maybe Leo just wants some independance but doesn't actually want to compete with BM, so when she interprets his actions and behavior as malicious he's not prepared for that at all and, as a result, is more than a little hurt that his own mother would take such extreme actions against him. Who knows?

Hhhhhhh there's a lot of fun posibilities here but MAN I'm not really in the mood to work on an entirely new AU. Maybe I'll create some art for it I dunno, this concept is really fun, but I'm not gonna turn this into a proper Thing, so if anyone else wanna steal this concept and explore it for themselves, feel more than free to do that!

#tizel talk #tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au #rottmnt separation au #rottmnt leo #rottmnt big mama

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2, Hangs on a double meaning - Answering why .5 + .5 = 25 lazerii *The end?*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The end?

Welcome to the end of the Bonkers Meta Series featuring your favourite Art Director/Clue detective. This is it! I'm going to wrap up this series as well as I can with what I think really happened, the final 15 and why Crowley says the things he says. Meta, Spoilers, Beware! All that. “Armageddon only happens once, you know. They don't let you go around again until you get it right.” 

If you've read my Metatron post you'll know that I thought there were *at least* two time loops with tweaks to achieve different outcomes, seeing as we seemed to be presented with two versions of events a lot of the time, two similar lines of dialogue, double meanings for lines etc etc. If you want a really good recap of a lot of the Clues that have already been compiled already you can go through them here. Yesterday I added my own : The columns in front of the bookshop get stained by a demon, and the stain stays and goes. But why do we care?

Here's my final thesis using the context I'll put together below :

The Metatron is changing the past and the present on earth using the book of life. He's forced a time loop of the last few days at least 50 times over a period of (realtime) months to get the outcome he wants : the separation of Aziraphale and Crowley to allow him to complete the second coming. It only worked once. Let me explain.

1) Not time skips, but stitched loops

My theory about the columns goes like this : a demon touches the right column in the attack on the bookshop, and dirties it. The problem is, in every episode we get multiple versions of the column that are dirtier or cleaner. Why? Because a demon has been touching that column in *more or less* the same place and getting it dirty over time, but the effects on the bookshop only layer every loop and reset, instead of being erased. The layering aspect is super important and I'll get back to it. For now, if we take it that the column gets dirtier over many loops, we now know what we are seeing : a bunch of different time loops stitched together to create a sense of time moving forward in a way that we can understand the story, but that skip forward and backward through the loops. Cleaner column = earlier loop. Here's discussion about clock hands if you want evidence, some even saying the hour hand seems to be going backwards in the first episode or the last, or even that the minute and hour hands must be backwards to make sense. If we think of time skipping ever forward and actions getting deleted (as some have said), then clocks going backwards makes no sense. But if we think about it as a time loop where things and actions are ever being tweaked and changed, then OF COURSE the times won't make sense anymore. People don't show up at the same time if they don't do the same thing they did before. The biggest time discrepancies I've seen in a single scene are A) Crowley's phone and watch being an hour apart in S2E1 and B) Inside the bookshop between Gabriel's fly flashback in S2E6 and him and Beez holding hands, there's an hour difference on the clock. I think that by the time we get to very late loops, some things are happening up to an hour later in the day. A simple example we are shown up top is the Eccles cakes. They are there in the first part of S2E1, but then they are no longer there somewhere along the way. In the first loop we see an ordering action/receiving Eccles cakes action, which takes *longer* than just not doing that and going straight to the shop, so that loop will be slightly later. It gets infinitely more complicated the more loops you are looking at, and we have at least 50 of them. How do I know that?

2) A 25 lazerii miracle

If we know that effects on the bookshop are cumulative and don't reset (because columns), then let's try this idea on for size : Aziraphale and Crowley have been performing the same half miracles on the same spot for 50+* loops, and each times they are layering and getting stronger. .5 demon + .5 angel = .5 angelic miracle x 50*ish loops = 25 lazerii miracle goes off in heaven on the latest loop. Shax then confronts Crowley in his car about a mighty miracle, so we're in a loop here where we've layered quite a lot, but not the last loop because he still has the original glasses/ *but also* Crowley's sideburns are long. Compare it to the scene directly after, and how sunny and bright it is. We're in a later loop and and earlier loop simultaneously.

3) Crowley's been testing So I've been searching for a *reason* that Crowley wears a turtleneck in S2E2 and thren new glasses and changes sideburns, and he seems to be up to some pretty crafty spy stuff, seeing as 1) he seems thrilled by it, and 2) he won't shut up about it (How will our hero cope? Jane Austen, nasty piece of work, master spy) There's also this Clue :

Crowley has a secret, as we know everyone with their hands deliberately in their pocket does in the series. I think Crowley knows before Aziraphale that something is wrong, because he's getting little snippets of memory and feeling, and so he's going off to try and change things about himself, the Bentley and the shop to remind himself in the next loop and leave himself clues or change outcomes if he fails to escape. In the early loops it seems like a fun spy mission, but by the end he's pretty tired and jaded that he doesn't seem to be making any headway on his own.

It *also* explains him throwing books and canapés on the floor in the bookshop to see if it changes in other versions. The problem being that Gabriel keeps cleaning everything up and reorganizing the titles to Crowley can't tell if it's his system or not. (lolsob)

It makes this line seem like he can't fit the loop pieces together anymore, and is trying to make headway without any information, rather than a pre-fall reference.

And this line probably much later in the loops (New sunglasses, long sideburns) :

Okay so! To recap : Everyone gets reset every time, and they make different choices because of past and present edits. But, most heavenly and hellish things don't obey earth laws, and therefore things like miracles start layering, and memories start seeping through the loops. (Point 4 is optional but absolutely hilarious, so I'd like to think it's worth speculating about)

4. The flaw in The Metatron's plan

There's a huge flaw in The Metatron's plan however, and it's that Heaven and Hell don't work like earth does. He's spent so many loops trying to get the result he wants, that he doesn't know that something crazy is *also* happening in hell. Every loop, Shax is emptying out the legions of demons until they barely have enough low level lackeys to go up at all. Hell is understaffed because no new people come into hell in the loop from earth, and they're sending all the demons that aren't subject to the reset into battle. This isn't a negotiation, it's a montage.

So the attack on the bookshop isn't one attack, but waves, and the waves get less powerful each loop. Stitched loops would also explain why Shax now hands Crowley his mail again in the last attack after *just* handing it to him on the park bench, like, 4 days ago in an earlier loop.

I don't have evidence for this directly, but if The Metatron put Maggie together with Nina successfully only in the last few loops, then she's fighting in the bookshop only a few times, and doesn't invite the demons in any other times, which might be why the only evidence is the column, and not books being ruined. But, it might also explain why the demon Eric gets discorporated a bunch of times in a row, he's doing it later and later in each loop. (These are kind of contradictory thoughts, I know.)

5. Aziraphale realizes too late. When I wrote part 4 of this series I was pretty awed by the fact that Aziraphale managed to figure out the Metatron was rewriting things after only hearing him say ONE LINE of dialogue. However after more thought, I think that he's been getting close to the truth a bunch of times by communicating with Crowley in previous loops. In each successive loop he tells Crowley later and later, and it's been getting them reset as punishment each time they figure it out together. By the end they barely communicate at all, because they can feel the danger. Watch his reaction here, in what we can assume is a *very late or last loop (because of the time on the clock)*

He stops himself from interrupting and telling Crowley something important he's just realized : that he's seen Gabriel and Beez get together before. "I know what this means..." 6. Saraqael is helping both sides without them knowing We see Saraquael helping Crowley immediately with the trial when she finds him in heaven. Why would she help Crowley without having ever met him before as a demon? The exchange of "Crowley I remember you, we worked on the Hosehead nebula together" and "I meet a lot of people, (*he doesn't say* I don't remember you)" is a code. They are both trying to communicate what they remember like spies on a bench in St.James park. Who recognizes who, who's trying to stop this madness. Maybe once Crowley gets to heaven this time he's seen multiple trials with multiple endings, and Saraquael has seen them too, I don't really know. BUT she's also communicating with Aziraphale at one point. Look at Saraqael in this scene again about the 25 lazerii miracle. She *remembers the book slap* and then the *looks* at Aziraphale in regards to Gabriel.

Yeah Gabriel, IT NEVER F*&?%ING WORKS IN ANY LOOP SO STOP DOING IT. - Saraquel, probably. Are Saraqael and Aziraphale testing later/earlier in the loops as well? Is this when the miracle was weaker? Who knows! 7. The Metatron job offer was many, many offers

It's really hard to tell with all the pieces of the puzzle moving around, but I think I can count 7 job refusal loops by Aziraphale in the last fifteen minutes. Here's a summary 1) Chinwag with Crowley in the room 2) We should go for a walk instead, here's a coffee 3) You don't have to answer immediately 4) Go tell you friend the good news (This is the important one), it's the last one where he tries to convince Crowley to come with him 5) I need to take care of my bookshop 6) The Metatron puts Muriel in charge of the bookshop, but Aziraphale wants to take something with him 7) Aziraphale straight up runs out to Crowley with "I think I-" 4, again) The Metatron takes him out of the bookshop. "Ready to start"?

Trying to screenshot all that would be insane, so just go rewatch it with all this in mind, and look at how the lighting changes inside of the bookshop and the jump cuts to different angles, and how his face resets every time. It's HEARTBREAKING. 8. The argument

I'm so blown away by the acting and writing (as well as the art direction) in this show, and it all comes to a head in the final argument. Many important lines have double meanings in series 2, because everyone is trying to speak in secret code to not get caught. Especially in the final loops.

In the last loops, we have an Aziraphale who is moving ever closer towards accepting the Metatron's offer, with the straw that broke the camel's back being he could restore Crowley as an angel**/save him; and Crowley who is moving ever farther away, by having to hide all of his Clue gathering, and confiding less and less to Aziraphale in each loop.

Check out the double meanings going on in this whole exchange if you consider that they are trying to save each other using secret codes neither one of them can hear. It's so shattering. Especially when you consider they've probably made it to this argument at least twice, and Crowley convinced him the first time. Why do I say that, you ask? 9. No Nightingales

Because I think Crowley remembers a loop where A Nightingale Sang was playing when they kissed, and Aziraphael didn't leave, but he knows they aren't in that version anymore. 10) I'm a demon, I lied. I'll probably post more abut the secondary characters because Shax, Furfur, Michael, Uriel and Nina etc all have roles to play, but for now, this is it.

----------------------------------------- Thanks so much for reading the gigantic post. If you disagree with my thoughts, or think this is terribly wrong, that's totally fine! I won't be offended. Without a real season 3, everything is just ether. Fingers crossed. I'd also like to thank The Ineffable Detective Agency, @embracing-the-ineffable, @cobragardens, @indigovigilance, @yowlthinks and more for inspiring me and feeding my brain with posts. *Loop numbers could actually be 25+ if you think that .5 demon mircales + .5 angelic miracles pour register as 1 whole miracle in heaven, I just didn't want to go into that in the main review. **The Metatron's meddling in the past seems to me trying very much to highlight to Aziraphale how *good* and righteous Crowley is, despite being a demon, in order to convince Aziraphale that joining him in heaven is a real possibility, and he should push for it.

#good omens meta #art director talks good omens #go season 2 #good omens prime #good omens season two #go meta #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #go3 #good omens spoilers #stitchedloop #good omens season 3 predictions

[akanemnon]

Hi! I want to try and make a comic for a project of mine, do you have any tips for people starting out with making comics?(i have literally no idea where to even start with this)

Usually it starts with the setup/premise, the story and the characters. If you know these three then you already have your foundation. Everyone is different when creating comics and everyone has different priorities. For example, I like to have everything planned from the panel layout, to the dialogue. While a friend of mine who's working on an original comic just mainly focuses on the basics and writes the dialogue in the moment. You'll see what works best for you as you work on it. It really doesn't matter which medium you use to get your story out there. Try to use the one you're most comfortable with. Study from what you see. Feel free to take inspiration from other places that might suit what you want to do for your own comic. Taking inspiration and looking up references is something ALL artists do. Also if you're starting out, may I suggest trying your hands on some shorter comics? Possibly just one-offs. The goal is for you to get used to the process. Oh, also make reference sheets of your main characters! You'll be drawing them over and over again for a good while, so it's important to have a good reference to fall back to in case you're struggling. They should include a front and back view (profile view too if you want to) and also the color scheme in case you want your pages to be colored (or if you do just art in general of your characters.)

Uhh... so yeah. I'm not a professional at this myself mind you. I have a lot to learn still about panelling, foreshortening, perspective, action shots... Basically what I'm trying to say is, you never stop learning!

#ask #ask akane #art talk

[cer-rata]

TW: racism

I think the way that comic book media has uncritically pushed anti-Arab racist propaganda (among other kinds) for decades upon decades is an important thing to acknowledge. Like it's not just a couple of bad apples here and there, it's always been pervasive. So many stories, so many villains, so many Arab coded fake evil countries. That kind of thing desensitizes people, dehumanizes entire groups. The politics of media designed for young men and boys (and not just them but for years that was the only audience that mattered, thanks sexism) has consequences.

Seriously, what was this:

As far as I'm aware this never even got an explicit retcon.

I was a little Muslim boy in the mid 2000s reading a Death in the Family because I wanted to know what happened to Jason Todd, and I didn't understand the depths of the propaganda that was being fed to me. I was so desensitized to hearing about terrible things happening in the middle east, and evil terrorists that I didn't question it. And my parents talked to me about what was going on and how it was wrong. But I was still a little kid and I loved Batman and I wasn't at the point where I could really look at the narrative critically, to realize that the authors have worldviews that are biased. I don't think I even grasped that different people wrote the characters. Iran electing known super-terrorist-serial killer-baby eating clown The Joker to represent them because he understood their values is yes, notably crazy, but most of this stuff isn't so loud and obvious, and we didn't leave it in the 80s. Just look at what happened to the depiction of Talia and Ra's post 911 and how they progressive became less human. So just think about the generations of kids reading this crap who had no counter messaging at all. Where does that leave their empathy?

I'm not saying that everything we're seeing is the fault of comic books, that's stupid and reductive and insulting to the complexity of the reality. But what I'm saying is that a lot of these narratives are actively complicit in the kinds of inhumanity we're seeing. Marvel thinking it's appropriate to throw Sabra into a movie in current day is a glaring transgression but it's not some kind of strange outlier. Lots of those films are actively funded by arms of the American military, just look at Captain marvel and Iron Man. And if anyone likes imposing an agenda onto the narrative, it's the military. A lot of this is baked into the fiction, and we owe it to ourselves and others to actively contend with what that means.

I dunno I'm just mad, and disappointed and maybe a little guilty that it took me this long to really realize the full state of things. I spent a lot of time blindly consuming. Like these books were created to be aspirational, to show good people trying to make a better world. But as always happens when art is completely beholden to money, they still serve the politics of the ruling class at the end of the day.

#dc comics #marvel comics #marvel mcu #batman #captain america #iron man #dehumanisation tw #i/p #imperialism #tw racsim #talia al ghul #ra's al ghul #reposted with better formatting

[yuri-is-online]

For the Future kid au, how many of yutu's friends tell him that his parent is hot?

Answering this immediately because it gave me brain damage and an excuse to talk about Yutu's friends. These o.c.s were created by @archetypal-archivist though I did help with their names, please check out their blog and writing!

As for how many, well there's really only two of them who would say Yuu is hot.

"Dude your parent-" Vinnie has always reminded Yutu of a wet rat. It doesn't help that he's tall, lean, and has a mop of hair he hasn't brushed in days swooped out of his face with... is that a rag? Just how fast does he burn through his clothes? "They're really hot."

"So is hell." Snaps Yutu but all his friend does is laugh.

"Look don't worry about it, I ain't gonna say anything but wow. Your parent, I get why your old man is risking everything for- YAOUCH!"

"Keep talking like that and I'm shooting for your knees next time." Yutu grumbles as Vinnie rubs his ear in pain.

Vinnie is a third year student in Ramshackle Dorm. He has no magic, but does have a deep appreciation for chemistry and all of its practical applications. He also really appreciates Yuu's appearance and thinks it's funny to tease Yutu over.

"Your eyes..." Yutu's friend is very close to your face, allowing you a good look at the light periwinkle of hers. She isn't blinking and Yutu is hovering, clearly concerned but not wanting to make things more awkward. The girl sighs and pulls back, you don't really remember seeing her smile but she looks even more mournful now. "They're like the sea at night, infinite and... difficult to capture."

"She means that as a compliment!" Yutu says, but he doesn't sound confident. Alcmene looks at the ground, a slight flush comes to her cheeks, but she still doesn't smile.

Painting you will be difficult, but she has to try now that she's seen you. Her heart will never know peace if she does not.

Alcmene is a first year student in Octavinelle Dorm. She is a Moonlight Jelly Mer and a refugee from the coral sea. Deeply melancholic she's a bit difficult to understand and prefers to express herself through her art. She sees Yuu as an artistic muse, and finds their story inspiring. The fact that she finds them beautiful inspires her further.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au #future kid ocs

[lunaencantada]

Last week I was able to watch Wish and I'm really sad because I was ready to defend the film. It does its job, it entertained me for a while, I had a great time with King Magnifico, I love the design of Queen Amaya (hehe Dama of Elche inspired) and of Asha, the star is cute….

But.

With each passing day, the more disappointed I am with the film. I understand the idea, but I don't like the execution. My only interest is the villain, and I don't even know if we can call him that: he's a man who suffered a traumatic experience as a young child and has built a kingdom trying to protect his people and his dreams. Yes, he's a narcissist and obviously his motivation is not entirely good (he seeks recognition from others and stuff), but he's doing his job and people are giving him their wishes because they want to, not against their will.

There is a new element in the equation (the star) that could take all this away from him, perhaps repeating the destruction of his first home. It is his greatest fear, which is why he does not grant most wishes. What if something bad happens. What if they use it against us. Trauma. In a desperate moment he turns to a book that we later learn corrupts you or whatever you want to call it, there's no turning back. Asha creates the villain of her story, who otherwise wouldn't have wanted to do any of that.

But the worst thing for me was looking for a picture of Magnifico and Amaya when they were young to show a friend something and confusing him with Ballister from Nimona. And that's when something clicked in my head.

Disney was making Nimona. Disney was making it and they cancelled the film. Did Disney STEAL the designs they were using for Nimona to use them for Wish?

Is the fact that Nimona was finally going to be released the reason why there are so many changes from concept art to final product? Amaya can't be bad because, hm, what separates her from The Director then? People have complained that Magnifico's eyes are too big, hm, I wonder who has been praised these past few months for their big puppy eyes.

And the star. It was a shapeshifter boy. A goddamn shapeshifter.

And I was browsing the art book and. IS THAT AN OTTER.

WHO I KNOW WHO IS ALSO A SHAPESHIFTER WHO IS SOMETIMES AN OTTER?

Of course I have no complaints about the people who have worked on the film, the art teams, animators, etc. I'm sure they worked hard and it looks like the people at the top made decisions and then they had to work twice as hard to try and remedy the problems.

But then you look at the other people who worked on the film and the voice actors ……………….. They take Israel's side? Oh jesus

What a mess.

#wish #disney wish #wish 2023 #star wish #wish asha #king magnifico #queen amaya #nimona #nimona movie #nimona 2023 #ballister blackheart #my thoughts #free palestine

[stevelieber]

Thoughts on giving critiques to comics artists.

Seeing lots of discussion from students about sour experiences with an unhelpful art teacher, so here's a long, long post about giving critiques.

NB: I have no formal training as a teacher, but I was a student, and I've spent decades giving artists feedback on their work.

When someone brings me a portfolio, I like to establish my limitations & clarify my perspective. My work is firmly rooted in traditional US comics storytelling (i.e., not manga or art-comics.) I can give feedback on other approaches but they should know where I’m coming from.

“We've only got a little time for this, so I'm going to spend that time focusing on things to correct. That doesn't mean you're doing everything wrong, or that there’s nothing good here, but it’ll be more helpful if I identify some problems and show you how to fix them.”

Why? Because for many young artists their entire sense of self worth is wrapped up in being good at what they do. (It was for me!) In school they were probably the best artist in their peer group. But now if they're hoping to turn pro, they’re at the bottom.

Sometimes you know what’s up when you see page 1, but try to keep an open mind. Some build their portfolios by sticking new pages at the back & don’t weed out the old stuff up front, so the work gets better as you go. When it’s like that I ask: “Show me your best 8 pages.”

I ask questions: "What's the goal? Do you want to be hired to work on someone else's project, or to get the story you're showing me here published?"

If 1, I steer towards a portfolio that'll showcase hirable skills. If 2, I look for what tweaks will make that particular story more effective.

"Do you have teachers giving you regular feedback? What are they telling you?" Sometimes a student is getting bad advice. In cases like that, I'll do my best to be extra clear WHY I'm giving them advice that's 180 degrees from what they've been hearing.

“What artists are you looking at? Is there someone you admire or try to emulate?” This often helps me understand choices they're making, and I can sometimes incorporate things those artists do into my suggestions.

I ask myself questions about what I’m seeing. First: Is there a narrative? If not, I make it 100% clear I'm not speaking as any sort of expert. I'm good at critiquing storytelling, but don't have anywhere near as much to offer illustrators or designers.

Can I follow the story? Or am I confused about what's going on? Are the characters and settings drawn consistently? If not, is the artist at least making use of tags (distinctive clothing, hair etc.) to keep the characters recognizable?

Does the artist demonstrate a good command of basic academic drawing? If not, Do I think they need it? Do I focus on "how to draw" or on "what to do when you can't draw?" Is the artist putting the viewer’s eye where it needs to be to tell the story effectively?

(At this point I’m usually doing little doodles to go with my instructions. I scribble out ugly little 5 second diagrams that I hope will clarify what I’m talking about. Or they might make me seem demented. Hard to say!)

Is the artist making choices that are creating more work than necessary? Is there a particular weakness? I once spoke to an artist with a portfolio full of great work when he was drawing animals and monsters, but his humans were amateurish in comparison. I spent that critique talking about drawing people.

A crit can be a grab bag. In addition to big-picture advice, I'll point out tangencies, violations of the 180-degree rule, wonky anatomy, weird perspective, places where the artist neglected to do important research, odd choices in how they spotted black, whatever catches my eye.

I also try to make a point of defining the terms, so that jargon like “tangency,” “180-degree rule,” and “spotting black” don't go over their heads. Find simple, concrete ways to talk about these things, & clarify why it's a problem when they aren't done correctly. Draw diagrams!

Recognize that even a perfectly phrased explanation might not sink in. Some lessons can only be learned when a student is ready, and it might take a year or two of work before they can understand what you were saying. It's good to plant seeds.

Are there other artists who are particularly good at solving the problems the student is trying to solve? I steer them towards that artist's work. And I always recommend life drawing & the use of reference to give work variety and authority.

Despite what I said earlier about focusing on what's wrong, I try at the end to find something encouraging to say. And if I’ve really piled on the criticism, I emphasize that I only spent the time and energy to do so because I take their efforts seriously.

If I've done my job right, they'll leave my table with tools to make their work better. And maybe in a few years they'll be looking at some younger artist's work, surprised to discover just how much you can learn when you're asked to teach.

#comics #protips #my work #comic book art #essays #teaching

[prince-toffee]

L I F E I S A H I G H W A Y !

Written by Prince-Toffee (me)

Art by the absolutely supreme @themazziah @cosmiccanineart

Created as part of The @spopbang 2024

Before we begin, I just want to say thank you to @themazziah for creating this absolutely gorgeous piece of art that you're looking at right now. It was so good in fact that I was inspired to rewrite the story to incorporate it into the narrative. When writers and artists were being paired up, I was sure I'd be left without a partner, but after you said that I was your first choice I was honestly so moved and touched. Thank you for picking me. Nothing I write could ever express how lovely it feels to read a kind comment like that. And that's why I'll try to get back into writing Entrapdak fics, it's been a while, and I'd love to do more, the world can never have enough Entrapta and Hordak in it. (and Glimmadora, my first time writing them, hope I did okay) Thanks, Mazz, I hope this story gives you a good few chuckles.

Second of all, thank you to all the organisers of @spopbang I may not know many people there well, but right from the start people were nothing but kind and helpful, and this event is a beautiful gift to the fandom. You guys are absolutely amazing!

Finally, on a more personal note, this is a three parter, I could only manage to finish Act One before the deadlines as I was working on my final university assignments at the same time, and now I'm finished and free! And I can't think of a better way to celebrate! I'll try to get the rest of the story out as soon as possible. I hope you enjoy this little space road trip.

Life Is A Highway

Act One (of Three)

~One Year After The Defeat of Horde Prime

CloneTown, or as the inhabitants of the settlement chose to dub it, Doormat, was a small shanty town at the foot of Mount Dryl on top of which Castle Dryl stood. The doormat of Dryl, of Etheria, of the universe, Adora assumed that was the intended joke. The warrior of light examined the sign closely, a hastily put together sign stood before her, it read: ‘Welcome To’ with CloneTown crossed out. A separate board, made of wood not matching the rest of the sign, was nailed underneath, on it carved crudely was ‘Doormat’. Adora never knew clones had a sense of humour, then again, it wasn't like she spent much time among them. Or at all. As She-Ra, the Protector of Etheria, she visited many villages on the continent, observed as many cultures of as many people as she could, opened her heart and reached out a helping hand to all... all except the newest refugees of Etheria. Every time she had ventured to a clone settlement, she felt unease - most villages across Etheria worshipped her (so to speak, and that invited its own unique forms of exhaustion), but when she set foot on clone grounds, she felt unwanted, which of course, she was. Perhaps the unease emerged from the fact that all the staring eyes that silently watched her stroll into town as she did so now, all belonged to the same face, the face of her old master. One she worshipped in her youth, but no longer. But that didn't matter now, now she was walking down the muddy roads of Doormat, and attracting quite a few puzzled, angered glares. Adora approached in her normal form, strolling up as a 9-foot-tall glowing, radiant, goddess might have been a bit too much. Not that it mattered too much as she still stuck out like a sore thumb, she was the only non-clone in the village, nothing she could do about that. The warrior was cloaked in torn and tattered robes, a hood obscuring her face, so at least they didn't know who she was.

Soon enough the Warrior of Grayskull happened upon her destination, Bar Nefcy, a local, clone-ran establishment. She got a bit lost, but Entrapta’s directions were correct. There was a hanging sign spelling out the bar’s name in uncharacteristically bright pink paint. Almost acting as a centrepiece of the town. From what she heard about it, the establishment acted as a sort of neutral ground for clones: regs, defects, and whatever came between. And as she entered the establishment, she wondered whether that mentality and ideology would extend to her. And almost immediately she got her answer as the chatter throughout the room stopped, all the various patrons turned to look at her, a sea of red and green eyes staring into her. She wasn't exactly scared, if anything came down to violence, she had plenty to keep herself safe, including the enormous broadsword channelling cosmic energy that would transform her into the most powerful woman in the universe. Adora made her way over to the barline and sat herself down, each of her footsteps making the wooden floor creak, which could be heard over the silence.

She attempted to stay invisible and stay silent until her contact would show up, however that turned out to be unlikely as she caught a glimpse of her bartender, a small “Oh!” escaped her and she immediately regretted it, and felt awful about it. Adora’s bartender did not look like a regular clone, he was downright bizarre, he was overgrown with vines, flowers, and moss, all intertwined and weaved into the clone’s being. Where his eyes would be, now two thick vines ran outward spreading into a patch of moss and grass atop his head. Effectively rendering the man, blind. Admittedly, she stared for a bit too long, but she didn't think he'd know.

“Well?!”

“?”

“I may be as blind as a bat, but my hearing is as good as ever. I heard you walk in and sit down, the floorboards are on purpose. So? What’ya want?”

Adora gulped, and put on her best diplomatic voice, “No drink for me, sir. I only ask permission to stay in your bar for- I don't know, uh, a few more minutes. I'm meeting a... friend, shall we call him. A clone. I'm a friend! An ally!” Whoof. She never had to pull that card out before. The bartender didn't seem to look convinced. The diplomatic voice slipped halfway through all that. “Please.” She finished with an awkward smile on her pinched face.

“Uh huh, look this is a clone-establishment, not for… natives. You're unsettling my clientele, so if you'd be so kind and find the exit as I can't, ya know on the account of a magic flower growing out of my face. Good day, Princess.” Wait he knew? How? Was her voice that recognisable?

Just then another voice rose from the back of the bar, from a far corner booth, “Ah, come on Manny! I thought this was a ‘neutral ground’ and whatnot. You gonna denie the guy their poison? They're just trying to get through today like the rest of us.” The bartender, who Adora now knew was named Manny, groaned in annoyance, if he could roll his eyes, he would have. Adora turned around to see where the voice was coming from. There, far in the back, in the corner booth, set an elderly patron a clone no doubt, he spoke with the same voice. But he too looked downright bizarre, unlike all the other clones. This clone was thin, like a skeleton, he looked sickly. (A defect, they were called, she believed, though not entirely sure). The lower half of his face looked normal enough, well for a clone that was. But the top half of his head was a glass-like red dome with some strange displays flashing inside like a radar monitor. And not only that, protruding out of his face was a long witch-like nose, sharp as a knife. Almost as sharp as the red teeth that formed a, what was meant to be a friendly, smile.

The clone wore a mechanical suit (of armour?) that framed his skeletal features. His feet were kicked up on top of the table. His feet resembled… clamps? Like mechanical vulture talons. There was another clone at the corner booth with them, but they had their back turned to Adora, they were clearly uninterested in this interaction. The vulture-like clone stood up and wobblingly made his way over to Adora. It was clear he was drunk. But from Manny’s reaction she gauged that this was his default state. The bird-like man spoke up again, “Leave the freak alone. ‘Serve all, not one’, right?” The woman noticed that the clone acted as if he had a cup or glass in his hand... But he didn't, there was no drink in his curved hand.

“V,” Manny spoke, so that was his name, “Should have known this freak was with you, something always happens when you're around here. Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go, and you always bring it here. So why don't you take your royal friend, and go lead trouble away from here.”

“I won't cause any trouble, I promise.” Adora proclaimed, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, she placed the page onto the table and slid it over to Manny. “I'm actually here on behalf of the Queen, to hand you this Establishment License to let you run your business officially... it was illegal before, just so you know. As a show of gratitude and togetherness.” Adora gave her best smile. Manny just looked at the piece of paper and groaned, he turned around and walked off with the paper in hand, grumpy. Adora swivelled around back to V, she awkwardly thanked them, “Hey, thanks, uh, V was it? For taking my side. And I'm sorry I caused a commotion here.”

“Eh,” He waved dismissively, “Don't take it too personally kid, Manny over there's still a little peeved that you turned him and a bunch of others into walking compost heaps back when you turned The Velvet Glove into a giant tree, heh.”

“I- I did that to him?”

“Oh, not just him, every clone hibernating in a pod and whatnot. Thousands.”

“Oh, gods, what have I done.” She murmured to herself, she combed through her hair, a thousand yard stare on her face. “I'm so sorry... I didn't know I was unwelcome.”

“Eh,” He shrugged, “Don't take that too personally either, neither is he.” V pointed behind him with his thumb towards the doorway. Adora followed the thumb to the silhouette in the door frame. Hordak. Her drinking partner had arrived.

The Ex-Lord of the Horde entered the establishment and silence befell the bar once more, the collective of eyes glared at him and followed him as he slowly made his way over to the warrior Princess. Not too different of a reaction that they greeted Adora with. V just then realised there wasn't a drink in his hand and so he moved out of the way to give Hordak room to sit down next to Adora. He did so. The villain maintained silence, Adora thought it was to seem intimidating, but in reality he simply had no idea how to talk to people, and was too awkward to be the one to begin the conversation.

Hordak was cloaked in a black cape and hood. His blue, curly, fringe poking out from under the hood. Another thing she just now noticed about Hordak was that his eyes were different, usually fully blood red with black makeup around, just now realising that those must have been contact lenses of some sort, because now she witnessed his real eyes. Soft and organic rather than the glass shields which is what their texture usually looked like. Now his corneas were fully pitch black with black pupils and bright blood red irises, the way they shifted about it somehow made him far more emotive. He was clad in matte black and gun metal grey plated armour with neon red highlights running throughout. No Horde symbol on his chest plate however, The Wings of The Vampire where nowhere to be seen. What Adora didn't see was the First One's crystal embedded within his armour powering his entire suit. He wore the same double slit dress he always wore, thighs on full display. That was certainly a choice.

Adora spoke up first, “Sooo, ahem, I'm sure you're wondering why I asked to meet with you.”

“Yes.” He spoke with his deep, smooth voice, “Entrapta, my dearest, did not disclose why you wished to meet. And why here of all places. I am usually summoned to BrightMoon by the Queen.”

“Weeeell, I thought meeting here might make you feel more comfortable. Heard this place serves drinks to anyone, guess... guess not.”

“Hmm, indeed. I do not drink here. I am unwelcome. I do not blame anyone for that belief. My shunning is just.”

“I thought you'd be a hero to your people, especially after killing Prime and all.”

“You killed Prime. I'm surprised many of my brothers haven't turned to worship you She-Ra Adora.”

“It's just Adora. And more people ‘worshipping’ me is the last thing I want.”

“And as to why many of my brothers hate me? Well, everyone has their own reasons. For many I will always be that authority figure, a High-General, sending them off to their deaths. For others, like Manny here, good man that Manny, they believe my... ‘campaign’ here has led to your people hating them. I destroyed any chance of a peaceful coexistence. I am keen to agree with him.”

Adora didn't disagree, but there was more to it. She did not want to unpack all of it just yet so she chose to instead change the topic of conversation, “Hordak. The reason I wanted to meet with you... I have a job for you.”

“I imagined as much. However, it is usually the Queen who imparts assignments upon me and my brothers. Why this- breaking of routine?”

“Because this concerns the Queen. This ‘job’ isn't her idea, it's mine, in fact, it took a lot of convincing to get her onboard.”

“And the mission is?”

“A road trip, so to speak.”

Hordak quirked his brow. “Ooooh-kay.”

“There is an Intergalactic Conference in the Summit solar system, few galaxies away. Glimmer needs to attend in the next few days. It's quite possibly the most important event in Etheria’s history.”

“And what does the conference pertain to? If I may ask?”

“Securing Etheria’s status in the universe. Glimmy wants to appeal to The Council of The Known Universe and have Etheria recognised as a developed-enough world to join The Council. Ever since Etheria had been freed from Despandos it has been at the mercy of the rest of the universe. As a magical mediaeval world, Etheria’s has been seen by the rest of the universe as ‘underdeveloped’ and ‘primitive’ and as ‘defenceless’. Becoming a part of The Council will grant us safety. Their technology advancements. Limitless food and medicine - access to planets they’ve constructed dedicated solely to agriculture and harvesting. Respect among other worlds. Protection from other tyrants across the cosmos like Prime. Make sure it never happens again. The Council of The Known Universe, turns out, was established to create a barricade against tyrant empires like Prime and The Galactic Horde. Etheria needs protection like that, but there's a problem.”

Hordak placed a hand against his chin as he pondered on the matter, “The Primusians.”

“Yes. You've heard?”

“I have, through the ‘grapevine’ as you would call it; clones talk, or think (telepathically), especially here. V doesn't keep anything to himself. Primus pirates have been assaulting crafts around the system, many of them clones seeking home off-world. They've been quite active since our ‘stunt’ with the Minister of Armament and Defence. You're afraid they have their sights set on the Queen. Making transporting her a major risk.”

“Yeah, you got it. I knew you'd catch on.” Hordak shot her an inquisitive look as well as a bombastic side eye, “Anyway, the plan is to send a new unmanned decoy ship on the route to the conference. Pirates explode it, and hopefully they'll think the bodies got incinerated.”

“That's that then.” Hordak remarked satisfied.

“Yeah, except Glim still needs to make it to Summit. And that's where you, and your... team comes in. I hear you have a ship, don't know how, but you do. You'll escort Glim on the longer way around the Black Donut system and deliver her to the conference on time.”

“That will take days.”

“One week exactly. One way each. That's why I’m here now, the Queen’s orders.”

“It does not sound like the Queen would be thrilled about this idea. My brothers can be... a lot.”

“She isn't. But she knows it's the right thing to do.”

Hordak sighed. “Adora why would I-“

“Because you owe me.” She suddenly became incredibly serious, her glare at Hordak hardened, and Hordak fell silent. He really did. Freeing him from Prime’s influence. Dropping in a good word for him at his trial. He most likely wouldn't have been with Entrapta at all without her. He simply nodded in agreement. “And... because I love her.”

“And you would trust me to keep her safe?”

“The same way I'll keep Entrapta safe while you're gone... So? Deal?”

-        - -

Day One (of Seven)

“No. No deal.” Glimmer remarked defeated. “This is a bad- ugh- I don't like this plan, just stating that for the record.” The Queen of BrightMoon spoke to the holo-pad, arguing with the screen. On the other side of the screen was a smiling but slightly scared Adora. Glimmer marched through the corridors of Castle Dryl, the never-ending labyrinth, that Glimmer was 80% sure was constantly shifting, trying to confuse her. It didn't help that she was constantly going down, deeper into the mountain. Entrapta was the master of traps after all. But Glimmer continued on her path anyhow. She had a map display hovering over the holo-pad that clearly outlined where to go. And surely this wasn't a trap, a planned scheme to assassinate her, right?

“I know what you're thinking; It's not a trap.”

“I- wasn't thinking... that.” She squinted at the map overhead, “I swear the corridors are moving, how is that even possible. It also doesn’t fill me with confidence that Entrapta called this, ‘The Basement’.” The monarch wore her traditional purple outfit, glittering cape, golden accents around the belt, shoulder pauldron, and of course her royal tiara. Her stern look faded away and a sadness took its place. “Why couldn't you’ve come with me?”

“~Oh, StarLight, I'm sorry. I want to always be at your side, and I would be if I could. But the strange signals emanating from the Crystal Castle, it could mean LightHope’s back. And if LightHope is back, which her is she? And why would she be transmitting off-world?”

“So you'll be on the other side of the universe.”

“As soon as I'm done I'll B-line it to you. Just- just wait for me. You're in good hands until then.”

“...I wish I could hold you, I miss you already.” Glimmer's words brought a warm smile to the She-Ra’s face. Adora turned away, avoiding eye contact, a blush rising across her face.

“I miss you too. But please, trust me, it'll be okay.” Adora turned to look at something out of the holo-pad’s view, she sighed, “I have to go. I love you. See you in a week.”

And the transmission terminated.

Glimmer sighed. Already missing Adora’s voice. She believed she was approaching her destination, a large mechanical door stood before her. The GPS on her holo-pad indicated that she had reached ‘The Hangar’. “Okay.” She accepted the journey ahead with one word. Glimmer swiped the touchscreen on her whole pad, the bypass code got transmitted to the control panel at the doors ahead. The green light indicated the door unlocking. And the metal doors slid upward with a hiss. A light spilled into the corridor, so much so Glimmer had to shield her eyes with her hand. She took a step inside and almost tripped over immediately. She looked back to see what it was, and noticed that the floor was littered with a variety of… strange and seemingly unrelated things; Pipes, cables, and various other pieces of machinery, she guessed. There were also art supplies; Paint buckets, brushes, canvases, and spray cans. As she turned around to face forward once again she ducked immediately as she was almost closelined by a low hanging clothing line, various photographs hung up along it. Various landscapes from the brief glimpse that Glimmer caught of it.

“Look out.” A familiar voice called out, but it came from an unfamiliar character. Glimmer followed the voice to match it to the clone face. The man wasn’t even looking at her, which meant she must have yelped quite loudly at some point. She re-composed herself and made her way to the clone, the closer she got, the more details revealed themselves to her. The man was, in fact, a clone, he had the same voice and Hordak’s face, but that was almost where the similarities ended. The tuft of hair on top of his head was dyed in a patchwork of every colour, it was quite strange seeing all that colour on a clone. But the most defining characteristic was the fact that he was wheelchair bound due to his two missing legs, amputated just above the knees. The defect was sat in front of a sizable canvas, a paintbrush in hand and in the middle of creating a new painting. The painting was, no doubt about it, gorgeous. It depicted Doormat, at the foot of Mount Dryl. The light that had blinded Glimmer earlier when she entered had come from the massive open hangar bay doors letting the daylight in. She assumed that was where he got the photos and references from.

“It's beautiful.” She remarked.

“What? This? Thank you, but no, it's just a warm up, and it's hideous. I think I might be having an off day. See that tree?” The clone pointed to a perfectly fine tree on the painting.

“Right.” She should have probably introduced herself, “I'm-“

“Cargo.” He finished.

“Not how I'd like to put it. But yeah, I- uh- I’m Glimmer.”

“I know. You’re the Queen. You send me and my brothers on suicide missions.”

“Yeah... uhmm, yes, soooorry about that, and you are?”

“Moe.”

“Moe. I'll- I'll remember that. Is Hordak here?”

“He's with Entrapta, doing… whatever mad-scientists do. Making time travelling microwaves that send your meal forward in time to when it's already done?”

“Heh, it's Entrapta, it wouldn't surprise me. She can do anything she sets her mind to.”

The joke seemed to resonate with the artist, he smiled, “We're taking off soon, Dak’ll be down in a bit, feel free to get set up on the ship, try getting used to it, the trip’ll be a few days long.”

“Thanks.”

Glimmer turned to the ship in question, The Annihilation it was called. It was a Horde troop carrier dropship repurposed as a mobile home to The Defects as they recently began calling themselves. Looks like they were really owning it. The dropship had a new paint job, no doubt thanks to Moe, an angry face painted over the cockpit, angry eyes and a row of sharp teeth. And a mural on the side of the hull, abstract, but unfinished, she presumed. The ship had Christmas lights hung up all along it, a TV satellite dish on top, and a footpath leading to the lowered ramp into the loading bay. The Annihilation was surrounded by a white picket fence, turf of fake grass, a small cheap fountain (kinda ugly, with a gnome spitting out water at the centre). And a mailbox at the front, not that anyone ever sent in any mail, it was all very cute however.

The Queen of Light made her way into the loading bay, up the ramp, and quickly realised it was... A living room? A TV, a couch, and a carpet. All bolted down so it wouldn't fly out presumably. She was surprised at the mundanity of it all, she was expecting something far more alien or militaristic. While her head was in the clouds she tripped yet again. She growled at her own clumsiness, “What? Do I have two left feet today? What now?” She looked down at what had tripped her up and she almost jumped out of her skin. It was a man, slumped over, on the ground, leaning against a wall, a cable lodged into the back of his head. He was silent, he wasn't moving. Glimmer’s thoughts raced madly; He's dead. They killed someone and stuffed him into their ship. She was looking at a corpse right now!

Then a voice came from above, “Heh, you know that happened to me once.” She looked up to see a skinny man hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat, he smiled with his bright red fangs, “Mortar shell. Blew me into pieces. Turns out I grabbed someone else’s leg! HA!”

“...Wh- What?”

“Two left feet! We all match so the joints just pop in! Customizable action figures, batteries sold separately.” V cackled to himself as he descended from the ceiling and landed before the monarch. Glimmer wasn't sure how to respond, or what she was looking at, some sort of birdman? She was at a loss for words, since her mind was still on the potential corpse at her feet. “V.” He indicated himself with his hand.

“Is this a dead body?!” She pointed to the clone on the floor in panic and anguish. V craned his neck to look past the Queen. V waved it off matter of factly.

“Eh, don't worry about Drag. Kid’s just taking a nap.”

“So I shouldn't be worried?”

“Oh, well, no, you definitely should. ‘Nap’ so to speak. The truth is far more horrifying. You see little Drag is in a state of constant rapid brain degradation the curjigger he's hooked up to continuously recreates his brain through... woff nanobots? I don't know, Dak’s the one who does machines. The boy fainted not long ago, so he'll be out for a good while.”

“How long is he usually out for?” She still asked panicked.

“Uh, I don't know, varies, sometimes hours, sometimes days, whatever the story needs really. I'm sure he'll be back by the third act.”

“... What are you talking about?”

“I don't know. Anyways, make yourself at home, but not too much, the chaotic mess is on purpose.”

“The ‘I know where everything is’ type of organisation system?”

“What? No, I don't know where anything is, it's just to annoy Hordak. Sometimes I dump buckets of mud and dust inside just to see how furrowed his brows can get. Ha! He gets so angry.”

Glimmer just now noticed that V had patted the couch as he made his ‘make yourself at home’ statement. “Wait, I'm… sleeping on the couch?” She remarked in disbelief.

“Weeell, yeah, what did you expect?”

“A room?!”

“Ahhh... No. Heh. No.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Hey, it's not that bad, this is the best spot on Anni! You got a perfect view of the TV (which has channels from the next three galaxies). A few itchy blankets and who knows what wonders hide between the couch cushions; Just today I found Drag’s goldfish’s food... Oh shoot, I knew I forgot something.” He tapped his chin.

“I'm in Hel. I died, and now I'm in Hel.”

“HA! Not yet. But The End is coming. Soon!” V waltzed away saluting her away as he ventured off to check up on his younger brother’s fish.

“Wait! Can't I have Drag’s room? Or is his room the corridor?” She asked sarcastically.

“Sorry, Candy Floss, he ain't interchangeable. You’ll just have to deal with it.” The doors to Drag’s bedroom closed and he was out of earshot.

“...Great. Perfect. Great idea, Adora. Thanks, hun.”

-        - -

“I wish you could stay.” Entrapta sadly remarked.

Hordak took a moment to reply, he looked away and down, “... As do I, Beloved.”

It was another day, another mission and once again the universe had decided to tear them apart as it often did. It was especially bittersweet and tragic as the couple had plans for today, family picnic, so to speak. Entrapta sighed as she soldered the motherboard in front of her, their mask down and covering her face, “I was really looking forward to working on the power couplings for the hyper light telescope. I bet we can see the Lynks system from here! I heard rumours that they've managed to construct an entire artificial star! It powers their two nearest colonies!... I- I can wait for you... And we could do it together when you get back, how long can the escort be? Two?- Three days?” She tried to keep up a genuine smile.

“We estimate a week to the Summit system, and one week to return.” Hordak hid most of himself under his cape like a weighted blanket, “I know how much you love star gazing, you shouldn't have to wait for me. You should enjoy yourself without me.” He reached out for Entrapta’s hand. Entrapta let go of the soldering iron, and accepted the taloned hand of her partner. The Ex-Lord of the Horde softly massaged her hand, his thumb moving in circles.

She gently squeezed Hordak’s hand in return, “But I'd love for you to be with me. Us, together, you know?” She snuggled into Hordak’s chest, leaning her head against him. Dak held her hand and placing his other hand against Entrapta’s back, a gentle touch, “That's the life I wanted for us.” She murmured lowly, almost a purr.

“I know.” Hordak spoke solemnly.

“...It feels like we're apart every day now. I thought things would get better… and here you go again.”

“I know. But this request- it came from-“

“Adora, I know.” Entrapta lifted her mask, revealing a small smile, “That's the only thing I like about this.” That made Hordak raise one of his brows, “You, opening up to her, it's cute. She's a good girl. I'm glad you're making new friends.” She patted Hordak’s chest.

“Well, I wouldn't go that far-“

“Hordak.”

“Ah!” Hordak jumped, scared by the voice inside his head. The clone turned around to find Lee, another one of his brothers, just standing there – Menacingly. “Lee! How did you- ? Where? Why?!”

“We have a problem.”

*Italics indicate telepathy – Toffee*

“What?”

“The Queen is currently in our home.”

“Yes, she is the cargo.”

“…Why was I not informed of this?”

“Because you wouldn't have liked it.”

“We are transporting (possibly) the most powerful woman in the universe - that is going to turn heads, and paint a target on our backs. Are we not meant to be secret task force?”

“That is why we and the She-Ra are the only individuals aware of this mission. And, were you not the one who urged me to establish a more trusting relationship with the rulers of this world? Do you not think that a favour such as this would aid in improving relations between clones and natives?” Lee pondered on it, he nodded. He would have grunted if he could, unfortunately for Lee, his entire lower jaw was missing. By far his most noticeable and unique feature.

“...Sooo? Are we-? Is this-? Are we done? I'm just getting half of the conversation here, just so you know.” Entrapta poked in.

Suddenly V also appeared out of nowhere behind Hordak, “Hey we have a problem.”

“Gahhh! Where did you?! How- What?! Ugh. Yes, we know; the Queen.” Hordak face palmed.

“What? No. It's Drag’s goldfish, it's dead.”

“What? I thought you were feeding it.”

“I thought Lee was feeding it.”

“Well, I thought Moe was feeding it.”

Hordak sighed, face in his hands, “Fine, we'll figure it out on the road, just go, get out of here.”

Lee just looked at him, and turned away, “I'll be on the ship. I'm assuming all the relevant mission information is on board?” Hordak nodded. “Then I will be there, studying.” And the clone disappeared as soon as he appeared. V followed.

“He's scary good at that.” Entrapta remarked.

“Hmm.”

“I don't think he likes me.”

“They’ll come around...”

Both of them stood there for a moment, in silence. “So... you should probably get going.” Entrapta remarked sadly, not ready to let go again so quickly.

“Mmm.” Hordak looked around the lab, “Where is Imp? I wished to say goodbye to him before departing.”

“Probably hiding, lil rascal hates to see you go. He misses you you know.”

“I know…” A sadness washed over his face. 

“Look, I know you're at work, the last thing you need up there is me. But-”

“I would spend my entire life at your side! I love your voice. I adore your beautiful mind. And worship your heart for all the love you have offered me. You are not a hindrance!”

“Okay, okay, haha.” She looked down at the ground with a warm blush on her cheeks, “I know, I get it.”

“You think so little of yourself, I know how you are. And I do not appreciate it.” He landed a soft kiss on his partner's cheek. Which drew a chuckle from her.

“OK, OK, enough! You know I can't take compliments!” She exclaimed joyously as she smooshed his cheeks with her soft gloved hands.

“It is my duty as your lab partner to remind you of your worth, your beauty and your wonder, and that is just a scientific fact. Now, what- uh- what were you going to say before I rudely interrupted?”

From a large pouch on her utility belt Entrapta fished out a small Rubik’s cube-like object, which shifted in her palm and unfolded into a large two-handed holo-pad, and handed it over to Dak, “You know how I've been working on the intergalactic communications array?! So, I've been working on downsizing it and managed to incorporate it into a screened device - this holo-pad will allow us to stay in touch, even worlds apart. It’s only a prototype, of course, but it should work perfectly.”

What a loving gift. Entrapta always bestowed such wonderful presents, Perfuma proclaimed that it was her love-language. Hordak did not understand what that meant exactly, but his mind wondered, how could he further ‘communicate’ in this ‘language’? “Beloved, I- This is a most thoughtful gift, but... it is standard protocol to not take any contraband that could possibly link us to and could be traced back to Etheria in case the ship is breached... but, I suppose with the literal Queen of Etheria on board, that rule does not apply.” He smiled. Entrapta matched the smile.

“I will call you, when you're on your way, later today.” She raised on her tippy-toes and kissed her tall partner on the cheek, “Keep you company.”

“I would appreciate it.”

         Hordak and Entrapta lost themselves in each other's eyes as they often did, they wordlessly embraced in a warm hug. Their foreheads found each other, eyes closed, they allowed themselves to smile just a little.

         “I love you.”

         “I love you, more.”

         “Scientifically impossible, I love you far more.”

         “No, I love you more!” They giggled softly to each other.

-        - -

Glimmer had unpacked, to the best of her abilities, that is to say she was pecking at one of her packed lunch sandwiches and marked the couch as her territory by placing her luggage all over it. The Queen was now just sitting on the couch, slouched. This was going to be a long trip, she could tell. So she tried to distract herself by glueing herself to the TV. Unfortunately, the channel she was watching was broadcasting from an alien system with a language she did not understand. She could infer from the tone of the voice and the acting what was going on. It was some sort of telenovela, ooorr a reality TV show? No, Glimmer had no idea where the remote was. So that was it, her life for the next week. Hopefully Adora and the rest of the Princesses would take her on the way back after the conference.

         “Oh, nice, that's a good episode.”

         “What?” She turned back to see V standing behind her like a dad at a BBQ over a grill, a coffee mug in hand.

         “Sapphire Lakes. Great show. A handful of wealthy women who pretend to be friends are locked up in a small lake house for a week where they scream, lie and backstab each other for a cash prize. It's truly peak television. Tiffany's just confronting Jade about cheating with Keith.” He pointed gleefully at the screen.

         “How do you know all this? It's not even in Etherian?”

         V taped the side of his head, presumably where his ears would be, wait, did he even have ears? “Air-Vibration Translators. Convert any nearby language to clone speak.”

         “Huh.”

         “Your majesty.” Glimmer’s eyes followed the voice to the clone entering the drop ship, it was Hordak. Long black cape covering his body and draping behind him on the floor. His battle armour underneath, no longer bearing the symbol of the Horde, but rather the symbol of Dryl, purple gear with a star at its centre. Proud property of his wife. 

         “Hordak, finally. I wanted to speak with you.” Glimmer spoke up.

         “Lee here?” Dak turned to V.

         “Yeah, he’s in.” V replied, still glued to the TV screen.

         “What? I didn't see anyone enter.” Glim remarked confused.

         “Yeah, that's Lee. If he wants to, you won't see him all week.” V shrugged.

         “One can only hope.” She murmured.

         “I see you've already gotten acquainted with the crew. Uh- Make yourself at home, I suppose. We depart soon.”

         “Uh- Thanks...”

         “...”

         “...”

         “...Soooo, How- uh- how are you?...”

         “Yeah, I'm- I'm good- I'm alright... How... Are you?”

         “Good. Good...

         “... Yeah.”

         “... Alright, let's go.” He awkwardly turned around and departed to the ship's cockpit.

         V stopped on the way, “Hey, Daky, beloved brother of mine, my favourite person in the whole wide cosmos.”

         “What do you want?” Hordak sounded tired already.

         “Can I drive?”

         “No.”

         “I'm a pilot! I was a pilot back in the day! I'm good at flying. I'm a pilot... Can I-?”

         “You are not touching my ship.”

         “But you let Entrapta work on the ship!?”

         “That, dear brother, is because she's competent.”

         Glimmer huffed as she leaned against the couch cushions, “This is going to be a long week.” She returned to her slouching.

         Hordak marched up the small steps that led to the cockpit which was a narrow space; and sat one on the front seat, the pilot seat from which one would steer the ship via the steering wheel and the numerous unlabelled buttons covering the control panels on either side of the wheel, some blinking, some not. (How Hordak knew to press what, was beyond this trans-fourth-dimensional narrator.) V attempted to flick a switch, but his hand was slapped away by Dak, who didn't even take his eyes off the panel. V frowned like a toddler that was denied cookies from their mom, and he fell down onto the back seat of the cockpit, the navigator seat. The navigator would advise routes throughout space and monitor the status of the ship.

         A finger taped Glimmer on the shoulder, she turned to see Moe, now on board, “Can I take some of these?” He asked, pointing to the pillows on the couch.

         “Uh, yeah, sure.” She handed the clone the pillows, and watched him make his way to Drag. Moe climbed down from his wheelchair and gently moved his brother to lean forward, still unconscious, and placed a pillow behind his head. He wanted to lift his younger brother and place another pillow under him, but Moe, being a defect, was unable to lift his weight. So, he was surprised when Drag did lift up. He looked up surprised to see that Glimmer had lifted the comatose clone up by the underarms. Moe was pleasantly shocked for a moment, but continued and placed a pillow for Drag to sit on and one to lean against. Glimmer lowered him, and helped Moe up onto his wheelchair. And pushed his wheelchair to the couch.

         “Thanks- Bay doors.” He pointed to a big red button with a lock image on it. Glimmer pressed it, and the ship’s ramp receded in and the heavy shutter doors sealed them in, and would seal the void of space out. “Thanks.”

         “No problem.” They returned to the couch.

         “He's always sore when he wakes up.” He remarked worryingly. The gesture was cute, that little act of kindness surprised Glimmer.

         V’s voice echoed through the ship, “Non-clones and gentle-clones please take your seats as we're about to rocket ourselves into the void of space through a wall of fire surrounding the planet, so we're all probably going to die, so say your prayers to whatever deity you believe in, won't matter though because we live in a nightmare world where there truly is no god.” He announced cheerfully. A loud smack could be heard and an “Ouch.” from V.

         Hordak’s voice came through, “Ignore him.”

         “You’ll get used to that,” Moe spoke up, “That's like Dak’s catch phrase.”

         “Is your brother, the bird one, always like that?”

         “No, he's usually worse. He's on good behaviour since we have a guest over.”

         “Are we- going to experience some turbulence? No offence to your brother but anything he makes is usually held together by duct tape. Are we about to turn into a giant fireball? He loves big fiery explosions.” Glimmer asked concerned, recollecting about the Fright Zone.

         “HehHa! Yeah that sounds like Hordak, alright.” He wheeled himself over to a front corner of the ship which had a standing canvas, some small cabinets at the side supposedly housing some art supplies. There was also a small circular window at the corner framing the view of the outside. “The Annihilation has been through a lot, but you won't find a more reliable (and lucky) ship in The Holy Armada! You won't even feel the take off.”

         “How do you know?” Glimmer asked unconvinced.

         “Come take a look.” He just pointed to the window. Glimmer, confused, waltzed over to the window, her eyes widened in shock at what she saw. A blue surface, rippling and kicking up as the ship zoomed past; a river, then fields of trees, zipping by. They had already launched. Mount Dryl shrinking into the distance.

         They had launched from the side of the mountain, out of the hangar bay doors, cloaked by Entrapta’s holographic disguise field. Soon they surpassed the clouds, and pierced into the atmosphere. For a moment the window became coated in fire and flame. And then it passed, and now the Queen of Light stared out into an endless black void reaching out into infinity. Across the blackness were white speckles; stars, distant suns, sustaining worlds and civilizations all of their own, Etheria a distant speck to them all.

         Before they could leave Etheria behind there was one obstacle left; a barrier of warships guarding the planet from the upper atmosphere. An impenetrable wall of hull and fire power. The most powerful warships that side of the galaxy. After the Fall of Prime over a year ago the clones were freed from his control, left to aimlessly wander Etheria - for the first time in their lives without purpose. The clone population was stranded on Glimmer’s magical world, the Princess Alliance weren't about to just let their invaders take back their war machines and leave to who knows where, or worse, turn the weapons back against Etheria. So, at first the warships over Etheria were disabled. But over the following months, as Entrapta established communications with various systems, and rumours began to spill out. A sizeable number of them coming from the clone grapevine. The refugee clones slowly began to form pockets of community around Etheria. The Princess Alliance never stood against it, and even helped establish those pockets, BrightMoon was always involved in combating homelessness, a programme started by Glimmer’s mother, often allowing homeless citizens take shelter and live within the walls of BrightMoon castle.

         Within the clone settlements many managed to establish contact with the outside, smuggling becoming a major enterprise. Clones being the main item smuggled off world. Through Hordak various rumours reached her; Word of various larger neighbouring systems eyeing Etheria with watering mouths. Smaller less developed planets often fell prey to larger powers, Glimmer wasn't about to let that happen. And the answer was right under her nose. The clones knew how to operate the worships, of course they'd be supervised by BrightMoon knights, but to her pleasant surprise the clones dedicated themselves to their posts rather quickly and without much convincing or argument. They were desperate for a mission, for a purpose. And so, Glimmer gave them one; Protecting their new home.

Glimmer sighed, “I'm going to be honest I would’ve felt much better about this if the starships could escort us... No offence, uh…”

“Moe.”

“Moe.”

“Short for Mosquitor.”

“Oh.”

“I'm guessing the point of all of this is to stay unseen, and not to attract much unwanted attention.”

“It is. Heh, not to mention the reason why we're going to The Council of the Known Universe is to make allies, it’d be hard to do that if we just pulled up with a starship overhead. Don't want to prove the threats and fear mongering rumours correct.”

“Didn't you just reason your way out of the predicament?”

“I suppose I did.”

“Also, those aren't starships, heh, you haven't seen a Starship yet. Warships of The Holy Armada are impressive, no doubt about it. But starships are unfathomably enormous. Giant rings, large enough to surround an entire sun, draw power from it, often acting as a shipyard constructing warships for the Prime’s endless conquest. They’re pretty, in a horrifying kind of way.”

Glimmer couldn't even imagine something of that scale. Things like that often made Glimmer put things into perspective of how small and secluded Etheria was. How little she was in the vastness of the cosmos. It frightened her, but she chose not to think about it. But unbeknownst to the Queen that phobia had led her actions subconsciously. Many people are guided by fear, even kings and Queens, whether they know it or not. Glimmer, whether right or wrong, was stepping along the path of fear.

Glimmer’s eyes scoured the dark space and managed to spot a small brush of green among the canvas of black, the only spot of colour in space. “Huh.”

Moe took note of the response, “What? The Velvet Glove? Huh, looks different than when I last saw it, greener!”

“Yeah, that might have been my and my friends’ doing. My… friend, Adora, kinda,” Glimmer scratched the back of her head, “Turned the ship into a giant tree.”

“With many of our brothers still within.”

“Yeah, sorry about thaaAAHHH!” The Queen of Light embarrassingly shrieked as she noticed a third figure standing behind them silently. A man missing his lower jaw. He narrowed his blood red eyes, their wrinkles around his eyes more visible. Glimmer covered her mouth like an old Victorian maiden. “Sorry. My bad. Sorry. Hehe.” Lee seemed unamused. The old clone’s pupils lit up and he turned to Moe. Moe turned back to face him, his pupils lit up too. The two stared at each other without a single word spoken for a moment or two. Glimmer’s eyes shifted between the two. Are they buffering? What's going on?

Moe returned his gaze to the Queen, “He– ugh, welcomes you on board and wishes you a pleasant stay. And is honoured to be in the presence of royalty, especially one of whom allows us to stay on your world.”

Lee signed with his hands, clearly some sort of sign language, Glimmer managed to make out some of it, but not enough to further the conversation, “I'm sorry I don't know sign language, I- I should but I don't.” She remarked sadly.

Moe translated for his brother, “He just wants to discuss with you- uh- some matters.” He sounded a little awkward and nervous. Lee gave him an angry look for not translating fully. Moe just shrugged.

Outside across the depthless night a streak of light zipped across their view, Hordak spotted it, and moved to tail the craft. It was the decoy ship. As a mediaeval planet-locked civilization BrightMoon had no spaceships with which to cross galaxies. Which was why Adora got Entrapta to step in, and she was all too overjoyed about it. Being the genius she was, Entrapta fished out a crashed Horde ship fixed it up and customised it, now sporting the colour scheme of BrightMoon; purple, pink, and gold, even a painted mural of Glimmer on the hull. You couldn't get more overt than that, if this bait wouldn't work, Entrapta didn't know what would.

That was a lovely day, Entrapta and Hordak made a whole day of it, a date, that was what normal couples did so they thought they'd try it out too. And it was wonderful. Just them working together, bouncing ideas off of each other, problem solving, like two lobes of the same brain working in tandem. It was like a dream. Hordak would cherish this memory for years to come.

Hordak pulled up behind the decoy ship. With a single press of a button the clearance codes were transmitted from The Annihilation to the warships. Then; quiet. This moment was always horrifying. The silence. The wait. Hordak and the rest of the crew knew the codes were correct, Glimmer approved them herself, but each time Hordak’s mind briefly flashed to the thought of; What if the codes were wrong? If the warships would open fire, they would be dead in seconds - if not instantaneously vaporised by the battery lasers then they would freeze in the void of space. Seconds ticked away. They waited for the go-ahead; Hordak tense, V, behind him, completely relaxed and indifferent - the fear of death had left the old clone long ago, and then...

A green light lit up on the control panel. And the barricade of warships began to part like the Red Sea. And the tightness in Hordak’s chest disappeared and he released a sigh of relief. The two ships bypassed the armada wall and soon after separated, Glimmer watched the bait craft shrink into a dot out of the window and disappear. Soon the armada faded from visibility as well, and they were off on their voyage, no turning back now. Nothing but an endless stretch of darkness.

“Well, I guess there's no going back now.” She stepped up to the cockpit and looked on at the eternal night ahead.

V put his feet up on the pilot chair ahead, annoying Hordak, “Why so gloomy your highness. They should call you Gloomer. We’re here to have a good time! You know this is a road trip, and you know what that means!”

Dak: “No.”

Moe: “Oh Prime.”

Lee just turned around and left to his room.

V opened a compartment in the chair he was sitting on and pulled out a CD, and practically crawled over Hordak to get to the front control panel and slid the disc into a rectangular device. Glimmer believed it was called a CD player. And so music began to play from it. A country song come on not that our protagonists knew what that was exactly. The song began:

‘Life is like a road that you travel on,

When there is one day here and then the next day gone,

Sometimes you bend, sometimes you stand,

Sometimes you turn your back to the wind’

Hordak face palmed, unable to escape the sound of the song, trapped in the pilot's seat. He had clearly heard this song a thousand times before. “I can't believe this.”

‘There is a world outside every darkened door,

Where the blues will not haunt you anymore,

Where brave are free and lovers soar,

Come ride with me to the distant shore’

Glimmer bowed her head down and sighed, “This is my life now... for the next week... No going back.” She echoed the words to herself once more. She turned and waltzed back to the couch defeated.

‘We won't hesitate, to break down the garden gate,

There's not much time left today, yeah –

THE DEFECTS, FEATURING QUEEN GLIMMER OF ETHERIA, STARRING IN:

‘L I F E   I S   A   H I G H W A Y  !’

‘And I want to ride it all night long.’

End of Act One (of Three)

___

Next Time on LIAH

"I've been checking our food cabinets, some thing's eating our supplies, some thing's here with us."

Dun. Dun. DUN!

---

"Don't be mad!"

"What did you do?!"

"I said don't be mad!!!"

---

"Is that a shotgun?!?!"

---

"Fifty Romulaks?! Where are we crossing over to Terabithia?!!"

---

"Keith... I'm pregnant."

"I knew it."

To Be Continued

#entrapdak #glimmadora #hordak #glimmer #entrapta #adora #spop #shera #she ra #spopbang #spop big bang

[purple-babygirl]

fallen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x guardian angel!f!reader

Word count: 1,395

Summary: Steve thought Bucky falling out of that freight train was partially his fault. What if there was another unseen side to the story?

Warnings: angst, crying, mentions of violence including being captured by the war enemy, torture, blood, angel wings snapping, imprisonment, cryo freezing, suffering and nightmares.

A/N: i don't know what i'm doing. I'm sad. i don't even know how I'm gonna continue this story. i have nothing prepared for it. again, I'm just sad. i love you tho.

~

Guardian angels, beings as old as time. They exist and protect without getting bored or fed up. They are there even if people have created too many wars until they have stopped believing in them and in gods altogether.

She was the same, and although she wouldn’t know, she was a piece of art. Lilac hair and eyes, skin softer than silk and a voice so sweet it could melt mountains.

She had no name or age. She had a number. Angel number 11 was who she was. She had no family or friends.

But she had a human.

He was assigned to her and she was made for him. Her only purpose as a creature of the light was to look out for him and keep him safe.

What she wasn’t supposed to do though, was fall in love with him.

Unlike her, he had a name. He was James Buchanan Barnes. This handsome, brave, young man who got enlisted and was about to go fight for his country. He was so kind, so charming and so so far away.

She was very worried, her angelic heart only ever knowing these feelings for him, yet confident in her powers. She would never let anything bad happen to James, or Bucky as he liked to be called.

War or not, she had his back. He could walk through fire and she would get him out of there unharmed.

A

Sadly, all of her planning was burnt to ashes when her ‘superiors’ found out about her latent feelings for the human she was assigned to guard since birth.

It has never happened before. Or at least that was what they had said.

It was all the same with each and every one of them. They get assigned to a baby human, be it male or female, they look after the human all their life until they no longer have one and then they move on to another human.

No angel has ever broken the rules, let alone to this extent.

Why did she think she was going to get away with this? Why did she think she was any different? Who did she think she was trying to carelessly cross the clear boundaries?

The night they were sure she had those forbidden feelings for a lesser being, she was chained and temporarily deprived of her powers, and Bucky was captured by the enemy.

They left her alone to wallow in the dark and cry in worry about her beloved, wishing she was strong enough to get out of her shackles and go be with him in this time of war; in his time of need.

When they kept her there for days to give her a chance to have a ‘change of heart’, Bucky was experimented on and tortured by Hydra.

And when she begged, swearing on all things holy that she was past her silly feelings for him and was ready to go back to serving her part and her part alone, Steve had found Bucky and brought him back with him.

She saw the bruises on his face, the dried blood down his ears and she cried and cried until her eyes were out of diamonds.

She blamed herself for being sloppy with her feelings. She had to be careful if she wanted to stay by Bucky’s side. She had to step on her heart and suppress her emotions if she wanted to keep protecting the man she was in love with.

The way she was unknowingly being monitored, however, ruined everything for her and ended her life as she once knew it forever.

Bucky was being the good friend that he was, going with Steve to fight again, looking more courageous and more handsome than any human ever has.

She was so proud of him and her smile wasn’t missable.

They noticed the focus on her face as she made sure the rope Bucky used to descend on the back of the train held up. They noticed her angel heart and how its beats accelerated with every bullet she dodged for him.

They noticed and they had to stop it.

“You lied,” they said, coming prepared with stronger chains to lock her in.

“He needs me. Please let me be with him,” she begged instead of  finding a way to defend herself.

They didn’t care, hands already on her wings and others on her neck.

“It’s over. He’s on his own from now on and it’s your fault.”

They were punishing Bucky for her mistake. He was going to get hurt and it was all because of her stupidity.

“Please, no!”

They didn’t hear her pleas or her cries, or pity her heart-wrenching screams as they snapped both of her wings off her back at once.

The second she fell to her knees, bloodied and broken, Bucky fell off the train, her last sight of him being him trying to reach for Steve’s hand and failing.

“You’re gonna be in there for at least 80 years, better try to forget because when you’re out, he might be gone.” They advised with little sympathy as they threw her inside the dark cave-like cell.

If this was heaven, what was hell supposed to be like? She can’t be feeling her heart get crushed over and over like that in the one place that was supposed to be void of such bitter feelings, could she?

She cried and cried, day and night. The bright lilac of her pupils turning dim and dull.

Has she just caused Bucky’s death? Did she just kill the one man she was created to protect? The one man that had gotten her heart to beat?

Screaming until she couldn’t breathe, she mourned the man she has known and loved all her life.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not her wings or her imprisonment. Nothing made sense without Bucky. Her life didn’t make sense without Bucky’s.

They let him die. They let her watch him die. Her heart ached with the memory for nights on end even though she could still feel their bond as if Bucky was still there. It was weaker, but it was present.

She became quieter as the years passed, no longer singing or screaming or even talking. The heavens didn’t miss her though, but James sure did. They had too many of her kind, but James only had her. Such thoughts would attack her every night year after year until she would cry herself to exhaustion every night, eventually losing sense of time.

20 years later, she started having nightmares. Terrible, horrendous dreams of her long-missed beloved hurting others.

Her once gentlemanly, well-mannered, kind man was now ending lives in cold blood in her nightmares.

James looked different. His hair was longer, his face grimmer, his eyes darker and his left arm shinier. His warm gaze was replaced by a dead one she never knew.

Had she not known him with her heart before her eyes, she might have not recognized him.

She knew it was her James. She could feel him. She could never forget him even if she wanted to.

Their bond felt strained, weighed down and suffocated. She had no idea what that meant. She thought she was turning crazy, her mind conjuring up an evil version of James to make her fear him or hatr him or leave her memories of him behind for good.

But she would never. Let her turn crazy, she was still going to be in love with James until her last breath no matter what.

Another 50 years and her nightmares have been recurring visions that she was used to, and even waited for.

Any glimpse of James was welcome even if he was acting nothing like the James she had known and loved.

The hardest visions where the ones where she saw him get hurt, his pained screams pulling her heart out and shattering it.

It all felt so real and that made her hate it all more.

It took her a while but she eventually figured out that James was still alive. She didn’t understand how he didn’t age until the cryo-chamber visions came on. Her heart ached for him, bled and sobbed inside her chest for the man who was suffering because she couldn’t be there to protect him; because she let both herself and him fall.

~

Tag list:

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#guardian angel!reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x guardian angel!reader #bucky x guardian angel!reader #guardian angel!reader x bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female yn #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #guardian angel #fallen angel #purple writes

[chronicbeans]

hello hello! I'm a little embarrassed to ask but could you please request a jealous (even somewhat possessive) Wally Darling x villain reader? the reader is the villain of the show although in reality they are just a goofy thing that likes to create chaos and trouble, and they usually show up at Wally's art sessions to ruin them or "kidnap" Wally for his friends to go look for him (when the reader does that it's just chatting about any subject with the reader wandering off, those days where the reader takes Wally made them close with Wally seeing that the reader is really someone kind and caring or something) but to the confusion of Wally, the reader has not appeared for weeks and when trying to look for him, he finds that the reader began to focus on someone else, taking away all the attention that was supposed to be for Wally (because he is the "star" the reader is supposed to just focus on him) I ran out of ideas and sorry it's so confusing! (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) (also if you write it, could you add that Wally calls reader "his" villain?) (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) I'm so nervous about doing this

That sounds like a pretty cool dynamic! Okay, I'll give it a shot!

Wally Darling with a Villain Reader:

TW: Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping

🍎 You are such a... sour person. Wally doesn't want to say "evil" person, just sour. Your actions tend to leave a sour taste in everyone's mouth, so that is what you are. However, Wally is slowly finding that he LOVES sour things.

🍎 It first started with you destroying his paintings. He would work so hard, sketching the painting, mixing the paints together, then lovingly brushing it all onto the canvas, just to have you ruin it. Splattering black paint all over it, breaking the canvas, or even just insulting him and making him feel bad about it, causing him not to share it with his friends. Mean bully. Villain.

🍎 So when you one day show up at his painting session, he is prepared for whatever you have in store for him. At least, he thought, because he wasn't prepared for you grabbing him by his cardigan and dragging him deep into the woods. He's terrified! What are you going to do to him? You treat his paintings so harshly, who knows what you are going to do to him?

🍎 After having such a huge shock, he gets yet another one once you sit him down by a waterfall and whisper "Shh... it is alright! I just want to talk. I'm sorry." His eyes widen, before he tilts his head "What?" You chuckle, once again shocking him as you say "Your paintings... I am just jealous. You are good at art. It makes me jealous. I'm still going to ruin them, though. Your expressions are funny! I do everything for the funnies!"

🍎 You keep shocking him with what you do! It is weird how it makes him feel. The neighborhood has been a peaceful place up until you showed up. It's like you ruined everything, but in a good way for Wally. The way it makes him feel so lightheaded and exhilarated whenever you show up is weird. You are so, so mean, even if you don't mean to be, so why does he like it when you act that way towards him? Is it the attention? Maybe...

🍎 He quickly begins enjoying these conversations. Despite you being a bit mean or chaotic on the surface, he quickly realizes you have a lot of nuance. You have motivations, hopes, dreams... the villain in his story has a lot of love deep down, but doesn't know how to show it! He wants to teach you how to express it! He can teach you how to make art, too! Or how to write! As far as he is aware, no one in the neighborhood is an author, unless you count Sally's plays. But writing books! He doesn't think there is anyone. You can fit in that way!

🍎 He becomes desperate to have you give him more attention, even before you focus on someone else. He will paint more with the hope of having you barge in and destroy it. He will sit out in the open, pretending to sketch the scenery around him. In actuality, he is waiting with baited breath for you to whisk him away.

🍎 So, when it all suddenly stops... he is in a panic. He will go out in search of you, still pretending to draw the area around him. Then, he sees you tripping Eddie, the clumsy mailman. He quickly realizes what has happened. HIS villain thinks that they can just abandon him and become Eddie's villain! Wally is supposed to be the one you go after... Like a damsel in distress! That's his role, right? The star who has been captured, with his neighbors as his saviors, and you as his loveable villain! You think you can just change it up, huh? That won't do... Actually, maybe it will?

🍎 Maybe you just got bored of the dynamic you both had? It does get boring to kidnap a willing victim all the time. Wait, maybe YOU want to be kidnapped this time? Where would he take you, though? It would be cheating to just take you to the same place you take him. He does have this secret place in Home, which is the basement nobody knows about. It would be so fun watching everybody trying to find you!

🍎 So, one day, as you are on your way to trip Eddie again, you see Wally nearby. Normally, you would grin and wave to him, but he doesn't look... normal. His grin seems darker and his eyes seem to be hiding something from you. He quickly walks over to you, asking "Are you looking for Eddie? I think I saw him by Home." You shake off the uneasy emotions, simply excited to go play your prank for the one millionth time. Eddie always seems to forget, which makes it even more fun than your pranks on Wally. Maybe Wally seems to off because he is helping you in your chaos.

🍎As you skip over to Home, you barely notice how Wally seems to follow you. The only moment you realize that something is wrong is when it is too late. As you pass by the front door, Home opens it, and Wally quickly grabs you and drags you inside. The second you try to scream, he clamps a hand over your mouth as he says "No, no... Be quiet. It will ruin the game. The others have to find us, remember? I think I found a good hiding place for you, my little villain. It's a bit cold and dark, but I put out a few candles and some blankets and pillows for you!"

#welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling #wally darling x reader

[artofchira]

As someone else who's in the process of burning out just surviving, and has lost sight of why I enjoyed art in the first place, would you be willing to share some of the things you've tried to get back on your feet? Super glad that you're doing so much better, btw.

First: It's actually become a job for me to help artists reconnect to their art through my mentorship workshop with everything I have learned, and I consider myself very good at it. I've been doing it for about 4 years now. If you or any other artist would like direct help with recovering from burn out please check out the service page of my website and testimonials from previous clients.

To answer your question:

A lot of my own personal stabilization just came as a result of wanting the experience of making art to be comfortable. It wasn't a choice anymore. After my father passed I relaxed for about 3 months -- longest I went without drawing in my life since I started freelancing -- and when I sat back at my desk I just couldn't make myself work under the same pressure. I'd try to force myself to draw and it made me want to cry instead. I quickly learned I could only create if I felt comfortable and drawing felt gentle, so I had to accept moving forward if I wanted to continue being as productive as before I needed to find a way of working that eliminated stress or using will power, which means working in a way that was renovated from the ground up. I couldn't go back. How I was making art was over. I needed it to be repaired. I had no idea what that looked like, so it was truly trial and error.

A fact about me is I have a very high sensory/pain threshold naturally (I also recently learned I was autistic over the pandemic, imagine that has something to do with it) so I've always been historically bad at ignoring my physical limitations because I rarely felt them unless my body broke down on me, and when it did I treated myself with annoyance and forced myself to work through it. I'm talking like no sleeping for 3-4 days straight, or coming home after a kidney stone to finish a comic page still shaky on pain and morphine and then feeling bad at myself for being lazy. To say my old work habits were highly self abusive is an understatement. So when I started addressing everything that was an inconvenience and uncomfortable, it ended up correcting everything I was ignoring or failed to consider a problem until it was past due.

To cut a long story short, a list of material changes to my life that improved my health:

I got medicated, finally. I'm extremely bipolar. Always have been. Drawing between periods of oscillating between feeling divinely invincible vs ideating suicide every waking moment vastly became easier to manage.

I got glasses. I'm farsighted, but it was never a problem for me since I could see fine -- ooor so I thought. Turns out when you're farsighted you're focusing constantly without even realizing it. Turns out getting glasses gave me 80% of my mental space back so I suddenly had more energy, generally more awake, and more focused. No one talks about farsightedness so I had absolutely no idea I was burning myself out physically just being able to see. Worth mentioning!

Started seeing a massage therapist and a chiropractor regularly. I always thought of those things as luxuries, not necessities. Which was extremely stupid. Maintaining my physical body through directly working out kinks in it became something like brushing my teeth or showering -- it's just something you do to make sure health and hygiene isn't making you dysfunctional and rotting you. My body no longer breaks down.

For the same reasons as above, maintained seeing my therapist regularly even if I felt fine or had no issues to work out. I realized I was always quick to end support as soon as I felt I didn't need it anymore (again treating it as a luxury) so making the space in my life for mental/emotional check ins kept my head organized. My therapist is bewildered by me and has no idea what to do with me because she feels she's not doing anything. I just tell her by me making the space for me to explain myself at all, even if all I was doing was describing how I was fine, was the help. She's great.

Got a cappuccino machine. May seem stupid but being able to make gourmet coffees from my kitchen every morning really genuinely improved my life and mind more than getting medicated.

Got a dog. He's amazing. I love him. Very warm and loving companion, and such a gentle soul. He keeps me out of my head and gets me prioritizing walks every day, so my vitamin D intake increased massively. I don't have the luxury of staying in bed for 3 days straight in my depressive episodes anymore. I have to make the effort to leave it at least twice a day to walk and feed him and play with him. Like most people, I'm terrible at prioritizing for myself but will move worlds for those I love no matter where I'm at.

For personal habits I just reflected a lot on why I felt I had to will myself to draw when drawing is something I love doing most. It made no sense to resent doing what you devote yourself to doing. I changed -- and still changing -- my mental framing in how I think of working on art for it to be something I'm eager to do, not obligated to.

Hope this was educational.

#ask box answers #Personal

[anniflamma]

hi I actually love your ruthlessness animatic and its the reason I got into epic in the first place so id just like to ask how you design your characters?? your Poseidons design is really cool

Happy to know that my animatic introduced newcomers to EPIC! :D

So my process of designing a character always starts with trying to achieve a characterization that I want to highlight. From there, I gather references, references, and more references! I take inspiration from other media, arts, or photos. The way I came up with Poseidon is based on a headcanon of mine: that Poseidon is a representation of death and everything that Odysseus does not want to become, but ultimately, whether he realizes it or not, has already become.

The death motif is represented by the horse. It was inspired by, of course, the myth of Demeter and Poseidon, but it was also inspired by the novel "The Foretelling" by Alice Hoffman, where the main character is haunted by a black horse with red eyes. Not gonna spoil anything from it because it's genuinely a good book, but you can guess that the horse represents death. Then the idea of him having glowing eyes and teeth were inspired by all those creepy pictures from the Mandela Catalogue series, but I also saw pictures of horses showing their teeth, and that was scary enough for me to include.

So my first drawings of Poseidon were actually of his horse form. And I just loved the visual of a horse running on the waves!

When I started to create his human form, I had in mind to make him look like the horse and the human form were the same person. So at first, he had only black clothing, but I ended up changing it because I just knew that people would associate him more with Hades. So that's why he wears white instead.

I wanted to portray Poseidon as a father who has experienced pain and seeks revenge.

So he has tear streaks that show that he has recently been crying. His clothing is very loose and exposed, indicating that he didn't tend to himself before hunting Odysseus. He has black, silky hair due to his horse form having black, silky hair.

Something else that I also tend to do is not make an overly cluttered design. I'm not really into heavy detailing. I am much more keen on having details, but making them subtle and using shapes to tell a story.

And something that I really like about character design is to have characters designed to contrast with each other.

A good example is my designs of Hera and Zeus! Zeus is dressed in light clothing because he is the opposite of Hera, she is wearing heavy veiling. But I also really like to use shape languages. So Zeus has a large chest and the usage of clouds makes his upper body look big. So he will always look bigger than you. And Hera is the opposite again, her veil makes all the volume push down, and she looks small compared to Zeus, but she still takes up a lot of space with people beside her.

#asks #epic the musical #character design #poseidon #hera #zeus #long ish post