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#mist mention
st-hedge · 1 month
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I struggle with building on my sketch to get it looking good, scaling it + keeping a good perspective
(Sorry for the late response, and I hope this narrows it down more)
I’m not sure if this will help, but I tried my best to explain how I build up and scale up my thumbnails and sketches. I really struggle with building up stuff like foliage and grasses so I used that as an example
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1. I make a thumbnail with whatever brushes i want. The point is to make shapes I’m happy with
2. Next I usually grab the wedge tail brush from the procreate vintage tab. This brush is really chaotic in the shapes it makes AND it smudges if you draw at light pressure while also making colour variations by mixing with other colours on the canvas. For something like grass, I like to paint over the blocked in colour, erase, and paint again until I like the mess the brush made.
For foliage I stamp with the brush and erase any stray blobs
With a lot of new random shapes, I can start seeing where I want some grass, some leaves, and how the foliage of the trees will look. The mess and the chaos makes it easier to build the image
3. I then scale up the image SLIGHTLY. I use wedge tail again to doodle in some details but then I grab something like a pencil brush to start adding little details (grass blades, individual leaves, little branches) but I keep the detail focused where I want y’all to look. With the example, the focus is in the square
Everything outside that square matters less. It’s in ur peripheral so it can be left undone, ur mind will end up filling the gaps
Every time I add finer detail I scale up the image until it fits the canvas. Usually that means if there is a person in the painting I’ll leave them until I’m almost done with the painting
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ashturnedtomist · 9 months
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Every now and then, they are reminded of their partner’s mortality.
It’s usually something small, like a paper cut or a gray hair or another birthday passing.
Nothing to really think much about.
But every time, it reminds them that they have limited time with the person they love.
So Sam holds Darlin’ a little tighter.
Gavin kisses Freelancer a little harder.
And Avior lingers in bed with Starlight a little longer.
Human life is a fickle thing, and it’s over in an instant.
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mnemov · 3 months
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Here’s a dp brainrot I’ve been having
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I just really like fantasy aus
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sovaghoul · 3 months
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IF THE GHOULS HAD TO PICK HUMAN NAMES: A SHITPOST
Swiss: Christopher
Dew: Dusty
Aether: Seth
Rain: Ryan
Mountain: Monty
Phantom: Tommy
Cirrus: Cassie
Cumulus: Corryn
Mist: Margaret (NO nicknames)
Sunshine: Sunny
Aurora: (no change)
Ifrit: Frederick
Ivy: Ivan
Omega: Melvin
Zephyr: Zak 🤭
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variousqueerthings · 1 year
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there’s so many ways that queerness exists in texts, unintentionally and intentionally, coded and uncoded and partially coded and baited and confused and limited and expansive, and then there’s whatever is happening with Hawkeye Pierce, M.D. of the 4077th MASH unit
#hawkeye pierce#MASH#there is of course also the constant mist of gender/sexuality queering that hangs over the narrative because of its structure#its structure as comedy (often subject to whimsical departures from acceptable gender/sexualities)#its structure as anti-establishment and anti-conformity#its celebration of non-conformist personalities and lives and its redefinitions over and over of madness and mutual aid#its structure - of course - as found family#its structure as an island in a sea of militant and fascistic surrealism and answering the questions of:#well what does the alternative to that violence look like?#so the idea of intentionality/unintentionality sort of doesn't matter#because it's creating a manifesto/ethos of sorts that speaks the same language as queerness#and it's down to the DNAs of its structures#(not even mentioning the structures of echoing the realities of those making it -- ethnicities - romantic lives - cultures and religions -#friendships and political beliefs - family structures created on the set of the show itself)#but yes hawkeye pierce is depicted as fascinatingly overtly queer and comedy is (like horror... which....) an acceptable space#for him to be this#(which -- when the horror and tragedy takes more of a front seat his funny-man queerness is somewhat diminished#but a. still very much present b. given an air of drama that legitimises it further c. underpinned by seasons and seasons of existence#d. embedded in that self-same DNA of the structures -- he IS the main POV character#which means he's carrying so much of that idea of non-conformity/civilish disobedience as good and right/whimsy/gender-and-sexuality/etc#so you see... there's whatever is happening with hawkeye pierce M.D.
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fictionalfog · 3 months
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Every now and then I'll be texting my mum and she'll just randomly send me a photo or video of her cat that's not related to the conversation at all, and of course I adore that cat so I'm always like "!!! Babey!!!" and then we go back to the previous conversation.
And anyway this is exactly how I imagine MC interacts with Satan while they're in the human realm. Like they'll be texting about a book or something, MC will send him a picture of a cat, they'll take a break to talk about how cute the cat is, and then they just go back to talking about the book.
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midnight-moth · 4 months
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Ok I fell asleep for like an hour and woke up with massive Midwest emo ghouls au brainworm. Need to expel before sleep. There probably so many typos.
Mist - owner of local record shop. Makes all of the ladies who walk in the door feel like queens and makes condescending music bros shrivel.
Aurora - works at small cafe across the street. Amazing work ethic, short temper. Trying to find her place in the world as well as within a band that contains several very large personalities.
Mist comes in every day, wallet chain and massive key ring jangling in harmony with the brass bell hanging over the door. Orders a pour over every time, not because it tastes better. They really can’t tell the difference.
But because it takes longer. So they can admire Aurora’s deft hands stacking paper cups, refilling the sugar dispenser, smacking the side of the bean grinder to dislodge whatever’s stuck in there.
Aurora gives her a large. But she only charges her for a small. Slips her a cookie or a muffin cause it’s a funny shape, no one will buy it, it’s a day old (even though it tastes pretty damn fresh to Mist.)
Eventually she stops making excuses when she slides the brown paper bag across the counter, cause she’s too busy burying her blush when Mist reaches for it and grazes the top of her hand with their calloused finger tops, conditioned by steel core and round wire.
Aurora finds herself wanting to take a walk outside on her break. No longer content to put her headphones on and take a nap on top of a few sacks of coffee beans. Because Zeph frowns on that just a little.
She finds herself strolling past the window of the record shop, watching Mist prop up new releases against the window. At first they wave, but then y hey beckon.
The crisp chill in the air is a plausible excuse as to why the apples of Auroras cheeks are still so persistently red.
Mist asks if Aurora has a record player. And she does of course. “Have you listened to this?” Mist asks, plucking a record from beneath the counter.
Aurora hesitated, and admits, “No, I haven’t.” Aurora admonishes the fact that she hasn’t been in this world for very long at all and she’s a little bit intimidated by the seemingly vast and endless array for artists and genres.
“Take it for a spin. Let me know what you think.” Mist pushes the record across the gouged counter where various employees in the past 3 decades have carved their initials and perhaps some unsavory phrases.
“Oh, well, I don’t - we’ll - this is embarrassing. But I’m on sort of a tight budget.” The admission forms a hairline crack in her heart, and she isn’t sure why. Maybe Aurora simply does not want to refuse anything Mist has to offer.
“Don’t worry about that, you can bring it back later.” Sensing the hesitation in Aurora as her hand hovers over the record, they push it into her hand with a wink.
It’s so warm in there, Aurora can’t blame the chill and so she buried her face in her scarf and says “thanks, I’ve gotta get back. But, thank you. I’m so - I’ll - excited to listen.” She cringes inwardly and her feet stumble although not as much as her words as she heads for the exit.
She finished the rest of her shift, looking at her backpack with x-ray vision, as if she can see the record inside with Mist’s fingerprints all over it along with whatever she felt when she listened to it.
She kneels on the floor as in front of her stereo as soon as she gets home. Shoes and coat, scarf, lunch bag, all abandoned behind her like a trail of breadcrumbs.
GLORIA, G-L-O-R-I-A.
Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine
Meltin' in a pot of thieves
Wild card up my sleeve
Thick heart of stone
My sins my own
They belong to me, me
People say "beware!"
But I don't care
The words are just
Rules and regulations to me, me
She’s vaguely aware of the dull throb in her knees and despite how loud she has the music cranked she’s kneeling on the floor practically pressing her ear to the speaker.
Her voice is loud and infectious, the words are irreverent and rebellious. She’s already hooked. And she flips the vinyl over 4 times before the gnawing in her stomach forces her to trudge to the kitchen and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Normally a creature of habit, and a neat one at that, the plate doesn’t make it to the sink and the knife sticks to the counter, laden with jam, and there are crumbs on the floor. She doesn’t care.
She tries to go bed early because she has the opening shift. But that contralto voice is ringing in her mind and her feet are dancing under the covers.
She crawls to work and his through the motions, but she finds she’s less tired than expected. Still high on the energy of what she considers truly powerful. It’s like a talisman, no one can fuck with her today. She can’t help but occasionally run her fingers over the record, safely stowed under the counter to return to its owner.
When Mist arrives, they grins like a shark once they hears what’s playing over the shop’s speakers.
Counting the time, then you came to my room
And you whispered to me and we took the big plunge
And oh you were so good, oh, you were so fine
And I gotta tell the world that I make her mine, make her mine
Make her mine, make her mine, make her mine, make her mine
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
Aurora can’t even be bothered to feel shame as she shouts the newly memorized lyrics at the top of her lungs while preparing Mist’s pour over.
“So I guess you liked it?”
“You could say that.” Aurora is surprised that she can manage to say something remotely intelligible. She pulls the record out from under the register to slide back over the counter.
“No, keep it for now. But come by later. I think I have something else you’d like.”
Aurora is inclined to believe them. She takes the record back and in exchange slides over a brown craft paper bag. It feels heavier than usual.
When Mist dumps their belongings on the counter and flicks on the lights, they open it and sees it contains two cookies. And they are not deformed in the slightest.
Aurora comes in on her lunch, on a breeze that smells like roasted coffee and sandalwood. And she returns, with another record under her arm.
Zeph cannot find it within himself to chide her for being late. Nor will he for the days and weeks to come. When her 30 minute lunch break turns into 40 minutes. 45 minutes. 55 minutes.
Because an education in feminist proto-punk cannot be rushed. Nor can her deep dive into the riot grrl movement. Nor can love, Zeph knows that better than anyone.
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SUMMARY: A freak storm unleashes a species of bloodthirsty creatures on a small town, where a small band of citizens hole up in a supermarket and fight for their lives.
The mod loves this movie but begs you to watch it in black and white. It works so much better in black and white.
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stygianoaths · 1 year
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Luke Castellan and his team of godkillers but they don't kill with weapons stained with ichor, but with the illusive Mist that warps the mind of mortals so easily, it shakes their faith.
In eons past, these mortals revered the Olympians with offerings and prayers daily, told their stories that inspired fear and awe all the same. It was something the pantheon had gotten hooked on, something more addicting than the ambrosia and nectar the texts had waxed poetry over. And the council of twelve did their damn best to keep it around. After all, there was no other high out there that can compare to the feeling of being in control, of being powerful.
But like any high, it wears off, sooner or later.
So that's exactly what happens.
Alabaster C. Torrington, with the help of Dr. Claymore, "discovers" new texts that discuss Greek gods that have never been heard of before; gods who are kinder, wiser, more trustworthy, than the ones everyone has come to know in this era.
It's interesting, how the origins of these gods and their lives seem to have no relevance or connection to the other pantheon and its history. No Titanomachy or Gigantomachy to speak of. There are a few parallels, but they are pleasant, like the love stories of Dionysus and Ariadne or Pygmalion and Galatea. Otherwise, it's like an alternate timeline of its own, where every god present is named a god for a reason.
It's fake.
But the mortals don't need to know that. For what's false, if persisted in, would become true anyways. Furthermore, it isn't like a new pantheon will harm any of them. The lucky ones with clear sight may win the heart of a deity who would actually see them beyond their fleeting mortality, who would care for them.
It takes a while, though, for the mortals to adjust to this suddenly newfound information. They are stubborn creatures, Luke knows, who tend to fear the unknown and new. Yet the youth crave it like bears after a beehive laden with honey. With time, they'll come around, he knows. Maybe he might not be there to see if the plans work out for himself, but someone would, and that's all that matters to him. He just needed to be the one to start the movement.
Luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.
The faith spreads through idealized modernized takes on the mythology, as silly as it sounds. It's very of the era, isn't it? Books are being published on these gods who endure hardships and come out irrevocably changed but for the better. Ethan flips through one by an author under the pen name S.J and devours it in three hours. It reads nicely and he wonders when he'll get a chance to meet the main character of the story, and ask her if the myth holds true. It is, obviously, but it's different hearing it from a god. The fanfictions are even better, but Lou Ellen Blackstone gets drowned out by Alabaster's "lalalalala" before she can start talking about the recent one that was updated a few hours ago. Eh, so what if it's a little spicy?
Nonetheless, the new band of believers grows, and it's like a sucker punch to the gut for the Greek pantheon.
Apollo comes to camp and drops to his knees before his own cabin, surprising the campers. He looks terrible. Dionysus had already looked miserable, but the children attributed that to his sour personality. And, as usual, no one noticed the girl by the hearth who had disappeared weeks ago. But Apollo, golden boy Apollo, well, he has eyes that are sunken and sickly yellow, matted hair, muscles shrunk, and hands that shake as if they are beyond his control.
"They're killing us," he whispers to Lee Fletcher, "all of us."
"What do you want us to do?" Lee asks. Apollo coughs into his fist and looks down to see a smear of gold staining it.
A nosebleed. Gods don't get nosebleeds.
His children, gods bless them, are trying to heal him, but to no avail. It's kind of funny, how on any other occasion, such an act would have been annoying. If the solution was to simply heal, don't you think he would have tried that? But, weak as he was, he felt touched. Loved, even.
But love wasn't always enough to save another. He, of all gods, should know that.
"Can you write?" he asks. Lee scratches his head.
"Write?"
"Stories. Poems. Songs. Anything."
"Um, no, not really. Dyslexia kicks my ass, and you know archery is more my thing. But Will does sometimes. Healing is his forte, but I always see him writing something in a notebook, though that could just be medical notes, now that I think about it-"
Apollo disregards that last part and begs Will Solace to take up the pen and fight back. It's their last hope. If nothing is done, this camp and its children will become all that is left of the Greek Pantheon, for textbooks and website links are not enough to keep the faith going, especially if left to collect dust or rot in an archive.
"Write us new myths. Stories that can happen now, that we can make happen. Redeem us, so that we can live. We'll do it. We'll do any of it," Apollo begs.
"Anything?" Will asks. Apollo nods.
"Anything."
The Fates looked at each other from above. How time has changed. In the past, battles were fought with swords. Now, they had to be fought with words.
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freenarnian · 1 year
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“Now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love,” because faith and hope are gifts we need for the time being only, but love will abide forever. 
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theneighborhoodwatch · 5 months
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i know sunny isnt canon to welcome home anymore but after looking at a bunch of clown’s older posts… something something sunny’s favourite neighbour was frank and that he was a whistleblower. something something we can reasonably assume eddie and frank’s relationship to each other is going to be important at some point, something something eddie’s job is to pass information (so he’s the only neighbor who could communicate with other people without being watched), something something frank with that red envelope, something about how eddie has something to hide. honestly im just adding fuel to what you’ve already speculated but y’know. just some thoughts.
i'm sure i'm preaching to the choir here, but while we're on this train of thought, it's probably worth mentioning that frank wasn't just sunny's favorite neighbor in beta!welcome home - he was sunny's love interest. while i agree we can't really rely on pre-2020 concepts for serious speculation, i do think it's interesting to look at from a thematic standpoint. i was going to make a joke about how frank's Type seems to have always been "man who knows more than he should,” but it's interesting to me that even in this primordial, (allegedly) 3edgy5me prototype, it seems that frank's connections to the truth of their world come not from alienation from his peers, but from a new form of connection with one of them.
also idk how to work this into the rest of the response but one of the original concepts for eddie was that he was gonna be the resident Huge Bug instead of howdy. no idea what that would've meant but hey isn't that fucked up
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scarlettdragnalovebot · 3 months
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"illyrian leathers" WHERE ARE THE COWS??
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mist-dancing · 5 months
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Spireclaw and Fringewhisker
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They are T4T, and Fringewhisker totally doesn’t smoke weed.
I love them.
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fictionadventurer · 2 months
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There is not a single homely thing that, looked at from a certain angle, does not become fairy. Think of the Dapple, or the Dawl, when they roll the sunset towards the east. Think of an autumn wood, or a hawthorn in May. A hawthorn in May — there’s a miracle for you! Who would ever have dreamed that that gnarled stumpy old tree had the power to do that? Well, all these things are familiar sights, but what should we think if never having seen them we read a description of them, or saw them for the first time? A golden river! Flaming trees! Trees that suddenly break into flower! For all we know, it may be Dorimare that is Fairyland to the people across the Debatable Hill
-Lud-in-the-Mist, Hope Mirrlees
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in general I believe a lot of female characters from DotC deserve better than what the writing gave them
Slate, Violet Dawn, Dawn Mist, Turtle Tail, Acorn Fur, and Star Flower have so much potential for interesting stories but they're all overshadowed by the heteronormative drama of DotC
I like Slate's arc as a single mom in Moth Flight's Vision and her struggling with grief and loss while still trying her best is admirable and I wish we got to know more about her outside of being Gray Wing's love interest
Violet Dawn went through hell before we even meet her, learning that her mate was killed and being trapped in a society that she isn't happy with. I would love to see her as the hero of her own story and detached from Thunder.
Dawn Mist is such a tough, badass mom [and wife] and I love that for her. I wish she could've had the chance to fight Slash herself, even briefly, for the pain he tried to put her family through.
Turtle Tail's story deserved a more happy ending that she got and the fact that she's an abuse survivor who had to witness the narrative try to redeem [at at least have sympathy for] her abuser is such bullshit.
Acorn Fur is just plain amazing. I'd dare to say, she's cooler than both her brothers. Thunder is dull and while I love Lightning Tail, I love Acorn Fur the most out of these three.
and Star Flower's story would be so much better if she was never a love interest. I love that she's a villain's daughter who has a positive relationship with her evil father. I love how she herself isn't all that evil, but still insists that her father was a good tom deep down. I wish we could've gotten more of her as a character and less of her as a love interest to anyone. She's really neat. I like her.
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fully-automatic-ass · 1 month
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hecate kids + healing magic?
Okay, so.
We know that Hecate kids (and Hazel) can sorta...warp the mist, right?
So why can't they warp the mist to heal people?
(fanfic idea?)
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