#since starting college really.
okay yeah it was always gonna feel awesome to catch up to canon on stormlight archive but it feels really fucking good to also hit the reading goal I’d set for this YEAR by finishing rhythm of war
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Clone^2 danny headcanons and/or facts that i wanted to expand on but didn't have the motivation or inspiration to write a ficlet about. Ultimately most of these are ideas that already exist in canon clone^2 but are only now being expanded on/explored/stated specifically.
Because I'm procrasinating cfau and passively thinking about clone danny and damian again.
1 - As he's liminal, Danny generates his own ectoplasm. He generates it at a slower rate than the casual ghost but faster than the average liminal. It's what gives him an ecto-signature and results in him triggering his parents' weapons and ecto-sensors.
The ectoplasm he generates actually has a use, and he tends to burn through his supply while he's fighting because of all the physical energy he spends + the use of his scary eyes requires (albeit really minor amounts of) ectoplasm to use. It also has health benefits, as using his ectoplasm keeps his heartbeat steady and lessens the risk of his arrhythmia flaring up due to all of his physical activity and adrenaline.
It does happen occasionally that he uses up more ectoplasm than he can replace, and this has the expected negative effects on his health as all that adrenaline and stress catches up to his heart without a buffer to mitigate it. He carries a canteen full of diluted ectoplasm with him in order to give his system the boost it needs in order to stabilize itself, which he can usually tell when he needs due to excessive fatigue/chest pains/dizziness/other arrhythmia symptoms he gets that means he's low on ectoplasm.
2 - Danny's arrhythmia is a form of bradycardia (which is a slower heartbeat) -- what type? Unspecified / Unknown thanks to it being ectoplasmic in nature.
3 - In that same breath, Danny also has to burn that ectoplasm off in some form or another because if he doesn't it builds up and causes him the same issues as if he was too low. It also causes him to become more emotionally volatile, restless, irritable, overstimulated, etc, which the stress of that then makes his heart condition worsen. If too much ectoplasm builds up, it'll cause a physical electrical shock/shortage. This is rare however, and usually is the equivalent of giving someone a painful static shock. At best it makes the lights flicker or technology fritz out for a few seconds.
While it doesn't have much effect on the physical world, it does expend a good chunk of ectoplasm. Think like dumping out a heavy bucket of water that you've been carrying for a while, or getting into a hot shower after being outside in the cold for hours. It's emotionally draining but very relieving.
4 - Danny can replenish ectoplasm or generate ectoplasm faster by resting, eating, consuming other ectoplasm (fastest), fulfilling his interests / doing things that makes him happy, or by being exposed to high amounts of ectoplasm in the area. He can also rapidly generate it by being in a volatile emotional state, but that drains ectoplasm almost as quickly, and runs the risk of causing flare ups in his arrhythmia.
5 - this is actually canon to the au but I figured it wouldn't hurt to expand more on it / clarify / confirm, but Danny post-Damian has chronic pain in his hands from the nerve damage he sustained. He has daily physical therapy exercises he's supposed to do that he does in the mornings/evenings and whenever his hands hurt/feel stiff. He wears compression gloves in his day-to-day life and gets Sam and Tucker's help to brainstorm ideas about how to make compression gloves for Phantom that can include his knuckledusters. His grip and hand strength is weakened.
He has bad hand days where his hands hurt more than usual. This can happen at random, but is more common after he's overused/strained his hands either the day before or earlier in the day. His fingers stiffen up for similar reasons, and he gets tremors. It's happened before where (for example) he's braiding his hair and unbraiding it, only to need someone else to finish the braid because his fingers stiffened up and don't want to work like he wants them to.
Massages, heat, pressure, etc. helps soothe the pain, and since Danny's a fidgety person his friends and family can usually tell when he has a flare up because any hand movements he was doing prior ceased/slowed suddenly, or he starts massaging his hands / stretching out his fingers.
Damian very stubbornly insists on massaging his hands for him when this happens, he has a lot of intense guilt for being the reason for Danny's chronic pain so he wants to alleviate it in anyway he can.
6 - Danny has what I like to call "Bruce-isms", a word I came up with just now that means he has Bruce Wayne mannerisms that come from the fact that he's still Bruce's clone. A Nature vs. Nurture thing. His Bruce-isms include the Bruce Grunts Of Ambiguous Tonal Meaning ("hm", "hrm", "hn"), his workaholism, his paranoia (on a milder scale), etc. They're small, relatively non-defining things that are quirks but don't make up his personality.
He's got what Sam and Tucker like to call "Bruce Wayne Moments" which are essentially Bruce-isms but only ones that Danny and his friends are aware of considering they only know Bruce as Brucie Wayne and not Batman. "Bruce Wayne Moments" include Danny being clumsy, doing something air-headed, being oblivious, etc. It's not a common joke among the three of them since Tucker and Sam know that Danny's still pr sensitive to the whole clone thing. So they only bring it up when he's done something stupid but hilarious.
7 - while clone^2 focuses more on Danny and Damian's relationship and Danny helping Damian develop his identity beyond just "Damian Wayne's Clone", Danny still suffers from his own identity crises. He sometimes gets jealous of Ellie and Damian for being "lucky" that they always knew they were clones, rather than finding out later in life.
He's aware that this is not fair to think and that Damian and Ellie both have their own struggles as clones, but he can't help it sometimes.
He tries not to think about it too much, but when things get too quiet or when he's not busy, Danny can't help but wonder how much of himself is things he's learned on his own and come from him, and how much of it comes from being Bruce Wayne's clone. He has to stop and count how many things are unique about him specifically when he starts to emotionally spiral. It's not rational, but it's not supposed to be.
As a result Danny kinda, hm, clings to his identity as the Phantom, just a little bit? He thinks it's one of the few things that he has autonomous control over as "Danny Fenton", rather than it being a result of him being Bruce Wayne's clone. Because Bruce Wayne isn't a vigilante! Right? Right?
Consequently this becomes one of the reasons that Damian keeps mum about Bruce Wayne's identity. The original reasons were because Danny asked not to know much about the LoA beyond what Damian already told him, and Batman was technically "apart" of the LoA, and secondly because he just didn't want Danny to get involved with Batman and co and Danny knowing about Bruce Wayne's identity could potentially cause that.
But as time goes on Damian kinda notices like, just how being a clone is affecting Danny even if he hides it from Damian pretty well. He can't really comprehend what it was like for Danny to grow up thinking he was normal like everyone else only to find out he was a clone, but he does see the hurt it's causing his brother. And he does notice that Danny was holding onto being Phantom quite a bit, and figured that if he found out Bruce Wayne was also a vigilante, it would hurt him beyond belief.
8 - So Danny's creation has been kept relatively,,, mmm,,, vague? considering I've been struggling for a time how I could plausibly have his creation happen without Bruce finding out about it immediately. And my conclusion is that around the time Danny was created, Bruce met up with the Fenton parents again for some reason or another -- checking out their tech under the guise of wanting to catch up with them.
And I can imagine that, due to being close friends in college, the Fentons literally just outright told him, "Hey we wanna 'nother kid but don't want to go through the risk of pregnancy again, so we're gonna make a clone of one of us instead"
and in true Bruce fashion, he mentally went "wow i should learn Everything And Anything About This Thing Specifically. Just In Case." and outwardly went "woah cool! ahaha how does it work"
and since the Fentons consider Bruce a close friend and are also incapable of Not Talking About Science, turned and went "OH WE CAN SHOW YOU" and showed Bruce their entire cloning process up to and including how they (safely) extracted the DNA they were gonna use. of which they already had. they were gonna just extract Jack's DNA a second time as an example, but it was Bruce who said "hey you should try me instead" in order to gauge how exactly safe this was and if there were any symptoms he would need to recognize in cloning.
so with his consent they did, and then showed him how they were going to use the DNA to make a clone without actually going through the process. Without prompting from Bruce, the Fentons went "we're gonna throw your DNA away though since we don't want this lying around and because we have no use for it" and visibly showed him that they were disposing it.
Bruce came to the conclusion that the Fentons weren't planning anything nefarious, they just really wanted another kid, and (reluctantly) left afterwards. The mixup comes when Maddie, surprisingly, misplaces the cartridge with Jack's DNA in it and while they could have always gotten another sample, it was better and safer to just try and find the original before that.
Jack finds Bruce's in their disposable. In his excitement, he forgets that it was Bruce's DNA, and manages to get it out safely. Maddie wasn't looking when he found it, and in her excitement also forgot to ask where Jack found it. They used that cartridge instead.
When they found out they used the wrong DNA, Danny was already about year old and while Jack and Maddie are morally dubious, they're only morally dubious towards ghosts. Danny was their beloved human baby, they would never do anything to him.
That being said, they were still horrified when they found out, and really, they genuinely did consider reaching out to Bruce to tell him. They thought it was something he deserved to know since it was his DNA that got used instead, and they felt awfully guilty after he trusted them enough to let them draw DNA from him. The only reason they hadn't is because, at the time, Bruce had been really busy with something in his public life and they didn't want to bother him during such a stressful time.
So they were going to wait, and in Fenton-like fashion, forgot to tell him. When the subject came up again sometime later, they assumed they already told Bruce and went about their day.
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there is a very specific image in my head of early-mid 20’s iwaizumi hajime
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SO GANG HOW WE FEELING ABOUT THIS ONE
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Tbh... I don't think TOH should get a pass for it's shoddy plot just because some of the stuff that happens within the plot invokes an emotional response in people.
First of all, people react to concepts with varying degrees of emotional intensity based on what they like and/or their life experiences. Secondly, you can still create resonate moments with a good plot lmao.
There is no reason TOH should get a pass for making Belos a non threat for most of Season 1 just because people think x, y, z moment is wholesome or whatever.
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that last post reminds me of the fact that neither of the stan twins are skinny to me once they're in their mid 20s
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seriously can catastrophes stop happening for five minutes my brain is already fried from the ones we're already experiencing
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Dragon's Tongue
✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash
✧ Fluff, minor angst; 1300+ words
♫ "You And I (Stripped)" - PVRIS
✒ Something short n sweet today, I'm feeling soft
Nebarra was loath to admit it to himself, and he'd die before ever saying it aloud, but the Rift really was beautiful. Nothing compared to Alinor, to be sure, but... all the gold reminded him of home. And when he passed by a small, isolated farm, he could almost see himself on its porch, see his brother leaning against the door.
The illusions were younger, happier versions of themselves. So much more innocent, faces bright with naivety, eyes shining with plans for the future.
And then he'd gone to war.
He'd lost... so much of himself, in the deserts of Hammerfell. They had scorched and burned him inside and out, slowly bleeding him dry with every comrade he saw fall. And all that, for what? For all the Altmer's supposed superiority, the campaign had failed on all fronts – Hammerfell's walls and people defied them, and Cyrodiil remained in power, weakened but still unbroken.
How could the Thalmor still strut about, arrogant to Aetherius and back, when they had failed so miserably? How could they look at the faces of the families whose children and lovers they'd sent to die and only tell them they'd "served their purpose"?
Nebarra couldn't.
He couldn't face them at all. Not even through pen and paper, leagues away from ever having to look them in the eyes, ever having to see the pain and loss in their gaze.
Where the Thalmor were heartless, he was a coward.
And he didn't know which was worse.
~~~
Night fell, and you called the group to halt, to make camp until dawn. Nebarra set up the tent as you argued with Xelzaz, trying to convince him that no, he shouldn't summon a flame atronach and then kill it for its fire salts, no matter how good it would make dinner taste. Khash merely looked on, muching on some clover she'd picked up somewhere.
At last though, you got Xelzaz to relent, though he asked you to gather some herbs in exchange, listing off the plants he wanted you to find.
"Ah... and take Nebarra with you."
The elf froze. Turned slowly towards the lizard. Demanded, "What? Why?"
"Two eyes are better than one," he shrugged, "and that much safer, as well. We don't know what's out there, and I'm pretty sure we passed a necromantic altar on our way here."
At that, you groaned, head rolling back like a teenager who'd just been told to do their chores. "Gods, not another one. Why do we always seem to run into those?"
"Luck of the Dragonborn? Anyway, off with you now – I have to get set up. Let's see, in whose pack did I leave my cooking pot...? Khash! Come help me with this!"
And just like that he walked off, leaving you and Nebarra alone by the campfire. A chuckle escaped you, and he glanced over to see you shaking your head. "I'm surprised he didn't tell us to hold hands, too, so we don't lose each other in the dark."
"Yeah, I'm not holding your hand," Nebarra snarked. And it was true. Absolutely true. Totally, one-hundred percent true.
"Oh wow, Nebs, that one almost hurt." Your soft laugh seemed to echo in his ears, his mind. "Come on, let's go – I don't suppose you heard any of the plants he wants?"
Blue and yellow mountain flowers, to restore and fortify. Purple for rejuvenation, and to give to Khash. Scaly pholiota for fiber and strengthening. Wild gourds and dragon's togue for flavour.
He snorted from behind his helm. "That would require paying attention to him."
"Should have known," you sighed. "Alright, listen up before I forget: blue, yellow, and purple mountain flowers, scaly pholiota, and dragon's tongue. And be careful with the purple mountain flowers, they're gifts for Khash. Oh, he also wants some wild gourds. Got it?"
"...Yeah, yeah. Let's just get going."
He definitely hadn't feigned ignorance just to hear your voice some more. Definitely not.
~~~
"Ah, back at last! Perfect," Xelzaz said, stirring something in a pot over the fire. "Now I can get the real meal started."
"Then what's this?" Nebarra demanded as Xelzaz handed him a bowl, in exchange for the plants the Altmer carried. Even through his gauntlets he could feel its warmth, and a rich, savory scent drifted up through the slits of his helmet.
"Something amazing, from the smell," you sighed, and Nebarra didn't have to look to know you were drooling.
"Just a little sometime to hold you over," the Argonian demurred, handing you a bowl as well. "Thought I'd experiment with some of the flora I've gathered thus far."
That gave Nebarra pause. "Wait – experiment? That's settled, I'm not eating this."
"If you don't want it–"
Your words were drowned out by Khash's eager shout of, "I'll eat it! I'll take your bowl!" She rushed over to him, red eyes trained on the food.
"Khash, you had your share," Xelzaz chided. "Any more and you won't have room for the rest of dinner."
"Yes, I will! I have room for anything you make."
"She's got a point," you laughed, and Nebarra slowly, wordlessly handed her the bowl.
"I'll go keep watch," he grumbled, turning away.
"Oh, don't be like that! Nebarra!" When he didn't respond, you sighed, calling after him, "Alright, go sulk! I'll make sure Xelzaz doesn't poison your share, though you kind of deserve it!"
His back still towards you, Nebarra raised his hand in a rude gesture, and your laughter rang through the night.
Some thirty minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching; he didn't need to turn to know it was you. Your tread was distinct from the others, weighted with determination and confidence, whereas Xelzaz's was soft and steady, and Khash's light and hesitant.
"Here. Eat." Despite the short words, your tone was gentle, and Nebarra looked over to see you holding a plate out towards him, laden with a slab of meat and wild berries to the side. "It's delicious, and unpoisoned."
"How would you know?" he sniffed, catching a whiff of the food in the process. It... did smell amazing. "Did you try it?"
"I did, actually. Stole some of your steak when Xelzaz wasn't looking. And since I'm still standing here pestering you, I guess that means it's clean."
Nebarra paused, eyes training on your face. Half of it was wreathed in shadow, only the gleam of your eyes visible; the other half was illuminated by the campfire, revealing the soft smile you wore.
You... had a nice smile.
And before he could stop himself, he mumbled, "You're not... pestering me."
Surprise flickered in your gaze – surprise, and something else. Something he told himself he didn't recognise, refused to recognise.
After a moment, you said softly, "That's... good to hear, then. Because I have something else for you, too." Reaching down with your free hand, you pulled something from your belt and held it out before him. "I saved one, 'cause it reminded me of you."
Nebarra stared. There, held gently between your fingers, was a dragon's tongue flower, petals open wide and colours vibrant in full bloom. "This... reminded you of me?"
"It's gold. Just like you."
"...You really do have trouble with your eyesight, don't you? These are orange."
"Eh, close enough." You shrugged, the smile never leaving your face.
Slowly, Nebarra reached out and, ignoring the plate of food, took the flower carefully, delicately from your grasp, cradling it in his palm. "...Am I supposed to say thank you?"
"You just did." As he raised a brow from the shadows of his helm, you set the plate on a nearby rock and tapped the gauntlet that held the flower. "You accepted it."
He couldn't deny it. "Think you got me all figured out then, huh?"
Something in your smile shifted, your gaze flickering. "No. Not yet, anyways. But... I think I'd like to." And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him alone in the dark, stunned.
And that night, as he sat in the shadows of the campfire, he stared at the flower for a long, long time.
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...
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i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?
---
Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.
“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”
At that moment, Kara saw the painting.
She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.
Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.
Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.
It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”
Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.
“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.
“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”
Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.
“What’s the title?”
The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”
---
Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.
Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.
At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.
She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.
The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.
The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.
With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.
---
The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.
But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.
Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.
---
The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.
She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.
The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.
A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.
Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.
They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.
While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.
Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”
The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.
“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.
Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”
“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.
Kara watched her every step.
Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.
---
There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.
After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.
---
Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.
Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.
---
Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.
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I feel like every week or so I discover another one of your AUs, and immediately fall down a huge rabbit hole of like. At least 500 drawings and an animatic
Seriously though, how the heck do you draw so much????
I was going to say "whaaat? They dont all have animatics" but... yeah. A few of them have little animations, yeah.
To be fair I also have some au's where theres only maybe like 5 or so drawings.
I just get swept up in things I guess. If i dont draw I'll explode. Like a shark
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So earlier today I introduced some of my WIPs to some new people, and I realised that many people might not be familiar with those two WIPs.
Kriya Petri: fantasy (with body horror & dystopian elements). Setting: A country called Fillor on a planet called Thuluke.
In Fillor, to bind yourself to the one you love, you require a trinamate potion to seal the bond. 'Trinamate' is marriage (though that is a rather crude translation of the word). But to get a trinamate potion legally, the couple needs to be… acceptable. A man and a woman who plan to have at least one child. Yes, it's been 1000 years since the global apocalypse, but 'sufficient reproduction' is still a concern among the Filore people (plus it's a moral virtue for the Divine Monarchy, who reside on the cloudlands, with an iron grip on the institutes of Fillor).
A potioneer wants to elope with their lover, but the pair is, let's just say, not acceptable. So what are they to do? The potioneer brews a trinamate potion on their own, finding the closely guarded methods & ingredients for the potion through who-knows-who, bunch of shady people.
The potion explodes.
The potioneer knows the punishment for something like this. They'll be condemned to Kaewoe (so will their lover, if anyone finds out), a realm so deep below the ground that it's close to the core of the planet. Kaewoe, where the mind & body are destroyed by the horribly high concentration of magic. Kaewoe, the names & lives & loves of all who enter it, all slowly turned to unknowledge.
Good thing stealing identities is absurdly easy in Fillor! The potioneer wipes all memory of their crimes & love (or else the Thought magicians would know), flees to the city of Naebo. Their name is now Kriya Petri,
.
Welcome To The Real World: scifi, fantasy, surrealism, horror, tragedy
This one's in very early stages
Inspired by Frankenstein
Setting: The Great South Asian Rip in Reality, where physics (time & space both) is just completely twisted. The year is sometime in the 2070s. Sometimes it's the 2040s outside the Rip. Depends when/where you step out. Moh-maya, reality's very fabric & everything that keeps up the illusions that comprise reality, are very malleable in here.
Main character: Kabir aka Moksh. A closeted Indian trans man who lives a double life, perhaps even a triple life.
One in which he's a cis woman & a regular bright STEM student (STEM studies also include study of moh-maya).
Another in which he's just some guy with good friends (the most authentic of his lives), where he goes by the name Kabir & uses moh-maya to present as his true self. If only temporarily. (it's painful, mentally & physically, whenever he has to revert to the female form).
The third is some mad scientist bullshit, he's going by the name of Moksh among his fellow mad scientists & his main project is a moh-maya Frankenstein's monster that others can share their consciousness with, such that they can experience shape-shifting more easily & go where they physically aren't, do things they physically can't. Let's simply call it the 'entity'.
Due to many reasons, creating this entity is pretty illegal. Hence the new name & collaboration with fellow shady people.
the plot, put shortly: he starts doing vigilante justice w/the entity & then goes far & gets more & more consumed w/work & things go verrrrrrryyyyyy wrong despite starting with (dubious but) good intentions.
in this second one i neglected to mention the fact that you, as the reader, get front row tickets to the main character's spiral into madness & justifying murders thru the entity + the entity is a whole person & has opinions + a whole lot of other stuff, I DID mention that this WIP is in very early stages but holy fuck i could go on & on about it (just not in a way that can be packaged in a structured & sensible introduction)
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Hey Hey hey hgey hey guys. have you heard that sheezy.art is coming back
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i seriously need to get a new job and start making money again asap bc i cannot keep living at home much longer it’s driving me insane
(wrote an entire essay in the tags without meaning to oops)
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School's done!!! I mean there's still like two random days I have to go back before it's completely over but I'm not getting anymore assignments!
Here's the drawings of high school Ingo and Emmet that made the advert and cover of my magazine culminating this semester. They also made it into the advice column for that project (though technically that was Ingo talking about Emmet in a message to the magazine). Fun fact I freehanded the perspective on Emmet in like 20 minutes because I had to rush. I think it came out alright considering I've never done that before ^^. Anyways I'll se if I can put up some doodles later for Burst.
We made it fellas :) I'll see you later, have a good night
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"Do you not realize it? Do you... truly not see what this means?"
The next Destiny Bond update is in progress! ❄️✨
–> Check out the latest part here 🔷
–> New to the series? Follow from the start! 💜
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