#fic by pix

[1-marigold-1]

When your best friend is a bilblically accurate angel

They are all in the same situation guys (Yes I headcannon Pix as a watcher, since the Empires x Hermitcraft crossover hghgh)

They are three stages of one expierience

Mumbo: confused, shocked, kinda uncomfortable when around Grian in his full form, starts getting used to it

Impulse: Used to it

Sloy: Literally. Doesn't care. "You're a watcher? Cool."

Also this meme

That's the vibes I get from them

Ngl "My best friend is a biblically accurate angel" sounds like a good movie/book title

[pixlokita]

I heard it's your birthday this week! Happy birthday to you!

In celebration I bring you a small gift that I hope you will appreciate. I know it's not canon, but I just got so inspired I wrote this a few months ago and decided to finish it up and post it for you today. I hope you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54452362

Absolutely loved it so I drew fanart inspired from it ahaihsksbdkdnd already lost it in the comments but 🫶💖 thank you again for writing this ;w; it was such a nice read 💖💖💖

[pixiest1cks]

i'd like to think no matter where he's at in his life, dottore likes to ramble as he works.

no matter if he's prime, or the more ill-tempered scholar from the akademiya or even omega build, dottore quietly mumbles as a habit when he's working.

some things he says aloud are just to commit certain details to memory. in the grander scheme of his plans, the details seem small-- but they hold a crucial grip on the entire project. because of this, dottore reasons that the habit holds its merits.

sometimes, he makes sarcastic remarks when something doesn't go well. short, choppy words that mostly go unheard even by those in his general vicinity. when you first worked under him, he had mumbled to himself like usual (it was second nature at that point). what he hadn't expected though, were your responses.

"stupid thing tightly screwed--"

"do you need a wrench, sir?"

before he could respond, you had one held and ready to hand to him. from then on, you would help him out here and there in his more foul moods and dottore would be lying if he said the additional assistance wasn't helpful.

the mad scientist had found an adequate assistant.

work went by smoother, toning down a good portion of his irritation. it's almost as if having someone to support you (even if it was strictly for work purposes) provided more benefits than he had originally thought. of course, he would never admit that. the most he would do is thank you here and there when you proved to be extra useful.

work continues the same for a while. the interactions grow more frequent and so his musings change from your responses. instead of talking to himself, he talks to you. he asks you for your input, for you to pass him whatever he can't reach from his other desk, he asks for you.

that is, until you're gone one day.

dottore doesn't think anything of it. he's worked alone for his whole life, what's a few days without you? but his segments have been more irritable as of late, resulting in lackluster performance as a whole not only from his segments, but his troops. the fatui are fearful of the doctor, but even more so of an irritated one. you'll turn up eventually and everything will be back to normal, he reasons.

but as the days go on, you are still nowhere to be found in the cold, desolate laboratory. he finally pauses in his work to think about where you could be.

something must've happened. something outside of his jurisdiction. it's not like it's his problem. you might've proved a useful assistant to him, but his work holds utmost priority.

yes, work. back to work.

and dottore mumbles as usual, but it's not the same.

by habit, he calls out for you to hand him something--

but you're not there.

dottore is a scholar first and foremost. all it takes to find you is a little bit of research, so he does exactly that. he finds out you've been working somewhere else, somewhere closer to home to better support your family.

well, that's no problem. he'll have his assistant back as soon as possible, no matter the cost. all he needed to know was your whereabouts.

[pix-writes]

Help to decide which fics I focus on next!

Don't worry, these are likely all going to be finished at some point, but I don't know which ones I should put more attention into right now, so I decided to do a poll so that the GF fandom can decide for themselves! Out of these stan and ford fics (mostly ford, sorry) which appeal to you the most/which one would you be interested in seeing --> except, i'm not going to give you too much context on these! :P (And I promise this isn't hindering /interfering my progress on the requests from the celebration!! They are taking priority rn I haven't forgotten them ❤️)

[syn4k]

something something when u come home from work/school/whatever absolutely slammed and you have to lie down and involuntarily become completely defenseless for a minimum of 30 minutes while u recharge. that period of time is my favorite to write about in fics when im in my feels because get this: absolutely NOTHING beats the intimacy of some random guy, currently a fucking puddle due to exhaustion or injury or both, being cared for by their friend(s)/partner(s)/family/whatever. being treated and cared for and loved in a very gentle manner. that's the good shit right there

[bibaybe]

Released in July of 2013, Coming of Age is Cordelia Love's debut album. Highly anticipated by her youtube audience, Coming of Age released to a strong fanbase and shot up the charts. Completely written by Love and produced by newcomer Nikhil Kothari before Love was signed to Roque Records, critics praised the album for Love's strong vocals and Kothari's experimental production.

Featuring eleven original songs and four included on the deluxe version, Coming of Age includes five singles: Feather, Coming of Age, Movie Star, Reckless Driving ft Kendall Knight of Big Time Rush, and Sparks Fly.

taglist: @eddysocs@ocappreciationtag@foxesandmagic@wordspin-shares@veetlegeuse@raith-way@oneirataxia-girl@praetoravila

highly inspired by @praetoravila's album edits!! go check them out immediately

sources: x

[spinchip]

They send Cole in to talk to him because Jay’s never had a serious relationship other than Nya (and they're still together,) kai’s only ever had flings, and Lloyd was as knowledgeable on break-ups as a wet pile of leaves. Cole is the resident expert on heart break, being as he’s had 2 long(ish) lasting relationships that had both come to a tragic end- albeit, even he wasn’t quite experienced with this level of heartache. His ex boyfriends were from highschool, and nothing ever mattered in highschool. Especially not since he’d become a ninja. Who cared if Joaquin cheated on him with Lexi? He saved ninjago from countless evils. Joaquin was probably regretting it now!

Kai nudges him and exaggerates his eyebrows silently, motioning towards the kitchen door. Okay, so Cole was stalling. Just a bit. He was a little afraid he’d be out of his depth on this-scratch that, he was certain of it. Maybe if it were Jay or Karloff, he could manage- but Zanes emotions ran wide and deep and it was so incredibly hard to navigate those waters. Alas, he was specially chosen for this mission. He had to try.

He cautiously creaks open the kitchen door and finds Zane… chopping vegetables. For some reason, he’d convinced himself he’d find him curled up on the counters crying his eyes out. Yes, Zane was a very emotional person- but Cole forgot how deeply Zane hid that part of himself away. He can’t rely on the obvious for this. He’s gotta go into ninja mode, really do some nitpicking recon.

One sleeve of his sweater is rolled up, the other has rolled down and hangs dangerously close to getting tomato juice on it. Oh man. He’s really upset. Zane was meticulous about cleanliness, especially in the kitchen. His mind is somewhere else.

“Hello Cole.” He offers the master of Earth a smile, “If you have come to ask about dinner, it will be ready in an hour or so. I will call you when it is time to eat.”

Oh, clever clever. Polite as a peach but a not-so-subtle dismissal tacked on at the end, which means there’s no way for Cole to redirect the conversation gently. Zanes is banking on him losing the nerve to confront him. Well, Coles is no coward (And the others would just make him try again later. Better to rip the bandaid off now, right?)

“I actually wanted to talk to you.” He starts, swallowing thickly, “About how you're feeling.”

Zanes hands still just for a moment over the next tomato before he soldiers on, “I am fine.”

Cole frowns, “Zane… I’ve been through it too. It sucks… it’s okay that you’re not fine.” He tries softly.

Zane places the knife down, picking up the cutting board and setting the tomato aside, “I understand your concern, but I am fine. My romantic relationship with Pixal has ended, but we will remain friends and that is agreeable with both of us.”

There’s a pause as Cole tries to think of what to say, “You’re really… just okay with that?" At this point, an upset Zane would have gotten that kicked-puppy expression and opened up a bit more. Maybe started wringing his hands together, or shut down completely. Was he really fine? Zane? "You two have been together for what, four and a half years?”

“Five years, three months, and 12 days.” Zane corrects gently as he wipes down the counter.

“And it’s... over? Why did she end it?”

Zane gives him a quizzical look, “Cole, I was the one who terminated our relationship.”

That shocks Cole so badly he actually has to grab the counter for support. his feet nearly slide out underneath him, and he struggles to regain his bearings, “What!?” He gapes, “But- you were like so in love with her!”

Zane cringes and he can’t quite hide it, “I certainly believe I was, yes.”

“Well, what happened? What changed?” He forgets he’s supposed to be helping Zane with his heartbreak, curiosity leaping forward.

“I do not wish to discuss that.” he murmurs, pulling out a large pot and setting it on the stove.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry.” He scratches the back of his head, “It just feels so sudden. I didn’t even know you were feeling this way…”

Zane shrugs uncomfortably, “I did not want to say anything until I was certain of my choice. I thought about it for a long time before I approached her.”

Cole catches that and connects the dots faster than he thinks Zane expects him to, “A long time?… since the Never Realm?” He ventures carefully.

Just like that, Zane's face closes off completely. He stiffly continues to make chili, but does not acknowledge Cole's presence. He doesn’t comment on what he said, and pretends like he never heard it.

Cole decides to speak again, “Y’know what happened in the Never Realm…” he lowers his voice, pitching it low enough so no one could even consider eavesdropping. Something just for Zane, “No one blames you. It wasn’t your fault… We don’t love you any less because of what happened. I know it can be scary to wonder what we think of you, but my opinion of you hasn’t changed. I’m sure Pixals hasn’t either, so you don't need to run away. We still see you the same.” He says genuinely, reaching out and patting Zane's shoulder.

Zane exhales and the air in front of him swirls with snowflakes. He brushes Coles hand off but not unkindly, “You do not understand. I spent sixty years in the Never Realm.” it’s not a surprise but Cole still winces, “She still sees me the same, but I have lived a lifetime without her, a life completely different from this. I am the one who does not see her like I once did. I am not the man I was, and I feel nothing…” He shakes his head and re-words his sentence to be kinder, “I no longer feel romantic love for her.”

“Oh.” Coles not sure what to do with that.

“Thank you for your concern, Cole, but I truly am alright. I have had decades to distance myself from that pain.” Zane assures him with a smile. “Now please, allow me to return to our dinner.” He motions to the pot, and Cole takes the dismissal this time.

When he’s nearly out the door he hesitates, peeking his head back in. Zane has gone back to cooking, one sleeve rolled and the other slipping down. Maybe that’s just who he was now.

“I have one more question.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if I want to know the answer.” he admits, tapping an anxious finger along the door frame.

“Then do not ask it.” Zane says. His voice is light but there’s a firmness there. He offers the advice with a push.

Cole accepts it and lets the door swing shut behind him.

On the tip of his tongue is do you still see us the same?

How do you see all of us, now?

[pixlokita]

"Weretrap: Your AU is so cute!! I really want to see fanfiction with this concept. (Especially about Oswald, or Oswald and his father in rabbit form). The amount of cute fanfictions that could be created is huge. I hope someone writes a fanfiction, congratulations on your AU."

Honest if anyone is writing this pls send me a link 😭 (delusional) I love reading werebunny content pffft also thank you ;-;💖💖💖

[playername-player-of-games]

5 times the empires were affected by their curses + that time the world ended

[fountainpenguin]

"We were born beside this river, and we fill the night with song!" (x)

Herobrine's Guide to the Between Dimension

💙 Read on AO3

🧡 21 chapters - Updates 3 of 4 Tuesdays a month

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

The remarks of a well-traveled cartographer on the history, landscape, culture, and biology of the dragons and hybrids who reside in the Between dimension.

AKA - A series of meta essays on Minecraft worldbuilding in a fictional extra dimension where players hatch from dragon eggs and play offline. Enjoy!

[cydanite]

The Scientific Method

Ao3 link:

Pix's fellow emperors weren't sure what to make of their friend flinging himself back into his work after the tea party. They were happy, of course, that the consequences of his strange death hadn't deterred him from his work. Pix loved what he did, it was clear to see. Uncovering mysteries big and small, learning of what had once been lost. None of the standard doom and gloom associated with ghosts had accompanied Pix's change. He was still the same old archaeologist, joyously engrossing himself in his empire's ruins.

But, that was strange too, right? Most people, upon dying and coming back a specter, would not immediately be so content. They would need time to process what had happened, to grieve what they have lost, to right themselves and prepare for the future. And Pix should be no different. He never struck them as a particularly resilient man. He was wise, certainly. But not so emotionally hardened as to let undeath roll right off his back. Right?

Yet as Oli flew over the capital's tallest hill, Pix was hard at work below him, taking careful measurements of stone foundations. He banked to land, circling in tight motions to slow his descent.

"My boy! My sweet history boy!"

Pix looked up, a smile breaking through the confusion on his face, and chuckled.

"Oli! Ahoy there!" he waved as Oli landed, skidded a few meters, kicking up dirt before coming to a complete halt. Safely grounded, he turned back to Pix with a grin. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Oh Pix, always a charmer." Oli waved him off in mock embarrassment. "Can't a guy check in on his buddy? His cool history friend? We're pals, we hang out! Y'know." He bounced with each sentence, shuffling his feet and waving his arms. "Not to distract you from your work, of course. Just for company!"

"Well," Pix turned back to the expanse of stone laid out before him. The groundwork for the castle he was carefully reconstructing. "I'm taking some measurements to confirm what I have here is accurate. I wouldn't want to start building only to realize I'd mistaken where a wall should be. You're welcome to keep me company if that isn't too dull."

"No, no, I love history! Big history guy!" Oli peered over Pix's work area. A journal was open next to him, flipped open to a top-down sketch of the castle grounds. Every coordinate, horizontal measure, and corner angle was annotated. The lines were thin and precise, tiny penmanship making the most of the space and crowding the paper in a sea of numbers. Over them, though, a scattered few corrections stood out like a sore thumb. Large, messy scrawl with uneven pressure and several blotches where the pen had slipped from his hands. The pen sat disregarded, half-submerged in the inkwell.

Oli shuffled on his feet. "Do you need any help, king? I could take notes for you if you'd like?"

Pix followed his gaze and smiled. "Not a king anymore but- thanks, Oli. That would make my work a lot easier. I, uh, still haven't got the fine motor skills figured out." He flexed a transparent hand before him, wiggling his digits. Oli picked the pen out of the inkwell and wiped the excess ink off of its stem, before sitting on the ground and placing the journal on his lap. Pix turned back around and resumed his measurements.

"You can flip to a new page and just write the measurements in a list. I'll transfer them to the plans later."

"Can do." The bard watched intently as the archaeologist fell back into his work, taking careful measurements of the lines of stone on the ground. The conversation lulled into the occasional back and forth of information.

“West gate western wall. Four meters.”

Oli turned away from softly tuning his lute and scribbled the numbers down. “Gotcha… hey, Pix?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say: You’ve been pretty gung-ho with your work recently! Really got that ‘go get-em’ attitude, despite-uh, the… complications?”

Pix is too far away for Oli to make out his expression, but there’s a few seconds pause before he responds.

“There’s been some growing pains, sure. But I enjoy what I do.” He peers over his tape again. “West gate western wall inset. Eighty-seven point five centimeters.”

“Eighty-seven… point five. Okay.” He holds the page up to the breeze to dry the ink. “...About those growing pains, I’m just curious-”

“Oli, you can just say you’re concerned about me, you know.”

“I’m trying to be tactful, Pixlriffs! You know I don’t have tact! All I have are my looks and the speech pattern of a poor Victorian orphan boy!” He stopped flailing the journal in his hands and set it down beside him for the sake of not flinging it down the hill. “You crumbled into dust! Dust, Pix! And now we can see through you, for Christ’s sake!”

“No need to remind me.” He gets up from his kneeled position on the ground, wiping the dirt from his hands and turning to face his friend. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. You’re a good friend. But I’m handling the situation.”

Oli crossed his arms. “Not by throwing yourself into your work, no?”

“No-” The usual warmth in his voice is gone for just a second. Pix pauses before steadying his voice again. “I’m not avoiding the problem, or coping poorly elsewise. I’m just… treating it as I would any other mystery I come across.”

“How so?”

Pix fiddles with the measuring tape in his hand, winding the cord around his fingers like a snake. “Well… first I set a question. What is the use of this artifact I found? How old are these carvings? What does it mean now that I’m a ghost?”

Pix wakes up in his bed back home, gasping for a breath he couldn’t take until now, adrenaline still welling inside of him. Once he realizes where he is and what just happened he doesn’t hesitate to throw on a spare elytra and zip through his nether portal. Though his hands fumble with his rockets, the flight back to Glimmer Grove gives him a few moments to calm down and think about what just happened. Had he just been caught? Was it a hidden assassin’s attempt to claim his crown? Maybe Glimmer Grove’s curse had suddenly exhibited a new and deadly effect?

And then he arrives, cautiously rounding the corner to speak with his fellow emperors, all huddled in a group on the stairs he’d just succumbed under. And when their eyes finally settle upon him, the horror they’re filled with makes his blood run cold.

Oli listens intently. “Alright, then what?”

“Then I hypothesize. Think about what direction I should take my research in.”

The tea party is decidedly over after this. Pix drifts away from the dispersing crowd, unease filling the empty space. It’s… he’s not gonna lie, it’s a lot. Sighing, he presses his palms to his temples, rubbing them. Something sharp makes him pull his hand away. Curiously, he feels around on his head and runs his hand over a few sharp points, and connecting those points is something shriveled and ashy. He traces the vines around his head, culminating at the sunflower he had placed in his hair. A petal falls into his hand, gray and withered. He goes back to the vines, feeling how they circle his scalp. The occasional larger thorn pointing upwards like a shark’s lower jaw. It’s almost as if… like it’s blocking him from… it would be impossible to wear the Crown like this, right?

The grave look he saw in Scott’s eyes replays in his mind.

Pix continues. “Next is research. Consulting my studies, my books.”

His floor is carpeted in scattered paper. Historical texts, maps, theses, investigative reports, legends, folktales. Anything that might mention the Crown in any capacity. A web of signs on the wall spout disjointed theories and leads. Several are dyed an approving green. Even more are dyed a discrediting red. He’s fairly certain that the Crown had killed him, though through what means he doesn’t know. An enchantment, perhaps? Or maybe a curse? Whatever it was, it did not want him putting it back on.

He hangs a sign on the wall. “Crown only allows those it deems worthy to wear it.” He steps back, thinks for a bit, and dyes the sign a cautious yellow.

Assuming the Crown had this effect before it was last sealed away in the Capital’s catacombs, what makes him different then its previous owners? After all, none of them wore it and withered away, as far as he knew. It would probably have to be something objective. Enchanting a crown meant to be transferred between owners with a subjective kill switch trigger would be incredibly dangerous. And if that was the intent, he’s surprised there isn’t any record of this curse in his books.

In that case, it would probably have to be that he isn’t royalty. He may be an emperor, i.e. the land he lives on gave him its blessing. And have the abilities that come with that, i.e. access to the magic of inventory, respawn, crafting. But being an emperor does not royalty make. He’s simply the caretaker of the Ancient Capital, one with no subjects to his name. Much like how Shelby acts as warden to The Evermoor, home to just her and a healthy population of frogs.

He places another sign on the wall. “Crown only allows royalty to wear it.” This one feels more solid. The crown was only meant to be worn by royalty, so a curse preventing non-royalty from wearing it doesn’t dissuade its purpose. It was extreme, yes, but so was the history of the Crown. A legacy of assassinations and betrayal. A well of dark emotions that stray magic could easily leech onto and, over a long enough period of time, solidify into a dangerous curse! It fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. The Crown is cursed to kill non-royalty. This curse wasn’t enchanted by a person, but by a pattern of events, so it isn’t deliberate or necessarily useful. Pix dyed the sign green.

Then a wire crosses in Pix’s brain. The curse isn’t deliberate. It’s crude, simple. If A, then B. If not royalty, then execute. Pix is both non-royalty and an emperor. He has access to the magic of an emperor. He can respawn.

The deathrattle curse of the Crown. An unstoppable force. The undying blessing of an emperor. An immovable object.

Both dead and alive. His breath hitches in his chest like a brick.

And so the logical conclusion.

Should he ever lose the Ancient Capital’s approval…

Oli sits back down, pulling his lute back into his arms and fiddling with the strings.

“Alright, I see where this is going. I’ve taken a science class before. Next is testing, right?”

Pix looked past him, staring down at something intangible behind Oli. He then turned back to his foundations, unspooling his measuring tape again.

“I’m in the middle of that now. West gate pillar footprint. One point two five meters squared.”

[pix-writes]

Hello! Sorry for the random ask, but I can't stop thinking about your Stanley story omg

In what ways do you think his worst shames influence how he enters a relationship? Or do they not really make a significant difference? Thank you so much!

Omg it's so interesting, if I do say so myself haha ❤️ I'm probably going to make a part 2.

(rest under cut)

I think his biggest shames and negative experiences in the past have gone a long way to reinforce the false self belief Stan has about how he is in some way unlovable. It's his main wound from his father and being kicked out at such a young age - that he's always going to be a screw up that needs to prove himself in order to be lovable, which will definitely play a part in his relationships as this is such a deep set wound for his character. Self sabotage is something both the stan twins display a lot (or is heavily implied) within the show/books. I figure it's part of the reason many of Stanley's marriages backfired on him so badly, either because he dove into relationships with people who weren't going to stick around in the first place or through his own sabotage because he expects it to go wrong.

However, Stan hides his shames fairly well, most will only be found out if he tells you them because most of them would be difficult to find (especially because of his various aliases), so I think these won't hinder a relationship necessarily, but would contribute to his self confidence issues in general. We know that Stan has sexual trauma, too, which is something that might also explain him launching into relationships so fast in the past. But then again, I think Stan has gone through a lot and doesn't care if anyone judges him on the flip side? So I think his sex work isn't something he's the most ashamed about more than he knows other people/society has taught him to feel ashamed about it, if that makes sense. What I thought when I was writing Catalogues was that Stan modelling for that dirty magazine came sometime after him being a victim of sa in prison (I have no idea if that lines up in canon tho) which is why it's one of his shames because he did it despite feeling uncomfortable about his body and still in a fucked up headspace.

I think by the end of the show though he's had a lot of time to deal with his trauma even if he isn't dealing with it in the best way 😅 and I think a relationship would ultimately be healing for him! Once he doesn't run away when someone flirts back at him haha. But it wouldn't hinder him entering a relationship, as long as he chooses a keeper!

[hollowwish]

I think empiresblr has been sleeping on some ships and i think things should be done abt it

[starboundpix]

*collapses* I may not have written anything yesterday but today the writing worms have gotten to me and I wrote a ton… but not for the space au fic >.< Have a little bit of the first of a new series of drabbles/short one shots that I will hopefully post tomorrow! Good night 💕

[convexicalcrow]

Tidied up this Archaologist Pix piece I wrote a couple of weeks back and posted that too. I'm going through all the extant Lost Prince AU fics that need posting rn. I'll get back to the Cub/HoTGuY fic tomorrow.

[becca4leafclover]

What if Pix the Copper King and Pix the Archaeoloist are the same person?

The Copper King disappeared before even hints of the Rapture started to emerge in ancient times. He was a figure of great knowledge, wealth, and mystery, and one of the most respected, if distant Emperors of the time.

His Empire, known at the time (but likely not before or after it) as Pixandria, worshipped death. The center of their civilization stood a monument known as the Vigil: a remembrance of all those that died in all the Empires, at the time of everyone else's memory. Only some drawings and paintings depict the Vigil now, for most of Pixandria at some point was buried by its sea of sand.

But it is said that despite being the one to tend to the Vigil the most, and hold some of the most sacred duties of it, the Copper King did the unthinkable, and denied death to his fellow Emperors. He uncovered a magic forgotten for a reason, and traded it with those rich enough to afford it.

And for that, he was punished. So they say, at least.

Since he denied kings and queens death, death shall deny him his eternal rest, until all those that paid him repay their debt to the afterlife.

The Copper King then fled into the desert, and was never heard from again. Not even as the Rapture claimed the mainland Empires, as his city was swallowed into the sand. It's possible that he died along with the rest of the great powers at the time, and "equally as possible that he still wanders the world in a self-imposed exile..."

Pix set down his pen and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He gets tired of writing out this same story every once in a while, honestly. It's the accepted history yeah, but sometimes it's a little frustrating to make out the Copper King as some shadowy, potential evil figure who abandoned everyone just before their moment of need.

He looked out the window flap of his tent at the rising sun. Oh, it was morning already? He slid his chair out from his desk and stretched his back from writing for probably too long for what's considered healthy.

But when he went outside, the golden sun beams creeping over the mountains illuminating the highlights of the leftovers of Gilded Helanthia were a nice wake up call. He had a lot of work to do today- excavate more of the farming district, feed the dodos, oh yeah and Lizzie stopped by the other day wanting to trade slime for froglights again, right?

And of course, Pix had his other type of work to do today. A favor, for some old friends.

He knew the truth, written in between the lines of his ink. Maybe it wasn't quite a curse placed on him. Maybe Pixandria wasn't as buried as they thought. Maybe he didn't want to leave his friends. Maybe not all his friends ever died, same as him. Maybe his friends never left, and needed someone to guide them.

Oh, goodness me- Is that a FACE on Hermitopia?!