#if you weren't watching then

[yibo-best]

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[azvhaalk]

Hecate, my beloved.

[castiellesbian]

Just remember if we do get an spn revival, it's going to be so bad you guys. I need you to prepare for how bad it will be.

[asfodeltide]

[lazylittledragon]

what do you mean youre technically a detransitioner cause of terf bullshit?

it's a v long story but i detransitioned for a couple of years when i was 16/17, for multiple reasons but mostly because i fell into the blaire white/kalvin garrah chamber of "you have to be This way to be trans otherwise you're not real".

i was already Deeply insecure about myself and my 'passing' and i was led to believe that i couldn't want to wear makeup or skirts, and i couldn't choose not to have bottom surgery, and i couldn't do anything but bind for 12+ hours a day to the point that my ribcage is still misshapen. basically i thought that if i wasn't suffering enough doing 'feminine' things, i couldn't really be trans, so i should just go back to being a girl and suck it up.

the terf bullshit is because i'd seen a lot of terfs/detransitioners talking about the 'dangers' of testosterone and how it would turn me into a horrible ugly evil monster and how there was nothing worse than wanting to be a man. which combined with 'you need to fully medically transition to be valid at all' creates some very dangerous and upsetting feelings to cope with.

it also came from trying really hard to put myself in a little box before i realised that my sexuality/gender are very fluid and it's FINE for me not to have a label and just do whatever i want. when i was 19 or so i went back to using they/them (and eventually he/him) and changed my name again because even though i like doing 'feminine' things, i don't want to be seen as a woman.

tldr: i was conditioned by transphobic/terf rhetorics to think that i was being trans the 'wrong' way so i couldn't be trans at all, so i believed i must actually be a girl if i still wanted to do 'feminine' things. nowadays i am a transmasc who does feminine things because i don't give two shits about what any transmed prick thinks of me anymore.

[answermywearyquery]

kitty!

+ spooky kitty:

[batcavescolony]

just saw someone say Rick Riordan making a TV show is just as bad as anything JKR has done. BFFR you're comparing Rick Riordan trying to make his world more inclusive, changing some parts because of money/time constraints, or just making changes cus he thinks they're needed, to JKR being a terrible person!

[armed-with-a-waffle-iron]

Stephanie: Hey Big Bird. Not too late, am I?

Dick: Steph?? *struggles to contain laughter* Babs must've stitched you up.

Stephanie: Wat?

Dick: The theme's super-villains!

Stephanie: ...Ohhhh, I'm not dressed up as The Spoiler! I'm Mrs. Baker.

Dick: Huh?

Stephanie: Mrs. Baker! You know, from back when you and Bats met Scooby Doo.

Dick: 😶😳

Stephanie (doing Dick's voice): Holy selective memory, Batman!

[onihat]

some asshole's dnd character

[royalarchivist]

Jaiden: Cucurucho, you have a lot of power, right?

Cucurucho: ...I don't know. Maybe.

Roier: Ah... Yes, you know, don't act like a dumbass, you have it. You have it, man. Eh?

Jaiden: Is there a way for us to protect all the Eggs? Do you know? I don't want anything to happen to the Eggs that happened to Bobby.

Cucurucho: Ha ha ha

Roier: WHAT? [Smacks Cucurucho]

Jaiden: [Bops him] Headpats.

Cucurucho: Maybe.

Jaiden: [Continues to bop him] Headpats. C'mon, I can get it out of you! Headpats! Chin scratches! Belly rubs!

Roier: [Joins Jaiden in bopping Cucurucho, chuckling and laughs]

Jaiden: Yeah? He's comin' around!

[Jaiden and Roier both laugh]

[kedreeva]

(x)

[thesummerestsolstice]

Elrond hides from the stars, at first. Morgoth's hazy corruption hid the sky, at Amon Ereb, and the Feanorians didn't spend much time outside at night anyway– it was dangerous, even for hardened warriors.

Maedhros and Maglor taught them about the stars of course, they were determined to give E&E education befitting of elvish princes, and no such education could be complete without thorough studies of both astronomy and the elvish star lore from the days of Cuivienen. Still, while they could chart the course of any star across the sky, and tell the tale of any constellation, E&E rarely actually got to see the stars.

They could, on rare nights when the smog wasn't so bad, see Gil-Estel, brightest of them all, faintly shining through the haze. They knew what it was. They didn't know what to think about it. The Feanorians didn't like discussing it, so E&E didn't either.

But then, Elrond and Elros left the Feanorians. Maedhros and Maglor sent them away from just about everyone and everything they'd ever known. They came to Gil-Galad's camp as traumatized children who were treated as objects of curiosity, veneration, even suspicion. Eyes follow them everywhere, and their gaze is never neutral– always approving or disapproving, angry or joyful, awed or fearful.

Gil-Galad's camp, guarded by Maiarin soldiers, is nearly free of Morgoth's corruption. For the first time, E&E see the light of the sun and moon in their full glory. They also see Gil-Estel, burning brightly against the dark sky; no faint light.

Elrond doesn't like it. He feels like Gil-Estel is watching him. When he tries to explain this to Gil-Galad, he's met with sympathy– of course Earendil is watching over him. But Gil-Galad doesn't understand.

Elrond hasn't gotten used to being watched, being evaluated, at Gil-Galad's camp. He'd never felt that way at Amon Ereb– where there had been far fewer elves and his presence had quickly become normal. All those elves watching him now? Viscerally uncomfortable. And the thought of the father he barely remembers being another set of eyes judging him is unbearable. After all, what if Earendil doesn't like what he sees?

[iwasbored777]

I wanna know what's going on in the heads of everyone who watched Deadpool & Wolverine and think that the movie wasn't gay. Did you even watch the right movie?

[idiotlovesongs]

people are getting angrier over a cis woman with high testosterone competing in the olympics than they are over a convicted child rapist competing.

[rottmnt-residuum]

Sorry if this is too unrelated or something, but do you have any tips for comic composition? I absolutely adore how you frame everything, from the backgrounds, to the bubble placement, to the way the colors seem to fit together in each panel, and I've always been curious about how you do it

if this is too vague/overcomplicated I understand, I love your work and hope you're doing well <3

Hm... well. Honestly, most of my composition comes from transcribing the animation of residuum that's happening in my head. Which is why, if any of y'all've noticed, residuum is framed a bit like a movie. So if you're looking to do something similar, I'd recommend either studying camera techniques, or watching movie analysis with a focus on camera work. I'm unfortunately a bad person to ask, as a lot of what I do just comes via practice that's turned to instinct.

This is a really good resource on page compositions in general, though I mostly do panel by panel stuff for my own ease:

The background style is actually directly inspired from @meandtheyeehaws, it's fast, easy, and doesn't require too much thought on my part. You spend a lot of time on comics, so you take shortcuts where you're willing to.

Bubble placement... I've noticed that people tend to laser focus on dialogue. So, the dialogue bubbles are how you lead the reader's eyes. They are the very base of the reader's eye path. All this means is that you should just map the eye path you want and then frame everything else around that. Either to bring notice to stuff or to hide something in plain sight.

Honestly, I have no idea for the color thing. It's one of the things I actually wish the comic was better with. All I do is have set color swatches for characters, and do a transparent color mask to the background color. I love to color, but color itself isn't really my strong suit.