#left it open for you !

[egophiliac]

buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK

[pyururen]

One last dance, please

[cracklewink]

Harmony Syndrome Part 5/5

The last chapter of my mlp infection AU! Thank you to everyone who followed along. Some final thoughts on my twitter @cracklewink if anyone's interested : )

[evermorepeyton]

horrifying email to get at 2 am btw

[remxedmoon]

STUMBLES IN COVERED IN BLOOD. hi! sorry i haven’t posted art in a while!!!! i redrew every single isat battle portrait. including 15 custom sprites, totalling up to 78 sprites total. use these for anything you want!! as long as i’m credited and it’s not for commercial purposes, go nuts!!!

full sprite sets below the cut!! for anyone who doesn’t want to open the google drive lol

SIKE. there’s also my ramblings here. don’t worry i did actually put the sprite sets below

i labeled all of the custom sprites as such in the drive, but for anyone that doesn’t want to sift through that, the custom sprites are bigfrin damage (2), act 6 siffrin KO and timefreeze, mira timefreeze, bonnie hurt, KO, buff, and timefreeze, and All Of Loop’s Sprites. the wiki doesn’t include the act 5 buff sprite but like. i assume it exists so i’m not counting it as custom.

anyways!! this took about 2 Weeks of drawing every day. i literally drew for like 8 hours straight on one of those days. siffrin here has 39 PORTRAITS IN TOTAL i’m not kidding. that’s straight up half of all the sprites. he doesn’t need that many.

i promise. i will not be making more redraws. for at least a week. i will resist the temptation to draw the battle cgs i promise i swear i prommy. this was really fun to work on!!!! really made me appreciate just how much adrienne drew for this game jesus christ. god’s strongest soldier. with all that aside, here’s all of the portraits! enjoy!! falls over dead on the ground

[solmesia]

sex is nice and all but have you considered just laying there... holding your vampire lover... and talking about the first time you broke your oath...........

[cubbihue]

If Timmy struggled with adjusting to magic because he was raised on earth, does that mean this is the reason Peri also struggles? Since in his early years he grew up on earth with his parents?

Yup! There's a multitude of reasons why Peri struggles so much, but they all lie in his origins. Peri was born from a wish! And Wishes, well. They're not meant to last long. Most wishes become unstable as the years go by, but Peri's persisted because he's an entire living being!

CosWan initially feared Peri wouldn't grow up properly, but he turned out nearly as fine as any other Fairy would! Probably!!

Growing up on Earth, being related to the VonStrangles, born from a 10 year old's wish, living past the lifespan of wishes, beyond that of humans... Each part is rather small, but when added together, it culminates into a very... very unstable baby.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

Instability: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[shithowdy]

if you are an artist just trying out commissions for the first time as holidays come up, my advice to you to avoid burnout is have a clear ToS that states what you do and do not want to do.

not what you can and cannot do, but what you do and do not want to do. don't try to be the cheesecake factory of commission artists and take every single commission even if it doesn't suit your style or preferred subject matter. don't write a little disclaimer about how you aren't very good at backgrounds or vehicles but will do your best; that's how you get a client that for some reason wants a full brooklyn cityscape from you and suddenly you have spent five months stressed out and guiltily avoidant of other projects. just say you aren't offering backgrounds.

if you're not interested or confident in concept and design, be clear in your ToS that you need specific references for things like clothes and features. coming up with design ideas is a completely separate skill from rendering them; figure out with what you are comfortable before accepting the task. a lot of clients themselves don't understand that saying "do whatever" is basically tasking you to design for them, something for which you are well within your rights to charge accordingly.

pick your niche and hone it, and stretch your comfort zone with private work. you'll figure out as you go just how far your comfort zone stretches and can update what you offer accordingly.

[unfortunate17]

“Simon doesn’t love Wille as much as Wille loves him” truthers found DEAD in a DITCH

[always-a-king-or-queen]

The ache will go away, eventually. 

That was what the Professor told them, the day they got back. When they tumbled from the wardrobe in a heap of tangled limbs, and found that the world had been torn from under their feet with all the kindness of a serpent. 

They picked themselves off of the floorboards with smiles plastered on child faces, and sat with the Professor in his study drinking cup after cup of tea. 

But the smiles were fake. The tea was like ash on their tongues. And when they went to bed that night, none of them could sleep in beds that were too foreign, in bodies that had not been their own for years. Instead they grouped into one room and sat on the floor and whispered, late into the night. 

When morning came, Mrs. Macready discovered the four of them asleep in Peter and Edmund’s bedroom, tangled in a heap of pillows and blankets with their arms looped across one another. They woke a few moments after her entry and seemed confused, lost even, staring around the room with pale faces, eyes raking over each framed painting on the wall and across every bit of furniture as if it was foreign to them. “Come to breakfast,” Mrs. Macready said as she turned to go, but inside she wondered. 

For the children’s faces had held the same sadness that she saw sometimes in the Professor’s. A yearning, a shock, a numbness, as if their very hearts had been ripped from their chests.

At breakfast Lucy sat huddled between her brothers, wrapped in a shawl that was much too big for her as she warmed her hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Edmund fidgeted in his seat and kept reaching up to his hair as if to feel for something that was no longer there. Susan pushed her food idly around on her plate with her fork and hummed a strange melody under her breath. And Peter folded his hands beneath his chin and stared at the wall with eyes that seemed much too old for his face. 

It chilled Mrs. Macready to see their silence, their strangeness, when only yesterday they had been running all over the house, pounding through the halls, shouting and laughing in the bedrooms. It was as if something, something terrible and mysterious and lengthy, had occurred yesterday, but surely that could not be. 

She remarked upon it to the Professor, but he only smiled sadly at her and shook his head. “They’ll be all right,” he said, but she wasn’t so sure. 

They seemed so lost. 

Lucy disappeared into one of the rooms later that day, a room that Mrs. Macready knew was bare save for an old wardrobe of the professor’s. She couldn’t imagine what the child would want to go in there for, but children were strange and perhaps she was just playing some game. When Lucy came out again a few minutes later, sobbing and stumbling back down the hall with her hair askew, Mrs. Macready tried to console her, but Lucy found no comfort in her arms. “It wasn’t there,” she kept saying, inconsolable, and wouldn’t stop crying until her siblings came and gathered her in their arms and said in soothing voices, “Perhaps we’ll go back someday, Lu.” 

Go back where, Mrs. Macready wondered? She stepped into the room Lucy had been in later on in the evening and looked around, but there was nothing but dust and an empty space where coats used to hang in the wardrobe. The children must have taken them recently and forgotten to return them, not that it really mattered. They were so old and musty and the Professor had probably forgotten them long ago. But what could have made the child cry so? Try as she might, Mrs. Macready could find no answer, and she left the room dissatisfied and covered in dust. 

Lucy and Edmund and Peter and Susan took tea in the Professor’s room again that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. They slept in Peter and Edmund’s room, then Susan and Lucy’s, then Peter and Edmund’s again and so on, swapping every night till Mrs. Macready wondered how they could possibly get any sleep. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but it was where she found them, morning after morning. 

Each morning they looked sadder than before, and breakfast was silent. Each afternoon Lucy went into the room with the wardrobe, carrying a little lion figurine Edmund had carved her, and came out crying a little while later. And then one day she didn’t, and went wandering in the woods and fields around the Professor’s house instead. She came back with grassy fingers and a scratch on one cheek and a crown of flowers on her head, but she seemed content. Happy, even. Mrs. Macready heard her singing to herself in a language she’d never heard before as Lucy skipped past her in the hall, leaving flower petals on the floor in her wake. Mrs. Macready couldn’t bring herself to tell the child to pick them up, and instead just left them where they were. 

More days and nights went by. One day it was Peter who went into the room with the wardrobe, bringing with him an old cloak of the Professor’s, and he was gone for quite a while. Thirty or forty minutes, Mrs. Macready would guess. When he came out, his shoulders were straighter and his chin lifted higher, but tears were dried upon his cheeks and his eyes were frightening. Noble and fierce, like the eyes of a king. The cloak still hung about his shoulders and made him seem almost like an adult. 

Peter never went into the wardrobe room again, but Susan did, a few weeks later. She took a dried flower crown inside with her and sat in there at least an hour, and when she came out her hair was so elaborately braided that Mrs. Macready wondered where on earth she had learned it. The flower crown was perched atop her head as she went back down the hall, and she walked so gracefully that she seemed to be floating on the air itself. In spite of her red eyes, she smiled, and seemed content to wander the mansion afterwards, reading or sketching or making delicate jewelry out of little pebbles and dried flowers Lucy brought her from the woods. 

More weeks went by. The children still took tea in the Professor’s study on occasion, but not as often as before. Lucy now went on her daily walks outdoors, and sometimes Peter or Susan, or both of them at once, accompanied her. Edmund stayed upstairs for the most part, reading or writing, keeping quiet and looking paler and sadder by the day. 

Finally he, too, went into the wardrobe room. 

He stayed for hours, hours upon hours. He took nothing in save for a wooden sword he had carved from a stick Lucy brought him from outside, and he didn’t come out again. The shadows lengthened across the hall and the sun sank lower in the sky and finally Mrs. Macready made herself speak quietly to Peter as the boy came out of the Professor’s study. “Your brother has been gone for hours,” she told him crisply, but she was privately alarmed, because Peter’s face shifted into panic and he disappeared upstairs without a word. 

Mrs. Macready followed him silently after around thirty minutes and pressed an ear to the door of the wardrobe room. Voices drifted from beyond. Edmund’s and Peter’s, yes, but she could also hear the soft tones of Lucy and Susan. 

“Why did he send us back?” Edmund was saying. It sounded as if he had been crying.  

Mrs. Macready couldn’t catch the answer, but when the siblings trickled out of the room an hour later, Edmund’s wooden sword was missing, and the flower crown Susan had been wearing lately was gone, and Peter no longer had his old cloak, and Lucy wasn’t carrying her lion figurine, and the four of them had clasped hands and sad, but smiling, faces. 

Mrs. Macready slipped into the room once they were gone and opened the wardrobe, and there at the bottom were the sword and the crown and the cloak and the lion. An offering of sorts, almost, or perhaps just items left there for future use, for whenever they next went into the wardrobe room.  

But they never did, and one day they were gone for good, off home, and the mansion was silent again. And it had been a long time since that morning that Mrs. Macready had found them all piled together in one bedroom, but ever since then they hadn’t quite been children, and she wanted to know why.

She climbed the steps again to the floor of the house where the old wardrobe was, and then went into the room and crossed the floor to the opposite wall. 

When she pulled the wardrobe door open, the four items the Pevensie children had left inside of it were missing. 

And just for a moment, it seemed to her that a cool gust of air brushed her face, coming from the darkness beyond where the missing coats used to hang.

[astrowarr]

i honestly don't think grian betrayed scar in the finale at all, even by final killing lizzie and jimmy

grian was abundantly clear from the start who his alliance was with: scar, and scar alone. he outright told scar on multiple occasions not only that his friendship didn't extend to scar's allies, but even that he still intended on killing jimmy as revenge. scar knew full well where grian stood with his teammates; if he didn't know, it was because he was being intentionally ignorant about it.

grian kept his promises. the closest he gets to a betrayal is when he first sets up the trap and says "we could get a triple kill," but even then, he doesn't. he goes to great lengths not to kill scar; after scar has lost his final life, he laments as to how the bloodlust made it so so tempting to just kill scar, but he couldn't because their alliance was "too strong." grian avoids using the bambunker trap until after scar is dead, and says "my only issue with this trap was that i was going to kill scar."

grian didn't betray scar. he went out of his way not to. he lived up to every single promise he made, and he didn't even force scar to feel it. because he knows how badly it hurts to watch everyone you love die in front of you. so he made his intentions clear, and in the end, he even managed to spare scar the survivor's guilt that clings to his hands like blood and gunpowder. a small mercy that was, perhaps

[mirroredmoons]

over three years later and I’m still here, watching dean sob on the ground

[heros-shade-fanclub]

He found a baby in the wreckage of a wagon train

Thanks for your requests, @waroferas and @dragkbluire !! I love getting to see you guys in my notes bdjshjsjdjd

[doverstar]

can't express accurately how happy it makes me that c.s. lewis did not leave room for many interpretations in narnia. it's christian and you can't get around it. susan chose to care more about worldly things than what matters and he said what he said. the lion is Jesus. evil is evil and good is good and people have to choose. and that makes some readers angry because it's nearly impossible to ignore and they want to ignore it. they want it to be something else and they can't make it something else without making it not narnia. love that. that is doing it right

[trashy-greyjoy]

being delusional is half the fun of shipping, idk what y'all are on...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Parallel Lines and Brothers.

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