#reboot plans

[hychlorions]

saw another klapollo vision. falling asleep with a distance between them but they're still reaching out to each other.... augh

[twinchromatid]

heard yall bitches like cowboy/texan keith 😊😊

[goingghostcomic]

Art evolution ✨ the pros of holding off on the comic is that the art has improved significantly

2021

2022

2025

[hawkfrostandmudclaw]

mustard don't you know how to knock ?!

[wormsical]

Second year

[bolddeducktionneverfails]

☁☁☁☀️ New year, new art! 🌑☁☁☁

🌾🌾🌾🌻🌷🌼💕🌄💕🌼🌷🌻🌾🌾🌾

I was thinking about the eclipses in the season finales and thought it was...really strange that S3 didn't have one. 🤔 That finale took place in a very sunny environment and a sun was even placed on the floor of The Lost Library.

Both Sun and Moon are needed to make an eclipse and there seemed to be an interesting uptick in moon imagery throughout that season too; in spite of things like The Spear of Selene, the invasion and Penny's homesickness being settled. Whenever the Moon is in focus, or just Space in general, we're more likely to think of how closely Della is associated with these things. Both of the eclipses we saw in the show had something important to do with her: The first one preceded the discovery of her still being alive and the second one happened when she reunited with her brother.

Considering the reflective nature of the show, it would make a lot of sense for her to be involved, in some kind of way, if a third eclipse were to have happened. Could the other instances have been hinting towards the third one being a loose combination of the two? And if it involves another character, who could represent the Sun well enough to match up with Della's Moon connection? 😏

So, yeah, I wanted to draw something that resembled my thoughts on what could have been. I mainly drew inspiration from DT version of "The Kiss" painting Gladstone had in "Lamp".

I pretty much intended to recreate that but had trouble with the posing. 😓 I was also inspired by "Neverrest" and a couple of lyrics from "Ragnarok"s hero song. ✨

I had said that I wanted to add more effects to my work, and this piece certainly delivers that! I was gonna try a lens flare out too, but I was getting tired of working on this piece. 😂 The process for this one and the last one were dragging out too much... x_x

Heh, as I was putting this description together, I realized that my last post from last year had a sunset and my new post for the new year is a sunrise...I love that it. xD

Well, uh...time to work on next month's pieces. 🚶🏾‍♀️

[vaselinegurl]

oh lord-

please, please do not tell me the reboot specialists outfits are going to be similar to the s8 outfits the specialists wore.

Because based on that glimpse in the trailer that we saw of them, their outfits are SOMEWHAT resembling the atrocities the specialists were put into in s8.

I cannot go through another round of whatever the hell these outfits were  😭

oh hell no

(glimpse of this specialist outfits)

[rigginsstreet]

SCOTT: Hart of Dixie came after I left Friday Night Lights, and [the creator] said "I saw- There was one episode in particular where you and Riggins go to the lake and he breaks you out of the rehab center, and I just think you can be in this show as a lead in a romantic comedy." And I was like "What? What part of Friday Night Lights would ever make you think I could do a lead in a romantic comedy?" And then watching this episode back they- the writing is brilliant. Everything I say in this episode, scripted. And what they allow Jason to do in this episode is so awesome and I am just so appreciative of all those little moments. I mean, not everything was- Like when Riggins picks me up and takes me to the lake... That was all Taylor improvving and me improvving, like "How you supposed to carry a team if you can't even carry me?" Like all that stuff they just let us play. They set us up in that situation for these two guys, to see this friendship through and through. I think the thing that- 'cause people have asked me why were they best friends? I think it's because Street does not judge Riggins. And Riggins does not feel like he has to put on any airs around Street. Because they've known each other for so long, and they truly are family. I mean, Tuesday night dinners, Riggins comes to the Street household. And it's, you know, they have that talk on the beach, and Taylor's so good at that stuff, just cutting right through to the honesty of it, he's like "That's just money, bro. We're still gonna have our ranch, we'll figure the money part out. It's the friendship that's the thing."

-IT’S NOT ONLY FOOTBALL: FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS AND BEYOND

[rvbrebooted]

Me, tasting RvB like a soup: It needs more Theta

[colossal-red]

Chapter One: Four Eyes

TW: Minor Violence, rebooted universe, and George Abuse lmao.

WC: 1361

Heya! Colossal-Red here, if you’re curious about what this exactly is, a better explanation is available Here. Other than that, enjoy the show!

Normal Text: Dream’s perspective.

Blue Textowo: George’s perspective.

—---------------------------------------------------

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk…

The sounds of the metal under the hooded borrower’s shoes echoed through the vents, excruciatingly loud normally, but in a deserted house like this it didn’t matter. Dream smiled from behind his mask, using a hand to shield his eyes as he reached an outdoor exit for the air within the vents… a hole meticulously made in the grates. He would hook his hook around the grate lines, and begin to rappel himself down… and once he reached the bush, he would take berries from it with strong tugs to rip them out from their stems; It was a routine day, afterwards he would get some water from a leaky pipe and would patch it back up when he left from the attic. 

Everything seemed normal, he had only been here for a week but it had been a great house so far. If only the last house I went to was half as peaceful… I hope that guy didn’t mind that needle shot. He mused over his most recent past, balancing across a pipe in the attic to reach his base of operations. It was a simple place carved out of an old box, it wasn’t much, but for now it was home.

Once he got inside he would place his bag down next to his ‘books’ which lay against a wall, and laid atop a piece of fluff he had stolen a few houses prior… they all blurred together so he couldn’t quite remember which. He sighed, stroking his temple with two fingers, it was relaxing for sure but the adventure was always something he enjoyed. He supposed it could be worse though, that blue haired borrower from a few houses back (Or was it longer than a few?) was even more of a thrillseeker than he was, foolish even; Dream couldn’t judge however, only hope his fellow borrower would be safe.

The base was an interesting place, to a human at least, to a borrower it was all very typical save for the ‘books’. Dream’s makeshift bean bag out of fluff was in the center, directly in front of it to the left in the corner laid a few pieces of paper, some of those papers being held together by a very thin needle. The papers were the ‘books’ mentioned earlier, inside laid some teachings in the borrower’s written language on operations for the special Hook Dream had, as well as basic advice and even one of them being a journal he wrote in from time to time. In the opposite corner, to the right of the front of the bean bag were a few murals, sketches of a variety of people, a pink haired man in a crown, the blue haired borrower, another borrower with wings, and so on. The walls behind the bean bag, and farthest from the entrance, were mostly empty… save for a few tools to repair the hook in the event of a malfunction or damage being sustained, and a variety of needles to be used as weapons. 

Dream sighed as he unequipped the hook for a moment, taking it off of his waist. It was truly a  special thing, heck he probably wouldn’t be alive right now without it. You see, the hook was an automated one that could be worn around his waist, all it took was a bit of control for where you wanted to throw it and the damn thing could hook onto just about anything with enough momentum, it could allow him to swing the length of an entire room, and when mixed with Dream’s unique analytical vision, it was easy to gauge what he needed to do to get close enough to stab a Bean and get away fast without being caught.

His train of thought was interrupted though as his ears detected a familiar sound… the jingling of keys turning as the front door was opened. 

That couldn’t be right? 

Almost growling, he got up, put his hook on, and ran out the front door of his box… leaping out and throwing the hook to a support beam in the attic, swooping down and swinging directly in between the bars of a vent grate and spiraling down, down, down before shooting the hook back up for it to lodge within the roof of the shaft and allow him to slow his fall to a soft thump of his makeshift shoes. From here, he would head to the living room with a nervous, yet excited expression overcame his face. Excitement at the prospect of being able to finetune his skills and battle with a bean, but also annoyed and nervous at the relaxation being taken away. He would be sure to readjust his mask, and he’d emerge out onto a shelf, overlooking the scene.

—--------------------------------------------------

He made an oof sound as he dropped a box down onto the hard floor, using a hand to push his glasses up as he looked around the house. It wasn’t much, but it would serve well. George had been saving up for a house for a while at this point, wanting somewhere more than an apartment for his streams and recordings. 

This move had been a big change, but it was something he wanted, and it would bring him somewhere better to live in case his YouTube and Twitch career went up in flames so he could get a job. The next hour or so of his day would be spent carrying boxes from his car inside, thankfully the moving company had come so his bed should already be- His thoughts were cut off abruptly as he opened the bedroom door to find nothing there. He groaned slightly, and checked his phone only to discover they’d been delayed… typical.

The next hour was spent trying to make a makeshift bed on the sofa the house came with; It definitely needed replacing, he couldn’t even figure out what every stain was. George eventually just covered it all up with a sheet he had found in one of the boxes, and from there he would try to get everything out of the boxes he could… largely just his setup, decor, and his TV. He would grumble slightly and head outside with a pair of clippers. He didn’t particularly feel like working for another hour to figure out how to set up the TV, so instead he would take care of some of the prickly fauna in the backyard. 

George opened the backdoor, and took in the fresh air. It was a rather beautiful backyard despite the overgrown plants, but he would still keep some of them. But first things first, that prickly berry bush right up against the house would be the first to go. George took his clippers to the bush, he didn’t want to get pricked by it anytime soon. When he leaned in to take the first snip however, an acorn conked him right on the forehead, and caused him to reel back with an audible “Ow!” while he clutched his head. He looked all around. 

How had the nut hit him? 

The tree in the yard wasn’t overhanging above him, and he hadn’t heard any squirrels… he pondered over this for only a moment, before taking a step back towards the berry bush; And he immediately fell over into the bush with a rather high-pitched screech, his shoes had been tied together, and now he was covered in thorns! 

“Ow, ow ow ow!” He grunted as he practically leaped away from the bush and tenderly touched where they had pricked him on his arms. “Urg…” He looked up briefly, feeling around his neck. As he did this, he saw a glimmer of something disappearing into an air vent.

Something clicked in his head. Was this perhaps… the doing of a borrower? He’d heard a lot of stories about those little guys, nothing specific, and no one was sure if they really existed, but… No, it was crazy, he must’ve imagined it. But as he got up and headed back inside to extract some of the embedded thorns, he thought he heard something that sounded like laughter.

------------------------------------------------------

Special thanks to @i-am-beckyu for reviewing the fic beforehand! I was h^lla rusty at the time so it helped a ton! (There is an owo hidden somewhere in this fic courtesy of my Gf btw xd)

Now for the Taglist:

@local-squishmallow @kayla-crazy-stuffs @yellow-16 @eiscreme135 @baka-monarch @funtimemoth

Also: This post is actually a double feature, almost immediately after I am posting a fic for a different fandom! :3 I know it’s not what y’all followed me for but it’s a new passion of mine x3 totally would recommend checking out Dannocaldrawings and Shorts Wars on YT in general tho if you don’t know what they are or else that other fic will be confusing af.

[jingycakes]

Is it too late to get in on Mipper Week?

Nursing school is always crazy, and it was my birthday on Wednesday (yay!) so I’ve been preoccupied.

I love the mix and match prompts @warcrimegwen chose for this, such a fun and unique way to celebrate! The ones I chose for this piece were Fantasy + Confessions

The idea behind it is partly inspired by movies like Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves and The Nutty Professor, in that our overweight heroes magically become thin for short periods of time and complicate things by falling in love— with each other!

[warcrimegwen]

I am excited to announce Mipper Week 2024! Running from November 18-24, this event allows you to mix-and-match AUs from List A with tropes from List B!

Tag your submissions with #Mipper Week. Let's get creative!

List A (Alternate Universes):

Fantasy

Sci-Fi

School

Coffeeshop

Canon Divergence

Historical

Free Space

List B (Tropes)

Formalwear/Dancing

Hurt/Comfort

Only One Bed

Firsts

Meeting the Family

Fake Dating

Confessions

[goingghostcomic]

Please enjoy this thumbnail for the first scene I’m doing digitally. I’m not doing them in order because starting at the beginning is hard but this is a fun scene in my pilot

[secret-tester]

Happy New Year Duckblr!!!

Or in this case on my side of the world...

New Year's Eve.

I know this may seem a bit... early or even late for some of you guys (i hate timezones) but Happy New Year!!!

I hope you guys enter the New Year with happiness and joy with your family and friends!!!

Anyway I give you my last post of the year for 2023... Older Triplets!!!

Happy New Year Duckblr

May God Bless you all!!

- Secret-Tester

[flowercrowngods]

j.r. harrington's christmas carol

in prose. being a ghost story of christmas. a modern au.

stave i

Three things in John Richard Harrington‘s life come with absolute certainty: tax returns, unsweetened black coffee three times a day, and the permanent headache once December inevitably rolls around, over time wandering from his temples to just behind his eyes, worsening his already sour mood.

“Idiocy, all of this,” he mutters under his breath as he pushes open the door to his office, leaving behind his stammering secretary and the ungodly blare of Christmas songs he cannot seem to escape this year. It’s grating on his nerves, and he hangs his hat on the coat-tree, damp with water because it never snows anymore. 

All the better for traffic, at least, because not a day passes that he has nowhere to be. Snow tends to thwart these plans. 

“Absolute humbug,” he grumbles once more, shucking his coat and smoothing a hand over the lapels, keeping them immaculate despite the rain.

There is a stack of documents on his desk, and it is a blessed vision, that. None of that dilly-dallying that the rest of the world seems so adamant on indulging this time of year, no. Not for John Richard Harrington, real estate magnate and financier by trade. The world of Money is not about to stop just because workers all across the globe are wont to forget about their employment for a few days of illusion and play-pretend. 

“Bah!” He sits down and finds note upon note from long-standing business partners and loyal clients, wishing him a Merry Christmas and expressing gratification and happiness towards their business this year. 

While Harrington does appreciate the loyalty and the premise of future business, he does not need their Merry Christmasses nor their Good Tidings. What he needs is responsible, determined employees who do purposeful work regardless of the holidays. 

But all he gets is a bunch of ungrateful, aimless good-for-nothings who, instead of working as they are expected to, spend all of December beseeching him to grant them just two days of Christmas vacation — and every year they get the same answer: “Stay home for Christmas and find yourselves unemployed.”

And every year they make the decision to come into work, restoring Harrington’s faith and goodwill that at times has been known to go so far as to sending them home a half hour early — paid! He is not a monster, after all; no matter what they say. He is a realist. A capitalist. A wise investor and a driven businessman. And business, he knows, at times necessitates a compromise. 

He will, however, not compromise a whole year’s work for a meaningless holiday that is in dire need of a better soundtrack. How people do not grow tired of listening to always the same songs on repeat each and every year is past him, and he won’t even try to understand it. So long as they keep their miguided cheer far away from him, he does not care if the first noël is born or if the midwinter is indeed bleak. 

A knock sounds against the heavy wooden door and he frowns, already anticipating the person behind the door even as he keeps sorting the stack on his desk, sorting mail into dedicated piles of business, sentimentality, and Steven. The latter has been empty for years now, but that is just as well. 

Another knock, and the old Harrington growls, his eyes flitting to the door as though he were capable of making the person behind it disappear by sheer willpower alone. Although he has to concede that making Cratchit disappear would be a poor move, as the man is one of his most efficient. Their acquaintance could be excellent if only Cratchit weren’t so adamant on experiencing the Christmas cheer each year without pause. 

John Richard sighs and leans back in his chair, still frowning at the door as he bids him inside. 

“Cratchit.” 

“Merry Christmas, sir!” Cratchit says, a glint of tease beneath the unfortunately entirely genuine sentiment that ricochets right off of Harrington’s scowl and returns to its sender, only brightening the man’s smile. 

“Tell me what you want and then get back to work, Cratchit. I don’t pay you for… lallygagging.” 

 Cratchit’s smile falters a little, and he clears his throat. “Well, you see, sir, my son. He has flown in from overseas, arrived this morning, in fact. Has come home for Christmas for the first time in three years, you see. He will stay over the holidays, and so I was wondering if, perhaps, you would make an exception this year and show a little heart—“ 

“Heart!” Harrington exclaims, effectively shutting up his stammering employee. “Compassion! And where will that get me, Cratchit? Let’s say I concede this year, you lot will expect it every year from now on. Add to that a vacation for New Year’s Day, and maybe a few days give or take until work ethic declines and you will only work from one holiday to another. Isn’t that what will happen, hm?” He scoffs, shaking his head in derision. “Compassion… I expected better from you, Cratchit.” 

The man withers, and normally Harrington wouldn’t mind that, would study his misery and hold it against him in future debates. But something about it, something about that grin disappearing, and with it that glint of something so youthful even though the man is only a few years his junior cracks at something inside him. Something that feels a lot like that empty stack of mail on his desk. 

“Please,” Cratchit says. “Please, sir, just… Just half the day tomorrow. It’s—“ 

It’s Christmas. It's humbug! 

Anger rises inside him and barely contains himself as it coils and bubbles inside him. “Get out,  Cratchit, before I’ll have you escorted outside.” 

“But sir—“ 

“Get out!” he shouts, watching as Cratchit flinches, entirely too soft for this world. Marley wouldn’t have hesitated to fire him thrice over for even trying to bargain over this. 

But Marley is dead seven years now, and Harrington is the only hard-headed man in charge of these good-for-nothings. And maybe it’s that; a tiny, misguided shred of mourning his business partner; or maybe it’s his hand reaching for the non-existent stack on his desk and finding his hand empty. Maybe it’s heart, as Cratchit put it, even though John Richard is known not to have one, and he is not inclined to disagree. 

Whatever the reason may be, Harrington calls, before Cratchit can hastily pull the door shut behind him, “And when you come back after Christmas, I expect to see you at your best performance, Cratchit. Understood?”

The man blinks, his eyes wide as saucers as he regards Harrington, his mouth falling open as he loses whatver composure he might have possessed before this. Five seconds pass and Harrington is inclined to take back his words when Cratchit shake shimself out of his stupor and falls into a tirade of gratitude and disbelief that Harrington really has no time for, calling for his assistant to escort Cratchit back downstairs. They have work to do after all. 

When the door falls shut once more, leaving the grand office in silence, he allows himself a moment to breathe and regret his moment of softness, hearing Marley’s grouching insistence that softness and compassion in a capitalist’s world will only lead to ruin and bitterness. 

But bitterness is there in Harrington’s life regardless, especially around this time of year. 

*** 

There is another certainty in John Richard Harrington’s life: He does not get nightmares. There are no terrors haunting him, no ghosts of future or past relationships to linger in the back corners of his mind, waiting to come out at night when he lets his guard down. 

That, however, does very little to explain this nightmare of Jacob Marley warning him of an eternity of sorrow and chains if he does not see the error in his ways, if he does not better himself and reconnect with the heart tapping a steady but withering beat in his chest. 

“I don’t undestand!” he calls into the void as the world spins around him, light becoming darkness and darkness turning into light, blinding and disorienting him as he feels colder by the second. 

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” Marley’s apparition says as Harrington falls, scrambling away from the Ghost, feeling real fear for the first time in his life. “You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits. Please them and yours will not be the same fate as mine. Expect the first one tonight, when the clock strikes One. The second will find you the night after that at the same hour. And the third will come when Christmas Eve turns into Christmas Day.” 

He shakes his head, refusing to believe this Ghost, ready to bargain that she should meet all these Spirits at once if they were real, that they should reveal themselves and absolve him of what crimes they think him to be guilty of. But Marley holds up his hand, forbidding John Richard to speak, and he does hold his tongue — more out of fear than real obedience. 

Before he knows it, the room fills with horrible wails of lamentation and regret, self-accusatory and begging for absolution so sorrowful that Harrington feels a cold shiver travelling down his back, a sensation he is not at all familiar with. 

And then, as quickly as it started, the spectre is gone and silence returns, the show is over. There is no time to collect himself, because he gasps awake the next moment, feeling no different than just seconds before and wondering if it really was a dream or if he was hallucinating. Unfortunately, a hallucination is just as impossible as a nightmare. 

The alarm clock on is bedside table shows 12:19 a.m. 

And for some reason, fear still coursing through his veins, John Richard Harrington decides to stay awake. Pretending not to count down the minutes until the clock stikes One and be assured to still exist in a world where ghosts aren’t real.

[potterandpromises]

One criticism I have of season 4 is that they retcon aspects of Sazz' character and her relationship with Charles. Like in the podcast they talk about the scene with Rex/Marshall when Sazz is confronting him about the script and Jane Lynch is saying how Sazz would never betray someone. But Sazz very much did steal Charles' girlfriend Cookie. That's not the same thing as what Marshall did, but she did do that and they were together for 20 years. That was very much a thing that happened.