#the only reason this pose I made exist it’s cause it was for this doodle pF..

[smokbeast]

”apologies”

#inktobertale2024 Day 15

[jcfoxington]

@sambambucky​ : “pls... Pastels, Peaches and Pain??? among us first draft??? marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts (it’s not an au!?!??!)

hi jo !!! Pastels, Peaches, and Pain is one of those sambucky wips i have mostly fully fleshed out in my head because of one (1) extreme moment of clarity after a rogue ‘what if’ tangent thought but havent written anything of yet out of restraint / knowing i need to finish at least one of my current sambucky wips before i start it or none of them will get done

this was the rogue tangent thought: “what if Sam is haunted by Figaro’s ghost and has been since he was a kid?”. i’ve changed the ghost cat to not be Figaro but that’s the premise !

i refer to the fic as the cat fic ‘cause the whole plot is based around sam’s ghost cat companion insisting he adopts nat’s cat Liho after endgame and then Figaro later and then [insert redacted because plot spoilers but just know it relates to Alpine]. no im not projecting my feelings about cats idk what youre talking about 

here’s some note snippets just for you:

the cat, inexplicably, takes a liking to bucky, which is really annoying bc sam doesnt know how to explain to him that all the oddly soft gusts of wind are actually sam's dead cat insisting on getting pats

bucky getting shade thrown at him by said ghost cat during all of tfatws + them making up (and not out. yet)

starts when sam's a kid & follows him as he grows up w/ a ghost kitty as a companion only he can see & interact with + angst with an undertone of comedy + getting together

he whispers to ghost kitty, who simply mmrrs happily

for the among us first draft thing, what basically happened is i saw this tweet and this video and my brain latched onto these dynamics so hard i had to write about them. 

here’s a sketch of my two main imposters, Black (left) and Cyan (right):

and here’s a snippet:

The thing having Cyan pause and stare out at the asteroid field is how the colors stretch to family. When they and Black came aboard, they had thought every crewmember was an adult working on the planet-change project. That the patch of off-white with a black something-pattern-or-shape signified status. In a way, Cyan supposes it does, but just not the way they expected. They had expected it to show what rank an individual held within the hierarchy of the crew, from deckhand to division leader to captain, not to show that you're family of the crew and not actually part of the crew itself. 

There are innocents on this ship. Children. It was not something any of them had anticipated, and not something Cyan had been prepared to deal with. They and Black boarded this horrible place to eradicate a threat, believing each and single one of the humans were accomplishes and dedicated to the goal of destroying Cyan and Black's species, and their planet. But, now?

marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts... doesn’t have a wip title or seperate document for itself yet cause it’s been stuck in my ‘story ideas’ document since its creation. so ‘marvel meets warframe meets a bunch of tumblr posts’ is literally just me describing the vibe of an original world gjkerfkds

the world came to be for two reasons. firstly, i want to do make take on a superhero universe because the plot and complete lack of communication in both the dcu and mcu piss me the fuck off. secondly, needed a place to dump ocs with elaborate backstories or fantasy / sci-fi abilities that dont fit into any of my existing worlds

which sounds super competent but trust me, it isn’t. it didn’t gain any solidity at all until i decided to do a personal ‘how different can i make spn castiel look & still retain the same vibe?’ challenge. i have my own cas now

however, the reason i said ‘marvel meets...’ is because i’ve snagged a couple of different things from the mcu, most notably: enemies to reluctant coworkers to lovers, yes our best friend have the same name. no they’re not the same person, secret evil org is controlling the government, and the assassin that tried to kill you several times is now your best friend

warframe was added to the world because i got attached to my Volt build, gave them a name, and have some headcanons idk what to do with because i refuse to interact with that fandom. also because the friend i made through discussing warframe lore + plot dicked me over so it feels Bad to create for

the glue to this whole mess is that one “in every friend group there’s a mean bisexual, an even meaner lesbian, a she/they, a he/they, a himbo, an astrology bitch, a short king, and a token straight” tumblr post. my main group of superheroes ala the avengers consist of these people. the token straight is the only one i havent figured out who is yet

ever since i figured that out ive been throwing story / character ideas and weirdly specific aesthetics from popular tumblr posts into this world’s notes. here’s some examples:

sword grandmas

that trope where someone’s really nice and acts super well-adjusted to society but then they do something super whack and dangerous and you realize ‘oh they’re secretly a little bit insane, actually’

anti-gay group’s leader’s wife leaves him for another woman

superhero who swore to be the best hero [city / planet / solar system / continent / ????] has ever seen ever since he lost his wife. not because she’s dead but divorce just sucks & the hero-to-be is terrible at coping

dishevelled swamp witch

that one person who runs around with an amulet all the time & isn’t aware it’s cursed

an exasperated, tired superhuman assassin running after their husband and their husband's best friend. their husband and said husband's best friend both have wings. chaos ensues (yes, this one is a sambucky post)

ask me about my WIPs!

BONUS:

@sambambucky​​ : #i want to have a coffee and listen to synopses of all of these.... #i miss the discord wow #WRITING TAG #waitttt time jumping dream movie? lmao I'VE READ THIS LIST FORTY TIMES and every time i rediscover something i wanna know about #outfit doodlesss ugh i need to go

couldnt not respond to your tags because they make me go ghrkjfnerknf but in the good way. we miss you too jo !!

the time jumping dream movie was one of the first vivid dreams i had and the whole thing was so stupidly coherent and whacky i had to write it down. it grew plot, a queer love dynamic, weird sci-fi apocalypse elements, anti-military propaganda, questionable science, and a sequel while i wasnt looking and now i just. have to make it a real movie or i’ll combust

outfit djoodlles.png is only on there because my best friend sent me a ‘draw this outfit’ meme and space kitty, my current character brainrot, stole all the outfits for himself. otherwise, that file just sits there until im feeling like designing an outfit or wanna see how a stupid thing looks on my oc patrick

here’s one of the two poses-to-doodle-outfits-on of space kitty ive made so far:

and here’s one of those stupid things on patrick (that then turned into an actual outfit of his because i have no self control):

[lostinfic]

Self Indulgent prompts, huh? I love anything with artist Rose so something with that theme. I'm not picky about the Doctor- like my current obsession is Eight/Rose, but I'm perpetually in love with Nine/Rose and Ten/Rose too so whichever Doctor you're most comfortable with.

The Museum of Serendipity

Doctor x Rose, Wilf, male OC (Original Cat)

Rated E  | 2300 words

Sorry this took longer than anticipated, I got sidetracked by research and 8th Doctor audio adventures ;)

I’m fulfilling your self-indulgent prompts

Of all the wonderful, celebrated museums in London, Rose’s favourite was an anarchic collection housed in a crooked Georgian house in Marylebone. 

From ground floor to attic, over four storeys, shelves and frames lined the walls of every room, following a seemingly incoherent design. Part cabinet of curiosity and part celebration of beauty in all its forms, the collection was curated by an anonymous— and eccentric, Rose liked to imagine— philanthropist.

Its name, the Museum of Serendipity, summed up how the collection was put together. Or perhaps it indicated how this museum could be found: by sheer good luck, as it was not advertised anywhere. Rose herself had stumbled upon it by accident last September, when looking for a shelter from the rain. Quite a happy accident, since her art teacher had asked them to visit a gallery for their first assignment of the semester (she’d earned extra points for originality).

Despite few visitors, it remained open from morning to evening. More often than not, the elderly greeter slept in his rocking chair by the door, leaving Basil the cat in charge.

Its location near Regent’s Park, made it a perfect destination for a drawing session. On a beautiful spring day like today, Rose would walk along the paths of the park and draw the flora and fauna in her sketchbook. Then make her way towards the museum. Other days, after a long time indoors, she would enjoy the park’s fresh air and time to reflect on the latest collection piece she’d discovered.

Since her childhood, art had been a way for Rose to travel, around the globe and across time, a way to see the world through other people’s eyes and to share her own vision. A way to exist beyond the Powell Estate. The Museum of Serendipity transported her like nothing else.

Although she enjoyed the morning sun, she didn’t linger in Regent’s Park, too eager to get there. 

The elderly greeter was listening to the radio in his small front office. 

“Hello, Wilf!”

He jumped to his feet with an energy that belied his years.

“Ah, Rose, luv. Alright? How’s school?”

“Got another assignment to complete for art history class. By the way, mid-term break is coming up, if you fancy a holiday, I could cover your shifts here for a few days.”

He would be doing her a favour more than the other way around.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “We got a new piece came in.”

New pieces were simply added to the exhibition wherever a space was available. As they walked to the drawing room, Rose tried to know more about the museum.

“Who brought this new piece?”

“John did, just this morning.”

“John?”

“Yeah, John McConnell , the mailman,” Wilf said. “Here it is.”

On the mantel lay an artifact shaped like a metal glove without fingertips. Or a pan flute.

“Looks like something from the future,” she joked.

“Modern art, then,” Wilf said. 

He left her to look at it a while longer. The pattern that covered it, both engraved and raised all at once, looked like scales. Rose pulled her sketchbook out of her messenger bag and drew it. Texture study. 

Basil, the museum’s Abyssinian cat, greeted her, rubbing himself against her legs. She petted his long ears and ruddy coat. She followed Basil out of the room, and wandered the now familiar corridors and staircases. Her hand trailed along the faded floral wallpaper and oak paneling. The smell of candle wax and pine wood polish always hung in the air.

There was one painting in particular Rose always came back to, in the third floor library, just above a loveseat that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Ahead of her, Basil jumped on the loveseat and looked at her expectantly.   

Rose pulled up a chair to sit down, the museum was almost a second home now, she had no qualms moving furniture around.

With a dreamy sigh, she let her eyes roam the large canvas. It depicted a dozen people in elegant Edwardian clothing, visiting an art exhibition. She was transported back in times, it seemed. Back to la Belle Époque. Late 19th- early 20th century, in France. Among women in high-necked waist shirts, carrying white lace parasols and men wearing mustaches and straw boating hats. The era of Moulin Rouge and absinthe, of the first movie, of bicycles and Marie Curie, just to name a few.  The era of Gustav Klimt, Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh and Renoir, the artists whose work Rose had first fallen in love with. The painting itself blended elements of Art Nouveau and Impressionism (as she’d described in her second assignment).  

But there was one character in particular that commanded her attention again and again. There, in the upper left corner. The painter had done this trick which makes it look like the subject’s eyes are on you wherever you stand in the room. Though unnerved at first, Rose now tried to master this technique. Countless time she’d drawn his thick, curly brown hair, the soft contours of his jaw, his blue eyes, the creases that bracketed his mouth. And that smile, a Mona Lisa smile, the hardest trait to capture. 

His clothes also offered many details to work on: the sheen of his satin cravat, the velvet of his jacket, the pattern of his waistcoat. 

At first, she only tried to capture his likeness in various mediums, but over time she tried to sketch his profile, his back. She depicted that gentleman in various poses and actions. He had taken a life of his own. What was he doing there that day? What was his relationship with the painter? Why was he looking at her like that?

Basil meowed. 

“Alright, don’t be jealous. I’ll draw you first, you beautiful boy.”

“Thanks, it’s a new jumper. Do you like the colour?” said a man with a northern accent.

Rose started. He was leaning against the door, looking at her, with the smallest hint of a smile. 

He picked up Basil and sat down on the loveseat, laying the cat on his legs crossed at the knees. Rose held back a quip about the similar size of their ears.

“Well, go on, then,” he said, indicating her sketchbook with his chin.  

“Hold on, are you the director of the museum? Or the curator?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

At a loss for a reply, Rose simply got to work. 

If Basil wasn’t running away, then surely this man posed no threat. Just a lost, slightly odd item, like everything else in the Museum of Serendipity. Including herself.

His face offered such striking features to draw, that bold nose, those sharp cheekbones. The cropped hair revealed the shape of his skull and the collar of his sweater, a beautiful neck. A face for charcoal, she thought, to capture the lights and darks of him, in loose, almost intangible strokes. Charcoal and dry pastels, she amended, she had to recreate the infinite blue of his eyes.

They chatted about everything big and small: cats, galaxies, her doubts about art school and his hopes for the future of humanity.

Time flowed differently when she was creating. In that moment more than ever. A sort of appeasing, melodic hum filled her mind, and everything, but her subject, faded away.

When she traced his eyes, she was surprised to find in them a spark, as if he knew her. 

She looked up at him, and he smiled. “Hello,” he said.

Before she could think of a good way to phrase her question, he stood up and looked at the sketch over her shoulder. He gave an appreciative nod.

“We need someone to do a painting of the museum,” he announced. “Are you free to do it?”

“A painting? Are you taking the piss?”

“I’m serious. Great big canvas. Like this one.” He pointed to her favourite painting of la Belle Époque.

“I’ll need money to buy supplies,” she said, to test his good faith.

“Of course.”

He grabbed a tin box in a nearby bookcase; it was full of cash. He handed her the stack of pound notes without counting. Almost as if he was ignorant of their value. “Will this do?”

Rose nodded dumbly. She resolved right away to only spend a reasonable sum. 

“I’ll come by next Wednesday afternoon,” she said.

“Perfect. See you, then, Rose Tyler.”

She spent the next few days in a state of disbelief. Her mind constantly replayed her encounter with the blue-eyed man. Several times, she opened her sketchbook to look at his portrait. The fondness it aroused in her took her breath away. She found herself doodling both him and the gentleman in the painting, over and over.

She bought a load of art supplies, but kept the receipt in a secure place in case she needed a refund.

On Wednesday, she arrived at the museum with a knot in her stomach. Wilf greeted her, as usual, but he was wearing a smart new uniform.

A moment later, the blue-eyed man skipped down the stairs, two at a time, and welcomed her with a bright smile. He introduced himself as the Doctor, just the Doctor, and Rose went along with it— after all, it wasn’t the weirdest thing about him.

He’d set up an easel and a canvas in the third floor library. She barely paid attention to his directives, she was distracted by the number of visitors in the museum, more than she had ever seen.

“Is this a prank show thing or what?” she asked.

“Why would it be a prank show?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you said it. Why a prank show?” he repeated.

“‘Cause to get that many actors and props, it’s got to be on telly.”

“That makes sense. Well done.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s not a tv show,” he said. 

“But— why?”

“It’s the museum’s anniversary. We are interested in collecting unique pieces, and what’s more unique than Rose Tyler’s first commissioned artwork?” 

“Maybe the last,” she mumbled.

“It won’t be,” he said, stating a fact rather than paying a compliment. “Coffee?”

The Doctor knew something she didn’t, and as irritating as it was, it incited her to stay and fulfill his request.

She laid a tarp on the floor below the easel, spread out her brushes and palette knives, picked the colours. 

Basil, of course, wanted to be part of the painting. He lay down in the sunniest spot, on the window sill, looking ever so regal.

As she prepped the canvas, her brain ran ahead of her with ideas to best infuse her art with feelings this room evoked. Warm earth tones, old leather bound books, a thick Persian rug, but also glass cases to keep people away, artworks by undisclosed artists, mysteries all around. Inviting and distant all at once. Much like the Doctor.

She scanned the room for him. He stood in a corner of the library, surveying. As she traced his silhouette, she noticed the similarity, in his posture and smile, with the fascinating gentleman in the Belle Époque painting. She made a mental note to ask about that too.

Hours passed by, Wilf kept her comfortable with cups of tea, snacks, a stool, opening the window, closing the window.

Everyone had left. The sun had set. Only the Doctor and Basil remained in the room with her. 

The artwork wasn’t finished, but it had everything she needed to continue another day. Yet, she didn’t leave. She didn’t want to. She stood there, wringing her paint-splattered hands waiting for something, anything, from the Doctor. 

“I want to show you something,” he said. He took her hand and they both stood up on Marie Antoinette’s loveseat. “Look closely.”

Now inches from the Belle Époque painting, she saw it like she never had before. It shimmered and shifted. Like those 3D images you have to cross your eyes to see. She blinked. Looked closer. And drifted through the canvas.

Rose gripped the Doctor’s hand tighter. Behind them, there was no library, only a blue door. And in front of her, the painting had come to life. No— they weren’t in the painting, they were in Paris of the 1900s. Around her, people chatted in French, cigar smoke wafted to her nose, and through a window that wasn’t on the painting, she could see the brand new Eiffel tower.

The gentleman that had so fascinated her was there too. Thick hair, bright smile.

“Rose, we meet at last,” he said.

His voice sounded exactly like she’d imagined. She didn’t know until now that she’d imagined his voice.

“She’s all yours,” the Doctor said.

Rose didn’t let go of his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here to bring you back to your own timeline.”

He disappeared through the blue door.

The other man linked their arms together. A feeling of safety washed over her. He was a stranger and yet not at all. As if to reassure her further, an Abyssinian cat sauntered by.

“Is that Basil?” Rose asked.

“In a fashion. Cats have nine lives, as you know.”

“And you, Doctor, how many have you got?”

The Doctor smiled. “Ah, you figured it out, clever girl.”

That didn’t mean she didn’t have a ton of questions, but for now, she only wanted to soak up the magic of it all. 

The Doctor showed her around the room. They mingled with the other visitors, admiring the artwork on the walls. Rose couldn’t stop grinning.

They stopped in front of a painting depicting another gallery, in another museum, in another era.

“Can we go through there too?” Rose ventured.

“Yes, but wouldn’t you like to see Paris first?”

“We can go out?”

“Of course. You know, my friend Claude has been pestering me about visiting his garden. Nice fellow, this Claude. Mind you, he’s a tad obsessed with water lilies.”

[rainbabbles]

I’m super duper attached to Shiver and Deathblow and gonna talk about their world and spill my love all over here so bear with me >:U Huge ramblings ahead~

World

So they have no story or anything, just a fun idea I have to doodle and have fun. So they live in a world where it’s essentially the Afterlife and it’s inhabited by ghosts of every color honestly. It’s the same as Earth, just more supernatural. It’s always night, lotsa spooky/funky aesthetics, and the setting is in a city called Putridine City.

The main thing going on is that Shiver and Deathblow’s family is super rich. Their dad runs Accursed Inc., which is a famous haunting agency that aims to assist with creating the most terrifying and appropriate hauntings for ghosts stuck on Earth. You want a revenge story? They’ll curate that in the victim’s dreams! You want a slasher movie? They’ll provide you chainsaws and gore extravaganza! Just wanna be an annoying poltergeist?? They’ll provide you energy to do that. I literally have no legit idea how Accursed gains profit,,, maybe fueled by amount of fear??? I dunno :I

But yeaaaah when Deathblow was old enough their dad gave him the company and dayum that boy runs it good (though he’s pretty tired most of the time). He’s also known to be super scary and horrifying so Deathblow’s reputation helped the company’s PR. A few years later Shiver was old enough to do her own thing- but she never had a direction in life? She stayed at her parents for a year or so being lazy and they were like, “bby u need to adult” so they sent her to Deathblow.

She got offered a normal position called an Omen Organizer. Essentially she just goes to the surface and helps organize all the horror props/magic/etc. that’s supposed to go down and make sure that it goes down correctly. Like a wedding planner but for The Grudge. Shiver super hates horror though so really,,,, she’s scared half the time and just procrastinates and stuff. Deathblow yells at her a lot. She tries better, but you know it’s the same thing, and he’s not ready to fire her yet so :ppp

Honestly there’s only a few reasons why Shiver decided to accept the position:

She gets to hang out with her brother ‘cause it’s been a while

She’s just biding her time while trying to figure out her true calling in life

Hot business ladies. They’re everywhere. She’s thirsty.

There’s a whole other mess of story things that go down (like Shiver finding a girlfriend, Deathblow making deals with demons, rival businesses, silly road trips, etc.) but yeah that’s all I got for that.

Quick Fun Facts

The Afterlife can hold ghosts and have ghosts go back up to the surface to be reincarnated if they are able to. Lots of ghosts choose to stay though because hey why not?? also they gotta keep the Earth from overpopulating so not everyone gets to live again.

Cryptids exist in the Afterlife but are wildlife

All the names of the ghosts in this world are horrendously punny or just spooky™ to the max. But hey, Deathblow and Shiver don’t share the same last name you ask??? Well that’s because in this world those are "fake” names. If you have a real name, you hide it. If you don’t, you are given one. Which leads to the next bullet point:

How are ghost babies made? Usually, you get a dead baby as horrible as that sounds. However, if you want one of your own you gotta do things differently. You take some “essence” or energy of you and your partner’s and give them to the baby maker facility. Based on how much money you give them, you can curate how your baby can come out- as in what ghosts your baby is made out of. For example: Deathblow was created from some of the worst serial killers, murders, crime lords, etc. ever and they were mixed into one ghosty bby. Being erased and reused to create something new is punishment for those guys, so don’t feel sorry lmao. Shiver was supposed to be like that too but the concoction is faulty so she wasn’t as horrifying

Ghosts don’t like demons and demons don’t like ghosts. Demons roam the Afterlife but don’t live there and are a danger in a sense to ghosts for obvious reasons. Their businesses are tempting but oh so bad for you. They’re also richer and better too, those pricks

Their Bond

I drew these guys a lot and they’ll be more pictures coming featuring them. The reason I’m excited is because the type of relationship these siblings have is based off of the relationship I have with my own sister. Some similarities are that we love each other a lot, we also like to tease and annoy the fuck out of each other, we throw memes and stupid shit into each other’s lives, and most of the time we’d rather be in each other’s company than anyone else’s. Just yesterday my sister T-Posed at me 3 different times and I jabbed her in the ribs with my hand at the final, thus defeating the horror. And then we had dinner.

My sis is my best friend, so putting that sort of thing onto these two is fun and special! Obviously the relationship is not an exact replica nor are the characters personifications of us UvU They’re just ghosty dorks who dork around. Seriously, Deathblow doesn’t look it but he can be silly like Shiver too, and Shiver is just an accumulation of all things dumb and stupid that sprout from our minds, it’s hella dope.

Welp enough needless rambling, that’s all I got so far. Just wanted to write this down for personal record keeping and for anyone interested because I’m in love with these two, so aw yeah

[ladylilibet]

Tainted Love|Chapter 3.

I/II/III/IV/V Tainted Love – How can you tell a lady no? The White Wolf claimed he needed no one, but his collection of misfits started with Lady Helena of Oxenfurt… and ended with her, too.

                       Chapter III: 𝕿𝖔𝖘𝖘 𝖆 𝕮𝖔𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗

Geralt hadn't mentioned returning Helena to Oxenfurt since the night in Blaviken days ago.

She was thankful for that -- she knew nothing was waiting for her back home. Her parents were most likely concerned, sure, but for the wrong reasons. Did her happiness matter to them? No, of course not. Helena was to be kept as a caged lark. A well-behaved lady soon to be wed. The saving grace of her elder sister's wrongdoings that brought shame to the family.

Initially, she worried the Witcher would have the same attitude towards her. And he did, but only at first. Helena made it known that she wasn't going to be just a woman in the background, smiling and cheering him on. No, they were to be a team.

As they sat in a tavern, Helena scribbled in her journal. Her writings served a dual purpose. She documented the monsters that Geralt hunted but also chronicled their current adventures. The beast, how to slay it, so on, but she also wrote about the hero himself: Geralt of Rivia. She recently finished her entry about their latest hunt after being ambushed by a group of drowners. Nasty things, but easy to kill.

Helena doodled the Witcher's medallion as Geralt sat across from her.  The sat in quiet while he sat in thought, the clamor of the tavern a mere dull drone in the background. He enjoyed his silence, especially in public spaces, and she respected that. However, the man with the lute did not.

"I love the way you just... sit in the corner and brood." The man coolly leaned on a column. His eyes skirted from Geralt to Helena, who gave a toothy grin.

The lady returned the smile and parted her lips to speak, but only for Geralt to speak for her. "We're here to drink alone." His voice was gruff. His refusal to even look at the bard would ordinarily bother Helena. She knew Geralt wasn't trying to be inherently rude, or so she hoped. Either way, it didn't offend the other man, or he didn't notice.

"Good, yeah, good." He ignored Geralt and continued on, "No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except for you two." He stepped behind Helena, one hand loosely grasped around his mug, the other placed on her exposed shoulder. She could see golden eyes pierce through the bard, but he said nothing, prompting the other man to continue, "Come on, you wouldn't want to leave a man with... bread in his pants waiting."

Helena chuckled, eliciting two different responses from the men. The bard gave her a gentle squeeze before removing his hand and prompted her to scoot over, allowing him to share half the seat with her. Whereas Geralt glared at her, almost as if to scold her for encouraging him.

"You must have some review for me. Three words or less."

"Distasteful," Helena began counting on her fingers, "Inappropriate... Tacky? Or are those just the same words three times?"

"They don't exist," Geralt added.

"What don't exist?"

"The creatures in your song."

"And how would you know?" The bard's question went unanswered and his blue eyes scanned over the pair, "Oh, fun. White hair. Big, old, loner. Two very scary-looking swords. Sidekick with a notebook. I know who you are."

Geralt didn't respond to him and gathered his things, motioning for Helena to do the same. As the pair made their way to the exit, the other man followed.

"You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Called it." The tavern went silent, but he kept walking, leading Helena by the hand.

Another man hurried behind them, "A job I've got for ya. I beg you."Geralt halted at the promise of coin, "A devil -- he's been stealing all our grain. In advance, I'll pay you one hundred ducat."

The Witcher looked down at Helena then to the man with a sigh. "One-fifty."

The man seeking the service held the bag of coins tightly in his hands before giving it to Geralt, "I have no doubt you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear."

Butcher of Blaviken. The words echoed through Helena's head as she grimaced. Geralt and Helena were not yet twenty minutes out of the village before hearing the bard call after them.

"Need a hand?" He asked, jogging up beside them, out of breath. "I've got two. One for each of the devil's horns."

"I think I have it covered." Helena continued behind Geralt as he kept walking.

"Go away." Geralt commanded.

The bard waved his hands, "I won't be but a silent backup. Surely I could provide more help than her." This was rewarded from a piercing glare from Helena, prompting the bard to become more sheepish. "Aah, no offense, m'lady..."

After a brief beat of silence, the man began to start monologing again to Geralt.  "Look, I heard your note, and you're right. Maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you, sir, smell chock full of them." He paused and crinkled his nose, "Amongst other things. What is that? Is that onion? It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak."

"It's onion."

"I could be your barker!" He said, waving his arms, "Spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia. The-the... The Butcher of Blaviken!"

The moniker made Helena tense and clearly, it did the same for Geralt, who stopped the party in its tracks.

"Come here." He told the bard who enthusiastically bounded up to him. The bigger man punched the smaller one in the stomach, causing him to double over with a sharp inhale. Helena covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her giggle. Geralt gave her a small smile and reclaimed his place at her side.

"Come on, ladies." He said, grabbing Roach's bridle and Helena's hand.

Not even a fist to the gut was enough to keep Jaskier away. He bounded closely behind Geralt as the Witcher took note of his surroundings, his hand on his medallion.

Helena knew not to get so close to Geralt during a hunt and found a grassy area to relax. The air was heavy and warm; a gentle breeze made the midsummer heat bearable. Jaskier's voice became faint in the distance, the songs of cicadas replacing him. Maybe Helena could rest her eyes for but a moment. To close her eyes, just until Geralt returned.

Shit.

How long had she been asleep? Where was Geralt? Hell, where was the bard? Anyone?

Her moment of panic immediately turned to anger. Geralt left her. She was utterly daft to think he wouldn't run out on her the first chance he got. She stood with a curse and balled her fists. As she was plotting her next move -- find the others, steal Roach, kill the bard, worry about Geralt later -- Helena felt a man stand behind her as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Her knees slightly buckled and she let out a contented sigh, "I knew you wouldn't leave me, Geralt."

"Filavandrel aén Fidháil." The melodic voice corrected her. "Or just Filavanderel. Though I suppose you could call me your majesty."

He took her hands and bounded them behind her back with rope. Helena swallowed hard, the color draining from her cheeks. Filavandrel apparently could sense her anxiety, and he turned her around to face him.

"Hush now." He cooed as he wrapped a long arm around her waist, "I won't be the one to hurt you."

"Where are my friends?" Helena meekly asked while they began to walk into the hills. With no response, the lady huffed, and her tone shifted, "Is tying my hands necessary? I pose no threat to you."

"I cannot trust a human despite how small. Especially one with a weapon on their hip." He paused and examined her bow, "One stolen from my people at that."

She bit her tongue, choosing her words carefully, "King Filavandrel, what my ancestors did and -- and continue to do... Is wrong. And I'm sorry, but the acts weren't committed by my hands."

"This I know. I'm not looking to make you a martyr. If you and your band are set free, you'll tell the town Torque was stealing for us and we'll be chased out.  I can't have that happen to my people. Not again."

He led her to the entrance of a cave where a Sylvan waited. As she followed them in, she heard a woman coughing loudly and gasping for air.

"What's wrong with her?" Jaskier asked.

Geralt looked over at the king and then Helena's bound wrist. His face contorted into a sneer, "Did you hurt her?

She didn't respond and looked to the elven lady and spoke softly, "She's sick." Filavanderl passed Helena to his guard as he and Torque assisted the woman.

Jaskier questioned once more, "And who is this?"

"He's Filavanderl." Helena answered him, biting her lip, "King of the Elves.

The blonde man pursed his lips and spat back a reply, "Not a king. Not by choice."

"You were stealing for them," Geralt accused the sylvan.

"I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna."

"Forced out?" The bard began, confused, "No, they choose--"

Helena promptly cut him off, "Jaskier, do you know anyone that would choose to live in a dismal cavern? Starving to death, presuming they don't die of disease first?"

She understood his aversion having had the same education that was construed in bias. But from where Helena stood, she knew what they were taught were lies.

"Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt." Torque doted on the woman.

"What's three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?"

"Two humans." Geralt harshly corrected, "And you can let them go."

"Then Posada will learn that we've been stealing. The humans will attack." Filavandrel circled the trio, "Many will die... on both sides."

"The lesser evil. No matter what you choose, you'll come out bloody and hating yourself. Trust me."

"That's the problem. I can't. This is necessary."

"I understand. As long as you understand that it won't be long before you follow me in death." Geralt challenged with a golden-eyed glare, "To kill a Witcher, they'd mark you a hero. To kill a defenseless man, a monster. And to kill a young girl, Lady of Oxenfurt..." He clucked his tongue.

Jaskier's eyes suddenly shot to Helena having recognized her. She returned his stare with a mock curtsy, hands still bound behind her back.

"They're the ones that pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic."

"Chaos is the same as it's always been," Geralt explained. "Humans just adapted better."

"You say adapt. I say destroy."

"You are choosing to starve. You're cutting off your ear to spite your face."

"You think this is about pride?" Filavandrel spat, "My elders worked with humans and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. 'The Great Cleansing', humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow... our babies fertilizer for their grain. I don't wish to bury anyone else. I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I'm Filavandrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing to human sovereignty. They'll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half-blood children."

"Then go somewhere else." Geralt advised without missing a beat. "Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more than what they fear you to be."

"Like you, Witcher?"

"I have learned to live with them. So that I may live."

"Please, my king." Toruviel stood with a weak fighting stance that immediately crumbled as she began to hack once more.

"Dried thyme." Helena uttered to the other girl, "In hot water like tea. There is some in my satchel." She received a confused frown in response, so she continued speaking, "It helps with a cough. Plus, the warmth and steam of the water are soothing."

Torque took note of this. His eyes scanned to the Witcher and his king, the elf's hand still lingering on the hilt of his sword, "The Witcher could have killed me. But he didn't. He's different. They're different. Like us."

Geralt saw the hesitation in Filavandrel's face, "If you must kill me, I am ready. But the Sylvan's right. Don't call me human."

The king unsheathed his sword, prompting Geralt to look straight up, providing a clean strike to his neck. Helena clenched her eyes shut as she heard the blade move through the air.

"You're free to go," Filavandrel told them as he cut the ropes off of Geralt and Jaskier. He turned to Helena and unbound her as well. Once her hands were free, she reached into her bag and handed him a jar of dried herbs which he received with a small smile. Brown eyes gazed into blue and Helena finally understood the foretold beauty of elves.

"Oi, my lute!" Jaskier interrupted their moment as he mourned over his shattered instrument.

"In exchange for medicine, you may have my lute." Toruviel offered, gesturing to the object in the corner.

Jaskier took the lute and scrambled out of the cave, leaving Geralt and Helena.

"Thank you," Helena spoke for the bard. "For everything. Your kindness with not be forgotten." She curtsied to the king as she departed.

The trio kept quiet as they left the mountains. Helena sat side saddled on Roach behind Geralt as Jaskier walked on foot, playing his lute.

"The whole reverse psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way." Jaskier finally spoke.

Helena nodded in agreement and spoke in a deep, gruff voice, "Kill me. I'm ready." She giggled as he seemed none too pleased with her impersonation.

"That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and Geralt gives all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Is the lute not gift enough for you?"

Jaskier smirked at Helena and caressed his instrument, "She is sexy, isn't she?" He thought aloud for a moment before breaking out into song, "♫ Will the elf king heed what the Witcher entreats? Is history a wheel doomed to repeat? ♫ No... No, that's shit."

"This is where he part ways, bard. For good." Geralt told him.

"I promised to change the public's tune about you. At least allow me to try." Jaskier droned and began to pluck the strings of his lute, singing a song he later penned Toss A Coin To Your Witcher.

Geralt halted Roach as he and Helena spoke at the same time, interrupting the song. "That's not how it happened."

"Where's your new-found respect?" Helena teased.

"Respect doesn't make history." He responded as he continued to sing, parting ways with the pair.

Helena hummed as she adjusted her sitting position, now riding astride. "He's right, y'know." Geralt didn't respond nor did he object when Helena wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back.

They rode to the next town in silence, but Toss A Coin To Your Witcher was forever stuck in her head.

[miraculously-fangirling]

Springtime Connection - Chapter 11

The day’s classes passed by quickly. Excited chatter and passed texts mute the teacher’s lessons as the students secretly continued to work on their exhibit. Many of the teachers grumbled about the students’ split attention, but couldn’t help smiling as they watched the teens working together.

Things seemed to slow down around physics class as Mme. Mendeleiev tapped her pen against her desk. Many teens grumbled as they took out their notebooks. Marinette doodled in her notebook as Mendeleiev discussed the qualities of electricity. Marinette thought back to her conversation with Adrien. She was glad that she managed to get him smiling but the conversation also made her think about something she had put on the back burner. What the hell was she going to wear? 

Ladybug was out for obvious reasons. Actually, she was going to steer clear of anything red and black. The class had decided to not do American comic heroes, so Marinette was going to have to get creative. There was one week left before the festival. What in the hell could she scrounge up in a few days? The only rule was that everyone had to have a mask of some sort. 

The bell rang just as Mme. Mendeleiev announced homework that no one except Max would probably do on time. The excitement was palpable as the students filed out of the room and congregated into friend groups around the courtyard.

Marinette wandered, lost in thought, when Alya slung her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. Marinette jumped a bit while Alya giggled to herself.

“Hey girl,” Alya said as Marinette playfully pushed her elbow into Alya’s side. 

“What’s with the spacing out? You’ve been daydreaming all day.” 

“Have not.” 

Alya smirked. “Oh really? Then tell me what last class was about?”

Marinette looked around, trying to remember anything from the past hour. She could only think of designs of possible heroes and the sketches in her notebook. “Ah, okay fine. I wasn’t exactly paying the most attention.”

 Alya smirk turned into a straight up grin. “Oh? Did it have to do with your little walk this morning?”

 Marinette rolled her eyes. Alya was half right, she guessed. “No, I was just thinking about next week.” She wasn’t lying.

 “Is it really that soon?”

 Marinette nodded. “Oh yeah, Alya do you know who you’re going to dress up as?”

 Alya stopped for a moment with an ear-to-ear smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” Marinette shook her head. “Ladybug of course,” Alya said with her chest out.

 Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at Alya’s enthusiasm. She really was a fangirl. It almost made Marinette proud. She caused this. She caused this passion to rise in Alya. Sure it was embarrassing at times, but she was nothing but happy when Alya fell deep into her obsession.

 “Is Nino being Chat Noir then?”

 “Of course.”

 Marinette fell into a fit of giggles as she imagined the hyper DJ getting into ridiculous poses and trying to make up ‘clever’ puns. Only the real Chat could come up with corny jokes the way he did. Nino would just sit there and struggle to wear his glasses over the black mask.

 “Oh, are you laughing at me?” Alya said with hands on her hips, “Then what’re you wearing?”

 Marinette shrugged. She thought back to her earlier conversation to Adrien. Maybe she would try the cat theme, but she wasn’t quite set on it just yet. She didn't want to become a gender-bend of her partner.

 “Well,” Alya said, “I’m sure you’ll come up with something just fabulous. Watch, Adrien won’t be able to resist you after next week.” Marinette’s heart skipped as she thought about him. He was smiling this morning, but was he really okay? She pasted on a wider to smile to ward off any vacant expressions.

 “Oh my God, Alya,” Marinette said with a fresh wave of giggles coming on. 

“Just stop.”

 Alya gave her a wink. “Have some faith.”

 “Am I interrupting something?” Nino said from the stairwell. He took off his headphones as he came to Alya’s side. He wrapped an arm around Alya with a stupid grin.

 “Always, you big dork,” Alya said while giving her boyfriend a wide smile.

 Marinette suddenly felt the third wheel effect. Adrien was going to be picked up shortly if he wasn’t already. Marinette said her goodbyes to the happy couple before making her way home. Adrien was just climbing into his family’s car as Marinette walked down the school’s front steps.

 They locked eyes and exchanged a small wave. Marinette almost forgot to lift her hand before the Gorilla sped away with Adrien in tow.

Adrien kept thinking about outfits for next week. He couldn't do Chat, obviously, but he lacked in the creativity department. He was always more of a thinker than a maker. Maybe that’s why Ladybug had the confusing ability while his destruction powers were more straightforward. American heroes were out of the question due to a class poll, but what about other countries?

As soon as Adrien got home, he went straight to his room. His father was still out of sight, and that was fine by him. His father’s warmth was fresh in his memory and he’d hate to spoil it.

His door locked behind with a click, as Adrien went to his wall to wall bookshelves. He scanned the titles until he came to the brightly colored section that housed his manga collection. He pulled out a number of volumes from various series. He looked over the brightly colored costumes for any spark of inspiration and wondered how in the hell that Marinette was able to pull things into existence from her thoughts.

Eventually the floor was covered in manga and Adrien laid in the middle of it on his back. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The flashy costumes were all too complex. Sure, he could buy one, but that didn’t feel right. Everything so far was handmade. Using money seemed like a cop out at this point.

He groaned. Plagg floated from his bed hidden in Adrien’s bedside table. He yawned as he landed atop Adrien’s chest. “What are you griping about now?”

“Next week.” 

“What about it?” 

“The festival and the cafe?”

“Oh, the superheroes coming home thing. Right. Right. I think you mentioned that.”

“Yeah well, I need to figure out a costume.”

Plagg rolled on his back in laughter while Adrien let out another groan. Plagg really was never any help. Ever. “Oh my God, kid. I knew you were something, but this takes the cheese.”

“Cake, Plagg. You’re supposed to say cake.”

Plagg shrugged. “But cheese is so much better,” he said, “Anyways, why don't you just wear a mask and a suit. You can probably just say you’re some robin hood or something.”

An idea popped into Adrien’s head. He could do that with the addition of some props. He clamored down his stairs to his desktop. He quickly went to Google and searched for an older franchise, one he hadn’t read or even watched but knew quite well.

A wide smile spread across Adrien’s face as the possibility came before his eyes. He would be cosplaying pretty much, but it would work.

Well it would almost work… he just needed a top hat. 

Marinette headed home without delay. She really couldn’t put anything off with only a few days left. She crawled into her room soon after greeting her parents. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to disappear this time.

She sat on her bed with sketchbook in hand and began flipping through the pages. She came upon her bowler hat designs from a few months ago and found one rejected sketch, a hat covered in flowers. She leaned against the wall and stared at the drawing. 

Flowers…

Tikki flew over and landed on the edge of Marinette’s sketchbook with her big blue eyes scanning the drawing. “What are you going to do with that?” 

Marinette ripped out the flower hat drawing before turning to a new page in her sketchbook. She quickly sketched out a basic dress scape over a generic human figure. “I think I’ve got something.”

Marinette intently sketched out a design for her new hero. It was going to be nothing like her aerodynamic spots. It was, well, cute.

Tikki clapped her small hands when Marinette finished her second, more polished sketch of the design. Marinette smiled as she placed the book and pencil onto her desk. She rubbed her eyes, leaving a graphite smudge on her cheekbone.

She snatched her tablet and scrolled through social media. She was in no state of mind to do homework; instead, she wanted to concentrate on finishing her costume. One week wasn’t going to kill her. As she scrolled, she came upon a video posted by Adrien, a playful match between a kitten and a golden retriever puppy.

Marinette smiled at the video, but that smile soon diminished as she thought about her partner. He was probably still hurting. He smiled in class, but Adrien was good at hiding. He didn’t need the mask to hide his personal life. Marinette thought about his mother.

Fuck, how is he doing really?

“Tikki,” Marinette said, “can we go out right now?”

“What for?”

“Just a little visit.”

[ltdedngallery-blog]

THE BIG INTERVIEW … KUKULA

(Originally posted November 2015)

AS SOON AS WE SAW KUKULA’S LIMITED EDITION CUP & SAUCER DESIGN, WE WERE IN LOVE! SO WE WERE THRILLED WHEN SHE ALSO CHOSE TO DESIGN FOUR LIMITED EDITION PILLOWS FOR US, BEST OF ALL SHE AGREED TO ANSWER A FEW QUESTIONS…

LTD/EDN…Where does this message find you, and what are you up to (aside from answering our questions) right now?

KUKULA…I’m in my studio starting a new show for AFA Gallery in NYC.

You grew up in Israel, and you’ve moved around America a lot. What’s been your favorite place to live?

Most of my time in the States I’ve lived in the Bay Area of California. I really loved Oakland. The weather was brilliant all the time. Now I’m in New Haven, Connecticut, across the country on the East Coast, where I get to experience lots of culture and it’s very close to NYC. If only the weather was like in Cali it’d be perfect.

Fashion plays a big role in your art and life. You once said: “Who really knows who they are, anyway? Clothes help me decide.” Can you explain what you meant?

No matter how unique and special you think you are, part of your identity always comes from how others perceive you. But we never really know how others perceive us, so we choose a role and dress the part. It’s not that clothes make you, but they allow you to be specific for the occasion.

Fashion is a language and it can speak about our personality and desires—if we choose to share, of course.

Another quote we like: “I milked a cow or two in high school, and yet I insist on walking uncomfortably everywhere I go because it looks better.” What’s the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been for the sake of fashion?

My most uncomfortable: Burrberry platforms. It’s funny, too, because they’re supposed to look like hiking booths.

What’s a fashion trend you wish would come back into style, and what’s one you wish would go away?

Capes and cloaks! I’m constantly on ebay looking for the perfect cape. So far no luck, they are all too Halloweeny or too old and raggedy. I want to cover my self in a lavish hooded velvet cloak all winter long.

I think skulls should go away. I don’t think death and fashion mix.

Does being married to an academic pose any fashion challenges? Maybe you have tips for other people with partners in fashion-challenged vocations?

Yup! My husband asked me to dress like a Puritan for a Yale event. I’m too stubborn to change anything for anyone…especially my clothes. I grew up in a small town and got bullied constantly for my style. Even though it hurt me and depressed me, I kept wearing whatever pleased me.

You shared some Facebook stats that show more than twice as many Women as Men “like” your Facebook page. Yet, Facebook routinely polices your female images. What do you make of this?

FB considers my work to be of a pornographic nature, but as far as I know, women are not really the major porn fans. It’s all very strange—I don’t know what to make of it. Boobs have been in art since forever, even in churches, yet FB randomly blocks them…

Did you ever manage to start an “Art is Not Porn” campaign? Do you think it’s possible to change the minds of the critics?

I haven’t done a concerted campaign but I made a hashtag (#artisnotporn). I’m not sure it’s doing anything. Some people might change their minds, others will keep believing what they’re believing.

Do you have a daily routine and/or can you walk us through a day in the life of artist Kukula?

I wake up at various hours because I sleep just like a cat—with one eye open in case of danger. Then I try to answer emails. The rest of the day I just jump from one project to another—illustration, painting, designing a new product, or looking at art books for inspiration. I rarely work on one thing all day, except for the last few months before a solo show. During the day I sit still for a long time so I do try to workout every evening.

My world doesn’t exist that’s why I paint. The closest real thing is Versailles.

How did you develop your artistic style? When did you become part of the “pop surrealism” movement?

I moved to the States a year after art school where I studied illustration. I was printing my doodles on clothes I bought at outlet malls and selling them around San Francisco boutiques and they were popular. One store that had a little gallery space asked me to do an exhibition, which for some reason was a success. My clothing-line fans bought some pieces which I later added to Myspace, then galleries like Copro Nason and Thinkspace found me and asked me to show with them and that was that.

My style changed a lot since I started. I was younger and sillier, more interested in the shocking effect than deeper emotions as I am now. I’m very inspired by 18th century paintings and artifacts. Those have had the most influence on my style.

Can you tell us a bit about the design for your This is a Limited Edition teacup?

I was so thrilled when I was requested for this project. I have tons of books about teacups and antique porcelain. I knew how this teacup would look even before I was asked, so the design was a piece of cake. The Wallace collection in London, which is my absolutely favorite collection along side the Frick in NYC, was one of my inspirations. But even though the design idea was already there, I sat for days executing the details so it would be the teacup of my dreams. I do actually dream about teacups.

What’s your process (and/or philosophy) when you approach the design for a product?

Look at stuff, lots of stuff, so you’ll know the core of what makes something a good design. Study the basic rules of good design and stick to them as much as you can. It might seem contrary to what an artist is supposed to do, but I’d say, don’t dare too much—that usually leads to ugly trash. Make a design that is sans gimmicks and trends so you will love it till the day you die. I went to a tough art school…sorry about that

What’s a life lesson you’ve learned from your cats? (And how do you have nice furniture AND cats? What’s the secret?!)

Be aware, there’s always unexpected danger, that’s what I’ve learned from my cats. Expect to be spoiled by others, that’s anther thing I’ve learned from them. My furniture is all super damaged. There’s no way around it, you need to decide who you love more. I love my cats the mostest.

What inspires you? What makes you laugh?

I think Monty Python is the only truly hilarious thing ever. And my cats are funny too. The world needs to work on its sense of humor. (I do also like The Colbert Report.)

Which current artists’ work (across any genres) do you personally enjoy?

Ellen Von Unwerth’s photography. Junko Mizuno will always be one of my very favorites. Ulyana Seergenko’s couture is so inspiring to me at the moment. I admire Mike Patton’s artistic spirit through such various projects.

What artistic tool(s) could you never live without?

Pencil. Sketchbook, too, except you can always draw on walls.

If you could travel to another period in time, which era and place would you choose, and why?

Gosh, that’s easy. 18th century France, but not being poor, a woman or Jewish (which I am), cause then it would suck.

What music is currently playing on your iTunes, Spotify, Pandora, cassette tape boombox, etc.?

I’m listening to Pandora Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers station right now, but before that I was listening to Bach and before that Buraka Som Systema station. I’m inconsistent.

Read any good books/seen any awesome movies/checked out any amazing art shows lately? (Feel free to answer all or just one!)

Got really into American Westerns lately. I’d never seen any before, but now I’m in the middle of a John Wayne marathon. Weird, I know…

What’s coming up next for Kukula?

Solo show at AFA Gallery in NYC next September. Many group shows in between. Products for my online shop. Most exciting, I made a short movie with the very talented Jennifer Masseux, Dani Seitz, and Aline Pimental that will premier on SHOWStudio sometime in the spring.

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Rude Awakening Chapter 7

In which things get tricky.

Chapter 6: Error

Virion ran down the dim corridors of the barracks. He looked left, he looked right, he looked at his shoulders to make sure Kellam wasn't sitting there again, and he crept toward Howard's room. Surely he'd find something.

He peeked in and immediately regretted it.

Garish gold, gray and red patterns had been scrawled all over the room. The entire room had various clothes and bits of armor strewn all over, as well as other accessories. Virion wondered how he'd ever find anything in this mess.

He shrugged and figured he may as well try.

He started digging, rummaging, hoping to find anything that'd give the Cincinnatians away, when he heard a voice from above.

"Dude. What are you doing?"

Virion looked up to find Giratina standing on the ceiling, looking down at him with a sneer. He gulped and stood up straight, twiddling his fingers nervously. "Well, you see, I was looking for my bow and-"

He blinked. "How did you get up there anyway?"

Giratina scoffed. "Dark knight privileges. Now get out of my room."

Virion let out an audible "meep" sound before sprinting off, heading all the way back to Libra's room, where he found Libra himself pacing back and forth.

"Er, hey, any luck with Bartimaeus?"

"No. When I entered there was nothing there."

Virion sighed. "Great, ether they're on to the fact we're on to them or Panne was off her rock-"

He paused. "Hang on, where is Panne?"

Libra blinked. "I think she was checking into Valentia..."

"...Something could be up," said Virion. "We should check on her."

And the two headed off.

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

Once again by the waterfalls, Dialga and Naga were swapping stories of each other's worlds.

"And the humans can actually have some pretty good TV shows. Like Sailor Lunatone."

He stiffened, looked around, and waved one of his forelimbs. "Don't tell Palkia I said that."

Naga giggled. "I won't."

Dialga thought for a bit to change the subject before something came to mind. "More serious question?"

"Yes?" said Naga.

"Panne from the Shepherds said her people, the Taguel, were slaughtered by humans. Do you remember that?"

Naga grew somber. "Yes. It was brutal, merciless. I could only observe, but... It is hard to stay cold, to stay pragmatic in times like those."

Dialga hung his head. "I know what you mean. To me extinction by natural causes is only normal, but when a species turns upon another out of pure hate it is not. I remember when the Sceptile of my world turned upon their predecessors..."

Naga shook her head. "It's bad enough protecting the world from threats like Loptyr... And Duma... and Medeus... and Grima..."

Dialga raised an eyebrow. "You've told me about all the others, but not the last one."

Naga blinked. "I haven't? Grima is a foul creature, one born of a dragon corpse infused with the power of the divine by a madman. He lays waste to all and has the power to end the world if he wants to. But he must work through a vessel, and was last sealed away a thousand years ago."

Dialga paused, then looked at Naga worriedly. "Does he have any chance of coming back?"

Naga nodded. "Yes. Almost guaranteed."

"Then I will help stop him. And help bring the Taguel back too if I can."

--------

Panne listened to it all. She choked up, she froze.

Then she ran yet again.

------

Palika was sitting in the Yilissitol castle courtyard with Robin, both of them enjoying popsicles.

"These frozen treats you made are great, Valentina!" said Robin.

He furrowed his brow. "Didn't recognise the magic you used to make them though."

Palkia winced. "Er, Cincinnati specialty."

Robin chuckled. "What is it like for you back home, anyway?"

"Oh, uh. Lots of responsibilities to make up for the cool stuff, certainly."

She tried to think of anything to change the subject. Only one thing came to mind.

"So, you hear those rumors about that weird girl posing as Hero King Marth?"

Robin blinked. "I've never heard of such rumors."

"Oh, huh," said Palkia, taking a bite of her popsicle. "Well-"

She then realized exactly what Robin just said and spat out her chunk of frozen dessert. "Wait, what do you mean, you've never heard of her?!"

"Why's that so startling? None of us have heard of such a thing."

Palkia paused, racked her brain for a response to the scenario, then gulped.

"Robin?"

"Yes Valentina?"

"I'm going to ask you some very strange questions, and I need you to answer as honestly as possible, OK?"

Robin blinked. "O... kay?"

Palkia gulped again. "First, they told me your exalt got killed... Emmeryn, was it? How did she die?"

Robin grew somber. "An assassin from Gangrel murdered her in her castle one night... Gaius was lucky to not be framed for the deed..."

Palkia grew slightly pale. "G-Great... What happened to Gangrel, by the way?"

Robin scowled. "I chopped the bastard's head off personally."

Palkia grew more pale. "Yipe... Where'd you learn to do something like that? What even was your life before the Shepherds anyway?"

Robin paused, looking shocked, before hastily turning his head and shaking it side to side. "I... It wasn't pleasant... I don't want to talk about it..."

Palkia grew about as white as Robin's hair.

"Oh... Oh geez, that's rough buddy... Listen, I'll leave you alone to get through that while I get more popsicles, see you!"

Robin started. "Valentina, wait, I-"

But she was already gone. Robin blinked.

"What just got into her...?"

------

Palkia ran.

Panicked thoughts flooded through her mind. She had to find Dialga Giratina, Hoopa. There had been a grave mistake.

And now this world's end was nigh.

------

The four Legendary Pokemon in their true forms were gathered together, in a forest clearing, alone, with a barrier keeping out the eyes and ears of others. Dialga stamped one of his front feet angrily on the ground.

"What do you mean you and Giratina found the wrong timeline?! I thought you said this place matched your little video game perfectly aside from the lack of Pokemon!"

Giratina shifted awkwardly. "Well, um, bro, me and sis failed to account for-" he sighed. "Sis, you probably can explain better than I can."

"Okay," said Palkia, "so I prepared a little demonstration."

She wheeled in a whiteboard with crude illustrations and started pointing to each of them with her claws, beginning with a doodle of a forked line.

"OK, so the problem is that the game has two timelines, one where the heroes win and one where everyone dies horribly."

She points to some scrawled people of various shapes and sizes hopping from one timeline to another. "The only reason the timeline where the heroes win exists is because their kids, particularly Chrom's kid Lucina, went back in time to try to fix things. From what I've heard from Robin that has not happened, like, at all. Which is an issue because..."

She points to a doodle of Robin smiling with sparkles above his head. "Robin happens to be the key to the apocalypse."

"Wait, that kid? How?" said Hoopa.

"Well..." said Palkia.

She pointed to a second doodle of Robin surrounded by flames, grinning evilly with three pairs of red eyes having sprouted on his face, and with the head and neck of a demonic dragon with three identical pairs of eyes looming above him.

"Robin happens to be queued up to be the next vessel of a really nasty undead dragon demigod named Grima. Who is really big and evil and powerful and can also cause zombie apocalypses."

Dialga's eyes widened. "Grima?! That was one of Naga's nemeses she told me about! She said his return was imminent!"

"Wait, Naga said Grima was coming back like, soon?" said Giratina. "We're definitely in trouble."

Hoopa gulped, then shook his head and shrugged. "Welp, so much for that vacation, guess we should take the next plane or train or cosmic portal ho-"

"No we're not," said Palkia.

"Then what are we doing?" said Giratina.

"If Lucina and the kids aren't around to fix the incoming mess, who else will do it but us?" said Palkia. "I mean, we care about these people, especially after staying with them. We ought to help, right?"

"I most certainly agree," said Dialga.

"I'm up for it," said Giratina.

"Well when you phrase it that way sure why not?" said Hoopa.

Palkia smiled. "All right then..."

"Let's save this world."

-------