#this was one of the things i doodled this morning

[kayawolfhorse]

Towards the Sun | Read on AO3

My part of @thedoomedpie and I’s Solstice Social collab, hosted by @hermitadaymay! Check out Pie’s lovely piece here <3

—☾—

The sky is an endless swath of bright blue above Pearl’s head, and the birds chirp their early song from the bough of every tree around her. At her hip, her almost empty mailbag rustles with every step. She adjusts the brim of her hat against the morning sun and strides towards her next stop.

Tango answers the door in a robe with pools at his feet with a mug of steaming coffee and eyes that brighten when he catches sight of Pearl. “Pearlie! Got my morning mail?”

“I sure do!” Pearl says, and hands him the couple of envelopes with his name scrawled across their fronts. “How’s your weekend off been treating you?”

“It’s been weird,” Tango chuckles. “Nice! But weird. Case in point, when’s the last time I had my mail delivered?”

“Hah, yeah, it was weird seeing it in the office,” Pearl says, and leans against the porch balustrade. “It’s good to see you getting some rest, though! You needed it.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Tango says with a slight, goofy bow. “You’re due for some time off, too. Relax! You deserve it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Pearl smiles. “For today though, I’ve got errands to run!”

“Festival organizing, is it? Wouldn’t expect you to be anywhere else,” Tango teases. “Can’t wait!”

“I was just about to ask if I’d be seeing you there!” Pearl says. “There are a few things to be done beforehand, but it’s all coming together beautifully.”

“Wouldn’t miss it! I—” Tango’s interrupted by a rapid series of familiar, high-pitched beeps.

Pearl spots him first. “Hi there little buddy!” She crouches down to meet Grumbot at face-level. “What’s up?”

Grumbot whirs, and the foliage that cascades down the side of his boxy head shakes slightly as a piece of paper slides from the output slot on his torso. He pulls it loose with one doodle-speckled arm and holds it up to Pearl, who takes it and scans it over.

“Mumbo needs help, does he?” she asks. Grumbot extends his hand in what Pearl recognizes to be as close to a thumbs-up as he can get with his lack of fingers, and the motion is equally as endearing as when Mumbo himself flashes one in awkward acknowledgment.

“With the lights?” Tango reads over Pearl’s shoulder. “I can go over and give him a hand.”

“No worries; I’m overseeing the lights, anyway. Besides,” Pearl says, giving Tango a playful poke, “one of us is supposed to be resting.”

“Alright, alright,” Tango concedes. “I’ll get you to take a break one of these days, mark my words.”

“Consider them marked,” Pearl says, and rises to her feet. “Bye, Tango!”

As Pearl turns to follow Grumbot, Tango says, voice fading behind them, “Say hi to Mumbo for me!”

“Will do!” Pearl calls over her shoulder.

—☾—

“You’d really think that hovering lights would be more willing to, you know, hover,” Mumbo says.

Sunlight pours from high-cut windows above the row of cabinets and catches against the glass of the unlit heaps of lanterns scattered around the workshop in various stages of assembly. Redstone wires are piled in the free space left between the lights, and spare circuits weigh down the edges of sprawling blueprints across the benches that line the wall.

Pearl pulls up a stool at Mumbo’s side, where he’s hunched over the central table, turning a bulb between his hands. His suit jacket has been abandoned on a nearby table, and his dress sleeves are shoved back to his elbows. “They’ll get there, I’m sure of it,” she says. “Have you got any clue why they aren’t working?”

“That’s the thing—I have none at all! None!” Mumbo says. He presses a hand to his temple. “There’s nothing obviously wrong with them, they just won’t work.”

“Is it all of them?” Pearl asks, pulling the bulb’s sleek white casing closer to inspect.

“All of them, yep,” Mumbo confirms. “They’re completely unresponsive.”

“Odd.” Flipping the casing upside-down, Pearl slides a nail along the cover until it pops open. The compacted redstone as its core is a beauty, and she takes a moment to admire it. “Grumbot, could you hand me that screwdriver?

Grumbot’s rapid cacophony of dings sounds near-anxious in pitch. Pearl frowns—he’s never been anything but utterly at home in Mumbo’s workshop.

Nonetheless, Grumbot retrieves the screwdriver and holds it out to Pearl from as far away as he can stay. As soon as Pearl takes it and thanks him, he races off to the other side of the room once more, sitting in a sunbeam in the clearest corner of the shop.

“That’s weird,” Mumbo says. “That behavior’s weird, right? He never does that.”

“It is,” Pearl agrees.

“I’ll go ask him,” Mumbo says, and rises from his seat.

Glancing back down, Pearl focuses on the redstone before her, taking it apart piece-by-piece and laying it upon the table. The craftsmanship is perfect; each mechanism primed, every wire lovingly crossed, devoid of misplaced or faulty fires. There’s no reason for it not to work. It doesn’t make sense.

Mumbo’s stool scrapes against the wooden floor as he pulls it back and drops heavily onto it. His brow is knitted and his mustache is ruffled in puzzled confusion.

“What did Grumbot say?” Pearl prompts.

With a slight shake of his head, Mumbo says, “Couldn’t get an answer out of him. He just kept repeating that the redstone was bad.”

Pearl rubs a wire between her fingers. She’s having trouble thinking of a solution, her mind sparking like flint and steel that refuses to take. Her head pangs in a dull ache just in general, honestly—did she have any water before heading out?

Redstone, much like just about anything else, wears out eventually, and brings with it a habit of corroding its surroundings if left to rot for too long (she and Mumbo had learned this the hard way, what with their shared hobby of flipping old tech), but the lanterns’ redstone shows no sign of attrition.

“We could… replace it?” Pearl hedges.

Mumbo looks as uncertain as she feels. “This shouldn’t be all that old,” he says, “I got a new shulker-worth of it a few months ago; it’s been sitting in a chest since.”

“Might as well give it a shot, right?” Pearl says. “We’ve got nothing else to go off of.”

“I guess so.”

Their efforts are to no avail; the lantern remains decidedly dark and firmly grounded.

“It was working yesterday afternoon,” Mumbo says, passing a hand across his face, “I don’t get how it’s just stopped now.”

Pearl scratches at the back of her neck and tilts her head—a poor choice; the movement sends the dizziness behind her eyes spiraling, and she takes a moment to breathe through it. For all that she loves a good puzzle, frustration bubbles at the back of her throat. The redstone should be fine; Mumbo’s worked on it for weeks and his design is meticulous. Of course it’d be now, mere hours before the festival, that a bug would rear its ugly head.

“How complicated would it be to switch it over to solar?” Pearl asks. Whatever’s wrong with the redstone, they can figure out later. She has a schedule to keep, and it cannot be eaten up by stubborn lights.

“Not terribly difficult,” Mumbo says, “but I don’t actually have any panels small enough for them on me, and they won’t last as long, and they’re supposed to be on at night.”

“If you can get panels in the next hour and charge them while you assemble, they’ll have a few hours’ worth of juice in them, which is all we need,” Pearl says. “Redstone’s not giving. We need the lanterns faster than we can fix whatever’s wrong with them.”

“Okay,” Mumbo says. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the help.”

“Sorry I couldn’t do more,” Pearl says sincerely. “I’ll get those panels to you, how’s that?”

“Oh, that’d be wonderful, actually,” Mumbo says. “Thanks, Pearl!”

Pearl’s about to respond when her communicator buzzes in her pocket. Pulling it out, she reads: there’s been a situation.

Sighing, she says to Mumbo, “Change of plans; looks like I’m needed elsewhere, unfortunately.” For what exactly, she’s not sure. Leave it to Grian to provide no further specifications.

“That’s okay!” Mumbo says. “All good, no worries. I’ll get it handled.”

“You’re just the man for the job, mate,” Pearl says, patting him on the shoulder before adjusting her bag’s strap. “Call Etho if you need an extra set of hands—Tango’s supposed to be resting.”

“Ah, I did hear about that, yep,” Mumbo says. “You’ve got it! Good luck with the preparations!”

Pearl flashes a salute before stepping outside. Before the door can fully close behind her, Grumbot zips through it and wraps an arm around her leg.

“You want to come with?” Pearl asks.

Grumbot gives a furious nod and a wiggle of his mustache.

“I’m heading for the labs, you know,” Pearl says.

Grumbot’s aversion towards them is as stalwart as the rise and set of the sun; he refuses to step foot on the grounds. Though Pearl expects him to back out, Grumbot nods his head again.

“Alright,” Pearl says skeptically. “Maybe between you and I, we can drag Grian out for some fresh air, aye?”

—☾—

Mumbo’s workshop is closer to the fields than it is the center square, and though the walk is lovely, the spring day pleasantly balmy, Pearl keeps her pace at a fast clip. The excited bustle of festival preparations amidst the mundanities of everyday life streams past her as she stops by the post office to drop off her mailbag and marches towards the laboratory at the heart of Solaris.

The streets narrow and quiet down as she and Grumbot continue on past rows of shops closed for the day and markets whose early hours have long passed. A light breeze plays with the ends of Pearl’s hair and Grumbot hums something Pearl recognizes to be one of her own silly little tunes; after a beat she joins in. Despite the mission at hand, it’s all rather peaceful—a tranquility that is completely shattered by the swarm of bees that seems to materialize directly in front of them, swiftly followed by a familiar dash of pink and blue.

“Lizzie!” Pearl calls out. “What’re you up to, mate?”

With a bouquet of overflowing flowers in one hand and a net in the other, Lizzie turns to Pearl. “The bees!” she exclaims, slightly out of breath.

“What about them?” Pearl asks, tilting her head. “They’re allowed to roam, aren’t they?”

“Joel broke their hive by mistake whilst trying to move them,” Lizzie explains. Her fuzzy wings flutter behind her. “We’re trying to get them back into a new one before they take off for somewhere else entirely. And they don’t want to blumming listen!”

“I can’t imagine bees are known for their listening skills,” Pearl agrees. “Are you trying to lure them back home?” Lizzie’s flower shop is nearby, but her and Joel’s house is a few blocks away.

“Joel’s getting the new hive now,” Lizzie says. “I’m just rounding them up for when he gets here with it.”

“Grumbot here and I can help!” Pearl offers. She can’t just leave Lizzie with all of this. She prays that it won’t take terribly long. “Isn’t that right?”

Grumbot makes a sound that approximates agreement. There’s already a bee perched upon one of his flowers.

“Great!” Lizzie says. She halves her bundle of flowers and passes them to Pearl. “Here, take these. Try to get them to stay around the shop. I’ll head down Main.”

“You’ve got it!” Pearl says. Lizzie flashes a relieved smile and runs off.

Left to her own devices, Pearl’s immediately struck by how difficult of a task it is to get the bees to remain anywhere specific.

Petunias tangle with ivy down the side of nearly every building down the street, and nasturtiums sprout around each lamp out front. Sculpted topiaries, colorful flower beds, and communal gardens fill every bit of space not occupied by paths.

Pearl has always taken pride in the lush beauty of their little town, and so close to the festival, it’s dialed up to a hundred: flower wreaths and garlands are hung by the bushel. The bees—several hundred of them, by the looks of it—seem determined to visit every last petal.

“Here, buzzy buzzy bees,” Pearl coaxes, holding out a fistful of lilacs to the group in front of the bakery. Somewhere behind her, Grumbot imitates the bees in a whirring hum. “C’mon, that’s it…”

After Pearl leads her first group to the flower shop and watches as they cluster contently on the stand of bouquets by the door, she stations Grumbot next to it to gently discourage anyone from wandering too far. He waves his bundle of flowers invitingly to any bee that leaves the stand, beeping to alert Pearl if one slips past him.

Pearl oscillates between grabbing the furthest bees’ attention and slowly luring them closer to the shop. Though most of them hover within reach, a few have drifted further up into rooftop gardens or flower boxes beneath second story windows, and Pearl resolves to locate a ladder as soon as she can. The emptiness of the path is a relief—Pearl can’t imagine the difficulty passerby would add to bee-wrangling.

By the time Joel arrives, fresh hive in hand, Pearl’s gotten most of the bees in the same general area, darting across the flower shop’s front, perched upon her own bunch of flowers, or flying lazy circles around her face.

“It should be all set up now,” Joel says, setting the hive carefully down on one of the nearby tables. Two bees fly right in, and after a moment, several dozen under the storefront window leave their bouquets to follow. “And hi, Pearl. Thanks for the hand.” Pearl waves.

Lizzie reppears with a mini-swarm of the most adventurous of stragglers, and her bees hover cautiously around the hive for a moment until joining the ones inside. “Thank goodness,” she says. “Do you have Queenie?”

“She’s in there, yep,” Joel says proudly. “There’s also the couple of frames I managed to save.”

“Nice!” Pearl says, and gently shakes her bundle of flowers over the open top to encourage her bees loose.

“We’ll just have to get them close enough that they go in,” Joel says. “They’re smart enough; they’ll follow their queen.”

Grumbot appears at Joel’s hip with clasped hands and several murmuring beeps. His extended arms just barely reach the top of the hive, and when he opens his hands, a single bee flies out and into the hive below. Pearl laughs softly and Lizzie grins; even Joel can’t help but look charmed.

“Thank you, Grumbot,” Lizzie says with all the seriousness of ceremony. Grumbot wiggles his mustache, pleased.

Between the four of them and the ladder Joel runs back home to retrieve, they gather up the last of the bees and give the street one final sweep before sliding the hive’s cover on. Joel hefts it up with a grunt, and says his goodbyes before disappearing around the block.

“Thanks for the help, guys!” Lizzie says. “I was real worried there; it’s a good thing you came along.”

“Of course!” Pearl says. “I couldn’t just leave a gal hanging, now could I?”

Lizzie’s expression turns contemplative, and she mutters something that Pearl can’t quite catch before saying, “Oh! Have you picked out your flowers yet? For your crown?”

Her flower crown! Pearl lightly smacks the heel of her hand against her brow. “I’d totally forgotten, to be honest. I’ve been so busy with everything else, it’d just slipped my mind.”

“Well, come by the shop anytime today, and they’re on the house,” Lizzie says. “As payment.”

Though no payment is needed, it’s useless to argue; Lizzie’s made-up mind is a firm thing, and besides—Pearl really does need a crown. “Thank you so much, Lizzie!”

“It’s the least I could do,” Lizzie says with a grin. “See you later?”

“You betcha.” Pearl winks.

Continuing down the freshly bee-less street, Pearl spares the clock on its end a glance and makes a mental note to swing by the flower shop once the plaza’s fully set up. Early afternoon has already managed to sink its unerring roots into the day, and there’s still so much left on Pearl’s checklist. Total perfection may not be the name of the game, but she’s determined to land as close to it as possible.

She’s so occupied with running through the list in her head—meet with Scar and Bdubs, consolidate decorations, run home and change, eat at some point, that’s probably important—that she nearly runs straight into Gem and Impulse.

Gem halts the wagon behind her before it can crash into Pearl. “Hey, Pearl!” she says. Impulse waves from his spot further back.

Pearl shakes herself free from her ruminations. “Hiya, guys!” Grumbot beeps in greeting.

“Whatcha you up to?” Gem asks. She loosely crosses her arms and leans against the wooden paneling of the wagon, and it jostles gently against her weight. Its underside casts soft golden light upon the cobbled street it hovers above.

“Heading to the labs,” Pearl answers. “You two are catering, I’d assume?”

“Not quite yet,” Gem says, “but we will be in an hour. For now, we’re just helping move stuff around.”

“Fantastic,” Pearl says. “Quick question, is your wagon working as normal?”

Gem and Impulse turn to it in unison.

“Chugging along as always,” Impulse says, and raises his eyebrow with a faint, confused smirk. “Why, what’s up?”

“Just checking,” Pearl says. She sounds a little frazzled to her own ears, to be honest. If Mumbo’s redstone problem was town-wide, she’d certainly know about it by now—she’s not sure what she was expecting, really.

“O-oookay,” Gem says, squinting. “You’ve got leaves in your hair, by the way.”

“How did that—? Ah, oh well. My accessories.” Pearl waves a vague hand. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve really got to get going. Bye!”

“You’re being so suspicious!” Gem exclaims, laughing slightly.

“All part of my charm!” Pearl says. She starts to walk away before sharply changing her mind; turning back, she asks, “Actually, can Grumbot hang out with you two?” At Grumbot’s protest, she reminds him, “The labs.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gem says, and smiles at Grumbot. “This does not make you any less weird, though.”

“Does anything?” Pearl leans down to give Grumbot’s head a pat, and after returning the gesture to her arm, he plods off to Impulse. “See you all later!”

Gem snorts. Impulse’s directions and Grumbot’s responding beeps fade behind Pearl as she thrusts ahead.

—☾—

The polished floors of the laboratory's foyer catch and reflect the daylight from where it filters through the glass dome high above Pearl’s head. Carefully maintained potted yucca and pitcher pods frame either side of the reception desk, bringing with them splashes of life in the otherwise still space.

She’s been here often enough to remember the crack in one of the mud bricks above the maintenance closet, and the receptionist’s nod is familiar as they wave Pearl through. Sweeping past the main doors, she raps against the second door to the left in a cursory knock before pushing it open.

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden dimness. When her vision clears, she regards the mess around her—just as disorganized as she’d last seen it, despite Grian’s promise to declutter—with a long-suffering sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, I had other things to do,” Grian comes around one of the tables saying. His coat is, for once, fully buttoned, however rumpled it is, though his red sweater peeks out at the collar.

“I can’t believe you,” Pearl says. “We talk about this every ti—”

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Grian interrupts. He has the good grace to look apologetic when Pearl glares. “Listen, I brought you here for a reason.”

“Coulda used it upfront, really,” Pearl mutters. Grian shrugs.

“There was a minor sculk—not even a flare; it’s not big enough to be a flare—incident this morning, at Vintage Beef’s,” Grian says. “Before it opened. Beef had noticed a small spread following his pre-hour duties.”

Pearl can’t quite stop the small gasp that escapes her, and her heartbeat picks up in her ears. “Is anyone hurt?” Infected, she doesn’t say.

“No.” Grian shakes his head. “It was fresh enough that Beef didn’t suffer more than a nasty headache, and he avoided contact.”

“That’s good,” Pearl says, a little distantly. There have been instances of sculk sightings within town before, but they usually crop up on the outskirts, closer to the ruins; the butcher’s is so central. “Has the sculk been fully cleared?”

“That’s the thing—we’ve been developing this, this new agent, and it worked like a charm. It kills the sculk without aggravating it; all that’s needed afterwards is some good ol’ elbow grease. Pearl,” he says incredulously, “it didn’t spread.”

“Really? Gri, that’s amazing!” Pearl exclaims. “What about the surfaces it was on? How did they fare?”

Grian pulls a face and tilts his outstretched palm. “It was in the press, really messed up the redstone. Had to be replaced. The wall behind it is being replaced, just to be safe,” he says. “But, I nabbed a piece before they could stop me.”

“You and rules never have gotten along,” Pearl agrees. “Did you test it?”

“Of course I did.” Grian grins. “There was the tiniest sliver of residue, but it’s completely inactive after being sprayed. A few minor tweaks to a formula and bam, it’ll be as if it was never there in the first place.”

“Wow,” Pearl says, at a loss for anything else. As a child, she’d had a game, a simple manner of gathering points before the bad guy caught up. It’d been found on a scavenge, and cleaned up the best they could, but sculk remnants clung to the wiring—a fact discovered hours later. Pearl had been bedridden for weeks.

The scavenges eventually tapered to an end, after the town had grown enough to completely sustain itself. Years later, Pearl had rebuilt the game with Mumbo, and it’s sat in her bedroom since.

Wait. “You said the sculk affected the redstone?” Pearl asks.

“Yeah, the press wasn’t working, which is what led Beef to prying it open and finding the sculk,” Grian says. “It was an old machine; sculk likes the static of old redstone.”

Dread rekindles anew in Pearl’s gut. Each detail that fell askanse in the moment feels all too clear now. “I don’t think,” she says slowly, “that Beef’s case is the only bit of sculk in town.”

Grian’s gaze steels. “Explain.”

Pearl goes over her time with Mumbo earlier, describing the deadbeat redstone, her own nausea, and Grumbot’s apprehension. “I suggested switching to solar, for the time being,” she finishes. “Haven’t heard from him since.”

Grian’s taken to pacing while she talks. Pearl absently gathers papers scattered on the table into a neat stack.

Abruptly, Grian stops. He pulls out his communicator. “We need to get him out of there, now,” he says. “We’re lucky that the lanterns aren’t connected to the grid—the sculk shouldn’t spread as easily, but Mumbo’s gotta get away from it.”

“What can I do?” Pearl asks. With one final, decisive tap, she sets the papers aside. She feels steadier with a task in hand.

“Change your clothes, for one thing,” Grian says. “If you’re contaminated…”

“I’m not,” Pearl says quickly. “I shouldn’t be. It didn’t touch my clothing. My symptoms faded in fresh air.”

“Okay. Then just, keep on at the festival.”

Pearl smiles something wry. “I’m keeping my ‘sole townie with super secret information’ status, now am I?”

“You’re Pearl; it hardly counts.” Grian waves a hand, but meets her eyes in understanding. “Just for tonight, you are. There’ll be an announcement tomorrow morning. It’ll be good to keep spirits high.”

“Okay,” Pearl says. “You’ll be alright?”

“Nothing new with me.” He shrugs. “No breakthroughs, but I’m still here, that counts for something.”

Pearl knows of his frustration. Years spent researching sculk, only for the city he was studying in to collapse in a full-blown flare. Grian had stumbled half-alive into town.

He should’ve died from the infection. He’s the only known survivor. It creeps along his edges, unyielding, aching, preying on a body that refuses to give out.

She’s glad he’s here.

Laying a light hand on his clothed arm, she asks, “Any chance I’ll be seeing you at the festival?”

Grian hesitates. “I’ll try,” he decides after a moment. “It’d be a real shame to pass up on free dessert, anyway.”

“I’ll save you a cupcake,” Pearl says. Her mouth pinches at the corners.

“I knew I could count on you.”

—☾—

The fireworks show is as dazzling as Cub had promised it would be. Circles of gold and showers of blue burst to life high above the plaza and cast sparkling reflections down upon the copper railings. The crowd, adorned with enough flowers in their crowns and chains to be mistaken for a field of them, claps and cheers in jubilant appreciation.

Mumbo’s lanterns float gently through the air, beacons of warm, softly flickering light. There aren’t as many as there were in the workshop—reduced from contamination or lack of time, Pearl doesn’t know. Mumbo’s own absence, however much she expected it, is an anxious ache in her chest. He isn’t the only one missing.

After the fireworks, the music stirs up a jaunty tune, and the centermost ring fills with movement: heels clatter against the cobbled brick as dancers spin between partners and link arms with a new one before being cast back.

Pearl doesn’t join so much as she is roped into the fray, and despite herself, she stomps to the beat and laughs at the joke Ren makes before flinging himself towards False.

Finding Gem is a manner of trading arms and conversation until they’re drawn together. Gem looks lovely with her sprigs of lilacs tucked behind her ears and woven throughout her antlers, and her silver bracelets are a pretty contrast against Pearl’s own gold. The purple of Gem’s long, sweeping skirt brings out the white of her wide grin.

“I love the sunflowers,” she says as they whirl. “They suit you.”

“Not looking too bad yourself!” Pearl says with a grin of her own.

“Skizz helped me with the antlers,” Gem says, gesturing to her head. “He got there eventually, but it was a rough start.”

It’s easy to lose herself in banter with Gem. They swap stories of loose bees and fishing mishaps and debate which of their friends would attempt to arm wrestle one of the harvest bots. They hang onto each other for several songs and part with a shared giggle.

When the soles of Pearl’s flats feel practically worn through, she takes to wandering through the fringes, ducking beneath the pergola for a drink that she quickly abandons to help someone with their unraveling flower crown. She scans the gathering as she deftly reweaves the delicate stems; her search comes up empty. Handing the finished crown back, she sticks around for a few moments longer before plunging back in.

She mingles and she dances and she resolutely ignores any feelings that ooze from the darkest parts of her brain like the stuff of world-ending apocalypses.

They’re here, aren’t they? From the rubble they created a safe haven, survival stalwart enough to warrant a celebration in its name. The strung lights are bright and the flowers are in full bloom; the air is fresh in Pearl’s lungs and she’s certain that any one of the pastries laid out would be delicious if she could will her stomach to accept it.

Time has dilated to something beyond Pearl’s open-handed grasp. Exhaustion tugs at her core. Zedaph is describing his most recent contraption to her, and only half of it is really computing.

She doesn’t notice Tango until he’s right next to her, two cupcakes in hand. His robe has been forsaken for a dashing waistcoat combination, and his bright hair is artfully tousled. He hands one cupcake to Pearl and the other to Zedaph, engaging Zed in an animated conversation that effectively drives them both away from Pearl.

Tango tosses a wink over his shoulder and mouths, ‘break.’ Pearl sighs with a slight shake of her head, and flashes a grateful smile back.

The crowd has thinned, and congregated mostly towards the center of the plaza, leaving many of the benches that curve around its edges empty. Pearl takes a seat on the side of the terrace that best overlooks the town below and rubs a sore spot out of her calf.

Away from the main lights, the stars shine brilliantly overhead, and the moon’s nearly-full glow settles silver upon the expanse of colorful roofs and overflowing greenery in front of her. Amidst the gentle hum of the night and melody of the Festival of Life, Pearl traces the watercolor silhouettes that make up her home.

—☾—

In the last dredges of celebration, when the band is replaced by jukeboxes, after most have retired to bed, Grian appears by Pearl’s bench, sliding into the spot next to her. Wordlessly, she hands him the cupcake from Tango. Through the weariness that weighs down his frame, he grins.

There’s plenty of discussion to make. Pearl’s sure there will be a never-ending stream of it tomorrow.

Pearl soaks in the quiet company and takes a moment to breathe. After a moment, Grian releases a long exhale of his own. Side by side, they sit in silence.

[loopyn3]

Great God Grove spoilers/character discussion ahead!

And some spoiler-y doodles

About Hector because of course it’s about him.

His entire arc is just so melancholic and tragic,

If I may, I’ve been taking a sort of deeper look into his mental goop so-to-speak, and I feel like his jealousy/anger surrounding King can be read in a lot of different contexts. It almost seems like it didn’t stop at simply King being the hot new thing and him being nervous he’d lose his place, but more so the idea that King didn’t have to change all that much about herself to be as deified as she seems. From what we know she’s very confident with herself, her God form even being pretty faithful to how she looks as a human(mentioned in the art book which you should totally go buy, it’s so lovely seeing all the concept art and the commentary is such a treat :]).

Meanwhile it’s kind of implied that Hector really had to claw his way up the spire, working tirelessly to help people, yes, but also to earn his place amongst the gods. He’s stressed out of his mind, he’s always working- I really can’t imagine he was all that stable to begin with in terms of self-identity/worth.

Plus, most if not all his relationships seem to be tied to this one purpose. I can’t imagine the thought of “if I fail I won’t have anything or anybody to go back to.” hasn’t crossed his mind AT LEAST once.

I reblogged a post showing screenshots of Robart and Peeps talking about how, as a human, he tended to act concerningly selflessly, almost seeming desperate. That really doesn’t come across as a normal reaction to just wanting to do good by people, at least not in a ‘normal’ capacity.

Hector, to me at least, comes across as a very self-critical guy. He’s always striving to do good by others… but also to be praised and adored by them. I can only imagine after so many years of toiling away, feeling that pressure building more and more to do well, spending years of his life hoping that he’ll be voted in that he’s sort of lost a piece of himself to this whole process? Something something ship of Theseus.

There’s this thing that happens when a project consumes your life, when it almost seems like your entire life’s purpose is built around this one thing that, once it’s done, it really doesn’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything. What’s left is this sort of numb emptiness, the absence of said purpose.

What are you supposed to do, then? Now that it’s over? Is there anything left for you to do?

Did you even have a purpose in the first place?

So you desperately grasp for new projects, trying to find anything to fill that ever present void that just seems to never go away no matter how many sleepless nights you spend working and working and working-

Or maybe I’m reading too deep into it teehee

Point is, Hector is just so important he is my reason to wake up in the morning he means so much to me asjfkkfksfc ;;;;;

[goddessinnerglow]

Become Your Best Version Before 2025 - Day 22

Developing New Skills

Let's talk about something super exciting, learning new skills! But wait, before you think "ugh, I don't have time for that," I promise we'll keep this fun and totally doable.

Remember when we were kids and tried new things just because they looked fun? No pressure, no expectations, just pure curiosity! Let's bring some of that energy back into our lives.

Want to hear something cool? Our brains literally light up with joy when we learn new things. It's like giving ourselves tiny happiness boosters throughout the day. How awesome is that?

Here's the thing about learning new skills, you don't need fancy equipment or hours of free time. Seriously! Some of the most fulfilling skills I've picked up started with just:

Watching YouTube videos while eating lunch

Using free apps during my morning routine

Practicing for 10 minutes before bed

The trick? Start so small it feels almost silly. Learning a language? Start with just one word a day. Want to draw? Doodle one tiny sketch while your coffee brews. Interested in cooking? Master one simple recipe before moving to the next.

I used to think I needed perfect conditions to learn something new, like you know, lots of free time, the right equipment, maybe even a class to sign up for. But then I realized waiting for perfect conditions meant never starting at all!

Instead, try this: pick something that makes you curious. Something that makes you think "ooh, that looks fun!" Then find ONE tiny way to explore it tomorrow. Just tomorrow. That's it!

Maybe it's:

Downloading a language app and learning how to say "hello"

Looking up one simple yoga pose to try

Learning one new keyboard shortcut

Finding a beginner's tutorial for something you've always wanted to try

The magic happens when we stop thinking about becoming experts and just enjoy being beginners. Every single expert started exactly where you are, just curious and willing to try!

Today's Challenge:

Pick ONE skill you'd love to learn

Find a super simple way to start (like a 5-minute YouTube video or a quick tutorial)

Spend just 10 minutes exploring it

Share what you picked in the comments!

See you tomorrow for Day 23!

♡ ☆:.｡ Keep glowing, babes! ♡ ☆:.｡ With love, Goddess Inner Glow.

[flowerakatsuka]

yotsubana florals' other frequent loiterer + a bonding moment between kuroba & ichimatsu.

[somegrumpynerd]

When your ruthless henchmen have pack bonded and continually lie in a pile like kittens

[cconfusedkat]

When you try to bump into your spouse cuz you cant find any other good excuse to see them during the day but your spouses spouse is doing the same thing so you both feel threatened by one another thus arguing

[askyofexplodingstars]

new doodle page, all derived from scenes from my recent x reader fic, our way (once again ft my farmer)

[slavhew]

28/01/2024

stars don't twinkle moon doesn't shine

big thanks to @nahrgles for finishing this for me after i hit a wall with colors bg and effects- chromatic aberration blew my fkn mind

pre edit transparent version under cut because i spent too much time cleaning it loll

[cent-scratchnsniff]

3 am doodles

[s1mpl3sp0ng3]

she's beauty and she's grace, she's got a sleepy face

[jazzzzzzhands]

Wally brought you a cup of sugar!

Like a good neighbor!

He also has an egg in his pocket!

If you know, you know!

[hplonesomeart]

Hey!! So turns out a video I made between a certain “well beloved but highly sensitive/emotionally reactive T.V” and an “orange haired inkling-turned-human” has managed to sweep my YouTube channel and accumulate 100k VIEWS!! THAT’S A LOT OF PEOPLE ACTUALLY?? My most widely viewed video EVER to exist in this moment in time?? AAAAA?? Not even mentioning the various comments and staggering increase in subs! It’s so much more then what I expected or even prepared for—might even be the most impactful thing to happen for me this year <3

…aside from graduating high school + the social connections I’ve been fortunate to make lol

BUT THE POINT IS I’d been closely monitoring the YouTube growth through the entirety of October. It’s make me smile like a dork, gawk in astonishment, dance frantically in my room from the energy boosts, and grow courage to stop being so selective/self-conscious with what I wish to share with the world! It’s kept my ambitions going!

I needed to find some way to celebrate the occasion and express my thanks—because I can’t NOT acknowledge this milestone jksjskp. Typically I try to avoid getting tunnel visioned focusing on the metrics/numbers. Mr. Puzzles had already demonstrated how much those things can mess with the minds of creatives. Caring too much about chasing views or placing your artistic value in attention seeking gets damaging. But at same time…it’s hard to deny the sense of pride the 100k achievement has filled me with. I understand that reaching 100k views doesn’t immediately make me any “better” or “worse” then I was before. I’m still just me! It only helps me feel seen by others—and that’s all I really needed. To hear some nice words & receive reminders that my ideas are cared about. So thank you SMG4 fandom for that, seriously thank you.

Please accept this Mr. Puzzle drawing as a way of sharing the happiness around. He’s so entertaining. Love him for simply existing. So glad we can all collectively be super attached to him (and the rest of the SMG4 cast of course). Can’t wait to see more incredible artworks from the fandom :)

Just incase anyone is confused by my vague description over which “animated video” I’m referring to here—hopefully this photo will help clarify lol. It’s this one!! Sorry about not outright stating the title at the start, I got carried away with writing!!

I’ve been in an odd place mentally when thinking about it. Wondering to myself if any of the attention is deserved considering it’s not even fully colored and could be dismissed as “low effort” content (despite taking several days making it). It’s easy to get into a trap of comparing yourself to others and questioning how much of the videos success is based on your skills, sheer algorithm luck, or only because you used popular characters and catered to a specific fandom. And then judging yourself by looking at other peoples videos. I’ve seen several artists post higher quality works then my own but it somehow gets less views. So why did mine succeed when others (who should have gotten just as much attention if not more) didn’t? Sometimes you feel like you’ve unfairly robbed them of that chance to be seen. However I’ve realized that I can’t ever expect views to be consistent—and comparing is pointless. So why worry about it or feel inadequate? I mean it’s pretty common for funny cat videos to go viral, so who am I to question the system lol. “Popular” YouTube videos can range from a passion project which took 7+ artists…to a clip of Toad singing Chandelier or a nonsensical Vine sketch. Anything can happen when it’s the internet! And just-so-happened my video was chosen. I should stay glad about that and get rid of all the overanalyzing. So that’s what I’ve chosen to do :)

[one-bunny-a-day]

10/12/2023

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

Good morning everyone

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Back to your blog to look at your wonderful lofe-giving art

Charles looks so cute with the blush on and so sexy with the bdsm and crop top on ajfkakfk awoooga bark bark bark, drooling, looking very disrespectfully, staring, daydreaming, licking my screen afjkakkk

Also following that Charles bdsm and crop top combo (already very deadly) with hot fox haired magneto (ahckskfk deceased)

welcome back to the blog to ogle anon, lovely to have you 😌 !!! thank you for enjoying my bdsm charles art... i do love drawin blush i aint gonna lie ... i dont advise lickin the screen tho ... but everything else is encouraged 😌

the silver fox that erik is IS pretty deadly this is true... and that beyond his ability to fold anyone like an omelette .... thank you my friend ..

[battle-of-alberta]

guess who's back at the tablet

what, me? be biased? in support of an edmonton franchise? why ever would you think that. calgarians go get your cookie beer doughnuts since for some reason they were only available on the yyc menu and none of ours at the time of posting, tsk tsk. (personal dp faves of mine are the bernadette and the vancouver fog - and i brought their fritters to my parents and they loooved them even though they got totally squished by airplane travel)

i went to krispy kreme in the early aughts when i lived in the states- we drove all the way to another city to try them because nowhere near us had good doughnuts. When those are the only doughnuts you have access to and they're hot, they're fine, and watching the big machine pumping them out is great entertainment, but honestly I do not care for them and i WARNED quatsch in toronto that they weren't that good.

but calvin of course LOVES soulless corporations, especially american ones :)

anyway the yyc dp logo is so cute i can't.