#was struggling and feeling stuck with coloring another art i was working on so i did this as an intermission

[hinata-boke]

overalls

[signanothername]

firstly: AAA YOUR ART AND COMICS AND STUFF ARE SO AMAZING!!!!

secondly: do you have any advice on how to come up with comics and then get them out of your head and onto paper?

BZHXHXHD THANK YOU SM!!!

And ooh that’s a good question

I usually come up with comics in one of two ways, either seeing something (whether another artwork, a text, something irl, etc) that inspires an idea for a comic, or via artworks I made that I expand on

Other times, it can actually be both

For example, the “A little life update” comic was actually inspired by this beautiful artwork, I saw it, and I immediately thought of Killer, idk something something about the despair of being stuck between a rock and a hard place etcetera etcetera (yes the comic that shows Killer to be in such a better place in life and show the hope he has, was inspired by crushing despair in actuality)

It made me wanna do something with Killer trying to call someone on a public phone, and so the first page came to be

Here’s the twist tho, I originally was gonna just make it into an artwork (yes, one single decision could’ve meant that comic wouldn’t have ever been made)

But a lil habit of mine is ask myself a shit ton of questions when it comes to my own artworks (it actually helps me turn what’s supposed to be artworks into comics), and that’s another way of how you can come up with comics, ask yourself questions, why is the character doing this? What are they doing? What if character did this? Etc

so I saw what was originally gonna be an artwork, and asked myself, who would Killer be calling if he ever did and why?

And the answer to those two questions that made sense to me most was Nightmare, but that led me to two more questions, when would Killer be calling Nightmare and for what?

And that led me to have a basic idea of how I wanted the comic to go

So it was basically like

Who would Killer be calling? Nightmare

Why would Killer be calling Nightmare if he ever did? That actually had different answers, to taunt him, to inform him of something, cause he misses Nightmare in his own fucked up way, etc

When would Killer be calling Nightmare? After he’s saved, or while still under him? After he’s saved makes more sense

What would Killer call Nightmare for? To give him an update about his life with Color

How would Killer be calling Nightmare? Through a public phone

Where would Killer be calling from? Somewhere in an AU in the surface

These six questions, what, why, when, who, where, how, are important to think of, they give you a basis to work on when it comes to comics in general

You don’t need to have a very clear answer to each of them to be able to work on a comic, but if you can at least answer 3 of them, that would give you enough information to work with in a comic

Now that I have a tiny bit of a clear idea about what I wanted to do (it doesn’t have to be perfect or completely concise) let’s talk about how you take these ideas out of your head and into paper

You can do that by imagining the dialogue in your head and then immediately putting it into paper, as I mentioned here, I actually struggle a lot with dialogue, art? No problem, I can easily imagine the art, but dialogue? It’s hell (please take the time to read the linked post, I talk in depth about how I handle dialogue)

That’s why you shouldn’t worry about perfection at this stage, just put every little piece of dialogue you imagine into paper, even if it feels like it makes no sense or is out of character, that’s something you can worry about later

Put in the dialogue, every little bit of it, and draw the panels that feels right for the dialogue

Here’s a little bit of example about what I mean when I say put the dialogue in then draw panels that make sense for it

This is a comic I plan on making, I actually drew that first panel as a stand alone artwork, then that inspired the dialogue, I wrote the dialogue down immediately, it’s a rough version of it, maybe I’ll keep it the same, maybe I’ll change it up as I work through the comic, but so far, I’m drawing the panels based on the dialogue so far, see what I mean by write the dialogue down? It helps IMMENSELY

It doesn’t have to be perfect and it certainly doesn’t have to be the final version, but writing it down will help you imagine the art that comes with it

Does that mean you can never start with the art then think of the dialogue? NO

You absolutely can start with the art for the comic first, in fact, sometimes, doing that actually helps you imagine the dialogue better, other times you can’t really think of a dialogue but have a very clear image in your head about certain character interactions, draw that it’s ok, silent comics focusing on character interaction, is a thing that you can do without worrying about dialogue

Now when it comes to the actual making of a comic, first tip is find your own footing when it comes to comic making

Like listen, people are gonna tell you that the correct thing to do is that you have to make thumbnails for the comic before you make the actual comic to make sure the flow is good and you have room for speech bubbles and what not

Here’s the thing, making thumbnails for your comic is a life saver, it’s great, if you can do that go for it! But for a person like me with little to no energy, I can’t do that without losing interest and immediately abandoning my comic, I can’t do that without becoming frustrated and hate art for it

That’s why I say find your footing, if making thumbnails before working on the actual pages works for you go for it! or you can immediately just work on the actual comic itself like I do, it’s all about what you’re comfortable with and what makes more sense to you

That being said, when it comes to the panels themselves, always aim for less panels and more pages than the other way around

Sometimes, emphasis on certain emotions or aspects of the comic can only be done with fewer panels

That’s why my own comics would sometimes have pages that are either one or two panels max

The less panels you have in a page, the more concise, clear, and easy to follow your comic is, one of the biggest mistakes I made as a beginner artist, is that I focused on cramping the story in as few pages as possible rather than focus on the clarity of the comic

Here’s an example

Good luck reading that dggxgdgdh

This is a very old comic I made back in 2018? 2019?, I wanted the comic to be one page so bad I cramped everything into it without thinking about the fact people are gonna have a very hard time reading it, like this easily could’ve been 3-5 pages but old me couldn’t imagine doing that many pages (if she could see me now with 15 pages comics dhhdhdg) not only that, but the panels’ arrangement makes 0 sense

So when you make your panels there are 2 things to keep in mind:

1- less panels and more pages = clear easy to follow comic, as well as a better emotional impact

2- panel arrangement has to make sense and should be easy to follow, you can make sure it’s easy to follow by reading your own comic over and over as you’re making it, if you find difficulty following the dialogue or art, then it’s best to refine, change or edit your panel or dialogue arrangement

Another thing to keep in mind when making the comic is the flow, the best way to go about making sure that the flow makes sense is by thinking of the comic as you would an animation, how did the character go from point A to point B?

For example this page

Killer clearly has a bit of a distance from Nightmare in the second panel, so how did Killer go from being at a distance (point A), to right in front of Nightmare in the last panel (point B)? That’s what the two panels in between the these two points are for, is to show you that 1- Nightmare is using his tentacle, and 2- that tentacle wrapped around Killer’s arm, the rest would easily be filled in by your brain that Nightmare basically pulled him closer

Now for the ending of a comic, not every comic has to have a clear ending where it marks the end of a story, but rather, you can go for whatever satisfies you as an ending, or keep an ending ambiguous or open, to expand on a comic later

I say that the perfect ending for a comic is what gets the point of a comic across, if the point is made, then it’s a good panel to end the comic with

Don’t be afraid to scarp any page or panels if they make the comic awkward or if they don’t make sense or if it seems out of character don’t hesitate to change, edit or completely delete it

An example is the “choice” comic, it actually originally was 4 pages, I just decided to scrap the last page cause of two reasons

1- it added nothing to the comic

2- it was out of character for Stage 2 Killer

My last advice is don’t force the process, sometimes, the best way to go about making comics is to make them on your own time and slowly, sometimes, you get stuck with certain things in the comic, other times, you need a bit to figure out how to proceed with the comic, completely normal in the process, that’s why it’s important to work on comics in a way that suits you, but you can’t find what suits you without trial and error, so go and test the waters, you can never learn until you practice it yourself

Good luck, hope this helps, lemme know if you need more clarification or help, i’d be happy to help where I can <333

[isabel3710]

I've dived headfirst back into my old Trolls hyper fixation with the release of the third movie. So I decided to write a little something for the idea of Branch being adopted by the Country Trolls.

I was inspired by some fan art by crunchy_coookies_ on insta and @rocksibblingsau's AU and a post they've made on this idea.

I would love to turn this into a full fledged fic one day but I'm already working on another trolls fanfic plus I got some (very loose) plans for another for when I'm done. But if I every have the time to write more I'll be sure to let you all know!

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A little gray trolling sat on the edge of a dusty road, a worn looking bag sitting beside him. Branch held his ankle with both hands, it throbbed with pain and he was struggling not to cry. 

A few weeks ago Branch had decided to leave his tribe once and for all, he was tired of being bounced around from foster home to foster home. Full of people who either hated him or tried to turn him into something he wasn’t. So he packed a bag full of his prized possessions and any supplies he might need and snuck out in the middle of the night. 

At first things were great! And then he left the forest and made it to this desert of a wasteland, Branch did okay at first. He was careful to ration his food and slept with a knife in his hand.

Then today Branch had gotten his foot caught in some kind of hole and now his ankle really hurt. He had tried to stand up and power through but couldn’t without pain getting to an overwhelming degree.

He sniffed and whipped at his eyes, Branch didn’t know what he was going to do. He was stuck here with a hurt leg and he had run out of food last night. 

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by some strange clip-clop sound. Branch reached into his bag and pulled out his little knife. He was alone out here and who knew how many things out in this strange land liked to eat trolls. 

Dust had suddenly risen up into the air and got into Branch’s eyes, he tried to blink it away as the strange sound got closer and closer. When his vision had cleared he saw the figure that matched the clopping sound.

And….

It was a troll?

The troll looked like one he had never seen before, she had orange skin and red hair which did remind him of the trolls back home. But that was where the similarities ended, for she had four legs with hooves and a fluffy looking teal tail. Her clothes weren't neon or pastel colored or covered in glitter, but fairly plain looking; with a few dirt stains and patches.

The woman seemed to notice him too for she started to walk over to him, the clopping sound following her. “Hey sugar” she said, her voice sounded strange. Nothing like Branch had ever heard before. “Why’re you out here all alone?”

Branch sniffled and tried to scoot away on his bottom, dragging his injured leg along the ground. The hand holding his knife shook a bit. 

“Hey, hey” the woman said, her voice gentle. “I’m not going ta’ hurt you.” She knelt in front of him “what happened ta’ your leg?”

Something about this woman felt calming, Branch hadn’t met anyone who made him feel this way since his Grandma died. “I tripped,” he said, tears running down his cheeks. “It hurts really bad.”

“I’m sure it does” the woman said “mind if I take a look?”

Branch hesitated before nodding, the woman carefully took his ankle in her hands. He winced a bit in pain but stayed still. The woman tutted softly “looks like you sprained it honey.” 

“Oh…”

She pulled out a piece of dark green cloth and tied it around his ankle. “We'll have to put some ice on it.”

“I don’t have any ice,” Branch said.

“Not to worry,” she smiled at him, “town’s not too far from here.” 

There was a town out here… “how?” He asked, “it hurts to walk.”

“Climb on my back” she said “and I’ll carry ya.” 

“Won’t that hurt you?”

She chuckled “you’re sweet, sugar, but not to worry. I’ll be fine.” The women helped Branch sit on her back before slowly standing “hold on darlin’.” 

Branch held his bag in one hand and to the women’s shirt with the other. And she began to walk, the clopping sound following them. It was then Branch realized he had no idea what this lady’s name was.

“Ms” he said “I’m sorry but… What’s your name?”

She chuckled “no need to apologize hon. I’m Ms Delta Dawn. What’s your name?”

“Branch.” He said “my name is Branch."

[rotworld]

9: Good Neighbors

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

a cosmic freak accident sends you to bivium, a parallel world of imitation. being stuck here for the foreseeable future is distressing, but you're in luck! your neighbors have been keeping an eye on you since you arrived and they know just how to cheer you up.

->original work. basically explicit; contains non-con, surreal sex, environmental gore, threesome.

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“Ah, splendid. Still alive,” the Chief Inductioner says. You take a seat across from his desk reluctantly. You hate this dark, creepy office, barely lit and bathed in dull crimson like a photography darkroom. You can’t shake the feeling that everything in here is alive somehow. That you’re inside something, seated precariously in the redness of a mouth or esophageal tube. The walls seem to pulsate, spongy and shining with slickness in places. It’s probably just the shadows playing tricks on your eyes, but it might not be.

The Chief Inductioner is a solid black stripe against the red glow behind him, an enormous fish tank full of strange, spiny shapes darting back and forth. He’s mostly a silhouette, just the vague suggestion of a man in a suit, but you can see his mask with unnatural clarity. It’s the smiling one, painted arches for closed eyes and thin lips stretched in a cheerful curve. Gloved hands clasped together atop a scattered pile of paperwork, he sits straight-backed and frighteningly tall.

“I was wondering about my transfer request,” you say. “And why it’s taking so long.” 

You sit in silence for an unbearably long time. The Chief Inductioner neither speaks nor moves, sitting perfectly still. Something slithers along the bottom of the tank. You don’t see a head or tail, just coils that seem to wind around forever. A wall clock ticks to no particular rhythm. You glance around the room nervously, wondering if you should say something to break the silence. 

“Yes. Of course,” he says finally. He changed his mask somehow when you weren’t looking. The expression is subdued and contemplative. “Naturally, you have questions about this, being an incidental arrival.” 

‘Incidental arrival’ is just a fancy way of saying you didn’t choose to come here. You struggle with the idea that anyone would. “Right. So. How long should I expect it to take? Because it’s been almost a week now, and—”

“It’s no simple matter,” the Chief Inductioner assures you. He stands up, which isn’t good, because that means he’s about to start rambling and you really don’t want to be here any longer than you have to be. He paces back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. “Think of fluid displacement. When an object is submerged in water, the water does not simply cease to be. It must move and occupy a new space to make room for what has just arrived. Transpositional events follow a similar logic. There is an inviolable balance at play, even for us.” He pauses, regarding you with a wide-eyed, curious mask. “Remind me, what were the circumstances of your arrival?” 

You frown tightly. You’d rather not think about it. “It was a dresser,” you say. That’s how it started; a tall chest of drawers in your room. One night, you noticed it was slightly further from the wall than it was supposed to be. It might’ve been gradual. It might’ve inched forward, day after day, until you noticed. It’s the kind of thing that makes you stop and stare and wonder a little, but you weren’t alarmed. Maybe it’d always been there. Maybe it got bumped somehow. After that, it started happening in the kitchen. You were missing some utensils. You had extras, things you’d never bought. A chair was the wrong color. 

Little things, one after another. Until, one day, you went to leave and you didn’t recognize anything outside.

“Ah, yes, that’s right! Quite the unusual case. Partial transposition of an apartment complex.”

You shift nervously in your seat. Did the heat just kick on, or is something breathing down your neck? Something large and tentacled presses up against the glass with its limbs splayed out and squirming, like it’s trying to taste you. “We already went over all of this,” you say. “I just want to go home.” 

The Chief Inductioner shakes his head. “Regrettably, you cannot. Not yet, anyway. It would be unbalanced. When your apartment came here, a similar apartment building necessarily replaced it—or at least replaced the parts that were transpositioned. I’m afraid your transfer is linked to the transfer of twenty-four individual apartment units, several hallways, and forty other inhabitants…” He pauses, leaning over his desk to examine one of the papers. “Pardon me, twenty-nine. Decedents are exempt. In any case, all of the individual forms have been processed and accepted. All we can do now is wait.”

“Is there anywhere else I could stay while I wait?” you ask.

“Anywhere else?” he echoes, tilting his head. The smiling mask is back again. “I don’t see why that would be necessary. You were very fortunate, your living quarters were transpositioned with you.”

“They were, but—”

“Doubly fortunate, considering the transpositioned units ended up in an apartment building. You’ve kept some of your old neighbors, but you have so many new ones! Have you tried introducing yourself?”

“That’s kind of the problem,” you insist. “My neighbors are—”

“I know humans are skittish. But many of us are willing to be accommodating. I’m sure your neighbors have even gone to the trouble of wearing masks.” He’s not listening. The Chief Inductioner goes on and on about traditional hospitality and rituals of welcoming. You never manage to get a word in, so eventually you give up. You tell him you’ll come back if you need anything and march out of the Department of Awareness offices feeling worse than when you entered. 

Nothing is quite as it should be. The sky is orange. The trees grow upside down, a tangle of roots stretching skyward while a mass of half-buried leaves rustles at the base of the trunk. Every now and then, some shambling, lurching thing will creep out of the darkness between buildings, its shape condensing into something more human the closer it gets. “Human? Human,” they call, their voices sickeningly sweet. “Come here. You can trust me. Let me see you. I just want to see a little closer.” You walk quickly and keep your head down. 

They call this place Bivium, the almost-world of almost-beings. Everything here is flexible and protean, indecisive about its own nature. Things like you—solid things, certain things, irresistibly alluring real things—are highly coveted in ways the human body is not meant to endure. Staying out of sight is your best bet so your apartment is the safest place for you to be.

At least, it was. 

You enter the building with some trepidation. In the lobby, the walls are bleeding. Darker, coagulated blood and bits of hair stick out of the mailboxes clustered in the wall. The Chief Inductor told you that some of this is your apartment complex, and some of this is the Bivium pretending to be one. It knows there were potted plants by the elevator, but the pot and the plant are a single, pulsating entity that throbs and oozes mucus. It knows there should be light fixtures, but it’s made them enormous eyes instead. There is an extra door in the ceiling. One staircase goes up to the next floor while the other goes in circles and eventually spits you out in a park a few blocks away.

You keep peering around corners and checking behind you. Usually, nothing is there. A dog or something vaguely shaped like one trots down the hall, gradually melding with the floor. Blood oozes from under several doors on your floor and through the peepholes. Some of these units didn’t come from your world. They were already here and already occupied, creatures of the Bivium occasionally cracking open their doors to leer at you as you pass. They used to call out to you and try to beckon you closer, inviting you in for things that sounded like food, but most of them leave you alone now. 

Like the Chief Inductioner said, there are some natural laws and tendencies that even they follow. Balance, for one. “Always a bigger fish,” for two.

You let out the breath you were holding when you reach your door unassailed, but you won’t fully relax until you’re inside. You stay alert while fumbling with your keys. They weren’t in the lobby today, or at the end of the hall. Sometimes, they hang around right outside the Department of Awareness offices but they weren’t there, either. Maybe they got bored. You’ve been neatly avoiding them for days now by changing up your schedule and using different exits. You’re inside the second you get your door unlocked, shouldering through, locking it immediately. You’re so tired. All you want to do is collapse into bed and wait for all of this to be over. You take off your shoes, setting them next to the other two pairs—

Your heart skips a beat. Two pairs of identical sneakers that definitely don’t belong to you. 

It’s already too late. You hear a soft sigh behind you and it doesn’t matter that they couldn’t have been standing there before, that there was nowhere for them to hide. Things like that don’t matter in Bivium. You turn and they’re both standing there in their unsettling masks, trying and failing to conceal their excitement with nonchalant body language. 

“You’re back early,” Nihili says. The taller of the two, he wears a gray turtleneck sweater with discolored stains crusted to the ends of the sleeves, stringy black hair hanging limp over his shoulders. His mask is blank. No eyes, no nose, no mouth, just solid black and reflective so you can see your own discomfort in place of a face. 

“You look upset,” Nemo coos next to him. His mask is missing everything but eyes and it has too many, seven of them drawn crudely in an arc across the top. His hands fidget restlessly at his sides, his fingers unnaturally long. His hair keeps changing length and color, morphing from red to blond to blue. “Did things not go well with the Chief Inductioner?” 

“How did you get in here?” you ask, trying hard to sound firm instead of terrified. “You’re not supposed to—”

“We’ve been worried about you,” Nemo says, inching closer. “You’re spending so much time in here, all by yourself. That can’t be good for you. Humans are social creatures, aren’t they? It’s a shame that so many of the ones in this building are dying. There’s hardly anyone left to fulfill your needs.” You back away from him—and right into Nihili. That doesn’t make sense. They were both in front of you before, weren’t they? Nemo closes the gap quickly to trap you between them. “What are you going to do, you poor thing? All on your own like this,” he sighs, his hands settling on your hips and squeezing. “No one to talk to. Or hold you. Or do all of those other human things…”

Nihili touches you, too, and it’s so much worse. He strokes your spine and it feels like his hand sinks through your clothes and skin and muscle and bone, all the way into something that’s not meant to be touched. You make a scared sound and they both coo like you’re an animal that just did something adorable. “I guess we could do those things,” Nihili muses, trying to sound like he hasn’t already made up his mind. “We’re not humans, but we know a lot about them. We’ve been keeping an eye on you since you got here.” 

“Just in case,” Nemo says quickly. “You know, if you needed anything.”

“Mhm,” Nihili purrs. He strokes up and down your sides, making you shudder at his strange, invasive touch. “And we think you need something right now.” 

“I don’t,” you insist. 

“Really? You don’t?” Nemo cups his hand between your legs and squeezes, grinding his palm into your clothed sex. Alarmed, you try to wriggle out from between them, but Nihili wraps his arms around you to keep you still. Nihili’s hands aren’t like yours, or even like Nemo’s. You aren’t sure they’re really there. You think you see an outline. A photonegative. The too-bright inversion you see the second you squeeze your eyes shut, the memory of a hand. He chuckles at the way you squirm in his grasp and rolls his hips in a slow, testing motion. 

You make a humiliating sound. It feels like sex. Like he’s fucking you through both of your clothes somehow. Your fingers sink into Nemo’s colorful hoodie and it encourages him, makes him stroke you harder and faster. 

“It’s alright. You don’t have to lie.” Nihili leans in, the cool surface of his mask brushing against your cheek. He thrusts again, dry humping you at a slow, rolling pace that makes your legs buckle. “We know all about humans. They need to be told what to do. They need to be controlled. Isn’t it perfect, being between me and Nemo? Moving your hips into him, into me…just like we want you to.” 

You try to deny it but Nemo’s long fingers slip into your clothes and then he’s touching you, skin to skin, hard and relentless. His hand works against your sensitive flesh, slicked with your leaking arousal. “I’m glad we found you first,” he says. “You have no idea what somebody else would do with a cute little human like you. Probably eat you. Rip you open for a peek inside. Take your skin.” 

“A waste,” Nihili hisses. He holds your hips to keep you still while he ruts harder and you swear he’s deeper somehow. Not in your entrance, not in your flesh at all, but something deeper. Every thrust makes it harder to think. “We’ll use you properly. We’ll keep you. We can appreciate what we have.” 

“So don’t worry about anything, alright? We’ll fuck you and take care of you and tell you what to do. Everything a human needs.” Nemo knocks his mask against your face gently in an approximation of a kiss. Nihili does the same, the smooth black surface nuzzling into your neck. The things they do to you feel as uncomfortable as they do pleasurable, as comforting as it is violating.

Just like everything else about Bivium, it’s close but not quite human. They don’t climax but they stop when you do, all soft caresses and praise. Nemo’s too big, spider-like hand grasps your shoulder. Nihili’s penetrative touch seems to sink through your cheek to the muscle and bone beneath, fingertips curling affectionately against the delicate tissue of your brain.

You wonder if you’re ever going home.

[thesensteawitch]

Pick A Pile Reading

A Message Meant To Reach You!🕊️

(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hey, Senstea Souls!

I am back with another collective reading. It's a general reading so take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Feel free to DM me in case of any queries. Bookings are open!

Pile 1

Animal Spirit- Sea Serpent

Tarot Cards- The Chariot, Judgement, Queen of Wands, Seven of Swords, The World, Two of Wands

Did you take a wrong turn in life, pile 1? Or a dangerous road. A road that was all about our darkest of desires and you were meant to rescue something good that was stuck in a loophole. Your cards are very positive but I sense that someone stole something from you and it weakened your ability to communicate your truth. But the good thing is that the Universe wants you to know that soon you'll enter into the phase of rebirth. You'll be freed. I feel you have been planning something for a very long time. You developed this plan based on many experiences you have had. There's an assurance that your plan is going to work. What you want is coming. You are soon going to complete a full circle. I hear, “Some mistakes get made that's alright that's okay, in the end, it's better for me that's the moral of the story babe.” The color blue is prominent in your reading. You may be seeing a lot of butterflies. A huge change is coming into your life. Something is finally ending. Perhaps your old self. The moment you tell you truth and you say what's there in your mind you'll see a page turning in your life. You'll soon come face to face with a traitor. It can be a thought or a real person. Communicate and the fog will be cleared. You are divinely protected, pile 1. You just need to have your desires in control and let your creativity flow freely. Soon you'll free yourself of all the judgements. Make sure you do not take a wrong turn. Stay on your path. I hope this helped. See you soon! If you want more clarity regarding this situation or any other feel free to check out my rate card and book your reading.

Important chakras: Throat and Sacral.

Pile 2

Animal spirit- Raccoon

Cards- Temperance, Four of Pentacles, Queen of Swords, The Fool, Queen of Wands, Judgement

Pile 2, you are going to be blessed in such a way that you won't be able to grab everything at once. You'll receive so much praise and abundance that they will overflow and others will be picking them up for you. If something especially a relationship was going downhill then know that resolution is coming. Have faith but keep your balance. Don't cheat. Don't pretend to have faith. Have patience. Don't be a cat who cannot help but run after a rat as soon she lays eyes on him. Your words hold power currently. You may observe that whatever you say will manifest itself. So make sure you think twice before saying anything. But at the same time use it for the best. Manifest with good intentions. Your affirmations are working if you have been affirming. Whatever is changing know that it's all you. You are bringing a change in your life. Some of you may be writing or speaking a lot lately or have the urge to do so. Some of you may even be musicians. Just don't be too stubborn about your art. Art is flexible. It can move in any direction as it gives you uncountable perceptions. Some of you may still be struggling with money. The push and pull between you and your art is coming to an end. Soon you'll see a clear picture. Trust the process and more importantly trust yourself. You may feel overwhelmed currently or in the coming days. Keep your emotional meter in check. Don't get it cracked up. I also see movement. Some of you may be moving houses. Stay true to your words, pile 2, and own your true self. I hope this helped. See you soon! If you want more clarity regarding this situation or any other feel free to check out my rate card and book your reading.

Pile 3

Animal Spirit- Cosmic Egg

Cards- Queen of Swords, Queen of Cups, Nine of Pentacles, King of Wands, 5 of Swords, Ten of Wands

Words mean a lot to you, pile 2. You know it because all day you are somehow surrounded by them. You feel that your words hold power. And they definitely do. I see a group of friends. Though honest, your words sometimes make people upset. You need to be very careful. I see that some of you are working on a project and perhaps 3 people were involved in it. You very well know the plan of action. What to do and what not to do. Your commands may feel threatening to others. That's why some people do not want you to boss them. But clearly, you deserve to be in charge. You can work alone pretty well though, just like a magician. You have all the knowledge to work by yourself and ace it. But you are so deeply hurt that the work now seems like too much to handle. As soon as you let go of bitter emotions you will be able to create what you were supposed to since the beginning. This journey will be alone and slow but it'll definitely bear fruits. Nine months from now you'll be grateful that you did it alone. It's between you and the universe now. Universe will take care of the rest for you. It cares for you as much as it does for those who believe in it. Don't underestimate yourself pile 3. Within a few months, you are going to be blessed with abundance. You'll achieve your goals and it will all be self-made. Put your work aside for a while and take a break. Release the negative emotions or grudges you hold. And then begin again. You'll ace whatever you were working on. I sense strong air and fire sign energy. Don't unnecessarily make your working space crowded when you have the capability to make things work on your own. I hear, “I am not gonna make it alone.” You are not alone, pile 3. We meet so many people in this lifetime. You'll find the perfect match for you too. Till then know that you aren't alone. You never were. I read a quote, “We are carried. In bellies. In arms. In love. In hope. In caskets. In urns. In grief. In memories. Our whole lives and into the next. We are carried.” I hope this helped. See you soon! If you want more clarity regarding this situation or any other feel free to check out my rate card and book your reading.

[loaflovesdoodling]

Pleiades pleaded, as the Dollmaker's dagger dug deeper and deeper into his back, cutting right through his yellowish-colored flesh, golden blood spewing out, he had no way of fighting back, and stabs to the pancreas wouldn't have been enough to shut his cries up anymore.

Leaving him absolutely motionless.

The warrior could feel costant hits on his vertebrae, like a hammer on a nail, it was terrifying, disturbing. painful. His consciousness started fading away. All he could do... was look back.....

...and scream his heart out.

A.F.T.E.R.M.A.T.H.

Finishing her job, she fleed the scene, forgetting her dagger deep inside his back. It was now 2AM. Pleiades coughed, grunted, making a strong effort to roll over on the cold, wet grass. He wanted to spend his final moments of consciousness facing the stars. His only sisters at the moment.

He knew he couldn't die. But he was still scared. Limbo was near. He didn't want to go to sleep. Especially for that long. He tried to inbreathe sharply, but was cut off by violent coughs. He didn't have the energy to even cry. The warrior kept his eyes open, and finally stopped struggling.

"He art not replying... he art not reachable... Just what hast thou gotten thyself into, mine brother..?!" Dero muttered to himself, scurrying across the dirt and rocks. His five eyes curved, expressing concern and frustration. His mouth partially covered by his grey-ish neck fur that now messily stuck out his cape.

Pleiades should've been back from the bar an hour earlier. His phone wasn't available and nobody who was still awake had heard from him. The dim light of the first quarter shone upon the forest, attributing to it a feeling of gloom and dread. It felt like a circle of darkness that only condensed and reduced the already miniscule amount of air. It was obscure, claustrophobic, haunting.

"PLEIADES! WHERE ART THOU, MINE FRIEND?! PLEIADES!!"

The Dark Matter called out loudly.

Still, no response, until he came across peculiar footsteps leading to a trail of golden blood. And he knew exactly who that belonged to.

Running in that same direction, he found himself even deeper inside the forest. Scurrying along, he again yelled: "PLEIADES?? I HATH BEEN LOOKING FOR THEE FOR SO LONG!! WHY ART THOU NOT RESPONDING TO MY CALLS?!" and, again, no answer. His worry only grew with the overwhelming suspense and quiet, that was so long as the moment he picked up on the putrid odor of flesh and venous and arterial fluids. He followed the scent, and finally saw Pleiades.

There lied on the earth Pleiades. Motionless. Cut up and down by the sharp blade that now emerged from his stomach. His eyes open, gazing into the nothingness. His chest flat, not a puff of air leaving his nostrils or mouth.

Dero's eyelids grew apart in shock. He gulped, then shakily exhaled, stuttering as he hurried to his injured sibling:

"..h-how....... wh...at..?"

"P...Pleiades, can you hear me.. ? ..PLEIADES..?!"

"nonononononononono.... no... NO!! Please, please hang in there... STAY STRONG..!! PLEASE..."

"just... just... please just..."

he fumbled with his words, as he bit into the knight's torn cape and lifted him over his shoulder, now noticing the handle of the seemingly familiar dagger on the other side of him, buried far inside his spine; the Dark Matter hicked in frustration and worry:

"just give me a sign... please.."

it was then that, as he cradled him, out of Pleiades came a wispy breath, and there he knew. He was still alive.

"Hang in there, mine brother. Hang in there." he whispered, before hurrying out of the forest, following the same path he used to reach it.

It was another night of work at Cookie Country's Medical Center, as Henri fixed his gloves and face mask, making his way across the white-tiled hospital corridors. Just then, he stumbled across Casipan, who was pushing a medical cart to another room. They looked at eachother for just a second, before Henri acknowledged:

"Do you need help with that? I wouldn't mind performing an extra operation tonight."

"Ah, uh, no, thank you! I was actually just putting these back."

"Oh! Alright! Tell you what, I'll go get us both something refreshing to drink, I was gonna buy another water bottle anyway."

"You're way too kind. Here, let me pa--"

"Nonono, I insist!"

"Fine, but I owe you one."

"Haha, now don't be ridiculous. I'll be back in just a minute."

"Sure."

Casipan joked:

"I swear, more than just a water bottle, we'd need some coffee! It's such a quiet night here today that I might just fall asleep!"

to which Henri replied by chuckling. Until--

"HELP!!!! SOMEONE HELP!!!! PLEASE, WE REQUIRE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE!!!!!!!!!"

Dero cried in a muffled voice, barging into the hospital's hall, still carrying Pleiades.

Henri and Casipan looked at eachother with concern and determination and nodded, before hurrying towards the sound.

"Good Void...." Casipan froze upon discovering the source of panic, as Henri immediately ran past him to help, making him follow along.

"Casi, don't worry about this, I'll handle it. Just please go get me a stretcher." the creature nodded before running to the hallway once again.

"You were very brave, Dero. You were very brave--... Please take a deep breath now..." The doctor empathically encouraged, as the Dark Matter inhaled and exhaled rapidly from worry.

"...He will make it. I'm sure he will. Pleiades is a very strong man. He will make it."

"..I...shan..'t......'ve..... all..ow..e..d.......h...im....to....g..o.....d..ri..nk.....alo..ne....." he blurted out in-between each intake of air. Henri placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed its thumb on his face in a fatherly manner, before repeating, once again:

"He will make it."

Casipan reached the three of them with a stretcher before him. Henri quickly thanked him, before setting Ades onto the ground, crossing the unconscious warrior's four hands.

The medic adjusted the sheets and unfastened the straps, before bending the stretcher's metal legs and pushing it down to the floor. On the count of three they both lifted Pleiades and secured him on the hard mattress, then mounting the legs and wheels once again, before rushing to the ER, while Henri looked back at Dero one last time.

He could only sit (im)patiently in the waiting room as the hospital staff made calls to everyone else. Most of them couldn't reply. It was an ungodly hour, after all. Call after call, Dero's only thoughts were of how that could've happened, and why. Part of him was worrying about Dolly, too, but he knew she was safe at his sweet fiancé's house.

The hospital felt so quiet, he could've sworn he could hear the time ticking by with triggering low speed. The air was getting tense.

Ten minutes felt like an hour. Twenty felt like five. It was so maddening he eventually lost track of time, until, a while later, Twilight showed up, panting, as if they just ran a marathon.

"WHERE. IS. HE."

Dero looked over with his head down and his spine curved, completely ashamed. Despite how much he tried, the only thing he could force out of his mouth were mumbles and messy stutters.

Twilight looked at him with a defeated expression, before taking a seat and leaning on him.

"what even happened..? Why..?!"

"I'm sorry I hath not been there for him."

"I-It's not your fault, I just..... I don't have any words.."

"He'll be okay......... I know he will..........." Dero tried to convince himself, trying to drown out all those horrible thoughts.

"I hope so....... I really hope so, Dero."

They waited.

It was 3:37AM when Selene unexpectedly entered the hospital with a look of concern and confusion, walking slowly across the main hall until she spotted her two other relatives, then running in their direction.

"SELENE?! You should be asleep!!! What has gotten into you?!?" Twilight Knight rebuked, worried and dumbfounded.

"Well, I could say the same thing about you!! I don't even know why I came here!! Blossom just started crying in the other room and I went to check her out. Apparently she has a bad feeling something happened, and then I just... saw you were both here, and I decided to reach out to you. And, before you ask, you forgot to turn off your location." She explained as a worried and tired Blossom sat over her head, being only slightly hidden by the silvery fuzz of her antennae, but just enough that they had only noticed her now that she was being mentioned.

"Poor thing...." Dero whispered, then walking closer to the girls and kneeling down, offering Blossom his head, on which she climbed.

It was then that Selene had noticed the stains of golden blood on Dero's cape, freezing in shock then and there. Twilight checked in on her:

"Selene? Selene, are you okay??"

"Hello???"

They waved their hand in front of her face, before flicking their fingers and sternly calling:

"SELENE!!!"

And that yell was sufficient to remind her of how Farron used to catch her attention, except, it was usually followed by a slap or hit. She braced herself, but... the slap never came. Instead, a few gentle pats on the head.

"Everything alright, sis?" TK whispered soothingly.

".. mmyeah, yeah.... it's all good...."

"You sure?"

"..yeah..."

And, just then, they looked at her, before hugging her tight, and explaining.

"Pleiades got attacked. He was really badly hurt and.... unresponsive."

Her heart sank. Did she hear that right? Blossom started crying even more, inconsolable. Dero tried to soothe her like a father would with his baby, but, to mostly no avail. Selene almost started tearing up, mumbling:

"..bu..t..... I... th..ought.....A..des.......was............ I-I..thou..ght..... "

She always knew him as a strong and invincible man, so how could've this..?

The clock ticked. It was 3:46AM when, finally, the door to the ER was opened. They all ran torwards Casipan, the only doctor that came out of that room in that moment, sprinting across the hallway.

"Mister Casipan!"

"I'm sorry, Selene. It's a matter of mere seconds here and it could all be over."

He apologized, quickly walking past them.

The coldness in his tone suddenly reminded Twilight of how their mother used to treat them. They knew Casipan meant no harm, but, instinctively, they placed themselves before Selene, shielding her. She squeezed her brother's hand. They scuffed and backed down, wrapping her once again in a comforting embrace.

Dolly woke up feeling strangely lonely.

Usually, she would go to Dollmaker's room and wake her up for consolation, but, for some strange reason, it felt dangerous to do so tonight.

From under the pillow came out Alden, her guardian angel. With a soft and empathetic tone, he warned her:

"Dolly."

"Oh! Mister Alden!"

"I fear something... really bad happened to Pleiades.."

"Oh no..! Did he accidentally swap lunch with a stranger, and eat cabbage, and have an allergic reaction? Mister Pleiades doesn't like cabbage..."

"No, no... it's something far worse than that, sweet child.... I admire your innocence.."

"Did he stub his toe?"

"He got hurt.. that's certain...."

"Oh no! Is he okay?"

"I'm sorry for saying this... he's not okay. I don't know how much time will pass until you see him again."

The Doll got silent. Looking down. Pleiades was hurt?? Maybe that's why she felt lonely.

No.

Dolly doesn't want to be lonely.

Dolly wants to see Mister Pleiades again.

She's not going to be alone. Not again.

She immediately started rummaging through her toybox, looking for something, anything that could help. Until she found it.

A plushie Pleiades had gifted her for Christmas: it was in the shape of a cow, a baby pink color with yellow and blue splotches on it. Inspecting it closely, she found exactly what she needed.

A string of blue turquoise hair, trapped inside one of the two black button eyes. She carefully pried it free, before placing it on her bed as a working surface and taking out her crochet hooks. Now she would have her brother by her side for at least a little longer.

3:49AM. Twilight was hugging Selene tightly, as Blossom Slept, tucked inside Dero's cape collar, with dried tears on her cheeks. He simply shielded the small Waddle Dee with his head as a sign of comfort. Then he suggested to the other two, whispering: "why doth thou not head outside a few minutes for some fresh air while I wait? It could take thy mind off things, I'm sure."

"You're not coming?" asked the older moth.

"Afraid not. I would prefer to wait here anyway, just in case. Besides, she art resting so peacefully...." he replied, looking down at Blossom.

"Y'know... you remind me of how she would be with Ades. She's only slept so soundly with him...." Selene noticed.

"He.... he's going to be okay........... he would not leave her.. or us.." he replied.

"Alright... let's go, Selene." interrupted Twilight, guiding her to the hospital's parking lot.

"Full moon."

"It's.. haunting." they clenched their fists.

"The stars are so luminous, too...." Selene shuddered, recalling the night in which she ran away from the Mapop clan. The moon shone bright, the stars did too. It was all too familiar. Twilight put a hand on her back, patting it as comfort. They needed to be strong for the others, now that Ades wasn't there. They would have been the one to 'suck it up', and they didn't know if they could do it.

4AM. Dulciana sat on his bed. Trying to hold his hand as best as she could while the surgery carried on. Her heart was beating so fast. She wanted to cry. It was so painful seeing him like this. The ghost leaned forward and kissed his forehead, reassuring him, although unconscious, that she would've been there until he'd be back home safe and sound. And now she wouldn't ever leave his side. Not for one minute. Not for one second.

"I love you, StarBright."

4:10.

4:12.

4:15AM.

Henri finally opened the doors to the emergency room, Dero called the others.

The doctor sighed, before delivering the news:

"Sir Pleiades is not waking up."

their hearts were about to be crushed, imagining the worst, but he continued:

"We checked his pulse. His heart is still functioning perfectly fine."

"Although. His time of redevelopment is uncertain and therefore undetermined. We'll just have to pray he awakens as soon as possible."

Henri then reminded himself:

"This is the weapon we found stuck inside his torso. the cuts on his body all seem to match the length and width of its blade." he handed over the Seam Ripper.

"If you have any idea to who this might belong, your help would be greatly appreciated." he looked at Dero, who now appeared shocked and guilty.

"When could we visit him..?"

"Tomorrow. We still ought to move him to a safer, more comfortable and hygienic room. I suggest you all head back home to rest. I'll call you as soon as I can." he gave the usual fatherly smile, and so they silently walked back.

"Do not worry. He won't be alone. I'll be right beside him."

7:40AM. Fylass woke up. The chimera took a big stretch, before sleepily rubbing their eyes and checking their phone on their nightstand, and noticing they had a voicemail that was not yet read. Upon listening, the words they heard made them drop their phone on the floor.

"Hey Fy. How are you doing? Listen, this might really upset you. But Pleiades was brought to us tonight. He was fatally wounded, and... agh..... he's... he's in a coma."

Dero belongs to @monsterhatdoodles

Dollmaker and Dolly belong to @ilikesillythingswooo

Twilight Knight belongs to @that-fanperson-meg

Casipan and Selene belong to @moon-mage

Henri and Fylass belong to @george228732

Sir Pleiades and Blossom Dee belong to me :))

[amerricanartwork]

Do you have any tips for drawing? Anything really

Well, "any tips for drawing" is rather vague, so I'll just offer some general advice for now, which is more about how to learn and improve than how to draw any specific thing. If you'd like some more specific advice, though, I'd love to help where I can!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Use references when you're stuck on something! No artist is ever "too good" to use references when they want to draw a particular thing better. References can be photos or other artists' art (ideally with credit depending on how closely your art resembles the original), though I don't use the latter much because trying to copy another artist's style typically doesn't work as well as just keeping the inspiration in the back of my mind and going with the flow.

Speaking of that, finding an art style is a gradual thing, from what I've experienced. To me, it seems to be a thing that develops over time as a result of how different artists solve different problems. You don't have to stress about getting any one "style" with your art; just focus on solving problems with your drawings, and it'll develop its own unique look by virtue of you being a unique person and consciously or subconsciously adding new things to the solutions you find. If you are looking to emulate a specific style, try to pick one that solves problems you have with drawing or (to go off the previous point) appeals to what you enjoy, or perhaps what specific genre of art you plan to do.

To go further, Always look to solve problems. If you're struggling to draw a particular thing, try to figure out what specific part of the drawing is challenging for you, and look for ways to improve on that aspect. If you realize you struggle drawing hands — or even more specific, you struggle drawing hands in dramatic poses where the fingers are curled — for example, set the goal to find a method to draw hands in those kinds of poses, then relax. I usually find a solution to these kinds of problems within days of setting the goal, and I don't even have to search super hard. In fact, sometimes more comfortable methods of drawing certain things just pop in my mind!

Save any tutorials or references you find especially helpful! I like to bookmark YouTube tutorials I like, as well as the blogs or websites of any artists whose work I find inspiring. I also have a HUGE Pinterest board with tons of tutorials on drawing all sorts of things, so that definitely helps!

This is perhaps one of my biggest tips: try to get in tune with your "artist intuition" in a sense. Recognize what things you already do and don't like to draw, not just in the subject, but the general process you use to think about and draw an image, what parts of said art process you enjoy the most (line art, coloring, shading, sketching, etc.), and what kind of art you want to make in the future or what purpose you plan to use your art for. I've found understanding these things about myself really helps figure out which art tutorials will be more or less useful, and which art styles/processes feel comfortable to me. This is not to say you should never seek to improve, but rather, look for a means of improvement that fits your natural drawing preferences and habits. Maybe the Loomis method isn't the easiest way for you to visualize the human head, and another method works better. As long as you get the result you want, the process can be tailored to fit you specifically, even if that means using a process that's obscure or even exclusive to you.

You will never be perfect, and can never stop improving. So don't worry so much about making sure you're "good enough" to draw the ideas in your head. I know it can be worrying to think you aren't skilled enough in certain aspects to bring your ideas to fruition, but because you can never stop improving, if you need to be "good enough" before you can draw the things you love, you'll be waiting forever. So don't bottle up your ideas just because you think they won't turn out very professional. Instead, just do your best in the moment and note what you can get better at afterwards. And worst-case scenario, you can always come back and redraw the idea once you've improved.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Okay, well, this was the stuff I could think of so far right now. I hope this helps!

[jasonsknight3]

Okay here we go! First fanfic! I hope you enjoy! Hope you like the little sketch with it. I wanted to digital art if but I decided not to. I hope you like it anyway!

Desperate times

Living with your partner is the most vital stage of the relationship. It’s not just the good times anymore. It’s the real person that you fell in love with at home. All the time. You see things you like and don’t like. Did you and Jason have arguments that tend to end up in yelling? Yes. Was he overprotective? Yes, but it made you feel loved so you didn’t mind too much. At the end of the day he would always apologize or make up with you. At the end of the day you choose him. You love him and you knew he loved you. He was kind when it counts, he was smart, he even had hobbies. He had made you so many scarves from knitting to bundle up really well on a cold night. He just has you smitten.

After a long day of work you stopped at the store. “Pesto sauce, walnuts, oil, spaghetti noodles, we have garlic at home…” you say to yourself walking now the necessary aisle of the market. Grabbing a few items you check your phone. Smiling at your Lock Screen of you and him you see he hasn’t texted you yet. “Strange. He usually asks where I’m at. He shouldn’t be on patrol tonight.” Shoving the phone into your pocket you grab your last items, check out, and take the bus home.

The cold Gotham night breeze caused you to shiver as you climbed up the stairs to the apartment you shared. The keys jingled a little as you unlocked and opened the door. “Jay? Baby you here?” You call out into the seemingly quiet apartment. You hang your house keys on the wall, hang your scarf, and close the door locking it. No response. Setting the brown bag of dinner’s ingredients on the gray countertop you call out again. “Jason?” After no response you wonder if he was on emergency patrol. Starting to scan the apartment you look for him just to make sure. Walking down the hallway you start to hear quiet sounds of struggle getting louder. Your eyebrows knitting together in worry you slowly open the door to the bedroom. “Jason?” Your eyes settled on a heartbreaking sight.

Jason’s large form was pressed against the corner of the beige walls of the room. He was shivering, hai knees tucked up to his chest, his hands gripping his hair with his eyes closed, small sounds of struggle escaping his lips. You rush to his aid. “Jay. Jason. Baby. Hey, you’re safe. I’m here. Whatever you’re seeing and hearing, it’s not real. It’s not real okay.” You say wipe the hair that messily stuck to his sweaty forehead. “Jason. Please.” You feel your own panic set in. “I-I can’t- breathe.” He choked out. You haven’t seen him like this. You haven’t seen a PTSD episode, you've only heard about them from his brother Dick. You had to do something.

From your own years of therapy you had learned a few things. Who didn’t need therapy at one point or another in Gotham. Running to the bedside night stand, opening the drawer, you pulled out a stress ball. You nearly trip running back to Jason. Sitting on your knees in front of Jason, you gently remove his hand from his hair and put the ball in his shaky hand. “What color is the ball?” You ask him softly. “W-what?” He croaked confused. “What color is the ball in your hand Jason?” You repeat. Opening his eyes he takes a few seconds to focus on it through his blurred watery vision. “Blue.” He choked out a short answer. That good, you were able to break his focus from whatever he was struggling with. “How does it feel? In your hand? Is it rough? Is it soft?” Taking a deep shaky breath his thumb rubbed over the stress balls surface. “I-it feels soft but- rough with cracks from use.” His breathing mess became more stable. Almost there. “How does it feel to squeeze it? Is it easy? Is it hard?” His shaking hand squeezes it once and then a few more times watching it collapse and reform to its original shape as if nothing happened to it. “It’s easy to squeeze.” You nodded your head, your voice coming out in a softer comforting tone. “It feels real too doesn’t it. It’s here safe with me here in this room. Just like you.” Taking a deep breath he looks up at you with his Heterochromia blue and green eyes. You smile caressing his tear stained cheek with your thumb softly as he leaned into your touch.

A moment later putting the ball down he snaked his strong arm around your waist and pulled you in his sweaty forehead resting in the middle of your soft chest. “Thank you y/n.” His voice is a little horse but soft. His body still shook a little but he ultimately had come down from the high of the PTSD attack. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I won’t let the monsters that bring You pain and suffering hurt you. When they come back to haunt you. I will be here to fight them off. Every. Time.” You cooed, Jason looked up at you with his arms still around you. “You’re n’ angel.” He whispered to you. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” His comment made your heart break. “No, don’t You dare apologize. You've been through and seen so much. We don’t get to decide when PTSD attacks or what the triggers are and when they happen. It doesn’t make you weak Jason.” You encouraged him. It was clear in his eyes that he didn’t believe you. Not right now at least. You’ll get there. You’ll work with him on it no matter how long it takes. Cupping his cheek and leaning down you plant a soft kiss on his lips. “You hungry?” Jason nodded. “Wanna shower first?” He sighed and closed his eyes “Yea.”

After a nice warm shared shower you both get in cozy pjs and you start dinner. You both love to cook. It was one of the things you bonded over. “You’re on chopping duty.” You say giving him cherry tomatoes, walnuts and so basil. On the other hand, You started the noodles and pesto sauce. Mixing in the olive oil, garlic, and pesto into the saucepan. A few moments later Jason comes behind you trapping you between him and the stove. He carefully added the chopped ingredients. His body was close to yours. A comforting thing he’s learned he likes. He takes the wood spoon from your hand and stirs the sauce. Putting the spoon down he wraps his arms around you and puts his chin on your shoulder. Smiling, you pat his head to which he hummed in response. Dinner was rewarding and enjoyable. To you there still seems to be an awkwardness from him so you didn’t want to push him to talk about it further unless he wanted to. In reality he was thinking to himself how much of a light you are to his dark world. The color that brings it. It's warm. The kindness he so deeply wanted. The love he desired. He’s great full for it. “I love you.” He said quietly, taking your hand as you both ate. Smiling, you give his hand a squeeze. “I love you Jason.”

[ganondoodle]

I just wanna say firstly that i adore your artwork and takes6on Zelda in general! Secondly, much as I wish you never had to deal with the frustrations of creating (especially when you tack on the stress of being on any kind of social platform), I'm glad you talk about your struggle. I've heard people talk about art block every day since I learned what Art was, but nobody ever mentioned "painting oneself into a corner". It's such an apt description that is so infuriatingly relatable that I had to stop eating to thank you for putting it into words. I really appreciate that you're willing to talk about your setbacks in a place like Tumblr, and still share your arts and thoughts. All the best from US of hellscape A, i hope you're doing well.

Thank you!

i used to call it artblock as well, its the most normalized term i guess; i randomly started calling it painting myself into a corner when i got stuck or frustrated on a painting bc welll, it sure feels like it, you painted the walls all around you and dont know how to get out now

it usually happens when i stop having fun and just draw what i want and instead keep subconsciously forcing myself into arbitrary rules; in my case its usually trying to be too perfect, i try to adhere to the sketch, i try to make every block of color have a perfectly clean edge, separate the drawing into way too many layers and am afraid to delete or erase anything, i tense up my whole body as frustration builds bc of impatience as this method of painting does not work for me at all and in the end lose motivation on it all and my nerves are stretched thin (i work best when i think as little as possible, just kinda loosely letting my hand do what it wants on few layers and no specific plan, after losing that its hard to get it back)

having those low moments with your art is normal as your skill grows, but even knowing so, and having gone through it countless times, it never stops making you feel like shit, and its especially frustrating when it happens when you just got enough time to work on stuff or have alot of ideas but you cant get it to work

(and funnily enough it also tends to happen after another work of mine got more attention than i thought .. even worse when it was just a sketch bc now i got the pressure on me to actually finish it and the fear of it doing worse once done looms over the whole thing- which doesnt mean i dont want people to interact with my wips, bc that also has an extremely demotivating factor to it bc it makes me think no one cares or it sucks and doesnt deserve the time i would need to spend on finishing it; also .. alot of my wips stay wips forever, which is fine, but like .. you cant always expect a finished tm version to happen)

i do find it a little funny you praise me for talking openly about it bc i am notoriously unable to shut up ever and only recently got better at NOT talking as much about it when i feel as shitty as this bc it doesnt really help anyone and gets annoying really fast xD (im also notoriously unable to not post absolutely everything bc i got no one to show it to and otherwise it will just collect dust on my harddrive so i might as well throw it out there no matter how much i might hate it, someone else might still enjoy it anyway)

and greetings back from the -not really much less of a hellscape- that is germany o/

[adobe-outdesign]

have you reviewed the meditite line?

Meditite is one of my favorite types of Pokemon, that being the weird creature that's vaguely humanoid but in a way that makes it really hard to describe easily. In this case, it's an onion-headed creature that has meditation as a theme, with two swirls on the sides of its head and a primarily blue body.

As a whole, while I like Medicham more, this design is pretty good. I like the shape of the head, especially with how perfectly the eyes interlock with it. Speaking of eyes, they have a very distinct look to them, as does the mouth.

My only real issue with Meditite is that the white around the waist looks a bit weird—maybe if the white just extended down the leg a bit more. Also, I do wish it resembled its evo more. There are a few small similarities—gray skin, flat doll-like eyes, weird head structure—but I feel like the resemblance could've been better. I think this mostly could've been fixed by just swapping out the blue for Medicham's pink.

The shiny basically does this, and it works perfectly (though I would still keep the skin the neutral gray).

Medicham is such a weird looking 'mon, but I've always found myself really liking it. Something about those giant-ass legs and skinny body just gives it a really neat shape, and it's the right combo of strange and elegant. The baggy "pants" have just the right amount of gold accents and markings on them, which are accented by the same colors and shapes being used on the head.

My one complaint here is that the head thing doesn't go around the back of the head, so it's just kind of stuck in the front.

The 3D model up top actually makes this worse, as the pink used to extend down the head to a degree back when sprites were being used. I guess they changed it to be more accurate to the official art, but frankly I'd rather it not line up one-to-one if the overall model looks better.

And Mega Medicham's also really good; by far my favorite of the line. A lot of megas struggle with just being the originals with Stuff(TM) added to their designs without rhyme or reason, but Mega Medicham's got a very clear theme with the addition of psychic arms, which are vaguely Buddist/Hindu-esq and also make sense for a partial fighting-type.

But the other thing that works about it is that it feels like it improves and expands upon Medicham's base design in just the right way without going overboard. The somewhat awkward head piece has been replaced with a more turban-like design, and the arms have gained two golden bands, which carry the color through the design better than the original. The sheer size of the legs has been reduced down without loosing their visual punch, and they've been given a more natural shape as well. A few extra layers of gold bands have been added above the "pants" along with a row of blue beads, which accent its new blue eyes. It's better balanced in both color and form.

Another little detail I like about it is that it also makes the entire line look better by harkening back to Meditite—note how the blue accents are the same color as Meditite's body, or how the white hat matches its head better, or how the gold bands on the arms are placed similarly to Meditiate's white stripes. Good stuff.

My only little nitpick is that the pink plume on the top of the head looks a bit odd. It's meant to match the three plumes on the base design, but I feel like you could've extended the middle piece above the gold center, then made that and the two on the sides pink to achieve a similar effect. That's minor, though.

Overall, I like this one a lot. Meditite's got a few coherency issues with the rest of the line but still manages to have a unique design that continues into Medicham. Mega Medicham expands on the theme and improves the overall design in a meaningful way. Good stuff all around.

[realclemhours]

Disclaimer‼️ I am not a professional designer in anyway. These are just my opinions and if you like the original designs that is a-okay and more power to you!

So I found out about the Hundred Line Defense Academy from a repost tweet and checked it out only to find that most of the designs are alright… well except for two. Two of the designs we’ve seen so far were either so bad or so awkward that I felt the urge to redesign them complete with design comments.

Closeups + extra comments + earlier outfits I was struggling with under the cut ✨

Darumi’s original design is the one I actually outright hate. There’s just too much going on (the blue hair that awkwardly goes from black to blue at the top, the bows, the weird face tattoos, the striped sweater with bright red patches randomly thrown on, and the random pins??)

Plus the colors are just an eye sore (bright light blue, bright pink for the eyes, dark blue for the sweater, and strong red for chocked and patches????)

She also gives me vibes of being made in a test tube to be the fan favorite

Not only that but we have only seen two lines of dialogue from her we’ve seen (as of making this post) are just like- groan worthy

I went with the black with bright colors to try and make the whole “bright” colors thing work without making it as much of an eyesore

Anyways I feel like I strayed too far from the original in my redesign. I could’ve stuck to the blue color scheme a bit more instead of making her mostly black and pink. Oh well, it is what it is. I at least improved the colors a bit and still made the design fit her personality which is what matters

Kako’s original design is better to me than Darumi’s. It’s more awkward that outright bad

Again, the colors are a bit weird, but unlike Darumi’s original colors, the original colors could work. Light lilac, crimson red, navy, and white could work. The problem is the placing. By making Kako’s hair light lilac and uniform crimson red, that makes her mostly liliac and red which classes a lot. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the red uniform because it stands out so much instead of her face

However, unlike Darumi, another complaint I have is that Kako just looks like two Danganronpa characters smashed together (which is a fair complaint in my opinion because Kodaka made Kako AND Danganronpa and it’s in the same art style). She has a light lilac hair and purple eyes, which makes her look like Kyoko Kirigiri and a VERY similar outfit to Maki Harukawa (there’s a few differences like how Maki has a white bow with tiny red dots, a striped collar, and infinity pin and how Kako’s uniform is a dress and Maki’s is a shirt and skirt). Like at the very least they could have changed the uniform colors and eye colors

It took me until finishing Kako’s ref up to realize this, but the mini buns and extra strands of hair could work because they are kinda similar to Sailor Moon, and I dig her design. Though Kako’s hair is still off to me despite that for a reason I can’t pin down

Anyways I ended up making my redesign closer to her original design because her original design wasn’t as bad as Darumi’s and because I felt like I needed to balance things out since I made Darumi too far from the original I think

Alright that’s all I got commentary wise. Here’s some work in progress stuff for outfits that I ended up not going with

Hope this was a fun read through, for those interested

[loriahlikeswriting]

Hi! I recently started writing fanfic again. With Hazbin Hotel finally getting a season I was really inspired to dabble into writing something pertaining to Angel Dust, and so I really got hooked on the idea of a human alternate universe taking place in modern times following not only Angel’s struggles but Alastor’s as well! It’s really just a character analysis and me trying to write different characters (one being kinda loony) but regardless I put a lot of effort into each chapter and would love to get feedback! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

I’ve also drawn some pictures of all the characters here and will post some art I have made pertaining to this fic.

I’ll attach a link to ao3 story after the summary and snippet of the first chapter <3 thank you so much for taking your time to read this post and I hope you enjoy!

Am I Making You Feel Sick?

TW: abuse and violence, disordered eating, death, abuse of a minor, SA

Summary:

Anthony Di'Angelo wasn't always like this, he had dreams like any other kid. Yet here he was at the ripe age of twenty, a crack whore with a shitty ass pimp and an even shittier means of living. As far as anyone was concerned this life would consume him and leave him to rot on the streets like many of those before him. His decline is ever apparent, especially to his next door neighbor who just happens to be a novelist from New Orleans who after many successes has begun to lose his spark. A wannabe lyricist who is damned to live life as a whore stuck in poverty and a twisted writer aren't quite a match made in Heaven but maybe the heavens weren't meant for them anyway.

Chapter 1 Snippet 🫶

Anthony’s life wasn’t really one worth living if he was being honest. He had a lousy apartment, lousy job, lousy friends, lousy attitude- he himself was simply lousy. Recognizing just how miserable he was did little to change anything, though, so he kept going with some weird faith that things may somehow, some way get better. Between being disowned by his family only to be taken in by a pimp disguised as a lover he wasn’t sure what else could possibly go astray.

He’d lost another ten pounds, which meant another size or two down, and another shopping spree which would soon enough result in spending funds he really didn't have right now. Maybe he shoulda picked up sewing like Molly- that perfect little angel- just so he wouldn’t have to waste time getting shit retailored. Staring at what became of himself in the mirror was fucking trippy. What stared back at him were large muted blue eyes smudged by smeared eyeliner and mascara, sunken in freckled cheeks, pale skin which was once sunkissed now tainted by bruises, a thin frame no longer toned and instead starved. Mobster to crack whore- what kinda transformation was that? A laughable one. Damn, if only Pa could see him now. Naw, Anthony didn’t wanna imagine it if he was being real honest.

Pulling off the slightly loose sticky latex one piece, the blonde reached over into his dresser for a tattered old tee he managed to convince Val to let him keep. He had to let Valentino know if he could wipe his ass for fuck's sake, God forbid he had a shirt the man didn't fuck with. Sliding on the shirt and some boxers which loosely fit his frame, Anthony quickly flung himself into bed. His mattress was stiff and his blankets were thin, but at least he managed to get a place to call his own. Moving out of Valentino’s was such a step forward- no more nightly beatings, no more degrading insults outside of work, no more being used and abused whenever wherever. Sure, he dealt with allat on the clock but the minute his shift ended he had somewhere to return to that was his own. He hadn’t had something to call his own in a long fucking time.

Staring up at his ceiling, Anthony couldn’t help but toss and turn, his head pounding and begging for attention. The boy was a mouthy one, and mouthy ones get put in their place real quick. Today was extra humbling for the blonde, his eye was puffed up and colored purple, a testament to his treatment. It wasn’t just his eye, he’d gotten a full body beat down today, but that meant he could stay out of work for a day or two til they gradually lost their color. Two days of lazing about? Fuck yes. He could really use the break.

Huffing, the thin blonde shoved his blanket aside as he stumbled onto his feet. Grabbing his lighter and a pack he kept ready at his night stand, Anthony made his way to his small balcony. The crisp air burned the blonde’s nostrils, a sensation he'd learned to adore as time went on. Shivering, he made his way over to the iron rails. He was hardly dressed, but that was something he was used to. Shutting his eyes, the blonde let himself feel the night’s frigidity, wanting to succumb to the numbness which would eventually overtake his limbs.

Lighting his cig, the boy scanned the night sky for some type of reassurance when the cold hadn’t done its job. Disappointed, the blonde knew the stars couldn’t give him any answers no matter how much he bothered them. So he pressed his lit cigarette to his lips, breathing in a burn which would warm his rotting core. The first huff wasn’t satisfying, nor was the second. Anthony was used to more nasty shit, nic did little to ease his mind. Well, it did help with the headaches, but the dancer was itching for something stronger tonight. Flashes of his last client wormed its way into his skull and Anthony could feel his shoulders tighten in anger and resentment. Clenching his jaw, the blonde rubbed at his eyes aggressively wincing in pain once he was reminded of the bruise that bitch left behind. That motherfucker was extra sleazy on the floor and in private, and he was a recurring patron. Lucky him, huh?

Frustrated, the man put forth all his weight onto the railing, letting his forehead rest against the cold metal, hoping some contact would relieve the pressure. Rubbing his forehead against the bar, Anthony felt his eyes burn familiarly. A pain settled in his throat, an achy pain that continued to increase in strength. His face burned in shame as he felt himself begin to sniffle. Ah God, he hated these types of nights. Everything was just too fucking much and he was just so tired and in so much pain. Whiny bitch he was, but at least he was a whiny bitch by his lonesome.

“God, I can't do this shit sober.” The blonde huffed, as he finished up his cigarette. Putting out the cigarette onto a used up ashtray, Anthony pushed himself off the railing. He just got through his last bottle of booze and he was aching for more. What? Cheap shit was all he could afford when he was away from Val. Matter of fact, Tony came to crave that shit simply because it signified he wasn't anywhere near that fucking cunt. He promised himself he wouldn’t spend any more pocket change on shit that was bad for him, but that obviously wasn’t going great. Nothing was ever going great, so drink til he got crunked was what he was gonna do. Slipping on some fuzzy light pink slippers and grabbing a coat, Anthony wrapped himself up real tight. Rummaging through his nightstand did he find his house key, some change, and his ID. Aw fuck, he had to get that shit updated. Staring back at him was his wide eyed seventeen year old self. If only he knew there wasn't anything in life to look that excited for. Smiling slightly at the picture of himself, Anthony shoved all that shit into his right pocket, shaking any longing that started to yank at his heart strings. He'd cry after he got fucked up.

Shutting his door and quickly locking up, the lithe dancer shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. His apartment complex was nice, not necessarily cozy but livable. Making his way down the stairs Anthony lost himself in thought. Nights like this he reminisced on back to when he didn’t rely on substances to feel warm, before he was labeled a deadman by his father, before his mother died. He thought back to sibling banter, Sundays post church, elementary school playgrounds. The blonde could feel himself getting choked up again, but he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling. If the man was being honest, dysthymia was such a comfort. Being sad was all Anthony knew how to do properly, and that in itself reassured him. The tightness of muscles when he was on the brink of a meltdown felt akin to the ghost of a hug, something the man was desperate for. Funny thing was, he got hugs all the time- none of them were fucking genuine though.

Making his way down the staircase, the boy felt a bit of his mind dwindle with every step. His mind was going numb, instead he focused on his breathing and the way his bones felt like they were being suffocated under his skin. He focused on the way his hips ached, and his eye burned, barely able to keep itself open because of how swollen it'd grown to be. He could feel every spot that man touched him, like his finger tips were pressed so deeply into his skin they left a mark not just on skin, nor fat, nor muscle, but on his fucking nerves. He could see the way the man looked at him in a disgusting lustful haze, and how he had to pretend he liked every second of getting his ass handed to him. He saw himself, and he saw himself drowning deeper into the pit he had created for himself the second he got disowned. He could feel just how much it hurt to breathe, so Anthony forced himself to gasp heavily like a fish out of water. The sting was nice, he wished that was all he could feel for forever. His body on autopilot, the dancer was met with a light which dimly lit up the corner store before he knew it. Cheap liquor? Not his favorite, but it did the trick. It made his brain fill with static. And static was all he wanted to hear and see for the rest of his shitty life.

[outeremissary]

2023 Wrapped!

This is my first ever time doing a year end art summary (using this template)- I always wanted to when I was younger, but never felt I was creating enough work or that it was "serious" enough or good looking enough to be worth compiling. It's been interesting to reflect on a year that included so many creative ups and downs (and life ups and downs in general). If you'll permit me I want to do the little reflection ramble too, even if it's an inadvisable 5 (or now 6) in the morning where I live.

Some of you who followed me on Twitter probably know that I only "learned to color"- or rather found a way that worked for me enough to finish things consistently- in 2022, and rather late in 2022 at that. This is pretty much the first year where work I considered "finished" or "polished" included things that weren't greyscale, and it's absolutely the first year where I had attempted to do something in color almost every single month. When I look at this and see the range of hues it has, I really feel an incredible sense of achievement. I would not have imagined 14 months ago that I could stitch something that looked like this together, and 12 months ago I can't say I'd have felt confident either.

Despite having a huge artistic slump in the back half of the year (along with a sharp downturn in my mental health in general) I was astounded to find that for the first six months I had so much work that I loved and was proud of that it was hard to put this together because I constantly felt like I was leaving favorites out- works that I thought were iconic or were huge milestones or I just really loved. That was unbelievable. And that was only sifting through the "nice" stuff- I didn't even consider a mountain of sketches and doodles that I adored! Even in my busiest months and the months I was recovering from a major medical procedure (I got top surgery!!!) I had something to show, and May being a WIP is less because there was nothing in that month than because Aurien and Vio were the only ones who were fitting in the damn frame (side note: I'd be more thoughtful with template than aesthetic if I ever did this again).

Even in the five months I was convinced I had done absolutely nothing, I found again and again that I had more than I thought for every month (except November, where it turned out everything I thought I'd done was early December. you've been spared DUrgetash). I was creating even when I was convinced that I was never going to be able to draw again. And I was creating enough that I got to be picky filling this thing out and choose Tristian for October just for a laugh when other options were out there, and enough that I had options when I was struggling to fit something I wanted into the template frame.

Side note: Miss Leonelle, you were tragically robbed by the damn frames.

In making this I also saw again and again the connections that I made throughout the year. I have had the incredible fortune to make wonderful friends this year and to build on bonds that I already had- even some where I perhaps didn't deserve the chances I was given. @mountainashfae is all over this summary- in April, May, June, August, and November- and I've often felt I spent as much time on Vio as Balthazar this year, but there were at least seven other baronesses, KCs, and other incredible OCs I had the privilege of drawing this year who I desperately wanted to fit onto this and was not able to for one reason or another. I'm so happy to know so many creative, passionate people and to be allowed so close to the things they hold so dear. To everyone who has shared their creations this year- not just with me, but with anyone on the internet or in real life or quietly in DMs or in a Discord or wherever- you're incredible, and I hope you're proud of what you've done. And if you struggle with that, I hope you can be proud of the way you're growing even now.

If you've stuck with me this far, thank you. Sincerely. I really appreciate that there are people who enjoy looking at my silly little drawings and reading my occasional rambles, even if I'm a little erratic on putting things up and usually a bit distant by choice from fan communities. And if you continue to stick around, I hope that you continue to have a good time.

I don't know what to expect from 2024 when I've got a laundry list of projects from 2023 I haven't finished, but I'm hopeful about what it'll contain. There's a lot I want to do- more full illustrations, working on other media, trying more ambitious projects- but for now it's enough to just think about picking up the things I've left off and continuing to tie up those loose ends.

Here's hoping we all can find something we want in 2024, as terrible and unknowable as the new chapter is.

[elminx]

Elminx muses about color magic at the height of Autumn

Note: I wrote this a year ago but never published it so the astrological aspects are off, but I think it's worth sharing anyway.

I remain at my heart a skeptical witch. Especially when it comes to magical associations and even more especially when it comes to color magic. There are things that I understand instinctively about the use of color on my mood - wearing my favorite colors to make me feel better, or perhaps more powerful, for example.

But ever since I learned why black was bad and white was good, pre-set color associations have been pretty hard to swallow for me.

Occasionally, I meet a color anew and a greater understanding of it emerges. Then, and only then, am I inclined to use it in my magic.

This happened to me this week with the color orange.

Some background: I spent the last month in a pretty deep and unseasonal (for me) depression. I've mostly worked my way out of it but I was still behind in both my jobs and struggling to catch up - I'm sure that anybody who struggles with depression understands what I mean. Things had gotten better, I haven't sobbed daily in at least two weeks. But I was nowhere near good. I was still stagnant.

Last weekend was busy: my partner and I both got our bivalent vaccines on Thursday, my friend had a music thing, another friend had a birthday, and my partner and I had to watch the gallery of our art thing on Sunday afternoon. By the time Sunday rolled around we were just tired and stretched thin. We got ourselves bagel sandwiches and drove to the gallery which is in the middle of nowhere in an old New England town.

We opened the space and then sat outside with our lunch to enjoy the fair weather and - seemingly right before our eyes - the entire world turned orange. That's the thing about New England, seasons change in a moment and if you're watching, you might just see it happen. Every time we stepped outside that door, the world was more orange. Leaves danced down all around us.

It rained all day on Monday and I had to scurry hurry around to get a lot of work done. I effortlessly multitasked and caught up on weeks' worth of work in ten hours. Then, on Tuesday afternoon, I put on sneakers and walked across town to photograph something that I've needed for months and months.

All of it, all of the gunk, all of the stuckness, it was just gone.

I've spent the last two days trying to comprehend this shift. Was it astrological? Sun trine Mars is nice and was certainly giving me energy, but that wasn't it. Not entirely anyway.

Autumn in New England is something special. It's not just the sweet smell of decaying leaves, or the brilliant displays of yellows, oranges, and reds in the trees. There is a longing in the chill in the air, a hint of something hiding in the long shadows and fading light.

There is a sense of urgency, a feeling of the need to gobble it all up before it's gone, gone, gone.

Orange is a harvest color, a color of ripeness and plenty. The blood of the North runs deep in my veins; when I see it, it lights up every part of me.

Here in New England, the color of orange whispers this: You cannot rest now. Rest when the days are dark and you need to huddle under a blanket for warmth. Now is a time of doing, of expanding, of collecting. Now we harvest when we have sown and now we come together to do the work of the harvest together.

Interestingly, this aligns strongly with the idea that orange is a color of unblocking or road opening. I can attest that the turning of the leaves did this exact thing.

[pocket-ozwynn]

Genesis Day: Chapter 8

[Kaiju!AU]

Previous Chapter(s): Chapter 7  // Interlude

Next Chapter: Coming soon...

Word Count: 6157

CW: Blood, brief references to death

(art used with permission from @chamomile-g-tea​)

Everything was still.

That wasn’t to say it was quiet, however. Alice’s ears still rang from the explosions; the wind still howled through the boughs of the trees as rain still poured; and Freyja was still swallowing deep, cavernous breaths that made the very air shudder around him. 

And yet, he could breathe.

His lungs ached from running, and his head was spinning. It had worked–the hastily cobbled together fireworks had paid off, and he had given Freyja the breathing room (quite literally) to bring down the robotic titan. The war machine was now just another piece of motionless junk for the forsaken cabin’s collection. 

As the synapses started to fire a bit more in Alice’s brain, he took a careful step back to study her. She was bleeding from the forehead and the abdomen, but it was hard to tell if the injuries were bad. If you compare by quantity, she was probably bleeding liters worth of blood–but that could easily be nothing for her at this new size. And while she didn’t seem bothered by it, he didn’t feel his worries assuaged.

He paused when he noticed she was looking at him as well. She studied him through rain and blood, while residual arcs of lightning crackled across her flushed cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath. What could she possibly be looking for?

He didn’t realize how long they’d been staring at one another till his neck started to ache.

“S-so…” Freyja awkwardly chuckled, her glowing eyes breaking away long enough to examine the machine. “I guess Iron Giant is a thing now, huh?”

“G-Guess so.” Alice finally allowed his shoulders to relax.

She wiped a bit of the blood that trickled down her face. “Tonight’s just full of surprises…”

Alice trudged through the mud towards the wreckage. He ran his fingertips along the metal of the robot’s leg as he moved up the length of it, feeling the divots and welding marks with his pruned fingertips.

“Someone built this,” Alice noted. He could feel a rumbling, but he was too distracted to pay it much mind. “But who? And WHY?”

The shaking grew more pronounced as Alice mulled over the worrisome implications. He looked over his shoulder to pose another question, but the words stuck in his throat as he noticed the rumbling and where it was coming from–Freyja, and she didn’t even seem to notice. He completely forgot the question as he looked all the way up. It was hard for him to think straight when a woman the size of a building walked right on up and squatted down next to him.

“Yeah, weird…” Freyja looked over the chassis. “But I’m pretty sure if the Army had giant robots, I would’ve heard somethin’ about it.”

Alice wasn’t so sure about that. He knew from his time with Maura that there were plenty of projects that R&D kept classified. But then again, it also would be hard to keep something like machines that turn people into colorful colossi a secret–but here they were.

He shook the thought from his head as he gave the plating a knock. “Well, whoever built it wasn’t counting on someone as big and strong as you, Frey.”

Freyja blinked and a fresh wave of electricity rolled across her cheeks. She grinned and flexed her bicep in reply.

“You got THAT right.” Freyja’s hearty laughter was so loud it made Alice’s bones shiver. And, surprisingly, Alice found himself giggling as well. “They gotta try a lot harder next time!” 

Next time. 

How many times were they going to have to do this? Tonight they got lucky, but how long until that luck ran out? His eyes went back to her abdomen–she was holding the wound now. “You’re bleeding. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” Freyja chuckled through her grimace, though Alice wasn’t quite sure if she was serious or not. “But I’m fine…I promise. I’ve had worse.”

He wasn’t fully convinced, but he would trust her for now. He tore his gaze from her to look back at the robot, and as he did so, something caught his eye.

“Hey, don’t move for a sec?” Alice asked as he stepped under her knee so he could get out of the rain. She made a noise, but didn’t protest. He squinted to try to get a better look without getting pelted in the face by the storm.

He could spy a thin shaft of light peeking through a small hole in the robot’s chest.

A panel must’ve been knocked loose during the fight with Freyja. He chewed his lip as a risky thought came to mind. 

“Hey! I have an idea,” Alice called up to her. She put her head down between her knees so she could get a better look at him. “It might be stupid though.”

“Great,” Freyja replied with a toothy grin. Her wet hair fell down like curtains. “I love stupid ideas–I’m full of ‘em.”

Alice was starting to appreciate her levity–it made all of this chaos a bit more bearable. He giggled and shook his head before pointing towards the robot. “I think there’s a weak spot in its chest, and I see some light coming up… If we can pry it open, I can crawl in and check it out. Maybe there’s something worth salvaging that can help us out?”

His smile fell as he saw the hesitation in her eyes. He looked away, now embarrassed for even suggesting it to the giant. “Ahhhhhh, nevermind. It’s stupid.”

“No no!” Freyja quickly protested. “I think that’s a great idea! We just don’t have a lotta time to waste, that’s all…” 

“Yeah…you’re right.” Alice ran a hand through his sopping hair and sighed. He held the tablet to his chest and tried to think what they should do next. “I just…I’m not sure when we’ll get another chance like this.”

Freyja pursed her lips. “...how confident are you that you’ll find somethin’ useful in there?”

Alice shrugged. “Not sure. But if something like this comes after us again, I’d like to try and find SOMETHING that might help.”

Freyja nodded, then smiled upside down. “Okay. I trust you.”

She lowered her hand with the palm up, her spiked knuckles sinking into the mud. “Here, let’s getchu up there.”

Alice stared at her hand. She was offering to carry him? He blinked, completely flummoxed that this was his new reality now. He stepped up with a nod of thanks, then carefully walked towards the middle of her palm. She slowly raised her hand up, and he tried to maintain his footing. He couldn’t help but hold his breath, wondering if he would ever get used to these sensations. Once her hand came to rest on the robot’s chest, he hopped down.

The sensation as he walked across the hull was bizarre. It reminded him of all the times he’d look out the window of the airplane as a kid, just to imagine what it’d feel like to walk across the wing.

After making the trek up its chest, he knelt down to examine the hole in the paneling. It seemed that the armor had peeled back just enough for a bit of light to poke through, but not enough for him to get a look inside. Alice looked up to Freyja. “Mind giving me a hand?”

Freyja took her claw and began to work at the hole to widen it, before hooking the tip beneath the lip and gently peeling it back.

He smiled with quiet gratitude before taking a look inside. With the flickering white light illuminating most of his view, Alice ascertained that this was probably some kind of vent or service tunnel. The opening was a bit tight, but manageable–he’d crawled through worse. As he started to scope out the possible spots he could use as footholds, he remembered something. He looked down at Maura’s tablet and pursed his lips, knowing he wouldn’t be able to climb with it. 

It felt strangely heavy in his hand.

“Hey, Frey?” She tilted her head. Her eyes went down towards his hand as he offered the tablet to her. “Can you hold onto this? I can’t take it with me.”

Freyja’s expression softened. She held out her hand again–the person-sized fingers unfurled gently for him, like petals of a flower.

“I’ll take good care of it,” she smiled softly. “I promise.”

There was something about the way she looked at him that gave him pause. 

Alice swallowed and mouthed a quiet thank you before gingerly setting the tablet into her hand. He watched as Freyja gingerly closed her fingers around it and pulled it back to her. 

With Maura’s tablet safe, Alice crawled over towards the hole and reached a foot down to gingerly test his weight on a pipe that he figured might be a good place to start. He applied a bit more pressure. It would do.

“Wish me luck,” he breathed as he looked over the rim of his glasses with a smile. She grinned in reply as he began his descent.

The rain thundered as Alice ducked down past the steel skin of the giant. The deeper he descended, the more clearly he could hear the distant hissing of punctured pipes, sparking wires, and the grinding of downshifting gears as the titan settled into its own robotic rigor mortis. There was almost a comforting nostalgia as he wriggled through the pipes and tubing. It made him miss Lexine. He wondered how she was doing… 

He had to stop briefly to readjust his grip and catch his breath, but as he did so he felt a bit of anxiety start bleeding into his thoughts.

This is so stupid, he thought. What am I thinking? This is a GIANT ROBOT. This tech is WAY beyond me…there’s no way I’m going to find anything useful for us…

Alice tried to think what he would say to Freyja when he crawled out empty handed. Maybe he could lie and say there was a dead end, and that he couldn’t go any further. Would she think he was a coward if he didn’t try hard enough?

What could he-

He froze as he saw something slither out of the corner of his eye–in the thicket of cables to his immediate left.

But before he had time to react, he heard a fan groan to life and everything around him LURCH and SHUDDER. He gasped as he felt plates beginning to move around him and could hear the clunking of giant cogs nearby as they began to turn once more.

Everything started to move too fast–the pieces he was using for footholds twisted and shot off out of sight. His biceps screamed as he now relied wholly on his upper-body strength for support. But even now, he could feel his grip beginning to slip.

No, Alice’s heart broke as he realized he was going to die.

With a hiss and a SHWOOMP, the tube that he was gripping with his left hand shot back into the wall. His right shoulder felt like it was going to be yanked from his socket as all weight fell upon it. He went to reach for a new handhold with his left hand, but had to quickly duck as the section of wall that was at head level shuddered then turned suddenly. He felt it whiff right above his head before slamming into place at his right.

Close! he breathed as he went to raise his head, his left hand moving once more…

An explosion of pain blossomed out from the back of his skull as something hit him from behind. He could only manage a groan as his vision swam with darkness and spots. 

He hardly noticed his right hand slip from the impact.

Alice plummeted. He tried to regain his senses enough to grab onto something–anything–but it was too late. Everything was moving far too fast. He wasn’t quite sure what would happen when he finally came to a sto-

THOOMP.

All of the wind was knocked out of him as Alice finally came to a stop.

“That…was awful,” he groaned as he clenched his eyes tight. His shoulder ached and his lowerback was throbbing. What had he landed on? He was also surrounded by hissing, and he wasn’t sure why.

After a few moments of composing himself, Alice slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the source.

It appeared that Alice had fallen down into a spherical space roughly the size of a kitchen. Everything bathed with eerie whitenoise that came from a series of monitors that encompassed the space--its combined glow must’ve been just enough for him to see outside. 

Alice’s skin crawled from the noise as he slowly pushed himself up–he was surprised at the leathery give beneath his hand. He looked down and noticed he was in some sort of chair that was suspended in the air by six metal arms that connected out to the inside of a gyroscope. Dangling within reach from the gyroscope were a series of devices and instruments that he couldn’t readily identify.

He made a mental checklist as he started to look around: dials, gauges, levers. He wasn’t an aerospace engineer, but there was a certain familiarity to the makeup of this room.

This…is a cockpit, Alice slowly realized. It was a bit hard to tell at first, but this was basically some kind of ‘command bridge,’ just tipped on its side because the mech was laying on its back. He licked his lips and swallowed. It would make sense, right? Instruments, monitors, a command chair that could readjust according to the gyroscope’s position within the core of this walking dreadnought. Drone technology was one thing, but a machine of this size would surely need a human element. Even something remotely piloted probably wouldn’t be able to handle all of the intricacies involved with-

Alice’s heart stopped.

It would need a pilot.

Where’s the pilot?

Alice scrambled to sit up in the vertical chair–his eyes darting around wildly as the new panic started to boil. He looked underneath the chair to see if the pilot was lurking in the space below, but saw nothing.

His heart raced as he nervously swallowed. He looked around once more. Was it the movement in the cables? He couldn’t count on that. If the pilot was still in here, Alice was in danger. There was no one he could go toe-to-toe with whoever nearly killed Frey–mech or not.

He was struggling to breathe with how fast his heart was racing, but after looking around for a fourth time he still didn’t see anyone–no pilot, and no sign of a body. Maybe there was some kind of escape hatch? There had to be something like that in here…but if there was, Alice couldn’t spot it.

He waited silently in the glow of the whitenoise before deciding it was probably safe for him to get down. If the pilot was here, he had a feeling they would’ve done something by now. With a bit of awkward maneuvering, Alice crawled from the chair down one of the arms of the gyroscope then dropped the last couple of feet onto one of the monitors below. The screen barely bowed.

“Alright, let’s see what we got…” he breathed as he pulled off his glasses to give them a bit of a wave in an attempt to air dry them, before he started to poke around the sideways cockpit.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he spent searching, but it was long enough to start to feel frustrated. Due to the nature of the room, he could only really feasibly explore a fraction of it without having to resort to climbing.

A lot of the instruments were annoying, in that they looked so close to something that he could grasp but was just a few degrees off his understanding. So most of the time he spent silently pontificating to himself as to what all of these things might do, without being able to confidently settle on whether it was worth trying to salvage.

His eye did spy something slightly sticking out of the floor right beneath the pilot’s gyroscope chair–which meant, it was coming out of the wall from his point of view. He walked beneath it and spied a bit of a strap hanging down from the object. A case of some kind? 

“Better than nothing,” Alice murmured to himself, a spark of curiosity flickering within the mounting discouragement. He crouched and then sprung up–he tried to extend his body, arm, and fingers as long as they could go to try and get the strap. His palm slapped uselessly against the rubber floor.

He grunted as he landed. He looked up and sneered at the strap. He was 5’10” danggit and wasn’t going to be outdone by something JUST out of his reach. He tried a second time…then a third…a fourth…then with a yell of frustration and with a running jump off a monitor screen and keyboard, on the fifth attempt he felt the tip of his middle finger hook the strap.

“HA!” Alice cheered as he dropped, pulling the strap down with him. He could hear the grinding of the object as it was pulled free. “Take th-” 

His victory was cut short, as the object the strap was attached to–which was far heavier than he first anticipated–dropped and nearly hit him on the head. With a yelp, Alice managed to sidestep just in time for it to hit the monitor he’d been standing on.

He felt heat in his cheeks from getting startled so easily, but his embarrassment melted away as he noticed something stenciled on the side of the object.

He knelt down to examine it. The object had a hard-shell casing and latches on one side. There didn’t appear to be any lock, so he wasn’t quite sure what could be in here. Probably nothing important, but his interest was still piqued. He moved the case into the light of the monitors that shined from above so he could make out the stencil.

T-Y-R GAMMA. Alice furrowed his brow. At least, he assumed that was a Gamma and not just an upside down L. There was some kind of government logo above that, but he couldn’t quite make out despite this lighting–it looked like it had been stamped on improperly. While he would’ve loved to know what department of the government had sent this thing to step on him, the name TYR GAMMA was a start. He pulled the case a bit closer and popped the latches.

Inside he found things he recognized immediately: MREs, a compass, a first-aid kit, water purifying tablets, an emergency blanket–complete with a complimentary tent. This was a survival kit! He wasn’t quite sure how long the stuff in here was made to last, but he was grateful to find something useful. 

Alice actually felt a bit hopeful. This wasn’t a silver bullet, but it would get them clean water and  some food…and even a bit of shelter and direction too! He wasn’t quite sure where they’d go thanks to a compass, but it was a step in the right direction. And now that he had a first-aid kit, he could clean up Freyja’s wounds and make sure they didn’t get infected–the thing he had been silently fretting since saw her glowing bl-

Alice paused as realization hit him like a hammer to glass.

She was huge.

He let the emergency blanket fall from his fingers as guilt and worry washed over him. This kit would be able to provide for one person, but it absolutely wasn’t going to be able to cover Frey. The MREs and purified water would be miniscule, the emergency tent could be draped over a finger, and the first-aid kit…well, if he was lucky he could use the whole bottle of rubbing alcohol provided, it might be able to properly disinfect the cut on her forehead. But the wound on her stomach looked serious.

But he couldn’t keep all of this for himself–he absolutely refused to. How was it fair that he got to eat and drink and have a blanket, while Freyja got her life thrown upside down and mutated into this titanic living thunderstorm. What would her future be like? How long could she go without adequate sustenance? What would happen to her if the military caught her?

He wanted to help, he NEEDED to help…

No, he needed to fix this.

Wasn’t that Maura’s last words to him? When she looked at him pleadingly? He was tired, his memory was fuzzy…

All of this was because it was his fault. He should’ve been smart enough to stop the Engine from activating. He should’ve been smart enough to prevent Freyja’s body and life from being utterly ruined.

He should’ve been able to save Maura.

Crunch.

Alice jumped. It looked like something had dropped on one of the monitors and cracked the screen, but the ill timing of it made him sick to his stomach. It conjured up far too many images of Maura that he couldn’t shake.

He closed the lid of the kit, and slowly laid down on the muddy, shoe print-painted monitor. It was hard to breathe again. Tears started well up. Why couldn’t he get those images out of his head? They weren’t real…he was just imagining them.

That didn’t make the hurt any less real.

He pulled the survival kit up onto his chest, closed his eyes, and hugged the inflexible object as tight as he could. It didn’t help.

What were they going to do?

In here, he felt…surprisingly safe. Protected, even. Hidden within this hollow heart, he felt like he didn’t have anything to worry about. But he knew the moment he stepped back outside he would have to face his heart wrenching, unfair new reality.

He didn’t fight the tears this time. He let them flow freely, but he wasn’t quite sure who he was crying for.

What was he THINKING? This was so beyond what he was able to handle. He was useless. He found nothing of worth to Freyja in here, Maura was dead, and now Alice was just going to…what? Lay here and cry? He couldn’t kick tanks away or wrestle skyscraper-sized robots like Frey…he was just deadweight to her. Just an obligation–a burden. He could barely hold it together mentally, and he had nothing of use to her. He couldn’t even get her a glass of water.

So what good was he?

“I-I…I can’t do this,” Alice whimpered.

Alice jumped as the mech shuddered three times with a resounding THOOM THOOM THOOM.

“You okay in there?”

It was Freyja. He shouldn’t be surprised that he could hear her voice all the way down here. That was probably her knocking.

Alice wiped the tears quickly and tried to recompose himself. He stood up and slung the kit’s strap over one shoulder. He cupped his hands and yelled: “YEAH! I’M OKAY! COULD YOU MAYBE OPEN UP A BIGGER HOLE? I FELL IN AND CAN’T GET OUT.”

A beat. Had she heard him? He screwed up his mouth and realized his voice probably didn’t carry out in the same ways hers did. He clambered up one of the arms to the chair again and stood up on the back. Maybe she could hear him from up here?

“HEY FREY, DID YOU HEAR M-

SCREEEEEEEEEEECH. Alice crouched and braced himself with a gasp as everything lurched, he could hear metal tearing and pipes bursting. He looked up as the shaking intensified. One by one the monitors started to go dark as he saw the metal behind them bow and shiver before familiar clawed fingers started to pry their way into view. Finally, Freyja got a good grip and PULLED the chest of the mech open–monitors and instruments flew everywhere. The sound of twisting metal and shattering glass was a cacophony of destruction as she came to his aid.

The glow of her eyes enveloped the room as she looked down at him. Rain fell into the cockpit, but it had relaxed to a little more than a drizzle.

He was surprisingly grateful to see those eyes.

Freyja blushed and chuckled nervously, she pulled her hands back. “S-Sorry! I…probably should’ve given you a little warning first, huh?”

She laughed, then looked at him…her brow furrowed slightly. 

“Hey…” She said with surprising softness. She reached a hand into the hole, her thick fingers serving as a platform for him to step up. “Are…you okay?”

Alice silently stepped up onto her fingers–his feet sunk a bit in the leathery pads as he walked. When he finally got into the hollow of her hand, he fell to his knees.

Right there in the middle of her palm was Maura’s tablet. It stared up at him impassively. He gathered it up and silently slipped it into the kit. Hopefully it’d be safer there. 

She gingerly lifted him up out of the mech’s chest and to her face. And though he didn’t meet her gaze, it felt impossible to hide from those colossal eyes.

Alice shivered. He finally went to reply, but a rogue sob managed to slip past his lips. Freyja made an empathic noise and sat back on her haunches as she waited patiently for him to continue. Alice desperately wanted to hide.

“I-I…um…” Alice tried starting again. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t help it. He silently shook his head. Freyja swallowed and nodded.

Alice wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence. Eventually, one of her large fingers bent forward to gingerly tap her thumb. Alice frowned and looked up for clarification.

“I’m a hugger,” Freyja’s voice broke as she smiled sadly. “And…I’d give you a hug right now if I could. But seeing as I, um…well, can’t…I figure my thumb is the next best thing, right? I know it’s not, like, a person, but-”

Alice didn’t hesitate, he flung himself at the thumb. He threw his arms around the digit and buried his face into the padding–forget about the glasses, he didn’t care. He dug his fingers as tightly as he could into the leathery skin and muscle. He could feel her pulse. His knees sank into the muscle of the palm that connected to the base of the thumb. Her thumb was surprisingly warm.

Freyja gingerly turned her hand at the wrist, and curled her fingers around his legs and lower chest so he could be gently held within her fist while he hugged her thumb. It was an asymmetrical reciprocation, but the gesture was genuine. Alice wriggled down a bit while still holding on to her thumb, so his chest could get swallowed up in the grip as well as he kept his arms out around the trunk of her thumb. He kept his face buried against her.

She gently squeezed him. At first, it surprised him–it felt like a bit of an all-over hug. But it was the safest, most secure feeling Alice could ever imagine. She wouldn’t let him fall…she’d keep him safe. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that, but he trusted her.

They didn’t count the minutes as she just let him bitterly weep into her handheld embrace.

…

…

The VTOL’s engines growled as it made its final descent. 

The ominous red lights of the interior cast long shadows across the soldiers’ faces as they patiently listened to their marching orders from Lieutenant Palmer. Meanwhile, General Donovan moved towards the bay doors–she had other matters to attend to tonight.

The crackling report from the pilot indicated that it would be landing in a few minutes, but she couldn’t sit still. She had read the reports so many times she had them practically memorized and her eyes were starting to itch from how long she had stared at the tablet screen. She reached up to grab one of the eye level safety straps for support as a bit of turbulence rocked them. She brought her hand up to touch her daughter’s necklace she kept beneath her coat–her thumb rubbed soft circles across the surface of the keratin as she tried to gather her thoughts.

This never got easier.

Donovan held tighter as they landed with a lurch. She heard the clatter of gear as the soldiers rose to join her. The bay door opened, the ramp descended, and an errant gust sprayed rain across her face. She grimaced with a shiver before pulling up her hood and drawing her greatcoat tighter over her uniform as she briskly made her down. The ramp trembled behind her as the rest of the platoon followed suit.

Her eyes followed the height of Ground Zero’s quarantine wall as her boots splashed across wet pavement. She felt a bit of heartbreak starting to creep in as her eyes lingered. She allowed that pain to stay, but only as a reminder of why she had to stay focused tonight. There would be shouts of anger, tears, and unanswerable questions but with all the meetings she knew she’d have to have, she would need to be the strong one. 

If not her, then who? 

She looked over to the left as she heard a yell. The remainder of Fort Jeffrey’s able-bodied forces were a few kilometers away amidst a smoldering field of ruin–the location where NUVA-002 rose. Donovan could make out the crushed trucks, the overturned embankments, the ripped open cargo containers with their content strewn about and still burning.

Her eyes lingered on the two largely collapsed buildings nearby. Officers were barking orders to those who were frantically excavating what they could in hopes of reaching survivors. She saw how many triage tents were set up nearby, but a part of her knew it would do little good. 

She wondered what had gone through 002’s head the moment they transformed. What was the emotion that the victim clung to as they found their entire body unmade then rewritten? What caused 002 to lash out the way that they had? 

Donovan wasn’t quite sure what she might’ve done, had the roles been reversed.

As she made a cursory glance across the search and rescue efforts for the base commander, she heard a voice call for her over the roaring rain. “General Donovan!”

Two figures approached her from the quarantine zero: Agent Wendig and Captain Edo. 

“At ease,” she told the captain after spying their salute. She turned her attention to Wendig as she took the lead back towards the entrance. “Any updates?”

“SEER is attempting to reboot,” Wendig explained as they stepped into the quarantine zone’s sequestered hallways. The space felt oppressive. Clouds of dust floated in front of the tripod mounted lights that lit up the corridor, and the sound of rain against the roof made the general feel even more on edge. “The Nephilim-class aren’t like the other Kaiju. We’ve only had one set of data to work from in the past, and now we’re working to try and track down two at the same time. SEER’s adapting on the fly–we should be able to better triangulate the Kaiju’s positions soon.”

The general sighed as she moved on to the next subject. “Any luck on identifying the ones who dropped off the device?”

“No ma’am.” Edo shook their head. “A leading theory is that they’re cultists. The Children of Nibiru have a cloister down the mountain from here-”

“-but the Children aren’t paramilitary,” the agent interjected. “Whoever brought in the device not only had access to military-grade equipment, but they had military clearance. They were let right in and a base officer coordinated the drop-off.”

She earned a few more salutes from passing soldiers and engineers, but her mind was far too troubled to notice. 

The general’s nails dug into her palms as she set her jaw. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Eleven years, and this was the first proof of human involvement. 

The general steadied her breathing as they walked in relative silence. She could hear the low hum of commotion that echoed down the hall as they neared Ground Zero proper. “And what of this officer? Lieutenant Sinclair?”

“MIA.” Edo ran a hand over his fuzzy scalp. “Eyewitnesses indicate she was inside the warehouse during the device’s activation, but we haven’t found her body yet. Someone claimed they saw her thrown out by one of the resulting shockwaves, but we haven’t been able to corroborate that.”

That didn’t prove much, there were a lot of reasons why they couldn’t find the conspirator’s body. Having Sinclair alive was preferable, but that didn’t mean the lieutenant couldn’t have left a paper trail. They’d have to look into that further once the immediate danger had passed.

As they rounded the bend, she could finally see the entrance to Ground Zero. And though it was sealed off by a reinforced door, she could still hear the buzz of dozens of technicians and specialists working furiously on the other side. Flanking the entrance, were two pairs of Nobodies who stood as dark, silent sentinels who saluted immediately at the sight of the general.

She murmured a quiet “at ease” as she stopped and turned to face Edo and Wendig. Now that she stood close to the door, she could feel a tug from her daughter’s necklace in the direction of Ground Zero. Then she felt a slight shiver up her whole body, as the sensation extended past only the necklace. 

“And the witnesses?” she asked, looking from one to the other. She heard one of the Nobodies typing in the access codes for the door. “Are they available for me to speak to them?”

“Yes ma’am,” Wendig replied. “They have agreed to give us their full cooperation.”

The door hissed open behind her. 

“Good.” General Donovan nodded. She turned, then made her way inside.

Ground Zero was deafening. Technicians and engineers had set up all sorts of portable instruments and devices, and no one seemed content to keep their voices down as they relayed the readings they were receiving from either the horror above or the scar below.

She made her way around a fenced-off crater, though the general knew what it really was. They had mapped out two distinct sets of gigantic footprints–one for 001 and one for 002–left craters in the concrete. 001’s went away from Ground Zero, while 002’s went towards before veering off in a different direction. It made Donovan numb just thinking about it. 

She turned her gaze upwards to drink in the gravityless graveyard of crumpled trucks, shattered cargo…

…and lifeless bodies. Everything that floated in this illogical, zero-g bubble was suspended in a miasma of haunting, celestial light.

But her attention wasn’t on the footprints or the horror above, but rather the cordoned off piece of concrete. 

She felt their eyes as she walked the length of Ground Zero. She knew why so many of them lowered their voices now, as if to give her as much space as possible. She didn’t need their empathy, but she appreciated it.

Her eyes analyzed every detail she could about that single piece of concrete as she approached. To the untrained eye, someone might assume that a grenade had gone over that spot. But the scorched halo was far too wide for just a single grenade–it seemed to originate from a point that was at least six feet by six feet. No explosive could be that big without breaking the ground beneath it, and a grenade wouldn’t cause the scorch marks to twist and curl into patterns of unnatural symmetry and complexity. 

No, this hadn’t been a grenade–this is the spot where the device was activated. This was where the lives of two people were altered forever, and by their actions the fate of tens of thousands might hang in the balance based on their actions. They were a genesis for everything that would follow.

For the last eleven years, the secrecy of Kaijus had been maintained, but the glass was cracked–all it would take would be a tap in the wrong place, and the only thing would come crashing down. 

But that wasn’t the thing that scared Donovan the most. Agent Wendig went to speak again, but the general ignored her. 

She stared at the familiar markings on the concrete. She didn’t need to touch those intricately carved shadows, she remembered vividly how they felt. She’d seen them only once before, but didn’t know where they had come from…now she did. There was a certain degree of closure in that, but she still felt a rising anger to the point of nausea bubbling in her chest.  All she could wonder is where the device had gone, who had stolen it, and when they would strike next.

[windydrawallday]

Where do you find inspiration and motivation to make art? Is there a process to the whole mental prep for creating?

(Love your art so I thought I would ask :D)

You want me to make a TED Talk about art? Because that is what this will be coff

Inspiration comes from everywhere for me! I think it helps to have not only an open mind but also the spirit of an infant: get awestruck by what nature, science, history, culture, etc. offers. Even between my everyday activities, I find myself asking about how it felt for the first human to discover they could cook their food, or experimenting with so many shapes for pasta to get sauce stuck to it! I'm that silly.

Because most if not all things were already thought of if not invented by someone: we have so much heritage. We are blessed to have access to all this information and tools. Don't feel afraid to reference them! To dig critically into the work of someone else you feel it vibes with you and make it yours, too. Is healthy. Is good!

That ties in with one of the processes that helps me yank the abstract clay from my head to the canvas: making MOOD BOARDS!* I use them mostly to nail the visual style I want for illustrations (almost all my zine pics started with a mood board):

I use a similar method but call them MUSE BOARDS when working with character's archetypes, mannerisms, behaviors, etc I want to portray both accurately and with personal twists:

*Some prefer to call them aesthetic boards because of how the internet bastardized the use of the word for gif sets but ask a graphic or fashion designer, architect, etc; the term for a collage of visual references that are usually static IS mood board.

Tho, lately, during these weeks dealing with the burnout and gnawing art block, another thing became my motivation to keep doing art... and I'll put it under the cut because it can be quite dark for some (CW mention of death/mortality themes):

Probably I'll sound cynical and/or edgy for saying this but it's the truth:

One of these days, I could die (not by my own hand but this world is bigger and powerful than me, I can't control everything in it) and all those ideas and visions I never put on paper, will die with me.

And so, when I'm struggling with a part of the process during a piece and find myself wanting to quit, I say: If I give up now, I'm letting the idea die before I step into the graveyard.

When I'm killing my ideas, I'm killing myself, slowly. And I don't want that.

I go back to the canvas and try, TRY and T R Y. Until the idea comes out.

Probably incomplete. For sure imperfect. Still a work in progress.

But out of my mortal brain.

Flesh of paper, blood of ink. Colors of pixels, layers upon layer of illusory ligh and shadows.

Mine and at the same time, for the world. It's free now to be welcomed by other minds, to be wanted and played by other hearts.

It's immortal, it can inspire people beyond my reach. Even after I'm not here in constant presence.

Isn't that enough motivation?

I got overboard with this but I hope it doesn't sound too overdramatic orz I needed this out of my chest too haha

THANK YOU for your interest! Is always welcomed ✨✨✨✨✨