nelson-mandarin

[nelson-mandarin]

how yall make font of OTHER COLOR THAN THAT LITTLE PALETTE HAVE😭😭😭

i saw posts with gradients and other colours??? how??😭😭

[nelson-mandarin]

Just looked at him and was like

"THAT'S MY BEST ARTWORK WTF"

i thinkkkk... yesterday i drew this non stop for 3 hours and i guess i just got tired of looking at it and i saw it now and it's BEAUTIFUL???

how it worksss... my two subscribers, what do you think about this

[nelson-mandarin]

Absolutely not the best artwork, but I spent half a day on it, and not publishing seems like a crime

Upd: okay i looked at my previous artworks

I was too rude ye

That IS good artwork... And my high expectations because of the reference😭

[nelson-mandarin]

I wanned to redraw Lo's reference... Not redesign haha, The only thing that will change is the shape of the poncho.

[nelson-mandarin]

two aventurins...

[nelson-mandarin]

🚨 Emergency – Please Help My Cat Cleo

Hi everyone, I really didn’t want to have to make a post like this, but I’m desperate right now. My cat Cleo suddenly started straining in her litter box and crying out in pain tonight, and after looking it up, it seems like it could be a urinary blockage. I’ve read that this can be fatal if not treated right away, and I’m honestly terrified.

The emergency vet said she needs to be brought in immediately for tests and treatment, but the upfront cost is way more than I can afford on my own right now. Cleo is my baby—I’ve had her since she was tiny, and I can’t imagine losing her like this.

I hate to even ask, but if anyone is able to help in any way or even just share this, it would mean the world to me.

If anyone wants to help, please message me. 💔

[nelson-mandarin]

@dearbhlaaaaghhhhhelpme can i just say that i fucking love ur reblogs

does anyone who like... likes camp here and there follow me or look at my blog. if so pleeasee take this sydney and jedidiah propaganda conceived by yours truly

[nelson-mandarin]

🥹

Im always sooo happy seeing reblogs of my writings

CHAPTER 1.

Inevitability.

Point of view: Aido.

TW: blood, cruelty, nasty descriptions(?): cursing

Blood, extreme descriptions of violence are found in paragraphs marked in red. If you don't want to read these things, skip the paragraphs marked in red.

You have been warned

The first shell hit her in the chest before it even made a sound, ringing in her ears and blurring her vision. The second shell followed immediately, showering her already wounded body with shards of rock that lay on the ground and a spray of blood. She jerked her head up to the sky. There were no gods here, only cold calculations of trajectory, dust, and corpses. The rest of them – soldiers, comrades, the rest of her “squad” – lay like rag dolls, their limbs bent at impossible angles, some with their eyes still open. She hated to see it. She should have known their names. She tried not to. One had a photograph of his daughter tucked neatly into the inside pocket of his uniform; a very small girl. Another hummed a silly tune. often.

Life was a gift.

Life was a burden.

Life was suffering.

Because of a quarrel between just a few people - the same as everyone else, but who for some reason decided that they had more weight in society than everyone else - the world ended up...

The world ended.

She pressed her back against the mud-soaked ground. Something slid across the wound in her stomach, like wet ropes. It was cold in the trench. To her left, a soldier's severed arm still clutched his rifle. Maggots were already squirming in the fleshy stump. To her right, the severed head of another soldier, an enemy perhaps, lay in a pool of blood and mud. One eye hung from its socket by a fibrous nerve. Blood, vomit, bile, rot. The stench of decay rose. She lay among those who had died minutes ago and days ago. Another death coming? No – "death" would be the mercy she had been denied. The organs would return to their place, the split skull would mend, the punctured lungs would begin to breathe again. No need. She longed to rot forever in this festering pit, to join the eternal decay that everyone but her was allowed to accept.

She remembered her childhood. But dimly. Under a different sky - maybe blue, maybe gray - before serious men with smart faces and expensive suits decided that the best way to resolve their differences was to turn every field into a cemetery. She didn't remember her mother. But she remembered her father. And her brothers. And her sisters. And where she buried each one, she remembered, too. She remembered a time when her hands weren't covered in a red liquid with a metallic smell.

There was no dream left for nostalgia. She lost count of how many times she had been shot, burned, poisoned, buried alive, and then woken up alive. Again. The first time, she cried for days. The next time, for hours. By the hundredth time, she had stopped crying altogether. At first, they said it was a gift - this inability to die. She believed them, as a child. She believed them as a young woman. She believed it even when she was in her thirties. Perhaps it only dawned on her after the point of no return.

She remembered the first moment when she realized that the world would continue to wage war long after she grew tired of fighting. That even if she ran, even if she hid among the civilian population, sooner or later she would have to fight again. Sooner or later, enemy soldiers would begin to advance on peaceful territories. She supposed some would call it fate, but she preferred the more precise term.

Inevitability.

The world is over. As is humanity. As is all progress.

And she? She disappeared then too. But she didn't die from radiation and didn't burn alive in the explosion. Alas.

[…]

Without thinking twice, she opened the hatch and climbed out of the bunker. Field... There used to be a city here. It doesn't matter. She doesn't know how long she spent here. But if she didn't start hallucinating, there was a man somewhere out there!

- "Hey! You, there!" - she tried to scream as loudly as her voice could carry her

The silhouette stopped. It was a man in shabby clothes, holding a shovel. He was looking at her. Probably. Her vision had gotten worse.

- "**** *** ***** ***!" - he answered. clearly in an aggressive tone, although she didn't understand a word. She tried to step further, but he seemed to threaten her with a shovel and walked towards her.

She dove back in. The world... It seemed to have healed in the meantime. Probably.

And yet she felt... something. Hope. A sense that maybe, just maybe, there were more people. That the surface might be more than just a graveyard, or a nuclear wasteland.

The child stirred in the corner, his eyes fluttering, revealing glittering ones that reflected the faint light from the bunker. She came closer. Those little stars, scattered all over his body... radiated a faint light. When he had first come to her, in that abandoned subway station, she had mistaken those marks for mutations from the radiation. Now they flickered faintly, radiating a soft light as he leaned toward her, waiting for her touch.

- "...Mom?"

- "..m?" She struck a match three times before the flame burst into flame. She took a deep drag, then stood under the rusty vent.

- "I... Hear... A sound... A person? We... Can... go... high?" - the stars became slightly less bright.

- "...‹Heard›. and, ‹to the surface›." The orange soft light illuminated the fine wrinkles. She took another drag. Her fingers trembled slightly. - "..." - she fell silent, her face darkening slightly.

- "...mhm?" - He tilted his head to the side, changing his position and sitting on the haystack he used as a bed, his legs dangling down.

- "...Never mind, kiddo." - She turned away, watching the smoke fly away.

His twittering attempts to speak her language echoed off the concrete walls. He straightened up, lifting his legs onto the makeshift bed, wrapping his thin arms around his knees, and blinked heavily. Still sleepy...

- "You... promise?" - he lisped slightly.

She looked at the trembling little figure next to her. A little thing made of bone and matter and hope.

Something dangerously close to tenderness twitched inside.

- "...I guess."

She finished her cigarette and pressed the butt to the wall, exhaling long and hard. She reached for the duffel bag by the door and dug through its contents. Canned food. Meals. Extra bottles of water. A tattered map of the old subway lines, with her bunker marked in faded ink. And there, at the very bottom, what she was looking for. A battered radio that had once been at their base.

She stood there... for too long, desperately trying to pick up any kind of signal, but it was only static.

A human voice broke through the noise. "****, ***? *** ** ***, **, ****. *****, ***? ***, ***..."

Language

Can

Change.

Of course! It was obvious! How long had they been here? A hundred years? Two hundred? Five hundred? The world had changed... of course, the fucking world had changed! Hope, tuning the radio - all of this was a WASTE. A FUCKING WASTE OF TIME!

She picked up the radio and threw it across the room. The child dodged. Just in case, although the trajectory was not flying in his direction. For a moment she felt satisfaction when the radio hit the iron wall with a dull thud, showering the floor with shards. But that feeling immediately evaporated.

She sat down on the floor.

The boy... she still caught herself thinking about him as a boy. As if he were a person... He was looking at her. A little nervously, after her outburst. She wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. But she didn't want to lie, especially so brazenly. And he already understood everything.

She stood up and walked over to him, stepping over the hole in the wooden floor, and slid down the wall again. They were both silent for a while. She listened to his breathing. Shallow, but even.

It didn't matter. He was her child. That was what she clung to, instead of faith, ideology, or any other abstraction.

She thought again about the man upstairs. What would he do if he stumbled upon their hideout? Would he break down the door with a shovel? Would he look at her son and add another corpse to this world? Or would he run away in fear?

...Would he? No, not Lo. He couldn't. Or could he? Aliens... they were different, weren't they? Do they even have a gender? But he wasn't an ordinary alien. Could he even die? Maybe not... or maybe yes? She didn't want to think about burying another dear hum-... creature.

...It didn't matter. And... and the bunker had been standing for centuries. No, some guy with a shovel wouldn't be able to get in there... Right?

She stretched out her aching legs. The child slid off his berth, sitting on the floor next to her. His head rolled onto her shoulder. He never asked for comfort... at least not in words. He came to her for hugs incredibly often.

He dozed off a few minutes later, sniffling softly into her shoulder. She stroked his head, combing her fingers through his ‹hair›... Which was actually sheep's wool, just glued to his head.

She sat with him for a while longer, counting the little stars on his face and body.

She let her head fall back and hit the wall. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but if it moved... Lo would wake up.

Somewhere in the endless darkness above, a faint vibration ran through - maybe the man had returned, or maybe the humans had started another war and these were just gunshots... She shook the thought away, not wanting to panic again.

Not tonight.

————————————————————————

Would like to see reblogs! 😋

A lot of time was spent on this

( @dearbhlaaaaghhhhhelpme and @roughly57bluejaysinatrenchcoat pleasw youre my only two fans)

[nelson-mandarin]

GAHZHDHAJSUDK

it's fucking gorgeous

something something you’re always hungry

imma be honest guys, this is the longest i have worked on a face yet….(it was not that long)

@up-and-adam-official up and art competition amirite🙂

@blue-wolfe s slides this under your door and runs away

honorary mention:

A Sketch

[nelson-mandarin]

LOOK AT MY CHAPTER

pleasw?

[nelson-mandarin]

HEEEEY PEOPLE I FINALLY FINISHED THE CHAPTER

[nelson-mandarin]

CHAPTER 1.

Inevitability.

Point of view: Aido.

TW: blood, cruelty, nasty descriptions(?): cursing

Blood, extreme descriptions of violence are found in paragraphs marked in red. If you don't want to read these things, skip the paragraphs marked in red.

You have been warned

The first shell hit her in the chest before it even made a sound, ringing in her ears and blurring her vision. The second shell followed immediately, showering her already wounded body with shards of rock that lay on the ground and a spray of blood. She jerked her head up to the sky. There were no gods here, only cold calculations of trajectory, dust, and corpses. The rest of them – soldiers, comrades, the rest of her “squad” – lay like rag dolls, their limbs bent at impossible angles, some with their eyes still open. She hated to see it. She should have known their names. She tried not to. One had a photograph of his daughter tucked neatly into the inside pocket of his uniform; a very small girl. Another hummed a silly tune. often.

Life was a gift.

Life was a burden.

Life was suffering.

Because of a quarrel between just a few people - the same as everyone else, but who for some reason decided that they had more weight in society than everyone else - the world ended up...

The world ended.

She pressed her back against the mud-soaked ground. Something slid across the wound in her stomach, like wet ropes. It was cold in the trench. To her left, a soldier's severed arm still clutched his rifle. Maggots were already squirming in the fleshy stump. To her right, the severed head of another soldier, an enemy perhaps, lay in a pool of blood and mud. One eye hung from its socket by a fibrous nerve. Blood, vomit, bile, rot. The stench of decay rose. She lay among those who had died minutes ago and days ago. Another death coming? No – "death" would be the mercy she had been denied. The organs would return to their place, the split skull would mend, the punctured lungs would begin to breathe again. No need. She longed to rot forever in this festering pit, to join the eternal decay that everyone but her was allowed to accept.

She remembered her childhood. But dimly. Under a different sky - maybe blue, maybe gray - before serious men with smart faces and expensive suits decided that the best way to resolve their differences was to turn every field into a cemetery. She didn't remember her mother. But she remembered her father. And her brothers. And her sisters. And where she buried each one, she remembered, too. She remembered a time when her hands weren't covered in a red liquid with a metallic smell.

There was no dream left for nostalgia. She lost count of how many times she had been shot, burned, poisoned, buried alive, and then woken up alive. Again. The first time, she cried for days. The next time, for hours. By the hundredth time, she had stopped crying altogether. At first, they said it was a gift - this inability to die. She believed them, as a child. She believed them as a young woman. She believed it even when she was in her thirties. Perhaps it only dawned on her after the point of no return.

She remembered the first moment when she realized that the world would continue to wage war long after she grew tired of fighting. That even if she ran, even if she hid among the civilian population, sooner or later she would have to fight again. Sooner or later, enemy soldiers would begin to advance on peaceful territories. She supposed some would call it fate, but she preferred the more precise term.

Inevitability.

The world is over. As is humanity. As is all progress.

And she? She disappeared then too. But she didn't die from radiation and didn't burn alive in the explosion. Alas.

[…]

Without thinking twice, she opened the hatch and climbed out of the bunker. Field... There used to be a city here. It doesn't matter. She doesn't know how long she spent here. But if she didn't start hallucinating, there was a man somewhere out there!

- "Hey! You, there!" - she tried to scream as loudly as her voice could carry her

The silhouette stopped. It was a man in shabby clothes, holding a shovel. He was looking at her. Probably. Her vision had gotten worse.

- "**** *** ***** ***!" - he answered. clearly in an aggressive tone, although she didn't understand a word. She tried to step further, but he seemed to threaten her with a shovel and walked towards her.

She dove back in. The world... It seemed to have healed in the meantime. Probably.

And yet she felt... something. Hope. A sense that maybe, just maybe, there were more people. That the surface might be more than just a graveyard, or a nuclear wasteland.

The child stirred in the corner, his eyes fluttering, revealing glittering ones that reflected the faint light from the bunker. She came closer. Those little stars, scattered all over his body... radiated a faint light. When he had first come to her, in that abandoned subway station, she had mistaken those marks for mutations from the radiation. Now they flickered faintly, radiating a soft light as he leaned toward her, waiting for her touch.

- "...Mom?"

- "..m?" She struck a match three times before the flame burst into flame. She took a deep drag, then stood under the rusty vent.

- "I... Hear... A sound... A person? We... Can... go... high?" - the stars became slightly less bright.

- "...‹Heard›. and, ‹to the surface›." The orange soft light illuminated the fine wrinkles. She took another drag. Her fingers trembled slightly. - "..." - she fell silent, her face darkening slightly.

- "...mhm?" - He tilted his head to the side, changing his position and sitting on the haystack he used as a bed, his legs dangling down.

- "...Never mind, kiddo." - She turned away, watching the smoke fly away.

His twittering attempts to speak her language echoed off the concrete walls. He straightened up, lifting his legs onto the makeshift bed, wrapping his thin arms around his knees, and blinked heavily. Still sleepy...

- "You... promise?" - he lisped slightly.

She looked at the trembling little figure next to her. A little thing made of bone and matter and hope.

Something dangerously close to tenderness twitched inside.

- "...I guess."

She finished her cigarette and pressed the butt to the wall, exhaling long and hard. She reached for the duffel bag by the door and dug through its contents. Canned food. Meals. Extra bottles of water. A tattered map of the old subway lines, with her bunker marked in faded ink. And there, at the very bottom, what she was looking for. A battered radio that had once been at their base.

She stood there... for too long, desperately trying to pick up any kind of signal, but it was only static.

A human voice broke through the noise. "****, ***? *** ** ***, **, ****. *****, ***? ***, ***..."

Language

Can

Change.

Of course! It was obvious! How long had they been here? A hundred years? Two hundred? Five hundred? The world had changed... of course, the fucking world had changed! Hope, tuning the radio - all of this was a WASTE. A FUCKING WASTE OF TIME!

She picked up the radio and threw it across the room. The child dodged. Just in case, although the trajectory was not flying in his direction. For a moment she felt satisfaction when the radio hit the iron wall with a dull thud, showering the floor with shards. But that feeling immediately evaporated.

She sat down on the floor.

The boy... she still caught herself thinking about him as a boy. As if he were a person... He was looking at her. A little nervously, after her outburst. She wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. But she didn't want to lie, especially so brazenly. And he already understood everything.

She stood up and walked over to him, stepping over the hole in the wooden floor, and slid down the wall again. They were both silent for a while. She listened to his breathing. Shallow, but even.

It didn't matter. He was her child. That was what she clung to, instead of faith, ideology, or any other abstraction.

She thought again about the man upstairs. What would he do if he stumbled upon their hideout? Would he break down the door with a shovel? Would he look at her son and add another corpse to this world? Or would he run away in fear?

...Would he? No, not Lo. He couldn't. Or could he? Aliens... they were different, weren't they? Do they even have a gender? But he wasn't an ordinary alien. Could he even die? Maybe not... or maybe yes? She didn't want to think about burying another dear hum-... creature.

...It didn't matter. And... and the bunker had been standing for centuries. No, some guy with a shovel wouldn't be able to get in there... Right?

She stretched out her aching legs. The child slid off his berth, sitting on the floor next to her. His head rolled onto her shoulder. He never asked for comfort... at least not in words. He came to her for hugs incredibly often.

He dozed off a few minutes later, sniffling softly into her shoulder. She stroked his head, combing her fingers through his ‹hair›... Which was actually sheep's wool, just glued to his head.

She sat with him for a while longer, counting the little stars on his face and body.

She let her head fall back and hit the wall. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but if it moved... Lo would wake up.

Somewhere in the endless darkness above, a faint vibration ran through - maybe the man had returned, or maybe the humans had started another war and these were just gunshots... She shook the thought away, not wanting to panic again.

Not tonight.

————————————————————————

Would like to see reblogs! 😋

A lot of time was spent on this

( @dearbhlaaaaghhhhhelpme and @roughly57bluejaysinatrenchcoat pleasw youre my only two fans)

[nelson-mandarin]

hey

i know that i

fucked up and

my chapters and drafts is gone but

i almost finished the chapter! (we are not talking about the fact i dozed off in six am and all night was writing)

[nelson-mandarin]

@dearbhlaaaaghhhhhelpme i love wgat youre reblogging

my grandmas dawg

[nelson-mandarin]

i really really like when this happens

[nelson-mandarin]

Tw: cursing

Im gona cry

Explanation: Usually, I write on the computer. But now I am not at home (and will be home only on August 20)... I started writing the chapter on the computer, and I don't think I wrote much. Then I transferred the notes to my phone so I could continue writing the chapter on my phone.

I've been writing this part on my phone for a few days now and I think it's about 70% complete.

And i fucked up

Usually, when i I clear the memory on my phone, I manually clear the cache of apps. And there are two buttons, "clear all data" and "clear cache". AND THEY ARE DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO EACH OTHER

Last night (I think it was around 2am) I was lying there and clearing my memory, and... I think I was already sleepy and clumsy. I was already moving mechanically and not looking where I was poking

Well.

Now i wanted to write few paragraphs

«NO NOTES»‼️‼️‼️

im gonna cry really

[nelson-mandarin]

HIII PEOPLE GOOD NEWS

i finally finished writing the plot summary and chapters breakdown (?), sooo you can expect the first chapter of the rebooted story soon!