#the top right middle and bottom left are referenced

[flyingturtle939]

Love her 🫶

[eggwishing]

Hands

[suppermariobroth]

Top row: both Raccoon Mario (left) and Tanooki Mario (right) have distinct ringed tails. In Japanese, Raccoon Mario is called しっぽマリオ (Tail Mario), while Tanooki Mario is called the same, referencing the tanuki, or Japanese raccoon dog (an animal visually similar yet unrelated to the raccoon).

Middle: a raccoon. Note the ringed tail.

Bottom: a tanuki. Note the lack of rings on the tail.

Curiously, it appears that despite the original Japanese name of Raccoon Mario not referencing raccoons at all, his tail was in fact based on a raccoon tail instead of a tanuki tail. In addition, this also means that Tanooki Mario is not entirely based on a tanuki, and instead mixes the traits of both animals.

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[creaman]

Hi there! I apologize for taking up your time, I am just so curious: When you tackle a comic, what does the process behind it look like?

Asking because I found myself scrolling through your blog once again and couldn't help but marvel at all the beautiful effects you use, at how flawlessly the structure guides the viewer's eye across each page, how the graphic weight seems to always be in just the right places…, and wonder how you learned doing this. Everything you put out looks incredibly professional and I aspire to reach your level of skill 😌❤️

Thank you Finz!! You're no bother at all, I'm an open book. This is such high praise for a guy that really doesn't have a set process, I feel like a hack. Ha. Rest assured my style is still developing. Besides the referencing of the linework and composition of official comic books, (practicing by redrawing panels for fun), explaining the process makes me feel like a serial killer but I will do my best.

(WIP Riddler panel, scrapped Scarecrow composition)

My comics usually stem from a single panel or concept — I like to focus on/emphasise particular panels of my pages, the heavy hitters, the main piece that catches your eye. I know I'm not a profoundly technically proficient artist so I prefer visually interesting elements and formatting, i.e. drawing characters outside their frames, negative space, notation, perspectives etc.

(Kung Fu Panda 4 sketch god I hate Kung Fu Panda 4)

I like to establish 'main focus' panels, the bits of the comic that really, well. make people want to chew on it. This is where the technical effort is concentrated, really, and the rest of the comic is generally build around these concepts.

('Restaurant Balthazar' focus panels)

Textures and effects are done on individual panels first, then the entire page as a whole to even out the unity. Generally, blocking in shadows, hatching for visual interest + middle tones, then textures/half-tones, then highlights.

(Script excerpt WIP)

I'm not a writer per se, but having a vague 'script' in your pages helps with pacing and direction. Comics are a versatile story-telling medium. I only really do scripts for comics longer than 2 pages. An optional but recommended strat is to send your script to a friend for a second opinion.

(Script excerpt — 'Restaurant Balthazar', annotated by @vincepti0n I don't know why he drew a face in the middle)

With the script crudely slapped together, I rough out the thumbnails and composition with the text, prioritising coherence and clean integration of previously mentioned 'main focus' panels.

Settling on a composition sucks the hardest. Drawing is fun, thinking makes brain hurty. Variety is good! Close-ups, wide shots, visual metaphors. Every panel is its own artwork.

The text bubbles are usually added in post, yes, but I'm just one guy and I don't have a writer to call me a good boy for doing things correctly. Bite me.

(Early 'Restaurant Balthazar' drafts)

In addition, keeping the text graphics in mind help create a sounder composition wherein even if the panels don't read cleanly left to right + top to bottom, the text can stagger and create the same reading order effect.

Panels and concepts are constantly tweaked, and my comic process is still highly experimental. A lot of industry standard comics aren't illustrated to their full potential due to deadlines and such — I strive for visual epiphany by treating each panel as its own artwork, and every page as a a bit of a mural.

(Old art hurts the soul)

Constantly experimenting allows you the insight of looking at your current art in comparison to your older works. In more recent works, I've been blocking in more shadows wiht lineart with thinner lines and more line weight, and learned to integrate the subject characters with less plain, abstract backgrounds.

TLDR: I have no idea

[a-suspicious-number-of-ducks]

Hermit-a-Day May, day 25: Beef + Click Clack Moo

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Minecraft YouTuber VintageBeef in the style of the children's book Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin. The lines of the drawing are gestural and inexact, frequently overlapping or leaving gaps. The coloring has a watercolor texture. The drawing is divided vertically into two "pages" with a shadowy line in the middle, like a real book might have. On the left page, Beef's Hermitcraft Season 10 starter base is pictured at the top of a yellow-green hill. The base has dark brown beams, ivory walls, a brick-red chimney and shutters, and a brown gable roof with gray edges. On the right page, Beef is pictured, frowning cartoonishly. His eyes are simple black dots with angry eyebrows above them. He wears a dark gray and green plaid shirt, blue overalls, and a red baseball cap. He also has a bushy brown beard and sideburns. A dark brown fence spans both pages, winding between Beef and the house. In the bottom left corner of the left page, there is text that reads: "Farmer Beef has a problem. The Permit Office is out of control. All day long he hears WOOP, WOOP, that's the sound of the Poe-Poe. WOOP, WOOP, Permit Office on patrol." ./End ID]

Today's style/medium is Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin. I don't know if this book was a universally beloved experience or if absolutely no one is going to get this reference, but Click Clack Moo is a children's book about a farmer and his cows. The cows find a typewriter and start using it to leave notes demanding amenities. Farmer Brown is understandably perturbed by this. A picture of the page I referenced, as well as some rambling, below!

To be honest, this style was a bit of a last-resort choice--I was racking my brain trying to come up with any farm-related media other than Stardew Valley, since I did that one last year. I'm not familiar enough with Beef's content to do some deep cut reference beyond "hee hoo he has a farm" so I went with this. It was actually,,, so much fun, though?? I got to be looser and sloppier with my linework and coloring than I usually ever am and it still looked good in the style (in my personal opinion). I'm a little frustrated with the color balancing and I probably could have fiddled with filters for a while, but I'm happy with how this turned out!

Here's the original image:

[Image ID: A two-page spread from the children's book Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type. The left page shows a red barn with a white roof. The right page shows a disgruntled-looking farmer with a scraggly white beard. He is wearing a frayed yellow straw hat, a red bandana, blue overalls, and a yellow plaid shirt. The text on the left page reads: "Farmer Brown has a problem. His cows like to type. All day long he hears Click, clack, moo. Click, clack, moo. Clickety, clack, moo." ./End ID]

[formerunknownb]

Here's all of my 2D artwork from my art class this year!

Top left: A dotting project of a small bird sitting on a branch.

Middle left: An oil glaze painting project, which references a certain pesky bird.

Middle right: A graphite project of a snail on a log, referencing some sneaky snails.

Bottom left: An simple oil pastel project of an apple.

Bottom right: Another graphite project of a hand playing a guitar, referencing a Ren-diggity in a certain creaking forest.

3 of the 5 are references to the life series, which is the parrot, the snail, and the hand playing a guitar.

I'm pretty happy with most of these peices (especially as a brginning artist lol), and I hope you all like them :D!

[cogmented]

hi cogmented! love the art. do you have any tips for beginners? thanks and have a good day

HI YES YOU TOO i think most of these are applicable to beginners and non-beginners

i learned these tips from two low level art classes based on charcoal so i find some of these a lot easier through traditional means, but the skills learned from them should be transferable through any medium

i wont be touching on color or perspective too much, here's a past post i did on colors.. more so values, but it didnt go in-depth as i would have liked

shape and form are fundamentals for visual art. you need to think of form to get your shapes around it

mass and additive are kind of the same thing, just the filling of the shape, no lines involved. gesture is more so for the feeling of the same, and line gets further definition

here are some of my digital examples:

mass, gesture, line

subtractive

the top left drawing started as mass, where i formed the two people's positions into one blob and then colored over it

once you start getting those down, you can start applying it. but, you may want to look at what other artists are doing too

tracing, doing master copies, and using references are all fair methods of learning off of another, just dont pass off traced or copied art as your own

tracing tends to make your lines appear stiff, especially if you are tracing a more gestural drawing. you don't get the same motion as when you are simply referencing

mastercopies are replicas of the art work, made to look exactly like it in an attempt to emulate the same techniques the original artist might have used. i find this personally the most tedious, but beneficial method, but it may not be the easiest thing to do as a beginner who is not used to quick hand motions or confident lines.

this mastercopy sucks because mimicking traditional on digital is not the easiest thing in the world, and i on god just fucked it up, but you can see how that form and shading is much more similar than the other two

using an image as a reference is the most widely known method, but it may not look exactly how you want it to at the start! you might simply not know how line weight, textures, or line methods work yet, which is something figured out through practice and observation

and speaking of observation,

this looks okay, doesnt it?

but there is something much more structured to this, right?

it is hard to not assume you know how things look. you see things every day! your reference is right there! but really think about what you're drawing, and what it looks like.

references are always helpful, be sure to glance back frequently and really look at the distance between things, how things are rotated, how things curve around each other, and where shadows add definition

and even the bottom drawing does not capture everything correctly (the top left is not pointed enough, the middle is too high, the bottom right back fabric is too low, the bottom left is missing a fold, etc etc) i gave myself 5 minutes max for these, but it certainly looks more correct and it is not just more well developed shading

(the box is something i do often to get the size of shapes down, or to see how much space something will take on the canvas)

and always always always experiment

you do not have to draw every line, you do not have to put every detail in its right place, you are only trying to get visual information across in a manner that you enjoy

if you have an idea, but dont think you can do it, the most important thing is that you try it anyway. if it looks like shit and you dont like it, try again another day, just dont stop drawing because one day you will be able to do it

dont be afraid to erase things, to start over if you dont like it, even if you spent time on it, because you can always redo it better the next time and each time it is another thing learned or whatever. or keep it cause it looks funny or interesting who cares, as long as youre doing something

[ion-mailbox]

A Spectral Mother

For week 2 of Wyllvember [Monster Manual].

I decided to mirror my choice of Ulder and Wyll for week one with Francesca and Wyll for week two. My initial post for Francesca is here.

As we know there are inconsistencies in wyll's lore (specifically his mom telling him about the wilden oak tree but dying during childbirth) which is due to the less than stellar treatment our favorite warlock has gotten from his writer. However I decided to use that to hc that his mom became a ghost because she wanted to see him all grown up.

So my references for this piece:

Top left hand panel is Mother and child in an orange grove by Virginie Demont. The pose I used for Francesca in the upper right panel is Mother and child by Adolphe Jourdan, while the pose Ulder is in is Father feeding his baby by Arthur Sarnoff (who did the famous dogs playing poker painting known as Jack the ripper). The middle one is based on two paintings by Eugene de Blaas, one I had to track down because the original picture I used was based on something else. The first painting is a woman with a basket of fruit and the second is boy eating an apple. The bottom left is based on Two girls smiling by Carl Bloch (who did the famous and meme-d on paintings 'The Sermon on the Mount' and 'In a Roman Osteria') The bottom right is based of three different paintings: Der Brief (The Letter) by Berthold Woltze; Lost in thought by Ernest Anders; The discovered love letters by Carl Rudolph Sohn. So that's nine refs. Jfc.

Also I put flower symbolism because yes. I thought about adding flowers to each of these but thought against it because as you can see nine paintings I referenced. Anyway last panel in the vase on the window you can see the following: Adonis flower (Painful recollection, sorrowful remembrances); Browallia ( Can you bear poverty); Nasturtium (Patriotism, conquest, victory in battle; heroism); Red spider Lily (abandonment, loss, separation, death and the cycle of rebirth. It's commonly referred to as the Flower of Death); Pink Carnation (A woman's love, a mother's love; I'll never forget you)

(the fic might be late for this one - I'm being kidnapped unexpectedly flown to the other side of the country to babysit my cousin)

[clockworkphoebe]

{{{ WIP: The Spine Custom Ken Doll }}}

So, this is actually a project that I started back in the summer of 2020. My sister (@arcticusluna) had been making custom doll clothes for a while and she wanted to start a full doll customization project. When she told me about it we thought it would be fun to do it together. She was going to make a Rabbit custom and I would make a Spine custom.

I still have quite a bit left to go before finishing this. I still plan to add stripes, buttons, and pocket to the vest and to make some edits to the hat I ended up finding and settling with. I also had plans to make his long trench coat. but that will probably be a project for the future. I honestly just wanted to post this since I worked really hard on it but just haven't had the time/motivation to finish it yet.

The Rabbit my sister made will probably not be posted as the paint and glaze we used have deteriorated quickly on her over the last few years and we are unsure as to why, considering that we used the same materials and mine only has a few minor issues. We think it may have been the doll she started with as the rubber seemed to be a lot more flimsy and soft. She might post the clothes or parts of the doll later.

Work in progress photos and process under the read more:

For the edits on the face I used 2-part Apoxie Sculpt. I would lightly score the rubber after removing the hair and then gently shape the apoxie to the face. After getting it as smooth as possible I lightly sanded it. The lines on his head and faced were referenced from the Hot on the Trail music video.

The fins were probably the most challenging part. I cut out paper to the sizes I wanted and made marks where I wanted the fins placed. Then I cut pieces of cardboard to size and covered them with a thin layer of apoxie to make them more sturdy and smooth. once the fins were cleaned up I scored the back of the doll and carefully molded the spines to the back. This was very tedious as they tended to not hold in place when the apoxie was still drying. It was also hard to get the spacing right so that the back was still movable/posable. They are not completely accurate to the Spine's but the bases had to be widened so that they would be more sturdy and attach to the back properly. Once everything was dry, I sanded it the best I could and began painting. I used FolkArt acrylic paints and then a glaze top coat. If I were to do this again I would probably have primed the doll first and use spray paints instead so that the layering was more even and smooth.

As I was working on the main doll, I was also working on the guitar. The guitar was made entirely from scratch since I really didn't like any of the doll/model guitars that I found. Most were extremely thin/cheap or not really to scale. I used my own acoustic guitar for scale and then drew out The Spine's guitar as close as I could with the proper dimensions. From there, I cut multiple layers of cardboard until I got the right thickness. The bottom two layers were full, the middle layers were hollowed out in the center, the top layer had the sound hole cut, and an extra layer for the neck was made and rested on top. I glued all these layers together, and like the fins, I covered it all with a thin layer of apoxie. I sanded it until smooth and sculpted in all the extra details such as the tuning pegs, the 20 frets, the bridge, and small pegs to hold the strap. Everything was then painted and glazed. The strap is made from a ribbon and pieces of faux leather glued together with the ribbon sandwiched between them.

The hat was a struggle. I could not find a single hat that was close to the one Spine wears so I tried a few times to make one by hand. In the end they ended up way to heavy/bulky when I tried to make molded ones and I couldn't get them to sit on his head quite right. (I have absolutely no clue how to make a fabric one.) A few months ago I randomly found a hat while shopping that was actually pretty close to Spine's. So I will be using this for now until I can either edit it or make a different one.

For this project the pants, shirt, and vest were all made from scratch. I have no prior experience with doll customizations at all and while I know how to sew, I have only ever sewn plush animals. I have never made clothes or my own patterns. To make my patterns I used the plastic wrap and tape method. This is when you wrap the body with plastic wrap, cover this with tape, and then mark out the pattern on the tape. You can then cut out the pattern and use it to measure out your fabric. This was very tedious since the dolls are so small. The small size made it very difficult to get clean seams and to have the pattern actually line up properly once fitted to the doll. In the images above you'll see that I had to make most of the patterns twice to get it the way I wanted. Another challenge was trying to get the clothes to lay properly around the fins without leaving giant holes in the fabric and without the fins tearing up the fabric around them. I ended up gluing an interface on the insides of the shirt and vest to help keep the fabric sturdy and then glued along the edges of the gaps to keep them from fraying. I ended up finding the shoes I needed on ebay.

Here are more closeup photos of the finished guitar. I also put it next to the guitar I used for its design just to show the size difference.

Here are more pictures of the doll without the guitar and hat.

Also if anyone was curious this is the original doll used for this custom.

[steviewashere]

This is my @steddiebang2024 that was initially posted on AO3, but I figured I'd cross-post it to here, too. Featuring beautiful artwork by @maikaartwork, which you can find here on Tumblr, or here on Twitter. And beta'd by the wonderful and ever-patient, @billystarpip. ———————————————————————————————————————— Rating: Explicit | Genres/Tropes: Drama & Romance, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Slowburn, Future Fic, Canon Divergence | WC: 56, 917 | Chapters: 11/11 | Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings ———————————————————————————————————————— Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Past Steve Harrington/Original Female Character(s), Steve Harrington & Original Child Character(s) Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington's Mother, Robin Buckley, Original Female Character(s), Original Child Character(s) Tags: Cancer Diagnosis in a Secondary Character, Mentions of Past Spouse Death, Implied/Referenced Past Alcohol Abuse/Addiction, Implied/Referenced Past Drug Addiction, Parent Steve Harrington, mailman!Steve Harrington, retired rockstar!Eddie Munson, Second Chances, Getting Back Together, Middle Aged Steddie, Tender Sex, POV Alternating, Eventual Happy Ending

You are at Chapter One! Read Below the Cut!

———————————————————————————————————————— The alarm rings into the silence of his room at 5am sharp, just as he set it to be. It’s sound blaring—a marimba being played up and down from bottom of the scale to the top. His hand juts from under his blanket, grabs loosely for the phone vibrating against the bedside table, and brings it up close to his face. Light flashes very briefly as he turns the sound off and checks the time. Sure enough, it’s 5am. September 27th, 2015 spells itself out in blurry text. He’s got a normal day ahead of him, but it’s still difficult to wake up this early after all this time.

He peels the blanket from him, welcomes the cold as it kisses his bare thighs and tickles the soles of his feet. When he first bought the home he now resides in, he figured that hardwood flooring was going to be terrible. While he did enjoy carpet in the first apartment he had and the bedroom he grew up in, Steve’s perfectly content with being pulled into waking existence through the cold in his floor. He twists left then right, back and hips popping. And he stands.

Showers. Brushes his teeth. Dries his hair and slicks it back with a light layer of pomade, it has to fit under his hat. He trims up his mustache, handlebar, white haired, and tight to his top lip. Sets his glasses—thick and plastic black frames, square and magnifying lenses—on the bridge of his nose. It’s always a startling experience, to see himself in the mirror now, his vision being blurry and dwindling as time pushes. But he looks almost the same. Maybe a new deep wrinkle on his face. Or a few strands of dirty blonde he didn’t notice he still had on the top of his head. Got all his moles, thankfully none of them are new or worrying. And then he just stands in his bathroom for a few minutes. Wondering how he’s forty-eight, but looks to be ten years older. He’s still got his muscle, toned nicely on his arms and legs. A soft layer to his belly, earned with time and the stress of a normal working life. Doesn’t have the dark circles and eye bags that he carried in his twenties. But he’s older—older than he thought he could be.

In those few minutes, he takes the time to work his clothes on slowly. Joints aren’t all that replaceable and he’s going to need all his limbs in good enough condition to do his work. Underwear. Khaki slacks, straight cut, regular fit. Long sleeve, white undershirt tucked neatly into the waistband. His watch—wrinkled brown leather strap from decades of use, slight crack on the glass from being dropped during some roughhousing, and gently rusted. Dainty, gold chain cross necklace gifted to him by his mother, hidden away in the collar of his undershirt. A grey henley overtop. He emerges from his ensuite, down the hall because his bedroom is the farthest in the house, past his home office and a guest bedroom and a half-bathroom, takes a left corner into the kitchen, and flicks on the warm amber light.

Breakfast isn’t anything crazy. Doesn’t require any fanfare. But he makes two warm bowls of plain oatmeal, sprinkled lightly with brown sugar, topped with a handful of blueberries from his garden. He sets them on the table, where it’s tucked against the far side of his living room (there wasn’t a dining room when he bought the house and he didn’t care to make one), and goes to the guest room.

“Mom?” he softly calls out into the room. She startles awake anyway, but relaxes back into her blanket when she notices who’s calling for her. “Sorry to wake you up so early, but I made breakfast.”

She started staying with him five years ago. The arrangement came out of necessity. His dad had passed, left the house to her, but it was too much to deal with alone. And he didn’t want to move back to his childhood home, so he offered his empty guest bedroom. Packed her up, moved her in within a month. And the rest’s history. At first, he thought he made a mistake. Worried that she’d be the way she was when he was younger, uptight and in his space, stressing about doing well in the world, doubting him when he failed. But it wasn’t that way, surprisingly. In fact, she was grateful and happier than she ever had been.

The decision to let her stay very quickly grew on him. They were almost inseparable now, considering he’d been living alone and she would’ve been alone otherwise. He makes her breakfast, she knits him new beanies and sweaters, they watch Jeopardy! together, and he helps her back to bed.

Her mornings always start out with Steve carefully pulling her up into a seated position. Hands in his, they’re small, wrinkled, soft. She goes to the half-bathroom, uses it as usual, and changes into a pair of stretchy denim-like pants and a soft cotton sweater that Steve grabs for her. He helps her put on socks, sheer and like tights that slide easily into loafers. Every morning, he takes the time to comb through her hair, pin straight and completely white, thinning and falling to her shoulders. Sometimes he catches himself drifting to the mirror, caught up in how similar their eyes are to one another. It’s odd, in those moments, how he feels like a little boy again. Helping his mom brush her hair. When she was younger, with fine wrinkles on her face like he has now, put together by makeup she no longer wears. But he goes back to getting the last bit of sleep tangles at the ends of her hair and helps her back out to the living room.

Once she’s settled in her dining chair, he sets out about the kitchen again. “Do you want coffee, tea, or juice with your oatmeal, Mom?” he loudly asks from where his head is shoved in the fridge.

“A cup of hot coffee would be great,” she chirps. “With a tablespoon of that vanilla creamer that you like? You seem really happy every time you have it, I want to know what all the fuss is about.”

He chuckles as he leaves the fridge with the creamer. It shuts gently behind him. The pot is turned on, burbling as it pours the hot water over the coffee grounds. “I think it’s the sugar,” he relays, “It’s funny, though. I don’t even like this crap. Had a friend who showed it to me, reminds me of him, I guess.” Which is true. One hundred percent. Eddie Munson, the guy he knew all too briefly, liked cruddy vanilla creamer in his cup of coffee. So much that it went from a hot mug to a near chilled thing. Of course Steve remembered it. And of course, since Eddie left town all too abruptly all those years ago, he clung on to whatever remnants of the guy he had. Even if it made his coffee drinking experience become the ugliest thing he endured everyday.

The coffee is poured in two mismatched mugs. His: World’s Best Dad. And hers: a white mug with painted bluebells on it. He sets them out on the dining table, fills up a glass with water and sets a straw into the liquid, and grabs his mom’s daily pill sorter. When he settles in front of her, she begins taking her medications one by one.

“Remind me to refill that tonight,” he says, gesturing at the pill sorter. “I’ve gotta swing by the pharmacy for a few refills; yours should hopefully be ready by then, too.”

She hums, swallowing her last pill, and asks, “Work today?”

“Yup, should be my last shift until Monday morning. We’ll have the weekend to ourselves. It’ll be completely quiet, too.”

Her left thumb runs over the lid for Friday morning on her sorter. Eyes looking down at her oatmeal thoughtfully. “You know,” she murmurs, “while I appreciate your company, I really wish that you’d find a few friends to spend your weekends with.”

“Mom”—

“No, Steven, listen to me. I’m a seventy-seven year old woman who likes to spend her days knitting and reading and napping. You’re still young.” He sighs as she leans across the table to gently pat the back of his right hand. “I know you don’t like the idea of going out and meeting new people, but I think you should give it a chance. You’ve been through a lot in your life, I understand that. And you like things quiet and peaceful, which I can understand, too. But I can tell you’ve been doing alright for a while. Don’t you think it’s time to…get a couple drinking buddies or maybe go to some car shows? Could even try dating again”—

“I’m not doing that,” he grumbles. “That ship has sailed so many years ago. I’m perfectly fine with what I have now.” She gives him an incredulous look. In response, he rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Mom. Everything’s just to my liking. Now…How are your hands doing this morning? They still shaking like they were last night?”

She relents, holding out her hands to show off the heavy tremor to them. He scoots his chair closer, dragging his bowl to the new spot he’s made, and grabs for her spoon. Willingly, she takes the offered bite he scoops up. And that’s how breakfast goes. He feeds her the oatmeal, wiping away any bits that get on her lips, and transfers her water straw to the mug of coffee. Sure, his food congeals, gets a little cold, but he does what he must do.

Before he can get up to take care of their bowls, she stops him with a shaking hand on his wrist. “Is there something you need, Mom?” He checks.

“No,” she sighs. “But I just—Look at me for a second.” So he does. Her tone is serious and sage. Her eyes are wrinkled and drooping, shiny with unshed tears, dark brown and enriching. “Baby, I worry about you,” she says, but squeezes his wrist before he can interrupt. “Really, I do. Steve, what are you going to do when I’m not here?”

“That’s nonsense, Mom,” he murmurs.

She raises an eyebrow. “Is it? I…I’m only here because your dad is gone. And I know—I know—that you two had a very rocky relationship. But I can’t just ignore that he’s not in our lives anymore. If something happens to me, you’ll just be in this house. Alone,” she explains. “There’s nobody here to keep you company. You don’t really have neighbors. And I know that you’re friendly with everybody around town, it’s basically part of your job, but they aren’t your friends. Honey, most of your work stories are about people my age. Doesn’t that…You aren’t concerned about that?”

He sighs and places his free hand on the back of hers. Looks down at the table, zeroed in on a spot of paint that’s been there for years, not coming up with any sort of cleaner. Knows exactly what it’s from. An art project from when his daughter was a little girl. He doesn’t want to admit it, that his mom is right. There’s no partner that he shares his bed with. His daughter’s room is now a guest room; she’s in college, out of state, far from home.

Doesn’t allow himself to think about her mother, his late wife. He’s been a widower for over a decade now. It does get lonely around the house. There’s nobody that he encounters in the kitchen, ready to wrap his arms around their waist. He doesn’t have a partner to hold close on the couch and watch rom-coms with. Or his wife, who loved completing puzzles and would quietly and happily sit and do them while he watched baseball games. Who used to lean over and kiss his forehead just because. He misses her. Misses all of that. The companionship in that relationship. 

And he does notice. The absence of his social life. Sometimes he does get bored of sorting out pills for his mom, watching rerun game shows, all that nonsense. Yes, he does talk with Robin and Nancy and Dustin over the phone still, they’ve been friends for forever. But they aren’t here in Hawkins. Not anymore.

His mom is company, though. He isn’t lonely if he’s with her.

“Being with you is enough for me, Mom. I’m not concerned because I have you,” he murmurs sadly.

She gives him a smile. A slightly upset one. Pats his cheek and runs her thumb under his eye. “I appreciate that, baby, but…” She sighs. “Never mind, okay? As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters, right? Put our dishes in the sink and I’ll wash them. You get the rest of yourself ready for work.”

He nods once, setting their dishes in the sink. Slips on his blue postman’s jacket, zips it up, and sets his postal hat firmly on his head. “I’ll be home probably around eight, Mom. Our shows should record for tonight, so don’t watch them without me!” He calls out to where she’s clambering around the kitchen.

“Steve?!” She shouts. He looks back. She’s leaned over the sink, dish gloves over her hands and up to her elbows. Smiles at him. “Remember that I love you and that today is going to be a good day.”

He smiles, teeth and all. “Love you, too, Mom. Be safe. Call me if you need anything.”

And then he’s off. The mail won’t deliver itself.

———————————————————————————————————— The phone call rattled his bones. Tumor, was said. More times than the amount of fingers on his hands. He’s never bought road trip materials fast enough. It’s weird, to think of and to act upon returning to a place that seemed to be a shadow in his past. But he supposes that he should’ve expected to come back at some point. Hawkins, Indiana—the odd spot on a paper map.

There’s a million reasons to not come back. Being hunted for sport being one of them. Chrissy Cunningham and Patrick McKinney’s deaths being their own reason. And his short time with Steve Harrington is a mess in itself. But as his car gently rolls by the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign, the nerves seem to dissipate.

A few spots never recovered from the Vecna battle aftermath. There’s several restaurant fronts still bordered up and condemned. An entire grassy field with nothing but dead plants and broken glass bottles, probably a result from teenagers going where they shouldn’t be. Family Video is closed, a lack of interest. A small Walmart that replaces the RadioShack that once stood tall and mighty. Never thought he’d feel nostalgic for a place like Hawkins, but the missing floods back into his chest like a sudden rush of water.

There’s a lot of rebuilt homes. With plastic grass in the front yards. Fences that are plain cedar wood and tall. Faces he’s never seen. Some young, others as old as him—forty-nine or older. Children at playgrounds with Justice tops from the mall, bedazzled to all hell, pink plaid shorts, and blue Sketchers. Younger dudes with red beanies threatening to slip off the top of their heads, fake black glasses, cuffed skinny jeans and Timberland boots. Hipsters.

But he turns down familiar roads, non-replenished and cracked still. Spots the sign for Forest Hills Trailer Park and slows over the non-existent drive. The gravel clinking against the underside of the car, which he loathes. It’s a nice one, too—one of those BMW Sedans, all black with leather interior. Named her Carla after a suggestion from one of the Corroded Coffin boys (who were all drunk out of their minds, sans Eddie), but it stuck. And it cost a good chunk to purchase, but it’s gotten him safely over state borders, so he can’t complain that much. It still sits oddly in the trailer park, though. Next to Wayne’s old and well-loved pick-up truck—a baby blue Toyota. Tried and true. Hasn’t put anybody out, not yet at least. Still…Something crawls up his spine as he notices he’s the odd one out now.

He parks unceremoniously and takes a deep breath. Eyes trailing up to Wayne’s home. The mess of miscellaneous books. An empty ashtray, a little ceramic thing, painted bright orange; something Eddie made when he was in middle school. There’s the orange sofa, old and rusting on the legs, sun-bleached. A little dark blue rocker sitting in the corner of the porch, also sun-bleached, but the fabric is matted down. His hands come off of the steering wheel, grabs the keys roughly from the ignition, and hefts himself out of the driver’s seat.

Doesn’t even have to knock on the door before Wayne’s ushering him inside.

“Let me take a good look at you, boy,” his uncle’s brittle voice demands. Lets him put his weathered hands on his shoulders.

And Eddie does look drastically different from the last time he’d been home. A good decade ago, when he caught the time during a tour break. His hair is close cut to his scalp now, just above his ears, curly and dark brown with a few baby grays at his temples. Face creased with good wrinkles, crows feet and smile lines, a few creases under his eyes from how he’d squint on and off for years before getting contacts. Doesn’t have any facial hair, could never grow any that was good enough. Clean shaven with a five-o’clock shadow. His ears are pierced, but he’s stopped putting anything heavy in their holes, so for now there’s just a plain pair of black studs. Got more tattoos on his arms: bluebells and a nailed bat on the left bicep, robin’s nest just below on his forearm, a d-20 die at the soft give of his right wrist, and his Warlock to cover up the bats. Scars that he received are now silvery and pale. Body still lithe and lean, more muscle on his arms and legs from lifting around equipment over the years. Fundamentally, he’s changed on the outside. But inside, he’s still the same wild child boy that used to give Wayne a run for his money.

“Now, that’s the face of an award winning musician,” Wayne drawls.

Eddie chuckles. “It’s not the face that got the awards, Wayne. It’s the fingers. Didn’t earn these callouses on my fingertips for nothing,” he says, wiggling his fingers where Wayne can see them clearly.

He hums. “Think it’s that creative brain of yours, too,” Wayne surmises. “You wanna beer or somethin’, considerin’ the circumstances?”

“No,” he answers, “quit drinking about ten years ago. Wasn’t good to me anymore, remember?” Wayne’s face dawns surprise, a grand raise of his eyebrows, the squinting of his eyes, small purse to his lips. “Seriously, Wayne. Have a little faith in me, old man. I quit for good. I’ve got smokes, though, if you want one.”

“Ain’t allowed to. Not if I wanna keep myself healthy enough to shrink that tumor.”

Right, Eddie remembers, he’s gotta get on track to get surgery, you idiot. He nods slowly. Sucks on his bottom lip. “Then I’ll just have a pop, if you got it. Water if you don’t.”

As Wayne leaves towards the kitchenette, moving slow and careful like, Eddie looks around the living room, same as it’s always been. The mugs and hats on the wall. Old magazines and instruction booklets splayed out on the coffee table. He has the landline phone on the wall, above the small dining table. Garfield is still proudly displayed on one of the shelves by the front door. The only differences: TV replaced for one that’s slimmer and sleeker, a few throw blankets that appear brand new are placed over the back of the ugly floral patterned sofa, his clothes are put away in Eddie’s old bedroom, and it’s less cluttered on the kitchen counters. Otherwise, it’s remotely the same. Brown carpet, red curtains, four odd lamps, washing machine tucked by the fridge, old fold out bed from when Wayne slept in the living room. It’s still home.

Except, Eddie doesn’t live here anymore. Doesn’t have his clutter mingling with Wayne’s. Something twinges in his chest when he notices. But he ignores the sensation, sitting down on the sofa instead. Lets Wayne disappear to his reclining chair in the corner and sips on the can of Coke he’s given.

“So…What’s my rockstar nephew been up to?” Wayne asks into the silence.

Eddie shrugs. “I mean…Not much these days. Touring is over for me now. Corroded Coffin has put up our instruments for the last time. Now I just spend a lot of time at my house, writing songs when I feel the need to, watch shows and such, maybe give advice to new artists.”

Wayne scoffs. “You act like that’s nothin’ compared to what a lot of people are doing. You’ve got—what—three Grammys? Bunch’a your songs gone platinum. Just actin’ like your dream ain’t exciting.”

“It is,” Eddie mutters. “But…It’s sort of a lonely thing, you know? Can’t go out in public all that often, unless I want to be swarmed. Or people take pictures of me without permission. Makes me look bumfuck when I don’t know it’s coming,” he explains. Chuckling a little at the absurdity of it. “I’ve got my friends, but we don’t see each other a lot. Lots of ‘em drink or do other things and that’s not my scene anymore. So…I don’t know, it’s not as exciting as it used to be.”

When Wayne’s silent for too long, Eddie glances over. Finds that he’s being looked at, perceived like a bug under a microscope. “Could always come home,” he offers. “Or at least closer than damned Los Angeles.”

“Maybe,” Eddie murmurs. “Do you think—Is it safe for me to come back?”

“Lot of those bastard adults that chased you around are dead, Ed,” Wayne states bluntly. “The kids that used to bully you, they ain’t around. All the people who live in Hawkins, either they’re from that group of folks that you were with in ’86, or they’re new. In fact, the only one that I still see around here is the Harrington’s son and his mama.”

Eddie winces. “Didn’t think he’d still be here,” he grumbles.

“Don’t act like you’ve got the right to be ugly about him living here, Eddie. You’re the one that up and left all of us, mind you,” Wayne states rather agitated. “Besides, that kid…There’s an air about him that tells me he’d suffer somewhere else. Like a haunt to him.”

Instead of answering, Eddie takes a long pull from his can of Coke. Maybe he should’ve taken the beer if they’re going to sit here and talk about the ghosts of his past. If they were going to talk about the one guy that Eddie actually loved despite everything. Who made the perfect bowl of oatmeal, something that even Eddie can’t replicate after two decades. The guy that Eddie’s been pining and yearning over for all too long. The one he ran away from.

He stands abruptly with his empty can. Gestures loosely to the front door. “I’m gonna go have a smoke by my car. I’ll—We can talk about you know what when I get back inside. Can practically feel a headache coming on.” And he goes outside before Wayne can say something logical like: “That cigarette will do you in for a headache, boy. Stop running away from me.”

———————————————————————————————————— In a small town like Hawkins, there aren’t many mailmen to go around. Steve is one of them, on duty more often than not, but he’s just one of a handful. He spends the first couple hours in his early mornings training new post office employees. How to scan a package, where to put said package, making sales on stamps and envelopes, assigning P.O. boxes to those who need them. Those training mornings are some of his favorites. Where he’s respected for his career and not because of his age or his notoriety in town. The people who come to work are easy to get along with, smile at him, make small talk, and appreciate when he pulls out photos from his wallet—gesturing to a new one received from his daughter or an old small print from Robin in 2004. The mornings aren’t anything grandiose. But they do come to an end.

And then he’s on his own in his mail truck, Betty as he calls her. He’s able to use the radio, flip it to whatever FM station he wants, even try his hand at finding out how the aux works, but never takes advantage of that. Listens to the oldies—which are just the songs he listened to in his twenties—and drives through the scenery. Places packages full of staples on the counter at Melvald’s. Fills Claudia Henderson’s mailbox with too many cat themed magazines and personal coupons for the salon up her street. He drives up the off-beaten path to Hopper’s cabin and hands personal letters from El and Jonathan and Will—sometimes he’ll stay for a few minutes just to hear how Joyce is doing if she isn’t home. Makes his way to the Sinclair home and gets to hear about how Lucas is doing in Arizona with Max, or how Erica’s ripped apart another defendant. Visits the Buckley’s and gets to squeal about his Robin’s exciting translator career up in Seattle. He’ll meet new faces, compliment their gardens or simply place mail in their box if they aren’t home. When it’s a family with little kids that always scream that “Mailman Steve is here!” he’ll hand over stickers that he brought out from his own collection, ones that weren’t used up before his own little girl went to college. Pet the fur of dogs that are getting up there in years. Carefully tiptoe around easy to agitate cats, where they’ve fallen asleep on their owner’s porch.

He loves his job. Loves the community that comes with it. Even if the interactions are small. Even if the relationships he comes to create are majorly unimportant or too much of nothing to structure in his life. He still enjoys what he does. And is pleasantly surprised every single time he’s on route.

Today is no exception. He trains like usual in the morning before making all his normal stops. The last one on his route, though, is Wayne Munson’s home. He drives down the full length of Forest Hills Trailer Park, makes a small U-turn when he reaches the end, and parks near Wayne’s. There’s a figure standing outside, leaned against the bumper of a very nice car, smoking, but he doesn’t know who it is. Or if Wayne even knows this complete stranger is there. However, he chooses to ignore the stranger…for now.

Grabs the stack of mail that he needs, but realizes he also needs to grab a hefty package. He clambers into the back, hefts the last package in his truck, and gently grasps the rest of the mail, stacking it on the very top of the box. When he finally places his feet on the dirt and gravel path, he makes a steady effort to keep his head up, line of sight straight on. But then the stranger’s head whips up from where they’ve been looking down at their feet.

Steve is a very graceful person. Has been. Continues to be. Needs to in order to do his job. The sight of this stranger, though, nearly makes him drop the contents in his arms.

He’d recognize those damn soft brown eyes anywhere.

Stopping himself from going further, he stands roughly five feet away from the guy. Blinks. Blinks harder when said guy doesn’t stop staring at him. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Eddie…is that you?”

Eddie—or who he believes to be Eddie, he can never trust his vision these days—raises a tentative hand. Wiggles his fingers in a gentle greeting. “Uh…Yeah, it’s me. Eddie. Eddie Munson. Who are—“ And then he stops talking altogether. Squinting. The cigarette dangling between his fingers drops to the ground. His right hand falls away from where he’d been smoking, drags itself over his face, pushes up into his very noticeably short hair, and he laughs incredulously. “Oh. My. God. Steve Harrington! As I breathe…You’ve—wow—You’re so different from what I remember. But holy shit, it’s you!” He exclaims, voice pitchy and scratchy.

Steve giggles. “Yeah, guess I have changed. Could say the same about you, Eds. Lots of things have happened, you know?” He shrugs, but his sore arms remind him greatly that he’s still working. “Shit, hold on. Let me put these on your uncle’s porch and then…We can talk for a little bit? I’ve gotta head back to the post office and clock out afterwards, but I can spare some time. Give me—Just give me a second.” Carefully, he carries the package closer to himself, but he moves faster up the porch steps. Sets down the stack in his hands on one of the cluttered shelves outside, and knocks. When Wayne answers, Steve smiles bright and big. “Hey, Mr. Munson,” he greets. “Brought some mail for you. There’s a package, it’s a little bit heavy. Could…I could bring it in if you need me to.”

Right back at him, Wayne smiles just as big. “Don’t worry about it today, boy. As long as it doesn’t need to be refrigerated, it can stay out here for a little bit,” he states softly, “Eddie’s back in town, he can get it. Maybe you guys can catch up for a little bit?”

There’s something in his belly that tightens and loosens wildly. A crisp edge to his posture, something in him heavier yet lighter at the same time. He’d run a hand through his hair if it wasn’t blocked by a hat. “Think I will,” he says quietly, “I’ve missed him, despite…Well, you know.” Instead of answering, Wayne nods once, smile softening, and gestures behind Steve.

He climbs back down the steps and stands closer to Eddie, but not quite in his space.

Eddie looks fantastic. Clothes nearly all black: dark blue denim jeans with gentle rips in the knees, black quarter sleeve t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, white Reeboks that are fresher and newer, chains and rings per usual. Lean body, bright eyes, the same beautiful dark brown hair. He’s older, sure. But he’s still got the same air and poise to him that Steve came to know twenty-nine years ago. His arms covered in beautiful tattoos, a splash of color on a few of them. But when he zeroes in on the flowers on Eddie’s arm, the sleeve just above them gets tugged down. Trying to hide the tattoos rather unsuccessfully.

In front of Steve, Eddie visibly shifts from side to side. A nervous habit he’s always done. “So you’re still here,” Eddie gently starts. “Thought that…Well, I honestly thought you’d follow Robin or something.”

Steve’s eyes jump to Eddie’s face. Leans his hip into the bumper of what must be Eddie’s car. “I thought about it very briefly,” he admits. “But there were—“ Well, he was busy mending a broken heart. Then, he stayed behind for the girl he fell in love with. Stayed for his child. For his mother. Stayed because his job was actually good. He enjoyed how he lived. That’s a lot, though. “—There were things that kept me here. Like my job, I really enjoy what I do here. But uh…You’re back in town. How’d that happen?” A part of him wants to be bitter. Ask something insensitive like: “Why’d you come back? Why’d you only come back after us…Why couldn’t you be here during us?” But knows better of it. He’s in his forties now, he should have at least a sliver of etiquette.

Yet, Eddie swallows heavily. With enough force to take down his teeth. “I…That’s not a conversation I’m ready to have,” he answers honestly. “I’m back, but not for the greatest reason. Is it okay with you if we leave it at that right now?”

“‘Course,” Steve immediately responds. “We’ve all got things that we gotta keep close, right? I know that I certainly do,” he says nonchalantly. Chuckling a bit with it. But that makes Eddie frown. His eyebrows furrow. A tilt to his head. Concern, Steve recognizes. “Nothing awful,” he scrambles hastily to add. “Just…Something brought you back here and it must be unpleasant. I’ve got shit, too. That’s all I’m saying.”

Eddie flashes him a gentle smile, one that lightly squints the corners of his eyes. They dart over all of Steve’s appearance. His uniform and facial hair, the hat on his head. He makes a cut-off surprised noise in the back of his throat. “Never thought I’d see the day that you’d be willingly hiding your hair,” he comments. “Do you have to wear the hat all the time? I mean…Like while you’re working. Not when you’re at—You get my point.”

Steve snickers. He bites back the foolish grin that tickles to make itself known. Relaxes completely on Eddie’s bumper, though. “Not in the summer,” he answers. “I don’t mind it, though. It’s not the worst uniform I’ve ever had to wear.” His hand rises up to his hat, carefully lifts it off his head, and runs his other hand through his hair. It’s slightly crispy from the product he put in this morning, but it’s otherwise pretty clean. Maybe not the softest, but it’s nothing like what Eddie surely remembers. “Still like doing my hair. It’s just not something I show off all that often. There’s not a lot of reason to. Not when I’m alo—“ But he stops himself with the shaking of his head. Mouth clamping closed. He could lay out all his cards, be completely honest to Eddie right now. Yet. It’s one thing, though, admitting to your ex that you’re lonely and another to admit the same thing to your mom. He sighs. “—It’s not my crowning feature nowadays. That’s my mustache, I think,” he states, stroking the back of his right index finger over his facial hair.

That gets a small laugh out of Eddie, something breathy, done and gone. Steve will take that as a graceful first step. Then, tentatively, Eddie grasps his cheeks. Fingers digging into the soft flesh. He twists Steve’s head left then right. Gently dragging his eyes over his features. “Think I’d say they’re both crowning features, Stevie,” he murmurs. With how close he is to Steve’s face, his breath mingles between them. Minty, a little sugary, with the end of a cigarette. Something in Steve craves. Fluttering and shifting within him. Tampers it, though. It’s not the time. Probably won’t ever be.

Eddie continues, “But wow…You’ve aged pretty magnificently, dude.” Steve ignores the butterflies that raise their heads in his stomach. Even though he knows they’ve surely risen from some deep hibernation within him. Hasn’t felt anything like it in an insanely long time. But before he can say anything, something surely stupid and too strong, Eddie drops his hand away. “Anyway,” Eddie sighs. “You’re a…mailman now. Said you like it. Maybe you can tell me more?”

Quickly, Steve checks his watch, hoping their time isn’t up. 6:45PM, shit. He looks back up. Stares at the face of a guy he once knew pretty intimately and lets himself spark with curiosity. And with a twist to his stomach, the way it is before it growls. Hunger lurks with Eddie, he notices. He wants to take a nibble. 

“I have to drive back and clock out, but…You could follow me and we can grab some dinner?” He offers. Almost says something stupid like ‘Please.’

“Oh—uh.” Eddie shrugs. Steve wants to sour already, but he can be patient. Especially when Eddie looks over his shoulder to Wayne’s front door. Glances back at Steve very briefly. “I’ll check in with Wayne. Make sure he doesn’t need anything from me. Then, I’ll meet up with you? Where’d you wanna—“

“Benny’s Burgers is under new ownership. Apparently one of his sisters came back to town and bought it. Kept it mostly the same. We could—“

“Yeah!” Eddie agrees eagerly. He must be trying to reign himself in, judging by the way he softens and his cheeks flush in subtle embarrassment. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That sounds great, Steve. I’ll be over there in fifteen-ish minutes?”

Steve nods. Smiling gently. Lets himself spark a little more, prodding the butterflies in his stomach. They raise to his chest and he wants to do something ridiculous like scream. Stand on the edge of the universe and shout about how his day is glowing brighter, something cheesy like that. But he looks away to his truck, back at Eddie’s gorgeous eyes, and nods one more time. “See you then, Eds. I’ll order a vanilla shake for you.” Ignores how Eddie’s face colors with surprise, probably wondering how Steve remembered after all these years. But he wouldn’t know how to explain himself, without baring his complete soul. He puts a hand on Eddie’s right bicep, squeezes softly, and turns back to his truck.

When he pulls away from Forest Hills, he keeps the radio off. The silence like a warm blanket on his shoulders. But his chest is bursting like fireworks, crackling and popping, searing him on all sides, colorful flashes of light working through his fingertips. He hasn’t been this excited since his kid was born. That should say something about him, he’s sure of it. Whatever it means, though, surely isn’t something to analyze. It’s good. Something gooey he’s willing to stick his fingers in.

———————————————————————————————————————— End of Chapter One! Read the Next Chapter Here —>

[allthedoorsareopennow]

ALRIGHT. LET’S INVESTIGATE THE UDAD PHOTOS. MUCH INFORMATION BELOW. SO MUCH

ok top left. brian is the oracle of delphi, of course in greek mythology the most prominent oracle

bottom left. for some reason the goddess artemis’ name seems to have been misspelled as artimes? I have no idea why. artemis is the olympian that features in actea and lyssa.

bottom right. seems to suggest marius’ lecture will take place in the aristotle institute - aristotle is a famous greek philosopher (among other things, grouped loosely as a polymath)

top right. as you likely know, these are military dog tags, usually intended to allow for the identification of corpses. an enomotarch is the commander of an enotomy, a division of 25-36 soldiers, bound together by oath. this seems to be a term originating in Sparta.

middle right. tipple seems to be a term for alcohol, consistent with the bottle top the term appears on. the toy soldier seems to have made its own liquor brand while in the city. (perhaps DB stands for dionysus bacchus, the greek and roman names respectively for the god of alcohol?)

right. a coin is shown, on one side reading ‘to speed the/journey down’. this likely is about the belief that the ferryman (charon) who takes the dead souls across the river acheron and into the underworld must be paid. virgil’s aeneid claims that if the deceased cannot afford to pay the ferryman, they must wander the shores of the styx (another underworld river, in some stories providing the same function as the acheron) for one hundred years before they are allowed to cross into the underworld. thus having this coin to give the ferryman would literally speed the journey down into the underworld in greek mythology. also depicted on this side is the logo of the acheron. on the other side of the coin is featured a headshot of ashes, with the text ‘a penny’ above (the smallest british unit of currency). I cannot discern the text below.

background. the blueprint for the aegis, which in homer’s iliad is a device carried by athena pr zeus, interpreted as either an animal skin or a shield, sometimes featuring the head of a gorgon, that symbolises protection.

the text on the left appears to read as follows:

‘…[ti]tanium…n for the…ens district…[lig]htning rod

‘spikes - they look badass

‘Durable Ti core

‘Moderator’

Ti is the chemical symbol for titanium. also depicted is a uranium fission reaction. a moderator is something else that is needed in a fission reactor core, so this must be a design for a fission reactor. ‘enriched to 90%’ refers to the uranium - uranium-235 is the most fissile isotope, so the more U-235 you have, the more fission you can achieve. for context, reactors often use uranium enriched to 3.5-4.5% - 90% is overkill by a long way for energy generation purposes. my guess is that this reactor core is designed to provide huge amounts of energy to operate sone kind of lightning device, likely intended for zeus (the god of lightning). it is signed by athena and raphaella la cognizi.

BRING FORTH THE NEXT IMAGE!

another acheron coin is shown. I'm not really sure what’s happening in most of this one.

ANOTHER!

more acheron coins and a half-visible toy soldier’s tipple bottle cap. the focus of this picture is a torn and blood-splattered coaster for Calypso’s, the bar from which the suits kidnapped ulysses.

NEXT!

now this is more like it

a zeus coin is depicted, showing five credits - presumably the official currency of the city

there is a gambling chip bearing the name hermes, perhaps referencing his role as a trickster god

the guitar pick is stamped with the name apollo, the greek god of music and song.

there is a fragment of a newspaper cover - we will get more shots of this later.

the emblem of poseidon is shown to be a trident, a weapon poseidon is often depicted as wielding, representing his status as god of the sea.

wow I wonder what name is on that card it’s mostly blocked I wonder if the next will have the name..

BEHOLD!

so that’s presumably an ID card for a security guard, whose name we can now see is Anippe ?aiad. Anippe in greek mythology is the egyptian daughter of the river god nilus, and is thus a naiad, so the name on the card is Anippe Naiad. I can find little information about her, other than that heracles killed her son.

we also get a look at ulysses here, the the text ‘//ALL POINTS FUGITIVE ALERT//‘ above their mugshot.

NEXT!

the text on the ulysses info that seems to be on some kind of old tablet reads

…1) COUNT THEFT:

…[CYCLO]PS - POSEIDON PROPERTY

…OR CAPTURE: DR-25000

…E BOUNTY

…S:

SPONSORED BY POSEIDON INDUSTRIES

CLICK TO LEARN MORE

this seems to be putting a bounty of ‘DR-25000’ (presumably a currency?) on ulysses’ head for the theft of the eye of the cyclops.

more newspaper.. shall we take a closer look?

across four different images, here is the newspaper:

TRANSCRIPT BEGINS

ALL THE NEWS ALL THE TIME

LARGEST HOME CIRCULATION

LARGEST ADVERTISING VOLUME

DELPHI 2374

The City Oracle Telephone Number

THE CITY ORACLE

IN THREE PARTS - 46 1…

PART 1 - GENERAL NEWS…

ORACLE OFFICE

292 West Hector Stree[t]

VOL. LVIII KRONOU MORNING, GAMELION 5, 12390 DAILY, 5 DRACH[MA]

OEDIPUS IN INCEST MARRIAGE SCANDAL

SHOCKING NEW REVELATIONS OVER IDENTITY OF HERO DOCTOR'S WIFE AND MOTHER

MAN WHO CURED THE SPHINX TRIES TO PLEAD IGNORANCE - WILL SEEK TO FIND REFUGE OFF WORLD

(columns on right):

INSIDE

NARCISSUS DENIES PLASTIC SURGERY CLAIMS

HERMES TO UNVEIL NEW HI-SPEED MAGLINES

FORTY DEAD IN SUB-LEVEL 54D EXPLOSIONS: WHO IS “GUNPOWDER TIM?”

TWENTY YEARS FROM ILIUM: WILL THE SCARS EVER HEAL?

Oedipus Rex, the doctor hailed as a hero after successfully curing the disease ravaging the sublevel slums, has been revealed to have been married to his own mother for the last eight years, in what is being hailed as the social scandal of the decade.

Mr. Rex previously claimed to have grown up in one of the City's most troubled orphanages. However, a source within the Acheron has claimed that Teiresias, one of the network's most trusted interfaces, revealed his true origins yesterday.

“I didn’t know,” Oedipus told The Oracle, “I’d always believed my parents to be dead. I had no way of knowing they were even alive, let alone…”

Oedipus’ wife and mother, Jocasta Rex, has been unavailable for comment. She was last seen boarding a transport line to Outer Thebes, an area known for the number of suicides it attracts.

It is known she had been married once before to Laius, Mayor of one of the Thebian districts at the centre of the Sphinx epidemic. It was repoterd that he disappeared shortly before the announcement of the cure, under circumstances described by City PD as ‘suspicious’.

CONTINUED PG.5

HERACLES ACQUITTED ON MISTRIAL TECHNICALITY

The City High Court finally came to a ruling today in the case of Heracles, the notorious figure at the centre of the murder trial which has gripped the City for the last four weeks.

Heracles, who worked for the House of Zeus as head security for fifty years before resigning under unknown circumstances last Theozenios, was found not guilty of the brutal slaying and dismemberment of his wife and two children.

According to sources familiar with the case, he was found lying unconscious in his home, surrounded by the bodies of his family, holding in his hand what was at first thought to be the murder weapon. However, forensic evidence regarding the blade was judged to have been inadmissible, and his insistence he was defending his family from an attacker swayed the jury.

Heracles has been unable to identify the assailant against which he was struggling. This is not the first time Heracles has been involved in accusations of violence. Rumours persist that he may have been the infamous “Thunderbolt of Zeus” while working with the company, despite no connection ever being proven between the Olympian patriarch and the unknown hitman.

CONTINUED PG.9

TRANSCRIPT ENDS

Delphi and the oracle are referenced several times.

A drachma is a greek unit of currency, hence why I have guessed that as the unit of price for the newspaper.

Teiresias, the one referenced as revealing Oedipus’ parentage, is a blind prophet of Apollo from Thebes, known for clairvoyance and being transformed into a woman for several years. he is referenced as being one of the first brains volunteered into the acheron in the fiction, and holds and manages all the knowledge of the acheron.

Theoxenia seems to be a descriptor for greek mythology stories in which characters show benevolence and hospitality to strangers who turn out to be disguised deities capable of reward. These stories encourage people to treat anyone they meet as potential disguised divinity.

ONWARD!

another oracle of delphi ad, the corner of the newspaper, and part of hades’ file on oedipus..

TRANSCRIPT BEGINS (pencil markings in orange)

Name: Oedipus Rex not given surname

Occupation: Doctor (Retired) Disgraced

Age: 52 No records- abandoned at birth. Estimate Height: 5’10” Weight: 132l[b]

Hair: Chestnut Eyes: N/A self-blind[ed]

District: Thebes

Abandoned by wealthy but paranoid parents at birth. Olympians secret[ly] pulled strings, used him as poster [child] for failing orphanage scheme. Notab[le] for successfully researching the cause/[…] for the Sphinx - exceptional intel[ligence] shown. Worthy candidate for "Trial [by] Wits". Currently seeking to leave T[he] City after publicised patricide and maternal relations; will likely pla[…] ball given ample funding. EXPLOIT

END TRANSCRIPT

the tab at the side reads WITS. as well as oedipus’ fingerprints, there is a dirty handprint in the top right of the document. the newspaper appears to be stained with rings of tea or coffee.

at first I thought the photo of oedipus featured in hades’ document was this one, but it doesn’t quite match. it’s a good photo anyway.

NEXT

gunpowder tim’s dog tags from earlier are visible at the base of the photo again. A different part of Oedipus’ file is shown, showing a handprint and the start of a date on the photo of Oedipus, beginning 08/12. a map is shown too, with crosses through two locations and a circle around another. from what I can see the streets seem to mostly have fairly generic names.

sadly I have now reached image limit. when I have made the next post, I will link it here.

update I realised some of the stuff guessing cut off words and such that I did is pointless because the full documents for a bunch of them are in the goddamn cd book thing. and I kind of can’t be bothered to finish cause it feels like half the stuff I did was pointless. if you would be interested say so and maybe I will do more. but otherwise. nah

[bluelizze]

about you (animatic)

Oop another animatic but this time I actually put some effort to it.

When re-reading pt 4, I remember this specific verse from about you (the 1975) and damn it I had to make this. It was also an excuse to doodle some of my fav parts in the series

My top 3 favs moments based on this doodle are

the top left corner, from this drabble

top right corner, (in pt. 1) when tomura gave the reader sunshine x grumpy

and bottom left (following from last point) when tomura gave us a kiss on the temple

Some other references

At the bottom, tomura’s flashback of their first kiss (in pt. 3, where he was talking to spinner about it) or could reference this drabble

The bottom left corner is referencing to pt. 4 when reader went back home by train

the top is mostly from the fact that tomura has been responding to her texts and is getting worried

The one in the middle could be somewhere between pt. 3 and 4

ANYWAYS hope you enjoy ^^

[holmesoldfellow]

Origami Deerstalker: How-To

Happy 170th Birthday to Sherlock Holmes! In honor, I thought I'd try and make a tutorial for a rudimentary origami deerstalker hat

This hat is a modified version of the Old Scholar hat found in the book "The Art of Chinese Paper Folding for Young and Old" by Maying Soong. It is available on the Internet Archive, and if my instructions are unclear at any point, I recommend referencing the original instructions on page 50, and maybe even doing a test run with those instructions first to better understand what I'm doing here. However, also feel completely free to comment or message me about any questions you have.

You will need a square piece of paper. I used a post-it note for my photos, which as you can see fit my Smiski quite well, but the original instructions recommend a 20 inch piece of paper to fit a small head. Consider the flexibility of your materials and how loose you want it.

Step 1

Fold and crease your paper in half both diagonally and lengthwise. Then, fold along your lengthwise creases, pushing in along two opposite diagonal folds. This should flatten into a smaller square.

Step 2

Fold only the upper layer of paper upwards, not quite meeting the corners and leaving a small border of space.

Step 3

Fold the upper layer along the middle of the shape, creating a lip. Fold this lip under and inside the shape to hide it.

Step 4

Fold the uppermost layer of paper downwards. Fold the lower corner of the layer up, about a third of its length. Fold the layer back upwards.

Step 5

Flip over your paper and repeat steps 2, 3, and 4 on the other side. This will create the side flaps of the hat.

Step 6

Fold the top layer in half lengthwise, bringing the right and left corners together, and repeat on the other side as well. The two sides we have not folded yet should now be visible.

Step 7

Fold the uppermost layers of paper on either side up and in half.

Step 8

Crease the top corner of the upper layer down to meet the bottom (at the fold made in Step 7). Unfold, and fold again to bring the top corner to the crease we just made. Fold again at our initial crease.

Step 9

Fold the upper layer of paper to create a fold between the corner and the middle. Make a small fold to bring down the top corner of the upper layer of paper, about meeting the visible lip from Step 8.

Step 10

Fold the upper layer down. Bring the corners on either side to meet in the middle and crease them in half.

Step 11

Unfold and bring the corners to meet the crease we just made. Then, fold along the crease again. Fold the bottom of our top layer back up along our horizontal fold.

Step 12

Flip your paper over. Repeat steps 8, 9, 10, and 11 on the other side. You have now made your brims.

Step 13

Open your hat up from the bottom. Congratulations! You have made an origami deerstalker!

Again, if any instructions were unclear, checking the original instructions may help, but also feel free to reach out to me. If you make one, I'd love to see it! Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes!

[dalimarisdaddy1967]

Teaser Images!!!

I'm assuming this is a bedroom of some kind but look at the size of it and all the books! And what happened to Mrs. Bishop?!

Quite the elaborate stairwell. And is that statue holding ravens?! Nah those look too big... maybe eagles... but what if?!

Well this looks ominous! Numbered doors, pipes, wires... I don't like the eerie deja vu I'm getting from this!

Well this is definitely suspicious and there's a bit to pick apart here! Firstly... the automaton! No no no no! Automatons usually only mean one thing! Dalimars! This is getting scary and exciting! Next, the glowing pipes! But that's red energy not green! What in the heck is going on?! Oh My God! And lastly, the assistant design lab to the right. What's in there?! Is that where the automatons are made or is it something else entirely?! Ahhhh!

This puzzle! Oooo! Let's pick it apart a bit! Firstly, the screen. It's only partially solved but the portions we can see... The top segment... is that Ravenhearst?! Oh holy crap! The second segment is a skull it looks like. The bottom two segments are that of a raven! Ahhh! To the right of that... is it just me or does that kinda look like Alister's Enigma from Key to Ravenhearst and Ravenhearst Unlocked almost? The design is a bit different but it could be referencing it!

A nice silhouette hidden object scene. The red eyes on the doll and the skull are creepy! And that raven skull! Ahhh!

Another hidden object!

And lastly another hidden object but... there are a few interesting tidbits here! To the left the ghosts and cemetery could be referencing the ghosts and the cemetery at Ravenhearst! There's also a raven! Below that we've got a Carnival! Fate's Carnival perhaps?! There's also a mirror down there which could be nothing but could also be referring to A Crime In Reflection but why would that be the case right? Towards the middle, behind the weird skull, that's Ravenhearst! It has to be! To the right we have an anchor and a life preserver which could be referencing all those sailors that the twins made crash in Key To Ravenhearst or something else entirely who knows? And then there is the robot head which that's clearly Robert because we obviously know that Angelica fixed him. Will we see him again?! I hope so! He was so cute!

That's the last of the teaser images but there is still concept art coming!

@detectiveruth @masterdetectivemcf @macatt4c @fallenidol-453 @redrum-eht @hakurakurohime @proustianlesbian @thebiggestpartypooper @rebellovesthings @artsydon @hiddenobject-fanblog @pookiethebloodsucker @apeirotilio @ink-and-pixels @arty-girl-asks

[dunno-u-decide]

Fresh PreCure x The Giver Crossover: The Team (Part 1)

The name of the new team is Vary Fresh PreCure. "Vary" means to differ, referencing how this team is different from the original Fresh PreCure, and it's also a pun on "very fresh. They share most of their style with the Fresh PreCures.

Their clover's colors differ from the Fresh PreCures'. The top leaf is purple, the left leaf is orange, the right leaf is green, and the bottom leaf is rainbow (the stripes from top to bottom are pink, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and white). The star in the middle is light yellow.

The following is a list of their aliases, identities, theme colors, corresponding Pickruns, transformation introductions, starting finishers, and PreCure origins.

Cure Currant (Jonas) Color: Purple Pickrun: Murun, the Purple Key of Wisdom Introduction: "The purple heart is the symbol of wisdom! Freshly cultivated, Cure Currant!" Japanese (I tried): "パープルのハートは知恵のしるし！栽培たてフレッシュ、キュアカラント！" Romanization: "Pāpuru no hāto wa chie no shirushi! Saibaitate furesshu, Kyua Karanto!" Attack: Piercing Insight ("ピアシングインサイト," read as "Piashingu Insaito") After performing the incantation, Currant forms a triangle with his hands, releasing a purple stream of light at the enemy. Origin: Became a Precure after the Ceremony of Twelve, when the strange person and monster appeared. In the chaos to get away, Jonas carried a male Four who had passed out from shock and hid somewhere. He then saw the monster target his family, and his desire to save them gained Murun's attention.

Cure Apricot (Asher) Color: Orange Pickrun: Orun, the Orange Key of Friendship Introduction: "The orange heart is the symbol of friendship! Freshly grown, Cure Apricot!" Japanese (I tried): "オレンジのハートは友情のしるし！育たてフレッシュ、キュアアプリコット！" Romanization: "Orenji no hāto wa yūjō no shirushi! Sodatate furesshu, Kyua Apurikotto!" Attack: Unity Embrace ("ユニティエンブレース," read as "Yuniti Enburēsu") After perfoming the incantation, Apricot forms a circle with his hands, releasing an orange stream of light at the enemy. Origin: The day after Jonas became a PreCure, another attack happened when school ended. Jonas was hiding with Asher and, with no other choice, transformed in front of him to go fight. Asher's desire to help Jonas gained Orun's attention.

Cure Kiwi (Fiona) Color: Green Pickrun: Gurun, the Green Key of Kindness Introduction: "The green heart is the symbol of kindness! Freshly flourishing, Cure Kiwi!" Japanese (I tried): "グリーンのハートは親切のしるし！繁たてフレッシュ、キュアキウイ！" Romanization: "Gurīn no hāto wa shinsetsu no shirushi! Shigetate furesshu, Kyua Kiui!" Attack: Kindness Dazzle ("カインドネスダズル," read as "Kaindonesu Dazuru") After perfoming the incantation, Kiwi forms a rectangle with her hands, releasing a green stream of light at the enemy. Origin: The day after Asher became a PreCure, a monster appeared on the way to the House of the Old. Jonas transformed in front of Fiona, and soon Asher, as Apricot, came to help him. The two were struggling, and Fiona's desire to help gained Gurun's attention.

Cure Grape (female Twelve of unknown identity) Color: Rainbow (main), white (sub) Pickrun: Nijirun, the Rainbow Key of Dreams Introduction: "The rainbow heart is the proof of dreams! Freshly planted, Cure Grape!" Japanese (I tried): "虹のハートは夢の証！植たてフレッシュ、キュアグレープ！" Romanization: "Niji no hāto wa yume no akashi! Uetate furesshu, Kyua Gurēpu!" Origin: Some time after the monster attacks began, Cure Grape appeared to help the team. She doesn't talk much, and only comes to the team's aid when they're in big trouble.

When all of the Cures were chosen by their respective Pickruns, they all immediately gained the Capacity to See Beyond and were able to recognize colors. It was very shocking for them at first. The Pickruns communicate with them via telepathy when they're inside their Linkruns, which is how they know to keep the PreCure a secret.

See also:

Original Post

The Team (Part 2)

[ilex-manor]

I've cleaned up the faces on the Voerman sisters

No download link, I'm asking Wesp5 to put these in the Unofficial Patch. (Also, this post includes out-of-context spoilers for the sisters. Yes, really. I know the game is going on 20 years old, but I regularly see posts (mostly on reddit) of people playing the game for the first time).

Making this post to document the changes I made, for anyone interested in that.

The Voerman sisters have the same face as VV, but their textures don't properly line up with the UV map. So, referencing Therese's UV map, and VV's face texture a little, I moved around parts of Therese's face on her face texture. Moved her lips, the bottom of her nose and her left eye. Also tweaked the top of her upper lip and the bottom of her lower lip to straighten them out horizontally. Had to clean up her skin around the parts I moved, and then the biggest change was reshaping her nostrils to better match the UV map. I did this with mostly the Warp Transform tool in GIMP. (I gather the matching tool in Photoshop is called Liquify).

As for her UV map, I edited it at the top of her upper lip, the bottom of her lower lip, and around her nostrils to better match both the texture and the topology on the model. I also edited it around the eye socket to fit it to the texture, and then I had to clean up the UV around the socket to even everything out.

Don't mind the eyes, Blender is stretching her iris texture across her entire eyeball. It looks fine in-game.

For Jeanette's face texture, I referenced Therese's updated face texture to match everything. I had to move Jeanette's lips, the bottom of her nose, her eyebrows and her left eye. I could copy over Therese's updated nose using the healing tool. (The healing tool is witchcraft). For the UV map I could re-create the editing I did on Therese. It took ages because I have to do it one UV vert at a time, but the UV maps remain an exact match. While I was here, I moved her right pigtail. It was too far forward, disjointing it from it's jigglebones as well as her hair texture.

For Tourette's face texture, I copied over Therese's updated nose with the healing tool. Then I pasted the left half of Jeanette's face onto a copy of Therese's face, copied the smeared lipstick over from Tourette, and fixed the middle of her face by copying the texturing from the Tourette texture, via the healing tool. I had to flip her face, because Tourette's face is flipped horizontally on her UV map. No idea why. The UV map editing is, again, copied from Therese.