impybutt

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Pronounced "EE-fuh", a wife-shaped Fawnling blacksmith for Labelphegor on FA.

Can't hand me a Lumberjack archetype assignment and not expect a draft horse in return.

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I misunderstood the rubric

"No." The King gawked. "No? Why? I am offering you the Hand of my daughter to slay the Dragon that roams the Lands! A man would kill for such an opportunity!" "Because I will not hurt an innocent animal that just follows his migratory pattern. And I am already married."

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"do you want women competing against trans athletes" yes? I also want women competing against male athletes. and competing alongside them. because segregating sports by gender is extremely shitty actually?

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Disciplining his colour theory is the only way we'll ever get any comic work done, put a brush pen in Rene's hand and he starts out-running his own front half like an excited dog on the beach.

In the meantime, some progress on a commission.

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They love freedom of speech so much... until they don't.

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its all 'be gay do crime' until a black person starts making allusions to drugs or sex or god forbid VIOLENCE and then it turns out nobody can handle anything more hardcore than downloading illegal torrents of hamilton

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How'zis: It's a procedural detective noir with a superpowered rogues gallery, but the Batman archetype protagonist is a Mr. Hyde style magical girl with nuclear-level bottled rage.

I love it, send me in.

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René is a free range freak, thank you very much

I mean that's basically the plot of Shore Leave, right?

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EXT. Misty crossroads.

The air is thick with uniform fog; visibility limited to the tens of metres. A silhouette stands at the intersection, holding a staff. Atop the staff is a pale yellow lamp, casting pallid light in a weak but wide radius. Barely enough to see by, for a surprising distance. Enough to illuminate the wall of fog. Underneath the light is a wrought iron compass rose, with arrows on the four cardinal of its eight total spokes.

The silhouette is shorter than an average man, with a dog-shaped head obscured by light eating shadows. A single luminous eye fixes on your approach.

REX: Which direction?

YOU: Which way should I go?

REX: Can't tell you. I mean-- I could, but I refuse. I have no idea what these directions mean to you.

YOU: What directions, though?

He pauses to digest the question. His flat shape in your field of vision morphs about, and you realise he's glancing between the four roads departing your location, as well as the compass rose at the top of his staff.

REX: North, South, East, West.

A beat passes. It's clear you've died, there doesn't seem to be any further use in feeling embarrassed.

YOU: What if I don't know, either? What the directions mean to me?

Another short silence precedes his answer, like he thought about it first.

REX: I can give you a mnemonic. Words to consider instead of points on a compass.

Your half-hearted "okay" settles limp and deflated in a gap between spaces much larger than your voice.

REX: Never Eat Soggy Weetbix.

YOU: What?

REX: Never. North. Eat. East. Soggy. South. Weetbix. West.

YOU: How does that help me?

REX: The only thing anyone ever manages to smuggle into limbo is questions. I could take your tongue and kick you a ways, would that do?

YOU: Fine, okay-- I don't like "Never", it seems so... final. Um...

The guide waits placidly while you talk through the words on offer, considering their weight in silver and gold. Who eats? Who is eaten? Before long, the futility of the exercise needles at you - the words themselves are clearly arbitrary.

YOU: Do you know any-- or, can you tell me anything about how it works after I've picked a direction?

REX: You stay on the road, or else. That's my best advice based on what I know. To be candid, do not pick an in-between direction, that takes you directly to the underworlds of a melting pot of dead cultures.

YOU: This turned into a whole conversation, I expected more mystery coming here.

REX: Good luck remembering any of this if the road actually leads you somewhere, I mean that sincerely. I have to wait for my shift to end before I even wake up in one piece.

Chill grips you in a spine no longer there, as a seething implication creeps in on those words.

YOU: How did I end up here? This seems like the worst ending.

REX: Were you baptised?

YOU: I... don't know?

His two-dimensional chest swells with imaginary breath, like a shadow remembering how to clear its own mind.

REX: (exhales), Head east, count to five, think of the Himalayas. If you hear a guitar, follow the drums instead of the lights. Stay as close to sea level as you can, frozen ghosts are desperate and stupid; stay out of the water, drowned ghosts will tear you to pieces.

After you're done hesitating and make a start down the east road, He speaks up again.

REX: Last thing. Don't trust every dog you see. We're smart enough to lie, and loyal enough to be used.

YOU MAKE A MISTAKE, and hold his gaze long enough to absorb some light. It's just too red to be blue.

YOU: Why am I thinking of the Himalayas?

REX: So that Nirvana takes you to a mountain range, instead of a suicide.

PIN DROP: Smells Like Teen Spirit starts to play faintly. At the drum line, the volume picks up with a sudden crash. Roll credits.

Garden of Bones

Created by Bones Jasmine

HEED THE RATTLE IN THE REEDS

HER MASK IT SING FOR THEE

LADY OF THE OMEN'S CALL

AND WITHER IN THE TREES

POPLARS GROW IN NAKED FIELDS

ABUNDANT MAY THEY SEEM

STRANGE FRUIT CRY WITH SILENT TONGUES

OF GOLGOTHA'S NEW SEED

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I miss muh baby boy 😭

GOOD NIGHT

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Alvays the same niece, DANIELA GET THE CRINKLE OUT OF YOUR MOUTH. PAIKA CHILD. I SMITE THEE

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oopsie we might have accidentally-- BONESY THAT'S INSIDE THE PHONE AGAIN, try graphene! It's just a camera!

Anyway, check out Casual Geographic (AKA HoodNature) on YouTube to see why Cape Buffalo are called Black Death!

NUUOOOHHH UNGULATES ARE MEAN TAKE ME BACK TO THE SWEET TIMES PLEASE I JUST NEED A BAND DAME

Thirsty Merc is Australian :3

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Hallo! I am insectiform today! May this one interest thee in some Kuh? Apparently Brahmin Beef is not Kosher for Hindu practitioners!

Sincerely, "Sezak and his Mandibles" €8

yknow what would be a fucked up phone feature

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Sezak had never seen a leather jacket before. What cause would someone ever have to wear another's skin? It struck him as alarming, to say the least.

Exposure risk wasn't something he or many others ever considered: His people were designed for efficiency, just like the rest of the spacefaring races. Or, that's what he assumed. It's common knowledge, isn't it?

Genome mapping is just the norm, and entire civilisations have been curated from raw materials, Sezak's included. It's far more energy and resource efficient than terraforming, in any case. That's what it takes to reach the stars: curated efficiency.

No one ever did it just by trial-and-error, did they?

But here was Suri, a Human, wearing the skin of... what did she call it? Some other kind of mammal, he forgot the name. Something absurdly simple. Anyway, apparently this is just normal for Humans!

"But why?" Sezak asked, incredulous. "What's the point?"

"Well, these days thanks to climate control and artificial atmosphere, it's mostly a style thing. But you know, early humans back on earth, why would you just leave a perfectly good skin to rot when you could wear it for protection?"

"Protection from what!? Under what circumstance are you finding an unused skin?? Wait-- is this another religious thing? I've heard that Humans have a lot of those, and they don't always make sense from the outside."

Suri looked confused (or constipated? Human faces are deceptively complex, it takes a long time to learn how to read them), and seemed to be studying Sezak for a moment. Her eyes darted over his synthetic clothing briefly, with its cultural flairs and decorative adornments, all carrying the signature texture of replicated matter.

Then, with sudden clarity, "Oh! Humans weren't curated, mostly we're organic."

Well, that's just absurd.

Sezak muffled his involuntary 'kek-kek' with a quick apology, covering his mandibles.

"Pardon me, that means your entire lineage came from raw evolution. That takes billions of years, I find it very unlikely."

"Yeah," Suri was nonplussed. "The leather is a throwback to when our ancestors had to survive in the wild. We hunted our meat, then used what was left for tools and clothing. It's actually a pretty proud part of our history; Earth was habitable, but definitely not easy."

Now it was Sezak's turn to look constipated, which never happened because his people weren't curated with such a terrible design flaw.

"So humans just bumbled their way into space on their own, like a larva figuring out how to fly? All... clumsy and inelegant, and... Messy? Without any outside help? Without any climate-matching!? Is that why you have those absurd suits!?"

"Yeah, it's also why our bodies just malfunction in weird ways for no obvious reason," Suri looked a little too amused at Sezak's undisguised horror - not that Humans are essentially raw nebula mobilised by a star's age of convenient mutations, but that they exist in such a state of volatility with no apparent qualms about it.

"Oh great wells," Sezak breathed, reeling from his new perspective. "So many of you wear leather. Hold on, is that why Vikram is always visiting the health centre?"

Suri's eyes crinkled, and she bared her teeth -- in a laugh, okay. Sezak recognised the 'kek-kek' noise humans make in thrill, though theirs is a more glottal 'hach-hach'.

"Yes, Vikram has auto-immune issues. Which means that sometimes, his immune system will attack his own body depending on the irritant. Or weather. Or his cortisol levels."

Sezak stared at Suri for a long time, trying to figure out if she was pranking him.

"I think I have a lot of reading to do," he muttered, incredulous.

"Start with the human eye, it's an absolute mess. Do you know how little it takes to detach a human retina?"

"WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS"

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I love that Zira is a Maheshwaran archetype 💙💙💋❤️‍🔥

They've got a racket and they're not afraid to use it