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[pellaaearien]

theyre in a polycule

[pellaaearien]

A Tiger and His Boy

[pellaaearien]

[pellaaearien]

oh thats hot as hell. if only sex was real

[pellaaearien]

my advice for making art again after years of not making art when making art is intrinsic to who you are and also you feel like you Can't Do It Anymore

you have to find the door in your brain where the little guy lives who likes to make stuff and is insane. and then you have to open the door and let him out

at that point I typically listen to some music for five or six hours while the little man in my brain does insane things and then I come back and clean up and take care of human things. and he goes back into. the door

[pellaaearien]

The 15th Doctor and his companion Ruby Sunday. My countdown starts today. In 15 days the new series of Doctor Who will begin. I got this idea last week and have been drawing furiously since. I call this my Golden Books style, it’s heavily inspired by the art of said books. The last time I did a countdown had to been ten years ago for the 50th anniversary.

[pellaaearien]

@lotr20 | Day 7 ↳ 20th anniversary of The Return of the King

For Frodo the Halfling, it is said, at the bidding of Mithrandir took on himself the burden, and alone with his servant he passed through peril and darkness and came at last in Sauron's despite even to Mount Doom; and there into the Fire where it was wrought he cast the Great Ring of Power, and so at last it was unmade and its evil consumed.

[pellaaearien]

[pellaaearien]

a lil early modern theatre fic snippy

“You are persistent.” 

“You are not the first to say it,” Hob returns. 

The player barks a laugh. “And why, sir, are you so persistent in your attempts to engage me in conversation?” 

How does a sailor explain to the North Star why he searches for its glow in the night above the sea? “I wish to know you, player. To hear your thoughts. To speak to the man behind the parts.”

“You truly. Are interested in me. Not the characters I personate?” It cleaves the chambers of Hob’s heart in twain to hear his player’s cautious surprise. 

“I like them well enough. But it is not to them I wish to speak.” The player regards him, but Hob knows the look in his eye, the hope of the clothiers in the Burse as they see a rich lady pass. “I wish to know how you feel about them. How it is to put on Henry VI one noon, and Mephistopheles another. Whether your heart beats harder when you cross the boards, or if it comes so naturally as it seemeth. If you have a favoured part, or line, or costume, if you despise Chapman, or Peele, or if you would choose to be a tragedian over a comedian.” 

His player watches him like he holds the treasures of India in his hands. “And you do not wish. Some boon of me?” 

“All I desire is your friendship, player.” 

His player tilts his head. “My friendship.”

“Tis so.”

His player regards him once more. 

Then he holds out one hand, pale and long-fingered. “Though I cannot fathom your… interest, I shall believe it.” 

Hob takes his hand, belly flipping at the brush of skin. His player’s hand is not the soft, silken thing he had imagined. Instead, it is strong, smooth palmed, but with calluses that bespeak long years wielding a sword. 

“Your name?” 

“Hob Gadling,” he says. 

The player’s lips quirk. “Hob?” 

“Robert, but that was my father.” 

“Hob Gadling,” his player says, as if savouring the name’s weight upon his tongue. “It is. A pleasure.” He releases Hob’s hand, leaning back against the wooden wall. 

“I fear the pleasure is all mine,” Hob replies. “And your name, player?” 

“Names have power, Hob Gadling,” he replies, a shade of mischief in the ice blue eyes. “Perhaps, if we meet again — if you should indeed wish more of me than just the character — I shall tell you.” 

“As you like,” Hob says, for it is half a promise of another chance to talk to his player. “May I buy you a glass of something, if only to make up for my poor company?” 

Mirth shines behind his player’s fine features for a bright, flashing moment. “Wine, if you please, but not that thrice-damned canary the hostess insists on serving.” 

Hob cannot help but laugh. This man remains a joy to him, in all his prickle-skinned adamant armour. “As you wish.” 

notes:

The Burse, or the Royal Exchange, was London's first shopping mall, built in 1571. Ned Alleyn was the lead actor of the Admiral's Men, and also a theatrical impresario. Canary is Spanish wine.

[pellaaearien]

I want to put them all in an enclosure and see what happens.

[pellaaearien]

the longer I think about the Hades 2 theory of zagreus gathering titan blood being the thing that directly leads to the plot of Kronos rising, the more I think it might actually be the correct theory

I know hamartia and it's common distillation as just a "fatal flaw" is kind of a contested topic in the scholar world re: Greek tragedy, but if you look at zag's whole driving force and the outcome of Hades 1 being "reuniting family," that's one hell of a way to interpret the Kronos situation. babygirl is out there causing reunions, whether that reunion is bringing his mom back or potentially accidentally resurrecting his titan grandad

like... that's a Greek tragedy fatal flaw if I've ever seen one

[pellaaearien]

if dracula was on queer eye

karamo: I think this attachment you have to your ancestral home is beautiful, it’s a really special kind of connection to have and it must be really intense to be leaving so soon.

dracula: yes sometimes I feel as though I would literally die without this land

karamo: but you won’t and that’s the beautiful thing about the human spirit. we can always move on and accept the new alongside the old.

dracula:

bobby, zooming from carfax: so my team here has been working hard to make this old Victorian mansion with a dilapidated church next to a wildly unethical psychiatric facility feel like a home. we have some beautiful stonework in the almost medieval portion of the property that I’ve chosen to highlight with an open patio space perfect to soak up that sun and entertain.

dracula: e. excellent.

jvn: so drac, i’m loving your long hair mustache moment, obvi, but I have to wonder are you maybe hiding behind it? a teensey bit? like when you look in the mirror are we seeing dracula or are we seeing full bush

dracula, crying: I do not know

tan: so i love the natural textiles, you clearly love a bit of camp with all the capes and blouses, but I feel like it kind of verges into costume territory at some points. you’re kind of dressing to your title but I want to see if we can’t pull back a bit and find something that doesn’t so much scream count as it does whisper it, does that sound like something you’re interested in? just a low key vibe that says “I can throw this on, leave the house, go to a nice bistro somewhere, and everyone knows dracula’s wearing the clothes the clothes aren’t wearing dracula.”

dracula in a cloak, two silk waist coats, and a ruff: I don’t know, tan.

tan: well, can we just try a black skinny jean? just to see how it looks?

antoni: so Dracula I notice that you don’t really have a lot in your kitchen. just. a lot of black sausage, so I wanted to ask are you iron deficient?

dracula: uh. n… yes.

antoni: okay so i want to to introduce you to this do you know that this is

dracula: a rock?

antoni: it’s an avacado

[pellaaearien]

"The Sandman" fanart

Screen wallpaper... and yes, the poppies again. Don't think I get over it soon ^___^

[pellaaearien]

A very curious Pyroraptor spots something interesting (a cycad seed) on the forest floor, and is just...tickled pink by it for some reason.

[pellaaearien]

in guarani there's a standard greeting that literally translates to "are you happy" (ndevy'apa) and the natural reply is "i'm happy" (avy'a) and as americans learning the language we were so distressed like "but what if we're not happy....." and our teachers were like "that's so not the fucking point"

we kept trying to think of any other way to reply but our teachers kept trying to get it into our brains that it's an idiomatic greeting, it literally is not the time or place to traumadump, and as usamerican english speakers we are not some special exception for saying "what's up" with the reply being "not much" instead of "the ceiling"

but anyway while i was working in paraguay -- the country with the largest population of guarani speakers -- i got sent an article by some friends back home like "look! they're saying that paraguay is the happiest country in the world!"

and the methodology was "we went around and asked paraguayans if they're happy and recorded their responses" and i was like. oh. of course you did. and of course you got a 100% positive response rate.

[pellaaearien]

the whole point of a zine is that it's cheap to produce, amateur and homemade. if you're being asked to apply to participate in a print project, it is not a zine. if the final product is being printed and bound professionally, it is not a zine. if you are being asked to enter into any kind of licensing agreement more complex than "my work can be reproduced as part of this publication" it is not a zine. nine times put of ten if the final product costs more than $5 you have left zine country. im so serious about this.

[pellaaearien]

popping my head in to ask about Mer Hob 👀 from the WIP title ask game

Finally popping my head back up to answer, my apologies for the wait! Mer-Hob came out of server conversations about mer-Dreamling fish assignments and aquatic mating displays, but he kind of fizzled out with the scene I tried to write. Dusting him off for this, though, I think I can breathe the spark back into it. Take it past where I meant to before, so it will have a more satisfactory conclusion. I have scrapped the lackluster 'how did they meet' that was stalling me out and given them new backstory and now I'm unsure how exactly I want to structure this. Start where I've started and then jump back to the meeting, then bring them back to the present? Make the backstory a separate fic? Rearrange the whole thing chronologically, which would require a lot of rework and shortening of the current opening bit? IDK but I'll figure it out. In the meantime, here is a chunky chunk of drafting for their meet-cute (sfw but cut for length):

Dream is not surprised to find a waterline-level cave out on the rock formation in the bay, on the side not visible from shore. Nor is he overly surprised to find someone stretched out in the handsbreadth of water covering the floor with their eyes closed, as the morning light fills the first several feet of the cave brightly in a way that is conducive to sunbathing.

The fact that the sunbather has a bright orange tail with brilliant yellow fins and blue-black leopard-like spots is rather less expected, however, and Dream gasps his surprise.

The sound startles the man—the merman—surely not?—who sits bolt upright, eyes wide and panicking as he locks gazes with Dream not an arm's length away.

Dream's heart skips a beat. He's beautiful—

"Oh, fuck!" The merman—there is no other explanation, no mistaking the flurry of fins and scales as he moves—the merman twists and flops and dives past Dream, a less-than-graceful plunge off the rock and into the sea and then he is gone.

"Wait!" Dream cries, to the bright flick of yellow vanishing into the depths, but of course it is no use.

He could swim back to the boat, could don his diving gear and follow—but no. The merman is already gone, and will be more so by the time Dream could be equipped to give chase.

He swallows back his disappointment, his disbelief, and tells himself resolutely that he surely imagined the entire thing.

But he did not imagine it, he knows this; the knowledge lodges in his mind, burrows down into his consciousness and curls around his common sense, stokes his curiosity.

He saw a merman.

Merpeople do not exist.

But he saw one.

He returns the next day, hoping perhaps to repeat the discovery, but he is the only visitor to the cave in the hours that he spends there. When the tide has gone out and come back in, high enough once more to cover the floor of the cave, when he has spent all day waiting with nothing to show for it, he admits defeat and swims back to his boat.

He returns again, and again, later each day with the drift of the tide, diving to explore beneath the surface when the cave remains empty. He finds nothing of note, nothing to hint at the existence of merfolk, nothing at all out of the ordinary; by day six, he is trying to convince himself to make peace with the likelihood that he will never find any trace of the merman he knows he had seen.

On day seven, the merman is back, sunbathing at the front of the cave again.

Only this time, he has human legs, is wearing swim trunks, is sitting further away from where Dream is treading water, stunned.

"…Hello," Dream manages.

"Hi," the man says, warmly polite. He is cross-legged with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them, one hand holding the other wrist; he is meant to look casual and relaxed, Dream is certain, but the tension and the nervousness coming off of him are palpable.

He is still beautiful.

"You're. I saw you here, before?" His thoughts are still trying to catch up; he hoists himself into the cave, doesn't move closer.

The man's shoulders drop a tiny fraction. "Yeah, yep! Startled me good, you did!" He chuckles lightly, a carefree and casual sound; the fingers of his dangling hand wriggle, a nervous and distracted sort of gesture that draws Dream's attention to the profusion of hair on his bare legs, and arms, and what Dream can see of his chest.

"You had a. A tail, last time," Dream says, somewhat awkwardly, tearing his gaze from the sprinkling of hair on the man's bare toes.

"Oh, that, yes!" The man grins, bright and disarming. "I'm a mermaid performer, with the, ah, the local carnival."

Dream is convinced this is a lie even as the logical part of his brain points out that this explanation makes far more sense than believing in merfolk. He knows what he saw, the flexing of muscle and the fanning of fins, the bending and twisting that did not match up to the way that human legs would move in that configuration. The merman speaks with casual confidence, but the tension in his frame and the nervous fidget of his clasped hand are easy to read.

"…No, I don't think you are," Dream says, and the man's bright smile dips before returning to full wattage.

"Calling me a liar, are you?" He laughs, a light and enchanting sound that Dream immediately wants to hear more of. "Merfolk, they don't actually exist, I'll have you know."

~ The wip tag has a tiiiny bit more of this one, also.