#there is so much more to come

[horatio-fig]

Happy Barbie Premiere Day from The Galactic Senate!

(Padme, Mon Mothma, and Chuchi as various business Barbies)

[oldestenemy]

history unheeded is doomed to repeat - Part 1

Malorn finds the wizard while they are staring up at Bartleby’s deteriorating canopy. They had not been happy to find themself in Ambrose’s office again, running around at his beck and call—but the wizard is not going to refuse Bartleby a request. Certainly not one so important as this.

They tell as much to Malorn when he asks what they’re here for—and how long.

“I’ve got time before the next class—mind if I come along?”

The wizard hums a quiet affirmative, this shouldn’t take much time, and given the area it didn’t seem likely to be much of a danger. Malorn could come and see his old Professor’s home. And with that in mind—

“Do you know the way?” The wizard asks him, “Ambrose and Dworgyn didn’t actually tell me anything beyond the Dark Cave.”

Malorn confirms that he does in fact know where Malistaire’s house lies in the Dark Cave, and leads the way. They walk in easy silence for most of it, not as much time has passed now since their last visit. Nothing is as fraught as it had been before Darkmoor. They ask if he or the others have had any word on where Duncan had gone, but there has still been no sign.

“Was everything alright? In Polaris?”

“Finished a revolution, danced a ballet, overthrew a walrus, fought a Rat, stopped a synthetic Titan from blowing up the sky, saved the Spiral again. Met another eccentric acquaintance of Cyrus Drake’s.” They’ve decided it’s easier to trivialize things like this when explaining them to their friends. It will startle them a little less than the proper truth. “Made a new human friend, haven’t done that in a while.”

“Someday we’re gonna talk about this properly you know. Penny’s going to make you.”

The wizard smiles weakly, “I know. But not today, another crisis—right?”

Malorn looks like he wants to protest, but shakes his head and sighs. “Right. The friend—it’s the new life student right? Mellori?”

The wizard nods, “She spent her whole life sheltered in the woods in Polaris, I think she’s a little disappointed to be stuck doing classwork honestly.”

“Can’t relate,” Malorn says with a smile, “just the little bit of saving the world I got a taste of with you was plenty. Ah—right here.”

The house of Malistaire and Sylvia Drake is dimly lit and dusty. Cobwebs mark every corner, but so do keepsakes and portraits displaying lighter times. This isn’t just a house of death, but one reminding of an abundance of life as well. Harmony woven into the walls themselves. It’s clear standing anywhere within how much love there was here. Even long dead, even with the undercurrent of something wrong.

It’s powerful.

It’s comforting in a sad kind of way.

Still.

As the wizard and Malorn move deeper, it becomes evident that something is concealed. Malorn joins the fight when the Spectral Guardian appears—though only after the wizard nods him forward, silently saying it’s fine, you can. They appreciate that he waits. That he knows better than to throw himself at their enemies without a second thought.

And then they’re inside the sanctum. The desk is littered with papers and an open journal. The pair pour over it in the hopes of finding answers. For once, the reading is not accompanied by Raven’s voice. Rather, the wizard can almost hear it in Malistaire’s, as though he is sat before them, scribbling in a fevered manner all his attempts to bring Sylvia back.

A group of scholars split apart. Schismists. Answers for where he’d learned of the Krokonomicon, and how perhaps to awaken the Dragon Titan. More hidden information, more names that mean nothing. But at least a clue to where the Eye of History lay now. Something to give them a clear path forwards.

Their thoughts are broken by the approach of footsteps on tile outside.

“Someone is coming—hide—don’t argue!” the wizard hisses, shoving Malorn back towards the curtains with one hand. They don’t feel confident in him facing something that knows about what’s hidden here. The Guardian had been one thing, it had been set up by Malistaire himself. But even if they’re taking the brunt of the damage—they don’t want Malorn facing something like what they’ve seen in Khrysalis or even Polaris. They won’t put him in that kind of danger. Not again.

They look back down to the journal, eyes scanning over the last page.

Schismists.

Krokonomicon.

Mirage.

Had all of it been interconnected from the start?

“I knew it would be you,” The wizard’s heart sinks at the voice in the doorway, looking up from Malistaire’s journal to find Duncan Grimwater striding towards them—still wearing the armor they’d crafted him for Darkmoor. “You can’t help but keep being Ambrose’s pet can you.”

How long has it been now?

It had been five months at graduation. They’d spent only a few weeks in Polaris.

There had been no sign.

No word.

“I’m trying to help Bartleby.” They say softly, “He needs his eye back—”

“—Oh shut up, like you aren’t just jumping at the chance to make up for another mistake. Unfortunately for you, I’ve made powerful friends—and they won’t be letting that journal go to Ambrose or the Arcanum.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing for months,” They start, still not moving from the desk. “getting dragged into running errands for some doomsday group?”

“I’m not running errands.” Duncan growls, “And after I bring them the journal and tell them about your defeat, I’ll be a full fledged member.”

“Duncan,” The wizard tucks Malistaire’s journal into their bag, eyes not leaving him. “I don’t know who you’ve gotten tied up with—I don’t know what they promised you or what you get out of it—but you’re standing between me and the exit again. Don’t make this mistake.”

Duncan just shakes his head, an angry painful sounding laugh bubbling out of him. “No, no—sorry wizard—” he spits it like the word tastes foul, and honestly, maybe it does. “—but it’s you making the mistake this time. Go ahead. Try and leave. You’re not the only one who can play with the shadows anymore.”

“Stop it.” It’s low and gentle as they can push their voice to be right now, head swimming with more questions than before. “Please, just come with me—we can sort all of this out—”

“—do you ever listen to anyone?” Duncan cuts back over them, “Can you just not help but get involved in everything? You need to feel useful and powerful and special? Your time is over wizard—the Spiral’s time is over with it.”

They grit their teeth and step down from the platform where the desk stands. There is a small amount of gratification that comes when Duncan steps away. A small flicker of their ever present rage that bubbles up in satisfaction. “Do you think I want to do this? To be this? Do you think I enjoy being ordered around by people supposedly older, wiser, stronger than I am who won’t bring themselves to lift a finger to help? Did you listen to anything I said in Castle Darkmoor? Do you think I have any compassion left for the council? Or Ambrose himself? My loyalty starts and ends with keeping the Spiral intact—everything and everyone else is secondary bordering on pointless.” The words aren’t entirely true. But true enough. It feels like that day in Nightside reversed. Following him step for step with their voice rising. “I have tried time and again to get it through your thick skull-emblazoned head that I’m not special, your jealousy over the things I’ve done because I had no choice is unfounded and beyond that horrifying.”

Gods and starlight.

They don’t want to do this.

There is a circle here under their feet.

Duncan’s grip tightens on his staff—the new one—the echo of Malistaire in his hands.

They don’t want to do this.

…But clearly he does.

Fine.

Fine.

If he wants to play at being important. If he wants to be in their way.

Let him taste what that’s like.

They take the last step towards him and slide into position within the dueling circle. Their deck sits before them, they know it wouldn’t be hard to end this. But he wants to see? Wants to feel powerful? Let him.

“First one is free.” The wizard tells him, a smile splitting their face that is mirthless and cold. Glad for now that their hood is down, that their expressions are clear. That the scars they have from saving him and the other necromancers in Nidavellir are on full display. “I’ll even make it easy—I’m sure you know what to do—” As expected, he swaps both feints they cast. Leaving him with enough of a boost that it should knock them down if he’s not stupid. “—Good.”

Everything else is a pass. Cards dismissed. Just waiting.

“Why aren’t you fighting!” It’s thrown him off, they’re pleased to see. Everything he does is with hesitation. He was ready for someone who was going to bite back—not stand there and take it. He came in expecting the ruthlessness he’d seen in Nidavellir, or even the apprehensive but driven state they’d been in for Darkmoor. Not passive play. It’s the Fiend that crawls up behind him, the wizard figures it ought to be plenty. They don’t know where he would have learnt it, unless he’d managed to copy what he’d seen them do once.

The smile drops, “Like I said,” another pass, just one more turn “first one is free.”

And free it is. The dark fiend slithers across the dueling circle and impacts against them hard, definitely enough, though only just—

They get to see the moment of shock on his face—but then they are heaving on hands and knees in the commons, the brightness of daylight overwhelming after Malistaire’s candlelit sanctum. It had hit them square where the scar on their sternum is, and there is a phantom ache mixing with the real one. But they push to their feet, downing a potion and drawing the recall sigil that lands them right in the open doorway—at Duncan’s back.

“—Ready for the real one?”

Duncan curses and jumps a mile, whipping around to see them leaning on the door frame. “How—how did—”

“—oh come on—you didn’t think one little shadow spell could finish me did you?” The wizard grumbles, “After everything I’ve been through? After the little bit you’ve seen? You want to be me? You’ve been playing at it, doing all sorts of running around trying to please powers you know nothing about. You want to know what it’s really like—?” they step fully into the room, reactivating the duel circle. “—then hit harder. I know you can. Don’t strike to knock me down. You want to see what I deal with? Aim to kill.”

This time they aren’t waiting.

This time blades go up, traps go down, aura light spins around them, Sun enchantments wait on the trigger for Mystic Colossus. It’s perhaps not the thing that makes the most sense against a solo opponent, but they don’t particularly care, it will be enough, and that’s all it needs to be. A gift from Darkmoor to remind Duncan who he’s dealing with.

And this time he is quiet and glaring—they can see the fear tick up with every buff they conjure. They don’t give him time to summon the Fiend, they don’t balk at the damage they take, they just wait on that single dose of Shadow and then—

The Colossus horn blares through the small room, ceilings barely tall enough to accommodate the spell.

And it’s over.

He’s on the ground clutching his staff to stay upright.

The wizard blinks.

Sees Lorcan in Penny’s projection. Waiting to be ripped apart.

It passes.

The spark of rage along with it.

Leaving guilt and regret sour on their tongue.

“I bet you think this means you won don’t you.” He spits it between heaved breath. Some of his bravado returned now that it’s obvious they’re properly finished. “You have no idea what the people on my side have planned. The Arcanum and their scholars chose the wrong side of the schism—and you’re all going to pay for it.”

The celestial calendar echoes through their head. A foretold moment passed. You’re going to regret this.

And they do.

Gods they do.

“Come with me.” They say again, quiet and dangerously close to a plea.

Duncan just glares back.

“Fine.” They spit, turning back to Malistaire’s desk. “Get out of here, go into hiding before anyone but me figures out what you’re tangled up in.” They don’t have any more energy to talk. But this time he listens. They hear it as he scrambles to his feet and the slam of the door follows behind him.

Silence.

Peace.

“Wizard?”

Dammit. Malorn.

Read the whole series here <3

[inexplicablymine]

It’s a Monday but that doesn’t really matter.

Thank y’all for the tags @leaves-of-laurelin @kiwiana-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @happiness-of-the-pursuit

Here is a little excerpt that isn’t seven sentences (but you are getting more so I don’t see complaints), for one of my continuations of the Mr. BodyPillow series in celebration of it hitting a big milestone yesterday!

Delicate isn’t the kind of word that would describe Alex Claremont-Diaz, not in this world or any other. He is fiery passion and loud excited exhalations on whatever subject has currently caught his fancy. He is explosive lacrosse plays, and filled to the brim with effusive energy that he is told he radiates.

Nobody has ever treated him like he is something delicate, soft, someone who needs a “take care with caution” sign.

He didn’t realize he needed that kind of care so badly. But Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor does that and then some.

He takes the small strings that are holding Alex hostage like a marrionate and gently runs his hands along them loosening the knots he ties himself in.

He is warm smiles and even warmer hugs.

God the hugs. Contact of any kind makes Alex feel too much inside, and that first evening cuddling on the couch set every inch of his skin on fire in the best way. He was kindling and Henry provided both the gasoline and the spark.

So excited to write more on this one and share more of this universe with you :)

Open tag but in particular @orchidscript @tintagel-or-cockleshells @daisymae-12 @roseapothecary @read-and-write- @gay-flyboys @kill8a if y’all want to share (now or Wednesday) I would love to see!!

[thefiddlingdeath]

My break sketches of the day:

I have to fill my "James was an Olympic-level, épée fencer before he joined Kingsman" - headcanon with some content

One of them is an older sketch of mine from a previous post (yes, this headcanon is the reason I drew the little fencing guys "for fun" in the first place)

I have to colour this later

Brush: Allrounder by Esben Lash

[jyou-no-sonoko19]

1111!

[bisclavaret]

a day late to my 6 years on t anniversary ✨🏳️‍⚧️ a short comic about looking back

[bunneis]

21/05/23 edit: heres the full gifset

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded psychopath happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[egophiliac]

we were fucking ROBBED

[junotter]

Part 2 of my modern avatar au, The Gaang (part 1)

[infernal-lamb]

The Lamb Slaying Death Incarnate

(Part of a larger comic....but I sort of like this panel a lot on its own!)

[mroddmod]

i’m still hoping for a CX-2/tech reveal, if for nothing else than to see this scene play out

[ashoss]

this idea wont leave my brain please help me !! YIPPEE HADES BATKIDS !!!

without the bg and text under the cut :))

asdhj probably gonna post like,, two at a time because thats ,, a lot,,,, of drawing ,,,,,,, so heres tim and jason! i think i got the hang of it more with jason lol

ALSO ALSO!!!

thank you to those who helped me with the titles for the batkids!! they were all really good :D (all on insta lol)

timothy: the tenured - thomson_at

[cutetanuki-chan]

wanted to sketch something fun

[the-jesus-pill]

You’ve got to forgive yourself for being traumatized and needing to learn how to function again. 

Recovery isn’t always nightmares and depression, it’s forgetting to eat, being scared of what others might see as completely normal things, it’s getting random panic attacks, not knowing how to take care of yourself, not knowing how to live like an adult, even if you’re twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, of feeling like you’re failing to function in a world where everyone seems to have their shit together. 

If you need help, ask for it. Go to forums and ask for advice. Take advantage of community resources. Buy pre-sliced veggies and fruits, eat instant meals if you can’t cook for yourself today. Hire someone. Ask a neighbor for a favor. Buy any item you think might make life easier, even if you feel like you aren’t ‘disabled’ enough to have it. 

Some of the depression posts (ie open your windows, take a shower, go outside, call a friend) are really helpful but they’re not always enough. I’ve found advice for spoonies, people with chronic pain or other disabilities have the best tips because they know what it’s like to be bedridden, out of energy, stuck in a brain fog. 

You may never return back to the energy you had when you were younger and you might always need to use crutches to help you through life. It’s the same with medication. 

Trauma is a real thing that happens to you, it physically alters your brain and it’s alright to have lasting scars. 

You’re not broken, your life is not over and you can still be happy. 

It’s not your fault.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

soon it'll be dawn again

transcript under the cut ⏬

page 01

Fig: no way? - you're still up?

Riz: Wh– yes?

Riz: Why'd I not be.

page 02

Fig: I me~~ean - that took.

Fig: whole day.

Riz: Yeah?

Fig: 'm beat.

Riz: you should sleep.

page 03

Fig: nah. my guy's still up

Fig: I wanna hang out.

page 04

Riz: That's really nice.

Fig: Hah! - Nobody ever expects an Archdevil rockstar to be nice.

Riz: … yeah. - 's just budget work tho. (the stuff I'm working on) - I've heard it's boring.

page 05

Fig: yeah, but you do it…

Riz: It keeps things going, right? - Nothing happens if nobody sits down and - does the thing.

Fig: That's right… - though. Yeah.

page 06

Fig: sometimes it's someone else who - doesn't want the same thing to happen.

Riz: … - mm.

page 07

Riz (off screen): …It took me a long time to get that not everyone likes doing what I do. - 's probably because you guys are so nice– - or. - kind.

Riz (off screen): to anyone too, not just. - the people you /love/.

page 08

Riz: that's not how it is elsewhere. - The world's– not. hostile. - but 's not like it's kind.

Riz: So I'm doing as much as I can now… 

page 09

Fig: Hey.

Riz: ?

Fig: Go dig some dirt with me.

page 10

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - oh you meant like - actual dirt. (not incriminating information)

Fig: o yea.

Fig: there's clay in the backyard soil. - sometimes when I'm sun deficient or something I go touch dirt for a bit.

page 11

Fig: here u go

page 12

Riz: uh

Fig: now we make a thing! - 'm pretty good at freehanding a bowl.

Fig: I'll show u

page 13

Fig: just– yep, flatten that out as evenly as u can, then–! - actually ur nails'd be so good at cutting out the strip. [larger than usual space] wait. - wait. wait u can carve patterns with them! we HAVE to try

Riz: uh - What. do I carve?

Fig: anything!!!

page 14

Fig: and– yep just seal the inside uh. seam?

Fig: yep that works - okay time's up! all contestant hands up

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - okay - wh. what's next?

Fig: haha - watch this.

(sound effect text): FWOO—MP

page 15

Riz: WH– DON'T JUST DO THAT???

Fig: Now it's fired!

Riz: THAT WAS NOT SAFE

Fig: (actually it's just dry. if u add water rn it'll dissolve)

Fig: ok catch!

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - careful!!

Fig: dw no need haha

page 16

Riz (thought bubble): oh - it's warm…

Fig: now I want you to throw this.

page 17

Fig: u gotta do it - c'mon

page 18

Riz: wh– - It's like 3AM right now

Fig: oh it's not /fired/ fired it's not gonna make a loud noise

Riz: And then just? leave a pile out here?

Fig: pour water over it & it'll be gone I told u

Riz: but

page 19

Fig (off screen): RIz.

page 20

Fig: I've done all this before.

Fig: Can you trust that at least?

page 21

Riz: no, I– - I do. - I trust you.

page 23

Riz: okay what happens now

(sound effect text): glob

page 24

Fig: we do it again!

page 25

Riz: wh. [larger than usual space] What do you mean. (this clay's too wet also)

Fig: see! you're already learning

Fig: [blank speech bubble] - there are flows that are futile to fight. - The world changes.

Fig: Things change.

page 26

Fig: I've learned my lessons with "forevers". - But - as an artist

Fig: I can give you one thing: - You can always do it again.

page 27

Fig: most of everything depends on the rest of the world, - but this. - making new. - that's yours as long as you want it.

page 28

Fig: So?

page 29

Riz: Yeah. - Yeah! - let's make another one.