Fic-to-Art #35: Sokka leads the charge into Ba Sing Se
Here's my monthly artwork! The prompt this time was a scene that excited the readers quite a bit, and it seems that Sokka's big campaign on Ba Sing Se was the idea everyone liked best! This isn't really the best rendition I could've hoped to do, but unfortunately time constraints didn't allow me to go much further. Hope it's good enough like this anyway!
I still don't particularly thrive in drawing animals, but we needed Foo-Foo in this artwork, haha. I hope he looks as cool as he should! As for Sokka and his cool helmet, I'm sorry, I have a hopeless case of forgetting-the-helmet-itis so I never seem to recall to put it on his head. Oops :'D
Anyway! I'm not even sure what else to say, haha. Hope you guys like some epic Sokka!
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Just saw this interview and I can't get over her - her low, rusty voice, her brightness, her hands, her calm, the way she moves, how she is unconsciously sexy and at the same time so relaxing, and how she seems to be a genuinely interesting person that I'd love to have a glass of (white - will remember that in case we cross path) wine with and talk about childhood and birch trees and all the things in the world
(Also, Steve is adorable and they clearly have the greatest chemestry)
does anyone remembers some post from rf kuang about a trifecta prequel?? bc I remember last year, at the beginning of August when I finished tpw trilogy I went to check all the content that had ever existed to feel the utter emptiness I was feeling, and I came across a tiktok from rf kuang in which she had been talking to her editors about the trifecta prequel and she would have more news on August (the tiktok was a couple months old)
I found things on twitter too and was extremely excited about it. As it was like the 2nd of August I waited for some new info.
then it was already September and there was sthe babel release, so I waited a bit more bc publications are stressing with tours and stuff
but when I go back to check it again in case I had messed up the date, the post weren't there anymore.
As much as I want to be a wholly joyous about the fact that Henry Kissinger is finally fucking dead, as he deserves... There's a lot of me that can't help being upset with. With the fact that he lived to 100 years old. He got better medical care, better housing, and a better, more stable life for those 100 years than billions on this planet ever going to see and he did it specifically through exploitation, state sanctioned murder, and lies. He lived to 100 years comfortably on a legacy of violence that rarely threatened his personal comfort. I want to be joyous that he's finally dead, because the world IS better with him dead, but the reality is he won a long time ago.
Trudging along, bells toiling, the god of mercy visits the plains once more in search of lost souls in need of saving. A lush flower grove grows beneath their hooves, only to quickly rot and age underneath the crimson cloak. The scent of herb coated the ancient long gone architecture with new vigor.
Narinder still clings to their ancient master, loyal as always joining the solemn walk. He announces his blessed day, he made a friend, looking up to the towering beast for a sign that he has been heard. He almost wishes to choke a sob, for he sees there's none.
A trudge, new life, for it to end, the echos of chimes, an omen of sleep. He remembers the days when he despised the infant god for being so childish, the cursed mocking laughter of a sickly sweet soul, to see the joy written on their face, to see how proud they were when the news was given. Delight that Narinder is no longer so lonesome with the new family.
He'd give anything to break this damned curse, just to see that annoying, pitiful, awful, smile again.
the ninth doctor always goes crazy to me because he wasn't an ambivalent god. he was the benevolent, scarred, and cynical god who cared because he couldn't not. when no one else did. because if he didn't do something, no one else would. he was the one with the power, the responsibility, and it hurt him constantly. every life he watched burn out was a tragedy -- a loss. he kissed a servant girl on the head who no one would remember. he closed the eyes of a dead man. he mourned a pig the military shot. he cared them all, no matter how insignifigant and fleeting their lives could have seemed to his. he was a little mean and a little rude and a lot angry (at everyone at everything) but he also had so much joy. he loved knowing he'd lose. and when he regenerated, he simply looked to rose with that big grin on his face and told her she was fantastic -- and so was he.