someone should ask link how he feels about creating that new timeline. he won't answer, but i will!
like. thinking about what happens when he successfully foils ganon's plans before the sacred realm can be opened, and what an execution, attempted or decreed or otherwise, might look like for a kid who just needed the guy to Stop. it's not what link wants, especially. especially. if and when the rest of the gerudo are involved? like where the hell do they go in tp??? at least ousted from their own land, and it's a terrible outcome for a people who shouldn't have had to take that path that haunts him more than he'd ever try to think about it if it actively happens while he's still there to witness it
but he's. just the messenger with laughably no sway on anyone that would have real say on this during a period where it would've mattered most. he just gave the king of hyrule fodder for something he hadn't realised would be an issue until it's too late; naive despite everything, or maybe just too hopeful
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The trailer where Mona is introduced by Dain has instilled a fear in me that you have absolutely no idea. He’s basically asking her if she’ll be able to handle the truth she so seeks so passionately when it’s all revealed to her or if the truth will be too much for her and she might break under the pressure.
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[OCs] felt like revisiting this 2010 drawing
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"They think I’m the least dangerous person in this car, do they? Well, they’re about to learn very differently."
Decided to redraw a moment from On the Getaway Mile by Odaigahara on AO3/ @droidofmay !
This may have taken a ridiculous amount of hours condensed into a few days and I went through it drawing cars and car interiors, but this was an absolute blast to do :D I hope I've done the fic sort of justice.
Process shots and long comparison rambles under the cut!
Welcome to my secret lair!!
I spent roughly... 18 hours working on this, the majority during this week and over the past three days, so I need to share my toils with people <3
Character/car references and page thumbnails! Featuring an incorrect scene placement and bad camera position. I reread the scene and placed it properly in the actual page. I hate drawing cars!!
I was actually the most worried about panel placement when I started this— I was a guy who only did non narrative/illustrative panel pages and layout-less comics, but it wasn't that bad with a script! I could separate beats into panels, note which panels should be emphasised/larger, and assembled that into a page.
If you compare the fic with this comic, you can see how much dialogue I edited and moments I cut out. I couldn't fit it all on without having to draw even more pages, I wish I could though! Poor Mumbo only gets one line here. I'm so sorry my darling man <3 I also gave him a slight cyborg design because his implants are really important for his character and I needed some way to visually show that, even if it's not canon/mentioned.
The colouring method for this was really fun! It's similar to my aggie rainbow painting method but with less steps, hence narrow value range. It looks pretty and gets the vibe across well though.
Rapid fire points!
I was planning to do 3 different fic comics! Not anymore!!!
This is absolutely for the hotguy comic zine applications. <3 "Can I try rizzing you up // PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE" /ref
I drew page 2 first, then 3, then 1. I think you can tell!
Mumbo is sitting on the wrong side and should have his seatbelt on. He's also not carrying the stolen laptop as described.
It's explicitly noted that Mumbo cannot scan Grian like he can with Scar. Whoops!
Transmissions from the Foundation are via Mumbo and Scar's implants, but I couldn't think of a good way to portray that.
Despite guns and weapons being mentioned, I somehow didn't get the opportunity to draw a single one.
I love hand lettering. I also hate it! I will continue to do it.
Here are the no colour pages as a thank you for scrolling <3
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PERCEVAL THE UNHAPPY, THE MISERABLE, THE UNFORTUNATE, THE FISHER KING!
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
ALRIGHT alright. so previously I did an illustration that explained the premise of all this, that it's inspired by the narrative choices that Bresson made in his film Lancelot du Lac etc
to dive in more into it (because this is something like derivative fiction. I'm putting concepts into a blender and seeing what comes out of it): the setting is haunted by the previously existing narratives that started cannibalizing each other until it regurgitates itself into the more well known narrative beats, and something else about the invasive rot of christianity and empire mythmaking into settings. it's an intertextual haunting, if you will! and this scene takes place during the grail quest narrative, but the temptation of Perceval plays out differently.
in both Chretien (and Wolfram's) Perceval narratives, what 'wakes' Perceval up (in more ways than one. desire and self actualization in one go!) is seeing knights, something his mother tried hard to keep him from. so instead of the temptation of lust & etc in the Morte narrative taking the form of a lady, it takes the form of a knight. the temptation to renounce one's faith to serve something else remains.
so Perceval still stabs himself, but instead of continuing on the grail quest in the shadow of Galahad, he becomes the narrative's Fisher King because his earlier state of being as a the grail quest hero is creeping back into his marrow. it was waiting for an opening, and stabbing yourself in the thigh is one hell of a parallel!!!
that wound isn't going to heal buddy, and the state of the setting will now be reflected on your body. sure hope that Arthur hasn't like. corrupted the justice of the land or anything. that sure would suck for your overall health.
all the red in this sequence is because in de Troyes' Perceval, Perceval takes the armor of the Red Knight and becomes known as the Knight in Red.
and now for the citations, which I will try to order in a way that makes sense!
Seeing Knights For The First Time
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
The Temptation of Perceval
Le Morte Darthur, Mallory (modernized by Baines)
The Fisher King, and Perceval The Unfortunate
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
On Perceval and Gender, etc.
Clothes Make The Man: Parzival Dressed and Undressed, Michael D. Amey
On Wounds
Wounded Masculinity: Injury and Gender in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte Darthur, Kenneth Hodges
The Red Knight
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
On Arthur and the Corruption of Justice
The Failure of Justice, the Failure of Arthur, L.K. Bedwell
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all the reasons gabriel wears sunglasses so often:
-obvious one, hangovers and comedowns
-tendency towards migraines after getting his memory fucked with for years and years of his life (likely made worst any time he tried to fight against it/or remember things)
-his eyes are naturally very light, bright colored (lighter eyes are more sensitive to the sun etc)
-just the aesthetic of it+obviously easier to use them when needed if he has them on his head or already covering his eyes
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reasons to cup a face / always accepting / @nihlkahn
BELIEF, in a moment where the receiver is lacking in self-confidence, the sender cups their face tenderly and professes their faith in the receiver's abilities.
Remembering only comes in two ways for Link.
Mercifully. Bitingly. Sometimes, it's and that anchors them to each other. Sometimes, it's or that separates them. Tonight, it's then that connects how the memories visit him — and in some part, he really shouldn't have expected otherwise.
The fairy fountain they'd stumbled upon had been a pleasant shock with how far from Hyrule's borders they were. Link had cupped little sprite after little sprite within his palms, delighted by the familiarity of wings fluttering a tooth's gap from his fingers and gossamer dust sprinkled on his skin. None of them were Navi — had Navi's shine, or her colour, or her voice, or her recognition — but that was fine. That was fine. It was an adjacent kind of wistful relief at having found anything at all that had his heart swelling with something close to hope.
As he startles awake with a desperate cry, ears ringing from the silence of a cruel farewell, his heart tears through the flesh of his lungs and pounds imprints on the bars of his ribs.
His hands are what he registers first. One twisted in the blanket covering him, the other unthinkingly extended towards the next thing that pierces through the sleep-haze. Link inhales sharply and pulls away from the figure crouched over him, scrambling upright and a small distance back.
How bad must his dream have looked for the Fierce Deity to thread together this tangible form? Bad, the shadows on that marked face tell him — really bad, the heat stinging his eyes and the soreness of a lip bitten clean through correct. He presses the back of a hand to his mouth, swallowing what blood's been drawn, and lets the quiet hanging in the space between them fester like a blistering sore.
"Ss-orry," he finally blurts out. "Sorry," he repeats a beat later, then again, and again. He doesn't know what he needs to keep apologising for. But when his companion shifts — just some slight adjustment of his posture — there's a sudden, staggering fear that Link will be left alone if he stops.
"Nno, don'—" The hand at his chin jerks forward, darts back. "Don' g-go. Sorry. Sorry, mm— I'll be—"
Better. I'll be better. He stills, clarity coldly cleaving through the snapshot of an unreachable light in his mind's eye.
Link folds over himself. Folds into himself. He takes each raw, pulsating wound tonight's nightmare has unburied and pushes them beneath the layer of indifference he's reapplying over every inch of his skin, trying to force his breaths into a measured pace. It works enough that he can redirect his words, and even smile — however strained — as he looks up and shakes his head. "Sorry. I'll...be...fine."
He forgets, in his distress, that this god is the only thing alive who's seen every crack splintering his soul.
Warmth washes over his face, radiating from hands hovering a hair's breadth away from his cheeks. These are hands that want to hold him safe. They are hands that seem to only ever want to hold him safe. Link feels his efforts to recover some manner of composure unravel at the thought: his smile crumples, his pulse picks up. The prickling behind his eyes worsens as he meets his companion's steady, pale gaze.
Tentatively, helplessly, he nods.
The Deity's touch is softer than he's ever felt it. Careful, almost delicate, and when Link doesn't react beyond a quiver of his lips, they press a hint firmer until sensation blooms over his scalp and down his neck. He has to stifle a fractured noise as tears leak past the corners of his waterlines, dripping in rivulets to where those thumbs meet his cheeks.
He's vaguely aware that something is being said. It's so hard to focus on the words when all he can do is drink in the security he hasn't been able to feel so, so keenly in so, so long. For a fragile moment, Link wonders what this care must look like — what kind of picture they're painting over the backdrop. He wonders, if they were in some town or village or anywhere but out here where it's only the two of them, what would set them apart from the scenery he's begun noticing since the Deity's stayed with him through many awful days and many awful nights.
What would set them apart from a child getting their scraped knees cleaned by the fountain? What would set them apart from an adult kneeling to lift someone so much smaller? What, if anything, would set them apart from sights he once thought less than nothing of — and now finds some measure of understanding in?
The moment persists. It lasts through the sound of more words he can't pinpoint, in the quiet tones of someone who could be that concerned, someone who could be that fond. He places feather-light fingers over the Deity's knuckles. His companion says his name the way it used to be cradled on tongues from an old home and the steady branches of an old tree.
Link shuts his eyes, leans into the comfort of hands so tender in spite of the unfathomable things they've done-can do-will do, and weaves together imaginings of a world where a father might be something he can have.
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The face I make when I see Scara stans try to shove down everybody’s throat that “Scaramouch e is the most multi-faceted and most in-depth character in this entire game” claim..... ..
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Girlhood spectrum rain world edition heck yea
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Thinking about how Charlotte Emily most likely regularly hung out with the Aftons.
William comes downstairs at 9 in the morning to see Charlie and Elizabeth with empty teacups and a teapot, and is just like, ah. Of course. Little girls love tea parties, but indulges them anyway like "what are you two up to?" Elizabeth immediately lights up. "Charlie said that we should play British People 'cause we're British!" William, now a bit more confused, "...ah. I see." Elizabeth, "oh won't you join us? Pretty please?" Charlie then pipes in that she had also asked Mike, but that he had very unfortunately said no, because "Liz plays too mean." Elizabeth, "I do not, you're just too scared to lose!" Michael, "I can't fucking lose at 'British People.'"
Charlie and Elizabeth do atrocious things to their dolls. Drama. Tragedy. They always clash on the endings though, as Charlie wants their dolls fo have a happy end while Elizabeth wants their dolls to have an even worse end
Michael doesn't know Charlie's staying over, and brings home his schoolmates one day. William Frowns TM like "I tried to tell you Henry was dropping off Charlotte today, but you were already halfway out the door." Michael later re-enters the room to find his schoolmates picking on Charlie and pulling at her hair. The closest Michael ever feels to peace is when he's with the Emilys, so he immediately spirals at the sight like, "oh god, if Uncle Henry finds out I brought people over who hurt his daughter, he might not bring her over anymore. What do I do then? What do I do if he stops liking me?" He quickly shoos off his friends, going "dude! She's a guest, leave her be" while Charlie recovers. Before he too can follow after them, Charlie asks Michael if he'll draw with her. He hesitates. The Emilys are the closest he ever gets to peace, so he agrees and sits down to draw. "What are you drawing, Char?" "Marionette!" "'S that the creepy thing that's always watching the guests come and go at Freddy's?" "He's not creepy, he's my friend. Dad made him for me :(" "ahh. You know, my father's been building something for Liz too." "You think that it'll protect her like Marionette protects me?" "Maybe."
Charlie notices how anxious CC always seems to be, and declares one day that she'll keep him safe. She makes him a drawing of them both holding hands, and gives it to him so that he may always look upon it and know that Charlie's rooting for him. He nearly bursts into tears at the kind gesture. The whole household tries to be nicer to each other whenever Charlie's around, but CC tells her about Michael's behaviour to him. Knowing how weak Michael is to her, Charlie gives Michael a look while he's grabbing cereal the next morning like "you should be nicer to your brother. He's just a little kid." Michael immediately pauses, then awkwardly closes the cupboard like "ummm. Okay." Not wanting to use Charlie as a means to make fun of CC, he just never brings the interaction up afterwards
The Emily and Afton families joining together are constantly filled with different forms of jealousy from the Aftons. William, he's jealous of Henry. Michael, he's jealous of Charlie's positive relationship with her father. CC, he's jealous of how Michael seems to like Charlie so much more than him. Elizabeth doesn't even notice her own jealousy, but deep down, Charlie's completely peaceful household... confuses her. She rationalizes the lack of favouritism or hostility as it only stemming from Charlie being an only child, rather than Henry's good parenting. Being so young as well as being the perfect golden child, Elizabeth doesn't know how to express doubt in her father. Clearly, it must be her siblings doing something wrong if Charlie and Uncle Henry are doing so well on their own!
After CC's death, the house is filled with an unbreakable tension. It's grief. It's guilt. Michael and his schoolmates completely cut ties after what happened. And as always, the Emilys feel so separate from the tension of his own home. Michael starts talking to Charlie more frequently, more often at Henry's house rather than his own. He tries not to, or at least usually tries to hide first, but he accidentally has a complete breakdown in the living room one time. Charlie hums a soothing lullaby to him until Henry eventually comes back, notices the state Michael's in, and takes over calming him down while sending Charlie off to do some other seemingly helpful task. After Elizabeth's death, Michael only really has the Emilys left. Charlie stops just being his source of peace, and becomes his best friend. His only friend. Then after Charlie's death...
It's rather lonely all of a sudden.
Later, years later, when Michael's flesh is rotting on his bones and everything is just about to finally be done with, he sits down on the edge of a cheap creaky stage he bought, and lightly knocks his knuckles against Lefty's calf. "Charlie? Can you hear me alright? It's Michael ... I'm sorry. I know I never acted like it, but... for what it's worth... you were my best friend back then. ...Whatever's beyond this, would you like to be friends again there too?"
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