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#so these'll have to do

mechsbrackets · 1 year

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[I.D.: a 32 team single elimination bracket titled "Most Gender Mechanisms Character!". It is on Round 4, the semi-finals, which consists of 2 matchups listed below /End I.D.]

The matchups are listed as well as linked below! As always, all polls will be tagged with #most gender mechanisms character bracket.

And, a bonus poll, because I make one typo and you all suggest I make a poll out of it /lh!! : Maria von Raum vs. Marius von Raum.

Matchups:

Ashes O'Reilly vs. Loki

The Toy Soldier vs. Gunpowder Tim

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the-kipsabian · 9 months

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hello! weird question but do you happen to have that one gif of Kip signing "embrace the change" to the camera? I was trying to Kip propaganda to a friend and I thought I had that gif saved but turns out I don't. thought I'd ask cause you might be able to find it quicker/easier than I could, but if not no big deal cause I'll just scroll through your blog and show my friend all the Kip pics/gifs along the way 😂

hi! no weird question at all, im more than happy to work the role of a propaganda machine/resource blog!! i have a few of these so i dont know which one you'd exactly like, but take your pick!

if i missed the one you were specifically thinking let me know tho!

#thank you for asking! <3 #Anonymous #i tried looking through my folder the best i could but in my defense i have +1.3k gifs in here so lmao #and no i didnt have the time to scroll through them one by one so i went with thumbnails and by my memory lol #anyways here you go i hope these'll do!!#kip sabian #wrestling #my beloved #kip in a box #(also man. some of these are old. the quality is so ass. hot dang i dont have the energy to redo all of these LMAO)

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tickfleato · 4 months

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how to make cool blobby turing patterns in photoshop

i'll preface with i learned the basic loop from skimming a tutorial on youtube, but as someone who prefers written tutorials i'm sure many would appreciate one! also, the second part of this is some of the visual effects i figured out on my own using blending modes and stuff.

i'm using photoshop CS4 on a mac so some buttons and stuff might be in different places on windows and newer photoshop versions but all the actions are the same. my canvas is 1000x1000 pixels.

UPDATES (i'm hoping these'll show up whenever you open the readmore?)

it's possible to do something similar in krita using this plugin, made by the love @arcaedex

it's also possible to do this in photopea, a free browser alternative to photoshop! the results are pretty much identical.

FIRST off you wanna get or make a black and white image of some kind. it has to be one layer. can be noise, a photo, a bunch of lines, whatever. here's mine, just some quick airbrush lines:

now find the actions tab. idk what it looks like in newer versions of photoshop but you probably won't need to dig!

hit the little page thingy to make a new pattern. once you hit 'record', it'll record everything you do. the little square 'stop' icon will end it.

now you want to do a high pass filter. you can mess around with the radius to change the size of your squiggles, but the tutorial had it set to 6. experiment!

now add the 'threshold' adjustment layer. i use the adjustments tab but i think there's also a dropdown menu somewhere. keep it at the default, 128. merge it down. (control or command + E or you can right click it like some kind of weirdo)

and finally, the gaussian blur! the radius of this affects the shape and size of your squiggles as well. i like to keep it around 4.5 but you can mess around with that too.

after that, hit 'stop' on the action you're recording, and then repeat it a bunch of times using the 'play' button, until you have something you like, like this:

WOW!! that was fun!! and only a little tedious thanks to the power of macros. anyway, here's some fun layer blending stuff i like to do. it's with a different pattern cause i made this bit first.

anyway, using a black and white gradient (or a grey base that you do black and white airbrush on), make a layer with the vivid light. this will make the blobs look thicker or thinner.

then, for cool colors, do a gradient map adjustment layer over that:

and finally, my best friend, the overlay layer. just using a gradient here bc i'm lazy, but feel free to experiment with brushes, colors, and blending modes!

NOW GO. MAKE COOL SHIT WITH THE POWER OF MATH. AND SEND IT TO ME

also these are not hard and fast rules PLEASE mess around with them to see what kind of weird shit you can make. here's a gif. as you can see i added some random airblush blobs in the middle of it, for fun.

#photoshop #turing pattern #tutorial #photoshop tutorial #abstract art #reaction diffusion pattern

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ckret2 · 7 months

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Chapter 21 of honestly everyone's just sorta used to Bill being the shack's prisoner now (title tbd): Stan & Ford have a birthday party! Bill is not invited. He still manages to find a way to be fiendishly evil.

Also featuring: Wendy deciding what she thinks about "Goldie," the shack's mysterious secret "guest."

####

Mabel slid a piece of paper across the gas station front counter, listing a dozen scratch card serial numbers spread across three different games. "I'd like these numbers in these cards, please!"

The cashier gave the paper a dubious look, then looked at Wendy. "We're not supposed to sell the scratch cards outta order."

"Please?" Wendy asked. "Just a little exception? For us?"

"We really wanna play our lucky numbers," Mabel said. "Plus, I had a vision. In my sleep."

She and Wendy gave him their best big-eyed hopeful pouty looks.

The cashier shrank back. "Well..." He averted his gaze from the adorableness that was Mabel, and sighed. "Just this once. But I don't want to see you two in here with your nonsense again." He started unrolling one of the spools of scratch cards, inspecting the numbers. "These'll be over a hundred dollars."

Wendy winced. "Ooh. Mabel?"

Mabel offered three dollars and a quarter. "That's fine! Can we start with 177 from the beach cards?"

She received the card, depicting a pastel beachy scene next to five miniature bingo boards. She confidently scratched off the card to reveal its winning numbers, pointed at the fourth bingo board where she'd just gotten bingo, and said, "That's $200! Our payout, please."

The cashier took the card, inspected the numbers, and stared at Mabel in amazement. She grinned at him. Wordlessly, he opened his cash register, pulled out several twenties, and offered them over.

"Thank you!" Mabel accepted the money and pointed at the paper. "The rest of our cards, please?"

As they left with eleven scratch cards, Mabel handed Wendy three twenties—"Here! For helping!"—and stuck the rest of the change in her pocket.

"Dude. That was awesome. You were so cool in there, like—" Wendy put on her coolest, most unruffled expression. "'Our payout, please.'"

"That's just the kind of rock star I am." Mabel put the scratch cards in her bike's basket. "Thanks for the help, Wendy!"

"Sure, any time." Especially if she got a surprise $60 out of it. "Heading back to the shack?"

"Yeah! I've gotta finish decorating for the party!" Mabel waved as she took off down the road. "See you then!"

"See you." She guessed that meant she wasn't invited to hang until the party started. Given the touchy situation inside the shack, no surprises there.

She wondered what Goldie had to do with Mabel's interesting trick with the scratch cards. She was sure there was something.

####

Bill leaned into the kitchen. "Hey! How's that cake coming along?"

Mabel stopped arranging dozens of candles in the frosting to point at the door. "Out, Bill! Nobody's getting cake until the party!"

Dipper said, "You don't even deserve a slice."

"Agree to disagree!" Bill said. "But if you don't give me one anyway, I'll annoy you about it for weeks."

"He can have a slice at the party," Mabel said. "The cake's big enough." A couple of overcrowded candles spilled off the edge of the cake. Mabel picked them up and carefully stuck them back in.

Bill fought back a laugh. "Are you sure about all those candles? If you light 'em all up at once, you'll burn off everyone's eyebrows," he said. "But unfortunately, you'd also melt the frosting."

"The frosting's already a mess," Mabel said, peering at the barely-visible HAPPY BIRTHDAY STAN & FORD hidden beneath the forest of candles. "But Soos doesn't have any of those number-shaped candles, so..."

"Roman numerals," Bill said.

"Oooh." Mabel looked at the cake thoughtfully, and started pulling out candles. "How do you make 62?"

"LXII. Fifty-ten-one-one," Bill said, then shot a grin at Dipper—who was glaring at Bill for answering before he could. "Isn't that right, smart guy?"

"Yeah," Dipper grumbled.

"You kids take the credit if they ask about the candles," Bill said. "They'll just get grumpy if they know I had any influence on the decorations."

Mabel carefully tilted the bottom leg of the L just enough to keep the tip out of the frosting, and started smoothing out the rest of the candle-pockmarked surface. "Now I've got enough empty frosting to add some decorations!" Mabel said. "I don't have enough time to draw something complicated. Maybe rainbows?"

Dipper shook his head. "I don't think either of them would be into that."

"Draw gold bars," Bill said.

Mabel blew a raspberry. "That's what you'd want on a cake!"

"No, I'd want me on a cake. Stanley likes gold! Stanford should like gold more, you could help him develop a taste for it."

"No."

Dipper suggested, "Maybe you could draw gambling stuff on Stan's side of the cake? Since they couldn't have their birthday party in Vegas like he wanted." Dipper shot a sideways glance at the reason they had to stay in Gravity Falls. (Bill shrugged. It wasn't like he'd asked the Stan twins to stay in town.) "You could do poker chips or playing cards or—"

"Dice!" Mabel said. "Dipper that's perfect, they both like dice! We can put normal dice on Grunkle Stan's side and nerdy dice on Grunkle Ford's—"

"Oh, that's great! I've got my DD&MD dice bag in the attic!"

"I'll look in the board game closet!"

Dipper and Mabel took off.

Bill waited until he was sure they were gone.

He checked out the kitchen window for witnesses, then picked up a dozen abandoned birthday candles, licked off the frosting, and hid the candles in his hoodie's hood. Too bad they hadn't left a matchbook out, but Bill knew a fun little trick with an empty aluminum can and a tube of toothpaste that would work just fine.

When the kids returned and Mabel stuffed the remaining forty-odd candles back in their box, they never noticed any were missing.

####

Mabel had put herself in charge of the guest list. Which explained why, along with Stan and Ford's actual friends, all Mabel's friends had been invited; as well as—among other people—the mayor ("he's like the Mystery Shack's best customer, Grunkle Stan!"), Shmebulock ("Jeff said Shmebulock stole the Journal 4 you started last fall, I was hoping he might gift it back"), and the Hand Witch and her boyfriend. ("Whaaat, Grunkle Ford you met her TOO?! What a coincidence! Dipper, did you know he met—oh, you did. I didn't read those pages!") It would have been a lot more awkward if not for the fact that the birthday boys were awed and humbled that so many people had attended knowing they were coming to a birthday party for Stan and Ford Pines, and none of the guests had even been bribed.

When Soos and Melody helped Mabel carry out the birthday cake, Ford laughed at the sight of it. "Did you make Roman numerals out of candles? How clever! Stanley, do you know what Roman—"

"Yeah, yeah. I watch the Football Bowl, you know," Stan said. "Honestly, I was expecting this thing to be covered in candles."

"I almost went that route," Mabel said. "But I thought I'd save that kind of firepower for the Fourth of July."

"Hah! That's my girl."

"Happy Birthday" was sung, candles were blown out, and the party lined up to get their cake. Mabel cut a slice, loaded it on a paper plate, then glanced toward the attic window. "I'll be right back! I've gotta use the bathroom. Don't open my presents until I'm back!"

She trotted into the house, taking the cake, a napkin, and a plastic spoon with her.

####

Bill met Mabel at the top of the stairs and scooped the cake out of her hands. "You're my hero, star girl." He carried it halfway back to his window seat, stopped mid-step, and asked, "You got a piece with my name on it?"

"I got the slice with the 'Birt' and took off the extra frosting!"

"Oh," Bill said. "Heh. That's—cute." And he looked so much like he was trying to pretend he wasn't genuinely touched by the gesture, that Mabel didn't have the heart to tell him she'd only thought of it halfway up the stairs.

He flopped back in his usual window seat post—where, Mabel couldn't help but notice, he had a perfect view of the party happening outside without him. She grimaced. "I'm sorry you can't come to the party," she said. "But you did torture and try to murder the birthday boys... and most of the party guests... and left half of them with lingering trauma..."

"Speaking of, how's your therapist doing?"

"Oh, good, she's good. I think she's gonna write a paper about Mabeland."

Bill fell silent, staring out the window. Mabel almost went downstairs—when he said, "You know, I was the only person who gave Stanford a gift on his thirtieth birthday."

Mabel turned back around so fast she almost tripped on the top step. It wasn't often she got a double dose of Bill lore and Grunkle lore. "You were?"

"He didn't make new friends in Oregon and he didn't keep up with his old friends from college. His parents mailed him a gift, but it got here a week late. So I taught him a couple spells to see the stars during the day and keep rain from landing on him, and told him where to be in Portland that afternoon if he wanted to pick up a free cake from a fancy bakery."

"Aww. That was... nice of you." But Mabel had to hesitate before saying it, automatically wondering what Bill's motives had been for giving the gifts and what his motive now was for sharing this.

Bill waved a hand dismissively. "Ahh, they were parlor tricks. They're easy, flashy cantrips that impress humans but don't do any harm," he said. "Not much harm, anyway. That night he told me all about how he was the only human to see his zodiac constellation on his birthday. The genius spent all day staring at the sun so he could see the stars!" He laughed.

But it quickly petered out. "And now I'm personally banned from his birthday party. Funny, huh?"

Maybe Bill was trying to get Mabel to pity him; but she kinda thought he was just pitying himself. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Losing friends is tough," she said. She paused. "And that's why we should be nice to them."

Bill cracked up so loudly Mabel half expected the party outside to hear him. "Okay, Glory Unicorn! I've learned today's moral about friendship. Get outta here. See if I ever tell you anything again." But he was grinning as he shooed her off.

####

When Mabel came back cakeless, Dipper gave her a dark look, but said nothing.

"Are we opening gifts yet?" Mabel picked up a box and flung an arm around Dipper's shoulder. "You've gotta open this one first! It's from both of us to both of you!" She waved it at Stan and Ford until they took it together.

Ford pointed at the card that said, "To our Grunkles, from your gniece and gnephew!" "That isn't how you spell niece and nephew?" Stan elbowed him.

"Nope!" Mabel said. "But it's how you abbreviate great-niece and great-nephew."

"Ah, I see! Very creative."

"Nice recovery," Stan muttered. Ford elbowed him back. Together they tore off the wrapping paper and opened their box.

Inside were two more boxes, each small enough to hold in one hand—a square one labeled "Stan" and a long narrow one labeled "Ford."

Stan opened his box and pulled out a thick gold chain with a coin dangling from it. Engraved on the coin in sloppy text were the words "#1 Grunkle."

Soos held up a hand. "I did the engraving! First try."

Mabel pointed at the coin. "We made it out of pirate treasure that we have for reasons that we can't talk about! There's a skull on the back!"

They'd hung it from his favorite gold chain. He'd been missing it for a week—and he'd never even suspected the kids. How about that. Choked up, Stan said, "It's—it's great." He took off the chain he was currently wearing, chucked it into the bushes, and put on his gift. "C'mere, you two." He wrapped his arms around Dipper and Mabel.

Soos held his arms out hopefully. Stan rolled his eyes, but waved him over for a hug too.

Ford opened his box. "A pen?"

Dipper said, "It has an ergonomic grip, can take standard ink refills, writes super smoothly—I tested it out myself—makes a very satisfying click, and it's red with gold trim to match your journals."

Mabel said, "I helped pick out the design!"

"... And that's why it's also sparkly."

"I didn't do the engraving on that one," Soos said. "We had a lotta spare pirate coins but only one pen, so. They got it done at the mall."

Ford rotated the pen in his hand until he spotted the (more professional-looking) engraving on the barrel, filled in with gold. "Mine says #1 Grunkle too?"

Dipper said, "C'mon, we're not gonna choose between you two."

Stan said, "Oh, I see how it is! Trying to butter us both up, are you?" He reached under Dipper's hat to ruffle his hair. Smiling, Ford carefully slid his gift into his coat's breast pocket next to his usual pen.

####

When Bill saw that Mabel was back outside, he got up, left the rest of his cake on the window seat, scooted aside a storage box sitting forgotten in a corner of the attic, and pried a loose board from the wall.

He took his stolen candles out of his hood, wrapped them in the party napkin Mabel had given him, and stashed them in a plastic sandwich bag where he'd already stowed a crushed cider can, its edges torn and sharp.

Then he re-hid the bag, fixed the wall, replaced the storage box, gently brushed some cobwebs over the floor to hide the trail in the dust where he'd scooted the box, and turned away from his hiding spot.

To see a gnome wearing a journal like a backpack.

They stared at each other.

"You didn't see anything," said Bill.

"Shmebulock," said Shmebulock.

Bill eyed Shmebulock, the staircase, the window—and then dropped into a crouch, knees and feet spread apart like a sumo wrestler, teeth bared.

Shmebulock cracked his knuckles.

Five minutes later, Bill added Journal 4 to his hiding spot, with a mental note to find a new hiding spot the gnomes didn't know about later.

Unfortunately, Shmebulock escaped with Bill's cake.

####

Wendy squinted up at the blonde shape in the attic window. "You know—all this last week, I kept thinking I saw someone up there. I just assumed it was my imagination," she said. "Guess Goldie didn't get invited to the birthday party, huh?"

"Nope," Dipper said. "And for good reason."

Wendy laughed. "Yeah, sounds it."

Dipper glanced toward his grunkles. At the moment, Ford was opening a cheap set of watercolor paints and giving Mabel an exasperated look. ("I thought we could try them out together! And hate them together!" "All right, that might be fun.") He lowered his voice and picked at his cake. "So. You found out the big secret, huh?"

"Yup," Wendy said. She lightly punched Dipper's shoulder. "Hey—don't look so glum, man. I'm not mad you didn't tell me. There's some kind of family drama and a missing person case involved. I get it—you don't talk about that kind of stuff outside the family."

"Yeah, hah. Right," Dipper said. "So, what do you think of... Goldie?"

Wendy glanced up at the figure in the window. "We didn't talk a whole bunch before Goldie and Stan started arguing about plagiarism," she said, "but I got that she's some kind of wildcard paranormal investigator who gives off insane grifter energy. And seems really mentally messed up from being trapped in another dimension, but like, the kind of messed up that probably makes you fun at parties?" She was already mentally playing Goldie off of her friend group, trying to figure out how well she'd mesh with them. She seemed like the kind of person who'd be into some harmless trespassing and recreational vandalism. "How old is Goldie? She was working on a Ph.D., so that's what, mid-20s? Mid-20s but actually mid-50s after not aging for thirty years? Honestly, if I just met her on the street I would've thought she was like, 15. She does not look her age." Maybe it was the lack of makeup?

Under his breath, Dipper muttered, "You have no idea." He glanced away from Wendy, stuffed a large forkful of cake in his mouth, and mumbled to himself, "How much should I say? Sharing too much could be dangerous, but if I don't say anything..." Mumble, mumble.

Wendy would never tell Dipper how funny it was that he monologued to himself and hoped nobody would notice. Usually she'd politely ignore him, but if there was something dangerous... She lightly elbowed him. "Dipper. Come on," she said. "I can tell something's eating you. You can trust me."

"Ugh, I know, but..." Dipper glanced again at the rest of the birthday party—just far enough to be out of earshot, currently entranced by some thingamajig Fiddleford had gifted the Stans—and let out a heavy sigh. Voice low, he said, "Okay, Wendy, listen. For your own safety, you need to know that Goldie is way worse than whatever you heard about him last night. And I can't tell you why, because of reasons I also can't tell you—believe me, I wish I could tell you, but—don't trust him, okay?" Dipper gave her an earnest, pleading look. "Just don't. He's dangerous. That's all I can say."

It figured that even after Wendy learned the big secret, she'd just find another, smaller secret hidden underneath. Like a matryoshka doll. (She quietly made note of the "he" and wondered if Goldie had been part of the queer scene in the 80s, or if he'd only figured himself out while he was in ghost land.) "I'm assuming he's dangerous for Weird Spooky Paranormal reasons?"

"Yeah," Dipper said, teeth grit. "Yeah, basically."

He wanted to tell her more, she wanted to know more, and she was ready to play 20 questions on Goldie's backstory. Picking through what she'd learned last night for clues, Wendy asked, "Is it connected to Ford's research? All the weird magic stuff he got into?"

"Um." Dipper shrugged uncertainly. "Y...yeah? But... bigger than that?"

"Is it portal stuff." What was the most dangerous thing she knew of that was connected to the portal. "Is it Bill stuff."

Dipper let out an anguished groan, pulled off his hat, and buried his face in it. "I can't tell you more than I already have!"

"Oh my god it's Bill stuff."

Dipper eloquently said, "MRRGHF."

"Okay got it, so Goldie was some kind of Bill groupie or discovered how to summon him or something. Something like that. I don't need to know the details! But he's totally Bill-adjacent."

"Yeah. Yeah. Yep." Dipper nodded emphatically. "Bill-adjacent is... the best way to describe Goldie."

"But Bill's gone, right? So Goldie's like a cultist without a cult leader. Doesn't that mean he's harmless now?" Wendy asked. "Or do you think he's gonna try to cause the apocalypse in honor of his boss or whatever."

Dipper tugged his hat back on his head and straightened it out. "I'm sure he'd try to end the world again if he could, but... we're all still trying to figure out what he can do."

"So, domestic terrorism risk. Cool," Wendy said. "Y'know, I sorta expected to run into a guy like that in the shack eventually, but I always thought they'd be here because of Stan, not Ford." She rolled her eyes. "I'll warn you if he starts talking about ending the world or anything."

"Thanks, Wendy." Dipper glanced uneasily toward the birthday party. (They were still distracted, currently trying to douse the flamethrower on Fiddleford's birthday gift. It was trying to eliminate the competitor gifts.) "Just... don't tell anybody else, okay? If the town finds out that Goldie is—you know—Bill-adjacent..."

"Relax." She pantomimed zipping her mouth. "I'm not gonna organize an angry mob."

She glanced up at the attic window. Goldie was still up there, staring down at the party. He noticed Wendy staring and made a face at her.

She made the same face back, and saw him silently laughing. Okay, he had bad taste in friends, obviously; but Goldie seemed kinda cool in an unhinged way. From what Wendy had gathered, Bill had conned and then betrayed half the people she knew—and if the Pines had only just managed to get Goldie back on this plane of reality, months after Weirdmageddon, that meant Bill hadn't bothered to rescue him when he could, so Goldie was just another victim. Maybe he just needed to be reintegrated into society.

Dipper said, "Hey, Stan just poured punch on the robot and it made the fire worse. Do you think we should help?"

Wendy looked at the fire—and looked up at the fire. She was moving before she spoke. "Yeah, let's do something about that."

They rejoined the rest of the party, and Wendy put Goldie out of her mind.

####

Ford stared at the ring on his left sixth finger.

Welcome back, the Hand Witch had said.

Thirty years ago, he'd met her at a carnival. She'd told him that he'd chosen the wrong allies and would doom himself for it. She'd given him a ring with a blue cabochon and told him that if it ever turned black, there was no hope for him.

He'd dismissed her as a phony palm reader; and, the night he'd decided Bill was right about Fiddleford not being bold enough to follow through with the portal project, the ring had turned black, and he'd thrown it in the lake.

Now here it was on his finger again.

He didn't think her a phony now. Everything she'd told him had been true. And anyway, it was hard to doubt she had real magic when she spent half the party trying to stop two small disembodied hands from escaping her pockets to visit Mabel.

"Why are you giving this back to me?"

"It's your birthday! And I thought it might be useful."

"For what? Am I in danger?"

"I don't know, I'd have to give you another reading to see." She had pulled a cartomancy deck from her pocket. "Do you want me to?" The card on the bottom of the deck had been a triangle with a snake slithering through its eye socket.

Ford hadn't wanted a reading. He knew now that what he'd called superstition back at that carnival might be a legitimate form of prophecy he simply didn't understand; but he was tired of living his life by signs and portends.

All the same, it was comforting to see that his ring was blue.

Ford's view of the ring was blocked by Stan shoving over the "Get Out Of One Misdemeanor Free" coupon Mayor Cutebiker had given as his birthday gift. "Hey, do you think I'd get in trouble if I made a buncha copies of this?"

Ford took the coupon and inspected it thoughtfully. "If you do get in trouble... a coupon counterfeiting charge couldn't possibly be worse than a misdemeanor, could it?"

"That's what I like to hear!"

It had been a surprisingly long day—and, by far, the best birthday either of them had had in well over forty years. (Was it really that long?) Now they were retired to the parlor Soos and Abuelita had converted into a double guest room, sitting on their beds facing each other as they got ready for sleep.

There was a knock at the door. Ford stood. "Coming—" He opened the door to see Bill's grinning face, a foot from his own. "Oh. You." Ford resisted the urge to step back, in case Bill interpreted as an invitation to come in.

"Hiya, birthday boy!" Bill's gaze immediately drifted down to Ford's coat pocket. "Hey—new pen? I like the sparkle, adds a little pizazz."

"What do you want, Cipher."

"Just to hand this over." Bill pressed a couple of envelopes into Ford's chest, and kept them pinned there with a fingertip until Ford reluctantly took them. "I knew you'd hate getting something from me at your party, so just for you I waited until all the festivities were over. You're welcome."

Ford studied the envelopes. They were two pieces of yellow construction paper that had been folded into envelope shape, and written on each one, in lurching crayon text that drifted up and down, was "Stanford" and "Stanley". "You made cards?"

"You're flattered."

"I most certainly am not."

"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'" Bill shrugged. "Hey, they're your birthday gifts. Toss them in the fire if that makes you happiest. You just might wanna open them first—you know, to make sure I didn't write a fire-activated explosion spell on the inside."

Stan grabbed his envelope out of Ford's hand and eyed it in deep suspicion. "And why did you make these?"

"Because it's your birthday. Come on! Why am I explaining this, it's your species's ritual."

"I mean why are you doing it? We all hate each other. We're planning your execution, here," Stan said. "So what's your angle?"

"What do you need my measurements for, you pervert."

"ALL right—" Stan stepped toward Bill, cracking his knuckles, and was only stopped by Ford's hand across his chest.

Bill leaned back against the hallway's opposite wall. "Whoa! Consider this a peace offering! You know—'no hard feelings for all the murder, attempted or planned'! I can be a polite house guest, even if I'm not a voluntary one." Bill smiled wryly, "I'm trapped on an alien planet where I know less than a dozen people and all of them hate me. It gets boring." He looked directly in Ford's eyes. "And we've got history. Is it so hard to believe I might want to be friends again?"

This time, Stan had to put a hand across Ford's chest.

Ford said, "You're up to something."

"Is that a statement or a question?"

"Statement."

"Then you don't want an answer. Enjoy your gifts! Or don't, I'm not your boss." Bill waved, and slunk around the corner back toward the living room.

Ford shut the door. He sat on his bed, examined the envelope, and glanced at Stan, who was sitting on his bed doing the same thing.

They grimaced at each other.

"Okay," Stan said. "Is this more dangerous if we do open it or don't open it?" He hefted his envelope in his hand. "This thing's pretty heavy for just a card."

"Is it?" Ford's wasn't very heavy. He turned on a lamp on a bedside table and held the envelope up in front of it, trying to see through the construction paper. "I think he's counting on us to open these. I doubt he set a trap that will activate if we leave it closed—it's not his style."

"So, what do we think. Some kinda hypnotic mind-control magic that's activated by reading it? Or is he just trying to bribe us into liking him better?"

"He probably doesn't have hypnotic mind-control magic. If he did, why would he have spent so long trying to manipulate humans into doing his bidding?"

"I dunno, maybe he's stupid."

Testily, Ford said, "He's not stupid."

"No—listen, I've been thinking about this for months," Stan said. "You spent thirty years hopping between a zillion different dimension, right? If there's already safe portals out there, why'd he spend so long tricking someone into building a crummy one that'd destroy the universe, instead of using one of those? He's gotta be stupid!"

"I've... wondered the same thing about the portal," Ford admitted grudgingly. "But, no—I've seen him use so many roundabout tricks to manipulate minds that if he were capable of overt mind control, I'm sure he'd have used it by now."

"Fine, so mind control's off the table. But we're probably safer if we leave these alone. If we open them, they might be an annoying attempt to kiss up to us, or they might be dangerous." Stan waved his envelope like a fan. "And, we're gonna open them anyway, because not knowing will kill us, right?"

In his youth, Ford had arrogantly looked down on Pandora. "Of course we're going to open them."

They opened their envelopes.

They both contained a sheet of type paper folded in half with nothing on the front and messages written inside. Ford's read, "Stanford– I'd tell you to go to hell, but you'd barely be there long enough for it to be worth the trip. Happy birthday! –Δέος" Charming. Particularly out of the heel who'd just claimed he wanted to be friends.

"Hey, what is this?" Stan held his letter out for Ford to see: "Stanley– You were only the accomplice. I won't hold a grudge. Happy birthday! –Δέος" Stan pointed at the last word, "Is this some kind of curse?"

"A signature. Bill's real name isn't 'Bill Cipher'—it's just one of many nicknames he uses when communicating with humans. And, when writing to people who know him well, he prefers to sign with that nickname. It's pronounced déos." It meant awe—whether manifested in the form of fear or reverence. And it probably was no coincidence that Bill had picked a word that, to the untrained ear, sounded so much like the Latin deus—god.

Once, long ago, waking up to find his own hand had written a letter signed by "Awe" in a foreign alphabet had filled Ford with awe. Now... well, now it looked a little try-hard, didn't it. "Between you and me, I think Bill likes that signature best because it starts with a triangle." In Bill's handwriting, the delta looked unusually equilateral.

"Really fond of his own face, isn't he," Stan said, digging in the envelope for the rest of his "gift"—and he pulled out a handful of scratch cards. "What the...?"

How the heck had Bill gotten his hands on those? Ford checked to see if his envelope had the same—and came out with five pieces of notebook paper instead, still tattered on the edge from being torn out of a spiral notebook, covered front and back with writing—multiple languages, some inhuman, with a smattering of complex sigils and symbols. The first line on the first page read "Spell to Resurrect Fowl (chicken, turkey, duck, etc.—funny at dinner parties!)" Ford slapped the pages face down on his nightstand without reading the next line.

"What is it?" Stan asked.

"Magic," Ford said, voice flat with irritation.

"A trap—?"

"No. Magic for me. Spells I don't know. The kind of knowledge I'd—document in my journals."

Stan processed that. He tossed his scratch cards down on his own nightstand. "Lemme get this straight," he said. "Less than two weeks since he tried to kill us, with no access to the outside world and no resources at his disposal but his stupid wits—without even getting his hands on a freaking envelope—he somehow managed to get us both thoughtful, considerate gifts that are deeply relevant to our personal interests and passions! Is that about right?"

"It seems to be, yes."

"That jerk! I oughta ring his neck!"

Ford nodded in agreement. "I didn't know you're into scratch cards." He tamped down the urge to lecture Stan on the statistical improbability of making a profit.

"See, if even you didn't know, now I'm even madder that he does!" Stan groaned in frustration. "I kicked the habit. Still like playing 'em if I get them as a gift."

"Hmm." That was all right, then. Couldn't lose money on scratch cards if somebody else had spent the money.

They glared together at their thoughtful, relevant, deeply unwanted gifts, trying to decide what to do about them. Stan was the first to let out a resigned sigh and snatch his up. "What the heck. They're already paid for, I'm not gonna throw away potential free money just because it came from him." He fished around in his discarded pants pockets for a quarter. "But I'm not gonna enjoy myself!" He flipped through the cards, noting they were each labeled in a corner from 1/11 to 11/11, and muttered, "Why'd he draw triangles on some of the numbers?"

Well, if Stan had caved into his curiosity... Back into the box, Pandora, and perhaps we'll find hope at the bottom.

"Mabel must've helped him get these," Stan said. "It's the only way. And these cards have glitter and unicorns all over them." He scratched off his first card, and said, "Hey, three bunny faces—how 'bout that? I made thirty bucks already."

"At least it's not a total waste," Ford muttered, skimming the pages before him.

It was a treasure trove.

A spell to uncook food. The cipher to decrypt the Voynich manuscript. A potion to change eye color. A river stone submerged not five miles away that, when dry, hovered. A ritual involving five hours of meditation and a lot of mushrooms that opened up psychic communication with Earth's nearest alien neighbors. An illusion to make the floor look like lava. ("Good for games if you're very bored and oppressed by gravity.") The names of five hitherto-unknown demon nobles, the sigils to summon and bind them, the fields of knowledge and political influence in which they were most helpful, and a few personal tips on how to best to twist their arms into doing a favor. A complicated way to grind glasses that let one see, depending on prescription strength, anywhere from several seconds to several minutes into the future. And on and on.

And Bill didn't just toss down a few mystical-sounding words and move on: in a few terse sentences after each spell, he hinted at the principles that made them work (freely mixing magic, physics, and metaphysics), the people who'd created or discovered the trick (whether human, inhuman, unearthly, or transdimensional), where Ford could go digging to independently verify the information if he didn't want to take Bill's word for it—and what other, greater things someone might use these tricks to do, if only they fully understood how they worked, if only they had the right teacher. Bill had filled the margins, scribbled extra info in red pen in between the rows of black to double the amount of text he could cram on each line. Ford could fill an entire journal just by copying, disentangling, and expanding on everything Bill had packed into this dense five-page grimoire.

Bill had given Ford more in this letter than he had in all the years he'd been posing as Ford's friend—excluding those accursed portal blueprints. He'd shared the kinds of things Ford had always dreamed his Muse might show him. He gave it away like a free sample to entice a new customer. Five pages of deep secrets meant nothing to Bill and his infinite knowledge. He could have done this all along. He only did it now to try to bribe Ford into sparing his life: see what you could miss out on?

As Ford read the pages, his hands trembled in rage.

"—two hundred dollars, two hundred fifty dollars," Stan muttered. "Those are the biggest yet." He waved the scratch cards at Ford. "I don't understand it! That's eight winners in a row! I've made almost a thousand bucks just by scratching these off—that's not luck! How's he do it? What kinda weird alien magic gives you scratch card telepathy?"

"I don't know. I had no idea he could identify winning scratch cards," Ford said. "But I'm not surprised."

Stan shook his head in amazement, and scratched the next card.

Ford crushed the notepaper pages into a ball.

And he smoothed them back out. Bill was a monster, but this knowledge was precious.

He looked at the Hand Witch's ring like it might tell him the correct course; but no matter which way his thoughts swayed, the gem remained a steady blue.

"This card's a thousand bucks all by itself," Stan said. "I've never won a thousand in my life. There's no way..." He scratched furiously at the last card, revealing symbols patterned after an array of gems and jewelry. "Five hundred!" Scratch scratch scratch— "Times five?! That's—!" He seized up all his cards and quickly tallied his winnings. "That's a total of nearly five thousand dollars!" He let out a disbelieving laugh. "Who needs Vegas? This monster's been better to me than she ever has!"

"Stanley, that's exactly what he wants you to think," Ford snapped. "He's giving us everything we want so we'll be more reluctant to kill him. This is less than chump change to him! Don't forget that his goal—"

"I know! I'm not stupid, I know what he's doing. Lotto numbers aren't worth the safety of the universe. But sh—shoot, Stanford, he handed me five grand for free and I'm keeping it."

"Fine," Ford said. "Fine. I suppose there's no point in throwing it away on principle."

"Darn straight!"

Ford glowered down at his underhanded "gift"—this little glimpse behind the veil into the mysteries of the universe. His whole chest bubbled and burned with rage; but beneath it—twinkling like a lonely star, twinkling like hope at the bottom of Pandora's box—was something he hadn't felt since Bill betrayed him.

Awe.

It was like waking up to a letter from his Muse.

This was who Bill could be—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—and he chose not to be. Why?! When this was so easy for him—why did he have to be what he was instead?

This charitable act only made the true Bill look even worse by contrast.

Ford re-smoothed the pages, carefully folded them in half, and stored them back in their construction paper envelope. He'd leave them there until he'd independently researched every one of these spells and ensured they did what Bill said they did and that there weren't any hidden side-effects.

And then he'd see about adding this information to his current journal.

No point throwing it away on principle.

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd deeply appreciate hearing your thoughts! Thanks!)

#(me drawing Ford: *checks image reference a dozen times for tiny details*)#(me drawing Stan: *scrawls him out without consulting a reference once* Yeah that's grunkle shaped. Post it.)#grunkle stan #grunkle ford #bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #my writing #my art #bill goldilocks cipher

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ghostboneswrites2 · 2 months

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A Mess || Part 6

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring everything here starting with this series since it was the most popular!

Summary: Daryl has a present. Reader is called on a run with Daryl and things take a turn for the worst.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: TWD typical violence, profanity

As Daryl wandered up and down the aisles, picking out random bits and pieces of clothing for Judith, he couldn't help but recall his last encounter with you. In spite of the awkwardness and general humiliation, he did notice the rubber soles of your shoes beginning to separate from the tarnished leather. He found his way over to the women's shoes. He happened to know you were the same size as Maggie, only because your boots were given to you by Maggie back at the farm when your old shoes fell apart. He knew her size because Glenn asked him to keep a lookout for her size the last time they were out looting clothes and shoes together. So, he picked up different pairs of sturdy looking boots and checked them for their sizes until he found a pair in your size.

They were gray Timberlands, so he knew they'd last you a good while. He dropped them in his duffel and moved on to find the other items on the list before he headed back to the prison.

He hid the shoes under his bed before he found Beth and Judith to give her all the clothes he found. Some of them were a little loose but it was better than nothing. Then he added all the nonperishable food he found -- which wasn't a whole lot -- to the stockpile of canned and packaged goods. He also had found a few knives and random ropes and construction supplies that he thought would be useful so he handed it all over to Hershel.

"These'll be good. Good job, Daryl." The old man nodded. Daryl nodded back and went to sit on his bunk for a while to unwind after his day.

It was late afternoon by then. You were hanging clothes to dry with Carol and Maggie, chatting about the layout of the future garden and where you could potentially build an enclosure and raise some livestock. Maggie had some good ideas with her own farming experience, and Carol's efficient thinking helped too, but you were mostly just there to crack jokes and point out the fact that the men never helped with laundry even though their soiled clothes always smelled the worst.

"Well, that's all of it for today." Carol sighed, clipping the last shirt up on the line.

"Thank God." You said, wiping some sweat from your eyes. "I think I need to shower. I smell like onions."

"I was wondering what that was." Maggie joked.

"I take credit for the onion stench but if it's garlic you're smelling, that's definitely Carol." You laughed.

"Um, excuse me? I'm a lady. I don't stink." Carol said, slapping your shoulder lightly.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Peletier." You shrugged.

You went inside and walked to the bathrooms. Irrigation hadn't been set up yet, but the barrel of water would do just fine for now. You grabbed a clean rag and stripped down, lathering it with soap and scrubbing the surface of your skin quickly. You dumped a little bucket of water over yourself before drying off and getting dressed. By then it was surely dinner time. You wondered what was on the menu.

When you made it back to the cellblock, people were eating some kind of stew out of a big pot. You grabbed yourself a bowl and dug in. Based on the plethora of rodents and woodland critters you had ingested over these last months, you reasoned that it must have been raccoon meat.

When you were done you cleaned up after yourself and went to your cell to retire for the night. You lit the candle on the little desk that came in all the cells and sighed. What you wouldn't give for a glass of wine and a good chick flick.

"Hey." A voice sounded from the entrance to your cell. You glanced over at the dirty hunter.

"Hey." You smiled.

"Got ya somethin'." He said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He nodded, pulling a band new pair of boots from behind his back. You walked over and grabbed them, examining them with excitement.

"How'd you know my size?" You asked with a grin.

"Same as Maggie." He shrugged.

"Wow." Was all you could say.

"Timberlands are good. Should last ya a while."

"Thank you." You said, setting them down by the bunk. "They're perfect."

You wondered if his weird shoe compliment had something to do with this.

"Goodnight." He said as he turned around.

"Wait." You said. He turned back to you. "Are you going out for a smoke? I'm not tired yet."

He shrugged. "I can."

"Okay. I'll meet you outside." You smiled.

You slid into your new shoes and went outside. The breeze was nice compared to the scorching daytime, and the sky was turning black with a thin orange line on the horizon. The stars would be out soon.

Daryl came out shortly after. He lit his cigarette and stood beside you, glancing up at the sky.

"Maybe tonight we can find the big dipper." You suggested.

"The little one ain't good enough for you?"

"Shut up." You nudged his arm. He glanced down at your shoes.

"They fit okay?" He asked. You nodded.

"Perfect." You assured him.

"Good. Store had a no return policy." He joked.

"Right. That's become a real problem these days."

"Greedy ass corporations. No respect for the workin' class." He shook his head.

"Why'd you get me these anyways?" You asked. He shrugged.

"Old ones looked like shit."

"So you didn't like them?" You raised your brows.

"I just.." He shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. Thanks again." You said. "You know, since you're feeling so generous lately, I could use some new underwear."

Daryl's suntanned skin drained of color. He could have seen a ghost with as pale as he got.

"You know," you pressed on. "I'm thinking something cute. Like lace and a pink bow."

"Shut up." He grumbled. He felt his ears getting warm as he tried to imagine literally anything else besides what you'd look like in lacey panties with a pink bow.

"No bow? You're right. That's too damsel-ish. Maybe a red--"

"Can you quit?" He snapped. "The hell's wrong with you?"

"Don't be such a prude. You act like you've never seen underwear."

"Why do I need'a know what kinda panties you wear?"

"Oh, trust me. You don't wanna know about my grannie panties. I'm talking about what kind of underwear I could wear. Not what I have on." You corrected.

"Grannie panties? What, like bloomers?"

You laughed.

"No, just oversized underwear." You clarified.

"The hell?" He mumbled to himself. What was your game here? What were you getting at?

"I'm just kidding." You shoved him. "Jeez, have you never seen underwear or am I just repulsive? Virgin behavior, Daryl. Not becoming on you."

"I ain't a virgin." He defended.

"What's your body count?" You asked.

"Body count?" He asked.

"Yeah, like.. You know. How many girls?"

"Oh." He thought for a moment. "I dunno."

"That many, huh?" You whistled. "A man of experience."

"Nah, it's just.. Only when I was drunk."

"Oh." You said. "I've only had one."

"One night stand?" He wondered.

"No, like, just one. Ever." You clarified.

"Oh."

It wasn't that he thought you were the type to get around, not that it would really matter anyways, but he was shocked that Shane was the only one.

"Were ya savin' it for marriage or somethin'?" He asked.

"Uh, no. Not really. Just never cared to be the girl in school with all the rumors after one encounter, ya know? And Shane, I married him right after high school. He was older than me but we got drunk one night and I ended up knocked up. That was my first time." You recalled.

"Y'all had a kid?"

"Almost." You lamented. "Lost it after the wedding. I think he just married me 'cause the thought it was right, with a kid on the way and all. But he just got stuck with me."

"'M sorry." He said quietly. You shrugged.

"Probably for the best." You shrugged, swallowing sadness. "Better than raising a kid and something bad happening. I couldn't move on like Carol did. She's strong. I don't know if I could be that strong. Shane dying, I mean, that sucks don't get me wrong, but it was over before that."

"Mm." He nodded.

"Wow, that took a dark turn." You tried to laugh it off. "Anyways, so you don't remember any of the girls you've been with? You never had a girlfriend?"

"I had one. In grade school. Her name was Willow."

"That doesn't count." You giggled.

"That was the only one. Mom died after that." He said.

"Oh." You nodded.

"Plus, nobody woulda stuck around with Merle's sorry ass and his dirty mouth."

"I'm sure someone would've. The right person wouldn't have walked away over that." You assured him.

"You must not remember my brother." He remarked.

"Oh, I do." You chuckled. "He's not the type you forget."

----

"(Y/N), do you mind tagging along with Daryl today? He’s gonna need an extra hand on this run.” Rick asked as he approached your cell. It was early. You were just starting to rub the crust out of your eyes when he asked.

You nodded and stretched your arms over your head. “Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, thanks. He’s heading out in fifteen.” He said as he walked away. You groaned. Fifteen minutes? You just woke up. You’d kill someone for an iced coffee these days.

Your bones creaked as you stood up off the cot. Your organs felt like they were filled with cement. You sipped water from the old cup you kept in your cell before slipping into some grungy jeans and a top. You finger combed your hair as quick as possible before throwing it into a pony tail and sliding into your new shoes. Ready as you’ll ever be.

A few minutes later, after sheathing your knives and checking your gun, you met Daryl by the front gate.

“Told ‘em I didn’t need no damn help.” He grumbled.

“Not a morning person, huh?” You croaked, voice still groggy.

“Mm.” He grunted. He opened the passenger side door for you before he walked around to the other side of the truck and got in. You got in and shut the door, leaning your head against the window with heavy tired eyes.

“How far?” You asked.

“‘Bout two hours.”

“Okay. I nap.” Was all you said. He chuckled silently, shaking his head as he started the ignition and shifted into gear. As soon as Carl pulled the gates open, the truck was rolling.

Daryl drove silently for an hour or so, sneaking little glances your way any chance he got. You really were sound asleep. The way your head was slumped made a little double chin, and you even snored a little until a random bump in the road would wake you in the slightest.

You were pretty, no matter how silly you looked. Especially nowadays. Without the stress or grief plastered all over your face, that fiery personality could really shine through.

His attention was drawn back to the road when the truck approached a herd of walkers blocking the street. He squinted to try and see how many there were but he couldn’t see through the dense sea of corpses all bouncing off of each other. He looked down at the map. This road was the only way to that town unless he turned around and took a detour that would add at least another two hours to the trip, taking you through another town.

You began to wake from the lack of vibrations from the moving car. You rubbed your eyes and looked around.

“What’s happening?” You asked.

“Damn road’s blocked.” He said. You looked at the walkers. Some of them began to take notice to the vehicle and stumbled in your direction. Daryl sighed and put the truck in reverse, making a three point turn until the vehicle faces the opposite direction.

He pulled the map over to you and pointed out the alternative route. “We can follow this road through this town. It’ll add time to the drive but we’ll get there.”

“Can’t you just run them over?” You whined. It amazed him how you could act like a child getting up for school, even with probably thirty jaw-snapping walkers behind you.

“Nah. Too risky.” He said as he shifted the stick back into gear and sped away. You huffed and leaned your head back on the seat. “Could keep sleepin’ if ya wanted.”

“The more I try to sleep the more tired I feel.” You admitted. He nodded.

“Best to just wake up when ya do.”

You didn’t respond. You were too groggy. You just stared out the window and watched the trees speed by.

Eventually the truck came to another stop. More walkers. You sighed.

“How?” You droned. “We just came from this way.”

“This one’s bigger.” He observed. The road was at a slight incline which gave you a bit of a vantage point to see how many were there. It was indeed a lot. You glanced at some movement in your rear view mirror.

“Uh.. Daryl?” You tapped his shoulder. “They followed us.”

He turned to look out of the back window and indeed the first herd was closing in.

“Fast sims of bitches.” He grumbled. You looked around. There were no turns to make.

“So what do we do?” You asked. The herd ahead of you had already taken notice to you, and the one behind would be closing in soon.

“Get your bag. We gotta go.” He said hurriedly. He slung his own bag over his shoulder and grabbed his bow. You got your bag and readied your gun. The two of you looked at each other. After a moment he nodded and you both threw the doors open and ran into the trees to the left of the truck.

He figured if you ran far enough you’d make it somewhere safe enough to ride out the herds that were about to merge.

You dodged the branches and trees as you followed behind him, barely taking the time to notice anything around you. You zeroed your vision on Daryl in an attempt to keep calm. You knew this man. He could survive anything. If anyone could keep you alive, it was him.

Your chest began to burn after some time, but you had to keep going. You could hear the groans and clumsy footsteps behind you. If you stopped for breath you’d be a meal.

So you just kept going, and going, and going. Thankfully there was a small tree house ahead with a rope ladder hanging down. Probably something a hunter built with how far from any kind of home or civilization it was.

As you approached, he urged you up the ladder first, following so close behind you that you could feel his breaths on the back of your legs. You periodically glanced down as you climbed. A few walkers had already made it to the tree, clawing upwards desperately for a bite of one of you.

When you made it to the tree house you climbed in on your belly, quickly moving aside for Daryl. He pulled the ladder up when he was inside, just in case one of those hungry assholes remembered how to climb.

You laid flat in your back, gasping for air as you caught your breath.

“Shit.” You breathed.

“If we stay quiet they’ll get bored and wander off.” He whispered.

“Thar many? You think they could push the tree over?”

“Nah. It’s sturdy.”

“What if they don’t leave?”

“They will. We just gotta wait.”

Masterlist || Taglist

#18+ content #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl x female reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 23 days

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Kaiju Week in Review (March 17-23, 2024)

Mere days to go before a new Godzilla movie... didn't we just do this?

Before we welcome that latest entry, let's look back on one that just commemorated its golden anniversary. With Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla turning 50 on March 21, every member of Toho's Big Five has now hit the half-century mark. The company didn't mark the day itself with much; as has become typical, the celebration of Mechagodzilla (and presumably King Caesar) will be spread throughout the year. I wrote a bit about the magnificent machine, who I consider the best Godzilla antagonist, here. The film itself is one of Teruyoshi Nakano's masterpieces, an onslaught of animated rays and gorgeous explosions. The humans are forgettable, but they keep the pace brisk—and the alien commander Mugal is almost as devilish a villain as Mechagodzilla itself, especially in the English dub. Speaking of that dub, you can watch a video breaking down the entire voice cast here, thanks to the tireless work of the Save All Dubs! group.

Justice League vs. Godzilla vs. Kong #6 finally gets to the good stuff, with Lex Luthor piloting Mechagodzilla and commanding an army of Titans to raze Metropolis while the heroes counter with not one but two giant robots. It doesn't quite measure up to the Godzilla: Rulers of Earth finale, but like that double-sized issue, it required two artists (Christian Duce joined by Tom Derenick) to draw all those characters, and the results are impressive. The story hasn't grown any more complex, but I'm at least interested to see how it all wraps up.

In other Godzilla comic news, a Godziban manga by Sakuju Koizumi has started up, hosted by Telemaga, a tokusatsu-focused Kodansha site. The first installment was pretty short, so I'm guessing these'll be updated weekly. It isn't the first comic version of Godziban, as one called Godziman ran during the 1st Season, but this one's actually illustrated.

youtube

Tokyo's Ikebukuro district made Godzilla the honorary chief of police on March 16 to take part in a parade promoting traffic safety. The stunt made international headlines and generated no small amount of angst over Cop Godzilla. I think Gamera would've been better-suited to this campaign myself.

youtube

Here's the trailer for Season 2 of Chibi Godzilla Raids Again, revealing Gabara, Gigan, and Titanosaurus's designs. Looks as funny as the first one. Maaya Uchida, who sang the ending songs in SSSS.Gridman and SSSS.Dynazenon, will voice Chibi Minilla. It's gone weirdly neglected by English Godzilla social media accounts, but X user @MakoMattari translated it.

The Music Box Theatre in Chicago has a Godzilla program for the ages scheduled for June 7-13, in honor of his 70th birthday. There's not a weak day on the schedule, but the clear highlight is a 24-hour marathon of the entire Showa series on the 8th, which I don't think has ever been attempted before.

G-Fest has also started announcing guests: Ayako Fujitani (Asagi in the Heisei Gamera trilogy) and Rie Ota (Baragon in GMK), both first-timers. Frankly, they could carry the con themselves if they have to; not sure who I'm more excited to meet!

#kaiju week in review #godzilla vs. mechagodzilla #justice league vs. godzilla vs. kong #chibi godzilla raids again #gfest #godziban #godzilla #kaiju

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mrsstarkey1 · 1 year

Note

Hiii! Could you do Pope Heyward x Fem! Reader where reader is comforting Pope after he found out the cross was fake? Like just some cute fluff?? It’s okay if not!

a/n: thanks for the request!!! @pogue-princess ! also why are there literally no pope fics out there?? i love him sm

word count: 0.5k

warnings: criminally short

You shut your bedroom door cautiously, careful not to let the sound wake your parents down the hall. "They'll be out for the night," you said quietly, turning to where Pope was sitting on your bed. You opened up the middle drawer of your dresser - Pope's designated drawer, and grabbed out a sweatshirt and a pair sweatpants of his. You handed them over to him with a small smile, "these'll be more comfortable."

"Thank you," he said weakly, offering a grateful half smile. You moved to your bathroom, changing your own clothes and leaving him to change in your room.

You returned moments later, eyes softening immediately at the sight of Pope lying on your bed staring at the ceiling. You shuffled over to the other side of the bed, climbing under the covers next to him. You were exhausted from the events of the day, so you couldn’t imagine how Pope was feeling.

You laid on your side, eyes trained on Pope. "I know this is probably a dumb question," you started softly, getting his attention, "but are you okay?"

“I don’t know,” he said quietly after a couple moments, tilting his head toward you, revealing his glossy eyes.

Your heart clenched immediately at the sight. You knew it was killing him; losing the cross. Again. “I’m so sorry, Pope,” you said softly, wrapping your arm around his middle and resting your head on his shoulder. “I know what the cross meant to you; to your family. And I have no idea what’s going through your head, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Pope nodded weakly, “I know,” he leaned onto your shoulder, sinking into your embrace. You felt him let out a long breath into your neck, and you tightened your arms around him.

You traced circles onto Pope’s back in an attempt to console him and help him finally get some rest. You were starting to drift off to sleep yourself, comforted at the feeling of Pope’s arms around you.

“I just-” Pope started after a couple minutes of comfortable silence. He pulled his head from the crook of your neck, letting it fall onto the pillow. “I can’t believe we lost it again. We were so close. I thought we finally had it, y/n.”

You nodded in agreement, propping yourself up on your forearm to hover slightly above him. “So did I, baby,” you said softly, thumb tracing over his cheek lightly.

Pope’s eyes met your loving gaze, and he let himself smile for the first time tonight. “Thank you,” he spoke softly, fingers trailing along your arm, “for always being here.”

You responded by leaning down to press your lips to his in a short, sweet kiss. “I love you, Pope,” you whispered against his lips.

“I love you, y/n.”

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oboetenai-oboetenai · 17 days

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Hit Back

After Amane's interrogation, Fuuta finds out that Es hit her, and they plot their revenge.

Ooh, kyanako has added to the "mild swear inventory".

(Written at a very late hour.)

Amane woke up still seated in the interrogation chair, with her head resting on the table and throbbing. Of course Es had just left her there.

She pushed herself up and slowly guided herself to stand.

I should go check on the other unforgiven prisoners.

She stumbled out of her cell and started walking in the general direction of Fuuta and Mahiru's cells.

Who should I visit first? Mahiru-san is probably asleep, so that means I should start with-

She trudged along, willing herself not to fall over on the way there.

Her will wasn't enough, but an arm reached out and stopped her from tipping too far.

"Amane. You okay?"

She turned her head towards the voice. "Oh. Kajiyama Fuuta. Do not worry about me. I was just on my way to talk to you."

"'Worry' my ass. You clearly just woke up from your extraction, and you're wandering around."

"I am fine. We can talk about-"

"What's that on your face?" he interrupted.

"What do you mean? There is a lot on my face." Overgrown bangs, eyebags-

"That red mark on your cheek. Did the warden hit you?"

"It is nothing."

"It is not nothing! We can't let them get away with this!"

"There is no point. The warden has all the power here."

"We can do something about it. Don't you want to get back at them?"

Well, there were other things Amane wanted to get back at Es for. "Okay. What shall we do?"

Amane and Fuuta looked around the warehouse for prank-worthy materials.

"It cannot cause them actual harm. Somebody tried to set up a trap once before, but it backfired."

"What're you looking at me for? It wasn't me!"

"Kajiyama Fuuta, lying is a sin."

Fuuta ignored that last remark and picked up two paint buckets.

"You think these'll work?"

"Perhaps." Amane picked up some twine. "We could set up the bucket to tip over them when they enter one of our cells. Or leave." She picked up a pen and paper lying around. "Here. This is how we can set up a bucket trap to fall at the proper trigger." She scrawled a diagram and some equations.

"You understand physics at your age? That's impressive."

Es opened Fuuta's cell door to find him making crafts with Amane.

"You two seem to hang out a lot lately," they remarked as they entered the cell. "Paints, hooks, and twine… are you trying to build something?"

"Maybe. What of it?"

"Warden-san, do you have a problem with the way prisoners spend their free time?"

"No… Well, it's curfew. Amane, you should head out now."

"Very well. After you, Warden-san."

Es was about to insist that Amane go first, but the pressure of three eyes on them made them concede. They turned around and started walking.

"This is for hitting Amane, you bastard!" Fuuta shouted, grabbing one of the paint buckets and spilling its contents all over Es's uniform.

"Fuuta!" Es turned around and glared. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You think nobody would notice this child came back from the interrogation with a damned slap mark on her face, you-"

"We were going to prank you," Amane interrupted calmly. "We were going to set up an elaborate trap, but we had trouble making it work."

"So we settled for me dumping the paint onto you," Fuuta added, quickly lowering his voice to match Amane.

Es sighed and shook their head. "You two are insufferable."

"Tell me something I've never heard before."

"Warden-san, thank you for your praise."

Es glared at the both of them. "Fuuta, go clean this up. Amane, get back to your cell."

The next day, Shidou visited the warehouse to pick up some medical supplies. He spotted the paper on the ground.

Did Amane write this? It looks like she did.

…

The math here is all wrong.

#milgram #amane momose #fuuta kajiyama #milgram es #es milgram #crack fic

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the-bewitched-digital-kingdom · 11 days

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So. Uh. Haven't checked in on this in a LONG time. Can I get a really basic summary of the lore? And I mean basic, for your sake lol. (unless you want to explain things more lol, I'll listen to huge rants too)

OH MY GOD YES FINALLY

OKOKOK

THIS WILL NOT BE SHORT AT ALL

Ok. Let's start with everyone's past and current roles/jobs. Not SUPER important to the story, but important enough. Btw a lot of these titles say 'lead' or 'head' but a good deal of these people are the only ones in their roles so yeah, these'll be like. Their titles

Slynn: King

Icia: Head Guardess

Samuel: Royal Dragonmaster

Dunite: (formerly) Head Baker/ Royal Astronomer (you could also say she was the kingdom mage)

Odette/Odysseus: Head Maestro

Aklatan: Royal Librarian

Mocha & Latte: Head Chefs

Vaga & Nova: Danseur Nobles

Achilles: Kingdom Hero

EVERYONE ELSE BEYOND THIS POINT ARRIVED AFTER HEXE

Mirobelle: Head Maid

Alexander: Royal Tailor

Ramona: Kingdom Mechanic

Switch: Spymaster

Yume: Minstrel

Ok, Got those out of the way.

Now to the actual lore.

Currently there are 2 "eras" to the Kingdom, or the two "reigns". There's Ramiro's reign, and Hexe's reign.

Ramiro's reign was the 'golden age' of the kingdom. He was a kings advisor, and despite often being confused (and kinda going crazy) he was very loving and caring towards everyone in the kingdom. He taught everyone how to play their parts to make the entire kingdom prosper and watched over as everyone literally ran a kingdom together. Sure Slynn was the king, but really the kingdom wouldn't survive without anyone. Slynn surveyed over everyone, Icia led a whole army to fight off typical kingdom enemies (a challenge Ramiro deemed necessary) and much more.

That was unfortunately the shortest reign.

There isn't a said explanation as to where Ramiro went, but one day everyone woke up to a witch being in his place. Hexe was and is everything that Ramiro is not; sadistic, cruel, manipulative, selfish, and never questioned ANYTHING. She basically wanted everything to run for her, rather than the sake of the kingdom.

Obviously, pretty much everyone was against this. Except Slyn. It's not stated why or how, but he fell for Hexe HARD and let himself become a puppet that she could use to her own means. Especially because now, every single NPC was entirely under their control. Which was a lot.

While most people rebelled, some unwillingly sided with Slynn and Hexe in order to avoid conflict. The leaders of the rebellion were Icia and Achilles, who teamed up to try and kill Hexe. After a long, heavy battle however Hexe won due to abusing her own powers as, essentially, a god.

At this point, Hexe decided to curse every resident in the kingdom. Their curses varied based on how much they rebelled, so while Slyn only lost some control of his snakes, Achilles was given severe ridicule and shame while Icia was given endless anxiety and had her ice control reduced to only her emotions.

The next years of Hexe's control had a heavy, heavy impact on everyone. They were constantly walking on eggshells, having each and every thing they did or word they said heard by Hexe. She would punish those who defied her rules or who she felt needed it, and went so far as to use mind control so they would listen to her and she could force them to do things they'd never otherwise do. She enjoyed having control over everyone, going so far as to forbid and force relationships that she disapproved of or desited to see. Slynn obeyed every word of hers and the two actually (somehow) got married which officially gave Hexe the title of "Queen". It was also during this period that an extremely significant event happened between Icia and Achilles which prompted Icia to want to escape, and made Hexe give Achilles another curse: Immortality.

Icia leaving the kingdom was the most defiance someone had ever shown Hexe, so her mere mention was forbidden throughout the kingdom.

After Icia left, Hexe got bored of mind control, but would still use the curses she inflicted on everyone to make life much harder than it had to be. Slynn assisted her with this in every way he could, blinded by infatuation though she only saw him as a tool and plaything.

That's the basis of the lore for before I started the kingdom blog.

The biggest events happening after were Dunite's execution (a long planned event after Dunite repeatedly snuck Icia into the kingdom (and eventually Aoki) through spells and magic) and Ramona's execution (a spur of the moment death).

Ramonas execution has been the most significant throughout all of this, because she was the very first one to not give a fuck in any way, shape, or form. No matter how much Hexe tried to torture her, Ramona wouldn't break and would rather taunt her instead. The final straw came when, after learning about Icia (against Hexe's will), Ramona vandalized the throne room and decorated with Icias past belongings. That act, along with further taunts (that were actually a good point) were Hexe's breaking point and she killed Ramona.

Okay... I think that's the basic summary of lore. At least, the important stuff.

#kingdomasks #modstar #gonna pin this

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ddejavvu · 2 years

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hi mei if this sounds okay, could i please requests maybe rugby player! james where r comes to watch one of his games but it's totally freezing out on the pitch so he warms her up? thank u if u do or u don't, love jade ♡

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

i am perpetually cold so this speaks to me omg <33

It's only halftime when you decide that you're positively frozen solid, your nose numb and your fingers following suit. Even the gloves that you'd grabbed on the way out aren't helping, the cold seeping in relentlessly through the gaps in the knit fabric and stinging your skin.

Luckily, James has to pass your seat to get to the locker rooms, and he sends you a cocky grin when he walks through the hallway. You motion helplessly to your frozen face, your teeth threatening to chatter as he figures out what you mean.

"Baby," He croons, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd, "C'mon back."

Luckily a staff member is right behind him, helping usher the last few stragglers on his team into their locker room for halftime. He nods at you from his spot, giving James the go-ahead to reach over the partition wall and tug you from your chair.

James is strong, and you know it. You let him hoist you over the wall, and you barely even need to bend your knees to push off of the partition before your feet are planted firmly on the floor beside him.

"Can't let'cha turn into an icicle," He wraps his arm around you as soon as you steady yourself, his embrace warm but, unfortunately sweaty, "Then you'd have to hang from our roof, darling, and I'd much rather have you inside with me."

"Gloves aren't working," You mumble weakly, letting James herd you down the hallway into the, thankfully, heated interior of the stadium. James plucks them off of your hands while he walks, finally stepping through the doors of the locker room and herding you over to a secluded bench, away from all of his teammates and right beside his locker.

He plops you down onto the cold metal bench, and you grimace as the fabric of your pants does nothing to deter the chills that run up your spine. James digs through his locker for a quick second, and you grimace as you see that it's a tornado zone inside, but he shuts the door on the mess fast enough to avoid your lecture.

"Here," he holds up two hand-warmers with a proud grin, little grey foil pouches, "These'll help."

Instead of handing them to you, though, he keeps them in his palms, reaching for your cheeks and pressing them against your frostbitten skin. Your shoulders slump and you let out a satisfied hum at the rush of warmth to your face, melting into his embrace.

He doesn't let you sit in peace for long. His hands press harder at your face, squishing your cheeks up against your mouth. Your lips pucker, and you blink your eyes open again, watching him through narrowed eyes.

"James," You grumble, but it comes out distorted and sludgy, "Stooop."

"Can't stop," Is all he offers in return, sliding his hands so that one of your cheeks is dragged up and the other down, "You're fun to play with, my favorite little squeezy toy."

The somewhat-affectionate nickname draws a reluctant giggle out of you, and it brightens James's face; he knows he's won. He continues smushing your cheeks around your face, then his eyes light up with an idea you're sure also powers the invisible lightbulb over his head.

"Baby! When I squish your cheeks, squeak."

"What?"

"You'll be like a little squeaky toy!" James insists, "C'mon, sweetheart!" He pinches your cheeks, expecting you to follow his orders to the letter. When you don't, he deflates, his smile dropping into a pout as he tugs your face towards his, tilting it up and lowering his own.

"You're no fun," He mumbles, his lips inches away from your own as he presses a sloppy kiss to your overly-puckered ones, "But you're pretty cute, so I'll let it slide."

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abbystanaccount · 10 months

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Hello Abby fans 👻

I am thinking I’m going to open up 3 slots for commissions! To then request one DM me on tumblr or twitter.

For the types of commissions I'm thinking of doing these in Daz3D so I can build more unique backgrounds, pose better, change outfits etc. These'll be single poses and images but I can do multiple image angles of the pose.

I can do single character scenes but I mostly want to advertise my couples renders (singular character with choice of clothes, environment would be $45)

For $55 I can do couples poses of TLOU characters together (pretty much any of them) or do Abby x an OC. I can build a character based on someone and have them in the picture instead. It can be based on you, another character etc. I probably can't build the face super accurately but I can also angle the head, have hair block the face etc if it's an issue.

I'm starting with 3 and tumblr advertising because I don't want to be too overwhelmed! I may decline if it's not an idea I'm willing to do. Payment would be through paypal.

#abby #abby anderson #my art #abby anderson x reader

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