21 ⁺˳✧༚ Queer ⁺˳✧༚ Any pronouns, go wild I post. Very occasionally
216 posts
Latest Posts by magpie-black-and-white - Page 6
Underrated line
sinner
theyre literally already married
Has Lambert called Narinder any nicknames/pet names except for Nari?
Lamb does it sometimes. And loses often.
Reblog daily for health and prosperity
I loved.
And I loved.
And I lost you.
Compiled some basic information I know about drawing fat characters for beginners since I've been seeing more talk about absence of really basic traits in a lot of art lately.
Morpho Fat and Skin Folds on Archive.org (for free!)
@soldierofidiots You’re actually not a real person, just very convincing three raccoons in a trench coat
Reblog this post to ask mutuals to tell you their weirdest theory about u
spotify is raising prices again here's the apk that gives you premium for free
Harilamb stuff + headcanon of the Red Crown
Just an answer abt what Narinder would like to do in the cult (this question is not from tumblr)
You ship characters because they’re good for each other and make each other happy. I ship characters because I want those two motherfuckers to tear each other to absolute pieces. We are not the same
I had an interesting night last night
Show, don’t tell
"Show, don’t tell" means letting readers experience a story through actions, senses, and dialogue instead of outright explaining things. Here are some practical tips to achieve that:
1. Use Sensory Details
Tell: "The room was cold."
Show: "Her breath puffed in faint clouds, and she shivered as frost clung to the edges of the window."
Tell: "He was scared."
Show: "His hands trembled, and his heart thudded so loudly he was sure they could hear it too."
2. Focus on Actions
Tell: "She was angry."
Show: "She slammed the mug onto the counter, coffee sloshing over the rim as her jaw clenched."
Tell: "He was exhausted."
Show: "He stumbled through the door, collapsing onto the couch without even bothering to remove his shoes."
3. Use Dialogue
What characters say and how they say it can reveal their emotions, intentions, or traits.
Tell: "She was worried about the storm."
Show: "Do you think it'll reach us?" she asked, her voice tight, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.
4. Show Internal Conflict Through Thoughts or Reactions
Tell: "He was jealous of his friend."
Show: "As his friend held up the trophy, he forced a smile, swallowing the bitter lump rising in his throat."
5. Describe the Environment to Reflect Mood
Use the setting to mirror or hint at emotions or themes.
Tell: "The town was eerie."
Show: "Empty streets stretched into the mist, and the only sound was the faint creak of a weathered sign swinging in the wind."
6. Let Readers Infer Through Context
Give enough clues for the reader to piece things together without spelling it out.
Tell: "The man was a thief."
Show: "He moved through the crowd, fingers brushing pockets, his hand darting away with a glint of gold."
7. Use Subtext in Interactions
What’s left unsaid can reveal as much as what’s spoken.
Tell: "They were uncomfortable around each other."
Show: "He avoided her eyes, pretending to study the painting on the wall. She smoothed her dress for the third time, her fingers fumbling with the hem."
8. Compare to Relatable Experiences
Use metaphors, similes, or comparisons to make an emotion or situation vivid.
Tell: "The mountain was huge."
Show: "The mountain loomed above them, its peak disappearing into the clouds, as if it pierced the heavens."
Practice Example:
Tell: "The village had been destroyed by the fire."
Show: "Charred beams jutted from the rubble like broken ribs, the acrid smell of ash lingering in the air. A child's shoe lay half-buried in the soot, its leather curled from the heat."
NYC Subway Bacterial Petri Dish Art by Craig Ward
Icarus wasn’t an idiot, you know.
The rules were explained to him very clearly. He knew where he could and could not go, what heights were forbidden to him, the destination his father Daedalus had crafted for them to make their great escape. Freedom, of a sort. Icarus heard all of this from his father and accepted the conditions.
And Icarus fell.
Tragedy
noun [C or U] /ˈtrædʒ.ə.di/
A story affected by gravity.
It only goes down. It falls. Tragedies have weight to them, characters throw themselves at the sky with wax wings and they drip from their backs and one too many hours pulls their trajectories to the same place, every time. They are inevitable. Characters in a tragedy are objects of pity. Don’t pity us.
Icarus wasn’t an idiot.
He wanted freedom. Real, true freedom, the kind of which is so intoxicating when tasted for the first time that it is worth it even if you are falling for the rest of your life. Not the suffocating half-measure of his father. No machinations. No “what’s best for you”’s. Icarus chose to reach out his hand to Helios and hold it while plummeting into Poseidon’s cool embrace. To live free, like the gods, if only for 10,000 feet.
Icarus wasn’t an idiot, you know.
Icarus got exactly what he wanted.
One worldbuilding thing that's always fun to do is take something you've encountered in the real world, and apply something similar with the same logic into your own. Like those sayings that have two halves, but people usually only know the first half and misunderstand the saying - like "birds of a feather flock together (until the cat comes)" or "great minds think alike (but fools rarely differ)." So I came up with a few for The Book I'm Not Writing:
Hungry dogs are loyal dogs (until someone else feeds them) - neglecting and mistreating your underlings may work as a short-term tactic for making them obey, but it's also a guarantees that they'll betray you at first chance.
The mouth of an idiot is as loose as the strings of their purse (so be there when gold may drop out) - just because nine out of ten things that someone says are completely useless doesn't mean you should dismiss them altogether. They might still know useful things, even if they can't tell it's useful.
Blood makes a foul dye (it stains, but it won't last) - here "foul" is often interpreted as "brutal" or "gruesome", when it's meant as "of low quality". Using violence as your way to establish dominance and maintain authority because it's easier than building networks of mutual trust and respect is as stupid and short-sighted as using blood to dye clothes because it's cheaper than proper pigment.
A fool will starve to death while waiting for grain to grow (but it is also a fool who'll slaughter an ewe an hour before it lambs) - Immediate problems require immediate solutions, but you'd better make sure that your drastic emergency solution is the right one.
A blind horse will go as you guide where a half-blind one dare not (both through the darkness and down a cliff) - an agent who doesn't know the purpose of their task will obey blindly, where one that knows some part of it might disobey out of distrust, but neither is as reliable as one that does see the big picture, can draw their own conclusions from the information they gather, and adjust their plans accordingly.
[This idea has been rattling in my brain and I had to share it.]
I know we all love the ‘humans are space orcs’ concept… but imagine, onboard the new ship they’ve been assigned to, the human meets an actual space orc. A massive monster… fangs and tusks and scars and a battle-hardened stare, looming over all the other life forms on the ship in its thick indestructible armour it refuses to remove. It barely drinks, it doesn’t need sleep, its massive shoulders are heavy with the terrible things it has experienced. Compared to the squishy & delicate human body, this thing is a walking tank.
… Except instead of hating/ignoring one another, the human and the monster start bonding over both coming from death planets. The human is excited to find a life form who doesn’t quiver with fear at the vague description of a jellyfish and the monster is ecstatic to meet someone who understands the feeling of being bitten by a qua’lem (cats are pretty close). They sit together and compare dangerous animals and locations as the other aliens look on in confusion and fear… oh, you also have dense jungles of deadly hidden predators, boiling acid lakes, tamed predatory killers, and areas with horrendously high and low temperatures? Sick!!
It doesn’t take long before the two of them become totally inseparable. The human loves not feeling like some kind of crazy outsider and the monster is overjoyed they’ve finally found an equal in this unkillable marshmallow.
Monster: When I was a youngling, a grol-lik stung straight through my armour. The pain lasted for approximately 16 human hours. Human: Oh yeah man, I get that. As a kid I got a wasp stuck in my shirt. It stung me like four times, it was awful, and all my cousins just laughed at me… Monster: [using their arm screen to research human courting methods] I see.
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blorbo doesn't cut it that thing is my squeaky toy and i'm a dog with a strong kill instinct. shaking it shaking it shaking it shaking it
This is by far the most aesthetic picture I’ve ever taken. No it’s not edited in any way
The Devil's Wheel
The Devil’s Wheel
“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”
“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you.
“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”
The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.
He’s been perfectly polite.
You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”
“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”
He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:
THE DEVIL’S WHEEL
“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”
You examine the wheel.
The gambling addict
The doting boyfriend
The escaped convict
The dog dad
The secretive sadist
“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion.
“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”
“Serial wife murderer?”
“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”
The hard worker
The compulsive liar
The animal torturer
The widower
The desperate businessman
The failed musician
The beloved son
“My husband is on here too,” you say.
“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”
“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”
“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”
You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.
Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity
Round and round it goes.
The college graduate
The hockey fan
The Eagle Scout
The cold older brother
The charming younger brother
The two-faced middle child
The perfectionist
The slob
Your husband Dave
Clackity-clackity-clackity.
Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.
The photographer
“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”
“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask.
“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”
“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.
You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it.
Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t.
The cancer survivor
The bereaved
The applicant
Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…
The newlywed
The ex-gifted kid
The uncle
The Badgers fan
“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.
“How lovely,” the Devil says.
Then it hits you.
Of course.
The weightlifter.
The careful driver.
The manager.
The claustrophobe.
Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.
“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.
“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!”
The Devil cackles.
“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”
“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”
“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”
Concept comic for a scene I'm writing for Trod
Takes place in the before-Shamura and mass dissention arc. I think the menticide mushrooms would react horrifically combined with godhood. Instead of seeing things that aren't real, they see real things they're not supposed to
so embarrassing when i forget im checking someone's blog and i start scrolling through and liking and reblogging shit as if it's just my dash. it feels like wandering into someone else's apartment and not noticing and making myself lunch