🌟🌟DTIYS TIMEEE🌟🌟
It’s time to do something fun to thank y’all for being here! If any of you follow my sister @vi050iv then you might be familiar with the band au doodles she posted a year ago on insta. Casey, Junior, and April are in a band managed by Sunita, and they sing about triumphs and rising against odds. They’re called The Underdogz 💥I referenced the cover of an idw issue I really like when drawing this~ (pretend I drew a z instead of an s in their banner)
Anywaysss I will doodle some prizes, so there’ll be a deadline (I’ll give plenty of time). Of course you’re free to keep doodling for the band au long after the date passes.
‼️DEADLINE: MARCH 31ST‼️
RULES:
- Please use the hashtag #jacazull1kdtiys and tag me
- MUST HAVE Casey, Junior, April, and Sunita doing something band related (signing autographs, costume fitting, practicing, battle of the bands, posing for an album photoshoot etc)
- You’re free to add other characters or ocs as long as The UnderDogz are there
PRIZES:
1st: Fullbody of any character
2nd: Halfbody of any character
3rd: Bust of any character
All prizes will be lined and colored in flats!
As an additional gift, I’ll be sharing the spotify playlists my sisters and I made for Rise over a year ago. Some songs may be a bit silly or out of place, but we had to compromise a lot LOL. Songs are taken out and added every now and then, but I hope y’all can enjoy them.
Casey: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2cxt5JGKkv5bziUFWF6JAE?si=hU-A4oBoRzqy1Pl6zcsHKQ&pi=u-BT8s5FrWT3CU
April: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6g850asOOGeF4OsPi1Bb8J?si=lEa0b6aASMi7P5OdvApR8Q&pi=u-fq7uj8oLSZGf
Junior: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1j6Rf7mt7Yl5TfMpBRwTOw?si=cBxlZ3KhQxmEQ2aBKxhPqQ&pi=u-ATNIY-fKSwez
Raph: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7Kt2htp2OpXDQgEFiRZnih?si=8q-kCtnBTTmCRQSJLNnMWw&pi=u-aToiW0YOQcSv
Leo: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ZAWkn0QDysAXZgX7KqNuM?si=JYrB-Dx2Qoqnas-FEl4rUg&pi=u-240kik8DTgO_
Donnie: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5LaxNqoN451ErZQTAb0GUu?si=cdTNkIvjThe_2X15c1aKvQ&pi=u-uR1PkEe4QrSc
Mikey: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/08dBF9Eq6Ouj7yI0NB9zUQ?si=jxkXATyeTB-8bUGrIamR4Q&pi=u-C_fx-iF2TJeB
Okie I think I covered everything. Have lots of fun!!!
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do you ever think about whatever the hell is going on with Impulse and Etho in the life series. like what is up with that
imagine you're ethoslab and you're playing this new death game for the first time. people are making alliances, and there's a war brewing- you know what side you're on. You're with the King, you are one of his men, and you live in a wool castle with your ally, the closest to you if only due to physical proximity. he doesn't come home a lot, but that's fine. You're still close.
Then the castle burns, more than once, and you really should have expected that. With time you'll start seeing burning houses as a sign, maybe a metaphor, but not now. You aren't yet aware of your penchant for bases susceptible to fire. You're more worried about your things.
Then the war hits, and you're not sure when, but you realize this guy- the one who was on your side, the one who lived with you- has turned on you. Is it turning on you if he was never on your side at all? But you thought you were friends, so it kind of hurts when he's the one who takes your last life.
The second time you do this he's not your friend at all- he chose the south, and that's alright with you. Your team is, frankly, the best. You have a best friend who might be something more, and though you have no castle, he helps you build a snow fort. Things are good. Then they aren't so good anymore, but you make them good again, even if at the expense of your other teammates. To you he matters more, so you keep him close.
You don't think of him much, the guy who betrayed you and killed you. Maybe you should have, but you have better this time.
Until he helps spawn that wither, and then it all comes crashing down, and in the end you choose being a survivor over being a friend. In the end, you can't give your life to a dead man. In a way, he killed you again.
The third time you don't quite believe it when your best friend is soulbound to him. Your best friend says they're happily married; you ask him if he's sure, he says of course he's sure, and that's how he takes you best friend from you twice.
You're not sad with your soulbound- it's a new experience, you never talked to him much before. This time your ally is the one who builds a base. No one wastes any time in pointing out how flammable it is. You both know it will burn soon enough.
But when it does you burn the whole world down with it, and in the end you both team up with your best friend and the one who killed you in more ways than one. You think he's happy, though. You kind of wish he weren't.
They betray you again. The portal's trapped, it couldn't have been anyone but them. It feels fitting, that you burn too. It's the third time he takes your life.
(If you asked he would tell you it wasn't them- your best friend would tell you they would never, and you'd believe the latter but not the former. You never ask.)
The two of you are there for the fourth round, too. By now you know how these games work. You ally with the people you were with when you truly first met your best friend, except this time he isn't there.
This time, you look at him- at the man who's killed you twice, now- and he looks back. You know he's not sorry. You aren't either.
He asks you about your cows, if you want to combine forces. You aren't fully sure what it means when you accept it, this feeling you get, but it doesn't feel wrong when you're allies. You know what he is- he's one to play from all sides, he's a traitor, he's your ally, he's the one with the backup plan, he's the reason you've died so many times. He's resourceful, he's smart, he's tricky, he's the type to pretend he's less than he is.
You can never fully trust him, but vaguely, you know he doesn't want that. You cheer for him, when he's the last of your team standing.
You aren't sure what to think of him, when you see him in the fifth game, but you know and he knows, so you guess it's fine.
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Something about a bottle of vodka that (almost) jogs your memory
“Scar…” Grian’s exasperated voice rings through monopoly mountain. He quickly peeks down into the first level. His friend is holding the bottle of vodka he had managed to find ages ago. “Where on earth did you find this. How on earth did you find this. What even are you doing with this.”
None of his ‘questions’ are actually questions; his inflection does not go up, as Grian is not actually curious as to where he got the alcohol, rather he is tired of his shenanigans and trying desperately not to lose his mind. Scar kicks his feet and giggles, his hair leaking over and dangling in the air.
“Why, I got it from the village, of course! Before I burnt down that house— you remember the one, don’t you, Grian? It seems those pesky villagers knew how to distill alcohol. Have you ever seen that before, Grian? Distilling alcohol? In a village? It’s madness!”
Grian’s beady little eyes glare up at him from the ground floor. “Scar, I don’t think either of us have seen villagers before we got here. There’s not much we’ve seen.”
Of course they have. They’ve had to. It was only natural— he knows it in his heart. But they can’t remember this fact. When Scar tries to hold onto the memory, it floats away from him. Things he should know dissolve between his fingers. Things he shouldn’t know linger on the back of his neck.
He picks up his cane and walks downstairs. The slats of the window are tiny but if one squints and tilts their head in the right direction, then they can see the entire desert and forest sprawled out in front of them. The sands sometimes hold their footprints until the wind blows them away, covers the paths they’ve taken. They’re still working on building up a cactus wall as defense.
The sandstone awards them a bit of coolness in the day. At night it becomes unbearable, as they both flock upstairs to try and conserve as much heat as possible. There’s always a careful distance they keep from each other in the day, but during the night it becomes impossible to do so. When Grian grumbles and pushes his nest towards Scar’s sleeping bag, curls up right next to him and nudges at his arms until they open and he can be enveloped by him, that’s when Scar truly feels like he’s back to being a person again.
If they could mend the self inflicted rift that exists in the daytime… well, maybe Scar wouldn’t feel so prone to drinking. As it stands, though, Grian’s found his bottle of alcohol and he is not looking impressed.
“Say, have you ever had a drink before?” He asks as he peels the bottle out of Grian’s hand. He smells like the sun. He’s been out all day.
Grian scoffs, his pretty features twisting a bit as he obviously thinks about it. “Of course I have! I-- well, I haven’t had one here, but I can only imagine I have before. In another life.”
In another life. If only they got to have that. Another life seems like an intangible dream.
He hums thoughtfully. He’s only had a few drinks from this bottle. Just enough to stave off the gnawing anxiety and bloodlust that grows underneath his skin everyday.
He starts to toss the bottle from hand to hand, watching the way the liquid inside jostles. “The taste was at least a little bit familiar to me when I tried some. I’ve definitely had it before! No clue when. I wonder what I liked to drink before I got here? That guy… the other me. I wonder what he was like.”
He laughs but it doesn’t have much humour.
And Grian’s eyes look softer when he finally peels his stare away from the droplets racing down the bottle. “Yeah, it would seem that bits of our past bled through into this life. Like, I can’t resist pressing a button or flicking a lever no matter how dangerous it may be. Other me must’ve been a right moron, don’t know how I lived to be… here.” A hum. “And redstone makes me… sad. As if I’ve lost something close to me. Something really important." His face falls. “I don’t get it.”
Normally Grian only gets like this when the sun falls. Normally he’s guarded, witty, sharp; and Scar is much the same, each of them trying so desperately to preserve what little bits of dignity they have left here. Prideful people. Pride is such a sin, he can see it now.
He sits down, stares at the swirling shapes of the sandstone on the wall. “Sometimes I can feel my brain try to remember my memories. Things important to me. People important to me. But it’s like there’s a… a block.”
A strange warble comes from Grian. He makes those sounds sometimes-- bird sounds, that is, which makes a lot of sense given that he is a hybrid, but they only happen in specific circumstances. They’re different each time, from chirps to melodies to whistles to clicks. It happens when he’s bored, when he snuggles up next to Scar at night, when he accidentally hurts himself, when Pizza is being extra cute.
This sound is sad. It rings in his chest.
“I’ve tried to ignore it.” Is what he admits after a few minutes. “I, um… grabbing this gave me one of those feelings like you described. It was as if I’d done this before. Not just with anyone. With you...” His voice gets real quiet at the end.
Scar fights to keep his voice even as he responds. “Do… do you think we knew each other before?” Before we got thrown into hell.
For Scar, the answer to that question is obvious: yes. He felt it as soon as he saw all of them. He felt something deep in his chest when he saw Grian, flashes of memories trying to bubble up to the surface but unable to. When Bdubs first spoke to him, he felt an immediate instinct to comment on his height-- which would have been very rude of him! They’d just met, after all!
Except they hadn’t. They’d known each other before. An election. A moon. A home. What even is he trying to remember?
“I…” Another sound worms its way out of Grian. It’s more desperate, uncomfortable. He laughs it off awkwardly. “Can I try a sip of that alcohol? I think I suddenly need it.”
For the first time since they began talking, Scar really looks at Grian. His face is tight with stress, eyes shiny, nose flaring. His feathers are all fanned out, his ears twitching. In another life, Scar thinks maybe he also had wings. He can feel an absence on his back, like something has been missing all along, a vital piece of him.
Grian’s wings don’t work. None of the avians have actual working wings that can sustain them for a long period above the ground; they can all flutter, sure, but it’s as if their bodies aren’t made for it anymore despite them having these traits.
He tries to make his smile as gentle as possible as he passes him the bottle. “Of course, of course! Would be downright cruel of me to make you handle this while sober!” He aims for a humorous tone, but the situation is so fucked up and strange that it falls flat. His smile is pulling painfully at the edges.
Grian unscrews the bottle, smells it. He makes a face. He looks at him.
“I recommend not smelling it.”
He rolls his eyes, then takes a swig of it. The face immediately turns to disgust. He swallows it, gagging, coughing, pounding his fist onto the table. It looks just like he did when he tried for the first time. It makes him start to laugh.
“Scar!” He wails. “It tastes horrible!”
“It does.” He swipes it from Grian, steeling himself before taking a sip. He only flinches a little bit this time. He looks to see if it impressed Grian, but the avian is flapping his hands, eyes screwed shut. Dangit. “It’s not supposed to taste nice, Grian! Because then you would drink all of it and it would be horrible. It’s the alcohol’s defense mechanism, y’see? It makes itself so bitter when you first take a sip that you run away immediately! That way you don’t drink it all right up and end up gettin’ yourself killed! But it doesn’t work on me.”
For better or for worse.
Peeling his face off the table, Grian turns to glare at him. “Well, it could stand to taste a little less like… that. Maybe then it would hurt less people.”
“I guess.” He studies the way the bottle glints in the diminishing daylight. “So… are you gonna have anymore?”
“Are you kidding me?” He scoffs. “Of course I am. Pass it here.”
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