When You Post Stuff For Your Story, Can You Tag Me In It!!! It Seems So Exciting And I Don't Want To

Robot biped/bipod vehicles I drew.

Lots of people asked for my concept dev for the Shapers in my webcomic FACING THE SUN, so here it is!

Read the Comic \ Support the Project \ Buy the Issues

OOO fun!

Planet Deslotair is a sci-fi western story I've been working on. It takes place on a mostly desert planet, covered in craters with nearly never-ending storms raging in the upper atmosphere. The craters crack the ground open to bring forth vitrel, a liquid power source that nearly everything on Deslotair runs on. The storms, meanwhile, make the planet a treacherous place to travel to and from, and many ships crash instead of successfully making the journey.

Scavengers, those who visit the ships and pick apart their corpses, provide a valuable service as they fight over the remains.

The story follows four main characters:

There's Sprocket, an ex-mining robot and mechanic who leads them. Glass, a glass bot that left eir cult-like upbringing to wander the sands. Desmona, a teenage girl caught in a vitrel harvesting accident that left her filled with wild, uncontrollable energy. And Alonze, an ex-bandit who just got out of jail, and is Sprocket's ex. (Kinda. It's complicated.)

It's very found family, just following the adventures of this group as they try to work together and protect each other. Very heavy lean into western aesthetics while bringing in a lot of sci fi. Sort of retro futurism at times? Asks a lot of questions about robots and outcasts and what it really means to be human.

I've been reworking the plot a bunch lately, so it's hard to say much more, but I have a lot of worldbuilding and character development on my hands!

ALRIGHT

I want to talk about my podcast, but my brain's being a bit rude today.

So we're going to a project share, to anyone who sees this feel free to participate.

This share can be about ANY projects, fanfic, fanart, or original that you want to just yap yap yap about.

Here's how it works: You reblog the post and talk about your project you're working on/thinking about/want to do/etc...

Then, you go up the reblog chain and find a project you're interested, and SEND ASKS to the person who made the info about the project!

I'll start: I'm writing a podcast, and it's about Glacie, and their coworkers, who work at the Meeting Point. The Meeting Point is a restaurant/shop located near the Mad Forest. Coming back from a pretty long break, due to their own unreality problems popping up, Glacie is warned that the forest grows hungry. After some incidents, Glacie's hallucinations start getting real bad, and they eventually venture forth into the Mad Forest.

Inktober 2024 - Day 8: Hike

YELLOW - WRITEBLR ASK GAME

HONEYCOMB - What is the worst thing you have done to a character who did not deserve it?

GOLD - What colour features most in your writing? Is there symbolism there?

SUNSHINE - What is your favourite scene to write?

BUMBLEBEE - Are you better at action, descriptions, or dialogue?

ELECTRICITY - Do you prefer to write in the modern day, far into the future, or far into the past?

BUTTER - What do you include in all your writing?

LEMON - What scene do you struggle with the most?

BLONDE - Which of your characters has the most unique appearance?

BANANA - How good are you at writing comedy? Do you include it much in your writing?

DAFFODIL - What flower's symbolism do you identify with most?

COIN - What song inspires you most?

SPARK - Do you write romance?

PINEAPPLE - What is the best writing drink or snack?

CANARY - Can you write poetry?

MUSTARD - What is the worst thing you have ever written?

character design kicking my ass rn

ocean exploration robots!!

OCtober Bingo: Multilingual

“Come here,” Glass signed.

Sprocket shifted forwards, sand sliding over and into his joints, tubes bending to follow the movement. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands folded in his lap. Opposite him, Glass kneeled in the sands.

The mid-morning sun fell through eir body, refracting and splitting through the glass, shining brilliantly on pieces of metal and bulbs of green liquid before falling onto Sprocket. It would be warm, if either of them had the skin to feel it.

(Natural heat was lost to Sprocket in the storm of his own whirring processors and grinding motors. He just had the vague impressions offered to him by an internal thermometer ticking up or down: 42.3°C.

He’d once asked Glass if ey could feel warmth, could feel the sun beating down on them.

Ey said it felt like life, which sounded very different from 42.3°C.)

Glass pressed eir palm against Sprocket’s chest, warping the way the light fell, and hummed three notes.

They slid together like the gradient of a sunset, each higher than the last. They sat somewhere in the middle of Glass’s vast spectrum of sound, a neutral sort of tone that shook around in Sprocket’s chest but didn’t quite stay there. He raised a hand from his lap to grab onto Glass’s forearm, fingers clinking into place. Another point of connection, without the leather of Sprocket’s vest separating them.

“Go again,” he said.

The same three notes played. Sprocket could feel the vibrations humming against his sensors, sound washing through him. It brushed over those parts of him designed only to detect pain, to alert to problems, gently passing by without alarm.

The sweeping rise in pitch felt whole in some way, complete. Someone with more musical knowledge than him, with more knowledge of the language Glass was trying to speak to him, could have had the right words to describe it. Sprocket had neither of those things, so all he had to offer was-

“It sounds nice. What does it mean?”

Glass nodded. Ey pulled eir hand away from his chest, and Sprocket followed suit, disengaging.

“It’s supposed to sound nice,” ey signed. “It means ‘to give comfort.’ We have many words like this, that represent concepts, that can be used in many different ways as long as the emotion is there.”

Those bulbs of liquid rolled around in Glass’s chest, occasionally colliding with each other to become one, other times clinging to the clear walls surrounding them. A pool of it splashed in eir head, right behind the pair of white, glowing eyes that watched Sprocket intently, making sure he understood. Glass continued.

“It means ‘it’s okay.’ It means ‘it’s alright.’ It means ‘it’s over.’ It means ‘I’m here.’ It means whatever it needs to mean.”

“And does it… work? Do you feel comforted by it?”

“Of course. That association has been well-established for me. The same will be true for you, eventually.”

Glass hummed the notes again. Ey nodded at him to do the same.

Sprocket took a moment to find the first pitch, letting it hum in his speaker before he climbed to the next, and then the next.

Glass tilted eir head at him. “You’re climbing stairs.”

“What?”

“When you move from one syllable to the next, you find in betweens and jump to them, instead of sliding up the scale. Here, try it with me.”

Ey reached out, pressing a hand against his chest, the globs of liquid in eir fingers twisting and reforming. Sprocket reached back, grabbing onto eir arm. The tubing that coiled loosely around him flexed and shifted, filled with that same blood.

Glass held the first note, leading the way for him to follow. Sprocket could hear the vibrations, could feel them thrumming in his veins of tubes, buzzing where cheers of metal met each other. The sound rattled discontentedly while he tried to find the right note, warping and grating until it fell into place.

Glass raised eir pitch, and Sprocket clumsily followed em up the scale, resting together at the three notes along their journey. When Glss nodded, Sprocket already knew what ey meant, and they starting over, and he led the charge.

They traded off like that several times, taking turns to find the right notes to play, each time getting closer to each other’s rhythm. Until the need ceased for a lead at all, and Sprocket and Glass spoke as one.

Liquid danced in Glass’s body, bulbs of it twisting in eir chest, all surrounded by singing glass.

Sprocket’s metal sang, carrying waves of sound. Gentle hands, not ones that poked or prodded, cupped his sensors, pressed against his vest.

They reached what Sprocket knew would be their final iteration and grew silent together, the last of the sound fading out of reach. Only when every last bit of it was gone, when Sprocket couldn’t possibly feel it, did Glass pull away. Sprocket’s hands fell into his lap.

“Like that,” ey signed.

“Thank you,” Sprocket responded. “I understand.”

@glacierruler

Another square down! I actually wrote this story a while back, it was one of the first things that went into my Deslotair notebook. Just some thoughts on the glass bot language and how we can communicate even when we're so different. Languages are very important to Glass (ey used to be a translator) so this was a really good prompt for em!

Hand embroidered, self drafted, birch tree inspired buttonup shirt.

The decay of the mechanical.

My webcomic FACING THE SUN has a new update

Read on my website | Read on WEBTOON

An illustration I did a while back. Hope you like it 😊