#mr tansy

[cartoonedin]

what r everyone’s age hcs for the uca staff bc to me personally tansy is pushing daisies. i mean pushing 100. gonna be devastated when he remembers the lego age restriction

[alieliscious]

Short comic thingy about young Teacherzella struggling to settle in at the academy

I wanted to draw more of my teacher Ravenzella AU and also just kinda wiggle out of my comfort zone for a change, I almost never draw comics so if this looks odd then that's why lol

[alieliscious]

They should call Unicorn Island the Scissor City capital the way absolutely no one there is straight🙏🙏

(feat. jackdaw and reverend)

[alieliscious]

Y'all think the teachers developed some form of PTSD after the war(where Miles banished Grimoria and junk)

I feel like this is an untapped market for angst headcanons and/or fics

[cartoonedin]

new records

summary: Sophia goes to the library; little good comes from it. 

word count: 1,100

Here’s the thing about Unicorn Academy: Sophia can bring her horse to class, but she still has to bring herself to class, and at the end of the long, exhausting school day, she could bring a unicorn and a gold-egg-laying goose and a living, breathing, bad-joke-slinging dad to class and ruin her life by recess. So, yeah, she digs the Unicorn part of her new life loads more than the Academy part. Burn her at the stake or whatever. Really, her old school would’ve seen the number of commas in that first sentence and slapped an A+ on top no matter what random riding anecdotes and primitive pleonasms followed. Here, however, students learn about fantastical animals and much less fantastic battles, and instead of just letting them trot round the island and pass whoever doesn’t come back cremated, they need to prove they’ve really learned about the Dwerpin Treaty of Insert-Four-Digits-Here with a presentation. You can scream now.

Done screaming? She isn’t. 

The library’s great. The outside’s just better. Maybe she’d have cobbled together an acceptable union of proper nouns and quotes from eyewitnesses of eyewitnesses earlier if Layla hadn’t gone milk-carton-level missing and raided her room for every piece of paper with words that could, in some way, in some universe, be used for the presentation. Yes, maybe she should’ve gotten Layla a paper bag to help her breathe after they got the assignment, but it’s not like Wildstar has time magic, so stay on her side until further notice, please. Now, she has to deal with bookshelves that bound floor to ceiling, books so big they’re probably home to a bunch of new spider species, and a librarian she wouldn’t trust to stay awake for her five-minute presentation. Then again, does she trust herself to stay awake for her five-minute presentation?

His unicorn notices her before he does. She eyes Sophia warily, but eventually deems her important and/or pitiful enough to warrant snorting in the librarian’s face.

“H–uh? Ah! Hel–Hello there.” Sprouthead has the decency to straighten in his chair. Neither neither action adds much gravitas. “Miss Mendoza. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hey, Mister…” She bites her lip. It’s not that she forgets names on purpose; she just unconsciously erases them when she thinks the people they’re attached to are irrelevant or irritating or both. Which kind of sounds worse, now that she thinks about it, but it’s not what she’s supposed to be thinking about, so she shoves it to the back of her well-dented head with other useless ideas like guilt and acceptance. What was it? Tacky? Tanner? Tanzania? “Tansy.”

“It isn’t very often I see anyone here so soon after dinner.” And maybe he’d see more people if he stopped sleeping on the job. That sounds even worse. A new record! “Do you need some assistance finding, er, whatever it is you’re looking for? Leviora can aid you with the higher shelves, should you find the ladder too munched-on by those pesky fluffhoppers to be functional.”

“No thanks.”

“Oh, uh, you wouldn’t mind if I put on some music, would you? I know, it’s quite the example of situational irony, the librarian needing white noise to work, but Leviora and I just can’t concentrate on cleaning without this record.” He manifests a magnificently dusty record sleeve with some grungy artwork below all that dirt and places it on a majestically rusty gramophone. “I will be putting the periodicals in their place if you need me.”

“Sure.” She shuffles over to what’s probably the History section, entirely sure she’ll be bored to death before she finds a good reference.

The song doesn’t so much start as it does blast in her ears like a fireball. It’s heavy and earthy and scratchy, shaking the ground, drenching the air. The sound is bone-crunching, the vocals existing in the blessed superposition between canorous screams and tidal neighs. Its melody soars, its percussion shatters, and its lyrics… are  somewhere under the sheer artistry.

(This is the same music Mister Tansy is happily tap dancing to. Layla would not question this.)

The search for primary sources (and Layla, she guesses) is so still on, okay? But the music is just so much more moving. So moving, in fact, that Sophia returns to the reception desk with as many books as she entered with in a desperate bid to glimpse the artist’s name in the middle of the spinning plastic disc.

Fairy Outkasts. 

The song’s over. Her life could be, too, and she’d be fine with it. Mister Tansy comes back around to his table, engaging his unicorn in conversation that could be about the fate of the universe’s magic or a tiny obstacle to Sophia discovering the first artist she’ll mention when she has another dream about winning a Grammy. Tomato, potato. Sophia clears her throat.

“I don’t know this band.” Because, obviously, Sophia has the best taste in the world and she’s heard every good band to ever exist with the sole exception of this very singular one. Such is the way of the fourteen-year-old girl who got an iPod too early.

“Ah, well, their discography is on the slimmer side and I do believe they split up soon after graduation, but what the Fairies left us with is more than enough for a night rocking out on the town, wouldn’t you say?” Mister Tansy says. Sophia says nothing. “You–yes, you see, or you hear, rather, given that would be in our best interest to keep anything with specifics related to Unicorn Island on Unicorn Island, artistically inclined students are allowed–encouraged, even–to keep works with such content here for archival. The lyrics of this piece are–well, we never managed to decipher them, but the incorporation of unicorn vocalizations and natural ambience throughout the passages are a balm to the ears.”

“Yeah.” She scours the tomes left on the floor for all of one more second before deciding any book with frayed edges and a Dwerpin somewhere on the cover should do. Now, that’s criteria that lends itself to good results. Strictly for now, anyways.

Mister Tansy collapses in his chair once more. “They’re all dead now, of course. Alongside the industry of vinyl records.”

“Yeah.” Sophia places the book on his desk, suddenly becoming aware of its weight as the song draws to a distorted end. “I, uh, I found what I was looking for.”

“Can I expect to see you in the library more often?” Mister Tansy asks her after she’s signed her name on the borrowing form. Not neatly. “Preferably during office hours?”

Sophia smiles. “Hard maybe.”