#didn't draw for a few days and it feels like ive never drawn before in my life now OTL

[tsubasaclones]

[saguette]

What do you think Johnny's art looked like before he was stripped of his powers? This is something that bugs me a lot, and I'm curious about what you think.

ok i needed to draw a few shitty pictures to demonstrate cuz i wanted to talk about more than just his previous art but his art journey in general IDC if there's some canon tweet that proves something i said wrong or out of timeline these are my headcanons and projections so you either like it or not.. anyways I think his style pre-pre-JTHM (lets say 15-18) depicted many things, He was good at realism and fluctuated just fine between stylized art and big hefty works with a lot of detail. His stylized works looking similar to Jhonens and the whole 2000's artstyle cuz its fitting.

Of course he's like, a late teenager around this time so its GOOD but not perfect. If you pulled up a few of his drawings from this time he would probably be embarrassed by all the disproportionate limbs and goth girls he sketched and thought were badass. He probably has old sketches of friends in his style regardless if they asked to be drawn or not since his art was something he was proud of and people around him made him feel proud of. His old art also feels like it'd have anime elements unintentionally to add to that amateur artist swag. Johnny doesn't like anime copies but stuff he rips inspo from was anime inspired so it rubbed off on his work too. Moving onto PRE-JTHM (18-20) Is when his art started to get more serious and complex. In his happy era he took to drawing lovecraftian horror sometimes but it was always the secondary focus of any drawing.

Moving out and growing up was around the time his mental state started to worsen and he started using art to cope with emotions rather than just use it for fun, drawing complex monsters was a subconscious way to depict underlying mental illness that's out of his hands. He cant depict what he doesn't know he has, he can only scribble things that feel someone close to him because there is no physical appearance to emotions. He never liked his art around this time because it always felt unfinished or wrong or like it just didn't interpret what he wanted right. Overtime his art lost coherent appearance, quality, and meaning which made it feel worthless. It wouldn't be all that bad but it reached a point not even he knew what it was trying to be and it was frustrating. How can your own art not make sense to you? Its weird to let your hands go and do their own and you not recognize what they're trying to say. Which leads to SHORTLY BEFORE JTHM-and later.. Johnnys NEW preferred method for art currently is a little abstract, it became two extremes of the same thing; nothing. his art lost alot of what it used to be so he says he cant draw anymore.

Johnnys lovecraftian horror art slowly engulfed itself over time and always becomes an abstract mess. Its purposely made to be incomprehensible by having too much, regardless if its creation is poetic, an outside view not being able to tell what it is or how much work went into it is on purpose. its metaphorical or whatever.. Johnnys fucked up or something.. Whereas Noodleboy i imagine was made by him drawing a stickfigure one day to see if he can still "draw" and overtime gave him his features like angry eyes and that big hair, creating his own sort of vent sona to replace the sketchy abstract art he used before. Noodleboys chaoticness is too sporadic to rip any meaning off of, he also purposely represents nothing. His existence uses up paper the same way, just without all the extra effort. SORRRYYYY long tangent thats probably super messy i just winged it. but i cant help myself ive thought about this for a while ik i didnt strictly answer the question but i had so much more to say

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 190

Achilles Castle part 92

Lemonade and lies PART 35

Kate: pov oh no that could kill me, i have a heart condition. The Dr asks what type I have, how long I have had it for and if anyone else in my family has one. I have arrhythmia and I have had it for about 5 years and I'm the only one in my family who does. The Dr asks what caused my heart condition, I  say as a matter of fact a bullet. The Dr asks me to repeat what I just said because she thinks she didn't hear me right. Oh no you heard me all right. I will give you a few minutes to let it sink in. By the way, I was shot at a funeral, my Captains funeral 

 

Dr Springfield: pov I'm going to need an explanation or a story for this. Kate starts out with I was a detective at the time. Well that makes sense cops are always getting shot by suspects. She gives me a little back story about what led up to her shooting. Mr Castle explains that she went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance, had a collapsed lung and needed a chest tube. She was immediately taken into emergency heart surgery. 

Castle: pov The bullet nicked her inferior pulmonary vein and left ventricle, she then went into cardiac arrest again they had to use the paddles and do manual cardiac massages she then flatlined they eventually brought her back to life,  she had severe blood loss. She spent 1 week unconscious in the CICU before waking up. She was on disability for 3 months, has a heart condition and PTSD, her immune system is also weak. 

Dr Springfield: pov I don't know what to say, that must have been hard since it was your Captain's funeral and everything that happened with him was probably still very much fresh. Kate says very much. um you said before when I mentioned the epi-pen you said that  it could kill you, is that because of your heart condition. Kate says I guess, I'm not 100 percent sure how it would affect me. Yeah, let's not take that chance. 

Kate: pov Dr Springfield suggests I take an allergy test on top of the blood one. It's the safest option for me. She would just have to swab my mouth and draw some blood then send the samples to the lab. I should know the results in a few days. It's recommended that I keep some benadryl at work or on me in case I need it and to never drive after taking it.

Castle: pov Dr Hazel Springfield grabs a swab out a cabinet to swab Kate's mouth for the test. Once that is done we are sent downstairs to the lab so she can then get her blood drawn for the blood test. Dr Springfield has notified the lab that Kate has a heart condition so that way they are prepared. After a few minutes of waiting Kate's name is called.

Lab tech Lauren: pov Dr Springfield notified us that Kate has a heart condition, that way we could monitor her more closely. After talking with them both and learning about Kate's medical history and how it all happened I get the supplies ready to draw some of Kate's blood. I decided to put a pulse ox-meter on her finger and a heart monitor just in case another lab tech is monitoring her blood pressure. Captain  Beckett which vein is better to use.

Kate: pov they are all rough i’ve had so many iv’s and blood draws that my veins are not the best. She eventually finds a good vein and draws my blood with no problems. I have to wait a few minutes to see how I feel. I can hear someone in the waiting room complaining because it's taking so long. The same person says  why does she need two lab techs. The receptionist replies to the rude person saying she has health issues and they want to take extra precautions with her. The same person replies that she doesn't look like she has health issues,  probably just doesn't like needles. He then goes on about people faking illnesses to get special treatment. I’m free to go. I decided to comfort the person about what they said. The lab tech is standing next to me, I ask who said that about me. The receptionist points to a man wearing a black shirt and jeans with a small child next to him. The man named D'Arcy looks a little bit angry. D’Arcy I understand that you were the person who said the mean thing about me but I don't think this is the example you want to set especially for this little guy sitting next to you. Because it's not cool to be mean to others you know what else isn't cool having a bullet tear through your chest and needing emergency heart surgery just to survive. I lift up my shirt to show him my thoracotomy scar. 

D’Arcy: pov I’m so sorry I had no idea that happened to you. I'm having a rough day and was angry and took it out on you which is not okay. what is your name by the way, she says Captain Kate Beckett. Oh so you're a police officer she says yes and explains as much as she can that is kid appropriate before its my sons turn. You know what I feel so horrible about the way I treated you. My son suggests that we buy her lunch but I don't know what she can have. Is it okay if I give you a 20 instead so you can get some lunch, since I don't know what you can eat. She says an apology is all she needs but thanks for the offer anyway, maybe pay for another stranger's meal instead. 

 

Castle: pov I manage to make it to the car on my crutches, before we head back to the precinct we are stopping for lunch. To be continued.  …….

[venomfilo]

"I know he didn't want you to see me like this, but," Peter said, head resting against the wall, IV still in his arm, "I just wanted to say I was sorry. Sorry, for everything - before it got too late."

Harry cannot look at Peter; not yet. No, his attention is drawn instead to the tubing feeding poison into his veins. As gravity pulls the liquid from the bag–drop by drop–hanging at his side, he imagines each one of those drops eroding away the man Peter had been before, extinguishing the love and compassion in his soul. He fights a grimace as his stare follows the tubing’s coiling path all the way to the ex-hero’s pallid skin.

And he wants to rip that needle from his arm; to burn this lab and all of his father’s work to ash; to destroy every last milliliter of the thing that’s destroyed his friend. The chasm that Pete’s betrayal had carved in his heart quickly fills with rage, seething and untethered. These days, he’s not much better than the broken Spider that sits before him, but the things he’s done, he’s done to strangers–to predators and monsters, to villains and fiends–never to friends, to family.

“I’m sorry too,” he manages through gritted teeth, his eyes sparking with a hideous intensity as they finally find Peter’s face. His anger is white hot, and it pools under his skin like Venom itself, forcing its control over him in just the same way. Peter has his drug, and Harry has his rage; they’re more alike than they are different, even now.

From his back, a black appendage breaks free of the symbiotic fabric of his jacket, twining toward the IV line. All it would take to end this, if his father is correct in just how dependent the hero has become, is to kink the line for a few moments. The slender tendril curls around the clear, silicone line and begins to squeeze.

Is this how it’s meant to be? Peter was a friend–was family–but he’s so deeply entrenched in the darkness now that he’s become that which he allows Venom to hunt. No good has come from his refusal to act, and Harry wonders how many have suffered while he’s fought to save a man who very clearly doesn’t want to be saved. Is that blood on his hands too? And if he crosses this line, if he deprives Peter of the formula long enough, what makes him any different; any better?

The black mass dissipates, shrinking back into hiding, and Harry lets out a strangled cry, burying his face in the palms of his hands and digging his fingertips into his hair.

“I don’t know what to do.”

          Yes you do. Let me. Venom coos, drawing Harry’s consciousness into a dark, placid pool. Let me end his suffering, and yours.

Harry slips below the surface, his vision fading steadily. But at the last moment, he gasps, clawing upward through the murky depths. It would be easier that way; he can’t–and won’t–deny it. And maybe the Peter he knew, the Peter he loved, would have wanted that. But Harry has his father’s stubborn tenacity, that reckless drive, and as long as Peter is still breathing, he’ll hope onto that smallest glimmer of hope.

The rage he’d felt so fiercely just moments before bursts, and the exhaustion that follows weighs heavily on his shoulders, prompting him to fall into the seat beside his friend.

“I don’t know what to do,” he repeats, his voice hollow and small. “I can’t stand to see you this way, but– I can’t leave either.”

His choices are few and far between. An antidote has to be possible, but Harry’s focus and talents have never lain in that arena: he cannot reverse engineer this formula. Least of all without his father finding out he’d tried to undermine him.

But–

He coaxes the symbiote out so that it pools in his palm like mercury. He understands the creature’s purpose. He understands that it’s not Venom that’s cured him of his illness, though it has fortified his strength, agility, and other abilities. It’d been GR-27, biofiltered through the sentient mass. And if it could negate the fatal, horrifying side-effects of that cure, maybe–

“Peter?” His eyes are gentler this time, fatigue pulling his eyelids down low. With his empty hand, he skirts his fingers over the skin on Parker’s arm, drawing gooseflesh to the surface of his own. “Hold still, okay?”

Harry has one chance at this. One chance to give his friend his life back. One chance to do something truly good with the second chance he’s been given. One chance to do it before Norman comes back and intervenes.

He’ll die, and he knows this. But maybe he hadn’t been meant to live beyond his twenty-three years. Maybe prolonging his life so unnaturally had thrown everything off kilter, tipping the universe into exponential, expanding chaos, with him at the epicenter. With the scales so terribly unbalanced, all leading back to Devil’s Breath… His theory makes sense. So when he returns to his seat, weak-kneed, he’s content with his decision.

Venom fights him–argues and pleads with Osborn’s self preservation instinct–but his will is stronger than it’s ever been, and he pushes more and more of the creature out of his pores, only to pour it like oil across Peter’s chest. Being forced from its host and unable to survive without one, it quickly seeps into the other man’s skin. Every last drop of it.

“That should– That should help, buddy,” he says with a bright smile, disguising how out of breath the process had made him with a chuckle. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”