#is more about me setting the Plan and Expectation that I would do Comic Work today

[monster-noises]

Hgggg

Had one of those sundays where i felt just like

A little bit like shit all day

So i didn't really get any of my comic work done and it just kinda became a Lost Day

So now as consequence my brain won't let me go to bed because i did not Satisfy the Requirements as Set Beforehand

But i would like to actually set myself up for a successful week of going to bed on timebl because i haven't the last two weeks and i can Feel it slowly destroying me spiritually, mentally, and physically

But sometimes there js Naught you can do in the face of Wanton Mental Illness

[kosmicdream]

Hello. After drawing webcomics for 10 years and making about 10,000 pages of comics, here are some things i have learned/observed in that experience..

1) making comics does not get easier.. Not really

Making comics is a tedious and slow process and with so many different facets of the experience to learn - you’ll never run out of stuff to learn or weaknesses to work on. I’m not saying this to discourage but to just give the frank reality that it really takes a lifetime to understand. Be patient with yourself and try to set healthy expectations. 

2) Read your own comics after making them.

I don’t know if this is as important to other people as it is to me, but I do think that sometimes its easy to not re-read your own work and just go from your own memory of it, or maybe you’re tired of looking at it because of all the flaws. I don’t personally get sucked into the “rewrite/remake” cycle that I know is common with comics, as I sort of just accept things as they are, but re-reading my work does help me see where I have come from and where I need to go to next. I personally don’t like to lose sight of that, and I think re-reading helps ground me in the planning process of my work and gives me a better perspective on all aspects.

3) A lot of comic advice should be taken with a grain of salt, because its the person talking to themselves. (including this)

I see a lot of advice that never would have worked for me, or just simply wasn’t something I was ever going to follow. “Dont start with your big epic long stories”! Is a common one. I don’t think that’s bad advice exactly, but how many young artists are going to listen, especially if they’ve never told a story in the first place? Yes, the advice to start small and build yourself up with experience sounds great, I’m sure people do it, but if you’re an artist you’re probably not gonna be that responsible. And for me, when i tried to do this with eggshells, my house burnt down and i kinda gave up comics for a while because i lost a lot of work. 

Writing short stories is still something I struggle with, its just not easy for me. I have gotten better at it but i don’t think that makes me less of a comic artist because I haven’t gotten good at that particular format, or that I jump around on my projects. Is it more impressive to have more completed work under your belt, sure. But I also think that.. Idk.. what is the advice actually saying, because with that one it sort of feels (often times) as a warning that you’re setting yourself up for failure/embarrassment by attempting a comic like that. I don’t know how to tell you this, but comics are gonna be embarrassing no matter what you do and there’s no guarantee you’ll be more successful/not experience failure by avoiding your passions. Something to think about anyway. 

4) Don’t draw every leaf. Unless you really want to.

I’m the kind of comic artist that kind of doesn’t care about the art as much as the whole package of the comic. When i see a very impressively drawn panel/page, with laborious detail that is well drawn and maybe even colored ect.. That usually is kind of, I guess, a turn off for me as part of the reading experience. The thing is, when i encounter that, it usually signals to me that someone has poor planning skills for comics. It says to me that comic is probably not going to see its end or that artist is overworking themselves in an unnecessary way, that ends up concerning me about how they’re doing. Because i know how hard it is to draw comics. When an artist phones things in a bit, or has a limit on how much they work on a page, its a relief for me to see! because I understand they have healthier boundaries and expectations, and the art itself usually is less stiff too. This is all an overgeneralization, but I think with a lot of webcomic artists we are usually drawing a comic for the first time ever, so it makes sense we want to do our best and try as hard as possible - that just usually isn’t the smartest plan to put all the stock in the visual department. This also kinda frustrates me to see because most comics (professional or not) will also (generally) not reel the art in ever or make a more simple style. Generally I see it always trying to outdo itself, which leads to burn out. I personally only work about 1hr on each page i draw, that hasn’t changed in the 10 years I have been drawing comics, but i used to spend hundreds of hours drawing detailed lineart for eggshells and it didn’t even read well and i’d be disappointed with the results, feeling more lost with my goals than ever. PLEASe.. Just draw worse, its usually better looking in the end too. (because you wont have the experience to judge visual clarity until you’ve been drawing comics for a while imo..)

5) Don’t draw ahead, draw those inbetweenies.

“Inbetweenies” are the pages for the “boring” ones. They are also usually the most common KIND of page. Its the pages that are necessary, but “inbetween” the action. The impact moments in a scene, ect. You gotta draw them. They’re always gonna be there. They’re the pages where maybe, the character is walking somewhere, thinking, ect. The after impact from an action.. There’s a million examples, but hopefully you’ll understand what I mean when I say they’re both necessary pages/panels, sometimes so mundane/redundant, but also required for telling the story.. As a comic is a sequence of images. This is why, the previous advice is also important IMO- because if you really want to “draw every leaf” - maybe you should save that energy and effort for those impact moments that you want to impress the reader with.. And not for the inbetweenies, which are the foundational support, but also not the most important moments. If you conserve your energy a bit, the contrast OF that effort will also pop more. I personally find it funny when I put more effort into a page and end up tricking my readers into thinking I got better at drawing, when really i just have been able to draw better and only save it for moments like this instead of always.

Also, when I say don’t draw ahead.. I mean I draw each page at a time before going to the next one. I have no idea if this is an unusual practice or not, and I know a lot of people will draw their chapters/episodes/whatever in sections like sketch/ink/color/ect.. But I personally draw and finish page by page, unless its the thumb/sketch stage. Even then, i don’t go ahead much. I think that you can control flow/pacing better by doing chapters all at once of course, I see that as a benefit. But i also think that makes things very overwhelming and can also result in a lack of flexibility if something isn’t working. No matter HOW much planning you do- comics are always going to have an aspect of IMPROVISATION with the result you get in the end. There are way too many factors in play to be in complete control of all of them and always know the result of the reading experience. SO for me, this technique is easier and has been something that continues to get me to working effectively. Plus, rumiko takahashi said that’s what she does. And i think she has some of the best visual flow/compositions in comics. So that’s what I do.

I could write more personal advice or rules that i follow..but I think those are the ones I find are the most important to me anyway. Of course, comics are a strange medium and not everything that works for me will work for you. That’s all for now.. Bye bye…! 

Oh by the way, my comics are here: feastforaking.com nastyreddogs.com https://kosmic.itch.io/ Support me on patreon! https://www.patreon.com/kosmic

[neverheroes]

Here’s a bunch of stuff in the MM Tales of the TMNT comic-con sneak-peek I thought about too much!

They’ve cared so much about showing how differently they each react to and process the same situation.

Through the scene Raph is excited to tear things up and true to every iteration ever tries things his way until it doesn’t work, Don’s flight response pings into analyst mode and you just know he’s figuring out how to break stuff, Mike is thriving in team-mode and keeping them all on track, and Leo flails around like a giant ball of chronic anxiety before figuring out a plan. They’re original formula with gently new toppings and I’m ready for this slice.

Raphael

This guy! We get so much. He’s rearing to do some fighting that isn’t sparring and be free to do some actual damage. So we know he’s bored fighting is brothers and wants a challenge. He can’t handle this one and in figuring that out is “open to suggestions” which is quite the overlooked Raph quality, he’ll listen he just has to work through that impulsive reactive streak first. He’s strong and knows it, and that robot gets a harder fight. The Raph highlight for me was taking time while fighting to honour the time-old tradition of making fun of Michelangelo. <Sobs in last ronin.>

Donatello

This kid, man! It’s a long standing opinion of mine that everyone should be more scared of Donatello. His interest in understanding the threat overrides most of his fear. Cerebral af. This is his face most of the time while a robot programmed to obliterate him is directly behind him. On the surface it looks like he’s running away a lot, but he can’t exactly press pause on it to figure out how they work. His gentle heart characterisation is well intact, apologising to the robot when he damages it having already personified the thing. I honestly believe he would take it home like he’d found a new pet if that were an option.

Michelangelo

What a show of Mikey magic. He’s got the comedy relief on a casual setting with subtle jokes and unintentionally antagonistic observation style. Mike has a tiny attention span but is 100% in every moment and they draw a lot of attention to his speed and agility. He shines doing what Mikey is known so well for; keeping the family together. It was awesome to see him effectively orienting his brothers into the situation, and see them listen to him so readily. He still calls to Leo for guidance when he feels out of control, but we might be in for a more surprising personal arc than ~nobody takes me seriously~ this time around.

Leonardo

This is a blessing for Leo fans because MM Tales Leo sucks /srs. Not in the way Raph fans say it on Instagram posts, in the way that his flaws are so disparate from other versions that a mastery arc is screaming his nervous muppet name. The giftedness is still sewn in; even flailing around he has more advanced weapon control, is observant enough to be the right level of stressed when a threat shows up, and jumps into strategy finding a vantage point to make a plan like a good little Leo, but instead of our usual Leo trauma ball we (at least for now) get to watch a Leo with the confidence of a processed cheese slice be terrible at things because he’s just some kid…

Pfffffffahahhhahhahba

The Mutant Mayhem kids are the most realistically green (and by that I mean inexperienced) we've ever seen them and it's continued into Tales. With detaching from source origin and establishing a much more grounded reflection of teen life in the current world, the growth arcs over Tales and the next MM movie have such immense unburdened potential that it really could lead anywhere and I don’t know what to expect.

(Tales of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles will air in August 9th 2024 on Paramount+)

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part eight: in which you're forcibly removed from your comfort zone by none other than the resident ginger, and you meet a certain someone's alter ego(s)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will not be romantic interests)

notes: surprise surprise, the burn is still slow!! mentions of blood, gn reader with a dosage of snark that probably exceeds the recommended value

series masterlist

author's notes: *daddy's home plays faintly in the background, slowly but surely increasing in volume as i approach you on a hoverboard with a comically large witch's hat on my head and a ridiculous pair of sunglasses on*

word count: 4725

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

It was, by all accounts, supposed to have been a completely normal lab session. You were planning the reaction route you’d take to test the enzyme you’d synthesised and the various ways to ensure its effectivity other than the rate of the reaction and the yield as you waltzed through the door (the inscriptions were glowing a pretty purple-pink hue reminiscent of sakura blooms that day). The redox apparatus from two days prior was sitting exactly where you’d left it, nothing out of the ordinary there. The abnormality came in the form of a segment currently in the process of detaching the round-bottomed flask where your product had accumulated from the condenser; the first thought to register was the sheer audacity for anyone to even contemplate touching your experiments, while the second, this is my chance to study the constitution of these ‘segments’ up close, wasn’t far behind. Glancing up sharply, your flask still clutched in his un-gloved hand, (a voice in your head shrilly protested his lack of adherence to safety procedures) the segment began moving away, no doubt to disappear to wherever him and the rest usually stayed. With more agility than you thought you possessed, you rounded the workbench and grabbed him by his sleeve.

“You. What are you doing with my condensate?” You demanded, grabbing the flask from between his fingers and setting it down on a stand. Now that the imminent danger of your work going to waste was neutralised, you took the time to analyse this segment of your supervisor’s while you had him cornered. This version of Dottore was at least five years younger than the one you were familiar with, probably from his late Akademiya years. And he wore no mask, leaving two brilliant scarlet eyes on full display, rimmed with pale blue lashes and dark shadows beneath them. The segment coughed and fidgeted, trying to find a way to escape your clutches.

“Hold still,” you ordered, reaching up to touch his face. You were startled by the smoothness of the skin, having expected something cold and metallic. How in Teyvat did he pull this off? You tilted the segment’s face this way and that, looking for hidden wiring or steel plating or anything else that would belie machinery, yet you found nothing. You gave his cheeks an experimental squeeze, and were further surprised when your fingers dug into what seemed to be soft skin, then dropped your hands, stumped.

“Huh. You look very human.���

“Prime did tell me that was the intention,” the segment agreed, flushed in the face and still trying to discreetly push past you.

Even his voice didn’t sound robotic in the slightest, riddled with natural dips of tone and perfect inflection for the context. Your eyes took in every detail, every movement, still failing to spot anything that would’ve given him away as a machine.

“Incredible. Did he give you a name?”

“No. Prime wouldn’t waste a second thinking about something so inconsequential.”

If you weren’t mistaken, the segment sounded almost bitter, staring blankly down at the wall with those striking eyes. You felt a twinge of pity; being a clone for Dottore was probably a thankless task. “Would you like one?” You offered, not unkindly. “If your system permits that sort of input, of course.”

“I- I have no use for such things.” It was strange to think that your Doctor, impenetrable and unmoving as he was, had been capable of stuttering to the point where he himself recalled and implemented the trait.

“How about Theta? I’ll need to distinguish between you lot somehow.”

 “It’s of no difference to me,” the segment- Theta- mumbled, before shooting you one last look, then disappearing in the split second it took to turn your head in his direction. You wondered where he’d gone, and why he was so wary of you.

Oddly enough, you didn’t see the Doctor for the entire morning and well into the afternoon. It was far from ordinary for him not to be in the lab the moment you arrived, (you suspected he slept there, if he even slept at all) muttering under his breath as he worked and occasionally ordering you to hand him the wrench or scalpel or graduated pipette in a tone so entitled it tempted you to bash him in the head with the very equipment you handed him. Still, you couldn’t deny his usefulness. Having two pairs of hands was always easier than one, especially when the other pair was as experienced as they came; you could bounce any question off him and receive a convincing answer, even if he could never resist throwing in a mocking remark about ‘how shameful it must feel to have such a rudimentary fact slip your mind.’

However, you had much better uses of your time than fretting over the location of your boss, such as extracting a sample of noradrenaline from the brain of a body so fresh you half expected the eyes to open in the midst of your operation. Even after such a time-consuming procedure, the Doctor had yet to make an appearance. You wrote it off, assuming he wouldn’t be present that day, and ate all the fruit tarts you’d brought while boring holes into your notebook with your eyes and trying to determine what exactly had gone so wrong amidst your calculations that the percentage error was at an unforgivable fifty seven percent.

“One hundred cubic centimetres of sulphuric acid sounds unreasonable,” a voice from over your shoulder remarked. You blinked, refocusing on the sheet of paper. A whispered curse slipped past your lips as you registered where you’d went wrong; the decimal point of the volume of acid was indeed one too many zeroes to the right. You twisted to see who’d given you the hint.

It would’ve been incredibly easy to mistaken this segment for Dottore himself,  but he lacked the jagged scar spanning from above the mask to his chin and cutting right through the corner of his lip. This segment’s face also wasn’t as harrowed, unlike Dottore’s hollowed cheeks and deathly pale complexion. You probably would’ve missed the difference yourself, if you weren’t so accustomed to the tiny details of the Doctor’s countenance. The segment grinned lazily.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?”

Oh, for the love of-

You shoved him away with a roll of your eyes. Not quite as Dottore-like as his appearance suggested, then.

“You segments are rather friendly today. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Since Prime isn’t here to hassle us about disturbing you, we thought we might as well make use of the main lab.”

A frown formed between your brows as you mulled over his response, absent-mindedly scratching out the mistakes in your calculations.

 “Main lab? There’s others? And why would the Doctor forbid you from utilising it on my account?”

The segment leaned over, resting his elbow on the workbench and his cheek in his hand as he watched you. “What do you mean why”- a delighted expression crossed his face, and his resounding cackle made you look up apprehensively from your notes. “Oh, what a scream. You mean you don’t know?”

The notion of ‘not knowing’ made the scholar in you bristle. “Don’t know what?” You snapped, crossing your arms and turning to subject him to the full force of your glare.

“You’ll find out soon enough, lovey,” he replied with another laugh. You scowled.

Patronising piece of-

“I heard you even gave one of us a name,” he said, interrupting your furious train of thought. “I didn’t think you were so besotted.”

You clicked your tongue dismissively, waving him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s counterproductive not to know the names of one’s assistants.”

It was the segment’s turn to bluster. “I am no one’s assistant!”

“Mhm. Be a dear, Gamma, and pass me the dichloromethane so I can make some aspirin for the inevitable headache you lot are going to give me.”

Muttering and grumbling and secretly preening over his namesake being a highly dangerous electromagnetic wave, he slid you the bottle and even a measuring cylinder and pipette to boot. You rewarded his extra efforts with a small smile, and Gamma suddenly understood every nonsensical thought that Prime had experienced since you arrived in Snezhnaya.

Throughout the day, more and more of the segments appeared from Archons-know-where and took to hovering around you while you go about your business, or chattering and doing a fine job of distracting you from whatever you were reading, or even rushing to assist you. You didn’t complain; it was fascinating seeing these different facets of the Doctor. Most of the older segments are rather similar to him, although Gamma had a rather prominent flirtatious streak, while another you’d named Omega was more snappish and impulsive. The younger ones were unfailingly comical; Theta was so easily flustered and a little more apprehensive about explosive compounds than the rest, and Pi, whose name referenced the pastry that was such a direct contradiction to his character, was rude, arrogant and reckless.

(“Since you’re such a bitter pill to swallow, I’ll call you Pi.” You grinned at your own joke. “No other aspect of you is remotely close to sweet, after all.”

Pi scowled animatedly, shattering the beaker in his hands from how hard he’d gripped it. “I won’t answer to a name given by a simpleton.”)

“Pi, clean the mess you made in the fume cupboard! Some of us have organic lungs that can’t handle toxic fumes, you know!”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” he snapped back, then slunk off to do as you’d told him when you weren’t looking.

The youngest of the segments, who barely reached your waist and had yet to even speak in your presence, had taken to trotting after you wherever in the lab you went, weaving between your legs and staring up at you with wide eyes half-hidden by a mop of messy blue hair. You’d come immensely close to tripping more than once, but you couldn’t bring yourself to scold him at all, instead nudging him out of the way like a cat sitting in the middle of the hallway. The segments were helpful enough, even if you’d been talked back at more times that day than your entire career as a lab technician in the Akademiya supervising young recruits, and by the time you were contemplating the prospect of heading to the dining hall for a bite to eat everything was in order; reagents alphabetically stored in their cabinets, counters wiped and glassware washed, even the enormous, curved windows were polished to a high shine. You spared them an approving look as you walked past, arms laden with bottles of (carefully separated) acidic and basic waste, admiring the aerial view of the snowy forest below, draped over the mountainside like a shaken-out blanket. The young segment was still tailing you, a lollipop you’d fished out from one of your pockets in his mouth; his utter disregard for where he was stepping had put you on your last nerve, but every time you sat him down in a safe corner he’d stare dolefully up at you before reappearing in your peripheral vision a few moments later. It was a wonder you hadn’t lost your temper, really.

“Epsilon, I can see your reflection in the window,” you pointed out in an unimpressed tone to the segment who’d been on the verge of grabbing your shoulders in an attempt to startle you. He huffed and grumbled, shaking the hair out of his eyes and cheekily tipping the neck of one of the bottles you were carrying as though to let the acid milkshake within, so to speak, spill, then pranced away from your scathing glare with a merry tune on his lips. You didn’t know how the segments seemed so familiar with you, as though they’d known you all their lives; Pi somehow knew how much value you placed on your leather gloves, as he’d threatened to use them for chromium extraction when you didn’t let him take one of your fungi petri dishes, Gamma had off-handedly mentioned how it was a shame your ear piercings had closed up years ago because you couldn’t match with their fluorescent blue test tube earrings, and Theta wordlessly handed you a pile of the expensive cider wood parchment you preferred to use and hurried away before you could say anything. It was baffling, to say the least, but you appreciated the extra help. It meant you could skip off to have a rather overdue lunch without fretting over something or other you might have mistakenly left over a Bunsen burner, even if it was strange leaving the lab without the Doctor’s voice criticising your lack of commitment to your education as the door swung shut behind you.

You weren’t even surprised to find Childe outside, leaning against the doorframe and tossing a dagger through the air, letting it flip over itself before catching it once more. When you opened the door, he stumbled into you and the dagger slipped from his hands as he nearly knocked you backward; but in a rare moment of swift reflexes you jumped to the side to snatch it from mid-air before it could stab either of you in the leg, only for Childe to latch onto your cloak as he fell and subsequently landing you on top of him. For a long, drawn-out moment, you just stared at each other; one of your hands pressed to the floor near his head while the other gripped the knife a safe distance above you. You quickly noted two things. One: Childe was bony and being draped over him was overall an uncomfortable experience; the apex of each of his ribs dug sharply into your chest, and two: his eyes were a peculiar, beautiful shade, less like the sea and more like heavy velvet thrown over something that glowed bright and blue, dimmed by the weight of the fabric.

Childe was finding it difficult to process anything other than your closeness. Yes, you were even more breath-taking up close and yes he would’ve given anything to place his hands on your waist and pull you closer still, but he was even more enamoured by the dips and points of your knuckles where your hand gripped the dagger, the creases in your leather gloves around each finger and the oddly calculating look in your eyes as you appraised him. You could stab him, he realised with a rush, staring up at you. You could drive the blade down and lodge it between his ribs and he probably wouldn’t be able to react fast enough because it was you, and his blood would stain your cloak and blouse and a coppery taste would fill your mouth. He wondered if Signora was right, and whether you really would look better in red.

You cleared your throat, breaking the spell, and Childe suddenly noticed all the other tiny little things he probably wouldn’t get close enough to see again. The notion that such things would remain secret almost made him panic, and it took considerable effort not to clutch at you as you rose to your feet and dusted yourself off. You extended your hand to him, and he allowed himself a split second of self-indulgence, the liberty of seeing your outstretched hand reaching towards his collapsed body as something more than it was; he let himself believe that you, so bright and resplendent in your every trait you might as well have been the moon, were offering him, a creature writhing in the darkness, salvation or even just a moment’s respite.

You hauled him up from the floor with a grunt of effort (he couldn’t possibly be as bony as he felt. All that weight had to come from somewhere), then took off your glasses and held them to one of the wavering white lamps, handing him the dagger.

“Hello, Eleven.” You frowned at the new scratches on the lenses and started rubbing them with the hem of your blouse, even if you knew it was a fruitless endeavour. “How long were you waiting out here?”

“Long enough,” he all but whined in response, slinging an arm around your shoulder and ruffling your hair. Your only protest was a half-hearted grumble as you shoved your glasses back on, and his chest warmed with the thought that you no longer instinctively rebuked his touch. “C’mon, Trixy. I didn’t think you were the type to ghost someone after a date.”

“What are you talking ab- oh, for heaven’s sake,” you said exasperatedly, shooting him a look as he walked towards the stairs with you in tow. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

He beamed so widely you nearly stumbled on the steps, blinded by the intensity of his glee.

“So you’re not denying it was a date?”

You sighed out an incredibly inappropriate curse, drowned out by Childe’s hearty laughter.

“You are an incorrigible man.”

“Well you went on a date with this incorrigible man,” he countered cheerfully and not without a healthy dose of smugness. That earned him a withering look, and you detangled yourself from his side as you walked down the corridor.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” you said with a shrug, laughing slightly when he let out an indignant splutter. Childe bristled, trailing after you with an exaggerated pout.

“You should apologise for hurting my feelings, Trixy.” “If I were to apologise every time I bruised your fragile ego I’d never have time to say anything else,” you teased, linking your arm with his and pulling him along. “Now come on, they serve an exquisite pumpkin soup on Wednesdays.”

You wondered at what point you’d become so friendly with the Harbinger, to feel relaxed enough to so casually poke fun at him. Maybe your self-preservation instincts were decaying. Maybe it was worth it.

“I don’t want to see that… Arlie again,” Childe protested. You looked at him sidelong.

“Oh?” You asked, feigning surprise. “Why not?”

Because she outranks me and I don’t like having to share your attention, he thought. “She beat me in a fight once,” he admitted grudgingly. It wasn’t even a lie; that bitter defeat was indeed part of the reason he felt less than ecstatic around her, though the atrocities she’d carried out to become the fourth Harbinger were impactful too.

 “Infighting between members of the same organisation should not be the norm,” you stated, shaking your head. “You Fatui are ridiculous.”

Childe laughed, tugging you closer by your linked arms to elbow you in the ribs. “You’re one of us ridiculous Fatui now, remember?”

“I am not!” You protested, affronted, before sighing at the self-satisfied expression on his face and changing the subject. “Tsk. So you refuse to speak to her just because you lost to her once? That’s immature, even for you.”

“No, no, defeat is all part of the battle. I don’t like that she refused a rematch.”

You hummed thoughtfully, chewing over his response.

“So you believe you’d win this time?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug, steering you past the dining hall’s entrance. “It doesn’t matter though, does it?” He continued, as though the idea of combat for the sake of combat was the most normal thing he could possibly conjure. “Sparring with a strong opponent is the real goal. Say, Trixy. Are you any good in a fight?”

You snorted. “I’m a scholar, Eleven, not a warrior. And even if I was, I wouldn’t spar with you.”

His face took on an almost comically wounded expression. “What? Why not?”

“Because I know when I’m outmatched,” you replied dryly, letting him drag you along. A dejected expression you felt compelled to ease fell over his face. “Although I do have passable aim with a bow and arrow,” you reluctantly offered, and the change in his demeanour to unadulterated ecstasy was laughable.

“Really?! You’ve got to show me.”

“What? No, absolutely not.” Your reply was swift and decisive, but Childe was nothing if not meddlesome and persistent.

“No, no, no, you’re not getting out of this,” he jubilantly exclaimed, tightening his hold on your arm as if to prevent you from running off. “We’re going to one of the training grounds right now, and you’re going to do some target practice.”

“I’ll use your bloody head as a target if you don’t drop it, Eleven,” you threatened.

“Great idea, let’s try that too!”

Even as you lamented his utter insanity, Childe steered you to the west wing of the palace where you’d never been before. Upon looking around, you concluded that all forms of combat training happened there; the sound of crashing steel and muffled gunshots, interspersed with the occasional crackling, sloshing or rumbling from what was probably from Vision holders practicing how to utilise their elements in battle. The silver in the walls was twisted into different patterns from what you’d become familiar with, abstract depictions of battles long-past and a whole wall of solemn, important-looking text gleamed almost menacingly, commanding the attention of any who walked past it. From your passable fluency in the Snezhnayan tongue, you deciphered it to be an oath of sorts where the reader swore to carry out a myriad of jovial things such as turning the snowy landscape into a ruby’s facet with the enemies innards or their own, and wreaking havoc within the heavens until it rained scarlet. All in the name of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

Wow. Bloodthirsty much?

You eyed the oath distastefully, missing how reverently Childe mouthed it as he led you into an empty archery range. Rows of targets stood on the other side, pockmarked and their paint scratched, with a few of them sporting an unfortunate red-brown stain. You were grateful that there was no one there, at least; if you were a little rustier than you remembered then there was no one to witness your mediocrity other than Childe, who was presently looking through the extensive selection of bows and chattering about the various advantages and disadvantages of different models. You riffled through one of the many quivers of arrows scattered haphazardly about, admiring the high-quality steel of the heads. Some of them even had meticulous patterns along their shafts, no doubt hand-painted, and you appreciatively traced a particularly striking golden dragon with tiny, methodical scales spanning the entirety of the arrow, ending at the head where the dragons jaws were open in a roar.

“Well, Trixy? What bow are you going to use?”

You glanced up from the quiver, twirling the dragon arrow between your fingers, eyes skipping over the countless bows laid across the stands. You noted the ones tossed carelessly across them with a disapproving glance, and eventually picked the one that was the most similar to what you remembered using, long-limbed with a straighter taper and made from wood you recognised as Yumemiru from the distinctive diamond-shaped whorls.

“Why that one?” Childe asked, mesmerised by the sight of you in his element with a weapon at your fingertips. What were you thinking about when your hands reached for that particular bow? Did you have any specifications, preferences in regards to size or even the type of wood it was made from? Were your eyes drawn by the faded blue leather wrapped around the handle? Would you prove to be better, smarter, quicker than he was? The thought sent his heart racing and his brain spiralling with the prospect of having you as a competitor, an opponent.

“Does it matter?” You replied with a shrug, testing its weight in your hands. “I’m no expert when it comes to the craftsmanship of weapons. The bow I learned to shoot was probably older than me with a string practically on its last life.” You frowned slightly, looking up at him. “Why do you ask? Is there some sort of technique or guideline I should follow?”

“No, no, don’t worry about doing something wrong,” he reassured, his back to you as he assembled a quiver of arrows. You lowered the bow to stare at him, flabbergasted that he’d so quickly and accurately read the involuntary hesitation in your answer.

“Usually we have beginners start with a compound bow, but you probably have your own inclination by now,” Childe continued, oblivious to your astonishment. “What you’ve got there is a longbow,” he added, tossing you an archery glove. “They’re generally more difficult to master and harder to use.”

You pulled off your glove after making sure his back was still turned before replacing it with the one he gave you, and then picked up the bow again with new interest.

“I see. And yours?” You asked, nodding towards the one he had picked, white wood gracefully curved and narrowed at the tips.

“This one’s a recurve bow. They’re better at close range and generally need more strength to draw.”

Childe couldn’t help but be entranced by your contemplative expression, all furrowed brows and a distant gaze as you took in the new information. He had to agree that you really were a scholar before all else; the pensive look you so often sported might as well have been made to be worn by your features. In your eyes, even an archery range became an experiment, a mystery to untangle. You sighed and turned to face the targets, nocking the arrow and drawing the bowstring back to touch your chin. Childe watched as you adjusted your aim, mentally evaluating your form, then let the arrow fly. He let out a low whistle of appreciation when it hit the centre with a satisfying thunk.

“Clearly your aim is more than just passable,” he remarked with an excited glint in his eye that you didn’t quite like.

“Accuracy is all I have,” you replied with a shrug, lowering the bow and gently pressing your fingers into the indent the bowstring left in your chin, perfectly aligned with the barely-visible scar there. You’d forgotten how tender the skin could get. “I doubt I can still hit a moving target, for one.”

“But you can get the bullseye every time?”

“Not every time,” you corrected, making your way to the target to pull the bow out of the wood. The painted dragon really was a masterpiece, and you took a moment to admire it before heading back to the archers’ stand. Childe grinned and followed after you, bow temporarily forgotten.

“So most times then?” He pressed, trailing closely behind you.

“Where are you going with this, Eleven?”

 “I still think we should spar,” he replied brightly, so close he was practically breathing down your neck. “We’ll make it so that if you manage to shoot me even once, I go down, or we could”-

You twisted around to poke his chest with the fletching of the arrow, cutting him off. “No.”

“Please?” He implored, rounding on you whatever direction you turned to avoid him. “Please, please, please?”

“No!” You repeat, louder and with the full force of your irritation. “I’m not dying before I get this damned certificate!”

There was a beat of silence as he stared at you, slightly aghast. “You think I’d kill you?”

“…I don’t think you’d do so on purpose, no,” you conceded, taking out your pocket watch. “But your strength exceeds mine to the point where fearing for my life in a duel wouldn’t be unreasonable.”

“It is unreasonable to assume I’d ever hurt you,” Childe groused, continuing to block your path every time you tried to move past him. “Stop trying to get away,” he added, bending over to pinch your cheek. You stared at him, utterly at a loss for words, then quickly smacked his hand away with an irate grumble.

“I need to get away, I still have lab work to do.”

Childe flapped his hand as if physically shooing away the idea. “You work too hard, Trixy. Take a break.”

“And what do you think this little exercise was?”

“A chance to impress me with your archery skills, of course,” he replied without missing a beat, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. You rolled your eyes with a quiet huff of laughter, pushing past him, and he dutifully followed after you.

“You’re not very difficult to impress, are you?” You teased back.

Only when it comes to you, he thought wistfully.

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

taglist:

@viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men

@aenishas, @lovel3tter, @randomidk-123, @autistic-deer

@luvenus702, @zoriaisasimp, @ra404, @crownohomo

@diamondcookie45

if i missed you somehow please message me directly, bold means i’m having trouble tagging you! to be added or removed please comment on the masterlist post of this series <3

[nilolemillion]

Okay, so here’s this Batfamily headcanon I’ve been thinking about.

Jason Todd takes Fridays as his ‘day off’ to ‘rest,’ (because of course, none of the Batfamily actually rests). Tim Drake, on the other hand, claims Wednesdays as his day off, mainly to balance out his detective work with tactical planning. But here’s the twist: no matter what their schedule looks like, every Thursday, without fail, they all come together for brunch.

And when I say brunch, I don’t mean a peaceful, chill, serene break. No, it’s basically their weekly therapy session, except it’s filled with prime shit-talking. They spend the time roasting each other, complaining about Bruce, dragging the villain of the week, or venting about how their respective teams are ‘a bunch of dumbasses’ (even though they’d probably die for them).

Now picture this:

Bruce needs Tim to sign some important Wayne Enterprises paperwork- Tim’s the one leading the project. So Bruce heads over to his office, expecting to just drop the papers off and get it done. But when he arrives, Tim’s secretary politely informs him, “It’s Thursday, sir.” And Bruce just has to smile, play it cool, and respond with, “Oh, right! Silly me. Almost forgot. Thanks, Margaret!” as he walks away.

But inside? Bruce is dying. The best detective in the world, and he has no idea what ‘It’s Thursday’ even means?! He’s fucking pissed. How did he miss something so obvious? But of course, he doesn’t ask- he would rather dive off a rooftop than admit he doesn’t know something. Obviously.

Meanwhile, over in Roy Harper’s world, Roy is losing his mind trying to find Jason. He’s checked everywhere. Everywhere. He knows Jason can be sneaky when he wants to be, but this is different. Usually, Jason’s more chill when it comes to Roy. At some point, Roy’s genuinely wondering if Jason’s turned this into a really unannounced, fucking terrible game of hide-and-seek.

How on earth do you lose a guy who’s 6’0”, loaded with guns, and wearing that ridiculously bold red helmet? Seriously, how?! Roy eventually gives up and leaves a voicemail: “Okay man, I’m out. I’m done playing, I’m not giving you the victory tho.”

And yet, right at that very moment, there’s Jason. Sitting across from Tim in a small coffee shop in New York. They’re completely at ease, sipping espresso and eating waffles, chocolate cupcakes, and all the sweet stuff Jason can barely handle because he’s clogged up from all the sugar.

Jason, mid-rant, says, “I swear to God, Dickhead needs to learn how to set some boundaries. The way he lets everyone be so co-dependent on him is both impressive and pathetic.”

Without missing a beat, Tim, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just call Dick a dozen times three days ago because he’d had six espressos and was spiraling from anxiety, responds with the most sarcastic tone: “Tell me about it. I was thinking of giving him a ‘How to Set Limits’ book for his birthday.”

And don’t even start with “ugh that so not canon” stfu bitch. Here you go. The comic is Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011), which is probably in my top ten from all time, even tho I love the 2016 one. This is the issue #8, 10/10 totally recommended.

[archandshri]

28th June ‘24 - [arch] One Page Limitation??? - My process for Traffic Zine #5

Hello All!

A couple months ago, I got accepted to @trafficzine, a digital anthology of pieces by a large group of artists and writers based on the most recent season of the Life Series. I made this piece back in April, but thankfully I kept some notes of my process. 

Heads up - this contains spoilers for Secret Life :D

We were able to choose our own prompt from a list! For this project, I wanted to push my comic making - especially how to communicate a lot of information in a small space. I went through and watched a few clips from the series to see which prompt would fit a comic and settled on Scott’s death.

As usual, I began by getting some reference images and going ham on some big paper. This gets me excited about the project and helps generate ideas. I go for whatever interests me in terms of medium and subject matter, but I try to use a process that doesn’t let me control too much (in this case brush and ink)

initial sketches for fun and vibes :D

During this, I also took the time to transcribe the scene - I wanted to use the dialogue directly, and see how much I could fit into the single page that I was allowed for the zine.

In these early planning stages I make sure to do warm-up sketches to remind myself of the energy I want to communicate. This also keeps things fun and fresh so I'm not ONLY thinking about page composition and making things 'good'. (the expectation for it to be 'good' kills a project prove me wrong)

Dialogue from the clip + warm up sketches

Next up, I started to plan what panels I have on the page. At this stage, some panels might just be a box with some words, and some may have a sketch if I have a clear composition in mind. This stage is mostly for pacing and plot, so instead of focusing on what the panel and page will look like, I will think about:

what will happen in the panel

it's purpose and

what it will communicate

Sometimes I'll illustrate a string of panels that tell the story and fit them on a page after - but this depends on the project and my confidence with the size of it.

After messing around with these and coming up with a pretty clear direction, I draw a bunch of boxes to see how the panels could sit nicely together. At this stage I might realise I have too many panels, and need to cut a few or come up with a creative solution. Nothing is set in stone at this point.

sketching panel layouts

Now begins the fun! I decide on the layout I prefer and I can start putting planned compositions into the boxes. I often do this digitally, or a digital editing process will be involved.

Once planned, I print these out to do a more refined sketch over. I find that my traditional drawings have a lot more life and character to them than digital ones, so I try to keep the majority of the process traditional, with passes of scanning and digital editing.

I tried a version with her looking out at the distance - ready to face the oncoming battle. But it still felt off. So I turned to my slides to ask myself some questions!!

I tried to think of more things that were working - but I really felt like it was lacking a lot. I was going for this slower emotional feeling because that came more naturally to me, but it just wasn't working for this image. The original clip is quite rushed and chaotic - which would be harder to communicate in a comic format but the challenge interested me. Either way, I knew I wasn't happy with this direction so... i decided to start from scratch! Back to the drawing board!!!

In the previous version, I had cut out a lot of the dialogue, but I decided to go back to the original clip and use AS MUCH as possible. Since passing the bow was my favourite part of that first composition, I really wanted to lean into it as the emotional height and final goodbye before Scott's death. It's a moment to slow down and absorb the vibes :D

I made a list of panels along with their descriptions to refer to when trying to figure out the order of panels. there were SO MANY and it was VERY CONFUSING when they were too small to read.

These thumbnails were super small and would not have made sense without my list, I swear.

I printed this tiny thumbnail out at A4, so I could sketch over it and get a clearer sense of flow. Then began a loooong process of printing out tiny photocopies and rearranging the panels to be legible. It was a difficult balance of communicating busyness while making sure the hierarchy/reading order made sense.

After some tweaking, i printed out an A3 copy to draw my panel borders and text.

Doing this on a separate piece of paper means I don't have to worry so much about messing up the text or borders when drawing the characters. This allows me to be more free and expressive with my illustration.

Woah! Quick trip back in time!! During the thumbnailing process I drew these warm up sketches! I looooved the way the linework came out. I drew this on an A3 piece of paper - and the shocked Gem would, in theory, be one of the smallest panels. So I decided to do a crazy thing.

I touched up the sketch digitally, compiling some of my favourite warm up sketches, some traditional sketches made for the panels, and filling the rest in digitally. Then I printed this image out in QUATERS at A3!! This meant the final sketch layer, printed out was A1!! (aka very large, considering the final file would be at A4, about 8x smaller)

I did this so I could get fairly small detailed lines with my pencil while being quite expressive and firm with my mark-making. Slowly, I dlined all of the panels traditionally and scanned them in. Then I assembled the finished linework on Photoshop, along with the text and panel borders and got to colouring :D

final linework :D

For colouring, I played a little bit with halftone but I found the texture made it feel a bit too busy - the panels are already doing enough. Because of this, I also decided to use a limited colour palette. Here are some images of the colouring process, which I won't go into today.

I'm really happy with how this came out - I think it captures the chaos of the moment, while taking time to linger on the emotion of it. Keeping that bow moment really made it, I think.

I think the last panel is still quite weak. Earlier in the process there was a low-angle shot of Gem about to kill Scott which may have been more powerful, but I think I was struggling with my actual drawing skill when it comes to perspective. A lot of learning how to draw, and in particular with comics, is about knowing where your skills are at, how to utilise them best and how to test and push them.

I'm glad that I started again, instead of finishing that composition I wasn't happy with. It was a tough project but I learnt sooooo much from it, and it's been essential skill-building for.... the current comic I'm working on (stay tuned!!! :0) Thanks for reading this incredibly long post! Go check out @trafficzine and look at all the other cool art Cool vibes and silly men,

Archie :D

[scragon]

Webcomic interview

How did you get into making webcomics?

I just jumped in expecting to make a few chapters and it turned into multiple years of my life.

Consider drawing Short comics about ideas and throw them out there. My current official webtoons were short comics that I posted inconsistently in between other projects. They eventually got their own following.

Who inspires you?

I was very inspired by the comics I saw on early comic sharing platforms. Opening my mind up to self-published comics made me realize the possibilities beyond mainstream works.

Erri Pi on webtoon canvas is one of those early creators I felt inspired by. 

I am also what I would call ‘anti-inspired’. There are many very common tropes that turn me off from media, so when I write, I love to subvert the expectations of those tropes.

What are the best and worst aspects of your work?

The best aspect is creating my own story with full control and allowing it to write itself. I do not find myself getting hung up on the constant lore and rules and history of the work. I just write and allow natural progression. I consider myself an artist over author but you find yourself focusing less on art to make sure the story is good. If the story sucks, nobody will care about the art.

This makes the worst aspect also writing. It takes a long time letting words come to you and it takes more energy than the drawing.

What is the most important thing people should know about when working in the webcomic industry?

Whether it be today's financial climate or how much artists are undervalued, it is still brutal. You have to work fast. It is the only way I've been able to continue a social life, paycheck, and sleep. Learn to only put 30% effort into your comic art. Seriously. As you develop a consistent schedule and style, you will know when to put more effort. You will know.

I understand you created multiple series on and outside of Webtoon. What did you learn from those experiences?

For works like comedy, less is more. You don't need to have more than 4-6 panels to set up and execute a punch line. Sometimes you need even less. Also make sure your jokes are specific to your comic and characters. If any other characters are able to tell your jokes, your comic will become stale fast.

For romance, I've just learned to write what I would like to see more often. I don't care for lots of emotional and relationship mismanagement and it seems like many other people have agreed. So if you want it, chances are, a lot of other people want it as well.

What is your advice for someone planning to enter this industry?

Draw a lot. Write down all of your ideas. Come back to them. Just start drawing one. You learn so much by just doing it and realizing how things look on the page. Simplify the idea. Don't start off with a huge project. Just gesture a 10-page story in a sketchbook. Comics are a language.

The industry can be as professional as working with a publisher, or as casual as having a following on Patreon or social media to fund your work. Both require being fast and able to speak this language.

[cindol]

cotton candy princess reader and her gingerbread man nanamin .

nanami kento x black coded fem reader

tw + — candyland fantasy au ,

cw + — nanami is a gingerbread man but he still looks human in someway, everything in this world is candy based ( obviously ) , reader is low key an workaholic, nanami and reader are friends with some romantic tension, slightly suggestive massage,

syn — to help the cotton candy princess, nanami gives reader a much needed distress massage .

a / n 🍭 : was suppose to be a drabble but it’s more longer (world building sucks ) ! Left on a cliff hanger because erm me bad at endings

back to candyland . ​divider creds : @ / anitalenia

If there was one man who always could hold you down it was nanami, ever since his teen years of spraying that funny ginger snap smell on his blonde hair he was always there for you, just some royal girl with a pink cotton candy afro.

and he definitely knew when you had enough and overworked yourself.

“Nanami have you scheduled that appointment with peppermint knight gojo? I remember him talking about wanting armor updates..”

“miss y/n.”

“oh! And lord licorice, that man can be difficult but please do try and get in contact with his people so that we could come in agreement.”

“y/n..”

“and black milk painter! I know he just moved into this kingdom but I’d like him to feel welcomed by the people and me, please do send a bouquet of chocolate cosmos to his house!”

“y/n!” he said it in a louder tone than usual making you stop your rambling and pacing back and forth around your office desk.

He sighed scratching the back of his head.“I apologize for shouting princess y/n but I can’t help but say perhaps you’re stretching yourself too much..”

you hummed, agreeing but still kept to your original thought.“but I am the princess nanami, I have to stretch myself for these people, time doesn’t wait for me, only moves forward.” It was hard for nanami to get to you, you were just that much a workaholic, working for everybody but never for yourself.

Walking to you nanami put a hand on your shoulder.“yeah? Well this kingdom would need their princess in tip top shape. Time moves forward but I’m sure you can take some time to yourself for one day.” If there was a drum set in here you would’ve heard a comical ‘bddst!’ at his time joke.

you whirred, putting a hand on your chin. Nanami was your assistant, a smart one and you would take his advice just this once.“fine fine.. just for this day since I must.“

Nanami had a soft smile at that.“good, then I can show you exactly what I have planned for you.” that got a confused hummed from you.

unbeknownst to you nanami had been planning a private massage day for you with help from the peppermint knight gojo satoru. As much as he hated the man he knew what a woman needed to relax.

The room he used for the massage session was some abandoned bedroom in the candy kingdom. The lights dimmed, hard wax candy candles lit around the room and a pink massaging table long enough for you body in the middle of the room.

For you this was foreign. You weren’t someone who got your hands dirty but more use to working all day, all night for your people. You didn’t understand how this would help you relax really.

You only chuckled in this pink towel covering your body stopping at your legs. Near the massage table was nanami with his sleeves rolled up putting lotion on his cleaned hands.

“Didn’t know you’re the one giving me this ‘much needed massage’ .” you put quotes on the words with pointer fingers with a quirky giggle.

Nanami just shook his head smiling.“you never asked but again, I didn’t expect you to be the type of woman who would know about massages.”

“what? the pink dress I wear around didn’t make me come off feminine enough to know?” You joked making nanami falter and a slight blush on his face.

You sniggered at his reaction.“oh I’m just pulling your leg kento, now let’s get to this anticipated massage yeah?”

Once it came to the massage you didn’t expect nanami’s hands to be so…. skilled.

His hands smoothed out every uncomfortable crack in your upper back. He was making it hard to not make some hum or grunt.“mmph.. really working those hands of yours aren’t you?”

“Can’t help too, it seems like you’ve never heard of doing a good stretch in the morning, princess.” He innocently added that princess but it made you grumble and a barely visible blush on your face, you knew nanami didn’t mean it any teasing way but with how he said that nearly in your ear while massaging your naked back made you feel funny.

Before you could make a whitty comeback his hands went down to massage your lower back getting a sharp gasp from him and another funny feeling in your stomach.

That made nanami stop his hands massaging your flesh.“hey, you alright there?”

You just coughed, trying to cover up whatever little noise you were gonna make.“just caught me off guard.”

[jflemings]

Prompt 1 w jflem plzz

— mine

prompt: 1 “you are the best thing that’s ever been mine” from this post

a/n: my fav taylor song w jflem oooooo anon you are my best friend!!! also so funny that i was already working on a ‘mine’ fic for jess but that’s a whole diff thing xx

georgian bay glistens as the sun sets on the horizon, the last of it’s rays painting the sky with blues, oranges and pinks. jessie almost can’t believe her luck.

she’s got her arm around you as an attempt to fight off the chill breeze nipping at your faces, her nose turning pink from the cold. your face is tucked into her neck and both of you are holding one end of a blanket that’s wrapped around your shoulders. the scenery almost makes her forget why she brought you out here in the first place, the sight so breathtaking that it’s somehow distracted her from one of the most important things she’ll do in her lifetime.

almost.

jessie’s grip tightens on her end of the blanket as her heart rate speeds up, the sudden anxiety washing over her like how the waves would smother the rocks at high tide in burleigh heads. she thinks back to her time in australia fondly, but her thoughts always came back to you and how she felt sitting near the water watching the sunset with her arm around you, similarly to how the two of you are sitting in this very moment.

she doesn’t really know why she’s nervous because she knows your answer. the two of you had talked about marriage plenty of times before and every time you assured her that when she decided to ask, the answer would be yes.

you sigh and sit up “we should start heading back, i really don’t want to make your mum wait for us”

jessie shakes her head “i told her we had dinner plans. she’s not expecting us”

a puzzled look crosses your features “we have dinner plans?” you ask “you didn’t tell me that”

“spur of the moment type of thing” she shrugs before looking at you “we’ve got all the time in the world”

“i’d rather not be freezing my ass off in the dark, fleming” you say, dropping the blanket and standing. you brush off your bum and stretch your arms up before stuffing your hands in the pockets of your coat, admiring the view.

jessie takes a deep breath and runs over what she wants to say in her head, biting her lip and keeping her gaze focused on the water as she speaks to you “can you grab my waterbottle?” she asks.

you turn and walk three steps to where your stuff is, moving things around to find what you’re looking for. jessie knows you aren’t going to find it, it’s tucked into her side, but she needs at least forty five seconds to work the nerves out of her hands and get on one knee.

the midfielder shakes her hands out and puts one knee up, keeping the other on the ground, whilst she pulls the ring box out of her puffer pocket.

“jess are you sure it’s here?” you ask loudly “because i can’t find it, maybe you left it in the car” you exclaim, throwing your arms out and putting them on your hips before turning to face her.

your jaw drops almost comically at the sight of your girlfriend in front of you. her rosy cheeks are more flushed than usual, she’s wearing a nervous smile that you’ve never seen before and you can swear that her hands are shaking. sat in her grasp is a small black velvet box, the simple diamond ring occupying it catching the light.

“jess–”

“nope, no, you have to let me speak” she cuts you off, shaking her head

you nod shyly, bringing one of your hands up to cover your mouth “go on then”

jess let’s out a shaky breath “y/n i can’t count on my fingers how many times i’ve said that i’m going to marry you. i’ve said it directly to you, to my family, to my friends, anyone who would listen. everytime i’ve said it, i meant it. from the first time when i said it in that crowded bar in london, to two nights ago when we were in my childhood bedroom.” she says almost breathlessly, smiling when she realises that you’re tearing up.

“i have loved you longer than you’ve known” she says more quietly “i’ve had the privilege of watching you grow into such a kind and caring person. your compassion and ability to see everyone for who they are never fails to amaze me. everyday i wake up thankful that i get to spend my life with you so i’m asking, will you marry me?”

hey honey brown eyes are filled with hope and anticipation, leaving you to almost forget that she’s awaiting an answer from you. you shake your head and pull your hands off your face in borderline disbelief “of course i’ll marry you!”

jessie’s face breaks out into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen, tears welling up in her eyes as she carefully slips the ring on your finger. she grabs your face before she even gets off the ground and pulls you into a passionate kiss. the pads of her thumbs glide softly over your cheekbones before her grip tightens, pulling you impossibly closer.

you both pull apart from eachother so you can breathe but her lips still ghost over yours while she’s got her eyes closed.

“you are the best thing that’s ever been mine” she whispers against your lips before kissing you again, softer but with just as much passion as before.

you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with her.

[theambivalentagender]

Hello all! So if you follow me, you likely also follow my comic Valley Echoes as well as any of my other art drabbles. You may also know that I've been financially limping along for some time.

For context, my day job is dog grooming. It's a "career" I came into relatively recently and honestly love. However, my location has recently been incredibly dead. I haven't been able to make commission from lack of dogs and my hours have been cut drastically.

I'm currently looking into finding extra work where I can that will still fit with my technically full time schedule. This has been a big part of why the comic updates have slowed considerably in the last few months.

In the meantime, however, I did want to show that I am available for commissions at this time. This is the first time I'd be getting into commissions, so if folks do request I just ask for patience as I figure it all out, but I'd love to be able to draw your requests. I have a vgen account that's still being set up at the moment.

I also want to plug my Patreon again - honestly, the fact you all give this much for what I do now is incredible to me. I recently met the fun "milestone" of Patreon temporarily locking access to my withdrawals because I had made enough money this year to require filling out a tax form before my funds could be released, which I did. Maybe it's silly but it made me a little happy. I also have a Kofi though that's updated less.

This next part ended up being much longer and more personal than I expected so I'll put it under a cut.

Anything at this time would help immensely. Cost of living is insane, I just turned 30 and keep wondering how much longer I'll be able to keep renting, let alone ever saving to afford a home. I'm very, very lucky in that I have support from my dad, who has honestly been one of my strongest lifelines for years. But I obviously don't want to have to keep taking so much of that support from someone who should be enjoying retirement.

There are a lot of expenses I keep having, and things I'm putting off. The ipad I use for art has been cracked for months, but is still functional thank god. I recently finally bought myself clothes that aren't falling off my body after losing over 100 lbs in the last year. I have to buy and maintain my own tools for my grooming job, and I have to maintain my own health, both mentally and physically. My left hand/arm probably has nerve impingements and muscle strains science hasn't even named yet lmao. And of course there's taking care of my two terrible feline children who cause nothing but chaos in my home and who I love dearly.

Even if you don't give monetary support though, I so, so greatly appreciate every one of you who shares, likes, or comments on my work. I just recently got an anon who I mean to reply to soon gushing about they love Valley Echoes. Nothing makes my day more than waking up to see a million notifications that's just one person liking each of my comics as they read through it the first time.

Ever since I was 6 years old I wanted to be a storyteller in some way. I used to draw my own Dilbert and Far Side comics, and I constantly wrote wild fantasy stories. But after going through college, dealing with a huge amount of stress, burnout, and just one random person online telling me that I needed to hear the harsh "truth" that my writing skills were garbage, that spark was just gone. Excluding occasional stuttering starts, I didn't really write for years.

Doing this "silly" comic and getting the feedback I have is starting to rekindle that spark. I have so many stories of my own that I'm starting to make tentative plans on producing in some way. But even if I never become some official published recognized author, I feel like just putting out this comic is fulfilling that dream I had as a kid. So thank you again, as cheesy and long winded as this post has become.

[opultea]

"Even though you might end up regretting enabling his little habit" I would love to enable this so allow me to propose a concept if you will: infodumping being a mutual love language. A

Like kaveh walks in on a date night by accident and the reader's explaining the nuances of wine making in mondstat and Alhaitham is sitting on the couch drinking said wine and also taking notes. Reader and Alhaitham try to see who can find a more niche topic for their lectures discussions to borderline comical degrees but even if it isn't initially interesting to either party they love listening to their person explain it. Just showing you love someone by both listening and being listened to as they each discuss some niche topic that they hold interest in >>>>>>

Love this, honestly being with Alhaitham would be like being on a national debate team but in the best way possible. So here's a little drabble because this is so cute and so funny (and also my first ask so thank you!!)

You and Alhaitham to each other:

Alhaitham with a partner that mutually infodumps

Alhaitham x GN Reader (No pronouns) - Fluff/Crack - SFW Based on this headcanon

Usually when you and Alhaitham plan date nights, you like to tell Kaveh in advance, just so he knows you'll be taking up the living space for a while. Kaveh is more than happy to leave for a night on the town whenever this occurs, since walking in on whatever you weirdos get up to would be his waking nightmare.

However, it seems that tonight you had forgotten to inform your boyfriend's roommate about the night's events, being too caught up in some last-minute work to remember to notify him. Alhaitham certainly isn't going to bother telling Kaveh, if he walks in on something he doesn't want to see, then it's his problem.

So here we have the poor, unsuspecting Kaveh, groggily unlocking the door to your shared house after a long day of fighting for funding for his projects. Kaveh thinks of the glass of wine he'll be pouring for himself once he gets inside, the plush couch he'll be lounging on, and the quiet of the end of a long day. But his dreams and his expectations are shattered when he passes through the doorway to the living room.

Before him, you stand at the large portable whiteboard with a pile of scattered papers around you, covering every surface in white sheets scribbled with ink. Alhaitham is sitting on the couch in front, his own set of papers spread across the cushions and a notebook in his hand. Neither of you seemed to notice the confused architect in the doorway as you continue on your tangent.

"So you see, because of the average density, shape, and weight distribution of a squirrel, it has such a low terminal velocity that it could not possibly be harmed by falling from any distance," You scribble your conclusion across the full, messy whiteboard as you speak. Alhaitham hums in acknowledgement before standing from the couch, taking one of the two wine glasses on the table and bringing it to your lips for you to drink as you write. "Thank you dear,"

"What in the name of the Dendro Archon are you two doing?" You turn, finally noticing Kaveh at the entrance of the room. You smile and wave slightly, though Alhaitham is not as happy with the arrival.

"We happen to be on a date, so if you wouldn't mind, I think this is your cue to leave."

Kaveh's jaw drops as he takes the scene in further. "A date? This is what you lunatics call a date?!"

"Well, this is what we usually do," You reason, confused about the indignation in Kaveh's voice. "So far tonight I've gone through corvid thanatology, the effect of ley lines on geographical isolation, and the terminal velocity of squirrels."

"I have touched on the theories of atmospheric pressure differences in Enkanomiya, and the nuances within viticultural methods in differing regions," Alhaitham follows. "Now would you mind? You're disrupting our question time."

"Question time? What is this, an official debate? And geographical isolation, atmospheric differences, squirrel physics? What in Teyvat do you need to know about that for? Unless you're planning on taking up yet another course of study," Kaveh gestures wildly to the messy lounge. "Look what you've done to the place!"

"Well we enjoy teaching each other new things, even if the topics are a bit niche," You explain.

"Especially if the topics are niche," Alhaitham says, taking you in his arms. "Perhaps if you weren't so unfocused, you could appreciate the intellectual stimulation we provide each other,"

Kaveh tried not to gag as the two of you face each other in a loving embrace, Alhaitham caressing your cheek with his palm as he compliments your evidence. You smile and press a kiss to the inside of his palm, returning his compliments with your own.

"Of course you of all people don't know how to plan a date Alhaitham," Kaveh taunts.

"I'm sorry, but I believe I am the one with the significant other. So your reasoning is entirely null,"

"Why you-"

"Enough, both of you," You cut in. You take on a gentler, slightly apologetic tone as you turn to Kaveh. "I'm sorry I forgot to tell you we were having a date tonight Kaveh, but do you think we could have a little more time to ourselves?"

"You don't have to bargain with him," Alhaitham says, now electing to ignore the architect entirely. "Let's just kick him out. He can deal with the consequences of his interruption,"

"Ugh, there's no need. I don't want to have to see this any longer. Have fun with your so-called date,"

Kaveh sighed as he closed the door, hearing the two of you continue your series of lectures inside. He supposed he would have to get that glass of wine at the tavern instead.

[griefpersevering]

here's a little snippet from chapter nine of my spideypool deadpool & wolverine rewrite, runaways running the night!!

"Are you trying to imply I'm nuttier than a Snickers? Because that has nothing to do with the killing, peanut."

Sure, his subconscious loves to bring up the screams of the people he's killed while he's trying to have a cat nap, and comic boxes talk to him, and he tries to ignore the fact he's in a fanfiction like heavy metal fans deny they have tinnitus, but most of that only started after Weapons X. He's been killing for decades.

Everyone has a different reaction to death. It's the same with murder. Some people take lives for the thrill of it and others won't ever recover from killing the worst scum on Earth in self-defense.

Usually, Wade prides himself on being able to tell where people fall on this scale. Reading people is an important part of merc work; he has to know how much threatening is enough to get his mark to stay away from his clients when common sense or the court systems and cops fail them.

But Spidey is a tough nut to crack.

Spider-Man, as New York's poster boy hero, should be staunchly against murder. And yet, there's a darker edge about him that Wade wouldn't expect to find outside of Sister Margaret's.

"You're not any more nuts than me for agreeing to help you," Webs says, running his fingers through the long grass. "I would make so much money as a superhero therapist."

Wade snorts. "Forget the heroes. Offer supervillain therapy in your civvies. Then you can either reform them with your unwavering moral compass or at least get insider deets on their secret plans."

Spidey laughs. Wade wants to set it as his ringtone. "It's all fun and games until they kidnap you."

"Don't worry, my beautiful damsel in distress," Wade coos. "I'd rescue you."

"I can rescue myself," Spidey huffs.

[hyenafu]

Have you ever thought of crossovers between Slightly Damned and Junk Hyenas Diner? Both casts meeting, even as what-ifs or jokes. Lucky and Kieri have similar struggles with their mothers and the expectations put on them by their families, so they'd likely have a lot to talk about. And then there's the two fuzzy chill guys who love food, and the short beings of nebulous origins that came back to life.

It's funny you worded your question that way! One of the reasons I stopped working on The Junk Hyenas Diner is because I felt my long-term plans for it were too similar to Slightly Damned. I made The Junk Hyenas Diner as my thesis project when I got my graduate degree from the Center for Cartoon Studies. I wanted to completely change up the way I did comics and do something new. I was afraid of having Slightly Damned being my only major project, and I didn't want to be stuck in a rut forever. And it worked out great! I loved working on JHD. With a different setting, I got to make different jokes. Working in black and white helped change the way I approach my art, as well. I think I learned a lot from the experience. I made a bunch of short stories and gained new confidence in my ability to adapt and make new things. I fully intended to continue The Junk Hyenas Diner as my second webcomic in tandem with Slightly Damned after I graduated. But... I ended up putting it off more and more. I got busy with going to conventions more way more often, and expanding the breadth of my merchandise. I also got more involved with my Patreon. I needed to do these things in order to secure my income so I could keep living off of my art. I also felt like my heart wasn't really into making a science fiction (well, more like science fantasy) story. I felt intimidated by other artists who could ground their work in a lot more concrete facts about space travel, technology, and biology. I just wanted to make dumb jokes about food. Now I know that just wanting to make dumb jokes about food is valid, but that was honestly part of why I lost my motivation. I've decided to completely drop JHD for the time being. I'll always keep the website archive up because I still think it's a fun read, and I loved the experience of making it. I also don't consider that door closed forever. If I feel compelled to return for whatever reason, I will! I have thought that JHD would be suitable project for a self-contained graphic novel. I could also just lean into telling jokes whenever they come to me. But I don't really have the time or motivation for it right now, so it's not a priority. I think artists should be allowed to drop projects if they're not really feeling them anymore. It happens. Since the last time I made any new Junk Hyenas comics, I went through some rough emotional events that led me to seeing a therapist. That helped me a lot! After that, I ended up leaning more into making mushy stuff (cutesy and romantic) and spicy stuff (kink art for adults) for Slightly Damned in my free time. That's just what's the most fun for me right now. Because it's fun and rewarding, I keep making more and more. Even if there are folks who don't get it (which is fine), being motivated to draw makes me practice drawing, and practice makes all my art better, so everyone who likes my art still wins in the end!

Motivation is a fickle beast. Life changes. I always have way more ideas than the time and energy to actually make them, and I hope that's a problem I keep for my entire life. I can't possibly do everything all at once. Having Slightly Damned be my life's work is still scary thought. Other artists are able to finish their webcomics and graphic novels and move on, so I end up thinking that the grass may be greener on the other side. I don't know when or even if I'll be able to finish Slightly Damned in order to free up more time to work on other projects. But at the same time, right now, I don't really feel like I need to. I am enjoying what I make, and I'm always pushing myself to make each weekly update better. I love my characters so much that I enjoy following my whims and making spinoff projects with them. I think as long as I continue to find this fulfilling (and there are still people willing to support me), there's no need to force myself to do projects that I'm not feeling especially motivated to do. I know this big wall of text isn't what you asked for, but I wanted to explain why I don't draw Junk Hyenas stuff anymore. Anyway, here's a Thanksgiving picture I did of the Slightly Damned and Junk Hyenas casts in 2016:

[silversodas]

The Tornado vs The Glass Cannon

Rocky and Mordecai’s interactions in the side comics have painted them as pretty interesting foils for each other

Mordecai surprised me in this comic, I expected him to write off Rocky like everyone else does whenever he says or does something weird. But Mordecai just questions his actions and engages in an honest not to bad conversation with Rocky. (They seem like the type of people that have conversations that take 20 different directions and no one can follow) They have the potential for a pretty interesting dynamic and I am interested to see if they get one in the animated series especially with how the pilot turned out. And yes, they didn’t interact in the pilot, but Rocky was the only one to surprise and get the drop on Mordecai, also I need to talk about Mordecai’s questionable quick draw skills. Let’s start closer to the beginning

People have already noticed that Mordecai was shocked and recognized Ivy

But he also makes an effort as discreetly as he can to divert the twin’s attention away from Ivy and the others

“Can we not prolong this? We have more pressing matters to attend to”

His eyes dart away from them while saying this, showing he is not being genuine. I am on board with the observation that he left to try and find out who killed Atlas, and at this point I think he was of the mind set that he didn’t want to hurt Ivy but would if he had to. He spectates until Serafine warns him they might be thinking he doesn’t want to kill them and this is my first “do you just not shoot fast?” Moment comes up

When trying to shoot Rocky, he takes so much time that Rocky notices him and gets Ivy to make a hard left, but maybe the audience is just viewing it slower then it’s actually happening? Because when Rocky is able to dodge the bullet it hitting the radiator instead gives Mordecai pause

He slowly lowers his gun and raises an eyebrow, almost like he is thinking “huh, that wasn’t supposed to happen” like he was surprised he was able to dodge the bullet

The second time with Calvin is really weird because he gave Calvin enough time to stop being dizzy, look around, and then notice that a gun was in his face

Like are you planning to shoot him sometime this year Mordy? You could have head shot him three freaking times in the time he was trying to get up. Are you giving them opportunities to get away?

This is also when our Tornado Rocky gets the drop on our Glass Cannon

This is the first time his facade drops and is truly shocked, even looks around dumbly. A glass cannon is pretty much what it sounds like, something or someone vary dangerous or powerful but also vary fragile. Mordecai has delicate senses being incredibly OCD, he can improvise but only within the perimeters of how he thinks everyone works

And Rocky was a literal tornado in the pilot

Mordecai is no longer relaxed and indifferent, he is alert and wondering WTF is happening. He attempts to get closer to shoot Rocky just like Serafine and Nico are, but none of them can get close or land a shot

Rocky’s part in this fight feels like he is symbolically acting as a tornado, large, destructive, and Serafine nearly gets killed trying shoot him. I am interested to see how that ability gets used in the future, because not only does he make a grate distraction, he is a distraction you can’t touch.

And then there is where he spared Ivy, which is the most interesting. I do think Victor is part of the reason he didn’t want to hurt Ivy, this is his third, taking his sweet time to shoot shot. But this one feels more like an exchange and leads me to believe that he has his own dynamic with her

Ivy notices Mordecai point a gun at her, but says nothing and doesn’t even alert Rocky or Calvin

She has time to duck, to warn the boys, but doesn’t, she could be frozen in fear, but I doubt it. Actually she doesn’t even look that afraid, almost like she is staring him down. As if she knows she doesn’t have to duck because she knows he won’t shoot her, she doesn’t even drive any faster. She is proven right in the end

He doesn’t even seem insulted at her sureness that he wont shoot her, if anything the sigh he lets out is more like a “you could at least act like I would shoot you” it seemed like he thought he was willing to hurt Ivy if he had to, but isn’t really surprised to learn he was wrong

But this is just how I read all of this, I can’t be sure if he was shooting slow intentionally or if I am just missing something

[the-4-horsegents]

Update after like 2 years

Hello!!! It's been a while since I so much as looked at this blog, I know, but I never forgot about it, I promise! Even though it's been collecting dust all this time, I want to update those still interested in the project; and if you are still interested, I definitely think you'll be pleased!

I always wanted to come back to these guys when I had my work more organized, was able to do things quickly at a quality I was satisfied with, and overall just improve upon the story. I barely scratched the surface when it came to the story I meant to tell, and while I can't promise that we'll for sure see the end of it, I am excited to say that it's coming back!!! I wanted to make a post to announce this while I reconstruct the blog's layout, redo the pinned post, and a few other miscellaneous things here and there.

I've been tinkering a lot with my timeline over the years and decided it best if I just start totally new. I'll keep the old posts up for archival purposes, but everything is being redone; the intro, the set up for the prologue, art direction, etc.

Another thing that will be different is the "askblog" portion of this story. While ask blog elements remain, I will be telling a very linear story that wont be dependant on asks at all. It's more of a webcomic with occasional breaks in the plot for asks as flavor text during downtime. I created a backlog of content way in advance before even posting this announcement, and I plan on updating the comic itself on a schedule, while asks and such will be posted more loosely depending on when I draw them. I'm not exactly sure on when I'll post the intro, but you can expect it to be within a few days of this post if nothing comes up to deter me!

TL;DR - The blog is coming back in the form of a comic with occasional askblog elements! I'll spend a a few days redecorating the blog itself before we begin completely anew!

Also, I'll keep asks open while I redecorate in case there's any questions or messages anyone would want to share regarding things.

With all that said, it's good to be back working on this again, and I'll see you all on the flipside! Thank you for reading. - Mod Shark

[writingquestionsanswered]

Anonymous asked:

[ask edited for length and content]

Egodeath/Jealous Anon. Thank you. I feel better after your response. I wanted to clarify two things, just if you want more context: With the similarities, I think I'm afraid that if I do get published, my books will be instantly rejected because people think it's just another copycat. I've seen people instantly reject a book just because it was similar to one that's already popular. I put so much effort into making sure my ideas are my own, it would really hurt if readers thought the work was copied and not my own.

You are deeply overthinking things here.

If you want to be a published writer, you need to reconcile yourself with the fact that everyone isn't going to love your books. And that's fine, because no one has EVER written a book that was universally loved 100% across the board. No one. Ever. In history. Every single book ever written has its critics. Every single author whose ever put pen to paper has people who don't like them. This is just a reality.

If some people don't like your books because they're similar to another book they read, that has nothing to do with you. That's their prerogative. Other people might dislike your books because they're not similar enough to another book they read. It's pointless to worry about it because you will never please everyone. Why people don't like your book is none of your concern.

I guess with ACOTAR it was just too many specific things. The character design and role of Rhysand. The telepathy between the love interests. There was a whole lot more but I put it down so long ago I've forgotten most now - but at some point it just felt like reading my own notes when I opened one of those books. The worst was when a fictional name I made up was used in that book - and given it's popularity I 'd probably have copyright issues if I tried to keep it in my work anyway. I think that was just the last straw to make me quit the series.

It happens, and it's honestly not as big a deal as it feels like it is now. Again, ideas don't come from nowhere. As much as you strive to make sure your ideas are your own, our "creative wells" are all filled from the same places, and human experience is only so varied, so the odds of multiple people coming up with the same things over and over are actually pretty likely. You're holding yourself up to impossible standards by expecting yourself to create stories that are wholly original and share no similarities with any other story.

Let me share a few times when this has happened to me in hopes it will help you see it's not that big a deal...

A few years after I wrote my first novella (which was not yet published at that time), I saw a commercial for a new TV show. The background concept, setting, and many surface details were pretty identical to my novella, but what KILLED me is one of the main characters had the same name and nickname as my protagonist... and they weren't even that common a name/nickname for that time period. I was sick... absolutely sick. It completely derailed my plans to flesh the story out into a full novel and publish it. Now, YEARS later, I just laugh when I think about it because the things that felt like glaring similarities now are nothing. The plot and conflict of the TV show are completely different from my novella. In the intervening years, I've come across countless other stories with the same background concept, same setting, same surface details, similar characters... and all of those shows, movies, stories, books, video games, comics, graphic novels, plays--whatever--have people who adore them and DGAF about any similarities to some random TV show.

Less than two years after my debut novel was published, I was reading a newly released book and was absolutely floored by the number of similarities. Two less common names, two unusual titles used in a similar way, and three unusual descriptive words used in the same way. Plus, 24 bigger similarities like setting similarities, plot point similarities, situational similarities... Were it not highly unlikely that the author had read my book, and had it not been for the short amount of time between my book and their book, it would have been tempting to think they'd intentionally copied me, because the similarities were just that glaring. But the reality is, we're just two writers who think alike, and in the years since, I've found a few other writers with whom I constantly have these kinds of similarities. They happen, and they feel world-ending at the time, but I promise you they're not as big a deal as your brain is making them into.

So, seriously, stop worrying about it. Similarities are going to happen, and they're going to be glaring sometimes, and there's nothing you can do about it. There's absolutely no way you can write a book that has not a single similarity with an existing story, and even if you could, that's not going to mean you'll write a book that will be universally loved 100% by everyone. People are going to dislike your book no matter what you do, and some of those people may see similarities between apples and oranges. There's nothing you can do about it. You're not writing for them anyway. You're writing for the people who are going to LOVE your book, and that will be the majority, similarities or not. ♥

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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