comics about life

2

Oh no I made a new OC. 🙈  
Have yourself an apprentice, Badgerclaw!

Name: Honeypaw
Clan: Shadowclan
Status: Apprentice
Appearance: A petit, pretty flame-point she-cat with large ears, blue eyes, and a small pink nose.
Personality:
-An enthusiastic goody-two-shoes

-Has a good mind for facts/trivia. Would totally be a bookworm. Total know-it-all

-Can be annoyingly optimistic

-A decent hunter, but has a tendency to freeze when faced with combat

-Every cat wonders why she didn’t choose to become a medicine cat apprentice instead. If asked she dodges the question

-Secretly very insecure about her ability to be a warrior, but very desperate to prove herself. Her worry occasionally sends her into a panic. Tries to compensate for her lack of physical ability with knowledge and trivia.

Relationship with Badgerclaw:


-She doesn’t seem at all affected by his grumpiness 

-Badgerclaw is such a shitty hunter that she secretly asks fellow apprentices for hunting tips. Is already a better hunter than Badgerclaw. 

-Best buddies. Badgerclaw will quietly sit and listen to her rattle off about clan history, prey behavior, etc for hours on end. (He may or may not just be spacing out though)

-Relationship is entirely platonic, but no cat seems to believe it

-Badgerclaw has a very difficult time finding a balance between irrationally over-protective, and dangerously hands-off during training 

(Please don’t use this design. It’s mine)

4

Add me on beamchat, @viva_america. I follow back, I promise.

3

An AU where young Keith, a Filipino-Korean, moves to the USA; on his first day at school, he refuses to talk, partly because he’s not exactly very sociable but mostly because he’s incredibly embarrassed about his English and lack of proficiency in it. O and shiro walks in

TRIPS OVER MY OWN FEET oh my god this was supposed to be black and white but then i wanted to paint but then gave up andCHRIST. my art style changes 600 times during this comic its dISGUSTIGN. THEN AGAIN it was rly rushed i just wanted to get this idea outta my head before school starts.

  • Me: ...I loved the Justice League trailer down to my soul, my SOUL, but omg I miss Supes I wanted to see Supes where was Claaaaark.
  • Also Me: This is a ploy. A plan. A SCHEME. By the time this movie comes out I will be making grabhands in my SLEEP, twitching at any flicker of red cloth. Well played.

Hi, Star here, dead tired and not exactly in the mood to write a good formatted post about this theory (i’m sorry lotor)

I recently found out that Zarkon killed Lotor’s mother in a comic? I’m not sure what comic but it happened, and i lowkey hope that it’s still kinda the same now bc i don’t wanna think about haggar being his mother, but instead another altean woman who escaped with Lotor as a baby and tried to raise him on her own so that he knows love and care as a child growing up. Zarkon finds out and creates a search for her because if that’s his child he’s gonna raise them to be like him because if he ever meets his maker. he’s gotta have a #2 on handy

so like, zarkon eventually does find lotor and his mother, kills his mother, takes lotor to be raised by galra woman and trains him to become a leader like zarkon (except he probably ends up being a better one) and like… lotor doesn’t end up like what his mother had hoped he’d become

i’m… really bad at this stuff, please don’t… judge me. here, have a picture i got from a friend of child lotor watching zarkon kill his mother with his bare hands

Not all jobs are fun… some take a long time…. … not Dakens style of work…

i started this comic about keith discovering he’s a galra but i dont think im gonna finish so please enjoy the only good panel of it :^) 

anonymous asked:

Steve Cap, someone got him to do a school visit to a kindergarten in Brooklyn. Traykor

“Are you sure this is smart?” Steve asked, as he followed the event organizer down the hallway. Bright decorations in a variety of languages welcomed him to PS.375 Jackie Robinson School. “I mean, I’m not trained to work with kids or anything.”

He’d worn his least-threatening uniform (no tac straps or supply pouches, no cowl, and no gloves) but he still felt like some kind of terrifying giant, especially since most of the art on the walls was at child’s-eye level. 

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to teach a class,” she replied, amused. “You just walk into the classroom, tell them hello and that you’re from Brooklyn too, let them ask you some questions, and hand out the little history booklets.” 

Steve had insisted on vetting the “LIFE OF CAPTAIN AMERICA!” booklets before they were printed, but they were harmless little comics about his life growing up in Brooklyn. Sanitized, maybe; they left out the gang wars and the worst of the grinding poverty. But still. Educational. 

“We’ve had great feedback from the Local Heroes program,” she continued.

“Yeah, Spidey says he loves doing the Queens schools,” Steve agreed. “Lucky we have so many heroes regional to New York.”

“All right, here we are,” she said. “Ready?”

Steve squared his jaw. “Ready.”

Inside, a group of kindergarteners were sitting in a semicircle on a large, brightly colored mat, being read to by a teacher. Steve faintly remembered his early school years as having a lot less carpeting. He barely heard the introductions being made; by god they were so small

“Hi,” he managed stiffly, when he saw the teacher looking at him expectantly. “I’m Captain America. I’m, um, from Brooklyn too.”

The children stared up at him silently. 

Ah, hell with it, he thought, and let himself down onto the carpet, crossing his legs, boots tucked up under his knees. His shield clanked, and he took it off his back, setting it against his knee. “I grew up around here,” he said. “I was born in Vinegar Hill.” 

One of the kids reached out and whacked his shield with one hand. It resonated, and there was a chorus of “oooooh”. Steve grinned, pulling the shield around in front of him, and drummed his fingers on a sweet spot. The shield let out a low whine. 

“It’s made of vibranium, a special metal,” he told them. “It sings when you tap it. You wanna try?” he asked a girl in the front row, who made a tiny fist and banged on it. 

“My brother plays bucket drums on the subway,” one of them announced, and scooted forward to bang out a clumsy rhythm on the shield. 

Steve, before he really understood what was happening, found himself surrounded by small, damp children, banging on the shield and firing questions about it at him. He didn’t even remember he was supposed to give a speech or hand out the booklets until the event organizer touched his shoulder. 

“Captain America has a few other classrooms to visit,” she said. The kids looked disappointed. “But he left some books for you!” 

“Be good, read up on your history,” Steve said, as he stood and mounted the shield on his back again. The children all nodded. 

Outside, in the hallway, he grinned.

“I guess it makes sense they’d like the shield,” he remarked. “Brooklyn kids like to make a lot of noise.”