i think that is my first comic type thing whoa man

Theory: Frank Miller's recent work is good, but it isn't getting the right colour treatment

Above: I recoloured that recent Wonder Woman cover Frank Miller did for DC last week. Mine on the left, the published version on the right. I did this to demonstrate a theory I have that despite the general critical consensus, there’s actually nothing wrong with Frank Miller’s recent art- it’s just that it isn’t getting the appropriate colour treatment.

So- I’m a cartoonist who mostly writes and draws his own material, but in January of this year I tried out to be a colourist for Frank Miller at DC. Not because being a colourist for the comics has always been my dream, but because I kept seeing some pretty awesome drawings of his being critically savaged. People were talking as if his recent drawings were the scrawlings of a lunatic. I felt like I knew why this was, and how to fix it.

I should add a disclaimer- this post isn’t a criticism of DC or the colourist who currently works on Frank’s art, who I’ve talked to, and who I learned was selected by Frank himself. The colourist who did the original work on the pieces I’m about to show you is an extremely technically accomplished person who does things I could never do. I’ve tried colouring like this guy does. It’s pretty hard!

Nor is this intended as a lionisation of my own abilities. Instead, this is a personal argument championing one type of colouring over another, and a defence of Frank’s recent work. 

Below is one of the Miller covers I recoloured for DC. My colours on the top, and the published original on the bottom. Here you can see the discrepancy between the potential I saw in these drawings, and what was actually being published.

I spoke to a couple of editors at DC and the consensus seemed to be that they loved what he was turning in. So why did every blog I read think it was the worst work he’d ever done? I believed I had the answer: that the colour treatment DC’s artists were giving to his art was, while technically accomplished, not flattering to the type of work he was doing.

My friend Julian Dassai said it best: “His work is dynamic and, in some cases, verging on abstract. Trying to color his stuff with representational lighting and rendering is pointless, whereas a flat, graphic approach (or just leaving it in b&w) allows the energy to jump off the page.”

My colour job, followed by what DC actually published:

Frank is an artist who is constantly evolving, and his new work seems to be somewhere between Jim Mahfood, Sergio Aragonez and Ralph Steadman. It doesn’t make sense to colour him as if he’s an Image comics artist from the 90’s, all gradients, shadows and shiny metallic finish.  

Here’s another one. Again: my work on the top, The published version on the bottom.

All these images I’ve posted so far have two things in common- they were all widely dunked on and derided when they first went online, and they all prompted responses of “WHOA, COOL!” and “I LOVE THIS!” after I recoloured them and circulated them amongst my friends. So what happened here is ol’ Frank became the butt of everyone’s joke when actually, there was nothing wrong with his drawings.

So how did this happen?

Well, check out Frank’s work in the Sin City comics. When Frank works in black and white, he’s a one-man band. But when he works in colour, he hangs back and gives the colourist a lot of space. He knows that colours and inks are two halves of a whole.

Above is a page from 1986’s The Dark Knight Returns. You can see just how much trust Frank placed in his colourist, Lynn Varley, to finish his work. As you can see, some of those panels aren’t even THERE in the original inks. Panel 6 is just an empty box. 

This approach has been proven to work very well, but the problem is it places the burden of the image’s success or failure squarely on the colourist’s shoulders. And if the colourist and Frank aren’t on the same page, we end up with covers that are the laughing stock of the whole internet.

It’s funny- even Lynn Varley could screw up colouring for Frank. Two years after their critically acclaimed work 300, they made their most widely panned book of all.

Lynn’s computer colouring on Dark Knight Strikes Again has all the invention and nuance of her colouring on Frank’s earlier work. However, to my eyes, her experimental digital art just isn’t a good fit for Frank’s traditional, brusque inkwork. The artwork in the book suffered a generally poor reception from fans and critics alike. 

I took a pass at colouring DK2, too. I include this not to throw shade on Lynn’s work, which has definite and strong merits of its own. Nor do I want to suggest that I’m a better colourist than Lynn (I’m definitely not). Rather, I just want to use a flat colouring approach to demonstrate that there’s nothing wrong with Frank’s pencils and inks in even the book that was generally regarded to be his worst. His lines have character and energy and do everything they need to do to tell the story, and with the right treatment would have looked pretty great.

We can apply the same lessons to Frank’s most recent work. I’d read a whole comic that looked like either of the recoloured images below.

DC liked my stuff, but they’re happy with the guy they already have colouring Frank’s work, and so my experiment has to run its course. Still, I want to believe that there’s something in here that we can all learn from.

It’s important to pick the right team, and to utilise a stylistic approach that’s harmonious with what the rest of the group are doing. If you don’t, you might just end up with something no-one likes even though you worked your butt off. As we’ve seen, it can even happen to an exceptional talent like Frank. That’s a scary thought.

Update: see more of my recolours here.

Tea time

Jefferson x reader

Request: Could you try and write an imagine with him and the reader is friends with Emma and she runs into Jefferson on the rare day he’s out and he’s attracted to her and invites her to tea and she learns his backstory and she promises to help him in anyway he can?

Author’s note: Ayee, it’s another request from @weirdnewbie, thank you for being so supportive! Gosh, I have almost forgot how much I love Jefferson. Requests are open guys, send me whatever you want!

Originally posted by imaginesandmissevendaysblog

‘‘YOU are telling ME I need a man? You, the ‘don’t flirt with me, don’t look at me, I don’t need you‘ queen? Holy mother of God,Emma are you okay? Was that cocoa poisioned?‘‘ Y/N asked Emma with huge smirk on her face.

‘‘I hate you.‘‘ Emma answered with mout full of food.

‘‘You love me. Get up your ass princess, we can’t stay at Granny’s all day..And Emma, just to you know it, I’m maybe from Enchanted forrest, but my life wasn’t fairytale, I can handle it on my own. Now come.“

Emma gave her meal a last sad look and quicky walked outside.


‘‘No, Emma, don’t worry about it. I don’t wanna screw my mood. Can I go with you? Henry promised me I can borrow some his comics.‘‘

‘‘Nah girl, you need a guy SO much‘‘ said Emma with laughter.

‘‘Black widow disagrees.‘‘


‘‘Shut up, Swan!‘‘

‘‘Thanks Henry! May the Force be with you both! Bye!‘‘ Y/N called as she leaved. She saw Emma’s eye roll in other dimension and Henry’s grinn.

It wasn’t so late yet, so she decided to walk a little. Storybrook at night was one of her favorite things ever. She just walk past the library, when someone bumped into her.

‘‘Shit‘‘ she whispered since she noticed some comics laying on the ground.

‘‘I am really sorry! ‚‘‘the stranger said.

Y/N looked at him ‚‘well, shit again‘ she thought.

‘‘I’m sorry too. Did I hurt you? She said with worried face.‘‘

‘‘No, I am fine. The name is Jefferson by the way. And yours?‘‘ he doffed his hat.

She blushed a little on this gesture. ‚‘‘I am Y/N, friend of Emma Swan actually. She has told me few things about you..‘‘

‘‘So not my lucky day, huh? I must tell her to not say a thing about me around people I find atractive. It ruins all my chances.‘‘

Y/N’s cheeks were now red as a ketchup.

‘‘She wasn’t so evil, but the truth is I expected someone more insane..and less ..nevermind‘‘ she chuckled.

Jefferson smirked.

Y/N finally grabbed the comics from the ground. She made a confused face.

‘‘Are you alright?‘‘

‘‘Oh yeah, I’m okay, but Iron man has ruptured leg, which is kinda problem ‚‘cause I don’t know how long I can hide myself from boy that borrowed them to me.‘‘

‘‘Maybe you can hide yourself in my house for a while. What do you think about a nice cup of tea?‘‘

‘‘Well, this is the first time the handsome stranger I just met invites me to a nice cup of tea. But since you are now in the good guys squad and I obviously don‘t have self-preservation instinct, why not?‘‘ she giggled.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­‘‘Wow. That’s what I call a house. It’s way to big for only one person, don’t you feel lonely here sometimes?‘‘

‘‘To be honest, I do..‘‘ Jefferson mumbled quietly.

‘‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to-‘‘

‘‘Nah, forgot about it. Sit here for the moment, okay? I will make the tea.’’

Y/N sat in one of seats. She really like this house, it was kind of mysterious, but when Jefferson wasn’t coming back, she began to be bored. She moved herself into weird but comfortable position and grabbed a pen and piece of paper from her backpack. She started to doodle some stuff that went through her head.

“White rabbit, seriously?” asked Jefferson.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t scare me like that!” Y/N almost fell on the floor.

“Sorry. Here is your tea, ma'am.”

“What’s wrong with white rabbit anyway?”

“It reminds me of my daughter.”

“You have a daughter? Where is she?”

“I really want to know that too..”

“Oh. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to..”

“No, it’s okay. I need to let it out, you know? And you are the first person who actually listens to me.”

“Well, I kinda know how you feel. I didn’t see my  brother since we are in Storybrook. He is my only family. My mum.. she wasn’t really ‘husband and kids’ type and my dead became a drunk asshole when she left, so I was working all day long just to feed them. And now my little brother is gone too.

“My daughter’s name is Grace, she is such a sweetheart. You know, I wasn’t a good man a long time ago. I was working for everyone who paid me,but I stoped it, because of her. We had good life, but then Regina came for me. Thanks to her I ended stuck in fuckin’ Wonderland. I thought it will get better here, but it seems like Grace doesen’t remember me. Just awesome”

“Whoa, our lives sucks.” Y/N smirked.

“Wanna something stronger than tea?”

“Hell yeah.”

Jefferson was a good companion. Sun was rising when they finally decided to get some sleep. When she woke up on his sofa it was almost midday.

‘‘Oh God, I need to go’‘ she said to herself. She stand up quicky and went to find Jefferson. She found him fast, way to fast.. she was suddently poured with his tea.

‘‘Sleeping Beauty is in hurry, huh? I will give you something dry to change, okay?’‘

‘‘Thank you! You know I must move my ass before Emma starts statewide seeking. Oh, one more thing.’‘ Y/N quicky wrote her phone number on his hand.

‘‘In case you still find me attractive’‘ She said with playful smile.

Y/N grabbed her backpack, change her shirt and said goodbye to Jefferson. As she ran through the street she checked her phone. Four missing calls from Emma. ‘‘Well, I am fucked up.’‘

When she finally arrived to Emma she could barely catch her breath. Henry opened the door.

‘‘Can I come in?’‘

‘‘You sure about that? She is furious.’‘ Henry whispered.

‘‘You know I have to. Make me nice funeral please.’‘

She came in.

‘‘Y/N where the hell have you been?! I have called you!’‘

‘‘Well, my phone probably just turned off. You know, I was really tired, I fell asleep and didn’t put it on charger..’‘

‘‘We were worried about you!’‘

‘‘I am not five, mom’‘ Y/N smirked.

‘‘Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.’‘ Emma laughed.

‘‘Just don’t do that again, alright Y/N? C’mon, have some cocoa with us.’‘

Y/N thanked God it worked. She put off her jacket and sat happily across from Emma.

‘‘Hey Y/N, isn’t it a MEN shirt?’‘

‘’Oh fuck.’‘

TRANSLATION TAKE 2: One-sensei’s interview with Young Sunday (excerpts in detail)

Thanks to the lovely and talented @isasm, we’ve been blessed with a Japanese transcript recording excerpts from One’s interview with Young Sunday. Even though I already summarized the interview, I thought you all might be interested in reading some passages in greater detail (plus whoever put the excerpts together focused on different parts than I did, so it’s like looking at the interview from another angle). I hope you all enjoy it. Especially everyone over at @one-blog!

(P.S. I’m so exhausted I did this all at work today I’m gonna get fired someone help me aaaaahhh :P)

EDIT: Here’s a link to the summary, which I’ve tweaked to fix a couple mistakes I made before I had access to the transcript. :)

Submitting to Weekly Shonen Jump, the magazine everyone longs to be part of

YAMADA: Hey, you know the student council president from Mob Psycho 100? That page is really intense, where the whole page is that scene with the monologue about the pressure he gets from his parents? And it was like, suddenly it’s gone all Yoshiharu Tsuge (TN: A famous Japanese cartoonist and essayist).

OKKUN: Tsuge and Kazuo Umezu (TN: Horror manga author).

YAMADA: That guy’s style is totally Garo (TN: Avant-garde manga anthology magazine).

OKKUN: For real! It’s so Goya (TN: The painter I guess? Or the Spanish film awards? I’m not sure; the literal translation is “So it’s Goya,” which is so vague I give up aaaah).

YAMADA: (while pointing at Okkun) We better watch it! We’ll get drawn into the darkness of artistic criticism. We’ve gotta handle this like they do on Sawako no Asa (TN: A Japanese talk show).

OKKUN: (to ONE) So you were painstakingly drawing in secret, you created a homepage, did you ever submit your work?

ONE: I submitted something in my first year of college, it was a 19-page gag manga I drew and took over to Weekly Shonen Jump, which of course is the venue everyone aspires to.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

for your autistic Spidey and schizo Deadpool one shots can you do one where Spidey has a panic attack in front of the avengers??? if you want to of course. Also I'm autistic and you don't find a lot of accurate autistic representation especially in fanfiction and I love the way you write Peter :))))

[Thank you, new nonnie! I assume by your comments anyway that you’re a new nonnie ;) It took me awhile to get around to it, but here it is. Not quite what you asked for I think but hopefully just as good!]

“Well, that went pretty well I’d say. Wouldn’t everyone agree?” Iron Man asks. The question is barely out of his mouth before Spider-Man sprints past him, faster than any normal twenty-or-so-year-old ever could, fast enough for Tony with his helmet face open and newly shrunk-back-down-to-human-size Bruce to feel the wind chill against their faces as he passes them.

“Not everyone,” Bruce mutters, glancing down to readjust his specially designed shorts to make sure they don’t fall down.

“Oh. Right. I’d forgotten about that part,” Tony says, unable to look away now that he’s been reminded because really, how often do you see something like that? That being Deadpool, currently impaled on a giant metal shard from the ship that exploded and fell out of the sky in pieces mere minutes ago.

(“Another alien invasion? Seriously?” Tony had griped to no one in particular as they all hurriedly geared up less than an hour ago. “We fought one last week. At this point I’d happily fight off a zombie horde instead even if it is another cliché.”

“Do not even joke about that,” Deadpool had said, he and Spidey already suited up as usual and just waiting for the others to catch up so they can all pile onto the Quinjet together. “You do not want to see what a world of flesh-eating us types looks like, trust me.”

“Yikes,” Spider-Man responded, appearing to give that some serious thought. “A bunch of supers infected with our very own homegrown T-virus? Now that would be scary.”

“You can relax though, baby boy,” Deadpool had reassured. “If I manage somehow to stay uninfected this time around, you can just lop off my limbs and eat those all day every day instead of having to worry about hunting down poor hapless humans.”


“Ugh, get a room, you two,” Tony had told them. “After you help us put these baddies down, I mean.” He didn’t even want to know what Wilson meant by ‘this time around.’ Hopefully just more of his usual crazy nonsense.)

It is decidedly strange seeing someone you were just bantering with not long ago being very decidedly dead right in front of you, but considering Deadpool’s track record of coming back faster than the Mortal Kombat guy would even be able to shout “Fatality!” he isn’t exactly worried either. Shortstop, on the other hand, seems to have no trouble worrying up a storm big enough to make up for everyone else’s nonchalance.

“As soon as he wakes up, I want to thank him,” Hawkeye tells Spider-Man soberly, the other not seeming to hear him with how busy he is holding the dead man’s dangling head in his hands and muttering his name over and over again under his breath. “If he hadn’t pushed me out of the way, it’d be me making the human kebob impression right now,” he adds to try to lighten the mood a bit.

When that doesn’t work, he tries to reassure the younger man instead. “He is going to wake up, Spider-Man, I promise. You just have to give him some time,” he says, reaching out to pat him lightly on the shoulder.

“I know that!!” Peter screams without warning, knocking Clint’s hand back with enough force that he comes dangerously close to spraining the other man’s wrist. He doesn’t notice in his own distress that Barton backs away from him ever so slightly after that, cradling his hand and looking down at it with the expression of a man who realizes how close he just came to losing it.

“I know,” he angrily shout-sobs again. Fucker just needs to hurry up and get on with it. The last time he witnessed Wade’s death, it was a bullet to the head meant for him, which this idiot decided to take for him instead even though Peter’s quick reflexes and spidey sense would have kicked in to save him just fine, dammit, seriously Wade, what the hell were you thinking, you big dumb romantic jerkface. He had woken up much faster than this though, which is one of the reasons Peter is so worked up. The other is Holy fuck, my lover just died in front of me and I couldn’t do anything to stop it and I’m allowed to feel bad about that, okay, fuck you very much.

It must be the metal shard that’s keeping him from regenerating yet, he thinks, deciding to ignore Wade’s previous handwavey comments about “comic inconsistency for the sake of dramatic tension, blah blah” in favor of doing whatever he can to speed Wade’s so-good-it’s-like-magic healing factor along.

“Whoa! Hey!” Tony shouts once he’s recovered from the sudden shock of witnessing a huge, javelin-shaped hunk of metal go flying half a city block and bury itself deep into one of the only slabs of concrete still standing from a burnt out husk of a building across the street. “Watch what the hell you’re doing, underoos, you could have hit someone!”

The sound Spider-Man makes when Tony approaches is nearly akin to that of a territorial jungle cat, and only slightly less unnerving than the way he gathers Wilson’s body up in his arms and backs up, all the way up the side of a building behind him with all the spindly, jerky finesse of one of his namesakes. Tony almost half-expects the young man to wrap Wilson up in a tight web cocoon to save him for later, causing a shudder and, not for the first time, the unwelcome intrusive thought that the kid would truly be a nightmare if the thing holding him together inside ever snaps and causes him to flip sides.

Tony backs up to stand with the others again and mutters to Bruce, “What are the odds you think of Deadpool not waking up this time?”

“Slim to none,” is Banner’s official scientific prognosis. “Why do you ask?” He knows Tony well enough by now to tell that his concern is about more than the potential loss of a fallen comrade.

“Did you see that just now?” Stark replies, gesturing as subtly as he can at the jagged shard embedded in the wall across the way. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m about to say this in a not you-based situation but,” he turns his head slightly, one hand held unnecessarily to his ear in an unbreakable habit from ye olden days of old-school Bluetooth, “Friday, just as a precaution make sure Veronica is primed and ready to go, would you please.”

“The Hulkbuster? Are you being serious right now?” Bruce hisses under his breath.

“Look, I hope like hell it’s not necessary but you did see that, right? You want to imagine for a sec what happens next if Mr. Creepy Undead Boyfriend over there drops the ‘un’ for good this time?”

“I really don’t like saying this, but Tony’s got a point,” Clint mutters just as softly as the other two.

“Surprised you heard that,” Tony mumbles.

“It’s called a hearing aid, you asshole,” Clint jabs a finger furiously at the device just barely visible inside his own ear. “Back to the part you missed where I was actually agreeing with you for once,” he adds, slipping off his glove to show them the bruise forming on the back of his hand, “this sucker’s gonna be the size of an egg by tomorrow morning, and that’s him still trying to hold himself back for now. I don’t like it either, guys, but if somehow Wade doesn’t pull through this time, it means that God hates us and doesn’t think locusts or floods are gonna be enough to wipe us out. It’ll be Apocalypse via Spidey.”

“Don’t let Natasha see that,” Bruce warns. Clint nods, pulling the glove back on with a slight wince. She, Cap, and Falcon are scoping town to check for any stragglers from the alien army while Scarlet Witch leads a team including Vision and Ant-Man to search for survivors who might not have made it out of the wreckage in time and still need assistance. Bucky is away, currently aiding T’Challa with some other project in Wakanda, and Thor had to return to Asgard to avert another crisis there, though the latter will probably be miffed when he hears about all the fun he missed out on here once he returns.

A loud, sputtering gasp pulls their focus back to the situation at hand—or rather, the lack of one now. Each man relaxes minutely in his own way to see Wade Wilson, still dangling high above ground in Spidey’s arms, take in many deep, sharp breaths like a drowning man.


Peter is so happy now he could flap, if not for the fact that he’s stuck to the side of a building with arms full of his now not-so-dead weight but still pretty heavy boyfriend. Instead, he crushes the man closer into a hug and mumbles his name over and over again just like he did a few minutes before.

“Hey, b’by boy, wassup?” Wade mumbles, slurring just a little as he recovers from his recent demise like a heavy sleeper just waking up. “Oh, looks like us apparently,” he giggles once he realizes they’re high up off the ground.

“Wade, I hate it when you do that,” Peter complains into the crook of his neck, still shaken. He can’t tell him not to do it though, not when it’s to save someone else who won’t be coming back if he gets skewered.

“What, die?” Wade asks. All Peter can do is nod, blinking back tears that can’t be seen through the mask but that Wade knows are there anyway. This is why he tries to avoid dying as often now when he can. He shushes the younger man and reassures him, giving comfort despite the fact that he’s the one being held.

“This is giving me some pretty fabulous ideas for later though,” Wade tells him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively behind his own mask. It works at shaking loose the last bit of tension in Peter’s muscles while he laughs.

“Later,” he agrees, and gingerly climbs back down with his precious cargo in hand.

Morning Talks

Holy crap aNOTHER FIC????

Well yeah. this part of the Skelefrisk AU (taking place right after the Determination Issues Arc of comics) had a lot of exposition dialog, so to save time and not hurt my poor drawing wrist writing all that in comic bubbles i decided to type it up. Enjoy! 

Characters: Frisk. Papyrus (Mentioned: Sans, Toriel, Gaster, others)

Rating: Gen

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1172

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Wynonna Earp’s Season Renewal Got Me All Like…

There aren’t enough gifs, memes, and adjectives in the world to describe the amazing feeling of knowing that there will be a Wynonna Earp season 2! I mean, sure we have to wait another eternity before it premiers, but to know that it is happening, it…it feels pretty fucking great! Loves to all fellow Earpers harassing…er, asking for a renewal. The campaigns were pretty Earpin’ fun, yes? (Hint: hell yes!)

Being a Comic-Can’t this weekend has forced me to live the awesomeness vicariously through others and to watch and re-watch everything I missed (I’m not crying, you’re crying!). Something Dom (because that’s what I call her to pretend we’re homies) said in interviews got me thinking. She said that she imagines Waves would keep the news of not being an Earp a secret from Wynonna—not that she’d have to try pretty hard. I mean, Nonna can be a little…distracted with all that’s going on.

So, what if the same could happen for this gooey-licious (I realized it sounded wrong the moment I typed it, but I am keeping it) new “charms” Waverly might have acquired?

What if Waves is all, “I was joking. I wasn’t gonna shoot ya,” when the show picks up on season 2? (HELL FUCKING YEAH! SEASON 2!)

I imagine Wynonna would be all, “Too soon, Waves. Too soon,” with Doc’s ‘stache nodding in agreement (I have come to believe it has a mind of its own).

Imagine with me, fellow Earpers. Take my hand and let’s walk together to the land of possibilities, where unicorns roam free (sometimes for a fee when times are hard). Imagine that instead, Waverly pretends she is fine, nothing’s changed, and hides that she’s kind of evil now—I can’t even fathom what that would be like. Don’t Earpers refer to Waves as a “cinnamon bun”? So, what’s evil Waves, burnt toast? What is that even like?

And yet…

Imagine her walking into the police station, wearing either leather pants or leather mini skirt: the signature tenue for the wicked.

Slow day, no one would be around. Nedley’d be…who knows where the man is…still on vacay, probably. Nicole—aka Agent Way-Too-Haught-for-T.V.—is alone, sitting outside Nedley’s office, when she’d see her girlfriend walk in, looking like she underwent the Sandy-Olsson-at-the-end-of-Grease makeover. Agent Heart Eyes would not stand a chance. She’d be completely caught off guard when Waverly jumps on her…literally…again. Kisses and kisses of the WayHaught variety (the best kind), and then, whoa, viewer discretion advised, Waves starts removing articles of clothing. (Insert more WayHaught puns here.)

Agent Dimples-R-Us would be so into it, of course, but also would be all like, “Whoa, hey, Waves. Not here.”

But Waves would be half-way through now unbuttoning Agent Bulletproof’s shirt to listen.

“What’s gotten into you?” Nicole would sexily ask (which is like regular asking, but Nicole makes asking sexy by just asking). “First last night, and now…” She is genuinely inquisitive and a little concerned, but the homegirl would do nothing to actually stop Waverly.

“Less talking, more doing,” would be Waves’ only response.

“Someone might see us,” Nicole would warn, and sure enough someone does.

Enter Wynonna.

“Hey, Nicole, have you seen…” Nonna’s eyes go wide and she’d stop right in her tracks, and with clenched eyes add, “Ah! I see her! I see! Get a room, you two!”

“God, Wynonna, can’t you knock?” would retort Waves.

“I didn’t think to knock before entering a room with no door!” Nonna’d be already on her way out.

“Wait…Wynonna,” Agent My-face-matches-my-hair would follow Wynonna, leaving half-nekkid Waverly (you’re welcome for the visual) to gather her clothes and dress.

Catching up to her, she’d say, “Hey, something’s off.”

“A lot of things were off, from what I saw,” Wynonna’d say, clenching her eyes again, which would shield her from the mesmerizing dimples flashing on Nicole’s smiling face.

“No, I mean, with Waverly. She’s…a little…different. Not that I’m complaining, but a little more aggressive than usual.”

“Than usual? Dude, I am learning way too much about my sister’s sex moves for one afternoon.”

As if on cue, enter Waverly.

“What are you two whispering about?” she’d ask, leading to a…

Nicole: “Uh…‘cause when…”

Wynonna: “Yeah…”


Then, Waverly would say something so mean, that would make Wynonna’s and Nicole’s yaws drop faster than her mic.

“Anyway. I’m going. Call me when you get off work, Nicole,” she’d say and leave. (I was going to add a “and then we could get off together” naughty-like comment from Waves, but I decided not to.)

Nicole and Wynonna would look at each other all, See? Yeah. Told ya so.

“Something is definitely up with Waves, Nicole,” Wynonna would reflect. “Or she wouldn’t have said that mean thing that the person writing these words I am saying could not imagine and write.”

Cut to Wynonna and Nicole standing in front of Clootie’s head, because that’s the only person I imagine Nonna would think to go for answers, because it is the only one I can think of to have answers.

“You again!” Clootie’d not be so happy to see Nonna.

“Are…are those salt boobies?” Nicole would ask pointing to two lumps of salt in front of Clootie’s head.

“Yeah. Doc thought it’d be funny,” Wynonna’d chuckle. “Check it out, one of them is bigger than the other.”

“Why don’t you go ask the blacksmith for help?” Clootie’d suggest, rolling her eyes at the ladies chuckling at her fictitious lady lumps.

“Uh, the blacksmith. The one you killed. Um, let me think? Oh, yeah, because she’s dead.”

“No, not that one. The other one.”

“What other one?” Nonna’d be confused. “She’s got a sister, or twin, or something?”

“Identical triplets, actually,” Clootie would explain. “But we have to save the third one for season 3,” then she’d look at the camera, because suddenly this turned into an episode of the office.

“Who’s the blacksmith?” Nicole would ask (but remember, it’s sexy asking when she does it).

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Hey, on your next visit, since there’ll probably be a next time, would it kill you to bring me a margarita?” Clootie would chime in before they left.

“But salt’s bad for you.”

“Eh, tequila heals all wounds,” Clootie would reason.

Nonna’s face would say, “I hear that,” but her body would say, “Ain’t nobody got time for that,” by walking away.

Will Wynonna and Nicole find the other blacksmith? Will they get the answers they want? Will Nicole suggest, “Okay, so we can fix Waves, but can we do it after a week or so? I want to try…” and then get a “Dude, that’s my sister. I ship it, but I don’t wanna know the details” from Wynonna?

Find out…probably never, because this is nonsense compared to what Emily and co. are so brilliantly creating for us right now.

Also, these posts are pretty random, the next one will probably be about how Dolls escapes Black Badge prison by putting on a small production of Jurassic Park and pretending to be a prop Dino.

If you’ve read this far, I owe you a donut. *

If you like and/or share it, I will make it a jelly donut. **

(*, ** All donut payments will be made via emoji. Void where prohibited.)  

For another opening to season 2 that I totally made up, click the link 👇: 



An interview with James in The Telegraph:

“When people go on about the way that you look…what they’re seeing isn’t really you. Well, you can’t show up with a beer belly,” he says, with a laugh, “but you can’t be in incredible gym condition either – that’s just going to look ridiculous. Hopefully, we’ve struck the right balance.”

Norton says he is unconcerned about being “objectified”. “Well, it’s been so long, hasn’t it, that women have found themselves in that position? And so now, it feels right that it is happening the other way round. From a personal point of view, when people go on about the way that you look or how attractive you are what they’re seeing isn’t really you. It’s the character. Prince Andrei, for example, was set up to be a romantic hero, but that’s not who I am. If people saw me through a keyhole, as my life really is, they’d go: ‘Oh!’ The risk is that you start to read this stuff about yourself and engage with it and believe it. Then, I think, you’re really in trouble.”

Just as well, that this now 30-year-old actor is bright, hugely affable, able to laugh at himself and comes from a family that both delights in his success but, you imagine, wouldn’t put up with too much posturing or nonsense.

Born in London but raised in rural North Yorkshire, he’s the son of two teachers, Hugh and Lavinia, with a sister who does “a proper job” as a doctor. “Because none of them is anything to do with the industry, they’ve always been slightly bemused by the fact that I wanted to act ever since I played Joseph in the nativity play at the age of four.

“After that, I’m sure I was an annoying, precocious little kid who just wanted to dress up and get all the attention. I’d write all these weird little plays and force all my friends to act in them, when they probably just wanted to play football. But, amazingly, everyone has always been incredibly supportive. 

“Mostly producers worry about casting against type. They want the character to walk through the door because that makes everyone’s life easier. But, as actors, that’s frustrating because it’s our job to transform. So it’s pretty wonderful that they were willing to take a risk with me and, hopefully, I’ve shown that the way you look or sound, or the class that you’re from, doesn’t limit you to a certain kind of role.

“Teenage years are tricky for everyone, but when you’re 15 and it’s an all-boys boarding school, as it was then, and you go through puberty late, it makes a huge difference. You’re a little boy in a testosterone-fuelled world – and, in my case, one who was into arts and music when everyone else was into rugby. So you’re standing on the pitch going ‘Oh, my God!’ I look back now and it seems ridiculous but, at the time, it felt quite big. There was a guy called Father Peter who I’d go and chat to in an attempt to work through all my angst. And, for a short while, I became a bit religious myself, which I’m not especially now. But, still, being at Ampleforth, and then going on to study theology at Cambridge, gave me a lack of cynicism about faith and a respect and fascination for all religions.”

“You could sit around a table in a pub with people of my generation and talk about being gay or transgender and everyone would be like ‘Cool! Let’s get another drink.’ But if you were to say you were a Christian, people would go, ‘Whoa!’ And that’s kind of odd. Part of the reason that I love Grantchester is that it’s a show in which the hero is a man of faith. He’s not a comic device or a villain. He’s just a very normal, very sympathetic young man who most people can identify with. My love life right now is infinitely less interesting than that of any of my characters" 

For research, Norton read the latter’s autobiography, The Reluctant Archbishop. “And the reason it’s called that is because he never intended to become one. He was always a modest man without hubris or ambition. He found himself head of the church through sheer personality and charisma but the truth was that he also loved to drink, he loved to flirt, he loved jazz, but he also had faith and it wasn’t cynical in any way. I think I would have liked him very much, just as I also like Sidney.”

The occasions when James Runcie has been on set, he says, have been emotional. “Especially during the first series, when we played out the war scenes. Like Sidney, Robert had been a tank commander – he won the Military Cross and was among the first troops to liberate Bergen-Belsen – and James said it was bizarre seeing this kind of reincarnation of his dad in uniform. I was completely moved an honoured by it.”

Norton feels things deeply – just one in a package of qualities that would make him attractive to the modern woman, although right now, he is single, living in Peckham, south London, with a male flatmate who’s a primary school teacher.

“My love life right now is infinitely less interesting that that of any of my characters,” he says, but in time is looking forward marriage and fatherhood. I definitely want that, because my sister and I were raised in a really close family and my parents are still very much in love and living in Yorkshire. That’s the kind of end game that I would love, too.”


“SpaceBear is a barbarian with a whole lot of technology,” according to creator Andy Helms.

SpaceBear premiered on Cartoon Hangover on Thursday, August 14, 2014. In addition to creating and co-producing SpaceBear, Helms also wrote the story, did the storyboards and character designs. Dave Ferguson directed SpaceBear, and animated the short, as well as serving as prop/EFX designer, background designer, background painter and color stylist.

The SpaceBear cast features well-seasoned voice cast including: Rodger Bumpass as Space Bear and Space Bear’s Father; Christopher Curry as Perplexulo and Dream Trout; Ogie Banks as Mark 16; and Josh Keaton as Frog Teen.

Born and raised in Michigan, Helms has been drawing all his life. He went on to study at the University of Michigan – School of Art & Design, and says that he his work is largely influenced by 1980s pop culture. Along the way he had a winning entry in a TokyoPop comics contest. Helms has also worked on his own webcomics, including Alarming Predicament, which is a parody of survival horror games.

In addition to his main oktotally Tumblr, you can follow and find Andy’s work via his Twitter and Instagram accounts.

Find out more about Andy and SpaceBear in our interview below.

FT: What kinds of things did you draw as a kid?

Andy Helms: In elementary school I remember drawing these scenes on notebook paper that were like a “good guy” based on one side and the “bad guy” on the other - with ships flying around blowing each other up. Probably a lot of GI Joe influence. The first comic I remember creating was in 4th grade and it was basically just a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles parody with salamanders. High school was all about this notebook paper space opera comic that is like 500 pages and terrible and painful anime fanart.

How did you learn to draw?  

My Mom and sister are both very talented and I think it was probably just exposure to them - drawing was just a thing you did, not something you “can or cannot” do. But I really latched onto it and decided that is what I wanted to go to school for, etc. But I think friends on the internet posting art, and (when we had loads of free time) just making comics back and forth is what really made me get really into it.

How did you find your particular style?

Ha, I don’t think I have found a style. It used to really frustrate me that I don’t have a “go to” whenever I start drawing something, but I also like having options. The style for SpaceBear didn’t change too much throughout the process since I knew I wanted to go with minimal cartoon outlines with contrast-y color flats. But the characters designs changed a lot. I pulled out the original pitch files when I was thinking about this question and whoa, I have no idea what I was thinking.

Is this your first animated project?

It is! I used to make claymations on a VHS-C camcorder that could do 4 frames / sec in the 90’s but I don’t think that counts.

Where did the idea for the SpaceBear short come from?

Um, a it was kind of a wandering path. I’d been messing with an idea of this half-man-half-bear in space for a bit that was built on this joke about how “his only weaknesses are women and honey.” He eventually became a bear in a spacesuit and just started building a little world around him. My wife suggested that he was in community college, and from there it developed that he’s left his home, and the way of the bear planet, behind and has to pay his own way. If he ran out of cash he’d have to return to his people.

I wanted to have this kind of conflict of science and magic stuff, so that’s where the Astro-Magi came in, who are kind of these galactic jerks. That was inspired a lot by reading a bunch of Conan books, where the wizards and always huge turds and menace everyone. So, in a lot of ways SpaceBear is a barbarian with a whole lot of technology. He’s left his homeland in search of treasure and glory and a BFA. 

Has the character of SpaceBear been kicking around in your head for a long time?

I think parts of him were in very different iterations. I usually have a few ideas for things filed away and try to combine them at times, while whatever I’m really interested in at the time also mingles with those ideas.

What was it like doing the casting for SpaceBear?

What a neat and difficult thing to do. I have never gotten to give a character of mine a voice before, let alone a whole cast. I think there was something like 300 auditions to go though, and I was so thrilled to get the chance to choose them. It was something to see a bunch of voice actors I knew of and really respected reading such goofy dialogue. Really cool.

Did you know how you wanted SpaceBear to sound?

He was the hardest to cast, probably because I had some kind of idea of his voice in my head. He’s a really small dude outside of his Xyber-Suit so I wanted him to have a deep, rumbling kind of voice to contrast that, as well as having a kind of Texas swagger to play up his “bounty hunter” type of work.

You have a very experienced and talented voice cast - was that at all intimidating?

No, it was a relief. They are the professionals, so they are going to do what they do without interference from me. You hear it in your head a certain way for so long when it lives on paper, and I think the worst thing I could do would be to ask an actor with that much experience to say it how I hear it. It was amazing to hear what they did. I could not have been happier with it.

So, Why do you think that certain animals, including bears, have always made such interesting protagonists in cartoons?

It feels like you have a lot of dials to turn with an animal character that are not there with humans - hard to describe. They seem like they are easy to empathize with since the viewer gets to form their own option about them. Like, is SpaceBear a handsome bear? Who knows. If he was in a Hollywood movie as a human, he’d be some hunky dude probably, and people are kind of expected to react a certain way to that. If that makes sense. 

How did you get involved with Frederator’s Cartoon Hangover? Did they find you or did you find and pitch them?

I got an email from someone at Frederator suggesting I send in a pitch. So I spent way, way too long on my idea and sent it in only to find out that person no longer worker at Frederator, but Eric (ed. note: Frederator’s Eric Homan) took pity on me and read it anyway. I was already a fan before that, but had just never really thought about trying, so I’m glad I got that nudge.

What was it like for you working with Frederator?

It was not what I had expected, all in all really good ways. I got to be involved in every step of making the cartoon and really felt like Frederator cared about what my vision and opinion was. Surreal, in a way.

What are some of your favorite cartoons, action movies and video games?

Oh man. Well, I still really love the cartoons I grew up with, like GI Joe, Transformers and He-Man because I think the marketing around them is really fascinating. I was really into anime when that was a “new thing” in my hometown in the late 90’s, and Cowboy Bebop is still a favorite.

Action-y movies I can shortlist into Raiders of the Lost Ark, Star Wars (A New Hope in particular) and Commando for the pure 80’s bravado of it. Tron is also way up there because I dig the design and tone of it.

Video games… My favorite more recent title has been the Mass Effect trilogy, and I still play them quite a bit. A Link to the Past has been one of my favorites for a long time. Super Mario Bros. 2 and 3 have a special place in my heart, too. Mario Bros. 2 particularly for the design. I have a bunch of the older games on a 3DS. 

Are you in to role-playing games? If yes - which and what do you like about the genre?

Yeah… I like the idea of getting to “own” your character in a game. Like Mass Effect for instance, where you import your Shepard-person through three titles. Skyrim and Fallout 3 type games where your behavior matters and how you build your dude matters and you spend a long time with these guys doing adventure-y things.

How have any of the above influenced your work? Specifically SpaceBear.

I’d say Mass Effect if any of them - the world building is done in ways that I thought were really effective, but mostly that it is space-with-space-magic kind of stuff. 

I was reading that you like the “less is more philosophy” - what does that mean to you in terms of your work?

Probably in reference to drawing. I like the idea of using really efficient lines and putting detail only where it absolutely needs to be. I mess around with pixel art sometimes for the same reason… how many blocks of color does it take to make something iconic recognizable. Similar thing with movie posters, where you have to condense all the emotion and style of a movie into a single image.

Do you have an ideal ‘ride’? What was your version of the X-90 Rudeness?

Haha. I’ve never had a ride that luscious. My gut feeling is that my Rudeness would be a DeLorean, though.

What is an “Odormancy” (is that the right spelling?) What was the inspiration for the Odormancy?

Odormancy is stinky, smell-powered magic. Perplexulo’s particular beard gives him the power to wield it. His favorite is dog-related smells. The “mancy” in SpaceBear’s world is generally a pretty specific skill set that is often used to harass others.  At first he just use the dog-smells to stink up the teen’s car, but then it turned into what he was wanted for, and how he trapped SpaceBear in a memory. It grew into wanting to give the wizards a specific skill set - it had a Saturday-morning cartoon feeling to me - the wizard-of-the-week who has some ridiculous power.

What other projects are you working on right now?

I’m working on this drawing-a-day thing for a year that is about strange holidays - every day of the year has one. I’m also working on a ridiculous post-apocalyptic comic at the moment that is probably just for myself and the people I force to read it.

What is the best piece of advice that anyone (teacher or someone in the business) has given you about illustration, design and/or animation?

My Mom told me once to never stop drawing or let it stop being an interest - basically just don’t put it aside for forget how important it is to you. I think about that quite a bit, especially when it is frustrating and nothing seems “ old enough” and it’s hard to work up the motivation. It seems like as you get older and busier that it is an easy thing to just give up with a thousand different excuses.

Oh, and a nod to one of my design professors in college who saw a few of us drawing comics and told us to “grow up.” What a dingus.

Thanks Andy!

- Gwen

Ashton Imagine: He Cooks Dinner

Author: Rhine


He didn’t do it often, and for good reason.

While he was talented behind his drums – twirling the worn sticks of wood around his deft fingers with a careless precision that he somehow managed – he was an absolute disaster behind the stove.

It wasn’t for a lack of effort, truly – he was completely dedicated, like he was towards everything he did for you.

When he announced that he wanted to have a date night with you and that he wanted to cook, you couldn’t help but to laugh.

Are you doubting my abilities?

You were, obviously – you could hardly forget the food poisoning incident the first time he tried to cook or the accidental salt/sugar mix up the second time or the completely overcooked, watery meal the third time – the list went on and on, really – but that wasn’t the point.

I doubt it’ll make a difference, Irwin.

And it really didn’t, because no matter what questionable – masterpiece – Ashton tried to make for you, you wouldn’t be able to truly taste it.

You thought it a little strange, but he thought it rather cute, really – a little challenge for him.

It was just an unlucky mix of vitamin deficiency that led to lack of taste somewhere in your system, and Ashton was on the constant pursuit that if he cooked something just right, he could unlock some magical vitamin cure to your deficiency.

It was sweet, how he put so much effort into his little meals for you – you’ll taste this one for sure, babe!

You don’t have the heart to tell him that a single meal will hardly be a magical cure, but you like watching him bustle around the kitchen with your apron stretched across his stocky torso, hair in a messy bun.

It didn’t hurt anyone – well, so long as he didn’t accidentally poison himself or set the house on fire.

You still can’t quite forget the flaming inferno of masterpiece number eight that sent the firemen over to your house.

He did say it was an accident and apologized, but the firemen were less than impressed and you were less than happy to have to throw away half of the now-burnt utensils around the kitchen.

I think the feeling of smoke clogging up my throat was the closest thing to tasting something in a while – I suppose you’re halfway there, sort of.

Does that mean I have to burn down the rest of the house to reach that victory lap?

You know what, I take that back.

It was a little routine now for the both of you – with Ashton leaving for his sporadic schedules, whenever he returned he’d announce some foreign dish that he heard of from his travels that he wanted to share with you.

And he’d be there in the kitchen – it looked so much more cramped when it was him and all of his broad-shouldered bustling there – with his scribbled recipes that he collected from all over the world.

I had this in Amsterdam, you’re going to love it – tomorrow’s Berlin, okay?

And while you could say with a definite certainty that Ashton was probably butchering these famous cultural foods, you thought it sweet that he’d put in so much effort into bringing something back with him for you, despite the little barrier in your experience.

No matter – you think you liked the process work more than the final result anyways.

You’d perch yourself on the couch, a book in hand or your laptop balancing on your knees, eyes flickering to his figure every now and then.

And you’d find that you spent more time watching Ashton than anything; how his curls fell past his eyes and how he’d hastily brush it behind his ears before resuming chopping with the intense concentration of a little boy trying his best to make everything just right.

You’d jump a little when things sizzled a little too loud – don’t worry babe they told me it was supposed to be like this there’s no need to hold on to the extinguisher for Pete’s sake – or sit up every time you heard a sharp swear from the kitchen, pots and pans clanging accented by the dull thuds of the sink.

You okay there Ash?

Just fine and peachy, love!

Okay but if you need help peeling –

I don’t need help, this is supposed to be for you!

You said that for the eleventh meal and then you nearly cut your finger off!

Nearly, love. It’s still quite attached to my hand, in case you haven’t noticed.

Well I nearly had a heart attack and I’d rather avoid that at all costs.

Don’t worry about me, babe. I’ll be done in ten.

And you’d sigh but settle back down, smiling a little to yourself at Ashton’s persistence.

You’re not even sure how Ashton manages to take a recipe and somehow have it turn out  – well, there’s a wide range of adjectives depending on what he tried to make, but the most predominant one would probably be inedible – but he tries and his effort is commendable despite the questionable outcome.

When he’s finally finished, he sways out of the kitchen with dishes balanced precariously in his hands – ta-da! – a proud smile on his lips despite the smears of sauce on his cheeks and forearms.

You’re not even going to ask about the parsley tangled in his unruly curls, but you make a mental note to comb through his hair when he eventually curls up with you on the couch as his stomach complains.

In all due time though. You know it’ll happen.

He sets the plates down on the table with a proud grin, taking a seat across from you, eyes surveying your reaction carefully.

You’re not sure what tonight’s meal is – noodles? Rice? A type of salad? Could be soup, for all you knew – but you smile back at Ashton nonetheless.

“It looks great, babe.”


“Yeah – I mean, it looks… cooked this time.”

He huffs indignantly, stray curls flying up as he pouts.

“That was one time.”

“Try one plus seven, Ash.”

“I’m still learning, okay?”

He sounds a little huffy, but his childish tone only makes you smile and shake your head.

“That you are, Ashton. And you know, it’s a lot better than the first – “

“We agreed we wouldn’t talk about the first one anymore, right?”

His eyes narrow comically at you – you remember teasing him so much the first time that the poor boy was more traumatized by your pokings than the severe food poisoning.

Maybe it was a mixture of both. You’ll never know.

“Right, whatever you say Ash. But you are getting better.”

“I am?”

“Of course, babe. Thank you for the meal.”

You say the words sincerely because even though the meal was undoubtedly probably mostly edible, you knew the effort Ashton put into making something for you, and that wasn’t something you were going to take for granted – especially when he was away for so long.

He gestures to your plate with a grin, and you pick up your fork with only a second of hesitation.

There’s nothing to be afraid of for you, really – the only thing you had to fear was getting the food to your mouth without making a mess – why was it so slimy?

And it was just like any other meal, despite the unique texture – it all slipped past your mouth without a lingering impression, much like water’s nothingness down your throat.

You didn’t really mind it at this point – it was hardly a setback in life, and food was food after all.

But when you look over at Ashton, you can see he’s having different feelings.

His nose is scrunched up in distaste, lips puckered and twisted, eyes squeezed shut – it was almost a caricature of him, a sour expression to a comical extent.

And you can’t help but to let a few giggles escape your lips despite the extreme pain he seemed to be in.

“Ash? You alright?”

He nods painfully, chugging down his glass of water with the urgency of a dying man in the desert.

“Yeah… I’m just – whoa okay that was not how it was supposed to taste – wow.

“I take it that wasn’t a good ‘wow’?”

He shakes his head like a child, curls flying.

“I’m really glad you can’t taste this, babe. Hardly something to savor.”

“Mothballs or wet cat?”

“A dead cat in the middle of a pigeon-infested field mixed in with last Friday’s trash and sprinkled with acidic rain.”

That bad, huh?”

“I think I made a bomb.”

“A real explosion in your tastebuds, I bet.”

He laughs and you grin wryly at him, poking at the food in front of you.

He downs the rest of the water – and yours too, while he was at it – sighing loudly before slouching back into the seat.

“So… Chinese or Greek?”

His voice is small, coated with a slight layer of defeat at the surrender to takeout.

“I was thinking something with chicken…”

His eyes light up, sudden life sparking him past his stupor from just moments ago.

“You know, I used to work at KFC…”


more imagines here!