shoddy drawing

picture a baby pre-teen Kara DEMANDING that Clark and Lois let her perform a Kryptonian Rite of Marriage for them when they tell her they’re engaged because, despite the age difference, she is the first born of their house and it is her sacred duty to preside over their bond. Imagine her in giant robes that don’t fit that Mama Kent lovingly sewed for her based on a shoddy drawing she does from memory, her standing on a box (because she’s not actually tall enough to see over the makeshift podium they’re using) in the Kent farmhouse with the Kents and the Danvers - including a very annoyed and disinterested Alex - watching while she basically improv’s her way through a marriage ceremony. In her defense, she’d only seen one before Krypton exploded, and she was so young she barely paid attention. 

Besides, not even Clark can really speak authentic Kryptonian, so when she forgets what she should say she just fills in with ramblings about her favorite foods and how Lois is pretty even if she is kind of mean, and how she can’t wait till she’s an adult cause she’s totally gonna be taller than Clark. Everyone just stands there with that polite uncomprehending “i don’t speak your language” smile, the happy couple holding hands, and the ceremony ends with a banshee-like scream from Kara before she smacks them both across the face with some strange powder that no one knows how she got her hands on, leaving a handprint smear across both of their faces. She demands that they leave it on for the rest of the day, and they’re pretty sure she made up ninety percent of the whole ritual but Kara hasn’t smiled that wide since she landed and so they humor her. The night ends with a giant feast, with music and laughter, with Kara trying to teach Clark a Kryptonian dance but mostly just getting stepped on. It’s the first time Kara really feels like this new planet could be a home. 

Need sleep. Attempt to digitize maybe someday maybe never. World’s championships is churning out fantastic ref photos.

@blobfishington‘s OC Ellie! part of a kinda sorta redraw-circle-trade-thingy

I covered her neck with my left palm as I carried her up the hill. I’d been letting my hair grow and it had been growing fast, slipping my whole body back into the version of “girl” my grandparents understood. Oh, she wasn’t heavy, just cold and still. My hair grew down in tens of cowlicks, each edge gesturing out differently, looking like briar or a shoddy charcoal drawing. Underneath my palm, I could feel the pocket-knife slits of gill studding her thyroid. I knew the house, which burned and simmered in its yellow glow, was empty. I knew my hair ended around my clavicle, jutting off suddenly like scorpion tails.

Her rib cage was slight, her skin almost like a frog’s in its sheen and lichen-colored tint. I carried her up the hill and it didn’t even exhaust me. My hair got in my eyes, making it seem like I was hiking through a bramble patch. But the air was clear and the dark was building itself up like a good story. I wondered where I’d end. Her breathing seemed to come off from miles away, all of it slow and tired and as if it had touched the mountains before it bled out from her mouth. What she’d been doing, what she’d been being, I wasn’t sure. I’d never seen anything like her before, but I tend to be a calm person, so I am okay with what’s terrifying and what’s new and what’s soft to carry uphill.

Once we’re at the door, I kick the handle in and the yellow hits us like a pierced yolk pooling across ceramic. I set her on the table, her long body composing its life distantly. I get water from the tap and fill a glass and drink it while leaning on the counter. She turns once in her sleep. I think she can breathe the air. She’s been looking like she can. I suspect she’ll be up soon. I wonder what she speaks, if she speaks at all. I wonder if she’s ever killed someone. I wonder if her hair grows fast, jeweled here and there with clots of duckweed, slipping over her eyes when she works hard. I will go fill the bathtub. I will carry lilly pads up from the pond in my palms, holding their floppy lives close to my sweater. 

I will ask if she likes acrylics or the wind or staying in bed on saturdays. I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’m sure we’ll get over each other at some point. Years from now, after we’ve already divorced, I’ll see her in some cafe, her webbed toes cushioned in elongated oxfords, and we’ll do the thing where we hurt and then we nod and then I order my latte and walk out like fire. I’ve already left her, so I fill the tub and I smile at the water. It’s new and terrifying and so soft to carry uphill.

       -c. essington

july 30th // drew the glorious Craig from Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator as he is just the purest soul. Only a quick drawing as seen in some shoddy linework, and the drawing doesn’t deviate too heavily from the reference image, but I just wanted to focus on creating and evolving my art style.


one of my fave themes is arthur in a flower crown tbh