the art of the start: the time tested

How I Got Into Animation

I feel like sharing my journey in animation especially in times like these when job opportunities come by and I get lots of messages about it. Here it goes (it’s a bit long):
I got into TV animation in Manila without any art degree in 1990 as an inbetweener trainee for Hannah Barbera. It was a job application I waited for almost a year just to get into the program. When I first sent an overseas application to Disney, Dreamworks, and Warner Brothers in 1994, I was already supervising the layout dept for Marvel TV Production in Manila and just started a family. With a heart focused on getting into feature animation, the portfolio guidelines the studios sent me gave me a reality check - my skills were not there yet. So I decided I’ll keep moving towards the goal and sharpen my skills to their standard. After migrating to the US in ‘96 through a small game studio, the first thing I did was take a summer program at Associates in Art under a couple of Disney artists. I remember depriving myself of sleep for 13 weeks while building a new portfolio. After the program, I brought my portfolios to the same studios. DW wasn’t sure and wanted to give me a test. WB flatly told me I don’t have it. Disney, on the other hand, immediately hired me to work as full time key layout artist on Mulan. And that was the start of another life journey.
I always tell my students to keep the 4 P’s going in them: 1. Passion - keep it burning and having a growth mindset to never stop learning to do something new; 2. Practice - practice, practice, and tons of practice; 3. Perseverance - takes an act of will to keep pressing on; and lastly, 4. Prayers - we need lots of it. At any point, don’t ever, ever think that you’ve arrived. All the best to all who are on the same creative journey.

anonymous asked:

I've seen you say a couple times that you don't see or that you're disabled. Do you mind talking about it? I ask because I am an aspiring writer and it is really hard for me. I wanted to know how you managed or what it was like?

I don’t mind talking about it. It’s something that made me who I am.

When I was about 12, my health sort of started to eat itself. I suddenly had a ton of allergies, and there were days I couldn’t get out of bed. I got sick all the time. In freshman year of high school, I suddenly couldn’t see. For a long time a thing had been going on in my eyes, but I guess I didn’t think it was abnormal until it made it impossible for me to see. Basically this hole was kind of growing in my eyes, but it was more like a rainbow.

When I started having trouble with colors and detail vision, my mom freaked out a bit, because at the time, I was an award winning artist who had ideas of going to college for art. Then I started tripping over things, hitting my head, having trouble with depth perception. Then I got sick, and I mean sick.

I spent about 23 hours a day in bed. I had almost constant migraines. I had pain in my entire body. My skin turned yellow. I went to every kind of doctor you can think of and was tested for everything there is. One day, I had about 12 vials of blood drawn. No one knew what was wrong. The eyes weren’t that big a deal at first, because it seemed like I might have something really serious. The first couple of eye doctors I went to kind of looked at me and said “Oh it’s nothing big.” I actually had one guy tell me that my brain was just shutting off my eyes because I wasn’t using them properly. Yeah.

Then finally, my mom took me to a friend of our family who happened to be an eye surgeon. She did a free exam. I’ll never forget it because it was the first time anyone believed me. I’d been told by doctor after doctor that there was nothing wrong with me. I’d been referred to therapists, told I needed depression meds, told I was just going through a phase or needed attention. Then this doctor put on her head gear, looked into my eyes…took off the head gear…got new head gear…looked into my eyes…took off the headgear…got hand held tools…looked into my eyes…and then stared at me with her mouth hanging open.

“I can’t see the back of your eye,” she said. And suddenly the world simultaneously healed itself and flipped upside-fucking-down for me.

Then it was all about my eyes, the one symptom we could see happening. The one that was the most dangerous. But by then it was too late.

What happened is pretty simple: I apparently have some weird recessive DNA. It triggers certain bizarre immune issues at puberty. My immune system decided to attack my body. The eyes are a delicately balanced system. They show symptoms first. My immune system attacked them with a vengeance. They swelled up like balloons. Normal eye pressure is about 14-17. Mine was at a 22 at its best. It put a tremendous amount of pressure on my Retina, specifically my macula, cutting off blood flow like when you sit on your foot. You know those little shadowy things that float across your eyes? They’re called protein floaters. My eyes had produced so many of those that the doctor could not see through them. It was a fog.

They had to find a way to map my eye, to track the damage. Cue the eye exam from hell. I have always been, even before my autoimmune disorder, deathly allergic to melon. Any kind of melon. But now I was allergic to all sorts of shit, fruits vegetables, all kinds of crap. My dad is allergic to contrast dyes. So when the retinologist suggested this dye-based eye exam that is kind of like a CAT scan, my mom said “no”. See, they inject you with this dye and then they flash this weird light in your eyes. It causes the dye to glow, and then they can see the things through the fog. My mom told them I was too sensitive to stuff for that to be safe. The doc assured her they’d put a butterfly in my arm, meaning the vein would be kept open, and a syringe of benedryl was set on the counter. They’d never had anyone react, and they needed the pictures or there was nowhere to go from there.

So they put this dye into me, and it was like I’d been injected with fire, but there was no way around it, and to me, I knew they only had about 90 seconds to get the images they needed. So I sucked it up. finally the burning began to spread. Suddenly my back felt like I was being stabbed, and I suddenly couldn’t speak. I tapped my hands on my mom, then began sneezing spontaneously. My mom lifted my shirt, and I had quarter-sized hives. The nurse said “Stop sneezing on the camera”. Yeah.

My mom went ballistic. The doctor flew up the stairs and gave me the emergency meds. I slid into a dissociation state and nearly out of my chair. They had to prop me against the camera for the next couple minutes and reinject the dye. No other way, you see.

They did this test every few months for a few years.

But then there was treatment. Not much they could do, except try to get the swelling under control. Only way to do that was corticosteroid injections in the eye. Yup. A needle in the eye. No, they don’t knock you out. They numb the surface of the eye with the same numbing drops they give you for the exams and then they come at you with a needle, tell you to look down and to hold still. And you fucking do.

I was 15 when that started.

I went to experimental clinics, labs, and joined studies. I dropped out of those. Why? It’s pretty simple. The first day I came to the exams, I was kept waiting for over two hours. I was taken into a room. I was left there. No information, no talking. Suddenly a man came in followed by a group of people, all in lab coats. He started moving me around like I was a doll and talking like, “The patient presents with…the patient this, the patient that…”

I shoved him back and said, “The patient’s name is Kristina, and she is 16.”

He finished his exam, and when he left, after the students had gone, he took two Q-tips, dipped them in that pink shit your dentist uses to swab your gums before an injection, and SHOVED them under my eyelids with a cocky smirk.

The patient will never be an snotty little bitch again, I guess.

So yeah. Fuck those guys. They gave me two injections in one day, which no one had ever done before, because it was almost impossible to function with two pimple-like bubbles on your eyeballs.

Still my health was bad. Then all of a sudden, when my mom had given up, It just wasn’t anymore. Suddenly, I was fine, and all that was left were the eyes. I went back to school, except now I was blind.

In a few months, I’d lost about 80% of my perfect vision. I was photophobic. I got horrible and constant headaches. I walked with a cane. And not a single fucking teacher believed me, except my civics teacher, who had gone blind at a young age due to some other weird eye disorder, and my physics teacher who was deaf. I had teachers send me to the office for wearing my sunglasses (with a note on file). I had teachers get on my case about having an audio recorder and CD player for my books. I had teachers call me names, make fun of me, make me leave class to photocopy their notes larger, so that I missed the lecture the notes were on. I had teachers take my medications which had to be in my possession because of their time-sensitive nature and constant administration and hide them in their desks as punishment for asking questions or demanding help. I had classmates pick on me, but luckily, I was well-liked, and I was an officer in the ROTC. I even excelled there in spite of my vision, because my Captain believed in my leadership skills.

I always tell this story because I think it is funny. We had this special boot camp we got to go to if we were in the upper ranks of the ROTC. If you joined the military after high school (which I could never do) you got a higher paygrade for having gone through it. Almost like taking a couple JC classes in the military. It was grueling and all physical fitness, obstacle courses, PT, classes, guard duty…fucking blah. Our unit was allowed six participants. I sort of figured that it wasn’t really fair for me to go, even with my high rank (a company XO). To my complete fucking shock, my Captain recommended me to go, cutting out a classmate (and ex) of mine who was higher in rank. The boy went ape-shit. He went on and on about how unfair it was. He even went to the school board. My Captain made his reasons clear; he told them that the academy isn’t about military sponsorship. It’s about skills and quality. He didn’t care if I had a disability. In his eyes I had more innate ability than anyone there because I had worked so hard just to be where I was. The boy was angry. I told my Captain I appreciated the gesture, but honestly, we ought to make it fair. I told him that we should train to meet the PT standards, and that if this kid could make his, but i couldn’t make mine, he should go. I made mine. He didn’t. He complained about that too. At the last minute, we were told one extra person could come because another school had lost one. So he came anyway. The whole time he bitched about me being there. When I got there, the real military officers gave me shit like you wouldn’t believe, because they weren’t used to dealing with disabilities or recognizing that they can’t discriminate against high schoolers by law. The commander of the unit tried to dress me down in front of everybody for wearing sunglasses. I was pretty pleased with myself for telling him off but still sounding respectful. He kept saying “Take off my glasses”. I told him they weren’t his. They were mine, by law, and that if he had a problem with that, he could consult my attorney, the DOJ, and the doctor who prescribed them. He tried to fuck with me. I didn’t say anything except to ask him if he wanted me to have a migraine, because that’s what taking the glasses off means. He was so confused by me he walked away and called my Captain over. There were words. After that, he came up to me once or twice, almost like a test, to ask me if I needed him to slow down or if I was getting around alright. He wasn’t being nice. He was egging me in a condescending tone and with very bullying language. He’s a drill instructor, and you know what, that’s his job. I told him I was fine. But I made a decision: I wasn’t just going to make the female PT marks. I was going to test out of this fucking place at the male PT marks. And I fucking did. That boy…had an asthma attack on the track (I had asthma too, but I worked my ass off while he coasted on his “boyness”) and failed. At the certificate ceremony, the commander came up to me and said I had really impressed him, and that it was a shame I couldn’t enter the Navy. I thanked him, but what I wanted to say was, “Go fuck yourself and take the NAVY with you”. I ended up the Battalion XO Senior year. This would have given me a guaranteed spot in Westpoint if I could have taken it. My Captain cried when he told me he was sorry he had to give it to one of our Company XO’s. I told him that it was best for everyone, because I am not the type of person to enjoy taking orders. I had learned that about myself.

He laughed.

Around Junior year I got people to pay attention. My doctors got the DOJ and the Social Security people involved. A woman came to my school and enforced compliance in a tone of voice I’d never heard anyone but my mother use. She threatened to rain brimstone down on them if they didn’t give me what I needed, and things changed.

My parents wanted me to take a full scholarship to a local school, but I wanted to get away. So I did. I wanted to travel abroad, so i did. And when I was 19, they perfected one of the surgeries they had been working on the entire time I’d been struggling with this.

See, the injections had brought and kept the swelling down, but that meant that the fog was still there (since ocular fluid doesn’t replace), and the structures in the eye had been stretched all to shit, and were laying in my eye like melted plastic wrap. The old surgery was like a blind man hacking with a machete, but the new surgery used fluorescent dyes to track movement. Dyes that wouldn’t kill me. The old surgery had a 50-50 shot at complete loss of vision and made you lay on your face for three weeks. The new was fool proof and took 45 minutes. So, I got one eye done. They swapped out all the fluid and replaced it with saline. They peeled the distorted membrane off the macula. They stitched up my eyeball and gave me a sick metal eye patch. Looked like a fucking space pirate. It was rad.

But the blind spot is still there. The cataracts caused by the steroids are still there. The scars are there.

A few years later I had the other one done too.

My college was great. It took a lot of work getting all my reading done, about 500 pages minimum, per week, done via audio. I used to spend hours at the pool table in our residence hall, listening to my books and practicing. I got pret damn good too, at pool. It was difficult taking notes or working with a note taker. It was scary traveling by myself. It was hard to get people to understand there wasn’t anything WRONG with me. Just that my eyes don’t work even though it seems like I’m normal and fine, and like they should. People always think to be legally blind you have to be completely blind, and they think you’re not going to be able to defend yourself. I’ve been targeted by pickpockets. I’ve been followed by scary dudes. I’ve been treated like shit, laughed at, and accused by full grown adults of faking to get privileges, all because I can look at the place where their head should be and smile at the blank spot there. All because I can walk down a flight of stairs with a few neat tricks I know that have nothing to do with a cane.

But shit…you probably didn’t mean to ask for my life story. I’m going to get back to the point. My writing. What has it done for that? Like how can you be a writer if you can’t fucking see? Technology. It’s been amazing. I can use a computer same as anyone. The Kindle has been a fucking revolution for me because for the first time in a decade and a half I could read without pain and suffering. Just…all the things it does have made life so much easier than it used to be. It got me out of bad relationships with people who used my disability as a control. It gave me a little bit of confidence back. It helped me know I could handle myself.

And really, I think my vision loss had a lot to do with my writing. In some ways it gives me different perspective, sure, but it’s more than that. I was undeclared when I entered college. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I thought about history or sociology. My mom had a degree in that and she was an English teacher. I wanted art history, but what the fuck was the point in that? Couldn’t see a damn thing. And then I had a class in poetry, and shit…That made sense. I’d always loved language and writing. Always been okay at it. Dorte stuff but never thought about doing it for a living. But then it was like yeah…yeah I’m gonna fucking do that. Just like when I decided to meet the male PT standards.

If it is in you. If you love it. If it defines you and possesses you, it does not matter how fucked up you are. You will find a way. You don’t have a choice. You are that thing. And you’ll adapt. You just have to let yourself. You have to keep pushing. You have to learn how to handle frustration. you have to train yourself into stamina. You just keep going. I’m nowhere near as successful as I want to be. I’m still going. I hope I get even better. I hope I can say things that make truth more obvious, or that help people put words to things they have always wanted to say.

I don’t need my eyes to be a fucking firestorm. That’s just me. Eyes don’t mean shit.

So keep going. Keep doing whatever you need to. Do it better and better. Bend yourself around it. People who see you struggle will think they’re lucky, but you and I know the truth: they’re not even close to the kind of strong you are. Not even a little bit.

Remember that one point in Zone 2 where the Batter charges in like a hero and starts killings all the ghosts to save the Elsens?
I was so hyped! I was all ‘AHHHH, THEY CAN’T SAVE THEMSELVES! LET’S GO!’
Good times~.

I was testing out a new pen I got, and I’m rather happy with the outcome~!
The Ghosts were not in pen though. -pouts-

STILL, I’m rather please with the poses~.

anonymous asked:

So, I've wanted to write a book for a while now. I have an idea and a basic plot, but I don't quite know how to start it. Any advice?

Wow… you’re at the Exciting Part. :)  …No, seriously: this is the point from which everything flows, from the novelist’s point of view. It’s an exciting place to be, and at the same time SO intimidating, because GOD can anything happen from here onward.

(I’m assuming that we’re talking about fiction, BTW.)

Anyway. After 50+ books I know what I do at this point – pretty much – but that’s not going to do you a lot of good, since many of the opening moves in the game for me are now accordioned together into something that happens very fast and in which the individual movements and sequences can be kind of difficult to tease out for an observer. Let me instead describe to you how I would work this kind of situation out when I first got started selling books to editors.

Keep reading

4

You did well.

A bit of headcanon time: You know how they did the End of Term Exam (Kacchan and Deku vs All Might) just before Summer Break? Summer break in Japan usually starts late July. Deku’s birthday is July 15…

So I believe it was Deku’s birthday during their End of Term Exam. Deku was so engrossed and focused on passing the Exam that he actually forgot his own birthday.

Kacchan rescued Deku, and Deku rescued Kacchan. And they both passed the test together. I love that arc so much


(July 15) Day 1: Happy birthday Izuku! / First times

hlwily series extra: ‘for all that blooms is beautiful’

Note: It can be assumed that both Harry and Rosie sign and speak verbally in tandem, unless the story otherwise indicates.

word count: 3.7k

warning: for discussion of bullying, deaf/hoh struggles/upset, etc.  


Rosie, age 6

Harry turned into the school’s parking lot and fit himself into a space near the entrance. Pushing the gear shift upward, he undoes his seatbelt and sits back, switching off the car’s radio. Looking out over the parking lot and across the courtyard to the front entrance, he watched clusters of parents collecting their children, who run towards them with delight, book bags swinging on their shoulders. Others are chattering excitedly to one another as they wait for their way home.  Some of the teachers are out front, making sure everyone gets where they need to go.  

It’s early autumn, the start of a new school year and everyone is wrapped up in thick cardigans and winter coats, bearing the school’s crest. The clouds are thick overhead, washing the light that coasts down from them, overcast. It heightens the muted colors of the leaves on the trees that surround the school’s front walls.

Running a hand over his face, he sat back and tried to squash the anxious feeling twisting around in his belly and up to his chest. Playing the phone call from her teacher over and over again in his mind until it rang in his ears.

There was an incident with a couple of the other children in class. She wasn’t hurt, but she’s very upset. I think it may be best if we speak in person at the end of the school day.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can I get a bts reaction to when they cheat on you but later find out you’re pregnant

First off my dudes, cheating is never ok, if you truly love someone you’d do anything for them not to get hurt. (And I feel like the majority of bts knows that but shhhh it’s ok we’re thinking outside the bubble)

Each scenario is different from the other aight.
—–
Nams: You leaned on the wall as you saw him slip in, he didn’t notice you at first until you cleared your throat. The smile on his face vanished instantly. “So, what’s her name?” You asked nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He responded almost as if this was scripted. “Cut the crap Namjoon. I know you’re cheating.” A wave of anxiety rushed through him as you not only called him by his name and not a nickname, and two, you had figured him out. “Y/n, I-”“stop,” you’d cut him off, “I have something more important to say.” You said as you reached into your back pocket and pulled out your pregnancy test before throwing it at him. “I was going to tell you, I had my doctors appointment yesterday, but obviously you don’t really care now do you?” You said coldly as Namjoon fliched as he remembered he didn’t even come home yesterday. He looked at the test and then at you, pain and guilt engraved into his eyes. “Y/n I, I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”“save it.” You said as you pulled out a mini suitcase from out behind you, “if you still have my number, I’ll text you the date of the doctors appointments and the due date, you can show up if you still care about me or your kid. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you just forget about us.” With that, you walked past him to the door and let youself out. Guilt and pain washed over him as he stood there looking at the test, realizing how he fucked up, on a big scale. He wanted to fix it, he just didn’t really know how to. What he had done was unforgivable.

Originally posted by pjkook



Yoongi: he knew it was wrong when he found himself on another girls bed, he knew it was wrong when her moans filled his ears, room and apartment. He knew it was wrong when he bit down on her collarbones and whispered sweet nothings to her, the same ones he had said to you. He knew it was wrong, but why couldn’t he have stopped? He knew he could have done all this to you, fuck, even better than his. So why didn’t he? Instead he found himself laying next to another girl on her bed. As he walked home he didn’t even know how he was going to face you. He didn’t even know how he was going to look at you the same way. When he came home and saw your smile, the one you give before you tell them something that you’ve been dying to say, he couldn’t take it. He spilled out his heart and watched as you smile become a pout and your exciting energy become a broken sad one. He watched as your tears stained your cheeks before you turned around and wrapped your arms around yourself before chocking out a sentence that broke his heart even more. “I’m….I’m pregnant..” he stood there as he watched you grab your car keys and wallet. He stood there in shock and in pain as he watched you walk past him and finally snapped out of it when he heard the door slam closed. He stood there was his eyes filled with tears and whispered out your name. “Oh god, why’d I do this to you?”

Originally posted by shittyoongi


Jungkook: when he came home to find the house quite as a ghost town, he instantly became anxious. When he walked into the kitchen and found a card standing on the table with his name on it in your handwriting, his heart sank and shattered. He frantically ran towards it as he gripped it and read it. There it was, in your handwriting, straight up addressing the issue. Jungkook had been straight up cheating on you for the past 2 months. And of course you couldn’t just stand by and be ‘deceived’. You had explained in the letter that this wasn’t healthy for you, thinking about him cheating on you made you sick to your stomach. That if he truly loved you he wouldn’t have been sleeping around with another woman. That’d it be best if you don’t see each other for a while, that he at least owe you that much. Of course he didn’t delete your number, of course he didn’t unfollow you on any social media. But he did cry. He had done this, through smiles and childish fights you’d gone through thick and thin, only for him to throw 2 wonderful years of a romantic relationship and 3 years of friendship down the drain in 2 months. It took him one day to straight up cut off ties with the other woman. He hadn’t checked out how you were doing in a month, and he missed you, he missed you a lot. So he finally went on your Instagram, only to find the shocking surprise of you displaying a baby bump. He frantically tried to reach out to you.
Jungkook:y/n!
Jungkook:look I know I fucked up, I fucked up big time
Jungkook: I threw away 5 wonderful years of knowing you, and loving you down the drain
Jungkook: I know I can’t easily get you back because what I did was awful and unforgiving and I can’t forgive myself either
Jungkook: but from your pictures, I know it’s not just one
Jungkook: y/n, please, I just need to know if they’re mine
Jungkook: please y/n you can’t rob them of a father
Jungkook: please let me make this right for at least them

Originally posted by btssavemylife

—-

MORE ANGST

Jin: Jin and y/n first met during their second year of culinary school when Jin had accidentally whipped his meringue a little too harshly, thus causing it to splatter all over y/n. What started off as mutual, apology coffee dates lead up to brief smooches before organic chemistry exams and sweet love making behind closed doors. Y/n and Jin were like the most perfect dessert; sweet and satisfying to ones needs. They just, worked, and Jin wouldn’t have it any other way….
At least, y/n thought so.
She laid there in bed hearing the headboard hit the wall. She laid there as she heard her roommates moans, she laid there as her heart hurt. She was supposed to hang out with Taehyung today, she was supposed to have a good time with her good friend who majored in art. He was supposed to help her choose a way on announcing her pregnancy to him, if it weren’t for the fact that her nausea got the better of her and canceled at the last minute. “Ah~ fuck.” The muffle moan hit her like a tidal wave. Tears started to form in her eyes as she finally stood up and grabbed the pregnancy test from her night stand. She walked to her door and marched to her roommates door, not even bothering to knock or anything. Slamming the door open you’re greeted by your roommate riding your ex-boyfriend. “Wow how awkward of me to interrupt my boyfriend sleeping with my roommate.” She said with a bitter laugh. “Y/n! T-this isn’t want it looks l-like!” Jin said as he stared to sit up, “oh? No? What are you guys playing naked twister or something? I’m not stupid.” You said as you gave them a disgusted look. “Y/n I’m-” Jin was Interrupted as you threw the pregnancy test at him without saying anything before you turned around and walked out their room. Jin looked at the pregnancy test dumbfounded as your roommate looked at him in horror of what had just happened. You grabbed your phone, charger, earbuds, jacket, wallet, spare clothes and car keys as you dialed Taehyung’s number. You took a deep breath as it rang, “tae? I’m sorry to wake you up at this hour,” you said as you stuffed your bag with clothed and cleared your throat. “I, I-uh, was wondering if I could crash at your place, I can’t stay here.” Taehyung obviously catching on and reassuring you it was no problem. As you hung up and slipped on your jacket Jin, only wearing pants stood by the door way looking at you distraughtly. “Y/n, please we-we can work this out.. I’ll change I-I swear I’m sorry I-” you completely ignored him as he begged for forgiveness, you simply walked around him with bag over your shoulder. As you walked towards the front door, he followed you rambling apologizes in a shaken voice. Just as you were opening the door he desperately caught your wrist. “Y/n, please.” He looked at you with painful eyes, “don’t touch me!” You screamed at him as you ripped your hand away from him, tears of anger and sorrow filled your eyes. “You get me pregnant, you cheat on me with my fucking roommate, and now your pleating at me to take you back? Don’t touch me, don’t ever touch me again.” You said as tears streamed down your cheeks and slammed the door on his face as you walked out.

Originally posted by lavender-kills

—-
ANGGSSSSTTTTTT
Jimin:
Coming home in the dead of night was not Jimin’s idea of a ‘fun time.’ Coming home covered in hickeys and smelling like cheap ass perfume was a different story. His eyes navigated through the dimly lit living room, tiptoeing over so quietly towards the bedroom, carefully stepping over some lose floorboards. Jimin was maybe a foot or so away when he realized that the light was on…only it was coming from the room across; the bathroom. Peeking through the light crack along its doorframe, Jimin could see y/n, hunched over on the ground with her head submerged in the toilet, releasing a horrid retching sound.
“Babe!” Jimin bursted inside, clearly forgetting about his appearance and sat down beside y/n, gently caressing her side. “Y/n, baby talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Y/n coughed dryly, head lifting up she could peer at Jimin with tired, squinted eyes. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Her face suddenly began to flush with anger. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?! You leave without saying goodbye and don’t even have the nerve to tell me where you’ve been all night nor have you sent me a text and you’re asking me what’s wrong?!”
Jimin backed away, taken back by y/n’s harsh words. He also noticed the way her skin appeared more ashen than usual.
“Y/n, I—”
“Also, are you going to explain to me how you got these.” She flicked her hand across his collar, revealing the array of purple, red bruise across his neck.
“Baby, I can explain, please if you—” Jimin was once again interrupted by a bitter laugh. Y/n threw her head back and laughed, which turned more into a sob.
“Like hell you will.” With that, she stood up and started making her way towards the door, grabbing her bag, phone, and wallet. Jimin rushed into the living room, eyes following her movements and flashing with horror when he realized what was happening.
“No, no, no, please y/n. Please don’t go, we can work this out.”
Y/n’s hands froze as she reached for her keys. She stared at the floor before thrusting her gaze back towards her…boyfriend.
“I used to believe every single word until now Park Jimin. Now I can’t even tell truth from lie. What happened? Did you just grow bored of me? Did you think I wasn’t enough or that I didn’t give you what you wanted?”
Jimin could only shake his head in sheer desperation.
“Do you have any idea how terrible I felt spilling my fucking guts into the toilet while your out there getting your face sucked off by some other girl, without even realizing that your other girlfriend is lonely, scared, pregnant, and—”
“Wait.” Jimin froze. “You’re, you’re pregnant?”
Y/n scoffed, “if only you knew.”
With that, y/n stomped out of the house, slamming the door shut, leaving behind a shell shocked Jimin who finally crumpled to the floor in a mess of tears and wails.


—-
Taehyung:
“Y/n, could you pass the salt please?”
Y/n didn’t respond, nor did she look up from the plate of food in front of her (some medium rare steak that had long gone dry).
“Babe?” Taehyung tried again. At that, y/n finally lifted her gaze, hand immediately flying towards the salt shaker, passing it over towards the male seated across from her.
Taehyung smiled in thanks then munched on his food. “So, I heard that Hoseok’s going to be treating you on a trip to hongdae, right?”
Y/n hummed, cutting her meat with slow movements.
“That’s cool, Hoseok’s is a great tour guide, so don’t worry about not having any fun.” He snickered. “Unless you start to miss me.”
Something finally seem to jog her memory as she dropped the knife and fork, resulting in a loud clattering sound. Taehyung cocked his head to the side. “Is, is something wrong?”
“Taehyung, be honest; what are you going to do while I’m gone?”
Taehyung’s brows furrowed in confusion before he responded with a shrug. “Mm, probably invite Jungkook over, go to the karaoke bar with Jimin? Just stuff?”
Y/b could feel her heart ready to leap out of her chest. Her lips suddenly began to tremble. “Taehyung, I told you to be honest.”
“Y/n,” Taehyung scoffed. “What are you—”
“I know, Taehyung. I know about the phone calls and the text messages, the dinner reservations and the late night clubs. I know about the people you’ve been with and what you do, with them.”
At that, Taehyung’s eyes suddenly widened. Hoping to mask his panic, he immediately barked out a laugh.
“Psh, babe, what are you saying. You know I’d never do that!”
Y/n could feel her heart start to rip in half. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, an ugly sob slipping past her lips.
Taehyung’s face fell. Rushing to her side, he crouched down next to y/n, hands. flying to clasp theirs. “Y/n, y/n, please don’t cry. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I-I don’t know why, I just…”
“I know. I know, Taehyung.” Swallowing slightly, she gave his hand a squeeze before slipping out of his grasp. “I forgive you, but I can’t stay with you anymore. This,” she gestured a hand between them. “Has to end. I’m sorry.”
Taehyung’s lips were parted slightly as he stared at y/n, eyes wide with shock, almost as if he had heard wrong. He opened his mouth to reply, only to realize it had started to close up as tears blurred his vision.
Y/n grabbed her bag and stood up, leaving Taehyung on his knees in the kitchen. Before taking her leave, she took one last lingering look, only to leave something white on the table. Lifting his head, Taehyung stared at the object through blurry eyes.
A pregnancy stick, with two lines.

Originally posted by humanseoul

listen its rlly hard to find crying tae gifs ok

—-
Hoseok:
“Babe, I’m home,” Hoseok hollered, dropping his things on the hardwood floor. In his hand was a bouquet of flowers; marigolds and roses (y/n’s favorites). He trotted into the kitchen, expecting to see her wearing an apron while cooking up some food, only for him to sneak up behind her and sneak his arms around y/n’s waist, but frowned when he noticed that the kitchen was unoccupied.
However, on the table was a plate of Hoseok’s favorite slice of peach cheesecake and a letter written in familiar, curvy handwriting. Hoseok’s hearts dropped to his toes, flowers slipping from his fingers. With lead legs, Hoseok shuffled towards the table. Picking up the letter with shaky hands, he brought it up to read.
“Dearest Hoseok,
By the time you read this letter, I will be gone. Who knows where I’ll go, but whatever you do, don’t come looking for me. I’m sorry Hoseok, I’m truly truly sorry for having to leave like this. These past two years have been, complete bliss. I mean it, but I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’ve seen the way your eyes wander to Yoongi whenever we’re talking, or whenever we’ve kissed, I’ve seen the way you wanted him more than me. I know it was selfish of me to deny your feelings and even have the gall to talk with Yoongi, but now it’s time to face reality. Yoongi loves you and I know he can provide you with more happiness than I ever had. I forgive you for the times you used to sneak out, or the times when you wouldn’t hug or kiss me, or the time I found Yoongi in our bed. I forgive you. And remember, I’ll always remember you as my first love. I have a piece of you, with me right now.”
Flipping the paper over, Hoseok realized, with blurry vision, that the paper y/n had written on was an ultrasound photo.
Hoseok felt his knees give out as he slipped to the floor, crumpling the piece of paper to his chest, weeping softly.
“Y/n, y/n, I’m so sorry.”
BECAUSE I DO NOT HAVE THE HEART TO BREAK HOBI’S I MADE HIS SHORT AND (bitter)SWEET. 

Originally posted by sugastoungetechonawlogy


- Pheo & sara

Secrets (Part 1) - Peter Parker x Reader

Prompt: Best friends don’t keep secrets, but Peter’s secret sure is a big one. 

AN: A new series! I have the whole thing planned out and I’m so excited to share it with you all! Feedback would be much appreciated for this story, I really want to know what you guys think! Part 2 coming soon!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 MASTERLIST

- Written by Brie - 

Originally posted by tompollander

At this moment, you aren’t sure what was prettier - the sun setting over the skyline of the city, or the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you. As you watch the perfect blend of purple and orange and yellow melt together behind the city, your eyes couldn’t help but wander to Peter.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

how do you come up with comic layouts and compositions for every panel? do you just have to make a million thumbnails of the compositions and of them arranged in a layout? ive never seen this process talked about other than "just practice and youll get better"

Yes! Thumbnails are YOUR BEST FRIEND!

I don’t use them for @cooncomic because the pages are very short and straightforward with the briefest dialogue. So for the sake of this answer, I’m talking about my more graphic novel style comic work.

Creating the layout of your panels and the composition within them is an art form in itself. It’s storytelling. You’re showing your audience your story. I always think more along the lines of cinematography than illustration for this. 

I begin my composition with the last panel in mind. The final panel of your page–that’s your punchline. That’s your climax. It’s not at the middle, it’s at the end. That very last panel is the one I want to leave the viewer focused on. Awed by. Stung by. Melted by. Humored by. Offended by. Whatever the point of your storytelling was. So that’s where I start and where I put the majority of my focus. My final panel is the punchline that everything else will just be leading up to, whether it’s with the dialogue or just the imagery. 

Then I have to come up with composition. How many panels do I need leading up to that final panel? How many snapshots will be necessary to set the scene, the setting, the mood? I need to portray these things in the most concise number of panels. So I do a series of thumbnails playing with different numbers of panels, different arrangements of panels, etc. Typically I do this traditionally, on scrap paper. Very quickly. Scribbles, stick figures. I’m just figuring things out. Unfortunately I don’t have many good examples of this to show, because they’re for upcoming projects I’ve yet to announce. 

SUPER rough. I do this every time. I never start a serious comic page without testing compositions on thumbnails to help me pick the arrangement that best suits the flow of the storytelling. I need something that will best lead up to that final panel on each page. 

Then I pick the thumbnail with the arrangement of panels I like best and redraw that thumbnail digitally, fleshing out the composition in each panel a little better. You can see examples of that in the top left of these pages I’ve done: 

I hope some of that helped!

9

I went to my very first picnic today!  As soon as Mom and I arrived, I discovered the most beautiful skirt ever.  For the first half of the picnic, I absolutely refused to leave this amazing skirt and insisted on sitting right in the middle of it!

Eventually, I ventured to explore the super soft blankets and taste tested several shoes.  Of course, Mom packed lots of noms for me, and I made sure to nom every last crumb.

Towards the end of our time at the picnic, I discovered an excellent box for sitting underneath.  I started to take a nap (and made lots of cranky faces), but then someone started playing lovely music that I couldn’t stop listening to!

Examples of Dead Fandoms, Part Two

Go here to read part one.

Let me reiterate something I said before: I actually don’t want to be right about any of these fandoms being dead. It always makes me sad when people lose passion for something, and something worthwhile goes unread or unseen.


The Pulp Heroes (the Shadow, Doc Savage, etc.)

The Shadow was the first and most famous of the larger than life magazine heroes, mostly published by Street & Smith, who came out during the Great Depression. They weren’t superheroes, exactly…but they were too uncanny, too bigger than life, their adventures too bizarre and fantastical, to be typical adventurers or detective heroes in the usual sense…they were in the same ballpark as Tarzan or Zorro, a kind of “transitional fossil” between grounded detective and adventure characters, and the later far out superheroes. 

I realized the reach these novels had in their own time when I heard this amazing story about none other than jazz great Thelonious Monk: he was obsessed with Doc Savage magazine. When he performed, the jazz man sometimes had a Doc Savage magazine rolled up in his coat. I have a hard time imagining that!

The reason the pulp heroes went away and stopped having pop cultural cache is simple: the audience for it went away. You have to remember that pulp hero stories were always a composite genre, meant to appeal to two audiences simultaneously: kids, who loved action and fantasy and heroism, and working class men, who also love action, but who also loved lurid mystery and gore. To appeal to working class men, there were always way more hints of blood, gunplay, dread/terror, and sex, but because kids also read these, it was all very subdued. If you realize that pulp heroes were meant to appeal to these two very different audiences with conflicting desires, the question isn’t why the pulp heroes went away, but rather, why they lasted as long as they did. 

What took the kid audience away from the hero pulps could be summarized in two words: superhero comics. Sales on pulps fell every year when they had to compete with comics, and the history of the pulp heroes in the 1940s is defined by their reaction to the challenge of comics, a little like the history of movies when they had to compete with television. 

There were three big reactions to comics in the 1940s from the pulp magazines: 

  1. They dissed comics. This reminds me of the 50s movies that called television “the idiot’s lantern.” The best example of this I can find is the Doc Savage mystery, The Whisker of Hercules. By all accounts, Doc Savage author Lester Dent hated, hated, hated comic superheroes, particularly Superman, who exaggerated the traits of his own heroes beyond what he felt an audience would believe. Whisker of Hercules is a novel where Doc finds criminals who who take a potion that turns them into Superman, gives them superstrength, the ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound, and the ability to move at superspeed, but in the end, they are ultimately bested by Doc Savage, who outsmarts them and reveals the Whisker of Hercules ages them to death. Lester Dent, you see, felt superhero comics were a passing fad without staying power.
  2. They created characters that were both in pulp magazines and in comics as well. An example of this would be Ka-Zar and Sheena, who was in both comics and pulp magazines simultaneously. Today, we’d call them “multimedia properties.”
  3. They created far-out pulp heroes that were aimed at a kid audience to lure kids back to magazines. The best example of this is Edmond Hamilton’s Captain Future, which was a pulp hero who was extremely kid-friendly, with robot sidekicks and a cute mouse pet, and a base on the Moon. 

While the kids who read pulp heroes were lured away by comics, the working class men were pulled away by a new invention: the “men’s adventure” paperback novel, which could have explicit sex and violence. James Bond (Casino Royale was first published in 1954) was more typical of the paperback heroes, as was gun-toting Mack Bolan the Executioner, a special forces guy who came back from Vietnam to find his family killed by the mafia, and who declares war on the mob with his special forces training and arsenal of firearms (he also directly inspired a certain Marvel Comics character you might be familiar with). 

Just like almost all pop music is either Beatles or Stones inspired, nearly all men’s adventure heroes are some variation of either James Bond or Mack Bolan. This leads us to today, where men’s adventure novels are either porn, or gun porn. If you’ve read this blog long enough, you can probably guess which one I like better.

Here’s another thing to consider when wondering why the pulp heroes went away. The Shadow, Doc Savage, the Spider, are really only a few years older than the superheroes. They were not separated by a geologic age, the way many histories lead you to believe: they came out in the same decade as each other. Doc Savage came out in 1933, and Superman came out in 1938, which is not really that much time difference at all. The difference may be that there is a publishing company (DC Comics) that views Superman and Batman as essential to their identity and that keeps them alive for that reason, whereas no company does that for the pulp characters. In fact, there was even some dispute early this century as to whether the Street & Smith characters fell into the public domain. 


Original Battlestar Galactica

I used to post old cosplay pics, and my gosh, were there ever a lot of OBSG images. The actor who played Boomer was a regular at early science fiction conventions (there was a time when it was considered unusual for celebrities to visit conventions), and when a new BSG show was announced in 2003 (believe it or not, there was once a time that a hard reboot of an old scifi property was rare), it led to one of the all-time biggest nerdrages in nerd history.

I hesitate to say this, but part of the reason that Star Trek and the Next Generation are discovered decades later by new fans is because they really are good shows, and OBSG is…well, it’s a challenge for a new person, with fresh eyes, to see just what got everyone so excited in 1978. The reason why BSG was a big deal is clear: most people who are fans of it are fans because they watched the show when they were children, so it’s imprinted in their minds (rather like 90s kids and “Saved by the Bell” or “Power Rangers”). OSBG fandom isn’t growing for the same reason that “Saved by the Bell” fans aren’t growing: it’s a product of hormones and nostalgia, you “had to be there” to get it. 

To me, this explains perfectly why people went ballistic when a BSG reboot was announced back in the stone age, 2002. For one, the concept of a reboot was so new that I remember I heard people wonder if this means their favorite characters from the original were dead now. More importantly, though, this is a fandom with a few core people who remember BSG from when they were kids, and therefore have strong feelings about why it works and doesn’t work. 


Prince Valiant

Here’s a test to determine if a fandom is dead: if a movie adaptation royally screws everything about it up, would people get angry and yelly and passionate? Remember how people got death threats over the M. Knight Shyamalan Last Airbender? Well, in the case of Prince Valiant, I don’t think anybody would actually care. This is surprising, because for years, when people thought of comics, they thought of Prince Valiant: he was emblematic of an entire medium. Years before the prestige of Maus, Persepolis, and the “graphic novel,” it was the one comic that was classy, that adults were alright reading. 

Why is it no longer popular? Well, copy and paste everything I said on Dick Tracy about newspaper comics here. But also, if you ever run into someone who really loved Prince Valiant back in the day, ask them why they liked it. The answer should be incredibly telling. Most likely, they’ll tell you they loved the beautiful art, that they loved the great style of Hal Foster’s godlike pen. They loved the sweep of the story and the epic feel. 

Here’s what they won’t say if you ask them: they probably won’t say they liked the characters. (I can’t think of one adjective to describe Prince Valiant’s personality - he totally fails the RedLetterMedia test). They won’t remember any moment that made them cry or made them feel a rush of triumph.

I swear, it is not my intention to be a hater and drink some haterade. That’s really not in my nature, because I am a positive person. The whole point of this blog is for me to share cool old stuff I love - negativity has no place here. But there’s a dishonesty, a willful obtuseness, in trying to understand why Prince Valiant stopped being a phenomenon, and not realizing that Prince Valiant is beautiful looking, but it doesn’t give us the things about stories that “stick to our ribs” and make it stand the test of time: great characters and memorable, earned moments. Praising a comic for having beautiful art is like praising a movie for the great special effects. You don’t want the one thing people to remember about your hero to be a haircut. 


John Carter of Mars

The fandom for John Carter of Mars is a little like Barsoom itself without the Atmosphere Factory and water pumped from the depths of Omean: dead.

To the modern eye, one of the weirdest parts of Carl Sagan’s Cosmos series is the 3 minute digression in the episode on Mars where Sagan starts talking about how he was the hugest John Carter of Mars fanboy ever, and how he dreamed of rescuing beautiful women in gallant swordfights on thoatback, with his fanboy narration intercut with shots of Frazetta and Michael Whelan cover art. This really happened. And this was typical of the kind of passion that John Carter of Mars inspired that you don’t see much of today. It’s so easy to blame the tanking of the movie adaptation, but the movie failing was a symptom, not a cause, of the fact there was no hungry audience to receive it.

Sagan was a huge John Carter fan: his car had a “BARSOOM” vanity license plate, and he wasn’t alone: without hesitation, I would say that Edgar Rice Burroughs was the most important and influential scifi writer of the first few decades of the 20th Century, so important that everyone defined themselves as either Burroughs-like (Leigh Brackett, for instance) or rejected the tropes ERB created (see: Stanley G. Weinbaum). John Carter of Mars didn’t inspire Star Wars. Instead, he inspired the things that inspired Star Wars (e.g. Flash Gordon). Edgar Rice Burroughs, not Faulkner, not Hemmingway, was the best selling novelist of the 1920s. 

Remember the last time I did this, and I was sincerely baffled why the Tripods novels have not had a revival? Well, when I got to John Carter of Mars, the answer came to me: the reason is that this work was so influential, so ubiquitous, that it has been strip-mined of creative power by imitators to the point that very little about it seems original anymore. Tripods, if it came out now, would just look like a Hunger Games rip-off despite the fact that if anything, it’s the other way around. The problem with John Carter of Mars is exactly the same: remember how the response to the trailer to the film adaptation was that this was Avatar Goes to Attack of the Clones? When, actually, Avatar and others got a lot from the Barsoom books. In other words, because John Carter was influential enough to create cliches, paradoxically, it is now seen as cliche.


Highlander

The Ghostbusters reboot had a big, big problem: it’s a remake of a movie that’s an untouchable classic, like Back to the Future. Any remake would inevitably be compared to the original and suffer in the comparison. Well, here’s one movie you could probably remake with a gender swap hero: Highlander. It’s not Back to the Future, Jaws, or Terminator; this isn’t a movie people can quote every line from. People know of Highlander, sure…people know things like the Queen song, “there can be only one,” electric swordfighting, etc, but people don’t actually care that much. People won’t go ballistic. Highlander is a remaker’s dream: it has enough name recognition to get sold and made, but it doesn’t have a legion of nitpicking nerd fans to second guess everything and treat the original like gospel.

Highlander used to be kind of a big deal: it had not one but two tv shows, and it had three movie sequels. Just like “Wild Wild West” was steampunk a couple decades before that term existed, Highlander was “urban fantasy” before that term existed. Because of the themes of urban fantasy and tragic romance, it always had a strong female fandom, and there’s no understanding Highlander without understanding that it was kind of the Supernatural of its day: theoretically, with its swordfighting and cool powers, it was trying to appeal to boys…but ended up building up a way bigger female audience instead. 

Posterity is really never kind to any fantasy property who’s audience is primarily women. Who, today, talks a lot about Gargoyles or Beauty and the Beast, for example, to pick two properties that used to have a strong fandom? The last one (B&B) is pretty amazing because it was created by two people immensely relevant to the zeitgeist of today: Ron Perlman (the Beast himself), and the show’s head writer and producer, a fellow by the name of George R.R. Martin. It could be just plain chauvinism over a “girl thing.” I don’t deny that plays a role, more likely, it could just be that scifi fans are immensely nerdy in a way fantasy fans aren’t, so they keep alive their favorite scifi artifacts. That, I think, is why we’re still talking about Terminator and not Highlander: Tolkien fans who write in Dwarf runes are a freakish exception. In general, fantasy fans are way less hardcore than scifi fans.


Magnus, Robot Fighter

Ever talk to any old gay nerds? They will usually tell you they realized they were hella gay because of three men: Robert Conrad in “Wild Wild West,” Ultra Boy from Legion of Super-Heroes, and Magnus, Robot Fighter.

Russ Manning’s Magnus, Robot Fighter may be one of the great subterranean sources of pop culture. Matt Groening admits that the aesthetics of this comic inspired a lot of Futurama. Magnus, Robot Fighter was such a nostalgia totem in the minds of the Baby Boom generation, on the level of the Mars Attacks! cards, that George Lucas, who was always very hands-off with supplementary material, personally requested Russ Manning come out of retirement to do the Star Wars daily comics.

Magnus, Robot Fighter is an interesting example of how comics only have cache and longevity long-term if they can successfully convert into other media formats. Comics are important, but comics are ephemeral. Superman is the king of comic characters, sure, but most people know about him because he made the leap from comics to radio, screen, and television. 

Magnus is all the more heartbreaking because he almost made the jump to a medium with durability - video games. Under circumstances too complex to relate here, Acclaim bought out all the Gold Key comic characters, and Magnus was generally considered to be the crown jewel of the lot. Because Magnus was too important an IP to screw up, and the development team was so inexperienced, Acclaim instead decided to make their first Gold Key game adaptation one of the minor guys, so if they blew it, no biggie: Turok, Dinosaur Hunter. The rest is history: Acclaim was so busy making sequels to the surprise hit Turok, Dinosaur Hunter they never got around to giving Magnus, Robot Fighter a game.

Part three is coming, so stay tuned. Believe it or not, I actually have a fandom from the past ten years on here! Can you think of any dead fandoms?

anonymous asked:

What other clothes do you like to wear aside from your hoodie?

“SHOW TIME TOMMY” -Edd

“hu h,, I like the last one the most to be honest. Was a real battle to get this by the way.”


// I got very lazy with this I’m sorry 

also please bear with me, school started like a week ago and we’re having so many tests already,, its hard to keep up with art atm, but I’m trying my best!

PROJECT SUMMARY:

On the Ides of March 2014, we selected for our project an unremarkable sophomore engineering student named Trevor Lee. Little did he know that he would become TEST SUBJECT 22: the breakthrough proof-of-concept for our years of research into cerebral reconfiguration. Twelve months later, despite no previous nor natural athletic inclination, Lee walked onto the University baseball team—remade as the ideal designated hitter, both in mind and body. As a result, the Dept of Athletics took keen interest in our continuation of the project, promising significant support and funding.

We knew right away that our immediate priority was to maintain our gift to the team. Lee would graduate by the end of the 2016 season. Therefore starting in the fall of 2015 we began building his replacement for the 2017 season. This time we recruited a freshman named Andrew Petit. At intake the asset—designated TEST SUBJECT 25—was a waif-like art history major. However, like SUBJECT 22, SUBJECT 25 now suffers from markedly reduced academic ability, and has had to switch to a General Education BS, with specially awarded credits in “applied hypertrophic sciences” from the Kinesthesiology Department.

Like SUBJECT 22, SUBJECT 25 acquired high-level visual motion-tracking, reflexes, and proprioception through our cerebral reconfiguration techniques. Subject was also given a high drive to pursue muscular hypertrophy, under the guidance of the baseball team’s strength coach, Mr. Terrazas. We programmed Subject with an absolute, emotionally-charged loyalty to Mr. Terrazas, whom Subject now sees as a father figure. Aided by our reprogramming of pituitary function to increase luteinizing hormone secretion, Subject made rapid gains in muscular development.

Further programming imprinted hitting coach Mr. Howard and head coach Mr. Burnett as additional father figures, who report perfect compliance, dedication, and “coachability” from Subject. Along with further guidance from SUBJECT 22—who served as a “big brother” figure in his training, SUBJECT 25 developed extremely rapidly towards game readiness. Subject was selected onto the team’s roster in December 2016, and had a moderately successful debut season by all relevant statistics. As of this writing, Subject will soon begin play in a summer collegiate league to continue his development, and will receive training in a fielding position.

The usefulness of interpersonal foci in our programming is now undeniable, and shall now be a part of protocol in future projects. We note as having profound reinforcing effect the private sessions which Subject shared with his mentors, which may be examined in our video archive.

Here is a test!!!

I wanted to start a new thing (well not so new because I was doing that for a long time but its the first time on tumblr so why not)

So here!!!

@amelias-trash

@thecreativeartist

@dinomangootter

@deathwithgloomy

@okareo

____________

It needs more work I know, because now I was just doing what came in my mind. But I have to organise a bit and base myself on the “topic” of the word… I think… Yeah.


If you liked it, and I hope you did, I will maybe start some requests of this type. I will tell you if I do! :3

2

October 2015 Inktober day 16. (+coloured pencil this time) 

Yumiru-sama. Ymir, how badass can you be… I totally love her. Always. 

This whole inktober thing is very useful to me not just in a manner of general training, but it’s also an awesome opportunity to test out various ways to get good effects without much effort and with little time… you know, things useful when, well, I’ll be quiet now. Dun dun duuun…

in an au where vlad wasnt aggressively vengeful toward jack or futilely obsessed with maddie, but instead chose to move on with his life, it’s entirely likely that he never would have held the 20th college reunion and thus never would have met danny

danny never had his archrival, so he progressed at something like a normal rate, eventually finding his teachers in the Far Frozen and learning about things like duplication and his core powers from them. he lives as normal a life as he can, between the fights he has with other ghosts, spending time with tucker and sam, and eventually his college education. sometimes he wonders about the existence of other halfas, but has come to the conclusion that he’s glad nobody else had to go through the pain of his initial transformation.

vlad remained focused on his companies and, to a lesser extent, his own private ghostly research. he performs tests on willing (and occasionally unwilling) ghosts and compares them to the tests he runs on himself, trying to discern the strengths and weaknesses of a halfa. sometimes he wishes for a different test subject, but wouldn’t wish that life on anyone. being the only one of his kind, he thinks, is more a blessing than a curse.

unaware of each others’ existence, they discover their immortality separately.

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