#ILL REDRAW SOME OF THAT SHIT IF IT JUST MAKES YOU GUYS STOP

[suja-janee]

Seeing all my old Star Wars art getting reblogged

[redrawthecolorlessworld]

[Rhymix] Main Story: Redrawing The Colorless World — Chapter 2: Invention

oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo AYE oooo oooo oooo oooo oooo ooooooooooo bischuktakeawefethouAYE (idk)

———

I remember the first time I made any sort of art.

It was...sort of bad—but at the same time, that's the charm point of it. I still have it with me after all of these years, and whenever I look back on it, I always find myself smiling. It just tells me that I've improved a lot, and also reminds me of how far I've come.

And to be honest, none of this is possible if it weren't for the fact that I kept on pushing through.

So now that the world is like this, I want to also keep pushing through for it.

That morning, I already showed up to Technicolour's place at 9 AM. He was...taken aback by how early I got there, to say the least, but it's not anything too out of the ordinary for him. It's certainly not as weird as that one time some weird madwoman decided to break into this world and try to become its new God.

We spent the entire day asking people around and researching about such a topic. It ended up being of no use; because by the end of the day, we didn't got anything noteworthy. There weren't any records of something like this ever happening before either, so that just made us even more confused.

Eventually, the next day, we traveled to Notalano. We asked the people there what happened during the long period of time their nation got their colors sucked out of it dry. They said it's a weird phenomenon that was caused by someone. We didn't get any further details than that because they're still investigating it.

Technicolour then took me to a friend of his' place. He said that his name is Stasis, and he's a pretty well-known inventor who has made a gigantic airship powered by Notalium once. He then said that airship initially was ill-fated, but after some repairs it works perfectly fine again.

The moment we stepped into Stasis' house, the guy in question stumbled out looking really messy. "Hey! Sorry about uh- all of this. Just working on something." He said, before sighing, turning his head away in shame. "It's really a hassle for such a simple device." Once I heard that come out of his mouth, I raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

Stasis then took the both of us to his basement—which he just calls his workplace, and it makes sense why he'd call it that. He apparently works there most of the time. I could tell from how messy the entire area is. Blueprints were scattered everywhere and stacked onto tables, a few shelves were covered in dust, and the main table where he'd usually do his work is really all over the place too. Has he ever even tried to clean it up?

"Sorry for not cleaning up! I'm not done with this stupid little shit yet." Stasis apologized, before glaring down at the object on his table emotionlessly. It's clear whatever he's working on gave him a headache in some way. Technicolour and I gazed down to the object in question.

It's...just a simple paintbrush?

"What...what are you gonna do with a literal paintbrush?" I asked nervously, pointing towards the paintbrush in question. Stasis chuckled. "Hah, it's another one of my big brain ideas to restore color to not only Notalano, but this entire world too~" He answered, giving me a playful wink. It's cute, to say the least.

...I really need to stop getting short-term crushes on random people I just met.

"What's so special about it, though?" I asked again. By this point, my curiosity just kept building up more and more. Meanwhile, Technicolour was merely frowning at the messy state of the workplace. "It's powered by Notalium, and basically if you just wave the brush around with the intent of giving the world color, then color you'll give to it!" Stasis explained to me energetically, before walking towards a different table in the distance and picking up a different paintbrush that looked similar to the one he was working on.

"I have a finished version of it for testing! Give it a try outside." Stasis offered, and I simply took the paintbrush and nodded. The cyan colored diamond on the paintbrush's handle captivated me in a way that I can't even describe. It just...resonated with me for some reason. Probably because I really like the color cyan.

———

...Nothing.

"Huh? What do you mean, "nothing"?" Stasis asked me, a confused look on his face as he just looked at me as if I was crazy. When I went to test out Stasis' special paintbrush invention, it didn't work at all. "Oh c'mon now, Colorless. I tested it myself the other day and it worked swell." He then said again, a frown on his face as he then gazed at the paintbrush.

"...Ah."

"What's wrong?"

"Maybe you just didn't have such an intention to redraw the colorless world in your heart when you were trying it out."

Hearing Stasis' statement, I raised an eyebrow...again. "What do you mean? I clearly did. It's the reason why I wanted to try it out to begin with." I told him, crossing my arms, giving him a tired look. Stasis chuckled again at that. "Haha! No, no. The feelings just- aren't finalized yet. My wanting to restore color to Notalano is already finalized enough."

He then puts a finger on my chest, as if playfully mocking me. "Yours haven't yet." He added, a smirk on his face. My face could only turn red at that, but he did have a point. Maybe it's just...not fully realized at the time. "Just- look, listen here; I'm gonna let you bring that home with you. Once you feel like you've fully realized your wantings, then try again."

Stasis then gave me a reassuring nod. "I'm sure it'll work. Just believe me." Hearing his words, I felt a little eased. I nodded, a smile on his face as I silently accepted his advice.

———

...And here I am now...

At a coffee shop...

With that one guy I bumped into the other day.

I accidentally encountered Convergence again during a rainy day. We had to take shelter at a bus stop and then just...had a casual talk.

At one point I made him laugh and smile, which is nice, to say the least. I feel proud of myself for being able to successfully do that.

Now here the two of us are, enjoying coffee brewed by Convergence's favorite coffee shop. I'm not usually a particular fan of coffee, but he got me to try it. Pretty good, honestly. "What were you doing outside alone, anyways?" I ask him, trying my best to start up another conversation after a few minutes of silence.

Convergence looks up from his coffee, before finally answering. "I wanted to go...somewhere. But then the rain poured and then things had to get rescheduled." He says, a visible frown on his face as he sips on his coffee again. I nod in understanding—a part of me wants to ask him further on it, but then I decide against it.

"For now you can stay with me." I say, before quickly adding, "Until the rain stops, that is. Hehe." Convergence nods, a small smile on his face as he looks at me again. It's nice to have some alone time with him like this. Alongside my stress of trying to piece together the strange mystery of the world's loss of color, I also couldn't get this stupid man out of my head.

He's just that pretty, honestly.

But still...

I can't shake off this uneasy feeling.

[b0mblover]

Sammy- An Intro

By: J

aka “wait j has ocs?”

this uh actually was more of a test to see if i could sit down and write tbh, it isnt really all that intresting. at all.

i uh, you guys will never guess what the name sammy/samuel is to me! like actually probably never 💀

if you cant tell, im taking the “project onto ur ocs” very literally rn.

gen info at the end.

———————

sitting at a desk, there is a man, not short, not tall, not dull- but not bright.

‘sammy’ he assumes his name to be, its whats wrote on everything.

The weak pink and purple glow of the lava lamp- certainly not befitting of such a man- illuminating some of his desk.

1 in the morning, staring at his laptop, messages between him and ‘someone special’ 

(red is sammy) 

“would it be ok then?”

“sure, if thats what you want dear”

“alr then”

“when do i start working on it?”

“uhuhhhh ill send u the stuff when its time”

“alr alr”

he knew he was no animator- barely an artist, if you could even call him that.

he still didnt understand just how he got tangled up with such a person, he hadnt talked to anyone in years.

—————————

sammy opened his eyes, firstly noticing the cold sweat on his body.

it has been 6 years since then, and yet he still has nightmares about it.

15:00. the clock on the far wall read 3 pm, washed in blue light.

sighing, he shoved himself from his bed and threw on a t-shirt, gray, heavy. he thought of checking his phone but, he didnt want to be bothered with anyone today.

October 15. in a way, he dreaded it. the day everything went wrong.

The day he was born.

for all of his life, it had been ignored, in a way, he knew he /wanted/ to celebrate it, but found it to be, in his own words, useless.

He stared in the mirror, semi brushing his hair with his right hand, looking at his own reflection, something he loathed with a passion. sighing once again, he grabbed a lighter and cigarette box and headed out side.

he put the fag between his lips and lit it, shoving the lighter back into his pocket and taking a drag off of the stick. he knew he should stop, hes known since he was a kid, and yet, hes still smoked for 12 years.

he stood in solace, only shaking slightly, only truly moving to take another hit off the cigarette.

around 6 minutes he crumbled up the cig, before putting it back into the box, he would dispose of it properly later, for now, he had to work on things.

—————————

sitting down at that same desk- now washed over with blue light instead of pink- he picked up a tablet, before propping it up (LOOK IDK I USE FUCKING GLUE BOTTLE LEAVE ME ALONEEEEE), that project for his so called ‘dearest’, they stopped talking so long ago, and yet, he wouldnt stop working on it, sammy wasn’t superstitious per se, nor religous, but, it hadnt left his mind for years, haunting him constantly. he was never given any direction, it was supposed to be a group project, hell he didnt even know if the project had /ever/ been finished. he didnt even know what part he was supposed to make.

so he did the only logical (to him) thing, 

animate all of it. 

he had never planned on becoming an animator, not even an artist, but it drove him mad.

for two years, constantly redoing scenes, redrawing frames, everything, he swore to himself that hed never stop until it was good enough, and that, he made sure of.

——————-

gen info/ ref for myself bc man ill never remember this shit!

Samuel/Sammy, male, 22, born 15 oct 1987 (present day 2009), ‘right hand dominate’, black hair, pale ass motherfucker doesnt get any sunlight besides smoking sometimes basically fucking pale as shit.

idk abt height and shit yet, have fun with this ig??? btw didnt look over this in the slighest, sorry for any typos.

[clockworkslick]

oh. its 10/16. so short summary before i talk about nothing for a bit too long: a year ago i came up with the idea to actually go through with taking one of my silly ideas and turning it into something that other people could read, so i started drafting the concept of providence, a webcomic i make and thats updating everyday. more talking under the whatever.

so ive always made little stories that i would run through in my head for like two or three months when i had mental downtime, and then move on to some other goofy idea. this is either a totally normal thing or im a freak, honestly i have no frame of reference for how other people act. anyways i was home from college last year and i had this idea for an rpg fantasy story, initially an idea for playing modded minecraft with some friends (god i wish that was a joke), but i started writing shit down in a google doc. i wrote out a handful generic slots for various fantasy classes: witch, dryad, ranger, knight, vampire(not a class but i dont give a fuck), blacksmith, etc. and then i named some of them. i finished naming and writing out plot nonsense in november and changed the name of the comic from "Drive-By" to "Liberty" to "Providence."

honestly i think that was the easy part because its totally non-commital. unfortunately after that i had to actually start making the pages. the original plan was to finish act one before may, which was an optimistic goal to say the least, but also maybe if i didnt have to do anything else it would have been totally possible. or if i was just faster in general. anyways i started drawing everything at the end of december and then didnt stop for 6 months. actually thats a lie, i started drawing pages and havent stopped since then, but what i meant is that i started uploading the comic in may. i had a backlog of about 75 pages and the art change just in that time was nuts. comparing act 2 art to act 1 is more nuts but im not about to redraw the 170 pages of a1 just so that its APPEALING and PALLETEABLE. i learned way more about web design from doing this comic than from my actual web design class. like insanely more. you have no idea how little that class helped me with anything aside from making friends through mutual hatred of being poorly taught.

sixo de mayo (may 6th) came and i started doing this thing for real, and its been so surreal having people actually talk to me about these guys that have been in my head for months. my sister recently asked if deacon was my self-insert, which is sort of true but only in the sense that we both have social issues and like to be dumb on sort-of-purpose, and then she told me that her favorite character was reagan. theres not really any deep meaning behind her telling me or that reagan is my favorite too, but its just so surreal to me that people can have a favorite, or any opinion, on these characters i obsess over.

alright i think im done for now, i just wanted to talk about the comic on its sort of birthday, and also the day that the gang got pulled into the story. i mentioned that vaguely in the story once already, but im cool with being more direct about it. ill probably go on another rant again about this sometime, maybe on sixo de mayo, but probably sooner because im obsessive and like to type. happy birthday comic, heres to a million more. or however many years it takes to make a 5 act story at a rate of like 200 pages in 10 months. hopefully that number will go up.

[toosicktoocare]

Ya’ll know how in the beginning of season 3, Tim’s just all mad/stressed mumbling and a lot of “I need to lie down”? Well, here’s some soft Tim and Martin bros because Tim is making me sad. 

“What’s the deal with that Tim guy anyway?” 

Brows furrowed, Martin peeks over a file he’s got held up close to his eyes as if the closer to his pupils, the easier he will understand the jumbled follow-up research. “Sorry. What do you mean?” He winces when Melane sighs loudly acrorss from him, her own hands tightening around the tape recorder she snagged from Martin’s desk. 

“I mean all he does is mumble under his breath, snap at people, and then he sulks off to the cot.” 

Melanie’s aggravation, Martin thinks, is understandably warranted, valid, and he carefully sets the file down before him, a muted huff of breath slipping past his lips. “Look, Melanie, a lot’s happened, and everyone’s working under a lot of stress right now. With Jon-”

“-missing, possibly wanted for murder-”

“-he didn’t muder anyone!” Martin doesn’t realize he’s slammed his hands against his desk until the burning sting begins to coat his palms. He swallows against the bubbling frustration creeping up his throat, his face a red mixture of embarassment and anger. “Sorry,” he sputters smally. “Everything’s just a lot.” His voice falls to a whisper, and Melanie’s posture eases up. 

“I may not fully understand what you all have gone through, but until Jon’s back, there’s a lot of work that apparently needs to get done. And, Tim-”

“-I’ll talk to him.” Martin slips to his feet, smoothing his hands down his shirt because he’s not sure what else to do with them, not with Melanie staring down at him with an expression he can’t quite pick apart. 

“Is he-”

“-sleeping on the cot for the fourth time this week? Yep.” Melanie answers, popping the ‘p.’ She stalks off, offering a single nod toward Martin, before closing the door of her office, and Martin waits until he can hear her recording before he leaves to find Tim. 

The door’s closed when he arrives, and he offers two courtsey knocks, eyes rolling at the gravely “go away” that comes from the other side. 

“Tim,” he calls out softly as he nudges the door open. “It’s Martin.” 

“Okay,” Tim drags out lowly. “Go away, Martin.” 

Martin slips into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He can’t keep the frown the pulls tightly at his lips when he spots Tim lying flat on his back with one arm draped over his eyes. Though obscured, he can still make out how pale Tim’s face is, the few worm scars that are visible standing out a stark gray against washed out skin. 

“Are you okay?” 

The sigh that slips past Tim’s clenched teeth is loud and long, as if he’s expelling a year’s worth of swollen stress that’s been pressed against his lungs. “You’re still here.” 

“Well, yeah,” Martin stutters lightly, fingers pulling against the sleeves of his sweater. “I’m worried about you, Tim.” 

“Oh, save it.” Tim drags out, voice weak but edging a dangerous line. He lifts his arm and heaves himself into a sitting position, throwing his legs over the side until they hit the floor, and he glares hard when Martin gasps loudly across from him. 

“Tim, you look terrible!” Tim’s face, now fully visble, looks sunken in, his cheeks almost as hollow as his eyes. Beads of sweat line his temples, and his hair, normally styled neatly, is lying flat, a few strands sticking to his forehead. The dark circles painted under his eyes appear almost black against his ghostly white skin, and for a moment, Martin considers how many times he’s seen Jon like this, and he silently curses this place for draining people of what little energy they can muster as soon as they walk into this damned building. 

“What do you want, Martin? It’s Melanie’s turn to record.” 

“I came to check on you,” Martin answers as if it’s the most prominetly obvious statement in the world. “You’ve been coming in here to rest a lot. I just wanted to see if you were alright.” 

“Am I alright?” Tim laughs, weak, bitter. “Do I look alright to you, Martin? I haven’t slept since...” His voice falters, the stained image of the body on the archives floor redrawing itself once more in his mind. “Not to mention all of the absolutely insane supernatural shit that happened that I’m still not sure was real or not.” He rakes his fingers roughly through his hair, grimacing at the hot, damp sweat clinging to each strand. “And Sasha-” his voice cracks, and Martin’s quick to take a seat beside him, offering a warm, steady hand to his shoulder. 

Tim hunches forward away from Martin’s hand, elbows dropping to his knees and face falling into his cupped hands. “I just don’t know how much more I can take of this, and yet, I feel overwhelmingly nauseous when I even consider quitting.” 

Martin drops his hand to his lap, and his eyes cast to the floor. He understands completely how Tim feels, and because of this, he can’t concoct a single sentence that would even remotely touch the pain that’s been brewing within Tim since Jon’s disappeared, leaving behind a dead body in his office. 

“What can I do?” He asks instead, knowing that, more than ever, he and Tim need to stick together, to lean on each other while they struggle to wrap their minds around what’s real and what’s not. 

Tim sits up with another, long sigh, and he turns toward Martin, exhaustion pulling so evidently at his face. On instinct, Martin reaches out and gently brushes the back of his hand to Tim’s cheek, not surprised at the damp heat. 

“I really just need some time away. I need to sleep. I can’t keep... thinking about this place.” 

“I’ll tell Elias you’re ill,” Martin says, pulling his hand away. “You’re feverish, and you look like you could faint any second now, so it wouldn’t be a lie in the slightest.” 

“What about you?” Though feeling poorly himself, Tim can’t ignore the stress lines etched in Martin’s face, or the numerous times he’s caught Martin sighing almost longingly at the archives door. “You’ll drive yourself into ground.” 

“I’m okay,” Martin smiles, small, but genuine, and the look that colors his eyes is bright, determined. “I don’t know what happened that day, but I know that Jon didn’t murder that man, and while I don’t know where he is, I’m going to do what I can here to help, even if that just means picking up the slack until he comes back.” 

“You’re unbeliaveble.” Tim slips to his feet with a small shake of the head, his mind immediately pulling in all directions, wavering his vision, and he brings a hand to his head just as Martin jumps to his feet and plants a steady hand to his back. 

“Easy, Tim. Should I phone for help?” 

“No, just...” Tim groans, his jaw clenched tightly, “give me a moment.” He breathes through his swimming vision, willing his heart, that’s thumping so loudly in his ears, to settle, and after an endless moment where’s he’s not entirely sure he won’t wake up on the floor, the pain in his head eases to a dull drum along his temples. 

“Will you tell Elias that I’ll be back in a few days?” 

“I’ll tell him you’re running a fever and will be back when you’re well, even if that takes a week.” Martin stands firm with his statement, and Tim smiles tiredly at him, dropping one hand to his shoulder and offering a weak squeeze. 

“Thanks, Martin. And, sorry... for unloading all of this on you.” He waves his hand about weakly and starts out the door with Martin at his side.

“You know you can always talk to me, Tim.”

“I suppose I can,” Tim mutters softly. He starts toward his office to grab his things, stopping when Martin, who’s stayed back, calls out to him. 

“I’ll swing by after work with dinner. Is soup okay?” 

“Does it come with bedside poetry reading?” 

For the first time in what feels like countless incredibly long, drawn out years, Tim laughs, warm and genuine, as Martin’s face flushes an imposibly deep red, and Martin starts sputtering, nervous, shocked. 

“T-Tim! How did you... Did you find my tapes!?”