Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.
All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.
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[images ID: three images of a comic titled "one must imagine sisyphus happy" by druid-for-hire. it is a visual narrative beginning with someone with wrist pain (depicted by bright orange nerves) working at a drafting table. the reader is shown the same wrist as the person uses it for many everyday tasks such as carrying a grocery basket, pushing elevator buttons, typing, and doing dishes, until the pain dissolves all the panels into chaos. the person then performs several physical therapy exercises until the pain subsides. they sit back down at a desk with their laptop, sigh, and begin typing. a small spark of pain reappears. end id]
a fun little piece i made during the semester and submitted into our school comic anthology! (which you can buy at the Static Fish table at MoCCAFest in NYC ;] ). it's about artists and injury
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Head empty, only thinking about Ultra Protective Big Brother Mario at all times and how ever since he was a literal baby who just learned to walk, his first, strongest instinct, as unthinking and instantaneous as a reflex, as breathing, has been to position himself in between Luigi and the slightest hint of danger with absolutely ZERO hesitation
(Their expressions are EXACTLY the same in the 1st and 3rd image!!!! Some things never change!!!! LOOK HOW HARD I CAN CRY!!!!!)
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“This Is A Bad Idea”
“I Don’t Care”
Uhh HAPPY VALENTINES DAY *throws guys kissing at you and runs away*
If you wanna see more of them I have a LOT on my Patreon. Uhhhh yeah bYE —
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Prompt 204
Danny is on a bit of a roadtrip. An accidental roadtrip and might be getting chased by some sort of assassins or whatever they were. Look, it’s not his fault, he was injured and out of it! How was he supposed to know that the Pits or whatever the people were yelling about were important. Or sapient.
Actually, he should like… “How do you even know how to drive if you’re like, thousands of years old??” That was not what he was going to ask his current roadtrip buddy, but maybe he had a concussion.
Ectoplasm-green eyes turned towards him from the road, framed by a mixture of black and white hair that shifted like his own. “You most likely don’t want to know the answer to that, actually.” Okay, but what if he did, huh?
“Okay, but where are we going, because I don’t think this is my dimension…”
They shrugged, their clothing shifting with the motion. Ha, ninja clothing for a sapient pool of ecto, or whatever it had been. “I am, not exactly familiar to things that were not known to those thrown into my blood, so we’re, I believe the saying is going in blind?”
“Oh. Okay. Y’know you’re kind of nice for an ecto-death pit thing.”
“... I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that, child.”
“Okay. I’m going to go to sleep because my head hurts.”
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