#or something sappy like that

[dannydoesthisthing27]

"Guy"

A soft shove to his shoulder rouses Guy from what was a fairly peaceful sleep. A quiet groan of protest escaping his lips.

Honey biting on their lip to suppress a smile. Watching as he rolls onto his stomach, appreciating the view; as he would put it.

"Come on, you menace, you gotta get up"

"Mmmph...I don't wanna...it's Friday wnd neither of us have work today"

A heaving sigh escaping them as they try not to give in to the sleepy puppy eyes he's giving them. A familiar routine he seems to be playing up at the moment.

"I know it's Friday, baby." They murmur as they sit down beside the pillow he's wrapped around, hand resting on his thigh. "But you promised me a movie marathon today. If I'm remembering correctly, that is"

The smirk that was playing at their lips growing a little when they see the way his pupils dilate a little at the close contact.

A slow dramatic gasp starting his sentence as he opens his mouth. "Well I never! Honey how could you do this to me? You dare use, the Lord of the rings triple feature directors cut special extended addition movie marathon, against ME??" His own giggling breaking up the monolog at the end.

"Yes I do"

Is the only response Guy gets before they stand up and walk out of the room. He slowly gets up himself, checking the time with a small smile when he sees its almost 10:30 already. Wandering out to the kitchen to get caffeine of some kind, he's met with the scent of breakfast food, and cinnamon rolls.

"Ohhhh Honey, you spoil me. Sleeping in, a hot meal, my favorite movies." He makes his way over to them, draping himself over their back. "Thank you Honey...you didn't have to do all this"

Honey relaxed under his touch, a fond expression on their face as they pat his hand thats found home on their hip three times.

"I know I didn't, but you've had a hard week, on top of overtime, pretty much every day... you deserve a day to relax"

His lips curling into a smile against their neck and his finger tapping their hip three times in return.

[olasketches]

suku-chan

[hitlikehammers]

🎸That One Time Gareth Had To Square With The Reality of Eddie with Steve Harrington and/or Gareth Being Kind of a Dick Without Just Cause

🤘OR: 1/5 times Steve/Eddie talk to anyone but each other about their feelings (for each other), +1 (other time they turn around and talk to one another)

“These aren’t in Jeff’s range, man.”

Eddie’s been bowed over a notebook for hours now, co-opting the bed in Gareth’s room while the actual fucking owner of the room gets relegated to the desk chair. As soon as Eddie’d been miraculously saved and recovered enough to get out of the hospital, and then out of his new house—first time Gareth had him over, he’d offered the bed without question, propped up his still-recovering friend and got a genuine attempt at a smile through the still constant pain as he’d basically walled Eddie in with pillows. Mostly out of concern; but not empty of guilt.

But those days are thankfully behind them now and if Gareth needed anybadditional proof that Eddie was more than back to himself?

It’s that he still sprawls wide over Gareth’s bedspread, just like the throne in the drama room—entitled, and comfortable with it, despite how the way he folds himself over his books is, just, painfullooking,

“Hmm?” Eddie’s still distracted, but he at least looks up from his campaign notebook when Gareth shakes his lyrics notebook loud enough to make a rustley noise at a pitch that’s hard to ignore.

“They aren’t in your range, either. Which one of us are you planning to have try and hit this?” Gareth taps the top line of scribbled notes across the ruled pages; “and embarrass the fuck out of ourselves for it, Jesus,” he mutters, because: seriously.

None of them can hold this pitch. Any of these—they might be able to convince Grant to try for the laugh because he reads the worst of the four of them, but he’s not so sheet-music-illiterate that the entertainment frankly wouldn’t last long enough to really be worth it.

Gareth doesn’t exactly process that he hasn’t gotten any kind of response at all to his bitching—which, if he’d been paying attention, would have been his first clue; but he doesn’t process the absence of Eddie’s retort because he’s finally pairing the notes to the words scribbled on the page opposite them.

“Dude,” Gareth taps more insistently at the only-just-legible letters—unfortunately for Gareth, he reads Eddie-scratch well.

“These the lyrics that go with it?”

He still doesn’t get an answer, but he…he doesn’t really need one.

Because he’s clear that the lyrics go with the staffs. And the lyrics are…

The lyrics are clearly all about one King Steve Harrington.

Gareth sighs a little, to himself on purpose even though it’s probably not important to try and make it subtle: Eddie’s in his own world, still, and Gareth, well, like…

Gareth’s had the hardest time accepting…Steve. And Eddie. Steve with Eddie.

And he’s gone through the stages of disbelief hard for it: fury, followed by giving an ice-cold silent treatment, and then intentional obliviousness. Now he’s kinda been…forcibly cordial in a way that, if he’s being honest with himself, he knows is the most offensive of the attitudes he’s landed on so far.

It’s just that…Steve never did anything to him, or their friends. Gareth knows that. And he knows it’s not fair to judge someone solely by the company they keep, especially when they broke really publicly and like they meant to with that exact company. It’s just…

Harrington could have changed things for people like them. He could have called off the dogs when he was at the top and maybe they’d have learned to lay off the freaks and nerds even after he tumbled from grace.

And if he was with Eddie, now—like, actually withEddie like Eddie claims, like the lyrics in the notebook clearly spell out, even though Gareth’s never seen them do more than slap each other’s backs when Eddie’s ride’s out of commission and he needs a chauffeur from practice, or they hold Not-Hellfire-Anymore-New-Name-Pending at the guy’s massive house—and don’t get Gareth started on how awkward that shit had been; still is, for him, as the only holdout on the goddamn Harrington charm, fucking gag him—

But if he’s with Eddie? Why the fuck couldn’t Harrington have maybe gotten his so-called friends to ease off the queers, too? Just be less…loud about it, if he was one of them, even in the closet? And how could Eddie stand for that, like, none of them were out out, and it’s not like the freaks have a ton of options anyway, even guys who glanced both ways like Gareth did—and apparently Harrington too, unless everything else before had been a facade, or self-deception. But like, how could Eddie, loud about everything, shack up with someone who—and yeah, this one was hearsay, but still—but someone who’d called out the eldest Byers for being a queer, even if it did leave him with the shit beat out of him after, and Byers stealing his former girl in a very-not-queer way?

How could Eddie…date someone who hated what he was enough to egg on one of their fellow freaks, or at least a weirdo-adjacent comrade, like that?

Even just once.

But Gareth’s not blind to how just looking at Harrington now would hint he’s someone different, whether the rumors had been true or not. And Gareth knows he’s held on to this…grudge, thing, to the point of being unreasonable. His bandmates have both taken him aside one-to-one, tried to be Switzerland about it, calm in the middle, but both made out in Steve’s favor. And yes: Gareth knew, and agreed, even before he’d reached the point he’s at now, that they should be grateful their friend is alive, thankful for the way—even if he’s never owned it to them himself, Eddie’d sung his praises even before there was more for him to sing—but they should all be grateful that Harrington pulled him out, got him help, kept him breathing long enough. They should be happy for their friend who they’ve never seen happier, even through the long slog of rehab; the long months he couldn’t even hold a pen steady, let alone his guitar.

They should trust Eddie on the topic of Steve until proven otherwise. And…all Steve’s been doing is proving Eddie right, and then some.

And the freshmen, they just stare at him a little cooler, generally, which sucks. He didn’t realize he gave as much a shit as he apparently does about the pipsqueaks beyond how they played and what they rolled—but yeah.

Turns out he actually gives a decent amount of a shit when he has to square with the way they side with Steve, too. Steve, it seems, even over Eddie, which: they’d been pumped so full of hero-worship that it’d been frankly annoying after the first couple months but, apparently that didn’t hold a candle to Harrington+.

So like: Gareth knows he’s outnumbered. And he’s been outnumbered now long enough that he isstarting to wonder if maybe he’s the one who’s got it wrong. Unthinkable, at first.

But…even Wheeler scowls at him. He does kinda scowl at everyone, always, but when Steve Harrington comes up?

It’s a special scowl just for Gareth.

“Eddie?” Gareth turns to being a nuisance, knows that’s the only way he’ll pry Eddie out of his zone. “Earth to Munson,” he waves the notebook he’d been reading from in front of Eddie’s view of his campaign outline in the other; “come in Munson!”

“Knock it off,” Eddie splutters when a page finally tickles his nose, batting Gareth away and blinking, like he’s gotta remember where he is.

Typical.

“This shit’s not your style,” Gareth doesn’t think it’s worth mincing words. That’s not who they are, the friendship they have.

And Gareth…Gareth read the words, right?

He’s maybe…he’s maybe been a fucking stick in the mud about one of his closest, oldest friends’ love life for long enough already.

“Says who?” Eddie snaps a little, that razor-edge peeking out of his retort. “I fuckin’ wrote it, ergo,” he snatches the second notebook straight out of Gareth’s hands:

“My style.”

Gareth huffs, and moves over to the bed. Because, like…bite the bullet. Slay the monster.

Save that…that’s not it, is it? More like…

Man up and own your own bullshit, Gareth Emerson.

“It’s not the band’s style,��� he says, and keeps his tone tight not because…well. Mostly just so it doesn’t stray where he doesn’t want it to go.

He anticipates the way Eddie snaps—also knows Eddie well enough to see it for what it is: far less dramatic than it could have been:

“Maybe I didn’t write it with the band as the first thought in my fucking mind, man,” he bites a little, but more than that?

It sounds tired. And Gareth…

Gareth knew he’d feel like shit when he finally squared with this, with how he’s handled…the Steve thing.

Or probably more like not-handled-it-at-all.

“It’s,” Gareth leans, peers over Eddie’s shoulder at the notebook in his hands, still open to what Gareth had read.

“It’s a love song.”

Because there’s no other word for it. But there’s also no denying the obvious:

“But you’re not singing it.”

Eddie huffs—there’s the drama.

“My falsetto is impressive—”

“Not just that, the lyrics,” Gareth says, tone still reined in, but he lets himself be curious, kinda prod at the obvious thing held between them, scratched in ink.

“They’re like a letter you wrote, to someone you love, but like, for them to read.”

Gareth looks over at Eddie, knows Eddie feels it, may even see it from his peripherals even if he won’t turn to meet him before Gareth calls out the glaring heart of it all:

“To you.”

The guilt sinks its teeth a little deeper, when Eddie holds himself so goddamn still.

“What’s Harrington’s range?” Gareth asks, lets that guilt soften his tone, loosen his limbs. Open him up to the reality of…his best friend being actually-probably-no-longer-deniably ass-over-tits in love.

“Tenor, like, naturally. I think,” Eddie’s immediate to answer, and that only solidifies the reality for Gareth, here—Eddie knows the man he loves, musically. “But he’s got an insane voice, man, I mean, the shit he can do…”

“Maybe I thought,” and fuck, Eddie sounds almost hesitant, it’s so clear in comparison to how quick and sure he was just a second before; “like, not for our shit, but maybe he can just, like, even just the two of us, him and me before we wrap, or after even, and he can, just, like,” Eddie’s slows the words like he’s trying to build up to something unthinkable, something that almost cows him for a second, but even that’s so not Eddie:

“Sing it.”

Eddie looks purposefully away and Gareth…

Gareth’s admittedly kinda reeling—how did hesomehow make his friend sound like he was trying to be small, and Eddie of all his friends, at that?—but the lyrics are romantic. Are goddamn yearning. Are asking for forever in a way that’s kind of scary, but are asking from a place that’s positioned as the weaker party, the one begging for that idea of always, and so just in case, for both Eddie’s sake but also possibly for Gareth’s because maybe there’s something deeper, something sinister to this love-fest he’d been right to hold out against—

“Does he make you feel like you’re not—”

“God, no,” Eddie nearly snorts, like he’s never heard Gareth be so absurd in all the years they’ve known each other; which says a lot.

And solidifies Gareth’s sole position as the tool, here. Probably from the very start.

“He makes me feel anything but. I don’t fuckin’ understand it,” and that smile of Eddie’s, it’s not lesser at all, somehow. But it is softer.

“I’m a little terrified by how much I can’t possibly deserve it,” Eddie’s tone shifts to something that’s not for Gareth anymore, and Gareth feels it acutely; like he’s lucky to be allowed to hear it. “But he thinks I do, somehow. He makes me feellike I,” and Eddie sighs out heavy, hard, shakes his head again in that wonder.

“He sees all these things in me without a second thought. Never any question,” Eddie taps at the side of the notebook with the words; “I just am,” and he swallows hard, Gareth can hear it; “needing some help to find them in myself.”

And Gareth…Gareth’s been in relationships, or thought he had. Watching Eddie right now, hearing the fucking blood-deep feeling …Gareth thinks maybe he’s never been in a real relationship in his fucking life.

And if that’s all because of Steve goddamn Harrington, inside the most cynical, jaded heart Gareth knows, in Eddie Munson with his diatribes and his doctrines?

Maybe Gareth has been even more wrong than he’d suspected, this whole fucking time.

“We maybe can’t hit the notes but,” Gareth finds himself saying without really thinking, straight on impulse, on a feeling of need. “We could play this, just,” Gareth reaches out for the side of the notebook Eddie isn’t holding to, the music;

“We could play this, like, fine,” Gareth clears his throat, feeling a little at sea; “I guess.”

He falters at the end, but Eddie’s lips twitch; he hears the stumbling for what it is.

“The lyrics aren’t for us, anyway, right? So,” Gareth shrugs, not really knowing where to go next, and Eddie finally turns to look at him straight-on.

“That’d be,” Eddie bites his lip a little, weirdly hesitant, too fucking thankful: “really awesome.”

“Mmm,” Gareth makes a noise instead of a word so his relief is less obvious. Then, once the relief wears off and he’s kinda fucking desperate for Eddie to be not…not cooped up and locked down in his presence. That’s not Eddie.

“You do, though,” Gareth says, hoping the gamble of pushing a little is a step in the right direction, the right move; “yeah?”

“I do, what?” Eddie asks; honest, too. He’s not leading Gareth past a quick horde of zombies just to throw him to the wolves with a Pit Fiend.

“Love him,” Gareth spells it out, nudging Eddie’s shoulder a little playfully, hoping it’ll diffuse the tension left; “s’a love song, so.”

And where Eddie could have clammed up, or shrugged Gareth off? Would…probably have been more than justified for it?

His face splits all the way open on the dopiest grin, something Gareth’s never seen the likes of on that face before.

It’s…it’s a really good look.

“So much more than you can imagine,” Eddie says, kinda marvelling, laughs a little disbelieving, like in actual fucking awe: “more than I ever could have.”

Well: damn.

“You’ve got a,” Gareth clears his throat, a little unexpectedly cowed by the shine of it all: “a pretty wild imagination.”

Somehow, impossibly, Eddie’s smile just gets more charged-up with wonder.

“Right?”

This time when Gareth stares, and Eddie feels it? He does turn.

“What?” He doesn’t look less…blissfully happy. Just curious.

“You love-love him,” Gareth says, with his own little shred of all that wondering because…this is bigger, deeper, more, for Eddie, than Gareth could have ever expected.

“I do,” Eddie nods, doesn’t falter, does not fucking hesitate, and it’s said in this way, this way where Gareth just knows that—

“You wanna say that,” Gareth says slowly, dawning realisation a weighty blow of a thing:

“You want to say that differently.”

He’s in this with Harrington. He’s…all the things he railed against a year ago. Eddie wants it, every bit of it, at Steve Harrington’s side.

Jesus fuck.

“If only,” Eddie murmurs, dreamy as any chick in homeroom had ever aimed for.

And Gareth? Is so grateful his friend is here. Alive. Breathing that kind of wanting into the world.

And Gareth…Gareth needs to fucking trust his friend.

“Bring him around,” Gareth says with conviction he doesn’t expect to come out so clear until it does; exactly as it needs to. “To sing, or not,” Gareth adds, then goes a little further: “more than just, like, picking you up and saying hi.”

Eddie turns to him, considers him for a long stretch. Gareth wonders if maybe he wasn’t as clear as he wanted to be, until—

“I do love him. With everything,” Eddie says slowly, with heart in it; “part of that is protecting him from getting hurt. Even if he doesn’t admit it, especially if he’s enough of a fucking fool to think he deserves it,” and Gareth doesn’t think Eddie blinks once; and if there was a question of who Eddie’s man needed protection from in his head; who he thought he deserved the cold shoulder from…

There’s no fucking question, now.

But while Eddie can be cruel, and Gareth thinks he would deserve it, here; instead Eddie’s careful, but…direct.

“You guys, you didn’t—”

“We were wrong,” Gareth cuts him off, suddenly…needing Eddie to know that he wasn’t in the wrong. That Steve wasn’t either. “We sucked.”

But that’s not even quite true, is it?

“I was wrong,” Gareth says, low and rough, ripped out heavy and hard. “I sucked.”

Eddie doesn’t say shit to that. Which is enough of a response-and-a-half.

“If he means that much, then he’s not going anywhere,” Gareth gathers himself to say, not as hard as he thought it would be—because it feels like this guy might not be everything Gareth built him up to be in his head.

“And we’re not going anywhere, so,” and Eddie’s mouth quirks up at that, which feels like a win.

“Bring him, more,” Gareth wishes he had his sticks to twirl, something to do with his hands as he offers an olive branch, or…the opposite, probably, or something different entirely—what is it called when you’re the one in the wrong, all on your own?

“If he wants,” Gareth finds himself adding in a rush because…what if maybe they’ve—no, he, what if he’s already lost his shot at trying to mend fences with the guy, if Eddie’s already felt all this time like his own friends were people to protect his what-sounds-definitely-like-more-than-a-boyfriend from?

“Tell him he doesn’t have to leave and come back after practice, or hide out upstairs during Not-Hellfire,” Gareth keeps going, mostly because he’s…he’s uneasy. Unsteady. He picks at the threads in his comforter until he makes a whole new hole before he swallows hard.

“He deserved better,” Gareth exhales hard, swallows at least a little of his own fucking pride, bitter as hell; “give us a shot to try and give him better.” His eyes flick up to Eddie, who’s the one watching him, now, so he looks Eddie in the eye when he says it:

“To give you both better.”

Eddie’s breath shudders out a little. But he doesn’t look away.

“Thank you,” and Eddie doesn’t sound small, exactly. But Gareth doesn’t think he’s ever heard his friend sound so…genuine. Like, really from the heart.

“Don’t mention it,” Gareth says, kinda automatic, before he wants to smack himself because: it’s shitty to just say that in the face of what might be Eddie letting Gareth in the tiniest bit to a part of himself that Gareth wasn’t even aware he’d maybe always been missing out on knowing.

“We love you, Ed,” Gareth says, and now his is the small voice; “we were so scared, when,” and he can’t say it. He cannot fucking say it—

“Me too,” Eddie throws him a lifeline for it; is a good fucking friend and the end of the day. And the he gets a slighter version of rhat dopey-ass grin again—but not even that much smaller—

“He saved me, y’know?” Eddie says, all big eyed and moony over it.

“Yeah,” Gareth tries not to sound like he wants to roll his eyes so hard it colors his tone—but he really does. Eddie’s only told them this part a million and five times.

“Not just from the quakes, he,” Eddie shakes his head, expression going introspective now:

“I wouldn’t have pulled back out, for all the bullshit, the doctors, the treatments, the recovery,” he shakes his head, marvelling again but…if not at something new—still Harrington—it’s like it’s from a different angle. And he does it like there are…near-infinite angles.

“I don’t even know if I would have put the effort in to learn to walk on my own again,” Eddie says plainly, doesn’t sugarcoat it; “or fuck, to playagain,” and Gareth feels the weight in it, the gravity, the unspoken underpinning:

I wouldn’t have come back, not really, without him.

And the fuck can Gareth even do with that?

“He pushed me,” and the way Eddie says it, it’s like it’s closer to a fond memory almost, and fucking how; “and was there to catch me,” and maybe that’s how, maybe falling in love like that smooths out the parts where you almost died in the process; “and he was there to make it better, whenever it hurt.”

Gareth can…Gareth can respect that. He doesn’t know if he can wholly understand it, still, but.

He can respect it.

“And he still is,” Eddies doing his marveling again, he’s might-break-his-face smiling again; “just in all these,” he shakes his head, floored inside his own mind: “these new and less dire fucking ways,” then he swallows, like his throat’s tight, and Gareth doesn’t get why until the next words come out:

“Still feels pretty life-or-death, though,” Eddie says, and his voice is a little soft this time with a clear sense of holding something damn-near holy; “never really bought how someone could be your whole heart like that, but then he…” Eddie trails off, looks over to Gareth, doesn’t quite blush.

But it’s a close fucking thing.

“Sorry,” Eddie clears his throat rough, looks away, and in that second Gareth gets it. Or else, clocks something extra that he didn’t realize or appreciate that he did entirely fucking wrong—a brand new layer to be guilty about.

“Don’t be,” he says, and he means it. “We were a place you could be safe with that,” which he also means, but not without having to tack on, almost like a physical requirement: “vomit-inducing as it is,” because, well.

He means that, also. A lot. He means that part a lot. But.

“We were a place you could be safe, and you didn’t feel like you could...”

Because they were the freaks. And maybe none of them were out-out but they knew who liked who, they knew each other. They all had each other’s backs. That was part of the whole point.

Except this time, when they…didn’t.

“It was shitty, not to, we...” and Gareth steels himself again because that’s not quite true, and he wants for do better, wants to be better:

“I was shitty.”

And maybe some of that resolve, that intention and decision to be someone safe and trusted again, with this, for Eddie and the person Eddie could love that big?

Maybe some of that sinks through because Eddie considers him with narrowed eyes for a couple of drawn out seconds before he breaks the spine of the notebook, flips it just to the music, hiding the words, and taps near the middle of the page.

“Help me tighten up this part?” he asks, like a peace offering when he’s not the one who needs to give one. “Want it to be perfect, y’know,” and this time Eddie does blush, but it’s almost like he has to, in order to smile that sweet around the confession that comes, no matter how obvious it is:

“I want it to be perfect, for him.”

And Gareth sees it all for what it is: an invitation. A cautious, hopeful extension of the trust Gareth had been betraying in his way, without meaning to. Without thinking about it as a whole.

“‘Course,” he says, reaches out and again, he means it; “hand it over.”

And this time when Eddie smiles, it’s also cautious.

But the hope is bigger, and Gareth thinks that means he’s finally on the right track.

1: Gareth // 2: Mrs. Harrington // 3: Wayne // 4: Chrissy // 5: ??? // +1: ???

🎸

✨also on ao3

💫for @penny00dreadful—happiest of happy birthdays, my lovely 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @eternal-sunflowers @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here

[taxkha]

Iwa-chan, please

[zackstriker]

hey before whatever happens with dnp this weekend happens, in case anything changes, i just want to say i love yall and this community and its such a joy to be with you guys through this journey.

[pigswithwings]

lover, you're the "write" choice! (couldn't think of a better pun. sue me)

[briskchips]

HELLO!! big fan of your animatics!! How do you make them and do you have any tips for inspiration, planning, and what software do you use?

Thank you! I'm glad you like them!

I think the realization that revolutionized the way I think about storyboarding the most is that you HAVE to let your imagination drive. I start off every animatic with super loose, super messy, barely legible sketches, with wrong anatomy, janky movement, etc. Instead of focusing on making it look good, I can just focus on setting it up for its potential, and starting my motivation at the highest point it can be. I never let my first draft take more than a few hours over the course of like 2 days max, or else the drive dissipates.

If I start a board right away with the cleanest, most beautiful art I can muster, I'll kill my own motivation, like "Oh god, in my head, I imagined a huge spinning 3D camera shot here, with a bunch of dancing characters. That last panel alone took me like 30 minutes to draw, I don't wanna do this! I'll draw a simpler, flatter scene instead." and then it ends up looking nothing like how I imagined, and I get demotivated before abandoning the project. But if I start with super messy lines, just barely enough to get the idea out onto a screen where I can watch it, the excitement and imagination will drive, like "Wow, this shot with a huge spinning 3D camera and all these complicated characters looks SO COOL! It's gonna take a lot of work, but look how interesting it looks already! I can't give up on this!"

For reference, this was puppet boy's first draft!

Storyboarding is a bit different from a lot of other visual art mediums because it takes a LOOOOT more work before it starts feeling rewarding. Learning to manage your own motivation is a huge part of building the skill that I feel a lot of people don't mention.

But when it comes to learning how to finalize it, study up on your storyboarding rules! Learn about perspective, anatomy, screen direction, and learn to draw FAST (that's a big one). Draw out shots from your favourite movies, study their composition and take note of their camera/character movement, and how it aligns with the shots sandwiching them. Learn from other artists (I recommend Toniko Pantoja, he's a very experienced board artist who makes a lot of videos abt improving your boards and what it's like to work in the industry), and PRACTISE! Your first piece of art, whenever you try anything new, is going to SUCK. You're gonna think its bad. That's just how art goes. But the next time you do it, you'll always, always, improve, even if just a little, even if you can't see it for yourself.

The biggest thing to keep telling yourself when making storyboards is DON'T GIVE UP YET. YOU'RE SO CLOSE TO MAKING SOMETHING COOL. And then you have to keep telling yourself that over, and over, and over, and over, through all the sighs, and the frustrated rage-quitting, and the exhausted temporary give-ups, and then eventually, those animatics you keep building in your head get to be real! And it feels incredible.

[crystallizsch]

scheduled this post at the exact same time when i started posting last year. i genuinely do not have an idea for a proper anniversary post for this blog (+ i still have art block </3) so i've compiled all these series of posts that i made that started it all!! thank you everyone for sticking around 🥺🫶

━━━━━━✦ HEARTSLABYUL + GRIM

━━━━━━✦ SAVANACLAW

━━━━━━✦ OCTAVINELLE

━━━━━━✦ SCARABIA

━━━━━━✦ POMEFIORE

━━━━━━✦ IGNIHYDE

━━━━━━✦ DIASOMNIA

[bakudekublogblog]

kacchan you are the last person on earth who should be calling him out for remembering things and being sentimental mr “I will always regret not taking your hand when I was four” and “I’ve carried around this all might card I got with izuku around for over a decade”

[dustbunsinspace]

Part of 🟢 Leo gets Overwhelmed au🟢

Aah, I’m so happy I made it in in time! 💙✨ Merry Christmas, tumblr nation! Here’s a little comic about 03 Usagi and Leo going so see the Rockefeller tree after the events of the Christmas Aliens episode.

Little post about events earlier that night

Also this is literally how maskless Leo looks to me, he’s so moomincore ;

[willosword]

sorry to keep tennaposting but this scene killed me dead when i first saw it

[ramshacklerumble]

Party at Ramshackle..? For…who…?

Set to Home Screen: Sit with me.

Home Transition 1: I haven't had a birthday since I was a kid, I hated them. No, this is different. It's nice.

Home Transition 2: Here. We made a bunch of rock candy at the Science Club. Mine are the pink ones.

Home, after login: The guys worked really hard to make Ramshackle look good, come see.

✨NEW ✨ Home Transition (Groovification): Ace’s birthday is two days after mine. He’s trying to convince Riddle to hold an unbirthday party tomorrow.

Tap Home 1: Deuce bought me a new journal. Looks fancy, like a tough field journal with a waterproof pen. He noticed my old one falling apart, I guess...

Tap Home 2: Got a big prickly pear cactus from Jack. He looked at me weird when I said I like'em grilled.

Tap Home 3: Ortho gave me my own Duel Beasts deck since I always borrow from his cards when we play. He has a ultra rare for me, but I gotta beat him first.

Tap Home 4: Epel carried in a huge crate of apple cider. Uh, for me. Not the party. I drink it by the bottle.

Tap Home 5: Kingsley and Sebek both gave me books on flora across Twisted Wonderland, but at different times. They can be so similar sometimes. ...Don't tell them that.

✨NEW ✨Tap Home (Groovification): I’m smiling? Yeah, I do that sometimes.

DUO MAGIC: You got this for me, Grim? / A good boss'gotta take good care of his henchie sometimes!

tag list:

@cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @tixdixl @blithesharem @thehollowwriter @jovieinramshackle

@theleechyskrunkly @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @the-trinket-witch @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @kimikitti

@felix-cant-ski @nightwingshero @water-writings @beneathsakurashade (dm to be added)

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Nimona headcanons I wrote instead of sleeping

Sometimes the boys forget that Nimona isn’t human 

Like they’re used to the shifting into animals aspect of Nimona because she does it as often as she breathes

But sometimes she’ll do some really creepy shit like make her arms longer to reach something when she’s too lazy to get up

One time they shifted just their neck to be like an owl so they could turn their head 180 degrees instead of just turning around cause that was “too boring” 

Or he’ll mimic people’s voices without realizing it 

Sometimes he’ll tell a story and suddenly he’s using Bal’s voice 

The first time she did this Bal searched the whole house cause he was convinced that Todd has snuck in

Or she’ll grow an extra arm to hold more shit and they take a moment to realize “oh yeah we adopted a little weirdo” 

They get used to it after a while and the arguments surrounding it are always funny because both the boys will complain and say “I don’t sound like that” and they have to be told “No love you do you really do” 

You know those videos of babies reacting to their parents shaving their facial hair or putting on glasses 

That’s Nimona's reaction every single time the boys change their appearance even the smallest bit they cant shave or wear their reading glasses because if they do he freaks out 

Talking some “help me Nemesis I heard bosses voice but I can’t find him” while Bal was standing right in front of them 

It was the first time he shaved his face in years and he’s never doing it again 

Mostly cause Ambrosius kept telling him he looked like a teenager and it was freaking him out 

I feel like Bal and Ambrosius are those kinds of people who will tell people about the little injuries but neglect the big ones 

Like Bal mentioned that he thinks he sprained his ankle during the fight at the institute but he won’t mention that he’s pretty sure he got a concussion 

(BECAUSE THIS MAN HEAD-BUTTED TWO PEOPLE WHEN HE HAS A METAL ARM) 

(I’m bout to wrap this man in bubble wrap and give him a helmet because wtf) 

Ambrosius will complain the whole day about the fact that he has a paper cut

But will completely neglect to inform his doctors “Oh yeah I can’t move my left arm higher than my waist without pain and I can’t see that well out of my left eye or hear that well out of my left ear do you think that’ll be a problem?” 

It isn’t until Nimona makes an off handed comment about how this super weird that the laser did basically nothing to him that he told both of them

They literally dragged him to the ER because “Who thinks those symptoms are normal Nemesis what is wrong in that pretty little head of yours!!” 

When Bal tells Nimona she’s being a bit of a hypocrite (cause who refers to an arrow as a splinter?) she turns to him and says “I know you’re not saying something Mr. Human battering ram” 

It took literally everything in Ambrosius not to break down laughing

After that she forces them to have frequent checkups with the doctor because these dorks wouldn’t go otherwise

Honestly I'm fully convinced that some people in the kingdom don't know who Nimona is and are constantly confused why they let this little weirdo follow them around 

And finally the curiosity will eat away at them and they’ll finally ask 

Sometimes the boys will give some “normal” answers like “Oh that’s Nimona” and they won’t elaborate at all

Sometimes they’ll give funnier answers like “Oh that’s a raccoon we found in the garage who turned into a person one day” “I don’t know they just showed up in our living room” and their personal best “You see her too?” 

And their favorite that they only started using a couple of years down the line “Oh that’s our kid”

[gorgfig]

go! (1/?)

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 20 - response - 2623 words - nsfw content!

about love against all odds feat. injury related prematurely retired football player james that settled and raised a son and international football star regulus

for regulus pencil mustache truther @veryinnovative, my football (players) loving wife @rottin6 and my number 1 enabler @itmeanssungod

James is kneeling behind Harry on a picnic blanket with Lily when their last guests arrive. “There they are!” Sirius’ voice carries easily over the meadow and just as expected a few seconds later there’s a big, black scrub of a panting dog in front of them, curious to see what Harry and James are up to, which is flying a kite. 

“Oh my God– Hi!” Lily says, getting up. Which is a bit enthusiastic for the fact that they’ve seen Sirius and Remus only last weekend and should have been James’ first clue. Though, admittedly, he was a bit busy angling the kite and also angling Harry’s face away from Padfoot’s butt to avoid suffocation.

“Moony couldn’t make it today unfortunately,” Sirius says, closer now, “but I’ve brought substitution.”

James isn’t proud of the way his entire upper body whips around, Harry included, who lets out a small yelp at the sudden motion. “Sorry, mate. Sorry. I’m—”

Lily is already there to take over, nudging James to get up who’s working very hard on closing his jaw and not staring like an idiot.

Because standing there besides his brother is Regulus. Hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, paired with a simple back t-shirt and green Adidas trainers. He does not look like he belongs onto a colourful picnic blanket in a park in London yet there he is.

He’s sporting a pencil stach now. Regulus had been convinced Sirius had already used up all the genetic material for pronounced body hair on the first way around, leaving behind very little for his younger brother. James, being on the hairier side as well, used to tease him about it endlessly back when they were in school. But it seemed to develop now in his late twenties. James has only seen it on the TV in a few matches and on one or two instagram posts but the real deal is even worse. Regulus looks criminally hot with it. The whole picture of lithe muscle, strong quads and stronger calves, curly hair, the occasional tattoo. He’s every young heterosexual woman’s wet european football boyfriend dream and James’ gut is swooping.

“Reg.”

“Hi, James,” Regulus responds, much more articulated, sporting a hint of a smirk. 

Oh, he— “Bastard,” James mutters, low enough so Harry behind him won’t hear and then he’s grinning and yanking Regulus into a firm hug.

They all have a late lunch together at a nearby restaurant and Regulus is patiently letting Harry talk his ears off about Ninjago and preschool and Ron and Moine. Lily is taking him over the weekend and James bids his goodbye with a loud smooch to his son’s cheek. 

And just as James is about to invent a crazy, elaborate story about how he has something back at his house he’d meant to show Regulus for ages without making it interesting enough for Sirius to tag along, this one simply taps two fingers against his eyebrow in a mock salute before making his way in the other direction, Padfoot trotting along dutifully. “Why do you think I hid him from you all Thursday? Have fun, kids!”

Regulus groans pathetically and turns to hide his face into James’ shoulder.

“I told you we can’t keep it a secret from him forever. He probably knew all along,” James chuckles and takes Regulus’ duffel, “C’mon, love.”

It starts in the elevator up, is a wonder they make it past the hallway and into the bedroom. It’s very much overdue and heated and desperate all the way through. 

James might or might not have pinned Regulus one too many times into the mattress and offhandedly commented something along the line’s of Regulus being his and cuffing him to the bed if he needs to. And it’d worked because Regulus had moaned so prettily, eyelids fluttering and hips bucking, cock twitching and all James could think about then was where’s the fucking lube.

Saying that, he doesn’t quite expect Regulus to bring it up after the fact.

James is absolutely blissed out, breathing only just levelling out as he traces the shape of Regulus’ kiss bitten lips.

“You know I can’t stay, Jamie.”

He shrugs easily, kneading Regulus’ muscled thigh where it’s slung over his hip, “We’ll come with you then.”

“To Portugal?” Regulus’ eyebrows rise as he props himself on his elbow, his tone flat. “And then to France in a couple of months when I switch clubs? I don’t think that’s such a good idea given Harry is five.”

“Au contraire—”

Regulus rolls his eyes and slaps him on the naked shoulder. “Moving every few years? And during the nationals not to mention,” he tucks an errant strand of hair back from James’ forehead, “Multiple continents, who knows which timezone. That’s no life for a child, James. And I haven’t even brought up Lily yet. She’s just as much part of his life as you are and it works out wonderfully for the time being with you two living so close. It’s what Harry deserves.”

And deep down James knows Regulus is right. And if he’s completely honest with himself, it isn’t the life he truly wants for himself either. That’s why he’s here and Regulus is out there. James knows it isn’t what’s best for Harry nor for himself and yet. And yet no matter how many times they have this conversation it seems endlessly irrelevant when Regulus is looking down at him this way. The shine of the sunset through the window is catching in his pillow mussed curls, in the dark lashes framing his blue silver eyes and rivalling the flush of his skin with its own red hue and James thinks Regulus looks like home. Like anything he could still want in life besides what precious he already has.

James heaves a heavy sigh and hungrily swerves his eyes over every single of Regulus’ features, committing them to memory. Because that’s all that’s gonna stay when Regulus inevitably leaves again. But that’s not what James wants to think about right now though.

“Regulus.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” James replies happily and pulls Regulus in by the back of his nape before his indignant expression can even fully form. Every single one of Regulus’ helpless sounds get swallowed eagerly and filed away for later. For a moment James is tempted to ask Regulus if he can get out his phone and record but he thinks better of it.

They have sex for hours. 

James sucks all coherency out of Regulus through his cock and then fucks him so stupid, legs spread and pushed into the mattress, spit pooling out of the corner of his mouth, tears wetting his cheeks, cum smearing across his stomach, that he gets him to promise to stay. It’s futile and just a heat of the moment thing but it drives James so wild he almost blacks out when he eventually spills deep inside of him. There’s black dots and stars dancing in his vision when he watches it leak back out of Regulus’ puffy hole and a strange sense of satisfaction and dread mixing in his belly. 

After a quick entangled and still very much nude power nap James arranges them a platter of fruit and crackers and cheeses. They shower and James changes the sheets only for Regulus to prop himself up on his side and watch intently as he edges James until he’s the one whining and crying. He’s using ridiculous amounts of lube, his hand is so warm and slick and squeezing just right and his thumb is swiping teasingly along the slit exactly how it makes James go insane and then he’s taking his hand away and James curses, already feeling another tear running down his cheek. His thighs are trembling, his knuckles turning white where he’s clinging to the headboard. Regulus is staring at him out of lidded, expectant eyes and James’ dick is aching and it’s all so sick and hot James has to bite his tongue hard not to tell Regulus he loves him right then and there. 

He’s shown mercy, at last. Regulus makes him cum down his throat and over his face, there’s milky white running down the side of Regulus nose and James pulls him in with shaky arms for a downright nasty kiss.

They sleep until 2pm the next day and have a lovely, slow day bickering in the grocery store isles, preparing dinner together and not at all watching the movie that’s on the TV while they make out and frot on the couch like teenagers. Like back when they were teenagers. 

Sunday morning Lily brings Harry before she’s heading out to brunch with her FLINTA boxing club and James’ heart riots in his chest when he watches how easily and adorably Regulus and Harry interact. 

They meet up with Sirius and then drive Regulus to the airport together.

Goodbye is a bumpy thing. Harry is pure popcorn caramel sweetness between Regulus’ knees when he crouches down to hug him and James’ embrace, he knows, is much longer than socially acceptable. He vaguely notices Sirius distracting Harry, babbling to him about the stuffed toy assortment from a nearby shop as Regulus and James hold onto each other like they’re in a long distance relationship and not…well, whatever it is they can afford to be with Regulus visiting the country about three to five times a year.

There’s a fist clenched in the soft material of his t-shirt and James buries his nose in the curls of Regulus’ temple and inhales deeply. A spot he’s going to see sweat soaked on a flat screen and not getting to smell or touch or kiss for the unforeseeable future. At least that’s what he thinks for now.

Eventually they part and after a strong, swaying hug from Sirius and a few words about making him proud out on the field and seeing that physiotherapist about his shoulder and a safe flight Regulus is gradually disappearing into the distance with the grating velocity of your standard airport escalator. James doesn’t know who thought it was a good idea to be able to watch a loved one slip through your fingers at this agonising tempo but he’d like to have a word with them. His heart clenches in his chest, his lip already feels raw from worrying it with his teeth and James thinks, the warm weight of his son pressed to his chest, that, even though it might not seem that way, Harry is probably more holding him right now than the other way around.

And life’s a funny thing sometimes. 

Because, like every time when Regulus bids his goodbye, leaving behind not exactly shards but rather yet another pin in James’ heart, wrapped around by a red string Regulus indisputably, invariably takes along across the ocean every time, it bleeds and burns and burns so badly that they get ice cream. Sirius slaps him between the shoulder blades, pays for his chocolate mint and hazelnut, tells him he’s such a dad for his choice and, together with Harry, tries distracting him as best as he can manage. 

And so begins a week of moping and then one and a half of delusion and overcompensation, full of fun trips and adventures, and then another few of avoidance, full of social media free zones and grinding through work and scheduling all kinds of appointments to fill their freetime until—

Until one day he can’t avoid it anymore.

A bright, blinking LED sign in the form of an incoming call on his phone screen that’s making James’ heart stutter in his chest. He’s just sat back down in front of his computer in his home study after lunch break and started wiggling an USB stick into a port when the vibrations had made his head shoot up.

It’s just the three letters of Reg and a silly photo of when he was seventeen, pulling a face at James taking a picture of him on his digital camera.

Regulus never calls.

James isn’t sure he’s breathing.

It’s barely been about two months, not close to visiting time again, and Regulus usually never calls so James sits there absolutely dumbstruck and convinced the universe is pulling a sick joke on him.

The call ends abruptly and James blinks harshly. He fumbles for his phone and clicks into his call history. Incoming call from Reg in red font, signalising it’s been missed, followed by the exact time of the day it is at the moment. 

James presses on the little phone icon.

It only rings once before there’s a voice on the other side of the line.

“James?” Regulus sounds slightly breathless. James hasn’t heard his voice over the line in about seven years.

“Yeah?” James says back. His heart is pounding in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears. Then James realises he should probably say something more. “Err, Hi. I’m—” he sighs, clicks his tongue, clears his throat, tries again. “Did you just call me?” “Hi,” Regulus says back, still breathless and it sort of sounds like he’s smiling. James blinks again. “Yeah, yeah. I did call.”

“Oh,” James makes. His heart does a little spin in his chest. “Uh, what’s up?”

“I’m coming to England,” Regulus declares, giggling. James’ heart tries to leap out of his chest at the sound.

“Cool, cool. You got another away game?” He winces, closes his eyes, “Sorry, I haven’t been keeping up with your matches lately.”

“No, James, I’m– wait. Okay, rude, first of all—”

James snorts and rolls his eyes, now grinning against the phone as well. “Sue a guy for being heartbroken.”

“Yeah, I just might,” Regulus quips. “But…what I was initially going to say is, No, James, I’m not having an away game in England.”

“No?” James asks, confused. Nationals are still a while away so that can’t be it.

“No. I’m having a home game in England,” and James wonders how something so soft spoken can pack such an ear-ringing gutpunch.

“I’m— Regulus, what,” James stands up, his chair loudly scraping against the hardwood floor. “Are you saying…”

A single chuckle works its way out of Regulus and over the line to James, “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

James’ heart is sprinting away from him. He’s sweating. His breath is coming faster and he feels like he should run a lap around the property. Or six. “Regs, love, please spell it out for me because I’m not entirely sure I just hallucinated what you—”

“Arsenal made me an offer,” Regulus says and James hears angels singing in the background, “A better one.”

“Oh, fucking Christ,” James pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, “Reg, I swear to God if you’re joking right now I’m personally flying over and—”

An exasperated noise, grin evident in his voice nonetheless, “I’m being honest, James, God’s sake. You can fucking look it up online, they probably already posted about it.”

A breath punches out of James, he sinks back down into his desk chair. There’s a polaroid of him and Regulus from Halloween a few years back, alien and a scientist. It was a fucking mess scrubbing all that green paint off again and it didn’t help that Regulus abandoned his sponge in favor of grabbing at James’ hardness through his briefs. It had been the first night they kissed since they were teenagers. 

With a sudden clarity, all the tension floods out of James’ body with a slightly delirious laugh and he leans his cheek into the warmed glass of his phone screen, “You’re coming home.”

Regulus sounds equally giddy, equally drunk on love and fate. “Yeah, Jamie, I’m coming home.”

[puhpandas]

I love so much how Gary oak even after improving as a person in the late pokemon anime is still a bitch. like yeah he's not a snotnosed asshole anymore but he isn't afraid to be an ass to someone. like he would HATE Paul if he ever met him. Gary looks at people who aren't on the same level as ash like how dare this person even look at him. how dare they breath around him he's so much better than them. I'm gonna antagonize them the entire time they're here. it's so funny