#this is a Really Long Post

[mangozic]

my dead goth son and his friendly neighborhood personified concept of insanity

[emberglowfox]

Keeper -- a short comic about an angel meeting a robotic lighthouse keeper that doesn't know the world has already ended. Made in about 18 hours for a 24-hour 24-page* black and white comic challenge (that I arrived late to, ha.)

*the actual submission does not include the cover, which was created after the fact for this post.

This was a really great learning experience as someone who's... never really made a completed comic. I ended up really attached to the story by the end of the project (possibly due to all-nighter deliriousness lol) and ultimately am very proud of what I made.There are some things I'd still like to change, particularly text placement, but in keeping with the spirit of the challenge I've elected to leave it as is.

[worshippedraindrop]

Character Creation. . .

"Start by imagining a place in the distant past. . . This is where your worship will begin to flourish."

Like I said in my campaign notes post, I wanna set this on an island that's kind of inspired by Neverland -- which means the people here are also inspired by Neverland (and I suppose, to some extent, the Lost Boys and also the pirate presence.) This island should be thriving -- it's in a tropical sea during a time when pollution hadn't wracked the skies and the wild spaces thrived. But it does not thrive; the seas here are dark and empty. No one would choose to live here, unless they had no where else to go.

And the people arriving have no where else to go. They are outlaws, hunted and haunted by their regrets, by their mistakes and by the ways they were broken before they ever had a choice in the matter.

And this island that no one would choose is the perfect place to hide, if you are a nobody.

"Then think about how your god came to be. . . "

When the runaways first came to the island, there was a drought; they did not mind this, because they had stores from their travels, and because they were a vicious lot who felt no mercy for the merchant ships that would pass by.

But it was a hard life. It was rough, and cold -- a hell the lot of them thought they deserved. And when the rain broke, it was a reminder of something soft within them, something peaceful. Calm rippled through them.

"Even hell on earth has to abate itself sometimes," they murmured to themselves, "Even the harshest life has it's peaceful days."

Even going about their work, the cool dampness was a blessing more than a burden.

It was this peace that made me open my eyes; a sudden breaking of misery. A sudden gratitude for the small blessings of life.

And that's how they called me -- Evloyia. The one who said it first -- who left out flowers for me -- said it was greek. He was a gentle man, compared to the others, full of a softness to his words and his eyes that belied what they all did when they went out to sea. The others listened to him, even if they did not respect him, because it was always so sad to see him falter in disappointment if you did not hear him out.

"I do not mind asking for another blessing in life," he said; "I do not mind asking for a little peace. Lord knows there is enough pain in this life."

And so I calm people down; I soften their aches -- I give them a little peace.

The man who first gave me flowers is called Aire; he is always following after another man, Winslow, like a puppy -- so much so that the other men sometimes seem to think it's love. Perhaps it is, but Winslow is a hard man to love -- cold and unforgiving, with his eyes perpetually fixed on the horizon, and he does not like me much. When the other men speak of me, he drinks from his bottle and scoffs, and I think that breaks Aire's heart a little bit inside.

There is someone else like me on this island, though I have only caught glimpses of them. They appear sometimes as a man and sometimes as a bird and for all the peace I bring, I can not stop them from instigating things -- causing fights among the men, or bad luck or nightmares. They call themself Hael, but that's all I know.

There are things I can do -- I can soothe pain, and I can summon rain. I can numb a person like drink, making them forget their troubles and themselves.

There are things Aire has given me -- a crown of flowers that I won't let wither; a small shrine decorated with shells and a rustic set of reed pipes (I don't know how to play them.)

And there are stories the men whisper among themselves. How Aire set out a dinner for me, and when I ate it they argued about whether there were animals on the island to have done it or whether those animals could have gotten it so fast. I shushed them, and they dropped it, but every now and then . . .

How Winslow was raging one day -- rampaging like a demon -- until the scent of rain picked up, and then he stood out as it misted, tilting his face to the sky, and whatever pain had been clouding his eyes seemed to vanish when he returned to their small camp on the beach.

How late at night, they'll hear music from my shrine even though no one is there, and they'll go to Aire and Aire will tell them silly little stories about nymphs and faeries.

And there is someone who sometimes comes to the island from the mainland, on days when I feel sleepy and lethargic. So far, he has not met the other men; they pass by each other by hair's breadth, and I try to keep it that way. But I think he senses trouble, or he senses me because he will speak to me. He calls himself Tochtli, and he seems to think the island is cursed.

I do not know why he insists on investigating it, but he draws in the sand when he wants me to come to him -- a palm leaf with a large globe of water clinging to it's fringes. He is seeking something, and believes I will keep him safe.

[lylahammar]

Randomly thinkin about Chilchuck today, and how he tries sooooo hard to self sabotage

like for example, other half foots on the island think that he's a greedy asshole who only cares about money, and he does nothing to try to disprove that

but then there's this omake at the end of book 9 that shows that people treat half foots fucking TERRIBLY and chilchuck started a union to protect them

and then in the bicorn chapter, he doesn't want Marcille to keep digging into his personal business so he tells her he CHEATED ON HIS WIFE

but he just COMPLETELY fuckin lied about that and made himself sound so much worse than he is bc he's afraid of being vulnerable with people and would rather everyone believes he's a shitty person so he can keep them at a distance

and the thing that's memed so often is that he refuses to help with fighting most of the time because it's not part of his contract

but if you take this lore into account (not gonna add those particular images to this post simply bc I've used them in so many posts already LMAO) along with this tidbit from the world guide:

then it's like. yeah he has to keep his weight low so if he gets killed or severely injured and has to be healed, that could be really dangerous for him. and even if he was healed at that point he'd end up being a burden to the party after that point, he would be too dangerously thin/sickly to be able to help.

Like, Chilchuck has so many things about him that APPEAR to be character flaws, but every single one of them has a very reasonable explanation. He just leans into the mischaracterization bc he's emotionally withholding and can handle people thinking he's an asshole more than he can handle opening up to anyone. he's such a well thought out and interesting character

[blitzy-blitzwing]

That loving stare. 🥺❤️

[bamsara]

A comic I started making a few months ago when I first started drafting out The Rehabilitation of Death fic universe/AU.

This is when I was still trying to figure out how I wanted to draw the characters (and I still dont know lmao) so it looks like how I used to draw them closer to the in-game style/animal crossing-ish. I'm not sure if I'll keep this dialogue since this comic is so old, but since the scene is coming up I thought I might as well post it

Anyway....something something emotions controlling powers

Also, bonus doots

[pineapple-frenzy]

Book 2 au: sparring sessions and short hair katara

They like to have sparring sessions in order to keep their bending skills sharp. They allow themselves to go all out and not hold back at all cause they know if anyone got hurt, Katara could just heal them

But anyways, wouldn't it be kinda funny if Zuko accidentally burned Katara's hair tho? Aofkqldkkajfjd

The "I think we can save the hairloops" line is from @linnoya-writes thank you for that!! :>>

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[buttersteps]

[andthebeanstalk]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[enderscribbles]

Dunmeshi request, Chilchuck and Marcille interacting? 🥺 Or standing next to each other that works too. Could be hugging, or sharing a meal/food, or…

Got a bit out of hand with the prompt XD I ended up doing a scene inspired by this fic! Based on that time Marcille Izutsumi and Chilchuck were sharing a bed in chapter 47. It felt very memorable so I tried to recreate it but I kind of went offscript because I was basing it on my recollection of the fic lmao

^Obsessed with this guy and how he lets Izutsumi use him like a hot water bottle bc it's comfier.

I think he'd hardly ever act this soft + tolerant of physical affection unless it's situations like this: When the others are too sleepy to remember it LOL

[oh-wow-its-wordgirl]

Friendship is pony….? My little magic!?

[dilfpassing]

Here's my lyric comic based on the song "Water Witch" by the Secret Sisters

I somehow knocked this out in three days

[astraltrickster]

When you say "even in canon this character is acting OOC" do you mean it as in "this character's canon dropped the ball on internal consistency with them" or do you mean "this character I normally relate to made a decision that I wouldn't have made" or do you mean "this character isn't acting like the fanon we developed by rotating them in our heads for 67295 combined hours away from the source material"?

[thankstothe]

this show rewires you fundamentally in 60 seconds and then just goes on to have more seasons. audacity

[zosanbrainrot]

this is how I see them