Pairing: Giant!Dark Cacao Cookie x Gender Neutral Reader
Rating: Fluff
Word Count: ~4k
Giant Transformation, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gentle Giant, Size Difference, Emotional Support, Self-Loathing Dark Cacao, Reassurance, Slow Burn Comfort, Protective Dark Cacao, Cuddling with a Giant???? Mutual Care, Soft Angst,
This took sooooooo long oh my gosh, my summer classes are beating me up. i'm taking anatomy and physiology 2 OH MY GOSH.
Comission
The late afternoon sun hung low over the Dark Cacao Kingdom, painting the snow-dusted courtyard in shades of gold and cold violet. Dark Cacao Cookie stood alone near the edge of the training grounds, broad shoulders hunched slightly as he turned the strange artifact over in his gloved hands.
It had arrived three days ago — a gift from an envoy claiming to represent an ancient mountain tribe. A smooth, obsidian-black sphere no larger than a fist, etched with faint glowing runes that pulsed like a slow heartbeat. He had accepted it out of courtesy, but something about it had unsettled him from the start. The runes never seemed to stay in one place when he looked at them too long.
Now, in the quiet of the courtyard, he examined it once more. His deep violet eyes narrowed. “An odd thing to gift a king,” he muttered to himself, voice low and rough. He gave it an experimental shake. The sphere remained still… until a single rune flared brighter.
A sharp pulse of energy shot through his palm.
Dark Cacao stiffened. “What—?”
The sphere pulsed again, brighter this time. Heat bloomed in his hand and raced up his arm. He tried to drop it, but his fingers refused to open. The runes lit up all at once, spinning wildly across the surface.
Then he felt it — a deep, pulling sensation in his chest, like something ancient and hungry was stretching him from the inside out.
His armor creaked.
Dark Cacao’s eyes widened as the ground seemed to drop away beneath his boots. His body surged upward. The courtyard walls that had once reached above him soon became easily eye to eye.
“Stop—!” he growled, voice already deepening and echoing off the stone.
But the growth didn’t stop. His shoulders widened, armor straining and cracking at the seams. The sphere finally slipped from his now-massive fingers and rolled across the stones, still glowing. Dark Cacao staggered back as his legs lengthened, boots splitting apart. In mere moments he towered over the courtyard — easily three times his normal height, shoulders broad enough to cast long shadows across the training grounds.
Shouts erupted around him.
“W-what is happening?!” “The king—! The king is—!” “Get back! Get back!”
Soldiers and guards scrambled, weapons half-drawn in confusion and fear. Citizens who had been passing by froze, eyes wide with terror. Someone screamed.
Dark Cacao looked down at his own hands — now large enough to crush a person without meaning to. He could feel the stone beneath his bare feet shift and crack under his weight. His breathing came fast and heavy.
No.
He couldn’t stay. If he lost control… if he grew even a little more… he could hurt them. Crush them. Destroy the very kingdom he had sworn to protect.
“Stay back!” he boomed, voice now a deep, rolling thunder that made the air tremble. He took one careful step backward, then another, trying not to step on anyone. “Do not approach!”
His gaze swept across the panicked faces below — faces that had once looked to him with trust and respect. Now they looked at him with fear.
Something inside his chest twisted painfully.
Without another word, Dark Cacao turned and ran.
Each step sent tremors through the ground. He moved as carefully as he could, but even his restrained pace sent snow flying and loose stones tumbling. He headed straight for the mountain path behind the castle, desperate to put distance between himself and his people before he caused any real harm.
Behind him, the kingdom erupted into chaos, bells ringing, guards shouting orders, people running for cover. But Dark Cacao didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to.
Far across the lower district, near the old watchtower, you had been helping carry supplies from the storage sheds when the first tremor shook the ground.
You froze, basket nearly slipping from your arms.
A low, rumbling sound rolled across the kingdom. It was not thunder, but something heavier. Something alive.
Then you saw it.
A massive figure rising above the rooftops of the castle. At first you thought it was some kind of siege weapon or monstrous beast. But as the figure took shape, your breath caught in your throat.
That armor… that cape… that unmistakable silhouette.
“Dark Cacao…?” you whispered.
Your heart dropped.
He was growing. You watched in stunned horror as your king — the man you had quietly admired for years — swelled larger and larger until he stood like a living mountain in the middle of the courtyard. Even from this distance you could see the panic in his movements, the way he staggered back as if trying to shrink into himself.
Then he ran.
You watched him disappear toward the mountains, each heavy step shaking the distant earth. The artifact’s glow had long since faded, but the damage was done.
Around you, people were shouting in fear. Guards were rushing past. But you couldn’t move.
All you could think about was the look on his face before he fled — that rare flash of raw fear in eyes that had always seemed so steady and unyielding.
Your chest ached.
He was heading out there alone out there now, afraid, and hurting.
And you… you couldn’t just stay here. Not when the person you cared about most was running away from everything he loved.
You set the basket down with shaking hands, heart pounding against your ribs.
You had to find him.
......
The late afternoon sun had long since given way to night by the time you reached your small quarters near the lower barracks. The room felt colder than usual as you moved quickly but quietly by the light of a single flickering candle. The kingdom was under strict lockdown — no one was allowed to leave the walls after what had happened in the courtyard. Guards patrolled the streets more heavily than usual, and rumors were already spreading like wildfire: the king had been cursed, the king had gone mad, the king was gone.
You didn’t care what the rumors said. You knew what you saw.
With careful hands, you packed what little you could carry — a thick fur-lined cloak, extra gloves, sturdy boots, dried meat and hard bread, a small waterskin, and flint. You hesitated for only a moment before tucking your old hunting knife into your belt. It wouldn’t do much against whatever had turned Dark Cacao into a giant, but it made you feel slightly less helpless.
Your heart pounded as you slung the small pack over your shoulder.
This is reckless, a voice in your head warned. You’re just a citizen. What can you even do? Ugh!
But another voice, quieter, steadier had answered back.
He’s alone out there. Shouldn't we help?
You thought of the way he had always carried the weight of the kingdom on his broad shoulders without complaint. The way his voice, deep and calm, could quiet an entire room. The way he looked at his people — not with cold authority, but with a quiet, fierce protectiveness that made your chest ache every time you saw it.
You had admired him for years. Quietly from a distance. Never daring to speak it aloud.
And now he was out there in the freezing mountains, probably terrified that he would hurt the very people he had sworn to protect.
You couldn’t just stay here and do nothing.
You waited until the patrols passed your street, then slipped out through the narrow side gate near the old storage sheds — the one the supply runners sometimes used. The guards were too busy watching the main roads and the castle to notice one lone figure disappearing into the snow.
The cold hit you immediately.
Wind howled down from the peaks, biting at your face as you made your way toward the mountain path Dark Cacao had taken. You kept low, moving as fast as you dared without drawing attention. Only when the kingdom walls were far behind you did you finally let yourself breathe.
The first night was the hardest.
You found shelter beneath an overhang of rock, wrapping yourself tightly in your cloak. The wind screamed outside. Every crack of ice or distant rumble made your heart jump — part of you terrified you’d be found by guards… or worse, that you’d stumble across something far more dangerous.
But mostly, you thought of him.
You thought of the way Dark Cacao’s eyes always seemed so tired, yet so determined. You thought of the rare, small smiles he gave when no one was watching. You thought of how he had looked in that courtyard — massive, powerful, and utterly alone.
Your chest tightened.
Please be okay, you thought, staring out into the swirling snow. Please don’t be hurting.
The next few days blurred together into a haze of white and cold.
You followed the massive footprints he had left behind — deep craters in the snow that were impossible to miss. They led steadily upward, deeper into the mountains. Sometimes you lost the trail when fresh snow covered them, and panic would rise in your throat until you found them again.
Your body ached. Your fingers and toes were constantly numb despite your gloves and boots. More than once you had to stop and huddle behind rocks to wait out sudden blizzards. Hunger gnawed at you, and exhaustion made your steps heavier with every passing hour.
Still, you kept going.
Every night, when you finally collapsed into whatever meager shelter you could find, your thoughts returned to him. You wondered if he was cold. If he was scared. If he thought everyone had abandoned him.
You wondered if he would even want to see you when you found him.
The thought made your stomach twist.
You weren’t anyone important. Just another face in the kingdom. But the idea of him being out here, believing he was a monster… it hurt more than the cold ever could.
On the fourth day, the footprints led you into a narrow valley between two towering cliffs. The wind was quieter here, but the air felt heavier. You followed the trail until it disappeared into a cluster of large boulders near the base of a steep slope.
You stopped.
There, half-hidden among the rocks, was something massive. A dark shape, too large to be natural. Snow had already begun to gather on its shoulders and head.
Your breath caught.
Even from this distance, you recognized the torn remains of a familiar dark cape fluttering in the wind.
You had found him.
Your legs felt weak as you took a hesitant step forward, heart hammering against your ribs. Relief and fear crashed into you all at once.
He was here.
And he was still alone...
You swallowed hard, tightening your grip on your pack.
“Dark Cacao…” you whispered into the cold mountain air, voice barely louder than the wind.
You didn’t know what you were going to say when you reached him.
You only knew you couldn’t turn back now.
The wind had died down by the time you reached the narrow valley. You had followed the massive footprints for another half day, your legs burning and your fingers numb inside your gloves. The trail had led you between two steep cliffs, and there — tucked into the side of the mountain — was a wide, shallow cave partially hidden by fallen rocks and snow.
You stopped.
Even from a distance, you could see him.
Dark Cacao Cookie sat with his back against the cave wall, knees drawn up slightly. He was enormous. Even seated, he towered over the entrance. His torn cape was draped loosely over one massive shoulder, and his bare feet rested on the cold stone. His head was bowed, long dark hair with streaks of white falling forward to hide part of his face.
He looked… tired. Defeated.
Your heart clenched.
You took a slow step forward, then another. Your boots crunched against the snow. The sound was small, but in the quiet valley it felt loud.
Dark Cacao’s head snapped up.
His violet eyes locked onto you instantly. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then his expression shifted — from surprise to something far heavier. Fear.
“Stop,” he said. His voice was deeper than you remembered, rumbling through the air like distant thunder. “Do not come any closer.”
You froze, heart hammering.
He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to place your face. You were just another citizen to him — someone he had probably seen in passing in the kingdom but never truly known. That much was clear in his cautious, guarded eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked, voice low and strained. “Why have you come here?”
You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay steady. “I… I saw what happened. In the courtyard. I followed you.”
His brow furrowed deeply. A muscle in his jaw tightened. “You should not have,” he said. “Turn around. Go back to the kingdom. Now.”
You shook your head. “I can’t do that.”
Dark Cacao let out a heavy breath through his nose. He shifted slightly, and even that small movement made the ground tremble beneath your feet. “You do not understand,” he said, voice tight with frustration. “I am dangerous like this. I could crush you without meaning to. One wrong step. One careless movement. I will not risk it.”
He looked down at his own hands — hands that were now large enough to wrap around your entire body. “I already fled to protect my people,” he continued, quieter now. “I will not have their blood on my hands. Nor yours.”
There was so much pain in his voice.
You took one careful step closer.
Dark Cacao’s eyes widened. “Stop,” he warned again, sharper this time. “Leave. Before I hurt you too.”
You stopped, but you didn’t turn away. “I’m not afraid of you,” you said softly.
He let out a short, bitter laugh — a sound that didn’t suit him at all. “You should be.”
You shook your head again, slower this time. “I’ve seen you protect this kingdom for years. I’ve seen how careful you are. Even now… you’re sitting here alone in the cold because you’re afraid of hurting anyone. That doesn’t sound like someone dangerous to me.”
Dark Cacao went very still.
He studied you for a long moment, as if trying to understand why a stranger would say such things. His gaze was heavy, but not unkind. “…You are either very brave,” he said quietly, “or very foolish.”
A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite everything.
You took that as permission to move closer — slow, careful steps until you stood just a few paces away from his massive hand resting on the ground. You could feel the warmth radiating from him even in the freezing air.
Hesitantly, you reached out.
Your gloved hand was tiny against his. You placed it gently on the side of his index finger, feeling the rough texture of his skin beneath the leather.
Dark Cacao’s breath caught.
He stared at your hand like it was something fragile and precious. “…You should not do that,” he murmured, but he didn’t pull away.
“I want to,” you said simply. “You don’t have to be alone out here.”
For a long while, neither of you spoke.
You stayed like that — your small hand resting against his much larger one, the wind quietly whistling through the valley. Dark Cacao’s shoulders slowly lowered, some of the tension easing from his massive frame. He looked down at you with something softer in his eyes now. Wary, still cautious… but no longer trying to push you away quite so hard.
“What is your name?” he asked quietly.
You told him.
He repeated it under his breath, as if committing it to memory. “…You came all this way,” he said, almost to himself. “For me.”
You nodded. “I couldn’t just leave you out here. Not when I knew you were hurting.”
Dark Cacao was quiet for a long time after that.
Then, slowly, he shifted his hand — just enough so that his palm faced upward in invitation. It was a careful, deliberate movement, like he was terrified of startling you.
But you didn’t hesitate.
You stepped onto his palm and sat down, your back resting gently against the base of his thumb.
Dark Cacao let out a long, shaky breath above you. “…I do not know what to do with this,” he admitted quietly. “With you.”
You looked up at him and smiled, small but sincere. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… let me stay for a while.”
He looked down at you — this tiny person who had followed him into the mountains without hesitation — and something in his guarded expression finally softened.
For the first time since the courtyard, Dark Cacao Cookie didn’t look like he was carrying the weight of the world alone.
The wind had quieted to a gentle whisper. You sat in the center of Dark Cacao’s massive palm, His hand was warm despite the cold mountain air, and he held it perfectly still, as if he was afraid even the smallest movement might hurt you.
For a long while, neither of you spoke.
Then, in a voice so low it almost blended with the wind, he finally broke the silence.
“…I do not know how to fix this.”
You looked up at him. His violet eyes were fixed on some distant point beyond the cave entrance, heavy with exhaustion and shame.
“I have spent my entire life protecting this kingdom,” he continued quietly. “And now… I am the very thing they need protection from...i'm...i'm not even sure what I am anymore.” His fingers curled slightly around you, shielding you. “I could not even control my own body. What kind of king am I, if I cannot even keep my people safe from myself?”
Your heart ached at the raw pain in his voice.
You shifted a little, turning so you could face him better. Your hands rested gently against his hand. “You’re still our king,” you said softly. “That hasn’t changed.”
Dark Cacao let out a slow, heavy breath. It ruffled your hair. “You say that now,” he murmured. “But you did not see the fear in their eyes when I grew. You did not hear the screams.”
“I saw you,” you answered. “I saw you run. Even when you were terrified, even when you were changing, you still tried to protect everyone. That’s who you are.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then, almost hesitantly, he brought his other hand closer. His fingers moved with careful precision as he gently brushed the pad of his thumb against your side — the smallest, softest touch he could manage.
“You are not afraid of me,” he said, almost like he still couldn’t quite believe it.
You leaned into the touch without hesitation. “No,” you said. “I’m not.”
Dark Cacao’s eyes softened. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. “…I do not deserve this kindness,” he admitted quietly. “But… I am grateful for it.”
You smiled up at him, small and warm. “You don’t have to deserve it. You’re allowed to be cared for too.”
He looked down at you for a long moment, something tender and almost fragile in his gaze. Then, slowly, he brought both hands together, cupping you gently between them. The warmth surrounded you completely, safe and steady. You could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing through his palms.
It should have been overwhelming, being held like this by someone so much larger than you.
Instead, it felt… comforting.
Like the entire world had narrowed down to this quiet, sheltered space between his hands.
You rested your cheek against his palm and closed your eyes for a moment. “We’ll figure this out,” you said. “Whatever happened to you… we’ll find a way to fix it. Together.”
Dark Cacao was silent for a long time.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it. “…You truly mean that.”
“I do.”
He let out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath.
For the first time since you found him, the heavy weight on his shoulders seemed to lift just a little. He carefully adjusted his hands, tilting them just enough so you could lean back against his fingers more comfortably. “…Then I will not face this alone,” he said.
You smiled, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. “No,” you said. “You won’t.”
Outside the cave, the snow continued to fall gently. Inside, wrapped safely in the careful hands of the king you had admired for so long, you felt something settle between the two of you — something quiet, warm, and full of quiet hope.
for some reason the masses accrued for my dyle personality yapping that I shat out on a whim I don't even think my thoughts were fully formed and the sketches CERTAINLY weren't where did you all come from /silly
worst thing you can do is enable my yapping bullshit so today it's time for an essay abt how I see the toon personalities as a whole and how I think it implicates A/D in how they were made — but not in that they were villains per-se, just fools playing god, no better than parents who should never have had children :'))) and also how it creates imperfect relationships between the toons as they seek to fill holes in themselves that were left there by intentional design
I'll use Dyle as my main example both because I think about him the most and because, even though he was never intended to be on the show, I don't think his process of creation was different in any meaningfully distinctive way.
Each toon is just intended to be a caricature, which I think is a pretty commonly accepted concept so I wouldn't say that's groundbreaking. But that means they were formed from a series of simplistic points; in Dyle's case, we know they wanted a train operator. What does a train operator need to be? Specifically, one that needs to be able to be left almost entirely alone to run the Gardenview transport system with no official professional training?
1) He needs to be self-driven and care about the system's infrastructure. How do you do that? Well, write him to love trains. If he adores trains, his ideal job would be to operate them. Right? He'll be driven to make sure the system runs because that will make him happy. If you tie his passions and his emotional state to his intended task, he will be personally driven to perform it.
2) Passion is just half the battle. He needs to be mentally able to take care of the trains and run them appropriately so that, to the visitors of Gardenview, the trains seem to be operated seamlessly. So, write him to be curious, intelligent, and a stickler for detail and timeliness. Combined with his love for trains, he'll want to know everything about how to take care of them as well as actually be smart enough to internalize not just how to drive them and direct them (his complex levers and switchboards), but also how to fix them (the toolboxes) and how to time them (caring about punctuality). He had to be made intelligent enough to naturally operate complex human systems (ie: not "toon logic") without supervision.
3) The trains need to be operated as if by magic. He needs to be unseen, which means he needs to be independent and be okay with being alone because he's not meant to have friends and he needs to operate without supervision. What's a cheap way to achieve that? Well, say he doesn't like being touched, and make him a bit standoffish— surely that adds up to make somebody who doesn't really want to hang out with the others much, right? It makes somebody who prefers to occupy his own time, or pick himself up when he falls, doesn't it? And not only that, but he was never intended to be part of the cast, so forming social bonds would just be a distraction from his duties at best and an active hindrance at worst if he dared abandon his post for something as trivial as conversation.
But writing something on paper doesn't make it true. For every single toon, the monkey's paw curls, because a caricature in fiction is not the same as a caricature in reality. And so every personality trait expands outside its original bounds like the roots of a flower seeking dirt, pushing out of the pot it was designed for and greedily, inconveniently, demanding to be more. Pushing to round out each singular trait into a true, living, breathing personality. Their minds are tied to their traits, but they're pushing the outer bounds of what embodying those traits truly means, finding mental nooks and crannies that A/D did not intend for them to occupy.
1) Dyle was written to love trains, love transport. So he does! He came out not unlike Finn, not unlike Shelly — he wants to talk about them endlessly. So he gets along with Finn! But, imperfectly. Their relationship reads to me like two hyperfixated people that finally have found someone who tolerates them talking about their fixation; they don't necessarily fully listen to each other, but not out of any kind of malice, it's more like puzzle pieces that don't quite fit. It's like an intellectual release, a vent of passion where someone won't tell you to shut up for once or just zone out and ignore you. And this isn't the fault of the other toons either: the others simply weren't made to process information like that, hence Dandy never being able to remember what a coupling rod is (and, well, other issues with how Dandy's personality was crafted, but that's a different conversation).
2) Dyle was written to be curious and intelligent. So he is. He states he likes to do his own recordkeeping and investigations and you can see behind him in his shop that he makes his own little red string conspiracy boards just like Rodger does, as though his curiosity can't be sated by just train maintenance knowledge alone. This particular facet of him was perhaps predicted (or directly observed) to run the risk of causing problems for A/D or for Gardenview as a whole so he was explicitly banned from speaking with Rodger, presumably so they couldn't commiserate on their findings. They aren't allowed to have contact because their personalities are complementary — they would amplify one another, as they satisfy each other's apparently-endless need for intellectual stimulation. They both make their investigation boards strung with crimson threads, but they both do it alone. Well, if Dyle actually listens to that ban of course, which is up for debate. But not only that, he learns more and more based specifically on the fact he learns everything he can about his fixations — the other toons are just his second fixation. The one he wasn't written to have. So because he loves them so much, he learns what they do. He bakes, he paints, he reads, he investigates, and no doubt there is more. A distraction from his work. A hindrance. Unintended.
3) Dyle was written to be alone. So he is. He considers none of the other toons his friends, says he doesn't have that luxury. But that doesn't mean he wants to be. He won't sit down with Brusha because he claims he doesn't have that many hours to burn, he's wedded to his work by design and needs to get back to it; he is lonely, but begrudgingly so. Because putting peripheral roadblocks between him and friendship (married to his work, averse to touch, independent, standoffish and dismissive) does not equate to actually purging him of the desire to be close with others. It would've been easier if he didn't want any friends, these wouldn't have been handicaps and they'd actually have aided him — but the fact of the matter is, that was not an aspect of his personality that A/D were able to set in stone. So, inadvertently, it became torturous. His isolation instead just removed him from the weeds of the interpersonal drama of the others, allowed him to be in a third party position where he's endeared by them all and all their flaws. A distant affection, the one child watching the others play outside while he's in some kind of eternal detention, the entire cast's secret admirer who envies them just a little bit too. He asked when he could join those he loved so much. Never, he was told. So alone in the basement he stayed. With all their posters on his walls, equal in weight, even Shelly's. He's read all her letters after all, all five bins. He's probably the only one who ever has. A waste of his time, a distraction from his work, a hindrance — unintended.
He was inadvertently designed to love from afar and this, too, explains why he feels so strongly about Shrimpo. Shrimpo was written to be hateful, ungrateful, cruel, yet he still had a space on the show — something I don't believe Dyle understands the reasoning for. Shrimpo despises everything that Dyle loves and treats it all with contempt. He has everything that Dyle wants: a place on the show, the ability to interact freely with the other characters, a room of his own, and Shrimpo hates it all. He hates it because he was born to hate and be hated. He can't help it, but that means Dyle can't help genuinely hating him either where most other toons just kind of tend to see Shrimpo as a nuisance. Because for Dyle it cuts much deeper. That's why he slips up and says he doesn't understand why "we" keep him around: he wants to be part of the group so badly, yet Shrimpo squanders that opportunity. I love them, but he hates them. I want to be here, but he doesn't. Why is he here while I can't be? Why does he deserve it and I don't, why is he allowed to hurt them while I'm not allowed to help them? I just don't understand.
I want to send him far away.
Dyle is a product not just of his in-world writing, but how that narrative sought to escape the box it was born in — and that's a reality shared by every single character at Gardenview whether any of them realize that about themselves or each other or not. The first part intended, the second inconvenient. Because much like parents attempting to mold their children into preconceived notions of who they believed those children would or should be, Arthur and Delilah simply didn't appear to want to accept that the toons might naturally have personalities outside what was written for them, that they were whole now, and those extant traits were treated as loose ends to be tied off and pruned for an ideal character. I don't believe they ever fully saw their characters as real, as independent living beings —so while they never intended to harm the toons, that doesn't mean they didn't cause irreparable and devastating damage by contorting their minds and emotions.
It's fascinating. And deeply, deeply sad. There is no villain in this story, only a vast tragedy from which none escaped unscathed. A sea of puzzle pieces that just don't quite fit.
SHORT STORY/ONE-SHOT/ONE CHAPTER/COMICS 101 CRASH COURSE RAPIDPUNCHES’ STYLE
I’m NOT an expert but I have some working experience I can share. You need experience to become great. Here is my set of instructions, tips, and notes towards making a 12-page comic.
My method is to work backwards. Personally I work “backwards” because the end is the only wholly necessary page or set of panels in the story. Everything in between is open to editing and hacking as the most important moments are emphasized and chosen.
I even plan/draw the end page first. The end is the last page a reader sees- so spend your freshest energies on making it as epic, memorable, poignant, and beautiful as #$%^&.
If you draw the pages from 1 to 12 sequentially you run the risk of fresh to burnt out- an uneven distribution of drawing skill. (treat the first page and the 2-page splash as you would the last).
Roughly… the steps to making your comic is
WRITE
PLAN THUMBNAILS
DRAW
…BEGIN THE WRITING (DO NOT SKIP NO MATTER WHAT) like this, in this order:
How does it end?
Does the protag succeed or fail?
What is the turning point of their story?
What the protag do that led them there?
Where does it start?
Who is this protag?
EXAMPLE:
Guy gets mauled by a bear.
This is a fail on the guy’s half.
The bear must eat something or he’ll starve to death.
It’s the guy’s fault the bear can’t find other food. He caused the avalanche that buried all the cabins.
The guy is yodeling in an avalanche zone.
The guy is some guy.
CREATING “THE BEAT SHEET”
Take the above stuff and reorder it to make sense.
This guy yodels.
Echoes roll.
Snow slides down.
Avalanche buries the mountain.
Cabins are engulfed.
This bear has no access to cabin food and garbage.
Bear eats this guy.
Expand. Blow up important beats for emphasis. Keep less important beats brief.
This guy is hiking in the snowy mountains.
He comes across an avalanche warning sign.
There is nobody around but him.
A dumb expression forms over his face and he yodels.
Echoes roll but nothing nearby is moved.
At the top of the mountain the snow drifts twitch.
Guy, satisfied, hikes away from there still yodeling.
Frozen snow cracks.
Snow puffs billow and great slabs of ice crash down the mountain side.
Guy sees this and hightails it to safer ground.
Animals, people, are all panicking and getting pushed over by the rushing snow.
Cabins are destroyed.
The guy takes cover by an outcropping of rocks, fastens himself securely to the rock face, and waits for the avalanche to die down.
Avalanche dies down.
A lone bear shambles over from the other side of the mountain.
The bear goes to where a cabin used to be (only roof tiles are left). Bear sniffs a dish satellite.
Bear forlornly eats a food wrapper.
Bear tries to dig.
Guy comes down from the rocks he as climbing and sees bear.
Bear stops digging and sees him.
Guy runs.
Bear chases him down.
Bear eats the guy.
BEAT SHEET COMPLETED!!!
After the beat sheet, write up all the sound effects and speech bubbles and conversation/dialogue you want to be in your comic.
Since comics are a visual medium, highest priority is given to the beats. If a story can’t be told with the art without the dialogue– you messed up and it’s time to rethink your life choices.
Try to keep all your text chunks as short as a tweet. Professionally you don’t want more than 25 words per speech bubble and no more than 250 words per page.
Next is translating the beats to pages…
STRUCTURE OVERVIEW:
[1] point of entry, in media res, hero intro
[2][3] conflict. establish conflict, setting, and mood by the third page.
[4][5] rising action/false resolution to conflict/investigation
[6][7] turning point/plot twist/epiphany (this one epic image, to page spread is pivotal, spend a lot of effort into creating this)
[8][9] aftermath/“darkness before dawn”/struggle
[10][11] recovery/“rise and conquer”/“fall”
[12] resolution/final end/cliffhanger
[front cover][interior]
[interior][back cover]
——————–
My maximum per page is nine panels but I’ve seen pages that have way more. I like to have about 3 to 4 panels per row or less but I’ve seen the “rules” broken before. Advanced comic book artists manipulate time with the number of panels and the size of each panel.
remember, DIAGONALS!!! open up an issue of batman, superman, spider man, deadpool or whatever youre reading theyre everywhere.
———-
…DRAW IN THIS ORDER:
Page 12,
Page 6 and 7 (this is typically one large image that takes up the space of two pages),
Page 1,
and then the rest.
ONLY “DEVIATION” ALLOWED:
Page 12 and 1*
Page 6 and 7,
and then the rest.
*Draw the first and last page as a spread in situations where the beginning of the story mirrors the end of the story.
Cover is dead last.
———-
(If at the very end you find out you need more pages and it’s absolutely unavoidable and totally necessary you have to add them in fours. Try to stick to 12 pages for this crash course.)
——————–
FURTHER NOTES:
Plan and draw the pages in spreads (the twos) since this is how it will appear in print and when you submit them to an editor for review guess what, the pages with an exception to the first and last will be reviewed as spreads.
You at most only need one establishing panel of the setting and environment (scene) per page.
Forget “true to life” perspective outside of the establishing panel). Practice diagonal composition of objects and subjects within panels. For dynamism.
You don’t have to present the text all in one go (one paragraph or bubble). You can and should break up paragraphs, sentences, and if you need to single out words– to make smaller, more easily managed bubbles to scatter through the panel.
Less important moments have smaller panels and or lesser detail. More details (or more word bubbles) slow down time. More drawn detail also creates a concentration of values (it’s darker and sometimes combines together as one shape or mass)
Know your light sources. Control the blacks. Control the values.
Ina is dead, but this is not the end. She now exists in a kinder world where people preside over their dreams with a fantastical guardian. Emboldened with the need to help others, Ina sets out to become a Dream Piercer, entering into nightmare inflicted dreams to ease the pain of life. However, old faces complicate her mission, and she finds herself tackling with the balance of blame and forgiveness within the Dreaming Universe.
Some official art of a new story concept that I fell in love with! It's full of whimsical dreams of course, but an interesting look at the healing process + afterlife. I'm very excited to do more art of these guys, upcoming chars, the world, and more!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)✨ More info soon, but some close-ups are below!
prguitarman
kaledo-art
titsay
janainaart
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
