The Oceanman theme song!

tannertan36

PR's Tumblrdome
AnasAbdin
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
One Nice Bug Per Day
trying on a metaphor

Origami Around

Love Begins
will byers stan first human second
ojovivo
occasionally subtle

#extradirty

JBB: An Artblog!
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

pixel skylines
sheepfilms
wallacepolsom
Claire Keane

Andulka
DEAR READER

seen from Ukraine

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seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Cambodia
seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Germany
@creativewednesdays
The Oceanman theme song!
Oceanman fanart by cinphoria
Ivy
Page 1
Panel one: across the top of the page (green background) [Poison Ivy: I used to think I was part of the solution]
Panel two: small spindly red head strapped in a chair with a IV and bag hooked to her arm, green color spreading from the insertion screaming and fade out to a heart beat that flat lines [Poison Ivy: Deep inside I knew that this was wrong. It wasn’t natural.]
Panel three: Ivy in the middle standing, smiling lips pressed to a business man’s. On her other side another man is on the ground, reaching toward her, choking to death, but lust in his eyes. [Poison Ivy: Over time I evolved. And then I got results.]
Panel four: Ivy sits on a throne of plants and trees, bending to her will, if the reader looks closely they can see a little bit of brown creeping out from her. [Poison Ivy: They finally let me have a place for my plants. But–]
Page 2
Full page spread
Ivy stands with head thrown back, tears pouring down her face, dripping to the ground. Where they are hitting, the ground is fizzing (like acid hit it). She is as vibrant and green as ever, but all around her everything is dead or dying. In her hands she holds a small animal close to her chest, which is obviously dead. [Poison Ivy: I kept evolving. Poisoning men is all well and good.] [But now I’m just like them. And I can’t stop it.]
responsibility
To most anyone looking, the two spiders whispering to each other in the corner of the room wasn’t something to worry about. The boys shared a name and a philosophy so they could often be found together.
To anyone looking closer, however, they looked frantic. Miles looked pale and Peter looked positively green. Their whispers lacked their usual laughter and Peter’s hands were moving wildly, obviously trying to get a point across. Something was wrong.
:::
After a few minutes of arguing in whispers, Peter’s voice had begun to gain volume.
“Miles, we can’t keep this a secret!”
“Shhh! We can’t tell anyone! Cause they’ll tell her and she’ll kill us! I’m only in 10th grade, I don’t want to die in high school!”
Peter paused, “First of all, mood.”
Miles laughed and for a moment the tension was broken.
It was quick to return.
“I’m on high school too, dude, and if we don’t tell her and she finds out herself, she’ll kill us worse than if we admit it! Way worse.” Peter shuddered. “You weren’t there to see what she did to Tony after the whole Ultron thing.”
“You weren’t there either!” Miles whispered back.
“That’s beside the point! I heard about it.” Peter looked pleadingly at his friend.
“But-” Miles paused. “Fine, let’s go.”
Peter punched the air.
“But if we die, I’m gonna kill you, Peter.”
Miles stared at his friend, smacked him on the shoulder and began to walk away.
“Ow! Miles-”
:::
The kitchen was awash with noise but the Avengers fell silent as the two boys entered.
Peter stepped forward.
“Hey Natasha are you ok?”
Natasha hopped down from her perch on the counter as the sea of Avengers parted. She looked visibly upset, most likely worsened by the fact that she was visibly upset. She gave the boys a stare and Peter took a step back and bumped into Miles, who had ducked behind his slightly bigger friend.
Peter turned to Miles, fear apparent on his face.
“Boy, don’t look at me. You’re the one who wanted to tell her. This is on you.”
“You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had.”
Miles shrugged, “That is a blatant lie and we all know it.”
Peter turned back to face the kitchen.
“Ok, so Natasha, before you say anything, please know that me and Miles love and admire you and you’re our favorite spider themed superhero, if not our favorite all together.”
Somehow Natasha’s stare got scarier and she began to step forward slowly.
The boys started backing up and Peter’s voice rose in pitch.
“It’s mostly not our fault. We didn’t know they were your’s and we’re super sorry and-
“We really hope you forgive us and don’t kill us,” Miles cut in.
Peter motioned toward his friend, “Yep, that too.”
They continued backing up as Natasha continued advancing.
“Um, so what I’m trying to say is that, um, it was us. We ate the last of your cookies.”
With that the boys turned and ran, with Natasha sprinting after them.
:::
Most of the Avengers had run after them to try and resolve the situation but the Hawkeyes has remained in the kitchen. They could still hear the yelling from across the tower.
“I can’t believe the Spiders are fucking dead.”
“RIP Spider Boys.”
They clinked their drinks together, one mug and one coffee pot, and went went back to the crossword puzzle they had been working on for the past few days.
The Roomates
Page one:
Splash page
View of an apartment. It’s outside, with a hedge, nice looking neighborhood. A well put together gentleman is standing in front of an open door (ALFRED PENNYWORTH). On the other side of the door is one of the grossest obese men you have ever seen (BLOB). BLOB is sneering, angry and just posted in door opening. [ALFRED: Mr. Dukes? Alfred Pennyworth, the agency sent me. I’m to be your new tenant.] [BLOB: <scoff> git thru da door, git da room [break] pansy]
Page two:
Tier 1
Panel 1: ALFRED is looking at the reader, eyebrow quirked serious expression on his face. [ALFRED: Certainly, sir.]
Panel 2: BLOB is looking at the reader, grinning and looking ready to fight. [BLOB: <heh> can’t wait ta see dis.]
Tier 2
Panel 1: thin shot of the front door. ALFRED has disappeared and THE BLOB looks confused (maybe scratching his head) (we may be able to see one of ALFRED’S highly polished shoes leaving the frame.
Panel 2: Alfred stands in front of the BLOB again, holding out a scrumptious cake which reads <Eat Me> The BLOB is salivating and reaching for the cake, or already has a hand IN the cake.
Panel 3: The door is closing <snickt>, bits of cake lay on the ground.
Tier 3
Panel 1: Shift to looking into the hedge. Eyes are looking out (DEX STARR), but nothing else can be seen of the cat, eyes should have a hint of red in them to foreshadow, and of course they look like a cat’s eyes in shape.
Page three:
Tier 1
Panel 1: Think Hoarders. Half eaten food everywhere, paths through the food to places to sit. Stuff is everywhere and there is no order. Also the BLOB is a big guy. Some of the furniture is cockeyed from him walking around, and there are a few things that have been knocked over and just left where they fell.
Panel 2: circle inset into panel one. THE BLOB is grinning and gesturing to come in with one hand. The middle finger of his other hand is extended, and his tongue is licking off the cake icing there. He has cake and icing all over his face and hands. [BLOB: ya pass old man]
Tier 2
Panel 1: <Later> Overhead shot of the room, which is pretty spotless now (THE BLOB still has cake being shoved into his mouth and on the floor around him) ALFRED is finishing dusting a shelf. [BLOB: forgot I had dat rug]
Panel 2: ALFRED is sitting in a very comfortable looking chair (with a layer of plastic over it, because let’s be honest, ALFRED would not sit anywhere the BLOB’s naked butt could have been without a layer or multiple layers of protection) reading a well worn hardback copy of Though the Looking Glass. The BLOB is peering over the top of the book. [BLOB: what’s dat?] [ALFRED: Research.]
Tier 3
Panel 1: a blue paw flicks a piece of cake out of it’s way on the porch of the apartment.
Panel 2: a red see through finger pushes the doorbell of the apartment <ding-dong>
Page four:
Tier 1
Panel 1: very similar to the first splash page in layout. This time ALFRED is in the door and DEX STARR is in front of him. Readers can see the glint of his red ring in his tale, but it’s dark out, so it’s just a hint. ALFRED is smiling down at the cat.
Panel 2: Alfred has the cat cradled in his arms, bending down to whisper in it’s ear. [ALFRED: (whisper speak) Don’t tell Master Bruce, but I’ve always had a bit of a weak spot for cats myself.]
Tier 2
Panel 1: DEX STARR is still in ALFRED’s hands. The BLOB is reaching out to pet DEX STARR’s head, but he looks leery (The BLOB is not a cat person) [ALFRED: Come now Mr. Dukes, surely you aren’t scared of a cat?] [BLOB: c-course not. (break) nice kitty?]
Panel 2: Close up of DEX STARR, contented smile on his face, eyes narrowed in that cat way which could be either pleasure or anger. [DEX STARR: <Wrong cat. Ass.>] <The End>
Inspired by the discord chat, I started doodling. Gotta love the Wednesdaisies!
@creativewednesdays Our hosts in Daisy form
A bit more of a Wedne-sunflower than a Wednesdaisy but I tried ;)
I really love that table logo on the new set. I want it on everything lol
You find yourself on a quiet, dark residential street. It’s late at night, and though you can hear the sounds of the city only a few streets away, everything here is still. You call out, but no one answers. You try to reach the main thoroughfare, but it seems farther and farther away as you rush towards it. Dismayed, you turn back. Small, quaint old gable homes are set on either side of you. All windows have been darkened, but for one. As you walk up to the small house, you can see an old, gnarled tree looming a hundred feet over you, the house, and the rest of the street, dwarfing everything in its vastness. This tree doesn’t seem like it _ought_ to be able to grow so high and so imposing given the space it’s been allowed, but there it is, its bark dark as coal, purple wisteria swaying from its branches in the breeze.
You steel yourself, and walk up the cobblestone path. Under the moonlight - was it supposed to be a full moon tonight? - the grass around the path looks purple, and undulating. Surely, that’s simply fallen wisteria. You step up to the door. The door, too, looks purple, and has a line of fine gold writing just below the stained glass pane that takes up the top half of the door. It’s too dark to read.
You knock.
“Yes, darling?” a voice answers, from … inside? It’s difficult to say. It must be inside. There is no one out here with you.
“Uh. I think I’m… uh… lost?” you offer uncertainly.
“Oh, please, come in and we’ll see what we can do, won’t we?” the voice invites.
You turn the golden coloured knob, and push open the door. The inside is lit by a warm orange glow. In your trepidation, you don’t look down at the door as you enter. If you had, you would’ve seen what the lovely gold cursive script said.
You walk a few feet down the narrow hallway and poke your head into an archway, looking for the source of the voice, but you see no one. The room is filled to the brim with bookshelves, and books crammed into each one. In the middle, there is a stone fountain, with odd pieces of glass hanging over it. There is no liquid in the fountain, but tallow candles dot the rim of the bowl, throwing flickering light through the fractures hanging-glass, painting the shelves with all sorts of colours.
You see another archway, and approach. You stand in the arch and stare at the large hourglass in the center of the small room, as tall as you. It emits a purple glow that seems to penetrate every corner of the room, but you notice something odd. Not all of the sand is yet at the bottom of the hourglass, but no more sand is flowing. It seems… paused. You look around at the purple-lit room, and see timepieces in various states of having been dismantled. Curious, you reach a hand towards the large hourglass, and jolt as the hourglass seems to try to meet you, to stick to you, like a particularly insistent sea anemone. You yowl out of surprise and quickly back out into the hallway.
You shout again, as something brushes against your leg. You’re answered by an unimpressed meow.
“Don’t worry about that silly furball. I’m in here,” the voice beckons.
You follow the voice through the hallway, taking a turn to the right. The orange glow is dimmer now, only just lighting your way. You find yourself at the end of the hall, in front of a solarium, lit by nothing but starlight. You look up through the glass and see hundreds of thousands of stars, far more than you should see in the city. You look down, and see a sheer cliff. You gasp and stumble back. Wasn’t there another house back there?
You hear a low giggle.
A girl sits in a rocking chair, regarding you, petting a purring cat in her lap. Her black hair shines in the starlight. She tilts her head, and asks, “You said you were lost?”
Your mouth starts and stops a few times. “I… I mean… I think… I guess so?”
She nods. “What was the last thing you remember?” she asks.
“Er… I was walking up the street and I can’t seem to find the main road,” you furrow your brows. What an odd question.
She leans forward, just a little, and presses, “But what do you remember before THAT?”
“I… I don’t… I don’t…”
“Think. Think hard.” Her voice has changed. There’s an edge to it now. You swallow.
“I remember… it was really hot… and… dry? I…”
“Look down.”
You do. Huh. Well, this is quite an outfit. You’re wearing a paisley vest with nothing under it, six or seven gauzy scarves, and a diaphanous… skirt? sarong? balloon pants? that shimmer in the starlight. Your feet are bare, and now that you think about it, you feel grit and dust on your soles.
“I remember… sand. Sand! I was camping in the desert! How did I get here?” Your eyes widen and you look around frantically now, finally taking in the rest of the room. It’s filled with… basins? Numerous pedestals, with basins on each. Clay, bronze, pewter, porcelain, stone, all shapes and sizes. You look again at the stars above, and don’t recognise them. You look at the cliff below, and see nothing below them. You turn wide eyes to the girl as she shoos the cat off her lap and stands.
“That doesn’t matter, darling. You’re here now. Don’t you want to stay?” She smiled, just an upturn of the lips, but somehow, you’re seeing all teeth.
“I don’t… Uh… I don’t think that’s a great idea I should probably get back yeah I mean–” you ramble.
She laughs. “Oh, that’s alright, I can send you back, but I want something.” The smile is sweet, and terrifying.
“O…kay. I don’t have a lot on me,” you gesture vaguely at your state of dress, “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I want your hope.”
“Um, I guess, sure, I mean I definitely hope I can go home.”
She smiles again, all light and darkness. “Good,” she says shortly, as an unseen force grabs you by the back of your neck, you panick. This must be the end. You’ve screwed up for good this time.
You’re shoved toward one of the basins, held in place by this immovable force. Your face is angled down, looking right into the basin. It’s sandstone, about the size of a dinner platter, round, and there’s half a disc shape inscribed into the bottom. You watch as it fills with liquid without source. The force shoves you down and down, until your entire body is immersed in the liquid.
You struggle and struggle and despair. And then you pull yourself up, waking to stars and sand.
#week five #secret lair #cinphoria
Freddy Immelman was never the brightest fellow. He was easy to get along with, one of those happy go lucky guys who never meant to cause anyone any trouble, but somehow always did. You could never stay mad at the guy, because he really did just attract the worst luck. So when her wandered into my secret base one misty April day to get out of the fog, completely oblivious, I could only put my head in my hands and sigh.
I was simply stood making a cup of tea when it happened. I suddenly heard the door fling open. Hand instinctively moving to the butt of the glock resting at my hip, I looked up to see Mr. Immelman stumble in, a dazed look on his face. He took a few steps in before he stopped suddenly, mouth a cartoonish 'o' shape.
"Tea?" I asked lifting my cup as a greeting and motioning for him to sit down at the table. I wasn't rude enough to kick him out, but I'd prefer if he didn't go snooping around my base. He nodded, mouth still open in surprise, and sat down. I poured him his tea and sat down across from him. "So what brings you here to my home?" I asked before sipping my tea."Not many people come to visit."
He took a long sip, pausing to gather from his surprise at stumbling upon something he probably shouldn’t have. “I…I apologize for the, er, intrusion,” he mumbled, glancing around, taking in—or attempting to take in—as many details as he could. “I was walking along the cliffs, and, well, the fog became to dense to see through. I was looking for shelter to wait for the fog to burn off, and I appear to have found it….” He trailed off, having caught sight, I presume, of my large weapons collection, displayed on the wall behind my chair. “Quite nice, aren’t they?” I asked with a smirk.
“I... don’t know much about weapons” He stated, and under his breath he added “not since I shot myself in the foot with a gun.” He reached to put his tea back on the table, when it happened. In slow motion I saw him fumble the tea and it start to drop, right over the top of my mainframe security system. The cup turned over in the air, dousing my top of the line security system. Suddenly I hear a screaming alarm, and a calm computerized voice, “Breach detected. All systems operational. Two hostiles in the area.”
I let out a stream of curse words that I would very much care not to repeat as I bolted up from my chair. "Where?" I yelled. The computer didn't respond. "Where are they? Who are they? Technology level?" There was still no response. The light had faded from the console, likely due to the tea accident moments before. "Stay here," I barked at my guest, all my manners removed from my voice. "Guess I'm going to have to do this without a computer," I sighed, pulling out one of my pistols.
"I'm coming with you" he barked back, standing from his chair. “Sit down”I ordered again, using the voice that always worked on stubborn civilians. Sometimes, if they were feeling properly mollified, I even got a “Yes Ma’am” in return. “No” he replied, crossing his arms in defiance. This man was obviously stupider than I thought. I was about to snap back with another order but then the alarm gave another screech.We did not have time for this! “I hope you know how to shoot” I wasn’t even looking at him, I just reached for the nearest gun and tossed it to him.
He dropped it after struggling to catch and hold it for a few seconds. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation. This was shaping up to be an awful day and it wasn’t even noon yet. “Just…follow me closely,” I said brusquely as he stooped to pick up the gun. “And please, for my safety and yours, don’t touch anything, especially something you don’t understand.” He nodded, sheepishness at his earlier accident replacing the foolish determination on his face. I carefully stalked down the rough-hewn hallway towards the back entrance, hoping to catch these intruders by surprise. The hallway opened up into the room, the back door still sealed shut as I had left it. There was no one here, no intruders in sight…
exquisite corpse inspired collaborative story by @japenrose @lemonlimesodas @yougrock and @frankenstein2002 on the wednesday club discord chat
the prompt was: someone walks into a secret base.
(since I can’t draw, I’m going to write this as a thing. We’ll see how it goes. Most of my references are pretty common, but Mudge is an anthropomorphic talking otter from the Spellsinger series by Alan Dean Foster. Why is he here? Two words. Talking. Otter.)
The Librarium
Hi! Welcome! Glad you could come to visit, it’s not often that people actually follow me here instead of looking at me like I’m crazy and backing away slowly.
As you can tell, it all starts by opening a door, it can be any door. Mudge says since it’s sentient it chooses the best person when it’s time for the mantle to pass. But Mudge is… not the most trustworthy otter. Why the Librarium picked him as my guide rather than any of the millions of other characters I know. It would have been so cool to have Alfred… anyway I digress.
Apparently The Librarium (my term, since once it chose me it morphed into my…Lab? Lair? Hideout? Something anyway) exists in a pocket dimension out of phase with Earth, reachable when either it summons me or I summon it when I open a door.
I’ve gathered that it looks different for each of its keepers, but I do have to say, mine is pretty outstanding. I call it the Librarium because it looks like a mishmash of a library and a terrarium. The whole thing is a glass covered circle and the walls are lined with bookshelves. Even the doors are hidden by secret book panels. Yes, there are secret doors, I’ll get back to them.
In the middle of the gigantic circle of bookshelves is a tree. I don’t know if it’s Yggdrasil, but it’s enormous. It always seems to know how I’m feeling. Walked in once after my gran died to a weeping willow; one time I walked in and the entire thing was burning (might have been a touch angry that day). The weather seems to change with me too now that I think about it. Good thing the books are weatherproof!
In the distance behind the tree is the lake (complete with a zipline from the tree so I can drop into the water). There’s an underwater city down there that I somehow never have time to explore. Mudge says you can just walk down the stairs and not have to worry about scuba gear, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try, when I don’t have company that is.
As you can see, the bookshelves are extensive, but they are by no means full. From what I gather from Mudge (and the journals from the other keepers) the more fiction I read the more the bookshelves will fill. So you’re looking at the entirety of every fictional book I have ever read. Honestly, some I can’t even remember read– oh dear. Urm… yes? that is my Anita Blake hardback collection. Let’s move along shall we?
So all this is well and good. I have a cool pocket dimension where I can reread all my fiction, climb a flaming tree and zipline into a forgotten city, right? But that’s not all! This room I affectionately call the friend zone. Anyone here with me automatically sees me as a friend and does not want to hurt me. Unfortunately, it means that I’m still subject to pranks from otters who like to stir up trouble.
I know, I know… if you’re the first person that followed me here then how do I know that?
Well, technically you’re not the first person to come here with me. That’s the really cool part of this place. All these books are here for a reason, not just for me to reread at my leisure (though I do tend to pick one up for that purpose now and again). Go ahead, choose one! Any book at all!
Sherlock Holmes and the Hound of the Baskervilles, huh? Nice pick, my favorite Sherlock novel. So, what I can do is this. Sherlock, or any other character in the story actually, I can pull out of the story and have them in here with us. I see that look, stay with me, we’re in an interplanar bubble right now, keep that in mind. There are two things I can do with this. One: keep them in the friend zone and pick their minds about particular things or Two: put them in the sync room and sync up with them.
Yeah, I was expecting the jaw drop at some point. But it’s not the best thing in the world. I’m still me, but I would have the mental or mutant abilities or characteristics of the character at hand. So, if I pulled Mr. Holmes out (I won’t, he’s kind of an ass) and synced with him I would get all of that glorious deductive reasoning, but also the antisocial sociopathic tendencies. And the longer I stay synced the more I mentally become like them. So, double edged sword.
Also, the sync room is outside of the friend zone. Once they enter it, their powers get transferred to me so they’re utterly ordinary, (Clark Kent was shocked; it was great to see him try to lift weights in there), but they are still them and don’t necessarily see me as a friend anymore. Villains are horrible with the room.
There are of course other doors to other places, I’ve read about them in the older keeper’s journals. I’m still new to the position and I think Mudge and the Librarium are trying to ease me into it.
I never expected this. Dreamed of it, maybe, but never in my wildest dreams did I think something like this could ever happen to me. I can tell you still have your doubts. Why don’t you pull out that X Men comic over there and I’ll show you how to BAMF with the best of them?
Nostalgia INC
Page One (full panel):
Panel one:
Exterior shot of a building. It’s an anomaly in the middle of modern skyscrapers. It’s a tall building, but rustic looking. Wood tones with a homey feel. Warm and curvy in the middle of clean lines and sterility. Outside above the hand carved wooden door is a sign: [Nostalgia INC. Time in a bubble]. There are a lot of people around (It’s a city), but two of them are beside each other and looking over at the building. First figure is an older woman (grandmother). White haired, laugh lines, especially around the eyes, but now she has a serious expression on her face. She looks frail and weak, but she has a determined look in her eyes. Her hand is holding the other girls’ tightly, but she holds a walking cane in her other hand, and is leaning heavily on it, a large black purse hangs from her arm. She’s dressed in style, classic pantsuit and jacket, but a little flair that is all hers in the jewelry. Her eyes are green and her hair is SILVER, not gray. There are still a few streaks of brown in it, but she’s let the silver win and is proud of it. Her hair is pulled back in a loose bun or chignon or something similar. Figure 2 (granddaughter) is about 12 years old, and is into preteen angst. She has on a distinct goth vibe, but it’s tamed down a little. She has the black eyeliner, and wild colored hair (turquoise or electric blue or a combination) Her eyes look sullen, and she’s wearing a heavy metal shirt (Blondie). She’s got on cargo pants and s generally in baggy clothing. Her hair is loose and flowing and she has on a few pieces of jewelry including a very simple gold chain with a pendant with stands out as odd with her clothing choices. She’s probably in the middle of blowing a bubble of gum, or having a bubble pop. She’s looking at the store with apparent boredom (like any kid who wants to know about something but is pretending they don’t).
Page Two: laid out as 3 overlapping panels in diagonal. The gutter corners have memory bubbles (see description within next panel, three in each corner would be good).
Panel One:
Interior of the store, both of them are inside. We are looking at a diagonal down over the grandmother’s head The granddaughter can’t hide her curiosity, she’s looking around curiously. The grandmother is looking toward the shop attendant. Around the store are pedestals with bubbles big enough to hold with two hands that all have pictures inside and emit a slight glow. One wall is covered with an embroidered scene of a boy and girl (about 5) laughing on a yard (there is a pull cord and it looks like there is shelving behind it (you can just see the end of one of the shelves behind the curtain)). One wall is a huge window looking out into the gloomy street, it makes you want to stay in the shop. There are lots of browns and reds, very comfy colors in the shop. The bubbles on the pedestals have glimpses of scenes in them (suggestions: a boy and a dog running; a gap-toothed girl holding up a huge fish; a man bowing on a stage dressed as The Phantom of the Opera; a woman singing karaoke (have fun here, make happy memories! Any race, gender or age, but nothing above a PG rating). Other than the two of them and the attendant, the store appears empty. The attendant is wearing a newsboy cap and is leaning against the back wall and the door is right beside her. She almost has a bouncer vibe, but she’s a lot friendlier. She’s dressed informally, the whole purpose of this store is to make you feel at ease so… maybe converse shoes, khaki’s and a comfy sweater. She has a wedding band on her hand. [ATTENDENT: Welcome to Nostalgia, Mrs. Norton. We’ve been expecting you.] [GRANDMOTHER: Thank you for scheduling me so quickly. Corrie, stay here please.]
Panel two:
Just the attendant and the grandmother in a room. Still very warm and homey like. The grandmother is laying on a couch, with a device over her head (kind of similar to an Oculus Rift). Tears can be seen rolling from underneath the headgear, but she is smiling wistfully. The attendant has an IPad (or tablet of some kind) she is typing on. View is from above looking down at both of them. [Attendant: Does she know?] [Grandmother: Not yet.] [Attendant: How long?] [Grandmother: A year. If I’m lucky]
Panel three:
The grandmother and granddaughter are leaving the shop. The girl looks more stubborn than before, but the grandmother looks happy, she smiles back at her granddaughter who is looking back into the shop. Her black bag looks a little fuller. [GRANDDAUGHTER: But everyone else at school has at least one!] [GRANDMOTHER: I’m sorry hon, they’re just too expensive. Maybe later.]
Page Three (full panel)
Panel one:
The girl sits at a desk, her head in her hands, back shaking. (we’re looking from a slightly high angle at her back and the desk). A letter lies to her side, and a row of memory bubbles lay in a display case in front of her. On her other side lies another of the viewers that the grandmother had on earlier. Her hair is still down, but it is faded, and oily. She is dressed all in black. At her side is her grandmother’s purse, with a soft glow coming from it (suggesting there are more bubbles inside)[Letter: Hello love, this is my parting gift. Joy, Gran]
bubble one: the grandmother (much younger) holds a baby (her granddaughter) in her hands. She is smiling beautifully and looking straight out at the reader inviting them to come look at the child
bubble two: the grandmother (about 30) is kissing a man (her husband) at an altar. It is their marriage.
bubble three: the grandmother (about 12) is at a rock concert with a group of two other girls, they all have their best rock faces on and are giving the metal sign and headbanging.
bubble four: the grandmother (about 6) is underwater with her hair flowing out around her. She’s sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes.
Prompt 3: What does pride mean to you?
Page 1
Panel 1: (¾ page)
a family with teenage daughter, about 15, at dinner. Speech coming from one parent “…only two genders…basic biology”
Panel 2: (fills rest of page)
girl on phone, hiding under blankets of their bed. Their phone shows a search bar reading “gender doesn’t feel right????”
Page 2
Panel 1: (half page)
girl on her phone in same position, blanket and clothes are different, time has passed. Screen shows a wiki page titled ‘genderqueer’. Caption: “it took a while to find the right words”
Panel 2: teeenager locked in bathroom, struggling to put on a second sports bra backwards.
Panel 3: progresses to them wearing a tshirt, their chest is visibly flatter. Caption reads “but once I did, I knew there other people like me”
Page 3
Panel 1: (1/3 page)
teenager out with parents, feminine dress, pride march in the background. Parents muttering :…unnatural… think of the children" Caption reads “and even if I can’t join them yet”
Panel 2: (fills rest of page)
teenager under blankets again, scrolling through pride posts on social media. Caption reads “I know that they’re there, waiting for me, and that’s enough”
Submitted for prompt: ‘What does Pride mean to you?’ by Cato
Week 3: “What Does Pride Mean To You”: There is a difference between being out online and in real life. Taliesen and Amy telling the world meant surprising amount to me. When I saw the prompt for this week I knew I wanted to make a little bit of a “Thank you.” I have a lot of difficulty being myself so that is why above all else Pride means confidence and bravery to me.