#wip time!

[mayskalih]

I said I won't do comics for a while but I lied 🤡

[mayskalih]

[kharonion]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @chevvy-yates @peaches-n-screem and @morganlefaye79 💚 With no pressure, I'll tag @timaeusterrored @bokatan @pinkyjulien and @arcandoria, if y'all want to share anything!

ART | Vikt during the Smasher fight.

Gotta say... it's... a teeny bit different now that Phantom Liberty has happened... 👀

WRITING | Angst galore, featuring the rooftop scene.

I've been feeling a lot lately... and this has been serving as my outlet for all the gross blegh in my brain soup. So, as a result... this shit is rough--more than it normally is.

“Talk to me,” Johnny says again. Quieter, softer. “Why?” Though it’s a hoarse bark out of Vikt’s mouth, it lacks any malice at all, cracks at its edge. The corners of his eyes burn. A feeling swells in his gut that he’s not experienced fully in a long time. Fear. But, weapons do not experience fear. They do not weep. “I’m… fucking tired, J,” he rasps, strangled and rough as if his lungs are full of sand and rocks. Finally, Vikt’s shoulders slouch; he gives in. Lets his tears fall free. “I can’t do this. I’m… I’m tired of dying. I’m tired of others dying.” “Death happens. Especially in this city. You know that; they knew that.” Vikt’s sobs come unfiltered. Ugly and broken. So much hits him at once. He sees Jackie’s lifeless body in his arms in the back of a cab, he sees Evelyn limp and deathly pale as he holds her. He sees the countless people he’s struck down—men, women, even fucking children. Every one of them haunts him. None of them asked for their lives to end. His hands are buried in his hair. Pulling at the locks as if to rip them out. His cries turn into wails, echoing in the still night air. “I… I can’t fucking do this…”

[kharonion]

This has got me lowkey excited... brain is going brrrrr

[kharonion]

tum rub tum rub tum rub

[kharonion]

Oh, y'know, just the typical goings-on of a Friday afternoon:

[kharonion]

hnnngh their facial structures 🥴