[images ID: three images of a comic titled "one must imagine sisyphus happy" by druid-for-hire. it is a visual narrative beginning with someone with wrist pain (depicted by bright orange nerves) working at a drafting table. the reader is shown the same wrist as the person uses it for many everyday tasks such as carrying a grocery basket, pushing elevator buttons, typing, and doing dishes, until the pain dissolves all the panels into chaos. the person then performs several physical therapy exercises until the pain subsides. they sit back down at a desk with their laptop, sigh, and begin typing. a small spark of pain reappears. end id]
a fun little piece i made during the semester and submitted into our school comic anthology! (which you can buy at the Static Fish table at MoCCAFest in NYC ;] ). it's about artists and injury
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Saw a reddit post today about a girl who was upset that her childhood best friend replaced a photo of the two of them in his wallet with one of him and his girlfriend. And while yeah, she was being unreasonable with a lot of what she was saying, I totally understand the sadness of a friend "replacing" you with someone they have romantic feelings for. Makes it worse when the top comment is this
Every single comment on this post is about how family and romantic relationships always take precedence over friendships. I don't have anything more to say to this aside from the fact that... this is why it's hard for aroaces to imagine futures for themselves. Society drills it into your head that you're going to live in a world where you are no one's priority if you don't have romantic relationships and it fucking sucks
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Your "non-confrontational" choices not to communicate hurt the people you don't confront btw. You're not a martyr for keeping everything inside and then running away when other people don't know what's going on with you. You just decided avoiding rejection and sparing your own feelings was easier than being honest and giving them the agency to respond and make their own decisions. You chose to hurt them so they didn't hurt you. You think your feelings are realer and more important than their own care and love for you. You were always just waiting for a sign to run.
"If they cared about me they would have–" did you tell them that? Did you let them know how you feel? How much importance you place on those requirements they don't know they have to meet? This secret criteria and secret signs for your secret feelings? Or are you making them play a game they don't know even exists?
Your choice not to communicate isn't cute. You didn't run because they didn't feel the same for you. You ran so you wouldn't have to risk rejection. You chose to prioritise your own self-protection over their trust in and love for you. At least own that.
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headcanon that the smaller batkids steal the bigger ones' hoodies and jackets. and by "bigger ones" I mean literally anyone bigger than them.
jason gets the short end of the stick because dick and all his little siblings take his. tim's the only one bold enough to go for the leather jackets (well, and cass, but they're way too wide in the shoulders for her) but it's not uncommon to find dick or stephanie in a dark red or gray hoodie that smells of motor oil and gunpowder.
damian usually takes dick's hoodies, but they're very oversized on him. on the bright side, there are thumbholes in the sleeves of all dick's hoodies, so he can still use his hands. the thumbholes make them a hot commodity in the winter.
there is a tim-steph-cass jacket pipeline. steph steals tim's hoodies and cass takes them from steph. hence tim stealing jason's leather jackets -- steph won't take them, so he gets to hold on to them until jason realizes and takes them back. sometimes cass will also steal duke's hoodies, but she always returns them clean and neatly folded (unlike how it goes with the rest of the family, in which they are returned only under threat of blackmail or with long rounds of negotiation).
this is an extremely long-standing ring of jacket theft. you cannot leave a hoodie unattended in wayne manor. damian doesn't actually own any hoodies, and cass only owns one, because there's so many other people in the house to "borrow" one from. nowhere is safe. steph once broke into dick's apartment to steal his warm hoodie, the one with the fuzz on the inside.
but it goes the other way sometimes. jason leaves things in the pockets of his leather jackets for tim -- film for his camera, hand sanitizer, half-filled punch cards for local coffee shops with "drink water too, fucker" written on the back. cass will tuck little slips of paper in the cuffed sleeves when she leaves hoodies out. the notes don't say anything, but they have little smiley faces and hearts on them, and steph has taken to doing something similar with corny jokes. dick just straight-up leaves candy in the hoods of his jackets.
it's a game, it's a love language. it's simultaneously annoyance and affection. there's nothing like wearing a hoodie that's too big for you, that smells like your family, to make you feel safe.
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Youngest adoptee!Danny (Alt ver)
Same concept of finding out ur adopted family isn't normal but different approach:
"Uh... Jason, can you get my screwdriver...?" Danny hesitantly asked the older male as he tinkered about on his new invention. "I— uh... Sorry, I'm a bit preoccupied right now."
Jason looked up from the couch (which was conveniently placed in a second workshop Bruce had specifically for his new ward, since, you know, the kid's by all means just a normal teenager. He doesn't even know their double life.) And shrugged, "sure, kid. Where's it?"
"My room, just on the desk, I think. I used it last night."
"You tinkered with your stuff in your room? At night?"
"...please don't snitch on Mr.Wayne"
"Stop doing that, then."
"*sigh* dully noted.."
Jason languidly made his way to Danny's room, clicking the door lock open. He flicked the lights on to see his brother's room; filled and decorated with stars and all things space. The younger male was definitely better at keeping things clean and tidy, that's for sure. Despite the various small inventions, books, and papers on the desk, his room was definitely tidy in a way.
He peered his eyes to the desk beside Danny's bed to see the very object he was looking for....and knocking it off the moment he wanted to grab it, great.
The thing rolled down the bed, causing Jason to inwardly groan on the fact that now he had to crouch down to reach for the screw driver.
He huffed and looked down to the bed, fully expecting to see the screw driver down there... Only to have his sight blocked by a news article.
He blinked, before squinting his eyes at the piece of paper, trying to read what's inside of it.
'Jason Todd pronounced dead by billionaire play boy Bruce Wayne.'
His eyes snap open as he immediately sat up. "What the hell..." He muttered as he eyed the bed suspiciously.
Jason hauled himself up, before prying the bed out of the frame and flipping it so that it leaned into the wall beside it and—
—"What the fuck?"
Danny thanked Alfred happily as the butler handed him his share of Dinner; it's a full table today, something quite rare within their hectic schedule.
He eats the dinner comfortably as his siblings chatter away... except for Jason who has been staring at him for the past 15 minutes.
"Todd, it's rude to stare." Damian chastised, to his rescue as always.
Jason seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, before leaning back to his chair.
"You know, don't you?"
As if a pin dropped, the room became suffocatingly silent; everyone's tense from that one sentence alone, while Danny merely blinked in surprise.
"Damn, you saw my conspiracy board, huh?"
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