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linkedbytime · 1 month

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What Happened?

So... it's been like a year and a half.

The long and short of it is pretty simple tbh.

The first comic didn't turn out at all how I wanted. I had high hopes and big ambitions, and I'd already spent a year planning, and I didn't want my interest to wane, so I charged into it, doing some stuff I wasn't used to, and it didn't go as planned.

I didn't spend as long on the backgrounds as I should have. The coloring was weird, because I was determined to do the comic in color (I should have gone with a complex grayscale in retrospect). The pacing felt rushed and kind of clunky. I honestly wasn't super happy with most of it except for like 1 background and a handful of panels.

Honestly, I think I rushed it because I really wanted to get it out. I was trying really hard to follow the advice of "just do it," but in all honestly, I think I should have spent more time actually considering that comic and planning it.

Then I started working on the second comic.

I had a plan. I knew how I wanted it to go. I wanted to get into a rhythm of one comic a month. I refused to post it page by page because I really dislike reading comics that way, and I got it into my head that I had to follow these rules regarding "engagement" and "content" and kinda garbage stuff not really suited for someone who just does this as a hobby and not a career.

I was rushing again, and by the time I began lining the 3rd page (out of 12-14), I knew I'd messed up.

The line width was wrong, but the idea of redoing it all was too much. I'd also made the mistake of choosing a very clean line art that took a lot of time, and maybe that did make it easier to color fill, but it wasn't my style and not my preference, and it didn't really make me happy to look at.

Then Tears of the Kingdom was getting more news, and more than anything, it was all the negativity from the fandom surrounding the game before it'd even released that started draining on me. I felt like the joy was slowly getting sucked out of me. I was getting anxious, especially since this was a sequel to a game I'd really enjoyed, a game that had made me fall in love with the series again and had brought me a lot of joy.

I was stressed out by how long the second comic was taking. I wasn't enjoying the process. Everything in the fandom and surrounding TOTK was comic out so negative. And I was suffering a lot for it.

I lost a lot of steam for LoZ and Linked By Time really fast.

Then an old fandom reentered by life, brought me some dopamine, and I kind of dipped.

So here we are. A year and a half later with one comic, some designs, and several doodles under our belt.

Do I still care about this project?

Oh yeah, definitely. I had a lot of plans for this, and I became really fond of my versions of these guys.

What now?

Honestly... probably going to make a separate post for that. I have some thoughts.

For now, that's the long and short of it. Nothing really exciting or interesting. Just a bunch of stress and anxiety tbh.

#jelli speaks

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doodleddaisies · 7 years

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Too Stubborn- a Sprace soulmate au

This is my first actual newsies fic so I hope it doesn’t suck

also, shout out to @vivilevone for editing, helping me write this, and encouraging me (seriously you’re so amazing what the heck)

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Though neither of them would ever admit it — because they’re both too stubborn for their own good — Race and Spot are best friends. Instead of the usual friendly persona that Crutchie had practically invented and trademarked, they chose to act out towards each other through insults, punches to the arms and shoulders, and arguments. It wasn’t uncommon for them to enter the cafeteria in the middle of an argument complete with bewildered expressions and arms waving around frantically. Usually, they were able to drop their arguments and continue on with their friendship until another one started, but sometimes they evolved too quickly.

Both Race and Spot hated to admit defeat, and they chose to just get out their pent up aggression on each other with a quick fight and then be on their way to cool off and everything would settle and go back to normal the next day. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked for them so they didn’t complain. This was one of those times.

Neither of them were sure of what seeded the argument. Race thought that maybe all of the soulmate talk at lunch had pushed Spot over the edge for the day and Race’s teasing about the subject was the last straw, but he wasn’t going to apologize because Spot had started to deal it back. They were both in the wrong, and Race just wasn’t in the mood to crawl back to Spot and apologize just yet, because they were both too stubborn.

Spot was always one of the first to turn conversation away from the colorful world of soul mates whenever their friends would start to talk about it. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad that some of his friends were finally able to see outside of the grayscale that he was most likely to be seeing for forever. Spot had convinced himself that he didn’t have a soulmate, he would never be able to see the blue eyes that Davey apparently had that Jack talked about nonstop or the colorful skirts that Sarah and Kath would buy when they went out shopping over the weekend. Spot’s life would remain monochrome and dull.

Race didn’t agree with Spot, he couldn’t possibly know that he was soul mate-less. That wasn’t how it worked. Besides, even if he actually didn’t have a soulmate, there were plenty of people who were without soulmates that ended up dating and marrying other people. So that, Race thought as he readied himself to walk out of the school as the last bell had rung, was probably what had pushed Race to send Spot off the edge. This had happened enough before (though with different subjects) so he knew what was about to happen next and the short text from Spot just confirmed it.

From Spot: parking lot, after school.

Race sighed as he closed his locker and put his phone in his backpack, so he could set it aside and count on it not to be broken as the inevitable happened. He waited for a while before the halls emptied themselves of the students until he walked out of the doors and began the short walk to the parking lot that Spot had referred to. It was abandoned usually and was close enough to school but wasn’t on the property so they couldn’t actually get in trouble for fighting. Spot was already there when he got there and he set his bag down as Race did the same.

Anger took over as pilot for both of the boys as they moved without thinking. The fight was just how they released tension and it allowed both of them to move on, so they knew it wasn’t personal, but the action was almost therapeutic for them. They were able to block everything out as they sent out powerful yet jumbled punches and moved to try and block and dodge some of the blows. Race was about to raise his arms in front of his face for extra protection in case he couldn’t move out of the way of Spot’s raised fist in time, but the look on Spot’s face made him freeze. Spot’s normally emotionless eyes were a mess, there was so much emotion packed in his widened eyes, Race couldn’t tell what he was feeling. One second it looked like worry and then next it changed to sadness before confusion replaced it. Spot took advantage of Race’s distracted nature and sent his fist flying forward to Race’s nose.

There was a loud noise as Race was pushed backwards, he fell back onto the ground and instantly lifted his hands to cradle his now probably broken nose. Race lifted his head to stare at Spot in shock. Yes, they had fought before - quite a lot actually- but neither of them had ever done something like that. Race wiped the blood away from his nose with his hand, which he rubbed on his jeans as he waited for Spot to say or do something, anything.

He didn’t. Spot stood there, frozen. He looked to his hand and then to Race on the ground. He stared at Race who was already staring at him. But Spot was staring for a different reason. At the same moment that Spot’s fist had made contact with Race’s nose, he was able to see the bright red of the blood that had stained his knuckles and flown out of Race’s nose as he fell backwards- at least he thought it was red, Spot hadn’t seen color before that moment. It was a lot to take in, the colors of the cars from across the street to the hues filling in on Race’s shirt. Crap, Race. Spot’s mouth dropped open a bit as he realized what was going on. Race. He started seeing color when he punched Race, when he touched Race. Race.

Spot hastily backed up a few steps from Race. “Spot?” Race’s voice cracked a little as he called out to his friend. Any anger he had towards the other was gone and replaced with concern. Spot hadn’t acted like this, ever. Especially not during a fight. Spot shook his head and quickly made his way to his bag and ran out of the parking lot before Race could even stand up. “Wait, Spot!” Race yelled after him as he tried his best to stand up and make his way over to his own bag, trying to ignore the pain in his nose. Spot ignored Race calling after him and kept running.

His breath was becoming choppy and shallow as he ran, but not from the running he was doing. He just had to leave, he couldn't be there right now with Race. How could he explain it to him? Sorry you're my soulmate but I'm not yours? He didn't think so. Race was his soulmate? He'd been there all along. Spot knew that it wasn't always the first touch that sent your life to color, heck Jack and Davey knew each other for years and they had only seen color after Jack had fallen out of his chair and accidentally hit Davey as he tried to brace himself from the fall- and that was only a few months ago. But Race? There was no way. It was a mistake. Spot wasn't supposed to have a soul mate. Spot was Spot. He didn't do relationships and the colors that blurred past him as he ran down the busy street were too much — oh how he wished he could only see the boring grey-scale again. Feelings were uncomfortable, colors were uncomfortable, Race was-

But that was just it. Race wasn't any of those things. Race wasn't uncomfortable, he was exactly the opposite. Spot almost tripped on a curb as the thought that, but he pushed it down and just ran faster from the way that he came.

-----

Race had had enough of whatever was going on. He didn't understand it, but he didn't need to. He just wanted Spot back. He hadn't answered or even read any of his texts. All of the calls he had tried to get through had been sent to voicemail. Spot hadn't even come to the cafeteria the following Monday. Race was miserable, and it wasn't too hard to tell that it was because he was lacking his partner in crime.

Which was why Race decided to hunt him down. Race knew Spot. He knew his schedule and he knew that Spot always spent study hall in the courtyard with some of their friends, but apparently Race wasn’t the only person that Spot was avoiding, so Race started to search the school. Forty minutes into the hour, Race had finally located him outside leaning back against the wall of the school.

“Since when does the great Spot Conlon run from a fight?” Race figured that it was best to ease into it with their playful teasing, hoping that Spot didn't run away again. Spot tensed as he heard Race’s voice.

“Go away Higgins.” Spot mumbled as he focused on anywhere but Race. He couldn't bring himself to it. He told himself that he would talk to him and sort things out, but now that Race was here, it was suddenly impossible.

“Spot, look, I'm sorry. I know that soulmates are a touchy subject for you and I shouldn't have pushed you over the edge like that.” Spot nodded but it was obvious that he did not want to be talking about this right now. Or ever. “But what happened? I've never seen you like that. And I'm not saying that because you hit me, I get it, I was being a tool, I deserved it. Actually, I'm kinda glad that you hit me, but you ran. Spot, you never run, what happened?” Spot didn't say anything and shrugged in return, which wasn't good enough for Race. “Damn it, Spot! Answer me!” Race grabbed Spot by the shoulders and turned him so that he was facing him.

Spots eyes widened as he saw Race. His nose was more crooked than it had been last Friday, before the fight. I did that. I hurt Race. There was a nice purple bruise that was forming over the bridge of Race's nose, but he wouldn't know that.

Races eyes widened too, and his jaw dropped. His hands went slack on Spot’s shoulders as he stared at Spot and suddenly he could see that Spot's light pink lips were darker on the bottom where he had been biting them because he was nervous. Wait, light pink? Oh- Color exploded around Race and he turned his vision away from Spot to look around. Green grass. Blue sky. Brown brick wall. He could see color. Spot had caused him to see color.

“Spot —” Race didn't know what to say next. How was he supposed to break this news to his best friend? If they were still even friends. There was no way, no way, that Spot was his soulmate. Come on, this was Spot he was talking about. Spot ‘I don’t have a soulmate’ Conlon. Spot ‘I don’t need someone to decide how I see the world’ Conlon. Spot was just that: he was Spot. He was pushy and adamant. Spot was the one who steered conversation away from soulmates, there was no way that he could be Race’s.

But he was. And Race would have to deal with that. But how could he tell him? He couldn’t. Spot hated soulmates. Did that mean that if Race told him the truth, that he would hate Race too? It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. Sure, not having Spot as a soulmate would be difficult to deal with, but not having him in his life at all would be unbearable. It was like that one touch, no matter how small and short, didn’t just change Race’s view on the world. No, it changed everything. Suddenly, he realized every moment he had spent around Spot; and when he wasn’t there, every moment he had spent looking around for him or wishing that he was there. The touch hadn’t made him Spot’s soulmate, it had just made him realize it.

Spot took notice of how Race's wide eyes had started to scan their surroundings and how he fiddled with a piece of grass that was around them as he examined it. Instantly, Spot was on edge. Race wasn’t meeting his eye and he had started acting different just like that.

He knew. Race could tell what Spot thought about him and how he viewed Race — hell, how he viewed the whole world — now. It was the only explanation. Spot was sure that Race knew that he could see in color. That he could see the purple shapes that were draped on Race’s nose — that he had put there. There was no avoiding it, he was going to find out anyways. Except, Race’s expression didn’t seem disgusted, it was worried. But worried about what? Race’s eyes were jumping around: to the grass, to the trees, to the pattern on Spot’s backpack. Everything that Race chose to look at so he wouldn’t look at Spot had the same thing in common, they were all in shocking colors — not something interesting to view with the plain black and white vision that Race had.

But what if — no, it was crazy and unrealistic. Still, Spot had to try — he had to know. If there was a chance — no matter how slim — he would take it. Because Spot Conlon was persistent (and a little desperate right now). He plucked the same blade of grass that was between Race's fingers and held it up. “What color is this?”

“Why?” Race was now the one biting his lip in worry. Why would Spot be asking him this? Spot couldn’t see colors and he had never shown any interest in doing so before now, so why the sudden change? Unless… Spot knew. He was testing Race. He knew that something had shifted for Race and he was trying to get him to admit it. Race looked away from Spot, afraid of what would happen if they made eye contact. Usually, he could hide behind his image pretty well, but Spot could always tell- he could read Race like a book. Even with all of this running through his mind, Race couldn’t stop himself from answering anyways. “Green.” Race clamped his hands over his mouth in a panic. Good going, now he knows. He sat there in anticipation as he waited for Spot to shove him in disgust or yell in his face and storm away.

It didn’t come. Instead, Spot’s face melted into satisfaction. “Oh thank god.” Spot exhaled as he leaned his head back against the wall. Race didn’t know how he could be so calm right now — he was literally freaking out because he had no idea what Spot was going on about. “Just checking that our colors are the same.” Spot could feel his usual tone washing back over him and it was a relief. Spot saw color because of Race. Race saw color because of Spot.

Race released his own shaky breath. “Are you saying that you can —” Spot nodded. “What? When?” Race could feel his own worries melt away and he was just glad that he and Spot were falling back into their old ways. Well, not their old ways; something had definitely changed. But it was good.

“When I punched you in the face. Literally, like that exact moment. It's why I ran.” Spot shrugged, acting like it was no big deal, but they both knew that they stressed over the weekend because of it.

“What? The Spot Conlon ran from a fight because he was scared?” Race gasped in fake shock.

“Shut it, you.” Spot lightly punched his shoulder. “I guess this is just gonna start another argument.”

“Oh? And what's that?” Race asked with mock interest as he shifted closer to Spot.

Spot shrugged and looked back at Race. “That I'm the better kisser.”

“Are not!” Race jumped in defiance.

“Guess there's only one way to find out.” Spot and Race shared one more glance before leaning in. One thing was for certain, they were both too stubborn for their own good.

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