Fauna

Seven of Pentacles

“I just wanted to make sure you would hear this, as loud and as clear as possible.”

💀💍🧼

Christmas comic in October? It's more likely than you think.

PUNK X GHOST

more variations down below v v v

[for people with screen readers u can find the alt text in each image description]

Shadowplay pt. 2 ⛅

Ghost: I'll take first watch, Soap. Get some rest. Soap: Aye, sir… [Proceeds to be uncharacteristically quiet]

tom jacobs: destroyer of wholesome moments.

reference sheets for my ocs tom, lee and michelle!

hi! this is a great question :) being a new writer can be really exciting, daunting, and confusing at the same time. 

1. study plot cycles and structure. there is a natural way that humans tell stories, it is innate and exists in our oldest forms of literature (looking at you, gilgamesh). if you get familiar with guides that explain the storytelling process, it’ll make it easier to commit to a story, learn plot-building, and give a good frame for drafting. some classic, notable ones are the dramatic plot structure which gives the generic rise/fall action of a story - the W plot structure which is great for intense story mapping imo. and my personal favorite, dan harmon’s reconstruction of the hero’s journey with the circular plot structure - the most helpful, easy plot cycle to sketch out and follow for any type of story.

2. read, read, read. i cannot stress this enough, reading as much as you can will expose you to new themes, vocabulary, style of prose and will help you understand what kind of content you gravitate towards - what kind of language speaks to you? what do you want to recreate? what do you want to avoid? read what you love, but also, read what you don’t - i personally don’t read a lot of sci-fi novels as i connect to other genres more, but when i read phillip k. dick’s “do androids dream of electric sheep,” my narrow view of world-building and character design was expanded greatly. 

3. don’t lose yourself in the competition. writing is a competitive hobby, and there are authors who are titans, rules that are unspoken, sly little things that are frowned upon and nit-picky audiences everywhere. it can be easy to get wrapped up in constant self-comparison, or belittlement - try to remember that you’re growing, and learning (every writer is always still learning, i promise) and it’s okay to not be who you’re striving for yet. writing is personal, and creative, and requires a lot of brains and heart - you’re brave for just opening a document with the intention to put something on paper. celebrate yourself, and be kind when you make mistakes. 

1. the history obsessed time traveller - wilbur soot. wilbur with poorly hidden, old-timey vocabulary and language he accidentally slips into his speech. his affinity for writing with quills and parchment instead of pens, loving leather-bound journals and earth-toned clothes. being fascinated with history and dropping small comments of “that’s not actually what happened” when others mistakenly quote things he has unexplainable knowledge about. wilbur with a golden pocket-watch and a strange craziness in his eyes sometimes that makes you wonder what he’s seen, where he’s been.

2. the mom friend thats been reincarnated one too many times - badboyhalo. his inexplicable maturity from a young age, constant “language” dropping and mother-henning of his friends despite their complaints. the way people naturally gravitate towards him for advice, hugs, and warm comfort. his strange ability to bake extremely well, even though he claims he doesn’t remember learning how to. the times when his tone becomes so tired it hints that he’s said these words a hundred times before, that he’s seen friends grow, and change, and leave again and again. his subtle “i feel like this is my last one” comments, or when he stills with deep gratitude when someone says they love him, because he’s soaking it up like it’s his last time to hear it, ever.  

3. the immortal that definitely got trapped in a well for about 100 years - dream. his intelligence and insight that transcends his supposed age and lifetime. him not liking to show his face almost as if he doesn’t want to be recognized, or remembered, because his hair will never gray and the green in his eyes won’t fade. the way he talks like he fears nothing, and at times, like he is bound to no one - that time itself never worries him. his strange, specific fear of drowning and iron bars. claustrophobia. extremely touchy with others, and loves warmth, because he was stripped of company for so long. the sing-song cadence of his voice like the eons of echoing from the bottom of the well carved into his chest, somehow. his rambled tangents where he talks like no one is listening, or when he becomes oddly delusional or hysteric for no apparent reason. some type of deep fury or madness that slips through his cracks unexpectedly, an unstable rage that seems more than human. almost god-like.

4. the one thats from an alternate reality and is just confused by this one - georgenotfound. george and his inability to see colors the right way like everyone else does, the goggles he carries around and strange label on the front of his clothes almost like he was created, not born. his struggle to maintain an acceptable sleeping schedule, the sun rising and setting at times he isn’t used to, often stumbling over the words of days or recounting plans because it doesn’t sit right on his tongue. his silence in conversations where others expect him to speak. his general dazed aura, wandering eyes. tripping over his shoelaces like he doesn’t expect them to come untied. calling objects by the wrong name, speaking with fond memory to friends of things that never happened. being reserved, and careful, yet also unpredictable and unknowable. 

immortal, lowkey crazy dream being surprisingly soft with george and patiently teaching him about their reality. hours of wandering in forests, looking at bugs and trees and animals, asking questions about names and places, and where both of their lives originate from. george letting only dream hug him, place a hand on his shoulders or lower back bc he knows why dream is so keen on physical touch. dream using his touch to ground george in this reality when he sees he’s become misty-eyed in wandering a little too far. george making dream tell stories of what the world was like long ago, gently guiding his words when he stutters or gets lost in remembrance, not caring how long it takes to get to the end. george expressing his affection in a subtle, different language that makes little sense to others but dream slowly learns over time. his odd silences, the way he tugs on dream’s sleeves, and gives him small tokens of gratitude like the way crows collect pebbles and shiny scraps of metal.