Wowie this was quite the project… but I’m finished!
A little comic I’ll turn into a proper story hopefully very soon, but the second semester begins next week so I probably won’t have enough time… I hope you guys like it as much as I do!
This was very fun, especially to learn about textures and lighting, shadows and hair rendering. This is obviously not a perfect painting but it’s definitely a first for me so I’m proud of my progress thus far :3
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When he spotted a teammate charging into battle wielding a common kitchen utensil, he realized that anything is a weapon if you need it to be. How practical, how handy!
There's grease and fish skin stuck to the pan's inside.
And soon, there'll be blood and hair stuck to its outside.
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Hmmm… I’m slowly organizing and creating an outline for this fic idea :)))
Word count: 280+
“Donnie.”
Donatello nods in response, not taking his eye away from the blinding light emitting from the white fire of his melding tool.
“We miss you.”
He doesn’t respond this time, focused on melding the panelling before him until he finishes. He turns off the machine and sets the tool on the floor beside him. He rises to stand, bracing his long-term project as he does. He lifts his goggles off his eyes to massage them, feeling the pounding fatigue after going so long without blinking.
He continues massaging his eyes when he finally mumbles in response, “I know. Who do you think I’m building this for?”
There’s no bite in his tone, no malice of any kind. There is only exhaustion. It’s heavy and drags his voice far down with it, a weight akin to an anchor and its ship. As if the life that once bounced with his words has drawn to a stop in the sands of the ocean. Any longer should he stay chained to this exhaustion, the deep bags in his eyes express that he will drown with it.
“Soon, guys, soon,” he adds with a deep sigh.
“Soon what, father?” SHELLDON’s robotic voice asks from behind, a short distance from him.
Donatello turns to face SHELLDON, who’s holding a crate of scrap metal, and pats SHELLDON’s head then takes the crate to a nearby table. He briefly jabs a thumb in the project’s direction before rummaging through the scrap as he answers, “It’s almost done.”
SHELLDON’s eyes brighten like flashlights and childish wonder, “Really? Finally!”
Donatello hums in response, too tired to reply and feeling himself shutting down.
“Come on, Donnie.”
Donatello shakes off the whiny voices with a roll of his eye.
