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A - Ambush Bug
First in my DC ABC Challenge!

A - Ambush Bug

First in my DC ABC Challenge!

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The DC ABC challenge!

Okay I’m going to do this thing I thought of! The idea is, go through the alphabet and draw a DC character whose name (either superhero/villain name or secret identity) starts with each letter. (you could do this with other fandoms too, if they have enough characters.) And the important thing is, you canNOT look for characters on lists online; you have to think of one from what you already know. That’s what makes it a challenge.

For myself, I’m really doing this to make myself get up earlier: Since I’m in the midst of a lot of freelance work, I’ll only allow myself to do it on days I get up an hour earlier than I have been lately, for a warmup and a treat.

You, however, can just do it, if you like. Just follow the rules in the first paragraph and reblog this post to let me know you’re doing it!

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A somewhat old drawing, fanart of Regina Doman's book Black as Night.

A somewhat old drawing, fanart of Regina Doman's book Black as Night.

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This was colored entirely with nail polish.

This was colored entirely with nail polish.

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Doodles imagining if the scarab was more bodily separate.

Doodles imagining if the scarab was more bodily separate.

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I’m giving away a booklet with Chesterton’s poetry and my illustrations. (the post just below is one of them) Just comment on the blog to enter.

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My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
And grey hairs are a crown of glory.




My Lady clad herself in green,
Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;
Then round my spirit spread, I ween,
A splendour of forgotten grass.
Then all that dropped of stem or sod,
Hoarded as emeralds might be,
I bowed to every bush, and trod
Amid the live grass fearfully.





My Lady clad herself in blue,
Then on me, like the seer long gone,
The likeness of a sapphire grew,
The throne of him that sat thereon.
Then I knew why the Fashioner
Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;
And ere ‘twas good enough for her,
He tried it on Eternity.





Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree
Sat, like an owl, the evil sage,
'The world's a bubble,' solemnly
He read, and turned a second page.
'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,
'God keep you in your weary wit!
'A bubble—have you ever spied
'The colours I have seen on it?'




-G.K. Chesterton, A Chord of Colour
My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
And grey hairs are a crown of glory.

My Lady clad herself in green,
Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;
Then round my spirit spread, I ween,
A splendour of forgotten grass.
Then all that dropped of stem or sod,
Hoarded as emeralds might be,
I bowed to every bush, and trod
Amid the live grass fearfully.

My Lady clad herself in blue,
Then on me, like the seer long gone,
The likeness of a sapphire grew,
The throne of him that sat thereon.
Then I knew why the Fashioner
Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;
And ere ‘twas good enough for her,
He tried it on Eternity.

Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree
Sat, like an owl, the evil sage,
'The world's a bubble,' solemnly
He read, and turned a second page.
'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,
'God keep you in your weary wit!
'A bubble—have you ever spied
'The colours I have seen on it?'

-G.K. Chesterton, A Chord of Colour
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batman-decadence:

The first chapter of Batman: Decadence - Masque is posted here.

batman-decadence:

The first chapter of Batman: Decadence - Masque is posted here.

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I needed a break from my Batman fancomic, and so scribbled Big Barda defending her husband’s fallen form.

I needed a break from my Batman fancomic, and so scribbled Big Barda defending her husband’s fallen form.

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The violet scent is sacred 
Like dreams of angels bright;
The hawthorn smells of passion
Told in a moonless night.
 
But the smell is in my nostrils,
Through blossoms red or gold,
Of my own green flower unfading,
A bitter smell and bold.
 
The lily smells of pardon,
The rose of mirth; but mine
Smells shrewd of death and honour,
And the doom of Adam’s line.
 
The heavy scent of wine-shops
Floats as I pass them by,
But never a cup I quaff from,
And never a house have I.
 
Till dropped down forty fathoms,
I lie eternally;
And drink from God’s own goblet
The green wine of the sea.


-G.K. Chesterton, The Mariner

The violet scent is sacred

Like dreams of angels bright;

The hawthorn smells of passion

Told in a moonless night.

 

But the smell is in my nostrils,

Through blossoms red or gold,

Of my own green flower unfading,

A bitter smell and bold.

 

The lily smells of pardon,

The rose of mirth; but mine

Smells shrewd of death and honour,

And the doom of Adam’s line.

 

The heavy scent of wine-shops

Floats as I pass them by,

But never a cup I quaff from,

And never a house have I.

 

Till dropped down forty fathoms,

I lie eternally;

And drink from God’s own goblet

The green wine of the sea.

-G.K. Chesterton, The Mariner

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A wandering world of rivers,A wavering world of trees,If the world grow dim and dizzyWith all changes and degrees,It is but Our Lady’s mirrorHung dreaming in its place,Shining with only shadowsTill she wake it with her face.The standing whirlpool of the stars,The wheel of all the world,Is a ring on Our Lady’s fingerWith the suns and moons empearledWith stars for stones to please herWho sits playing with her ringsWith the great heart that a woman hasAnd the love of little things.Wings of the whirlwind of the worldFrom here to Ishapan,Spurning the flying forests,Are light as Our Lady’s fan:For all things violent here and vainLie open and all at easeWhere God has girded heaven to guardHer holy vanities.
-G.K. Chesterton

A wandering world of rivers,
A wavering world of trees,
If the world grow dim and dizzy
With all changes and degrees,
It is but Our Lady’s mirror
Hung dreaming in its place,
Shining with only shadows
Till she wake it with her face.

The standing whirlpool of the stars,
The wheel of all the world,
Is a ring on Our Lady’s finger
With the suns and moons empearled
With stars for stones to please her
Who sits playing with her rings
With the great heart that a woman has
And the love of little things.

Wings of the whirlwind of the world
From here to Ishapan,
Spurning the flying forests,
Are light as Our Lady’s fan:
For all things violent here and vain
Lie open and all at ease
Where God has girded heaven to guard
Her holy vanities.

-G.K. Chesterton