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Description
Anatomy? I've never heard. Sounds like a herb.

(Long comment is long, so TL;DR: Read the fic)

I can't believe it took me this long to complete this piece. I am so angry at myself. I seriously want to cuss myself dry.

There were a lot of problems that prevented my finishing of this. Also, my tablet actually.. 'malfunctioned' thrice.

Excuses, excuses, they are. Okay, maybe I'm ranting a little.

Anyways, onto the artwork. Absolutely, fucking done with this. Matt looks like a damn girl.. But maybe that's a good thing? And Alfred, you should stop looking like a douche.
There was even a time when I just said, "Fuck it, fuck this," and merrily went on my way to ignore it for a month or so. The frustration was so palpable.

I also can't draw glasses.

However, I did enjoy trying out cell shading. It was pretty fun. I'll try that for future pieces, instead of using the smudge tool to blend.

Now onto the most exciting part of this comment! This pic is fanart for Save the Rave's Part Right, Half Wrong, a Third Crazy on Fanfiction.net! Heard of it? Been a little curious of what your friends gush over? Support USCan, but rather they were not related? Likes a snarky Matthew? Lawyer Alfred? AU?

You're too picky. This is the story for you!

That story.. I hold no words worthy enough to describe the amazing of that fic. It's a very long fic, so for those who likes to hold onto a little bit more of a chapter, then I'm sure you'll love hers. It holds a lot of cynical humour, sarcasm, and there are definitely witty inputs that could make your brain implode. In a good way. And you definitely have to applaud her for her realism. It lacks all those cliches. Just when you think you have the gist of the plot, BAM, a twist smacks you upside the head.

(Please forgive me for taking so long on this. )

Here's the full summary:
(AU setting) Meet Alfred F. Jones, a twenty-six-year-old cokehead socialite that's still living off of Daddy's trust fund. This man knows how to party, can speak seven languages, and is one amazing criminal prosecutor - when he doesn't have a hang-over from that equally amazing party in Bangkok last weekend. He's the kind of guy whose people have people. He's also the kind of guy that needs a reality check via a swift kick to the balls. And there are a few people that would love to give it to him.

And then there's Matthew. Poor, pathetic, pitiable Matthew Williams. Twenty-one, living in a one-room apartment he can barely afford, in the worst end of town nonetheless, and struggling with two and a half jobs to try and make ends meet. He's barely succeeding; hot water is a gift from his landlord four times a week, for half an hour at a time, and he doesn't remember the last time he watched television other than the news or CBC. Needless to say, he's depressed. Very depressed. Hell, the kid doesn't even have the time to fit suicide into his schedule (not to say he hasn't tried, though, 'cause he has. 82 times, actually).

What he needs, in short, is a miracle. Not some arrogant, coked-up lawyer worming his way into an already stressful life that has already ran smack into a brick wall, going at 120km/h. What Alfred needs, as already stated, is a swift kick to the scrotum to make him see that, "Oh, hey, Yankee! You're not the only one that needs oxygen this side of the South Pole!" And he doesn't realize that the one to give him this reality check will be a young man, living an obscure life well below the poverty line. Alfred is full of himself, Matthew doesn't have a shred of self-esteem to his name these days. Things can only go uphill from here, right? Things will get better, right?

Not a chance; Murphy's Law exists for a reason, after all.

Part Right, Half Wrong, a Third Crazy © Save the Rave Here.
Matthew Williams, Alfred F. Jones © Himaruya Hidekaz

Description
Anatomy? I've never heard. Sounds like a herb.

(Long comment is long, so TL;DR: Read the fic)

I can't believe it took me this long to complete this piece. I am so angry at myself. I seriously want to cuss myself dry.

There were a lot of problems that prevented my finishing of this. Also, my tablet actually.. 'malfunctioned' thrice.

Excuses, excuses, they are. Okay, maybe I'm ranting a little.

Anyways, onto the artwork. Absolutely, fucking done with this. Matt looks like a damn girl.. But maybe that's a good thing? And Alfred, you should stop looking like a douche.
There was even a time when I just said, "Fuck it, fuck this," and merrily went on my way to ignore it for a month or so. The frustration was so palpable.

I also can't draw glasses.

However, I did enjoy trying out cell shading. It was pretty fun. I'll try that for future pieces, instead of using the smudge tool to blend.

Now onto the most exciting part of this comment! This pic is fanart for Save the Rave's Part Right, Half Wrong, a Third Crazy on Fanfiction.net! Heard of it? Been a little curious of what your friends gush over? Support USCan, but rather they were not related? Likes a snarky Matthew? Lawyer Alfred? AU?

You're too picky. This is the story for you!

That story.. I hold no words worthy enough to describe the amazing of that fic. It's a very long fic, so for those who likes to hold onto a little bit more of a chapter, then I'm sure you'll love hers. It holds a lot of cynical humour, sarcasm, and there are definitely witty inputs that could make your brain implode. In a good way. And you definitely have to applaud her for her realism. It lacks all those cliches. Just when you think you have the gist of the plot, BAM, a twist smacks you upside the head.

(Please forgive me for taking so long on this. )

Here's the full summary:
(AU setting) Meet Alfred F. Jones, a twenty-six-year-old cokehead socialite that's still living off of Daddy's trust fund. This man knows how to party, can speak seven languages, and is one amazing criminal prosecutor - when he doesn't have a hang-over from that equally amazing party in Bangkok last weekend. He's the kind of guy whose people have people. He's also the kind of guy that needs a reality check via a swift kick to the balls. And there are a few people that would love to give it to him.

And then there's Matthew. Poor, pathetic, pitiable Matthew Williams. Twenty-one, living in a one-room apartment he can barely afford, in the worst end of town nonetheless, and struggling with two and a half jobs to try and make ends meet. He's barely succeeding; hot water is a gift from his landlord four times a week, for half an hour at a time, and he doesn't remember the last time he watched television other than the news or CBC. Needless to say, he's depressed. Very depressed. Hell, the kid doesn't even have the time to fit suicide into his schedule (not to say he hasn't tried, though, 'cause he has. 82 times, actually).

What he needs, in short, is a miracle. Not some arrogant, coked-up lawyer worming his way into an already stressful life that has already ran smack into a brick wall, going at 120km/h. What Alfred needs, as already stated, is a swift kick to the scrotum to make him see that, "Oh, hey, Yankee! You're not the only one that needs oxygen this side of the South Pole!" And he doesn't realize that the one to give him this reality check will be a young man, living an obscure life well below the poverty line. Alfred is full of himself, Matthew doesn't have a shred of self-esteem to his name these days. Things can only go uphill from here, right? Things will get better, right?

Not a chance; Murphy's Law exists for a reason, after all.

Part Right, Half Wrong, a Third Crazy © Save the Rave Here.
Matthew Williams, Alfred F. Jones © Himaruya Hidekaz