Grim ☆ She/They ☆ �� Oct. 26 ☆ Freelance Illustrator & TTRPG & OC Artist ☆ I share my art here, as well as art I like! I talk in the tags a lot. ☆ My art tag is #my art ☆ Commissions are OPEN! ☆ Check pinned for links
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New Year's YCH's for @grand-theftautumn and @kieranvalor as Mythic Spark commissions! <3
🌿 Pledge on patreon to get your own monthly sketches & more
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Page 9 of Pursuer of Truth ch. 6 is up for free on patreon~!
📖 Read the update here
Catch up on the comic here
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Lil' ref sheet of Ashton Foster for @dbughouse!! Nettle is so extremely cool <3
#q#my art#dnd#ttrpg#dnd art#dnd5e#ttrpg art#pathfinder#pf2#pf2e art#pf2 character#oc#oc artist#oc artwork#campaign: tales from imilia#friend oc
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Another clown chibi! This was a fun character concept to work with! ^^
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Oh yeah baby, animations.
The idea of Harry being like “Kim look at this” and never showing it to him is so funny to me idk why
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The girls are fightingggggg
kept psyching myself out of posting soooooo bad, but also it'd be really good to just share this so that i can see my improvement after ive taken the action storyboard classes
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I wanted to do a bit of a dramatic reinterpretation of one of my favorite moments in Dungeon Meshi s1 <3
Unwatermarked + HD version
#q#my art#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#dungeon meshi fanart#dunmeshi#laios touden#dungeon meshi red dragon#yeah fuck it i'll tag the red dragon#ALSO PLEASE BE NICE AND DON'T PUT SPOILERS ON THIS#I have not finished the manga#I will turn off notes/reblogs if y'all cannot manage that
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Son of Gondor
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youtube
HI HELLO I MADE SOME WORLDBUILDING STUFF INTO A VIDEO THAT YOU CAN WATCH!!
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triple baka ヾ(´▽`)ノ♪♪♪
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It's always nice to return to my happy place
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(Marked for blood)
Christmas present for @emmettkane of his kholo barbarian Gnorrar! <3 I love your big angry hammer dog ^^
#q#my art#dnd#ttrpg#dnd art#dnd5e#ttrpg art#pathfinder#pf2#pf2e art#pf2 character#oc#oc artist#oc artwork#furry art#furry oc#sfw furry#tw blood#campaign: tales from imilia#friend oc
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Blink
I blink. I am standing on a cold tile floor. The space is huge, with a high ceiling. The walls are white and beige and trimmed with plastic veneer that is meant to look like wood grain. Fake plants sit at each corner. Vines and moss grow wildly along the storefronts and in the fountains while moonlight pours in through shattered skylights.
"Let's go!" someone shouts. I can't make out their face, just the creases around the upturned corners of their mouth.
"Just a second! Let me get my shoes on!"
My shoes. I liked those shoes. They had little wheels in the soles.
I blink. I am standing on a cold tile floor. The walls are red. They weren't red before. The moonlight pours through the shattered skylights.
Why were my shoes off? This is a public space, right? No, it was a public space. It was abandoned.
Now it's my home. I live here with—the walls are red. My hands are red. Fragments of something stick to my shirt. It smells like food. It smells like death.
I blink. I am standing on a cold tile floor. I cower behind a fake plant, its ceramic body cracked and slumping, leaking soil.
Strangers are yelling. Strangers are running this way, and the word 'monster' echoes in an unfamiliar voice.
"There you are!" someone shouts. I can't make out their face, just the creases around the snarling corners of their mouth. They raise something towards me. There is a shock. I blink.
I am standing on a cold tile floor, behind cell bars. The world beyond is too bright, searing white like the sun. Something prods my side. I blink.
I am in the arms of something massive and cruel. It sees that I am awake and raises a fist. The fist drops. I blink.
I am bound to a table, surrounded by figures I do not know. One of them sticks me with a thin metal tube. It doesn't hurt, but still, I blink.
I blink.
I blink.
I am sitting in a chair. My feet can't reach the cold tile floor, but it's there like always, just a few inches down.
"Do you know how long it's been?" someone asks. I can't make out their face, just my own reflection in a pair of goggles.
I don't answer. I want to bite them. I don't know why.
"Give me your best guess. How long have you been in our care?"
I try to sit up straight. I am tied to the chair. The room smells of blood and peroxide, and the person clicks their pen like a metronome.
My lips are dry. "A day?"
The person scribbles something in a notepad. Their brow quirks and I can see their facial muscles twist into a frown beneath their surgical mask. "A little longer than that, I'm afraid. That's all the questioning we can do for today though, you're becoming a little too…lucid."
"…lucid?"
Something jabs me.
I blink.
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Another writing gift for a friend.
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The Razorwhale
Do you want to hear about a monster? Sailors drenched in wasted youth and whiskey speak of it with solemnity. If you look into their eyes you'll see the surging waves, crashing hammer blows into barnacle encrusted, stormwracked hulls. Broken bodies thrown into the sea like bait. A beast wielding memories against the ones who dreamed them. It sings a song of lost loves, regrets, and failures, cutting body and soul. It is a thing of rusting iron and glass, timber and rotting cloth: all the refuse and waste of the sailing-sort.
They call it The Razorwhale.
Now that I've given you its title, you know it's real. You've seen it in your dreams. You've heard it hymn the names of those you've lost, echoing and ringing. You hear it every day, beckoning beneath the machine whir-and-click of your current works. Your distractions. Your rage.
What verse is your favorite? Your ship? Your guardians? Your professor? I know which one is mine.
It starts with a wrench, smuggled from the bosun's stores and more deadly than any weapon. Loosen a bolt here, pull out a screw, bend this pipe or that, the work of your hands rapidly overtaking your better sense.
Just one more thing and it's done, but—tick, tick, boom. The Razorwhale's crescendo, the great twist, the height of the song, but not the end by far. You remember the next note.
Overboard. Not you, someone else. I don't need to repeat their name, you say it so often already. You honor it like a holy relic, just as zealous as any overseer, just as desperate as any renegade. It drives everything you do. It is the sun in your sky and the moon as well, a forever-eclipse over the blackened wastes of your life.
Still, you persist. You carry on, learning and growing, stronger and smarter and unable to quit. The spark of your human soul could grow into a flame yet, but what sort? A hearth to warm, a righteous blaze, or an all-consuming inferno?
Or, will you simply succumb? I doubt it. People like us are rarely so lucky.
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Writing gift for a friend based on the world of Dishonored, probably the closest I've ever come to writing fanfiction (I have other ideas, they just don't tend to get this polished)
#friend art#dishonored fanfic#ocs: maximillian xavier demarco#YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH THIS STILL
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More patron sketches! The 1st and 4th is for @dudebe-nice, the 2nd and last for @eldritch-goth (of @kingxxlink's character), third for @grand-theftautumn!
🌿 Pledge on patreon to get your own monthly sketches & more
#q#my art#dnd#ttrpg#dnd art#dnd5e#ttrpg art#pathfinder#pf2#pf2e art#pf2 character#oc#oc artist#oc artwork
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