#But for now! Some quick and easy line sketches

[manekijinx]

Three more Hi-Fi Rush OCs from a personal project of mine! Introducing Mikan, Paprika, and Dr. Camembert.

More info on these guys below!

Just a bit of lore! These guys are connected to the OCs I posted over here.

Mikan is Yuzu's younger sister! She's 19 and the lead singer/bassist of her indie rock band, Harmonia Rocket (ハルモニアロケト). They had started off with a pretty small following but have had a big boom in popularity in recent years. Yuzu used to play drums for the band before their current drummer joined. ✨

Paprika is Vandelay Security's top unit with prodigy level skill in combat and leadership. She's been recognized by Korsica as her most efficient and competent guard and is often tasked with the jobs that require an expert's attention. She volunteered for Project Armstrong to replace a paralyzed leg and is now capable of the gymnastic level athleticism she formerly was in highschool. She and Cayenne volunteered for the project without knowing the other had, making for a very awkward reunion after years of not seeing one another.

Dr. Camembert is one of Vandelay's most brilliant minds. He assists in conducting studies involving robotic implants and neurological technology. However, despite his expertise, he's often kept in his lane by Roxanne Vandelay due to his bizarre interest in the removal of human necessities for the body in favor of achieving "peak efficiency". He was kept under Macaron's watch for most of his time working at Vandelay Technologies, but was left with a bit more leeway when Kale took over the company and replaced Macaron with Zanzo. Nowadays, with Roxanne back at the helm, he's once again kept in check, but now has a body much more cybernetic than she last saw him.

[the-universal-sun]

Part two of the fic about Lee going little after Ford pushed him, please?? ❤️

Okay! So a couple of you wanted a part 2 to the drabble about Stan regressing after being burned, and I am more than happy to oblige! Sorry it took so long for this, personal stuff, you know? I’m also going to bounce between Ford and Stan’s POV!

(there are mentions pain medication and sedatives being used on Stanley for his burn, but don’t worry, it’s not super nefarious (it’s ford) and it’s only a quick sentence or two that starts around

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice.” and ends at “back of his refrigerator”)

Stanford looked down at his brother, sleeping soundly on the couch with his raggedy looking stuffed bear clenched tightly in his arms. Stanley was acting…odd last night. After he was…branded for lack of a better term, his mental state seemed to almost dissolve? No that’s not right, he didn’t act unhinged or crazy, just younger? Stanford details his brother on his Journal page, sketching out the soft lines that make up his sleeping face; the worn Teddy Bear. Could the symbol have caused this phenomena? He didn’t know exactly what the symbol meant-an oversight on his part-just that Bill had told him to put it there. Was that just another one of his tricks and treacheries? Did Bill know this would happen and purposefully tell Ford to put that there so he’d burn his brother, leaving a permanent reminder of this encounter engraved on his skin? Ford has to set aside his Journal before he rips a hole in the page with his pen. He sits there, barely rested after locking himself up in the specialized cage he made, it was his first time using it. He had made it with padding on the walls, no sharp edges, and can only be opened via retinal scan; Bill can’t get out and can’t hurt him too badly, not with his hands wrapped up with excess padding. He wasn’t well rested but it was enough for some of the brain fog to dissipate, he can finally think.

He’s thought a lot in the last couple of hours; how he could apologize to Stanley for the burn and his words-looking back they’d been so cruel, so much like Bill how he could find a way to at least keep Bill from this dimension, and most recently, what happened with Stanley. He doesn’t think the burn had anything to do with his mental state-at least not the symbol. He already had that ragged looking stuffed toy with him in his knapsack. And Ford, upon looking through Stanley’s meager belongings, found a worn but seemingly well-loved large patchwork quilt-neither the bear or the blanket were things he can ever remember Stanley having back in Glass Shard before he was kicked out left. So he must have gotten them somewhere between that time and now, and judging by the looks of the comfort items, they were acquired a while ago, probably when Stanley was still in his teens. Which… that thought brought forward unpleasant feelings about how young they both were in Ford that he’d rather not think about right now. ‘

Is Stanley used to this phenomena? Has it happened before? Could it be psychological? I wish I knew where F left his psychology books, somewhere in my living room I think…’ Ford’s pulled out of his thoughts, pulling his hands down from tugging on his hair, by movement on the couch beside him. Stanley seems to be waking up, the light of the sun hitting directly in his eyes. Hopefully Ford can get some answers from him about what happened last night. He watches as his brother stirs from his sleep, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, Stanley was never much of an easy riser, always wanting to stay asleep and bundled in his warm blankets. Ford gets a look at Stanley’s eyes, just to make sure they weren’t yellow with slitted pupils; a sign of possession. They were his regular eyes, the iris color matching Ford’s own, but the look in his eyes was the same as last night, when he acted off. When he acted like a child. Perhaps…perhaps the issue is more psychological than magic or anomaly-induced, in which case, Ford’s going to have to deal with this with a light hand, he doesn’t want to mess up Stanley’s mind as well as his body. He still cares for his brother, even if he’s mad at him. He’ll try his best to help Stanley, even if that means that, for now, he has to treat him with near literal kids gloves.

Ford does his best approximation of a gentle smile as he can muster, he doesn’t think it turns out well though-he can feel the corner of his mouth slightly twitching and his eyes are probably entirely too wide with his ever present dark circles on display. Something must work, because Stanley, sleep now rubbed out of his eyes, is giving him a small smile back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Stan snuffles into Poindexter as the sun wakes him up. He wanted to stay in his blanket of warmth, he hasn’t been this warm in so long. But he remembers where he is, at Ford’s house, and Ford has never wanted to sleep in, and he wants to spend time with Ford, so he gets up anyway. He rubs the sleep and eye crusties away, squinting against the light burning his eyes. He goes to look for his brother and finds him on a chair next to the couch Stan slept in, giving him a weird smile. He looked…Stan didn’t know how he looked. Crazy? Like a mad scientist? He doesn’t seem like he’s mad at Stan or wants to hurt him, so he smiles back, clutching Poindexter to his chest and wrapping the blankie further around him. Ford’s house-Sixer;s house?- is warmer than his car, but Stan gets cold easily, so while he can, he’ll bundle up. It’s not his nice and big blankie with all the cool patterns some granny in New York gave him, but Ford’s sweater and blanket will do for now.

“Stanley, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Do you feel any different from last night? Physically and mentally? Do you know who I am?” Ford lists off too many questions for Stan to think through at once this early in the morning. And Stan can’t answer him anyways, not in the ways he wanted. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to find the ability to speak in him, bunching up Poindexter to his face and rocking slightly, feeling a tiny distressed. When the idea hits him. He holds up Poindexter and points between him and Ford like he did last night, trying to form the word in his mouth.

“The bear? Stanley I am not-Yes! We went over this last night, the bear and I have the same glasses!” Ford isn’t getting it! He’s supposed to be the smart one! Stan guesses he’ll have to try his best to speak, even if he’s not happy about it.

“P-Poinde-x-ter.” Stan tries to slowly say the word so he doesn’t mess it up. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ford made fun of him for how he spoke when he was feeling all fuzzy in his head. He points between Ford and Poindexter while saying the word. Ford better get it this time, because Stan’s tongue is feeling really thick in his mouth now-and his body hurts too.

“Poindexter? Stanley, I-” Ford stops and just stares at Stan, making him fidget nervously. Was Ford made he named his Teddy after him? It was one of the few comfort items Stan had, he cuddled him even when he wasn’t feeling all fuzzy headed like now. It reminded Stan of hugging Ford.

“Did you name the bear after me?” Stanley nodded shyly, hiding his face in Poindexter’s back, scared of Ford’s reaction. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other that he COULD get mad at Stan for naming his Teddy after him, kicking him out into the cold again, to be alone and scared and to never see Ford again-

“I see. That’s…that was sweet of you, Stanley, thank you. A-are you okay? Are you in any pain?” Ford’s voice was softer than it was before, when he was asking all those questions. Stan wonders why. He lifts his face up from his stuffy and looks at his brother, his Sixer, and sees his face. It looked softer than when he was smiling before, he was sitting on the edge of the bed too. Stan didn’t even feel the bed move, and he had gotten really good at that after all these years. Ford must have had some sort of ninja training to be so sneaky when moving. The thought of Ford being a ninja makes him giggle, his shoulder moving with his laughs makes him wince, though. He points to his shoulder, the one that hurt. Now that he’s focusing on it, it hurts really bad, like really REALLY badly. So bad he wants to cry, but he can’t cry because then Ford will think he’s a big stupid baby. And Stan’s NOT a big dumb-

“I thought that would be the case. I never got to give you any pain medication,” Stan cringes at the thought of medicine, “and I doubt I have anything truly strong enough to numb the pain of a burn to that extent. I do have a mild sedative that I could give you, it would make you loopy for the duration until it wears off, but I…I doubt that would be a problem with how you’re acting now.” Stan doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with how he’s acting, Ford’s just a Fuddy Duddy sometimes, like right now. He pouts at Ford from behind Poindexter where he’d hidden his face again, his brother looked like he had this thinking cap on and working at full capacity, holding his chin in his hands and thinking with his eyes closed. Stan can’t help it, while Ford’s not looking, he sticks his tongue out at him.

“Are you still afraid of needles? If you are-” Just the thought of needles or any sharp object of any kind has Stan clutching Poindexter and hiding under the blanket, body shivering. He HATES needles and anything involving the doctor’s office. Distantly, his mind knows there’s other reasons he hates needles, but he can’t bring himself to think of them right now, not when Ford wants to jab him with a big giant needle! He whimpers as his shoulder moves, making it hurt even more than before. His face hurts too. So does his whole body. He just wants to go back to sleep, but he knows he can’t, not with the pain and not with Ford here, who probably wouldn’t even let him go back to sleep.

“Relax, Stanley! No needles, I promise, I’ll find another way to give you the sedative, so please just relax. I need to look at your shoulder and change your bandages, can I do that? Please? Let me take care of you, at least for this.” Ford taking care of Stan? He hasn’t thought about that at all, he thought he was hated by his brother, but if Ford put him in a cozy sweater, let him sleep in his house, and says he wants to take care of Stan, then it must mean that Ford still loves him, right? Stan sits up, blanket still draped over his head and eyes Ford, his hands are up and his eyes still look soft, but they look tight at the edges, like he’s stressed about something. Stan’s gotten good at reading faces. Is he upset because of Stan’s burn? That’s stressing him out too, he doesn’t like pain, not one bit. He nods his head and moves to get off the couch, blanket still wrapped around him and his Teddy still in hand, and Ford moves off it, too, standing in front of Stan. He grabs Ford’s hand before he starts to walk forward, making Ford just stop and stare super intensely at Stan, and Stan stares back. Are they having a staring contest? He doesn’t know if he’ll win or not, he’s still pretty tired and his eyes still burn, but Ford has some BIG dark circles under his eyes, so who knows? They don’t seem to be having a staring contest, his brother looking away and starting to walk forward, gripping Stan’s hand very tightly.

They end up in the bathroom again, with Stan’s shirt off and his brother fixing up the ouchie on his shoulder. He bites his lips, and then Poindexter’s ear (He’s sure his friend wouldn’t mind if it helps with not crying out) because his ouchie hurts worse than last night, and the pain is making his head go even fuzzier, fuzzy like last night, which is the bad way because when it gets even fuzzier then he really is just a big baby. But…but Ford said he’d take care of him, so is it really bad, right now at least? He doesn’t think so, it’d be real nice to be taken care of when his head gets so fuzzy he can barely think. It’s probably for the best that it happens with his big brother here, because he blinked and suddenly he’s at a table, not in the bathroom anymore, and he has a new sweater on. He still has Poindexter and Ford’s blankie in his arms, though, so he doesn’t panic as much as he thought he would, especially not with Ford sitting next to him at the table. He just lets his mind go into that nice, super fuzzy feeling.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ford’s getting worried about Stanley. While he was redressing his burn in the bathroom, Stanley’s mental state seemed to worsen, reverting back to the glaze eyed and clingy person he was yesterday, except it seems that this Stanley seems more…stuck in his head? Ford doesn’t know and he’s internally panicking because he cannot tell if this is indicative of some head injury Stanley had gotten-unlikely as his pupils contracted all the way and his head had no bumps, cuts, bruises, or scars-or if this was something to do with his inner psyche, a concept Ford has scoffed at and derided but is in sorely need of a deeper understanding of it now. It does seem like Stanley can understand him, if not slowly, which is good because that means that he still has his cognitive abilities about him, but he can’t find any reason as to why his brother would be acting like a child. It doesn’t seem like Ford’s done anything wrong beyond mentioning needles-driving Stan to hide pitifully under the blanket he still has clutched in his hands. It’s fine, he’s fine. He’s Stanford Pines, he can take care of his brother, he’s capable and in control enough to do that.

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice. It’s-um- peach juice? Maybe?” Ford had taken the sedative from his first aid kit and emptied a dose from the needle into a cup of some juice he found in the back of his refrigerator. The label was mostly rubbed off, he can’t tell what the flavor is but it smells like peach so it might be. He can’t remember getting it, but the best buy date printed on the side has it listed for still being good for a week, so he’s sure it’s fine to let Stanley drink it! He holds the cup steady when it appears that his brother was going to just lap at it from the table, which would just end in an all out sticky mess that he doesn’t have the energy to deal with. It’s a bit tricky trying to get Stan to go up the stairs after that, the juice working fast and making his legs quake and look close to giving out, but he makes it to the room eventually, gently depositing Stanley on the couch and looking around for his Journal to write down his observations. He left it here when he tended to Stanley’s wound. He finds it and opens it to the bookmarked page, a rough sketch of a sleeping Stanley greeting him. Hmm, now that he was looking at it, Stanley did seem almost…cute…in a way. The look of peace on his face with the way he was clutching the bear-Poindexter, Stanley had called it (Ford is going to ignore the feelings it stirs in his chest and the ache it brings to his stomach, imagining a young teenage Stanley holding the bear tight and calling it Poindexter like-). He pulls the ear of that bear from Stanley’s mouth, the sedative mixed with all of the tension in his brother’s body must be having a toll on him, he can barely keep his eyes open. But he still has such a tight grip on the bear and the blanket, luckily Ford was able to take the quilt from Stanley’s bag while he was in the kitchen, and he tucks it tight around his brother, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips as a small sigh is released from his brother’s at the feeling of such an obviously loved item surrounding him.

Ford’s about to get up and head down to the basement to find a way to stop Bill the portal when he feels a hand tightly grip his own-it’s Stanley, of course. The first time he had done it, Ford could only bring himself to look at his brother, his eyes not seeing the almost 30 year old man, but the younger, gapped tooth version who insisted they hold hands on the pier so as not to get lost. It stirred feelings long pushed down inside of him-taking care of Stanley in this way has been doing that, bringing these feelings he pushed down up the the surface. He looks at the hand gripping his vest, then looks at Stanley’s face, his eyes, hazy as they are, seemed downtrodden and he let out a whine. He did this last night, didn’t he? Holding on to Ford and silently begging for him to stay. And who was he to deny Stanley, really? He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate much down in his labs, not with Stanley up here like this. All alone and in a very vulnerable state of mind. No, he’d better stay now, too, to keep watch over Stanley, who knows what kind of side effects the sedative could have, either? He settles down on the bed, sitting next to Stanley, just brushing his hair back with one hand and writing down the events of the morning in his Journal with the other, his mind feeling a bit more peaceful now than it had in a while. He’ll talk to Stanley about this later, hopefully he’s feeling better. Hopefully he may let Ford take care of him like this again. Ford doesn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, slowly sketching out another image of Stanley in his Journal, for his own safekeeping, this time.

[kombuuuu]

OMG WAIT WAIT WAIT

MILES (42) BEING ASKED TO PAINT A MURAL WITH THE CUTIE IN HIS ART CLASS

“You started without me?”

“Not my fault you’re slow.”

“Slow! Am not! I was — busy.”

“Uh huh…”

You have him a quick smile and easy stare, teasing him as you shook the spray paint obnoxiously.

“Stop stressing, Miles. I’ve only done the rough outline.”

His name rolled off your tongue so nicely, and he faltered for a moment as your voice rung around his head.

“Did you stick to the sketch?” A quick recovery.

“No. I went rogue.” A quicker retort.

He snorted at your blatant lie, and turned his attention from the mural above your head, to you. He watched you sort through paints, choosing complimenting colours to the backdrop provided by the school. A brick wall, not much but we’ll make do.

You glanced up, and caught his eye, giving him a curious look right as he looked away.

“You gonna help out or not?”

He fumbled, before ultimately deciding to stay quiet and nod. You watched him grab a light blue, and grumbled appraisingly.

“You have experience with this?”

“Art?” He looked over at you with a sort of ‘stupid question’ look. You laughed lightly and shook your head. “Well, we were asked to do this for a reason.”

“No, dumbass. I know you’re in my art class—,” You look away bashfully at the slip up. Not like some of your more personal works are of him, or anything.

“,—I mean — you grabbed that can with a lot of confidence. You got experience in vandalism?”

“Wh— Uh. No— It’s not.. Ehh—”

When you busted out a short laugh, quickly covering your mouth and trying to stifle it. His face dropped into a playfully annoyed glare.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Sorry! Sorry…”

A small tear lingered at the corner of your eye, and if it hadn’t made your eyes glisten so prettily against golden light, he might’ve reached out to swipe it.

“I’m no snitch.”

“Hope so, cause you just busted my ass.”

You giggled again, squinting at him and reaching down for a different can. “Better help me get that A then, Miles. Now I have something against you.”

You teased him again, and he gasped playfully. Indulging in your harmless taunts.

“Oh yeah. I just have to make this perfect now.”

“You weren’t gonna before?”

He watched you drag a smooth line down the wall, flicking your wrist off to end it in a fade. Then deadpanned towards you when your focus returned to him.

“You take every chance, don’t ya’?”

“I like to think it’s one of my better qualities.”

The smile you gave him had his stomach fluttering.

“Maybe you think right.”

You looked almost taken aback by his affirmation. Bashful eyes leaving his and a mumble of something he couldn’t tell if was agreeing or not boosting his confidence back up.

“Just—, Help me out with this, Miles.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Maybe he has the same affect on you, as you do him.

[princeoferror]

Kohga Slay

Would Kohga love or hate me for doing this-?

Commission info | Buy a Print! | portfolio | Twitter | insta | Discord server

Progress pics below!

Sketch:

I've been using Pinterest for finding poses a lot at the moment so I wanted to use a very confident fashionable reference. I was only going to put him in the dress but since the lady in my reference image is wearing heels I gave Kohga some very stylish banana heels.

Line art:

I always struggle to say much for line art cuz it's the exact same process every time.

Flats:

I did yet again steal all these colours from concept art- I might need to start using my own colours but colour picking is so much easierrr- ok fine I promise in the next piece I do I'll get my own colours so I can grow as an artist or whatever-

Finished render:

Moving into the rendering I wanted two light sources to push the form, very similar to studio lighting as if he was doing a model shoot. So there's the bigger light off to the left then a small light on the right so I can do some rim lighting. Rim lighting can often be a quick and easy way to add more form into a piece if it's looking a little flat.

I'm so happy with how this piece turned out, my favorite thing is the raw attitude Kohga is giving, he is so confident and serving looks in this outfit. Of course he's still wearing his uniform underneath he's got a Repuation to uphold! Wouldn't want to look like an idiot now.

If you'd want a physical copy of this you can get one at my inprnt page!

After this I'm going to be working on different art to use for examples on my commission sheet. So the next post should be some headshots; I never realized how I tend to only draw full bodys.

And speaking of my commissions are open, all the info can be found through the link in my bio or just shoot me a message :3

Oki see u next week byeee

[kimeoshi]

hello it's me again! Your biggest fan (LMAO) The one who asked for tips on coloring...

Another question has came up on me while I was coloring (finally aughhh). How do you shade hair? Without it looking unnatural?

Thank you for your help before!!! 😊

Hello and welcome back! I'm glad my previous advice helped! That is a difficult question as I do admit it is a bit challenging to me as well. It is guesswork + studying references, adjusting tid bits until it looks right, my own process relies on a trial and error approach.

Therefore, I suggest you pick some pieces you like where you find the hair gorgeous, and figuring out how the artist does it, or how might they do it, per active learning principles. Try to deduce it. While the following guide can be good for your starting concepts too, it's important to adapt it to your style and preferences. And I even encourage you to go against it, as creativity thrives on experimentation.

That said, I'll guide you through my own thought process, however. (With a quick Ratio sketch, because I really love to shade his hair; fluffy hair is very forgiving.)

Let's start off here (I'll be skipping the black and white part for simplicity's sake from the previous guide. I'll also be using a white environment with a pale overlight):

For highlights, I begin laying down a Glow Dodge layer with a hard brush that doesn't have full opacity, and draw a halo-like shape. After that, I refine the shape by erasing parts of it with a rough eraser to get the desired effect.

Alternative to the Glow Dodge layer, you can use pure white, or other layer types such as Lighten, Screen, Add and Overlay, etc.

In the following pictures, note that I adjust the layer's opacity freely.

Above, I simply blended it a bit to my own liking.

With an airbrush I softly start introducing shadows (Multiply layer, dark purple/blue color).

Then, I start introducing sharper shadows in a separate layer.

You can use a lasso tool for this to map out a jagged like shape which should remind you of mountains. You can blend this out too at certain segments.

(Sidetrack: if you feel like, I suggest reading up on the balance of hard and soft edges in painting, the topic is very interesting and I am still trying to grasp it as well, yet I find it immeasurably useful. This can come in handy upon rendering principles. A very skillful master of it is the artist Yuming Li.)

Furthermore, I add reflections. I've used a Lighten layer with a subtle blue color. As this is subtle, I want to point it out that it appears on the lower parts.

For a final touch, I pick out the skin's color and airbrush, shift the picked color to a more saturated one and apply it near his face/to the bangs, with an airbrush.

For the fundamentals of hair shading I usually wrap it up here and go off to rendering. I use a painterly brush to do this and pay attention to the jagged shape I mentioned earlier. The brush I use is already tilted, so it's easy to manipulate to make such shapes.

Additionally, I experiment with Overlay, Multiply (or any!) layers with either airbrushes or hardbrushes— as I said there isn't a specified way of doing this. Go wild; for such is the nature of hair. Add any shapes or lines you find appealing, introduce new colors from the environment nearby too to make it moredynamic and interesting as well.

EDIT: An addition! On Rendering tips and advice

(apologies on leaving this out initially! I only realized I should include this now )

Including astray curved lines to simulate how hair flows also builds to the hair-like quality. I also prefer to use it closer to the silhouette of my character as it adds further detailing and a fluffier look in the end!

Attempt to render each strand according to this diagram in mind, note the parabole-like(?) shape for the light, and note standard 3d spheric shading for shadows.

[kuradex]

I wanna know about your art style. How you draw like that??

i tried putting down considerations as well as a (very) general step by step of what i do; if there's anything more specific you want me to explain lmk i guess?

first off, general (self imposed) constraints / purpose of project -- this informs what i draw & how i draw it

i.e. "kuradex" is pretty different from my normal art (my 5 latest rough illustrations):

or my monster hunter charms:

or my pokemon tcg contest illustrations that im not allowed to show until june (😉):

although i've said its for merch purposes, ive started drawing these because i wanted to practice conveying "liveliness" and noticing key features / nuances of a given design, but i didn't want to spend a large amount of time on each one.

so what i came up with is

i want to draw things on-model in terms of proportions ( + take note of weight / tapering of shapes / etc )

no backgrounds & minimal "props"

experiment with / practice line/texture/color/flow/rhythm/etc

spend <1 hr on each pokemon on average (this is a bit more difficult for me to track, but for example, the cyndaquil line took me less than 42min to color, combined, and means at some point in time instead of focusing on cleaning up the art as much as i can, i stop after cleaning up most of it)

that said, the pose & the rhythm/flow of lines are key in conveying liveliness, and if i have a concept in mind i usually end up going with it, but i may go thru a few if i dont.

i consider pokemon origin / lore or a key point in its design, and if i'm particularly stuck, i try looking up pokemon card illustrations for inspiration. (i noticed the research i do is essentially a truncated version of how Atsushi Furusawa does research before doing an illustration.

(& even despite all this i do get stuck sometimes and don't exactly understand a pokemon and just opt for "as cute or cool as i can make it i guess?", but i think it's part of the process...?) (theoretically things that are A Shape should be really easy to draw but with what i want to practice in perspective i find them difficult...)

this is from my latest paid req but these are my first sketches of chesnaught -- i was thinking of how one of its inspirations is a warrior / tanker from RPGs, so i drew a pose where it's shielding its face.

i do another pass and take note of details.

in general i draw overlapping shapes and erase (it's a bit visible on one of the spikes)

because i opt for quickness i start coloring at this point -- i just use a colored "color burn" sketch layer for the "lineart" & colorpick official art & lay down messy flats & set the color layer to 60%

60% multiply layer for shadows. i tend to use both hard and soft brushes

for bigger projects i would use 2-3 shadow layers to create more "layered" shadows

here i use overlay layer (60%). this is just throwing colors at it and seeing what works and doesn't work. i personally prefer to throw red under the eye and a yellow or blue near the top of the head. this is mostly done with a soft brush

before this point, everything is under the rough lines, but now i start drawing/painting over it

i just color pick the colors that have been laid down from the previous steps and clean up / render textures (making the green on its arms look fuzzy) / fixing anything that i forgot or looks too off (i.e. the spike on its shoulder and the way the tail curves)

I could potentially keep cleaning this up, but this is where i usually stop 🫡

[fafameow]

Sorry to come out of nowhere but I just wanted to say that your art is so warm and so colorful and so ROUND in all the best ways and your style really captures my favorite things about Kirby! I've always found it really inspirational!

Also, I love the way your line art looks?! I have to ask (you don't have to answer though) is there a specific brush or technique you use to get that soft, multi-layered effect?

Either way, wishing you a wonderful day!

Thank you so much for your nice message, it means a lot!! I've been wanting to make a small tutorial about how I make my Kirby art, so I guess your question came right on time hehe ^^ As I'll be explaining all of my process, I'll also answer your question about my line art! Btw my art program is Paint Tool SAI and I'll also be showing the brushes I use as well as their settings (i made up most of them a long time tho).

So first here's the brush that I use for basically anything, whether sketch or lineart!

It took me a while to understand what you meant by multi-layered effect, but no the brush doesn't do that, that's actually my way of doing "lineart" (ig it's not really lineart cus I just do sketches that I clean later on).

I then clean up everything, add the details and block by using a grey color.

Afterwards I add the flat colors! I already have my own made up color palette, but otherwise I always use a purple color as overlay.

And I also use that same shade to color the lineart!

Next comes the fun part, shading! Here's THE brush that gives that soft effect to all of my drawings ^^ It's the same setting as my eraser too!

And yeah I also shade with light purple lol

There's also some other brushes that I use for more effects, like the airbrush! (I don't think I've touched the settings that much) I mostly use this one for lighting effects.

And finally the water brush! I sometimes use it for blending or for quick backgrounds,

but you can also see that when put it to "Spread" it also becomes the one that I use for my blushes hehe

Aaand I believe that's all of the brushes I use for my art! I do have more, but I only use those for other specific stuff like animation or pixel art.

Adding some details AND VOILÀ!!

Now you know how I make my Kirby art! (but this also applies for all of my art) I sometimes redraw on the contours to give that "pop up effect" a bit like what they did in rtdldx lol ^^

I really hope it was easy for everyone to understand cus this is my first time making a tutorial! And to Desultory Novice, I hope I managed to answer your question too!!

Thanks again and have a great day :D

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Another Pitch

Sequel to "The Pitch"

Scott sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. As if loosing Dad wasn’t hard enough. As if having to become a guardian to his underage brothers wasn’t hard enough. As if taking over the reigns of a multi-billion dollar corporate empire, when his dad had only just started showing him the ropes wasn’t hard enough.

No. Now here he was being buried by an avalanche of opportunistic pitches and deals, all looking to take advantage of his grief and inexperience.

He was working his way through them, albeit slowly, with the help of Grandma and Quinn Johnston, his fathers – and now his – PA of long standing.

Quinn had smiled sympathetically as she forwarded him five files first thing in the morning. “Let’s get some momentum going by knocking over some easy ones, shall we?” she’s said.

It had become the norm – five easy ones to start the day. Scott recognised the tactic. Start of with five (or some other arbitrarily chosen number) quick, easy tasks, and that way, when you got bogged down by the big stuff, you had still accomplished something that day.

Dad had liked the number five. One job done for each son.

Quinn had suggested three or four, but Scott stuck to his guns. Dad did five, so Scott would do five.

Everyone pointing out that his father had slowly worked his way up to the work load over years of developing the company went unheeded. As dis assertions that nobody would blame him for passing some down the line, but Scott was worried about missing something important, and letting his family – his father down.

He sighed again and hit play. The last of the five was an advertising pitch that the other company claimed was ‘a mutually beneficial partnership, increasing product brand awareness while raising Tracy Industries CEO’s public recognition and supporting the narrative of International Rescue’s suspended operations.’

The words made Scott feel sick.

That crack about his ‘public recognition’ was designed to make him feel insecure in his new role – not that he needed help with that. And as for the ‘narrative of International Rescue’s suspended operations”, well, that was an … interesting way of saying IR (otherwise known as the Tracy family) had been grief-stricken by the sudden death of the founder and father of the organisation and its operatives.

Scott privately thought ‘death’ was also euphemistic for what had actually happened to Jeff Tracy. ‘Annihilation’ or ‘vaporisation’, maybe even ‘atomisation’ better seemed to fit the bill of the fireball that Scott saw every time he closed his eyes.

Saving the world may have cost Jeff Tracy the ultimate price, but it seemed to Scott as if he was paying that prices’ interest.

Still, in about ten minutes the unsolicited pitch would just be a minor detail in another long day.

Scott jolted as his father’s voice boomed out of her speakers: “Five!” and the blank screen cut to a rough sketch of a space station that claimed to be Thunderbird Five. As the voice counted down – accompanied by “sketches” of the appropriately numbered Thunderbird – Scott realised it wasn’t his father’s voice at all, but a very good sound-alike. As the countdown reached “One” the visual cut to a so-so facsimile of Thunderbird One sat on her jet engines in a large hanger that couldn’t have looked less like her real silo if it had tried, which had Scott’s eyebrows reaching for the heavens.

“Thunderbirds are Go!” the faux-Jeff Tracy declaimed triumphantly.

Nothing happened on screen.

Scott leaned in, captivated despite himself.

“Thunderbirds are go!” It was insistent now.

The visual paused, and then switched to the product, enticingly displayed on a dainty china plate, it’s logo superimposed in the corner of the screen, and then the familiar extortion to “have a break”.

The camera pulled out, and Scott started to see a look alike of HIM, dressed in a mock-up of his IR uniform reclining in what must be ‘Thunderbird One’s cockpit, feet on the control panel, sipping a cup of – oh dear God – tea.

The advert finished with the faux-Jeff screaming over the radio “Go, Thunderbird! Go!”

There were several seconds of silence, and Scott started as Quinn gently touched his shoulder. He realised that he had been staring with his mouth hanging open.

“Are you okay, Scott?” she asked, gently. “I’m sorry, if I had the slightest idea what was in that video…”

“I – I’m okay, Quinn. Thanks,” he smiled, a bit sadly. “It just took me by surprise, you know.” He tapped his fingers on the desk absently. “That soundalike was very good.”

Quinn nodded sympathetically, as she retook her seat, then asked, “And the ‘Thunderbird One’?” Her voice was carefully casual, but Scott could hear the burning curiosity in her voice.

He smiled. Quinn was one of his father’s oldest and most trusted friends, she had known about International Rescue even before Scott had, but she had never even been to the Island, never seen the craft.

“Rather less convincing,” he replied.

Now that their cover had been broken, there was no reason Quinn couldn’t see the Thunderbirds, he thought. He’d talk to Grandma, John and Virgil, see what they thought. Kyrano, too, if he would accept Scott’s call.

Quinn’s next careful question broke his introspection. “And your answer to the sales pitch?”

Scott blew out a heavy breath. “Had better go through PR. How I feel about it won’t help ‘raise my public recognition’ in a positive way.”

Quinn nodded. “That’s good. Delegating things to people better equipped to handle them is the single most important thing you can do as a CEO. Just give me the main points, and I’ll get PR to write them up for your approval.”

Scott nodded and thought. “Dad never agreed to participate in third party advertising campaigns – authorising his likeness to be used for this would be disrespecting his known wishes.”

Quinn nodded as she typed. “And?”

“International Rescue is not ‘taking a break’ – we are on a stand down as we grief and restructure our operational protocols after the death of our father who is … was” the past tense was still hard to admit “our commander and lead operative.” Scott frowned as his considered his next words. “This is an unavoidable break in operations, and we feel this ad campaign would be disrespectful to the victims and their loved ones that we are not currently in a position to assist.”

Quinn nodded, even as she privately wondered what would happen when the boys inevitably needed to ‘take a break’, due to the demands of running a rescue operation, a multinational corporation and god-only-knew what other side projects they each worked on.

Scott paused again, clearly going over what he had said so far. He obviously thought there was something else to say, but either couldn't decide what it was, or couldn’t find the words to articulate it.

“May I make a suggestion?” Quinn asked. Scott nodded. “The product – a candy bar – is in direct opposition to several health and nutritional foundation and education plans that Tracy Industries and your father personally have championed and founded. This advertisement would be undermining that message.”

Scott nodded ascent and flashed her a grin that Quinn recognised from when he was a child -and she had snuck him and his brothers illicit candy under their parents not-so-completely oblivious noses.

Quinn typed. At the end of the paragraph, she looked up at Scott. “Anything to say about the bit about ‘raising your public profile’?” she asked.

Scott flushed. “Nothing that Grandma wouldn’t wash my mouth out with soap for saying,” he conceded.

Quinn snorted. The ‘retired’ doctor had a vocabulary that had frequently made Jeff and Lee – astronauts and combat fighter pilots both – blush, and had sent several hard-bitten special ops generals running for cover. Sally might have made threats for forms sake, but she doubted the older woman would be shocked by any profanity Scott could utter.

The same could not be said about a reverse situation. Sally Tracy had always been a shadow player in Tracy Industries power structure for a very good and compelling reason.

Quinn scanned the document she had produced. “I think we’re done with this one,” she announced, filing in the ‘To’ and ‘Subject’ fields before adding a note for the draft reply to be ready for Scott’s review first thing tomorrow morning.

A final check, and she hit send.

“Okay, Scott. That’s the five. Here’s your choice of the main problem of the day.”

A the mention of ‘five’, Scott sat up straighter, his gaze flicking to the row of framed photographs on the desk.

Four brothers. And his father.

The five people Scott was fighting this paperwork war for.

Notes:

Sigh. The sequel I never wanted to write, but Scott was really upset about the “slander” of the ‘Kit Kat’ advertisement, and wants everyone to know that he would never EVER prioritise personal downtime over an emergency call out. The idiot.

And I’m pinning this one squarely on @tikatu , it’s her fault for directing me to the advertisement in question.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the TOS or CGI Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

Oh, and Kit Kats were DEFINITELY harmed in the making of this fic! (Although not with a cup of tea, REALLY Scotty: tea and chocolate?)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[hordraomin]

Krita tutorial the way I know it.

Basics: What is where.

Gimmicks.

Specific advice on specific tools.

Basics: What is where.

Upon opening the program this is what you're met with. First of all, must comment: The layout is HEAVILY editable so you can just drag menus anywhere you want, even leave them floating amidst the sheet you're drawing on.

You can create custom art templates, I have two o'mine here as both have my signature background color.

As well, you can edit the custom document settings, as in what size you want it, what resolution, even the initial content of the image. As well you can create from clipboard: Just copy some image from your browser and Krita will recognize it (useful for making meme edits lol).

Now, once you have your file, I will show you what is where.

Brushes:

Brushes are easy to edit and there are tons of free bundles to download online. I myself only got one bundle, Jackpack (bit hard to find now due to original source being lost, it is still available but bit tricky to come by).

There. Are. Tons.

Some of these are my custom brushes for calligraphy in neography, you might even guess which ones. You can edit existing brushes, make new ones from the ones you've edited without changing the original, and all sorts of stuff (more below in the third chapter).

There are numerous packages of brushes once you enter Krita, but only one/two are available when you first open it. To unlock them all, click here:

And make sure all bundles are dark gray in color (example of both dark and light below).

Now Tools Options: those will pop up depending on what tool you're using.

Symmetry: Fun stuff. You can drag the lines depending on how you need them and then center them back to the center of the screen if needed.

Gradients and Textures also have their tools options, you can play with those to get the feeling what they can do (more in third chapter).

The Filters tab is useful too. Blurring, motion blurring, color mapping, artistic filters and all that: Quite fun.

Gimmicks.

Krita allows you to customize your workspace freely. Floating menus, tabs, anything you want. It has quite many drivers at that-

To access the workspace templates, go to Window and choose Workspace.

Krita allows for copy-pasting any image onto the sheet. Though, for me it sometimes crashes if I accidentally copy-paste text into it without choosing the Text tool first.

The software allows for both raster and vector work. It is basically Photoshop sharpened to be used by artists primarily.

There are some interesting mechanics regarding the Eraser (default bind E).

You can use it with any brush, allowing for textured erasure/quick work. Good for sketching.

You can use it on gradients (given there's a transparent point on the gradient preset).

There's a Multibrush tool:

People say Krita is good for animation but my brain can't wrap around it yet honestly @~@.

The keybinds:

B - Brush tool.

E - Erase tool option.

M - Mirror (useful for checking accuracy from a new angle).

Ctrl - Color pick (when used with brush or other color-using tools).

Shift+L.Mouse+drag - Changes the size of the brush by dragging left and right.

Ctrl+E - Merge layer with the one below.

Ctrl+G - Group selected layers.

Ctrl+A - Select whole sheet.

Ctrl+Shift+A - Deselect everything.

F - Bucket tool.

G - Gradient tool.

Ctrl+S - Save document.

Ctrl+Shift+S - Save As document.

Ctrl+N - New document.

Ctrl+O - Open document (will be seen in a new tab on top of the sheet).

Ctrl+C - Copy selected layer or selection.

Ctrl+X - Cut selected layer or selection.

Ctrl+V - Paste copied/cut layer or selection.

Q - Multibrush tool.

R.Mouse - Interesting thing: Opens up a quick selector for brushes and colors you've already used in the piece.

1 - Zoom 100%.

2 - Zoom to fit the piece vertically.

3 - Zoom to fit the piece horizontally.

4, 5, 6 - Turn 15 degrees (4 and 6) or undo the turning whatsoever (5).

Ctrl+I - Negative filter applied to layer.

Ctrl+U - Color editing on the layer.

Ctrl+Y - Soft proofing mode (for color mistakes and stuff like that, mostly annoying for me tbh).

Ctrl+T - Transform selection/layer.

Ctrl+R - Square select tool.

Ctrl+J - Lasso select tool.

Honestly you can just hover your mouse over tools and see their shortcut binds, as well. Or edit them in Settings.

Specific advice on specific tools.

Brush:

Brush editor is a great tool for making custom brushes, and it even has a sratchpad to test them out. Lots of settings, but no need to be afraid; Most of them you might never use on purpose.

Use Brush Smoothing for great and pretty lines in lining pieces or making calligraphy.

Gradient:

The four icons to the right top are:

Mirror gradient.

Arrange by lightness value.

Arrange by color value.

Space the stops evenly.

Click the gradient to add a new stop. The three things to the left are:

Make the stop use Primary Color.

Make the stop use Secondary Color.

Make the stop use a fixed color.

[forcedhesitation]

you want to see astarion suck the blood from the neck of some pale maiden, like he's a charming vampire in a black and white film, seducing multiple big-breasted women to their doom.

I want to see him covered in blood, gleefully ripping someone's throat to shreds.

when he's a messy eater: 😍😍😍😍

[cant-shake-it]

How to Make a Printing Screen from Home

I wanted to share a quick cute little tutorial for how I made my own screen for making patches (and other things that don't require exact measurements). Cute lil how-to under the cut >:)

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing at any given moment. There could be a better tutorial out there for you. I'm just guessing for a lot of the things I do and this is no exception. With that out of the way:

THE SUPPLIES YOU DEFINITELY ABSOLUTELY NEED:

a small/medium canvas (depending on what you have and how big your design will be)

paintbrushes

a tight-woven sheer fabric (preferably not stretchy and STRONG)

a fine-tip pen

water-resistant gloss of some kind (mod podge works, but make sure it's a waterproof kind if you want to make more than one print)

paint that won't come off in the wash (acrylic/spray paint work)

good strong tape

a good sturdy card-like thingy

an easy/cool design for your print :)

THE SUPPLIES THAT ARE RECCOMENDED BUT NOT NECESSARY (aka things I like to use):

a good canvas fabric/thick cotton for printing on

fabric paint (will stay on the fabric best duh)

a 1/2in, 1/3in, and fine tip paintbrush for details (depending on your design)

some company for fun :)

Alright, so first you'll want to figure out the design you want to print out and get a good sketch over it. I'm a detail freak so I like sketching out my design then going over it in a black pen. The ideal is hard contrast and clear and discernable lines/fill-in spots, like pictured below:

(Note how I emphasized which spots were to have thicker lines, which parts of the stripes were to be printed, etc. I tried to think a lot about which portions I wanted to show up on the finished design and how they would look on the fabric as a whole.)

So you've got your design. Great! Next step is a fun one: Grab a canvas you are willing to part with (this one was a painting I made when I was 16. I hate it), and rip all the fabric off of that fucker!! If you pull off some staples in the process, don't worry. Just make sure you can retain the shape of the frame, since that's the part you'll need to keep. You don't need to take off every single bit of the fabric, but as previously stated, I'm a freak, so I did. You'll come out with something like this:

For the next steps you'll need a good pair of scissors as well as your pen and your sheer fabric. You're going to want to set the frame on your fabric and cut about an inch and a half around it so there's extra to wrap around the frame and tape down. You can draw a guideline for where to cut if you want, but once again, I'm a freak:

Now lay the front of the canvas frame (the part without staples on it) face down on the fabric and grab your tape! Now we're going to tape down each end of the frame so the sheer lays taut on the frame. I like to put one or two strips of tape on the ends parallel to each other and pull them tight, then do the same with the other side, then continue adding tape until the whole outside of the frame is covered. See below:

(Note: your goal in this step is to stretch the sheer as tight as it can comfortably go so there are no wrinkles or depressions in the fabric.)

So now you have you're frame. Fuck yes!!! Go ahead and grab the design you came up with as well as your pen (you can use a pencil too, but the pen shows up much better through the fabric so I definitely prefer it), and put the frame front side down onto the sketch.

If you're worried about keeping the frame steady, feel free to tape the frame down and go ahead and trace over the design with your pen. Make sure to fill in all the dark parts enough that you can differentiate them from the light parts.

Once you have your sketch copied to the frame, now you can grab your gloss!!! Hurry!!! You're almost done!!!!

With this step I like to start big and go into the details once all the larger portions of the sheer are covered. Pretty much you're going to paint over every part that isn't the black of the pen with your waterproof gloss. This ensures that once you start printing, the only parts that are going to bleed through the fabric will be the black parts that weren't painted over with gloss/varnish/mod podge/whatever you used as long as it's waterproof!!! Take all the time you need, it's not a race. Once you're done and the gloss has dried, your screen is going to look something like this when put up to a light:

Now that this step is over with, congratulations - you have just made a mesh screen!!! Keep reading to learn how to use it lol

So for the patches that I make I just went with black and white paint, and black and white fabric to keep it traditional, but you can use any colors of paint and fabric you want, truly! The world is your oyster! I do not care! That being said, we're keeping it simple today.

Grab your screen, a piece of fabric that can cover the design and leave at least an inch of space around it, and a surface you won't mid getting paint on on accident. You'll also want to grab that card-like thingy for this as well. It can really be anything that can provide a sturdy, even pressure across the screen consistently. Go ahead and pick up that fabric paint too, I guess. We'll probably need that.

At this point, this is what your workspace might look like:

Next up you are going to center your design onto your piece of fabric-

-and grab your fabric paint. put a thin little stripe over the top (start slow and add more - as you can see I added a little too much and kinda fucked up my design) then grab your card thingy. Make sure you have even pressure on it and swipe it down at a medium speed so you're dragging the paint down the screen:

Once you've got everything covered I like to go over it a few more times for even coverage. Then you pull it up from the screen (which you might want to rinse off so no paint sticks to it!!!), wait for that bitch to dry, and you're done!! Congratulations, you have your very own fun silly patch! Go sew it on something! Or not! I do really do not care!!!!!!

[otaku553]

Ok a few questions...

1st - the little reaction character you draw for every ask is so cute have u learnt to draw or just an amateur? I mean I hardly am able to draw such quick sketches my work takes days to complete

2nd - your major is so much superior and brainy it hurts my brain ( as a med student I find tech people really brainy) and currently I am trying to do some research on Ai in med how shd I approach that ? At an under grad level where I am hardly having any independent clinical practice and any good knowledge on Ai? I mean I do try studying it but I won't ever be at par with proper Ai studies at tech institutes. Pls help.

1) As you might have guessed from my STEM academic background, art is mostly a hobby for me and I’ve never actually been professionally trained or taken lessons for it :) most of what I know comes from YouTube videos and books and stuff, accumulated over,,,,, I think 13 years now of drawing?? I’m lucky my parents really encouraged me to draw and kept nurturing that interest in me when I was young, haha

These quick sketches are actually all done on my notes app and are only so quick because going fast was the only way to get the nice line weight I wanted so I trained it up so I could do these in a minute or less :) if you dig up my oldest ask response doodles though you can definitely see where I started from haha

2) If you’re looking into the basics of machine learning theory at the undergrad level, Caltech has the entire introductory course available for free on YouTube! I don’t know if it’s the best way to learn but it’s pretty alright from what I remember? What you need will depends a lot on the scope of what research you’re doing, I think. AI in the loosest sense is a thing of data organization and prediction based on some funky math stuff. If you need help actually implementing it you might need some other online tutorial but since most of these models are already prebuilt on things like PyTorch and matlab you generally don’t actually need to thoroughly know the math background for it I think. (I think especially matlab has nice documentation so it’s especially easy to do your first implementation of models there but uhh take that with a grain of salt)

Otherwise, if you’re specifically researching the ways it interfaces with medicine, I’d recommend going to Google scholar and searching up academic journals and articles about it. If the jargon is a bit much, you can look up articles elsewhere like in the general news and then look at the articles from there. If you have a mentor for research, as well, I would definitely recommend asking them for literature to review. Happy researching!

[leathfaic]

Ghost and Soap tattoo headcanons because the brain worms demand it right now!

In my mind at least Ghost has a lot more tattoos than just his sleeve, it's just not common knowledge because until he gets together with Soap no one ever really sees him undressed except maybe for medical staff.

The sleeve was the beginning but he's adding to them whenever leave allows, on his chest and back, on his legs and his other arms and even his hands. Ghost is also the kind of guy that is very stoic while getting tattoos, the pain doesn't really bother him, he's been through so much worse, but he's not the guy who's chatting with the artist either. He just sits through it. Similarly afterwards he's pretty disciplined about the aftercare required. Sun rarely is an issue with the way he dresses and he plans his leave times around the appointments so he can take it easy for a while.

When the inevitable itching starts he just glares at the spot, never actually touching it, but he gets fucking irritated for a few days.

And while he's not the best at taking care of himself in many aspects of his life I can actually see him take good care of his tattoos in the long run, because I imagine him getting them to cover up scars, especially those left by Roba and his men. It's his way of reclaiming his body. The motive itself often isn't as important as the fact that he chose to have it put at that spot. The meaning isn't in the design either it's in the fact that it was his decision to wear it, unlike the scars that were forced upon him.

And then there's Soap, he's only got the one tattoo that we know, at least when he meets Ghost.

Its faded from sunlight exposure and because he never took proper care of it while it healed, even caught himself scratching it once or twice when the itching started. Its always exposed and he rarely thinks of putting sunscreen on, so naturally the tattoo has a hard time and the colour fades quick.

So at some point Ghost asks him if he wants it touched up. He's making an appointment with the artist he trusts anyways and he'd be happy to bring him along. Ghost knows that for Soap his tattoo does have meaning, that he's fucking proud to have made it into the SAS and that he got kinda sad comparing the crisp lines of Ghost's tattoos to his own.

Soap ends up agreeing although he's wary since he can't see it go better than it did last time. But if anything the fact that Ghost is allowing him to come along for this is such a huge sign of trust that he just can't refuse it.

And Ghost's tattoo artist is going to have to recover for a moment because Soap is so fucking chatty compared to Ghost, the pain is kinda exciting to him so he talks more and more and the artist hears more words out of Ghost in response to Johnny than he ever did before. Would wonder if it was the same man if they weren't literally continuing work on a tattoo they had started.

Once they are both done Ghost makes sure Soap takes proper care of the new ink. Threatens to tie him to the bed if he starts scratching at night (something Soap finds entirely too exciting). Shares his care products with him and makes him wrap it up for the first weeks and months. Is always at hand with some sun screen, at least for the arm, even when they are in the middle of nowhere. It's worth the trouble to squeeze some sun screen in his pack when he gets to see Johnny so happy about how good his tattoo looks again.

And once he sees how a properly taken care of piece will look Soap wants more. Ends up accompanying Ghost to the studio whenever he goes.

He's creative, most of what ends up on him is based on his own sketches, always with meaning behind it for him. The next thing he gets is a certain skull based on a specific mask that he wears close to his heart (making Ghost go through emotions he wasn't aware he was capable of having). He also helps Ghost with giving some of his ideas form often redrawing endless variations to make sure Simon doesn't just pick one that seems okay and fitting for its purpose but one he really likes to look at too. Poor man almost loses it when he sees one of his sketches inked on Ghost for the first time and its a good thing they are on leave because he's not gonna let him out of their bed any time soon. Purely to protect the new ink from the sun of course.

[montydrawsstuff]

your art is so cool i must know how you color your traditional sketches digitally O_O (/nf)

lessfuckingo friends!

this is my very quick and very easy process for colouring traditional sketches!

Step uno! Pick a sketch! Or make a sketch! I like to sketch in pen cos I like the look of all the under structures in a drawing and I use a lot of crosshatching for texture but you can use a pencil sketch and clean it up if you want a cleaner pic!

Next step! Clean and crop the sketch to your liking! I like to remove surrounding drawings but I still like it to look like it’s on a page so I keep any visible edges, and adjust contrast so the lines are darker, since they will be the lineart

Step 3! Make a new layer above the current layer and set it to multiply! I use clip studio paint but I believe most programs have the same or similar layer styles. This layer is where I put my flat colour, I leave the white of the page for white for now. I use the pen tool to colour cos it’s the easiest for me

Step 4! I add the base “glow” using a colour dodge layer and adding red with airbrush to any part I like to feel warmer, such as cheeks ears elbows etc. this is more of a warmth thing than shading thing tho it does lighten…

Step 5! Put a multiply over your flat colours, this will be your shadows. I use a beige brownish colour cos it mimics the warmth of the paper a little.

Step 5! Again! I do 2 layers of shading cos it’s added depth, I do some crosshatching in the shading too like to original sketch. A soft eraser can be used if some of the shadows feel too harsh or sharp

Step 6! Make a new layer on top of all your layers in a lighting style. I like add glow. Airbrush the general areas I want to highlight ! I use red and a large brush

Step 7! Make a new lighting layer and use a smaller pen tool to add the solid highlights! This adds the gloss and shine on the lightest points. I use orange here cos again, warmth. Use a soft eraser to soften anywhere you feel looks to harsh or sharp

Last step! I go into my flat colour layer again and use a large airbrush in red to hammer home the vibes of this boy is so gd warm. You can use whatever colours you want to radiate but I like red hehe

And we are done!

All my traditional sketches with colour are coloured this same way! Hope this was clear and understandable hehe

[sir-subpar]

Blitzo

All right! Redesigned/reimagined Blitzo.

So, heres the thing, I don't hate his current design, but I don't love it either.

Under the cut I will talk more

Alright, Blitzo. Biy do I have some thoughts on Blitzo.

I do love the idea of a failed clown turning into an assassin. I love the idea of an assassin from hell slaughtering people that sinners pay him to. I like the idea that this is his way of proving others wrong and trying to redeem himself. Him not wanting to be a failure anymore is a decent idea for a character.

The issues I have:

His treatment towards other characters. I am not opposed to him being an asshole. I like characters who start off terrible but then become good people through consequences and change in Behavior. But blitz's Behavior doesn't actually change for the better in the show. It's more like everyone around him changes to justify everything that he does.

Stalking your employees? Barely addressed.

Setting your best friend on fire? And insulting and guilttripping said friend in a half-assed apology? Apparently good enough.

Stealing from your girlfriend? (I have thoughts on Verosika too, I'll get to her at some point). It brought up in maybe two conversations and never again.

My big issue here isn't so much that Blitz is a bad person as much as the fact that there's no consequences for him except for when the plot demands it. And then said consequences go away an episode later. Especially if we're meant to sympathize with him.

I hate this line. So much. This is one of those times where you can't really redeem a person. Not when they say something like this:

Anyway, back to the design.

Once again, like usual with Viv, there's too much red.

It's kind of easy to lose track of details in his design.

His feet are just really weird to me. Why are they shaped like shoes? His heels are really weird

As mentioned in some of my concept sketches, I feel like if he survived a fire that did *this* to fizz

It should have done more damage to Blitzo. Hence why I made him blind in one eye

I gave him fingers similar to his sister Barbie wire, it just looks better to me. And since they're twins I think it makes sense. Once again, I will do her design as well soon

I do keep his striped horns, as I feel like it makes sense for him to have them with the whole ex clown thing, but since a lot of the other characters aren't clown based they won't get the same stripes on their horns. I know Viv said that hell is like a circus, but it so rarely comes up outside of the jester designs that I decided to omit that in my rewrite

I really want to lean into the idea that he goes through change and improves his behavior bit by bit. With little hints of his soft side towards the beginning, that comes out more clearly as time goes on. Him learning something different from each character

He could learn to take accountability from fizz. Learn professionalism and good business practices from Moxxie. Learn boundaries from his daughter Loona. Etc.

I made him pink as I've heard a few ideas floating around that he might be part succubus or part lust imp and I think that fits him.

And finally... the elephant in the room. Where does Stolas come in?

Look. The way it's portrayed in the show, I don't like it. I liked Stoas better in the pilot. He was just a rich 1% who did what he wanted regardless of who it hurt. I like the idea of that for an antagonist. Blitzo uses him, he uses Blitzo. They both did things for selfish gains.

I also liked the idea that he would send IMP on hit jobs as well. That would have been really interesting to see in the show

I will discuss more about their Dynamic when I do stolas's design. I will give some quick bullet points for now

Blitzo and Stolas don't fall in love.

Stolas constantly holds the grimoire over Blitzo's head to get what he wants. He knows Blitzo's business and livelihood depends on it and he takes full advantage of it.

Blitzo doesn't want to be Shackled to the prince, but doesn't see any other options until Striker appears (again, I will explain that when I get to it).

He resents stolas (and himself) for being trapped in this arrangement

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Fifteen]

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea/---5K----SFW*

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You see the world beyond the veil, though something is lurking beneath...

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Ghosts | Slow Burn | Some Lore | Mentions of Blood* | Mentions of Death* | Sorry for the ending 😬 | There are surely typos but I caught a cold so go easy on me pls

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Fifteen: Cold Embrace

There was a moment in the night when the world painted grey lead, almost transformed into a ghostly realm, blurry lines between the mist floating above the sea and the infinite sky. Barely the sketch of a world.

It was when the veil between worlds thinned enough for the spirits to crawl into ours, and for you to enter theirs.

If you so wished, of course. And you longed for it every night, thinking about what you would wish to say to the woman who gave up on life as soon as she created a little one. Why didn't she take you with her?

Why the sea refused, again and again, and again, to claim you. Too starving of revenge and the blood of this forgotten town, and yet, only those closer to you kept dying.

The image flashed, as quick as lightning. Cold sand pressed against your back, small pebbles trying to incrust inside your skin, the rotten stench of death as the sharp edge of a rusty knife pierced the surface at barely centimeters away from your cheek.

“If the water won’t claim you,” a voice said, face covered with thin, soaked blonde hair. The woman took the handle of the weapon with her broken fingers, nails black and long as she pulled the knife off the sand to raise it above her head. You gasped at the sight of half-eaten grey skin, barnacles, and moss growing on the hard edges of the bone. "Blood will. And how much blood I'm going to draw…"

The knife sang against the air, falling with mastery toward your heart.

By the time you tiptoed your way back to the beacon room, the rain had died down to a breeze; freezing wind sneaking its way through the boarded window. Such opposite of the warm embrace of your now not-so-fake husband—that if his gentle kisses were proof concrete enough.

Though tearing yourself away from the warm embrace of the couch and the sweater Viktor thrown over you was almost a herculean task, but you didn’t wish for him to cover your duty, though by now your rest had been disturbed by the recurrent nightmare, better said, the recurrent memory.

Your weeks as the keeper had turned you nocturnal, another spirit keeping watch by the cliff—a chill running down your spine when you realized you weren't that different from the other ghosts roaming the coast, wailing at the foot of the cliff.

Except today, it seemed. Just as everything seemed different with him around.

Viktor was posted by the uncovered section of the glass, his cane leaned against the wall, a figure so still you thought you were still dreaming, that he had become a new prop of your foolishness at imagining that last night had been real.

A mask melting into the disgusting face of the bloated woman. Another knife was hidden inside the handle of his cane.

"Viktor?" Your voice broke the stillness of the early morning, the fuzzy edges of the world becoming solid once his golden gaze broke between the foggy morning like a victorious sun.

Your steps were annoyingly noisy against the creaky wooden floor of the beacon room, the cold, salty air filtering through the boards as the roaring of the sea dwindled to a simple, constant growl.

“You should’ve woken me,” you said, eyeing the disarray on the table; with open journals and yellowish pages scattered everywhere, tiny, and hurried calligraphy strangely familiar. “Keeping watch isn’t your job.”

His cane tapped against the floor when he turned toward you, a sheepish smile on his face. "It's been a while since I got to see this view." Long, sinewy fingers traced the length of the boards, as if the view he was referring to had been now carved into the wood instead of appearing in the wild. "Accompany me. We need to retrieve some tools from the house today.”

Why he had been by the window all night? If certainly the seascape was stunning during dawn, by night everything was just a world of mist and darkness.

"Did you see her?" you muttered once out of the lighthouse tower; fingers still freezing over the door bolt before pulling out the lock. Part of you hoped you didn't have to say who—not only because of the uncertainty, but also the dread of voicing it, such action pushing the memory of it not like a dream coated in guilt and frenzy, but a real affliction.

Viktor called your name, metal shrieking with accumulated rust once he pulled the gate open. "There's a legend," he trod with caution, words stumbling against each other once the house's façade started looming on the horizon. "About her."

“Well, what is it?”

He smiled at your interest, opening the door of the house that always remained unlocked while he beckoned you inside a spotless foyer. Almost eclipsing the scene, you saw upon your return to the city. If it weren’t…

Everything could be done with step following another, and another; as easy as that, as you’ve done all your life—as you got near your uncle’s funeral.

But then, the pull.

You stood like an alien on the threshold, noticing the elongated shadows seeming to devour any trace of sunlight that could enter through the open door. The silence was broken only by the waves down the beach.

“Miss, we ought not to talk about it here, unless we wish to summon them,” Viktor said, leaning closer to you to whisper such words that left goosebump flesh to crawl up your arms. “That’s what all ghost stories say, does it not?”

No, it wasn’t a pull. It was a gaze.

Old and unmerciful and unwavering, coming from the empty corner down the first floor’s hall. There where only the amorph shadow of the dissected mermaid had been once.

Was it her? Was hers the cave you discovered yesterday? Was she—

"Then, when do we talk about what's happening in here?" you whispered, hoping your front of bravery would be enough for the house to stop staring at you with the feeling of inferiority blooming out of your chest. "I’m tired of thinking I’m out of my mind. I don’t want to run anymore. Because ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Just like you pretended those muddy footsteps were a result of your vivid imagination. Barely daring to remember there here, where the horror had taken place—though you had to admit it hadn’t been the worst.

His eyes darkened, from sunny to burned honey. Viktor passed next to you, side-gazing the staircase up to the first set of stairs toward where his underground office was located. His fingers surrounded one of your wrists, pulling you away from the entrance and into the depths of the house.

His back and open coat brought you protection as he guided you toward the kitchen, covered from the gaze you were sure was still piercing his back.

“In open waters, where nobody else but ourselves can hear,” he whispered, pulling back in such a swift move you were almost convinced his words had been a delusion. “Alright. I'll bring the notebooks to my bedroom desk. Can you bring the books on the table down to my office?” He pointed toward the first-floor hallway. “I need to pack lightly for this excursion.” Viktor chuckled. “The boat isn’t that big, and now I’ll have company…”

Now was the cave, but before had been those damned footsteps, mocking outlines of a presence that shouldn't be there—and you weren't sure if you preferred it to be a simple joke from Viktor or an intruder from town.

Why had Viktor decided to make you company in the lighthouse? It went further than empathy, or even, the craving of being closer to each other when the whole world faded. But the starlight sphere hadn’t been built yet. And while shadows rested for their hauntings, you could wander freely.

You remembered the stagnant air filling your nose as you hoped your uncle to pass by after their break inside Viktor’s house, fearing the vivid memory would materialize into his ghost again.

Or whoever would be wearing his face this time.

 “I—I would prefer to go for the books on the second floor, so you won’t climb too many stairs,” you said, your face hot once you met Viktor’s attentive gaze, an eyebrow elegantly arched. “Not to be meddlesome, of course.”

Viktor nodded, a half-smirk pulling his lips. “If you say so." He hummed, taking some keys out of his pockets; between all the golden, the one to open the underground office was big and heavy, silver, and with a slight tint of green from rust. “I’ll see you by the office, then.”

His steps quickly disappeared, your curiosity peaking as you climbed the stairs, almost picturing the rainy night you had met him, so many weeks ago.

Perhaps you’d be more familiar with the house if this marriage were conventional—if this house were conventional, too, without charged silences and acute shadows looming around the corners.

Without muddy footsteps guiding the way toward Viktor’s room.

He didn’t have any servants employed on the daily, with dusty corners and spiderwebs growing from the small crevices between the wall lamps and the roof. Excepting the quiet cook who came once a week to deliver food, Viktor lived all alone.

Until you, perhaps.

You would never know how he could stand it, the endless, empty hallways, still corners as if waiting for something to break such consistency with a humanoid shadow suspended above the ground. Such a big house, so lonesome.

Many corners watching your every move, so many shadows lurking nearby. It was maddening, as if you were a prey expecting to be hunted at every turning corner.

And then, it was your shabby cabin, too small for five people and yet, just as solitary.

Cursed or not, the walls are always whispering, bleeding the time it has seeped into them when the wallpaper isn’t changed regularly. The dark spots of humidity, creaky floors, and shrieking doors.

This house was alive, just like a guardian for its secrets, and right now, you were an intruder.

Would there be a place where you weren’t one?

Viktor’s door was unlocked when you entered, the familiar, cold handle quickly turning. Inside, everything was untouched, as you would expect a hostel’s room to look. So… abandoned.

The morning sun painted the white walls light yellow, staining your vision that was now so used to the dim orangey hues from the oil lamps lined up along the hallway. His bed was kept, blankets tucked neatly under the pillows that you know smelled like him; old pages of books, coffee beans, and the marine breeze filtering through the window.

With careful strides, wishing not to disturb the quietness of the place that was cut only by your slow breaths.

There it was his desk, the pile of papers and notebooks with wrinkly edges covering the wooden surface. Absentminded, your fingers passed through the pages, observing ink stains seeping through the reverse of its surface, crossed-out words gone unreadable. Diagrams of different sea creatures signaling with arrows are parts you couldn't make sense of.

Except… these… some of these drawings were familiar, or illustrations you'd found in the tales' books your grandparents kept by the side of your cot. Mermaids—all kinds of creatures with human heads, arms, and torsos, yet infinite classes of lower half.

Click. You heard, the hairs in your nape raising once the door in front of his bedroom started creaking.

Wood wept as the darkness spilled into the hallway, acute shadows seeming to lurk closer. His notebooks crackled when you pressed them against your chest in a stupid attempt to soothe your frenetic heartbeat.

Curtains were drawn, windows boarded; the inside of the adjacent room looked like a dark maw. You wished to tear your gaze away from the void, but curiosity prickled your brain, wishing to guess which amorph figures you could peek from the shadows.

Which one was the cause of your horrors?

You got closer to the hallway—you didn’t have another way to walk toward the exit, taking steps backward steps in an attempt not to turn your back to the darkness.

From the poor illumination from the oil lamp next to the door, you observed the outlines of a four-poster bed, a thin veil covering the mattress to protect it from the dust that permeated the forgotten, locked-away room.

 It was then when your gaze flashed down, gaze focused on the large, solid mass of shadows sitting at the edge of the bed, half-body tucked inside the veil.

Your feet stumbled, almost tripping by the wrinkled edge of the carpet; knees converted into molten wax.

A trail of mud looked like drying blood inside the room, ending at the foot of the bed.

The sketch of a humanoid figure—the ghost bared its teeth in a lazy grin. Human teeth.

The air got stuck on its way out of your lips.

But no, you have pledged enough mercy that night at the cave, and you knew ghosts would be restless anyhow, as unmerciful as the heartbroken wails from the cliff.

You felt the heavy weight of the shell in the depths of your pocket, a somewhat comforting presence when your hands slid along the wallpaper wall, cold and rugged by time, to touch the level of the sconce.

Light filled the room like a yellowish afternoon, showing you a bedroom that was probably decorated by and for a young woman. With its tall closet and books collecting dust, discolored bedsheets covering what appeared to be a lounging couch posted by the window. A vanity whose mirror had been missed.

Covered with a soft-looking cotton blanket decorated with a knitted pattern of flowers laid the mattress, ruffles of lavender fabric covering the rest until it grazed slightly against the wooden floor. And yet despite all the details, no matter how hard your eyes tried to scan the surface, the bed remained empty.

Though a mark was half hidden beneath the ruffles, like a mocking gesture.

The outline of a footprint, still wet and muddy staining the fabric’s edge.

Newly made.

Swallowing a lump down your throat, which could be both panic and nausea, you held your breath while taking the door’s knob, cold and solid and grounding.

I won’t fear anymore. You thought, knuckles white from your forceful grasp. I won’t fear anymore.

Accommodating Viktor’s notebooks under your arm, you ran your finger to meet with the light’s flick, the movement more unconscious than you'd imagined as your finger simply ran down the button's surface to fill the room with shadows once again.

Instinct called you to look at the bed once again, which remained empty.

Yet still, while you closed the door with a slam, the hairs around your face moved by the breeze, accompanied by a distinctive human sigh.

It smelled like stagnant air, like the rotten stench of death.

When you tore your hand away from the knob, your fingers were stained with mud and traces of coagulated blood. An ominous mark, and an open challenge, perhaps.

It hadn’t been disgust. It wasn't a lack of bravery that made you dash down the stairs either, but the feeling that preceded closely behind after the sound dragged too long and with an impossible origin in this solitary hallway. Chills covered your skin with goosebumps, the heavy feeling of your nausea climbing up your empty stomach, the sick sensation of someone—something—watching you close.

Mid-way to the first landing, you started humming, a coping mechanism you developed since your uncles loved to tell you horror stories. To let your mind wander, filled with a long-forgotten song you tried to resurrect. Hum the same song in a loop until your brain tired itself out, forcing you to slumber.

This time, an echo answered your unconscious call for a duet once you stepped onto the ground floor, the sound floating along the wood, originating from under the door next to Viktor’s office.

“Viktor?” you muttered, though the voice wasn’t the same. It was a childish attempt to conceal the fear that this house enjoyed tied into your ankles and arms, like a puppet.

And right now, the house wanted you to play, prickling your curiosity enough to open the door. The locked door whose key remained inside the breast pocket of Viktor’s coat, the closed door that upon your intense gaze wasn’t locket at all, lock rusty and empty, yet not sealed.

Perhaps this one would also open unexpectedly if you hovered nearby long enough.

If you want to know, open this door, the house told you, making its walls loom closer, to trap you inside this moment when the sun hid behind a cloud, perhaps fearful of what your decision would be.

Open it. Open it. Open it.

You stood in front of it, torn between going down the known path, where Viktor’s door pooled light under the door, safe company, or following this one where the cold breeze came from. The door looked back at your indecision, impassive and old. All-knowing.

Open it. Open it. Open it. Don’t you want to know if you’re crazy? If you’re both crazy?

With your jaw clenched, you hugged Viktor’s notes closer to your chest, a sharp inhale as if you were about to dive underwater.

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

The iron was freezing to the touch; the slight creak between the floor and the door filtered cool air toward your legs, around your ankles like a lasso—which made you aware that this wasn’t a sealed room.

What was on the other side?

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

THUNK.

“Miss, what are you doing?” Viktor said when he saw you running down the steps of his office, hands pressed against the door as if a monster were trying to enter. “Are you alright?”

“Viktor,” you breathed, feeling your legs shake from the strain and the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “Viktor, what is this?” you said, tumbling down the stairs and pushing the mermaid’s diagrams on top of the desk.

Viktor looked at you with wide eyes, some hairs prickling his forehead when he shook his head. “Pardon? Were you looking into my things?”

“Of course not,” your rebuttal was sharp and dry, humorless. “These are the notes you wanted to retrieve for the expedition. Why?”

He started by calling your name, but this wasn’t time to play with niceties. It wasn’t the first time you were haunted in this house—much less in this damned town; your old shell as a scared person had slowly been replaced by a harder, boldest one.

Viktor sighed, rubbing his right temple. “It’s… complicated,” he ventured. Words died in his mouth when he looked away in shame. "I don't think you'd believe me."

You extended your left hand, showing him the rest of the mud and blood starting to peel off. "If you believed me, why shouldn't I believe you?"

His eyes traveled toward your fingers extended toward him, his hand swiftly enveloping your stained digits with his own, dismissed the idea of caring about getting his hand dirty. You saw his expression shift; knitted eyebrows and a slightly clenched jaw, lips pressed on a line.

“Come with me,” Viktor said, standing from the desk and grabbing a valise that looked both full and heavy. “Let’s get out of this house.”

The afternoon was fading away when you helped Viktor push a fishing boat toward the shallow waters of the beach, almost not feeling the freezing weight of the water lapping at your ankles for the tall boots you decided to wear.

Your tummy was full of an extensive meal, arms burning from the effort of a whole day full of duties, feeling the rattling of the wooden boat scrapping the rocks in your bones.

“It’s ready,” Viktor grunted, ignoring the beads of sweat running down his forehead. “I’ll help you up first.” He extended his hand toward you, using it as leverage for you to step into the wobbling surface of the vessel. “There you go.” He used his upper body strength to sit against the edge of the boat, using your arms to rotate himself inside it, only putting down his legs over what would be his seat for the rest of the expedition.

The lighthouse waved you goodbye when you started paddling, wanting to keep the motor in case of emergency—besides, Viktor had said that the rain would come only after sundown.

"This is the fishing boat of Mr. Calis," you told him, passing your hands over the half-scrapped-down painting of its name Norina. It was, better put since Mr. Calis had died years ago.

“Yes. I bought it from his son when Mr. Calis moved with him to the city,” Viktor said. “It’s said to be the only fishing boat that didn’t suffer losses even during the fishing shortage years ago.”

You remembered, around ten years ago when your grandma told you that story while you promised you wouldn't repeat it.

It happened when she was still young, blessed with a reliable memory. Like all the other families from Piltover the Old, they must carry the familiar tradition of fishing as the only job people from this town could have—they were favored by the mermaids, or so the legends said.

And yet, all that terrible winter brought were merciless storms, destructive floods, and blobs of rotten fish washed ashore. All unconsumable, all unsellable.

It went for all winter, using the arrival of spring as an excuse to offer tribute to the sea, a custom you could still appreciate from the elders' survivors of the town leaving offerings at the foot of the cliff, washed away by the sea.

"People said he cut half the catch of each day and dumped it overboard in open waters," you hummed, just like your grandma did when she reached that part of the tale. "To feed the mermaids that helped him fill his nets."

“This town had always been tied to mermaids," Viktor said, enjoying the view of the lighthouse making itself smaller and smaller, a thin veil of fog starting to cover the sea as the sky turned dark blue. "Its designation as the largest, richest fishing zone all along this coast; it's downfall, and now even its remains are still tied to it."

“That’s why you’re interested in mermaids?”

"Yes," Viktor said, his body leaning backward and onwards with each forceful paddle, the tides growing impatient by the calling of the full moon that could barely peek down at you from between the thick clouds. "Many scientists still don't understand what phenomenon occurs in these waters. How there are so many flashing floodings, uneven patterns of raining seasons, and, well, this." Viktor signaled around you, the world becoming blurry and grey in the middle of the mist. "Look over there, where the sun dipped down."

With his cold hand, he guided your chin toward the west, where the continuous path of mist broke with a blue patch of sky.

“Is that…?” But it couldn’t be.

Viktor nodded. "The night sky. Nobody knows why only this part of the beach fills with fog and storms at night. There are dozens of papers theorizing about it, but alas, nothing is concrete yet."

“And do you think this is the product of mermaids?”

“There was a brutal hunting episode near this shore,” Viktor gestured to where the lighthouse was observing them like a gargantuan cyclops with its unwavering gaze, golden like its owner. “Folklore says that the fishermen killed mermaids once their revenues plummeted at the sudden shortage of fish—their pact with the mermaids already broken. But scientists say they killed large mammals instead, perhaps manatees. Such massacre would've created an unbalance in the ecosystem that still affects us today."

You paddled quicker once the night sky grazed you with its twinkling stars, a clean fabric of navy blue where the moon looked so big and full you could almost extend your hand and cup it, letting her tint you with its silver hues, to make you all moonlight. Perhaps that way you could float away from the dreary coast, always grisly and hopeless with its freezing rain that had seeped your bones with the same disillusion.

“Of course, that doesn’t explain the meteorological phenomena surrounding the town, either why there are people who refuse to leave it despite its conditions,” Viktor continued, stretching the sore muscles of his back once you broke over the unfoggy, calm open waters.

“Maybe they can’t,” you replied, your mind lost in the memories of your trip to the city.

Viktor gazed at you, seemingly thinking the same in the way he nodded, lips ajar as if trying to say something else.

“Perhaps they can’t,” he agreed, voice barely above a whisper. “His name was Gavin. Gavin Stell. He built the house—and many say, he haunts the house.”

You felt cold despite the layers of clothes you had wrapped yourself into, the marine breeze making you believe the ghost was still behind you, whispering things into your ear.

“A man covered in mud…”

Viktor nodded. "He died inside his house during the devastating first flooding. Thinking his house was high enough that nothing would happen to him, he boarded the windows and sealed the doors to prevent the water from entering; and yet, she still found him and claimed him and the house. They had been the highest tides ever recorded; around sixty feet tall and seventy feet in range—of course, many say folklore exaggerated them. There’s no way to know for sure.” Viktor took the anchor and let it sink overboard once you were all surrounded by inky waters. “His spirit is locked inside the house, wanting his revenge from the mermaids that made his most precious project go to waste.”

You bit your lip, tasting the copper stench of your blood. The words were too scary to let out. This is real. That night was real. “Then the woman on the beach is a mermaid, perhaps? The one he’s trying to take revenge on?”

 “No. Mermaids can’t be ghosts because they have no soul, no real body that remains after death.”

“But… the one in the museum—”

“It’s a fake. A wonder of mythical taxonomy, but it’s made up with human rests and other marine animals to match. It was discovered years after the flooding and after Gavin’s death. I suppose it was the last reason to abandon any hope to recover Piltover the Old’s once splendor.”

“That’s why you say you’re cursed?” you mumbled now that his attentive gaze was drawn away from yours, his fingers expertly aligning bottles to collect the bioluminescence algae and the water. “Because if so—and I know this may not help at all—but we’re all a bit cursed, too. But maybe together we can find a way to get out of the mist for good.” Shyly, you took the small tests he handed you, scribbling down what he instructed you to label them correctly and put them inside the box made of wood and leather.

Viktor tried to smile, observing the calm water that started to form foam with bioluminescent blue and green, ready to scoop part of it into his sterile bottle. "I've lost count of how many times I've tried, that I'm trying not to get my hopes high, Miss. The sea is unforgiven, and it seems that I still owe too much for her to let me go."

You stayed quiet for a moment after that, not knowing how to feel, or what to say. You felt it, too. The tug at the bottom of your heart that called to look out the window, even now, challenged your best senses to look directly down into the abyss. To watch and tell her, I’m here.

"Mermaids may have no soul, but where do you think all those people killed by the sea went?" Viktor's question surprised you, his profile bathed in moonlight while his eyes squinted in focus toward the coast that had been left behind. "Sometimes, I think that they're, perhaps, in the mist that surrounds the town at night."

That she had taken too much from you, to confront her; sinking into the green-blue waters and glaring into its unbounded limits.

I’m here. What more do you want from me? You thought, settling another sample of bioluminescence inside the chest and dipping your hand into the water to erase a blotch of ink from staining your sweater.

"But then, why do they haunt us?" you whispered, the ghost wearing your uncle's face appearing in your mind. Your eyes locked into the water to try erase such happening from your memory.

What more do you want to take to let me be free?

From the infinite black of the ocean's waters, you saw a glimpse of white move below the boat, pale and quick and giant like lightning.

The boat rippled, with Viktor almost lost balance while trying to catch his cane about to fall overboard.

“Vikt—" you started, looking at him with eyes wide with terror, your grasp on his shoulders forceful and your breathing so quick it was creating clouds of steam from the lower temperature creeping into the night. “There’s something under the boat…”

From under the boat, you saw the flash again, a large, massive eye peeking from under the ocean surface directly at you.

A scream bubbled up its way out your throat, drowned by the sudden movement of the water below swaying violently to the side, toppling the boat upside down.

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