#Practice for me

[theanoninyourinbox]

mmmm I wanna be silly…

If you send me a picture of a gemstone and an outfit (a CLEAN/APPROPRIATE FOR THE PUBLIC AND CUSS FREE PLEASE) and a body type…you get free rock lady and I get Practice drawing humanoids…win/win scenario…

Open until mmmmmm tomorrow morning

[knockknockwhosthereartistism]

The worst trauma comes from those who you love

[mumblesplash]

comics as an art form make me insane. they’re so difficult to do well. there’s so many different ways to make sequential art work and most of them are deeply unintuitive. onomatopoeia that feels completely ridiculous to put down often reads seamlessly. panels on a page become a fractally nested image composition challenge that’s only possible to lose because if you do a good job no one will notice. you have to direct the readers’ eyes on a specific path across the page but also account for the fact that they won’t follow it. comic time isn’t linear. if the order of events isn’t crystal clear the story becomes incomprehensible. sometimes you need to do this on purpose. all this for a medium almost universally considered less effective than animation and less respectable than plain text. even its own name doesn’t take it seriously

[lettuccine]

(me to myself) it's okay, they're just acting..

zoom in on the smooches:

[ink-the-artist]

whats wrong with my dog bruh 😂😭

[thatskindarough]

HAPPY GAY

[yakeisoda]

heartshackle.......

[softyuujis]

I want to put my two cents on a Caleb headcanon cause I saw a few and I don’t like em so here’s mine for the possessive girlies out there.

Caleb is a BIG virgin. Has never looked at anyone who isn’t MC/you. Has never had a thought of another girl or woman who wasn’t you. Never imagined a life with someone else other than you. It’s ALWAYS and will always be you. He wants every first to be special and it’ll only be special if it’s with you. First hug, first hand hold, first kiss, first time intimate; it HAS to be just you, just you and him together.

HOWEVER, he’s not dumb. He knows his first time together with you has to be perfect. He can’t be coming undone in his pants before he’s had a chance to enter you. He can’t get overtly excited touching you resulting in making a fool of himself. So naturally he turns to books. From female anatomy books that explain the clit and where the g-spot is. To romance books to smut books. Anything describing the female pleasure you bet he’s checking it out, reading word for word, 100% taking notes and reading them twice, thrice so it’s imbedded into his head so when the time finally comes he doesn’t fumble.

And while boys and men use porn to get off, Caleb uses it like he’s got a school assignment where has to watch a movie and take notes. From porn on the popular page, to the inexperienced couples making their very first videos, Caleb assesses each and has pen to paper. Scrutinizing each facial movement, determining if the pleasure written is legitimate or amped up for show (he especially hates those). Every touch, every glide, every thrust, he zeros in on it and puts it to paper.

Does he get hard? Originally, no. He sees this as any ordinary assignment. For the sake of your pleasure. But then one girl looks a little like you for a second, and maybe the man beside her from the side looks a little like him. And then his mind drift to you. You in these positions, him right there with you, touching you, making you moan. He never reaches completion if he doesn’t imagine you, you and him, together. After all, all that he’s doing is for you. For your comfort, your pleasure, you moans and shakes underneath him. So he does a good job, so he’s good for you.

And while technically it would be much easier to put what’s he learned to use on someone else, he can’t go through that betrayal. He is after all, all yours. Being touched by another would be a violation of your relationship. Yes, he’ll keep the good guy act in public, smile to everyone, laugh at a few jokes but words and insincere smiles is all anyone else gets. You receive him wholeheartedly. All his jokes, all his touches and brushes of skin. All his thoughts and attention. All you. All of him is yours.

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[kyalbrownart]

Ready for CHAOS!!! Very excited to see Shadow Wick the Keanu Hedgehog Reeves on the big screen soon! Hope y'all are too!

I was hoping to get this lil animation cleaned up and coloured before release but I have no time, so here are the roughs ⚫🦔🔴

[melmov]

Batboys profiles

[keferon]

Empurata!Prowl tries to actually communicate for the first time

What if he wants to say something but he can’t. What if he has no voice to speak, no face to emote, no hands to write. What if every attempt to communicate a message is essentially a puzzle of wit and creativity and yet, the first thing he goes through all these troubles for. Is to say “I love you”?

Don’t ask me how did they get in this room. I have no idea. They escaped the battlefield somehow haha

Next->

[coyoteprince]

Something I didn't think possible

From my meditation journal. 3 years I have been completely free of overwhelming suicidal thoughts. I have wanted a way out of misery since I was shockingly young. I do not remember a time before this. Through hard work I've reached something I didn't know I could have- and I am grateful.

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[kitamars]

various trad doodles i made while i was supposed to be paying attention in class

[ongoingexperiment]

old man yaoi