#a semi coherent sketch

[rosesncarnations]

Ethereal tears

(The text in the picture: I still think about you)

[various-feelings]

i’m replaying recoded

[benvoolioo]

Doing some hypothetical Ros and Guil are Dead set designs and I’m obsessed with fucking with the stage space in a way that disorients and challenges the audience’s perception. Like using flooring for the walls and curtains running along the ground instead of hanging. Everything twisted, hall-of-mirrors-style, in this confusing manner where it feels like there’s no way to tell where the stage ends and begins, or where the exit is. As opposed to the infinite, empty space often seen in sets for RAGAD and other absurdist works, I really like the idea of creating a space that physically traps the characters. A web so nonsensical that the audience knows they cannot hope to save them from it.

[braingone]

poking around my drafts, found some of my boys. Lluagor remains very in character, and I love that for him

[shrips]

working on the saera commission got me thinking abt the ways westerosi fashion might shift over time so I sketched out some concepts... these aren’t particularly historically or regionally accurate and more a combo of things I like to draw and trying to maintain a semi coherent look.

I like the idea of the targaryen fashions being semi nebulous as far as gender presentation and shifting over time toward distinct gender roles as they integrate with westerosi society, until the looks are entirely distinct at the end of their reign. ik that typically fashions would change a lot more significantly over the span of 200+ years, but given that the starks have been holding the north for like 100 million years I think it’s safe to say progress is slow in westeros. i’ve never liked the idea of the 7 kingdoms having distinct fashions after the conquest bc I think it ignores the role imperialism plays in dictating culture, so in my mind these are general guideline silhouettes for the entire realm (although climate would influence fabric types/ layering).

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

Semi-coherent Nope thought of the day: the way that the Haywoods and Ricky/Jupe understand and react to Jean Jacket is an extension of the way they navigate the experience of working in Hollywood as POC.

Ricky cannot differentiate his identity and experiences from the narratives which Hollywood has imposed on him: he's the Asian kid from Gordy's Home and Kid Sheriff; he still calls himself Jupe and runs a theme park based on a role he played as a child. He relates to the Gordy's Home incident not through the lens of his own memories but the media around it ��� the SNL sketch he describes to Emerald, the memorabilia in the hidden shrine in his office. It's his inability to conceptualize the world outside the lens of spectacle that prevents him from understanding what Jean Jacket is and why she behaves the way she does — he starts from the assumption that he can make her into a theme park attraction and works backwards from there.

In contrast, the Haywoods and OJ in particular are characterized by their ability to see things as they are, and their insistence that others do the same with them: they make a deliberate effort to combat the erasure of Black people in Hollywood — and their own ancestors in particular — by recounting the history of Haywoods' Hollywood Horses at the start of each safety meeting rather than resigning themselves to being the nameless "horse guys." Similarly, OJ refuses to accept the official narrative surrounding his father's death — that the coin that killed him fell out of a prop plane — when it contradicts his own memories of the event, and it's his trust in his own judgement, coupled with his refusal to anthropomorphize animals (including extraterrestrial ones) is what allows him to accurately predict Jean Jacket's behaviour. Neither Jupe nor the Haywoods deserve to be treated the way they are under the Hollywood system, but OJ and Em find a way to avoid being (literally) consumed by it, while Jupe does not.

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

Sooooo I’ve been getting into Metroplex lately (pun intended) and the whole concept of titans and cityspeakers is so fucking cool. I decided that was how I’d add Razgriz into Aces of Cybertron, and while this sketch is barely visible I like the idea too much to wait before I post.

Wanna listen to me ramble semi-coherently about the blorbos I spin in my head?

The premise is, Razgriz the demon is a Titan, while Trigger is a cityspeaker who HATES her job. For my version of normal AC7 Trigger, her emblem dog is real and is Razgriz in disguise because she refuses to wield the demon’s power directly. It’s a whole thing and I hope you don’t need to know it to understand, because all of it exists only in my brain. anyway.

Let me explain regular AC lore first. In the games, Razgriz is a force of good and evil, chaos and balance. Whenever history encounters a great change, razgriz appears first as a demon who causes destruction, and then as a hero who restores peace and brings prosperity. These things are metaphorical in the game, the hero being several of the protagonists. It’s a cycle that repeats basically every war. While AC7’s protagonist Trigger isn’t directly linked to the Razgriz, it’s implied by the soundtrack using their motifs. Hence why I prefer to write Triggs as someone who refuses to become one with the Razgriz.

Aces of Cybertron Razgriz speaks to her and wants her to merge with them so she can wield their power and carry out their will. Trigger is reluctant, but the demon in her head DOES end up befriending her in the end, gaining her trust and offering guidance. She even does the merging thing a few times, but only when she really has to. I imagine it more so serves to enhance her own strength rather than have her physically control Razgriz, but maybe both will happen. They are probably constantly in her head anyways. Razgriz in this universe can’t be classified as good or evil, they are simply a force of nature carrying out the cycle of change. That’s what makes them dangerous, they only care about upholding the cycle and not the sheer destruction they cause. You can’t appeal to morals which aren’t there, either. You can, however, bargain and reason with them. They are logical, and will do as you say if you convince them it will achieve their goal better.

Don’t give me spoilers on the comics because I’ve only skimmed them! Razgriz in AC canon does have weird eyeliner similar to Caminus’ in Transformers, and I dunno if in TF that’s only a Caminus thing but I’ve decided to give Raz some as well to stay true to the source. Need to figure out how to translate the shape of a cloak into cybertronian back parts.

I like to think Alicron and the Arsenal Bird (need to find it a TF name) are also titans in this AU. Not as powerful as Raz, but titans nonetheless. Or at least something similar, because Alicron has a whole ass backstory idea. Actually, I’ll tell it.

Alicron himself was once Tanager, sporting a battleship altmode and leading the Aegir fleet. My idea is to make Aegir a pre-existing dead character, and have Tanager’s spark transferred to his lifeless frame to form Alicron. Maybe Aegir was the Titan, and Alicron sorta became him. I have to flesh this whole thing out but I wanted to ramble about it. That is all, if you’ve read this far thank you! And have a good day!

[lilac-hecox]

Another donation to Gaza and another flash fic this time for @yestomexicansalsa who requested Ian and Amanda! I ran with the idea of her audition and a sort of semi crush at first sight!

Amanda/Ian -Amandian - Audition

--

Ian considers himself a professional. While he’s still getting used to the position of being the person in charge and making decisions, being a leader, he likes to think he is respectful to those who work for him and those he meets. He would never hire based off of just looks and especially because of someone he’s attracted to. He’s not that kind of boss. He doesn’t want Smosh to be that kind of company. All that being said. They call the name of the next audition to be a cast member on Smosh, and in walks a gorgeous woman. The kind of gorgeous that Ian notices right away.

She’s tall, very tall, even in flats. Her hair is long and dark, and her eyes are smoky, but bright as she smiles at Ian, and Kiana, and Sarah at the table.

“Hi, I’m Amanda Lehan-Canto,” The woman says, her voice rich as she meets their eyes.

Ian tries to school his face into something normal so he doesn’t come off as a freak upon their first meeting and scare Amanda out of here.

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah says sweetly, “We have some scenes we want to toss you and we just want to see you improve a little bit.”

Amanda nods, tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear and she doesn’t look scared at all, instead, she looks ready, energized by the idea of a challenge, of showing off her skills. Sarah gives Amanda a scenario where she’s a PTA mom getting in an argument with another mom during a meeting.

“Ian, care to be the other mom?” Sarah asks.

Ian nods and then he’s opposite her and he’s used to comedy and improv, but he still feels rusty, still feels like he doesn’t really belong here anymore because he did improv with Anthony and now Anthony is gone, and Ian is here, and he wants to be funny and follow Amanda’s lead.

Turns out. She’s hilarious. Amanda is quick on her feet, and she comes with an improv comedy pedigree. Anything Sarah, or Kiana, or even Ian tosses at her, Amanda is able to find the humor and mold the scene to fit around her, her acting breathing life into the scenario.

Ian finds himself laughing. When’s the last time he even really laughed like this?

They pitch Amanda another sketch. She and Ian are two baristas working the counter at a coffee shop. Amanda puts on a voice and sinks into a character quickly, leading the scene and having Ian playing follow-up.

In their scene there is an angry customer and a boss who is wanting to fire Amanda’s character. Her eyes sparkle as she glances at Ian.

“You can’t fire me! I’m pregnant! Ian and I are having a baby!” Amanda says.

Sarah, acting as the boss, says, “Prove it,” through giggles.

Amanda looks between Sarah and then Ian and then her hand seeks out the collar of Ian’s sweater and she tugs him close, close enough to highlight their height difference. Close enough he can smell her perfume. Close enough that her hair brushes his cheek as she dips down to meet him and with zero fear or hesitation, she presses a kiss to his mouth.

Sarah hoots and claps and Ian is lost in the warm and innocent press of Amanda’s mouth against his. She doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know her, but he feels a spark zing up his spine. She’s fearless in a way that reminds him of when he was a teenager in Sacramento.

The kiss breaks and Amanda grins, squeezes his shoulder as Sarah and Kiana clap.

“I hope that wasn’t crossing a line?” she asks, her voice gentle as her eyes bashfully search Ian’s.

It takes all of Ian’s brain power to shake his head, to form coherent words.

“No, it was good, it was funny,” he stresses, “You don’t hold back, huh?”

“Anything for the joke,” Amanda says, as her hands fall away from Ian’s shoulders.

Ian would never admit it, but he misses the warmth of her touch as soon as it leaves him. He can taste her faint on his lips, a new sensation worming through his brain, mapping itself to him.

“Do you write too?” Ian asks.

For a moment, it’s as if the conversation is just them, and Sarah and Kiana don’t exist. Amanda’s eyes brighten and she smiles even wider.

“I do. I love to write.”

Ian looks at Sarah and Kiana, and his mind was long since made up, long before the kiss, and based on her skills, how funny she is. The kiss was a part of a bit, and nothing Ian will hold as an indication that hiring her means she’ll kiss him again, but he would be a fool to not hire Amanda, to not bring her on the team.

“I think you’d be a great fit,” Ian says.

“Really?” Amanda asks excitedly.

Sarah and Kiana are nodding.

“We have a few more auditions, but it’s safe to say we would love to bring you on board,” Sarah is saying.

Amanda smiles and then she hugs Ian before she slips away and her warmth is gone, and she goes and hugs Sarah and then Kiana. Ian watches her and he smiles, feels sure of his decision, feels like Smosh needs Amanda.

[stuck-in-2012]

A proper Christman gift

S01E03 Doomed

“I made an exact mashed potato replica of principal coulson!” Sam smiled as he held out the faux head on a tray.

“...and a potato sculptor,” Peter thought to himself.

S01E09 Field Trip

“Hey check it out!” Sam turns over his shoulder to show the coloured sketch he drew to Peter. “Pretty cool right? I’m gonna see if Fury will pay for the spikes.”

S01E17 Snow Day

“Uhh my bad.” Sam frowned down at Luke as he dumped out the sand he intended to use on his now ruined sculpture.

S02E02 Electro

“You just got own-dizzled, old style!” Sam held out the large paper he'd been using for the game of pictionary.

AKA: no one talks about how much of an artist Sam is! / The first holiday episode made me mad, so I added a happy ending.

“Bunny slippers are just… ach!”

Danny and Peter made eye contact at Sam’s reaction. Pete had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and spoiling everything, though he could see the tiny hint of mischief in Danny's smile.

After getting the oversized hat, Peter looked back at Sam’s disgruntled face, allowing himself to snerk and giggle. Sam made a glare and went to lash out at Pete being an ass but was cut off when Danny also gave a small huff. Peter took off the hat, smiled, and reached behind the couch. “Dude, we’re not that mean.”

Pete pulled out a large wrapped object. At seeing the colourful paper, Sam shoved the gag-gift and box onto the floor. The boy was skeptical given the relation between Spidey and Nova, but Danny was in on it too -and Peter said “we”- so Sam had some trust that whatever was in this box would actually be a gift. The fact that it was a semi large box didn’t hurt his intrigue, either. The box was about two by one foot but only three inches tall, give or take.

Peter stepped over to Sam's place on the couch and handed him the box, Sam's hand bobbed down, surprised at the weight. Not heavy, but heavi-er­ than he was expecting. Peter and Danny both had beaming smiles, they almost seemed more excited for Sam’s gift than he was.

“Ya gonna open it or what?” Ava snarked.

Sam rolled his eyes at her and tore into the paper. The first satisfying shred exposed a leathery texture. Sam ran his fingers over the surface, again surprised, before continuing. Revealed, was a large though thin case with golden coloured clasps and handle to carry.

“A brief case?” Sam had no issues this evening sharing displeasure.

“It’s what's inside the case, moron.” May nudged Peter lightly at his insult.

“We do believe you will be rather fond of its contents.” Danny’s smile had only grown bigger as the case was unveiled.

Sam flipped the latches in sinque and leant back as though something would jump out at him. He opened the case a crack to get a preview of what may be inside and was greeted with some odd shapes and bright colours. When the case was open fully, one would think it was full of cash with how Sam’s face lit up in wonder. His jaw dropped gently as his eyes practically sparkled.

“ih… It’s ok if you don’t like it.” Peter’s brow knit with worry.

Sam slammed the case closed and hugged it to his chest. “Don’t you dare!” He gave Peter a noticeably exaggerated expression of ‘I’m warning you’ and gave an extra lean away for emphasis.

“What is it, Sam?” May asked, almost coy. She knew of Peter's plan to do a gag gift but wasn’t aware of what the proper gift was.

Sam stumbled over words as an unbreakable smile stretched across his face. Not able to get out any coherent words, he opened the case back up and lay it flat on his lap. All along one side was a smooth gradient of coloured pencils. Stretched across the bottom, another pallet of oil paint tubes. White and metallic ink pens, oil pastels, a paint brush array, and collection of charcoal and graphite pencils.

“Damn,” Luke dragged out in approval.

Excited at Sam’s joy over something he did, Peter bounced with an open smile. “Oh it gets better.” Sam looked over in excitement and bafflement. How could this get even better?! “You see the little loops in the middle of the bottom? Pull.”

Sam did as instructed and the inside came out and split into two supported shelves. Underneath was again a full pallet of water colour paints and fancy markers. Sam sputtered and floundered over all the supplies.

“Sorry the top doesn’t open, too.” Peter teased apologetically.

Sam sputtered and waved his hands over the rainbows in his lap looking at Peter with a gleeful face. He, May, and Danny laughed happily at Sam’s reaction to the gift. Sam’s hands hovered over the different supplies, hesitant to disturb the pristine packaging each different material had.

Ava gave a light laugh as she said, “I think you broke him.”Sam sent a heatless glare at the girl before finally audibly laughing. He gave Peter and May an inquisitive look before giving a reverse not in Danny’s direction at the realization. This was no doubt expensive. There's no way the Parkers would be able to afford it without some juggling or over time but thankfully Pete went to Danny about it. If just Peter had busted his ass to make the cash, Sam would take it with no hesitation but seeing as May seemed in on everything, Sam didn’t like the idea of her putting in so much extra effort for something so frivolous. But Danny’s loaded, so forget all of that.

[continue?]

[concerningwolves]

There's a post I can't find now that was expressing frustration that a lot of writing advice on writeblr (don't edit as you write, try switching POV for a scene if it's not working, only write the dialogue/only write the action, etc.) is for first drafts and not subsequent drafts. And I do agree, at least in part; a lot of writeblr is focused on how to, y'know, write the story.

It did make me think, though, and what I thought was this: ogres are like onions.

Or, more accurately: stories are like onions (and ogres?), because they have layers, too.

Writers who use the drafting method write drafts, and with each draft, the story gains more layers (layers of meaning, plot coherency, more cohesive ideas, etc). By draft four or five, a story has enough layers that it looks both pretty and structurally sound. Ideally, the only changes you'd need to make at this point are upper-layer, superficial ones – reshuffle some paragraphs, cut some excess scene padding, smooth out some awkward prose. Maybe rewrite or reposition a couple of scenes. Mostly though, the story feels fixed in place and is semi-polished, which is often the biggest obstacle preventing a writer from solving a problem.

Early drafts typically come out kind of wonky and unstable, their component ideas still sludgy from the primordial creative soup. Writing them can feel like sticky, awkward work – but it's also when the ideas flow most freely! The prospect of going back into that sludge might suck, especially if you've already started to see the final version of your story take solid shape, but it might also be the answer to the problem. Sometimes you have to peel back the pretty layers to look at the uglier structure beneath to see what isn't working. Other times, you need to be more hands-on and pretend you're still in the primordial creative soup to get the brain gears properly lubricated again.

Digital art also has layers. Some artists start with a rough sketch, others with blocks of colour. As the layers build up, so does the picture, but every now and then there'll be something about the picture that just isn't right. If the problem is in the sketchy early layers, the usual options are to either a) go back down to that layer and fix it there, then correct the upper layers to match or b) start again, this time learning from the mistakes made before. If something isn't working for me when I'm doing a digital painting, I'll also sometimes open a fresh canvas and mess around with the same concept in different variations as if I'm starting from scratch, then return to the original piece and use whatever I learned to fix it. So long as I don't prematurely flatten the layers, I've got plenty of wiggle room to figure things out in.

So, yes, some writing advice is only going to work for specific stages of story-making. But also, the creative process is a dynamic one, and no part of a story needs to be set in stone until all the layers have been flattened into their final form, ready for sharing with other people.

[dragon--sage]

writing patterns

ty @cleric4vampire for tagging me in this!!! and i'm tagging @sillyliterature and @darethshirl (i'm so sorry i'd tag more of you but my brain is fried af. if you see this consider yourself tagged and i would love to see them if you decide to share!!)

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

in order from newest to oldest! click the title for the link to each.

LINES

Radiant Hopeful (bg3, astarion x tav)

“Astarion, can I show you something?”

Nightswim (bg3, astarion x tav)

It was a quiet evening in camp, and Nyana was sitting a ways off from the fire, on a hollowed-out log, working on a few rather pathetic sketches of the local plant life.

Spark That Set the Pyre (bg3, astarion x tav, explicit)

Most nights, when Astarion fed off Nyana, she tried to keep her interest and involvement as prim and polite as possible.

The Chivalrous Charlatan (bg3, astarion x tav)

Astarion was going to kill the sorcerer.

Someone I Like Better (bg3, astarion x tav, explicit)

It was night and day, how completely things had changed between Astarion and Nyana, after Cazador had been finished—after the graveyard.

Sunstruck (bg3, astarion x tav)

“Pouting? Or plotting?”

Places of Oblivion (dragon age inquisition, unfinished solavellan modern au, explicit)

Ellana, usually, did not fuck with dating apps.

No Better Waste of Time (dragon age inquisition, unfinished solavellan fix-itish longfic, explicit)

In a darkened attic with a vaulted ceiling, many cobwebs, and one industrious family of rats (who liked to keep to themselves), Ellana Lavellan sat cross-legged in front of an inactive but intact eluvian, her reflection a glaring smudge in the warped surface of the silvery glass.

Her Eyes the Stars (dragon age inquisition, solavellan)

Her eyes — Void take him — he could easily spend a century trying to capture the way their startling amber color appeared in different lighting.

Etha, Ama (dragon age inquisiiton, solavellan, explicit)

It was Satinalia — Feastday.

and bonus even though it's not within the last 10 i have such a soft spot for this fic:

Cry Havoc! (dragon age inquisition, gen fic, background solavellan)

Marquise Briala and Empress Celene were clearly arguing, but Ellana Lavellan was going to interrupt them anyway.

PATTERNS

Um these are all products of my respective hyperfixations on solavellan and tavstarion, so there's that. I see a few long ass run ons, as I expected ahahhaa, but also short, clipped ones. Only a few are in between. Some of them drop you right into the action and others are more scene-setting. The em dash (l m a o). Other than that I think I've been looking at this too long to see anything except my own questionable grammatical choices 😂

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

my penchant for info dumping scene-setting run ons makes this extremely difficult but in case anyone else wants to try:

Vixstarria's additional rule: see if you can arrange the lines into a semi-coherent crackfic.

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

I’m having modern au Javey thoughts. Specifically ones about how their respective neurodivergencies would present themselves becauee mine has been autisming way too hard recently 💅

(is neurodivergencies a word? 😂) - 🤠anon

ok I’m gonna do my best to answer this coherently but I am unbelievably eepy and a little buzzed still I will not lie so let’s see how it goes

adhd + dyslexic jack and autistic davey my favs so I’m going with that for my rambles but pls add if you have any other hcs🤲

davey is semi verbal, usually going completely silent when he’s burnt out socially or mentally and just needs a break. sarah and les are both very good at recognising this and speaking up for him, and also not pressing when he wants to be left alone. he has a lot of sensory issues regarding texture: napkins, toilet paper, styrofoam, cotton, that sort of thing (usually making his skin crawl and possibly making him gag a little) and also things scraping over his nails/the length of them. sound wise crowds of can be a lot, and he has ear defenders he likes to carry. most of davey’s stims are physical, hand flapping and lightly smacking things when it’s positive, shaking his head or fists when negative, and shifting his weight a lot. he will usually sit with one of his legs caught under him on most chairs, and stands with the most Dinosaur Hands a lot (jack says they make him look like an otter). he’s very sensitive to light touches but likes a lot of pressure (les also likes providing this so it works). eye contact isn’t the best and he struggles with instructions without a lot of prompting, though is usually alright with stuff like sarcasm and idioms, even if he can’t really carry conversations. his meltdowns are typically silent, crying and becoming extremely frustrated, but he’s more likely to have sensory overload than a meltdown (he hates them, despite being told over and over again that they’re normal and not irrational or stupid)

jack gets Loud when he’s understimulated, tapping his hands and feet and stimming vocally via random sounds a lot (he’ll bounce of race with humming and other noises too). he wears headphones almost 24/7 because he absolutely hates silence, and doodles all over his hands most days in school. he’ll also regularly hyperfixate on different types of art medium, so has a very messy range of skill across a huge range that he’ll inevitably drop in favour of yee old faithful sketches and oil paint. he’s a very stereotypical adhd kid in a lot of ways, and dyslexic to the point it takes a lot of encouragement to get him to properly read things. it’s not impossible for him, but the effort and concentration takes it out of him: he’ll rather take his drawings where he can zone out thank you very much

davey was diagnosed very young and so has gotten a lot of support, is very comfortable with and knows how to deal with his autism, though will usually struggle to bring it up to people at first. it leaves him awkward about acquiring accommodations but les and sarah are more than happy to pipe up and ask (and later, so are the newsies). on the other hand, jacks dyslexia was diagnosed young but his adhd went unnoticed until he was around 14, bounced around as he was. it means he still isn’t sure how to properly deal with it and gets frustrated in ways davey doesn’t, at what he lost struggling in school for example, because he didn’t have the right support around him yet

see previous javey rambles about how they’re both very good at learning what the other needs, how to help or when to not. it’s a slow process of picking things up but they balance each other well

[cockatrice-writers-guild]

Father Son Bonding

story based on idea by @fiddlysticks

warnings: fear, mention of injury

Eito cared about his daughter. Really he did. He wanted to be supportive of her and be there for her whenever he could. He wanted his daughter to trust him and know she could always count on him if she ever needed the help. He wanted to be someone she could lean on.

So when she had asked for a favour that morning, he’d agreed to whatever his baby wanted before she even finished telling him what it was.

This had turned out to be a mistake.

Machiko’s job today would be an all day affair and she would only be back long after dark. And so, as she was busy checking though her bag to make sure she had everything she needed, she’d stated that she needed someone to keep Taro company while she was away.

Now, Eito knew about Taro. His daughter, as he had found out fairly recently, had an affinity for encountering monsters and all sorts of who knows what else on a daily basis, one such creature being Taro, a massive sea beast she’d been apparently searching for for years.

Maybe he should have been a better father.

He’d started reading though some of the journals she’d shared with him after his first encounter with Taro, flipping though page after page full of website printouts, sketches and detailed information about each documented creature. Some of the writing had been neat and factual while others had been a lot messier and concise, as if jotted down in a hurry. There were even some photos. Creatures Eito could barely even fathom, some professionally shot from a distance and other pictures with Machiko squeezed into the frame.

A few of the journals were neat but most of them had seen better days, covered in dirt, scratches and semi torn or even burnt pages. And as he’d flipped through the journals, he could see the way her drawing skills improved from the unsteady crayon drawings of a child to the rough scratches of a teenager to the much more coherent sketches of a skilled artist. The photos and writing were much the same, simple words and blurry photos slowly turning into paragraphs of scientific fact and professional shots. Flipping though the pages was like watching his baby grow up all over again.

And it hurt.

How many times had he brushed his daughter off with her talk of mythical creatures? How many hours had she spent quietly pouring over those journals? How alone had she felt this whole time? How much had his baby grown up without him? He hadn’t even known she could draw.

…Eito loved his daughter.

And then there was Taro.

Taro’s entry filled a whole notebook on its own, old news articles glued across pages, crumpled at the edges and yellowing with time. There were the descriptions too, Blue Eyes and imaginings of what he could possibly look like spanning across the margins. Entries written and crossed out to be filled with more relevant information. A map with all the dots of his known sightings. And then the pictures. From far off blurry images to the terrifying shot of a massive glowing blue eye sitting just behind his daughter, staring into the lens, a half smile lighting his daughter’s features as she held up the camera. The text becoming less scientific and then noticeably informal, speculating what kind of food he’d eat and plans to show him something she thought he would find interesting. Things he seemed to like and dislike, places he liked to be pet. His personality.

Eito couldn’t help but shrink away slightly.

His daughter was notably very fond of Taro and would spend hours sitting on a rotting kelp and gravel lined beach just to spend time with him. Eito himself, however, wasn’t entirely fond of the beast. It wasn’t that he disliked him, exactly but their first meeting had gone as poorly as anyone could imagine. There was a misunderstanding and Taro had mistaken Eito for someone who was trying to harm Machiko. He’d lashed out at him because of this and though from an objective standpoint, Eito appreciated what he was doing, he had already been scared of Taro by then and seeing his ‘threat display’ as Machiko put it hadn’t really helped him in that regard.

So in reality, when she’d asked him to stay with Taro alone for the day, Eito had actually been tempted to take back his confirmation and say no. All he could remember of the beast was sharp teeth, long claws and the way he’d picked up his daughter like she was a ragdoll. He wanted to say no but seeing the look on his daughter’s face, remembering those quietly kept journals…

Eito now found himself on that rocky beach again. He felt small, the twin cliff faces on either side of him looming down and the familiar rank smell in the air filling his nose. He hadn’t returned to this beach since first meeting Taro, wincing when he saw the spot where Machiko had tripped and cut open her leg. If he looked out into the sea for too long, he could imagine that purple, too human face rising above the waves. He remembered the way Taro had screeched and growled and shook the ground but he also remembered the creatures apology and the way he seemed really upset about the whole thing after the fact.

Eito stared out into the surf.

He was conflicted. He was scared. But his daughter wanted him to keep Taro company and if Eito truly wanted to play an active role in his daughter’s life, he was going to have to step up.

The sea wind, the stench and the anticipation caused Eito’s heart to steadily rise but instead of turning around and going back to the safety of his house, Eito instead set up a folding chair as close to ocean as he dared to get with his work laptop, just as he had seen Machiko do all those weeks ago, and slowly took a seat.

And for a while, Eito quietly tried to read through his work and answer a few emails, the tension in the air making the task much harder for him than it should have been, each and every random sound making him jump and quickly glance up at the vast sea before him, eyes scanning the empty sea and the lonely island in the middle distance before he could bring himself to return to his work. But as this continued, he found his latent fear slowly turning to confusion as the sea monster still refused to show up. Had Taro forgotten to come to the beach today? The thought brought with it a sense of relief and then a pang of guilt.

He stared out into the unwelcoming tide for a long moment, grey skies painting the ocean in a bleaker light before something finally dawned on him.

“TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Machiko had called for her friend and then he had appeared. She had yelled his name over and over until it got his attention.

Eito pursed his lips before getting up and setting his laptop down on the folding chair. He walked up to the tide and looked out into the water again, listening to the wind, the rustling of the dying trees behind him and the waves lapping at the sand below.

It was quiet.

Eito wasn’t much of a talker. He preferred just listening unless he had something to say. He wasn’t a fan of taking up more space than what was necessary or making too much noise. His daughter made enough noise for the both of them.

He listened to the breeze, pressing his lips together before he finally forced himself to cup his hands and raise them to his mouth like Machiko had done. He took a deep breath and

It hitched in his throat.

He wished he had his daughter’s tenacity at times. Even Chouko thought he had been timid before she left. He cleared his throat and winced at the way it carried between the sheer cliff faces surrounding him before trying again, thinking only of Machiko now. He’d do it for her. He’d try.

“…Taro.”

Nothing. It had been his normal speaking voice. Clipped and light, like he was talking to someone right next to him. He frowned, readying his voice again.

“…Taro!”

Not nearly as loud as her’s had been and definitely not as drawn out but it was a start.

“Taro!” He threw in a curt whistle that stopped just as soon as it started.

He tried again and again, voice maintaining as steady a volume as he could manage with nothing to show for it. A few more calls later, he finally took a step back, staring out into the horizon and lost on what to do next. How long would he have to keep trying? Would Taro even react to a voice that wasn’t Machiko’s?

He watched the way the waves moved, looking for any indication of the massive creature that lurked beneath but they remained as calm as ever. He scanned the horizon slowly until finally something caught his attention.

The island. Something that hadn’t moved an inch since he’d shown up. He swore he just saw it move. His eyes now focused on it, he realized that the texture seemed of it seemed…different. It was like that of grass but it was completely black under the sun. He watched it for a long moment, trying to figure out if he had been seeing things when it moved again, rotating until a single glowing blue thing surfaced. An eye, Eito realized as he took in the pitch black of a pupil staring back at him for a second before it caught his gaze and quickly disappeared below the waves again, this time taking the whole island with it.

And as Eito’s brain slowly took in what just happened, he felt his blood slowly turn to ice.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision but those blue eyes were unmistakable. They were seared into his mind after the last time he’s seen them. That had been Taro. Just watching him silently.

How long had he been here? Had he been waiting for Machiko?

Eito watched the surf for a long time but the beast did not show himself again and slowly, Eito’s muscles started to relax.

…did Taro leave? If the beast was gone then there was no need to spend time with him anymore. He could go home and tell Machiko what had happened once she came back. He could tell her Taro didn’t want to come near him and that she was a much better companion to the monster than he ever could be. That he just wasn’t cut out for the whole mythical creature thing and that she should take the reigns once more.

…he could imagine the face his daughter would make then.

The relief on her face that morning had warmed Eito’s heart and he didn’t want to disappoint her now. Not when there was a possibility of closing the gap that had slowly grown between the two of them.

Eito loved his daughter.

He swallowed, taking some time to prepare himself before he took another step into the surf, wetting his shoes. He opened his mouth, readying his next cry before he changed his mind at the last second, letting out a loud, long whistle instead.

The noise bounced off the surrounding cliffs and carried over the dead ocean, the sudden noise causing him to wince.

Nothing first as the remnants of the note slowly died out.

But then he saw the waves part as half of Taro’s head surfaced again, both eyes now trained directly on him.

Eito felt himself shrink back under the beast’s gaze but forced himself to maintain eye contact, staring back for a while before he finally raised a now shaking hand to beckon him forward.

Taro blinked a few times at this gesture before finally the partially submerged face started swimming towards him.

Eito started backing away on instinct and jumped when his legs hit his folding chair. He sat down to prevent himself from going any further, accidentally landing on his laptop in the daze. He sprung back up and picked up the laptop, checking for damage before sitting back down again, digging his shoes into the sand and turning back to the ocean to see that the beast had stopped moving entirely, watching him quietly.

Eito felt like the beast was sizing him up, more than a little unnerved by the way Taro was acting now. He was used to the loud whale sounds and the hissing shrieks. Not this. Not dead silence and quiet observation. He wondered if Taro was planning something. He wondered if Taro even knew who he was. From her entries, Eito knew that Taro must have been intelligent and she thought him to be harmless enough that even Eito could be around him unsupervised.

The beasts pupils were dilated and now Eito realized why he was so unnerved.

Eito was fond of cats. He’d had a few when he was a child and every once in a while he’d watch them play fight, running around and batting at each other with their paws. Though sometimes one cat would try to ambush another. He was told that they were mimicking the behaviour of a real hunt. That they were exercising their hunting skills. And it always began with a slow stalk.

Taro’s movements so far had been slow and deliberate.

Then the crouch, coiling their muscles as they readied themselves.

Taro’s body was hidden below the waves. Eito could only imagine what he was doing.

The cat’s eyes would expand after they picked a target, Eito only assumed to keep better track of the target’s movements.

Taro’s eyes had done the same, expanding in a much similar manner and almost fully overtaking the blue.

Then after adjusting slightly,

the cat would pounce

Eito felt his muscles tense up

Taro remained frozen in the water.

Taro blinked again

Taro did not move for the next five minutes

…maybe that wasn’t the case then.

Eito tried to collect himself before he hesitantly waved the beast over and Taro eventually continued his slow approach, Eito ducking his head down again right as the beast stopped again a decent distance away from the sand.

By now Eito had his eyes firmly fixed on the small screen in front of him, trying his best to ignore the situation at hand. Though it didn’t help that the already dim light had become noticeably dimmer as the beast’s head blocked out what little light the sun could provide.

He could feel Taro’s fierce gaze boring into him as he tried and failed to read a single sentence over and over again with little success.

Eventually he tried to speak to clear the air.

“…um-“

He jumped when he saw Taro move suddenly but he kept his gaze fixed on his laptop, taking an even breath before he tried again. “…my daughter…Machiko is…busy with work today and she won’t be able to see you until much later at night. …she sent me in her place to keep you company until then.”

No response.

Eito felt his eyebrows crease. Taro…could understand him, right? He suddenly realized he didn’t actually know. He stared at the letters on his screen for a moment longer, hands shaking before he finally made himself look up.

And he felt his resolve die the moment his eyes met the massive slit pupils in front of him.

He blinked.

Taro blinked.

He looked back down at his screen again.

Time passed slowly as Eito tried hard to get through his work. There was a tension in the air like nothing he’d ever felt before and he tried not to move too suddenly. He didn’t want to accidentally set the beast off again. Though for the time being, Taro remained still in the water, watching him silently and still not closing the distance. Every time Eito's tension filled fingers pressed down on a key a little too hard, Taro would move again, the splash of water this caused making Eito flinch. The beast was clearly trigger happy.

In the middle of his terror, Eito had to wonder how Machiko dealt with this. She’d seemed so excited to see him all those weeks ago. He could recall the way she had flayed her arms around, calling to him excitedly. Strangely, he remembered the way Taro had returned her calls too. But he was dead silent now. Maybe Taro just didn’t like him.

Eito frowned a little at the thought.

Soon though, Eito found himself in a fairly manageable workflow and some time passed in relative peace as he fell into the familiar routine. Emails, projects and reports all started to blur together and the monotony of it all helped to sooth his nerves if only just slightly. Time crawled by and after Eito finished reading though a paper and adding another few values to the Excel sheet he had open, he glanced at the clock briefly. It was good progress so far and Eito thought he should reward himself with a quick break. He needed to get up and stretch his legs anyway.

The shadow over the keyboard was suddenly more noticeable.

As carefully as he could, Eito slowly closed his laptop, eyes remaining on the rocks on the ground in front of him before he finally willed himself to move. The laptop that was blocking the beast’s gaze now gone, Eito felt totally exposed.

He focused on his breathing.

Thought of his daughter again.

And got up.

And he then nearly fell down backing away when he saw the purple wall in front of him move rapidly. He turned his head up instinctively, sure these would be his final moments when the sight in front of him only confused him further.

He'd expected a flash of needle like teeth or the swipe of massive claws but instead, Taro had risen out of the water slightly, exposing the rest of his head and some of his torso, casting the rest of the beach in shadow. Both of his eyes were still fixed firmly on Eito. The sight was terrifying but���if Eito didn’t know any better, he’d say that Taro had just backed away from him.

Eito could feel his heart racing now but, almost experimentally, he took another step forward and then jumped when a noise rang out. It was high pitched and nearly deafening, echoing off the cliff faces. It took him a second to realize that the sound must have come from Taro, as loud as it was and if he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded almost like a whimper.

He stared at the beast for a moment as a possibility started forming in his head. Was Taro…

Hesitantly, he forced himself to slowly lift a hand and then wave it back and forth stiffly in front of him. The beast’s wide eyes followed the movement, tracking his hand like he was scared it would attack him, though he still refused to make a move.

Eito tried to find his voice. “I…are you…afraid of me?”

Taro stared at him for a long moment and Eito wondered again if the beast could even understand him before Taro’s head moved up and down a little.

A nod.

Eito watched the beast in silence, trying his hardest to wrap his head around such an idea.

Taro, the giant sea beast who he thought kidnapped his daughter and scared the life out of him both then and now was scared of him. Of Eito Ichikawa, the simple man with a 9 to 6. Even now he could see Taro’s long fangs sticking out of his mouth as the beast frowned slightly and for the first time that day, Eito took the time to actually try to read Taro’s expression.

Taro’s eyes were wide and his pupils were almost fully dilated, like a cat on the hunt. …or a cat scared for its life. His ears were flattened against the sides of his head, similar to a cat’s too. His brows were furrowed and his breathing was fast. His body was visibly stiff with tension. He looked scared, his expression reminding Eito of that time his daughter, around 9 at the time, had come back from her usual walks in tears, babbling about some kind of snake horse before hiding her face in his shirt.

…how old was Taro?

Eito never really thought of that question before. Taro had always made him think of danger, a terrifying unknowable creature that Machiko was lucky to be on his good side. But the way Taro was acting now was remarkably human. And now Eito couldn’t help but feel doubt.

Taro looked frightened but upon further inspection, Eito was starting to realize that the beast’s face, similar to that of a humans, also looked relatively young, maybe a few years younger than his baby Machiko.

Machiko's request from earlier rang clear in his head as he stared at Taro in slowly dawning horror.

“Could you please keep Taro company while I’m gone?”

Could you look after Taro while I’m gone?

Taro was just a boy.

And if that was the case, then where was his family? Why was he here when he could be with them? People his size. People he wasn’t scared of?

Why did he look so lost?

Eito pushed through his fear for a moment as he took another step forward, stopping when Taro visibly flinched again. He stepped away and held his hands out like he did all those months ago, a gesture of surrender before slowly he sat down on the rocks.

The beast loomed high above now even with all the distance between them and Eito swallowed, his voice dying under the vast shadow and the fierce blue eyes fixed on him. But still he forced himself to continue, testing his voice again before he spoke.

“Taro…,” he started and the beast blinked at him. There were many questions running through his head now. But the one that rang out the loudest was, “…where’s your family?”

Machiko was here everyday to see him, even asking Eito to do it when she couldn’t. Where was his family? Why did he spend so much time with humans rather than whatever had raised him?

And then he heard a small whine, looking up to see Taro’s face fall slightly, massive terrifying slit pupils looking away for a second. The action told Eito everything he needed to know.

This kid didn’t have a family. Not anymore.

Eito was scared, yes, but right now all he could think of was this poor kid swimming through the ocean on his own. Lost. Aimless. Alone. Waiting for Machiko near the beach everyday. He stared at Taro in silence, not sure how exactly to ask the next question.

“Taro…,” he began quietly. Taro blinked and he continued. “…do you consider Machiko as your…family?”

Taro watched him for a long moment before finally giving a small nod.

And Eito felt his heart shatter.

For whatever reason, Machiko was the only family he had left.

No wonder she came to see him so often.

And now Eito pursed his lips.

He felt something growing inside him now, something burning, something that pushed and pushed him as he stared at the kid until finally, without much thought, Eito spoke his mind.

“Would you…like to have a dad too?”

One of Taro’s ears flicked slightly and after a much longer stare down, the boy looked away, nodding again.

“If you want, you could always…consider me? …I know I’m not that much but-”

Eito’s words were cut by a series of high pitched whimpers and he watched as tears started to pool in the boy’s eyes.

Before he knew what was happening, Taro started closing the distance between them, the movement causing sea water to wash ashore and wet Eito’s pants up to the ankle. It was near horrifying but Eito stood frozen in place, this time out of will rather than fear.

His heart jumped as Taro slowly brought his hands forward, planting them on either side of the beach with a noticeable series of tremors before finally, Eito nearly shaking now, Taro started leaning down until Eito could feel the heat radiating off of him. Until he could see nothing but the purple hue of Taro’s skin.

Until finally, something gently bumped into Eito and stayed there.

Eito knew he wasn’t the only one trembling now. The thing pressed into him was shaking horribly, a heart much larger than his own racing along with his, beating loud in his ears, their heartbeats almost synchronizing as they both remained frozen there.

Taro was scared too.

Taro was scared too.

But still he remained.

Without thinking about it, Eito reached up and gently placed a hand on whatever was touching him. He felt the boy tense up for a second before leaning into the touch with a low, long sound that shook Eito to the core.

Eito once again thought of his young daughter burying her face in his shirt when she returned that day and he felt tears starting to build up in his own eyes as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around as much of the boy as he could, the whimper the action created nearly deafening him and the boy’s leaning into the gesture nearly knocking him over.

Eito felt his legs start to buckle beneath him as Taro started leaning more of his weight into him and soon, Eito had to let go for a moment to readjust himself, sitting in the sand and beckoning to him once more. He watched as Taro rotated his head slightly and rested the thing he had been hugging, most likely his nose, in Eito’s lap.

Another small whine came from Taro and almost immediately, Eito reached out and started patting his nose with shaking hands. This was more than overwhelming but Eito stayed where he was regardless, trying to offer whatever comfort he could to the boy.

He didn’t say anything for the amount of time the two of them stayed there. He wasn’t really sure what he could say, if he had to be honest. He had no idea what had happened to the kid but from his face, he knew it couldn’t have been good.

Eventually though, just as Eito’s own terror had died down slightly and his focus became primarily on keeping the boy in his arms, something wet landed on Eito’s head and he couldn’t help but flinch, the small gesture immediately followed by an explosion of movement as Taro shot away from him in fear, causing Eito to tumble into the receding tide.

Taro stared at Eito warily for a long moment before leaning forward again and offering Eito a massive trembling hand, which Eito, also trembling, used to pull himself back up. And once Eito’s feet were under him, he was nearly sent tumbling over again at the sheer speed with which Taro withdrew his hand.

The two watched each other for a long moment before another drop distracted Eito and he looked up just in time to be hit right between his eyes.

Rain.

Eito bent down to sweep some wet sand off his pants but then froze mid sweep when he saw his laptop still sitting on the folding chair he had brought along for the trip.

Another raindrop landed on the closed face of his laptop.

He only had one laptop.

Eito scrambled for the device and picked it up, looking it over for any more drops before leaning over it to shield what he could. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Machiko hadn’t specified how long he had to watch Taro but he couldn’t just let his laptop die in the rain.

But he didn’t really want to leave Taro alone either.

Eito thought for a moment longer as the rain started to grow heavy and soon he realized that he needed to at least get out of the rain for now. He started brisk walking back to his car, so caught up in his thoughts about the weather and his work that for a second, he failed to notice that the rain was so longer hitting him at all. Nor was it hitting a good distance around him.

Eito stopped, laptop still clutched to his chest.

Eito could see something hanging over his just out of view.

Eito looked up.

And his currently racing heart almost stopped beating at the sight.

A massive purple hand floated over him, the pouring rain dripping off the far away edges of it. He turned to see Taro had lowered himself down again to see him, the boy’s face pressed into the sand as he watched him quietly.

Eito was unnerved but he just took a shaky breath before he spoke again. “…Thank you, Taro.”

He watched as the boy blinked at him, light from his eyes shining on the sand below him before the massive pupils flicked down just slightly. Eito looked down too and saw his laptop still held tight to his chest. He adjusted it just slightly and watched as Taro’s eyes followed the movement, his pupils dilating further.

…was he interested in the laptop?

Eito tried to remember everything that Machiko had written about Taro and the word ‘curious’ followed by a few exclamation marks, underlined three times and circled even more times jumped into his mind.

The rain hammered down on the gravel around him.

Eito slowly sat down and watched as the boy’s eyes followed him.

Then he held out the laptop and watched as the massive set of eyes widened slightly, a series of tremors travelling beneath him as Taro moved his head closer to get a better look.

“Laptop,” Eito finally managed and Taro let out a soft higher pitched noise in response. “…this is a laptop. …I use it for work.”

Taro stared at him in silence and Eito got the impression that he was hanging onto every word. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before he continued. “A laptop is…a piece of equipment that I use to send and receive emails.”

Taro cocked his head slightly and Eito realized that they would be here for a while. He tried to get more comfortable before he started again.

[archiviotati]

"family issues - 02"

brown clay, plexiglass, recycled mirror

The idea of this project arose to respond to two specific needs: to interpret family dynamics and relationships in order to deepen the connection with each family member through reflection and art. Simultaneously, it aimed to concretize a mental and design journey developed during the academic period: how to effectively combine the concept of accessible and functional art with the idea of "pure" art? Am I more of a designer or a sculptor?

With the help of extensive readings and guidance from my advisor, there was a journey of conceptual evolution. During the third year, I modeled five vases as the first step of this research. Each piece corresponded to a close family member, while also seeking to synthesize my individual relationship with each one and my conception of their persona. It was an intimate and complicated process, attempting to grasp the essence of each person, their role in my life, and the continuously evolving relationship.

The next thought was to capture the differences through completely different forms, objects, and functionalities. Thus, the installation consists of five pieces of furniture, bearing a strong sculptural imprint achieved through the coil and slab technique. The chosen clay is a semi-refractory Etruscan clay with a brown hue.

In this series, each person transforms into an object. Each object functions perfectly in its individuality and is detached from the general context, but when recontextualized within it, gains something more. It regains a different meaning, an added complexity, just like what happens in family dynamics.

I also want to emphasize that one's role can be interchangeable over time. None of them are necessarily fixed: objects, like people, adapt to space and context, in their constant and necessary evolution.

For this design, I started with this mental standpoint: "A chair, father A lamp, mother A small table, older sister A mirror frame, younger sister A vase, self-portrait."

While working on the sketches, I felt these specific roles were most suitable for certain family members, considering the emotional stage and situations of that phase of my life. Consequently, the modeling evolved with different textures, shapes, and structures, each visually coherent with the others, creating a true system.

[colorico-art]

2024.09.10 - PDCA

Previous Notes

Eyes

Eye is far away to really see any details. However style is quite simplistic and gives sufficient evidence of lighting. Although pupils aren't apparent, due to the size and apparent distance in piece, forgoing the pupils is a decent stylistic choice to go with here.

In future piece, look into incorporating multiple subjects to try out eye variation to help capture various personalities, rather than having a standard shape for each and every character.

Hair

Linework looks appealing and has excellent flow like in the last piece. Although hair somewhat matches the waves from the original subject, the hair comes off as one massive mass, rather than hair flowing in a breeze. The original subject did not have a huge mass of hair to work with.

Additional studies with hair variations are needed, specifically concerning hair movement. Continue focusing on hair textures to broaden styling options, as well as determining how hair properly clusters together when in movement.

Background

A better improvement overall, however since the background blends in with the working canvas, some additional work would need to be done in order to get a proper background in place. The blurred tones help give a sense of depth in the piece, but having the background stretch everywhere would help emphasis the effect better.

Since Akihiko specifically works with character design, he doesn't rely on backgrounds to complete his pieces. However, continue looking into subtle ambient design around the subject to give the piece a coherent look.

Posing

The pose was significantly pushed from the original sketch without breaking the character anatomy. There is a defined curve present and some subtle dynamism thanks to the hand positioning as well.

An additional piece or two would be needed before stating that the posing has been improved on.

Effects

The lighting comes off in a more subtle tone for this piece. Shadows and highlights take a more passive role in this piece, which in itself isn't terrible. Some highlights on the bathing suit cover helps define the shape a bit more, however some of the color could have been pushed a bit more as to make it apparent that the cloth is separate but semi translucent.

Miscellaneous Notes

Despite the nit picking here and there, overall the piece fells very coherent and I wouldn't be opposed to selling this off as a print! IT is a gift design though, so I can't do that this time around.

[consequently-cryptic]

Late sketch of Elliott so I could practice drawing his hair at least semi coherently in my style shisjsjdaj