#and for some reason it’s my art style but not???

[noodles-and-tea]

CHAT

HOW YOU WOULD RECOMMEND GOING ABT WATCHING LUPIN THE THIRD?

IVE WATCHED LUPIN ZERO, LUPIN THE THIRD: THE FIRST AND CASTLE OF CAGLIOSTRO

WHERE SHOULD I GO FROM HERE?

OKAY SO IM PROLLY THE WORST PERSON TO ASK. My viewing history was like some of the movies and then the season where he’s in England and the season where he’s in Italy (both much newer instalments). BUT! There is this post I’ve been referring to (and also the Google drive is amazing)

Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful but I do wish you happy viewing!!!

[schpeenor]

two really dumb doodles, spinner giving his best attempt at flirting, and let’s say some quirk caused dabi’s predicament in the second drawing — his staples were absolutely ruined..

[see-arcane]

Tiana Should Have Been Odette

In which I continue to be bitter as hell that Disney's 2D animation and its Classic Princess machine closed out on The Princess and the Frog rather than shooting for a cinematic last hurrah in the vein of Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast to give us a Louisiana rendition of Swan Lake with a barely tweaked Tiana design and more cool character possibilities.

Case in point, another doll character design you dropped the ball on, Mickey:

Could have given Facilier (Rothbart) a hot goth flapper daughter. But no.

AND MORE DOLLS CHARACTERS:

Cygnets! You would have had a whole flock of cygnets!

Jazz and classical score fusions!

Full Fantasia majesty going on in the style and sound and story!

But no!

I feel in my bones that the Rodent will get around to Swan Lake eventually. But damn it, I would have loved Disney's old 2D crew making something special before they closed the doors, especially with the backdrop of the bayou and its sundry swans. Hand-painted scenery, the 1920s music and dance scene spliced into the ballet, a built-in reason to have more prominent girls in the cast with showy transformations back and forth between the winged silhouettes, the intrigue of the false beloved role swapping from Naveen (Siegfried) to Tiana (Odette) and Odile, a climax of birds in flight and magic fights by the water...

Sigh.

BONUS: Design comparison

2020:

2025:

If you let unreasonable bitterness over a children's movie come to a simmer, your art improves. How about that.

Ko-Fi is here if you're interested in some art of your own, with or without griping about princesses

[t4coyaki]

drew anya on roblox :3

[asnowperson]

Takemiya Keiko interview about Kazeki OVA (1987)

Here's another short interview from platypus's stack of old magazines with cool interviews: Takemiya Keiko talks about Kaze to Ki no Uta Sanctus: Sei Naru Kana in the 1987 December issue of Puff.

Translation is under the cut, and please let me know if you spot my mistakes.

Kaze to Ki no Uta – OVA is finally on sale!

Takemiya Keiko Interview

“It will not ruin your image of the work, so please watch it!”

Let us first hear your thoughts on finishing this project.

Mr. Yoshikazu was sitting at the director’s chair. That alone assured me that everything would go smoothly, and I left everything to him. He read the manga thoroughly and gave the work his own interpretation. I had nothing to worry about. I didn’t have to ask him not to do a certain part in a certain way, or to avoid including too many “risqué” scenes. I can feel that he gave the work the treatment it deserves. Even the animation style was not too flashy and anime-like. The movements were more orthodox. Everything worked out perfectly, so I have nothing to say.

The background art was amazing. Did you ask them to draw them that way?

Both Mr. Yoshikazu and I thought that she’d be a  good fit, and suggested having the same person who was the art director for “Natsu e no Tobira”, but we couldn’t get a hold of her. We found out the reason later: The producer thought she was too slow, and we should give up on working with her (laughs). But when we said that she was the only person who could draw the backgrounds, she was hired to work in the project. However, she was too late to turn in the drafts. We really were in a tight spot. She might have been slow, but she really is an artist. When she can’t draw something, she just can’t. She gave it her all… Even though it was something that’d only be on screen for two seconds… If we couldn’t ask them to do something, I said I should go ahead and do it myself.

So, I gather that you drew some key animation yourself. Are manga and anime too different to draw for?

Both mediums are used basically to capture “movement,” so I think they are the same. You go with the flow, trying to capture “movement”… You think about how original you can express it. That’s a really fun undertaking. For example, even if it’s just a scene of a character turning to look back, if you strive to give it a little touch, you can really bring out an erotic feeling. That’s the stuff I’m talking about. If I had a lot of money, I would dabble more in in-between animation. I now understand why Otomo Katsuhiro-san was so obsessed with it (laughs).

I’ve seen the OVA. It felt like reading one of your works.

Do you think so? I didn’t ask him to do it, but to keep close to the atmosphere of the original work, Mr. Yoshikazu outlined the key points. He put the same things as my drawings in those scenes. But if you looked closely, you could tell that they were different. When I saw the whole thing, I thought “wow, it’s the same!” However, upon closer inspection, I found out that such scenes did not exist in the original. I even thought maybe something was wrong with me. The same also goes for the lines. “Did he ever say that? He might have said that…” But when I re-read, I see that no such line was uttered. I had so many moments like that.

What was the fans’ reaction to this OVA adaptation?

When I said it was happening, I received an equal amount of positive and negative reactions. Well, that’s only to be expected. So, like I thought, only when I said that Mr. Yoshikazu was the one directing it, I saw the real opposition. The animation director was decided on, but the VAs weren’t cast yet. When news of the production got out, I received letters saying “it’s too late, I give up!” (laughs) They said stuff like, “Here we are, so against this idea, but you still say that you’ll do it! I don’t care anymore!” I can say that there are people who definitely won’t watch it. It makes me happy to see the work being loved that much, but when people are that obsessed with it… It’s kind of scary. I sometimes go as far not seeing it as something I myself created. But well, there are still a lot of people who say “I might cry and whine, but I’ll still watch it.”

Can we have Ms.Takemiya, the creator herself, do some advertisement for the OVA?

The OVA didn’t embarrass me, so I’ll keep promoting it. I don’t think it’ll ruin your image of the work. But I know that there are people who are too nitpicky and say stuff like the lines of a character’s profile is kind of off and they hate it, or that their legs are too thin  or that their feet look weird (laughs). In that sense, we paid extra attention to the movement itself and tried to animate the characters in a natural manner. “The Poem of the Wind and the Trees” makes you think of subtle movements, right? We can’t have them move too briskly, and even the fight scene is nothing too serious. Because Mr. Yoshikazu didn’t want to create too vivid of a scene. Rather, he didn’t want it to stink of “masculinity” that much. And people who’ve only seen the character designs might think that they look nothing like the manga, but when they are in motion, they do look like their manga counterparts. As for the voice of the characters, I don’t know the actress of Gilbert, but we have Nobita-kun for Serge (laughs)! People who are into anime will recognize her voice, so they might be a little bit of put off by that, but she doesn’t sound like Nobita-kun here. Not at all! The more you listen to her acting, the more you enjoy it! There are parts that reflect Serge’s character, so I’m really content with the result.

Can we consider this as “episode 1” of a series? Do you have plans for a continuation?

If this OVA sells, it might happen. If this one gets a positive reaction, I think we can make another one. The producer said that’s what he thought would happen. If you ask Mr. Yoshikazu, he says it’ll be at least 6 episodes long, but I doubt that. I can’t bring myself to believe that we can make that many episodes. Anyway, to think that we won’t be working with the staff who brought it to life with such resemblance feels so sad. But I also think that if we ask them to do it again, they’ll simply run away (laughs). We’ve already done Yoshikazu-san’s favorite part right off the bat, so what remains is the hard part. He says he can’t decipher a character like Augu (laughs). Maybe another director might do better.

And what about the future of the story in manga?

There’s the stuff about marriage and children problems, how to reach enlightenment, and everything in-between until Serge’s death. But even if I drew that, that would have no meaning for people who are only here for what Gilbert and Serge had (laughs). I don’t have any plans to draw any continuation for the moment, but one day, if I ever get the chance… If the are conditions right, I think I’d like to draw it.

Can we have your final message for Puff readers?

Watch the OVA. Please do it. I believe that if you watch it once, all of your worries will be washed away.

[colinarmistead]

i hope this doesnt sound like a ragebait question or something, im genuinely asking for advice because ive often been stuck on this when making art

when drawing moe characters, how do you reconcile with the loli association? the few times ive drawn moe characters i've been called a lolicon or the characters themselves have been called lolis, and i don't really like that association at all. at the same time though i understand that moe and loli have a lot of shared history and i dont think its an "unreasonable" association to make. is this something youve ever had to deal with? and if so, how do you deal with that? i really like drawing moe, and i want to keep doing it, but i don't want to be associated with lolicon. thank you for your time, i love your work and im sorry if this question is weird.

I have a lot of thoughts on this so I'm gonna have it all under the thing so it doesnt crowd up the tl lol

Loli shit is forever connected with moe aesthetics and history—it’s not some byproduct; it’s baked in from the ground up, and you have to make your own concessions with that. I’ve absolutely had to deal with people calling some of my works "loli bait" (despite me being a gay man who has a thing for older men lol) because of their subject matter, but I don’t take those interpretations of my work to heart since they aren’t willing to engage with what I’m doing in a way that isnt surface level.

For example, if I have an illustration of a small moe anime girl next to a dead male body (as I have multiple times), the uncanny sexual undertone of her short skirt and thigh-high socks isn’t some unintentional byproduct of the style—the uncanny is part of what appeals to me about these characters. If I’m using moe anime girls as a stand-in for some idealized, perverted digital feminine ideal, then the super-iffy sexual undercurrent baked into their designs (even in the more innocuous ones) is an important element of what makes them them. Another example is how in the animated opening to Angelic Kitty Miracle chan, in multiple shots her underwear is visible, Miracle chan herself is supposed to represent an artificial idealized form of femininity and to me to not add an element of sex to a character like that would be missing the point of what she is representing. If you design a young girl in a short maid dress and thigh high's I don't see why that is A-ok but the moment her underwear is shown in a frame then it becomes sexual, the fetishistic edge is baked into the design from the ground up.

now I understand having a shot of miracle chan's underwear without the context of the rest of the film she's from removes that imagery from it's critical context. That's totally my bad and for this reason I've stoped posting a lot of work of Miracle chan until the film is out

Moe aesthetics are often a microcosm of patriarchal feminine ideals and imagery, despite the fact that some people do use them to empower themselves and self-identify. It definitely brings to mind the constant debate: is the only way to destroy the power of regressive patriarchal female gender roles to distance ourselves as much as possible from anything that has been a byproduct of them, or can empowerment be found by embracing them? Personally, that’s up to the individual—but I’m in a lucky position where, when I’m drawing in anime aesthetics (with the exception of the paid work I do for V-Tubers), it’s usually to comment in some way on these aesthetics.

[hyreksia]

it's not too noticeable but..

do ya guys also change your artstyle so often that you're scared to post it online because you might get accused of stealing or is it just me..

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This estate that was featured in Netflix's "Dumb Money" movie just dropped. The 2000 home in Decatur, GA has 3bds, 3ba, 4,261 sq ft, $1.195m. I don't have Netflix, but I can attest to the fact that this house is definitely a case of "money doesn't buy taste." I really dislike this house.

The 1st photo above isn't an accurate depiction of how it looks today, though. As you can see by the current photo, it's worse for wear now.

The large entrance foyer immediately sets the tone for the rest of the house.

This is interesting. The painting on the wall and the framed art match. They also made an "area rug" out of tile.

Thru the columned doorway, enter the dining room.

There are some built-ins, an alcove, and a bar.

The kitchen is massive with dated cabinetry and a sitting area. The mural on the counter looks like a nautical scene.

Next is a very ornate pool room, complete with pink neon lighting.

The primary bedroom features a zebra patterned carpet.

There's a gold sink in the ensuite, but whoever did the tiling didn't do a very good job- it's uneven.

The great room retained some of the Tudor elements, but they painted the beams gray and changed the fireplace facade. The chandelier looks original.

A few steps up to an angular space features a piano.

Checkered flooring in the hall to the bedroom wing.

Interesting decor combined with the original Tudor style of the room. I wonder if that's real Versace bedding. The reason I wonder is b/c my BF has an unfortunate knock-off just like it, but in black.

Wood and marble shower room.

What an interesting light fixture in this room. You can see the leaded glass Tudor style windows throughout the home.

Small child's room is a bit depressing.

Large bath with vanity table. The baths are cold and uninviting.

In the back of the home there's a large covered patio.

These photos are seasonal, but it looks like the lawn is more dirt than dormant.

The red carpet photos must've been from the movie or something.

It was looking better.

3.60 acre lot

The home is just a few feet from a small lake.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3000-Cathedral-Pl-Decatur-GA-30034/37769727_zpid/

[acerathia]

how art is made (out of your desire) || Qi Yu | Rafayel

Summary:

Art is something subjective. It's supposed to be. Yet, it seems that everyone agrees what art is. You don't. To you Art is something special, something only you understand. Until you met him.

Wordcount: 4.9k (lol?)

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Professor!Qí Yù | Rafayel / f!non-MC!Art Student!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! porn with some plot, art is subjective, and extremly horny here, semi-public masturbation (in a bathroom), orgasm denial, private masturbation (help lol), both vaginal fingering, edging, bodily fluids used in art, squirting, lowkey strip tease?, cucking as in, he's watching her masturbate idk if that's right lol, cunnilingus, pussy job, piv, some kind of exhibitionism, u will get it LMAO, this is without feelings, what if i kms, this is weird and lowkey gross and for meee

Note:

professor rafayel is lowkey insane and i need him in my guts thanks

Nobody truly knows what Art is for them. Many simply tell the normal and usual response.

“Art is an expression, some sort of communication.” “It’s entirely subjective.” “Everyone has their own interpretation of its meaning.” “The artist had an idea, a feeling and put it onto the canvas for us to understand.” “It’s the technique that matters.”

Nothing out of the ordinary, standard words for people to repeat without putting much thought into Art itself. Not you, though. To you, Art is something out of this world, something that sends shivers down your spine, making your heart beat, your blood rush, your head spin; something that excites you to the core. It’s reverence, it’s worship, it’s lust.

Maybe because of this difference in views, you can’t help but be bored to death at every single of your lectures. The professors, failed artists in your eyes, droning on about the techniques and how to use tools to use your skills to the fullest. Nothing but empty words when the right feeling is missing, when Art is missing.

That’s why you had pretty low expectations for your newest lecture. The professor is allegedly a famous artist, teaching just for some time, exclusively. Not that you care, most artists aren’t more than people with nimble fingers and connections.

At first, you did try to get into their world, to get to know all the different artists and their styles, what made them special, what made them stand out. But every time you stood in front of a painting, you felt… nothing. None of all these pretty decorations evoked anything in you, and soon boredom turned into frustration. Your dream was to belong, to have your own work join their ranks. But after disappointment after disappointment, you could not even think about your silly dream. Was it truly worth risking your beliefs just to fit in? To strip everything that makes art Art for you just to make it pleasing for all of these people with nothing but time and money? This realization made you turn your back on the world of artists, diving into your own Art, ignoring all possible repercussions of your intentional ignorance.

So, the professor at the front of the room is a complete stranger to you, but you do notice the reach of his fame, as the whispers stack on top of each other, getting louder with each student entering. You simply ignore the fawning and take a seat in a place where you can just not pay attention. Because the only reason you’re here is for the credits. And this new professor isn’t going to change your opinion about their type of art just with his senseless blabbering, probably filled with praise towards himself.

Still, you try to at least act as if you’re interested in what he’s saying, just until he’s not paying as much attention towards his audience anymore. You set your eyes towards him, and you freeze. Purple hair, soft as clouds above the setting sun, a gentle face, smooth and akin to beautiful marble. But what really gets your insides in a turmoil are his eyes. The way they shine when the light hits them, and the coldness hiding underneath all that radiance. Eyes that belong to someone with a certain touch, something similar to you, yet entirely different.

Your heartbeat rises, your lips curling ever so slightly. Oh, how much you desire to see a single work of his, to see if it could change your world. And so, despite your initial rejection, you begin to pay attention to what he says. Careful, one might even think calculated. Every word leaving his lips is akin to a script, something Rafayel, as he introduced himself as, is simply saying to please the masses. But you know, you know the way he’s speaking is different, the way his body coordinates so flawlessly with his words, but there’s always something off, and you know. Words which seem so pliant and meaningless, sprinkled with what he truly wants to express, hidden for anyone to see. And you were hanging on his lips, piecing everything into rough patches in your mind, out of order, nonsensical, but something.

Until he finally reveals one of his paintings, as part of the impending discussion. The moment your eyes lay on the canvas, the way the colors flow into each other, you gasp silently. The emotions seeping out of every brushstroke are caressing your skin, flowing into your veins, tickling the deepest part of you. The painting is filled with desire so intricate, so deep, you grin with excitement, pure unadulterated excitement, throbbing and twitching.

With this, you knew that Professor Rafayel is just like you, that his kind of Art is filled with the same meaning as yours does. A buzz is filling your brain, one stemming from all the possibilities, all the Art you can create under his tutelage; together with him.

The bubbling under your skin does not abate even after the lecture is over, your eyes never leaving him out of your sight, drinking him in, every single motion, every single word. You take everything, and you thirst for more.

That’s why you straighten yourself out, making sure that you look the right balance between amazed, worried and meek, hiding all your hunger away, before you make your way to his desk.

“Good morning, Professor Rafayel. Uhm, I love your art, the way the colors interlink and create this atmosphere, it’s amazing! Uh, what I wanted to say is, that I’m worried– worried that I might not do good work in this class. Do– Would you mind if I showed you my progress occasionally? Maybe give me some pointers?”

His eyes briefly glance over your face, and you barely hide a shiver, feeling your heart beat loudly in your ears. It’s obvious that Rafayel is a genius, and you don’t doubt he has seen through your empty compliment, but as most people sound the same, you’re not worried that he will call you out. Rather, it will strengthen your facade, making him believe that you’re truly as clueless as you make yourself out to be. So, you nibble at your lower lip and furrow your eyebrows ever so slightly, not too much, but just enough for it to look like a subconscious action.

“Alright, you can do so during my office hours,” he finally responds, scrawling all the information you need on a piece of paper and handing it to you.

Thanking him profusely, you leave the lecture hall, and the moment you step out, a grin breaks over your face, the tip of your tongue gliding over the edges of your teeth. You have finally found something that can satiate you, another person with the same essence as you.

So, without stalling for a single second, the moment the door to his office unlocks, you’re already carrying your painting with much care into the room, and give him a smile the moment your eyes meet. With a simple flick of the wrist, he shows you where you can set the canvas for the upcoming analysis.

The painting is one of the lighter ones. The real motive hidden behind the swirling colors of the waves, entering and leaving a cave, gushing. If one knew how to look, they would uncover the yearning, or rather, the desire behind each brushstroke. This painting got created with a mix of oil and water, highlighting the insinuation for those who get it. Normal paint, not the ones you mix specifically at home. No, those mixtures are used for that kind of painting you had yet to show. You first have to make sure that your intuition has not lied to you about Rafayel.

The artist has positioned himself in front of the canvas at the perfect distance and you watch as his eyes glide over every single decision of yours. Chaotic strokes and a use of paints that could only be called unrefined in the eyes of those who seek perfection. But every single one of these was a rational decision, every single one shows the heights you’re willing to reach, ignoring all that is natural and accepted.

You don’t know how long it takes, because you’re simply staring at him, watching every single reaction, down to the tiniest twitch. And then he faces you, a small smile playing around his plush lips.

“Interesting work. The emotional resonance could be stronger, though. Do you mix your own paints?” he cocks his head, his eyes wandering over your face, almost like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you, like you weren’t even worth noticing before.

And now you are. You nod. Not trusting yourself to speak, as the depth of his eyes is revealed before you, their intensity not only shining through, but outright swallowing everything else. All of this makes your blood hot and you bite on your lower lip to suppress an inappropriately excited grin.

“Good. Next time, bring me one of those paintings. That’s when we can truly start with Art, yeah?”

A shiver runs down to your spine and you feel your lungs collapse, breathlessness wracking your body as you feel heat throughout your body. Before your reaction becomes too obvious, you thank him, giddiness tainting your voice, before you leave with your painting.

There’s barely enough time to stumble to the next bathroom, locking yourself into the cramped space, before you begin to pant, moans stuck in your throat. Before you know it, your belongings already strewn across the ground, your hand has dipped into your pants. Quickly, your fingers touch your throbbing clit, strokes after strokes after strokes, in circles, with more and less pressure, akin to how a painting is made. Slowly, they drag towards your slit, warm and wet, a cave yet to be filled, the waves yet to crash.

But instead of using your fingers to enter, you simply let the pads tease your entrance, and you shiver and clench. The aching hole, needy, bothered, yearning to be filled, an emptiness evoking nothing but inspiration. Your very own muse. One that cannot be taken away from you, ever. Your body tenses when your fingertips return to your clit, touch too feathery for your liking, but this lack of satisfaction makes you lightheaded, and you feel yourself climbing, climbing, one step and you’re going to–

With the last shreds of self control, you jerk your fingers away from your hot bud, your insides hollow and craving. Not yet, you’re only going to give yourself the heights of pleasure once you finish a painting that will make him look at you, truly look and see you.

A shaky sigh, before you fix your rumpled appearance and collect your scattered things. With the unsatedness settling in your body, you rush back to your atelier, inspiration fueled once again.

Once there, you grab your palette, dried colors flaking off of the surface. What you want, need, to show him should not be any old art of yours, no, it should be proper Art, the exact one Professor Rafayel is seeking.

There are uncountable tubes of paint sitting each in their own corner, but for this painting, you shall not use any normal paint. A stack of cans is hidden in a cabinet, each color painstakingly collected, wrung out, until mixing each component brought you these colors. Their consistency and shimmer something one could only replicate if they shared the same sentiment as yours. And of course, a small container, barely as big as your little finger, and its content even smaller. This truly is something that only exists for you, only imitations are possible, but perfect copies never. Unless you allow them to. But it has been ages since you have been attracted to another artist.

A thought creeps up at this, and you lick your lips. Maybe, if everything works out with Professor Rafayel, he might get a bit, and you might get another component for your colors. You wonder how that one might affect your painting.

For now, you set the small container away, it’s the last step to finish the painting, and then you turn towards the open white space of the canvas, and you remember how you felt earlier, how it felt to rise, rise, rise, only to plummet into nothingness. You let these feelings flow into the paint brush and you move, guided by your reverence, by your lust, towards Art.

The colors mix and flow, gush and squirt. Pushing and pulling, hitting the right areas, over and over again, getting the perfect angle with every stroke. Letting the tip caress and touch and love. Moving in circles, in patterns, pressure against the hot spot at the right time, and it drops and drips.

Heaving, panting, hot and feeling sticky, you finally take the small container combined with the smallest brush in your arsenal. You press your tongue against your teeth as you slowly spread the fluid where you need it to be, where it would have the most effect on your painting.

Only after the finishing touches do you unravel, feeling the high of Art, of this painting, penetrating you, making your insides squirm with want and desire. You throw your head back slightly and you moan, letting this feeling overtake you. This is what true satisfaction feels like, and it would reach new heights once you show this piece to Professor Rafayel, once you experience his reaction to it.

You let your piece dry, as there’s still time until you can visit him again. So, all you do until then is attend lectures as you have been, keeping the tension in you going and going, never letting it snap or slip away. Even if you were pretty close to losing control when Professor Rafayel made intense eye contact during one of his talks about the emotions and the way they manifest in art. Something about the way he looked at you made you clench and swallow.

And when he beckons you to talk to him after class is over, you feel your blood heat up with excitement, rushing to your head.

“How can I help you, Professor?”

Without a preamble, he gives you a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Let’s change locations for the next meeting. I think it would be more ideal to do so. Do you mind?”

You shake your hand and glance at the address written.

“Good. See you then.”

His back is already facing you before you could say goodbye, but you don’t mind, your mind is too preoccupied with the fact that he wants to avoid meeting on campus. You knew your intuition about him was right.

With a grin splitting your face, you make your way home to grab your latest painting, before you input the address into your phone.

You have no idea how long it took you to get there, but standing in front of the gate closing off the huge mansion rips you out of your excitement-induced trance. This eerily looks like a home rather than just an atelier, just some place. Your ribs tingle and you hum. This is getting better with every step. You barely remember to ring the bell, your insides twitching and nudging, and all you want to do is grab him and show him what you’re capable of.

The gate swings open and you step through, feet almost silent on the soft rock leading you to the entrance of the mansion. You take a breath before entering with a knock.

“Professor?” You look around, trying to find the atelier in this huge place.

“Drop that, we’re not in university, right now, we’re just two artists,” his voice sounds behind you and you twitch in surprise and turn around to face him.

His words, coupled with his baring shirt and flushed face, make you unable to speak, suddenly stunned. Rafayel looks like he has been painting passionately and this, coupled with the removal of the societal barrier between you, make you lightheaded, your blood rushing into your fingertips, into your core, and weirdly enough, over your nape. You can only nod, clutching the canvas desperately.

He glances at your hidden work and cocks his head to make you follow him. And he leads you into his spacious atelier, paint and brushes, marble and chisels, a controlled chaos. You can’t help but stop to stare at some of his unfinished works, bare bones, but enough to light something in you, to make you yearn for something so far away, seemingly forever out of reach. His works are simply on another different level, out of your world, you can barely imagine how he might have achieved this.

“Hey, you can put it on this one,” he calls out to you, pointing towards a free easel.

A couple quick steps and you have caught up to him, and you put your painting where he has shown you, removing the covering at the same time. You notice the cloth covering the ground, but who are you to understand the whims of a genius artist.

You put some distance so he can have proper space to see your work while you watch him. Watch him scrutinize your work, analysing every single brushstroke, every single color combination. Like a lot of your paintings, it looks like a simple one, until you dare to dive deeper. This one shows the waves crash against an impossible cliff, trying to reach the edge but failing with each wave, with each push. To you, it’s obvious what your intent is, but you hope it’s clear to another person, to him.

There’s the tiniest clench in his jaw and you keep your eyes on him, wide and expectant, you’re not even trying to put on a mask anymore, it’s too late for that anyway. Soon after that miniscule reaction, he turns his head to face you, eyebrows ever so slightly furrows.

“This is excellent work. Truly, the repression is visually and emotionally resonant, making the viewer feel stifled as they’re failing to reach the climax. But say, how did you produce this?”

With a long stride, he’s letting his fingertips swipe ever so slightly over one of the parts you have coated in your very own mixture. And you almost whimper when you see him smell and lick it off his skin. All while holding eye contact with you.

“Why don’t you show me? Hm?”

You release the air out of your lungs, a little raspy, bordering between a giggle and a moan, and roll your shoulders and neck. Then, you make eye contact with him, as you let your fingertips wander over your throat and collarbones, drawing the line of your chest, splayed across the peak, before your palm beets your tummy, closer to the waistband of your pants.

Playing with the button, you ask him with heavy eyelids: “How much do you want to see?”

While you have been putting up this act, Rafayel has made himself comfortable on the closest couch. Positioned like it was his plan all along. From his seat, he cocks his head, fingers tapping slightly tapping against his temple, his body unrestrained, smooth and laidback, draped over the armrest, legs spread apart.

“Everything. Impress me.”

At his words, you hum, a suppressed moan in disguise, as you feel your insides twist and tense, yearning. With a flick you unbutton your pants and grab the zipper, slowly dragging it down, click by clack, his eyes watching your every move.

Without hesitation, you simply let your pants drop to the floor with a little shimmy of your hips. And maybe you did draw your motions out a little bit, just to see how his eyes follow each sway. Your pants out of the way, you lower yourself to the ground, legs apart to for him to see your still covered cunt and the wet spot on your underwear.

“Usually, I have something to collect it, but I suppose that won’t be necessary today, hm? This is but a demonstration. So, maybe a little censorship would make sense, don’t you agree?”

You watch as his eyebrows furrow, realization dawning upon him, as your fingers find your clit, pressing on your throbbing bud with the cloth still inbetween. A moan slips between your lips as you stroke it, drawing patterns on it, a piece in progress, swiping and flicking, controlled in a way a painter’s brush flows over the canvas. A calculated mess. The pressure sinking and rising, the angles changing, the position gliding. You know what your body needs, but to you, it matters more to satisfy the voices demanding for more and more Art. And the Art in this current situation is simple: A Show.

So, you follow the stream of one, building the tension more and more, hitting every spot that sends electricity down your nerves, until you’re about to reach the climax, only to stop, a cliff, the depression, tension dropping. Your moans turn into whines, even if you’re the one doing this to yourself, letting yourself hang in suspension. His eyes feel hot against your skin as he takes you in, takes every motion, every twitch of your hips, every drop dripping onto the whiteness underneath you. And you grin, tongue against the edge of your teeth, when you notice the strain in his pants. The effect of your Show, of your Art on him makes you clench around nothing, feeling yourself getting worked up without even touching yourself again.

After the little pause, you resume, fingertips stroking over your hot bud towards your slit, and you tease your aching hole with slow motions. You catch his eyes for a moment and you let your eyelashes flutter as you moan, deliberately making it sound close to his name, but not quite enough. With each dip of your fingers, with each caress, you feel your insides tighten, electricity tingling between your nervendings. Until with a certain flick, a finishing brush, you unravel, twitching and moaning, a resolution fit for the finishing act.

Panting, you put your hands behind you to support you, and you cock your head at him with a grin.

“Does that answer your inquiry? I doubt you could replicate it, though, unless you have me,” you raise your hand and stretch it towards him, and from your perspective it looks like he’s sitting on your palm.

“The Art we could create together, just imagining the possibilities inspires me again.” You close your eyes as you shiver slightly.

A shuffle, steps, and then Rafayel is crouching in front of you, taking your hand to kiss the tips of your fingers, his tongue licking the wetness clinging to them. With dark eyes he looks to you and smiles. A smile filled with something calculating and sinister, and your grin broadens as you give him the same look back, eyes wide and excited at the words he speaks next.

“With pleasure.”

With these words, his knees hit the ground and he crowds your space immediately. His breath mingles with yours, but he immediately pushes your torso to the ground, before he makes himself comfortable between your thighs, his hot breath now cooling the wet cloth of your underwear.

“Let’s make Art,” he murmurs as he completely removes your panties, throwing them aside.

Not allowing you a moment to register what he’s planning, his mouth is already on you, tongue running once over your sticky folds, and his groan vibrates against you as he tastes you. Swiftly, he latches onto your clit, sucking and licking, teasing the throbbing, still sensitive bud with each move. His hands grab your thighs, holding you in place as your hips buck in reflex, yearning for the new sensation. For some time, all he does is let his tongue glide over your clit over and over again, enjoying the way your body tenses with each stroke. There’s a meticulousness to his lapping, a precision one only wields when holding a brush. And it seems that you have turned into a part of his canvas.

His control leads to your climax being delayed over and over again, every time you feel close to the edge, he pulls away, almost like he’s observing you, thinking over his next steps, how he wants to finish this piece. And you don’t know what he wishes to achieve but you’re willing to do anything for Art. So, you moan his name and tense over his tongue over and over again, feeling yourself drip and gush. Until he finally allows you to reach the edge of the canvas, one last stroke and it’s done, you unravel and out of your frays Art is made.

Your body limp on the ground and you barely look up as you hear the sound of the zippers, seeing him pull his pants just enough down to reveal his hardened length, pre dripping from the tip. His hands grab your hip, fingertips carefully digging into your flesh, as Rafayel pulls you closer to him, hip to hip, his cock pressing against your clit, and you whimper at the sensation.

“Before the real mixing starts, we gotta have all the necessary materials, don’t you think?” he murmurs before he begins to jerk his hips.

His silky tip presses against your throbbing clit, and the rest of him follows as he lets his length slide through your folds, carefully avoiding your wet slit, the one clenching with every time he moves his cock through you. His veins rub against your heat and you moan, his suppressed groans growing with each slide, twitching against you. You can’t help but grind your hips against his, trying to get more pressure, more of him. With each move, you feel your insides tense up, his length slick with your wetness, gliding and pressing against your aching bud. The way your sexes rub together, the noise, the slickness feels like that sort of Art where every viewer gets to participate, gets to feel what has been felt before. And before you knew it, you were watching him cum, splattering onto the white cloth, mixing with your earlier demonstration. Just seeing him twitch and the way his spend is pumping out, feeling its heat against your skin, makes the tension snap in you, just barely.

“Hng… perfect… now, the climax of this piece,” he rasps against your skin, eyes hovering over your face.

You barely have time to grasp his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself some way, before you feel it. His tip slowly pushing into your entrance, spreading you apart bit by bit. Filling the aching void you have always left behind, the one always spurring your inspiration. The very one now getting replaced by another kind of pleasure, another kind of Art. You moan his name, clenching around him the moment he has filled you to the hilt, your hip against his, grinding, rubbing, slick and wet, and pure Art.

For a moment, everything stands still, the rapture of attention, the discovery of something so innate to life and what it means to create. Until his hips move, pulling out of you, slowly, drawing out like a brush following a measured line. And then he pushes into you again, angling your hips to hit that sensitive spot inside you, to get you messy and babbling underneath his touch. That’s how Art should affect people, turning their minds into a chaos, incomprehensible yet swirling you to the core.

Groans slipping from his lips mix with whimpers of your own as Rafayel finds a pace that satisfies you both, steady, careful, yet filled with conviction and decisiveness with which one would wield a pen to paper. His fingers find your clit and they add more pressure, more sensation, more texture and feelings, and you suddenly burst at the seams, sparks and colors filling your vision as you spasm and clench around him.

The way you tighten around him leads to his own climax, but he pulls out of you before he fills you with his heat, a decision you’re slowly beginning to understand.

Because as you pant and try to recover, you notice how the once white sheet has turned into different colors. With a surprised noise you support yourself on your elbows and take a closer look.

“Do you like it? The colors react to acidity and basicity making them appear. And see, desire is Art, Art is desire, and together, well, I think we can achieve the pinnacle of Art, yeah?”

You giggle, and even after he has milked you dry, you still feel a twist in your tummy, hot and delicious. “That is how Art is made after all, isn’t it?”

The same white canvas, the one colored with your pure desire, mixing and swirling, is soon exhibited amongst his paintings, your name by his side, a collaboration for all to see, with much more depth than anyone could ever comprehend (but not for you, every time you glance at this piece of Art, you see the outlines of your hips, your legs, the dents of his knees, his colors and yours, and the way they coordinate, mix). As for both of you, Art is Lust, Art is Desire. Something much more than what the common folk acknowledges, it’s something to pour your whole body into, no matter the consequences. So, you will continue to thread this path of Art, no longer alone, no longer with shut eyes, but with excitement and him by your side, discovering more and more ways to turn these feelings into expressions and colors. Showing each other how art is made out of your desire.

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day eight: fuzzy pink handcuffs

ᰔ pairing: din djarin x reader

ᰔ summary: the mandalorian is on another bounty mission. he expects to find who he's looking for, not himself cuffed in your bed.

ᰔ author's note: i read a post by @psyzook that talked about how din is more awkward and touch-starved, and i knew when i made this list, i had to put him in the fuzzy pink handcuffs. it's like a rite of passage. also i am not a big star wars girl so please forgive any misuse of information. i did so much research, but i'll always be a trekkie at the end of the day ✋😔 i tried my hardest— anything for my baby din

ᰔ content warning: 18+ // MDNI!!!! sub!din, dom!reader, oral (m!receiving) afab!reader (mention of breasts), din is is silent and awkward, premature ejaculation, fuzzy pink handcuffs

Din felt as if he had met his match when it came to you. He had seen it all, every corner of the never-ending universe threw a fastball at him. He had seen the depraved and the greedy in every form. It was hard to look towards the light when he had been face to face with darkness time and time again.

When he agreed to take a bounty job on Zeltros, he knew it would be a struggle from the start. Many who had tried to follow through with war or overtaking had failed due to the nature of the planet. Din had heard of the failing of other bounty hunters, but he was sure he was stronger than whatever temptation the others had faced.

The mission was easy enough. Find one of the wealthiest residents and return them to the Imperial Center. Din knew to not dig his helmet into business that wasn't his, but he wondered what was so important that the bounty was well beyond the standard price. Whoever's head it was must have been important if he had to bring them in alive.

Easier said than done, but the Mandalorian didn't back down. He had faced a few zeltrons in his time, and this one was no different.

You, though?

You were beyond anything he had seen in his time, in any interaction he'd had. Din was unsure if it had been the way you held yourself, or how easily you had tempted him with your sweet words.

"I believe I've heard of the head this bounty is plastered on. Please, follow me." You turned, not waiting for him to accept the invitation. Even the way your sheer red robes flourished as you ascended the front steps had Din bewitched. He followed without a word, his head ducked down as if to hide how his chest tightened.

"You could tell me the information out here," Din returned. Despite his argument, it didn't stop the way he followed you. He hoped to find the information he needed and continue on with the hunt for his bounty. He was on a mission.

"And have others listen where they're not welcome? I prefer to speak in private. As a follower of Mandalore, I'm sure you understand the importance of privacy." You glanced over your shoulder with a smirk.

"I suppose." Din left it at that. He kept a bit of distance between you. As he took in the decor, he was surprised by the lively coloring and flourish that had donned each piece of furniture.

"You mentioned this bounty had to be brought in alive. May I ask if they've provided a reason why?" You led him into the open space that was the center of your home. It was covered in warm oranges and pinks, sleek and polished in preparation for any visitor. On the walls and in display cases were various art pieces you had collected over time.

Din took notice of each item. He recognized some of the art styles, all front different sectors of space he had been in. How you had acquired some pieces, he wasn't sure. As he took in the details of your space, he realized how little he knew about you. The tip to talk to you had been an anonymous message, but it was as good a place to start as any.

"I tend to not ask unless it's imperative to the bounty." He kept a hand on the blaster on his hip. It wasn't subtle, but Din only relied on the art of subtlety when there was something at stake.

"You amuse me, Mandalorian. I hope I can be of service," you mused. You waited for a response, but there was a silence that filled the air. Din cleared his throat, and you turned to see what he was looking at.

"Ever seen anything like it?" You smirked as you moved towards the case. In the tall glass case was your most novelty possessions, some from your home planet and some from stretches beyond your sector. Even with the mask on, you felt his gaze follow your every move as you opened the glass.

At the center of a black velvet pillow was a set of cuffs. Din had seen plenty of bindings for every set of appendages on the body. From high tech to basic, they had all been similar in shape and fashion. These were unlike any he had seen; never before had he seen something so frivolous.

"No," Din finally quipped. "They look useless."

It was true. If he had tried to use pink, fuzzy handcuffs on a bounty of his, they'd laugh right in his face before they made a break for it. Not that he blamed them, considering they looked flimsy from where he stood.

"I suppose in your line of work, they would be," you chuckled. "However, I must attest to their usefulness in other situations." You held the handcuffs, brushing a thumb over the exquisite fur that donned it. It had been sourced from a loth-wolf pelt and dipped in fruit dye— that, you had done yourself. The muddled white and grey did no justice for your tastes. Now, it was a vibrant pink thanks to the meiloorun fruit you had wrung dry.

"How? I fail to see how you could detain someone with these." You let the Mandalorian take the cuffs out of your hand so he was able to examine them. It was amusing to see him shift them in his hands, his gloved thumb brushing over the fur.

You were quiet for a beat before you moved closer to the bounty hunter. As you did, you shifted your shoulder to let the edge of your robe slip. Even with the chill in the air, you didn't mind how it left your skin exposed.

"It's not so much what you detain them with, but how you detain them. You should know that well enough, Mandalorian. I'm sure you've captured your fair share of brutes with far less than those."

Din was quiet for one beat, followed by another. He marveled at the handcuffs, then your shoulder. While he had been propositioned by plenty of people, both bounties and bystanders, this felt different. His body felt tense as it dawned on him, what you were implying.

"I have," he broke the silence. "It's about the situation— how you keep them compliant." His gaze flicked towards your face. He hadn't missed the smirk on your lips, not that you tried to hide it.

"Exactly. These require submission." You grabbed for the cuffs again, yet you didn't put them back in the case.

"Submission?" Din asked. You nodded and reached for his hand, which he let you take. It surprised both of you, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, you popped one side of the cuff open and placed it wound his wrist. It settled in the leather divot left where the two metal pieces of his armor divided.

You gently tugged Din's hand, and it moved without much resistance. He was thankful for the mask; it hid the way his eyes had widened. He had never been willingly cuffed, let alone moved without force.

"I'd like to show you just how useful they can be." You waited until his helmet shifted, a slight nod that you made out. Without another word, you led him down the hallway by way of the other cuff in your hand.

Din felt stiff and awkward with each clunky step towards your bedroom. He wasn't sure what to say, how to break whatever simmering tension had built between you two. Out of all the propositions he had faced, why did he falter at yours?

Just like the rest of your home, your room was vibrant with hues of oranges and pinks cast across the furniture. Din noticed the large window that allowed him to take in the vast horizon of Zeltros, an overview of the bustling city below.

As Din took in the sight, you gave another gentle tug towards your bed. He hesitated, his movements stiff as he shifted in his spot. You started to speak but before you managed to get anything out, he sat on the bed. His back was flush against the headboard, which had been made of repurposed copper pipes.

"When using these," you began as you sat in front of him. "You must relinquish some control. Unable to use your hands, it requires the ability trust in your partner." Your robe slipped further down to expose your bare chest as you looped one of Din's arms through the pipe. As you clasped the other cuff around his other hand, you felt him sink further into the bed. You glanced down to see your breasts spilled out of your robe, right above the bounty hunter's helmet.

Din had never been more thankful for the safety of his face covering. He was completely flush; it would have been impossible to hide the way he stared at your breasts. He cleared his throat before he spoke up.

"Why should I trust you?" Din was even more thankful for the modulator, which warped the tense tone in his voice.

"You have no reason," you shook your head. "Just as I have no reason to trust that you won't break one of my prized possessions." You settled between his legs, both your hands on his sturdy thighs. Even through the fabric of his pants, you saw what effect the pink handcuffs had on him.

"You use these often?" Din asked, as if deflecting distracted him from the ache in his cock. It had been ages since he felt any sort of release, and even longer since it had been at the hands of someone else.

"No. Only for special occasions." You moved for his belt and fiddled with the latch. It dropped off his waist, pooled underneath as it fell on the bed. He watched your hands under the armor chest plate to undo the button on his pants.

"What makes this so special?" Din asked. He felt his chest tighten, his breath short as you released his cock from the confines of the linen pants.

"It's not every day that a Mandalorian comes to my home, looking for my help." You didn't give the answer much thought, your own form of deflection. Instead of focusing on the conversation, you brushed your thumb over the head of his leaking cock as your hand ghosted over his shaft. You smirked as he shifted at the gentle touch.

"How long has it been? Since you've felt the touch of another." As you spoke, you leaned down to press a light kiss on his slit. Even the voice modulator couldn't hide the choked back sound he made.

The Mandalorian was silent, as you expected. His hips shifted as you swiped your tongue along the underside of the tip. The way he twitched in your hand only made you swipe your tongue again.

"Not one for casual conversation?" You mused in a teasing tone. "I suppose that comes with your occupation, bounty hunter." When your lips weren't on his cock, your hand was wrapped around his shaft as you slowly jerked him off.

Din was overwhelmed by the slow, tantalizing pace at which your hand moved. He resisted bucking up into your hand, to chase the high you gave him, but it felt near impossible. He had denied himself so much over his life, and this moment of weakness ate at him. He had to remain strong—

Your head dipped down again, the warmth of your mouth too much for him to handle. Before he managed to speak, hot, thick ropes hit your tongue and the back of your throat. Your hand continued up and down his shaft as you coaxed him through his orgasm.

"Sorry," Din's voice was gruff, even with it being altered. He felt a different type of heat crawl up his neck and all over his face.

"No need to apologize," you assured him once your lips popped off his cock, not without a string of white saliva popping as you pulled away. "The throws of pleasure can do things to us that we cannot predict." Before you sat up straight, you wiped at your lower lip and licked your finger clean.

"It's... it's been some time. Since I've found myself in someone's bed," Din admitted. Even after the pleasure that had shuttered through him, his body craved more— anything you were willing to give him.

"Well, if you ever crave a warm bed to find yourself in," you leaned in and braced yourself on his sturdy shoulders. "You find me. Maybe I'll wear the handcuffs next time, if you think you've learned your lesson."

You pressed a kiss to the top of the bounty hunter's helmet before you tucked him back into his pants. While you wanted to keep him there for hours and keep him pliable, you knew he had other business to tend to.

You just wondered how long it would take him to realize that his bounty had been right under his nose this entire time. Amazing what a set of fuzzy pink handcuffs could do.

[robo-milky]

hiii milkyyyy! u’ve been popping out so many manga pages and i’m just so amazed?? i’ve been wanting to get back to manga drawing so can i ask for some tips? like what’s your process and how do you decide the screen tones/sfx/effects/speechbubbles to use? the latter is something i’m struggling with 😭

tyyy 💕

Hi Yudi, thanks for dropping by!

General note: One thing I’ve learned about trying to go for a more manga-esque style is that there’s really no particular way to do it, and EVERY artist does it differently. Everything I do here is a blend of my own style and things from JP artists I admire! However, the most important thing is that panels aren’t meant to be masterpieces but to convey information and get the dialogue going.

This process will be CSP oriented. I’ve made a mini screen tone tutorial (and how to turn on Layer Property) but I did not talk about my own settings ^^ You’re free to do any resolution you want, though I stick to drawing on a B4 template for fun (and imagine that one day my stuff can get published /j). I hope this helps, as I’m still trying to figure my own style and set limits on the details too.

[Process]

Script + Thumbnail

I used to wing stuff for one-pagers, but now I’ve found that scripting and thumbnailing has made my process so much faster. (Omg it’s almost like people make drafts for a reason- @ me cause I hate planning)

There’s no standards of a comic script, and each publisher has their own format. My usual scripts don’t separate pages, since I leave that to the thumbnailing once I do dialogue placement. If trying to imagine panels without seeing them overwhelming, at least get the dialogue down.

The B4 thumbnail template I use is pretty darn big, so it also doubles as the sketching stage. Once the thumbnails are done, I transfer them (screenshot) to a comic file on CSP. Once the set up is done, I do speech bubbles + dialogue first, insert the frames, then get to the line art. Since I don’t think anyone is actually gonna print their works, you’re free to trim your canvas however you want to post online 🫡

Speech Bubbles

Any speech bubble can work and will eventually blend in as the viewer is reading, but I have a vendetta against super flat/digital-looking ones. I made a custom brush for a textured speech bubble pen with line width by adjusting its taper and changing the brush shape. Published manga are a different story, but I like the more organic polygonal bubble shapes from indie artists-

For different shapes and situation… Squares - Narration, Flash/Urchin - Character thoughts/internal monologue, Hexagon - Phone call/text (not a concrete rule but a common pattern)

You can also add emanata (sparkles/symbols) on the bubbles for flairs as you see fit.

Screen tone (Please read the linked mini-tutorial above)

I split my tones into two folders. One specifically for black, and greys.

I first fill in all black areas, the duplicate them. The top layer will be the shadows (remains pure black), and the bottom layer is set to [Opacity 75%] and turned into a screen tone layer with a [frequency of 45-50] (It must always be at a lower frequency than the greys). To add texture, I use a grainy brush to erase bits of pure black on a mask. To show light on the screen tone layer, I use gradient erase on a mask.

For the greys, I split them into three tones (dark grey, medium grey, light grey) all in the same folder so they don’t overlap and it’s easier to fix. I use a [frequency of 75] or any number higher than the screen tone in the black layer. Overall, tones can be as simple and complex as you want, but it’s best to save more detailed tones for important panels. (Planning to change this as I’ve realized how big the B4 canvas actually is, and the frequency doesn’t need to be so high- The size of screen tone is a preference. This example was done on a smaller canvas, so higher frequencies still look less pixelated/small.)

Emanata/SFX

Special effects is whatever the situation calls for! It can to make a blank canvas feel more dynamic, to evoke certain emotions, hint/foreshadow. It’s best used sparingly on important panels you think would be the most important… but how do you get those effects?

THE CLIP STUDIO ASSETS STORE- Or draw/download your own depending on the program (You have no idea- ever since I downloaded too, I can’t unsee them in other works of artists I like 😭) Not used in the example but these are my essentials- You can also find a lot of gems if you straight up search “manga” and see the most popular assets.

Another good place to find comic fonts in general is blambot.com (?). They have quite a bit of free, personal use fonts if you ever need flavour text when italics or bold isn’t enough. (Current font used is Anime Ace 3 Regular BB).

Happy creating and feel free to ask if anything was unclear ^^

[wickedsick]

Star of Beethoven wins "crazy but fun"

The art style does a good job of making Beethoven stand out from all the other characters, and the premise seems intriguing. Beethoven especially is excellently written, and you can tell that the idea as a whole comes from sincere love.

But my God, is Beethoven a freak. It's awesome.

Embers wins "yeah, I figured"

This was a predictable trajectory for the series to take, but it was predictable for a reason - it's a good idea. The comedy was good, I like the new characters, and that spread of stealing the ball was great. I hope the author can keep this up.

One Piece wins "best character intro"

Gaban seems fun. He's got some excellent parallels to Sanji, but his general vibe is his own, and I love him for it.

Sakamoto Days wins "best beatdown"

The two sides of this chapter were both great. We get more confirmation on Shin's past (there was always a high likelihood he was a JAA orphan, probably al-kamar), and both the bubble gunshot and this waterslide combo were great fun. Suzuki's art is always so kinetic.

Kagurabachi wins "my god he's so fucked up"

Going from discussing school and specifically pointing out that Iori and Chihiro are the same age to the rapid switch to... This; it puts into perspective just how fucked Chihiro's life is.

Meanwhile, we get a better view of Hiruhiko's philosophy and style, showing how it differs from Chihiro's, and sets them up for a rapid confrontation.

Blue Box wins "oof ouch my feels"

This was a great cooldown chapter after the game. I'm not really sure what else to say.

Ichi The Witch wins "Oh she got one of them traumas"

This is such an effective set of panels. His name, the single memory, then that tiny panel of blood and the wine splashing over him...

GOD, it's so fucking GOOD!

Ultimate Exorcist Kiyoshi wins "best singular attack"

The Thirteen Club is great, but this spread from Hijiri had to be my pick simply because of how effective it was. I can already picture it in motion, and it's yet another example of this series' "School Notebook aesthetic".

Akane-Banashi is runner-up on "best character intro"

Taison is fun, and it's great to use him to show general perception of Akane. I hope she knocks Rien's fucking socks off.

Witch Watch wins "author filibuster"

Sometimes I forget about this whole subplot of the manga writer. This was definitely... A choice, for ways to bring it back, though.

[luftyloop]

In 2024 I kinda stopped watching cr. No reason, guess I got into other stuff and lost interest (you know how hyperfixations are). Because of that I have some unfinished drawings that will probably never finish, but that I still somewhat like so I wanna post them anyway. These are all from 2022. (Click them for better quality)

This one I’m actually so sad I never finished :( It’s Fearne in art nouveau style heavily inspired by Mucha. Those flowers and leafs in her head look so good how did I do that

My little pony Imogen and Laudna, because of course. I wanted Laudna’s magic to look inky.

I’m pretty sure this is when Imogen first had a burst of her Ruidus powers and destroyed a whole street. The wings are made of magic.

I think campaign 3 just ended? So no better time than now to post these.

[s0m3b0dy2u]

"but roman..."

"why didnt you script youre immune to hate" / "why did you literally script haters into your dr???"

three words: because it's funny.

I scripted that hate doesn't bother me, and that i think it's funny. also, im very petty and i cant do dumb shit just to spite the haters if there are no haters. i did script that my friends dont get any/get very little hate. for example, people only think good things about theo because he literally posts the most gorgeous photographs, shes amazing at their job, and hes just the kindest person to literally everyone they meet. nico has haters in the way any loud and obnoxious youtuber will but theyre very few and far between and he also finds them funny, but in a slightly different way then i do. felix's legitimate work is amazing, and theres so little room for criticism to begin with, and most of his shitty takes are on tumblr, so hes safe. venus gets the same kind of hate anyone that makes the kind of music she does will, also largely angry christians like i have in my hatebase. she, of course, is the best at handling hate out of any of us. shes absolutely brutal. shes also the first to clap back if any of her friends get any hate to begin with. of course, she has the largest fanbase out of all of us so... yk how that goes, im sure. she also like... thrives off of drama.

also, i've litterally written whole critical articles about myself, if anyone wants to read them

Blasphemy Disguised as Art: The Dangerous Message of Empire’s 666

Style Over Substance? The Fall of Rome’s Theatrics

etc.

the first one is my favorite (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

lets talk about 666

the only reason the ep (or even me in general) blew up as hard as it did is because of christian supremacists.

!! i dont hate christians or christianity, and i do not intend to mock the religion itself !! 666 is about my own personal struggles with religion !! also, the christians im talking about here are the kind that hardly live like christians--the ones that dont live and lead with kindness, but instead anger, and the kind that would condemn you to hell if they saw you walking down the street holding hands with someone of the same sex because "its a sin." the bible says we, as humans, are in no right to judge one another, etc. etc. etc. the reason i didnt script people like this out in this dr is because theyve greatly helped shape the person i am today--for better or for worse. (i feel the need to mention, now, i did script out homophobia, transphobia, and other forms of discrimination) !!

these people, maybe they saw the album cover, read the lyrics, or even just read the album and song titles, whatever it was they got so pissed. most of them havent seen anything else about me, and just jumped to the "hes encouraging devil worship" "he thinks hes better than God" etc etc etc. this lead more and more people to seeing my stuff and so... yeah

also the people that are like "EMPIREs too theatric" "romes too dramatic" like... no shit?? thats my whole thing?? idk what to tell you. my fans eat it tf uppppp too.

the people that are like "mmm maybe try making happy music now?? :/" piss me off tho like no???? my whole thing is doom and gloom. i am death incarnate, im fuckin--IM A VAMPIRE OK IM SUPPOSED TO BE VAMPIRIC ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა /silly

also theres nothing funnier than tiktok comments like "you need jesus" and "go read the bible" pllssss what????? (╥﹏╥) lmaoooo

and like keep hating, all youre doing is making me more famous??? idk like....

i also love ironic haters

like yes, lets pretend we hate each others guts while were sitting in a cozy lil cafe tg

lets say we hate each others music and then drop a collab not even a week later

૮꒰˶> ᴗ <˶꒱ა

uhhhh rant over

if youre still here, how was your day/morning? remember to take care of yourselves, drink some water, eat something--even if it's just a little bit--and take a break if you need to. i love you all <3 have a nice day/night

[morbidly-a-beastz]

LMAOO found an old sketches I made of my design of Michael which for some reason I then felt the need to redraw in the Don Bluth art style eskjdjdjeje

[dragomfry]

Artistic Analysis of Saezuru’s Covers (Vol 1-9)

What I’ve always loved about Yoneda Kou’s writing and art style is her subtlety and attention to detail. Compared to other BL styles, her style is not as exaggerated in its emotions. The characters’ emotions are consistently written and drawn very down-to-earth, realistic, and/or nuanced/subtle (besides the exaggerations in comedic moments). Her art style is simple yet detailed just enough to be very pleasing to the eye.

All of her cover illustrations are clever and rife with detail. In this post, I’ll be examining my interpretation on the meaning of each cover’s design up to volume 9.

Volume 1

The first cover is simply iconic. On a surface level, it shows exactly what type of story you expect you’re getting into, so it draws in its audience. But artistic nuances show that there’s a twist to this story.

Yashiro is caught in a compromising position, arms behind his back, resting his head on some man’s bare foot, which indicates his submissiveness. And that man could be any man, not just Doumeki (or the love interest). This emphasizes the impersonal aspect of sex to Yashiro, which shows that this isn’t going to be your typical romantic BL between two partners. We also learn that Yashiro is in control of all these sexual encounters. In traditional BL manga, the partner that takes the bottom or uke position is typically seen as the “weaker/more timid” individual (which, for some reason, are commonly interpreted as being more “feminine” traits), but clearly this isn’t the case with this story. Therefore, the cover is empowering. At this point, Yashiro is confident and has reclaimed a sense of control over his sexuality.

Volume 2

This cover is bold, in a quiet way.

It deviates completely from the first one, making the whole environment the focus and not the main character. This type of cover design is especially rare for manga, which typically grab your attention with the character(s) front and center. The style of characters being enlarged and shown on the cover is commonly used, as, obviously, it’s very marketable. It easily draws the attention of potential readers (weren’t you captivated by Yashiro on that first cover?). However, the 2nd cover is extremely subtle, and it’s truly the mark of an artist who cares about the story she is telling, not just the hot scenes. It’s admirable. I will never stop respecting Yoneda-sensei for being so confident in challenging established tropes and themes.

This cover forces you to look closer at the details. It’s saying, “Hey, this story isn’t just about lust, but something deeper and more mature.” Upon closer inspection, we see Yashiro standing alone, completely out in the open, soaking in a full suit in the rain. It shows just how little he cares for his own well-being, and the pessimistic desire to not do anything about it. He has been deeply affected by tragedy. He feels empty and insignificant, like a drop in the ocean, which the cover reflects by depicting him as just another person in the background.

The full cover reveals even more details. Others have already talked extensively about the beautiful symbolism of the rain and umbrellas (inspired by kyrieren’s Rain and Aiai Gasa posts). Doumeki rushes from the right, carrying an umbrella to shield Yashiro from the rain, or his semi self-imposed misery. Doumeki bringing the umbrella to Yashiro is symbolic of how he cares for Yashiro’s wellbeing, which Yashiro doesn’t “see” or fully notice the depth of at this point. The theme of seeing and not seeing is established from this point forward.

Volume 3

The body language is everything.

Their position, especially Yashiro’s position with his arms up and feet made bare, reflects a sexual one. This indicates how their relationship is becoming more intimate. But Doumeki still being in his shoes implies that they aren’t that far into it yet. It can also signify how Yashiro and/or Doumeki himself will not let him take off his shoes, or display his full vulnerability. Despite the bareness of Yashiro’s soles, which could imply openness, Yashiro pushes back with his legs and does not look Doumeki back in the eyes. Perhaps he’s, in fact, willfully being “blind” to Doumeki’s feelings and closing off his own. So Yashiro’s position, rather than reflect growing trust and openness, actually reflects how he wants to reduce their budding relationship to a purely physical one (like all his other sexual relationships). In contrast, Doumeki is staring intently at Yashiro, with his arms grasping Yashiro’s hands and pulling down the pants on his leg, keeping him in place. His intent is clear: to make Yashiro his. The way they’re both locked in place almost resembles a dance with its rhythm and balance. They’re both stuck in a position of their own makings, yet in a harmonious way. This cover masterfully conveys the psychological conflict and erotic situation between the characters.

Volume 4

Doumeki is staring determinedly, at whom? The audience, Yashiro, or both?

The cover of the extra story “A Flame in the Distance” makes it clear that Yashiro is not looking back at Doumeki, tying back into how Yashiro is willfully ignoring Doumeki’s and his own feelings.

It’s no secret that Yoneda-sensei puts great care into her symbolism. Both characters being placed in a field of wheat is likely very symbolic, but I could only find a few sources so far to explain the potential connections. According to those few sources, wheat symbolizes life, strength, and rebirth. In this case the wheat or the cover in general could symbolize Doumeki (because his name’s 力 means strength, power, force, etc). With this interpretation, volume 4 could act as Doumeki’s mindset in the story, and volume 2 would be Yashiro’s. In comparison to Yashiro’s gloomy, entrenched, and rainy attitude, Doumeki’s attitude is more cautiously optimistic and determined. The rebirth aspect of the wheat can also explain why they are both in the field; it’s because both have caused immense changes in each other. The brighter colors in the cover show how both have been the light in each other’s lives. Overall, the cover has an ominous or auspicious feel to it, but one thing is implied for sure: things are about to change. Doumeki and Yashiro are becoming extremely close.

Volume 5

Volume 5: the turning point of the series.

The cover’s design is simple, but everything is deliberately placed. We are put into the perspective of Doumeki, which makes the cover very intimate. Doumeki is on top and caresses Yashiro, who is undressed. Yashiro now looks directly up at Doumeki. This time, he cannot look away from his feelings. The last thing to mention is how Yashiro is almost positioned upside down, which indicates how everything is about to change. This all signals what we know is going to happen between them. They’re going to push the relationship to the farthest it’s ever been… and the result will be heartbreaking. A consistent theme among sources I found showed that the color white is symbolic of physical and spiritual purity as well as mourning and funerals. In this case, the white clothing symbolizes the tragedy of how Yashiro has been defiled by Doumeki, and how Doumeki is no longer pure in Yashiro’s eyes. The death of Yashiro’s sadomasochistic facade can also be symbolized with the white, because Doumeki has irrevocably changed Yashiro. Doumeki has made Yashiro fully realize things he never knew he so desperately wanted before: gentle touch, and most of all, genuine loving affection. Simultaneously, this volume has them both experience their best and worst moment.

Volume 6

While being less intimate than volume 5, volume 6’s cover still conveys a sense of closeness. Most of all, it conveys a sense of nostalgia and slight sadness.

Both are walking together in the night illuminated by city lights, Doumeki innocently following behind Yashiro, like how their relationship used to be. The cover’s cleverness comes from how it juxtaposes with the actual content of the volume, in which Yashiro is desperately trying and eventually succeeds in pushing Doumeki away from him now that they’ve gone so far. Volume 6’s cover is a swan song that pays homage to the romantic simplicity and gentle affection of their relationship, before everything changes…

Volume 7 and 8

By themselves, the covers seem unremarkable. But put side by side, the meaning and meta commentary become clear.

Doumeki and Yashiro have become physically separated. Both have grown up and matured. Doumeki is no longer the baby bird we remember. He looks more mature, dresses more seriously, has many scars on his face, and is wearing and surrounded by dark colors. This all reflects his mental growth and descent into darkness, or the yakuza. He is also turned away from Yashiro. Volume 7 is the complete opposite to volume 8. Yashiro dresses in and is surrounded by lighter colors. This reflects how he’s become more of a civilian and how he was actually never been as suited for the yakuza lifestyle as Doumeki. Yashiro has a contemplative expression, turning his head and body in a way to look directly at Doumeki. Now, Yashiro is aware of his feelings more than ever before, but Doumeki is not reciprocating so openly this time. *Forgot to mention, Doumeki is shown pulling off his glove with his mouth, his jacket is hanging loosely on him, and he’s taken off his shoe. He is much more comfortable in his sexuality now. On the other hand, Yashiro is shown to be covered more in his jacket and both of his shoes are still on, which could indicate his newfound impotence. Doumeki’s position is also more open than Yashiro’s more closed off one, showing their differences in confidence. In many ways, their roles have been reversed this arc.

Volume 9

Finally, we have the latest cover. Yashiro and Doumeki are working to re-establish a sense of closeness, but that warmth they possessed with their early relationship has not (yet?) resurfaced.

Doumeki once again looks directly at Yashiro. He is now trying to express his feelings for Yashiro, but at a distance because his hand is still gloved (or his mask of indifference is still on). It seems as if Yashiro is not looking directly at Doumeki, but that doesn’t mean he’s avoiding his feelings like in the previous covers. Rather, he is now trying to hide them. Still, Yashiro not looking at Doumeki shows that he tragically cannot “see” Doumeki’s feelings for him now. There is deliberate ambiguity with how Yashiro grasps Doumeki’s gloved hand, as evidenced by how Yoneda-sensei revealed other drafts with variations of Yashiro’s hand placement. Is Yashiro pulling Doumeki towards him, keeping him in place, or pushing him away from him? This ambiguity reflects Yashiro’s inner conflict and contradictions. Their winter clothing and the desaturated color scheme all symbolizes the emotional coldness of their current relationship. Both desperately want to express their feelings for each other, but both can’t yet, due to each other’s unwillingness to drop their masks.

And that’s where we left off.