#and ive missed everyone !

[heartorbit]

if we could stay connected, just like this

[pendwelling]

Haven't drawn these two in 2 years and felt nostalgic, have some CHCH 🥲🤲🖤❤️

[nagasleeps]

beach day!

[obsob]

despite, despite, despite!!

[mikqchoux]

FINALLY i can reply to comments without the comsec lookijg weird as hell. Bless this update and also bless everyone for being so kind to my posts all the time:,) i appreciate it sooooooo much and now I can express it back as well so like have this art as an accompanying thank yoi

[deerspherestudios]

Hiiii!!! Just wanna drop this here since Mychael was the perfect model to learn how to sculpt (for me atleast) since his unique features and such made grasping how the app I used for sculpting work so much easier!!

WHOAA THIS IS SO COOL?

This is the second time (as far as I'm aware) someone's modeled out Mychael and it still blows me away. THIS TURNED OUT AMAZING!

You did a wonderful job, thank you so much!!

[siriuslylantsov]

through your eyes i see, a smile you bring to me

matt murdock with sculptor!gf who makes a sculpture of him because she wants to have matt see himself through her eyes.

sculptor!gf who has him sit for a few hours, she thinks its a tortuous process as she takes rough sketches, pictures from different angles, and carves out the main areas of his face into the clay but he doesn't mind–he focuses on her breathing and the beat of her heart as he meditates.

it's made over the next days, in a little studio where sculptor!gf works tirelessly. it has to be perfect.

“don't sacrifice your style for my sake,” matt says one day when she tells him about how tedious it is to smooth out the clay. he knows that when she usually sculpts, it's rough, patches of clay pressed over each other in textured harmony. “you won't be able to feel it then,” she murmurs distractedly, hunched over her workspace. “it doesn't matter, angel. it’s your eyes isn't it?” he counters and she begrudgingly concedes, she hides her smile and he can feel it in the way she bites into her lip.

she doesn't know how far his sight goes, if she can even call it that. does he know what he looks like? is he only able to picture himself from before the accident? when he was a child? does he feel his face like he carefully did hers when she walked him up to his apartment after a night out with foggy and karen? she plans to ask him these things later, she still has so many questions about his situation but for now this will do.

when it's finally finished and she presents it to him, she's a nervous wreck. he can hear the way her heart races as she sets it down on his coffee table. the way her muscles strain slightly tells him the piece is heavy and he thinks about how she carried it all the way over to his place, his lips curling into a small smile. he pats the seat beside him for her to sit.

he reaches out to the mass he senses in front of him, hands settling over what he assumed was his hair. to be fair the texture did make it difficult to feel but it was clear that he passed over the swoop of his hair when he did. his fingers trail lower and she watches intently as they purposefully skim over his forehead, then his eyebrows, over the bridge of his nose. they part as the drag over the highs of his cheeks and down to his jaw where the dried clay replicates his scruff that she oh so admires. one hand drops down to her knee where he caresses lightly in appreciation and the other curls around the back of the sculpture's neck, thumb hooking around under his chin. 

he pauses there, noting the placement of a scar, right above his adam's apple, where a line of raised skin used to reside, now less prominent due to time passed but there nonetheless. his thumb passes over it a few times, recalling how when he first met her that cut was fresh–he’d never have known stumbling half-dead into her art studio months ago would have led to this and god was he grateful for whoever beat him up that night. 

she leans her head against his shoulder, also thinking what he was. she presses a kiss into his shirt, “do you like it?”

“yeah. i really do,” he whispers earnestly, “thank you.”

she lifts from his shoulder to hold his face, similar to how he was with the mound of clay but with infinitely more care. “i don't think i could ever replicate how perfect you are,” she matches his tone, a little sad. it makes her sad that he’ll never truly be able to see himself but it’s ok, she’ll be there to tell him–and show him–for however long she can. 

for @neverthatsirius-jo (my fellow mattie enthusiast)

[sideblogdotjpeg]

post battle, one last short rest

[daily-odile]

1,,,, 100 days,,,,,,,,, and 800 followers,,,,,,,,,,,,,

From the bottom of my heart, thank you everyone.........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[razzafrazzle]

human marzi!! almost got the whole main cast designed now :o]

[image description: a page of drawings for a human design of marzipan from homestar runner, where she is depicted as a chubby woman with two prosthetic legs that is wearing a long corduroy purple skirt, a matching cardigan, and sandals. next to a fullbody drawing of her is a drawing of her original design, a drawing of her in a long purple dress, and a drawing of her in her sultry buttons costume, where she has black hair and sunglasses. end id]

[dizzybizz]

how long since the last magma dump

[hokusu]

@animangacreators Badge Battle #2 ✩ Shounen ft. One Piece ✩

[phonification]

i cant stop thinking of ghost knife possessing balloon whenever hes hanging out with suitcase and goofing around

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[opal-owl-flight]

We've...won. What comes after, but to live?

Grandfest is giving me so many feels both as a player AND for my sploon plots. Holy shit. Im so, so happy that I was here to experience it. I missed out the last two fests. But not this one!!!

This fest made me have actual fun playing the game again. I was spending most of it vibing even in the middle of matches (but still doing my part dont get me wrong) -- even when I lose I dont get upset!! Bc the vibes were just that immaculate!!

Heres to more!! I may be team present, but I cant wait to see whats next!!!

Anyway. That aside. I cant stop thinking abt how 3 feels about all of it.

They easily win most fights, but a 333x in those top ranking matches is a FEAT, even for them!!!

Theyre there on the stage, getting their commemorative pics with their old team.

Just like old times.

And the crowd's going wild around them. The lights, the sound, the music in their hearts.

The smiles of 4 and 8 in the crowd, catching their attention. Octavio and Cuttlefish standing side by side near them. Octarian, Inkadian and Splatlandian crowds, all in harmony with the current song. A victory in many fronts -- theyre assured even that the salmonids they have contact with are thankful for their help in stealing most of the eggs back.

Theyre glowing, they feel warmth, unlike any other theyve felt before. Its as if its burning whatever melancholy that usually hangs around them.

Theyre smiling. Even in front of everyone they cant help but smile and laugh and cheer over such a hard-won victory on all fronts.

And yknow whats killing me?

Theyre thinking...theyre thinking with confidence, with strength behind the thought. A thought they havent thought of for a long, long time.

I want to see more of this! I want to live long enough to see this grow!

I want to BE here!

I want to live!!!

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

*Lil design note: winners of 100x and 333x fights get a commemorative tattoo after the victory. Its up to the player if they want it to be permanent or not. 3 chooses to keep it permanent, so theyll be reminded of this day.

This day where they had a taste again of their life before it was taken away from them. This day where they were allowed to live, to rest, to just have fun.

Its to remind them that even deep in the trenches of their duty, they had a day like this. And they will have more of it, as long as they hang on.

**They still...regress at times, when they feel the weight heavy on their shoulders. But theyre not completely hopeless. They usually just need to be sat down and be given tenderness for a while. Be assured and reminded that theyre not the monster they believe themself to be.

[willyhoos]

i read a fic that changed my brain chemistry and now i can't stop thinking about a universe where amy works for eggman... and metamy ensues. naturally. you know the drill by now. also roboticized sonic theory because it makes it more deliciously potent.

DESERT ROSE: A prickly young girl with terrifying strength and a love for the finer things in life, like frilly dresses and deadly high-powered machinery. She thinks maintenance is a romantic couples activity. Not only is the "desert rose" highly poisonous, it can't really be considered a rose, can it…? However, its resilience means it could bloom even in a rusty scrapyard...

notes for the au under cut!

rose believes metal sonic when he says he is the original. he hasn't told her what happened. that he failed to save her. that he failed to save everyone. that there was a time when he was organic like she is. he just said "the other sonic is the copy" and she said "okay! let's kill him :)"

metal sonic is constantly torn between guilt and adoration at who rose has grown into. she became so much stronger. strong enough to protect herself - strong enough, even, to protect him (if he ever let her, that is. he might not be a hero any more but it's burned into his core forever that > KEEP AMY ROSE SAFE is a KEY goal.) on the other hand... he feels like he remembers someone different. a girl who loved animals and flowers and sunshine. who would give her life to protect everything she's now destroying. but his memories are so fuzzy...

i'm not so sure that amy would be big on programming and constructing machines herself, but she's always eager to "test" them... and it goes without saying she is frankly terrifying when she wants to be and is a beast on the battlefield

what a helpful young lady! im so glad i didn't just kill her!! - eggman probably.

"wait if rose calls metal sonic 'sonic' then. what does she call sonic" -> she calls him faker. copycat. knockoff. off-brand. etc. in short, she doesn't acknowledge him by name

i have the feeling that metal sonic is a bit more... enthusiastic? i guess? about his mission in this universe. it's not "ME VS. EVERYONE WHO COULD HAVE LOVED ME HAD I NOT FAILED" its "ROSE AND I VS. THEM" don't get me wrong he's furious and undead and vengeful and jealous and still insane. but. i think rose helps jog the vaguest of memories of who he used to be? unfortunately the person he used to be is a hero so i also imagine he's ever so slightly more conflicted in this universe... ("the old amy wouldn't have liked this, would the old me feel the same?")

codependence is my favorite flavor so i imagine metal really, really, REALLY appreciates having rose around. someone who is kind to him. someone who believes that he used to be more than this, and treats him like maybe he isn't worth less after all... i imagine if sonic ever tried recruiting amy, metal would go BALLISTIC. "YOU ALREADY HAVE EVERYTHING ELSE. YOU CAN'T HAVE HER TOO." she's mine -> she's my (partner) she's my (memory) she's my (friend) she's my (tether) she's my (hope) she's my (rose)

metal sonic is. (gestures) metal. and he lives in a metal box on a metal ship surrounded by metal debris. but down the hall there is a single remaining rose. and in this state she is perfectly preserved. nothing can hurt her. eggman can't hurt her if she's on his payroll, huh...?

i can't put it into words properly (and ive tried) but the idea of "killer metal robot (whose objective is to destroy natural life) falls in love with a gentle girl named rose" makes me start frothing at the mouth. just shut up. why don't you hold his hand too. and he can't FEEL it like he should . and it hurts. and it's infuriating. but he Can tell that her pulse is higher than average and the temperature of her cheeks are strangely high. and he supposes that can comfort him for now.

i feel a little "if i had to choose between the world and sonic i would choose sonic" vibe.

this took me so incredibly long so if it flops im dropping out of college.

i wanna update these designs later, these are just the beginning concepts for the au :)