#boy was i struggling with proportions when drawing that

[ihatehavinganaskshrimpoblog]

fruitcake angst (?) and hatsune miku—

[shantechni]

Finally watched tmnt 2012 for myself and yeah, the things people criticized about it aren’t nearly as bad as I was expecting. These boys are delightful. Also love how Raph is super straightforward with what he thinks while guarding his heart and Donnie is the opposite; heart on his sleeve but often struggles to voice his thoughts in an assertive manner

WE STAY WINNING Y'ALL, THE '12 SERIES KEEPS BEATING THE ALLEGATIONS

Fr, there are so many things that get taken out of context or purposefully blown out of proportion and it's not even funny😭Some may want to argue that [insert favorite iteration] gets unfairly criticized the most, but I still see people pouring gasoline over the '12 series like it burglarized their home, killed their whole family in cold blood, and emptied their pantry in the same night. Rise and Mutant Mayhem are still relatively fresh to the public eye, but the '12 series is 12 years old, pls let it go omg—

The '12 boys are so delightful, so funny, so loving, so lacking in social skills, and I adore them all. If it weren't for the whole ninja and turtle bit, they'd just be your average gang of siblings who will fling each other around when one of them eats the last slice of pizza, but will always be there to pick each other up off the ground when one of them is in trouble.

Also I love your description of the difference between Raph and Donnie; it's so simple yet it easily tells someone everything they need to know about how they behave.

Raph is the most guarded of them all, but he's also the most honest. He has his issues when it comes to trusting anyone and everyone, but we all know his trust issues aren't just him being antisocial or introverted. He has real concerns about who him or his brothers are befriending and whether or not their so called friends are ready to stab them in the back. Sadly, the one time he decides to not let his trust issues get in the way of befriending someone, it leads to the planet getting eradicated and sends the gang on a months long mission to prevent a repeat of the same tragedy.

And Donnie on the opposite side has no problem opening his heart up to those around him, but he sometimes doesn't know how to go about expressing himself or his thoughts in a healthy manner. Rather than conversing with Splinter or his brothers about his concerns with April never forgiving them for Kirby getting mutated, he vents his frustrations to Timothy and unintentionally gives rise to Mutagen Man obsessing with April and her broken friendship with the turtles.

Heck, specific plots aside, we can clearly observe their juxtaposed behaviors and draw a conclusion from there. Whereas Donnie will work himself up over whatever is worrying him in the moment and agonize over approaching his obstacles properly, Raph will find a straightforward answer to his problems that'll oftentimes either end with him throwing fists or completely ostracizing himself from the problem.

[ghostchems]

sacred blasphemy - catholic priest!copia x f!oc

chapter one: blood!

in another world, copia has become a catholic priest after being drawn to it during his childhood in an orphanage. he is content with his life, finally feeling grounded and like he belongs -- until a new face in his flock captures his attention.

author’s note: this is the project i’ve been talking about for the past few weeks! eventual smut, my friends, but nothing too spicy here. this story came about because a lot of fic i’ve read and also written have the papas as the seducers, the ones who draw “innocent” people to join the satanic church with their charm and sexiness so i thought what if i did it the other way around. about 4k words. ao3 link!

The young boy stood motionless in the schoolyard, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest in a protective embrace. He remained there, a still figure amidst the bustling playground, his heart pounding with anticipation. Time seemed to slow as he waited, knowing full well what was coming but powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the air was split by the unmistakable sound of rubber against skin. A dodgeball, thrown with cruel precision, struck the boy squarely in the face. The impact was immediate and intense, causing his nose to erupt with blood. As it trickled down his face, a strange sense of relief washed over him. The nuns, alerted by the commotion, rushed to his aid, their habits fluttering as they escorted him swiftly to the infirmary. Despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the boy felt a small spark of triumph. His plan had worked – he had successfully escaped the dreaded dodgeball game, just as he had hoped.

He found solace in the quiet sanctuary of the infirmary. The gentle care he received there was a balm to his battered spirit. The nun tended to his injury with practiced hands and he felt a sense of peace wash over him. Seeking further comfort, he reached for the Bible that lay nearby. It really should have been his by now. He opened its well-worn pages. The ancient words spoke to him, offering wisdom and solace in equal measure. He immersed himself in the sacred text, allowing its timeless messages to soothe his troubled mind and provide a temporary escape from the harsh realities of his daily life.

Every trip to the infirmary ended with wondering when this would all be over. When he would be free of this place. The thought both terrified and excited him. The infirmary, with its antiseptic smell and quiet atmosphere, had become a strange sort of sanctuary. Here, at least, he was safe from the chaos of the playground and the cruel taunts of his fellow orphans. he'd always felt like an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. His appearance didn’t help. He was a gangly child, oddly proportioned child and his eye certainly didn’t make people want to be friends with him.

But he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Sooner or later, he would have to face the world outside these walls. He turned another page of the Bible, his eyes scanning the words without really reading them.

***

This has been a long time coming for the priest.

He surveyed the parking lot as members began to arrive for mass, a content smile on his face.

Copia's journey to this moment had been a long and winding one. The sense of displacement he felt as a child led him to seek solace in faith, eventually finding his calling in the priesthood. The path hadn't been easy - there were moments of doubt, struggle, and loneliness that echoed his childhood experiences. But now, standing before his congregation, he felt a sense of peace and belonging he'd long yearned for, a stark contrast to his rootless beginnings.

As more people filed into the church, some stopping to shake his hand, Copia reflected on how far he'd come. The hardships of his past had shaped and guided him here. He felt settled, grounded in a way he never had before. This small church, this community—it was home. Though it had taken some getting used to on their part. He was the strange priest with the ghostly white eye. The one who sometimes had dark circles around his eyes, rumored to be from any number of things. Definitely not your typical priest. His appearance had initially raised eyebrows and sparked whispers among the congregation. Some had even questioned whether he was fit to lead their church in the wake of beloved Father Acosta’s retirement. But Copia's genuine compassion and unwavering dedication to his flock had gradually won them over. Very gradually. Still, he couldn't help but notice the occasional curious glance or startled reaction from newcomers, though that wasn't very often.

He shook the thoughts off, focusing on the message he was about to deliver. Copia was excited to share his homily today, having worked on it for the last few days. The message he had prepared felt particularly poignant, addressing themes of acceptance and unity within the community, drawing inspiration from Ephesians 4:2-3: "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." He hoped his words would resonate with the congregation and foster a sense of belonging for all members - a belonging that he would gladly provide after being deprived of it for so long in his own life. The irony wasn't lost on him; the outsider now creating a space of inclusion for others.

“Father Copia!”

Copia spun around at the sound of his name, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized the pair approaching him. Mark, a single father who had become a regular at the church, was gently guiding his daughter Maisie forward.

"Ah, good morning, Mark! And hello there, Maisie," Copia greeted them, his voice softening as he addressed the shy little girl. Maisie, usually hesitant to make eye contact, was clutching something in her small hands.

"Go on, sweetheart," Mark encouraged, giving her a gentle nudge. "Show Father Copia what you made."

With a deep breath, Maisie stepped forward and held out a piece of paper. Copia knelt down to her level, his mismatched eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's this, little one?"

Maisie's voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I drew you, Father."

Copia carefully took the offered drawing, his heart swelling with emotion as he examined it. There in bright crayon strokes, was an unmistakable portrait of himself. Maisie had captured every detail - his black cassock, his graying brown hair, and most notably, his distinctive eyes. One was scribbled a deep green, while the other was left white.

"M-Maisie," Copia breathed, genuinely touched. "This is beautiful. Th-thank you so much." He looked up at the girl, who was now beaming with pride. "This is, ehm… this really is me."

Mark chuckled, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "She's been working on it all week. Wouldn't let me see it until it was finished."

Copia stood, still holding the drawing carefully, almost unable to tear his eyes away. “This is going straight to my office. I'll treasure it always, piccolina." The little girl's shy smile grew wider, and Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest. He was so touched by Maisie's gesture that he felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to mask it with a cough, urging them to get to their pews. "Thank you again," he managed, his voice slightly rough. "Please, take your seats. We'll be starting soon." As Mark and Maisie moved away, Copia took a moment to compose himself, touched by the unexpected kindness. He carefully folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

The last few congregants entered the church with Copia watching, taking a deep breath to center himself. The moment had arrived. With a final glance at the sky—a calming ritual he'd long practiced—he turned and strode towards the entrance. His mind was already racing with anticipation. He could feel the weight of his responsibility, the trust his congregation had placed in him. As he stepped into the church, the familiar scent of incense and old wood enveloped him, grounding him in the present moment. Even so, the chasuble always felt heavy on his shoulders. It was green today — to represent the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time. He let it drape over him, heavy yet calming. Copia took his place at the altar, ready to begin the service.

His eyes swept over the congregation. The familiar faces of his flock brought comfort, but a new presence caught his attention. A nun he hadn't seen before sat in one of the back pews, her head bowed in prayer. Something about her struck him as... different, though he couldn't quite place why. His gaze lingered on her as the words to his introduction fell effortlessly from his lips until a sudden, sharp pain flared behind his left eye — his white eye. The sensation was entirely new, a stinging that made him blink rapidly. Copia faltered for a moment, taken aback. He'd never experienced anything like it before, especially not during a mass.

He recovered quickly, his hands flying into motion as he continued his sermon. His fingers danced through the air, emphasizing key points with dramatic gestures. The congregation seemed to lean in, captivated by his animated delivery. His Italian heritage shone through in every sweeping motion and expressive flick of the wrist.

"And so, my dear brothers and sisters," Copia proclaimed, his hands spread wide, "we must remember that our faith is not just words, but actions." He brought his palms together. "It is in our deeds that we truly show our love for God and our fellow man." As he spoke, Copia found his natural rhythm, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. His hands continued to paint pictures in the air, bringing his message to life with each gesture.

Throughout the service, Copia found his gaze drawn back to the mysterious nun. Her posture, the way she held herself during the hymns, it all seemed slightly off-kilter for a woman of the cloth. He shook off the feeling, chiding himself for being distracted during mass. As a priest, his focus should be solely on the service and his congregation. Yet, there was something undeniably intriguing about this newcomer. Copia silently admonished himself, refocusing his attention on the sacred rituals at hand. He took a deep breath, centering himself in the familiar rhythms of the mass.

When it came time for communion, Copia's heart rate inexplicably quickened as the line of parishioners moved forward. The new nun approached and he felt an odd tension in the air. She raised her head, and their eyes met. Copia's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, almost luminous in the church's dim lighting.

"The body of Christ," Copia intoned, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.

"Amen," the nun replied, her voice a low, melodious whisper that sent an unexpected shiver down Copia's spine. To his surprise, she opened her mouth instead of raising her cupped hands as most parishioners did. He exhaled slowly, steeling himself, momentarily thrown by this deviation from the usual practice.

He placed the communion wafer on her tongue, his finger brushed it ever so slightly. A jolt of... something... passed between them, leaving Copia momentarily stunned. The nun's lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she turned away, leaving Copia almost shattered. Shaking himself mentally, he continued with the communion, but his thoughts kept drifting back to those piercing blue eyes and that enigmatic smile.

The last of the parishioners returned to their seats, Copia moved back to the altar, a place of safety for him. He carefully cleaned the sacred vessels, his movements deliberate and reverent. The familiar ritual helped to calm him, pushing away the lingering thoughts of the nun. He felt like he was in autopilot for the rest of Mass, not his favorite feeling in the world but he was at least able to get through it. He raised his hands, inviting the congregation to stand for the prayer after communion. “Let us pray," he intoned, his voice carrying through the church. He recited the prayer, asking for God's continued blessings and grace upon those who had received the Eucharist.

After the prayer, Copia shared his usual weekly announcements with the congregation. He reminded them about the upcoming parish potluck and called for volunteers for the food bank drive. The attentive parishioners responded with nods and murmurs of agreement. These community events and opportunities to give back were truly Copia's favorite aspects of his role—even more so than having an audience for his sermons. Such initiatives held a special place in his heart; after all, he'd benefited greatly from them during his own upbringing.

Finally, it was time for the Concluding Rite. Copia spread his arms wide, his voice warm as he spoke the familiar words: "The Lord be with you." The congregation responded in unison, "And with your spirit." He then gave the final blessing, making the sign of the cross over his flock. Mass drew to a close, members began filing out of their pews and Copia felt a mixture of relief and lingering unease. The service had gone well, despite the unexpected distraction. Yet as he watched the congregation file out, his eyes couldn't help but search for a glimpse of blue eyes and a nun's habit among the departing crowd.

He lingered in the pull for a moment longer then made his way into the crowd, exchanging warm greetings and engaging in light conversation. He found himself particularly drawn into a chat with Margot, a cherished elderly parishioner who never missed a Sunday service.

"Father Copia," Margot beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "I can't wait for the potluck! I'm planning to bring my famous lemon tarts. Everyone always seems to enjoy them so."

Copia's face lit up at the mention of Margot's renowned dessert. "Ah, your lemon tarts are truly a blessing, Margot. I'm looking forward to them myself." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm thinking of making pasta for the event. I, eheh, got the new Martha Stewart cookbook and..."

Their pleasant exchange was interrupted by a gentle tap on Copia's shoulder. He turned to find Sister Laura, one of the regular nuns, standing beside the mysterious newcomer he had noticed earlier.

"Father," Sister Laura began, her voice warm but formal, "I'd like to introduce you to our newest member, Sister Veronica."

Copia's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met those striking blue ones once again. Sister Veronica offered a small, shy smile. He took her in, trying to be discreet. She was petite, with wisps of dark hair escaping from beneath her habit. Her posture seemed self-protective, arms wrapped around herself. Copia couldn't help but notice how her blue eyes sparkled with an inner light, a contrast against her pale skin. He quickly averted his gaze, reminding himself of his position and the impropriety of such thoughts.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Father Copia," Sister Veronica said, her voice carrying the same melodious quality he remembered from communion.

Copia reached out to shake her hand as he felt a familiar stirring within him - a temptation he had grappled with before. The touch of her hand sent a jolt through him, reminiscent of their earlier encounter during communion.

"Welcome to our parish, Sister Veronica," Copia managed, his voice steady the discomfort that warred inside him. "I hope you'll find a home here with us."

Sister Veronica's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, Father. I already feel welcomed." She glanced around the church, her gaze lingering on the ornate stained glass windows. "It's a beautiful parish you have here."

Copia nodded, his eyes following her gaze. "Indeed, we are blessed with such beauty. Perhaps… I could, eh, give you a tour sometime, show you some of the hidden treasures?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt a flush creep up his neck. Sister Veronica's eyes widened slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths.

Sister Laura, sensing the tension, cleared her throat softly. "Father, perhaps you could tell Sister Veronica about our upcoming potluck? I'm sure she'd love to contribute."

Copia blinked, grateful for the interruption. "Ah, yes, of course," he replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "We'd be delighted to have you join us, Sister Veronica. It's a wonderful opportunity to meet the congregation."

Sister Veronica nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with interest. "That sounds lovely, Father. Perhaps I could bring my grandmother's secret recipe for cannoli?" She glanced at Sister Laura, who nodded approvingly. Copia felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of the Italian dessert, one of his favorites.

"That's perfect, Sister Veronica," Copia said, his tone polite but brief. "I look forward to trying it." He nodded to both nuns. "If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Sister Laura can help you with any other questions."

With that, Copia turned and walked briskly towards his office, his mind spinning with frantic thoughts of what he was feeling. In almost a blink of an eye, he had arrived, quickly seeking the solace. He leaned against the closed door, his heart racing. A panicked laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the silence of his office. "Why?" he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel this way?"

The image of Sister Veronica's piercing blue eyes flashed in his mind, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the thoughts. This wasn't right. He was a man of the cloth, dedicated to his faith and his congregation. These feelings... they were inappropriate, forbidden even.

Copia pushed himself away from the door and paced the small confines of his office. His hands fidgeted restlessly, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered, his Italian accent thickening with his distress. He paused by his desk, his eyes falling on the worn Bible that always sat there. Guilt washed over him in waves. Copia sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He needed to pray, to seek guidance and strength. But for the first time in a long while, he felt off kilter.

Copia shook his head, trying to dismiss the worry. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper - Maisie’s drawing. A deep sigh fell from his lips.

This was why he had chosen this path. This was his purpose - to guide, to protect, to be a beacon of hope for those who needed it most. The innocence and trust reflected in that simple drawing grounded him, reminding him of his vows and responsibilities.

"I will stay the path," Copia whispered to himself, his resolve strengthening despite the lingering worry about his eye. With renewed determination, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, seeking the guidance he so desperately needed - not just for his spiritual dilemma, but now also for this unexpected physical concern.

As Copia he began, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his eye. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the affected area. The world around him began to blur, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to make sense of the plan.

He felt a warm trickle from his nose. Copia lowered his hand, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the crimson stain on his fingers. Blood. He was bleeding. In a daze, he fumbled for a tissue, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He pressed the cloth to his nose, his gaze fell upon the drawing in front of him. His entire body went rigid, a mix of anger and despair welling up inside. Droplets of blood had fallen onto the paper, marring the innocent crayon strokes with stark red splatters. Copia stared at the ruined drawing, his heart sinking. With trembling hands, he carefully folded the bloodstained paper and tucked it into his pocket.

More blood spilled from his nose, splattering on his desk. Panic ripped through him, his head feeling light and heart thundering in his chest. He stumbled to his feet, his vision still blurry, and rushed out of his office towards the restroom.

He collided with someone on the way because of course he did. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized Sister Veronica's concerned face. The sight of her caused another surge of anxiety, and to his horror, he felt a fresh gush of blood from his nose.

"Father Copia!" Sister Veronica exclaimed, her blue eyes widening with alarm. "O-oh goodness! Here, let me help you."

He wanted to protest, to tell her he had it handled but the words refused to leave him. Sister Veronica gently guided him to a nearby alcove, away from prying eyes and he followed silently. She produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket and began to dab at the blood on his face with a tenderness that made Copia's heart race even faster.

"Tilt your head forward slightly," she instructed softly, her warm fingers on his chin sending an involuntary shiver through him. "It'll help stop the bleeding." Copia complied, feeling a mixture of gratitude and unease at her proximity. The scent of her - a subtle mix of incense and something floral - filled his senses, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

"Thank you, Sister," he managed to mumble, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. "I... I don't know what came over me."

Sister Veronica's eyes met his, filled with genuine concern. "It's alright, Father. These things happen. Just take deep breaths. Are you feeling any better?"

Copia nodded slightly, acutely aware of her gentle touch as she continued to tend to him. The bleeding seemed to be slowing and he was grateful. He took a deep breath and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The gentle care and the clean scent of the handkerchief transported him back to his childhood days in the infirmary. He remembered the kind nuns who had cared for him then, their soft hands and soothing voices a balm to his young, troubled soul. The memory brought a bittersweet ache to his chest.

"It's... it's been a rather strange day for me," Copia finally spoke up, his voice slightly shaky. He met Sister Veronica's concerned gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and unease. "I apologize for troubling you with this, Sister."

Sister Veronica's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "There's no need to apologize, Father. We all have our difficult days. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest at her kindness, even as he struggled with the conflicting emotions her presence stirred within him. He shook his head slightly, careful not to dislodge the handkerchief. "Your assistance has, eh, been more than enough, Sister. Thank you." Copia gave a deep sigh. "I'll make sure this is spotless when I return it to you, Sister." He tugged at the handkerchief.

Sister Veronica shook her head gently, her blue eyes warm. "Please, keep it, Father. Consider it a small token of welcome to your parish."

"Thank you again, Sister," he whispered, raising his hand to hold the handkerchief to his nose. As their fingers brushed, Copia felt a familiar jolt course through him.

Sister Veronica's expression softened further. "I'm here if you need any assistance, Father. Please don't hesitate to ask." She lingered for perhaps a moment too long, then turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

As Copia watched her retreating figure, he felt a twinge in his chest - a mixture of gratitude, confusion, and something else he dared not name. He took a deep breath, relieved to find that the blood flow had finally stopped.

Lowering the handkerchief, Copia leaned against the wall.

A strange day indeed.

[phospadparadscha]

Church dance + Gems au = accidental near-fusion???

And now, for the main event: Black Opal, the fusion of an Orange Pearl (Kim Kitsuragi) and mystery gem (Harry Du Bois). Below is a reference I made:

Black Opal, the fusion of Harry and Kim as part of my Disco Elysium / Steven Universe crossover AU. I really wanted to lean into the nostalgia and adrenaline junkie aspects of both characters. The conclusion I came to was a 70s biker. I think every time I've seen a picture of someone's american dad back when they were younger, it was a guy with insane facial hair and a homoerotic biker fit, which lead me to this as the aesthetic for a fusion of these two. These are black opals, for reference:

As a fusion, they both struggle to speak as a singular being. They are not a very stable fusion, mostly due to Harry's damaged gem and how quickly they both can diverge from each other in action and personality. When they do agree however and can maintain Black Opal, its the aspect of themselves that brings out the daring qualities of the other; the one that says "hold on!" and presses their foot on the accelerator, the one that revs their engine, the one that brings a boombox to a boat ride. After a while Black Opal is able to assimilate both aspects of Kim and Harry, as seen in the last panel where his enthusiastic and showboating personality (which both Harry and Kim posses individually in different ways) becomes more like a singular being, like other fusions in the show.

I arranged their limbs and eyes according to where I think they diverge in terms of personality and what they try to accomplish as a fusion / where their interests conflict. This seems to be the case for fusions in Steven Universe as well, where the less harmonious a fusion is, the less proportional the limbs and eyes are to a human body. Harry and Kim have divergences in their eyes and in their forearms. While physically they follow each other in a common goal, Harry and Kim have different ways of handling the world and diverge in their sense of interfacing. Kim has a delicate touch generally, while Harry tends to brute force his way through obstacles. They also have divergent eyes; They both see the world very differently and have different reactions to the same stimulus. Besides these two divergences, they are a fairly harmonious fusion physically.

This is Kim's first fusion, meanwhile Harry has fused before with multiple people from Precinct 41 and his ex, but due to his amnesia he doesn't remember that he has.

Harry and Kim are both basically in historical cosplay throughout the entire game, and I liked the idea of them both being a fusion that dresses in an outdated and charming way as well, like a person out of time. Black Opal as a gemstone I chose because the rainbow coloration of Harry's pale damage on his gem would intermingle with Kim's orange pearl, while the orange and green of the two of them mixed as colors would be a darker muddy color. Thus, this would equate to a dark gem with rainbow coloration inside. Opals tend to be porous as well, which I found fitting for Harry's eroded gemstone.

I love how Harry and Kim have whack-ass facial hair in game and I wanted to give them both an insane facial hair combo. The leather jacket is basically a combination of Harry's green disco blazer and Kim's orange bomber jacket. Kim's gloves become biker's gloves, the "tie" from Harry is the bandana they both wear around their mullet with buzzed sides. They're wearing these big biker's boots, which are drawn largely from Kim's boots in game. Kim has a ton of little compartments to his clothes, so I liked the idea of there being a bunch of zippers everywhere. I'd have put even more and drawn on some patches but my hand was starting to fall off from drawing so for now this is it.

I'll definitely be drawing more of this fusion and for this AU in the future but if you guys have suggestions, ideas, art requests for the crossover let me know. The tag for posts about this au is "disco universe".

Below are some of the clothing and aesthetics I referenced while drawing Black Opal:

[novastar-creations]

Au(? Plot extension?) where Hueso is really understaffed post-Kraang invasion and Sunita has to help him out (she got the job through nepotism exploding frankie)

It was really fun playing with different proportions and styles of the uniform - I had a limited colour pallet cos both Sunita and the Run of the Mill uniform had set colours and I didn’t wanna stray too far from canon. I was also focusing more on the actual designs and pushing proportion so I didn’t flip the canvas (had to actually restrain myself from doing it but y’know) that’s why some of ‘em look janky.

Left: My friend really liked this one (something about the pants?). The whole idea of Waitress!Sunita actually originated with this one, cos I drew it (and another one I think) in my sketchbook. That kinda triggered an inspiration bought and I worked on these for like, two days.

Middle: At some point I got the idea to give her wraps bc (headcanon time) she struggles keeping her form for long periods of time. I don’t really like this one as much as the others though, and I think it’s because she hasn’t got a shirt on under her vest? Something about that annoys me idk.

Right: This one was really cute! I do like the idea of her having really long cuffs or using her wraps to ramp down her sleeves - I might reuse that in the final design. Also, the hair on this one really stuck out to me for some reason.

MORE DESIGNS UNDER THE CUT ;]

Left: Don’t ask her what the specials are or what her favourite pizza is. She will ramble for ages and you’ll never eat. Design wise, I really like this one, and I think it’s because of how the vest tucks into the apron and crosses over itself. Something about that scratches my brain.

Middle: This one’s probably my least favourite, just cos it’s kinda boring. It’s cute, yea, but it just needs a little more flair. One might even say it needs razzmatazz. Also the boys fighting over the last slice of pizza would drive her endlessly insane, especially cos she can’t whoop their butts while she’s working.

Right: I think she’d sometimes try and do things too fast and accidentally slip. Hueso would be very forgiving tho. The little braid is cute, but I don’t think it’s my favourite hair (goop?) style I gave her.

Left: After a bit of time, her workload would decrease and she’d have more breaks - giving her more time to mess around on her phone. Also, it’s not fair Leo’s the only one with a nickname from Hueso. I think he’d give most of the regular (teen) patrons nicknames.

Middle: Sometimes she takes her time with delivering orders to their tables (tho she mostly does it out of spite when customers are rude to her) and dances over. I think she and Mikey would get on really well (hence the friendship bracelet).

Right: She would probably get herself in trouble because she messes around a little, and she’d have to do some less fun jobs, like taking out the trash, as punishment.

Left: This one will probably be the final design if I make it into an actual au? It has all the stuff of the other designs that I like, plus’s some other flairs. I think I’d redo it just a little, maybe give her the wraps, cos I really like that idea (and the matching friendship bracelet with Mikey ofc)

Right: This one was the precursor to the wraps, with the idea in this post that she uses armour to hold herself together. I ended up scrapping this really early on because I didn’t like the armour design I made (too boring). I might reuse the idea later, idk. I did really like the little puff sleeves. I think this was the other one I did in my sketchbook?

Despite all her clumsiness, hyperactivity, and various quirks, she’d probably be better than most of Hueso’s staff, cos unlike her, they all run from the mafia bosses (and/or compete for unicorns, destroying the restaurant in the process).

Sketches in (more or less) the order I started drawing them!

[xoxopandapanda]

Proportional

Men like him gave up lives like this so that others could live simple and quaint lives. He risked his everyday so people could live theirs. He sacrificed so children would be able to grow up in a world more peaceful than he had.

Anya had come home, beaming and rambling on about something he had no idea about. He had long learned to not try to predict her - she would just throw him for a loop anyway. She kicked her shoes off at the door and beeline it for him. He had half a mind to tell her to put her shoes away, but she was holding a piece of paper that drew his attention more.

Instinctively, he lifted her into his arms as she climbed up him without asking. He caught a glimpse of the colors on the paper before she settled into his chest sideways, and to proudly present him with her object of fixation.

"Papa!" she loudly exclaimed, the paper give a pathetic snap as she pulled it taught between her two little hands to show him, "we practiced porpoises in art!"

As if he knew her all her life and could know indtany what she meant, he corrected her. "Proportions."

She was undeterred by his correction. "I drew our family!"

Loid took in the color drawing before him. The human in the picture were certainly fairly proportional, but the white dog was the same height as the man and woman, he presumed was him and Yor. "Bond is too big. He is as tall as me."

"Yep." Apparently Anya didn't see anything with a nearly 6 foot head to toe dog.

Loid leaned back to look into her shimmering green eyes. "What did your teacher say?"

Anya shrugged and wiggled to show she wanted down, which he complied with. She scrambled over to show the family dog her artwork.

He seemed very interested and let out a happy 'borf!' when she pointed out, very explicitly, that he was just as big as Papa and Mama because he was just as important to her.

Loid smiled softly to himself, wondering if she intended it to be that way or if she was just that good at thinking on her feet. He watched her from his peripheral vision as she put the drawing in his briefcase.

The next day, he sat in his office, waiting for the next patient of Dr. Forger, a man in his early sixties struggling to adapt to life without his wife. He pulled out the drawing from his briefcase and admired it.

He heard Anya in his head, telling Bond that he was just as important as him and Yor to her. He felt his heart squeeze slightly at the memory, a feeling he had long since come to accept as part of his day now, especially when he thought about the Forgers.

He had left it on the top of his desk when his patient came in, his focus quickly shifting to his work. However, the image was not lost on the elderly man.

"You've got the next Michaelangelo on your hands there, Doc." The wrinkles alongsode the man's eyes were ever present, but seemed extra deep in that moment.

Loid laughed good-naturedly. "She is certainly creative."

The old man nodded. "Does she make you happy?"

Loid answered after a pause. He was used to being the one who asked the questions, especially if this nature. "... She does."

"It's a good reminder after all we've seen in our lives that the young see us in such a light."

Loid cocked his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The old man pointed at his face in the drawing. "She doesn't see the war scarred soldier you hid under your facade. She doesn't see the sleepless nights that hollow out your eyes because you are tormented by the people you left behind on those fields."

They made eye contact. Loid felt exposed in front of this man who had fought on the opposite side of the line of him. His brain screamed to assess the dangers that this patient presented to Operation Strix, the Forgers, to Anya, but he was frozen in his body. He wasn't anything more than the boy who had lied about his age and tossed away any hope for normalcy at that moment. Not a spy, not a soldier, nothing but a boy who just wanted the world to go back to what it was before that bomb fell.

"She sees her father, a strong, happy man who holds her. Look at the smile she put on you." Once the old man's gaze had dropped from his, he was back in the moment. He felt rattled but still followed the man's finger to show the wide, white smile on his peach face." She drew the same smile on herself." Loid realized in that moment that the old man was right. He and Anya had wide, undefined toothy smiles in the drawing. Yor had a small black line.

Anya saw herself in him. And he knew, deep down, he did too.

"After all we've been through, it makes me happy to see life through a child's eyes." The old man shook his head softly and walked, back bowed, towards the couch. The session proceeded as Loid had planned, but once the door closed behind the elderly gentleman, Loid's mind raced back to the drawing.

He gingerly picked it up, almost as if he was afraid it was going to disappear once he had a grasp on it. He had been so focused yesterday on the proportions, he had missed the reality it represented.

Anya lived in a world where she was warm, safe, and loved. Anya knew that.

There was so much more to secure the world he wanted, where no child was ever scared or in danger as they grew, but he had done a small portion of that work already.

And maybe that was proportional to what he had scarified.

[dogtoling]

Hey, I know this is not really splatoon related but can you give us tips of how to draw fat peopll/ink fishes? I always struggle to do so, and i' trying to learn how to do it

I got an ask similar to this a while ago and answered it here! I guess check that out for more of an in-depth overview of how I approach drawing fat inkfish (and people!) myself. There's a lot of good posts and tutorials floating around tumblr about this already (and i'm too lazy to go look for links, but they're out there lol)

I wrote down a lot of general tips in that previous post and I don't really think i have anything to add that other people haven't already said and that i haven't already said myself, so I'll just stress the importance of referencing Real People. As with drawing pretty much anything, you want to understand the mechanics behind it and How It WORKS, and then you'll mostly be chilling... especially with a subject with this much variety in it!

But since I want this answer to have any net value at all and not just be a "well look at this other post i made" referral, i would also like to talk to everybody who is New to drawing fat people or just generally unsure of their ability to do and reassure that you will probably do it badly at first. that's fine, i think i probably did it badly for 10 years. this is how learning art works. it probably won't take you ten years if you actually use references for it though lol

But to save you some time and frustration: give some love to areas that are NOT the stomach or torso. Fat also accumulates in the limbs and the face and you will hit a wall really quickly if you just add a belly and draw stick arms and legs (which also occurs in real body types obviously, but if you're trying to go above Chubby territory it doesn't really work, and most of the time when people struggle with drawing fat people my understanding is that they can't make bigger sizes look correct at All). But to do this effectively you will probably need to learn basic fat distribution, and after you learn this, you will probably be able to eyeball proportions correctly while drawing and also be able to eyeball when they seem off. (This is doubly why I recommend looking at a variety of real people for reference).

And for Inkfish - THE TENTACLES. Don't sleep on the tentacles. Those are part of the body and they are FLESH! Therefore they should also have fat accumulation to some degree. It's a pretty effective visual in conveying higher fat percentage and works the other way around too, if you have a particularly skinny character (which is surprisingly hard to convey in a species with no skeleton, i'm ignoring whatever the FUCK Acht has going on. i'm choosing to believe those are the structure for the gills if we wanted to explain it), you can give them notably thin tentacles and it will help get the point across. Just scale the suckers accordingly if you're into that kind of stuff. They don't change size, so they will look smaller on bigger tentacles and really big on tentacles where there's not much else than the central muscles.

My final beginner tip is stop drawing fat characters with anime boy sharp jawlines. this might work with characters that are just barely chubby but the majority of people will have a double chin or AT LEAST a generally softer jawline. if you're drawing someone who's like, significantly fatter than chubby and they don't have a double chin, it will look like a skinny guy in a fat suit 99% of the time. hope this helps lol.

[painterofhorizons]

Some incoherent rambling about tracing in art under the cut. And I'm not trying to start a fight on this, so depending on your own stand about this, just go ahead and don't read it.

I'm struggling a lot with seeing art that is clearly traced.

And I don't speak about the obvious "don't do that" thing of tracing someone else's art, which we hopefully can agree on that nope, don't be an asshole and don't trace someone else's art.

I mean seing art that is, let's say, fanart that is clearly traced from a photo. (And let's be hopeful and say it's a traced stock photo that was initially created for being used in any way, not like, some celebrity photo or picture from instagram or anything that was not created as a stock image.)

Don't get me wrong. I firmly want people to have fun with their hobbies. And my resentment about this topic definitely originates both in

a) my own frustrated relationship to drawing (aka used to draw a lot for 20 years, then fell out of it completely for 15 years, and now has a very difficult time getting back into it because of 15 years of lacking training) and

b) the fact that back in the day there still was a very clear mentality of "do not trace" that people strictly obeyed, or so it felt.

And yes, of course tracing is okay for practice - but the way I was artistically socialized is: you can totally trace - but do not post it, and IF you post it, do link the traced reference. STATE that it is traced. But best keep that to your sketchbook, it's something you did for practice, and you do not show it to anyone, because tracing is morally bad.

And now it feels like you see so much art that is clearly traced, because I know a thing or two about how hard it is to get proportions right, and it is very easy to tell if photographs are the traced basis of a drawing esp depending on the art skill.

It feels like you barely see art anymore where the proportions are off. And no one who is not a complete pro gets every proportion completely right, especially if going for a very realistic art style. Which, in itself, often is a sign for tracing.

And I think the reason it bothers me is that it feels like cheating, like, "back in the day" we had to learn proportions and all the hard way, by, like, looking at stuff and then just fucking up by drawing shit on our own freestyle. Or like drawing a grid on the reference picture and a grid on your own sheet of paper and trying to do it like a puzzle. But back in the just traditional day tracing was much harder anyways. (And yes, "we" means "I", but it also means a general "we".) And it feels like those folks who work the tracing way nowadays take the shortcut, they don't struggle the same we/I did, and it is unfair because of all the struggling you undergo when you do not take the shortcut.

And this sounds absolutely ridiculous, because basically it is saying "if I had to struggle, so do you" - or in a more gentle approach - "I wish I, too, didn't have to struggle so much".

Like, rationally, I would never say that to someone's face. Which is why I don't do it, like, I'm really trying to just ignore it and let folks do their thing. And I know not taking the shortcut gets you a much bigger learning outcome than taking shortcuts. You only learn shit by doing it, and getting proportions right ON YOUR OWN needs you to DO IT ON YOUR OWN.

And it bothers me so much that it bothers me!

But boy. It bothers me so much to see such art, especially when it is not stated that hey, this is a shortcut version of art, because it is traced.

It feels like, idk, betrayel towards art itself, as well as towards other artists. It feels dishonest.

Like, there's no such thing like this in writing! Because if you did that in writing, it is plagiarism, and that gets you shame, and shitstorms, and de-registrations.

And like, usually artists who use reference pictures but do it free hand usually even like/state the use of reference pictures, but those who *trace* don't even say they worked with references. And that feels so frigging wrong to me towards art.

And in the end, all of this is just my inner artist begging for me having fun with art the same way as all those other artists, and as much as those who trace but at least they draw and hopefully enjoy the process, right?

I just desperately want to draw and enjoy it again, just like my first two decades of life.

So yes, in the end, this is me being utterly jealous about folks who have such a relaxed and not-overthinking relationship with art that they see a nice photograph that inspires them and be like "I'm gonna trace this and make it my own and have fun".

This is me wishing I didn't have such high moral standards towards myself and others.

Just take it easy. Relax. Don't care so much.

But I can't. I see traced art that does not have the disclaimer of "oh yeah btw I did use a reference for this and I traced the general proportions" and my brain and my stomach go "wrongwrongwrongMORALFAILUREhowdareyou".

Yeah, this is a rant post that goes in different directions - but it is also an honest question to those of you who also used to feel strongly about the topic of tracing=bad and who learned to take it easier.

How did you do that?

Because no matter how much I try to rationally tell myself: relax, how others treat art is not your business - I still feel sick in my stomach about this matter when it occurs and I cannot help it - but I really wish I could help it.

[skaylanphear]

Final Fantasy XVI: Thunder and Shadow

Summary: Five years after Ultima’s defeat, those left behind have no choice but to push onward in a world still on the precipice of ruin. Left with all that remains of Clive—her twins—Jill, and Joshua, do all that can be to ensure the world the boys grow up in is one of less strife and struggle than what came before. But the destruction of the crystals and the god that created them has left the aether and eikons in a state of chaotic distress that plagues the entirety of Valisthea. And now, to have received a letter from the north about stone bearers coming back to life, Jill has a new mystery to unfold.

At the same time, Clive finds himself waking on what he thinks must be the eastern Rosarian coast, though how he arrived there, he doesn’t know. Nor has he any idea how much time has passed since that final fight with Ultima. But as he begins to investigate, he sees a battle of eikonic proportions in the distance, one that revives old, bitter memories. Ifrit, perhaps, can make up for wrongs wrought so long ago.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, a shadow manipulates them all, his eyes set on those who would become dominants and tools both.

Rated: Mature

Chapter 1

"I can hear them just outside," Joshua murmured, scroll unfurled and held open in front of him. He didn't look up as he spoke, or so much as shift in his chair. His voice was calm, unadorned—he had no intention of drawing attention to himself.

Across their shared table, quill in hand as she continued her missive, Jill lightly hummed in acknowledgement, but said nothing otherwise.

"I expect Uncle Byron will have put them up to something," Joshua continued, still subdued. As if to speak too loudly would be to wake the peaceful quiet otherwise pervading the room.

"No doubt," Jill agreed, her quill pausing only momentarily as her ears picked up on whispered voices just outside the doorway. Feigning ignorance, she continued.

"I saw them devising a plan in poorly masked secrecy last night," Joshua added.

"As did I," Jill agreed.

"Perhaps we should have put a stop to it."

"I don't think that would have made any difference."

Rolling the top half of his scroll only slightly, Joshua sighed. "You're probably right. It was likely too late the very moment Uncle arrived."

"They are exceedingly fond of him," Jill agreed.

"As we all are."

Jill hummed.

On the far side of the room, at the base of the bookshelves, Torgal finally raised his head. He'd been sleeping, as he often did, and only bothered to come to attention when one of the whispered voices from the doorway called his name.

Since… losing Clive, Torgal had never been the same. He wasn't nearly as active as he'd once been, or attentive, and though Jill supposed some of this could be attributed to age, deep down, she knew the truth.

Torgal missed him. Just as she did, as Joshua did. Desperately, because Clive had been Torgal's whole world. It was his lethargy that had truly hammered home to her that Clive wasn't coming back, all those years ago. From what she'd learned, even during the time they'd been separated, Torgal had searched high and low for Clive. That he didn't do so now—that he was so indolent by comparison—spoke volumes.

Not that there was evidence of any other option. She'd seen Clive's body, just as Joshua, Mid, Otto—everyone—had. Still, lying in the sand on the shore, waves lapping at his sides. Eyes closed, skin turned to gray stone. Gone.

Carefully, they'd moved his body back to Rosaria, to the eastern coast. There, he rested, safe from the struggle and strife ever-plaguing the living.

The living, like Torgal, who marched on anyway. Though, she wondered sometimes: had those softly whispering voices outside the door never come to be, would Torgal have given up and passed on at Clive's side? He'd seemed bent on it initially—refusing to eat, to drink, to do anything but sit and stare at the horizon—yet, the sight of new purpose had revived him. Not to the same vigor as before, but enough to keep going.

Sometimes, Jill shared in the same outlook. When waking up was hard, and she missed Clive as the moon missed the sun, she kept in mind she and Torgal's shared purpose. If only to have reason to face the day.

Remaining where he was on the floor, Torgal whined lightly and, head cocking, waited. As they all were, even as the whispers continued. Whispers that were growing slightly more confrontational, until—finally—the quiet morning was pulled out from under them.

Not that Jill had a mind to be bothered.

Stumbling into the room, a young boy of five nearly tripped on the rug, only to abruptly straighten. Sniffing, he pulled shyly at his fingers and glanced uncertainly between Jill and Joshua both.

"Good morning, Pup," Joshua said casually, ever-focused on his scroll.

Read More

[miscellaneouslibrary]

Concept art of Kamui "Scopes" Alphei

Here's the concept designs for Kamui!

TBH, I kind of suck at drawing boys(dudes in general), so his character design was changed a couple of times. I did have a concrete idea of how I wanted his hair and eyes to be however.

The first pic was the first draft of his character sheet. I was practicing his expressions on the bottom third of the first pic to get an idea of how I wanted his personality to be and how his face looks like. Unfortunately, I didn't finish it. But it did give me a more concrete idea of his design in the next character sheet draft.

For the next character sheet, I wanted to give him a scholarly yet disorganized explorer design, which accentuated his bashfulness and curiousity. Though, I'm still kind of iffy with his character design as of now.

The top portion of the second pic is his clothes design.

For the middle portion of the second pic, I was practicing his facial expressions and body language. Also practiced on proportions and foreshortening a bit.

At the bottom of the second pic, I wanted to understand how his hair would work. I'm honestly prone to give my characters crazy hair-dos that defy real life physics.

For the third pic, it's the closer view of his clothes design from the second pic. I was really struggling to get that academia and explorer look while showing Kamui's disorganization. The first design made him feel cluttered and there was too many things to look at. The second design I gave him a bandana and baggy sweatpants but I didn't like it because it looked too outdoorsy. The third design was the one I liked the most, but that was when my brain just gave up. He does look a lot like a mechanic, I thought. But when I added the jacket to his design, he looked a lot more professional. I will say that his shirt is actually the top part of a swim suit to convey his swimming abilities if it wasn't clear that he's a fish. Sometimes he wears a collared shirt over his swim suit.

About the collar on his neck, it's a contraption that helps control his water levels. As a fishman, Kamui needs high water levels to live and work comfortably, and if he doesn't get the appropriate amount of water, he'll suffocate and die. Because he's going around planets with a different climate than his native planet, it's going to be a big problem for him. So to prevent Kamui from losing too much water when out and about on planets, Citron developed a collar that would function as humidity control. It records his water levels and if they're too low, it would spray a clear and cool mist enriched with nutrients that promote water absorption of the skin.

Also, "Scopes" is a nickname for Kamui. :)

[wifiwuxians]

I've been wondering who shio is since I saw u mention him first but kept forgetting ( the crowd is shocked ) so pls feel free 2 dump abt him bc I wanna knOW

OOH SHIO check out his little refsheet i was aiming for cartoony i promise his proportions are normal i just went spindly halfway through

shio yomotsu! last name shio, given name yomotsu! a pretty terrible name for a sweet boy, like you coulda just named him yomi! i've posted about him on my main but this ISN'T MY MAIN so i'll retell in a sparknotes edition >:3

growing up in japan under the fist of an abusive father, his world was flipped when his mother finally had enough and killed the man in self defense. smuggling both herself and her son out of the country in a crate, she settled down in china in a tiny apartment, working cleaning jobs and keeping yomotsu a secret. he grew up in that apartment, keeping quiet and still when his mother was gone, and still remaining rather quiet and still whenever she was home. despite her barebones knowledge of mandarin and her lack of time to teach him, as well as her poor health and their meagre funds, the two considered their living conditions to be an improvement, and were happy, as happy as they could reasonably be. so, of course, i had to ruin that by killing her off LOL,, her illness caught up with her and she wasn't able to treat it. yomotsu had to live with her corpse for a while as he sank into despair, and only once the water and the electricity stopped working did he snap out of his stupor.

running out into the streets to beg for help, he was unfortunately intercepted by some thuggish men, thrown into a car and driven to his new life, where he'd be beaten, tortured, starved and trained into becoming a ruthless and efficient killer (and jack of all trades). i need to reiterate he had no idea what was happening to him, or why; up until one day, a young boy came into his small room to tend to his wounds and give him some food. this boy also began to teach him mandarin properly, and with the kindness and gentleness he showed yomotsu, he had no problem then becoming this boy's bodyguard and personal assistant.

now he's just about devoted his heart and his life to this boy, xing zhi, who is not the heir to the mob yomotsu works under, but may as well be since he takes on all the burdens. yomotsu, or shio as he's more commonly addressed, is a hitman, bodyguard, errand boy, shadow... you name it, he does it. keeping quiet all those years in his tiny apartment have made it easy for him to simply stand and listen during meetings, absorbing all information. he's the picture of devotion... to xing zhi, who wants the mob to collapse.

when his personality is able to shine through, he's playful, bubbly, charming and seemingly unaffected by all the bad things he's done or have been done to him. his devotion isn't restricted to xing zhi, either, though he is his treasure; if you are kind to him, if you give him the time of day, he is devoted to you, too. it's the only way he can feel good. it's the only way he can feel right. running himself ragged for the hint of a smile.

i usually draw him banged up in some way because he gets into very close quarters sometimes, and people don't like being told their business. people also struggle when they die, sometimes. and also he's being hunted LOL

this is only scratching the surface of all that is shio and his story (he's the main character!!) but it is a good place to start? maybe??? fkjsgkjga THANKS FOR ASKING !!!!!! <33333

[thewandererh]

HII wait are you THE the Wanderer (like the one on yt)??? Really sorry if not and I’m mistaking you for the wrong person here

In any case! I love the way you draw iterators and slugcats SO MUCH??? Like your style is just so incredibly eye-pleasing and wonderful to look at I am in incredible awe. Anyway uhm. Yeah! Scuttles away

(- @strandedaylily)

yes!!! i am :]!! the one who animated tr on yt yeash thats me💥. and its you!! the real strandedaylily,, reposted some of ur stuff recently to show it off f4 answering this. love ur thingers :DD✨

and thanku sm 😭😭 that means??? so much??!? its been a journey finding my style and i love that u love it sm!! i have a few diff styles for iterators and slugcats, and whipped up these fast sketchy style analysis sheets last night.

observe:

Iterator Styles

I have two main styles for iterators: chibi and humanoid-ish. round head vs oval head with a cheek curve (cheek curve is a staple of my style. was actually against it when drawing iterators with it for the first time, yet it’s become such a signature now XD. I love it a lot huhu). here is an example with my lovely boy Twine (he is not the main antagonist despite his mischievous posings). also!! slim eyes for devious characters, like twine and shadows (and leaves, unwillingly /lore). the two ogs 💛 with their yellow jack-o-lantern faces. theres a phrase i made up a bit ago: you can’t spell wanderer without jack-o-lantern-faced iterator, can you?

got better with posing over the years but im still struggling with fabric and cloaks </3

Slugcat Styles

now for slugcats, its evolved a different way. rather with two stages, they have a few more. when i first discovered rainworld, i had a very simple way of drawing. u heads and 3 fingers and toes, aswell with really odd aggressively-digi legs. and then it evolved when i learned “sketching” (blotting down odd shapes with barely any sense of proportion. balls for the elbows, no line of action, eyeing it and getting anatomy wrong lol) and things got really disproportionate. theres more stages, but i made a few complex and simple examples of my style over the years :]!! maybe i put too much effort into it but it was interesting to figure out!!

theres some timeskips in the big timeline one, and some other arts of mine might showcase style changes a bit better, and this is only my digital gallery, but oh well!!! whats done is done until its undone💥 /ghibli movie reference

didn’t do iterators or general effects-and-tidbits-i’ve-learned (shading, rendering, lineart, etc) bc i’ve spent so much time already. so you get SLUGCAT BEAM BLASTED💥💥. all this art ranges from 2019-2024 (the years i’ve been a rainworld fan :])

yes i spent hours analyzing my old and new art just for fun but i think i learned something. thanks for asking this and putting a big smile on my face :]!! have a good day you (and anyone else whos reading this. thx for reading so far and so much💛✨!!)

[realcatalina]

Meynnart Wewyck’s workshop-part 6: Hidden in Recueil d'Arras

Sorry guys, I realised this months ago, and forgot to post it.  In part 1, I mentioned the lost Scottish portraits by Wewyck, done c.1502-1503. They seem to have been lost, and we only have Receuil d’Arras(collection of drawings based upon actual portraits, done in c.1570) which shows us aproximately how they looked like.

 We have drawing of James IV, Margaret Tudor, Henry VII and then very rubbed of Elizabeth of York. 

But records from 1502 show one extra painting. Of future Henry VIII. It’d be probably THE oldest portrait of him! As child! But it is nowhere to be found. Or have we been looking at it this whole time?

And if you read further I’ll explain you why this drawing from Receuil D’Arras cannot be the Warbeck. 100%.

This is typical handwriting of Le Boucq, found all over the Receuil d’Arras:

And this is text labelling the drawing of Warbeck as him:

Absolutely no way this is the same hand, and I’d wager not even same century. It’s too readable for modern viewer.

Le Boucq didn’t know who it was. He never made any label for drawing. And let me remind you Le Boucq made the drawing  about 70 years after Warbeck died. Cca 1570.

How could anybody even later than that recognize it as Warbeck? Based upon what?! It’s impossible!

It was an unknown male whose portrait was part of Scottish royal collection(that is clear because of drawings surounding it. First 21 drawings in Receuil d’Arras were from(in) Scotland, even though not all sitters of those paintings were. Lots of french and english royalty etc. Royalty often sent each other portraits. Long story short, lots of evidence to suggest it truly was Scottish section.)

And based upon it, somebody GUESSED that it is Warbeck!

It’s supposedly the only depiction of him we have surviving!

And it is not him! 100%. 

The jewelry, the posture, it fits with Wewyck’s work and Tudor males so well!

Yes, the features are nicer-because kids tend to have softer features and Le Boucq’s drawings also add the softness(such was his style). It fits perfectly with Wewyck’s work. Just look through previous posts. 

Also, how would Warbeck’s portrait survive in Scottish royal collection throughout many years Margaret Tudor was the Queen? She’d be certainly outraged at such display. It’s not make sense for her husband to keep the painting of now dead man of whom he had no use.

Like for Tudors it made sense to portray Richard III with broken sword-because that shows him as warrior who was defeated, thus more glory to Tudors for defeating him.(read my post Mistaken identity, if you don’t get why I assume rest of Richard’s portraits are not him.)  But same doesn’t apply to Scottish royalty and Warbeck.

In Receuil d’Arras ‘Warbeck’s’ drawing is not even that far from rest of Wewyck’s work.

It’s Henry VII, then Elizabeth of York, then two drawings of Elizabeth I (from late 1550s it seems), then James IV, Margaret Tudor, then Bernard Stewart, 4th Lord of Aubigny; then drawing of Egyptian woman who once healed Scottish King, James II of Scotland and then supposed drawing of Warbeck.

Henry VIII was just 3 drawings away from his sister, the entire time! 

Meaning that probably in c.1570, all those paintings were in same chamber or set of chambers when Le Boucq drawn them. They were not separated, even though by that point nobody could remember who the boy in the painting was.

(Probably because those 4 paintings by Wewyck were in same style. So people knew they belonged together. Just no longer who was in one of them.)

That it is boy might also explain why he is much bigger in current drawing than rest of his family. (or at least Le Boucq makes it seems so.)Some painters struggled with proportions of children, adn then sometimes made them ridiculously smaller or much bigger.Even though Margaret would be in her early teens when she got painted, she’d be still couple of years older than her younger brother, thus her features closer to adults. 

(That was main information. If you’re interested into me rambling bit more about the other Scottish paintings by Wewyck you can read further. But to be honest i covered lots of it in part 1. If not I hope you’ve enjoyed this.)

Speaking of Margaret I’d like to clerify something. Records suggest she was painted by Wewyck twice. Once as English Princess, and 2nd time already as Quen of Scotland. Idk which one is in Receuil d’Arras.

1)Drawing of Margaret Tudor, Queen of Scotland, based upon portrait from c.1502-3:

But I belive we have idea how 2nd portrait looked. Family trees of James I show Margaret in en face with gable hood:

It’s also in several engravings. Each of them is of not great quality.

The lenght of frontlets and pitch of gable hood suggest it is early 1500s(max.1505), thus likely based upon Wewyck’s work.

I also wanted to point another thing about these scottish-based portraits. They are unique. While there are other depictions where they hold golden orb/apple? and similiar outfit, together all those details don’t fit any other different versions of their portraits surviving, probably because the copies made during Henry VIII’s reign were made based upon portraits located in England. 

Thus Scotish located paintings never had copies of them made. So when alongside many other Scottish portraits they got destroyed, Receuil D’Arras became sole source where we can see them. (As far as we know.)

2)Drawing of Henry VII holding an apple/orb:

(Yep it is once again the same brooch-or perhaps there were 2 of same design but different sizes. But same style brooch.)

While even on Henry VII’s drawing some details of the sleeves rubbed off, note the shape of the oufit around his neck. It is round, and the curve goes downward.

And Henry VIII’s paintings go also downward.

But majority of Henry VII’s paintings, have it other way around. They are pointed upward.  And it got me thinking-i don’t much about Tudor male fashion in general. So i don’t know their chronological order. However, around 1480 the neckline of english ladies was curve pointing downward(York sisters stained glass), but then through 1490s we saw W-shaped neckline pointing upward, which then slowly returned to almost straight line with slight raise by c.1500 and eventually to completely straight, only to be curved upward much later towards end of Henry VIII’s reign.

I don’t believe they’d send to Scotland painting predating Henry VII’s reign. It’s 1502 painting. No doubt about it.But neckline of men evolved in same way as ladies’ fashion, then big portrion of Henry VII’s paintings would not be from 1500s, but from 1490s, and I don’t mean just late 1490s. Thus potentially Wewyck worked for English royals for much longer than we assumed. 

But I don’t have yet enough to establish firmly chronology of dress and headwear prior to 1500. Sadly my only solid source from that time are tomb brasses and dating of those is very difficult and requires lots of time.

3)Sadly Elizabeth’s sketch is no more there. Sketches are all in pencil and hers sadly got worn out. Only imprint of the original drawing left on the opposite page still survives, but it is really light imprint.@english-history-trip enhanced it a bit(far better than attempt I made and then discarded), but in order to know what that painting looked like, we have to flip it back:

It’s not perfect match with neither of the 5 paintings of her I showed you prior, Currently closest it comes to this:

But why if it is based upon original by Wewyck-from life, why is her neck short?

(In other cases it was in posthumous paintinsg or altered.)

This time there are other possible explanations alterations to the original, le Boucq not gettig proportions right(possibly further shifted by this being based upon imprint) etc. But imo none of those is correct. Imo it’s not alteration. It’s actually there, but isn’t what we think it is(neck crease). Imo it’s edge of necklace.

I had looked at original drawing in Receuil d’Arras, and in Photopea I played with setting to see, if i could find filter or something which would give us better idea of what the drawing looked like. I used both inprint and what is left from original drawing. That is how i discovered that just as Henry she held an orb.

It just stayed on the original page and not on the imprint. 

But to get to that necklace, I need to use much stronge filter. Idk what it is called with english, but it turns the drawing into these dots and as you shift the setting, it goes from very dark lines to very light ones-revealing some which you’d never see with naked eye. But it also has downsides. it will hide some lines you’ve seen before and eventually the filter will start to reveal weird lines which are texture of the paper, not related to drawing itself.  

Main issue is that some parts are already distorted(because they were visible/more dark before), while some are not, and it is hard to catch the right setting for the era you’re interested in.

However you need to rely on your knowledge of tudor outfit, to connect the dots-literally and to know which dots to not remove.

In this setting hands are not visible, but it is focused exactly on the area of clevage. Thus, while rest needs bit of clearing, that area should be fairly accurate. Now I could be wrong, but that looks like necklace to me.

And you can see it on imprint, in HD, if you focus on it. If you search for it. It’s very very light. But it seems to be there.

Tiny bit of pattern, just under the ‘neck crease) which forms shape of triangles I’d say. It’s not likely to be any of the pearl necklace of triangles we seen in late reign of Henry VIII and later. But some late 15th/early 16th century necklaces had similiar form. One is in Receuil d’Arass itself-on Eleanor of Austria as child:

Royalty in those days often had same jewel makers. Just few provided the jewelry of quality royals wanted(that is why often you see same or similiar jewelry across Europe, on members of several different dynasties and it isn’t just them sending each other gifts.) Also fashion and jewelery back then was not solely unique to the country, they influened each other, and some trends took on in several countries or had pararels in them. (Like french hood’s frill and english gable hood’s paste in early 16th century- they moved up and down around same time.)

Thus Elizabeth’s necklace might have looked similiar to Eleanor’s. Idk exact shape, but it seems to me like top same, then much larger triangles. ANd sometimes it seems like two rows of triangles. Idk.

Unfortunately all my attempts looked horrible.  You can try it yourself. I give up.

With hadns also. Can’t make the shape out conclusively. And i can’t make the shape out. But it sort of reminds me of necklace of triangles(which obviously was made much later) or some paintings at turn of 15th and 16th century. Nevertheless this is very underated depiction of her.

(I did look into drawing Henry VII also with these filters-because his is also partially rubbed off. He wears his usual clothes he has in many other portraits. There is nothing new for you to learn there.)

I hope you’ve enjoyed this.

[gladiolidiaries]

Idg that artist at all, Dream is a solidly built guy because he's proportional to his height and has broad shoulders not because he's fat. It's not hard to still draw him warm and cuddly, those are things that aren't related to weight. They're not a terrible artist and Dreams face when they started wasn't too bad, so they are fully capable of drawing him closer to how he actually looks.

Those Barbie posters they drew were literally everything I don't like about their style. George looked so feminine when irl yes he is a twink who does things delicately but is very much boy at the time.

Genuinely don't get how more people on main don't have an issue with this. How is it acceptable to draw dream so big when he literally admitted to have struggled with his weight? Make it make sense like we should protect dream from such creep fans sorry not to be parasocial but it's how I feel 🤒

[kuschelkissen]

I think the main thing with drawing smut for me is that... I just lack so much of what is needed for that lol

You need to be at least somewhat secure with drawing anatomy. And I'm not. Not at all. Even with pose references it's kinda hard for me to pull off. Especially if you have somewhat dynamic poses with shortened limbs due to perspective. I always feel like it looks weird.

And finding pose references for smut is a whole different can of worms LMAO.

Like for one, finding them already is difficult, and then I always run into the same problem: in drawn references, the proportions are almost always ... off. They're usually exaggerated, long limbs, broad shoulders, tiny waist, you know your "typical" anime style. And while I don't think my style is anywhere CLOSE to realistic, I still think my proportions are usually... well, at least CLOSER to realism than your typical anime. I don't (or try not to) draw the legs as 2/3 of the body. I don't mind when other people do it, don't get me wrong, but I just am not personally able to do it in a way that I think looks good. So I already have to adjust for that and we loop back to problem number one, my not-really-that-great knowledge of anatomy...

The other thing I notice in a lot of drawn references: the characters have very different proportions to each other. Usually you have a broad, muscular top and a slender, more fragile bottom. Idc if this is because people have a certain preference in their BL or because they provide a pose that is for your "typical" male/female look, but it is not helpful for me, because I AGAIN have to adjust this, because I often have ships with very similar body-build (even though I often see people change that to fit their need, but well, that's a different topic lol).

Recent example:

Pose by mold_19, sadly not on twitter anymore and I have no idea where they moved to SOB

"Do it badly!" I'm TRYING. Okay? I really am. But it's no fun if I struggle so much! I love drawing, and I don't often care for the mistakes I make, I've mostly left my perfectionism behind when I started drawing again 3 years ago, but if I struggle so much with even getting the base sketch down because everything just looks BAD and WRONG, it sucks all the fun out of me.

And then there is the other thing...

I struggle with drawing expressive characters, idk why it is so difficult for me, but well, here I am. I tried getting better with that Emoji-Drawing-Challenge, but even that is difficult to me because I have problems adjusting the very over-the-top expressions into my own style.

And oh boy, do I struggle with smut-expressions ^^' it is SO HARD for me to get the expressions somewhat right...? I drew some smut a bit ago and when I shared it, the first question was "is he enjoying himself?" because, well, he's supposed to, but I agree his face didn't really convey that.

Needless to say, that sketch is still a sketch because I cannot for the life of me get that stupid face of him to look RIGHT. I don't want him to look like he's about to cry, I don't want him to look like he's in pain, I want him to look like he's having a lot of fun actually. 🙃

"Do it badly", yeah, but I don't want to draw stuff that will be misinterpreted in such a way. ^^'

And then... though, admittedly, this is the least of my problems, just a matter of fact:

Drawing smut is kinda... fruitless. I mean. You have to find a platform where you're even allowed to upload it to begin with. And while it used to be "sex sells", I don't think this is the case anymore lol

I mean, there are people that still pull great numbers with nsfw art, but I'm certainly not one of them. Not that I pull great numbers with my regular art either, which might already be the core of the problem, but my smut just gets maybe a handful of likes and that's that. And yeah yeah, numbers don't count, and all that, hence why none of you will ever get to see the smut sketches I do and discard, but if I share stuff, I want it to be seen, and since people obviously don't like my smut, why even share it in the first place?

I don't even know where I'm going with this rant at this point. Just needed to vent in the hopes my brain would finally let it go, realise I'm not made for drawing smut, and stop making me try lol

let me draw fluff instead, I think I'm kinda okay with that.

[cadys-ramblings]

I so desperately wish I could be perceived as a normal girl. Ever since joining the Formula 1 space, I've been longing for it, whereas before it was just a desire I pushed to the side. I see such pretty girls in my fandom and I can't help but wish I could be one of them, a girl who could effortlessly pull off an oversized jersey with hoop earrings and a white skirt. I wish that I could look normal and not have people remember me by being an obsessed fangirl, even though I love being an obsessed fangirl. I want my face to be like those girls, not so confusing or unique. I want people to tell me I look like a beautiful and popular actress instead of trying to tell what my ethnicity is.*

I don't feel girly enough compared to every other girl in the world. I feel too awkward, out of place, like I'm the wrong size. My chest is too big, but not big enough. My fingers are so long. My legs are an awkward proportion. I've never been told I'm too tall, but I know they think it, that I would be prettier if I was 5'5. Less intimidating and monstrous, maybe. There's a quote I like from Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift: "Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby / And I'm a monster on the hill." It perfectly encapsulates my insecurity in one simple sentence. I feel like every girl I want to be has boys in her DMs because she's so likable upon first glance. Handsome, effortless, normal boys that watch football and take their girlfriends on night drives where they give them roses and jewelry.

It's not like I've never been flirted with. I've had guys I've never met ask me about specific things I like with a little too much interest and tell me my "boyfriend is lucky" (weirdest shit ever, by the way.) I'm flattered, but every time it happens, I know that my personality is not what they think it is. Deep down, I'm weird. I'm weird and neurodivergent and obsessive. Normal girls don't tell their crush she's going to draw him stuck in a glue trap as an act of admiration. I've had reciprocated romantic feelings with boys before, and it's not that I didn't like them, but they were weird. They did nice things, but they were weird things. The only people I've ever gotten along with romantically were weird.

It's also not that I don't like being weird. I'm happy when I'm myself. I want to be around people who love me for who I am, and I have plenty of those people, but I often feel like I want to curl up and hide when I'm around people I don't know as well. They know there is something different about me, and they knew before I knew. All I want is to be seen as an equal, but it's impossible when I'm not.

* I want to clarify and recognize my privilege here since I am majority white and part Ojibwe. I haven't struggled with racism at all and I'm very unlikely to. This is an internal struggle of mine and isn't a genuine reflection of the people around me. To explain further, I am either told I look white as snow or wasian (I have been told Chinese/Japanese/Viet specifically.) I want my face to reflect my actual identity so it drives me up the wall when people mistake me for a different background.