#but id like to believe i have better compositions

[mihai-florescu]

when I wake up I'm afraid somebody else might take my place...

[newvegascowboy]

Thank you all so much for the kind words! I appreciate it a lot!

july 5th, 2021 vs july 24th, 2023

bit of an Artist Evolution, but also character evolution. two years of drawing Red! the roots are the same, even if the details have changed.

2 years ago, i was extremely new to digital art and was kind of fumbling my way through photoshop, trying to figure things out as i went. that didnt exactly change, i just got a lot better at fumbling.

then i lost photoshop, had a meltdown, and got CSP. lather, rinse, repeat.

im getting more comfortable working outside my comfort zone. or i guess, expanding that comfort zone. there's still a lot i dont like about my art - and a lot i feel i need to improve on, but i think im getting there, however slowly. im learning and figuring things out, though that never really stops. i look forward to seeing where im at in another two years.

thanks yall for sticking around!

[your-local-depressed-fangirl]

thanks so much for helping me out!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

the story:

“I’m sorry to tell you this but,” The nurse sighed, fiddling with her id tag, “you have cancer.”

 “What?” A sharp pain cut through my stomach and back, mocking me.

“You have stage 4 pancreatic cancer.”

I felt unreal, unsteady. I have cancer? I can’t afford to have cancer. I can’t pay for treatment, I can’t do this by myself, I can’t pay the… “How much does treatment cost?”

The nurse’s eyes tightened, a pained set in her jaw, “$30,000”.

“$30,000?”

“At the minimum”.

The white walls closed in on me, paper cracking beneath me. I can barely afford food? How will I-

My family. 

My family would have to help me. The idea brought a bout of revulsion, they can’t help me! I had barely talked to my mother since… 

I stood up. “You can't be serious! Please tell me your joking-”

“Please-”

She gripped her clipboard, said “I’m sorry, I wish it wasn't this way.” and left the room to her next patient. Because I’m just another patient. Just another lost cause. Just another statistic. Brushing my hair from my face, I walked out the door, trudged through the lobby, plastered a fake smile for the attendant because she doesn’t care about me, and set off for the one place I didn’t want to go. 

Dark blonde hair falling in my face, light rain pattering against the windshield, I knew what I had to do. 

I needed to see the only family I have left. 

I needed to see my parents. 

–

The door opened while my hand raised to knock, my jaw dropping slightly at her annoyed tone. “What are you doing here, Ella? We meant what we said when we told you to leave.” Her voice rose, light brown waves chopping against her chin, “Unless you can make up the financial burden you've placed on us, I don’t want to hear it! You know our conditions!”

The memory came back with a shock, a reminder that I wasn’t welcome in their family anymore, not since last month. 

“How could you-” her voice broke, “how could you do this to our family, to me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, mom!” Tears blurred my vision as I desperately pleaded, though I knew it was no use. 

“I can’t believe-” She stuttered, “my daughter would do something like this. Do you even want to be in this family?” With that she looked away from me and called my father downstairs, willingly destroying any respect he may have for me. It felt like this was all a dream, like it wasn’t real. No, I would wake up and be in my dorm, preparing to attend my next class. I wasn’t expelled. The school hasn’t expelled me for plagiarism. This couldn’t be real…

“Ella Warrington.” My fathers booming voice interrupted my thoughts, sounding unnaturally calm. He was really mad, wasn’t he?

I glanced up through my oblong glasses, sniffling slightly, “Can I stay here for a couple weeks? Just until I get a job?” My eyes darted to the wooden kitchen floor. 

“No. You need to learn to take accountability for yourself. I don’t want to see you until you’ve 

made back the money you wasted. Do you understand how close your mother and I are to homelessness? Do you realize that I should be able to retire by now?” 

Though I expected it, the verification that I have no money, no prospects, and nowhere to go, broke the little composition I had left. My breath started to hiccup as I turned to the door, grasping the zipper to my jacket. This was all my fault. My parents were suffering because of me. 

When I was in high school, I used to promise to make my parent’s lives better. I promised myself I would never be an issue. I would rather die than be the reason for their stress, I had always vowed. 

“No, no you’re right. I’ll-” I paused, crocodile tears streaming down my reddened cheeks, “I’ll go.” 

I ran out the door, fiddling with the doorknob in my haste. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. 

I need to-

I need to find a place to stay. I need to pay them back. 

The air was cold despite the obnoxiously bright sun as I half-jogged to my car. I guess I know where I’ll be staying for the next few weeks. 

I had no one. 

I collapsed on the seat. 

I needed to get a job.

A headache thudded against my skull. 

‘Do you even want to be in this family?’

I do, I sobbed. 

I really do. 

“Do you want to be in this family again?” My mom spoke, voice wavering with anger. 

“Mom. I need money. It’s-” I paused, knowing how bad this sounded, “It’s important.”

“What could be more important than what you did? Or have you already forgotten the worry you’ve caused us? The money you wasted?”

“I-” I had no response. 

A stifling silence grasped my throat, halting any conversation. “Please? Can you just let me explain?” I choked. 

My mom. My mom looked me up and down once, chestnut eyes gleaming with something close to understanding. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. My parents will understand because I’m literally dying. They’ll forgive me. They have to. 

“Get out. I don’t want to see you until you’ve made up to me- to us- what you’ve done.”

“Mom!” I reached my hand out, trying to stop the door that began to swing shut. 

It slammed in my face. 

“Mom…” I mumbled, muscles tight in shock and fear. I slammed my fists against the glossy wooden finish of the door, “Mom! Dad!”

I beat against the door. “Please!” I sobbed, knuckles beginning to hurt. “Please!”

I don’t remember how long I sat there, begging for the mercy they weren’t ready to give. The forgiveness I could barely give myself. Understanding that I wasn’t just begging for forgiveness anymore. I was praying for the time I didn’t have, the time I needed to make things right. 

When I reached a suitable Walmart, I lay awake in the driver's seat, considering my options. I almost laughed. I had no cell service, no prospects, and I was dying for god's sake! It felt like I’m in a bad sitcom, like I’m going to come up with some brilliant solution and all my problems will be fixed in one thorough swoop. 

I fell asleep with dry eyes, tear tracks evaporating slowly off my cheeks. I didn’t want to, but I knew what I had to do. God, I didn’t want to, but I needed to. Even if it killed me. Especially if it killed me. 

When I was younger, my parents used to tell me that they would never stop loving me. It was time to put that to the test. Which is why when I woke up, I opened my swollen eyes, reached into the glove compartment, and brandished the crisp white paper I always kept in there. It was time to explain why I had to do this, why I had to save everyone from me before I was too weak to do so. 

Last night, I had come to a resolution. I was almost grateful that I had been turned away yesterday, because if I had been allowed the chance to explain I know my mom would waste her little savings to save me. She would rush at the opportunity to forgive me, or maybe she wouldn’t, but I know for sure that I will never know the answer to that question. 

—-

Letter in hand, hair in a messy twist, jaw set, I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it. There’s no other option left. 

The line at the post office is long, but not long enough to convince me to turn around. Once I send this out, my decision is final. There will be no going back. 

My foot taps restlessly against the floor, tension building in my back. Loud chatter rings in my ears, my fingers twitching away from the too-close man behind me. 

I get to the front of the line. I buy my postage stamp and envelope with little interaction from the blue-clad clerk. I wait my turn to place my hastily-written letter in the slot. I can do this. Ella, you can do this, I tell myself. I lift the pure-white paper from under my arm and I’m about to shove it in the slot… 

“Ella!” A raspy voice calls from beside me. “Ella, is that you?”

I turn around, heart hammering in my chest. A frail woman stands before me, thin white hair falling around her face. “Mabel?”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you! How’s school?” She paused, a floral blouse falling around her arms as she animatedly moved her hands. 

I winced.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“It's going great! I’m on…” I lied, “spring vacation right now, but it ends in about a week.” Swallowing, I changed the subject, “How have Theo and Lily been?”

“Just incredible! They said their first words a couple months ago, and Lily’s been such a joy, so full of energy…” Mabel’s eyes glazed over, a soft smile growing across her freckled face. 

I shifted my feet, awkwardly holding the letters a couple inches from the drop-in slot. The voices around us quieted slightly, as if eavesdropping on the awkward small-talk. I hadn’t seen Mabel in almost six months, ever since my roommate Mae and I stopped going to the senior center’s Thursday bingo nights. I had been drowning in homework, and though Mae had insisted, I figured no one would notice my absence considering  my usually quiet disposition.

Mabel had been one of the regulars, always sitting at the round table by the door, talking enthusiastically about her grandkids. I began to regret not going more recently. 

The silence had got slightly awkward, the colorfully dressed old woman zeroing in on the letters forgotten in my hand. My throat ran dry. 

“Who are you sending that to?”

“Just my mom, nothing important.” I stuttered, certain my face was screaming, ‘this is Something Important!’

“Just a little wisdom,” She looked around conspiratorially, as if sharing a big secret, “I love it when my kids send me things. It shows that they care.” Mabel smiled, eyes brightening as she tapped my head like my mom used to do when I did something particularly cute as a kid, “I would be proud to have a daughter like you.”

“I’ll-” I swallowed, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Shoving the letter in the slot, I practically ran out of the store, only lamenting later that I never got to say goodbye to Mabel.  

She called behind me, soft voice lilting, “I hope to see you soon!”

“Bye.” I choked, too quiet and too far away for her to hear me. She won’t be seeing me soon. 

No one would. 

I drove around town robotically, not bothering to put any music on to numb my racing thoughts. Though my interaction with Mabel was not something I planned for, it made me question my decision. Part of me knew thinking about it would only make me more guilty than I already felt, but I welcomed the distraction of thoughts of the interesting relationship I had formed with those at the senior center. 

With a start, I realized that my instincts had taken me to the senior center, a flat brick building overlooking the road. A bridge jutted out beside it, a wide walkway and highway pushing across it.  

I parked and meandered across the bridge, looking out-of-place as the only person there. Leaning against the railing, water rushing beneath me, I thought of Mabel. Of my parents. Of the little people that cared about me and those who I told not to blame themselves. Who I told that I would die either way. 

I dangled my feet over the rapids. 

“Goodbye.”

—

any feedback is appreciated!!

you can decide whether to post privately/publicly ☺️

OKAY POP OFF SOPHIA!

I personally LOVE it and think screw that writing competition; Ella’s story deserves to be told with MORE detail! I’ll give you advice on both how to make it better and how to make is shorter ‘cause you did ask for shorter.

Better:

The start was quite disorienting. It didn’t really gives us any details about Ella and pretty much instantly threw the angst at our faces.

To fix this I’d suggest having the nurse say “Ella (last name), you have cancer.” ‘cause it gives the reader an idea of who the main character is with just that little piece of information! We can guess that she’s a girl (not everyone names Ella is a girl but Ella is typically a girl’s name) and depending on what last name you give her you can tell what ethnicity she is. With just TWO WORDS! how cool is that?

Also within Ella’s reaction to the bad news tell us about her! You can say things like “i’d noticed my hair coming out in large clumps that looked like blond mice.” To cue us in on her symptoms she has been experiencing, tell us how her life is already falling apart and what this meant to her other then just finance wise.

also this applies to both but make sure you always run your work through some sort of program to detect errors or go back yourself for grammar errors.

Shorter:

Even though I think it’s lovely the way it is I’d say to shorten it maybe cut off the interaction with Mabel. It could just be replaced with something along the lines of “As I’m about to slip the letter in the mail box my eyes catch on someone. My friend Mabel from the senior’s center Thursday Night Bingo I used to attend before homework got to much and I had to stop going. As I see her laughing and chatting with someone I reminisce on our friendship it makes me pause for a second doubting my decision…” instead of all that back an forth. It wouldn’t be quite as effective as what you have now but it would definitely trim the word count down while still having that crucial doubt.

P.S. THAT CLIFF HANGER WAS CRUEL I NEED JUST WANT SOME CLOSURE MA’AM

[bookworm-fangirl1]

thanks so much for helping me!

the story:

“I’m sorry to tell you this but,” The nurse sighed, fiddling with her id tag, “you have cancer.”

 “What?” A sharp pain cut through my stomach and back, mocking me.

“You have stage 4 pancreatic cancer.”

I felt unreal, unsteady. I have cancer? I can’t afford to have cancer. I can’t pay for treatment, I can’t do this by myself, I can’t pay the… “How much does treatment cost?”

The nurse’s eyes tightened, a pained set in her jaw, “$30,000”.

“$30,000?”

“At the minimum”.

The white walls closed in on me, paper cracking beneath me. I can barely afford food? How will I-

My family. 

My family would have to help me. The idea brought a bout of revulsion, they can’t help me! I had barely talked to my mother since… 

I stood up. “You can't be serious! Please tell me your joking-”

“Please-”

She gripped her clipboard, said “I’m sorry, I wish it wasn't this way.” and left the room to her next patient. Because I’m just another patient. Just another lost cause. Just another statistic. Brushing my hair from my face, I walked out the door, trudged through the lobby, plastered a fake smile for the attendant because she doesn’t care about me, and set off for the one place I didn’t want to go. 

Dark blonde hair falling in my face, light rain pattering against the windshield, I knew what I had to do. 

I needed to see the only family I have left. 

I needed to see my parents. 

–

The door opened while my hand raised to knock, my jaw dropping slightly at her annoyed tone. “What are you doing here, Ella? We meant what we said when we told you to leave.” Her voice rose, light brown waves chopping against her chin, “Unless you can make up the financial burden you've placed on us, I don’t want to hear it! You know our conditions!”

The memory came back with a shock, a reminder that I wasn’t welcome in their family anymore, not since last month. 

“How could you-” her voice broke, “how could you do this to our family, to me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, mom!” Tears blurred my vision as I desperately pleaded, though I knew it was no use. 

“I can’t believe-” She stuttered, “my daughter would do something like this. Do you even want to be in this family?” With that she looked away from me and called my father downstairs, willingly destroying any respect he may have for me. It felt like this was all a dream, like it wasn’t real. No, I would wake up and be in my dorm, preparing to attend my next class. I wasn’t expelled. The school hasn’t expelled me for plagiarism. This couldn’t be real…

“Ella Warrington.” My fathers booming voice interrupted my thoughts, sounding unnaturally calm. He was really mad, wasn’t he?

I glanced up through my oblong glasses, sniffling slightly, “Can I stay here for a couple weeks? Just until I get a job?” My eyes darted to the wooden kitchen floor. 

“No. You need to learn to take accountability for yourself. I don’t want to see you until you’ve 

made back the money you wasted. Do you understand how close your mother and I are to homelessness? Do you realize that I should be able to retire by now?” 

Though I expected it, the verification that I have no money, no prospects, and nowhere to go, broke the little composition I had left. My breath started to hiccup as I turned to the door, grasping the zipper to my jacket. This was all my fault. My parents were suffering because of me. 

When I was in high school, I used to promise to make my parent’s lives better. I promised myself I would never be an issue. I would rather die than be the reason for their stress, I had always vowed. 

“No, no you’re right. I’ll-” I paused, crocodile tears streaming down my reddened cheeks, “I’ll go.” 

I ran out the door, fiddling with the doorknob in my haste. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. 

I need to-

I need to find a place to stay. I need to pay them back. 

The air was cold despite the obnoxiously bright sun as I half-jogged to my car. I guess I know where I’ll be staying for the next few weeks. 

I had no one. 

I collapsed on the seat. 

I needed to get a job.

A headache thudded against my skull. 

‘Do you even want to be in this family?’

I do, I sobbed. 

I really do. 

“Do you want to be in this family again?” My mom spoke, voice wavering with anger. 

“Mom. I need money. It’s-” I paused, knowing how bad this sounded, “It’s important.”

“What could be more important than what you did? Or have you already forgotten the worry you’ve caused us? The money you wasted?”

“I-” I had no response. 

A stifling silence grasped my throat, halting any conversation. “Please? Can you just let me explain?” I choked. 

My mom. My mom looked me up and down once, chestnut eyes gleaming with something close to understanding. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. My parents will understand because I’m literally dying. They’ll forgive me. They have to. 

“Get out. I don’t want to see you until you’ve made up to me- to us- what you’ve done.”

“Mom!” I reached my hand out, trying to stop the door that began to swing shut. 

It slammed in my face. 

“Mom…” I mumbled, muscles tight in shock and fear. I slammed my fists against the glossy wooden finish of the door, “Mom! Dad!”

I beat against the door. “Please!” I sobbed, knuckles beginning to hurt. “Please!”

I don’t remember how long I sat there, begging for the mercy they weren’t ready to give. The forgiveness I could barely give myself. Understanding that I wasn’t just begging for forgiveness anymore. I was praying for the time I didn’t have, the time I needed to make things right. 

When I reached a suitable Walmart, I lay awake in the driver's seat, considering my options. I almost laughed. I had no cell service, no prospects, and I was dying for god's sake! It felt like I’m in a bad sitcom, like I’m going to come up with some brilliant solution and all my problems will be fixed in one thorough swoop. 

I fell asleep with dry eyes, tear tracks evaporating slowly off my cheeks. I didn’t want to, but I knew what I had to do. God, I didn’t want to, but I needed to. Even if it killed me. Especially if it killed me. 

When I was younger, my parents used to tell me that they would never stop loving me. It was time to put that to the test. Which is why when I woke up, I opened my swollen eyes, reached into the glove compartment, and brandished the crisp white paper I always kept in there. It was time to explain why I had to do this, why I had to save everyone from me before I was too weak to do so. 

Last night, I had come to a resolution. I was almost grateful that I had been turned away yesterday, because if I had been allowed the chance to explain I know my mom would waste her little savings to save me. She would rush at the opportunity to forgive me, or maybe she wouldn’t, but I know for sure that I will never know the answer to that question. 

—-

Letter in hand, hair in a messy twist, jaw set, I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it. There’s no other option left. 

The line at the post office is long, but not long enough to convince me to turn around. Once I send this out, my decision is final. There will be no going back. 

My foot taps restlessly against the floor, tension building in my back. Loud chatter rings in my ears, my fingers twitching away from the too-close man behind me. 

I get to the front of the line. I buy my postage stamp and envelope with little interaction from the blue-clad clerk. I wait my turn to place my hastily-written letter in the slot. I can do this. Ella, you can do this, I tell myself. I lift the pure-white paper from under my arm and I’m about to shove it in the slot… 

“Ella!” A raspy voice calls from beside me. “Ella, is that you?”

I turn around, heart hammering in my chest. A frail woman stands before me, thin white hair falling around her face. “Mabel?”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you! How’s school?” She paused, a floral blouse falling around her arms as she animatedly moved her hands. 

I winced.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“It's going great! I’m on…” I lied, “spring vacation right now, but it ends in about a week.” Swallowing, I changed the subject, “How have Theo and Lily been?”

“Just incredible! They said their first words a couple months ago, and Lily’s been such a joy, so full of energy…” Mabel’s eyes glazed over, a soft smile growing across her freckled face. 

I shifted my feet, awkwardly holding the letters a couple inches from the drop-in slot. The voices around us quieted slightly, as if eavesdropping on the awkward small-talk. I hadn’t seen Mabel in almost six months, ever since my roommate Mae and I stopped going to the senior center’s Thursday bingo nights. I had been drowning in homework, and though Mae had insisted, I figured no one would notice my absence considering  my usually quiet disposition.

Mabel had been one of the regulars, always sitting at the round table by the door, talking enthusiastically about her grandkids. I began to regret not going more recently. 

The silence had got slightly awkward, the colorfully dressed old woman zeroing in on the letters forgotten in my hand. My throat ran dry. 

“Who are you sending that to?”

“Just my mom, nothing important.” I stuttered, certain my face was screaming, ‘this is Something Important!’

“Just a little wisdom,” She looked around conspiratorially, as if sharing a big secret, “I love it when my kids send me things. It shows that they care.” Mabel smiled, eyes brightening as she tapped my head like my mom used to do when I did something particularly cute as a kid, “I would be proud to have a daughter like you.”

“I’ll-” I swallowed, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Shoving the letter in the slot, I practically ran out of the store, only lamenting later that I never got to say goodbye to Mabel.  

She called behind me, soft voice lilting, “I hope to see you soon!”

“Bye.” I choked, too quiet and too far away for her to hear me. She won’t be seeing me soon. 

No one would. 

I drove around town robotically, not bothering to put any music on to numb my racing thoughts. Though my interaction with Mabel was not something I planned for, it made me question my decision. Part of me knew thinking about it would only make me more guilty than I already felt, but I welcomed the distraction of thoughts of the interesting relationship I had formed with those at the senior center. 

With a start, I realized that my instincts had taken me to the senior center, a flat brick building overlooking the road. A bridge jutted out beside it, a wide walkway and highway pushing across it.  

I parked and meandered across the bridge, looking out-of-place as the only person there. Leaning against the railing, water rushing beneath me, I thought of Mabel. Of my parents. Of the little people that cared about me and those who I told not to blame themselves. Who I told that I would die either way. 

I dangled my feet over the rapids. 

“Goodbye.”

—

any feedback is much appreciated! you can decide whether you want to answer privately/publicly ☺️

This is…

WOW!

GIRL I DIDNT REALIZE YOU WERE THIS GOOD! HELLO?!

ummm I dunno how to make it shorter but uhhh…

maybe you can remove some filler words?

I love it tho! It’s amazing!

[thishumanformislimiting]

thanks so much for doing this! 🎀🎀

the story:

“I’m sorry to tell you this but,” The nurse sighed, fiddling with her id tag, “you have cancer.”

 “What?” A sharp pain cut through my stomach and back, mocking me.

“You have stage 4 pancreatic cancer.”

I felt unreal, unsteady. I have cancer? I can’t afford to have cancer. I can’t pay for treatment, I can’t do this by myself, I can’t pay the… “How much does treatment cost?”

The nurse’s eyes tightened, a pained set in her jaw, “$30,000”.

“$30,000?”

“At the minimum”.

The white walls closed in on me, paper cracking beneath me. I can barely afford food? How will I-

My family. 

My family would have to help me. The idea brought a bout of revulsion, they can’t help me! I had barely talked to my mother since… 

I stood up. “You can't be serious! Please tell me your joking-”

“Please-”

She gripped her clipboard, said “I’m sorry, I wish it wasn't this way.” and left the room to her next patient. Because I’m just another patient. Just another lost cause. Just another statistic. Brushing my hair from my face, I walked out the door, trudged through the lobby, plastered a fake smile for the attendant because she doesn’t care about me, and set off for the one place I didn’t want to go. 

Dark blonde hair falling in my face, light rain pattering against the windshield, I knew what I had to do. 

I needed to see the only family I have left. 

I needed to see my parents. 

–

The door opened while my hand raised to knock, my jaw dropping slightly at her annoyed tone. “What are you doing here, Ella? We meant what we said when we told you to leave.” Her voice rose, light brown waves chopping against her chin, “Unless you can make up the financial burden you've placed on us, I don’t want to hear it! You know our conditions!”

The memory came back with a shock, a reminder that I wasn’t welcome in their family anymore, not since last month. 

“How could you-” her voice broke, “how could you do this to our family, to me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, mom!” Tears blurred my vision as I desperately pleaded, though I knew it was no use. 

“I can’t believe-” She stuttered, “my daughter would do something like this. Do you even want to be in this family?” With that she looked away from me and called my father downstairs, willingly destroying any respect he may have for me. It felt like this was all a dream, like it wasn’t real. No, I would wake up and be in my dorm, preparing to attend my next class. I wasn’t expelled. The school hasn’t expelled me for plagiarism. This couldn’t be real…

“Ella Warrington.” My fathers booming voice interrupted my thoughts, sounding unnaturally calm. He was really mad, wasn’t he?

I glanced up through my oblong glasses, sniffling slightly, “Can I stay here for a couple weeks? Just until I get a job?” My eyes darted to the wooden kitchen floor. 

“No. You need to learn to take accountability for yourself. I don’t want to see you until you’ve 

made back the money you wasted. Do you understand how close your mother and I are to homelessness? Do you realize that I should be able to retire by now?” 

Though I expected it, the verification that I have no money, no prospects, and nowhere to go, broke the little composition I had left. My breath started to hiccup as I turned to the door, grasping the zipper to my jacket. This was all my fault. My parents were suffering because of me. 

When I was in high school, I used to promise to make my parent’s lives better. I promised myself I would never be an issue. I would rather die than be the reason for their stress, I had always vowed. 

“No, no you’re right. I’ll-” I paused, crocodile tears streaming down my reddened cheeks, “I’ll go.” 

I ran out the door, fiddling with the doorknob in my haste. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. 

I need to-

I need to find a place to stay. I need to pay them back. 

The air was cold despite the obnoxiously bright sun as I half-jogged to my car. I guess I know where I’ll be staying for the next few weeks. 

I had no one. 

I collapsed on the seat. 

I needed to get a job.

A headache thudded against my skull. 

‘Do you even want to be in this family?’

I do, I sobbed. 

I really do. 

“Do you want to be in this family again?” My mom spoke, voice wavering with anger. 

“Mom. I need money. It’s-” I paused, knowing how bad this sounded, “It’s important.”

“What could be more important than what you did? Or have you already forgotten the worry you’ve caused us? The money you wasted?”

“I-” I had no response. 

A stifling silence grasped my throat, halting any conversation. “Please? Can you just let me explain?” I choked. 

My mom. My mom looked me up and down once, chestnut eyes gleaming with something close to understanding. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. My parents will understand because I’m literally dying. They’ll forgive me. They have to. 

“Get out. I don’t want to see you until you’ve made up to me- to us- what you’ve done.”

“Mom!” I reached my hand out, trying to stop the door that began to swing shut. 

It slammed in my face. 

“Mom…” I mumbled, muscles tight in shock and fear. I slammed my fists against the glossy wooden finish of the door, “Mom! Dad!”

I beat against the door. “Please!” I sobbed, knuckles beginning to hurt. “Please!”

I don’t remember how long I sat there, begging for the mercy they weren’t ready to give. The forgiveness I could barely give myself. Understanding that I wasn’t just begging for forgiveness anymore. I was praying for the time I didn’t have, the time I needed to make things right. 

When I reached a suitable Walmart, I lay awake in the driver's seat, considering my options. I almost laughed. I had no cell service, no prospects, and I was dying for god's sake! It felt like I’m in a bad sitcom, like I’m going to come up with some brilliant solution and all my problems will be fixed in one thorough swoop. 

I fell asleep with dry eyes, tear tracks evaporating slowly off my cheeks. I didn’t want to, but I knew what I had to do. God, I didn’t want to, but I needed to. Even if it killed me. Especially if it killed me. 

When I was younger, my parents used to tell me that they would never stop loving me. It was time to put that to the test. Which is why when I woke up, I opened my swollen eyes, reached into the glove compartment, and brandished the crisp white paper I always kept in there. It was time to explain why I had to do this, why I had to save everyone from me before I was too weak to do so. 

Last night, I had come to a resolution. I was almost grateful that I had been turned away yesterday, because if I had been allowed the chance to explain I know my mom would waste her little savings to save me. She would rush at the opportunity to forgive me, or maybe she wouldn’t, but I know for sure that I will never know the answer to that question. 

—-

Letter in hand, hair in a messy twist, jaw set, I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it. There’s no other option left. 

The line at the post office is long, but not long enough to convince me to turn around. Once I send this out, my decision is final. There will be no going back. 

My foot taps restlessly against the floor, tension building in my back. Loud chatter rings in my ears, my fingers twitching away from the too-close man behind me. 

I get to the front of the line. I buy my postage stamp and envelope with little interaction from the blue-clad clerk. I wait my turn to place my hastily-written letter in the slot. I can do this. Ella, you can do this, I tell myself. I lift the pure-white paper from under my arm and I’m about to shove it in the slot… 

“Ella!” A raspy voice calls from beside me. “Ella, is that you?”

I turn around, heart hammering in my chest. A frail woman stands before me, thin white hair falling around her face. “Mabel?”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you! How’s school?” She paused, a floral blouse falling around her arms as she animatedly moved her hands. 

I winced.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“It's going great! I’m on…” I lied, “spring vacation right now, but it ends in about a week.” Swallowing, I changed the subject, “How have Theo and Lily been?”

“Just incredible! They said their first words a couple months ago, and Lily’s been such a joy, so full of energy…” Mabel’s eyes glazed over, a soft smile growing across her freckled face. 

I shifted my feet, awkwardly holding the letters a couple inches from the drop-in slot. The voices around us quieted slightly, as if eavesdropping on the awkward small-talk. I hadn’t seen Mabel in almost six months, ever since my roommate Mae and I stopped going to the senior center’s Thursday bingo nights. I had been drowning in homework, and though Mae had insisted, I figured no one would notice my absence considering  my usually quiet disposition.

Mabel had been one of the regulars, always sitting at the round table by the door, talking enthusiastically about her grandkids. I began to regret not going more recently. 

The silence had got slightly awkward, the colorfully dressed old woman zeroing in on the letters forgotten in my hand. My throat ran dry. 

“Who are you sending that to?”

“Just my mom, nothing important.” I stuttered, certain my face was screaming, ‘this is Something Important!’

“Just a little wisdom,” She looked around conspiratorially, as if sharing a big secret, “I love it when my kids send me things. It shows that they care.” Mabel smiled, eyes brightening as she tapped my head like my mom used to do when I did something particularly cute as a kid, “I would be proud to have a daughter like you.”

“I’ll-” I swallowed, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Shoving the letter in the slot, I practically ran out of the store, only lamenting later that I never got to say goodbye to Mabel.  

She called behind me, soft voice lilting, “I hope to see you soon!”

“Bye.” I choked, too quiet and too far away for her to hear me. She won’t be seeing me soon. 

No one would. 

I drove around town robotically, not bothering to put any music on to numb my racing thoughts. Though my interaction with Mabel was not something I planned for, it made me question my decision. Part of me knew thinking about it would only make me more guilty than I already felt, but I welcomed the distraction of thoughts of the interesting relationship I had formed with those at the senior center. 

With a start, I realized that my instincts had taken me to the senior center, a flat brick building overlooking the road. A bridge jutted out beside it, a wide walkway and highway pushing across it.  

I parked and meandered across the bridge, looking out-of-place as the only person there. Leaning against the railing, water rushing beneath me, I thought of Mabel. Of my parents. Of the little people that cared about me and those who I told not to blame themselves. Who I told that I would die either way. 

I dangled my feet over the rapids. 

“Goodbye.”

—

yeah so any feedback is much appreciated! (you can decide whether you want to answer publicly or privately)

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

OMG this is so good

I really like the way you told us about Ella, through little moments in the story

And how you made us care about her in so few words

asdfghjkl

I love it

[utilitycaster]

Hi I read your tags what character do you think it'd be fun for Travis to play if Chet dies in his sleep?? I kinda want Hardcore Caster Travis because Travis as a player with an abundance of spell slots is a delicious idea but idrk!

also throwing in this which I got in the interim!

[id: anonymous ask reading

I have a question/wondering about if (when if statistics have any thing to say about it) Chet dies what class you think Travis will play? Or your thoughts on type of character you would like to see?

(I myself kinda hope he goes for another high int character - maybe a gunslinger would be interesting to continue to balance out the martial classes with spell casters?

But I do think it would be interesting to add another cleric to the party as well. Maybe cleric of the Moon Domain from Taldorei reborn?)]

-----

Ok so Travis is, as I've discussed, on the (noncomprehensive) Emily, Aabria, Lou list of "I trust you implicitly with whatever character you make and even if I'm not initially won over I believe in you." With that said: I agree he should stick to high intelligence in terms of party composition. I also, anon #2, have really liked the idea of cleric. I know a two-cleric party is a lot to DM for but also I think Matt enjoys being able to really throw something big at the party, and while there are two full healers, Fearne is often better used in high damage and FCG's subclass does still make it difficult, plus were Chet to die that would be the loss of one of your three tanks. However, I think moon domain is a little too on the nose for this campaign. I actually would love to see a high-intelligence knowledge cleric: this would grant expertise in some of those key intelligence checks, and while it's far off, the level 17 ability is not unlike grim psychometry, which has already been an absolute delight to watch. I happen to think the read thoughts ability is obviously redundant in this part...but it also is, to be fair, fucking funny to have. Erathis or Corellon for the deity perhaps? I also happen to love twilight cleric just conceptually and for being incredibly powerful, AND for fixing the whole "no darkvision in the party" problem.

Other options: Eldritch knight, though that might be a little similar to Fjord in some of the flavors; or a wizard who is not too much of a glass cannon. Travis is on the short list of people for whom bladesinger would not make me roll my eyes because I think he could actually manage it (as Emily did so well in ACOFAF). I also would love to see another ranger on CR; the class has come a long way since Vex dealt with the unfortunate limitations of Beastmaster, I feel like a Horizon Walker would be attuned to the Moon Bullshit in a way that is different than anyone else in the party, and like...dump charisma and be smart to address the INT needs, and have twin scimitars like Drizzt except with less goofy names to address the Travis Needs Melee To Live (and He's Valid) needs. Really what I think is important is smart, not too glass cannon, low charisma for comedic purposes, and also I think playing someone younger and more obviously shippable even by cowardly people would create chaos in the party and the fandom in ways I would find highly amusing.

[the-prince-of-professors]

Am I allowed to ask a longer question? (Take your time to answer. You're probably busy, aren't you?) You recently reblogged that post about Raffles not-being Edwardian. Why do you think that is important?

Of course! And as you see, I did take a good bit of time to answer - thank you for your patience. I have been very busy lately, but actually for mostly Raffles related reasons for once!

I do think that is very important if you want to get to the core of these stories, which is why it irks me whenever people toss the word "Edwardian" in there, and I believe that Hornung was very aware of the importance of it when he wrote them. To get to that core, we need to look at a theme that is very prominent in the Raffles stories: aestheticism.

Aestheticism was a movement that grew throughout the 1800s and reached its peak in Britain in the later part of the 1800s. The general idea was to separate art from morality and ethics; that art should be created for beauty and not for teaching morals - "art for art's sake". The movement took shape in most art forms and a had mainstream success in for example home decorating and furniture, but at the same time did not sit well with traditional Victorians, to whom art was very much entangled with morality. By the 1880s, the "aesthete" had become a character familiar enough to be parodied, such as illustrator George du Maurier did for Punch magazine in a number of illustrations during this time period.

One of the most important aesthetes in the 1880s and '90s was of course Oscar Wilde. With his writings, his speeches, the way he dressed and the way he lived his life in London society — including his "deviant" sexual life — he was pretty much the embodiment of the aesthetic movement (as well as of the decadent movement, which by the 1890s had become nearly synonymous with it). With the scandal of his conviction and imprisonment, the movement became more dangerous to be associated with, and more or less died out at the end of the century.

--Spoilers for the Raffles books in discussion below--

Now, Hornung very clearly paints Raffles as an aesthete. That is not something you might manage to painstakingly dig out through hours of deep analysis of the text - he very plainly lays it out in the first part of the very first story. While Raffles is pacing the floor contemplating how to solve Bunny's situation, Bunny is observing the state of Raffles' rooms and gives the reader a clear idea of his character:

"It was charmingly furnished and arranged, with the right amount of negligence and the right amount of taste. What struck me most, however, was the absence of the usual insignia of a cricketer’s den. Instead of the conventional rack of war-worn bats, a carved oak bookcase, with every shelf in a litter, filled the better part of one wall; and where I looked for cricketing groups, I found reproductions of such works as “Love and Death” and “The Blessed Damozel,” in dusty frames and different parallels. The man might have been a minor poet instead of an athlete of the first water. But there had always been a fine streak of aestheticism in his complex composition." ("The Ides of March", 1898)

Here Hornung uses the word "aestheticism", referring specifically to the art movement. In the next story, he has Raffles associate himself with it again:

"Does the writer only write when the wolf is at the door? Does the painter paint for bread alone? Must you and I be driven to crime like Tom of Bow and Dick of Whitechapel? You pain me, my dear chap; you needn’t laugh, because you do. Art for art’s sake is a vile catchword, but I confess it appeals to me." ("A Costume Piece", 1898)

Raffles is an artist, first and foremost. His cricketing is a cover: the amateur cricket player is the ultimate English gentleman, and so he cannot possibly be anything else! He is not driven to a life of crime because of poverty, or because of some tragic back story. "Cracking cribs" is his form of art, and it is "l'art pour l'art" all the way.

"Why should I work when I could steal? Why settle down to some humdrum uncongenial billet, when excitement, romance, danger and a decent living were all going begging together?" ("The Ides of March", 1898)

In other words: he very well could make a living in some other, conventional way, but that would not be exciting and romantic enough. Furthermore, it would not be in line with his character. In "A Costume Piece" he attempts to steal the purple diamonds not because, as Bunny puts it, there is any "necessity" for it, but because it is so tangled up with what he is that he simply cannot pass up the opportunity: "If I don’t have a try for them—after tonight—I shall never be able to hold up my head again."

Additionally, Hornung makes some rather striking parallels between Raffles' life and the life of Oscar Wilde. It is assumed but not confirmed that Wilde was a friend of Hornung; at least they moved in the same circles. In either case, there is no way to ignore the parallels Hornung drew. There are of course the similarities in appearance and character: clean shaven features, longish hair, charisma, a great talker, appreciation for beautiful things. (Add to this the young, fair-haired and also clean shaven writer companion with a temper and a cricket themed nickname). But then we have the facts (which I have laid out before) of Raffles and Bunny and Wilde all being arrested and facing their downfall in the spring of 1895; of Bunny going to prison and when he comes out, writes a series of articles on prison life, just like Wilde did; of Raffles taking the name of "Mr Maturin" when he comes back to London, while Wilde took the alias of "Melmoth" when he went into exile (author Charles Maturin was Wilde's great uncle, who wrote the gothic novel Melmoth the Wanderer - if any of the other points are negotiable, at least that last one would be purely ignorant to brush off as a coincidence). Hornung knew what he was doing, and he did it subtly but clearly. I for one often wonder if when Conan Doyle said the stories were "dangerous in their suggestion", he wasn't talking less about burgling and more about these themes they were so entwined with; because at the point of the first publication of Raffles, the aesthetic movement was rather dangerous to be associated with. The references to Wilde could on their own perhaps be seen as a mere tribute to a (possible) friend, but in the context of their time and in how Raffles is portrayed as a character, they become more significant.

Wilde is released from prison in 1897 (again, same year Bunny is released from prison and Raffles returns to London), and lives in exile for a few years before dying in Paris in 1900. Raffles and Bunny live in Ham Common before joining the Boer war; Raffles dies on the battlefield in 1900. Around the same time, aestheticism as a movement dies out as well. The fin-de-siècle era is over, and the Victorian era comes to an end with the death of the queen in early 1901.

I do not think it was a coincidence that Hornung had Raffles die along with the essence of the world he was a product of. Therefore, tossing the word "Edwardian" in there as a descriptor of the series seems to me to be careless and completely missing the point. Bunny lives on in the Edwardian era, but aside from a few very brief glimpses of his life there, the life he lead with Raffles was solely in the fin-de-siècle.

The TV series is also often described as Edwardian, but this is also not correct. The 14 episodes makes a point of staying in the Victorian era, whether or not this was considered important in the way I have described above. I don't know if one or another Edwardian trinket has snuck in there, but it is definitely still the 1800s by the final episode: in "An Old Flame" Raffles complains about wanting to "stay in the privacy of the 19th century for as long as possible", to which Bunny retorts "You haven't got long left". Philip Mackie's unpublished script for "Le Premier Pas" for the second series that was never produced actually takes place on Christmas 1899, "the last Christmas of the old century", confirming that the first series definitely was meant to be all Victorian. (The new series probably would have gone into the 1900s, but where it would have ended is anyone's guess, and is rather irrelevant since it was never actually made.) Just to what extent this was considered significant for the overall story and tone of the TV series, I cannot say (though I am actually doing some research on just that currently), but the point is that the TV series also is, in fact, Victorian and not Edwardian. Some other adaptations have of course broken the Victorian rule, but that is a whole other discussion.

In short: if you want to be true to Hornung's Raffles, the late Victorian era is rather a key element.

For anyone who wants to read more about Raffles and aestheticism (and can get access), I can highly recommend an academic article I have read recently by D. Michael Jones, called “E. W. Hornung’s Raffles and the English Aesthetic Movement: The Rhetoric of Romance Masculinity” (2016). I especially thought his take on the dynamic between Raffles and Bunny was really interesting. Also he kinda made me cry cause some of the things he said about Raffles was so spot on. Another relevant one is “Wilde Words: The Aesthetics of Crime and the Play of Genre in E. W. Hornung’s Raffles Stories” by Lee O'Brien (2015).

[clownsalot]

ok so anyway double first impressions and observations!! idk if ill be repeating any points other people have already brought up since im typing this without having looked through the milgram tag. and this probably won't be all that organized despite my attempt of neatening it up but ah well. i tried grouping my observations by point at least, but they're not in an order that follows the sequence of the mv.

also id like to preface this that firstly a) i don't have any personal experience with DID whether it be in myself or with people i know so please be patient with me if i say something wrong and b) for now please assume im going with the 2koto theory? not because i dont believe in the trikoto theory but because i haven't really dug that deep into it and so id be bad at spotting evidence of it myself

also im mostly going off of what i see visually in the mv since i haven't gotten to analyzing the lyrics yet

for now im referring to host mikoto and alter mikoto as bokuto and orekoto respectively.

the rest of the post under the cut!!

1. magazine/print(?) texture

the first thing i took note of was the magazine/print(?)(there's definitely a better term for this because just saying 'paper' doesn't fit. someone please help) texture that shows up when the mv kind of fragments. there's a lot of text that shows up like printed letters on a newspaper/print(?) that floats around.

how i find this interesting is actually in contra:st to the magazine texture on cat and the magazine/scrapbook format of this is how to be in love with you:

whereas kazui and mahiru center more on the clean perfect 'advertising' feel of magazines, mikoto's texturing in double feels more like the kind of crinkled old magazines you rip and mess up for collages in primary school.

it's kind of interesting, actually: with kazui and mahiru, it's their portrayals of the idealized romanticized forms of love and romance they're being sold. so with mikoto, is it the shreds of the idealized 9-5 grind he's been sold? since it seems to be implied in double and also one of the shots in undercover that mikoto is pushing himself too far for the sake of his work, and it's well known that the work grind in japan is crushingly brutal and overtime is not only expected but actively encouraged (i may be reaching with this one though? i dunno man).

2. the eye imagery

the next thing i noticed was that double has a lot of eye imagery. it's really interesting because it's like it's carrying over the feeling of surveillance from MeMe by replacing the camera povs that feel like spying on mikoto with more straightforward eyes on him.

what else is interesting to me though is the way the eyes watching mikoto in double contrast with the eyes watching fuuta in backdraft. as far as i can tell mikoto and fuuta are the only ones in milgram with eye imagery? but there's a difference in that while fuuta's eyes are disturbing partly because of the fact that they're semirealistic, mikoto's in contrast are a lot more abstracted in comparison. i wonder what exactly the eyes in double are supposed ro represent, since fuuta's are meant to represent judgement. given the stylistic differences between them im really curious as to what the similarities and differences would be between how they both view being watched? i can't come up with anything concrete at the moment though.

3. across the train carriage

i think throughout double there's a kind of shot composition/framing that shows up a few times, and it's that orekoto and bokuto seem to be across the train carriage from each other.

in the first image, it looks like bokuto is being reflected in the window behind orekoto, meaning he'd have to be sitting across from him in the train carriage. in the second, an identical pair of hands are overlapping orekoto's image, and since i doubt there'd be a mirror cutting right through the middle of the carriage in front of the doors, it'd have to mean that they're mirroring each other's actions from across the train carriage.

(you'll have to forgive me for it being in still images, i wish i could get it in motion but i am. not a gif maker. it's at roughly 2:16 though for anyone who needs it)

it also shows up in this scene which i like a lot!!! where the camera starts from a mikoto leaning haggardly against the train door looking at something behind the camera, who im assuming to be bokuto, before it pans up towards the ceiling and down again to the mikoto holding onto the bloody bat, who im assuming to be orekoto.

the Across the Train Carriage framing is really really really cool in and of itself and i love it!! but that panning shot has me rolling it's so good and i love it so much. the way it pans back down to orekoto so he's upside down makes it so disorienting and difficult to process especially with the scribbly effects over it. this could be reflective of how bokuto feels about this whole thing himself, but i donthave much of an analysis for this point, i just wanted to point it out because i think the directing of it is really really really damn cool

4. phone call home

yea i don't have an analysis for this part either, i also just find this sequence of events really really cool. just—the calmness of the phone call over the flashes of orekoto violently 'taking care of' the things troubling them!!!! it's the juxtaposition of the mikoto who calmly tells his mom that everything is alright and he's fine vs the mikoto that takes care of things for him that allows that kind of calmness to exist in the first place. it tickles my brain

although there is the thing of: if people are right that the mv visually distinguishes between bokuto and orekoto through the presence of eyebags, it is a little odd that the mikoto on the phone also has eyebags, implying that the him on the phone is also not bokuto. and i don't know what that's supposed to signify, but it's a little interesting to think about.

5. glitching Next Station screens

it's interesting to note that as the mv progresses the screens that show the train route and what the next station is get glitchier and glitchier. do any of the train station names correspond with actual train stations on the japanese train system? do they mean something else? im really curious, but my japanese isn't great and consists of only the 2 duolingo units i did like years ago, so could anyone please give me a hand with translating or point me to someone who has already translated it?

the constant appearances of trains in both MeMe and double is really interesting to me and i wonder what exactly it could be representing or what the significance of it is, especially since mikoto apparently bikes to work and doesn't commute on public transport

anyways, that's about it for all the things i took note of upon watching double the first two times, and i haven't done any especially deep analysis or anything. i haven't touched on all the mannequins either, mostly because im not reslly sure what they're supposed to represent and so don't really have much to say about them.

also hanae natsuki delivers a banger vocal performance once again!! ive never heard him miss in any of the roles ive seen him in, but he once again knocks it out of the park with mikoto. i haven't listened to mikoto's t2 voice drama neoplasma yet, but im sure hanae natsuki did amazing work on that once again, so im really excited to give it a listen!!

as for now though, i think ill have to look at everyone else's analyses of double to understand mikoto better, since even though i love him as a character and i like doing analysis im not as great at theorizing

[joesanimationblog]

Forefront Post 3

10KTF: Rise of Wagmi

This film was released by The Line Animation on September 23rd, 2022 and was directed by Sam Taylor.

The aesthetics of this film and the comic-book inspired camera moves drew me into this film when I first saw it on The Line's Instagram page.

Originally I graduated as an illustrator and I am now specializing and moving towards animation and so my early experiences animating were animating transitions between illustrative work, I have since moved towards character animation as my focus.

 This film uses such interesting transitions which feel clean and controlled and don't disorientate the viewer despite being quite intense at times. There is a clear inspiration here that helps to establish visual communication clarity and that is comic books. I can imagine the storyboard for this film feeling a lot like a comic book as the camera seems to pan directionally around the page from panel to panel, there is a lot of really fascinating parallax/ layered movement which makes the effect feel more subtle and smooth. I have spoken in the past on my blog about how comic books influenced me a lot in my visual storytelling as an illustrator and how that has gone on to influence my work as an animation director for my films, but the film we are looking at here takes this inspiration a lot more directly and adapts it to fit the animated film better than I do for a couple of reasons

Colour change to emphasize shot mood/ signal a new shot

Constant movement or frame shimmering or background smoke or clouds make static shots or comic panels feel more dynamic

The camera moves which tracks objects in the frame to move between scenes or objects which block vision through movement to counteract the rapid movement of the camera moves. 

Another thing which I gleaned from this film is that the background art, lighting, and colouring are really on point. There is great consistency in the lighting and the way colours bounce off each other because lighting makes the setting feel believable and distinct. While the colours are not accurate to life they do establish a mood in the shots. 

To help myself research this further I bought the book "The Colour of Pixar" where hundreds of frames from Pixar films with strong colour palettes are shown in a spectrum of colour. I found it interesting to look at a scene and think about the purpose of the scene in the movie, and then to look at the colour and lighting choices and to think about how these choices give the scene clarity and set the mood. 

Image Screenshotted from book (referenced below)

I have been working on colouring my film for the animated project and this film has got me thinking about the composition of my shots, how colour and composition work together to communicate, and how lighting can change the way colour sits in the frame. Light bouncing off objects creates highlights and the colour of these highlights is determined by what the light bounced off, this can make a shot feel a lot less flat and is something I've been experimenting with. 

References

(2022) 10KTF: Rise of Wagmi. The Line. Available at: https://vimeo.com/752997460?embedded=true&source=vimeo_logo&owner=3572388 (Accessed: May 1, 2023).

Kratter, T.W. (2017) The Color of Pixar. San Francisco, California: Chronicle Books. Available at: https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=LBQtDwAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false (Accessed: May 1, 2023).

[rainbowgothdisaster]

For the artist asks, 2, 11 & 18 :3

2. 5 favourites of your own work?

in no particular order:

pokesona, the stars are falling (not posted, will be posted with this years redraw), jewel's house, sleeping jewel, jewel's bedroom (also an extra bcuz i really like it but couldn't find the compressed file to put here: be back soon screen)

i have a lot of fun drawing my pokesona, it was drawn completely using vector lines which was unbelievably enlightening

the stars are falling was first drawn back in 2020 and has become a way for me to compare how my art has developed over the years. 2020 only featured Jason (he/him), 2021 only had Zero (ey/em), and 2022 includes the former two plus Cleo (she/her, but shes bigender and also goes by Liam he/him), 2023 will include Jason and Ambe (she/her). its a way for me to basically do a benchmark test on my composition and anatomy and colours and shading. i always have a lot of fun drawing it and sometimes making whole new brushes. important note: this one was actually submitted to an art contest, sadly i lost but it was actually my first time since elementary putting my art out with the intent to be judged.

jewel's house was my first time drawing and designing a house and finding different places to incorporate hearts was literally so much fun.

sleeping jewel is just super cute and jewel's bunny hoodie is my favourite thing ever. i have it on my phone and could stare at it for hours.

jewel's bedroom is ALSO a redraw. i enjoyed trying to fit so many things in it, i enjoyed sketching, i enjoyed lining, i enjoyed colouring. though this is actually my least fav of the 5 bcuz i fully believe the idea that your art is only as good as its weakest point. that's not to say its bad or that everyone will approach it as critically as possible. not even to say that everything needs to be perfect. but when i was rendering it, i didn't want to shade. so i took a funky brush and just rushed thru shading. in fact you can see that when watching the speedpaint, i just kinda scribbled the shading. HOWEVER that doesnt take away from the fact i think the rest of it is really well done. i think i did well on the bed in particular and the fact that i stylized a real bed that we own and my actual childhood bed that i would die to get back (we owned two, mine was lost when mum and dad had to abandon my childhood home bcuz of shitty roommates and a shitty landlord) i enjoyed drawing my actual stuffed animals and my actual lolita dress. it like actually has sentimental value bcuz of all of that i just wish i did it better.

11. favourite comment you've ever received on your work?

uhhhh so like i dont usually recieve comments on my work aside from my family's "wow i could never do that" soooo well go with the comment you left on my bunny hoodie design bcuz as far as i can remember iirc it was the first time id gotten a nice comment about my fashion designs and i was really happy someone liked it bcuz im like super nervous about my silly fashion doodles :)

18. do you have any larger projects you'd like to pursue? like comics, shortfilm, a series, etc?

yes! id like House Of Misfits to be a cartoon, tho the show would probably be lighter than the short stories bcuz i don't imagine i could explore Amber's backstory on screen. im making a proof-of-concept website which is technically online and more than 70% unfinished.

i also have a coming-of-age novel i need to do research for called Saftey Blanket about a hijabi girl named Aminah in her senior year of highschool (if i made it a series wed get to see her twin siblings realize they're trans which would be fun but rn they are but lil babbies), id like to make a children's cartoon and a visual novel but i don't currently have any ideas for either.

btw despite the fact that i am an animator, i don't want to animate a show. i want to run a show. i don't actually enjoy animations longer than maybe 10 seconds.

i have a side project based around the album A Constant State Of Ohio by Lincoln that would be a very personal project around self image while having multiple personality disorders (and other problems), but i cannot for the life of me make an animatic. there's lots of ideas like this jostling in my brain, like a stop-motion animation of Through The Roof n Underground by Gogol Bordello, where i just simply cannot which i am fine with.

then theres the fact i do actually want to sew my fashion designs, at least that bunny hoodie if nothing else, and i cannot get my hands on any fabric despite owning a sewing machine

[youngmudra]

Hi. What placements in synastry/composite chart can indicate that as a couple you like to show off in public, post each other? Thanks.💖

Ok so in synastry id look for Sun/jupiter/venus in the partners 1st/7th/10th/ and mostly 11th house.

I wouldnt look for mars/mercury/moon/saturn in these houses as they can represent infamy. Like your partner talking about you alot or complaining alot about you to others.

Saturn is repression of partnership in those houses. Like this person wants to keep you a secret

If moon is in any of these houses your partner may tell people about you and say they care, but still keep you a secret

If mars/mercury is in these houses your partner may complain about you alot or you guys may fight in public and their friends may form opinions about you regardless of them talking about you.

Sun in these houses makes you stand out and makes others believe youre good for youre partner

Jupiter makes it so you partner may want you around alot, like everytime they go out, youre with them (depending on the whole synastry chart)

And Venus is obviously good in these houses since they see you as their one and only, their lover, their better half, and everyone else see's it too. Also it makes you two a beautiful couple

In Composite, Id say any venusian Sun/Rising/ 7th house/ 10th house/Venus/mars/moon will work

So Taurus or Libra sun/rising/7th house/10th house/venus/mars/moon

Also capricorn in 7th or 8th house can be really helpful.

Scorpio makes for jealousy, gemini makes for polyamory, cancer and aries makes for alot of arguing and misunderstandings, sag makes for non committal energy, virgo is judgemental (but still better in terms of staying together) Pisces is non committal as well ( but in a well developed chart can make the couple very spiritual together ) , And aquarius doesnt look at this relationship as a real relationship. More as a friendship.

Pisces sun/moon in composite can show twin flame unions. But its not always the case, it shows the partner brings out the shadow of the other. But sometimes its just non committal energy

Idk, hope that helps, let me know if you have any other questions, id be happy to explain more about this

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: Bruno, a member of Kanto's Elite Four, with his Machamp. Bruno is a muscular man with light skin, long teal hair in a ponytail, and teal eyes. He is wearing white slightly-tattered karate pants, a black belt, and large black rings around his wrists and ankles, presumably training weights of sorts. He is sitting on the floor, holding a red and white Pokeball in his hand. Machamp is a muscular humanoid Pokemon with blue-grey skin, three tan ridges on its head, red eyes, yellow beak-like lips, and four arms. It is wearing black fighter's briefs and a brown and gold champion's belt. Two of its arms are crossed in front of it, while the other two are held up and flexing. The background is Bruno's room in the Indigo Plateau. The wall in the back is orange, a large white door with an orange and white Pokeball design on the right. The floor is yellow with a white and green arena pattern. End ID.]

-----

“I am Bruno of the Elite Four. I always train to the extreme because I believe in our potential. That is how we became strong. Can you withstand our power? Hm? I see no fear in you. You look determined. Perfect for battle! Ready? You will bow down to our overwhelming power! Hoo hah!”

Okay, so I've been a bit under the weather today, but this was mostly finished so that didn't affect things too much hehe. (and before anyone asks, I'm doing better now, thanks for the concern ♥ ) So here's more Kanto stuff with Bruno! I think I've been getting better at drawing muscly peeps over the years, and this guy actually helped me start to improve on that years ago. I do think that Machamp didn't come out as broad-shouldered as it's supposed to be, but that could be due to the image composition hehe.

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are greatly preferred as they let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Bruno, Machamp, and other Pokemon concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

[detransexual]

Uh-oh gyns, i opened pandoras box yesterday and put on makeup (other than the usual beard-shadow coverup that doesnt actually change how my face looks) and ah fuck i really hate how much i liked it. Nooo dont start using makeup ur already self conscious ahah...

Like i thought id fully accepted being ugly, because i do have a weird face and it usually doesnt bother me, i know i look like hot garbage most of the time but i actually felt like attractive hot garbage?? I dont know how to feel about this tbh. I dont want to start doing something that makes me feel worse about myself if i dont, and every time i do start dabbling in makeup and start wearing it outside it does make me want to keep doing it, but i genuinely dont know how to feel about this tbh?

I think the worst part of it is that i feel more like "myself" actually, in the sense that i look more like i did before i started trying to pass for male. Theres no real point to this post im just rambling.

I feel like i dont necessarily care about my face that much anymore, its just the face i have and its a bit weird looking and oddly proportioned but i can see several of my relatives in my own face. Unfortunately its mostly my male relatives tho lmao.

I really wonder if that has anything to do with my trans identity tbh, why i felt like i WAS male? Because i have always been pretty androgynous both in my face and body composition, and for a long time i was obsessed with plastic surgery generally. I tried really hard for a large part of my adolescence to be really feminine, make myself smaller and cuter and try to fit in with my peers atleast aesthetically when i couldnt fit in behaviourally.

I really remember the feeling of realising females could be transexuals too and suddenly feeling a promise of freedom, feeling like it explained why i pretended to be a boy as a child, why i didnt fit in with my female peers, why i felt the way i did about my female friends (hint: it was autism, and not understanding why i was limited by female socialisation and heteronormayivity) and how hesitantly hopeful i was that that was the explanation, and eventually i became convinced that it explained everything from my weird periods and my deeper than average voice to why i didnt fit in socially and behaviourally - there was something wrong with me on a biological level, something that was easy to believe when you've spent your whole life with a sense that there is something deeply and inherently wrong and different about you.

I dont know, i just wish id have been able to grow up as a girl and realise that that didnt dictate anything about how i should look or act or who i could fall in love with. I wish id have felt able to shed femininity without needing an "excuse" in the form of a male identity. I wish someone had looked at me in all my social problems and self destructive behaviours and realised that this is a kid who cannot ask for help and cannot articulate whats wrong. I wish someone had recognised that something was wrong and that i needed help rather than being told that i was really mature and independent, because i shouldnt have had to be.

And to bring it back to beauty ideals, i certainly shouldnt have been shamed and made to "fix" features that my brother was praised for having, i shouldnt have been told my face and body was unacceptable and unpresentable.

Idk man. Dont wanna care about how i look i dont want it to matter.

I guess a healthier outlook would be to say "huh im not ugly everyone else is just cheating" (jokes!! Is just jonkes!1!!) but then again i am kinda ugly and i just wish i didnt prefer looking better aesthetically because like, whats the point lol its not like thats gonna do anything for me

[perseruna]

not to sound completely obsessed but ur art brings a lot of comfort to me even when im not in single one of your fandoms, it's just aesthetically (and not only) very pleasant. so i thought id love to ask you some questions.....how did you start drawing, are you self-taught, what were your first steps? because i really want to start drawing too, and you're my, y'know, kinda inspiration. wishing you a lot of happiness hon😩❤️❤️❤️ty again for showing us your GORGEOUS art

omg thank you so much this is so sweet 💌

and we’ll ive been drawing ever since i was in kindergarten but when it comes to digital art i started around 2016ish i think! (my old deviantart is still somewhere out there may it rest in peace) i never went to an art school so everything i know about art i learned myself (the internet is full of wonderful resources that will get you anywhere trust me) i do plan on maybee going to an art uni this year but we’ll see about that!

and my advice would be to focus on drawing what you enjoy and what makes you happy! i genuinely think that’s key to growing as an artist. discover what type of art you enjoy looking at, find other artists that inspire you and look at the way they draw characters, do line art, color, shade, anything goes! and try to replicate those little things and then put your own little spin on them. whenever i’m drawing big illustrations i always have a few paintings of my favorite artists opened somewhere just to remember what i want to achieve when it comes to composition or just the general vibe or whatnot.

use use use references! reference pictures are your best friend and don’t be scared of them! if you have to trace something to get the shape or proportions right then do it! there are no rules when it comes to art. make as many pinterest boards with different refs or with pictures that inspire you as you can because they’ll come in handy believe me!

also don’t be too harsh on yourself, take breaks when you need to, don’t force yourself to draw when you don’t feel like it (some days just aren’t fit for creating and that’s alright!) sometimes it’s hard to see but with each day you’re growing, the artistic journey doesn’t have an end, you can only keep getting better!

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[non-plutonian-druid]

18 for the artist ask game - which one would you like to answer 👀

hmmm,,, i think the one i want to answer most is 4!!

4) What is a piece you'd really really like to talk about but people don't ask - go wild!

This is possibly the least surprising answer ever, but I'd love to rant about some of the behind the scenes stuff for the tarot series haha. I usually give a little insight into the whys and what-happeneds of making them in the posts or the tags, but theres a lot i dont say that id love to share like:

The Hermit: The wall is absolutely covered in math, none of which contains a single number. No numbers were written in the making of this card, not a one. Also those chalk marks are the only time (at least so far) that brush, or any brush other than the 3 main ones, have ever been used in the final cards

The World: when i first drew this, i could not find a single reference for how gabriel ba draws trees, so i made it up. like a week after posting, i randomly found a drawing of his that was like, mostly trees. rip me.

The Empress: The start of reference hell. I didnt use any reference apart from style reference for The Hermit, and I used like one or two pictures of the little girl on a bike for The World, but for this I had to find background reference, and multiple clothing references for both Lila and the Handler, and for the Handler's gun... and that's what my life has been like ever since. Also, in early drafts their positions were switched, with the Handler in the distance and LIla up close. I tried swapping them around on a whim and decided i felt like that conveyed the emotion I was going for much better.

The Hanged Man: as far as i can tell, Ben's tentacles in the show do not actually have suckers, and they really look more like... worms or something? but i like octopus tentacles so i ignored this

The High Priestess: vanya and diego are tied for "hardest fucking card to finish because i had to redraw it so many goddamn times". idk what it is about her slouchy pose here but i just could not get it right. Originally, when The Empress had Lila lying in the foreground and the Handler in the back, these two had parallel compositions, but now The High Priestess is alone. I should fix that at some point.

Wheel of Fortune: I believe this marks the first time i really had to fudge some backgrounds in order to get the composition right. There aren't this many rows of screens, the ceiling isnt this tall, and the window into the mail chute room is on its own wall. Also, in early drafts of this card, the floor was visible and AJ was sitting sexily in a chair. sorry to deprive you all of that

The Tower: This is the second major background fudging I did! good thing i had practice right before this. The Icarus in this picture is an amalgam of the same two buildings as in the show, although since I'm drawing i can do it all in the same shot. The majority of it is based on Massey Hall, but the fancy entrance is based on Elgin Theatre.

Strength: obviously Luther cannot have Umbrella Academy merch on his wall in his apartment in the 60s, since there isnt any yet, but i ignored that because themes. The poster is based on a drawing from a behind the scenes book, although I added the words and changed the drawing style to be closer to the comics. I also looked at reference of comics from the 60s and found that most of them did not emphasize the superhero's name (ie the superhero's name was not the largest word) but rather an adjective- amazing, incredible, etc. None of the in-universe umbrella academy merch had any defining adjective, so i decided to come up with my own... then realized that it would be "extraordinary". obviously. Looking at all this reference is what prompted me to do that meta thing comparing in-universe umbrella and sparrow merch, and what that might say about s3/how reggie raised them.

Chariot: I find Diego's face easy to draw, which came at the cost of everything else about this card giving me the hardest time possible. His pose, the composition, the colors... redid all of it so many times. SO many times. Also his harness fucking sucks to draw. And he always wears all black so you cant even appreciate how hard I worked on it. Fuck this card. I guess it's only fitting since Diego himself is a contrary bastard.

The Devil: Originally had Lila running though space, but I changed it so that it matched The Hanged Man a little more, since The Hanged Man was the only card without a background and the sketch for this was the best candidate to make without a background. Miscellaneous fun fact that you'll notice that the design in the background emerges from the briefcase.

Justice: This one is basically an actual shot from the show, which still feels lazy of me but it wasn't intentional. Also I spent a while trying to find reference for how Gabriel Ba draws hair texture like Allison's, gave up on finding anything close, and then a few days after finishing it I randomly came across a drawing he did of show!Allison. of course thats how it goes.

Temperance: the pillar and arch around Grace are not behind her, and the pillars do not go to the floor. They're attached to a railing in front of her. Also while looking at reference I discovered that the painting Grace likes is not in any particular place of emphasis; thats why i put a light on it. Also, most of the paintings are approximations of their actual placement on the set, but I moved a few around in places where my reference was too blurry to tell what the subject was.

The Moon: newest addition! not much to say about this one, except I feel very strongly that Luther should have had a pink plastic flamingo on the moon, so I gave him one. Its been in the plans since I first sketched it almost a year ago. The pink plastic flamingo is very important to me