#idk if this is a character study?

[adnrewminyard]

imagine being kevin day, son of exy, born and bred to be a cog in the well-oiled machine that is the edgar allan ravens. all you know being the routine of practice and practice and practice and performance and victory alongside those you call brothers.

-and then one day you wake up in your estranged father's apartment between a bottle of painkillers and a bottle of vodka and there is a knot of bandages where your future used to be. you don't wake up at 4am anymore. you sleep until noon and vomit the remainders of life as you knew it into unfamiliar toilets. you watch orange and white clash against each other from sidelines you haven't touched since you started growing facial hair.

your brother doesn't ask you to come home. you would come if he asked. the days are longer here and the food is too rich. the colors are too harsh, the language barrier is too much. you speak and no one understands.

they feel sorry for you, but not for what you have lost, instead for what you have suffered. you try to show them what belonging means, to sever parts of yourself to fit inside a uniform, but they don't understand the necessity of the blade the way your brothers did. they don't understand that suffering feels religious if you do it right.

the therapist tells you it's survivor's guilt but the only survivors you can see are on the court in black and red and they read your eulogy after the game at a press conference. you are not a survivor in any way that matters anymore. how treacherous your heart is for continuing to beat when you can't even hold your lifeline in your hand without dropping it.

you want to go home but your key doesn't open the same door anymore. you want to sit beside your brother but there is no space on his side of the table. you want to be a raven but you are a fox.

you grieve for connection until there is a knife where your neck guard used to sit. you grieve for your life until a boy offers to show you how it feels to survive. you offer to show him how it feels to live. he tells you he won't sever parts of himself to fit the uniform, but there are telltale bloodstains in the fabric from long before you asked.

you wake up at 4am again. you take turns vomiting in the toilet, you when the alcohol level dips too low and him when his smile runs out. he doesn't speak your language but he understands it. he keeps the car running when you visit the therapist. he keeps an eye on your back to watch the 02 on your jersey turn orange. the colors don't seem as harsh anymore.

he offers you safety. he offers you belonging. he offers you the only thing he knows how to give, the only thing you know how to take.

he offers you a lifeline. you pick it up with your right hand.

[hinamie]

congrats on your recovery n all yuuji but unfortunately for you I thought the scars were cool >:/

[persona-brainrot-real]

Sae Niijima is such a good character it drives me insane a little. She's not a mother nor a maternal or doting older sister but instead a twenty four year old who was thrown into a position of responsibility that she never asked for. She loves Makoto just as much as she resents her and its so apparent every time they talk up until November. "Are you studying?" (I want you to do well) (I need you to get a job and stop making my life harder) "I'll use any method necessary to get this promotion" (Life will be easier for us) (So stop distracting me with your problems) "Focus on your future" (I know that you're capable) (I can't afford to waste my time on you, so stop wasting time on others)

Makoto is not only the sole reason she pushes as hard as she does for a promotion, for success, and the reason that she loses herself in her animosity over her fathers death, but also someone she can't stand for so long. Makoto was 14-15 when their father died. Sae was 21. As soon as she got the career she wanted and things started to look up, her stability was robbed from her and she was disillusioned with the system that her father had taught her to rely on and completely adhere to. How do you manage, the daughter of a cop, following his footsteps towards law enforcement, when you're suddenly reminded of how unfair it is? You can't quit, your little sister relies on you and she's so young and struggling just as badly with this grief. So you pick yourself up and you get moving again. You push harder, press further. You abandon your morals and your ethics because punishing criminals (guilty or not) is almost like punishing the man who killed your father.

And the whole time she's fighting for promotions, going for drinks with the SIU Director to make herself more favourable for promotions, trying to navigate being a woman in a competitive, suffocating, male-dominated field, falling behind despite doing so much where others are promoted for doing so little - all the while your little sister comes back from school and her biggest issues are so small compared to yours.

Persona 5 revolves so heavily around grief and loss and change and Sae embodies all of that so well, all of the sharp and unpleasant and jagged parts of grief.

[deoidesign]

Doing master studies the only way I know how: Stealing them and making them my guys.

(Barberini Faun)

(The Fallen Angel - Alexandre Cabanel)

(Covent Garden - William Bruce Ellis Rankin)

[seagull-scribbles]

All of my Out of Touch Turts-day for easy comparison 💕

Which one is your favourite?

[1987] [2003] [2007] [2012] [2018] [2019] [2023]

[mellohiizz]

mel mellohiizz............ can i beg for uu!parrot and uu!clownpierce art

i love the parallels between them, it's so fun to think about

[queenlucythevaliant]

gone right into my heart

i. Fundamentally, mean children everywhere are all the same.

ii. Eustace Scrubb didn't think of himself as mean, of course, but he was. Cruel, petty, entitled, spoiled - all fine descriptors.

iii. All mean children have tough, scaly hides under which they conceal vulnerable flesh. They breathe fire and hope no one notices that it reeks of rot. Their claws are sharp, and because of this they cannot write in soft sand or hold hands with their loved ones.

iv. Eustace's cousins came to stay for the summer, and the worst part of it all was that it'd been years since he'd gotten a proper rise out of them. It was infuriating! Having them around would be no fun at all.

iv. Later, in Narnia, Eustace began to understand why they were so impervious to him. He'd been mean, sure, but they were knights.

v. Take me home, take me home, take me home, he said. Over and over. Take me home where it's safe. Take me home where I am in control. Not afraid. Not vulnerable.

vi. Eustace was never in control. It took becoming a dragon - the natural culmination of all the entitlement and cruelty that lived within him - to finally make that clear.

vii. He was wrapped in tough, scaly hide when the Lion came by moonlight. Eustace was a dragon, but if he still couldn't reckon with knights, what chance did he have against a lion?

viii. The lion's claws were sharper than his. They were sharper than anything else in the world.

ix. When those claws tore into his dragon hide, Eustace thought he would die. Perhaps, in a way, he did.

x. Claws that sharp should not have been capable of such dexterity or care. Yet they found their mark like scalpel blades in a surgeon's hands; not like the crude things that hung off of Eustace'a wretched dragon-limbs.

xi. He could feel them tearing through the scales. The tough dragon hide parted like butter. The lion's claws dug deeper, through tissue and muscle and the contorted cage of his ribs. They found his heart, and struck.

xii. After that, there was a pulling sensation. Eustace should have been dead, but his heart was beating, even impaled as it was with the lion's claws. Slowly, with an agonizing gentleness, the lion drew the boy's heart out of the gnarled dragon skin.

xiii. The body that came with it was soft and vulnerable and naked. How could he pretend at meanness now, with his armor so thoroughly destroyed? It would rend him to pieces.

xiv. Oh, thought Eustace. Was I ever anything else? Or have I always been this soft and naked?

xv. Yet the lion did not leave Eustace to his nakedness. He dressed him in soft clothes before returning him to camp.

[arolegos]

innate instinct to draw him when i have a blank canvas

[attleboy]

okay you guys get another little treat today!! i would've just saved it for a doodle dump but if i did it wouldn't be relevant anymore... :P

biblically accurate ragatha valentine a la gooseworx last year... i was bummed i'd probably never get a ragatha one but then i remembered i could literally just make one myself!! so i did!!! however i also remembered i'm not funny and couldn't think of a good caption so i played it straight... sorry if you wanted a silly joke i got nothing

here's a blank one and an alt with a concerned expression in case someone smarter than me wants to take a crack at a funny haha caption

[motherfuckingmaneater]

Book Bellatrix is (part one):

Very tall. Taller than all three of the trio according to Harry when Hermione uses polyjuice to turn into her.

Quick. She’s able to stun four snatchers at once even when they’re in an uproar against her. They all ‘fell where they stood’ suggesting they didn’t even have time to stop her. Greyback is also restricted before he can even try to stop her and bound and kneeling at her feet.

Still very attractive after Azkaban again according to Harry despite that she makes his stomach lurch every time he looks at her.

Has ‘very long rippling black hair’ that’s not curly. It’s still rippling but now it’s become slightly coarse rather than silken and shiny like it was before Azkaban.

Bloodthirstier. She interrogates Griphook and when she’s satisfied with his answer she casually flicks her wand to cut him deep in the face then doesn’t even look back at him as he falls to his knees and screams in agony.

Thin. Not gaunt looking like she was right after her release from Azkaban but that’s part of why she’s so intimidating. She’s tall and thin.

Violent. She hit Ron across the face (just to get him to shut up) so hard his mouth was filled with blood and the sound was so loud it echoed around the room. She’s so violent it seems second nature.

Low (almost sultry) and disdainful in her baritone / voice. I always read her lines in Angelina’s Maleficent voice.

Not thin lipped! Just puts her lips into a line or purses her lips from time to time.

Feared and revered even amongst the goblins of gringots who ‘do not get involved in wizarding issues’.

Has an outright ‘malevolent aura’. So much so she’s never questioned or affronted. All along Diagon alley people were quickly stealing away from her to hide, too terrified of her to stick around.

Known to be closest to Voldemort even in public and non-pureblood circles.

Terrifying. She’s described as ‘frightening, mad’ when she’s screaming orders — so much so even her own sister who had been reluctant to do as she wants does so anyway. Even Fenrir Greyback is scared of her. When she finally releases him he ‘appeared too weary to approach her’ and would rather ‘prowl behind an armchair’ than get too close to Bellatrix.

Physically strong. Certainly strong enough to drag Hermione by her hair into the middle of the room. Strong enough to throw off Lucius’ attempt to grasp her and capture him herself in her grasp.

Ruthless. ‘If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next. Blood traitor is next to mudblood in my book.’ Something she tells Ron after she’s hit him. She’s also incredibly calm when she’s being violent or hurting people. She doesn’t think twice on it.

A natural leader. She takes charge in most situations. She gives orders easily and she doesn’t care who she’s giving them to. She tells Draco to ‘move this scum outside. If you haven’t got the guts to finish them then leave them in the courtyard for me.’ When indicating to the snatchers she left unconscious.

[goth1c-pinki3-pi3]

keith learnt from an early age that being angry got attention. it was easy to ignore a calm kid who was lightly tapping you and asking for attention, but it was much harder when the yells of a kid were like the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

of course keith learnt very early on that yelling and being angry was a form of sure way of getting his foster families attention.

he didnt learn that not all attention was good, later on. after his fifth, he started making a tally on how different families reacted to anger. or, any emotion. really. he treated it like it was a study. anything, so make sure he didnt get attached.

then shiro. shiro didnt react. well, he did. but not like how keith was told adults reacted. sure shiro was maybe 8 or 9 maybe years older total, but he was an adult. and keith wasnt.

but shiro was fine with his anger. was fine with his emotions. was fine with keith. keith started to feel at home. i mean, who wouldnt.

Meet the Kerberos accident. The home wrecker.

[sabo-torao]

Small disclaimer before you head in: this whole post will be referencing the TCB translation. I know VIZ handled the exchange I'm discussing differently, but I couldn't find anyone who talked about the original version and as a result I don't really know who is closer to the original meaning. In any case, the "analysis" should still stand. Whether Dragon was commenting Sabo's firmness or admiring his resolution, Sabo's still putting on a mask, and that's the point I'm trying to break down. Enjoy!

This very specific interaction between Dragon and Sabo in chapter 1083 has always stuck out to me.

"My, you really are unshakeable."

which is an appropriate response to what Sabo said, of course. What kind of sensitive person reacts that way to the death of an innocent, right?

Even so, I can't help but compare the thing Sabo said to his actual, genuine reaction to King Kobra's death.

He's devastated.

Sabo brokenly screams Kobra's name, and his expression is one of full despair; he never thought about killing Kobra, let alone letting him die. On the contrary, he actively tried to save him.

Kobra told him to just let him go, that he was dead weight and he shouldn't be concerned about him, but Sabo straight up refused. In fact, Kobra's actions read way more as a sacrifice than an inevitable death; the king let himself die, knowing that this way Sabo could flee and reach Vivi and Luffy safely.

On the Lulusian ship, we see Sabo think about Kobra's last words to him and actively trying not to cry (and failing).

That's not an unshakable man. He's suffering, he's grieving. He realizes he failed his very own mission of saving the king and lets the meaning behind Kobra's actions and words sink in.

It really puts his former reaction into perspective.

Sabo's firmness, seriousness and coldness in front of Dragon and Ivankov are nothing but a façade. He acknowledges that what he's about to say might come off as harsh, and that, even if he does feel sorry for Kobra, the tragedy doesn't weigh him down thanks to the results it brought, but it all sounds like he's reassuring himself more than actually showing his indifference.

Hell, he even drinks his glass of wine right after having said that "he doesn't really care". How can anyone take his words seriously?

And we've been knowing Sabo is inclined to do this sort of thing since Dressrosa; he acted all cool and composed in front of Luffy but the second Koala called him on the Den Den Mushi he was weeping, having a hard time believing that his little brother didn't punch him or hate him for being alive all along. He even denied he was crying!

All because Sabo hates being seen as vulnerable, especially in front of the people he thinks he has to be strong for (Luffy, Dragon, etc). It's something I think goes back to how his parents treated him, since they scolded him for, y'know, having emotions and being a normal kid in need of love, but i digress.

I once saw someone describing Sabo as a very cold person in comparison to his brothers, even going as far as to say that Sabo doesn't care if people die if it means achieving the Revolutionary Army's goals (using this very interaction as proof), which couldn't be further away from the truth.

Bonney even says outright that it's weird seeing a "radical revolutionary" act so friendly when Sabo helps her out. Why would he do this if all he ever did was for "The Cause"?

Yes, Sabo is ruthless, rude, violent at times, and his friendly demeanor could be seen as a little more volatile than that of his brothers', but he's not heartless. He's not a "meanings to an end" guy, he proves it time and time and time again, and it's disheartening seeing people label him as such.

Sabo is kind. He may not be as warm as Ace and Luffy, but he is fundamentally a good person. A generous, kind, caring, sensitive person.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it.

[myokk]

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck whenever he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Some of the punishments are manifested in curses he inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

(an excerpt from an Ominis POV WIP I have been working on FOREVER & writer’s block is Tormenting me😔🙏)

[diyasgarden]

betting on losing dogs cats

a story of a stray (patrick zweig) and a stray (kitten)

When Patrick finds it, he thinks the cat is dead. 

It takes him a moment to even recognize what it is, first assuming the little dark speck under the streetlight is just some unfortunate roadkill. A racoon or skunk. Maybe even an overgrown rat. The patch of grass it lays on is close enough to the narrow parking lot that all it would take is one hasty driver to swerve onto the curb and leave it for dead. It’s only when he pushes himself off the wall of the roadside shop and towards the light can he make out its little paws and upturned ears. 

It’s a bit odd for a cat to be out here in the first place. Far out on the interstate and away from any city. A place between places, but not a destination itself. He himself only stopped here for the pack of Marlboro Reds now in his back pocket. If he believed in a higher power, he’d take the dead cat as a sign to quit smoking. He opts for another drag instead. 

It’s on its side with its paws outstretched and eyes closed, the street light forming a warm halo around its body. Its fur is simultaneously scruffy and groomed in a way that makes it unclear if the cat is a stray or not. Although Patrick has a hard time imagining anything laying on the ground like this is loved in any capacity. Maybe it had owners it slipped away from. Or owners who let it go. There isn’t any blood either, so he can’t even tell if it’s roadkill. From its position to its stillness, it all feels peaceful. A hazy scene which looks less like a dead cat and more of an artist's rendition of one. 

He pulls the cigarette from his lips and languidly exhales. Without his permission, his legs bend down to stroke the cat’s sable fur. His hand tepidly extends and just as he is about to indulge his impulse, the creak of the store door’s hinge snaps him out of the trance.

His eyes flicker to the couple stepping out. While they look his age they sport smiles that give them a sprightly joy he now lacks. His expression turns sheepish as he remains squatted, arm out. They’re too engrossed in their own conversation to even notice Patrick. Their voices blend with the noises on the road and his gaze trails them back to their car, before he pushes himself up. Eyes drifting back down to the cat. 

He lifts the cigarette to his lips and looks to the side, away from the Carvaggio of a corpse. His eyes settle on the interstate and the cars who zoom by. His next challenger is two states over. If he is lucky, it will be another five hours on the road (it’ll take him seven). Yeah, you should get back to your car.

He drops the cigarette to the ground, allowing himself one last look at the cat as he grinds the cigarette butt into the pavement. This time he sees its paw twitch.

The cat’s nose sluggishly presses against his thumb and its whiskers brush against a callus on his hand. A soft, ticklish sensation Patrick would enjoy more if it wasn’t for the dull drone of the fan above him. His head tilts up to watch its jagged movement, expecting it to fall down on him any second. 

The low walls have a grimy yellow hue and if he squints he can make out the faint outline of cracks. His nose wrinkles at the stale wet-dog smell — which really should be reported on Google reviews. He takes it all in and is hit with a sense of deranged nostalgia for the crappy motel rooms he’s stayed in. The type of place you could fleetingly carve a home in, if you blurred around the edges. There is a somber appreciation at the fact that this shelter is the only one open at this hour. That even now, this is the sort of place to find him. 

He looks at the elderly woman behind the front desk, the only other person here. Her eyebrows droop to her eyes, which flick every few seconds to the clock overhead, but never to him. Her nose is buried into one of those cheap novels sold in the check-out aisles of grocery stores. A book not nearly compelling enough for the comical way she clings to it, but admittedly an astute way to ignore his presence. 

He lets out a sharp exhale and parts his lips to speak, but is cut short by the feeling of velvety fur shifting in his hands. His eyes dip down once more to the little thing, tracing its frail and dainty shape. It's too small to be anymore than a few weeks old. A kitten.

It sticks out its tongue and his finger instinctively moves to feel its sandpaper-like texture. Has he ever held a kitten before? He doubts he has ever been trusted to hold anything this young in his life. Does he even know anyone who had a kitten? 

No.

He knew someone with cats though. 

The corners of his lip involuntarily twitch upwards as he remembers a tabby who would crawl up onto his lap whenever he was around. 

“I don’t get why he likes you so much,” Art told him once, as if Patrick knew why Grandma Donaldson’s cat preferred him. The blonde ran a finger over the red scratch to the left against his pale skin, the little orange beast’s favorite scratching post. 

“Well he has good taste,” Patrick quipped back in response with a lopsided smirk, earning a laugh from the blonde. Or was it a scoff? The corners of his lip dip down once more, eyebrows knotting as he tries to recall.

It had to be one of the two. 

Could it have been both? 

What was even the name of the cat? Something with an S. Sebastian? 

Fuck this.

Not like any of it matters anyway. 

Art’s grandmother is dead. 

The cat probably is too. 

None of this matters. 

He feels the kitten’s tongue scratch his thumb once more, and his attention is brought back to the creature in his hands. Its amber eyes flutter open for a second before shutting again. It faithfully repeats this motion and Patrick is overwhelmed with the sense it is stuck between life and death. Purgatory? Not quite. More like it hasn’t decided if it wants to remain in this life or move on to the next. To live or to die.

He wants to hit himself for his next thought. 

You’d be better off dead. 

“Well, definitely a stray,” are the first things the woman says when she finally acknowledges his presence. His frown deepens into a grimace, but is quickly washed away with a more neutral expression. If she notices, she says nothing. The woman’s finger runs back and forth over the kitten’s delicate spine, as Patrick tentatively places it on the treen desk in front of her. . 

“So you’ll take it?”

The woman’s finger abruptly stops the moment the words leave his lips, just watching the little creature roll around. The ragged hum of the fan turns oppressive as he waits for her to speak, but she only turns her head up to him instead. She sports a frown which is equal parts pitiful and honest, her eyes piercing into his with little wrinkles that imitate her lips.  

“Well in cases like this…” she starts in a tentative voice usually reserved for children, but her voice fades into the background. He doesn’t catch anything after that, his focus shifting to the bile forming in his throat. 

An acutely sadistic part of him wants to laugh at himself. Mock the asinine belief that he could save this kitten. What did he expect? That this shit show of a shelter would magically nurse this dying creature to life? It’s hilarious to him now. Another joke with him at the punchline. 

The woman continues on about sedation and tranquilizers, but it remains a distant murmur, eyes drifting down to the kitten. He watches it open its mouth and lets out a noise so soft, he may as well have imagined it. 

Maybe he did. 

He probably did. 

Not that it matters. 

For Patrick, it’s the only sound in the room. 

You did the right thing.

You did the right thing. 

You did the right thing. 

You did the right thing.

You did the right thing. 

This is what he tells himself as he hits 80 on the interstate. He holds his foot steady on the accelerator, eyes glued to the endless highway in front of him. After the day he’s had, what’s a bit of speeding? The whole kitten debacle was an hour long detour, and now he doubts he’ll even make it to the tournament in time. Not that it would stop him from trying. Why else would he be speeding? It’s all justified. 

There's a slight disapproving trill, and from the corner of his eye he shoots a look at the kitten now in his passenger seat. It sleepily raises its head to meet his gaze, the only part of its body peeking out from the worn, gray shirt he’s wrapped it in.

It purrs once more. 

“Okay sure, I’ll slow down” 

(He doesn’t)

author’s note: finally explored a concept that has been lingering in my head since i wrote these cat headcanons. this fic is different than anything else i’ve shared, so please share your thoughts! shout out to @pparacxosm for pulling me out of fanfic writer retirement !! and also shoutout to sebastian. realest cat out there!! i love you and your owner @apatheticrater !!

art credit: i’m not sure who drew the smoking cat itself, but i made the yellow background-double cat graphic. if you know who the artist, let me know so I can credit them :)

[lemm-moxx]

hi to you too?🤨

[littlemoondarlingarts]

Did an artstyle study of the gorgeous art of @iliothermia and I genuinely learned alot so I'm very thankful that he gave me permission to do this 🙏🏻🙏🏻

As usual, rambles and process pics under the cut, be warned that I talk alot because this drawing was a true labor of love both for his art and Rouge

I wanted to use elements from his art but at the same time i know how deeply personal his art is to his own life and struggles and culture so i tried to be as respectful as possible (and if I failed at that please tell me I have no problem in deleting this) and tried to minimize my use of direct elements from his art to keep it to the skull which was heavily inspired by a drawing he has done, the waves which are such a beautiful staple of his art that I just couldn't not put it and the use of candles and small floral patterns and the style of the mold, but I tried to keep the rest to things that are symbolic to the character.

While he may have restraint to not explain everything, I'm not famous for that lol, so I will be explaining the symbolism behind my choices.

Part 1: the symbolism:

The red rose is Rouge's flower and it is heavily associated with him. The meaning of it being romantic desire and passion mixed with the thorns of it perfectly sum up his position as a beautiful black widow.

Voyeurism is a big part of this drawing and it is first noticed with the eyes motif on the roses' leaves, this symbolises his response to his trauma which left him feeling like an unwanted pervert on his own self. I can talk about this aspect of his story for hours but I'll spare you lol.

The X-ray cutouts are his complicated relationship with his own body and death, it is a thing that is constantly on his mind as he suffers from suicidal thoughts but at the same time he is always running away from it in fear, but he knows that eventually, he will have to stop running.

The candles melting represent him being only wanted when he is useful, when he is giving parts of himself up for others to use and abuse, when he is lighting their lives by slowly draining his own.

The piano is one of the rare things that bring him happiness and peace, but he needs to be heavily dissociated to be able to enjoy it which is represented by the hands being disconnected from the rest of the drawing and just floating in their own reality.

The snake represents two things, one is him being venomous to those around him, the mistakes he's made, the promises he's broken, the pain he's caused etc. But it also represents those who slowly wrap themselves around him in a warm embrace, presenting themselves as a saviour in his most dire times only to end up being the ones who will hurt him the most.

The book is about his obsession with keeping track of everything and of studying people, accidentally turning himself into an unwanted voyeur on their lives to the point where he has written the life stories of many people who would never want to be remembered through his eyes in his little books.

The butterflies are him, both in the way they are seen as "the good insects" and the beautiful delicate ones despite the fact that they eat flesh sometimes, it is also related to the way his simple presence for a few minutes in someone's life can create a whirlwind of change that will leave it unrecognizable, or he can simply be another body in their bed.

The hair turning into waves is meant to reflect the way he is always drowning in his own thoughts, a hand crafted constant state of misery.

The beta fish are some of the most beautiful and colourful fish out there, yet they are seen as cheap and easy first pets, leading to them being neglected and given environments that are too small and crammed, making their beautifully slow death the only thing they can offer to their owner. I don't think I need to explain more..

The skull is probably someone he's loved, or someone he's killed, or both.

The heart is his, it is rotten and covered in mold, any love he offers is tainted by his inability to heal and it is spreading to infect every aspect of his life.

Part 2: the inspirations:

The roses are a homage to the way Rachamim always places flowers in his art, either in the background or as a focal point of the illustration, most of the flowers he uses are cultural in nature, so I opted to not reuse any of them and changed it to a flower related to my oc.

Eyes are a repeated theme in his art, whether it be angel eyes, the evil eye or anything else, and as you can tell both of these are cultural and religious and while the evil eye exists in my culture, it does not in my oc's so I didn't use it. Instead I opted to pay homage to one of his beautiful merman drawings in which he used the plants to make an eye-like shape that stares at the viewer.

I thought I was being real smart in turning the hair into waves but yesterday I saw an illustration where he did the same so rip to me thinking i was being original lol.

The snake and butterflies are my way of replicating his use of animals while trying to not directly copy any animals that have a connection to himself or his culture/religion.

The beta fish is just to reference the ever present fishies in his art. I know he uses them because they represent friendship for him and they are the only animals safe from the evil eye (thanks for the fun fact) so I uh... I don't really know if this was disrespectful or not to be honest but I tried to use a different type of fish, idk this might still be slightly problematic and again I'm always ready to delete this if it makes anyone uncomfortable.

The waves are a direct copy of how he draws the gorgeous waves in his art, another case of something I fear may be crossing the line because the waves are drawn in the style of cultural jewelry 😭

The tiny flowers are an obvious reference to his own tiny flowers that decorate his art and characters.

The skull with the candles is heavily inspired by a specific drawing of his.

The cutouts are my way of paying my respects to my absolute favourite piece of art he's done without directly copying its concept because as far as I can tell, it is a very personal and emotional piece.

The mold style is a reference to his mold man (I forgot his name I'm sorry).

And the candles are another repeated motif in his art as well as the pillars and the pant style.

And ouf I sure do talk alot don't I? I just really love the amount of things I was able to cram into this piece and I haven't even mentioned everything😭😭 I will NOT be doing this again because I'm simply not as patient as he is and as proud as I am of the result, this was torture. I hope I didn't disrespect him, his art or his culture and I genuinely tried my best to be as respectful as possible but I might have some blind spots due to our experiences being so vastly different so again, please don't hesitate to inform me if you want this deleted!