#part of me wants to just post my sketchbook drawings like this from now on

[keenadraws]

Anyways... omg Funtime Foxy Fnaf I loved your work in Ultimate Custom Night... blows a kiss

[wackywatchdotcom]

ive posted so much every single day on this blog for weeks now i feel weird having barely posted today . ive been busy but uhhh heres a random image i never posted from my tadc art folder?

[ha-rinrin]

First I want to say that I really love and enjoy your writing and take all the time you need :)

Second I would like to request a jinx x artist reader who likes to sketch her a little too much (not a weird way just like just the reader do absentmindedly)

Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m sorry it took me this long to fulfill your request, but I finally finished it, so here it is 🤍 Also, guys, I’m sorry for disappearing for so long. I’ve had a lot on my plate, but I’ll try to post more often like before 😔

masterlist

Sketching Jinx

The workshop was dimly lit, a safe haven for Jinx’s chaotic energy. You sat cross-legged on the couch, sketchbook balanced on your knee, pencil in hand. Jinx was deep in her element, hunched over her workbench littered with wires, gears, and various mechanical parts. She was busy assembling a new invention, her tongue poking out slightly from the corner of her mouth in concentration.

You watched her—loose strands of blue hair escaping her braids, the way she pounded a hammer against a stubborn piece of metal. She didn’t notice you drawing her, and you preferred it that way. You liked capturing these candid moments of Jinx—her in-between states, before the chaos took over.

With each movement, she seemed more alive to you—vibrant, unpredictable, like a force of nature. You captured every detail: the smudges of oil on her fingers, the way she occasionally glanced up at the ceiling, clearly lost in thought. Your pencil moved smoothly across the paper, sketching her unfiltered essence.

“You drawing me again?”

You nodded, barely looking up from your work. “Yeah,” you answered, your voice soft but certain.

Jinx let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she continued to tinker. “It’s the third time today I catch you sketching me,” she commented, not bothering to hide her amusement. “And you don’t even let me see them.”

A playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you glanced up at her. “Guess I like keeping my favorite sketches a secret,” you teased.

Jinx paused, a smirk playing on her lips as she turned to face you, crossing her arms. “So now I’m your favorite thing to sketch, huh?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You chuckled softly, meeting her playful gaze. “Maybe,” you teased back, a hint of mischief in your voice.

Jinx stood up and stepped closer, clearly intent on convincing you to show her the drawings. “Come on, let me see them,” she insisted. “I’m your favorite subject, remember?”

You pretended to think about it, giving her a sly smile. “Hmm, I don’t know…” you teased, shaking your head. “What if I don’t want to share?”

Jinx’s smirk widened, and she reached out to tickle you gently on the side. “Come on, just one peek?” she urged, her voice a playful mix of frustration and laughter.

You held firm, shaking your head. “Nope, not showing them.”

Jinx’s expression shifted as she suddenly lifted you up from the couch and wrapped you in a tight hug, pulling you close against her while you return the hug, your sketchbook left on the couch. “Come on, just one little peek,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear.

You resisted, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not a chance,” you teased.

Jinx let out a soft huff and started planting kisses all over your face—on your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. “How many kisses do I need to give you until you show them to me?” she asked, her voice playful and warm.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “A lot,” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

Jinx’s smirk softened into a smile, and she began to kiss your cheeks more insistently, each one lingering longer than the last. “How about now?” she murmured against your skin, her breath warm.

You held out, a defiant sparkle in your eye. “Still not showing,” you teased back.

Jinx’s playful grin returned as she started to tickle you, fingers dancing over your sides. “How about now?” she repeated, her kisses turning into playful bites on your cheeks.

You laughed uncontrollably, trying to squirm away. “Okay, okay, you win!” you finally surrendered, grabbing the sketchbook from the couch and giving it to her. “But you owe me big time for this.”

Jinx’s eyes lit up with triumph, and she pulled the sketchbook from your hands, giving you one last peck on the lips before stepping back to examine your drawings. “Totally worth it,” she said with a satisfied grin, flipping through the pages. “These are amazing, you know that?”

Jinx flipped through the pages, her expression shifting from playful amusement to genuine amazement. She stopped on a page and held it out for you to see. “Did you… did you draw me while I was sleeping?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and wonder.

You peered over her shoulder at the sketch—Jinx, head resting on her arms, a soft smile on her lips as she slept peacefully amidst her mechanical work. The moment had been so fleeting, so candid, that you hadn’t even realized you’d captured it.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, you looked so peaceful,” you admitted softly. “Couldn’t resist.”

Jinx’s eyes softened as she studied the sketch. “This is… wow,” she breathed, running her fingers over the paper gently. “I didn’t even know you were watching.”

You shrugged, feeling a little bashful under her gaze. “I like capturing moments like these. They’re the real you, without all the chaos,” you explained, your voice low and sincere.

Jinx’s expression turned tender, and she stepped closer, placing the sketchbook back to you. “You really see me, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “Not just the crazy, but all of it—the quiet moments, too.”

You met her gaze, nodding. “Yeah, I do,” you replied softly. “That’s what makes you so… special to me.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Jinx’s lips, and she leaned in, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead. “Guess I’m glad you didn’t hide this one,” she said, her voice affectionate.

You shrugged, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Maybe I’m starting to trust you with these,” you admitted, your heart pounding a little faster than usual.

Jinx’s smile widened, and she leaned in even closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” she murmured against your skin. “I want to see more of them.”

You smiled back at Jinx, your heart swelling with affection. “I guess you’re worth the trust,” you replied softly, leaning into her embrace.

Jinx’s expression softened, and she pulled you into a warm, gentle hug. “I’m glad,” she whispered, her voice full of sincerity. “Because these moments, they mean everything to me.”

You snuggled into her embrace, feeling content and happy. “You’re my favorite thing to sketch,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But maybe now… I’m starting to like sharing them with you.”

Jinx squeezed you tighter, pressing her lips to the top of your head. “Good,” she murmured again, her voice thick with emotion. “I want to be a part of all your moments, even the quiet ones.”

With Jinx’s arms around you and the warmth of her embrace, everything felt just right. You knew that no matter what happened next, you’d always have these sweet, quiet moments with her to hold onto. And that was enough to make you happy, for now and forever.

[sabertoothwalrus]

I dunno if this is asking too much of your time/being obnoxious but, what sort of study/practice would you recommend for someone who wants to do comics professionally but can't go to college for it/is financially strapped?? Thank you for reading this!

well, considering I’m not going to school to do comics and have never done comics professionally, I definitely think it’s something you can teach yourself! I’ve thought about doing graphic novels, but haven’t done much research. I can share what general information I know.

The skills you’d use to make storyboards stronger are VERY transferrable to the ones that make comics stronger. It’s best to have a good sense of perspective, storytelling/pacing, visual clarity, action, etc.

Comics have a fun little quirk where you can really play with time in a way that storyboards can’t. In a storyboard, if two characters have their mouths open at the same time, the animator will assume they’re speaking at the same time. But in comics, you can have multiple moments in a singular panel, and time will “pass” as the reader’s eye moves across it.

There’s lots of different ways to arrange comics. The webtoons-style scroll comics are very popular right now, and they’re nice in the sense that you spend less time worrying about how an entire page is arranged, BUT it makes it harder if you ever decide to sell a physical version. Spending the extra time at the beginning to set up your formatting will save you trouble in the long run.

Also consider time. Making a comic can be a long term commitment. Figure out how frequently you can produce finished pages without burning out— daily? Three times a week? Once a week?— and calculate how long it’d take you to fill up a volume. Would it be your full time job, or would you be working on top of that? A lot of serialized comics can be a 10+ year commitment!!

There’s also publishing independently, or working for a studio. Indie comics will give you more freedom for what your story/art direction/deadlines will be, but comics are very oversaturated and hard to get readers looking at your work. A studio will help with that kind of thing, but depending where you go, you may be illustrating based on a concept someone else has written (which— that can be preferable for some people!).

But regardless, the best way to study comics is by reading comics! Pay attention to art styles you like (and if it has an entire team of assistants helping it look that way), pay attention to speech bubble arrangements, how value is used, how panels are shaped. And pay attention to when you’re confused too! You can learn from other artists’ mistakes.

and draw a lot. I started doing “comics” ~2016 by drawing all the panels on a page in my sketchbook, and then taking pictures of each part zoomed in with my phone, and then posting the panels as individual images. At some point that translated to me doing digital comics where I draw on one canvas, and make a new layer for each panel. I do this a lot still! And more recently I’ve been putting an effort into doing paneled comics. It’s not as hard as it used to be for me, but now I have almost 10 years of comic experience under my belt!! So keep drawing!!! Just do it a lot and you’ll get better

[sits-bound]

One year of fanbinding!

I keep thinking "I'm really new at this still" but I guess after a year, it's like, you don't have a puppy anymore, you have a dog. So now I'm in the dog phase of this hobby.

(I didn't make all of these, some were acquired in exchanges.)

In the past year, I have made around 54 books. (For the purposes of my sanity, I am not counting journals or sketchbooks, nor am I counting author/artist copies if the design was the same.)

54 books! In 52 weeks! That's basically a book a week!

Which binds are my favorites?

Ooh, that's hard. I tried to limit myself here, but these all are very special to me.

And I can't choose just one of these:

Honorable mention goes to this one, but I didn't design the typeset, so I can't take all the credit. But I do love the cover.

What's my favorite part of making books?

It's not surprising to me that typesetting is my favorite part. I designed a book for a local museum in 2007, and loved the process. Before that, I wanted to work in editorial design (I had a few jobs doing that in and after college, but that was in the olden days.)

I enjoy the part of physically creating the book too, but I find it a bit more frustrating. I'm not detail-oriented enough to make sure everything is perfect, and then I get frustrated when an endpaper is glued on slightly crookedly, or my text block isn't perfectly square. (Not that I have anyone to blame but myself!) That said, holding a completed book in my hands is the most satisfying feeling, after actually reading said book. I feel so smug when I'm reading a book I created.

I have a lot of imposter syndrome when it comes to the actual designing of covers. I know my strengths lie in manipulating existing content instead of creating it from scratch. So I need to stop comparing myself to other creators, and just do my best. We all have different styles, I tell myself.

What's next?

I'd like to learn how to sew endbands for once and for all. I have tried and given up in disgust so many times. I have watched so many videos and read many tutorials, and I just need someone to come to my house and show me in person.

I also would like to try to learn how to draw, a bit. I know I'll never be great at it, but I've also never tried to learn. I will be off work for a few months later this summer/fall, and I'd like to use that time taking some classes. Even if I could just draw designs to use on my covers, I'd be happy. I don't expect to be able to draw things or people.

I wanted to take up this hobby for a long time before I actually did it. I read through @armoredsuperheavy's guide like eighteen times before I worked up the courage to actually use it. So my advice to all of the people who tag my posts with "i wish i could do this" and "i want to do this"…do it!

[shrimpyjackal]

I KNOW YOU DONT LIKE HIM ANYMORE BUT PLEASE DRAW VILLIAN!PERI PLEASE GIVE US VILLIAN PERI FANS FOOD 🙏🙏

mkay i said i wont draw anything NEW but i think i can yap and show doodles/wips from my personal archive that i swore i will not post cause some doodles look like sh-

*OPENS THE SKETCHBOOK & DA COMPUTER*

(btw the second ask`s ref. is this post i think-)

but yea, h-he kinda deserves it-

but here i wanna cover mainly just the first 2 and part of "what coud`ve been if Shrimpy had consistent inspo"

Well, he DID try to frame his co-godparent, but Irep was kinda the expert in this so almost always found the way to escape whatever the periwinkle pal tried to pull.

wand & magic - Yes, his wand supposed to glow blue when granting wishes (until he got his ass beat after his shenanigans), and then slowly obtain more blue -Peri supposed to have a lil interraction with Cosmo, where he learns he needs to be a bit careful with his words

- After a while his blue-ish wand supposed to start act-out again. Irep`s too, starts to act weird, it still fulfills the purpose, but glowa yellow-orange

-Peris "investigation" on that supposed to lead him to the "... I need Ireps wand.Like...NOW" -But, this was a kids sleepover at Devs house. Peri decided its perfect, cause (at least in theory *weird wink*) Irep should be relaxed more. Peri dont pull anything weird if kids/parents are with `em

Funny thing abt Devs roomsince Dale doesnt give a shit abt his son- i added in Devs room "rooms" for Per& Irep. Doors were disguised as posters btw(It has its reasons trust me). I think i had the sketches , maybe if ill find i post em there, since their look wasn`t rly influenced by the au and CAN be looked with just anw in mind-

AHEM BACK ON TRACK -Peri supposed to ...succesfully steal it, but got a witness- Hazel. She got no idea why he was there, but...she saw him BEING there.

- oh yeah forget that last part -it does not related to anything

Do what you want with that info

[cochineal-leviat]

Island Moominvalley AU thingy/sketches from class

Heyo, I finally remembered posting these sketches I made in class two months ago. I made these when I was feeling horrible, and I took to my sketchbook during class to deal with what was happening in my life. My grandma had just landed in the hospital during the first-semester exam period, and oh boy, you bet I was distraught. She is doing much better now, by the way. Don't worry.

I honestly love how easy it is to remember how to draw Siffrin without a reference. It helps me draw without having to think.

(Btw, au ideas are the complete bottom of the post if you want to read about it!)

So, from the top, the chronological order I made the sketches.

As my first drawing, I was just sketching a little guy that wasn't supposed to be Siffrin yet. Halfway, it did become Siffrin, but I drew him with both eyes because I was going off on instinct. At the end of the sketch, I was really confused as to why Siff felt off until I started on the second drawing and realised they had an eyepatch! So, first sketch siff became pre-canon siff. His original hair colour is already well on its way of coming through. Compared to my recent comic, Siff, this is much closer to the Sadness Incident. (Maybe around the time the party meets Bonnie?)

Siffrin is squinting because he is trying to read something but the lack of depth makes it hard. They look a little angry but Siff is wholly unaware they are making that face. And since this is after the game events, they do not have their hat to hide their face behind.

I drew Snufkin right under simply because I remembered how similar Snufkin and Siffrin are in design, which is not a surprise since insertdisc5 said that in the later stages of designing Siff, there was a vast Snufkin trend going on tumblr. I didn't have any grayscale markers on me at the time so I created depth and greys by hatching. It's interesting how different the grayscale shades on Snufkin and Siffrin are since Siffrin is almost entirely in black and white, and Snufkin, when turned into black and white, is made out of grey shades.

On the right is an older Snufkin or an attempt at a design for an older Snufkin. Then, I remembered the ideas spooking in my head about an AU where Snufmin from Moomins were Siffrin's parents before the whole Island shebang happened. More about that later.

Different stages of life for Siffrin before the Island Incident. I always admire people who can design a character ageing and them looking different but still recognisable enough to be that character. So I took a crack at that, with the top being toddler Siff, the left kid Siff and the right teen Siff. Teen Siff took more influence from Loop. But that isn't really surprising if you have completely finished the game.

(The flower crown was made by Moomintroll)

A family portrait with baby Siff and two very proud fathers. (I forgot to colour it in இ௰இ.) Snufkin is much shorter than Moomintroll, but I realised I had drawn the heights wrong afterwards. The top of Snufkin's head usually meets the height of Moomin's chin.

Btw I did not come up with the Snufmin as Siffrin's parents' idea. I saw an author on AO3 who came up with it first, and I was really inspired by it. I can't really find the fic anymore. I think about it almost daily. (I am writing a fic about it, but it's getting so long, help. Why must school be so harsh? I just want to work on that and NPLH)

I'm not that sure about my design for Moomintroll yet, but I do know I want him to have a fun curly moustache (you can see a sketch I didn't ink all the way at the top of the post, and I like it, but it can have more features of his Moomin form in there. I should have drawn regular Moomin next to him for reference, but I forgot.)

AU rambling part

My rough concept for Island Mooiminvalley is that Moominvalley is not necessarily the entire island. The original northern country is a string of islands with diverse cultures, and Moominvalley was a part of that. (The capital could almost be considered its separate thing for how advanced their technology was)

It follows the canon of Moomins pretty closely (except that they are human) until Moomintroll and Snufkin get together in adulthood and have Siffrin. Snufkin is still a traveller, which is an inherent part of where he is from on the other part of the island. In contrast, Moominvalley is a homebody (except for some residents like Moominpapa.)

So Snufkin travels all over and comes home during Spring to spend time in Moominvalley and with his family. Moomintroll stays at home half the time but also works as a carpenter around the place (and makes sure no parks are created in Snufkin's absence). He wears his father's passed-down pouldrons as inheritance, as wearing a piece of your parents is tradition when they retire. The ribbon tying his hair is from Moominmama. (Moominpapa would hold onto his top hat too much to give it to Moomin. The pouldrons are from his military service. Although if he really served in the military of the Island or if it was a trinket from his travels is unknown)

Siffrin grows up being inspired by Snufkin and wants to be like him when they grow up. Curious and excited about exploring the world. Moomintroll was against this at first (if you don't know Moomins/Moominvalley, it's because Moomintroll has abandonment issues and yearns a lot for Snufkin to return. Like a whole damn lot. Siffrin really takes after Moomintroll in that regard, XD (heh, not that funny,. More sad with what happens in game)

Eventually, he relents, and as a rite of passage, Siffrin is sent off by his parents and the entirety of the valley on their first voyage. (Something about letting your hair grow long when you stay somewhere long and cutting it when you wander again in Snufkin's culture, so Siffrin cuts their hair short and gives it to fathers to remember them by. So freshly wiped memory Siff has short hair)

In the middle of the ocean on their way to Vanguard, the tragedy of the Island struck, and they washed ashore, unable to remember their entire lives. Only a few belongings remained as the waves swallowed up most of them.

What happened to the Island? What happened to Moominvaley? To Siff's forgotten parents? I am keeping that for my fic ^_^

Are you guys interested in this au? Please tell me if you are.

[gaybatmanenthusiast]

heeey, can i req arthur morgan

THE ARTIST, AND THE OUTLAW (oneshot)

(ARTHUR MORGAN X GN! READER)

⋆★ word count : 1,112

⋆★ warnings : n/a

⋆★ summary : arthur meets the reader sketching the landscape, intrigued by their talent and he approaches them, asking for a portrait of someone important to him.

⋆★ extra : wrote this with a friend in mind once again, praying shes the one that requested this orrr someone has been waiting for their request for a hot minute …

Arthur hadn’t expected to see anyone out here, let alone someone so intently focused on sketching the open plains. He paused, just watching for a moment, leaning against his horse as the sun dipped low over the distant hills, casting warm light across the land and across the lone figure on the ledge.

The artist—a stranger whose name he didn’t know—hadn’t noticed him yet. They were too absorbed in capturing the scene before them, their hand working swiftly over a sketchbook balanced on their knee. From his distance, Arthur could barely make out their features, but he didn’t need to. It was the energy in their movements, the quiet reverence in how they observed the landscape, that held his attention.

Finally, he cleared his throat and took a few steps closer, boots scuffing over the dry earth. “Hope I ain’t interruptin’ anything important,” he called, voice rough but softened by curiosity.

They looked up, blinking in surprise, though they didn’t seem startled. Instead, they offered a slight smile, as if strangers showing up in the middle of nowhere was just part of the day. “Not interrupting. Just trying to get the light right,” they replied, glancing back at the scene before them with a quiet determination.

Arthur nodded, a little more intrigued. “S’pose you come out here often?”

“Anywhere I can find something worth sketching,” they replied, holding up the book as if it answered everything. “There’s just… too much beauty out here to let it pass by unrecorded.”

Arthur studied their sketch from a distance. Though it was unfinished, he could already see the skill behind it—the way they captured shadows and the contours of the land with a precision that felt both raw and alive. The sight stirred something in him, an odd mixture of nostalgia and longing he hadn’t expected.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, nodding toward the book.

They hesitated only a moment, then passed it over. Arthur took it gently, scanning the pages. There were sketches of wildlife, mountain ranges, campfires, and even little moments—a flower caught in the breeze, a lone bird perched on a fence post. Each drawing held an attentiveness that felt almost sacred.

“You got a way with things,” he murmured, still focused on the pages. “Ain’t many folks out here would even notice half of what you put down.”

They shrugged, though there was a flicker of pride in their eyes. “Guess I like to see the world for what it is, not just what people want it to be.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the weight of their words settle in his mind. For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, he by his horse, and they back to their sketching. Arthur watched, noting the way they glanced up every now and then, catching little details with an intensity he envied. It was as if they saw the world through a different lens, one that softened the rough edges he was so used to.

After a while, he found himself speaking up again. “You, uh… ever think about doin’ a portrait? You got the skill for it.”

They glanced over, brow raised in mild curiosity. “I’ve done a few, but it depends on the person.” Their eyes lingered on him, considering. “Why? Got someone in mind?”

Arthur shifted, uncertain for a moment. “Yeah… my ma, actually. She’s been gone a long time, but… you got a way of makin’ things feel alive.” He almost regretted the admission, but the words had come unbidden.

The artist’s expression softened, a gentle understanding in their gaze. “I’d be honoured,” they said quietly. “Tell me about her.”

He hesitated, caught off-guard by the tenderness in their tone. But as the words spilled out, he found himself recounting little things he hadn’t thought of in years—the sound of his mother’s laugh, the kindness in her eyes, the way she’d held him close when he was small and scared. The artist listened, not interrupting, letting him speak in his own time. And when he was finished, they simply nodded, already starting to sketch.

Over the following days, Arthur returned to the spot by the ledge, finding them there nearly every afternoon, waiting patiently with sketchbook in hand. With each meeting, they asked small questions, drawing more stories from him, little by little. He spoke about his ma, then his old life before the gang, and even the first time he’d ridden a horse on his own. Each story felt like an offering, as if he were putting pieces of himself down on paper through their hands.

As he spoke, he started asking about their life, too—where they’d come from, what had brought them to this place. They answered with quiet honesty, sharing tales of a life spent moving from place to place, driven not by restlessness but by a love for the land and the people within it. They talked about the way different skies looked at dawn, about quiet moments in bustling towns, about the simple peace that came from just sitting under an open sky.

Arthur began to see the world differently through them. The mountains seemed taller, the rivers gentler, and even the dusty roads they walked on felt more alive. For the first time, he wondered if there might be more to his own story than just the guns and blood he’d left in his wake.

One evening, as they were finishing up the day’s work, they turned to him, a small, contemplative smile on their lips. “Arthur… you ever think about what you’ll leave behind?”

He blinked, surprised. “Ain’t never thought much of it.”

“Well,” they said softly, looking down at the nearly completed portrait. “Even outlaws deserve to be remembered for more than just the dust they kick up.”

Their words struck a chord, one he hadn’t expected to feel. There was an ache in his chest, something that felt like hope, and it unsettled him. But as he looked at them, at the quiet sincerity in their gaze, he felt that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth holding onto.

They reached out, a light touch on his hand, fingers brushing his calloused knuckles. The gesture was simple, yet it felt electric, a silent promise that there was more to life than he’d known. He held their gaze, feeling the faint stirrings of something unfamiliar, something that felt like warmth and light all at once.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough, barely audible. And in the quiet that followed, they just smiled, a hint of something fond and knowing in their expression—a look that told him they saw him, the real him, and they still cared.

[artsyivy]

So, I’m making my own pj masks au and I have already like a summary of the au so I decided to make some character design/fan art because I can 🐀✨ (I made drawings in my sketchbook🤓)

This au is basiclly like the original show but if instead of the pj getting their powers since they were little they got them in their teen years, I’m so original I know 😛, (It's sarcasm but just let me be happy 🐒).

I don’t want to explain the au right now because I’m tierd and because it’s still is progress but anyway, here I have the first character design of my au and i decided to start with one of my favorite characters… Octobella 🗣️🗣️🗣️ (Just for u to know, my artstyle is a bit messy 🥹)

So this is like her octopus from or how ever u want to call it. I was going for like something similar to her original design and gave her some more jewelry because queen loves crystals!!! Love my sea witch 🐙✨

Next is her human form??? I’m still figuring things out…

Yes I have her headcanons because it would make my life easier. Well, Her name is Isabella because when I was doing reaserch o found out that “Bella” means “beautiful” or something like that and I found it quite fitting for her. Her last name is Havström because I found out that It’s a swedish surname that means “sea ​​current” (please correct me if I’m wrong because I’m not familiar with it) She is swede because aperantly sea witches are very popular in Norse mythology. In the au, Bella comes frome a large line of powerfull sea witches and they are known for their potions and crystals, she can change her appearance at will between her “human form” and octopus form. In short, she is interested in the pj masks because they get their powers from a crystal and she LOVES crystals.

I made her a short queen in her senior year of high school, (she is older that the pj masks since they are in their junior year). Queen dyies her hair blond 👀.

In my au, Bella is part of a really wealthy family from Sweden but moved to the states arround middle school because her family’s business started growing very well in the states ,(yes, my au is based in the states even though the pj masks is from france but oh well). I imagine that she meet Greg before the other pj masks, they were neighbors in a quite a wealthy neighborhood, Greg went to the same middle school as Amaya and Connor but Bella’s parents and his parents were friends and they saw each other very often. At one point, Bella and Greg where good friends but when Greg started high school, Bella changed schools to go to the same school as Greg and she made his life miserable when she was a sophomore and he was a freshmen, but when she was in her junior year she went to study abroad and greg was in peace (at least until she came back). There is gonna be an episode arround season 2 that shows when Bella comes back from studying abroad (I want to make her apear untill season 2 so this is like spoiler and I’m sorry 😔, and yes, I’m planning the au as if it was a series ☝️🤓).

And to finish this, u might already have noticed that Dylan (Armadylan) is in the corner with Bella, so in a part of the au they are like a couple but like a toxic kind of one because Dylan genuinely likes Bella but she only uses him, I’m planning that she wants to use him to do some kind of spell that would put Dylan in danger but I can’t say much now ,I don’t want to give a lot of detail because this post is already really long and I’m too tired but I promise that in a future post I will explain about it !!!

This post only had like the main idea of what I want to do with Octobella in the au but in future posts I’ll go with much more detail 😨.

Omg, if ur still here, Tysm!! and I hope u liked it !!!

Why did I made it so long 😭😭😭

🐀✨

Here is the full picture if u were wondering. ✨

[mcromwell]

Four years ago, I installed TikTok and began making art videos to promote my art business. I steadily got better at making videos, had a few big hits, grew my follower count to 75k (my largest on any social platform ever, to this day) and even qualified for the app's creator program, which netted me a fair chunk of change for a few months. Right when I started considering it an integral part of my business, engagement started tanking. Despite my follower count and trying to keep up with trends and editing techniques designed to retain viewers, my videos went from getting about 10k views to less than a thousand--that's not even 10% of my follower-count. The app slowly stopped recommending my videos to anyone, followers or on the FYP. For months. And then after TikTok was voted to be banned in the US, it got even worse, and the CEO even stated in his video addressing the ban that they would "not be able to pay creators as much due to spending more money on legal fees to challenge the vote". At that time I was grimly reminded of what I already knew about social media sites: they aren't your friend and they don't care about you. They'll give you something "nice" (a chance at monetization and virality) with the hope that you'll keep making content for their content farm, and when your videos don't get views, the gambling mindset of "maybe next video will do well" or "the algorithm is just weird right now, maybe it will improve if I just keep going" will keep you addicted.

I finally hit a wall. I can't waste my time. I have very little time to achieve what I want to due to my health. So making videos that get 300 views and no comments is definitely a waste of my time. I used to say good things about the algorithm, how it shows you niche things instead of only just the popular stuff, but clearly that isn't the case. My videos posted elsewhere get tons more interactions and engagement. I am stepping back from TikTok for a while; I even uninstalled it. The endless scrolling is not good for me, either.

All that to say: art videos will be less frequent. The only places I'd be making them for is Instagram and YouTube, and I think if I'm going to pick one to focus on, it'll be Youtube. Subscribe to my channel here, where I am slowly uploading my entire TikTok catalogue of hundreds of art videos.

TikTok did great things for me when it worked. It was really exciting for me to hear folks at in-person events say stuff like, "Oh, I saw a video of this painting!" "Your process is so fun to watch!" I won't forget the support everyone gave me. Thank you.

I hope to use this extra time to focus on my practice more. I want to lean into sketchbook bundle downloads, Patreon, and just simply drawing more! Exploring more! We'll all benefit from that. So here's to newer, healthier directions.

💖 M

[sweetmariihs2]

My restyle for Onceler and Lana (from the little AU I made)

I wish I could just show the pics without having to edit them to look more saturated and contrasted. One of the cons of doing traditional art.

the storys versions:

they're separate drawings and they're in two different pages but they're kinda like one thing at the same time.

They're not really redesigns, maybe just Lana a bit, the thing is that I didn't know how to draw the Onceler or Lana yet and they looked weird in my drawings from last year. I started working on this story last year and I was still learning how to draw the Onceler, so the drawings I made of him look like I'm not as experienced in art than I actually am. If I have like, 6 drawings of The Onceler/lorax universe it will be too much. These are the ONLY Onceler drawings that I have. I think you can see which one was done first (ugliest) and which one was done last (prettiest). I took around one month to finish each one of these two pages because I took so long to draw, except for the new ones that were made recently in two different days.

Sometimes I inspire myself in other artists to try to understand what works best for me (what is more pleasing to look at and understand). Seeing other Onceler arts for some time and applying my own view of him (and with my hyperfocus back), I decided to draw them again and make them look more like my own artstyle and how I see them. Adding the traits that better define them in my opinion. I also added more unique accessories and design stuff to Lana so that she'll look less like a basic character and more unique and adapted to her story, like the truffula fur jacket and the hat with a truffula tuff. She's an hypocrite because she criticizes the Onceler, but forgets about morality as long as she lives the luxury life, just like he does, like a fake moralist. I think that's called visual storytelling. Oh well!!

Here's a small Onceler gambling I made in the Onceler page. It's part of the story. I want to make more Lana and Onceler drawings in this page, it's a work in progress for now. I feel like I'm posting a wip :P but let's stop worrying too much about that stuff.

Lana and Onceler AU post that I'll edit soon

Link of my Instagram so that you can see my art. I'm slowly posting each sketchbook page at once so all the posted pages are old drawings, I'm drawing so much better today and you can see them in my insta highlights.

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Get Your Colors" - Warriors Concept Album fanfic

Woe! Fox and Rembrandt angst be upon ye!

Used this as my mind break from "Put Your Gloves Up" and now I'll get back to it. Part six of that will be out soon. Until then, enjoy!

Based on @alexihollis's post

----------

“I don’t get it,” said Fox as she leaned over Rembrandt’s shoulder.

Rembrandt paused, looking between the two oil pastel colors she held in her hands. “Don’t get what?” she asked.

“Why don’t you just get the sets?” Fox picked up a beginner’s box of pastels, a rainbow of simple colors, the ones children got when they were first learning to use them. Rembrandt, however, was not first learning to use them and did not need a kit. “Isn’t that cheaper? And you get all the colors.”

“They don’t have the colors I need.”

Fox grabbed a bigger box. “What about this one?”

“That one has too many colors. And it’s too expensive. Besides, I already have some of the colors I want so I’d rather just pick out the ones I don’t have by myself. I’m not paying for something I have at home.” 

“But how do you know what colors you need?”

“I have a plan.”

“But-”

“Fox, do you trust that I know what I’m doing or not?”

“I know you know what you’re doing!” Fox huffed. “I’m just curious. Wait, why do you need four different greens?”

“Because the project I’m working on is a collection of monochromes.”

“What’s a monochrome?”

Rembrandt sighed. She loved Fox, truly, but when the younger girl asked if she could tag along on a trip to the art store, she was not expecting to give a seminar on terms and techniques. “Monochromes are pictures that only use different shades of one color. Usually it’s black and white but I think that’s boring,” she explained.

“Oh. Okay. Can I go look at the sketchbooks?”

“Sure. I’ll come find you.”

It didn’t take Rembrandt much longer to pick out her colors. Trying to balance all of them in her hands, she made her way through the cramped, quiet store to the aisle with the sketchbooks. Fox was not there. Rembrandt cursed under her breath. She hated when she wandered off like this. Walking down each aisle, pausing to look longingly at the nice, expensive spray paints in a locked case, she finally found Fox in the back corner of the store flipping through a book. Fox looked up as Rembrandt came to stand beside her. 

“What did you find?” Rembrandt asked.

Fox showed her the cover. “It’s a guidebook to drawing comic book characters.” 

Rembrandt looked at the book. She looked up at Fox, her eyes intensely focused on the book, gently thumbing the edge of the page. Rembrandt smirked. “Do you want it?”

Fox looked up, eyes wide as her expression brightened. “Really?”

“How much is it?”

“Six dollars. We don’t have the money, do we?”

“Let me check.” She picked out roughly a quarter of the oil pastels in her hands and discreetly slipped them into the inside pocket of Ajax’s leather jacket that she’d borrowed for the day. It was so loose on her that no one would notice if she hid a whole spray paint can in the pocket, let alone a few small sticks. She put a finger to her lips and smiled. “Yeah, we have the money.” 

Fox broke out in a broad grin. Rembrandt made another shut up gesture, and Fox nodded and clutched the book to her chest. They paid for the art supplies and the book - minus the ones snuck into Rembrandt’s pocket - and headed home. Once they were a few blocks away, Fox leaned down and lowered her voice. 

“How many did you swipe?”

“Four or five.”

“Nice.” Fox gasped. “Oh, shit! I don’t have any paper to draw on!”

“I have an extra little sketchbook you can take.”

“Are you sure?” Fox asked with another big smile. 

“Yeah. It’s one I stole, anyway.” It actually wasn’t. She was planning on keeping it in her jacket so she could draw on the train without carrying her full sized sketchbook everywhere, but she could never say no to Fox when her face lit up like that. 

When they arrived back at the apartment, Ajax was lying on the couch watching some thriller TV show. Fox sat at the kitchen table with her book while Rembrandt stood behind the couch. Ajax sat up as Rembrandt leaned down to give her a quick kiss. “How was the art store?”

“It was good,” Rembrandt said. “Got the colors I need and Fox got a book on how to draw comic book characters.”

Ajax glanced at Fox, engrossed in the book, and sat up further to whisper to Rembrandt. “Do we have money for that?”

“I mopped a couple oil pastels and that made up for it.”

“You gotta stop doing that before you get caught.”

“And if I do, I will talk my way out of it.” 

“You’re dangerous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Ajax pulled Rembrandt close by her waist and peppered her face and neck with kisses. Rembrandt laughed, cupping Ajax’s face and planting a long, gentle kiss on her lips. 

From the kitchen, Fox called, “Get a room!”

-----

Cowgirl fidgeted on Cleon’s couch. Rembrandt had had her sitting there for close to an hour, and, shockingly, she was almost out of things to say. Sitting in the armchair across from her, Rembrandt barely noticed. When she really got to working on a drawing, she could work through the night without realizing until Ajax woke up and gave her shit for not sleeping again. 

Cowgirl groaned and threw her head back so Rembrandt would finally look up. “Girl, how long do I have to stay like this?” she whined. 

“I’m still blocking colors,” said Rembrandt. “Calm down, I’m almost finished. I just need to get a few more shapes in and then I can do the details on my own.”

“Can I at least see it?”

“Not yet. And stop moving your hat. You change the shape of your hair when you do that.”

“None of your other drawings of me have taken this long.”

“This one is special.”

“Um, excuse me, all pictures of me are special.”

“This one’s a collection,” said Fox. Getting up from the table, she came up behind Rembrandt and put her arms around her shoulders. Rembrandt paused her drawing to squeeze Fox’s hand. “They’re monochromes. She’s doing them for all of us. We’re all different colors.”

“What color am I?” Cowgirl asked. Rembrandt lifted the royal purple oil pastel she was working with in response. “Why am I purple?”

“You feel purple,” Rembrandt said simply.

“The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.” Rembrandt set aside her pastel. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Thank god.” Cowgirl stood up and stretched. “I need a drink.”

While Cowgirl headed into the kitchen, Fox reached out to touch the edge of the drawing, making sure she didn’t smudge anything. She rested her chin atop Rembrandt’s head. “Hey, what color am I?” she inquired. 

“I haven’t figured it out yet.”

-----

Shouts and screams echoed behind them. The pounding footsteps of their pursuers like a horde of nightmares. Flashing lights and police sirens in the distance, more shots as the world devolved into chaos. Rembrandt ran faster than she ever had in her life. She barely felt the burn of her lungs and her muscles. She barely heard Swan and Cochise and Ajax shouting instructions behind her. All she could focus on was the path ahead and Fox running just as fast beside her.

Fox tripped. She fucking tripped. Rembrandt almost fell herself with how hard she backpedaled. She grabbed Fox’s arm, hauling her to her feet as panicked words tumbled from the younger girl’s lips.

“We’re dead!” she cried. “We’re fucking dead! When I woke up today, I didn’t think we could die!”

“Neither did I!”

Swan shouted behind them. “The cemetery! Go to the cemetery! Go!”

Rembrandt found herself hiding behind a tombstone, pressing her back against the cold, wet rock as she tried and failed to catch her breath. Fox knelt beside her and clung to her arm. A helicopter flew overhead as lights and blaring sirens passed the cemetery. Swan stood, looking around, and motioned for everyone to stand up. “Make sure we’re okay,” she said.

“This is a graveyard,” Rembrandt said pointedly, because Swan usually wasn’t one for dumb sentences but that was fucking stupid. 

“Everybody make it?”

They’d all made it. All except Cleon. All except the best of them.

Rembrandt hadn’t been this terrified since before the Warriors found her. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely see through the rain and the tears she desperately tried to blink away. 

“What are we gon’ do?” she whispered. Fox was right there echoing her. “What are we gon’ do?”

“We get back home alive.”

-----

Rembrandt sat on the floor behind the couch in her and Ajax’s apartment. Her, Ajax, and… Fox. It used to be home, it used to be home for the three of them. She still remembered how happy Fox was when they found an apartment and she got her own room for the first time in her life, no longer on Cleon’s couch or briefly sharing Swan’s room when they decided she couldn’t just stay in the living room anymore. She remembered how excited she was to decorate it with comic book posters and all the plushies she collected from carnival games on the boardwalk. 

Hanging on the walls were the best of Rembrandt’s drawings of her. Fox loved to sit for portraits. She always said how pretty it made her feel. Even months after losing her, Rembrandt couldn’t bring herself to go into that room. Everything left of Fox was just sitting there collecting dust. Rembrandt couldn’t face that. All she could do was stare at the forever-closed door.

The front door to the apartment opened and shut. She flinched at the sharp thunk of the deadbolt, her mind throwing her back into an east village loft, sitting beside Fox on a couch, clinging to her hand and wondering how the hell she’d gotten into a situation like that. 

“Baby, I’m home!” Ajax called. Rembrandt pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Ajax’s footsteps padded through the apartment, around the couch, and Rembrandt heard her sigh as she knelt beside her. Ajax touched her cheek, and she leaned into the contact. It was second nature at this point. “Why are you on the floor?”

Rembrandt jerked her head towards Fox’s bedroom door. Ajax exhaled sharply through her nose. Wordlessly, she sat on the floor beside Rembrandt and pulled her into her lap, holding tight as Rembrandt wrapped her arms around her neck and buried her face in the crook of her shoulder. She was so sick of crying but she couldn’t stop it, burning tears dripping down her face and soaking into Ajax’s shirt. 

“I miss her,” she whispered.

“I know,” Ajax said. “I miss her, too.”

-----

“I don’t think Rembrandt likes me,” Mercy mumbled. 

“What are you talking about?” Swan asked. “She likes you.”

Rembrandt overheard from the living room in Cleon and Swan’s apartment, which was also Mercy’s apartment now, too, she supposed. Everyone else was out at work or doing gang business and Ajax was still reluctant to leave Rembrandt alone given her mental state over the past months, so she sat with a blank sketchbook in Cleon’s living room until Ajax got back. She tried her best to ignore Swan and Mercy’s conversation but the walls were thin and she couldn’t tune it out. 

“She looks at me like she wants me dead,” Mercy continued. 

“It’s just resting bitch face. That’s how she looks at everyone she doesn’t know.”

Wow, Rembrandt thought. Thanks, Swan.

“Did she look at you like that?”

“No, but that was Rembrandt then. This is Rembrandt now, and she’s just… she’s getting used to you.”

“Everyone else did. Even Ajax doesn’t side eye me every time I walk into the room.”

“Are you mad?”

“No! No, I’m not mad. I just wanna know what I’m doing wrong.”

Rembrandt sank into the couch. She didn’t dislike Mercy and it hurt to know Mercy thought that but it just hurt so much to face her because-

“You’re… you remind her of Fox,” Swan said. “And I mean it in the best way! But Rembrandt just can’t-”

Rembrandt turned on the TV and cranked the volume until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts.

-----

Rembrandt stood over her desk in her and Ajax’s bedroom, rifling through her desk and sorting her sketchbooks and drawings. The books had begun to pile up around the room, her desk was running out of storage space, and the corner she designated for larger canvases and other projects had gone from a corner to an entire wall. Ajax hadn’t exactly asked her to clear out some of the pieces, but she always apologized profusely when she knocked over a stack of books or almost damaged a painting, so Rembrandt decided to whittle down her collection to just the best and most sentimental. 

With her desk mostly sorted, she turned to the squat filing cabinet she kept beside it. In the bottom drawer, she discovered her collection of oil pastel portraits. She found it within herself to smile as she flipped through the stiff sheets of drawing paper. She’d finished most of them a long time ago, maybe missing a detail or two here and there, and there were some parts she could go back and touch up if she really wanted. 

The first one she picked up was Ajax, her strong features highlighted in rich, deep reds, piercing eyes staring directly off the page.

There was Cochise in hunter green, a side profile, smiling softly.

Cowgirl in royal purple, adjusting the brim of her hat with a grin.

Swan’s calm, stoic face in dark night-sky blue. 

A self portrait in sunshine yellow.

Cleon in gold. Rembrandt had had to do a lot of experimenting with colors on that one to make sure the palette didn’t look too similar to her own portrait. She’d used mod podge and gold glitter in the shadows of the piece to give it that extra bit of glow Cleon always seemed to carry with her.

Rembrandt’s heart sank when she got to the last drawing.

Fox, in bright Tiffany blue. Fox with a wide grin, Fox with her sparkling eyes staring back at Rembrandt, immortalized in such a fragile fucking medium that some of the details had already begun to disappear from just sitting in a drawer. Any light touch would smudge the pigment and Rembrandt would lose more and more of her because nothing could be permanent, none of it was permanent, she tried so hard to hold on but no matter what she was just going to lose her all over again-

Rembrandt screamed and swiped half of everything off her desk. Sketchbooks and pencils and paint cans crashed to the floor, and Rembrandt fell to her knees amidst the mess, unable to look at the portrait any longer. 

When Ajax got home later, she found Rembrandt curled into a ball under her desk, still bawling her eyes out, covering her mouth to silence herself. Ajax spotted Fox’s drawing on the desk and didn’t ask what was wrong. She just sat a comfortable distance from Rembrandt and waited for her to come out. Rembrandt loved her for that.

-----

Rembrandt took a deep breath, shifting her backpack straps on her shoulders before knocking on the door to Cleon’s apartment. Mercy answered. Rembrandt knew she would. She’d planned for this, making sure to come over when she knew Mercy was home from work and Cleon and Swan had business to handle. She wanted this to just be for her and Mercy. She just… she needed it to be.

Mercy raised her eyebrows, visibly confused when she opened the door to find Rembrandt alone. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” said Rembrandt. “Can I come in?”

Mercy stepped aside hurriedly, as if she found it rude that she’d been keeping Rembrandt in the hall, even if she really wasn’t. Rembrandt took a few steps into the kitchen as Mercy closed the front door behind her. 

“Is everything okay?” Mercy asked. “Cleon and Swan are out if you need to talk to them.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Rembrandt fidgeted. She took a deep breath. “Will you sit for a portrait?”

Mercy blinked, taken aback. “Um… when?”

“Now.”

“Now?”

“It’ll take two hours at most. Probably not even that long. Please?”

“Sure. Sure, okay.”

It took closer to three hours, despite Rembrandt’s best efforts. She had Mercy sit on the couch and let her put something on TV instead of having her sit in silence, even if Rembrandt would have preferred that. It took so long because she had to scrap the start of three different versions. It had been so long since she practiced this that she kept fucking up the gradients to the point where she had to take a break and go smoke with Mercy on the stoop to avoid screaming in frustration and forgetting the whole idea. 

While trying to get the shape of Mercy’s bangs right, Rembrandt’s vision blurred. She jerked her head up just before the tears had a chance to fall on the drawing. She turned aside, scrubbing at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve, somehow managing to keep her breathing steady. 

Mercy noticed and sat up straight. “Rembrandt?” she asked, just a little panicked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m okay,” Rembrandt assured her. “It’s… I don’t know. But I’m okay. Please just move back to where you were.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m okay.”

She didn’t need too much more time after that before she was satisfied with the result. Of course, she would look at it the next day and find a million things wrong with it, but she could correct or add or remove details after the fact. As she set her oil pastel aside, her fingertips stained with the pigment, she brushed her thumb along the very edge of the page. It left a miniscule cut behind, a bead of blood staining her skin. She had a momentary flash of panic but nothing got on the paper so it was okay. She wrapped her fingers over her thumb, squeezing until it throbbed, until the bleeding stopped and the stinging disappeared. Mercy, thankfully, did not notice that.

In her peripheral vision, Mercy shifted closer to her on the couch. “Can I see it?”

Rembrandt hesitated. Normally she didn’t share portraits until they were completely finished, but…

She sat beside Mercy and passed her the drawing. “Just don’t touch it. It smudges easily.”

Mercy grinned when she saw her portrait: head resting on her hand and tilted to the side, hair delicately swept behind her ear, eyes calm and gentle, the corner of her lips lifting in just the hint of a smirk. It was all done in the softest coral pink, almost ethereal in the light. She reached over to rest a hand on Rembrandt’s forearm without looking. Rembrandt thought she might cry.

“It’s amazing,” Mercy said with a light laugh. “I don’t think I’ve seen any of your work besides the graffiti before. I didn’t know you could do this.”

“The only medium I don’t work with is oil paint,” Rembrandt said. “Maybe if I win the lottery.”

“This looks like an oil painting. It’s like something out of a museum.”

“Thanks. It’s gonna be part of a project I never finished.”

Mercy turned to her. “What is it?”

“You’ll see it when I finish it.” 

“Swan said you do that.”

“She knows me.” Rembrandt took a deep breath, her shoulders curling in as she met Mercy’s eyes. “I don’t hate you, you know.”

Mercy grimaced. “You heard that?”

“The walls are thin and you guys always talk right next to the door.”

“Noted.”

“For real, though. Look, I admit that I… I’m still getting used to you being here. You’re so much like her that it just throws me for a loop sometimes and I know Swan has told you I don’t like strangers and you’re really not one anymore but I…” Rembrandt’s voice broke. She turned away from Mercy, covering her mouth to keep quiet as she screwed her eyes shut. Was her heart really choosing right now to have a breakdown over this?

Mercy angled herself in and put an arm around Rembrandt. This very much broke the first rule of the “how to keep Rembrandt from freaking out” rulebook that Rembrandt knew Swan had set, but Rembrandt was glad she did it. She shifted closer, wrapping her arms loosely around Mercy’s waist as Mercy pulled her fully into a soft embrace.

Rembrandt closed her eyes and let the tears fall. Mercy didn’t say anything. She just held her.

-----

“Is it straight?” Swan asked.

Rembrandt stood back from the wall. Swan and Ajax stood on chairs, positioning a giant canvas while the other Warriors watched them. Behind Rembrandt, Mercy put her arms around her shoulders and watched over the top of the artist’s head.

“I think Swan’s side needs to come down a little bit,” said Cowgirl from where she sat in the arm chair. 

“Cowgirl, you’re holding your head at a tilt,” Rembrandt said with a wave of her hand. “Ajax, let your side come down an inch. Wait, never mind, half an inch. Yes! There! You guys can let go of it.” 

Swan and Ajax let go and got down off the chairs, stepping back to stand with the rest of the gang. 

Now hung perfectly on the living room wall was a collage of all of Rembrandt’s monochrome portraits. They were lovingly cut out and carefully arranged together, with Fox front and center and the others supporting around her. Behind them was a detailed black-and-white background of the city, enough to fill the empty canvas but not distracting from the main subjects, everything pasted down and covered with sealant so nothing could ever damage the fragile pigments again. 

All of the Warriors, immortalized. 

Cleon crossed her arms and whistled. “Damn, Rem, this is some work. How long you been hiding this?”

“It wasn’t finished,” Rembrandt said simply. “Now it is. With all of us.” 

Mercy held Rembrandt tighter. 

[classicconundrum]

i draw so that a 15 year old years from now right out of her deltarune phase scrolling mindlessly for the next thing to draw during history class can perhaps, one day, see my art and say "fuck it lets watch (insert homoerotic show/podcast)"

i draw so that a 25 year old nonbinary person on a 5 minute break from work can scroll on Tumblr and say "people still watch homestar runner?" before mindlessly reblogging as there fingers were trained to do after a life of this.

i draw so that the teen boy who has to pretend to be homophobic around his friends can send the little pictures to his boyfriend because "you like that show right?"

i draw so that 6 years from now the woman I wish I would have had the chance to marry can go on my blog and find all my little pictures and laugh and say "you never changed, did you?"

i draw for my friend, T, who likes every post i make and comments on all of my tiktoks "i agree!" followed by some arrangement of shouting and fire emojis

i draw for my mother who doesn't quite understand what I mean when I go on frivolous rants on what happened in that show or game or podcast or book or fanfic but smiles because its rare she sees me so happy it simply must be shared, and so she says "That totally makes sense" in a sarcastic tone that to one might convey rudeness, but between us has a certain sincerity, a recognition of the mundane, and we laugh.

i draw for myself to look back and squeal giddy because I love the way it turned out

i draw for people who would be my best friend that I never meet because im too scared to comment on there posts

i draw for the people i have known as long as i can remember, the people i likely won't get to see until i die, because they like my art

i draw in spite of those who make me want to quit, i draw because i know they can't stop me, and I don't think they would want to

i draw in spite of my middle school sweetheart that I still text sometimes because I miss when we were friends

i draw in spite of people who called all my art rushed after hours of work

i draw for the boy I wished i would marry because I know he looks at the art I made of him and washes out the part of it that was me, so that its a hollow glass of his own self love, posted to his media pinned as a profile photo, claiming it's nothing but knowing that after it all, he hangs a picture painted by me in his room and my love will never leave his heart.

i draw for the man he will one day be when he pushes the things he did down to unpleasant memories, and he looks at that figure, and knows that at one point, he was loved enough for someone to make it.

i draw for the man one day I will be, looking through sketchbooks full of Homestuck ocs and Mario enemies with nothing but the indication of a smile as I'm flooded with all the love I had for so many things.

i draw for the man T will be one day, hopefully still a friend of mine, finding his silly notes disbursed through my notebooks. his doodles in pages perfectly reserved just for him. you know. cuz I love him.

i draw for the people who will pass my life only knowing the cool eye I was drawing in history class.

i draw for the girl who took up art after seeing the way I put pen to page

i draw for the family that cheers to see another work done by me

i draw for the people who will exist long after I have died so subtlety effected by the art had on so many other artists, so many people, even if they don't know my name, even if they will never see my work.

i draw because its fun and it helps me think and I like thinking of ideas and putting them onto paper and I like how the finished piece looks most of the time.

i draw

[lmfaohader]

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Same as always. A little mouse standing under a light post. It's snowing, and he's always carrying an umbrella."

"Did he say anything to you in this one?"

"No. He just seemed very scared, and a little sad."

"Well give me the details and I'll add it to the drawing"

I retrieved my sketch book from my bag and turned to the ever familiar page I had been working on for a couple of days. In the middle of the page, a mouse. Oversized yellow clogs, red linen pants, and large black ears on the top of his head. Just as my friend, Jo, always described him. Cheery eyes that she normally described as "oddly sad for such a happy little mouse" and rosy plump cheeks. Beside him, a lamp post, that once I can get to painting (and get the right color), burning with a bright orange light. A pile of snow settled at its base. I took out my pencils, erasers, and blending stump as Jo described the mouse with more details. Today, his umbrella was black but seemingly used very often and the snow glittered when the moon rose above it.

Joanna is an extremely vivid dreamer. I've known her essentially my whole life and have listened to every dream she could ever recount, but lately they've been more and more life-like. It's almost as if she actually goes to wherever it is she's dreaming. Maybe it's her younger mind trying to escape from our reality. We are from the same town in London, and when my parents were called to defend our nation, Jo's mother offered to take me in until they returned. Things only got worse from there. The air raids and constant threats kept flooding into the city. After some time, Jo's mom believed that the city was no longer safe for us. She called upon an old college professor who she had remained in friendly contact with over the years who lived far off in the countryside. He gladly took us in. Jo was extremely upset about leaving, so to help her keep going I told her I would draw whatever she wanted. Now, I have half of a sketchbook filled with her dreams. They're always in immense detail, and are only finished when Jo gives it a seal of approval. They started off really normal. Her house, the view outside of the train window, a field of wildflowers, but the longer we're here the more she dreams of his made up land. A land where a talking lion is supposed to rule, but is being hunted and thwarted by an evil, ice witch. A little mouse who hides from the secret wolf police. A winter that has lasted for over a hundred years. That's the part of it that feels like she actually goes there, she knows some of the history. How the people are waiting for a prophecy to be fulfilled to end the long lasting winter and to find the lion who once ruled over the land.

I looked up to see the sun lowering over the countryside. Jo sat on the tree limb above me. Watching as the colors of the sky change.

"That's it" she said softly

"That's what?" I tried to follow her eyeline to see what she was seeing

"That's the color orange"

She was right. As the sun dipped below, the sky became a bright, burning orange. I tried to think of the time to try and return to this hour tomorrow to mix paints as Jo climbed down from the tree and sat beside me. She scanned my drawing. Ensuring that every detail matched precisely. I lifted the drawing a bit more so she could see.

"How's it looking?" I asked as eraser shavings fell off into the lawn

"It looks good. I think you've perfectly drawn him." she placed her hands against the ground and raised to her feet. "I'm excited to see this one painted. I think it'll be your best yet."

"My best yet huh?"

I closed the book and gathered my materials as we both made our way inside. It was always so quiet in the mansion. As big as it is, the only inhabitants are us, Ms. Macready, and Professor Kirke. It wasn't exactly kid friendly. The halls were lined with perfectly polished artifacts and antiques. An expensive seeming painting hung from nearly every wall. Precisely placed hall runners covering much of the hardwood surface. As soon as we came inside, we took off our shoes and made our way to our room. There were so many doors, and we didn't know what was inside most of them. We were only certain of where our room was and where the Professor's office was.

Professor Kirke was a kind man. Mostly enthusiastic, and extremely excited to have visitors. On the first few days we were here, he noticed our sadness and brought us into his office to tell us some stories from his youth about him and a friend. They seemed to cheer up Jo, for the most part. I just enjoy shutting my brain off and sitting in the comfort of his company. For whatever reason, Ms. Macready (Professor Kirke's housemaid) refuses to let us speak to him without being specifically requested. She says that his work is extremely important and he cannot be disrupted. So, the times we have gotten to speak to him have been scarce.

As we were approaching our room, a stern voice called to us.

"Girls, Professor Kirke would like to see you"

Appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, Ms. Macready stood at the top of the stairs leading to our room. Jo and I traded a knowing look, thanked her and made our way to the Professor's office. Upon arrival, I knocked on the door as Jo waited patiently behind me.

"Oh! Come in! It's open!"

We pushed open the door and entered the pristinely kept office. Neatly dusted, books alphabetized, pencils sharpened in their cup, leather chair shining from a real good polish. Professor Kirke smiled as we entered and gestured for us to take a seat in the brown plush chairs in front of his desk.

"I hope I have not disturbed your evening" he said as he closed the book he was studying and pushed it back into its spot. "But I had some news that pertained to the both of you since you bot-"

His sentence was cut short as his eyes landed on the sketchbook in my arms. I could feel my face get a bit hot. I had never really shown an adult my drawings. Only Jo had seen the contents of these pages before.

"Oh my, it seems we have an artist on our hands. May I?"

"Oh, yes you may" I spoke through a knot in my throat as I placed the book into his outstretched hand and felt suddenly as if my stomach plummeted.

Professor Kirke smiled gently at me as he placed the book onto his desk. He flipped to the first page. He studied it for a moment, then nodded and flipped onwards. With every page his smile grew. You could feel the child-like giddy as he moved onwards. My nervousness seemed to fade and become replaced with pride. I thought they were good, but it was really nice to see it written on someone's face.

"Lacey, these drawings ar-"

Professor Kirke's voice stopped abruptly. There was a sudden shift in his demeanor. The always happy and smiling professor was replaced with a shell. His eyes filled with a mixture of fear and sadness. His mouth slightly agape, as if frozen in place from speaking to me before. My mind raced to think of what drawing could possibly cause this reaction, but they were mostly buildings and scenescapes. He turned the book towards us and pushed it to where we could see it.

"How do you know of this place?" He asked as he pointed to a scenescape of a dark, frozen castle, covered in snow with icicles dripping from every ledge and a pack of wolves surrounding the drawbridge. Sculptures of animals made of ice sat right inside the front gate.

"Jo dreamed of it. She said it was the castle of the evil, ice witch. Right?" I looked to her for an explanation as Professor Kirke's head snapped in her direction.

"Elsa the White Witch" Jo responded, bringing the page closer to her, "she created the everlasting winter. She is their self proclaimed ruler, but they're just waiting for the prophecy to happen."

"You never said she had a name" I wracked my brain for any mention of this name before, but came up with nothing.

"I didn't learn it until recently," Jo shrugged and followed very matter of factly. "Or you would've"

"Did you say you learned this recently?" The Professor asked

"Yeah. Maybe a few nights ago."

"But where?"

"I go there in my dreams. That world needs help, and I've been trying to understand what's going on so that maybe I can help." she explained as she flipped through the sketchbook. "Lacey's drawings help me remember so I'm really starting to put it together now"

"How can you help a dreamland Jo?" I asked

"Don't sell her so short" Professor Kirke responded softly as he poured over the drawing. His sadness seemed to grow as he did.

"Just because you've never seen it doesn't mean it isn't real," Jo said. "I don't just make things up you know"

"I didn't mean it that way" I announced as I closed the book and took it back in my arms. "I don't think you make things up, but you yourself have to admit that it is extremely far-fetched."

"I don't admit anything" Jo snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I know what's real and what isn't Lacey. That place is real. I can feel it."

"She does explain it with great detail" the Professor chimed in motioning towards the book in my arms. "Otherwise you could not have such detailed drawings. Down to the color of the ice sculptures and the way the stars align in the sky."

I stared blankly at him. He spoke with confidence. Almost as if he understood her.

"Professor Kirke," I said, "do you believe this land exists?"

He stared back at me. His round spectacles dramatize his very determined look. I could see the spark in his eyes. As if hearing a call to action. He looked down at the sketchbook once more then shook his head slightly as if to awaken himself from whatever came over him. Jo sighed and I could feel her disappointment from the response. I sighed as well and began to rise from my seat to leave when Professor Kirke spoke again.

"There is another family coming to stay with us until everything in London calms down"

"Another family?" Jo asked, seeming to pep up a bit from her disappointment.

"Yes Jo" he replied, "Four children. Two older siblings more Lacey's age, and two younger children more your age. They should be here within the next few days. Perhaps, you both could make a friend or two."

I nodded to him, and then left for Jo and I's room. It wasn't much. Two twin beds, decorated with the same bland sheets. Jo's books sat on her bedside table, and a desk under the window overlooking the front of the mansion held many different colors of paint along with a couple of pencils and a clock. How else was I to make the color of the sky if I couldn't look at it? I slammed down into the chair and flipped through the sketchbook. Hoping anything would seem to line up. To tell a story. To help me understand what was going on. But I could find nothing in these scenescapes to give me answers. If only I could draw people, I thought to myself, maybe it'd be easier to understand. Maybe I could see what they see. After minutes of examining every page, every rock, every stream, every flake of snow I closed the book defeated. I looked out to the sky made navy blue in the light of the moon. Almost, like the sky above that little mouse.

-Lacey

You can find the rest of this story on my Wattpad @ stfumendes it’s titled Disnia. There will be three books and love interest for both boys. 💕

[snek-panini]

At long last, it is Post Stuff I Made Time again. The last time I had a book to show off was in May and that's just too long. Not a fic (this time. I have them, they're coming) but a journal:

I made this as a dnd journal for my husband, and it was originally supposed to be a Christmas present, then a birthday present (in March), and finally it has reached its true potential as a Labor Day Week present. But it's gorgeous, he loves it and I'm proud of it. The cover is Allure book cloth (the color's called skylight), with the strip at the bottom in chiyogami (from ChibiJay; I got it in one of their assorted strip packs), and the flower is gold foil htv. The campaign is pirate/high seas themed, and his character's background has a distinct Fantasy Japan element, so a lot of the design choices followed from that.

More photos under the cut!

Close up on the cover. I thought I had a close up of the flower icon but I must not have taken it. Love how close the color match is between the blue in the waves and the book cloth. The gold htv came out a bit less smooth than I'd have liked, but it has a kind of gold leaf look to it that we both ended up really liking.

He requested a Coptic bind so it would lay flat when opened, and I did Coptic end bands for stability and because they look cool, especially with the exposed link stitches. I find the link stitches also add a bit of stability when you've got fewer Coptic stitches. I special ordered the pink thread (again, his choice) from Hollander's, and it was expensive and totally not worth the hassle. The only way to get this color was pre-waxed and there is SO MUCH WAX on it, it's ludicrous. I scraped a lot of it off on a blade and it was still too waxy, like handling a candle. It's also very stiff and thicker than I'm used to, to the extent that it was hard to thread the needle with it. I've ordered their unwaxed thread before and would do it again, but this is the last time I buy the waxed stuff. Embroidery floss is cheaper, easier to work with, and comes in more colors.

Please ignore the blurriness in the second photo; I have never claimed to be a photographer and didn't notice it till now. This is the doublure on the inside of the front cover, and it's more chiyogami from Chibijay. The wave pattern wraps around from the front to finish up under this paste-down; I wanted to do the same in the back but didn't have enough of the wave print, so the back is plain.

I thought I'd taken a photo of the pages but I guess I didn't because I can't find it now. Being a journal there was no typeset for this. I actually bought a pre-cut and pre-folded unsewn book block from Hollander's for this. They come in a couple of colors and you can get them blank, with lines, or with graph print for drawing, and Husband chose the graph paper for ease of drawing and making charts.

As a rule I don't normally make journals; books only become interesting to me after there is something in them. So I just skipped the part of the "learning to make books" process where most people make a bunch of sketchbooks. This is actually the first one I've ever made. I'm pleased with how it turned out, and Husband loves it, but I can't see them becoming a regular part of my output unless it's requests like this. However, I've got six finished fic binds to post, so stay tuned for those.

[greenlightbulbonawire]

Misfits (yeah like the Arcane song)

XLI.

______________________________________________________________

Summary: From the dark musty cell of Stillwater all the way to the very base of Firelights, but where to from there? Guess you'll just have to let fate lead you.

Author's note: I took a break... again... and I'm back now! But I will have to resort to posting once a week from now on, due to me not being able to write the chapters as fast as I am posting them anymore. Well anyway, have a great day!! xoxo previous chapter: Fourtieth chapter

next chapter: Fourty second chapter

Masterlist

______________________________________________________________

“I made a few sketches, I’ll show you, hang on.” You pushed yourself up off the ground and walked up to your desk quickly, swiping your sketchbook off of it and returning to Ekko, slipping onto the ground next to him again, scattering a few parts of the blown up board in the process. The book fell into his hands and you put the parts back onto the pile as the boy flipped through the pages of paper, looking at the drawing you made in the past instead of finding the sketches you told him about. “You can draw pretty good actually, I had no idea.” Your eyes tore away from fixing the pile and registered what you just put into his hands, you quickly grabbed it away from him, skimming to the page with the sketches and handing it back to him. “Don’t look at a different page than this one, please.” “Oh uh, I mean yeah, sure? Why though?”

Ekko gave you a questioning look, before returning to the drawn on paper page, looking over the sketch, his face displaying various emotions as he went through the thought process of making the sketch a reality. “There’s some stuff in there that I don’t want anyone to see.” “Okay, that’s fair.” He shrugged and closed the book with a snap, giving it back to you and then standing up. You took the sketchbook from him again and looked up at Ekko towering over you as his hand stretched towards you, offering to help you up as many times before. Without much hesitation, you accepted it and stood up too, facing him, waiting for the boy to say something and explain why you were standing now.

“Let’s get to work then.” He nodded to you and turned to the door to leave, and you went to take the sketchbook back to your table. Ekko waited for you outside of your room, and then headed towards the staircase, but starting to descend instead of going up, which surprised you. “We’re not going to your room?” “And how would something as big as that fit into my room exactly?” The boy turned his head to face you as you went down the stairs, following him a few paces behind, a smug expression painting his face, before he tripped and almost fell, catching the railing at the last second to stop himself. You laughed at him, waiting for him to regain his balance and continue walking and then answering him. “Karma’s a bitch huh?”

“Welcome to my… I actually don’t know what to call this room, uh, I make bigger things here basically.”

“Why did I have no idea a room like this was here?”

You asked and walked into the room after Ekko, taking in the many tools and almost finished projects, he really had a taste for mess huh. “Probably because you haven’t seen like eighty percent of the base yet.” “That… makes perfect sense actually.” You admitted, watching as the boy moved through the room, pulling out different parts and gathering them into a box. He mumbled something to himself and pulled the box towards a messy desk, probably the place where he worked on his inventions and stuff. “I’m missing some things here,” Ekko stated as he started to lay out the parts from the box on the desk and looked at you for a moment, quickly returning to what he was doing, before he spoke again.

“so I’ll write you a list and you’ll have to go get them, maybe take Heimerdinger with you, he’ll help.”

Metal bolts clattered as Ekko placed them onto the table, you made your way to him carefully, trying to avoid bumping into anything in the process. Ekko pulled out a piece of dirty paper from god knows where and took a pencil off the desk, scribbling down a few words, then he looked into the box again and added something to the list, repeating this a few times. You were watching with interest, before you realized you haven't answered him yet, you shook your head and blinked a few times.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great, well here you go, that should be all I hope, and please don’t blow yourself up again okay?” The paper with the material list got swept off the table by the boys hand and he turned his attention to you, looking up from his chair, while handing you the piece of paper. “What, you’ll miss me?” You raised a brow and gave him a smug smile, swiftly taking the list from his hand, fixing your eyes on it and reading its contents.“Oh yeah very.” The boy chuckled softly as you read through the listed materials. “Who else will come and save me when I specifically told them not to?”