#price tag human design

[starrybow22]

PRICE TAG HUMAN DESIGN !!!! >_<

[clarissasbakery]

i’ve been very busy moving into college so i haven’t had time for any full pieces aside from the match one, so take some old crapola

[bloominglegumes]

making my own food,,

[ilovehatefulfan]

Price tag gijinka🔖

Art tags: @kurushimiangel @millyzasilly @icy-saturday

[resident-gay-bitch]

little rich boy sirius who gets disowned and can barely survive without his expensive brands and the basic human need to eat at least once a day meeting the entirely too generous james potter who just falls for the vanity and sincerity of the reformed rich boy and decides that once sirius stops caring about brands and status and rich boy things and just cares about what matters in life he decides to spoil his boyfriend to pieces because he’s secretly sitting on a fucking fortune

[pricetaglover]

More nonsense brought to you by me

(If you saw what I wrote here before, you saw nothing -.-)

[lycheelsea]

just not was surprisingly fun to draw, CANNOT say the same for tstoe, mostly just pain. Robot flower took me at least 3 redraws and I still don’t really like basketball

[elodieunderglass]

Hey bestie whats a narrow boat? I saw you tag that on something you reblogged and I'm pretty curious now!

- Terry Darlington, Narrow Dog to Carcassone

A narrowboat (all one word) is a craft restricted to the British Isles, which are connected all over by a nerve-map of human-made canals. To go up and down hills, the canals are spangled with locks (chambers in which boats can be raised or lowered by filling or emptying them with water.) As Terry says above, the width of the locks was somewhat randomly determined, and as a result, the British Isles have a narrow design of lock - and a narrowboat to fit through them. A classic design was seventy feet long and six feet wide. Starting in the 18th century, and competing directly with trains, canal “barges” were an active means of transport and shipping. They were initially pulled along the towpaths by horses, and you can still see some today!

Later, engines were developed.

Even after the trains won the arms race, it was a fairly viable freight service right up until WW2. It’s slow travel, but uses few resources and requires little human power, with a fairly small crew (of women, in WW2) being capable of shifting two fully laden boats without consuming much fossil fuel.

In those times the barges were designed with small, cramped cabins in which the boaters and their families could live.

During its heyday the narrowboat community developed a style of folk art called “roses and castles” with clear links to fairground art as well as Romani caravan decor. They are historically decorated with different kinds of brass ornaments, and inside the cabins could also be distinctively painted and decorated.

Today, many narrowboats are distinctively decorated and colorful - even if not directly traditional with “roses and castles” they’ll still be bright and offbeat. A quirky name is necessary. All narrowboats, being boats, are female.

After a postwar decline, interest in the waterways was sparked by a leisure movement and collapsing canals were repaired. Today, the towpaths are a convenient walking/biking trail for people, as they connect up a lot of the mainland of the UK, hitting towns and cities. Although the restored canals are concrete-bottomed, they’re attractive to wildlife. Narrowboats from the 1970s onward started being designed for pleasure and long-term living. People enjoy vacationing by hiring a boat and visiting towns for a cuter, comfier, slower version of a campervan life. And a liveaboard community sprang up - people who live full-time on boats. Up until the very restrictive and nasty laws recently passed in the UK to make it harder for travelling peoples (these were aimed nastily at vanlivers and the Romani, and successfully hit everyone) this was one of the few legal ways remaining to be a total nomad in the UK.

Liveaboards can moor up anywhere along the canal for 28 days, but have to keep moving every 28 days. (Although sorting out the toilet and loading up with fresh water means that a lot of people move more frequently than that.) you can also live full-time in a marina if they allow it, or purchase your own mooring. In London, where canal boats are one of the few remaining cheapish ways to live, boats with moorings fetch the same prices as houses. It can be very very hard for families to balance school, parking, work, and all the difficulties of living off-grid- but many make it work. It remains a diverse community and is even growing, due to housing pressures in the UK. Boats can be very comfortable, even when only six feet wide. When faced with spending thousands of pounds on rent OR mooring up on a nice canal, you can see why it seems a romantic proposition for young people, and UK television channels always have slice-of-life documentaries about young folks fixing up their very own quirky solar-powered narrowboat. I don’t hate; I did it myself.

If you’re lucky, you might even meet some of the cool folks who run businesses from their narrowboats: canal-side walkers enjoy bookshops, vegan bakeries, ice-cream boats, restaurants, artists and crafters. There are Floating Markets and narrowboat festivals. It’s generally recognised that boaters contribute quite a lot to the canal - yet there are many tensions between different kinds of boaters (liveaboards vs leisure boaters vs tourists) as well as tensions with local settled people, towpath users like cyclists, and fishermen. I could go on and on explaining this rich culture and dramas, but I won’t.

Phillip Pullman’s Gyptians are a commonly cited example of liveaboards - although they were based on the narrowboat liveaboards that Pullman knew in Oxford, their boats are actually Dutch barges. Dutch barges make good homes but are too wide to access most of the midlands and northern canals, and are usually restricted to the south of the UK. So they’re accurate for Bristol/London/Oxford, and barges are definitely comfier to film on. (Being six feet wide is definitely super awkward for a boat.) but in general Dutch barges are less common, more expensive and can’t navigate the whole system.

However, apart from them, there are few examples of narrowboat depictions that escaped containment. So it’s quite interesting that there is an entire indigenous special class of boat, distinctive and highly specialised and very cute, with an associated culture and heritage and folk art type, known to all and widely celebrated, and ABSOLUTELY UNKNOWN outside of the UK - a nation largely known around the world for inflicting its culture on others. They’re a strange, sweet little secret - and nobody who has ever loved one can resist pointing them out for the rest of their lives, or talking about them when asked to. Thank you for asking me to.

[reasonsforhope]

"Clothing tags, travel cards, hotel room key cards, parcel labels … a whole host of components in supply chains of everything from cars to clothes. What do they have in common? RFID tags.  

Every RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) tag contains a microchip and a tiny metal strip of an antenna. A cool 18bn of these are made – and disposed of – each year. And with demands for product traceability increasing, ironically in part because of concerns for the social and environmental health of the supply chain, that’s set to soar. 

And guess where most of these tags end up? Yup, landfill – adding to the burgeoning volumes of e-waste polluting our soils, rivers and skies. It’s a sorry tale, but it’s one in which two young graduates of Imperial College London and Royal College of Art are putting a great big green twist. Under the name of PulpaTronics, Chloe So and Barna Soma Biro reckon they’ve hit on a beguilingly simple sounding solution: make the tags out of paper. No plastic, no chips, no metal strips. Just paper, pure and … simple … ? Well, not quite, as we shall see. 

The apparent simplicity is achieved by some pretty cutting-edge technical innovation, aimed at stripping away both the metal antennae and the chips. If you can get rid of those, as Biro explains, you solve the e-waste problem at a stroke. But getting rid of things isn’t the typical approach to technical solutions, he adds. “I read a paper in Nature that set out how humans have a bias for solving problems through addition – by adding something new, rather than removing complexity, even if that’s the best approach.”   

And adding stuff to a world already stuffed, as it were, can create more problems than it solves. “So that became one of the guiding principles of PulpaTronics”, he says: stripping things down “to the bare minimum, where they are still functional, but have as low an environmental impact as possible”.  

...how did they achieve this magical simplification? The answer lies in lasers: these turn the paper into a conductive material, Biro explains, printing a pattern on the surface that can be ‘read’ by a scanner, rather like a QR code. It sounds like frontier technology, but it works, and PulpaTronics have patents pending to protect it. 

The resulting tag comes in two forms: in one, there is still a microchip, so that it can be read by existing scanners of the sort common within retailers, for example. The more advanced version does away with the chip altogether. This will need a different kind of scanner, currently in development, which PulpaTronics envisages issuing licences for others to manufacture. 

Crucially, the cost of both versions is significantly cheaper than existing RFID kit – making this a highly viable proposition. Then there are the carbon savings: up to 70% for the chipless version – so a no-brainer from a sustainability viewpoint too. All the same, industry interest was slow to start with but when PulpaTronics won a coveted Dezeen magazine award in late 2023, it snowballed, says So. Big brands such as UPS, DHL, Marks & Spencer and Decathlon came calling. “We were just bombarded.” Brands were fascinated by the innovation, she says, but even more by the price point, “because, like any business, they knew that green products can’t come with a premium”."

-via Positive.News, April 29, 2024

--

Note: I know it's still in the very early stages, but this is such a relief to see in the context of the environmental and human rights catastrophes associated with lithium mining and mining for rare earth metals, and the way that EVs and other green infrastructure are massively increasing the demand for those materials.

I'll take a future with paper-based, more humane alternatives for sure! Fingers crossed this keeps developing and develops well (and quickly).

[p1nkies0das]

Book x Price Tag 💚💙💗 (character designs belong to clarissasbakery!!)

I absolutely love @clarissasbakery's designs of both Book and Price Tag, Especially all of her other humanizations of bfdi and ii characters!! Her art in general is really inspiring to me (*^▽^*)

[saturncoyote]

QUICK CHANGE ON THE FORMAT THAT I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE I am now accepting art and design commissions of humanoid characters to test out my skills ! (still no humans allowed but things like Rain World iterators and Trolls are a go + they will follow the same price as anthros) so if you're interested hit me up buckaroo

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

Baby's first commission sheet is finally here ! You can now have your own funny little guy drawn by ME !..... for a small fee of course :-)

More exemples of my art and character design can be found on my Toyhouse and this very tumblr blog at the tag #saturn art

Commissions are currently: OPEN !

[ryomensgf]

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗠𝗦 !

RYOMEN SUKUNA X READER !!

ᯓ sypnosis. in a secluded shrine deep within the forest, you have spent all your life untouched by the outside world, a living paradox—blessed with blood that heals yet cursed with a presence that brings death. Your days are quiet, isolation absolute, until one stormy night when a presence unlike any other darkens her doorstep.

.𖥔 ݁ tags+warn. ryomen sukuna x fem reader, true form ryomen sukuna, concubine!reader, mentions of blood, violence and misogyny, heavy language, reader is powerful, eventual smut, possessive!sukuna, sukuna loves control, toxic jealousy, degradation, angst/fluff, light choking, size difference, time period heian era, goddess!demon, soft reader, more tags will be added later lmao. 2k

ch. 1

Death. 

An eternal shadow, haunting each fleeting moment of life.

It lingers silently, like the wisp of smoke from a dying lantern, trailing behind every step, every breath, every heartbeat. Where cherry blossoms bloom only to scatter, and the moon waxes and wanes in endless cycles.

Death is a whisper carried by the wind. A soft yet unyielding reminder of life's transience. It comes not as an intruder but as a patient guest, waiting at the threshold, unseen but ever-present.

To live is to be acquainted with its inevitability, for even in moments of joy, death stands just beyond the folding screens, watching, waiting, never forgetting its place in the story.

It is neither kind nor cruel—simply constant. 

When a child entered the world, it carried with it the weight of a harrowing prophecy—an existence bound to death. 

A curse, they whispered in hushed tones.

It cannot be human, they murmured. How could death take the form of a child?

The child's mere presence was a blight upon the world, a harbinger of ruin. Anyone who lingered near it found their lifespan drained, as though the very essence of life ebbed away in its shadow. Anything the child touched—be it a flourishing tree or a blooming flower—withered and perished under its cursed hand.

Yet, within the curse lay an extraordinary gift. The child's veins coursed with blood unlike any other—a miraculous elixir that could heal wounds, cure the incurable, and restore hope where it had been lost. This blood, laden with divine potency, held the power to save countless lives, to triumph over even the most devastating of afflictions.

Though the villagers longed to end the childs life, to rid the world of the calamity they believed it to be, they stayed their hands. It was not mercy that saved the child, but the blood in its veins—a lifeline, a miracle. The cursed gift was too precious to destroy.

That child was you.

You, who bore the weight of a curse and the blessing of salvation.

And so, they banished you to a distant shrine, deep within the forest where no human could suffer your touch. There, you lived in solitude, the thick woods a barrier between you and the fragile lives you might endanger.

Servants would come, bringing food and tending to your needs. Yet even their devotion came at a price. Over time, their lifespans would wither like leaves in autumn, and they would die within weeks of entering your presence. No matter how much care they offered, no one stayed for long.

After all, they saw you as a goddess. It was the only explanation that soothed their fear. How could you be a curse if you harbored such a divine blessing? To them, you were both salvation and despair embodied in human form.

And so, as the years passed, you remained alone, revered yet untouchable. Isolation became your world.

You spent your days in an unchanging rhythm, filled with quiet rituals that tethered you to the passing of time. You would rise at dawn, cleanse yourself, and step into the garden for a brief walk, always careful not to touch the living things around you. Five minutes, no more, before retreating indoors.

Once inside, you would take your place at the heart of the shrine, your designated spot. There, ink and paper awaited you, as they always did. Writing became your solace, your companion in the stillness. Page after page, you poured your thoughts, your questions into the void. It was all you had ever known.

Silently, as always, a servant stood far away near the door, their gaze lingering on you with quiet watchfulness. In twenty years of isolation, you had learned that the servants rarely spoke. Their presence was dutiful but distant, their silence as much a part of your life as the shrine’s echoing halls.

For companionship, you turned to the animals and plants surrounding you, though never for long. You knew too well the cost of your presence, and so you kept everything alive at a careful distance, your invisible boundary of safety.

On lonely nights, you filled the void with your own voice. You spoke to yourself, read aloud from books and scrolls, letting their words echo through the shrine. You devoured tales of the outside world—a place you knew you would never see.

Sometimes, you lingered by the door, watching as servants descended the endless stairs carved into the hillside. You never ventured beyond the threshold, yet you imagined how the stairs might stretch into the unknown, vanishing into the life you had been barred from.

Oddly, the loneliness didn’t sting the way it might for others. It was all you had ever known, and so it settled over you like a familiar shroud. The silence was not cruel—it simply was.

But once a month, a familiar ritual broke the monotony of your days—a monk, dressed in robes of deep crimson, would arrive to collect your sacred blood. Each visit brought a new face, for the previous monk's life had been shortened by the weight of your energy.

Without words, you would extend your hand, a silent understanding between you and the monk. With careful precision, they would cut into your wrist, and your blood, thick with its divine blessing would drip steadily into their glass bottles. 

When the task was done, they would kneel before you, bowing low, and recite the same words each time: a reverent greeting to the goddess of death and life.

Though you lived in solitude, they ensured you were kept healthy and content. The shrine was always stocked with fine gifts, books, and every necessity you could need. Yet no gift, no comfort, could fill the hollow left by a life of distance.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a deep, resonant growl that shakes the stillness of the shrine. Rain falls in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and pooling in the garden beyond. A haori rests loosely over your shoulders as you hurry to the shoji door, drawn by the storm’s symphony.

Sliding the door open, you pause, letting the view settle in your mind. The garden, shrouded in mist and rain, looks ethereal. Raindrops cling to the leaves like tiny jewels, and a lone bird hops closer, its chirping defying the downpour.

“Lovely morning,” you murmur, your voice a soft contrast to the storm. With a final glance, you turn on your heel and make your way to your usual spot.

Arranging your tools—a collection of brushes, inkstones, and paints—you place the canvas to your left. The open door allows the sound of rain to seep into the room, its rhythmic patter a calming backdrop.

With a delicate hand, you dip the brush into the ink. Turning your head briefly toward the open door, you take in the garden’s beauty once more before letting your brush glide across the canvas. Lines and strokes take form, capturing the fleeting serenity of this stormy morning.

Rainstorms are a rare gift where you live, their fleeting presence a break from the monotony. Today, you’re determined to make the most of it.

At first, your brush glides gracefully across the canvas, each stroke deliberate. But as the rhythm of the rain seeps into your soul, your restraint slips away. Abandoning the brush, you plunge your fingers into the paint, smearing and blending with unrestrained fervor. Ink and blue paint streak across your hands, dripping down your forearms and splattering your attire in chaotic beauty.

“Whistle,” you say, your voice bubbling with satisfaction. It’s a word you’ve grown fond of, slipping from your lips whenever joy or excitement fills your heart. Lately, it’s become a staple in your solitude, a small, silly comfort.

The storm intensifies as time passes, the thunder crashing louder, more violent, like the sky itself is unraveling. The wind howls through the shrine, forcing its way in through the gaps, knocking over your painting tools, sending them tumbling to the floor with a clatter. The wind’s icy fingers brush against your skin, tugging at the strands of your long, vibrant hair, now streaked with ink and paint.

The servant, standing in the corner, takes a hesitant step forward, her gaze flickering toward the open door.

"I shall close the doors," she murmurs.

But you shake your head, a serene smile curling at your lips. “No need.” Your voice is calm, almost as if you’ve come to an understanding with the tempest itself. “The wind is trying to tell me something.”

The servant hesitates, unsure of what you mean, but she remains silent. You turn your attention back to the howling wind, your senses attuned to the unseen whispers it carries. Something stirs deep within the storm—something that calls to you, like a distant echo from a world beyond the shrine.

A heavy presence descends upon the shrine, one so dense and oppressive that it presses against your chest, suffocating the very air around you. The feeling is unlike anything you've experienced before—an overwhelming force, potent enough to crush anyone in its path, even you.

Your gaze shifts instinctively toward the main doors, eyes narrowing, as you wait, silent and still, your senses acutely alert. The servant in the corner, unaware of the shift in the atmosphere, continues to stare down at the floor, her posture humble and patient.

You swallow, the knot in your throat thickening. This is no monk. This is no servant, and certainly no curse of the kind you are accustomed to—small, fleeting, easily dealt with.

The curses that linger near you are always cautious, knowing well the danger of your power. But this... this is different. The weight of it is unmistakable.

It’s powerful, far beyond what you've encountered. Your instincts scream that whatever stands on the other side of those doors is not only dangerous, but knows you as well.

The air feels thinner with each passing moment, your breaths shallow as anticipation grips you. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, your heart races—not from fear, but from exhilaration. “Whistle,” you whisper under your breath.

Then, it happens. A shadow looms behind the doors, its presence so immense it eclipses the storm itself. The servant, who had been so still and composed moments ago, crumples to her knees. Her wide, terrified eyes dart toward the entrance, her trembling form betraying that she knows—she knows exactly who or what has arrived.

You lean forward, every fiber of your being taut with anticipation. The waiting stretches on, almost unbearable. What has come for you? What does this being want?

And then, with a deliberate, deafening pang, the shoji doors slide open.

Your breath catches as you take in the sight before you. Towering in the doorway stands a monstrous figure—man, curse, beast—you cannot tell. His entire form is drenched in blood, but it is not his own; the metallic tang in the air tells you that it is human.

Four eyes lock onto yours, unblinking and predatory. His lips curl into a cold, menacing smile, baring sharp canines that glint even in the dim light. The storm rages on behind him, a fitting backdrop to his terrifying, otherworldly presence.

And yet, even as dread prickles at the edges of your mind, you find yourself captivated, unable to look away. His gaze holds you prisoner, intense and unyielding. He wears a white hakama, pristine despite the blood that stains him, and a black haori draped loosely over his broad shoulders, concealing the other two arms tucked beneath its folds.

Your eyes flick to his hair—an unusual shade of pink, striking and unnatural, further solidifying the impossibility of his presence.

He steps forward, his movements deliberate, a predator toying with its prey. His tongue darts out, running across his sharp canines as if savoring the taste of something unseen.

And then, you notice it—a second figure standing just behind him, much smaller, its form resembling that of a monk. 

“Death.” the man says at last, the word slow and deliberate, as though tasting it, testing its weight upon his tongue. His voice carries a dark resonance, low and commanding, each syllable vibrating in the still air.

Your servant trembled, her hands pressed to the floor as if in prayer, her head bowed so low you couldn’t see her face. Whatever fear you felt was buried beneath the growing curiosity clawing at your chest. Who was this man—this creature—that dared to step into your sanctuary?

“Do you not fear me?” he asked, his voice a velvet drawl, rich with amusement and danger, each word threading its way into the charged silence. 

Perhaps he had noticed the absence of trembling hands, the lack of a bowed head pleading for mercy. It was a sight he was accustomed to—groveling, desperation, the raw stench of terror. Yet here you stood, unyielding, your gaze steady despite the overwhelming force of his presence.

“I do not know you.” you respond.

A low chuckle escaped his lips, dark and resonant, a sound that seemed to ripple through the very walls of the shrine. “Ah, but does one need to know the storm to fear its wrath?” 

He stepped closer, the hem of his hakama brushing against the floor like a whisper of approaching calamity. “Tell me,” he continued, his four eyes gleaming with cruel delight, “when the flower bends beneath the wind, does it do so out of respect or survival?”

His smile widened, baring his teeth, and there was no mistaking it now: the curve of his lips carried no warmth, no kindness. Even a fool would have recognized the malice that danced in his expression.

With a slow, almost languid movement, he crouched before you, bringing himself to your level, his haori parting slightly to reveal the monstrous strength concealed within. His head tilted, and amusement flickered in his eyes, though it was far from innocent.

“And let us see, Goddess of Death,” he began, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, “whether you bloom for me.....

"Or break.”

[clarissasbakery]

tpot 14 but in winter fits 👏👏👏

[naffeclipse]

Ahh i somehow missed the last two chapters of your hocus pocus au and omg they're so good!!!<3<3<3 I adore this au I'm rotating it in my mind<3

I've got a couple questions, if you don't mind :3

did the boys have more normal (for lack of a better word-) names when they were human or were they always called Sun Moon and Eclipse? I know you've mentioned that a changed form was a small price to pay to come back to life, but do they ever feel self conscious about their changed bodies?

And do you mind if people design their own interpretations of the boys?

Thank you!!! @jackofallrabbits are so happy you've enjoyed it!!

The boys were always called Sun, Moon, and Eclipse! And yes, they were once human. Their new forms are very strange and new, and once things settle down with their new bride, they can reflect slightly on how they all feel about this small price they had to pay to come back.

Sun is the most self-conscious about his new form. He was very attractive as a human and he fears that this may be too different and strange. He wonders if Y/N really likes him like this. Out of the three, Sun wishes he could show Y/N what he really liked like before so Y/N can know that he was once very handsome! Of course, Y/N loves him and finds him very handsome now, but it'll take a little gentle reminder to reinforce this within Sun.

Moon misses his hair. It was long and silky and black as raven wings. He sometimes still reaches for it only to find his hood instead.

Eclipse handles his new form the best out of his brothers. He's simply happy that they're all alive and well, and they are living happily with their bride.

Of course! You can design your own interpretation of the boys! Just make sure to tag @jackofallrabbits and me so we can see it!!

[sullyfortress]

BEEN A WHILE

I thought I’d post an older piece. I started designing this OC Annie Arbour 2 years ago and never got around to posting her so here she is! I had this whole idea that she is Grace Augustine’s niece who comes to Pandora in the wave of human colonists during the second movie. Of coarse the ‘narrative’ on earth is that savage Pandorian indigenous killed all the scientists including her Aunt, so she at first is team RDA.

ALSO BIG NEWS!

I am design a website will all my commission info, just because I think it’s hard to navigate the blog posts to find pricing for most people. 😅

I will be sharing the link in my bio soon. I plan to have a gallery that shows all my past commission work. I will of coarse include watermarks and credit the person who commissioned the work via their tumblr tag or whatever social they contacted me with. IF YOU ARE SOMEONE WHO I HAVE DONE WORK FOR IN THE PAST AND YOU DO NOT WANT YOUR WORK FEATURED, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

[blyszczopies]

I'm now taking commissions for animated pagedolls like these for 45$!

Animated in a wobbly way, reminiscent if the Generation 5 Pokemon sprites. All pagedolls will be 250-300 pixels in height/width. Perfect to use as a decoration for your blog theme or a personal website!

If you're interested, please read the terms of service and how to contact me in the read more. You will also find there a couple more examples of my animations in that style. ^___^

Some older examples of pieces animated in this style, to give you a better idea of what I can do:

For examples of my completed commissioned artworks overall you can check out this tag on my art blog!

Terms of service:

I take payment through Paypal and I take it upfront; I will not sketch your commission unless you have paid at least half of the price. No refunds if I'm already past the sketch phase. Do not order a commission if you are not sure if you can afford one.

These are not first come first serve. I claim the right to decline a commission for any reason.

I do not work with deadlines. I will do my best to get your commission done as quickly as possible, but I can not promise I will get it done in specified time.

I will send you WIP images of your commission as I work on it, to make sure you're satisfied with the final product.

The owner of the character featured in the commissioned drawing is allowed to use and repost their commission, preferably with proper credit. The commissioned image is only for personal use of the commissioner or the person who owns the character(s) from the drawing.

I claim the right to post a commission publicly. However, upon requests I can keep the commissioner anonymous or refrain from posting their commission online.

I will draw: Quadruped and anthropomorphic animals and fantasy creatures; Original characters and real-life pets; Characters based off a description, if no image is available; Complex designs and several characters in a single image (for an additional fee); Mature themes (blood, gore, nudity, substance abuse, etc)

I will not draw: Humans and highly humanoid characters; Artwork promoting bigotry; Pornography

I might draw: Fanart/fandom characters. Just ask if I would draw characters from a specific media you have on your mind! Same goes for anything not explicitly mentioned here.

By commissioning me you agree to my terms of service. If interested, you can contact either DM me here on tumblr or send me an email to timo666dlugiewlosy(at)gmail.com with everything I could use while working on your commission: reference images, descriptions, various kinds of inspiration sources. Feel free to ramble about the thing you would like me to draw! That will greatly help me get an idea of what you would like me to create for you. ^___^

Thank you so much for taking your time to read this! Have a great day!