#the judge ref sheet

[8thekat]

Judge Sans Ref Sheet

So I've talked about this guy before. Drew a bunch of pictures of him...but I decided to make a ref sheet for him because he's prob one of my favorite Undertale OCs and I felt he deserved one :3 Been working on this bad boy for a few months.

It's a gift for my friend and the creator of Judge Sans, @valcreator 💛

If you'd like to learn more about how cool Judge is, you can read his wiki here!

More Judge drawings I've done can be found here, here and here! and likely more in the future heheheh...

ALSO I WANNA ADD! If anyone has any questions for Judge, Val (the creator of Judge) has an ask blog on tumblr that you can send questions to!

💛 @ask-judge-sans 💛

______________

Linktree • Patreon • DeviantArt • Discord • Webtoon • Tapas

[unicorn-boy-personal-h3ll]

THATS RIGHT I MADE IT! I FINALLY GAVE THIS BASTARD A NEW REF SHEET TO HIS UPDATED DESIGN!!!

[wellcrapineedaname]

One of my Invincible OC’s Thaliko (a million thanks to @/darknessrises2908 for helping me with naming conventions), Anyways, she’s a know-it-all, she dislikes most people, and she’s a sapphic, also I gave her some visible muscles because Invincible suffers from the classic stick figure super-women there’s a lil more abt her on my artfight and I’ll post relationship charts at some point

[theshywolf-art]

(Anything Goes AU)

I already posted the refs in the community but eh, imma put is on main too

THE JUDGE

(Neutral/normal ^)

(Eyes open ^)

(Using abilities ^)

Death ray 💥💥

(P.O.V: you are unworthy)

[amelikos]

Spinel's reaction after Zygarde leaves Gibeon.

[abyssal-citadel]

Rare Abyssal's OC sighting, oh my goodness!!!

Ms. Wobbles, an undead bird-like creature that was used as a "living" model in a necromancer's college of the gold-standard of what a re-animated monster should look like even if their parts are from different sources. Its parts are infused with and modified by magic that stop it from decaying, even after the college was long abandoned. Nothing it can do for the metal part of the mask though. (The cat tails and octopus tentacles have been artificially resized with magic as well) It was named due to how every step it takes makes its head, neck, and tail wobble like a bobblehead.

(By the by, this fella was scrapped from another game I was going to make, like, a year ago, where Ms. Wobbles was an intelligent undead npc-type fella. Poor fucker got lobotomized)

[indragonsaur]

Tales Of Dragon Hier: Judge Death

Name: Judge Death Age: 70 years old Gender: Male Sexuality: Asexual personality: disturbing mix of intellectual curiosity, Sadstistic, profound cruelty, and a fascination with violence Born in place: ??? Species: Dragonnewts Voice actor: Tony Todd

[oleanderclanstems]

Moon 0: Page 1

"I can distinctly remember the night I got my nine lives. The place was a dark red, gloomy and dead. I remember feeling watched. I knew I wasn't in StarClan."

High Res Version

[nyhne]

.

[hxy0k]

So I binge-watched the entire Hazbin Hotel series with @lillythepyromancer around two weeks ago and one thing led to another and I may have revamped my (completely unknown) Hellaverse OC so…

I introduce to you…

(I might post backstory and such on another post)

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

Updating my commission info !! ヾ(:3ﾉｼヾ)ﾉｼ

Commissions are open again!

Please, be sure to read the information below before sending me your email!

Information:

● Contact me at bumblebee@outlook.fr (I only accept mp if you have any question but the commission must be discussed via email)

●Payments via paypal only, send as “Close friend” at this email: daphnee-pirker@hotmail.fr in Euro (EUR) in one go. Ref sheets can be paid in two times (before starting and after the sketch is done)

●Tell me as many details as you can think of when you commission me (so I can get closer to what you have in mind). If you want a commission for your OC, send me their reference as well. If you don’t have any reference (ex: only text, or seperate pictures to describe the character(s)) and you want me to design it, additonal fees may apply (usually between 10 to 25 EUR).

●I can refuse a commission if I judge it too disturbing for me (this is for both nsfw and ships)

[badgertracksart]

Portfolio advice, from a lead who hires Concept Artists

(This was originally a twitter thread I wrote before the site self imolated, hense it's strange structure.) I wrote this after a weekend of portfolio reviews - 1. Like a maths exam, please please show your working. I want to see thumbs options, mid options and of course a final design.

2. Arrange your portfolio, I don't want to bounce about between subject matter and pipeline. Your portfolio's narrative should be as strong as your work... 3. Please make worlds that excite the viewer, make them want to go in and explore them, explain to them the interesting parts of the town, or the way the character's hat unfolds. How will this draw the viewer in? 4. As I've said before the majority of your project work is explanatory not mood, make sure your portfolio contains explanatory work. Explained here -

5. A lot of beautiful post apocolyptic paintings, , but 80% of realistic games and film, we just give the environment artists photo ref, they are capable artists in their own right. Different work in stylised where you do need to create rules for how things can be translated. 6. Production art contains call out sheets, material references and flat graphics. This doesn't have to be your final image, but it should support it.

7. Design characters on a swatch(es) of the environment they will be viewed in. Not on white. I make swatch backgrounds from screenshots, it avoids assumptions that damage readability. 8. Reverse of this, put people in your environments, show me the scale.

9. It's not a deal breaker for a review, but if you intend to get a job, please show me your work on a screen larger than a smartphone (print outs probably the cheapest option with the best battery life). 10. Please have your contact details clearly visible, and by that I mean email address, I will not pass your social media contact on, I cannot input your form into my tracking system. EMAIL ADDRESS emblazoned and bake it in, sometimes recruiters do funky stuff to pdfs

11. Your portfolio will never feel done, not to you anyway. You will have learnt from your latest pieces and want to apply it to older work. But we know art is a journey. Send your portfolio anyway. I've been in the industry 10+ years and my portfolio is still not 'finished'. 12. If you are applying to an environment centric Concept Art position then please vary your times of day! Golden hour is cool but show me some happy sunny days, looming overcast days, what about at night? Vary your weather too! Sunny snowy day? Rainy Spring day? Stormy night?

13. If you are applying for a character centric Concept Art role then please ensure your portfolio shows a variety of body types and ethnicities. 14. Designing characters for games? Please show back views and feet (!) Many potfolios contain only front views. This is a problem because:

You haven't shown you are considering the design from all angles.

In many games rear view is the main view.

Stop cropping feet.

15. If you are entry / graduating and looking at Portfolios to compare content and standard of yr own work too, look at hired grad/junior artists as opposed to seniors Seniors and leads often have old or personal work in their portfolio which isnt representative of the day job. 16a. Show clearly the intended use case for your Concept Art. Mention the game type in the description. Are these player character designs for a 3rd person adventure game? Then more back views please. Bonus points for diagetic ways of showing health / equipment / role etc.

16b. Are these designs for an FPS? Then really the player view of the gun needs to sell the player style/ choices, in an FPS your weapons are almost your character. Are these world designs? What's the view distance? For an RTS your shapes need to read from above & a distance. 16c. The lack of clarification means I am judging the design in isolation, which both harms the design (you might be considering the backview of a char as the main adventure character.) Or an NPC, their waist up expressions may be important for conveying exposition and mechanics.

16d. Concept art is not separate from gameplay, great concept art serves the game team before it is a good illustration.

17. Play games. A variety of games. Think about them. IMO to be a good concept artist you need to understand the common language & references used by your peers. Also understand the principles and common language your audience are used to. FPS design rules are v.diff from RTS.

18. There are many skills that are needed in concept art, please show them. For example: Graphic design - logos, liveries, typographic use etc. VFX concepts - Abilities, Ambience, motion concepts. Architectural knowledge - How buildings are built! & more but I'm out of space :O

[camficdiner]

hi queen!! i love your fics so much!! could i pls get 1.1, 2.4, 3.6, 4.3??

Cam’s Fic Diner - order 036

🍒 thank you

To the angel who sent in “fake dating at a wedding” — you had no idea what kind of chaos you were about to unleash. This request started as a fun trope and turned into a full-blown summer saga with soft launches, PR contracts, and a very real Jack Hughes confession under silk sheets 😮‍💨

You lit the match — I just followed the fire.

Thank you for trusting Cam’s Fic Diner with your brilliant prompt. You’re always welcome back for another round 💌

💬 “The Golden Hour Contract”

✨ Description and prompts:

Character: Jack Hughes

Prompt: fake dating for PR, athlete!reader 

Word count: ~2.1k

Type: Mixed smut/fluff 

🛼🍒✨🧁

You were used to headlines. But never the good kind.

Tennis’s “dark darling.” The “racket-throwing riot.” Uncoachable. Cold. Impossible to brand. Your last post-match conference ended with a water bottle launched into a camera lens. Your agent nearly quit. Again.

So when you got the call — We’ve got a meeting in Jersey. Pack for two nights. Big opportunity — you assumed it was a last-ditch sponsorship fix. A new racquet deal. Maybe some lifestyle brand willing to gamble on your bite.

You did not expect to be sitting in a conference room at the Prudential Center, staring across the table at Jack Hughes.

He looked… exactly like he did in the media.

Lean, clean-shaven, collared shirt rolled up at the forearms. One chain. One dimple. Arms crossed, smile faint. Like this wasn’t the weirdest meeting of his life.

Your manager cleared his throat.

“So here’s the pitch.”

You blinked. “Pitch?”

“You and Jack,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “are going to date.”

You turned to Jack. His expression didn’t change.

“For… PR,” your manager added.

A beat of silence.

“Excuse me?” you said.

The Devils’ team rep slid a folder toward you. “Public sentiment’s down across both sides. You’re polarizing. Jack’s too clean. This is mutually beneficial. It’s… strategic.”

Jack’s voice was dry. “We take a few pictures. Couple events. Look cozy. Maybe smile at each other once or twice.”

You glared. “You want this?”

“I want the media to get off my ass about not being interesting,” he said. “And apparently, you’re chaos incarnate.”

You stood up. “Absolutely not.”

But your manager didn’t flinch. “You’ve got three fines and zero endorsements this quarter.”

“And you,” the Devils’ rep added, turning to Jack, “keep getting accused of being too soft. Too vanilla.”

Jack raised a brow. “So now I’m supposed to date a girl who threw a racquet at a ref?”

You snorted. “He deserved it.”

Jack’s lips twitched.

“And,” the rep added with venomous calm, “you’ll both be attending a wedding together next month. In Capri.”

You froze.

Jack blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“A destination wedding,” your agent said, chipper now. “Very photogenic. We’ve already RSVPed.”

You sat back down slowly.

Your fingers tapped the table. You looked at Jack.

He met your eyes.

Smug. Calm. Challenging.

“You game, Hughes?” you asked.

His grin spread. “Always.”

—

The press release dropped two weeks later.

BREAKING: Hockey’s Golden Boy Jack Hughes Spotted Courtside With Tennis’s Baddest Bitch

Jack Hughes’ New Flame? Fans Lose It Over PR Power Couple

Your post? A cryptic Instagram story: a pasta dish, expensive sunglasses on the table.

Caption: you wish you were invited to this dinner.

Jack reposted it.

With a heart emoji.

That’s when Quinn called.

“You’re dating her?”

Jack held the phone away from his ear. “Good to hear from you too, Quinn.”

“Jack. Be serious. You’ve seen what they write about her. She threw a racquet at a judge—”

“She’s not that bad.”

“Jack.”

“I’ve met worse.”

“Jack.”

“She makes it interesting, okay?”

A pause. Then: “This is about Lily, isn’t it?”

Jack’s jaw ticked.

“Jesus,” Quinn muttered. “You’re soft-launching a PR girlfriend to recover from a real breakup?”

Jack hung up.

Luke was worse.

He just sent a screenshot of the article with a voice note: bro… bro. Her? Seriously?

Jack deleted it without opening.

Because here’s the thing — he hadn’t been able to shake the way you looked at him that day in the conference room. Like you didn’t care who he was. Like you were two seconds away from biting his head off.

And maybe… maybe that was the whole point.

Because the media had spent months dissecting his last breakup — saying he wasn’t passionate enough, wasn’t bold, wasn’t interesting.

He was tired of being branded the sweet one. The safe one. The boring one.

So he posted the pasta story. Reposted your story. Let the storm roll in.

Let them all talk.

Let them wonder why Jack Hughes, Mr. Perfect, had suddenly gone rogue.

—

The villa was drenched in sunlight.

Capri looked fake — like someone had turned the saturation too high. Every terrace dripped bougainvillea. Every window was open, catching sea breeze and whispering silk curtains.

You stood on the marble balcony in a lemon-colored dress, sipping something bubbly, sunglasses low on your nose. You didn’t turn when Jack stepped beside you.

“You clean up,” he said slowly, “terrifyingly well.”

You let him look.

Low back. Tiny straps. Bronze skin. Tattoos catching golden hour light.

“You look like you should come with a warning,” he muttered.

“I do,” you said, sipping. “Your brothers read it out loud to you.”

Jack laughed under his breath. “They’re not over it, by the way.”

“Shocker.”

He pulled out his phone. “Quinn sent me: ‘please remind your fake girlfriend not to curse out the flower girl.’”

You grinned. “Did you?”

“I told him to worry about his own plus one.”

You turned. “He didn’t bring one.”

He met your eyes. “Exactly.”

Your heart stuttered.

It’s fake, you reminded yourself.

But then he leaned in and fixed your strap, fingers grazing your skin like he meant it — and everything fake felt far too real.

—

You made it exactly nineteen minutes into the rehearsal dinner before Jack’s hand slid to your thigh under the table.

You nearly choked on your wine.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, smile still plastered for the couple across from you.

He murmured, “Just playing the part.”

His fingers stayed there.

Warm. Heavy. Possessive.

You didn’t move.

Not even when his thumb slowly traced a circle.

Later, when you stood for pictures, he rested his chin on your shoulder like it was nothing. Like his breath wasn’t brushing your skin. Like your body hadn’t just betrayed you entirely.

Your smile for the camera was dangerous.

His? Infuriatingly perfect.

—

The suite was stunning.

Which almost made up for the single bed.

Jack raised a brow. “Seriously?”

The host had given you the honeymoon room. As a gesture.

He turned to you. “You want the right or the left side?”

You kicked off your heels. “I want sleep and zero conversation.”

“You got it, princess.”

You brushed your teeth.

He undressed.

And when you emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, skin clean, you found him shirtless, reading a book on the bed like he didn’t just ruin your night with a bare torso and low-slung sweatpants.

He looked up.

And his eyes… didn’t leave your legs.

Or your oversized tee that didn’t quite hide the shape beneath.

“Problem?” you asked.

His jaw twitched.

“Nope.”

He turned off the light.

But the heat between you stayed on full flame.

—

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.

That’s what you told yourself the next day — while you danced in the sun, smiled in designer heels, and let Jack rest a hand on your back in every photo.

That’s what you reminded yourself when people whispered “they’re kind of perfect together” and your cheeks flushed hot.

And that’s what you screamed inside your head when you saw him talking to the bride’s cousin — some blonde with a backless dress and a fake giggle — and felt your stomach burn.

You didn’t even realize you were staring until Jack looked across the garden, eyes narrowing.

He excused himself from the girl mid-sentence.

Stormed toward you.

Grabbed your hand.

Pulled you around the corner, into a hallway off the terrace, near the powder room.

The music faded.

His back hit the wall.

He pulled you with him.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, voice low.

“No,” you lied, furious.

He grinned.

You grabbed his collar.

His mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t careful.

It was everything the contract said you couldn’t do.

And it was the only real thing you’d felt in weeks.

His hands found your waist. Yours tangled in his curls. He kissed like he wanted it — like he needed it — like he’d been holding it in since New Jersey.

You moaned into his mouth.

He cursed into yours.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, dizzy, ruined—

He said, “Tell me it’s fake now.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because your hand was already unbuckling his belt.

And he was already backing you into the guest bathroom.

And the wedding music kept playing, far away — like you weren’t breaking every rule you’d signed.

—

The next morning was quiet.

You ate breakfast on the terrace.

He sat across from you.

Sunglasses. Bed hair. Barefoot.

He didn’t speak until you looked at him.

Then, calmly, softly, he said, “Stay with me. Even after the wedding.”

You blinked.

“I mean it,” he said. “Come with me to Quinn’s birthday party”

Your breath caught.

And maybe for the first time in your life — you didn’t feel like the scandal.

You felt like the story.

You land in Vancouver two days before Quinn’s birthday.

Jack insists on flying you in himself. First class. Quiet flight. Shared headphones. Champagne you barely touch.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t move for the entire six-hour flight.

—

The party is small.

Just family, close friends, a few Devils and Canucks teammates in vacation mode. The restaurant is candlelit, tucked in a private upstairs floor, music soft and jazzed.

You wear silk. Emerald green.

He wears black. No tie. Hair messy like he never even tried.

He can’t stop looking at you.

Everyone else tries not to stare.

Quinn gives a speech. So does Luke.

Someone clinks a glass. The cake comes out.

Jack stands suddenly. “Wait—one second.”

The whole room quiets.

He clears his throat. Nervous.

You blink.

“I just—uh. Wanted to say thanks to Quinn for being the best older brother a guy could ask for. And also—” he turns, finds your hand on the table, links your fingers like it’s instinct “—also for not strangling me when I brought her to the wedding.”

Laughter. Lighthearted groans. Quinn raises his glass with a smirk.

You squeeze Jack’s fingers under the table.

He doesn’t let go.

—

You leave early.

Too many cameras. Too much press.

Jack says he’s tired.

You say nothing.

But when he pushes you into the wall of the hotel suite, mouth already crashing into yours, you understand why he really left.

You taste champagne and heat and everything you’ve been holding in for weeks.

He pulls your dress up, hands rough. “Been thinking about this all night.”

“You mean all month,” you pant.

His laugh is low, wrecked. “Touch��.”

You reach for his belt.

He catches your wrist.

“No.”

You look up, startled.

“I want to see you first.”

You blink. “You see me now.”

“No.” His voice softens, deepens. “Not like that. I want the lights on. I want to remember all of it.”

Your heart trips.

He unzips your dress slowly.

Lets it fall.

He peels it off like it’s a promise — not a distraction.

And when you’re left in nothing but your heels and breathless silence, he just stands there, jaw clenched, eyes burning.

“You’re unreal,” he says. “Like… how are you real?”

You laugh. “Jack—”

He cuts you off with a kiss. Long. Deep. Hungry.

When you reach for him again, this time he lets you.

Clothes come off in silence.

Except for the moan he lets out when you drop to your knees and taste him — slow, teasing, cruel.

He doesn’t last long.

You don’t want him to.

He tugs you up, pulls you into his lap on the edge of the bed.

“No games this time,” he whispers. “I want to be inside you. Real. No pretending.”

You nod, lips parted.

He pushes in — slow, inch by inch, until you’re full.

You both breathe hard.

He holds your face.

“This isn’t PR anymore.”

You nod again.

“I don’t want the contract. I want you.”

And then he moves.

Slow at first — maddeningly slow — like he’s memorizing every sound you make, every twitch of your hips.

His mouth finds your neck, your chest, your collarbone.

His fingers dig into your waist.

Your nails scratch his back.

“Tell me it’s real,” he begs.

“It’s real,” you say.

He moves faster.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

He thrusts harder.

You fall apart in his arms, shaking, breathless, overwhelmed.

He follows seconds later, forehead pressed to yours, hand still tangled in your hair.

After, he wraps you in the sheets, chest to chest, heart to heart.

You lie there, tangled.

Breathing.

You think it’s over.

It’s not.

He leans up on one elbow.

Looks down at you.

And says softly, “Come to New Jersey.”

You blink.

“Stay with me. Let them talk. Let them say whatever. I don’t care if it started fake. I want you. At my games. In my house. In my bed.”

You swallow.

“Make it real,” he whispers. “Let’s do this for real.”

You say nothing.

Just pull him down and kiss him like a yes.

—

[makeyoumine69]

Being Bateman’s Soulmate | HEADCANON

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader; CW: Romance & Angst; Links: [MASTERLIST]; Song Rec: The Cure — Lovesong; A/N: This is dedicated to everyone who is madly in love with their fictional crush! 💗 If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!

— “Soulmate? What the fuck does that word even mean?” Bateman would say the first time you mentioned it. His reaction would amuse you at first, although you knew that Patrick would understand its meaning in time, and that feeling when you could touch another person's soul as if it were material. The feeling of wanting to scream because you were so in love that you couldn't even believe it was possible to have such feelings. All of this would eventually overwhelm him, and then he'd never want it to end.

— "You think I have a soul, huh?" He would smile whenever you had sentimental conversations, and even though Bateman kept repeating that he didn't like them, you would sometimes see him sitting alone, thinking about his life before he met you. Did you make his life better? Well, was it even possible to judge such things? Since nothing in this world could be black or white, it was always gray.  But with you, his life was painted in new colors.

— “I remember you telling me that your favorite color was red.” Red like the blood that spilled on his perfect sheets whenever he treated you too rough, but you never asked him to stop. Sometimes those little scarlet spots on the white sheets could look like petals from the red roses Bateman used to give you, even though he knew how clichéd that was. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?" The man would ask, tracing his long finger over the red marks on your hip.  Sighing, you would roll onto your stomach and give him your most devoted look. "Because I like it," and that was all he needed to hear from you. "I'd tell you if I didn't." Having said that, you would sit up to find his lips and kiss him, slowly but eagerly, transmitting all the love and emotion you had for him through that kiss.

— "If you say you love me, why does it hurt so much?" He would ask you this question over and over again after he had a breakdown because he was so overwhelmed by everything you were giving him: your care, your affection, your understanding, and your support. Eventually, it all became too much for him, and when Patrick realized that he was probably in love with you, a sharp pain coursed through the very small pitch of his body like an electric impulse. He loved you so much it hurt.

— One night, you were sitting in the living room in Bateman’s slick apartment and watching some classic romantic comedy from the 1930s, the scenes from it made you think about something you never expected you would. "Patrick, have you ever thought about death?" You asked suddenly, holding his hand and noticing how tense he became. "I mean... I'm afraid of death because I don't want to be without you, if that makes any sense." At first, Patrick just laughed and gently moved closer to you, hugging your shoulders possessively. "Can you promise me that... if there is an afterlife, you will find me there?" Nearly sobbing, you looked into his dark, brown eyes, at the way his eyebrows furrowed as the man considered his answer. "And we will be together even after death?" Your voice cracked at the weight of your words, never before had you dared to speak of such things.

— The question of death, an abstract yet intimately familiar topic, drew a thoughtful arch to his brow. Death was not a stranger to him, nor was it an adversary he feared-not in the way that the average person might. "Death," Patrick began, his voice tinged with a cold amusement that belied the gravity of the subject. "It's the only certainty in life, isn't it? A final transaction, one we all must make." His arm tightened around you, a gesture that feigned warmth but held an undercurrent of something sharper. Bateman met your gaze, the hazel of his eyes unreadable yet intense, reflecting the black-and-white dance of images on the screen. "If there is an afterlife," he continued, weighing each word like a coin on a scale, "I'll find you. But let's not be so morose, darling." The man leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his breath a whisper that carried the scent of the red wine you had shared earlier. "Life is for the living, and I intend to savor every moment I have with you. Making promises about the afterlife is... morbidly romantic, but unnecessary. I have you now, and you have me. Isn't that enough?"

— And that was even more than enough.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[uas-art]

'Sumer is icumen en' is an actual medieval song, sometimes called the Summer Canon. The oldest musical notation we have for it dates to about 1260, but the song is probably older. Here it is preformed in flute and here it is preformed by a choir. It's pretty catchy!

Also, those 3 are Leshy's main friend group. I draw them in the background and with Leshy from time to time in comics so it's about time I made a little ref sheet for them.

Rambles on what are more or less OCs at this point below:

Amdusias is the only one who knew Leshy as a god. He's been with the Lamb long enough that he no longer reveres Leshy as a divine being, but always enjoyed his company as a follower. He's also the father to the shrew with horns girl I've drawn in a few comics before. (the kids name is Lena Jr.! She goes by Len though) his wife in all but name is a shrew disciple named Lena. She met him as a ghost during the blood moon festival and fell head over heels.

Otta is my interpretation of the otter from the kitchen nightmares short! She and Cor grew closes while imprisoned and waiting to be scarficed. Since she doesn't believe she as a mortal can judge a god for what they do, she doesn't really hold a grunge agianst Leshy for the attempted scarfice by his remaining followers who still think he's alive somewhere. However... She doesn't really like high energy people or entitled people, and Leshy ticks both those boxes,but since Cor, for reasons she cannot fathom, likes smooching on that bush, she tolerates Leshy's presence.

Cornelius, or just Cor, is the yellow cat from the kitchen nightmare short. He was a rambunctious kid who grew into a rambunctious teenager. This caused a riff between him and his family, so one day he decided to just up and leave. He traveled around a little before joining up with the Darkwood cult more or less on a whim. Leshy was long since dead, but his power still remained in the land, so his followers believed he would come back one day. Cor enjoyed the partying, chaos causing, and pillaging, but he got himself in a bit of trouble that ticked off the higher ups. He managed to escape and get back to his village, but his village was abdanoned. He was then captured. While imprisoned he met Otta and they became close and remained good friends after The Lamb saved them. He'd heard tales of Leshy being a fun guy to party with and be around, so he started to seek his friendship to find out if that was true. (cats and curiosity, ya know?)

[hawkepockets]

commissions are back!

i have TWO options for you…

1. digital stickers

ever wish you had clean & cute transparent .pngs of all your OCs to fill out meme charts, character sheets, and ship templates, or just to stick wherever? well you’re in luck! 🍀

head-n-shoulders, small file size, no sketching.

$10 ea. or 5 for $45

2. DAI-style companion icons

a more detailed bust, with a sketch for you to approve before i color. watercolor background, any shape. get em while they’re hot! 🔥

$45 for 1 or $75 for regular + wounded version.

info

👍 yes

furries

sci/fi fantasy species

animals

complex designs, armor, & mecha - with the caveat that my style is cartoony and i will simplify.

👎 no

skinnywashing

whitewashing

💰 how to commission me

please reach out via discord dm (aameyalli#0) or tumblr messaging. have refs ready so we can get started asap!

payment will be up front. i can take paypal, kofi, and venmo. i will offer a 20% refund if your wait time becomes excessive for any reason or if you don’t like the final piece.

i reserve the right to turn down any commission i’m not comfortable with, for any reason. but i will never judge you for a request!

🤝 are we longtime mutuals? dearest friends? can you name three previous urls? has your Skill left silvered fingerprints on my skin? ask about the Beloved discount! it’s whatever i want it to be. and i can smell fear.