#composition and angles and colors and something something

[wyllzel]

two of my uni friends got married yesterday 🥳 and back when we were all at uni, i took their grad photos at a time when they weren't explicitly dating but my bestie and i KNEW they were In Discussion... (based on vibes, which were later confirmed to my bestie by one of them) 👀 so i took guerilla candid photos of them when they weren't looking... bc they were acting so INTIMATE and TENDER that i couldn't not... AND NOW THREE YEARS LATER MY PHOTOS MADE IT INTO SIGNIFICANT PARTS OF THE WEDDING CEREMONY >:)

i feel that i am owed some royalties perhaps 🙄

[tialinffxiv]

"Your name has long been lost to the passage of time- and yet, your light shine ever bright upon the path of those following in your footsteps."

EDIT: Since I've been asked on discord, in DMs and tags- no post-processing was done here (aside from Reshade if you count it as one) and yes, this is gpose 😊 If you are interested in more details I will share them below:

No post-processing nor any extra textures, no drawing over screenshot. There's few "tricks" tho~ First thing- all those light effects and lines are a part of AST skill- it's "Celestial River" skill and it's a PvP LB of AST (I used magic tool to use it outside of PvP areas) and to get it to look NICE took the most of time: pausing at right moment then finding a right angle of camera for both the effects and composition of the shot etc~ Most of that was not planned at all and I just found out some cool effects with that while working on this shot. I actually do that often- I go into gpose with one idea but figure out something much different in the process. Now, to match character inside of all that and frame him nicer I made him like 4 times bigger with tool. Pose is victory of AST with a slight adjustment (and i hid the weapon outside of the shot frame). As base I went for one of sepia filters of gpose and turned the main light of gpose and reduced it to 0, then sprinkled it with few reshade filters (adjusted colors, warmth, added some blur and bloom) and finally added a screen effect of gpose called "frosted glass"- this filter sorta added more of that "cosmic dust" thingy effect on the shot. Total time spend in gpose working on this single shot- about 1 hour.

[emmg]

There exists a certain breed of people, Emmrich Volkarin has observed, who live in the excesses of their own making, and he has always known himself to be one of them. In all things, but especially in the amorous, his nature unfurls in grandiosity. He has often assured himself that this is a mark of distinction. They blush, all of them, do they not? Their eyes dart sideways, their mouths falter into embarrassed gratitude: Thank you, Emmrich, thank you, truly, you shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.

It makes no difference whether it is the routine bonds of years or the fleeting conspiracies of a night’s darkness; his approach is unvarying. Coffee will await them in the morning, placed just so, beside a carefully curated tray of toiletries reserved for such occasions. He will inquire, solicitous as ever: Do you have somewhere to be? Something you need? Someone you need? The questions perch delicately on the lip of a deeper one: Is it me you need? More of me, perhaps? A carriage, at least, if not my company?

It was Johanna, before she was finally exiled from the Watch, who delivered the line that needled its way into him. 

"Four decades and counting, Volkarin, and still you rattle around alone. Ever wonder if it's because you drown people in your godsdamned devotion until they can’t find air to breathe? Pah.”

At first, he dismissed it with a smile slanted into a grimace, chalking it up to the jagged edge of her temper. Pah, he repeated with sardonic flourish, tossing the sound to the ceiling as if it were a paper ball aimed at a wastebasket. Pah, he said again later, softer, practicing the shape of her disdain in the privacy of his reflection.

He stands in the Lighthouse, his thoughts drifting back to that exchange from years ago. She knows nothing. Johanna, with her clipped words and sharpened angles, has no use for sentimentality, no patience for sweetness. And yet, she is content in her clean, unaffectionate way, while he—ah, he hovers just shy of it, circling its edges. Almost there. Soon, he promises himself, the elusive shape of it will solidify. Soon. 

How else does one fasten themselves to others when born not merely from nothing, but from no one? A life without roots, without the parental gaze threading affection through the years, without the cushioning sprawl of family. You weave your own sentimentality from the tatters left behind, Emmrich tells himself. You make it elaborate, ornate, and irresistible. You do not ensnare—no, the word feels like a tooth snagging on cloth. He has no traps, no cages. He is not predatory but prodigal, spilling over with the weight of his own unstirred affection. A maximalist, yes. 

What he wishes to show them, these transient silhouettes in the gallery of his life, is the sheer abundance of what he carries. Of what they lost by not choosing him. The unspent wealth of tenderness, the meticulous reservoirs he has cultivated for lack of recipients. It can all be theirs, whoever they are. Wouldn’t they understand their fortune, their rare chance to bask in the radiance of such unfettered devotion? Surely they would. Surely.

At thirty-five, his entanglement with the Orlesian art appraiser unraveled, not with drama but with a certain muted inevitability, as though it had been sketched lightly in chalk on a damp morning and then, suddenly, rained over, erased. He tells himself it could not have lasted; she collected men as she might collect unfinished canvases, drawn to their rough edges and faint promise. But once they hardened into something distinct, something complete, she set them aside, indifferent to the final form. 

Emmrich, oh Emmrich, he hears her voice in his memory, though he wonders now if it was her voice at all or merely the soft inflection of her glance, the way her eyes curved away from him like hands withdrawing from a clasp. She had no fondness for gold; it was a color she found gaudy, oppressive, a vulgar punctuation on life's subtler compositions. Her fingers, long and bare, were her own; she had no need of his ring, no desire for the weight of it, least of all on that finger.

Years earlier, there was a boy, a student, like himself, with hair so very dark. They had bumped foreheads in the flickering veilfire, the absurd aftermath of Emmrich’s clumsy attempt to impress: a corpse laid open, its anatomy splayed for inspection, until a wayward wisp animated the flesh, sending them both lurching back, half-startled, half-laughing. It was a frantic affair, feverish and brief, as if passion itself had been distilled into those stolen weeks. He could have loved him endlessly, he thinks, could have folded himself into that golden rhythm forever. Even now, on certain nights, he fancies he can taste him, something like salt, something like cheap liquor. 

The boy had left for Minrathous, his parting words wrapped in a promise to write. And he had, at first—letters arriving as steady and sure as a ticking clock, their edges faintly scented with ink and faraway rain. But the rhythm faltered; the clockwork slowed. The letters grew fewer, their voice dimmer, until one day the flow ceased entirely, leaving only silence and the faint echo of a promise gone pale with distance. 

He loved Johanna too, he reflects, with a savage intensity that left the others pale by comparison, though Johanna, predictably, never returned it. Johanna loved her mind and the delicious friction of transgression. You can fuck me while I finish this paper, Volkarin, she had remarked once, without so much as a glance in his direction, her pen scratching insistently at the page.

He remembers the evening with an ache sharpened by detail: the roses, their petals faintly bruised as if blushing at his ineptitude; the wine, swirling darkly in glasses he had scrubbed to a nervous shine; the small box of Orlesian caramels, her favorite, held out with the tentative pride of a schoolboy offering his first essay to an indifferent master. 

He was no one of consequence then, no lauded scholar or dazzling wit, just a young man scraping together gestures from borrowed elegance. And yet, he had tried—oh, how he had tried—pouring his entire being into that fragile theater of romance, as though effort alone might compel the world to forego its indifference. 

The years folded and refolded themselves, their seams disappearing until time became a single, unbroken surface. His voice grew sleek, his purse heavier, his tailoring sharper. He became a presence, one that others noticed. Students watched him with eyes that lingered a beat too long; the occasional noble leaned in, fascinated by his murmurs over the dead, or else drawn by the possibility of extracting something—knowledge, power, perhaps only amusement. 

Take Professor Volkarin’s class, the students murmured, their voices hushed, their smiles sly. He’s quite something to look at, isn’t he?

You are a connoisseur, are you not? the aristocrats would murmur, their words oiled with flattery, their smiles faintly predatory, the question ever a jeweled trap.

Why complicate things? colleagues would say with an air of weary sophistication, their proposals veiled in the thin gauze of propriety. A little diversion never hurt anyone.

Sometimes he allowed himself to be drawn in, sometimes not. These entanglements stretched in strange patterns—weeks collapsing into years, years vanishing into the quiet close of nothing. On certain occasions, he felt the weight of the moment tipping toward something lasting. His lips would part, shaping the beginnings of a plea: stay longer, stay forever. But before the words could leave him, they would pull away, the decision already made, their departure as effortless and inevitable as a candle guttering out in a draft.

At fifty, the lashes ceased to flutter. The students' lingering glances turned polite, their gazes moving past him as if he were part of the room's architecture. The brief romances grew briefer still, coming apart before they could be knotted into anything of substance. No one explained; no one ever said why. But he understood. It was the five, that inevitable syllable that had slipped into his age, heavy and uncompromising, like a note of finality struck too soon.

Once a man stepped into his fifth decade, what could he offer? A handful of years, perhaps, before the decline—before he became a relic of himself. His hair, silver since his youth, could not have been the culprit; its pale sheen had always been mistaken for distinction. No, it was the five, the fatal number, that had crept into his chronology and settled there like an uninvited guest.

Let’s stay together, let’s marry, let’s have children, let’s take them to my parents’ graves someday—this was the whispered litany he carried, a fragile incantation he longed to speak aloud. Sometimes, the words escaped him, offered tentatively to the ears of a lover. Other times, they remained locked within, the moment never ripening enough to bear their weight. With some, he dared to dream aloud; with others, the silence grew louder than the words could ever hope to be.

At fifty-two, improbably, he finds himself among this mismatched, maddening, and strangely endearing group intent on bringing low the gods of old. He rolls his eyes so often that he’s begun to wonder if one day they might stick, leaving him a statue of perpetual disdain. Neve cuts through his facades effortlessly, coaxing from him scraps of childhood he’d long since buried. With Lucanis, every conversation is a duel, the man’s pointed questions prodding at the fragile edges of his carefully constructed dreams of lichdom—questions that dredge up doubt, irritating as a grain of sand lodged beneath the skin. 

Taash grates on him in ways he cannot fully articulate. The endless talk of dragons is a torment he would gladly forego, and yet it is Taash who catches him when an Antaam reaver’s blow leaves him seeing constellations. In Davrin, he glimpses something familiar, an echo of his love for Manfred, and in that recognition, he feels the strange solace of being known. 

Harding is a different matter altogether, her culinary atrocities sparking in him an inexplicable desire to craft a sandwich of such undeniable perfection that it would silence her objections. He imagines her chewing begrudgingly, a reluctant admission forming at the corners of her mouth: yes, cheese on toast is a sandwich.

And then there is Bellara. Bellara, who speaks in a ceaseless cascade of words, her chatter so relentless it should unnerve him. But it doesn’t. He listens and finds himself oddly soothed, her voice filling the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty. 

Rook—yes, Rook. He loves her, loves her with a rawness that feels almost indecent, as though his affection itself were an intrusion. Rook, younger by an expanse of years that feels cruelly conspicuous. Rook, who should belong to someone whose hair has not yet been kissed by silver, whose steps have not yet grown measured by the weight of decades. Rook, whose every second sentence is punctuated with fuck or shit or a biting go kill yourself.

Rook, who comes from Rivain but not truly, her roots stretching from an alienage, a world far from his own. She can read, but poorly, and dismisses it whenever possible. She once made it clear that books belonged to the lives of others, those who grew up with scholars. 

Yet, beneath her defiance, there are moments of vulnerability. Once, she brings him a Venatori missive, the text dense and convoluted, and quietly asks him to read it for her. Her usual boldness has been tempered by something smaller, almost shy; a reluctance to expose what she lacks but a willingness to trust him with it. 

Rook, so utterly unlike anyone he has ever loved, so far from the world of symposiums and necromantic subtleties where he has always thought his affections must dwell. The languages of hypotheses and sciences are foreign to her. But she teaches him other things instead: the delicate art of unlocking what refuses to yield, the precise tension of a pick against the hidden tumblers, the silence required to hear a mechanism surrender. 

Impossibly, unstoppably, he loves her—a love without reason, as if reason had never existed at all. 

Sometimes the tears threaten, and sometimes they come. Not in torrents or grandiose sobs, but as a quiet dampening of his eyes, just enough to blur his vision as he presses his hands against his face in the solitude of night. He is happy—fantastically, achingly happy—because he loves her with a fervor that feels miraculous, and, impossibly, she loves him too. But the clock is cruel. There is no time. There will never be enough time. 

He will die before her—this much he knows—if he chooses to die at all. And when he is gone, she will mourn him, briefly but with a scorching intensity, before moving forward, as the living must. She will find another, someone new to hold, to share her days and her nights. It coils in him, sick and green, this jealousy so sharp it feels like a betrayal of his love for her. He wants her happiness, he tells himself—her boundless, effortless happiness—even if it must come without him. 

And yet, the thought of her in another’s arms, her life spilling into someone else’s—after all these years of waiting, of searching for someone who might stay—it is a wound he cannot quite close. But still, she must be happy. She must. 

Pah, Johanna once said. Yes. Pah.

Rook, who calls him pretty with a disarming frankness, who tilts her head and declares he is too tall, then adds, almost as an afterthought, that she likes his eyes, his hair, his hands. Rook, who raises a defiant middle finger to a merchant scheming to cheat him. Rook, who leads him to Rivain—hers but not hers, a place of half-belonging—and asks, with a sudden softness, if he would like to taste the sea salt in the air with her. 

Rook, Rook, Rook, who calls him her first even as he rasps assurances that he can wait, that he is content to wait. Rook, who bleeds and winces, who admits, without pretense, that it is not nice—not yet—but insists that it will be, if only he’ll press on, again and again, until the awkwardness burns away and something else remains. And then, in time, it does. The lessons, stumbling as they are, yield their strange harvest. 

"Fuck me," she says, sliding onto his lap, the words abrupt and unadorned.

He frowns, as he always does. Not with anger but with a pained, almost mournful reproach, murmuring, "Must you be so crass, my darling?" And then, as if to erase the jaggedness of her demand, he makes love to her instead. 

He loves her with a sincerity so overwhelming it spills into the small rituals of their mornings, saturating every moment. He murmurs it into the curve of her shoulder, stirs it into the coffee he sets gently by her bedside, whispers it to her in the gray light before dawn when she is too drowsy to do more than hum faintly in response, a muffled acknowledgment that feels like the echo of a dream. 

I love you, I love you, I love you, the words repeat themselves in his mind, circling endlessly. He imagines writing them out for her, not once but a hundred times, in the looping grace of Nevarran cursive, and then teaching her to read the script with infinite patience, her fingers tracing the lines as he watches.

One morning, he brings her a bundle of new clothes, tea fragrant and warm, and fresh bandages to replace the ones that had grown stiff with her blood during the night. 

She looks at him and says, “You don’t need to do anything for me, Emmrich.” 

“It is a want, not a must,” he replies softly, and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

“Oh, thank you,” she says after a pause. “I love you.” 

What he truly wants to say he cannot properly construct: please, please, please, don’t go back to the dragon’s hoard. He would bury her in gold himself, pile it at her feet until there was no need for her to seek out treasure elsewhere. Please, please, please, he thinks, come back to Nevarra with me. Let me love you there, in my house, in my world, away from dragons, from gods, from locks waiting to be broken.

Look, look—won’t she see it, won’t she understand? All that he has, all that he is, lies waiting for her to take. The treasure hunter could rest, abandon her searching, if only she would choose him. Not now, of course, not now when her choice is already him, but later, when the gods lie still and her freedom stretches unbound before her. 

His accounts, his wealth, every piece of his carefully constructed world—she could claim it all, strip it to its bones, and still he would find more for her. Let her be greedy, insatiable; let her empty him entirely. He would gather, he would build, he would conjure whatever she desired, anything to keep her near, anything to make her stay. 

Yes, yes—he could love her forever. 

[callmeherry]

DTIYS WITH WINNERS!

Welcome everyone! This is my first DTIYS I have ever done, so pardon me for any mistakes (and if no one participates I'll just delete this and we all pretend we didn't see it! /hj)

You guys have been just amazing to me for a while now and I wanted to make something fun with y'all so to commemorate my blog hitting 800 followers I decided to do a DTIYS! Let's start with the rules, ok?

RULES:

NO AI. If you use AI not only you are disqualified but I'll also block you, so don't.

No NSFW or excessive gore.

Be kind to other participants. Yes, there will be prizes, but this is just because I want to give something back to you all. This is supposed to be fun, so don't be mean.

You may change the drawing angle, composition even colors if you're feeling fancy! The only requirement is to keep the same concept of the reference drawing!

THE CONTEST WILL END DAY APRIL 30°

Use the #herrysDTIYS

Now that we established that, here is the drawing and then I can tell you guys about the prizes!

PRIZES:

3° place: A headshot drawing of your character, no shading

2° place: A waist up drawing of your character, with shading

1° placeS: A full body drawing of your character with shading and a simple background.

And yes! You read it right! There will be TWO first place prizes! One will be judged on the broad technical skill, while the other will be judged SOLELY on the creativity!

Meaning that ANYONE got a shot at winning, you don't need to have the cleanest art style in the world, just a bit of creativity :D

Now, I can't really have a commemoration without thanking the person responsible for that mark! So thank you @i-want-2-be-a-almond For being my 800th follower!!!

Now everyone, have fun! :D

[dramagodesss]

seven : is that a man?

playin' the players

you padded into the living room, towel wrapped snugly around your body, hair damp and curling at the ends. the apartment was quiet—until you froze mid-step.

jj maybank, in all his smug glory, was sprawled across the couch like he paid rent, flipping through the channels with one hand and popping sour gummies with the other.

he looked up—and then down. slowly. eyes dragging over you from the crown of your wet hair to the bare skin of your legs. he blinked once, and then that lazy, shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“damn,” he said, sitting up a little. “you always this glowy post-shower, or is that just for me?���

you squinted at him. “what are you even doing here?”

he blinked, all faux innocence. “hanging. being iconic. probably inspiring your next masterpiece.”

you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, which only pulled the towel tighter. “you know we can just hang out like normal human beings, right? no grand entrances required.”

jj clutched his chest dramatically, flopping sideways into the cushions. “wow. you wound me.”

you rolled your eyes, stepping carefully around the couch to get to your room. “i’m literally in a towel, jj.”

“i know,” he said, all teeth. “what a time to be alive.”

you paused in the doorway, side-eyeing him. “you’re impossible.”

“nah,” he said, leaning over the back of the couch to keep you in view. “i’m just a fan of your work. and your towel.”

“shut up.”

“i will,” he said, smirking. “but only if you come back out fully clothed. maybe. probably not.”

you flipped him off on your way to your room.

his laughter followed you down the hall.

as you left your room (now dressed) you saw how the girls were gathering their stuff, keys jangling and shoes slipping on. kie had a shift, cleo was off to meet pope, and sarah muttered something about tutoring with john b.

“don’t burn the place down,” kie called as she disappeared out the door.

“or do,” cleo added with a smirk, already halfway down the hall.

you rolled your eyes, adjusting the throw blanket over your lap. “bye. traitors.”

the door clicked shut. silence.

jj was still sprawled on the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. he looked at the TV, then back at you. “so… movie marathon, huh?”

“assignment,” you clarified, balancing your laptop on your knees. “i gotta watch this whole series and compare the cinematography, lighting, all that. due next week.”

jj whistled low. “sounds intense.”

you snorted. “yeah, and you’re about to witness it firsthand. buckle up.”

he tilted his head. “we could watch it together.”

you arched a brow. “what, suddenly you're into film analysis?”

he smirked. “nah, just into hanging out with you.”

you blinked, then shook your head with a laugh. “couldn’t you ask for a proper date, maybank? like a normal person?”

he leaned back, grinning. “what’s more romantic than back-to-back slow burns and artsy camera angles?”

you ignored the flutter in your chest and hit play.

the opening credits rolled, the room dim except for the flicker of the screen. jj settled in closer, arms stretched behind his head like he was getting real comfy with the idea of being your accidental study buddy.

“so what are we looking for?” he asked, eyes squinting at the dramatic pan of a city skyline. “like… shadows? vibes?”

you stifled a laugh, typing a quick note on your laptop. “composition, color palettes, the director’s use of light. Not vibes.”

“right. serious stuff,” he said, nodding solemnly. “i’m locked in.”

but two minutes later, he was side-eyeing you again.

“so… hypothetically,” he said slowly, “if a guy helped with your project, brought snacks, was charming as hell… would that earn him extra credit?”

you turned your head toward him, amused. “depends. is he asking for a grade or a date?”

jj grinned. “who says it’s not both?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the way your mouth tugged into a smile. “you’re such a menace.”

he shrugged. “a lovable menace.”

as the first act unfolded, jj actually paid attention—at least for the most part. you caught him glancing at your notes, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of your scribbles.

“yo, what does ‘high saturation/low contrast to convey emotional tension’ even mean?” he asked, leaning over a bit, his shoulder brushing yours.

you tilted your screen so he could see. “it means the colors are loud but the light’s soft. makes you feel like something’s off, even if you don’t know why.”

he blinked. “damn. you’re kinda scary smart.”

you laughed. “and you’re kinda distracting.”

“guess we’re both talented,” he said, nudging your knee with his. “multifaceted.”

your heart did a weird little skip, but you ignored it. just like you ignored how close he was sitting. or how his hoodie smelled like mint gum and faint cologne.

as the movie droned on, you noticed jj inching closer every so often—always casual, like he wasn’t doing it on purpose. but his thigh was touching yours now. and when you yawned and leaned slightly, he didn’t pull away.

neither did you.

he looked down at you. “hey,” he murmured.

you glanced up, not saying anything.

“can i—?” but before he finished, your phone buzzed with a message. you both flinched slightly. you reached for it, glancing at the screen.

your stomach flipped. you locked the screen.

jj raised an eyebrow. “who was that?”

you looked at him, playful smile still tugging at your lips. “no one important”

but the air shifted—like jj knew something was going on. and maybe he didn’t like it.

still, he didn’t say anything. just hit play on the next movie. and let his hand rest a little longer against your knee this time.

taglist : @beewritess @davinashifts333 @lanasangelsz @littlefreak-liz @drewstarkeyswife0 @lalaloopsieparty @ethanthequeefqueen @wtfisastiles @angelicameron @moth-feeet @drewstarkeyswife-7 @hiphopstar @cokewithcameron @cameronsbabydoll @chillgal135 @ayy1234567 @pogueprincesa @isinpfortvdmen @iheartrosalia @luvrclub @yesshewrites1 @sideboobrry11 @espressh0e @mysticbby2009 @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @hwaaholic @aves05 @thecolorpearl05

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Draw This In Your Style!! #confusedpotato_dtiys

Thank you so much for all of you guys' support for me through all this time, and for all the love you've given me to my art. The development of my art is the result of you guys' support. I can't thank you guys enough. 💗

Been a long time since I wanted to do something with you guys on IG (actually for the 10K as well), but better late then ever 😂. Since today is my OC Jade's birthday, I think this is the perfect occasion to do a DTIYS.

• Draw this art of my OC Jade in your style. No AI of course! • Get creative with the composition, angle, colors, etc., however, the overall concept should remain close with the art. You may change the pose, as long as it's not too far from the original. • Post your art with your account and put the original post in one of your slides. Tag me and use #confusedpotato_dtiys, I'll share all entries in my IG story. • Deadline is 2 March 2025. • Three (3) winners will be choose and each winner will get free waist-up flat color illustration of anything the winners want! ✨

Thank you so much and happy drawing!!

---

Okay so I know I said on IG only, but Tumblr is my home, and if anyone wants to participate on Tumblr, I suggest posting your art on IG, but if you prefer Tumblr, you can do that too! I'll of course include them as entries.

[wombywoo]

Ok! I've finally decided to put together a (somewhat) comprehensive tutorial on my latest art~

Please enjoy this little step-by-step 💁‍♀️

First things first--references!

Now I'm not saying you have to go overboard, but I always find that this is a crucial starting point in any art piece I intend on making. Especially if you're a detail freak like me and want to make it as realistic as possible 🙃

As such, your web browser should look like this at any given point:

Since this is a historical piece, it means hours upon hours of meaningless research just to see what color the socks are, but...again. that isn't, strictly, necessary 😅

Once I've compiled all my lovely ref pics, I usually dump them into a big-ass collage ⬇️

(I will end up not using half of these, alas :'D)

Another reference search for background material, and getting to showcase our models of choice for this occasion~

When picking a reference for an actor or model, the main thing I keep in mind (besides prettiness 🤭) is lighting and orientation. Because I already kinda know what pose I'm gonna go with for this piece, I can look for specific angles that might fit the criteria. I should mention that I am a reference hound, and my current COD actor ref folder looks like this:

Also keep in mind, if you're using a ref that you need to flip, make sure you adjust accordingly. This especially applies to clothing, as certain things like pants zippers and belt buckles can be quite specific ☝️

Now that we've spent countless hours googling, it's time to start with a rough sketch:

It doesn't have to be pretty, folks, just a basic guideline of where you want the figures to be.

The next step is to define it more, and I know this looks like that 'how to draw an owl' meme, but I promise--getting from the loose sketch above to below is not that difficult.

Things to keep in mind are--don't go too in-depth with the details, because things are still subject to change at this point. In terms of making a suitable anatomically-correct sketch, I would suggest lots of studying. This doesn't even have to be things like figure drawing, I genuinely look at people around me for inspiration all the time. Familiarize yourself with the human form, and things like weight, proportions, posing will seem a little more feasible.

It's also important at this stage to consider your composition. Remember to flip the canvas frequently to make sure you're not leaning to one side too often. I'm sure something can be said for the spiral fibonacci stuff, which I don't really try to do on purpose, but I think keeping things like symmetry and balance in mind is a good start ✌️

Next step is just blocking in the figures. Standard. No fuss 👍

Now onto the background!

It's frankly hilarious how many people thought I was *hand-drawing* these maps and stuff 😂😂 I cannot even begin to comprehend how insanely difficult that would be. So yeah, we're just taking the lazy copy and paste way out 🤙

I almost always prepare my backgrounds first, and this is mostly to get a general color scheme off the bat. For collage work, it's really just a matter of trial and error, sticking this here, slapping this there, etc. I like to futz around with different overlay options until I've found a nice arrangement. Advice for this is just--go nuts 🤷‍♀️

Next, I add a few color adjustments. I tend to make at least 2 colors pop in an art piece, and low and behold, they usually tend to be red and blue ❤️💙There's something about warm/cool vibes, idk man..

Now we move on to coloring the figures. This is just a basic block and fill, not really defining any of the details yet.

Next, we add some cursory values. Sloppy airbrush works fine, it'll look better soon I promise 🙏

And now--rendering!

I know a lot of beginner artists are intimidated by rendering, and I can totally understand why. It's just one of those things you have to commit to 💪

I've decided to show a brief process of rendering our dear Johnny's face here:

Starting off, I usually rely on the trusty airbrush just to get some color values going. Note--I've kept my sketch layer on top, but feel free to turn it on and off as you work, so as to not be too bound to the sketch. For now, it's just a guideline.

This next stage may look like a huge jump, but it's really just adding more to the foundation. I try to think of it like putting on make-up in a way~ Adding contours, accentuating highlights. This is also where I start adding in more saturation, especially around areas such as ears, nose and lips. Still a bit fuzzy at this point, but that's why we keep adding to it 💪

A boy has appeared! See--now I've removed most of the line layer, and it holds up on its own. I'll admit that in order to achieve this realistic style, you'll need lots and lots of practice and skill, which shouldn't be discouraging! Just motivate yourself with the prospect of getting to look at pretty men for countless hours 🙆‍♀️

I'll probably do a more in-depth explanation about rendering at some point, but let's keep this rolling~

Moving forward is just a process of adding to the figures bit by bit. I do lean towards filling in each section from top to bottom, but you can feel free to pop around to certain parts that appeal to you more. I almost always do the faces first though, because if they end up sucking, I feel less guilty about scrapping it 😂 But no--I think he's pretty enough to proceed 😚

They're coming together now 🙆‍♀️ Another helpful tip--make sure you reuse color. By that, I mean--try to incorporate various colors throughout your piece, using the eyedropper tool to keep a consistent palette. I try to put in bits of red and blue where I can

Here they are fully rendered! Notice I've made a few subtle changes from the sketch, like adjusting the belt buckles because I made a mistake 😬 Hence why you shouldn't put too much stock in your initial sketch~

The next step is more of a stylistic choice, but I usually go over everything with an outline, typically in a bright color like green. Occasionally, I can just use my initial line layer, but for this, I've made a brand new, cleaner line 👍

And the final step is adjusting the color and adding some text:

Tada!! It's done!

All in all, this took me the better part of a week, but I have a lot of free time, so yeah ✌️

I hope you appreciated that little walkthrough~ I know people have been asking me how I do my art, but the truth is--I usually have no clue how to explain myself 😅 So have this half-assed tutorial~

As a bonus, here is a cute (cursed) image of Johnny without his mustache:

A baby, a literal infant child !!! who put this wee bairn on the front lines ??! 😭

Anyway! peace out ✌️

[screamofdespair]

佐藤真人 Masato Sato is one of the veteran artists who worked on the Detective Conan anime from the very beginning, bringing a distinct directorial style that left a strong impression. He contributed to many important episodes of the series, several original episodes, and even worked on some Detective Conan movies. Although he served as the series director at one point in the production (333-504), various changes in the anime staff prevented him from going beyond what he was already accustomed to doing.

His prime lies in the early seasons of Detective Conan, and here’s a highlight of his work.

When it comes to Sato’s shot compositions, his episodes feature a significant number of wide, medium and perspective shots. Most of the time, he has a particular attachment to the central subject of his compositions (whether a single character or a group), deliberately framing them as if viewed through a slightly open door, drawing the spectator’s eye toward them while still allowing the entire shot to be taken in (The Megure's one for exemple).

Additionally, he also has a strong fondness for high-angle shots, using them frequently. Sato is an artist who plays extensively with the Art Direction.

Sato loves to play with the power of light sources, both outdoors and indoors. In his episodes, for example, you can often see a strong brightness in one corner of the frame, creating an interesting visual style.

He also likes to experiment with colors, often applying filters during moments of reflection or flashbacks to enhance the mood.

Sato and Animation Director Akio Kawamura worked together frequently in the early days, which naturally led to the "creation" of the Kawamura pose.

Sato is an artist who also reminds us how important an Episode's Direction by a single individual is and how much it varies depending on talented artists. For example, when an episode storyboarded by Sato is directed by someone like Yasuichiro Yamamoto, it doesn’t always feel the same as when Sato himself directs his own storyboard. A simple example is that during Conan’s moments of reflection, Yamamoto often likes to rotate the character, whereas Sato does not. Instead, he prefers to use the background to convey story elements by using a pan (left or right). Of course, artists like Yamamoto can make minor changes, but it's also important to remember that some artists create storyboards with the skill level of the Episode’s Director/Animators in mind. This allows them to incorporate more complex elements into the storyboard.

Left : Sato (Storyboard/Episode Direction by himself) and Righ : Yamamoto (Storyboard by Sato and Episode Direction by Yamamoto.)

When it comes to Episode Direction, it's worth noting that episodes directed by Sato (even if not storyboarded by himself) are often among the strongest in terms of artistic direction. Episode #196 is a perfect example of this. When he is solely responsible for the storyboard, his influence is so strong that the Episode Director naturally brings a similar energy.

Episode #196 Storyboard by Chika Ichimaru and Episode Direction by Sato :

Episodes #205 - #206 Storyboards by Sato and Episode Direction by Mashu Ito and Minoru Tozawa :

His love for the split-screen compositions :

Sato experimented a lot in his early days, and many of his directional ideas were "abandoned" in favor of something more simpler. Various motifs used to emphasize expression. The use of bokeh in episode #42. Frequent allusions to the well-known direction of Osamu Dezaki. It should be remembered that, originally, Detective Conan was not intended to be a long-running series.

[childrenofcain-if]

Has there been any instances where Mc and C did work together other than the fake baby thingy?

the science lab was filled with high schoolers scrambling to set up their projects, all of them either too caffeinated or not caffeinated enough for the stress of the prestigious state science fair in washington.

the tables were crammed with an impressive array of projects: models of volcanic eruptions, elaborate circuits blinking in synchronized colors, experiments with soil composition in tiny terrariums. but none of them held a candle to your table, and you knew it.

you worked quickly, your fingers deft as you adjusted the components of the intricate apparatus. the machine—an elegant contraption meant to demonstrate clean energy storage using solar capacitors—was you and C’s brainchild.

they had done the research, the design, the equations scribbled out with ruthless precision in their sharp handwriting. you’d handled the practical end of things: soldering wires, programming the software, ensuring that their theoretical masterpiece could actually, you know, work.

you didn’t notice the way C stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly, their posture as stiff as a statue’s. their chalcedony green eyes followed your every move like a hawk watching its prey, catching each adjustment you made, each tool you reached for.

finally, they cleared their throat. “you’re doing it wrong.”

you sighed without turning around, tightening a bolt on the panel. “good morning to you, too, lacroix. nice to see you’re in a supportive mood today.”

“supportive?” their voice had that sharp, clipped quality it always took on when they thought you were being deliberately obtuse. “i’d be supportive if you weren’t—” they made an exasperated noise, gesturing vaguely at the machine. “look, the angles on the solar panels are all wrong. the light’s not going to hit them efficiently like that. it’s basic geometry. i explained this to you yesterday.”

“okay,” you said evenly, glancing at them over your shoulder. “anything else?”

C blinked, their expression flickering into something almost like confusion. “you’re just... accepting it? like that?”

“well, yeah,” you said, shrugging. “you’re the brains behind this, aren’t you? if you’ve got more suggestions, i’m open to them.”

C suddenly seemed at a loss for words. the tips of their ears turned a faint pink, and they glanced away.

“well, i, uh...” they began, before scowling at you like it was somehow your fault they’d stumbled. “fine! move the reflector two inches to the left.”

you did as they asked, your motions slow and deliberate. “happy?”

“stop talking to me,” C snapped.

you blinked at them, incredulous. “you’re the one bossing me around!”

C ignored you, their nose tilting upward in that infuriatingly haughty way they’d perfected.

***

when the judges arrived at your school’s section, the air grew thick with anticipation. there were four of them—an engineer from spacex, a college professor from MIT, a tech startup CEO, and some local entrepreneur who had been introduced as a ‘philanthropist.’

they moved from table to table with an efficiency that made your stomach churn. you’d been rehearsing your answers for days, but there was something about the way they scribbled on their clipboards that made even your confidence waver.

but the presentation began smoothly enough, much to your relief. C handled the technical explanations, their voice steady and precise as they guided the judges through the intricacies of your design. you handled the broader picture, spinning a compelling narrative about its real-world applications.

but when the judges started asking questions, something shifted.

“so, who came up with the original concept?” the engineer asked, pen poised over her notepad.

“well,” you started, “it was—”

“me,” C interrupted, their green eyes glinting. “i developed the initial framework.”

you gave them an irritated look. “what they actually meant to say was that it was a joint effort.”

“sure,” C drawled sarcastically. “you jointly borrowed my calculations and then messed up the assembly two separate times.”

you bristled. “maybe if your diagrams weren’t as convoluted as your personality, i wouldn’t have had to ‘mess up’ anything.”

“convoluted? that’s rich, coming from someone who thought capacitors and resistors were interchangeable—”

“that was one time, and it only happened because you mislabeled them!”

the judges exchanged glances, two of them clearly trying not to laugh, the other two looking mildly alarmed.

“would you say you two work well together?” another judge ventured cautiously.

“oh, absolutely,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

“can’t agree more,” C added, voice as flat as a table.

the judge raised an eyebrow, scribbling something down.

by the end of the presentation, both of you were red-faced and fuming, but the machine worked perfectly, and the judges seemed reluctantly impressed.

***

after the presentation, you and C sat side by side in the waiting area, the hum of chatter and distant applause filling the space. your hands rested in your lap, but when you shifted slightly, your fingers brushed against theirs. the accidental contact sent a jolt of heat up your arm, and you risked a glance at them.

C was staring angrily at the floor as if it had just demanded to drain their bank account, half of their face buried in the high collar of their dark green turtleneck. the tips of their ears had turned even more pink. their foot tapped against the floor in rapid, agitated beats.

when the winners were announced, your names rang out together, tethered like an inevitability.

you and C locked eyes, both startled, before standing up in unison. the applause was loud, but all you could focus on was the awkwardness of walking side by side to accept the award.

you still fell into step beside them, the trophy handed over in a flurry of handshakes and flashes from the crowd’s cameras.

the microphone passed between you two for the acceptance speech.

“we’d like to thank our school for supporting this project,” you began, glancing at C.

“and, of course, this wouldn’t have been possible without the cooperation of my... partner,” they added, their jaw tightening as if the words physically pained them to say.

you were tempted to laugh at how they looked like they were having a particularly bad case of indigestion, but managed to keep a straight face for the cameras.

***

after the ceremony, the two of you lingered near the refreshment table. C cleared their throat awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“you did... good,” they muttered.

you cocked your head, thinking you misheard them. “what?”

“i said you did good,” they repeated, louder this time. “you didn’t embarrass us. much.”

you snorted. “thanks, i guess. you weren’t too bad yourself.”

C hesitated, their eyes darting to the trophy in their right hand as their other hand fidgeted with the edge of their aldervale prep blazer.

“you’re smart though,” they said finally, their voice softer than usual. “you would’ve won without me.”

the admission startled you. “was that... a real compliment?”

this time, C’s cheeks turned pink as well, and they huffed loudly, turning on their heel. “i’m leaving. and i’m taking the trophy.”

“wait, what?” you snapped out of your stupor and hurried after them. “that’s not fair, lacroix! we both won!”

“too bad, starkid,” C called over their shoulder, their tone maddeningly smug. “you want it? come and get it.”

you groaned, chasing them through the crowd. “lacroix, get back here!”

and for the first time all day, C’s smile was genuine enough for their dimples to show.

[shakingparadigm]

Once again, I can't really gather my thoughts cohesively on this right now, so please bear with me. Just musing, so the ideas here might be a bit disconnected.

As a prodigy artist well-versed in more than just singing, it's no suprise that art is a prominent part of Till's character. Everything associated with Till seems to carry his eccentric artistic talent, right down to the abstract symbols painted onto his otherwise blank white t-shirt.

(Till's sketching and drawing seem to go hand-in-hand with his songwriting. Doodling and composition are two of his hobbies, and he's stated to be talented at both.)

(His appearance in TOP 3 emphasizes this messy, artistic angle. The symbols painted on the wall are similar to graffiti tags, usually associated with youth and rebellion. Furthermore, there is paint splattered on his face, staining color onto his disheveled hair and baggy clothes.)

(Even amongst the TOP 3, Till is presented with the most color. Between Luka and Ivan's main colors of white and black, their formal attire and elegant, charming personas, Till looks rather out of place.)

(Till's personal/special talent is floral art.)

Art is an integral part of Till's character, something that defines him and his desire for self-expression and freedom (it's no suprise that when Till loses his will to live in ROUND 6, he's dressed in plain and monochromatic clothes that lack any of his own artistic touch). Despite the ties between creativity and freedom, Till's talents are regularly taken advantage of and even tampered with due to the treatment he receives from his owner.

Guardian Urak is an eccentric segyein. A hustler, materialistic and rather pretentious. He shows great pride in Till's "uniqueness" and artistic ability, boasting that he has raised the best human-pet in history. In order to create the success that is Till, however, Urak had to execute his methods on several other pets beforehand. His practices include the thorough abuse of his human pets in order to coax out their talents, pushing them to their limits with harsh training regimens and painful experiments. Violence is a tactic utilized heavily within Urak's line of business, and the human pets under his ownership are the most openly abused.

Urak is said to abuse his pets to the point of severe mental issues. It's due to these mental issues that his previous pets have failed to achieve victory, showing great promise but never making it to the end. He seems to believe in the idea that the peak of a human's talent is tied with their instability, that the more talented a pet human is, they more likely they are to be a freak.

Urak pushes forward with the mistreatment of his humans despite their suffering. He believes it to be a part of creating exemplary art, playing into the idea of a tortured artist. Urak's pets were incredibly talented and top contenders for the title of champion. If not for their heavily deteriorated mental states, they would have brought Urak to victory long ago. It's quite clear that he does not intend on changing his methods because the humans he produces are some of the best products around. He doesn't want to change his methods, he wants a human that can withstand them.

Till's style is already established to be unique, nicknamed a "black sheep" in his official magazine page, emphasizing individuality. His brazen aggression in ROUND 2 caused him to attract much hate, but twice as many fans, too. The bashing of Freddie was framed as a bombastic and somewhat avant-garde performance act, referred to as art. Till's public persona was that of an eccentric and unpredictable artist, a highly reactive contrarian pet who presents both a high risk and high reward. Urak has produced another tortured artist, except this one is different (in his words, unrivaled). A higher caliber of pet, bringing him the closest to winning he's ever gotten thus far.

Till's various artistic talents seem to be things that he has developed on his own, stemming from his own desires and interests rather than something forced onto him by Urak. In one of VIVINOS and QMENG's livestreams it was stated that Till is inherently gifted, a creative genius since birth. Till uses his abilities as tools of rebellion and self-expression, writing his own music, vandalizing and adjusting segyein-provided material and outfits in order to make them more his own. It's unfortunate that even Till's attempts at rebellion are taken advantage of and instead used against him. Constantly battered and bruised, isolated in a cell, forced to endure experimentation, all of his artistic ingenuity and creations have been taken by the segyein and used to promote him as a product. He has been turned into a spectacle, his misery and abuse put on display for others to gawk at. Suffering for the sake of art.

[noorpersona]

Rivalry: Suna Pt. 2

The email hits your inbox at 3:07 PM sharp.

Subject: Outstanding Work – Feature Column Review

You click it, heart in your throat, and scan the contents like your eyes might betray you.

"Your latest photo essays and match visuals have garnered excellent feedback from both internal and external reviewers. Your composition, lighting, and narrative cohesion are sharp—confident. We’d love to discuss expanding your role going forward."

The praise lands hard. Your chest swells with it.

Three weeks of barely sleeping, grinding through late-night edits, calibrating lenses and color profiles until your eyes blurred. That week you holed up in the studio with your camera gear and a thermos until the sun came up—yeah. It was worth it.

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning back in your chair, eyes fluttering closed. You did it. You did it. You worked your ass off—shot matches back to back, edited through headaches and late nights, fought tooth and nail for creative control on every campaign. And you did it—no thanks to him.

Suna Rintarou.

His name drags itself across your thoughts like a scrape on pavement. You didn’t even work with him for long—barely a handful of shoots, really—but somehow, he lingered. Like you'd seen him just minutes ago instead of months. You didn’t need him. And you were proud of that—still are. But that doesn’t stop the memory of his smug smirks during shoots, the ones that made you want to throw your camera. Or the way he’d push back on your direction—not out of disrespect, but because he enjoyed getting under your skin. Because he could. Because he knew you’d rise to it.

Those joint features were chaos. Him turning the lens into a stage. You, trying not to let it show how often he got under it all.

You thought cutting him out would bring clarity. Clean slates. Easy breathing.

But he stuck.

Even when you didn’t want him to, his image hovered—uninvited, unwelcome—just beneath your thoughts. Every time you lined up a shot, adjusted your lighting, planned a sequence… some part of you remembered him.

The thing is, he photographs well. Too well.

He knows exactly how to angle his jaw to catch the light, how to hold tension in his shoulders like a coiled spring. He doesn't over-pose, doesn’t overthink. He listens—but only just enough. There’s a kind of wordless fluency to working with him that you hate how much you don’t hate.

There’d been moments behind the viewfinder where you forgot yourself—forgot time. Reframing and rebalancing not because the shot lacked anything… but because he gave it something extra. Something real. Something intimate that you couldn’t quite scrub out, no matter how many layers you stacked over it.

You loved the photos. Hated the personality behind them.

Every shoot ended with you in the darkroom or hunched over Lightroom, muttering curses and jabbing at the contrast slider like it could erase the smugness from his eyes. Cropping tighter. Sharper. Still, that look remained. Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was winning.

Eventually, the shoots stopped. And you had come out on top; Exactly where you wanted to be.

Peace was a luxury. You finally had it.

Until your phone lights up.

You're still basking in it—the warmth of finally getting your due, of knowing you carved your space with nothing but grit and shutter clicks—when the screen flares to life beside you.

Unknown Number

Your stomach twists. Your first instinct is to ignore it, let it ring out. You want to hold on to this moment a little longer—just a few more seconds of peace before the next deadline, the next fight for creative credit, the next moment you’re expected to be brilliant again.

But your brain betrays you with a whisper: What if it’s another opportunity?

You hesitate, thumb hovering above the screen. It could be a thank-you call. A freelance inquiry. A scouting request from a bigger brand.

Or it could be nothing. A telemarketer. A missed delivery.

You swipe anyway.

"Hello?"

“Hi there,” comes a smooth, clipped voice. “This is Rei Sakamoto—Suna Rintarou’s agent. Do you have a moment to talk about a collaboration opportunity?”

The world stills. Your thoughts scatter.

His name—again. Like a curse. Like a hook in your side.

“…I’m sorry, who?”

“You’re the one who shot the MSBY campaigns, right? We’ve been following your work. Kuroo Tetsurou, who’s heading the promotional division, specifically requested you.”

Kuroo. Of course. He’d always had a knack for chaos.

You close your eyes, exhaling hard through your nose. It’s like fate is laughing in your face. Like every ounce of peace you clawed back is now being pried from your grip, one smug pretty boy at a time.

“I, uh… I’m not sure I’m available right now,” you say. It’s almost believable—except your voice wavers, just slightly. Too polite. Too professional. Too damn interested.

The agent doesn’t skip a beat. “It’s only two sessions. Photo editorials for Suna’s next campaign. We’re pairing it with short written features, but what we really need is your eye behind the lens. Tight turnaround—two weeks. Kuroo asked me to set up a meeting today if you’re free.”

You want to say no. Want to burn the whole idea to ash with a single word.

But your mind’s already racing. Editorial credits. National campaign. Expansion. Kuroo’s name attached to it—solid. Respected. The kind of line on your résumé that opens doors.

And him.

Suna Rintarou.

Back in your frame. Back in your space.

You already know how this ends: you’ll hate every second of it—every conversation, every glance, every quiet smirk. And then you'll go home, dump the files onto your laptop, open them one by one… and hate how good they are. How well he fits inside the world you build with your lens. How easy it is to lose yourself in the art of it—even if you can't stand the subject.

You grit your teeth. You already know you're going to say yes.

“…Fine. When?”

--

The Japan Volleyball Association building is quieter than you expected.

Cool glass, clean floors, air conditioning that hums low and clinical. Everything smells faintly like lemon polish and too-new printer ink. The receptionist barely glances up when you give your name—just types something into her terminal and points you down the hall.

Your boots click against tile that shines like water. You hate how out of place you feel. The kind of out-of-place that makes you tighten your grip on the camera bag slung over your shoulder, square your jaw, and pretend like you belong anywhere.

You’re led into a minimalist conference room—long table, white walls, recessed lighting so harsh it feels surgical. There’s a carafe of untouched water on the sideboard and not a single personal touch in sight.

He spots you the second you step in, and that trademark grin stretches across his face like he’s been waiting for this moment all morning.

“You’re early,” he says, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Didn’t peg you for the punctual type.”

You slide into the chair but don’t drop your guard. “Didn’t peg you for the ambush type.”

Kuroo chuckles, unbothered. “Come on, you’ve survived worse. And you can’t tell me this opportunity didn’t tempt you a little.”

You arch a brow. “Would’ve been nice to have a briefing that didn’t come with a mystery number and a fifteen-second pitch.”

“I like keeping things exciting,” he says, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Besides, I figured you’d say yes the second you heard your name in the same sentence as ‘full creative control.’”

You don’t deny it. But your expression stays flat.

He tilts his head. “Look, I wouldn’t have looped you in if I didn’t think you’d kill it. You’ve got the eye and the edge. And we both know you make him look good.”

You stiffen, and Kuroo notices. He always notices.

Before you can retort, footsteps echo in the hallway.

The door swings open, and in walks Rei Sakamoto—poised as ever in tailored black, expression neutral but sharp. Suna follows just a step behind, hands in his hoodie pocket, hood still up like he couldn’t be bothered to dress the part.

He glances at you the moment he enters, something smug already tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Took a guess you'd be early," he says, voice low and lazy.

You don’t even blink. “And you still couldn’t beat me here?”

He shrugs, eyes drifting to the empty seat across from you like it was all part of the plan. Like he meant to show up just late enough to make an entrance.

You don’t bite. Not yet.

Sakamoto steps forward, smoothing the front of her blazer like she’s rehearsed this. “Thank you for coming on short notice. Suna wanted you for this campaign—he was quite specific.”

That makes your brow twitch. You look at her first, then slowly shift your gaze to him.

“Oh really?”

Suna doesn’t flinch. That familiar smirk starts small, lazy, spreading like heat under your collar. “Told you. You make me look good.”

Your jaw tightens, but you keep your tone light. “Sure. Let’s pretend that’s the reason.”

He opens his mouth like he might say something else, but Kuroo cuts in with a clap of his hands, sharp and loud.

“Alright,” he says brightly. “Now that we’re all here—let’s get to it. We want two sessions. Back-to-back if possible. Full editorials. You’ll shoot, edit, and build out the visual content for the rollout. Your style, your approach—we’re trusting you with the look of this thing.”

You nod once, already calculating the timeline in your head.

Kuroo continues, “We’ve got a tight two-week window. You’ll coordinate with the social team, marketing gets final say on phrasing, but visual direction is all you.”

Sakamoto adds smoothly, “We’ll match your usual rate. If the final drafts are done early, there’s room for a bonus.”

You lean back slightly, arms crossing. “Alright,” you say carefully. “But I have conditions.”

Kuroo lifts a brow, intrigued. “Naturally. Go on.”

You glance at Suna, then back to Kuroo, and gesture subtly with your chin. “He shows up. No excuses. No reschedules, no ghosting, no half-assing it while I pull sixteen-hour days.”

Kuroo blinks, surprised at the sharpness of your tone, but doesn’t interrupt.

Sakamoto takes a half-step forward, voice already measured. “You have my word he’ll be—”

“No.”

Your voice cuts clean through the room. Calm. Sharp. Nonnegotiable.

Her mouth stays open for a second longer than it should, like the interruption stunned her. Kuroo leans back a little, watching you with a new kind of focus, like even he wasn’t expecting that edge.

You keep your eyes fixed on Suna, voice even as steel. “I want to hear it from him.”

The air shifts.

Suna’s posture doesn’t change, but the weight in the room tips toward him.

He doesn’t look startled. Or challenged. If anything, he looks pleased. Like he’s been waiting for this exact line of tension to stretch between you two.

Slowly, he leans forward. Elbows to the table, fingers laced like he’s settling in for something fun. His chin tips just slightly, gaze fixed on yours with all the ease in the world. A smirk ghosts the corner of his mouth again—barely there, but impossible to miss.

He holds your stare, eyes sharp under that lazy half-lid expression, like he’s enjoying the way the room has gone still around you. Like he’s waiting for you to squirm. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The silence stretches and stretches—so much so that even Kuroo seems to quiet with anticipation.

When he speaks, it’s low and slow, the kind of delivery meant to land just right.

Then, he speaks.

“I show up when it counts.”

The words hang in the air, obnoxiously self-satisfied. He says it like it’s fact. Like it’s charm. Like that one line should erase every time he made you wait, every time he rolled into a shoot with his hair still damp and a smirk that made you want to break your camera.

Your spine stiffens. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeves beneath the table.

Of course that’s what he’d say.

He leans back, clearly pleased with himself, and adds—just loud enough—“And I always count for something, don’t I?”

That earns a twitch in your jaw. You don’t blink. You don’t flinch. But god, you want to.

You inhale, slow and sharp, and don’t dignify it with a response.

Kuroo, on the other hand, grins like a cat with cream. “Great,” he says, already pulling his tablet from the folio at his side. “I’ll draft the paperwork.”

[purplealmonds]

Currently, Sky: Children of the Light and Mononoke are my two favorite things and I so very badly want to will this collaboration into existence. 🕯⚖️

Process GIF & artist commentary below the cut!

This began as a self-indulgent costume design project: aMononoke-inspired Sky cosmetic. It was supposed to be a quick-and-dirty mockup that would not be shared outside of private Discord servers, but I got...carried away.

It came out a lot nicer than anticipated. A bit rough around the edges, but when zoomed out clean enough to look like a legit Sky cosmetic. I extracted the high-res Sky and Mononoke logos from their respective websites. I custom-made the handhold collaboration icon. Then I slapped it on top of the costume design. It looked neat!

But then I started having second thoughts. The outfit was quite complex, and it didn't feel right to have it sit in a sterile, empty space like that. It looked half-baked, incomplete. So I used the Mononoke movie poster as inspiration for set dressing and color palette:

There are vestiges of the project's origins scattered throughout this piece - namely that a lot of the visuals were built upon screenshots from Sky. Since it was a costume design project, I didn't feel the need to draw from scratch. They were completely painted over in the final product, but using this technique sped up my process quite significantly!

I went to the Sky Wiki for references. I cobbled together some Season of Revival's kimono cosmetic as a starting point for the outfit. The eyeliner detail Days of Style mask looked similar to the Medicine Seller's face markings, so did a quick photoshoot in the Office to match the camera angle of the previous image.

For the lantern, I made a shared memory in the green room to get the ideal camera angles for each of them:

The grave markers I referenced from a photoshoot in the Hidden Forest's hub:

And the bridge I took from the Sunny Forest:

The butterflies were a last-minute addition - I wanted something to make the composition more sparkly! Then I remembered the end credits of Mononoke had a butterfly too! I figured since I went with the Medicine Seller's new design, this would be a nice homage to his classic look.

[musedeluce]

Moths to Flame (Rafayel x Artist!Reader Headcanons)

I am an artist (drawing), so I wanted to explore this scenario! Personally, as an artist I’d be a bit nervous for Rafayel to know about my art, but I believe he’d support our creative endeavors wholeheartedly. In this scenario, MC is someone who does traditional illustrations and paintings, and is an extremely good artist but is somewhat insecure when it comes to Rafayel knowing about their art. [Alt title: Mothlight] XD Basically art is the light and Rafayel and MC are the moths. Artists will always create! Fun fact, the art I mention is something I'm planning to draw!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You take great care to keep your skill and art private. You only post your art on SNS, never your face or voice. You don’t even post process videos showing your hands.

You have quite the following, and the mystery surrounding you contributes to that growth. People find your art fascinating and dynamic. It’s so varied. Some pieces are deep, layered and complex, and others are silly. They can be fun or serious. Frankly, as an artist you have the range!

Because of your job as a hunter, you don’t need to take commissions, so you don’t. It also gives you the knowledge to depict wanderers with uncanny accuracy, and you’d best believe some people have noticed, leading to rampant speculation.

Of course you knew Rafayel’s work. He’s one of your biggest inspirations, someone who’s work you admired and loved. Rafayel’s work encouraged your own creativity.

Rafayel loves seeing all different art from everywhere by anyone. Creativity is inspirational and anyone can create!.

Anyone includes you. Little did you know, Rafayel loved your work too. He found it unique and interesting. Your use of motion, and color, the line weight, the composition, all the elements in your art mesmerized him because it was so different from his art. But he didn’t know it was your art, you just happened to be an unknown artist he came across and really admired.

The piece that caught his attention was a charcoal illustration of an artist drawing a statue in a studio with a sea view. Her body was angled away from the camera, her face in profile, the piece on her canvas half finished as she caressed the pristine face of the white marble statue, her hand covered in charcoal smudges. The sea outside was choppy, but the weather wasn’t stormy just windy.

Rafayel followed you immediately from his private, anonymous account.

When you met him, you were chill and calm, admiring his work but keeping it to yourself as you were on the job. Besides, he didn’t seem like the type to want to listen to what others said about his work, unless he cared about their opinion or found what they were saying to be with merit. But you just met him, so your opinion wouldn't be important to him, and you honestly didn’t feel qualified enough to comment, so you said nothing, even as you stated working as his bodyguard. It wasn’t a secret, per se as you never resolved to keep it from him but you also just never actually told him.

Artists ask those close to them about their work, and want their input. It’s one fun and good way for them to include those they care about in their work. Rafayel is no different. It is through those questions that Rafayel discovers your artist’s eye. Everyone has one, but it needs to be used and honed, and Rafayel could tell yours had been honed.

“Which color should I use?” He eagerly awaits your answer. “Hmm, I would choose that one. It’ll add some interesting contrast to the piece and I love how vibrant it is. But, if you think the other one is better, use that one. You’re the professional after all.” Rafayel smiles, and dips his paintbrush into the color you chose. “As a professional, I agree with your assessment, cutie. Perhaps you should paint these pieces instead~” You giggle at this, jokingly protesting. “No Way! One, I love your art and I know you love your art too. Two, Thomas would have a cow.”

“What do you think?” Rafayel presents a page of his sketchbook, the art messy and unpolished, but exquisite nonetheless. “It’s interesting! The composition is very dynamic and clever. Using it to direct the eye and misdirect the viewer from the depths you’ve painted to the surface adds a lot to the piece.” He asks you questions like this frequently.

In those times you draw together, he can tell you have skill. He can also tell you’re a little insecure from your reluctance to draw with him. It makes sense, he supposes, for someone who’s not necessarily an artist, or even someone who was an artist, to be intimidated to draw with him, but he doesn’t care about your skill level. He wants to do something he loves, art, with someone he loves – you. He’s reassuring and playful, and doesn’t pressure you.

During all of this, you keep posting your art online, and he keeps seeking it out. Things start to pile up. Every artist has their own style, and he’s noticing that elements of yours...and elements of one of his favorite artists were matching up.

Line weight, color, motion, technique, all were similar. But in order to know for sure, he’d have to see more art he knew was yours. So far, he just had small sketches and art from when you did art together. Or, of course, if his favorite online artist posted art he knew was yours for sure.

He wants you to feel secure and safe enough with him to share your art or other things with him, so he doesn’t voice his suspicions, especially since they aren’t confirmed. But he’s curious, and does want to confirm. Who wouldn't, in this situation?

Rafayel is devious, crafty. Most of all, he’s patient. If it turns out he’s wrong, no issue. It just means he’ll be able to introduce you to this hobby he loves, sharing it with you at the start, an ideal situation. If he’s right, he’s thrilled. His favorite person is one of his favorite artists? He’ll be one of the only ones to know who they are? Another ideal situation honestly. Your creative process, the thought behind your work, he’s so fascinated.

He gifts you a sketchbook - high quality paper, a design tailored to you, hand-bound and the perfect size to fit in your bag of choice. Then, he waits. He knows that often you post your new sketchbooks when you get them, along with the first page. It’s a little tradition! Though you might not post some of them, if you posted this one, he’d know. It’s the only one of it’s kind in the world, after all.

Coincidentally, you were finishing your previous sketchbook, so his timing was impeccable, giving a new sketchbook to you right as you needed one.

Rafayel is in for a lovely shock, because not only do you post the sketchbook, the first few pieces in it are sketches of him. They’re referenced from photos, because you’ve never sketched him (or anything for that matter), around him unless you were working together.

This man is Elated. He loves your art. He loves you.

But of course, he never pressures you and waits until you share on your own.

“Cutie, should I buy up all your work so only I have it?” He laughs. “No, I know you want to share your work with the world, so I won’t do that. But I demand that you let me see everything you want to share first!”

Before, he was watching your art from afar. He might have asked to collaborate/mentioned/featured your art but you seemed like you wanted to be left alone to do your own thing, and he respected that. Him mentioning you would have put you under increased scrutiny, and, if he was being quite honest he wanted to keep his inspirations secret, of which you were/are one.

Now, though, he wants to collaborate, officially. If you think that you’re not at his level, that you’re work isn’t good enough to be intertwined with his, he disavows you of that notion, thoroughly but gently.

‘Oh please. I’ve wanted to collaborate with you since before I knew it was you. Besides, you know me. Do you really think I’d work with someone who’s art I didn’t love?” So, you start doing collaborations and the art world flips out.

Eventually, you entrust Thomas with the secret, and he proposes your own exhibit. Thomas firmly believes your art is worthy of it, irregardless of your connection to Rafayel. He’s a professional, and, like Rafayel, he only works with artists who’s work he loves.

To be fully transparent, he’d been considering trying to reach out to you before he found out and propose an exhibit anyway, so this is great! Especially since your work is so unique.

Rafayel guards the secret of your identity jealously. If you don’t want anyone to know, no one will.

Any art you give him gets a place of honor somewhere in his house.

The two of you often “talk shop” and go over aspects of your works in progress, giving feedback, critique, and love/appreciation and encouragement.

You’ll go on outings to sketch together. It’s so interesting to see the different things each of you has noticed and focused on about whatever place or things you were sketching!

Whenever either of you gets too absorbed in your work, the other will make sure you eat, drink and rest.

Once/if you gave him permission, one of his favorite things to do would be to flip through your sketchbooks, just looking at your art, committing it to memory.

Art, for you is a shared expression of your creativity, love, and passions, no matter the subject or feeling. He values your input and contributions, recognizes your skill and most of all, loves you as a person and your art, and you do the same for him. Both you and Rafayel inspire and learn from each other.

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P.S: I do plan to do the rest of the money concept, I just had to take a detour lol. I'll also maybe do a part 2 of this? But also will do the other LIs eventually with this as well. ^J^

[wardensantoineandevka]

Kind of similar to what you're talking about with the writing, but I'm shocked at the lack of praise Veilguard gets for it's cinematography and direction. I'm no film expert, but I was absolutely blown away by it.

The devs are taking advantage of camera angles, composition, lighting, improved facial animations, etc, etc, to make very cinematic and striking images to go along with the writing and voice acting in ways the technology just wasn't able to in the first three games.

One of my favorite scenes is the first scene with Solas in the dream sequence, where you talk one on one for the first time. The point where Solas yells, "They said they were gods!" (Didn't look up quote, might not be exact), and then the ledge Rook is standing on crumbles so they are no longer on even ground with Solas. The camera gives us a wideshot to emphasize Solas standing above Rook, pacing back and forth, and lecturing Rook about the "blighted, tyrannical gods."

They put an amazing amount of insight into Solas' character in that one shot.

Anyway, all that to say, what's your favorite Veilguard cinematic sequence?

Same! I'm surprised there isn't more discussion about its cinematography and direction too! But then again, I wonder if that's the case because people get really stuck on its art direction and dislike the more vibrant style, decision not to do the more "realistic" (emphasis on the quotes) color palettes or the darker visual palette, and on insisting that the characters don't look good (let's not get into that, but it's ridiculous).

I agree that the team was very much taking advantage of how good the game looks, and that there's a lot of really strong images and cinematic shots. The example you pulled is a very good one—and exactly for the reason you cited! And an early strong one. Every time they pull to a wide shot too of that chasm between Rook and Solas in those conversations is always very good too.

My personal top favorite genuinely is the sequence leading into the regret prison. The quick flash of Varric over Lucanis. Solas stalking behind Rook, but vanishing every time something obscures him. Rook falling into the Fade, Solas standing over them as they struggle to hold both their regrets and the dagger. Great use of blocking in that sequence, the way that things shift and change when you, or Rook, stops looking at them. Very aware of the camera and the visuals there. Genuinely an incredibly effective sequence.

I also do think the visuals in the scene where Emmrich becomes a lich, the portion in the Necropolis, is also very strong in terms of cinematography and image-making. Generally, I do think that Emmrich's questline is one of the best in terms of direction and cinematography of the companion quests. It's certainly, for me, the most consistently striking in its compositions and visual framing. The image-making in that quest is justttttttt so good.

I do have to shoutout Siege of Weisshaupt as an out-of-cinematic-scene entry for this because it also has strong direction and cinematic framing. I know it and the sequence into the regret prison might feel cliched as favorites, but they genuinely are just SO strong in terms of visuals, direction, and cinematic framing.

[aries-of-spades]

And the soldiers march behind me, I can hear them beat their spears. And for the first time in all my life, I know I'm more than what I fear.

I finished it! :D This was... definitely a project. Took a while but I'm SUPER proud if how it came out. And i think this unlocked my childhood love for drawing triangles and filling them in lmao.

Closeups and explanations/rambling under the cut.

Going down the line we have:

Helsknight in the colleseum! This one and Tanguish’s window on the other side don't correspond to specific scenes, but are sort of a moment of triumph for each of them. The shine effect and rays of light from the sword were very fun to do, and this image composition has been sitting as a little thumbnail in my sketchbook for a while because i didnt know what to do with it.

The Candlebright window(as I've been referring to it). It's nice to have been able to extend this so you can see the rest of Helsknight as well as Tanguish. Easily one of my favorite scenes from the fic. And i like making light rays vaguely symbolic. How here they shine on both of them, while coming from Tanguish's direction, unlike in the Welsknight window. I wish cameras could pick up the colors right and me trying to use the color adjuster worked, because the background light is more orangy than in this image, cause it's supposed to be like bronze colored.

Dancing window. Nothing’s changed here, since this was the center of the original painting, but I still love it. Sort of spotlight with stars moving around. I like when they dance :)

Dramatic Welsknight window. I love how his blue really stands out against the gold light, while Tanguish's blue blemds into the floor. A looming danger and something trying to make themself invisible. Also the light here comes from a sharper angle, and is broken by Welsknight’s cast shadow.

Tanguish window! Similar to the Helsknight window, no specific scene, but a moment of triumph, looking over the city. In Helsknight's window, the eyes of hels are on him, but in this one, Tanguish looks over everything with no one knowing he's there. Yaey parallels. This one had a lot of reworking the design to make the scene more 3d. The glow from the lava was really fun. Tbh, I feel like this window looks better from afar. But I was somehow able to make Tanguish's blue warm enough to fit the colors.

I actually kept track of how much time I spent to make this, including the original peice. So this whole painting is the combined work of 22 and a half total hours! *confetti noises* yeah, that's kinda a lot.

Btw, the canvas is over 2 feet long.

Yaey!

Also i fell off a chair trying to hang this above my foor.

@silverskye13

[astra-ravana]

Labradorite: History And Use

Labradorite is a semi-precious feldspar mineral known for its exquisite iridenscence. It is characterized by vibrant flashes of color, which ranges from deep blues and greens, to vivid purples and pinks, to fiery oranges and golds. The enchanting play of colors in labradorite has a scientific explanation that's as fascinating as the stone itself. It's known to exhibit 'labradorescence', a phenomenon that occurs as a result of the stone's unique internal structure and the interference of light.

Labradorite's mineral composition primarily consists of a type of feldspar called anorthosite. What makes this feldspar so distinct is its lamellar structure. Within these layers, there are thin, closely spaced structures that act as barriers to the passage of light. When light enters a labradorite stone, it interacts with these structures in patterns that are necessarily parallel, producing is distinctive flashes of color, the striking display that labradorite is renowned for.

The colors produced by labradorite are not due to pigments within the stone, but rather the dispersion of light. This is similar to the way a prism splits light into its various colors. As a result, the hues in labradorite can shift and change as you view it from different angles, giving it a dynamic and captivating quality.

Understanding the science behind labradorite's iridenscence adds another layer of appreciation for this otherworldly gemstone. It's a testament to the marvels of nature and how it can create something so aesthetically stunning and intriguingly mystifying.

History

Labradorite boasts a history as enchanting as its radiant colors. While it earned its name from the Canadian province of Labrador, where it was first officially documented in the late 18th century, its roots in human culture run deep. The discovery of labradorite was a moment of awr and wonder, as early observers were captivated by the stone's iridescent flashes. However its use and significance extend far beyond its namesake region.

In ancient cultures, labradorite was considered a magickal stone with connections to the unseen world. Inuit tribes who inhabited the region where labradorite was initially found, revered it as the powerful stone that captured the Northern Lights, trapping them within its depths. The association with the Aurora Borealis gave labradorite a sacred status among Indigenous people.

As time progressed, labradorite began to make its way into other cultures' spiritual practices and traditions. It was prized by shamans and mystics for its metaphysical benefits, healing potential, and ability to enhance one's spiritual connection and insight. Labradorite was often used for divination, channeling, spirit work, crossing the veil, and more, believed to bring about a deep understanding of the Universe, spirit, and the inner self.

Labradorite's history also intersects with the world of art and jewelry. Artisans and jewelry designers recognized its captivating beauty and incorporated it into various creations. The stone was believed to ignite divine creativity in those who worked with it.

Metaphysical Uses

Labradorite is more than just a stunning gem;  it is also revered for its metaphysical properties, making it a beloved stone among mystics and those who delve into spiritual realms. These profound effects include:

• Enhanced intuition and psychic abilities- One of the most commonly attributed labradorite traits is its ability to open the Third Eye, honing one's intuition and enabling psychic ability. It is referred to as the "Stone of Magick" or the "Stone of Transformation" due to the profound experiences it can facilitate. Labradorite opens the doors to unseen realms beyond perception enabling individuals to tap into internal and external sources of wisdom to gain insights far beyond the ordinary. For those who practice psychic readings, divination, meditation, astral travel, or any kind of spirit work, labradorite makes a valuable companion. It heightens spiritual awareness, amplifies inner knowing, and aids in past life recall. This improved intuition can aid in decision making, problem solving, and understanding complex situations.

• Spiritual transformation- Labradorite is regarded as a profound catalyst for spiritual transformation and growth. It supports individuals on their spiritual journeys by deepening their connection to higher realms and expanding their spiritual awareness. This expansion can lead to profound personal and spiritual transformation. Labradorite's energy encourages introspection, inner exploration, and a heightened sense of purpose. Those who work with this magickal stone become intuned to the subtle energies of the Universe, inspiring a sense of wonder and creativity and curiosity regarding the mysteries of existence, motivating them to seek a deeper understanding of their own soul. It is a guiding light on the path of spiritual enlightenment.

• Increased synchronicity- Labradorite holds a fascinating connection to the concept of synchronicity, the occurrence of meaningful coincidences in our lives. It acts as a beacon for recognizing and interpreting these important events, offering a deep understanding of the interconnectedness of the Universe.

• Protection and aura cleansing- Labradorite is also associated with protection. It creates a shield around the aura, the energetic field that surrounds the body. This shield acts as a barrier, warding off negative or unwanted energies and influences. Furthermore, labradorite cleanses and purifies the aura of these attachments, restoring a sense of balance and harmony.

• Inspiration and artistic expression- For artists abd creatives, labradorite is a wellspring of inspiration. Its fluid energy encourages thinking outside the box and pushing the boundaries of conventional ideas. The transitioning hues within this beautiful stone evoke a sense of enchantment and wonder, igniting one's imagination and boosting creative ability.

• Relationship harmony- Labradorite is associated with fostering relationship harmony by nurturing understanding, empathy, and effective communication between people. Its energy creates an atmosphere of openness and emotional connection, which helps resolve conflicts and strengthen bonds in any type of relationship.

• Confidence and communication- Another remarkable facet of labradorite is its potential to boost self-confidence and improve communication. When you harness the energy of this stone, it empowers you to express your thoughts and ideas with clarity and conviction.

• Focus- Labradorite is a valuable tool for those seeking to elevate their focus and concentration levels. The enchanting gem clears mental fog and grants clarity making it easier to engage in tasks that require undivided attention. It assists in sharpening your mental faculties, allowing for more precise and sound decision making.

Characteristics

Hardness: 6-6.5

Mineral family: Feldspar

Crystal system: Triclinic

Sun safe: Yes

Water safe: No

Correspondences

Planet: Uranus, Moon, Neptune

Element: Air, water

Zodiac: Aquarius, Sagittarius, Scorpio

Chakra: Third Eye, Crown, Throat

Numerology: 6, 9

Herbs: Lotus, mugwort, frankincense, sage, lavender, morning glory, eyebright

"A man is like a bit of Labrador spar, which has no luster as you turn it in your hand, until you come to a particular angle; then it shows deep and beautiful colors."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson