#i used this one beautiful edit as reference for this drawing

[romidoes]

in the back of my mind, i killed you

and i didn’t even regret it

i can’t believe i said it

but it’s true

i hate you.

[patheticbatman]

I haven't seen any posts about this yet but l've seen some fan art that makes me feel this needs to be said:

Don't forget Leah Sava Jeffries has darker skin when making Annabeth Chase fan art!

She is much closer to Lupita Nyong'o than Zoe Kravitz when it comes to shading, reflection, and complementary color usage :).

Lighting for dark skin is different on light skin. Light skin gets changed by lighting, and dark skin reflects the lighting. Below is a lovely shot of Nyong'o's character from Wakanda Forever in mourning. The filmmakers emphasize the umber qualities of her skin in contrast to the funereal white and (arguably harsh) light across her shoulder below.

Try to pick spots that aren't directly in or near the light, and try mixing 3 or more! You can put it into a color mixer online, or even color pick, lower the opacity, and lay the shades over each other until you find one that fits. And of course, the more 'realistic' you want to go with shading and lighting, the more shades you're going to want to be able to explore vivaciously :D.

Let's take a look at the same 3 beautiful actresses I mentioned at the beginning, with a bad color picked area and a better-ish color picked area. (Please keep in mind, these are not perfect comparisons, as I was not able to find pictures of all 3 actresses under the same kind of lighting.)

Kravitz's has a clear difference between the two, but they aren't too far apart, in comparison to Nyong’o’s and Jeffries’s. Note the dullness in the poorly picked shades as opposed to the better ones. Also keep in mind that while Kravitz has a rosy undertone (at least in that picture - it’s from The Batman, which has stylized coloring) Nyong’o has a slight cool undertone (I can’t pin down quite what, but the picture is definitely not stylized like Kravitz’s).

Jeffries runs more ochre or russet, but neither of those are pink. They are more red than terracotta or umber, but to call Jeffries’s face rosy would be wrong. Err more towards the golden when drawing her.

^^saved an image from a writing tutorial long ago, but can’t seem to find it. If someone recognizes it, I’ll link it. EDIT: it’s from this post. Thanks @autumnrowancollector ! <3

And also, the darker skin gets, the less likely warm undertones are going to appear. Don't be afraid to use blue or purple or even green on occasion!

Additionally, cool lighting on dark skin is always a win imo.

(I was going to use that picture of Jeffries as Annabeth by the lightning bolt, but then I realized the lighting on her face doesn’t quite match up with where it should hit from that angle, and I realized they kind of just turned everything bluer, so screenshot time!)

(Also if you want another really great live action example, check out anything Aldis Hodge is in, like Leverage and Black Adam)(and of course there’s Spiderverse <3 but I want to post pictures of Hodge)

Now, to here’s a list of more experienced people’s advice:

Black facial features & hair

Shading digitally for a (somewhat) monotone Black character

Stylistic choices and places to start looking for inspiration (besides a search engine).

Coloring Black people’s lips

A better coloration tutorial

Also a nice tutorial for Indigenous skin tones, just in case yall want to draw Piper or use this information for other dark skinned characters :).

EDIT: Some actresses who are closer in skintone to use for Annabeth, provided by the lovely @blackfemmecharacterdependency ! If you can’t find a reference for Jeffries in a specific lighting, maybe check out these ladies’ pictures! It’s a reblog, so scroll down.

TLDR: Don’t make Annabeth pink and pale, make her dark and golden.

[buckleyagcd]

“i am free”

it’s been a while but i finally decided to draw again. seeing evan buckley finally figuring out and navigating his bisexuality has made me so immensely happy. buck has and will always be one of my favourite characters and to see him going on this journey, which is very similar to my own, is bringing me so much joy. just as buck finally feels free, i feel seen! 🩷💜💙

massive thank you to linda (skyhighrollins) for allowing me to use their beautiful edit as a reference image. i appreciate you! 🫶🏼

[zexapher]

Vacuan Nights, Like Vacuan Days

They’re just so great together! I’d love for Jaune and Weiss to get a little downtime in Vacuo to live out a moment like this. They really deserve it, and I’d love to see Jaune’s guitar make a reappearance.

The comic here was inspired by u/Silverstar1243’s excellent piece of art, A Serenade Under the Moonlight. Send some love to them on their twitter, commission some art if you’re willing and able, they’ve made some great stuff.

You folks may have noticed I threw in a couple of references for those in the know; the Golden Oreos behind Yang (double stuffed, I might add) for the trio’s ship, Weiss liking it rough for Mallobaude’s great fic, and of course I made a whole theme around the Arabian Nights Disney song. A song, along with its Aladdin compatriots, which I spent the better part of a day finding covers for just to listen to on repeat while I worked.

This one’s now officially my longest comic project, with 14 panels, two over the past record since I added the White Knight kiss at the end. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Not sure I’d say it was more difficult than my Vanity of Vanities post, but for this one I actually knew how to use my editing software going into it (at least somewhat).

Put a lot of work into this one, been working on it on and off since February. Took a few breaks for vacation, to make my memorial post for Rooster Teeth, and another five meme edits or so, but I came back around to it. First half was pretty easy, relatively minor edits inserting characters into scenes and so on. The second half with Jaune and Weiss was tougher though, with color correcting, merging poses, redrawing features, drawing Jaune’s entire head to fix some lighting issues, etc. Really like how the edit to make Jaune strum his guitar turned out.

The time it took to make the whole comic got me down a little, until I did a bit of math. Including my side projects since starting this, all the scripting and editing and all, I’ve been pumping out a panel every two days. That seems pretty good to me, that kind of accomplishment makes me a little proud of myself.

Really need to get around to watching the second part of the Justice League Crossover movies. It’s got a few Vacuo scenes that might make things a little more authentic instead of me just using Saphron’s house and pretending it’s a suite in Vacuo. I do love taking yet more character stills from Jaune and friends experiencing deep trauma and turning it into something positive, been making that a bit of a personal habit. And I’ve got to say, the background for Jaune and Weiss’ scene is really beautiful, pulled it from when Sun and Neptune hear Ruby’s message about Salem. That’s just a really good shot all on its own, I even saved a copy for my computer’s wallpaper after editing out the two.

Posting a big RWBY White Knight edit, watching not one but two RWBY Beyond episodes, and all on the trail of the news that RWBY’s found partners that they’re negotiating with and that the creative team is expected to stay on. And I'm sipping bubble tea. Life is good.

Anyway, pardon the long write up. I’m invested in this one, and am quite pleased with how the comic turned out. I hope you all get a kick out of it as well!

[fantomette22]

A little something about the students dress

Alright so I was looking at references (to draw a character) and ended up doing a bit of research on academic dresses & graduations uniforms! I only find a couple of things so if someone have more infos I will be very interest!

So in Bloodborne we got those dear uniforms :

The one with the robes is very classic of what people in old classic university still wear for big events and graduations such as in the U.S.A or UK. A decades/century ago they did wore those uniforms of course way more often. Now we wear mostly casual clothes.

(This image always made me think of Byrgenwerth. With the balcony and all. That remind me of a post I made a while ago I have still no clue what those balcony were use for!!!)

At first, I discovered that between a bachelor/licence degree, master degree and phd/doctorate you aren't going to get the same clothes. Plus, colours can differ depending of : the level of the degree, the school or the field you graduate in (can differ depending the countries as well).

Bachelor outfits are the most simple ones with not a lot of colours for most of them. Sometimes they don't have hoods but depends. Sometimes they seems to have very large selves like the Byrgenwerth one. The master ones have a bit more colours and I read generally long sleeves but that depends? Then the phd/doctorate ones are generally very colourful! And like the last sources below v They even had even more beautiful outfit for very important members (so I guess Willem pope outfit still make sense XD)

As for the colors it really depends the country etc but I read red is often associated with medicine and surgery (what a coincidence!). White / purple or even red is for theology and blue could be for sciences (Byrgenwerth/willem researches seems to be quite a mixt with theology/sciences so make sense).

(@katyspersonal we did talk a while back on colours on clothes meaning but hey it had have academic significations that fit well too! So in the end, drawing Laurence with white & red clothes is even more accurate now! XD) Oh I wanna draw him in an entire red academic dress now...Future drawing idea ).

Also I forgot to mentions that there's the hat/trencher that's part of it as well. It's not part of the set in the game but ennemies have it.

Also little side note: some dress have stripes or ermine bands on the clothes that represents their grades and also "academic curiosity, academic honesty, and academic courage."

So i suppose the garb Micolash, Damian & co have would look more similar to a master degree one? I guess?

But I won't throw any rocks at Fromsoftware even if the ones we got might not be too much detailed/ accurate because they sure did their homeworks to find and design those clothes. They aren't historians and they probably found a lot more things than I here (plus Japan don't have those dresses too). They're not going to design like 5 different outfits in the game too XD. (Yes I want more details for my story bc making things way more complicated is way more accurate I guess...) We don't know how exactly those types of institutions fonctions in Bloodborne universe too. And it's a fantasy world after all. So it's free real estate

I dunno if you guys @pyro-madder @karnaca78 @secteel or others could know more about it 🤔

But for now it's all!

Sources :

PS : I found this piece of medieval scholar dress and it really look like the same as the guy in the cainhurst painting and cut content Beltran!

They are probably wearing a "simarre". Some magistrate/ university professor / religious clothes people would wear. So pretty oblivious and what we thought @heraldofcrow

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[occasionallycoinpin]

Occasionally Coinpin 100

A million beautiful stars in the sky,

Yet you’re the only one that catches my eye

yapping down below

putting this at the top so people actually read it: occasionally coinpin will be going on a short break! don’t worry, not a multi-month hussie-tier hiatus or anything, just a couple days for me to catch my breath, and then ocp will be back in full swing. doing anything for three months straight will tire you out (plus i’ve started getting this weird cramp in my arm so :p)

i feel as though 3 months isn’t really enough time to start getting sentimental. but, 100 is a big milestone, we’re out of the double digits, so i’ll say something at least

when i first started this little side blog, i didn’t really think anyone would pay attention to it. clearly, the (currently) 235 of you disagree with that notion. knowing that ive given at least one person, let alone hundreds, a smile on their face is one of the best feelings in the world, and i’m so grateful for everyone who’s supported this little project of mine

whether you’ve been here since the single digits, or if you just showed up right now, thanks for giving my silly drawings the time of day

here’s to 100 more coinpins 🥂

now with the sappy stuff outta the way, its time for some ocp fun factz™️!

The current OCP with the most notes is OCP 94 (“spahc”), which recently beat out both OCP 76 (“Pride”) and OCP 78 (“Mario Party”). I’m not sure how to feel about this

OCP 70 (“Detachment”) was originally supposed to be a continuation of the previous two (do the math). Pin was going to scare Coiny with… something, but I couldn’t get the joke to land the way I wanted it to, so I scrapped it and went with something based on BFDIA 12 instead

The longest gap between Fear Garden posts was between OCP 62 (“Vessel Reveal”) and OCP 99 (“I.D.F.B.”) with a gap of 36. The shortest was between (most of) the posts for FG week, in which OCP 55 (“Hi Scarlet”) to OCP 60 (“Fear the Garden”) were all posted back-to-back for a gap of 0

Speaking of Fear Garden, while I said OCP 8 (“Remembrance”) was the reread edition, I had actually reread FG sometime before that point. In fact, that reread was what inspired me to make Occasionally Coinpin in the first place! Thanks, Ice

you may have noticed that i’ve been referring to the ocps using titles here. i recently (last night) decided to retroactively give all of them titles. as a nice little bonus for every hundred milestone, i’ll drop the ocp titles as a bonus :)

have a good day, and a good night

[olivia-sementsova]

Spotlight on the Murdoch House

One of the things I wish I could do on this blog is to share with you the artwork that I am making right now. But because I work on a TV show, I can’t do that, I have to keep it secret until the show airs. Now I wholeheartedly agree with this, not just because it lets me keep my job but also because I know how shitty spoilers can be. But what I can tell you about is the work I did on previous seasons. Today I want to revisit the drawing of the Murdoch House.

This project gave me the opportunity to imagine things that don't exist and fill in the gaps using problem-solving and creativity, which i love to do. And in my art, I want to include and celebrate people just as they are, in this illustration, I got to do that in a bit of a sideways way. I was able to celebrate the work of Bob Sher the production designer for Murdoch Mysteries. He had designed a really beautiful interior set for the Murdoch House and with this drawing, I could help show that off. I wasn't drawing his portrait, I was drawing his work and I think his work is an extension of himself.

I really wanted to do this justice because I wanted Bob and anyone else who had worked on this set to feel proud of what they did because it was beautiful! I also really enjoy imagining spaces that don't exist, I got to fully imagine what this fictional house is like, filling in the gaps that were left after filming.

My task was to draw the exterior view, and a plan view (the top-down architectural drawing) and highlight a few of the architectural features.

The exterior view is based on a quick establishing shot of the front door of the Murdoch house. I got to do a little bit of Architectural design as I changed the proportions of the actual house filmed in the show to match the story we were telling. There seems to only be one shot that is reused over an over again for the exterior and the shot only gives a glimpse of the front door. It was filmed on location in the outskirts of Toronto and as far as I know, we will never return to that location again. There was also an old pixelated photo of the same house. So what I had to go on was this one piece of footage, a pixelated photo, the interior set layout and the verbal description of how Bob envisioned the exterior.

Sets are not built like a house, one room doesn't logically lead to the next and could be on the opposite end of the studio. The different rooms are pieced together in how the actors move through them and the editing process. So I needed to alter the plan view of the set to match how the audience perceives the Murdoch house and not how it is actually built. I based what I drew on the actual set, but made changes to the layout, moving rooms around to make sense like a real house.

Going on the deserted set of the Murdoch House and taking reference pictures was really enjoyable. Being on that quiet and darkened set felt so peaceful and I got to see all the lovely details that the designer and build team had put in. It's wild but it feels like a real home and that isn't always the case with sets. Finding the details that would accompany the exterior view and elevations was easy. The hard part was whittling them down to just a few that would fit on the page. Showing off the doors was a specific request and those were designed by both Ryan O'Connell the set designer and Bob the production designer.

This drawing was for one of the early episodes of season 17, it was supposed to be placed above the mantle in the Murdoch living room. But I don't think it ever made it to camera! I remember there being some issues in regard to continuity from episode to episode. (We film out of order) And in a later episode, there was something scripted that had to take its place above the mantle. But I got a great deal of satisfaction from making it. I got to imagine a place that doesn't exist, helped to tell a story and I got to celebrate the hard work of creative people. And I know that it made Bob happy because it now has a lovely home in the hallway just outside the art offices.

[eggingtontoast]

Hi there! I have not interacted much in the Hatchetfield fandom, but I've talked endlessly about Hatchetfield in the @blinkysrewatchparty discord server. My name is Egg and I have a problem. I'm obsessed with a side character. A side character named Karen Chasity.

Below is most of the contents of what is a five page document about how I interpret her as a character. A lot of it is headcanon, because we simply don't have enough information about her. Again, I have a problem. Enjoy.

My Karen Chasity Problem: How I approach Karen as a character. (SFW EDITION kinda.)

[Disclaimer: Within this document I discuss Karen’s interaction with characters such as Girl Jeri(from now on referred to as Jeri), Detective Shapiro (NPMD), and Doug(Mariah’s cop from TGWDLM). At the time of writing, I’ve written Karen in ships with these three, so there will be mention of each briefly, though it is not the main focus.]

Karen's main theme is first and foremost restraint.

To lesser extent there is also repression and control.

 She is the most uptight/serious of all the Chasity household. (As evidenced in NPMD, she does not make jokes like Mark, nor does she fly off the handle like Grace) 

This is not to say she is completely stone faced, she does have instances where she emotes quite a bit, but (in my opinion) it feels exaggerated for comedic effect (because it's a comedy musical/scene where her dang daughter is breaking apart)

Her conversation with just Mark about her concerns with Grace not acting her usual self says a lot here

She is obviously someone who cares for her loved ones, though she may not bring up those concerns with the person in question. She is caring, in a quiet way. In NPMD there is a time skip between Dirty Girl to Max's death to Grace waking up after Richie's death. We know that Grace has been acting off for at least that amount of time. This gives Karen a time frame to notice that change in behavior.

NPMD is a blip in the rest of their lives, time wise. I’m interested in the Karen Chasity that isn’t worrying over her daughter, the Karen Chasity that isn’t rife with paranoia during a townwide lockdown.

Karen’s secondary theme is devotion.

She is literally religious.

There is an argument for this if we do take into account the dinner scene with the Chasity household and how she nods along with Mark talking about the Holy Ghost, as well as how quick she checks Grace’s temperature. This is all also said by the above section. 

While I choose not to use a character’s… characterization in musical numbers too much, it’s clear that Karen, without her restraint (In Hatchet Town), still cares deeply about her loved ones. Sure, she may be rife with paranoia in that song but she still emphasizes the safety of the children in her part. She still cares, even if in that song it’s far too much.

She gives to others far more than she gets back.

Maybe this entire thing is rendered moot by the above section. This isn’t a formal document, fuck it.

Karen's slight mid-west(?) accent popping out when she talks to Grace

This is more prominent when she tells Grace she's gonna be late to being early for school (emphasis on "oo" noises, elongation and shortening of syllables. Monophthongal [e:] and [o:] present in both minnesota and michigan among other places) 

It’s probably because Hatchetfield is placed in Michigan, but no one else does this in the Hatchetfield universe. It could be another thing played up for comedy? I choose to see this as Karen playing up her maternal role. I could headcanon this as her drawing from her own mother? 

If we go with this, this could reference back to the headcanon/idea of “Karen’s family was a big influence on herself and despite wanting to move away from that connection, Karen is someone very much from her background.”

The accent itself makes her sound different than from the initial Chasity household scene, maybe it’s just nothing idk. 

“...beautiful old house” particularly has her pronouncing the “o” in old and house as more round and wide instead of that tighter “o” later on when she says “school”

Potentially trans-atlantic accent during first Chasity scene in NPMD (the fuck am I saying)

Mark kinda does this too, could be just vocal direction being older film for that more “classic nuclear family” feel

Consistently speaks kind of sing-songy in the show, though I don’t prescribe to that being her natural speaking tone.

(quick aside: you could probably replace Curt and Kim with muppet versions of themselves as the Chasitys and it wouldn’t change anything about the show, it would be funny)

Okay let’s move on from the fucking voice thing

We know very little about the Chasitys aside from Grace, but that’s because she’s appeared the most out of all of them. 

Therefore, I am playing fast and loose with how I characterize Karen.

I write her as a queer woman, who has been closeted for a very long time.

So Karen is restrained. 

An entire theme with the Chasitys is their repression due to religion. It’s not hard to simply write any of them as extremely closeted because of this. 

Therefore, Karen is uptight. 

The stressors of maintaining the image of a heterosexual, pure, Christian woman on a day to day basis would grate on anyone, especially if they are queer. Any singular slip up in a community like a church the Chasitys go to, could mean social death. 

Karen’s humor is subtle.

She doesn’t outwardly make jokes like Mark, or has unhinged, comedic reactions like Grace. If anything, Karen is the straight man in the comedy of the Chasity household. She is the baseline Mark and Grace work off of, stable and secure.

When writing Karen I tend to make her a little more deadpan than canon. She is such an over the top character in NPMD, it’s hard for me to write that in a believable way. I tend to make characters a little more grounded. If a musical is loud and bright, I’m writing them in a stage play, or a movie.

Because of this, I’m taking that one Smokey the Bear line from Abstinence Camp and saying Karen said that in the most deadpan voice that Grace simply did not realize it was a joke.

Karen has body language tells

We see her wringing her hands together as she walks toward Mark in NPMD, expressing her concern for Grace.

Furthermore, she nods quietly and hums when listening to others(Chasity dinner table conversation, Grace bedroom conversation, etc.)

I like to imagine that while she might be “playing a role” as a mother/church woman/pristine Chasity she still exemplifies some of these bodily tells. Just in a more restrained way. She pulls toward her own body instead of gesturing outward. In NPMD she leans and curls in on herself, to present more demure. 

In my own writing, I contrast this with how she acts outside of the context of her church, or with Grace. Because I see her and Mark as mutual beards, as best friends, she is able to drop that facade of a demure housewife and stand straighter(lol) and taller. Her shoulders are not hunched in on themselves, they are pushed back. What we see in NPMD is a role she plays in her day to day, but is not necessarily her authentic self.

Again this is like heavy headcanon and this is also the SFW version of the document sorry guys you have to be at least 18 to get the full context lmao tough shit

Karen is someone who says a lot with her hands(and to an extent, her eyes), Even as someone who may not gesture overtly. She holds them together, points, accents her speech with them. Karen's hands are the way she interacts with the world when she doesn't verbally talk much.

Karen is controlling.

Maybe this feels a little obvious. She is controlling with herself and how she presents herself. She is caught in a web of her own making, and this can extend to who she associates herself with. If this becomes too much it’s horribly unhealthy. It is the fear of her truths coming out that keep her from going too far. 

This manifests with how she approaches Jeri at first, and how she starts making packed lunches for Doug and Shapiro. It’s a sliding scale of when control is acceptable. 

As well as volunteering for church business and around town. Karen is a busy woman because if she is left idle she doesn’t know what else to do. She does not know how to relax.

Karen is afraid.

Her repression and restraint stem from the fear of ostracization. From her church, her community, and her own family. 

While I’m operating on the idea of her and Mark being mutual beards (their marriage being a lavender one) I imagine she is afraid of the way Grace would react if she found out her mother -someone whom Grace obviously looks toward for guidance and help- is queer.

The same goes for her church. She’s presented herself as a heterosexual woman for so long (due to her and Mark’s safety as two queer people coming from conservative families) that she is stuck in that role. She immerses herself in aforementioned church activities and volunteer work to maintain that label, and that level of safety.

[circe-and-the-wolf]

Yep, I’m still daydreaming about Lazaar. And having fun drawing him on Procreate. Tried the brilliant tutorial by Laura Rubin, in her book, and some of her fab skin brushes. I ended up overworking it (as usual 🙄) and doesn’t massively look like him BUT I was trying to capture the mood and that look.

Talking of that look,

…here’s a little photo edit of who he’s looking at (in my mind anyway 😜):

And here’s one of the beautiful original edits by @asgoodeasgold that I used as a reference 😍:

And here’s a rambling chapter which features that look:

Overcooked and nonsensical, as usual, but it’s just for fun so who cares?! 🧛❤️

[tisaolin]

How would Skarlet, Kabal, Erron Black and Mileena react to a reader that caughted them asleep and secretly drew them?

Unlike Skarlet (MK11 friendship-she sucks) , reader is pretty goot at drawing and draws someone exactly same.

I am curious about Kabal and Mileena since they are pretty insecure about their looks.

Kombatants having an s/o who draws them while they’re sleep

Characters: Skarlet, Mileena, Kabal, Erron Black

Rating: G

Warning: Erron Farts

Skarlet

While Skarlet is asleep, you take this time to draw an image of her.

It takes you a long time to draw her because she moves around…ALOT!! So you just take a picture of her and use that for reference.

When youre shading the rest of her face, she sneaks up behind you and watches silently.

You dont realize she was behind you until she says “Wow! I look good” are scares THE SHIT outta you so badly u broke the lead to the pencil and made a small mark on the drawing.

“☹️….Skarlet” she chuckles and takes the sketchbook from you “I still love it”

Mileena

Mileena is a pretty heavy sleeper (in my hc) so it was no struggle to draw her.

Unlike Skarlet, she doesn’t move around, she just lays there.. kinda like “🧍🏾‍♀️” only shes in bed.

Her teeth were abit of a struggle to draw because of the small layers and the details around her mouth but, nonetheless you did it.

While you’re off doing, whatever you do. Mileena wakes up, the first thing she notices is you’re not in bed, the second is the open sketch book laying on the table.

She observes the drawing before placing it back down and making her way to you.

When she finds you she just stands there like “🧍🏾‍♀️” and it kinda freaks you out so you ask her, “Are you alright” when you do she breaks down and hugs you. “No one has ever made me feel so loved and beautiful”

THAT!! Made you cry. In the end, you two were clinging to eachother all day.

Kabal

DEAR GOD HE MIGHT BE WORSE THAN SKARLET!!

Not only does he toss and turn, but he also SNORES😟

If it weren’t for the fact that you love him, you wouldve given up.

I assume he was having some kind of nightmare, or a dream about falling because he JOLTS up, “what are you doing?” “Im drawing” “OOH LEMME SEE”

He’s TOO quick and he snatches the sketchbook from you.

He looks at the drawing, then at you, then back at the drawing, then back at you.

“Its me…” WELL DUH 😒 sometimes Kabal is nothing but a dumbass

He doesn’t know what to say but he keeps the drawing in a picture frame.

ERRON BLACK

😒same as Kabal. Black dragon needs a new way of sleeping.

He fuckin farts in his sleep so you threw a pencil at him. “THATS FUCKING DISGUSTING” (edited this bc it autocorrected to disgusted)

He wakes up and you’re just staring at him angrily, hands crossed, half finished drawing in your lap, and your left foot tapping.

“What” DUDE YOU FARTED

He laughs so hard he falls out of the bed.

“Lemme see this” he takes the sketch book

“Wheres the rest of it” “figure it out stinky”

[wishjacked]

Happy #WebcomicDay!! :D

This year we're celebrating the process of making pages... so below the cut I've got a bunch of pictures sharing how I go about making pages of my evil post-apocalyptic workplace sitcom, Cargo!! :D

So! My process!!

Writing-> I think sometimes there's pressure to "write" your comic a certain way, I see people talking about script format and stuff a lot. That really doesn't work for me, though! I write my "first draft" script in short scenes on scrap paper, in whatever order they come to me. Sometimes a scene will just be one or two lines, and then a little description of what I want to happen in the rest of the scene.

Later I type the scene up, and write the "connective tissue" that fits between the disjointed scenes so they all flow together like they ought. I don't do page breaks or even character tag or action notes hahahaha I like it to be as BASIC as POSSIBLE so it's easy to edit. And since I'm the person drawing it I can almost always remember who's supposed to be saying what lmao

I edit a lot, but the most major editing is also probably the last bit... when I letter my pages usually I realize "they would never say that" and so I end up rephrasing everything. My art brain is sometimes waaaaay better at phrasing hahaha. Like you can see in the finished page for this script I rewrote like basically all of it, and actually went back to the original "sketch" script in a lot of places.

Thumbnailing-> my thumbs are really big, I draw them with markers on printer paper and keep them in a binder!! I like to thumb scenes in batches and I also usually write my dialogue on them, just so I can read through them before (and while) I draw to get a feel for how the pacing works. :)

Sketching-> OH sketching is also really hard for me! I don't have a good visual imagination so it's really important for me to make sure I have good references. Last year I was especially focusing on setting.

My comic is set in Florida. I'm lucky in that I used to live there and still go back to visit sometimes, so sometimes I can gather my own reference images! But more often I start on Google Maps or Zillow, trying to find buildings that have interesting features or the right kind of "look" for what I want. I'll also look up other interesting elements, my comic is set in a post-apocalypse and I'll research home gardening and things like that which people would probably have.

For example, in this set in chapter 7, I used Google Maps images, photo references of indoor hydroponic gardening, and like, 90's-00's hacker computer setups haha. Also my BFF Roomstyler.com, where you can make 3d house interiors haha!!

Lineart-> I LOVE lineart it is my favorite!!!! I sketch and ink two pages at a time, and it usually takes somewhere between 10-12 hours to do both steps.

I actually think my art looks best when it's just lineart... but I think my STORY is better with color, like it makes it clearer and easier to read and it has a better atmosphere HAHA.

Colors-> I think it usually takes me 4-6 hours to do 2 pages (I haven't timed myself as consistently as I time my lineart and sketching). I have a big file with small copies of my previous pages that I color drop from, and my characters are all flats only. The limited palette that I use is also really handy, it streamlines coloring a LOT.

Finishing Touches-> aka I steal mercilessly from my one true love, my internet home, the beautiful and blessed Wikimedia Commons

I put lots of overlay layers on my art! I like textures so having some strange little textures or pictures on things makes my art feel a lot more finished to me.

And finally my very most favorite ✨finishing touch✨ is the bright colored/patterned gutters that I use. Here are some of my favorites that I've made and used in the past!

And that's all!! I hope you guys have a very happy Webcomics Day and find lots and lots of wonderful new things to read!!!

[t34-mt]

orginally in ms paint, then quickly experimented with the brushes of krita on it today, worldbuilding text about the piece under ->

southern kyhuine taking a break in the afternoon after a training session with this large calf. Surely around his village as just lying down on their stomach (a sign of relaxation) would never occur in wild areas, because kyhuines need to stay alert of their surrounding.

the headpiece is made of bones, that are sanded down, and then painted on. it is originally a thing from the kyhuines of the salt desert (a dried-out sea that contains well, salt, and many fossils), which are located up to the south so technically "northern". tho they are not called northern in world, and are referred to as salt kyhuines.

the concept of south, west, east, and north is kind of not right, as kyhuines are from the middle of the mega continent of altuyur. they used to have a restricted view of the world with a map that was quite small and not even aware that oceans existed at these times, they did not venture out to certain chains of mountains which is why it took so long for the "first contacts" to happen with maanuls. Old maanuls maps, only map out some coasts the rest being vague and the middle being completely empty of information. Both species would have that similar phrase to call non-mapped parts, "beyond the beyond"

I put first contact in "" because it is implied that it did happen maybe thousands of centuries ago, during what their equivalent of prehistory is (history for them does not start with the appearance of writing). Because there is cave art in coastal regions that show maanuls interacting with badly drawn little things that sort for assemble kyhuines, the same goes for kyhuines in their desert biomes, having cave art of them interacting with weird giants. But these happened so long ago that they're not documented in history apart from these odd pieces of art, so with time passing each species thought these were just drawings of spirits, or with time turning these into cryptids.

So funnily enough some cultures had cryptids of something that for them was a legend to then at late AOS or GA realize that these cryptids kind of reassemble the opposite species that they're in contact with now

a bit of ramble but yeah, thank you for reading! not sure how clear this can all sound without having a map to show it, i still have no idea how to draw one id love a beautiful one but hmhm i don't know how

edit: also the square shapes on the clothe means health, so with a dot in it its sort of like "good health", clothings can have symbols to give good luck. The square for kyhuines during GA became a wide symbol across cultures to signify health because in others it could mean something else, so medics of GA with uniforms would have that square symbol on their arm or somewhere else where it would easily be seen

[vasiliquemort]

~Commissions are open!~

Such beauty it could be if you distributed this post - or even had desire to aquire something for yourself!<ззз

Below I have described in detail almost all the information that I could imagine as neccessary, yet please do not hesitate to write for any reason in a private message or ask - it will be my absolute pleasure to tell or show you more, and I am always glad to have new delightful acquaintances!<зз

I do portraits in three formats - bust, waist-length and full-length, and with three different stages of completion - line art, flat color and full shadow work. They can be completely different in style, and you should pay close attention to the difference in the execution of these formats - the busts are always more detailed in the character's features, the atmosphere is more consistent in waist-length paintings, and full-length drawings are well suited to demonstrate clothing design or depict a scene. On average, I complete the first stage of work (sketching) in two days, and the second in three, but in case of various circumstances I may leave myself from a week to week and a half - depending on the complexity and its cost, and the duration of the work can vary greatly yet I always try to be transparent and tactful about all possible deadlines and reasons for such.

I adore to experiment with styles and learn new tones of this craft - as each meeting is a start of something beautiful, and I desire to create art that is complex and multifaced, but to an important extend I should say that I do not feel comfortable to copy or imitate other's styles of execution and sensuality, and a lot of expressions and detailing in my work are sudden - art is an journey and yet I would love to share this journey with you;зз

There is a path of my prices:

- Bust of one character up to the chest - $ 70 - Portrait of one or more characters up to the waist - $ 80 For each additional character + 20 $ - Character (or several) in full growth - $ 90 For each additional character + 30 $ Cost of more complex and expressive pieces and backgrounds are increased by tips, which I express as an deeply loyal and tactful system - it is absolutely voluntary and happens only at the end of the project, so you have ability to define their cost to your feelings and abilities and nothing over that<зз Oh!! And you have read almost everything! Thank you so much! And also here, under the cut, I describe the whole process of work and how we pay. This is quite useful information for other questions that you may have if you desire to purchase my work, therefore I may advise you to take a look at it too;з

How do we work on an order?

Please feel free to contact me via Tumblr for any questions you may acquire! ~

After I discuss the content of the painting with the client and receive additional materials from them (a photo of the person I am drawing, or references that are close to what is expected of me), I start creating the first sketch.

In accordance with the request, I make a sketch of the future painting, which will contain all its important elements and an approximate color scheme (if any) that I will use. At this stage, you can freely make your amendments, and when the content suits you, I will ask you for an advance payment of half the cost of the work without additional prices of background or detailing.

After that, work on the portrait will begin. Its duration varies on several factors - to a greater extent on the volume and complexity of the work itself, as well as on my own workload with other orders.

After completing the portrait, I will send you its version in low quality- after you familiarize yourself with it (there is also possible some edits - of tones and color, elements of shading, character features and small details), and after you pay the rest of the amount, you shall receive the final result of our artwork! ~

[violetlunette]

You guys ever have an image that just didn’t want to turn out no matter what you did, but you were stubborn and were like; fuck it, I’m finishing this even if it's the worse piece ever? This is it for me. I think the final product is passible though a bit busy (and one of a kind as I used to do many different brushes, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remember them all). I tried to make the lines look like the image was done with an ink pen. Anyhow, this is my first version of Overblotted Silver.

Silver’s armor is based on Aurora’s blue outfit. His colors are from Aurora when she was hypnotized by Maleficent. He’s supposed to be slumped over and look hollow, like an empty shell without hope, as he’s lost everything he once fought for. This is partly inspired by old Prince Phillip when Maleficent promises to let him go after a hundred years. I wanted to be able to show Silver without the ink stains but messed up my layering and it was too late to fix it when I noticed. This was my first time drawing a horse, and I just couldn’t find the reference I needed so winged it and this is the result. The horse’s hair is based on Sleeping Beauty and was supposed to be thorny, but drawing the thorns was annoying, so I gave up.

The Phantom is based on none other than Sleeping Beauty with a spinning wheel always turning behind her. Her dress is supposed to be like a mist or a cloud, which I got close enough. I like how the head turned out with the ink spilling out. That said, I’m not sure if I’ll use her in future versions as I want to focus on the “sword of truth and righteousness part of him.” (He is supposed to be twisted from Philip's sword, after all.) But I mostly like how she turned out, though I’m kicking myself for missing the torso designs.

The background is concept art of Maleficent's castle because I haven't learned to draw backgrounds yet. Nothing to say there except--Disclaimer, I do not own that part but the rest is all mine. Except for the shield. That too was edited in.

Anyway, I hope ya’ll like it. I’m curious how others imagine over-blot Silver and his Phantom.

[blueskittlesart]

hi :] this isnt really a reqest cuz it'll prob be a longer answer but im rlly curious abt ur comic process

i love all ur comics and somehow they always manage to gutpunch me- and ur composition and the way they read is always so beautiful and adds so much to the message youre trying to get across

yeah lol let's get into it! Ive spent maybe 5 or so years refining this process to the point it's at now so it's pretty much my standard procedure now. I'm going to use Now that you're gone as my primary example here since i still have most of the planning stages associated with it (my laptop does not have a whole lot of storage left so i usually delete my planning once the comic is finished lol) but i'll try to throw in some other examples too!

I almost always start with a written script. (the exception for this is longform oc comics which i find easier to write in the moment, but for my shorter character studies I almost always write first.) I use discord to write because it's convenient, but before i had a dedicated discord server for my stuff i was using txt files on my laptop which i do NOT recommend. anyway, this is what the written script for ntyg looked like:

note that some small elements changed in production, like the amount of time that had passed since link's death. the lines "I look at her and i am only afraid. i remember all the ways in which i hurt you. She's almost as old now as you were then. I cannot stand the thought of outliving her, too" were also added during the rough stage because i felt like there wasn't quite enough emphasis on aryll in the initial script, and since this was a major change that necessitated a whole extra page in the comic I went back and edited those lines into the script so I wouldn't forget them. (both these changes were made during the rough stage. i'll almost never make major script adjustments after the roughs are finished.)

more examples of my scripts; specifically the original script for totk: failure and two versions of oot: adulthood (one before some major refining and one after.) with comics like these, where i have a very clear idea in my head of the imagery i want to go along with the words, i'll sometimes include it interspersed in the script, either spolier-marked or denoted with brackets.

with ntyg and some of my other more. canon divergent? i guess? comics, there's sort of a mini phase in between scripting and roughs where I do some minor character studies to get designs nailed down in the early stages. with ntyg I already had a clear image in my mind for aryll, but the central character was link's dad, whose design wasn't quite so solid in my head. I really wanted to make sure that his design was well thought-out and consistent throughout everything, so i did a few mini sketches and studies to ensure I had his design memorized and could execute it consistently:

these are sans hair and accessories because nailing down consistent facial features was my main focus with them, and both these sketches ended up getting used as references for certain panels later on. This isn't a step I ALWAYS take with my comics, but if there's a central character that i'm not super used to drawing i find it helpful to get some practice in before jumping into the real thing!

after the scripting and design phases i move on to roughs, which I consider to be the most important stage in my process. roughs are very very quick approximations of what I want the final pages to look like. they usually don't take me more than a few minutes per page to create, and their sole purpose is to help me visualize the flow of the page and the placement of major elements like panels, characters, and dialog. this is what the 1st page rough for ntyg looked like compared to the final page:

as you can see, all i have laid out is the major text and visual elements, but it really helps me to visualize how the finished comic is going to flow. i do the roughs for every page before i start on the finals so that i have an idea of what the entire comic is going to look like before I really start finalizing it. it's important that these roughs are FAST--i almost never draw fully-fledged characters unless the pose or expression is particularly important to the scene, and that's because the goal is to allow everything to flow quickly and easily from panel to panel and page to page, and getting too caught up on one panel or element often breaks that flow. Nowadays, i have a pretty good idea of how much room my writing takes up so i don't write out the entire script in my roughs, but back when i was a little less experienced i took the time to write everything out in this stage to ensure that my dialog would fit into the space it was given without getting cramped or cutting off other important elements. doing that really helped me build awareness of how much dialog and panel placement matters and how i could use it, so this rough stage is non-negotiable for me even now!

after the roughs i go straight into finalization. I never enjoyed lineart back when i was learning to draw digitally so i basically built my art style to be understandable and visually appealing after one sketch phase, meaning there's legitimately no in-between stage between that rough and that final page, i just sort of. go for it. this is what works for me, but i think most normal people would probably find a second sketch phase helpful LMAO i'm just crazy and i need everything done as fast as possible. the finalization stage usually doesn't contain any major adjustments of script, composition, etc; i make it a general rule to keep most of the major adjustments confined to the earlier stages, for my own sanity. One thing that DOES occasionally change in this stage is my plans for color--ntyg in particular was originally planned to be completely black-and-white with no grays added, but when looking at my completed pages i found them sort of empty and unengaging without the gray, so i added it. usually if my color plans DO change it's something small like that--I'll almost never switch between full-color and grayscale on a whim because the way that i sketch for those two versions differs significantly so it isn't an easy switch to make.

anyways i hope this is what you were looking for! I'm very passionate about making comics and this process is a result of years of experimentation & finding what works for me, but i hope it's of some use to you as well!