#sketchbook slam challenge

[resshako]

Another Angle Dust painting. I know it looks messy, but we don't talk about that.

Update on dragon eye coming tomorrow

Next Thursday, the poll will decide my fate

OC art is coming soon (hopefully)

The poll for art challenge:

[puppiesandnightlock]

LINK: At least it’s not as dull as fitting like a glove

summary: Damian and Jon are, well, Damian and Jon.

They're idiots about their hideously obvious feelings, and their friends are *so* done with them. Time for operation Damijon.

otherwise known as the friends meddling >:)

“Alright, this is getting ridiculous.” Maya wrinkled her nose, watching Jon knock Damian in the shoulder, the shorter boy grumbling as he knocked back, hint of a smile on his face.

“They’re like, disgustingly mushy.” Colin agreed. “It’s horrible.”

“They should kiss.” Skyler nibbled on her pencil, sharing a sketchbook with Akira, who looked up and grinned.

“Is this meddling, I hear? Are we meddling?”

Maya nodded solemnly. “We’re meddling.”

“-eT OFF OF ME, YOU IDIOT-” They looked over at the exclamation, Damian squawking as Jon flopped on him, going limp and forcing all his weight onto the smaller boy, who was mostly upright.

Akira pointed a pen at them, considering for a moment. ”Gay.”  

“You’re gay.” Skylar kicked them under the table playfully. 

“Yes, I very much am.” 

“Children, please, back to the matter at hand.” Maya clapped. “What do we know about Jon?”

“He was an asshole!” Colin chirped.

“He was probably being an asshole specifically to Damian for attention.” Skylar added. “And he’s tall.”

“He has black hair and makes bad fashion choices.” 

“He could probably be a jock in a different life.”

“He’s like, secretly Nick Nelson but not British.”

“And not nearly as nice, less manners and more fictionally jock-like.”

“I mean anything useful.” Maya cut them off, rolling her eyes fondly.

“His best friend is a girl named Kathy, and her parents run a diner downtown. Also, he’s a secret southern good boy who would get whacked over the head with a wooden spoon if his grandmother knew he was acting like this.” 

Akira looked up from stenciling a piece they wanted to throw up on the school alleyway. “I follow her on Insta.”

“Something helpful, thank you.” Maya grinned. “Okay, we’re getting this Kathy chick in on this, Akira, send the address and we’ll meet up there this weekend, provided they aren’t there for a not-date.”

“Got it.” Akira pulled out their phone and tapped at it, creating a chat.

New Chat: literally_nobody, End_the_cycle, Sky_high_dreams

End_the_cycle has changed the name to: Op Damijon

End_the_cycle: idk i think it sounds good

Sky_high_dreams: when they get married we should make them a wedding sign with this

Art.is.lit(erature): woodworking bet

Anyways heres the address - link

literally_nobody: Sounds good

 everyone meet there at like 12:30-ish, thats when they have tutoring so they def wont b there.

“Why are they all on their phones?” Jon whispered, pulling out his own. They were watching their friend, having grown curious at the lack of chatter, not that they’d really been listening to it from how they’d been badly flirting messing around with each other.

“They’re sitting in front of each other, they can talk face to face.” Damian grumbled, before looking over Jon’s shoulder, resting his chin there.  “Maybe someone died?”

“Nah, no one’s socials have blown up.” he leaned back a bit, raven curls falling into Damian’s vision, causing his nose to scrunch up. He blew the hair upwards, getting a glance at the screen.

“Weirdos.” Jon muttered, putting his phone away. Damian nodded, the two still attached to each other and now swaying back and forth with the light breeze.

“Very much so.”

“Oi!” Jon shouted. Damian startled, having grown accustomed to the peace and detached himself from the taller boy, much to Jon's disappointment. “What are y’all doing? ” 

Four phones were promptly slammed face down onto the table, followed by a multitude of bad explanations. 

“What makes you think we’re dining anything anyways?” Colin challenged, Maya pinching the bridge of her nose behind him.

“Fine, don’t tell us.” Damian muttered. “A four year old could lie better than you.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Jon poked his cheek, laughing as his hand was swatted away. 

“Are you insinuating I am a four year old, Kent?” 

“You’re as short as one.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re practically a giant!” he crossed his arms, before realizing Jon’s mischievous expression. “No. whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

He was scooped up not ten seconds later, screaming obscenities as Jon cackled. The four on the table shared a glance, one thought in their heads.

Truly sickening, they were. Oblivious and ridiculously pining.

Maya was outside of the diner at 12:30, impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for at least a head of red hair to come bobbing down the sidewalk. She watched the servers swoop in and out, a blond freckled one catching her eye. According to Akira’s phone, this girl matched the description of Kathy. 

��Hey, welcome! How many for ya today?” 

Maya coughed, coming in face first with the girl. “Erm, four. Hey, you’re Kathy, right?”’

She hoped she didn’t sound stalker-ish. Judging by the way the girl squinted her eyes suspiciously, she probably did.

“Who’s askin’?”

“My name is Maya, and I'm a friend of Damian and Jon’s.”

Kathy lit up at the mention, but before she could respond, Colin came barreling through the door, catching himself on Maya. 

“Sup, M? Akira volunteered to pick up Skylar, they should be almost here.” He looked between them. “Hey, are you Kathy? Did Maya tell you about Damijon?”

“Damijon?” Kathy asked at the same time Maya sighed and said, “I was getting there when you so rudely interrupted.”

“Oops.” Colin grinned, looking between them. “I’m Colin.”

“Yo!” Akira, followed Skylar, came through the door, one looking extremely pleased, and the other mourning the loss of their paint-splattered jacket. “Sky made me change.”

“What’s wrong with what you normally wear? And where’s your jacket?” Colin asked.

“That’s what I said! And she made me leave it, I feel naked.” To make a point, they shivered, and Skylar smacked their arm.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” 

They stuck their tongue out at her in retaliation, Colin and Skylar laughing. Maya sighed, turning to Kathy and asking for a table for four, loudly asking for three children’s menus. They all eventually made it to the table, all five nursing milkshakes, as Kathy had asked for her break.

“Okay, so let me get this straight, they aren’t dating yet? Cause when they came in, they seemed awfully couple-like. Milkshakes and fries, and It was more of an apology from Jon. He’s been texting more, waxing poetic about him.”

“Really?” Maya leaned forwards. “Damian hasn’t said shit about Jon, not that he’s had time to, they're attached to the hip and he barely uses his phone.”

“Okay, so we know that they are most definitely pining for each other, and Jon’s more vocal about it. They both like milkshakes, Damian's a little too attached to his grades to not be hiding from his feelings, and they are more similar than they think. Should we have them commit a felony together?”

Colin swirled his straw around what was left in his glass, Skylar sighing. “I have a feeling they’ve already done that, his lock pick kit was used.”

“How would you know that?” Akira perked up, Skylar looking away. “That’s for me to know, and none of you to find out.”

“We should try something legal.” Maya said. “Anything going on so far? Worst case scenario, we trap them in a closet.”

“Smallville’s having a festival in a few weeks. I know Jon’s been dying to go back, an’ my family goes every year. If y’all can get Damian to say yes, I can get Jon’s parents to agree.” Kathy suggested.

“We can make it sound like a friend's outing, and then leave them together,” Akira added.

“Ask the person to rig the Ferris wheel or something so that they end up on top with no way down!” Colin chirped. “They have fireworks at this fair?”

Skylar hesitated, “Maybe something less traumatic.” 

Kathy, however, seemed to love the idea, nodding enthusiastically. “As long as Damian ain’t scared of heights, we’re fine. There are plenty of other rides we could ‘accidentally’ leave ‘em alone in.”

“This will be more fun than i thought.” Maya pulled out her phone, grinning. “A few weeks' time and we can get them together, no problem.”

Damian’s phone buzzed as he pointed out a specific problem, explaining the process. He ignored it, but not five seconds later, Jon’s did as well.

“Permission to check, Teach?” Jon grinned, picking up his phone anyways. 

“Granted.” Damian answered, picking up his phone as well. Maya had texted Damian, detailing the dates and time that they would be doing this, leaving no room for a yes or no answer. Kathy’s was a more nice version, asking Jon if he’d like to come down to Smallville for the fair in a few weeks, and that the rest of his friends would be coming as well.

Damian seemed less pleased, but softened as he saw Jon's excitement, and beneath it, a strong pang of bittersweet.

“Will your parents allow you?” Damian said. “My brothers will, my father will not have much of a say in the matter. One of them will probably make their way with us.”

“I want to. God, I want to so bad.” Jon’s forehead fell into his hand, pushing up the curls that so often fell into his face. “My parents haven't let me go down for so long, I don't know why they’d say yes now.”

Damian mulled over it for a bit. “If your brother tells them he wants to go too, would they be more susceptible to letting you go? Since everyone else is going, and your childhood friend’s family whom they trust is the one offering it?”

“I guess, but he wouldn’t want to come.” Jon grumbled. 

“He can fake it. Your parents are rarely home anyways, right? Shouldn’t be that hard.” 

“I’ll talk to him, see what he says.” Jon pocketed his phone, looking at the time. “Can we call it an early day, Dami?”

“If the first thing you do is talk to your brother, yes.”

Jon grinned, pulling him to his side and rubbing his nose in the soft brown hair. “You’re the best, Dames. See you in a bit.”

Damian flushed, but only nodded, sliding his bag over his shoulder and sending a soft smile towards Jon, pink still dusting his cheeks.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to lie to mom and dad for you, and tell them that I oh so desperately wish to go back to the countryside for a fair, so that you can go down with your friends and possibly woo Damian.” Kon had his arms crossed, looking largely unamused.

“I didn’t say that last part!” Jon huffed, running a hand through his curls. “And Dami said one of his brothers might come too, for supervision. Ask Tim to come if you don’t want to lie.”

“I’m going to lie for you.” Kon decided after a beat. “But you’d better come home with a boyfriend.”

“Kon!” 

Nonetheless, everyone was extremely excited for the next few weeks, the fair landing on a long weekend. They all met up in front of the Brandens’ restaurant, the carpool going big. One of Damian’s siblings and their partner had opted to come along, much to Kathy’s parents' relief. Seven teenagers and only the two of them would have been a disaster. 

The Waynes had the bigger car, so the kids would be in that one, while they followed the Brandens’ car to the farm they still kept in the countryside. 

“ROAD TRIP!” Colin yelled gleefully. Akira looked pained at the sight, Damian rolling his eyes and putting in his earbuds before they were even in the car. Jon and Kathy were both talking a mile a minute, regaling Skylar and Maya with tales of their youth in Smallville.

One by one, they shuffled into the car, Damian and Jon sitting in the back with Maya and Kathy, Colin, Akira, and Skylar squeezing into the front. 

“All ready?” the driver called, and the car exploded into cheers and laughter, shoving each other and hugs. 

This would be a rather eventful weekend, wouldn’t it?

[motownfiction]

dogtooth

As they sit across from each other at the diner, Sam watches while Steph sketches. He even thinks about it in those words. Sam watches while Steph sketches. It’s like an SW tongue twist, and he loves it. He says it about ten times before Steph slams her pencil down on her sketchbook, leaving a graphite smudge where Sam is pretty sure she doesn’t want one.

“I’m trying to work,” she says. “We have this architecture assignment due next week in AP Art, and if I don’t do well …”

“Then you’ll fail?” Sam asks.

“No. I’ll look bad in front of Miss Wozniak. That’s worse than if she just failed me.”

Sam shrugs. He’ll never understand it – that need to impress a teacher. He’s never worked in the art room, never said any words to Miss Wozniak that weren’t about Steph, so maybe she’s different from the other teachers, who will only look twice at you if you’re good at filling in bubbles. None of these teachers are smart enough to know that Sam is smart all by himself, just like they’re not smart enough to know that Steph is more than the crown jewel of the art room.

But she is pretty that way.

“Can I see what you’re drawing?” Sam asks.

“You know I don’t like to show you what I’m working on until it’s finished,” Steph says.

“Just this once?”

Steph sighs. She turns the sketchbook over and slides it to Sam across the table. Sam looks down at it – the most beautiful building he’s ever seen, almost like out of a game or a fairytale. Steph could always do that. Pin down a world and give it to you like it was nothing.

“It’s supposed to be a church,” Steph explains. “I’m not … exactly sure what era I’m going for. I’m just drafting from my mind’s eye.”

“I love it,” Sam says.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not. Who am I? Sadie? Please. Steph, this is … this is really beautiful.”

Sam means it, too, though he’s not really sure why. There’s something about this building … something that makes him so, so sad. Maybe it’s that he’ll never walk through its doors. Maybe it’s because he knows what he would do there if it was a real place. He doesn’t know. They are playing “Sunday Will Never Be the Same,” and Sam feels like he will cry.

He points to some jaggedness on the walls.

“What’s this?” he asks.

Steph leans over and nods.

“Oh, that’s dogtooth,” she says. “Kind of an edgy style. Gothic.”

“Are you going goth on me, Steph?”

“No, but I’m always about an inch away from that option.”

Sam laughs. He lifts himself up in his seat a little bit to kiss her on the other side of the table. Sometimes, he forgets how much smaller she is compared to him. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about that, either.

“This is beautiful,” Sam says again. “When it’s done, can we build it?”

“Depends,” Steph says.

“On the money?”

“Well, yeah. But on whether or not we can build it together.”

Sam swallows hard. He’s not as dumb as his teachers think he is. He knows how to spot a worn-out metaphor when one comes his way.

“OK,” he says.

And right now, Steph does not seem hurt.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 23!)

[give-soup-please]

HEYYYYYY i was wondering.. Could you perhaps write enemies to lovers headcannons with the narrator??

And the day he falls in love with them and decides he wants to get to know them instead of just throwing insults at one another goes somewhere like this :

one day when he decides that he wants to bother the reader, he finds the them doing stuff they love. Maybe he catches them drawing him?

Sorry this is kinda bad since im uncreative and I just really wanted to see an enemies to lovers with the narrator 💀

Enemies to lovers with the narrator and artist reader

You and the narrator do not get along. You think he’s a pompous jerk, and he thinks you’re a nitwit.

“Of course you don’t understand the revelatory themes of my story. How could you? It’s such a shame you don’t have an appreciation for true art.”

“Oh, shut up.” You say, huffing. He didn’t know anything about you at all if that’s what he thought.

Despite the antagonism between the two of you, you routinely keep each other company. It’s not like either of you have anyone else to hang out with. 

The narrator will charge in with a freshly written script, saying, “Behold! My greatest work yet. A shame there’s no one I can share it with who will understand its true depth.”

You’ll turn around and bother him when he’s editing. “Narrator, you’re crafting it all wrong. Don’t you know anything about flow or consistency? Yeesh. No wonder your game has so many negative reviews.”

It’s all very catty. The amount of actual hatred is up to interpretation. 

One day, the narrator is finished polishing his latest chapter. It’s new, it’s revolutionary, it will change the whole genre as the world knows it! (it probably won’t.) He immediately goes to see you, to rub his success in your face.

You aren’t around. But there’s a weird looking book on your desk. The narrator is not above snooping, not if it will give him fuel to mock you with later. He flips it open, expecting embarrassing journal entries-

It’s him. A version of himself is staring up at him through the pages. It’s a sketchbook, he realizes. He can’t wait to tease you about this. But as he flips through the pages, something in him starts to soften. Page after page has been dedicated to him. 

Your artwork is so dynamic. The linework is incredible. He sits in your chair, trying to understand where your head is at. Why on earth were you drawing him? The two of you never got along.

The shapes, the colors, the backgrounds… You’re quite talented. He keeps flipping through, until he gets to the last page you’ve drawn on. It’s him in the freedom ending, arms outstretched to the world. It looks like he’s about to receive everything he wanted. Maybe you understood what he valued after all?

He doesn’t know what to do with this information. It all feels so at odds with the current dynamic the two of you share, that he just sits there, frozen and staring at it. 

He hears you clear your throat. He turns to see you standing behind him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so angry. You snatch the sketchbook out of his hands, and push him out the house. He tries to explain himself, but you’re in no mood to listen. 

You slam the door with fury. He wasn’t supposed to see that. That art was for you and you alone. 

The truth was, you weren’t entirely sure why you were drawing the narrator either. He was fun to draw, as much of a windbag as he could be. His expressions were fun to try and put down to paper. The way his body moved when he got on one of his rants provided an interesting challenge. 

You felt sick that he had seen stuff that was so private. 

The narrator tries to slink back into your life multiple times, but your barriers remain fully up. You’re done hanging around him. He crossed a line.

He grows increasingly desperate. Something’s happening to him that he can’t explain. He wants to pose for you, and listen to you talk about your creations. You’ve focused so much energy on capturing his essence, and the curiosity as to why is driving him mad. 

At some point, your loneliness overtakes your anger at him. A few weeks of not torturing each other is actually kind of boring. 

By the time you’re willing to accept his company again, both your hearts have softened towards each other so much that you’re actually happy to see each other again.

You hesitantly agree to let the narrator pose for you, and that’s when sparks start to fly. The two of you start chatting regularly. The snark is still there, but it’s less sharp at the edges. 

You continue to create art of him, and he’s proud because you make him look good. The two of you silently agree to not discuss what was found inside your sketchbook. It’s still a sore spot for both of you.

The narrator sees your artistic side, and feels ridiculous for saying that you didn’t understand art.

You see the narrator’s more charming and earnest side, and while he is a bit of a blatherer, you can see that he means well. 

The two of you create a decent foundation for a romantic relationship without even realizing it.

How the confession will be is up to you.                   

[emeraldcitynerdfighter]

Carson wandered over to across the street to the comic shop. From what she could tell, the store was empty. Figured, as it was in the middle of a weekday. Carson relaxed, knowing, for a few moments, she wouldn't need to navigate socializing. She could let her body and mind drift. The calm and quiet meandering brought her back to her childhood in Lake Valley, to summer days spent in the library, of interactions with the kind woman at the check-out desk who reminded her of Miss Honey from the Matilda movie. She always had a reverence for books, for stories, for the process of discovering them.

Clance Morgan maintained a steady inventory of comics and graphic novels and companion books to various science fiction and fantasy novels and universes. She also had a shelf that showcased locally published authors and artists; her own series -- The Adventures of Lieutenant Victory -- was a local favorite.

She stopped and perused the section of books for young readers, spending more than a few moments scanning a shelf of board books featuring well-known super heroes. She picked one up, flipping through the stiff pages, wondering if it was too early to --

"Carson, that you?" A familiar, jovial voice called over the stacks.

Despite still being out of Clance's line of sight, Carson bit back a grin, feeling like she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She put the board book back on the shelf, and wandered to the back of the store.

Clance sat perched on a stool behind the counter, sketchbook out in front of her, pencil scratching away. She looked up as Carson approached. Carson gave a weak wave in greeting, and Clance slammed her pencil down.

"Can you believe what happened?" Clance cried in indignation. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Bunch of miscreants with too much time on their hands. Probably did it on a dare or as one of those internet challenges," Clance shook her head. "If my daughter even thought of doing something that idiotic--"

"Mama!" On cue, a small child -- no more than four, if Carson could remember correctly -- came running out of the back storage room, beaded braids bouncing behind her. She appeared at Clance's side, holding up a piece of paper. "Look what I drawed!"

//

New 'sobe' chapter also went up this week!! There are a few moments in this chapter that have been waiting in the wings for a while, and I'm excited to finally release them into the wild.

Enjoy, All-Star Fruits! Let me know what you think :)

[strawberryspotsstuff]

*peaks through corner* hey just came from that previous ask and now im FORCING YOU/j to write a fishies fic >:))))))))))))))))

I REQUEST,,,, FISHIES FIGHTING OVER A MALE LOVE INTEREST READER AND THEY R LIKE "HE IS OF MINE !!!!!!!!!!!!>:(" AND HITTING AND ARGUING WITH EACHOTHER LIKE CHILDREN LMAOSIHDGAKHDJD

OKAY!!!!!! LMFAO SOUNDS AMAZING

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Roblox Myths! "Fishies" x Male! Love interest! Reader

You were stationed in your room, crossed legged on your bed and sketchbook on your lap. Yawning softly, while you were distracted with the art your were creating, not hearing the muffled argument from outside your doors.

Goodpufffer crossed out, letting out a frustrated whine.

"HE IS OF MINE!" He challenged Angeredfish.

Angeredfish shook his head repeatedly, stomping his foot.

"NO, NO! HE IS OF NOT! HE IS MINE" He shouted back, shaking his head.

Both fish like humanoids glared at each other, Angeredfish quickly gazing over at you're door and back at Goodpuffer, and in a moment of quick thinking, he ran to your room. Goodpuffer let out a shocked gasp and followed, both slamming the door open and rolling into your room.

"oh, jeeze-" you shoulders flinched as you looked up from your book, blinking rapidly in confusion.

During a moment of silence, both Angeredfish and Goodpuffer watching you intently, shoving each other's face into the ground. The scribbling of the pencil slowly softened as you slowly titled your head.

"um, hiya you...two. What, uh, happened?" you asked softly.

Angeredfish shoved his way out of Good's grip, and very close to your face. Your head reeling back in response, hitting the wall.

"YOU IS OF MINE, YES?" Angered ask, not blinking.

Your eyes squinted in confusion. "Uh, what?"

"NO! HE IS OF MINE, STOP IT ANGERED" Good wailed, shoving him aside.

You started to shake your head, letting out a sigh of disappointment.

"What do you mean, 'yours'" You questioned, crossing your arms.

"YOU LOVE, ME YES?" Questioned Good.

"OR ME?" Angered added, both fish-people watching you with unblinking, wide eyes.

"I- Uh..." You paused. "Both?" You responded sheepishly, shrugging.

"ME, AND ANGERED?? YOU WOULD OF CHOOSE BOTH OF US???" Good shook his head in confusion.

"Uh...yeah" You grinned.

"HMPH." Angered crossed his arms, dramatically turning his head away.

"WE CAN, TRY" Good thought out loud.

You clapped your hands, nodding joyously. "Yeah! Let's try that, huh?Don't want you guys hurting yourself over me" You mumbled the last part, chuckling in amusement.

Both fishies crawled onto your bed, curling up by your body as you continued to draw.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

TADAAAAAA

bro they are so cute :sob:

and uh why have one,, when you can have two :D

[7-teen]

PORTRAITS - ten (1)

minors do not interact

genre: nct x reader named Ellie ( bc i hate y/n)

pairing: multiple nct memebrs throughout the series x reader

series warnings: minors do not interact : please let me know if i missed any ( warnings for the specific chapter will not be crossed out): swearing, violence, drugs and alcohol, explicit sex scenes, toxic relations, cheating, toxic family,

wc: 1.3 k

description: she drew 23 portraits of the 23 boys that she worked with. each portrait held a story of her impression of the boy in question. she had absolutely no idea what the universe had in store for her.

note: lucas is in this fanfiction, if you are uncomfortable with that please do not read. minors do not interact

prologue | ten | lucas

link to my masterlist

one year later

your head ached from the feeling of it being slammed into the hardwood floor of the practice room. you could have swore it bounced when it made contact with the force it came down with. you tried to push yourself up onto your elbows, but were pushed gently back onto the floor by your shoulders.

"don't move, you could be really hurt," jeno mumbled quietly to you as you began to look around at the seven other faces that were peering over you with concern.

"i just fell, hard i might add, but I'm okay," you tried to push yourself up again, and this time you met no resistance. jeno sat back onto his heels.

"are you sure you don't want to go see a doctor or something?" jaehyun asked you, his tone almost sounded like he was bored. you couldn't tell if the look on his face was concern, or if he was annoyed.

"i'll be fine, i just supervise anyways," you clamber to your feet with a slight chuckle. jeno offering an arm for support as you made your way to the edge of the practice room where you generally sit. leave it to your clumsy ass to make a fool of yourself.

it wasn't until you were sat down and comfortable that jeno went back to the rest of the group to continue learning their choreography. you pulled the sketch pad from your bag, and used your propped up legs a table. you looked at what you had gotten done so far and smiled lightly. It was more than you had previously remembered.

you had began the lengthy process of drawing each member of nct almost as soon as you had gotten settled in your job. your boss had pretty much left you to your own devices when you arrived, and pretty much assigned you to make sure the boys were doing what they were supposed to be doing. he didn't care much about what you actually did, so you started to draw out of boredom, starting with ten.

when you first saw ten in person, the first thing you noticed as most people do, was his big toothy grin when he meets new people. his teeth are so perfect. following his wide smile, was his perfect nose. it sloped in such a perfect way. you would argue with anyone that he had the best side profile on the planet.

drawing him was a pretty effortless task, as you learned that drawing some of the members would be much more challenging. but ten, he would often sit cross legged in front of you during breaks and before practice started. he didn't know that you was drawing him, but he made the perfect model; perfectly still.

ten was so unbelievably easy to talk to that you two because best friends within a few short days of knowing each other. he would sit and talk about anything and everything while you sketched the perfect lines of his face. you finished his portrait within a week and a half of starting, and it turned out beautifully.

you looked down at the rough outline of the next member you had decided to draw, and scrunched your nose up at the wonky angle you had drawn in an attempt to define his jawline, you erased it and tried again before settling on it. you tried to draw for a few more minutes before casting your sketchbook aside and sighing. drawing just wasn't in your favor today.

***

mark came over to you on their first break, and squatted in front of you. you were suspicious from the start because you guys never spoke much. it wasn't much of a surprised when you had to swat his hand away hastily when he tried to reach for your sketchbook. it wasn't the first time he's tried to snag it. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, seeming overly annoyed today.

"what's in that stupid thing that is in need of so much protecting?" he asked in a tone that was almost hurt, but more so annoyed.

"i'm not protecting it, i just don't want anyone seeing it," you mumbled as you slipped the book back into your bag. "i'll show you when I'm ready to."

"you have been saying that since that book appeared. could you at least tell me what is in in? stories? lyrics? drawings?" he asked and you felt your cheeks heat up as he said drawings. you wasn't super secure in my artistic abilities, it was just something you have always enjoyed doing.

"my lips are sealed," i looked at him apologetically as he got up and walked away rolling his eyes. he walked harder than he usually would causing his footsteps to echo slightly through the practice room.

ten, johnny and jeno were watching you and mark from across the room before he stormed off on you. you watched him leave the room, and rolled your eyes at his behaviour. it wasn't the first time he tried to figure out what you was doing in your book, but you were worried they would find it strange that you have been drawing them this whole time. you didn't want anyone thinking it was creepy.

"you let him get to you too much. don't," johnny said as they crossed the room to you. you looked up towards johnny as he pulled your attention away from the door.

jeno sat beside you and pulled you in close to him. you rested your head against his shoulder as you watched the others fool around with the choreography. they all smiled and laughed, and it made me grin. everyone here had such contagious smiles.

"i don't let him get to me. he reminds me too much of my brother," you felt your smile falter as you said this. ten studied my face.

"i didn't know you had a brother," ten said, his eyebrows coming together in the middle.

"i do, i don't talk to him anymore though," you looked down at your hands, and intertwined them with themselves.

"why not?" he pressed. his face was unreadable as he tried to figure you out. he may be your best friend, but you were not ready to tell anyone how you went about leaving your family and friends behind.

"i just don't," you shrugged hoping that they would move on from this conversation, and thankfully they did.

"a lot of us are going out to get some food once practice is over if you're up to it," ten invited you. you thought for a moment about the last time you all went out, and cringed.

you guys had been out to a small restaurant, and were then dragged to a bar by haechan. you were at the bar for no longer than two hours before almost everyone was plastered, and you, the sober one, was forced to drag jeno, jaemin, winwin, and lucas home. for a girl that is 5'5, and 115 pound girl trying to drag four men, that were significantly taller and heavier than her home was a complete mess. it took you half an hour to even get them outside of the bar, and another hour to get them to the car that was parked four blocks away. even on your days off, you end up babysitting.

"it won't be like last time, i promise," he tried to assure you but you weren't convinced.

"can you really make that promise when jeno, jaemin, winwin, and lucas all have minds of their own, and none of them can seem to stay reasonably sober when at bars?" you asked him, glancing at jeno who had pulled away from you slightly the moment the night out was brought up.

"no, but i can. i'll watch over them if things get out of hand," ten assured you. you finally gave in.

[lsbaird]

Grave Goods

I don’t intend to keep doing this through the whole month, because I don’t see me managing to be this tidily productive every day, but here’s 1654 piping-hot words for you today. They came out of the mold nicely this morning so I thought they’d serve as an introduction. Namely, the introduction of Mr. Justin Keane, and his Queensbridge. (caution: raw prose ahead) 

It was not their worst fight ever. That particular record had been made and broken innumerable times during the twins' teenage years, much to the annoyance of their long-suffering grandparents, who had to deal with the slamming doors and declarations of unfairness between the awkward ages of thirteen to seventeen. Even after that, there were sporadic outbreaks in the years that followed. But that was to be expected between children as close and as sensitive as Abigail and Justin were, what with the burden of tragedy weighing down the natural buoyancy of childhood. Once they separated for college--the first time, truly, they had been apart for any measurable amount of time--the conflicts of proximity evaporated, and for four years the closest thing to argument was the occasional sarcastic emoji during long and frequent text exchanges. 

Justin had wondered, while he was away, if the fights would resume when college was over and he moved back to Queensbridge--not to their grandparents' house, but to Abigail's third-floor, vaguely-haunted downtown apartment. To his relief, the childhood spats had gone for good, and even though his room was little more than a walk-in closet and the kitchen would have made a postage stamp seem roomy, they met their domestic challenges jointly and with a new equanimity that their grandparents (dearly departed now, not to the grave but to a swinging retirement community on the shore three states south) would have looked on in wonder. 

For a few years of that, everything was fine. Or a reasonable facsimile of fineness. Justin drew idle circles in his sketchbooks to convince himself he was still working, Abigail took on multiple jobs to combat the not-so-secret fear that if she stopped being productive for ten minutes she would drop dead on the spot. And slowly, the fights returned. Not as they had been, for nothing is quite like the fury of a teenager wronged out of a guinea pig due to his sister's allergies, but in a new and insidious form. Justin became stony and terse, Abigail sharp and succinct, and the fights were never about what they pretended to be. They posed as normal adult conflicts: bills, bathroom counter space, whether or not to call the landlord about the sink again. But in reality, the fights were about a bony, uncomfortable fact that they both understood in isolation: they had grown into the adults they were always going to be, and they had done so while they were apart, and there was no running the clock backwards to a time when a trip to the mall and a large order of fries would solve everything. 

Although, Justin thought, squelching down the sidewalk, it might not be a bad idea right now. 

Two hours ago, it had all come to a head. And it did so as all infections do, in a gross explosion of pain, blood, and things that should have been vented long ago, leaving a distended rupture that might now, at least, heal over at last. 

Hopefully it would, anyway, Justin amended to himself, shaking water out of his leaky left sneaker. If they could both avoid picking at it. The trouble was, picking at it was all Justin had been doing since he stormed down the fire escape in a seething fury. The anger had long since cooled, and he was certain Bee's had too, but he was still left circling downtown with his declaration: he was moving out, he was getting a job, and he was doing both as soon as possible. 

The obstacle, of course, was that in Queensbridge, if you wanted a decent job, you had to wait for someone to die and vacate theirs. Bee knew that; she'd snatched both her part-time postings from the previous owners before they (and their desk chairs) were fully cold, and her summa cum laude in comparative literature read better on a resume than Justin's five-year "please just take it and leave" art degree. At best, he might manage something in retail; and he had gone to the downtown art supply and framing store first thing after leaving the apartment to fill out an application. Only, like most of the shops, it had closed by six. Which was just as well, because halfway there it had started to rain, and Justin's reflection in the dark shop window did not present an ideal picture of hireability. 

His hair was plastered down to his skull and stuck to his jaw, and he had not been keeping up with the dye job that had been the pride and joy of his college years. There was a scorched band of bleached-out orange between the fading crimson ends and the dirty blond roots. His eyes were redder than his hair was--he always cried during fights, a fact that Bee kindly never mentioned--and he'd chewed his lower lip raw during his walk. His clothes were a little too tattered for fashion, the thighs of his jeans stained with intaglio ink handprints from happier, more oblivious days. 

"Well, I wouldn't hire me," Justin muttered to himself, before walking on, jumping under awnings when available, dodging gutter cataracts when they were not.

Bee had said as much during the fight. Not about his appearance, because he hadn't been rained on and walking in the cold for two hours at that point, but about employment opportunity in town. There really wasn't any, and she would know. One of her paying jobs was for the city council's downtown liaison. The shops that unevenly filled the vintage storefronts were shoestring affairs, passion projects, family endeavors, or all three. One did not go into the business of selling old records or fountain pens or bespoke yarn or... whatever the jumble of stuff was that Justin saw beyond the window he was looking into (having stopped to wait out a particularly delugy moment of weather) without a certain myopic obsession, and a dim view of personal solvency. They were unlikely to be hiring in any great numbers. It was well and good for Justin to finally know what he wanted, but getting it was going to be another matter altogether. 

Thunder grumbled somewhere in the distance, and a truck on the invisible bypass echoed it in choleric disharmony. Justin peered both ways down the empty street, but he was well past the successful end of downtown, and the shop awnings were less plentiful ahead of him. He decided--no choice really, but better to call it a decision--to give it a minute. In the dim light he tried again to suss out just what he was looking at in the dark shop window, but as near as he could tell it was nothing but junk. Old books and jars, tarnished silver plaques, what looked like chemistry equipment, and humpbacked bags with green-tinged clasps and leather as cracked and brittle as a mummy's skin. There were no prices displayed, not that that was a deterrent. Antique fans would buy anything. 

"Well, son, if it takes you that long to read the sign, maybe I shouldn't ask you in." 

Justin started, his back foot landing in the puddle dripping from the shop's rusty black awning, his eyes wild and staring as they beheld another man--a tall, elderly man in a black felt hat, holding an umbrella and a coffee--standing right next to him. He had not been visible on the street when Justin had just looked, and his approach had been silent in the sound of the rain. Justin's hand, clenched into a white-knuckle fist in the front of his hoodie, slowly began to unfurl. His pulse roared like the distant sound of traffic.

"Sorry to scare you." The old man winked, a little flutter of one crinkled blue eye. "I thought you were reading my advertisement." 

Justin's heart was slowing to something nearer normal. It wasn't like the old guy even suspicious in any way. He was dressed as though he had come from church, in a somber suit and tie. As though on cue, from somewhere near came the reassuring clang of a steeple bell. Late service must be finishing. The man's eyebrows lifted in expectation, and Justin belatedly realized he was staring. He turned his attention back to the window. 

"Your adve--" he began, and then did not finish. Directly where he had been looking was a small, hand-printed sign that said HELP WANTED. Below it was a phone number, and another card with the declaration: ROOM FOR RENT. Somehow, in brooding about old handbags and his hair, he had failed to notice either of them, though they were both his hopes on one dusty silver salver. 

"Better hold this," the old man said, and passed Justin his umbrella. "Though from the looks of you, it looks like it's a little too late to help." 

"I really didn't mean to--" Justin began. 

"It's too wet for explanations," the old man interrupted, while peering into the middle distance beyond the glass shop door and digging in his coat pocket for a keyring. It was a bracelet-sized brass ring, strung with everything from toothy iron slabs to delicate little gilt things, like for a jewelry box. He found the one he wanted, and the lock turned with a smooth click. The old man pushed the door open with his elbow. "And my coffee's getting cold. Come on, then. Just leave the umbrella outside. Anybody who steals it needs it." 

Justin caught the door at the last minute, not realizing the old man wasn't going to hold it for him. The open umbrella bounced as it hit the pavement, shining wetly in the light of an approaching car. As Justin passed through the door he caught a glimpse of the gold letters painted on it, flashing in the headlights and shining like tinsel in the dark. It was only a split second, but he would never forget it. 

GRAVE GOODS

A. C. BENDERMAAN, PROPRIETOR

[silentdaylight]

i've considered doing the sketchbook slam challenge before but i think i'd wither into dust trying?

[catbatart]

SKETCHBOOK SLAM SEPTEMBER (Patreon Update)

As some of you know, I had to take a break from doing Patreon commissions this summer due to a combination of Health and Personal Life reasons. 

However, I’m ready to come back with a bang! ...or a...Slam?

Some of you might already be familiar with the Sketchbook Slam Challenge that was started by Youtube Artist H.C. Brown. The Challenge? Fill out a massive 300 sheet (600 page) sketchbook in 30 days (approximately 20/pages a day.)

For the month of September, I am going to be doing a special set of Patreon commissions- Sketch pages. 

Starting at the $5 tier, Patrons can get at least 1/4th a page dedicated to sketches of a character of their choice, a full page at $10, and all the way up to 1 full sketch page per day at the highest tier! I typically do Sketch Pages at conventions for $50, and a sketch bust at a convention typically runs $15 so this is a huge discount on all fronts!

For further details, read below the cut!

-My Patreon is now a Charge-Up-Front-  PLEASE DO NOT PLEDGE FOR THE SKETCH TIERS UNTIL SEPTEMBER 1st OR YOU WILL BE DOUBLE CHARGED! If you want to support me without any immediate benefit, feel free to pledge earlier! However, if you are only interested in the sketch page tiers, wait until the 1st!

-This is a September 2018 Exclusive reward tier! Only Patrons who pledge/already have a pledge during September are qualified! If you want any of the larger tiers, please pledge in early September! I will not be doing sketch pages after September! Starting in October, I will transition back into normal pledge tiers! -Upon pledging, email me references of the character you would like ASAP at catbatstudios (at) gmail (dot) com! Please specify if you are okay with NSFW content of your character (tasteful nudity for anatomy studies! No sexual content!) If not, no worries! I’ll just make sure to sketch your character clothed! Feel free to provide a brief summary of their personality as well!  -I will draw ANY type of character provided they are not hateful in any way! This is for me to practice! Fanart, OCs, furries/Anthros, mecha, monsters, and humanoids are all welcome!  -The sketches are up to my discretion, and no WIPs will be provided (as they are sketch sheets.) This will likely be combinations of expressions, poses, and costume studies, but could include hand gestures, pin ups, etc. The discounted price is essentially allowing me artistic freedom with your character of choice!

-Sketchbook Slam September Tiers are as follows: 

$5: A quarter of a page dedicated to a character of your choice. $10: A full page dedicated to a character of your choice $25: 2 pages (front and back of a sheet) dedicated to a character or characters of your choice with the option of mailing the page out at the end of the month. $50: 4 pages (front and back of 2 sheets)  dedicated to a character or characters of your choice with the option of mailing the page out at the end of the month. $75: 6 pages (front and back of 3 sheets) dedicated to a character or characters of your choice with the option of mailing the page out at the end of the month. $100: 10 pages (front and back of 5 sheets) dedicated to a character or characters of your choice with the option of mailing the page out at the end of the month. $225: 1 page per day, amounting to a total of 30 pages (front and back of 15 sheets) dedicated to a character or characters of your choice with the option of mailing the page out at the end of the month.

[klausriordain]

Drawing Update

So! I have decided I’m NOT doing inktober this year. 

Instead, I’ll be doing the sketchbook slam challenge (if you don’t know what that is, look it up on YouTube). The thing is, my book only has 294 pages, instead of the usual 300 (I had to take some out in order to get this sketch book ready). So that means for thirty days straight, I have to do roughly TEN (10) drawings a day. 

I am going to finish up my commissions first before I start this (I don’t want anyone getting upset if I don’t draw their art of course) and need to know who I owe art to. Please DM me or send me an ask or hit me up on discord if you want  to:

Seth #7347

and please, please let me know. Otherwise I am going to go STRAIGHT INTO THIS and see how fast I can finish this sketchbook. Of course, I would love some prompt ideas in my inbox (and you will be credited if you are off anon!) for this challenge. 

Perhaps, if someone wants, I can sell the book when it is completed.

Futhermore, I will record a video of the flipthrough once it is done so that people can see the work I did. Thank you!

TL;DR: Gonna do sketchbook slam. If I owe you art, NOW is the time to tell me.

[resshako]

Dragon eye 👁

around 50% done

The poll is still open to decide what art challenge I do:

[ayadailydraw]

[chais-comfort-zone]

The Sketchbook Slam Challenge

I wanna try a new approach with my art in the year 2022, I feel like I had big expectations that blew up this year just like every other year who knows I might start and give up after 2 days again but as long as I keep on going and try that’s what counts, I do not expect myself to finish the challenge in one month that would be suicide what I di expect is to have a full sketchbook in 3 months in which I can take pride of as a good start to a new year, I wanna improve and learn new things and get out of my comfort zone, yes drawing women is fun but there’s so much more I could explore, I want to divide the book into small chapters of what I wanna work on, it doesn’t have to be a rule but rather something to come back to when I have an art block 

● Anatomy- Hands , Feet, Faces , Different types of bodies/ races, Babies and Elderly people

● Animals- Mammals, Birds, Fish, Reptiles, Amphibians, Insects

● Plants- Herbs, Shrubs, Trees, Creepers, Climbers, Flowers, Mushrooms

● Food-  Fruits and vegetables, pastry, cocktails, Sushi, snacks, Sandwiches and so on and so on...

● Machines- Cars, Planes, Buses, Trains, Zeppelins, Carts, Air balloons, Guns...

● Backgrounds- Nature, under the water, space...

● Music instruments- Piano, Violin, Guitar, Drums, Harp, Akordiyon, Saxophone...

● Sports- Ballet ,Football, Chess, Baseball, Swing, Figure skating, Hockey, Gymnastics, Karate...

● Mythology- Greek, Japanese, Roman

● Cultures

● Time zones- Medieval, Victorian, 1950s, 70s, 90s

● Fashion- Dresses, Masks, Gloves, Shoes, Bags/ wallets, Accessories, weapons (all of that goes back to time zones as well)

● TV shows, Games, Cartoons and anything that inspires you , redesign characters you like or specific scenes in your own art style, maybe make a little comic of interesting situations you came up with that weren’t in there but you wish would’ve happen 

honestly try to have fun with it more than anything, I wanna try to practice motion as well drawing things such as Frames, Story boards and character designs 

[momoverse]

im doing the sketchbook slam challenge owo i hope i’m going to make it!! (first part)

[just-ravenluckarts-art]

June is over

and with that my slam challenge ends

officially, at least! I only managed to fill about 500 out of the 600 pages.

lame excuses:

- I graduated and had to dedicate time to the ceremony and prom as well as looking for and visiting possible places to study

- my wisdom teeth were removed, which led to me being in pain, being tired and just not having the energy to draw for several days

- 20 pages a day are a lot, and quite frankly I am proud for keeping that up without falling back a single page for 10 days in a row right off the bat, sorry for that humblebragging :'D

anyway, I wanna take the time to finish the whole sketchbook before I spend my time posting the pages here, I hope you understand! look forward to the spam