#something something about silhouettes and use of contrast

[userparamore]

MONKEY MAN 2024 | dir. Dev Patel

[rxttenfish]

one of the things that particularly pisses me off about art discussions, either in how nowadays everything has to aim for more and more realism in art styles and even live action to be seen as "real art", and in dismissing more abstract styles of artwork as not "real art" and having no inherent worth, is that they explicitly do not consider realism an art style either. to them, realism is just a given of "good" art, not chosen but rather just default. which i hate, because you CAN pick realism as an intentional style and a purposeful choice to suit a narrative, and all this results in is no one noticing or understanding why you made that choice or why that choice works better than any other possible choice to tell the story you want to tell.

[doctapuella]

i painted bruce and his pants

[anantaru]

DAY 3 — BIMBOFICATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. bimbofication — the process of transforming into an airheaded slut, perfectly happy to be used and degraded

𖧡 — including — ayato, childe

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, bimbofication, degrading, rough & messy, slight possessive reader but only a little + they're possessive of you too lmao, name calling (fucktoy, bitch in heat, cocksleeve), petnames (angel, baby), both parties are consenting

𖧡 — AYATO

"angel.. my precious angel."

ayato slips a finger inside you, the dark outline of his silhouette mountainous on top of you, holding you captive, and he doesn't do anything besides gnashing on your jawline, until listlessly working his way down to your neck, taking your breath away when he glides the digit in and out effortlessly, then adding the second, gently working himself on your hole, imprinting his touch and trails on your walls, watching eagerly how you're engulfing him in with your cunt.

without any resistance making itself visible from your side, you appear to be enjoying this, a little too much— at the same time, you're such an adorable, precious toy to him, always clinging yourself around his arm whenever he was in near sight of you, your smirking lips puckered up into a dirty smile with a glossy film of sparkly lipgloss sleeving the flesh, day-dreaming about having the yashiro commissioner's heavy, piercing cock jamming your insides.

in any case, with how quick things were proceeding now, you love how the heel of his palm repeatedly humps your clit, the blows of it stinging at the puffy flesh before you arch your back into his hand, giggling within a clouded sigh, you're so excited to have his attention, grinning from ear to ear.

the drive ayato had on you, controlling, delightful trembles inching over the length of your spine when he calls you his precious, perfect fucktoy— the only one, you made sure of that.

when he tells you how utterly proud he was of you taking him so very well, especially when he can witness your eyes rolling back at the second of your cunt becoming so warm and constricting, it brings you to tears when listening to such loving words, being praised in such, "unique" way, where one might say it's not praise in any way, but for you, it's nothing but the most sugary, most tasteful expressing of approval to you.

it's easy once you gave yourself over to him, meaning his status and his power and made yourself his property, to that of someone being responsible to satiate the mans needs, conquer the aching pain in his groin whenever he was too busy or clocked up to do so himself. and the pleasure he made you experience, fuck, it reached the pit of a forming bubble, when he reaches into your walls with his slender fingers, your cunt clamping at the contract with the whistling in your head placing black dots on your vision.

yes, certainly— you realize then, you wanted to be treated like that.

forgetting about what others may whisper and gossip behind your back, why would you care, they might be just jealous for all you know— and for whatever reason ayato keeps you close to him, if there was a somewhat, deeper, connection or emotion he began to develop for you— baring in mind that he was the exact opposite of an outgoing player that pursued any women, only having you to touch and trace, fuck and kiss, it could possibly happen that somewhere in between his puzzling, swishing lines of thinking, kamisato ayato can work up the courage to feel something serious in regards to you, something contrasting to viewing you as this convenient toy, his darling cocksleeve, always there for his immediate use.

𖧡 — CHILDE

childe shushes your helpless mewls softly when he laps his tongue around the warm insides of your mouth, his cock taking advantage of your soft, weeping pussy, and how you're proudly presenting it all to him— just for him, you're his, in all respects, and he has trained you well, looking at how your toes curl when you greet him with a hazy, beclouded grin as you vibrate at his shaft moving along your soaked walls before pressing his tip against your g-spot.

"ohh- my, baby." childe groans, lecherous eyes gazing at your erotic body, "you're so good to me, when you let me fuck you like a bitch in heat." and he dominantly holds you up by your trembling knees, parting your pussy to accommodate the thudding stir of his length splitting you without a single care in this world, and every time he pulls himself balls deep into your hole, you gush and slick him up, making a mess of his girth and upper thighs, whimpering all wetly and perceiving how your cheeks are not only stained by your tears, but also flustered by his unique, scandalous choice of words.

but you wanted it that way, truly, being a harbingers personal belong, his little plaything you may say, as he liked to address you as well, it was intoxicating to be as slutty as possible to get his attention.

you can't help yourself but giggle out bubbly whenever he buys you something special too, an expensive gift— handled with delicate, tactful care, opening the package to find a silken lingerie-set that childe had personally picked out for you, barely awaiting the day where he can rip it off your perfect body, assuring you he'll purchase a new one in no time.

how come, you aren't even more riled up by now? your pretty pussy was so reactive to his length, easily affected by the largeness of his girth parting you for good, you're wet all day from the constant day dreams, drooling about childe's cock all day long, or about his hands grabbing and massaging your soft skin, how you knew how much he liked whenever you presented your exposed tits to him, vigorously massaging the nipples before pressing them against his chest.

"you feel good, hm?" ajax whispers into your ear, on the teetering edge of filling your womb with his seed, rolling his strong hips in and out of you before curving one palm around your cheek to force you to meet his gaze— yet your eyes were barely open, but that smile, it made him both shiver and admire your beauty, an expression so radiant on your lips that it startled even a harbinger.

"fuck, you're a mess." he licks his lips, and you foggily nod your head when he voices it out loud, helplessly hiccuping his name whilst grabbing on his chest to make him cling onto you and never let you go, well, not until he made you cum— your pussy being pillowed over by his cock bulging into you, indulging in the sensation of your soft, doused cunt slapping back against his groin, all wanting and desperate.

in spite of appearance, childe was aware that you were precisely into this manner of being treating, but in a sense, so was he, deep down believing that he’d never feel any satisfaction that could even scratch on the one you placed on him.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[reverseexorcist]

★ 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 ★

Wow just realised this entire time my asks have been off woopsie ●_● Should be fixed now.

Anyway, since y'all went feral over this dynamic (and I can't blame you), here's more of Carmilla with her adopted fallen angel child.

I know I said part 2, but I'm honestly considering making this a sort've slice-of-life series seeing as I absolutely love this dyanmic and I'm having some serious brainrot over these two.

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !Fallen Angel!Reader

➲ Romantic ☐, Platonic ☒

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 3,662 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, somewhat depressed reader, minor mentions of gore, sleep deprived writing, potential ooc Carmilla, mother mode Carmilla increased

Unlike heaven, the land below was almost always swathed in some sort've darkness - There was literally no day night cycle at all and it was fucking with your head. Your poor circadian rhythm was completely thrown all over the place when three in the morning was just as bright at two in the afternoon. Not to mention the smoke ever present in the air. You weren't sure which you hated more between the two.

(Probably the air. You actually liked it when you breathed and didn't hack up a lung.)

(Probably the air. You actually liked it when you breathed and didn't hack up a lung.)

It was a lot, especially when you were getting used to your new wingless life.

(Which sucked, by the way. Every time your fight or flight response kicked in, you found yourself straining your back muscles trying to lift off with nothing to support you and it made you want to cry every single time it happened.)

However, all of this was way better than what could've happened had Carmilla not saved your life. Your back still ached and the phantom pain still tortured you at night, the feather-fluff nubs of your old wings only served as a painful reminder. As much as you hated to admit it, often times you'd spend the entire night longing for the newly comforting touch of your adopted mother figure…

Wow. That felt weird to admit. That and a whole lot of other repressed emotions and memories.

You groaned and sighed, clutching your head and threading your fingers through your tussled bedhair. Your back muscles flexed, the sound of rustling feathers muffled by the mattress. The sensation was weird enough to make you 'gwak', roll on to your stomach and faceplant into your pillow. It was more natural that way, anyway - When one has wings it was rather difficult to sleep on your back, afterall, at least after your first growth spurt. You never thought you would miss the feeling, but you fought to find any silver lining in your new life. And in a world that was mostly shades of red, silver was quite a luxury.

Your somewhat depressing quiet time was broken by the gentle tapping of steel carefully approaching your room.

"Mi peque?" You didn't have the energy to jump, already having heard the delicate 'tink' of Carmilla's pointed shoes against the hardword floor of your new home. Her silhouette took up most of the doorway, the faint light spilling in from the hallway making the angelic steel decorating her body glow, much like the warm lull of her crimson eyes. Your head tiltied to the side to stare at her, but otherwise you made no movement.

She blinked once and ducked her head to step into your room. If you were, well, you from about a week ago, you probably would've been shitting bricks at the sight. It was lowkey terrifying, mostly because Carmilla was so much taller than you and had the expression of a constantly pissed off commander or something. However, it didn't scare you - Mostly because your worst nightmare had already come true.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice was soft, something that completely contrasted her outward exterior. It was soothing, though, and you found yourself not caring when she settled herself on the end of your bed.

(Your new bed. Your new bed that you could, for once, comfortably stretch out on.)

"Something like that," You mumbled, practically whispered. Your eyes glowed much like Carmilla's, like a mischevious cat from your spot hidden under your multiple blankets. "It's, mm, weird. Sleeping by myself."

Her eyebrow quirked, a silent invitation to continue if you wanted to. Maybe? Emotions were still hard to read for you.

"Well, because I'm used to sleeping in the barracks with the rest of my platoon. It's apparently really comforting, seeing as I haven't had a good sleep since I got here," You grappled your blankets a little tighter, as if doing so would provide you with some sort've phantom comfort that you secretly longed for.

A breath of silence hung steadily in the air, as if both your minds were churning on what to say next.

"I'm sorry."

"M'sorry."

You both said at the same time, which seemed just a little cliche. Slinking out from underneath your covers, you couldn't help by eye the demon across from you warily.

"Why're you sorry?"

"Because, I'll admit, I'm a little rusty," She reached up and untied her buns, letting her hair loosen and tumble down her back. "It's been a while since my girls were young like you-" You scoffed, which prompted an amused smirk "And it's not like I know anything about taking care of an angel."

"Well, you're doing better than what they were doing up there," You blankly motioned upwards where the pearly gates shone brightly in the sky like a constant sun. "Plus, I'd say you're dealing with me as gracefully as you can."

"Elaborate?" Carmila carded her fingers through her hair, tilting her head curiously. The mountain on your shoulders threatened to stumble, and by god you were ready to let it fall.

"Well, it's not like any heaven-born has parents. Heaven was always all about equality and shit, and every single child was raised by the community. And yeah, it was all rainbows and crap because everyone was loved mostly equally, but it sucked because I was always just another nestling that someone had to keep an eye on," You brought your knees up to your chest. "That's why, when the lieutenant gave me her offer I didn't refuse, cause I thought 'wow, someone noticed me!' and it was a feeling I chased ever since."

It felt nice to let it all out for once. Not like anyone else around you back then really cared, cause they all went through the same thing.

Beside you, the covers rustled. Carmilla opened her arms wordlessly, minutely enough that if you didn't want to, you could probably brush the motion off as stretching. But, the warmth the she radiated was sorely tempting, and your little serotonin deprived brain was severly touch-starved.

Wow, four days into your new life, and you found yourself snuggling into the arms of one of Hell's overlords. And, sullying the lord's name, by god you loved it.

Not a single word had to be uttered between the two of you, not as long as you didn't want it. That was the silent message that you both clearly understood.

It kind've made you want to cry, if you were being honest with yourself. In a place that had seemingly been perfect, you found your life lacking, and in the burning pits of eternal damnation, you'd found yourself feeling loved for the first time since you could remember. The way Carmilla's hold around you grew tighter, just ever so slightly - A comforting weight draped across your shoulders as you leaned into her warmth. That, along with her mellow breathing, it felt homely and nostalgic.

Tugging your blankets a little tighter around yourself, you didn't even fight the way your eyelids drooped.

Two weeks.

It felt like a lot longer, but you'd been living in hell for fourteen days, and it already felt like you'd been living here for months.

Well, it certainly didn't help that you never really left the main house. Like, ever. And you, for one, weren't complaining. The burning pits of Hell left much to be desired, and as a little angel who hadn't even had her first adult moult yet, you didn't really fancy going galavanting off around Hell, even if Carmilla was hovering over your shoulder like a helicopter parent.

Still, after the first week where you'd discovered and explored all the places that you were allowed to (the allure of the armory was great, but the potential wrath of an angry demon was greater), there wasn't really anything to do around the house. Sure, it was probably one of the safest places in the eternal firepit, but neither Carmilla nor Clara and Odette were ever really around, and it left you bored out of your mind.

Sprawled out across a rather decadent couch, soaking up the hellfire from outside, you found yourself wishing that something would happen that would hopefully prevent your mind from rotting further. But, if the big man from upstairs was paying attention, he surely must've hated you, because literally nothing was happening.

Unless…

You sat up, straining your ears.

Nope. Absolutely nothing.

You flopped backwards dramatically, back of your hand against your forehead and all.

Maybe, if you still had your weapon, you could've spent your time training or practicing or something. There was a training room somewhere in the house, and you weren't explicitly banned from using it, and it wasn't exactly a useless way to spend your time.

(At least that way you'd be able to get some reasonable exercise in rather than just moping around all day.)

Maybe that was something you could ask Carmilla later. She wasn't the type to be against learning self defense, however you had no idea if even she deemed yourself too young to learn how to fight. She certainly was not happy when she found out about how you were sent to fight with baby feathers still warming your wings, that was for sure.

At least you had something to talk about when she got home.

…

"You want to learn how to fight?" As expected, Carmilla didn't seem entirely thrilled at your idea.

"Not necessarily. Just, how to use weapons?" It was more of a question than an answer, but it seemed to ease the tenseness in her shoulders.

"What type of weapons? Swords? Spears? Firearms?" She fixed you with a look. "If you want to get started, the first thing you could do is be a little more specific."

Which was certainly not the answer you were expecting, so you took a few moments to blue screen.

"Well, I wasn't too fond of using spears… Swords don't sound to appealing either…" Your eyes started drifting, and soon you found that your real answer was right in front of you.

"If possible," You wrung your hands nervously, "could I use shoes like you do?"

Honestly, Carmilla's unique fighitng style had piqued your interest ever since your head became clear enough to notice. Having your hands free sounded more appealing than lugging around a heavy blade.

The demoness paused for a moment, completely silent as she studied you with a stern gaze. It wasn't negative or positive, if anything it was most likely calculative. You weren't entirely stupid, even if you were young, and you weren't naive. Carmilla was weighing the pros and cons of teaching you her trade.

"Why? They aren't exactly easy to use," That wasn't a no, at least.

"I don't like melee weapons, not hand-held ones at least," There was more to your answer that Carmilla already knew. Months of cycling through weapons till you landed on one you could somewhat use you realised that you absolutely hated using hand-held weapons.

Carmilla sighed, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Okay, but it's not like I have spare angelic steel laying around. We'll have to wait till I can melt more down," She mused, almost seeming excited about crafting you your own weapon. But her words only confused you more.

"But, we do, don't we?" You furrowed your brows.

"The steel in the armory is meant for prepaid orders-"

"I was talking about my old helmet," You hoped that didn't sound too rude, interupting her. "I mean, the entire thing is is technically angelic. I don't know if it's steel exactly, but I know for a fact it's just as solid!" Now you were the one musing.

Like mother like daughter, almost.

"We could certainly try…" The two of you shared a look.

"Like… Right now?" You prodded almost mischeviously.

Tired as she was, Carmilla couldn't help but falter and smile, your enthusiasm almost contagious.

"Well, we can have a look."

After that it was only a matter of days. Carmilla was far more invested in your new project than you had expected, and even Clara and Odette had briefly joined in, if only to get a sneak peak at the workings behind an exorcists helmet. For the briefest of moments, with all four of you crowded around a table with tidy plans sprawled all over its surface, it almost felt like you were a family. Which, did prompt a stray thought in your head.

After gently pulling the threads of angelic steel from the rivets in the helmet's horns, you couldn't help but bundle them to your chest. They weren't exactly big, nothing compared to the horns of a full fledged exorcist, but they were still something.

So, while your mo-… Carmilla was busy melting down the odd, almost obsidian material of your old helmet in preparation of your new shoes, you were busy tinkering away with your own little side project. Of course, it was hard to explain the various little burns marks littered across your palms that had started appearing, but that didn't deter you one bit.

In fact, during this time, you found yourself shyly approaching the taller of Carmilla's other daughters, Odette.

One thing about her that confused you was the fact that her horns were fake, merely attatched to the band that held her hair up. But right now, that was exactly what you needed.

It was a sweet sight, honestly, at least to Carmilla.

You were huddled against Odette, listening with rapt attention as she explained something to you, finger brushing against what was most likely some sort've plan.

With a smile, Carmilla got back to work.

At the end of it all, you were left with a pair of shoes similar to the overlord's. Pointed and shiny. Sharp and deadly, yet oddly comfortable. The only key difference was the colour - Forged from the scrapped glass of your old helmet, the shoes were jet black inlaid with threads of silver, trailing all the way up the ballet ribbons.

And with your shoes, a matching set of your own horns. Odette seemed proud at the sight of you with small, obsidian horns branching from your head, unable to stand still as you clutched your new weapons to your chest gleefully.

There was a massive learning curve to your new weapons, but at least you weren't bored around the house anymore. Most of your time over the next month had been dedicated to learning how to move around in your new shoes, building both the strength and balance so you could walk, let alone run. So many bruises had been blemished into your skin, but in the end you were able to walk almost as easily as Carmilla did.

(Of course, the demoness had way more experience under her belt, but you were still doing pretty damn well.)

And during that time, the bond between you, Clara and Odette had only grown. Sure, they were only around as much as their mother, but after donning your horns, it seemed whatever barrier that had been built between you and the sisters had been torn down. Seeing as the two could also walk en pointe like their mother, many a helpful tip had been shared from them which served to get you walking faster.

It was endearing as it was funny to watch.

But, being couped up inside all day everyday was starting to wear you down, which was certainly starting to show with the way your pep had slowed down significantly.

With a heavy heart, Carmilla finally unleashed you on the world outside, accompanied by Clara and Odette.

In reality, you were just tailing behind the sisters on one of their usual deliveries. This way you could stretch your legs and practice on terrain other than the smooth floors of your home, which, while it was more difficult, was learnt within no time.

As dreary as the place looked, there were certainly sights to see around ever different corner. You'd found yourself tempted to wander off every five minutes or so, especially when you passed by a rather bright looking… hotel? The entire vibe seemed friendly and inviting, unlike the rest of Hell, but you really didn't fancy getting lost, so sticking close by Clara and Odette was the most sane option in the moment.

Or, at least that was the plan.

Really, with your head on a swivel trying to grasp every sight and sound (which you regretted not a moment later) you'd lost sight of the sisters and found yourself completely by your lonesome.

Which… Fuck.

That wasn't the most ideal position, especially when you really couldn't do more than walk in your new shoes, but they couldn't have gotten far, right?

You were wrong. Turning either corners of the street yielded no Clara or Odette, which only made your heart sink further into your stomach because you really didn't fancy getting cornered in an alley.

Backtracking, you tried your hardest to think. Perhaps, if you could find your way back to the hotel, someone there could help you? It was wishful thinking, because this was Hell after all, but the aura was so different compared to the rest of the ring of wrath that maybe, just this once, luck would be on your side.

But of course, since this was you, luck was mercilessly right out of your reach. Not a moment later, a rambunctious howl pierced the air and a group - a pack? Of hellhounds started approaching you. Which, y'know, wasn't good, especially with the way their ears were pinned back and grins plastered across their faces.

Oh shit.

You started speed walking away, or your best attempt at it, in what you hoped was the direction of the hotel. Down in the streets without either of your guides, it all seemed like one continuous labarynth of red, LEDs and very questionable stores. And, as it turned out, lots of dead ends that you could easily get cornered in.

With the blood thrumming in your ears, heart pumping in your chest loud enough that it shook your head and just the general sense of 'oh shit I am so fucked', you really didn't pay attention to whatever the hounds were spouting off about. Lots of snapping of teeth and snarls, some crude gestures that made your gut twist anxiously and your feathers rustle nervously.

(You were seriously considering using a shoe as a knife. It wasn't like it was impossible with how sharp they were.)

At least, that was your train of thought. Until a resounding bang pretty much deafended you, echoing a chorus of ringing in your ears as the middlemost hound collapsed, head exploding with the force of the bullet that lodged itself firmly within the back of his disintegrated skull.

With dramatic timing, the others peered over their shoulders, only to be met with the towering, thoroughly pissed off form of Carmilla Carmine.

The barrel of her rifle was tinted with holy silver, but she seemed perfectly happy and prepared to behead them with a well placed kick. Whichever worked, you knew Carmilla prioritised your safety over the method of execution in the end. And in the end, the alley was scattered with various corpses in various states of limb loss, and you were carefully toted away in the arms of Carmilla.

She was furious. Probably. Maybe. You couldn't really tell. her face was completely stoney, and you were still awful when it came to identifying emotions. You assumed most of the anger had been taken out on the unsuspecting assholes that had cornered you. And for some reason, that only made you more anxious.

Not being able to tell what she was thinking was off. Back in Heaven, you could tell when Lute was pissed off, or proud, or indifferent, or whatever other emotion she was feeling at the time because she didn't really give two shits about what the recruits thought of her. And at least that way you could prepare on how to react. If she was angry, you knew to stay out of her way. If she looked indifferent, you knew you had to work harder in training. If she was proud, well, also best to stay out of her way so you didn't ruin her mood.

You whimpered and huddled a little closer. Carmilla clutched you a little tighter.

"Are you alright?" She finally asked once you were close enough to home that is was mostly just her employees around the two of you.

"Please don't be mad at Clara or Odette. It was my fault for getting lost," Was what you went with anyway. Carmilla shushed you gently.

"I'm not mad, I just want to know if you're okay."

Which completely threw you off. But you just went with it.

"M'fine. You got there before they could do anything," Those words seem to put her mind at ease, her shoulders visibly untensing as she exhaled a long sigh.

She hugged you, closer and tighter to her chest as if scared you were about to disappear from her hold. And you could only return the gesture, sinking into her comforting warmth. It made you feel small, almost like a little nestling on her first trip out of the nursery, but you found that you didn't really give two shits in the moment because you felt completely, wholly safe right where you were.

"Mi peque, mi querida, mi corazón," She uttered softly, "never wander from your siblings again."

Despite the firm tone, you could feel the care dripping from her words. You sighed and relaxed.

"Of course, mother."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Prologue

I'm not super happy with this prologue but I've done my best with it :'). Also I gave God He/They pronouns. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 1227

Warnings: Uhhhh idk unless you count God as one.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

Prologue // Chapter 1 >

Prologue

Before time began, there was her.

Cælitis (Definition): The divinities who dwell within the celestial planes. (Noun)

The Universe – The Beginning

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or a mistake, or there was something far greater beyond the confines of the ever-expanding walls of the universe. They had accepted solitary, thinking they were the only one, the first, when they awoke to a dark abyss, with the veins of creation pulsating at his fingertips. This was what God thought when they reached out for the first time, light bursting from within, shooting out and collecting into a colossal sphere. A star, he had named it, and he had much fun for who knows how long, floating through the endless vacuum, using these fiery balls of fire and gas to light his way. He would make them every colour he could think of, clumping some together to form the nebulas, or shooting some off into the middle of nowhere, just for the sake of it. Sometimes, he would press atoms so close together they would form rocks of all shapes and sizes, letting them wander and float around until they began clumping together into similar spherical shapes. He even swirled some clusters of stars and rocks around, watching as they turned into disks that would spin forever – galaxies, he decided to label them as. Before long, the universe was scattered with clusters of stars, planets, and whatever else they felt like creating, some so big their size was incomprehensible, others microscopic in comparison, and the rest varying in between.

When God had decided to rest their powers for a short while, he hadn’t expected to awake to the feeling that something was off when he observed his work. A small ripple, something he wouldn’t have picked up on if he knew they were the only being currently in existence. It passed through them, and he quickly shot towards the nebula that sat in the centre of his universal domain, their birthplace, so to speak. And what he came across was something very wrong. And he finally came to the realisation that he wasn’t alone.

It looked like a cloud at first. A dark mass that swirled and flared it tendrils around frantically as it contorted in and out of itself. He wouldn’t have been able to see it if it weren’t for the carnage it had left behind, it’s pitch black silhouette a stark contrast against the flickering specks of light behind it – the broken remains of his precious stars and planets.

Though he did not fear it. They knew that if this being had come into existence, it was here for a reason.

The Goddess was a being not many creatures knew about, and God wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want anyone to know he had an equal, someone, if aware of everything they could do, could rival him and his authority.

He was Creation, and she was Destruction. Not solely there to destroy everything, no. She was brought into existence to ensure there was change, to make sure God didn’t slow down, always keeping him on his metaphorical feet. He had welcomed change when they had first come across her, but not too much. See, he wanted things to progress, but on his terms, so when the flailing tendrils of the Goddess had parted to reveal a mass of black wings and hundreds of very curious eyes peering up at them, he immediately took them under his own wings, teaching them the timeline of the universe around them. Her naivety hadn’t flown past him, she had just come into existence after all, and at this realisation he was delighted.

Billions of years passed by under the tutelage of God, telling the Goddess that she was his creation, what was divine and what was sacrilege. She absorbed it all, enchanted by the ways of what she believed to be her ‘creator’.

At one point, Destruction was overseeing a supernova just outside the Andromeda galaxy when God had approached her, eager to show her something. Reluctant but curious, she agreed, allowing them take her to another celestial plane, gesturing his arms out wide and welcoming her to Heaven.

He introduced her to his creations, his hierarchy of the divine. From the Seraphims, all the way down to the angels. For a time the Goddess resided with them, telling them about her ways of existence, though it wasn’t always received positively. In fact, there was only one creation that was intrigued by her path of dismantlement, a chirpy seraphim named Lucifer, who would spend most of his free time following her around with wide eager eyes, asking questions a mile a minute. The Goddess would always answer truthfully, and soon enough God began to grow weary of the friendly exchange between the two.

It wasn’t long before he was dragging her back through the planes, until they came across a very colourful planet. Entering through the atmosphere, the two floated down until they arrived on top of wall that encased a very interesting sight.

For as far as the eye could see, there was desert, but within the confines of this wall was a lush paradise, filled to the brim with every possible plant. The Garden of Eden.

God revealed two creatures that he had brought into existence, their names Adam, and Lilith, and they were to create the human race. Though his idea didn’t last very long – Lucifer had trailed after the Goddess into Eden one day, going off on another one of his excitable tangents on whatever was flying through his head at the time, when he had come face to face with the cunning and evaluating eyes of Lilith.

Obviously most know what happened after that, and God had quickly created Eve, but when she and Adam both failed his expectations after Lucifer and Lilith tempted them with the apple from the tree, he soon made changes.

The Seraphim and his new wife were cast down into a new celestial plane called Hell, and God then turned to the Goddess, seething, accusing her – that she had planted those thoughts and questions into his creation’s mind. They wouldn’t hear any excuse, leaving her until near the end of Adam and Eve’s once immortal life on Earth.

When he approached her again, they said he had a new job for her, and she followed, hopeful for their friendship to be restored, though doubts began to creep into her mind when she saw what was before her.

Purgatory, he had revealed it to be, was where she would take mortal souls after their physical body expired and sort them between Heaven and Hell. Next was the Underworld, where, if a soul was displaced in either of the two afterlives, it would go there to remain for eternity, or if she decided to send it back to Earth to be reincarnated. It was her new domain, where she would reside when she wasn’t on Earth collecting new souls.

Distressed, the Goddess asked why she was to do this, but God said nothing, only explaining further on what her new purpose entailed, and she grew more and more distraught at the new path he had laid out in front of her. She was no longer to be regarded as Destruction, but instead would spend the rest of eternity to be called a new, more fitting name, one he thought described her purpose of being perfectly:

Death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[wellfine]

HII I love your art so much it's so expressive and it feels like theres so much movement in it! I was wondering if u had any tips or advice to help with that? I practice anatomy and expression so much but it seems like everything I draw on my own is so stiff!! Anyway I hope you have a great week :)) <3

Hi there! Firstly, thank you so much for the kind words, it means a lot that you would take the time to tell me!

Second- my advice is to take everything you've learned about anatomy and THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW!!!!!!!

... For now. Just into the front yard so you can keep an eye on it. But I have seen many artists concentrate chiefly on studying anatomy only to feel like their art ends up too stiff. My own experience has been to treat anatomy as a tool best used to correct an image in the later stages of construction rather than as your driving foundation.

If "correct" anatomy (however you choose to define that) is the priority of your undersketches, I find that you end up with a sort of Skeleton Song approach to drawing - y'know, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, etc etc. Whatever energy, emotion, or intent you wanted your drawing to convey is getting lost each time you split it into another anatomical segment. By over-focusing on individual parts, you lose sight of your image as a whole.

The key to conveying dynamic movement in motionless art is to ensure every element of your image agrees on and communicates the same action, the key to which is something called the line of action.

A line of action is simply that - an implied "line" with wich you lead the viewer's eye and communicate movement. Think of it as the core of your figure's action, simplified to its rawest form. By knowing this, you know what to emphasise and what to de-emphasise.

Well, art is a visual medium and I am better explaining with drawings than words or I'd never have picked up a pen in the first place, so:

Images can have multiple lines of action, lines of action can complement and contrast each other, and a line of action isn't always as obvious as something like running. Imagine you're tring to make your art more "aerodynamic" to the eye. Since I draw a lot of One Piece fanart, I assume you're also familiar with it, and you can probably imagine how Oda uses "lines of action" when composing panels of Luffy punching something, Zoro slicing something, Sanji kicking something- etc etc. He's really good at selling the "oomph" of action shots by reducing visual clutter so that the impact of the action is greater.

(The Monster Trio's abilities are all designed in such a way that allow for REALLY striking lines of action... you can tell Oda loves studying manga fight scenes and wanted to create a world where he could push these concepts to the limit, and it's no wonder One Piece caught the eye of animators even before it was serialised by Toei)

You're probably already noticing how line of action also feeds into composition and silhouette when it comes to conveying movement in an image. Basically put, once you've isolated whatever action it is that you want to convey, the more visual clutter you can streamline away from that action, the stronger an impact that will have on the viewer. A firm line of action, an uncomplicated silhouette for your figure, and a readable overall composition of your image/panel are all ways to minimise visual clutter.

You can also use this information to achieve the opposite effect! Sometimes the ideal action you want to convey is not fast, or powerful, or confident, and you can use the same principles.

In fact, you can apply line of action to images that don't have any "action" in them at all. You can make a drawing of someone simply standing there feel more lively by applying these same principles to their body language:

You can develop an eye for how to simplify movement down to its "lines of action" by studying real photos and other people's art. Try simplifying a figure to its silhouette, and then simplify that silhouette further to a stick figure. And honestly, a lot of this could be boiled down to "see your image as a whole and not just a collection of individual pieces". Set anatomy aside during the composition stage and bring it back in when you start building up the sketch.

Moving away from the line of action, my second piece of broad advice is simply to exaggerate more. Lots of artists subconsciously hold themselves back from pushing motion, expression, etc. out of concern that it will look "too much". Well, maybe it will- but you won't know that unless you try! You can always walk it back if you think you took it too far, but I think you'll be surprised by how far you can push your art before you hit that point.

My final piece of advice is to work on line confidence. Even if you follow the rest of this advice, if you have hesitant and scratchy lines, you're undermining the flow and punch of your art. The best way to improve line confidence is simply by practicing! Do a lot of quick, timed studies, and use a permanent medium like a ballpoint pen or marker. Focus on unbroken lines wherever possible even if it makes your studies look like garbo. I find traditional studies are best for improving line confidence, but if you'd really rather stick with digital then just don't let yourself use the eraser tool, and try using a chunky brush with limited pressure sensitivity.

And that's it! Don't stress about it too much though. Loosen up with your art and, like any other skill, you'll improve with practice, time, and analysing what you like about other people's art. Good luck!

[strawhatsoraya]

IZOU X FEM READER / NSFW WC: 3.9k CW: soft dom!izou, sub!reader, mouth fucking, izou puts lipstick on you and then ruins the look, he also drops the lipstick at one point so oops, hopefully it isn't expensive. *washes hands* A SUMMARY: You and Izou have always danced around the unspoken sexual attraction between the two of you. Now that you have him in your room, with a little confidence, you try to cross the line between friendship and more.

Izou floods your senses the moment he walks into your bedroom. The heady scent of his cologne; seductive, and simultaneously ambiguous. Its detailed description eluded you every time, the same way the meaning behind his smiles and lingering looks did. You could never make heads or tails of what Izo meant to you; of what you meant to him. The uncertainty of the ‘something’ that was shared between you would haunt you even in your sleep. You’d wake up from dreams you couldn’t remember, with your heart in your throat and the taste of doom in the back of your mouth. 

You feel that acrid taste on your tongue even now, as you observe him touch your belongings. His tapered fingers lightly tap the cosmetics you left littered on your vanity. It felt strangely intimate to watch him pick them up, one by one, his hawkish gaze inspecting every item with intense curiosity. The sharpness of his jaw, and the tapered end of his nose, his long straight lashes–it all was so beautiful you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

Izou’s curiosity finally settles on one of your lipsticks. He picks it up and uncaps it, slowly turning the mechanism at the bottom to reveal the treasure hiding inside the tube. It’s a vivid rouge red, brand new. You hadn’t used it yet. You were saving it for a special occasion; but as with things left on your court to do–the initiative was never there. Cowardice makes your tongue feel heavy, so your next words tumble out clumsily: 

“Do you like it?” He turns his face slightly to observe you, a thin well groomed eyebrow rising with his unspoken questions. They were always there. You could sense them hanging off the planes of his face, the knuckles of his beautiful fingers. There were always questions you felt he wanted to ask, answers he sought but neither you or him ever addressed the elephant in the room.

Two blind idiots, performing an uncoordinated dance to an audience of no one.

“It’s pretty,” he finally answers. Izou swallows, and you watch his Adam's apple bob up and down. You take in a sharp breath as the desire to press your lips against his neck clouds your thoughts. The long shape of his neck is elegant, and his broad shoulders look muscular even under his loose yukata. The silhouette was a refined tease. It showed just enough to whet your appetite but the hidden secrets underneath its silkiness was a temptation you wished to know more of.

“You can try it on if you want,” you push on. Today Izou has agreed to help you get ready for the local summer festival. You were unsure how to wear your yukata, how to put up your hair or do your makeup. It was your first time, but everyone’s excitement about it infected you. Izou so kindly offering to help you only served to motivate you more. You fiddle nervously with the waist strap keeping your obi in place, trying not to pay too much attention to how Izou applied the lipstick on his lips.

It is a failed effort. Your dark eyes are honed in on the creamy lipstick; how it covers his bottom lip in color. He traces his top lip, the contrast between the red and the fairness of his skin makes his cupid bow all the more evident. He was a talking, walking piece of art. You had thought so even before. The cruel reminder makes you feel inadequate to be in his presence but when he turns to you with a small smile you feel it flutter away into nothingness.

The warmth of his playful grin soothes your ruffled feathers.

“Your turn,” he declares, and before you can decline him, he reaches out with a free hand to clasp your chin between thumb and index finger. “Open your mouth.” You stare up at him, heart hammering away between your ribs. There’s a darkness in his eyes you can’t look away from; and you fall into the abyss. He lets go of your chin only to press his thumb against the soft flesh of your bottom lip.

“I said open.” He presses down with some force and your lips part as you breathe in a sharp gasp. His lips stretch into a Cheshire grin. His dark eyes shimmer even in the dim lighting of the room. “That’s a good girl. It’s easier if you just listen to me.”

You nod subtly, afraid to move too much and damage his work. Izou drags the lipstick across your bottom lip. You watch him with his eyes downcast, his black eyelashes look so beautiful against his pale cheeks, you wish you could touch them. You both envied and desired his beauty. In more ways than one. He uses his knuckles under your chin to make you look higher up. 

“Look up, darling,” he says sweetly, carefully painting your top lip. “The shape of your mouth is so pretty. You should wear color on it more often.” Gently, he holds your chin to tilt your face from side to side. There’s a small frown settling between his brows as he purses his lips. Silent laughter shakes his shoulder. “Although it’s a shame it’s so small. No wonder you eat in such small bites.”

His smile turns crooked, and heavy. You feel his gaze on your lips, and your mouth runs dry. There it was again–that certain something that was never addressed. You had always toyed with crossing the line, with taking his bait but always feared having interpreted it all wrong.

But now he was in your room, and surely, this was flirting, wasn’t it? You lick your lips nervously, tasting the chemicals of the lipstick immediately on your tongue. Izou sucks his teeth noisily. You know he’s about to chastise you, perhaps apply more lipstick now that you’ve partially ruined his careful work. You know this and yet you can’t keep the heat away. You can’t stop from insane thoughts taking away your common sense. What if you crossed the line now? What if he crossed it with you?

“It’s small,” you tell him at last, reaching out for his wrist. He is still holding your chin in one hand, the lipstick in the other. You curl your fingers around his cold skin. “But there’s a lot I can do with it.”

Izou seems to be frozen. At least that’s the impression you get. You know he isn’t from the way his lashes flutter when he blinks, how his chest now rises a little bit quicker. 

“Is that so?” he replies slowly, his thumb now drawing circles on the corner of your mouth. “As usual, you think very highly of yourself. It truly is so little,” he insists, squishing your face with his hand. Your cheeks push against each other, and your lips purse with his strength. It is uncomfortable to be in this hold like this, especially as he brings you a little bit closer to his face. You falter in your position, getting on your tippy-toes to keep from falling over. “What’s the best you can do?”

Your heart threatens to explode on you. You feel a painful surge of adrenaline taking over your chest before it turns into searing heat. It traverses through your veins, filling your extremities with tingling pleasure. You pull at  his wrist, and he releases your face. Slowly, you lower yourself as best as you can in your yukata, until you are kneeling on the ground in front of him.

“I-i can show you,” you stammer quietly, your own voice barely registering in your ears. Izou looks down at you, some of his ebony hair softly framing his face. Your lungs feel empty, so you take a deep breath; noisy and desperate. Izou tilts his head as he watches you. “If there’s anything you don’t like,” you turn your gaze away from him, as a flush takes over your face. It feels hot, and your eyes fill up with tears. You’re so embarrassed at yourself but now that you have taken it this far, it would be a shame to give up halfway. “You can always instruct me. I do well with guidance.”

There’s a moment of silence. It’s probably shorter than it feels, but it makes you think it’s eternal. You clutch your hands into fists, so tightly it becomes painful as your clipped nails start biting into your skin. You clutch them even tighter when Izou laughs. You look up sharply, eyes narrowed, and filled with unshed tears. The shame slowly turns to anger, and you begin to retract everything spoken until Izo reaches down with one hand, still standing before you.

His fingers ghost over your cheeks, cold and fleeting. His icy touch soothes the heat of your cheeks.

“You’re so sweet,” he says gently. His voice is melodic, and soft. “Do you promise?” he asks as he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face. You nod once. Izo taps your nose with one finger. “Good. Well?” He asks you next. You look up at him perplexed. He tilts his head again, his brows knitted together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, unsure of what he was expecting of you. He looks down at himself, where his crotch would be under the clothing, and your mouth parts in acknowledgement. 

“R-right,” you stammer again, and reach out with trembling hands. You barely touch the fabric in front of him before Izou is sucking on his teeth again.

“Aht aht,” he chides, with a small shake of his head. “No, my darling. You can’t use your hands.” You look up at him, at a loss for words. He smiles down at you encouragingly. “You’ll only be using your mouth today. Do you think you can do that for me?” You nod again, and bring down your hands. You shuffle on the floor slightly, your knees painful against the hard floor. You know there will be bruises on them later, but it would all be worth it for as long as you can keep up your bravado.

The closer you move your face towards Izou’s crotch, the harder your breathing gets. You can hear yourself panting, feel the moisture of your own breath bouncing back against your face. You inhale the scent of his yukata, and detect his unique scent, mixed with soap. You hum lightly as you press your face deeper.

“Let me help you,” Izou declares. His voice is lower than before, and you can detect a slight tone of impatience. His hand is still gentle when he cups the back of your head. “It seems you’re having a hard time finding me.”

He chuckles lightly, when you yelp as his hips jut out towards you. Somewhere pressed against your cheek is a softness that begins to harden. You hungrily turn your mouth towards it. You kiss him through the cloth, feeling him harden slightly.

“Don’t worry about the lipstick,” he tells you, noticing how you seem to hesitate on adding pressure. “I don’t mind being dirty.”

Desire sits perilously at the pit of your stomach. You consider pushing it off the cliff, along with the rules of your arrangement–anything if it meant you could hold the weight of his cock in your hands. The fear of him walking away, and losing any and all opportunities to get closer to him was far greater than your perverse fantasy. You use your nose to push your way inside between the fabrics. You gasp at the sight of his exposed cock, half hard as it decides which way to lay. His balls look heavy already as they hang from his frame between his legs.

He must have heard your shock because he laughs even as he pushes on your head again, egging you on.

“Aren’t you lucky?” his voice finds its way to you, even with your blood pounding in your ears. “I’m not wearing any underwear today.”

Izou side steps, giving you more space between his legs. You angle yourself enough to drop a kiss on the inside of each thigh; a red lip mark left behind each time. There’s a faint scent of sweat that isn’t entirely unpleasant as you drag your tongue along his shaft. You bring it back down to toy with his balls. It quickly gets messy as you slurp him into your mouth, his soft grunts encouraging you even more.

“Don’t tease me, beloved,” he hisses, his hand still on the back of your head. You hear something small drop to the floor, as his other hand joins you. “Put them in your mouth already.” You open your mouth and ever so slowly scoop his sack into your mouth. “Nngh,” he grunts. You feel him stiffen slightly as you close your mouth slightly around him. “Yes, now suck. Hurry.”

Izou’s head snaps  back when you actually listen to him, when you finally give him the pleasure he wanted. The more you curl your tongue around his balls, the more his hips move, the more he just wants to hammer into that pretty little mouth of yours and ruin you forever. The idea of your lipstick smearing around your mouth and all over his cock is making him even hornier. He grabs your hair and pulls away suddenly.

“Move,” he orders you and you look up at him in a daze. Already your lipstick is smudged in one corner. Your cheeks are bright, and there is a hazy shine to your eyes that fill the pit of his stomach with heat. You had just started, and you were already halfway gone. He chuckles softly, and brushes the back of his fingers against one of your cheeks.

“Move over there,” he points at the bed. “Stay on the floor. Your back against it.”

You follow his instructions without a single word of disagreement. You scoot back until your back is against the mattress, leaving you nowhere to retreat. Izou lowers himself in front of you until he’s standing on his knees. Your heart runs faster as he pushes fabric aside to grab his own cock. His large hand pumps up and down, using his thumb to catch the bead of precum sitting at the tip.

“Open,” Izou commands as he moves his hand towards your mouth. You listen, of course. Izou pushes his thumb inside your mouth, and drags the precum across your tongue, and against the inside of one of your cheeks.

“Now suck. Make sure you don’t miss a drop.” You suck on his thumb as if you had been starved for days. Moaning even as you curl your tongue around his digit. Izou watches you with parted lips, his own breathing becoming heavier as he watches you.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his free hand around your throat. “I always knew you and I were the same.”

He pulls out his thumb from your mouth, and cups your cheek. He leans down to brush his nose against yours. His hand is surprisingly rough against your skin, as he brushes the side of your face with his palm. His breath smells sweet as he speaks against your mouth.

“So full of dirty desires, aren’t you?”

He kisses you next, forceful with closed lips at first. It isn’t long before his gentleness gives away. It splinters off as his tongue pushes past your lips. You moan into the kiss, your hands pressed against the floor. It’s sloppy, messy, wet and imprecise. It lacked all the elegance and refinement with which Izou usually carried himself. When he pulls away, you feel the coolness of the air on your drool covered chin. 

“I want you to open your mouth again,” he tells you, his cock once again in his hand. You swallow as you look at it, and take in its girth. Perhaps you had overestimated yourself. You curl. your fingers into fists and press them against the cold ground. As your mouth parts, Izou adjusts himself on his standing kneeling position, moving closer towards you. He taps your bottom lip with the tip of his cock. “Come on, darling. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

You open your mouth as wide as it goes, and flatten your tongue. Izou slides into your mouth slowly. You focus on breathing through your nose as you feel him fill  up your mouth. 

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, pushing his hands on the mattress on either side of your head. Izou snaps his hips slowly at first, making sure not to push too deep or too fast.

You watch his face carefully, deeply focusing on breathing through your nose and not gagging as he fucks your mouth. Your head bounces slightly against the  mattress with every thrust he gives into your mouth. It pushes you against him, helping him inadvertently reach deeper into your mouth each time. His lashes flutter slightly every time he pushes into your mouth. There’s a slight wrinkle of his noise every now and again you can’t decipher the reason behind until he speaks.

“Careful,” he hisses with a curl of his lip. Your heart seizes with temporary fear. “Your teeth.” He pulls out of your mouth, and you wipe the drool of your mouth with the back of your hand. Red smears against your cheek and against your arm as you do so. Izo smiles.  “Curl your lips, and relax. You have to relax, love.”

You nod repeatedly, feeling at the moment as if that was all you were good at. Izou taps his cock against your mouth again, and  you open your mouth, taking his instructions and applying them. Izou seems satisfied with your efforts this time as he picks up the pace. His hips now brutally snapping in rhythm as he shoves his cock to the back of your throat. You gag repeatedly, and your eyes water as you fight your gag reflex. You fear the worst when you taste something in the back of your throat, so you shut your eyes tightly, curling your tongue and sucking as hard as you can.

Izou cries out, and he pushes even deeper. Your eyes fly open as you swear you feel him trying to shove himself down your throat. 

“That’s it,” he breathes out harshly between pants. There’s a soft moan in the back of his throat he tries to smother. “That’s it. Look at me.”

The head of his cock keeps hitting the back of your throat. There’s a burning soreness there that  you know will make it painful to talk tomorrow but you don’t care. You don’t care about your achy knees, or how tears slide down your cheeks. You don’t care that you can barely see Izou’s silhouette through your wet lashes. All you care is that he’s kneeling there, using your mouth, his fingers now buried in your hair. All you care about is that  you can hear him moaning softly, saying your name so quietly you think it’s a dream.

Although he’s fucking your mouth at a brutalizing pace, it doesn’t stop you from fantasizing. It doesn’t keep the thoughts of him pounding in your pussy just like this away. You wish he would; desperately. Your panties are soaked, and you try to rub your legs together, the sensation silky and pleasurable against your folds and inner thighs. You try to bring your hands to the front of your yukata, to feel any part of yourself–breasts or the center between your thighs but Izou grabs your hair and shakes it in his hold.

“I said no hands,” he growl, still fucking into your mouth as he frowns down at you. “Hnng. Not even to touch yourself.” His own thoughts and speech are interrupted by pleasure. He groans gently before he can proceed again. “Is that understood?” You nod and relax your jaw once again.

You moan as he continues fucking your mouth, moans that almost sound like sobbing. It’s just when you think you won’t be able to speak for days that Izou’s hips start faltering.

“I’m close,” he mutters, his hold on your hair tightening.

Izou looks down at your mouth. He takes in the way he fills you up, how your mouth can barely take him in. He bets your cheeks feel sore from being stretched, that your jaw might even lock up later. There’s a perverse joy that comes with this knowledge. The same way that ring of red around the very base of his shaft brings. Just knowing he had been deep in that little mouth of yours, so deep that you have shed tears brings him closer to his orgasm.

It’s not your mouth, or your smeared lipstick, your dirty cheeks stained with mascara and tears that does him in; but it’s your wet eyes, your curled lashes tapered with tears. It’s that look of reverence even as you sob on his cock that snaps the core deep in his belly. His breath is ragged, as he cries out gently when he cums inside your mouth.

You make no intention to move, and he grips your hair tightly. “Don’t swallow,” he tells you sternly even as his hips stutter. As he slowly comes with his high, he pulls out of your mouth slowly. “Don’t spit it out either.” You nod quietly, bulging cheeks and pursed lips make you seem innocent and adorable. Izou laughs. He caresses your cheek gently with one hand, his other goes to cup your chin. “Open. Show me first.”

You open your mouth, curling your tongue to hold on to his semen. He looks at it, milky white as it pools on the center of your pink tongue. Izou smiles and nods once. “You can swallow now.” He watches you push it down, and notes the wrinkle of your nose as you do so. He takes no offense to it, and instead pats your head gently. “You did such a wonderful job.” Izou kisses your forehead gently, and then your cheek. “Don’t move.”

You don’t follow with your eyes as he leaves. You’re still delirious from lust, and slightly unsatisfied. Something you could easily blame Izou for but decide to just concede this time. Besides,  your  legs were tingling as they had fallen asleep. You untuck them from under you with a small cry, and beat them gently with your fists as you try to get some blood circulating back into them again. Izou returns in the middle of your efforts with a cup of tea in his hands.

“Oh dear,” he says with raised brows. His voice sounds heavy with concern. He lowers himself to your level, and presses the cup of tea against your hands. “Here, drink this first. It has plenty of honey,” he helps you bring it to your mouth.

Izou watches you with a frown, and doesn’t let go until he is satisfied that you’d do as he says. As you start drinking on your own, Izou starts massaging your legs.

“Let me take care of you this time.” He looks up from where he is exposing one leg from under your yukata.

Despite what had transpired, you somehow find it in you to be embarrassed at the feel of his cold fingers sliding against the back of your calf. He brushes the tip of his index finger right across behind your knee. You shudder under his touch. His eyes take life, and you see the smile begin to curl itself upwards.

“Since you already will be without voice come tomorrow. Why don’t I show you what my mouth can do?”

[meruz]

sorry if this has been asked before, but i wanted to ask about your lineart! the weight and line economy are just so nice, i get stars in my eyes looking at your lineart and doodles. could i ask what your approach to lineart is and what tips you might offer?

Wow I love these questions - Line is so interesting!!! It's a really big topic so I feel like any tips I give will be just barely scratching the surface. It's like deceptively simple...any given line drawing is essentially taking all the information we glean from seeing something irl ie light, shadow, dimension, texture, perspective, etc and boiling it down to the simplest possible visual information.

I think most commonly my line is informed by light source so like. thicker more continuous lines face away from the light and thinner more broken lines towards. and a lot of my spot blacks r simply cast shadows.

here's a more extreme example

BUT like everything to do with art there's no hard and fast rules. I use blacks when I think it'll be effective or interesting and I leave them out when I don't need em. umm couple things I find myself doing a lot... using spot blacks to make the separation between characters clearer. I like casting shadow in between characters so its easy to separate and read their silhouettes even when they're mashed together.

u can go even further to purposely create a silhouette like

to draw attention to a finger or tongue LOL. There's some comic book artists who are absolute masters at this type of stylization. Alex toth and his spiritual successor Chris samnee come to mind for me right away.

(toth)

(samnee)

I feel like I'm also often using line weight to separate planes receding in space

im naturally a really heavy handed and scribbly drawer(...?) draftsman. and im nearsighted so when i see things i percieve and break it down into big shapes over thin contours. so stuff like spot blacks and shadows came easy to me, the tricky part was making the rest of the lines lighter when they needed to be so the blacks could actually have impact LOLL. a lot of effective visual communication is about balancing contrasts. like I had to really train myself to press less hard on the pen. I think this is actually really evident if u go back in my archive to older sketches LOL

I actually feel like a lot of how I trained my hand to tackle line weights was thru stuff like hand lettering where you rly have to focus on being sensitive to that kind of thing.. contrasting strokes etc.

also exercises like figure drawing will have you flexing those muscles constantly

I'm starting to just regurgitate lessons from freshman year of art school so I'll stop here with the demos but yeah...I hope this was helpful!? I love line!!! I want to get even better at line work so I can feel confident posting work that's only line no color or value... I'll leave you with a bunch of artists who I think have particularly expressive and beautiful linework (not including toth and samnee who I already mentioned and who's work I love so much). You can probably learn much more from them than you can from me...!

Charles dana gibson LOL

Matias bergara

tonci zonjic

naoki urasawa

Daniel warren johnson

shiyoon kim

michel breton

also yoji shinkawa, tomer hanuka, leo romero, I feel like I'm gonna post this and think of so many more. there's so many good artists...!

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's talk costuming: Avaunt!

So I think we can all agree that Aziraphale looks his most traditionally angelic in the Job minisode, no? In fact, all of the angels' costuming increases in drama for this particular episode. This is, obviously, a very deliberate choice on the part of wardrobe, so let's discuss.

On a technical level, the biggest thing that stands out to me about this fabulous robe is the draping. Oh, the draping. It feels like a classic angel 'fit because on a very fundamental level, it is. A lot of what we think of as angelic draws on Renaissance artists' depictions, with flowing robes, fluffy wings, and glimmering halos. In art from this era, there is a strong attention to detail on the natural flow of fabrics that makes Renaissance sculpture so breathtaking, such as here: (The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Bernini, 17th century CE)

It's this ability to make solid marble look like fine silk rippling with movement that leaves such a strong impression in my mind when I look at these kinds of works.

In painting, too, there is a similar effect. Something about the material culture of the Renaissance really lent itself to this style, perhaps fueled by the rise in new textile luxuries that occurred in vaguely the same period. This is seen especially strongly for angels, such as in the sculpture above, and in this painting: (The Annunciation to the Virgin, Botticelli, 15th century CE)

There's a stark contrast between the dress of the two figures. The virgin Mary is no less ornamentally or expensively dressed, but her style is rather minimalistic next to the angel's voluminous robing. It paints a very clear impression of angelic dress, and the designers for Good Omens would have been aware, in at least a small way, of the art history precedence for such a thing.

The poof of the sleeves, the tucks down the front, the little belt with the train tucked in, the gathers, the weight of the fabric, everything about this robe is constructed to carefully recreate the rather fantastical imagery of renaissance art. It's not necessarily an easy texture to nail down, given that the artists themselves had no concerns of gravity, comfort, or the way it would look in actual 3d motion, while our brave costumers were dealing with all three as well as a budget, time constraints, and the constant consideration that white fabric just gets dirty so easy.

Here's some of the other angels as well, so you can see how theirs reflect those same dramatic themes.

And then, of course, when costuming a show you have a second question: What does this mean for our character? Or rather, we know how, but WHY did they make him look so traditionally angelic?

Well, thematically, the Job minisode centers around Aziraphale's struggle with being a good angel and Crowley's struggle with being a good demon. Aziraphale is learning how to be an angel that follows along with heaven as far as we can, and he's so terribly torn up about it. He spends a lot of his time fretting about doing what's expected demanded of him, even if perhaps he doesn't believe it to be the right choice. Natural, then, that he should look the part of the perfect angel whilst sorting out these ethereal woes.

Crowley even draws attention to it himself, giggling a bit at the suggestion that Aziraphale, with his fluffy hair and flowing angelic garb, could possibly become a demon. And it is a rather silly mental image; the garment itself would be comically silly in really ANY other context at all. In the same manner, his performance of angelic archetype borders on excessive:

He's trying so desperately hard here to be the angel he wants to and is supposed to be. He's dressed the part, he's using his big scary angel voice, but deep down he's clinging to an identity that doesn't quite fit.

(You'll notice in this shot the distinct difference between his and Crowley's dress on the level of silhouette as well as color. We see this a lot from the two of them, but with the points I made above it felt worth pointing out in this particular scene)

Here at the end, as he's coming to terms with the cracks in his heaven-given identity, his robe is largely in shadow, blurring out its startling whiteness. We do not see him dressed this way again. (He continues to wear white, obviously, but from here on out his style of dress mimics the human trends of the time rather than that classical angelic imagery)

[mi-i-zori]

Among the Ice of Her Thoughts

CoD Viking!AU (Not Mine) - Viking!Soap x Healer!Reader

DISCLAIMER : Just a little something I wrote a while ago for @ghouljams ‘ Viking!AU. I just recently tweaked it a little. Healer!Reader is Ghoul’s character, not mine. I will write something for my own Viking!AU, but it will of course be very different from theirs. Please go check their work, it’s absolutely amazing !

WARNINGS : None.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform.

When she finally comes back from the realm of dreams, Dag’s chariot is already high in the sky, and the sun is peaking through the fabrics of her tent.

She finds tearing her limbs from their lethargic state to be no easy task. Her muscles are begging for a few more minutes of rest ; hours, even. They pull and wail along with her every move, the creaking of her joints echoing within their walls. She could indulge them - the Gods know how many times she decided to follow her needs, going back to sleep when she was supposed to start her day. But she is not tired enough to succumb to sleep anymore ; especially not when a choir of unfamiliar voices echo from the outside of the so-called « sanctuary » she was given a few hours earlier. To her, this assortment of fabrics and furs is no safe haven, especially not when she jumps so violently every time they start dancing with the wind. Still, she is in no position to complain : not only was she given permission to use this tent as hers even though it originally belongs to the one who brought her here, but the warriors roaming the campsite also respect the boundaries this shelter was made to provide, allowing her to hide from their curious eyes.

A part of her wishes she could stay under the covers and ignore her surroundings, act as if this is was nothing more than a dream. Yet she forces herself out of their warmth, the morning breeze leaving a trail of shivering kisses along her skin.

She barely has the time to put her heavy coat on that the sun suddenly sculpts a broad silhouette on the outside of the furs. It moves silently, with the confidence of a warrior, and her whole body tenses as the man stops before the entrance of her tent. He hovers for a second as she stands frozen in place, her breathing so low even she can barely feel it in her chest.

- Vænn ? You awake ?

It’s MacTavish, she realises, his deep timbre sending a wave of warmth down her spine ; a stark contrast to the violent shivers the sound of the nickname he gave her send crawling down her spine. Despite knowing that he is unable to see her, she can’t bring herself to move. Swallowing the knot tightening in her throat, she graces him with a hum, although it comes out much weaker than she originally intended.

- ‘Am about to go gather some wood. Wanna come with me ?

His tone is low, careful ; not unlike the kind one would use to coax a terrified little creature out of its shell. She can’t really decide if she likes the idea or not. In her eyes, this behaviour of his is way too human for a man like him, cursing the flame that sways in her chest at the prospect of accepting his offer. Her satchel lies against the wooden post standing in the middle of the tent, it’s empty stomach catching her gaze. It could be a good opportunity to gather some herbs for her decoctions, she thinks, and the rational part of her soul lights up at the idea of potentially being useful to her captors. MacTavish’s words from the day before echo in her mind.

Say yes next time someone asks if you’re a healer. You’ll live longer.

- Give me a minute, she finally says, the words grating against her tongue. Please.

- Gotcha. I’ll be waiting for you near the campfire.

It’s only when his shadow disappears that the tension finally lets go of her chest. One of her hands glides along her face, a sigh escaping through her fingers. The bed is neatly made before she covers herself in warm furs and sturdy leathers. She then takes a deep breath as she opens the entrance of the tent, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness in her muscles. The tremors seizing her body are not from the midgardian frost waiting for her outside ; but she decides to play pretend, holding her head high as she steps in the fresh morning snow. Sól greets her with a wintery kiss on her cheek, highlighting MacTavish’s figure in the distance. She marches towards him, forcing herself to ignore the curious stares of his companions.

Vænn. A catch. A prey. That is what she is in the eyes of those who see themselves as a pack of wolves, their fur covered in blood as they take whatever they want, destroying those who refuse to yield : nothing but a frail creature meant to follow their every word in order to stay alive. Soap has made his intentions of courting her clear, promising that no harm shall befall her while she lives among his peers ; but as he greets her with a smile, guiding her towards the forest with a hand on her back, she knows she cannot allow herself to be afraid. One wrong move, and she shall become nothing more than a meal to be shared in their den.

A frozen blade pierces her core as these thoughts dance in the back of her mind. The forest is peaceful, and they slowly carve their own path through its shimmering white coat. Her gaze roams her surroundings as MacTavish starts gathering a thick bundle of branches under his arm, looking for a patch of herbs to collect. Their eyes meet, causing him to send a smile in her direction before resuming his own search. The snow crunches heavily under his boots. Her attention flickers to the blade hanging from his hips, the iron of its handle glinting in the sun. She frowns as her mother’s voice echoes through her memories.

You are not safe, she says, and she can almost see her spectre glare at the warrior’s silhouette walking ahead of her.

You are not safe.

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

I find it interesting that the most controversial/widespread posts have been those relating to physical appearance/visual medium. Lbh's hair and body type and sqq's eyes. I wonder what's the underlying cause for this. Maybe because people get attached to designs they feel more protective of them? Just a thought.

Oh, I would say this is absolutely the case. Visual design choices are, after all, often symbolic reflections of parts of individuals' own selves in some way, or of other things that are important to them. Artists will also spend a lot of time and thought on creating their designs-- and in some ways, visual media and written media are also quite different. You don't need the visual contrast so much in a book, but you do need it more when it's pictures, because characters with good contrasts are pleasant to look at together.

I actually think the donghua designs create a sort of contrast too-- both by SQQ's lighter eyes to LBH's, but as well as with the broader silhouettes, where SQQ has flowing robes and hair and LBH's silhouette is tighter. Also in general, the black robes of adult LBH vs the teal & white. Western stylization just focuses more on body type+hair texture silhouette diversity, while eastern stylization is more about the clothing and hair-styling silhouette, in a broad generalization, so it's only natural that when people create their designs, especially for a media that is only written, like SVSSS before the donghua or official cover art came out, that they will draw influence from the background of their own culture in creating these designs, in addition to their own experiences.

It's difficult too in my position, because while I genuinely want to take a neutral look at trends and history and patterns and cultural influence as a scientific sort of examination, there are so many instances of attacks on character designs, which make both the artists and designers and the people who like those designs feel bad and just isn't productive, even if criticisms are genuine. Things should be talked over civily, without bashing, because a space where people are belittled and attacked is not a space where people can learn.

Anyway, everyone has reasons for their designs. Sometimes these may be rooted in stereotyping or westernization, but other times, they're based on personal reasons and don't actually have those roots. It's not my or anyone's place to declare, definitively, that someone is stereotyping (of course, there are some instances when things are very very obvious and that's a different story), I only try to explain what things i can so that people are then able to examine things for themselves. I do think it's everyone's own responsibility to look at their own biases and think about where their portrayal choices are sourced from, especially when engaging with a culture that isn't one's own. But I don't want people to get into a justification loop, because that's not going to help anyone-- just to honestly take a look at the why of things. Sometimes there's subconscious biases, sometimes it isn't about that. I don't know peoples' own experiences, so I'm not going to say what it is or isn't.

In the end, accountability is something that is definitely needed in sensitive areas like westernization or stereotyping. However, accountability is not dogpiling on someone. Instead, it's personally being open to consideration, to change, and to growth-- and we'll never have that in a hostile environment. People need to focus more on holding themselves accountable, and less on holding others accountable-- we all have unconscious biases. It's part of existing in any culture or environment, and it's a life-long process of examining them and growing in experience and knowledge. And I hope to contribute that knowledge wherever I can, and use what platform I have to foster that sort of gentler environment, where it's not about making people who genuinely didn't know things feel bad, but where it's okay to be wrong, and to learn and grow.

It's up to an individual to examine themselves when they hear new information. That doesn't mean everyone needs to change their designs to conform with Chinese beauty standards-- which have plenty of issues of their own, and shouldn't be taken as more "morally correct!" It's just so that as many people as possible can have as much information as possible, so they can make the best and most informed judgments and decisions they can about their own viewpoints and thought processes.

But yes, even saying all this, I can perfectly acknowledge that fan-designs of beloved characters hold a bit of their creator's heart. While creators can be imperfect, the experiences and emotions and care that these designs stem from is still genuine, and should be treated with gentleness and understanding.

No matter if someone's viewpoint is erroneous or just different from yours, it's important to remember that every person on the internet is a real, human person. Fandom culture can be so notoriously toxic-- and it's high time that people remember each other's humanity, and treat one another with compassion and understanding. That's the only way to create a better fandom space-- and ultimately, a better world.

[wolven91]

Magma Flows

The burning human silhouette continued to amazingly pull away from it’s pursuer. Her footprints, left in the deep snow, gave her an impressive stride.

The mango coloured ssypno, in any other environment would have had no issue in not only outpacing the shorter alien, but would have also been able to drag her back to safety without any kind of notable resistance from her. The ssypno inherent speed and strength would surely outstrip the smaller creature, just if she could get her claws on the damn creature.

As it was, the surrounding snowy environment was hampering not only the ssypno’s movement but her speed too. Her usually powerful tail, instead of launching her forwards, the survival suit that covered her slipped and left deep gouges in the snow banks. She was only on this stupid frozen hell of a planet because of the apparently single most insane human she had ever had the displeasure of meeting and knowing. 

She’d begun to like the geologist that had ‘needed’ an escort, she was kind and soft and warm before now. But while visiting the tundra world that was experiencing several volcanic eruptions Ya’tfeea had zero desire to be anywhere near an entire mountain exploding. Apparently the human’s job had meant that she decided that she was to record if there were any differences between ‘Earth’ flows and ‘alien’ flows. The ssypno didn’t understand the difference; they were all alien!

She focused her eyes against the back of her head as she ran in frustration. It was impossible without eye contact, but the ssypno hoped her Stare would burn a hole in the back of the human’s head so she would turn to face her and be forced to stop. 

Why couldn’t these damned apes just look from orbit? Why’d they have to land on a planet that was specifically designed to kill her kind?

The whole planet was freezing; dangerous to her cold-blood. 

Come to think of it, the human started getting excited when she moaned about being cold. 

The smaller creature breached the tree line and turned her head towards where Ya’tfeea expected the lava to be. She picked up her pace, carving her path through the snow; it would do no good if the human went and got buried under a million tons of molten rock! How would she explain that to her government?! 

As she breached the treeline moments later, her four arms grasped the human’s shoulders and arms in a vice-like grip, while her face was a vision of fury, she turned her to face the ssypno in one smooth move.

“Why were you running?! You need to be careful! If the lava flow is too fast you could get hurt!” She blurted out, while one side of her body rapidly had the cold that had leached through her survival suit and was replaced with a wonderful heat. 

“Because we already knew that this one is not that fast… and I thought you wanted to get warm?” She replied with that insufferable smirk that Ya’tfeea had gotten used to over the past few weeks. Against her grip, the human’s left arm, diminutive in her far larger hands, lifted to ‘present’ something to her. 

She slowly turned her head to see what she seemed so confident that she’d want to see. 

It was beautiful. 

Lava flows have always been described to be mesmerising by those who have seen them, But to the sspyno’s heat vision; it was a blinding white light that reminded her of seeing through a crack in the very mountain into the blinding light of heaven. She was stunned at this near religious awakening. The cold of the world was always nearby, the perfect contrast against the blinding heat of the centre of the flows and the various shades of it cooling over time. 

She released her, gently setting her down while she; a lowly guard, got to bask in so much heat that she knew there were even Nobles who had never had this much to play with. Within the ssypno ships and stations, heat was always controlled. Only the rich and powerful could bask in it.

A small hand slipped into her where it hung limply by her side. 

“It’s mostly looking at rocks, but every now and then; we find a really cool rock.” Murmured the human.

Ya’tfeea smiled to herself, already feeling the effects of becoming heat-drunk as it saturated every cell in her body. 

“...I think you’re confused; those rocks are really hot…” 

A snort from the human set off both as the two bursted into laughter, confused laughter for the ssypno, knowing for the human.

Alone on a tundra world, in front of the remnants of a world’s might, the pair took their time.

[lnmei]

Explaining some of my color thoughts and process using this piece and my other recent figure drawings, hope it’s helpful to someone!

Setting up the drawing to color

Final drawing layer breakdown from top:

Layer 37: lighten layer clipped to line art below

Inserted Image: line art set to multiply (because it’s non-transparent)

2nd Inserted Image: final drawing flattened (will explain why at last step)

Layer 35 : lighten layer to compress values for elements that receding and out of focus (back arm + leg for example) something like atmospheric perspective

Layer 41: solid color multiply for shadow

Layers 16-19: every element of the same color on it’s own layer clipped to the silhouette

Layer 6: solid fill silhouette

Color picking the base:

This is loosely what I think about rather than a hard and fast rule! This thinking helps me navigate when the colors don’t quite look right and applying a rule usually helps me work towards a direction I like.

When thinking of the light and shadow scheme:

Temperature: warm light & cool shadow or cool light & warm shadow?

Color schema: complimentary scheme? split compliment? analogous?

When picking the light color base:

Even in the light areas things have a light, medium, and dark local value

I pick colors that read as the right value of the local color at the right temperature for the light:

Coloring Shadow

1) Reflected light into the shadow areas - typically I go for a colder and slightly lighter reflected light because in natural sunlight, the main reflected light is from the blue sky. Otherwise think about what the color of the surroundings are and reflect that into the shadow.

2) If the shadow color on the skin makes it look either gray or the wrong hue, true up the color of the shadow by making it warmer and more saturated and add warm reflected light to the shadows around it, such as on the shirt collar

3) Make the shadow colorful - add bright colors that are adjacent to the main shadow colors to make the shadow overall more colorful, and add colors that are closer to the local colors of what’s in shadow (such as blues to the “black” compression sleeves)

Keep value range within the shadow relatively close - as long as the value of the shadow is approximately uniform, the shadow area will read as a shadow

Lighten-layer areas for value compression/”atmospheric perspective”: I adjust the color of the lighten areas so that local colors show through or have a bright accent - it looks nice but doesn’t detract from the focus areas with higher contrast, and gives an opportunity to introduce bright colors.

Even in low value contrast areas, the colors are legible as light vs shadow because they generally conform to the temperature of the light and shadows

Glow - I like to add a bright rim to the edge of the multiply layer in a bright color that indicates the color of the light or local color if it was more saturated i.e. red, orange, pink, gold glow for warm lights, purple, blue, green-ish glow for cool lights

I don’t add this everywhere, just in the parts that I want to stand out more

Hue Variation

On the base color layers, I add hue variations to add color variety to the lights. Usually adjacent colors but sometimes something completely different to add interest. I can also add this on the lighten layer if I want the bright accent to read as more flat (like the hair accent).

I also add a lighten layer with warm red/orange on top of the line art areas that are in the light to add more glow.

In the end, if there are certain color areas that just don’t look right, I will just paint in the exact color I want on a new layer on top.

Finalizing

I export the whole image as a jpg when I’m generally happy with it, then mess around with it using color filters like the ones in the iOS photo app edit or whatever else. They end up showing you if you can push the colors brighter, which I like (I don’t always do this but it usually shows me something interesting I can try).

I import the image over the color but under the line art and apply general adjustments to it (curves, saturation, etc). This way you can mask out different versions of the full image to combine versions with different adjustments.

I also select certain areas by themselves and adjust them manually to fine tune aka paint over if some parts don’t look right.

I like to apply a lighten layer to the line art which is on multiply, and use a neon/bright color to give the whole picture a bright rim. It just looks cool but can add a slight bit of new bright color to the drawing along the line art, which is interesting and subtle.

And that’s it so far!

[emilypearsonart]

Character Design Tips and Advice

So I made a thread on Twitter last week about character design, and a lot of people seemed to find it helpful, so if it’s at all helpful here too I’m going to try and replicate it. 

If you’re a character designer and want to add your own advice on top of this, PLEASE feel free, this is just basics. 

I’m going to use my own art for this. 

First off, it's preferable if poses are in 3/4 view, even for the back view. This gives as much information as possible, you tend to see as much of a figure as possible. 

Front-views tend to show none of the sides, so if you want to do that, a side and/or backview is usually necessary. 

Usually it's best to keep to 3 colors. One of them usually being an accent color. This doesn’t include hair/skin/eye color unless they’re an unnatural tone. 

This first image is before I learned this rule, and the colors were very busy. 

The second here is after limiting the colors.  You can have multiple values of the same color(light blue and dark blue only count as 1) but it’s best to not have them shift in hue.

Think of the characters as having a triangle, square, and circle hierarchy. Every concept is made of these shapes. Triangles are usually associated with evil, edgy or dangerous characters. Circle with soft or friendly characters, square with strong sturdy characters.

Usually one design will have a majority of two shapes so it can look like 80% circle, 20% square OR 60% triangle, 40% square etc. For example, this character is maybe 80% circle, 20% square, gives off a friendly and sturdy feeling.

You can also use these shapes to move your eye to a focal point in a concept(dryad girl) here I had a lot of triangle shapes pointing down to draw your eye through the design and give it unity!

Going off that, using focal points using contrast in color, detail density, textures can help a lot too. This character is extremely busy and noisy, your eye has a hard time resting anywhere.

This one, the detail is mostly on the face and chest, and since the accent color is also there, your eyes are drawn to those spots.

Focus on the silhouette. Is your character recognizable or unique in their silhouette alone? Think of games like Overwatch, League of Legends, Apex how all those characters are recognizable just from their silhouettes. 

Depending on the tone/client sometimes more grounded, realistic character designs are preferable. Games like Last of Us, Uncharted, Tomb Raider all have great designs, but focus more on realism and storytelling over heroics.

Overall think of character design as something that provides information. It's less about making a drawing that's super detailed or with interesting lighting, but it's about making a reference for someone else(or yourself!) 

Think of what this will be used for. If it’s for a 3D modeler, what information will they need to understand the design for multiple angles, what details need to be clarified? 

If it’s for comics, what are touchstones you can use to make this character stand out and be recognized in every panel? How can you simplify it to be drawn 100 different times? 

Have fun!

[menhera-info-archieve]

Styling Menhera more "Masculinely"

Recently I've seen more interest in how to wear menhera and related styles if you typically present more masculine, so I'd like to address that today. This post will sort of be a continuation of this ask, but instead of discussing particular brands we'll focus on how to style your coords to have a more masculine feel to them.

Firstly though, a disclaimer: this post is not a set of rules to be followed, nor a statement on what men/masc people should or shouldn't wear. It's simply a list of ideas that might help if you want to present more traditionally (?) masculine for whatever reason. I think part of the appeal of menhera is nonconformity and NOT trying to fit into what society expects, so please don't misinterpret this post as trying to tell you what to do!

With that out of the way, it's worth noting that the tops you wear will largely be the same. Of course, avoiding tops with a large amount of bows, frills, etc also helps, but other than that I believe that most tops can be styled in a masculine way. So like in any menhera coord you'll have a top wth vent art on it. Often it will be oversized, but a regular fit is also okay.

sources: 1, 2, 3

I would say the biggest difference between feminine menhera styling and masculine menhera styling is the bottoms (and the impact this has on the overall silhouette). Where a feminine silhouette often uses short shorts/skirts/bloomers with OTKs and/or legwarmers, you’ll have an easier time going for a masculine look with longer shorts, joggers, other comfortable straight leg pants, or even jeans.

sources: 1, 2

The silhouette will change a lot depending on what type of bottom you choose. Experiment with whether you prefer an overall baggy look (baggy sweatpants with an oversize top) or a contrasting baggy top with a (comparatively) tighter straight leg bottom.

sources: 1, 2

While it's not necessary, some brands also make menhera print joggers/sweatpants if you feel left out of extra prints via OTKs. The ones pictured below are by SoftNGloomStyle on etsy

source: 1

here are a few more examples of different outfits using the same/similar tops.

sources: 1, 2

source: 1

You'll notice that I've mostly been using yamikawaii (dark color) examples. This is because it's a bit harder to make yumekawaii/pastels feel masculine. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try though!

source: 1

Regardless of how you feel about Ezaki Bisuko, he provides us good examples of pastels in a masculine silhouette (I don't think I've ever seen anyone else do menhera polo shirts before? But this could be replicated with a button up!)

source: 1

The pastels are more subtle on this one, but it still felt worth showing. Despite using a few more "feminine" accessories, this person balanced their outfit with the bottoms and layering for a more genderless feel.

source: 1

Including this one to show something a little different: this features a male seifuku top! Just to remind you not to feel like you can't mix elements.

Finally, the last thing I'll talk about is accessories. Most menhera coords should only have a couple accessories and I would say this goes doubly so if you're trying to present masculinely. Keep accessories few and impactful.

One accessory I feel is overlooked in menhera is hats! If you're avoiding hair accessories and bows, hats are a good way to tie together an outfit as well.

sources: 1, 2

hats should be a fairly accessible option as well because

redbubble semi recently started printing on hats, so many menhera designs can be put on them

they can be diy-ed by purchasing a fitting patch or pin and adding them on

you could go even further by making your own design with fabric marker/embroidery/etc. because of the size, hats are probably an easier project than making a shirt design this way

to briefly touch on other accessories: you can use most of them, but be cautious. Overall most masculine coords I have seen use much more simple types of jewelry on their necklaces/bracelets/chokers/etc such as leather, chord, and metal and don't often feature large or elaborate decorations. Still, feel free to experiment with what works!