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Let’s DO this!

!!!!KAIYELA’S VERY FIRST GIVE-AWAY/RAFFLE!!!! 2018 has been a very transformative year for my work and how I perceive my art. After a year long hiaturs I finally opened up my commissions again and found a very stable place to improve the work I produce. And through it all were all of you! Showing immense support and patience. To thank you I’ve decided to to a Fresh Year GIVE AWAY! What to win? A portrait of a character of your choice. Anything goes here. How to enter? Simply reblog and your blogname will be put in the raffle. Deadline: Winner will be announced on the 10th of January. I will make a public post of the winner as well as send you a message. PS. Commissions will open up again towards the end of January.

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2018 appears to be the year of stupid decisions by companies. DoN’t YoU hAvE sEnSe!?

I don’t really like nsfw art and its not something i’d ever publicly share, but boy howdy do I want to smother all of my blogs in tiddies right now.

What the fuck. 

Am I the only one that believes breasts aren’t illegal? Am I crazy?

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why do you do dis joel. Your Boyfriend is TRYING to be awesome!

When your bf is a fluffy boi /SilveryLantern

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9 Days till Capture

Carrying on the countdown! The second part to Ten days! Some day I will come back to this and actually continue down to the point where Darlston finally gets captured and restored to sanity by the Gilneans.

Nine days to Capture.

The dark lupine form came hurtling through the shadows. Near tripping over a root. The creature scrambled to right itself, clawing the ground in its struggle before bursting headlong into the thorny brambles that hung from overreaching branches. It released a screech as the barbed points tore bleeding furrows into fur and flesh. The pain only served to spur it ever onward, careening around sharp turns in the woodland. The forest was illuminated only by the wan moonlight that filtered down through the thick clouds, bathing the crooked branches of the forest below in an eerie silver luminescence.

The dark forest sped by despite the many hindrances. Low light posed no threat to the passing blur, for it could see perfectly in the gloom. The sounds of pursuit; mostly in the form of shouts and cries of “This way!” or “It went through ‘ere” served only to blend into the ambient cacophony of a forest at night.

It did not slow. Even as the voices fell back and slowly dulled with distance; only to be replaced with the sounds of buzzing insects and night creatures in the bushes. Instead the beast continued on its ruinous course, scored by dozens of cuts and lashes - the pain of the bullet in its shoulder, powering the spur of energy that caused its muscles to contract and push powerfully. Eventually it did began to slow - panting for air. Gaping maw issuing gusts of foulness.

It had started to rain. The water was cold and it soon dampened its fur,  adding keeping warm to its list of problems; this coupled with the blood that was still streaming from its wounds weakened it. It needed to find a place to lie down, to rest.

Sniffing the air it soon found the path to where it had denned previously, somewhere in the forest, and with a limp, it made its way back into the darkness.

The house had been abandoned long before the troubles, before the Worgen had come - before the Undead had surged over the battered wall like a tide of pestilence and rot. The roof had caved in, crashing in under the weight of the chimney stack that had fallen, and this allowed the rain to patter down into the attic. Which in turn allowed water to drip-drip-drip steadily onto the lower floors. The beast managed to get itself through the shattered door-frame, the old wood marked by the claws of other passing Worgen during their occupancy. Once inside it was battered by the scents of animal life; of mildew, rain, and of damp fur..

Here it had had been home for a time, the beast - like many of its ilk had been attracted by the scent of others to form a pack; a group that hunted together.  Earlier it had been separated from them to do its own thing, it tried to remember the earlier thought, but weariness pushed any semblance of thinking away. It needed to sleep.

It pawed its way through the slumbering carpet of beast fur. Of course, it was never easy to make one's way through a building full of sleeping monsters, and this was true of the injured Worgen; who drew snarls and growls every time it got too close to any single beast. Eventually - after being nipped and lashed at by angrily awoken creatures- it found a free space… and settled down.

Curling up, it ran its tongue across one of the scratches on its arm… and flopped down to sleep.

It dreamed that night. Rarely did dreams come to its shattered mind; none that it could remember at least, but the scenes that unfolded now managed to sear themselves into its memory.

It awoke. Something was wrong. The sounds of the peacefully slumbering pack had kept it reassured that it wasn’t under threat had faded, now there was only silence. And in silence; danger. The weight hit it like a great wall. A pained snarl escaping its maw as something sharp dug into its leg, and it was abruptly jerked from its hiding place. Flailing wildly, clawed hands scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floorboards, frantically its lupine eyes sought reason in the madness, but in the darkness ragged shapes snarled, and howled. The largest had its teeth around its ankle and was tugging violently, pain blossomed, blood pooled.

Grasping claws scoured the wooden floor. It jerked its leg, desperately trying to get it out of the jaws of the Worgen that had mistaken it for prey. The aggressor, thus kicked on the snout, recoiled - its dark form rearing up in the twilight of the ruined building. The rest of the pack snarled as though in unison, watching the savage fight with canine interest - their leader was a brute of a beast. A hulking mass of scarred flesh and fur, muscled and stocky - and quite obviously in a perpetual state of ill temper. His foe, adversely, was leaner, wounded, and had little merit...

It managed to rise, shakily - the wound in its shoulder, the scratches, and now its ankle draining the strength from its frame, but defiance roared into flammable life. It snarled. A sound that drew the monstrosity before it to a halt, rising on two feet to draw in a breath - as though gauging its chances… The leading creature leaped once more.

It was a frenzy. A maelstrom of gnashing fangs, scything claws, and pummeling, bone-cracking blows. A twisted knot of snarling fury. Blood spattered the mouldering floorboards, the mossy stone walls and the rotting furniture.

Crash! One large form was thrown into the wall, splinters of furniture sent skittering off into the darkness. A second later, the other was pinned to the ground, snapping, arms flailing, trying to knock its foe off.They flipped, reversing their positions. Smash. The fight continued, neither side gaining an advantage. The brute took its share of injury,having had flaps of skin clawed off… until an opening came.

Wounded and pained, it found a chance to escape…

Pain flaring in its ankle, blood dripping from a multitude of wounds…. Bites,scratches, and furrows in its side. It leaped out into the mud - howling and snarling following. Weakness was not tolerated.

The air was thick and close in the forested area that surrounded the house. The ground was mud, stained red by dripping blood. It stopped. Looking over its shoulder - shouts in the distance, they were coming. The beasts within wouldn’t realise… It would escape. It did escape. Limping off into the woods, wounded, but determined.

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Joel and Darl! Animation by @silverylantern

Lil thing I did during an animation course <3

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Darlston! For Reference.

Name: Darlston Smith Age: 24

Darlston is rough, headstrong, and stubborn. He is also loyal to a fault, and has a defining sense of right and wrong. He was raised by his mother in Gilneas, and loves to seek thrill wherever it may be found - this of course well suits him to an Adventurers life. However, since the curse overwhelmed Gilneas he has struggled to find himself, and come to terms with his new state of being. With Joel he has begun to feel more at ease. Even though lately there have been stirrings to the contrary.

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A story about a dog

So, I found some old writing featuring a friend of mine’s IC pet, Pickle. I had great fun writing for this stupid mutt, and I miss her terribly. 

Tonight the boarding house was a bustle of life. People sat at tables, discussing their trade, or the day’s business over a mug of alcohol, and a hot dinner. The atmosphere was jovial, happy and warm, and Lilly the matron presided over it all with folded arms, and a sweeping glare, a tenderizer on the counter beside her for dealing with disputes.

Pickle liked this. She sat on the rug by a warm fire, gnawing on a meaty bone that had been left over from today's roast. Slobbering jowls wobbled hungrily on the cutlet, and crunching jaws tried to prise away a jagged shard of bone that had been shattered from the bulk.

Pickle liked this. And people liked Pickle. For they often would rise from their chairs to give her a quick scratch between the ears, or offer her another cutlet to gnaw on, when people did this her tail would wag, striking the floor with loud ‘thumping’ noises.

She did this now as the large, balding, butcher waddled over to her from his seat, having just finished his meal. She liked the butcher. She liked his smell.

“‘Allo, girl.” he rumbled as he leaned down and scratched her between the ears. She closed her eyes and whuffed happily, her tail creating a hurricane that fanned the flames behind her. “Y’bein’ good?” he asked. “Whoof!” She affirmed. “Good girl, good girl.” He grinned, producing a fresh cutlet, that he placed beside the current one. Score.

Of course, Pickle, not being the smartest creature to grace Lilly’s carpet, decided that one bone in her maw wasn’t enough, and so she tried to fit both inside her mouth.

With a chuckle the Butcher rose to his feet and wiped his hands on his apron, before calling over to the Matron. “Thanks for the meal, m’love!” Even blowing her a kiss. Lilly snorted. “Gerroff, Paul!” she called back, waving him off with good humour. And, giving Pickle a goodly pat on the head, he turned to leave, chuckling.

He left through the door, Pickle watching, gnawing on her bones… But as the door swung shut, it seemed to catch on something, and thus, didn’t close all the way.

More interesting smells. Pickle rose from her carpet, and padded across the busy room towards the door.

Smells. Sounds. Movement, she could see through the crack in the door to the street beyond. She stuck her nose through the crack - the door swung open further allowing her to get a paw out, and with that simple escalation, she took one step out from Lilly’s boarding house, and into the streets of Stormwind.

Pickle was a big dog. Lilly was an observant Matron. But the woman cannot be everywhere at once, and so, she did not notice Pickle as she padded over to the door. But she did hear the loud thumping of Pickle’s tail as it madly whirled on the dog’s rump. Excited. Lilly knew this sound. Lilly looked for this sound, and she found the sound… just as it slid out through the door. She gasped. “Oh, Feck!” the heavily made up woman cried - all the patrons looked up, expecting the Tenderizer to be picked up, and one of their number to be brained with it… but that didn’t happen, the Matronly female hitched up the hem of her skirt, and quickly jogged between the tables, trying to quickly get to the door. “‘Scuse me! Oi! Budge. Oh, sorry Mister Herbert- I’ll be right with you!”... Lilly wasn’t a small woman.

“Pickle!”

Pickle was already on the pavement. Boofing happily at all the carts clip-clopping on the cobbles. People passed her on the street… throwing her odd glances. She didn’t like that. So she boofed at them too. A rat passed by her paw, in the gutter. BOOF. And she set off in pursuit, boofing all the way. Pickle was a big dog. People fell.

Down the street she followed the creature, boofing and ‘hounding’ its tail with gleeful abandon, such was Pickle’s way. People had to hop, jump, or fall out of the way, or be rammed into by a large, slobbering, dog.

Lilly followed at a distance, dress hitched up to her ankles, chest heaving breathlessly and voice calling. “Stop that Dog! Pickle! Get back here!”

People who knew Lilly tried to stop and say hello, or ask her what the matter was - they were barreled away.

People who didn’t know Lilly suffered the same fate.

Lilly wasn’t a small woman.

The rat that Pickle was chasing just then, at that moment, vanished under a sewer grate, leaving the overgrown mastiff pup slobbering at the iron bars of the grating. Boof. Boof. BOOF.

Barking echoes were all that could be heard to Pickle’s ears, the rat was gone. Lilly caught up. “Pickle!” She hissed, panting.

Pickle whined, looking up at the woman guiltily.

Boof, she whispered.

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Bath time

Art by @silverylantern

Okay. That last one was pretty grim... Uh... how about something light hearted and funny! Featuring shitston when he was younger! He was very stubborn, and would often get into arguments with his mum over stupid things. Like having a bath. 

He yelped as he was thrown into the room. The door slamming shut behind him.

Red Faced, fuming and angry, Darlston stormed over to his bed, feet purposefully stomping, hard on the floor to show those downstairs the extent of his displeasure, stepping over discarded bundles of clothing that littered the floor like a carpet on the boards. With a huff, he threw himself on the thin mattress, and scowled at the pillow.

Flipping over to lie on his back, he rubbed his face with dirty hands, hands caked in dust and muck, hands that needed washing.

He had sworn at her. That was his first mistake. His rump still smarted from when her hand had fallen across it in a sharp crack. He had known he was in trouble when he kept shouting at her, he knew this because she goes quiet when she’s mad. Pursing her lips, eyes narrowed, waiting for the tirade to finish, allowing you to run out of fuel. She was patient. She had to be to raise a son like Darlston.

He stood, trying to rub out the soreness on his behind. Muttering to himself. Muttering loathsome things about the vile woman, who he definitely did not love, or rely on. He was of course, old enough to look after himself now. He could not deny however, that she could get a good slap in when she needed to.

It wasn’t fair.

She always gets her own way. It’s up to -him- what he does now. He knows what he wants, and at that point in time, a -bath- was not one of them.

The sound of water splashed in the garden. She watered her flowers when they argued. It was her escape.

Baths were stupid anyway. Why bother? He’d just get dirty when he went back out. Having a bath was making a commitment to staying clean that he was not interested in keeping. He wanted to play in the woods that night. To go with his friends out, maybe steal a bottle of mead from one of their father’s stashes. Darlston of course didn’t have a father. His mother drank wine when she could get it, but not in such heavy amounts. He has never seen the woman drunk.

Scowling. He made up his mind. Sunlight filtered in through the heavy clouds above. Struggling through the window panes. He would wait.

Soon the sound of water below stopped. A door closed. Perfect. Packing a few things, like food for his dinner from the stash he always kept in his room for such occasions, he readied himself to leave. By way of window.

Climbing up onto the sill he opened the pane. It creaked. “Shit.” Darlston hissed to himself. “Needs some oil…”

He wasn’t detected, for there was no sound of doors opening, or his mother screaming at him to get back in…

Shimmying out carefully, he clambered out of the window, onto the vine outside, and made to make his way down using the familiar handholds of the bushes… That were not there.

Fingers grasped at air. And he fell, unable to help himself from screaming as air whistled past his ears.

Then suddenly cold.

Splash.

He fought to the surface, hair plastered to his face… And there she was. Grinning wickedly at him. Holding a bar of soap in one hand, and a towel in the other. She looked down on Darlston, drenched and sitting in the water trough she had positioned so strategically beneath his bedroom window.

“I always win, Darlston.” She declared with victorious smugness.

“It’s not fair.” he replied.

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Repost: Ten Days Till Capture

So, I’ve decided to repost an old story of mine, this time with an old picture a good friend of mine drew @silverylantern! Ten Days Till Capture. Featuring my worgen, Darlston Smith.

Ten Days till Capture

Winter had ruined the soil. The constant, driving rain had churned the farmland into a muddy mire that crops had no hope of surviving. Yet, despite this a small encampment had emerged on the roadside, hidden in a copse of thick pine, squatting miserably in the rain under the boughs; its fitful campfires casting streams of smoke into the air. The people from this small camp had hoped against hope that something had survived the years harvest; but the skinny, bedraggled and dirtied inhabitants bore testament to that lack of success.

She had been toiling in the muck since midday. Her once pink and vibrant skirts stained black by the thick, soupy soil that was closer to water than earth. Her hands had long since turned blue due to the cold and damp - but still she scratched, fingers working into the mud to find a bulb or potato, something that could be stewed and boiled. Unfortunately for her, the basket at her side contained only a few measly parsnips and a stunted carrot. With a hiss of pain she stopped and tucked her trembling fingers into her armpits to try and get some warmth into them, but the rain had wet her through, stealing warmth from her bones and turning the air from her mouth into a thick cloud that was whisked away by the shrill wind.

Her shawl was torn away by this sudden pick up - leaving her damp hair to tumble limply down over her shoulders. Once it was lively and red, like a hearth fire, and it matched her fiery personality. A personality that had been battered and bruised and destroyed by her predicament

Like she believed she was now.

Bordering the field there was a small tangle of woodland. Thick trunked trees with coiling branches arced up into the sky. Like frozen lightning bared by winter’s fierceness they stood whipcord thin. Beneath rose an immense tangle of underbrush - wild roses, mingled with thorn bushes that gave way to the coiling roots of the trees above. Here it lurked - a great beast of grey fur, breathing, in a hushed growl that burbled between sharp jaws. Clawed paws gripped into the earth as it watched the small form some distance away.

It was her hair that caught its attention then. The fiery red that matched the far off hearth of the hidden sprawl. Wood smoke was still heavy in the air, and something about the scent made the beast hunger.  

That was, until it caught sight of the hair again. it was the hair that so enraptured the small-minded beast. It brought back memories not entirely its own; memories of a childhood that it had no business remembering. It was a life of running carefree through cluttered streets, of climbing trees, scraped knees, and sporting in smoke-filled alleyways with friends.

His friends, there were four of them then, four, who laughed together and fought together. Four who stole apples from orchards, or took from stalls without paying only to be reprimanded by mothers. He remembered then, his mother humming softly as she worked, tending a garden with roses-... Then it was gone. The thought sliding back into the feral fog in the recesses of his mind, forgotten quickly and without much care; for its attention soon turned to the girl once more.

She had moved now - scuttled closer to the edge of the field, closer to the woodland - he could hear her more sharply now. Her weary grunts, and muttered complaints as tired fingers failed to find what she so desperately needed, she hissed with pain as a nail snapped against a stray rock in the mud, and with a stifled sob she sat down in despair - it could smell the salty tang of her tears as she cried. She cast the occasional fretful look over her shoulder to the cluster of tents; how had life come to this?

Her smiling face came unbidden to its mind then. A face flushed by laughter, and her eyes downcast with embarrassment, lips quirked in flirtation - this memory came complete with a feeling that was completely alien to the beast. A light feeling that nudged tentatively at something within him, but it passed quickly and the anger came flooding back.

With a burbling growl it prowled from its hiding spot, emerging slowly from the bushes with a hungry glint in its eyes. Its quarry sat before it, completely unaware - that was until she looked up, startled by the sound. With a gasp she rose to her feet, basket of collected foodstuffs forgotten in the wake of the lupine monster that focused on her, blue eyes gleaming. A whimper escaped her lips as she backed slowly away, eyes fixed on the beast in front of her.

“Please, Light, protect me, Keep me safe. Don’t let this beast hurt me, please, please, please.” her plea a fervent jumble, words that spilled out over each other in a mess. This was silenced by a growl from the beast's maw. She whimpered pathetically again, but still kept backing away. Despite her fear, she could not help but feel pity for the monster before her. Something that had once been a man - it still wore tatters of clothing, stained with age and mud and - she shuddered at the redness that could only be blood. That was what finally drove her to turn and run. She tried to flee across the muddy mire, but her soaked skirt kept tripping her, her cold legs numb and slow to respond to her wishes, and eager to send her sprawling in the muck. The mud  pulled at her feet, hindering her further. For a moment she thought that she could outrun the beast- who still crouched low somewhere behind her.

That was until she could hear the loping thud of claws sinking into the squelching ground. It moved at a pace that far outstripped hers - and she could only scream as the shadowed form leaped over her and scrabbled, to a halt, watery dirt spraying around it. She skidded to a halt and called futilely for help before a clawed grip took her by the throat and hoisted her off her feet - bringing her level with the savage eyes of the beast. She struggled - feet scrabbling for purchase in thin air. Small hands clutching at the claws that clasped her throat.

It had her now, and all it had to do now was squeeze and her neck would snap. Releasing a snarl, which only served to increase its prey’s fear, it readied to finish the deed- until her muttered pleas for mercy reached its encased mind. “Please… please don’t do this.” she rasped, choking.

All struggling seemed to stop - she looked into it - no, into him… and recognition seemed to alight there. Despite the fur, despite the mess, despite the anger, something sparked recognition: “Darlston…?” she asked, eyes widening…

Something dormant writhed within it then, the name sent shivers down its spine - causing it to bare its teeth, and in its discomfort yank suddenly.

Her neck cracked loudly as it snapped, she died instantly - and her body was flung aside, twitching and spasming…

It stood then, panting and snarling - unsure of just what exactly had just happened. That was until a lone shot echoed out from behind it. A shot that thudded into its shoulder, staggering the beast, and causing it to fall onto its claws. Raised voices called out from behind. “There it is! Shoot it!”

Boot falls squelched into the field as the people from the camp converged on the wounded Worgen, raising guns and loosing shots that succeeded in only hitting the ground “Get her! Take her to camp!”

“She’s dead!”

“Shoot it!”

The words, which purchased no understanding with the beast, sent it into an angry panic - it leapt, scrabbling in the dirt, back to its feet and bounded for the safety of the trees once more. The wound in it shoulder caused it to whimper and limp, but it was still formidable - as one armsman found out when he sought to block its path - he was sent tumbling with a tearing bite on his arm, causing him to scream: “I’m bit! I’m bit!” and “For Light-sake, shoot me!”

The words faded into gunshots and screams of woe, as field turned to woodland. It thundered into the wood, pursued by the camp-stayers, armed with muskets that cracked into plumes of dark, acrid smoke, striking tree and bush, failing to hit the shape moving in the gloomy darkness of the undergrowth.

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“Into the Unknown”, the theme from Over the Garden Wall.

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He’s doing his best.

Reblog if you’re proud of him

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How to Help a Friend See they’re Not a Failure

1. Remind them of all the kind and thoughtful things they’ve done for you, and for the other people in their life.

2. Remind them of times when they’ve pushed ahead, and kept on going, even when it was hard.

3. Remind them of the times when things worked out eventually, and their efforts were rewarded, and they reached a personal goal.

4. Remind of the funny things they’ve said and done, and the times when you have laughed, and shared some happy memories.

5. Show them they are worthwhile and are valuable by doing something special that makes them feel they’re loved.

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To celebrate the new followers and the old ones, here I am with a giveaway 😍

Rules

✦ You must be following this blog (Of course new followers are welcome) ✦ No Giveaway blogs, thank you ✦ Likes & Reblogs both count  ✦ You must have your askbox open so I can contact you in case you win ✦ Ends November 18th (12pm CET) ✦ If you don’t answer within 24 hours I’ll pick another person, yep

Prizes

I’ll pick two winners with a random number generator and they will receive a shoulder-up/bust painted portrait (examples in my art tag here) of their character of choice - characters from fandoms or originals are both super fine.

Well then, good luck everyone and thank you!!! 🐓

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very hasty graphics aside here i did not expect to wake up to 3000 followers today, so, thank you all a lot!! Before I open my next round of commissions, here’s little giveaway to win some art instead!

Please be a follower, and REBLOG to enter, only 1 reblog per person will count. 

I will draw the winners at midday/12pm on Tuesday 30th (which is 2 days from now. 

Congrats to all 3010 of you anyway for enduring my ping-pong like bouncing from 1 thing to the next since i made this blog in 2015.You’re all good eggs.

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This was the best non-political sketch of the night!

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These two. <3 Joelston are so sweet together.

Here’s some pink-themed Joelston art!

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I do! It’s an intelligible sprawl!

Re-blog if you can write in cursive.

I heard cursive is dying. I want to see who still uses it.