activatebutterflyshield

[activatebutterflyshield]

The thought has struck me that I have an odd written accent as well as an odd writing style.

I can affect an odd spoken accent too, but it’s much more obvious when I write. I know mostly what has caused me to write in such a way, since if there’s one thing my brain is almost always capable of, it’s unnecessary dissection of anything I observe.

Part of it is my greater than average for my area and general age consumption of Commonwealth of Nations media. I use this term to describe mostly British online media, but some Canadian and Australian is included as well. This started when I was young, later elementary years, think 4th-5th grade, when I was introduced to British Minecraft YouTubers. I do often joke that I was raised by the legendary stampylongnose, but he truly was a major source of entertainment once I learned how to tickle the household computer into showing his videos. I’ve continued to consume British media, from YouTubers like Tom Scott to BBC news to shows like Taskmaster.

Another part is probably my, quite honestly, strange literary experience. I often point to my first reading of Tom Clancy’s The Hunt for Red October as the inciting incident. For some reason, that thing was in my middle school library. That and other military techno-thrillers gave me a tendency to over describe and write in run-on sentences. Related is perhaps my gentler but no less impactful obsession with dense fantasy. Looking at you, Brandon Sanderson. Let’s just say that Mistborn re-wired my brain some and the Stormlight Archive is continuing to do so. Although the other primary culprit is Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time. I’ve got a lot of flowery language and colorful expressions at the ready for any circumstance.

Then there’s the music. Referencing this Venn Diagram, I’ve got a love of fantastical metaphors married to folk-ish rock-ish tronica-ish string-y dramatic music. It doesn’t help that I’m rather good at memorizing songs after listening to them for around a month, or less if I’m trying. So those metaphors and melodies are pretty much always clacking around my brain if not actively playing in my headphones. Exact quotes of, if not paraphrases of, these songs often work their way into my writing and speech.

Lastly, there’s my sense of humor. I’ve got a motley, patchwork one that includes quite a bit of English deadpan mixed with the strange stuff we consider funny here on Tumblr and topped off with a sprinkle of being overly verbose and sarcastic rightfully earned from my time on Reddit. What I might call jokes are probably best summarized by this little paraphrased jest with a friend on the floor of a hallway around 6:00 in the evening. For context, we were both semi-high on adrenaline, so it might not be word for word, and I consider myself LGBTQIA+.

“These gummy bears taste fruity.”

pause

“Like the gays.”

“PFFFFTTT—“

So there you have it, reader. My personal analysis of why I write like the gen z love child of a British person, a library addict, a folk singer, a recovering Redditor, and a current Tumblrite. I’m 3/5 so far.

#me running my mouth

[activatebutterflyshield]

Music part of my brain is having a field day mates. Present history is:

1. Multiple instances of Fernando - ABBA, decently spread out

2. Quite a few instances of Enchanté - Dirt Poor Robins, stacked on top of each other in bunches of 3 or 4

3. Exactly 2 instances of We Didn’t Start The Fire - Billy Joel, as well as 2 instances of the Fall Out Boy version

4. At least two instances of bloody hecking Discord’s Smallest Violin - Who the hell do I say the artist is? The AJR discord? Sure why not

5. 1 instance of Les Miserables Choral Medley - Arr. Ed Lojeski, SATB

6. 1 instance of The Oh Hellos Family Christmas Album Mvmt 4 Every Bell on Earth Will Ring - The Oh Hellos, yes, this is a very Christian Christmas song, no, I don’t care, it’s one hell of a banger and it’s not too hard to ignore all the Jesus

Looking back at this why did I write it like a SCP encounter log

#me running my mouth #not tagging anything cause this doesnt deserve that

[activatebutterflyshield]

Today I remembered that

1) jam exists

2) toast exists

3) I can eat jam on toast

4) I bloody love jam on toast

#me running my mouth

[activatebutterflyshield]

Some Leyendecker studies in preparation for a proper art thing. Probably going to be a pair of the same composition: a black and white ink drawing and a colored pencil drawing.

Original illustration, “Easter”, a cover for the Saturday Evening Post, below the cut

#sketch #traditional drawing #ink drawing #j c leyendecker #leyendecker study

[activatebutterflyshield]

Life’s been rather hectic on my end, mates, but there’s at least one thing worth celebrating for me: the last week of Trainpril! Ten historical and discontinued Amtrak lines are rolling into the station, so pick a name and get art-ing before they rumble away into the sunset!

#trainpril #trainpril2024 #art challenge #prompt list

[activatebutterflyshield]

Any room like those is one of majesty

Scratchy of drapery and simple of purpose

An altar to a local thing, whose prayers are few yet devout

Well-worn and well-trodden, wood scratched and painted and replaced

Years upon years of love and of laughter hammered into the very walls of the chamber

Angels hang from above, their bright eyes closed at rest

Ready for the click that might roust them into wakefulness

So they might see the rituals below

Gargoyles sit on perches and ledges, mesh faces blind without sight

They’ll sing and lament at the flick of a switch

A hymn to the priests down below

Curious little critters, beasts with big ears and bigger tails

Run about and report to all who can hear

Candelabras of sorts, sleek, black, and tripedal

Stand at the ready to see what will go down

Their memories long, their gazes crystal clear

Ten seats, or a thousand, set round a high place

So the public may watch the proceedings for a fee

Great singers, and players, and ticklers of strings

Those whose love is melodic and clear

In songs and in speeches, prayers well-rehearsed and well-written

Vestments clean and sharp-pressed, colorful, smart things

And beside them, in black, and wires, and dust

Are priests of the creatures, those that coax the beasts

Whispering their prayers through buttons and through brooms

Gently prodding along the spirits behind the scenes

This dance, or this play, takes place every day

Between stage cast, and tech crew, and players at stands

A performance of a lifetime, and memories to last

-

A sleep-depriving love poem to technical theater, performing arts, and the events of my life these last several days

#me running my mouth #poetry #poem

[activatebutterflyshield]

I’ve an insatiable urge to actually use my beautiful long forgotten colored pencils for once and OF COURSE it struck me the one week where I’m out of doors for fourteen hours a day

This week has been nothing but school followed by hurry up and wait followed by two and a half hours of pins-and-needles in my legs and then more hurry up and wait and then drop dead sleep

Tomorrow I might have an hour or so in the morning since there’s no way in high heaven or hell I’ll sleep less than nine hours tonight

#me running my mouth

[activatebutterflyshield]

Link

Change a single letter and change the word game

I want to play a game with you all.

You have to make a new word by changing only one letter of the last word.

Dirt

#really very long post #long post

[activatebutterflyshield]

I was compelled last night and I’m quite honestly scared of whatever 11:59 PM me intended for those middle sections. At least I still know my colors when sleep deprived, and I’m sure someone else on here can fill the blank spots out better than I can on a full eight hours of shut-eye.

#oh god on high what do i tag this with #the crane wives #the paper kites #cosmo sheldrake #fish in a birdcage #the arcadian wild #the oh hellos #dirt poor robins #the amazing devil #venn diagram #me running my mouth #im pretty sure you could put all the text boxes in this file in a jar shake it to hell and back and pour it over the diagram #and itd still make some degree of sense #says a lot about my music taste eh mates? #anyone who sees this and relates to any degree please o please say so #i have essays worth of analysis i can spit out about most of these musicians #not on command though i need to get kinda existential first #theres three paragraphs about the eurus ep hanging out in my drafts and i think my motivation for that is somewhere behind the couch #with the spiders and my childhood nail clippings

[activatebutterflyshield]

Day 11 of Trainpril: Cardinal! Late again cause life mates! Life! Why?!

This is a long distance route running between New York Penn Station and Chicago Union Station.

Yesterday’s creature is primarily based on the Tom Clancy novel The Cardinal of the Kremlin, and the titular agent CARDINAL. An old, disillusioned bird-thing, his feathers have grown ragged and his beak has grown dull, but there is still fire in those eyes.

#trainpril #trainpril2024 #creature drawing #traditional art #been loving this brush pen more and more mates #its a pentel sign pen plain black ink

[activatebutterflyshield]

for all the artists out there, here are my favorite resources i use to learn!

Files

The Complete Famous Artist Course

Art Books and Resources

Art, Anatomy, and Color Books

PDF Files of Art Books

YouTube

My YouTube Playlist of Tutorials

How to Draw Facial Features

Drawing and Art Advice

Drawing Lessons

Art Fundamentals

Anatomy of the Human Body

2D Animation

Perspective Drawing

Websites

Pinterest Board for Poses

Another Pinterest Board for Poses

Reference Angle

Figurosity

Sketch Daily

Human Anatomy

Animal Photo References

Humanae - Angélica Dass

Fine Art - Jimmy Nelson

Character Design References

CDR's Twitter Account

iamagco's Twitter Account

taco1704's Twitter Account

takuya_kakikata's Twitter Account

EtheringtonBro's Twitter Account

Drawabox

Color Wheel

Color Palette Cinema

Free Images and Pictures

Free Stock Photos

FILMGRAB

Screen Musings

William Nguyen Light Reference Tool

Animation References - sakugabooru

Animation References - Bodies in Motion

#lookie here folks

[activatebutterflyshield]

The second third of #Trainpril has begun! Running from today to April 20th are ten long distance routes. Make some art and hop on, riders!

#trainpril #trainpril2024 #art challenge

[activatebutterflyshield]

Let Us Trip the Light Fantastic

Guess who’s back on their writing nonsense mates! Actually thinking about the designs of characters and what they might be like as people was enough of a kick in the arse of my motivation to get me to actually return to one of my… twenty plus abandoned work-in-progresses. Not counting the fan fiction. But it’s a start! So, be the sun moon and the stars (since it’s nighttime) as my witnesses, let it be known that this writer is actually writing again.

This story is an idea I’ve had for some time, as it sprouted during my “take a random common but kind of old timey saying and turn it into a story” phase. Other notable victims include In for a Penny, In for a Pound, Hell Hath No Fury, Enemy of My Enemy, and A Feather in My Cap. Out of these siblings, I’d always thought that Let Us Trip the Light Fantastic had the most potential, and I think I’ve proven past-me-from-three-months-ago right. So here’s the first chapter(?), section(?), perspective(?), or (insert synonym for section in a longer work of writing here), whatever you want to call it.

1: Three Irish Coffees and Several Jammie Dodgers

It was miserable, stormy, and unseasonably cold that night in Cardiff, and Natasha was looking for a plus-one. The rain dashed through the biting air at the perfect angle to run itself into her coat, as well as dodging her glasses to hit her in the eyes. Fellow pedestrians were few and far between, as everyone in sight was either running for the nearest pub or store, or leaping feet-first into cars whose headlights sputtered weakly against the descending storm. Wiping away the moisture from her eyes and blessing her previous decision not to wear makeup, the wind-battered woman stumbled to a stop in front of the familiarly pale facade of the Chatter & Melody Society, Cardiff Branch. Though the placard in the window said “Closed”, an upstairs light was on, and she could just make out the straining notes of a long-suffering piano from inside. Squaring her shoulders inside her thoroughly soaked overcoat, Natasha trudged up to the front door, made a sharp right, trudged a bit more, made a sharp left, and knocked on the window in the shave-and-a-haircut style.

The lamenting piano faltered slightly, seemingly baffled at the thought that it might have an audience, before picking back up in a much more jaunty manner. Somewhere within, old floorboards creaked and moaned, and a light woke up in the downstairs room. Slowly, the knocks were returned. Five-bobs. The piano shifted into a new tune, and Natasha barely recognised it through the driving rain.

Are you sleeping, are you sleeping…

Hesitantly, she began to knock the responding rhythm back, shifting her movements up and down to mimic the notes on a staff.

Bro-ther-John, Bro-ther-John?

The notes responded.

Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing…

And so did she.

Ding-ding-dong, ding-ding-dong

After the final knock, the piano played a contented chord, and the clattering slides of locks sounded from the front door. Turning around, Natasha watched as warm light cut out into the dreary night, and the person she was least hoping to see poked their head out of the doorway. With a sigh, the redheaded Londoner waved her in.

“Even I can’t stand to see you standing there all sopping wet like a barn cat dropped in a pond. Come on in. Perry’s got tea on somewhere.”

-

Once she was inside and marginally less waterlogged, Ernest carefully guided the rather damp Natasha through the expected bric-a-brac that all places inhabited by Society members seemed to hoard. The record-keeper gently knocked a framed poster for the Cardinal of the Kremlin with his tail off the slight tilt it had assumed, and brushed away some of the dust on the face of a numberless clock as he walked from the reception room to the staircase. As the light danced over his fiery hair, she could tell that he was forcing the soft behavior. The reflection of his magic in the air was twitching and darting, nervous like an animal faced with an unfamiliar scent in a familiar place.

The Londoner suddenly paused, and flicked his ears. “Whatever it is, is it urgent?”

Natasha involuntary rustled her tail beneath her skirt. “Not particularly pressing. But it is important enough that I came here instead of the Council embassy.”

A gentle laugh, like heather rustling on a moor. “In this storm, I’d not go out unless a Wanderer was with me. Come on. Everyone who’s still here is waiting.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, the piano sprang to life above them with a gentle cantering melody. Ernest looked up and smiled without teeth past a number of wind chimes and nonfunctioning ceiling fans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on my way.”

A corner of the diplomat’s mouth ticked up as they climbed the wheezing stairs together. “You finally learned Birdsong, then?”

“Kinda. More like a pidgin-tune than any proper Song. Still, it’s an improvement.” The conversation seemed to calm Ernest, as his hooves were clacking less loudly. “Perry’s still teaching me, even after his promotion and the recent influx of Architect work.”

“Still surprised you didn’t learn it sooner.”

“Foxtongue was more than enough for me before.” Brushing aside a kitschy beaded curtain, Ernest knocked on the wall as he entered the second floor, calling out, “It’s nothing immediately dangerous.”

Perry, perched on a barstool and siping at what looked like an Irish coffee, sighed with relief. “Good. I’m incapacitated enough that operating heavy machinery or attempting anything that requires any degree of finesse would probably injure me.”

From the neighbouring stool, an unfamiliar man with skin as dark as cast iron and who smelled of woodsmoke groaned half-heartedly. “What is with your gallows humor every time you get drunk, mate?”

Natasha snorted. “He’s been like that since I lived in London. Surprised you haven’t lost a limb yet, Peregrine.”

The architect just laughed his tinkling laugh and set down his drink before hoisting himself off the stool and wandering over to shake hands. “And I’m surprised you’re still alive after weathering that storm. Did it feel natural?”

“Mostly. About as cold as hell is hot, but normal. Apologies,” she turned to the man of woodsmoke, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

He smiled, a smile of long days and hard work and hidden steel. “Hayward Coppersmith. Society, London Branch. And you are?”

“Natasha Liu. Council, Cardiff Embassy. It is good to meet you.” They shook hands. “Industry?”

The smile widened, a full and warm expression on his bearded face. ��Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda. Unless you’re Flux? Or Duty?”

“We all have our secrets, Natasha. Contradiction, might I assume?”

“Perhaps.”

A new voice suddenly sounded from near the piano, soft and measured. “I mean no offence, but you have a reason to be here other than to small talk, am I right, diplomat?”

Natasha’s smile grew wider and more genuine. “Now that’s who I was hoping to see, not a trio of Londoners. No offence, of course. It’s been a while, Teria.”

The Cardiff Architect stepped out of the shadow of the piano, the slash of purple in her black hair reflecting starry magic in the cozy light. “Truer words have never been spoken, Tasha. Wherever have you been these last four months?”

The diplomat’s smile grew strained. “Perhaps over a drink. Who made you that coffee, Perry?”

Ernest spoke up. “I did. Second one tonight.”

She ambled over to one of the empty barstools, of which no two matched. “Got any more liquid courage?”

He smiled, and opened a cabinet to reveal a significant array of bottles. “Plenty. You sure you don’t want any, Hayward? Wisteria?”

“Maybe something weak.”

“Thanks but no thanks. Caffeine is my drug of choice.”

-

One old fashioned and several biscuits later, Natasha half heartedly thumped her tail against the side-table-turned-bar, sending a few bottles clinking. “Okay. I guess I should tell you folks why I came here in the first place.”

Perry belched, and swigged down the last of his third Irish coffee. Clicking his fingers a few times, the architect sent strokes of magic ricocheting around the room. As they flew, Natasha saw them grow into fledglings and settle about the clutter. He looked around a few times before nodding. “No-one else is listening now.”

Carefully reaching into a pocket in her skirt, she brought out an old-fashioned paper ticket, red ink on cream cardstock paper. “I got this little thing… in a way that is hard to describe. It’s a single ticket to the Red Dragon Social, some type of opera-slash-cocktail-slash-fancy-dinner-party thingie. Supposedly, the opera will be a recreation of the lost work *Dafne* by Jacopo Peri and Jacopo Corsi. I have to be the one to redeem it, but I can bring a plus-one. So, uh, if any of you guys have some black tie wear on hand, I’d owe the Society one if someone comes with me. It’s on the twelfth. I just though, uh, that you might be interested.”

Ernest looked at her in puzzlement. “Is there a reason why you came here and not the embassy, or the legion outpost? I mean, I’m pretty sure I know why you wouldn’t go to the outpost, but still.”

Natasha just sat in silence looking uncomfortable, and Hayward began tapping his chin. “Probably a promise. Or a NDA. But I’m leaning towards a promise.”

“Er… something like that. I’d really not like to say more, but feel free to speculate as much as you want.”

Wisteria began fidgeting with her halo as she spoke. “Well, we all know how the IPC is when something weird goes down under their watch. Court battles, reams of paperwork, all that bloody bureaucracy and such. Don’t get me wrong, mate, you do things right most of the time. But the Council’s slow. A lumbering beast that takes ages to wake up and show its fangs. It can still eat you, but not quickly. Legion’s the opposite. Fight first, ask questions later. And if a bunch of Sighted walk into a black tie opera-slash-cocktail-party and start swinging, we’re gonna have a debacle on our hands.”

Perry nodded. “Agreed, agreed. The Society’s the middle ground in this situation, then. More cautious than Legion, quicker on the draw than Council, and more discreet than League. So if just one of us were there, especially an out-of-towner, whoever’s putting on this soirée isn’t going to be super on guard.”

“Okay, but whoever goes can’t be too recognizeable,” Ernest interjected, “For example, I’m super noticeable. How many other red-haired, tan-skinned, calygreyhound-afflicted Chatter-folk are in Britain, let alone Wales? I’d like to voluntarily unvolunteer for the position of plus-one. No offence, Natasha, it’s just practicality.”

“None taken.” She popped another jammie dodger in her mouth, willing the slightly stale crunch to drown out her worry.

Hayward hummed agreement. “Sensible. I suppose that if we’re going with that logic, Wisteria shouldn’t go either. You’re rather well known for about fifty kilometres in any direction, mate.”

The legendary Mirror Sight Architect of Cardiff, her telescope halo hanging crooked off one side of her head, the stripe of purple in her hair refracting the light of the cosmos into the eyes of her colleagues and one very stressed out diplomat, gave the Londoner a deadpan look. “Y’think?”

Natasha couldn’t help but snort. “Pfffft… oh, well. I’ve got a week to find my plus-one, so no need to rush. Check your closets for black tie stuff, mates, and tell me whenever you’re ready. Now, is there a couch I might bargain for space on around here?”

Wisteria’s face shifted into a tired smile. “There’s a Murphy bed in Anisha’s office downstairs. She’s out on exchange in Paris, and the Expanse fellow we got rented a room a few blocks away. Feel free to take it.”

“Happily.”

#layered earth #chatter and melody #writblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #words from the society

[activatebutterflyshield]

Another proper ref sheet, for Robyn Farmer-Turnkey this time. Having the bad luck to catch the eye of the thing that can broadly be described as what is known but should not be known, the blacker-than-black information tucked away behind dictionaries of code words and libraries of paperwork and novels of censored words, all the information written in the blood of countless nameless writers, and all the darkness just far enough beyond human comprehension to be unknowable and yet just close enough to be caught in the corner of a flickering eye, or more simply, the Speculation, Robyn got dragged up and down and sideways through reality to be deposited three blocks away from the New York Public Library and two days away from the rest of his life as an independent investigative reporter and agent of the Chatter & Melody Society, New York City Branch.

Normally, Robyn is human shaped, tall enough and frail enough to be called a string bean. As if to say sorry for the whole dragged-through-space-time-face-first thing, the Speculation gave it a boundless fountain of paranoia, a nose and two eyes for information less known and more wanted, three to thirteen tentacles with which to handle things when he’s wringing his hands in nervousness, and a familiar form shaped something like a large cat with a snake’s neck and shifting, slit-pupiled eyes.

#worldbuilding #layered earth #chatter and melody #character design #creature design #character reference #traditional art

[activatebutterflyshield]

This is what kind of inspiration manga and comics give me folks. The kind with an egregious amount of crosshatching and the use of my not inconsiderable number of black ink pens.

A proper character reference sheet for Ernest Killingsworth, Record-Keeper for the London Branch of the Chatter & Melody Society, and prospective doer of many sociable activities if he can ever find the time between reorganizing the literal two hundred years of clutter in Records Storage, wrangling most of the problems the Architect, Head of Defense, and Branch Commander should be doing but they are also swamped by work so he does it anyway, and occasionally having to acclimate newcomers to the existence of magic and gods and other such esoteric phenomena.

Normally, he’s roughly human shaped, and looks pretty much human to the vast majority of the human population of the world. To a small but sizable minority of the human population, and the vast majority of the non-human population, Ernest is a bipedal thing with bighorn sheep’s horns, perhaps-goat-perhaps-deer ears, a lion’s tail, the hooves of oxen, and a really unstable relationship with what one can call a god or what one can call the primal force that drives things with thoughts to seek freedom and change or what one can much more simply call the Chatter.

Not-so-normally, they’re not human shaped at all, but rather a kinda-bipedal-kinda-quadrupedal indeterminately mammalian thing with claws, and hooves, and horns, and fangs, and a mane, and lots of fur, and no eyes, and a liking for violence against the persons he perceives as impeding the freedom of others. This form is a very unstable one, given his very unstable relationship with the thing that makes them this shape, but he has enough control over it to summon it generally at will.

#worldbuilding #layered earth #chatter and melody #character design #character reference #traditional art

[activatebutterflyshield]

Day 6 of Trainpril: Pacific Surfliner (late because I drew him at like 10:45 last night and slept like a brick (yay probably bronchitis (I’m fine)))! This route in my home state of California runs between San Luis Obispo and San Diego.

Yesterday’s creature was a dolphin-headed, eel-bodied, gull-winged, fish-finned, whale-flippered ocean dweller from among the coastal Channel Island depths.

#trainpril #trainpril2024 #creature drawing #traditional art #did a lanky boi in my cold-medicine induced stupor i suppose

[activatebutterflyshield]

Day 5 of Trainpril: Missouri River Runner! Indeed running along the banks of the Missouri River for much of the route, this line operates between St. Louis and Kansas City, Missouri.

Today’s creature isn’t a dragon, I promise. It’s a beast with the head and hindquarters of a deer, a single forward-facing antler, the front claws of a hawk, the wings of a bat, and the tail of a mountain lion. An American cockatrice, one could say.

#trainpril #trainpril2024 #creature drawing #traditional art #keeping up with the ‘this belongs in a medieval bestiary’ theme for now