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tatck · 7 months

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Hey, how do you draw sonic characters? I love you art so much!

no good at explaining so instead here are some notes

#hhwAsk #Anonymous #sonic #sth #sonic the hedgehog #tutorial #i suppose #stvh #forgot to say thank you!#my doodles

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mumblesplash · 4 months

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i always imagine scar as having scar tissue on the side of his face that pulls the edge of his mouth up slightly. not enough to look strained or uncanny, not enough to even realize that's what's happening unless you've spent a lot of time around him, but just enough so that it looks like he's constantly, always smirking a little bit

oh man so see this is Interesting, bc you honestly don’t need the scar tissue to even pull much to get this effect, just giving him a lip scar in the right place would make it look like he’s always slightly smiling

^tried to show what i mean here, literally nothing else about his expression is different between the two images, just that one tiny mouth scar

(imo a bigger scar there would actually affect his expression LESS than this, because eventually your brain goes ‘oh that’s not part of his mouth that’s something else’ and doesn’t register it as much)

#splashasks #anonymous #btw. was fighting for my absolute LIFE trying to draw scar with a ‘neutral expression’#‘here let me just sketch something real quick to show what i mean’#[15 mins later having an existential crisis] how am i supposed to draw his face if i don’t know what he’s looking at or how he feels #my art #goodtimeswithscar

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shkika · 11 months

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Poor moon, only one iterator died ever and it was her girlfriend.

Second place in worst luck ever goes to Moonie beaten only by her dead girlfriend!!

It's hard to listen to other iterators talk about how intentional and amazing Sliver's ascension was, when all Moon feels is abandoned.

#this was supposed to be a one drawing flat doodle #uuuuhh #hehe oops #rainworld #rain world #looks to the moon #iterators #my art #ask #anonymous #btw this makes pebbles looking up to sos and wanting to follow in her footsteps worse #thanks for asking

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insertsomthinawesome · 6 months

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OKAY SO. ANON WHO SENT ME THAT ASK ASKING HOW I DRAW FACES I THINK TUMBLR ATE UR ASK 😭😭I TRIED TO PUT IT INTO MY DRAFTS AND IT GOT YEETED INTO THE VOID. SO IMMA ANSWER IT HERE. IF IT SHOWS BACK UP I WILL LINK U TO THIS POST AND RESPOND TO IT. FIRST OF ALL thank u very very kindly for ur compliments 🥺🥺 i was very happy for your enthusiasm and it was a big mood boost. SECOND OF ALL: I'M SO SORRY TO HEAR YOU'RE HAVING TROUBLE LEARNING HOW TO DRAW SIDE PROFILES 😭😭😭 I remember being at that point, trying to draw them was a NIGHTMARE. I'm pretty awful at teaching things??? BUt Imma give this a good ole college try:

I recorded myself drawing the First image in case that's more helpful than my attempts to explain xD

As for what you were saying about The nose and Mouth being on the same line: I'm imagining what you're talking about is the line starts at the tip of their nose and goes down to their chin? Kinda like some anime styles? My recommendation would be to do what I show above: Draw an egg-ish shape. And the make sure to draw the nose as a Spike/Orb/Whatever shape is your dream desire, popping out of it. Kinda think of it like a mountain in the middle of a flat Plane. Sticking out like a sore thumb. Besides that!!! References are your best friend!! Reference other artists!!! Reference IRL people!! And keep on keeping at it!! Like I said, I used to be TERRIBLE at drawing them, and here I am now :D I'm not always happy with them, and sometimes I still hate how I draw faces (working on that tho) but I'm miles better than when I was a kid. And if I can do it you can do it too :) Best of luck Anon! U got this!!

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reasonsforhope · 11 months

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Is it true some parts will be under water in 2025? I'm kinda of worried cause someone told me about it bc it was on the news

Eh, not really. Like, technically, but that's a very dramatic way to put it.

What that person told you about was probably this prediction, which says that some roads on some of the Florida Keys might be underwater by 2025.

Does that suck? Yes. But it's also pretty limited in scope.

(And by the way, that's probably not "underwater all the time." There will probably be a number of years of "the roads will be underwater at high tide specifically." I can't currently find a source on this, but that's how tides work, and the Florida Keys article does specifically mention them as a main problem.)

The areas in danger first are pretty universally small, very low islands. Actually, a dozen or so small islands have already gone underwater in the Pacific Ocean, but very importantly, none of those islands were inhabited.

They were mostly small reef islands (that is, the entire island is exposed coral reef detritus) and other uninhabited shoals. Mostly, they were so small scientists had to check old satellite images to even figure out that they disappeared. Literally, we're talking about chunks of land that are just 100 square meters/300 square feet. Again, not great, but still very limited in scope.

As this Live Science article thankfully explains, it's pretty unlikely that any countries at all will disappear before 2100.

Also, just because land is below sea level doesn't mean it will be underwater, and there are very real steps we can take to defend a lot of endangered cities/islands.

For example:

Much of the Netherlands is already below sea level, but the country isn't disappearing, because the Dutch have put a lot of work into building and maintaining coastal defenses.

Multiple surveys (including the one that found the missing islands in Micronesia) also found that not all low-lying islands are vulnerable to erosion and flooding. This is because many islands are protected by mangrove forests, lagoons, or both

Mangrove reforestation in particular is genuinely a super effective anti-flooding strategy that is being deployed pretty widely, and is expected to increase a lot in the coming years. Mangroves are effective at not only preventing short-term flooding, but also mitigating sea-level increases (in part by preventing erosion)

Some islands, esp Pacific Islands, have actually grown during the past couple decades, not shrunk. It really depends on what the island is made up of. Not all land is automatically doomed

You can read more about how sinking countries are fighting back here, and the lessons we can learn from them:

-via Time, June 13, 2019

And finally, and this is good news for reasons I'll explain in a second:

Some of the largest and wealthiest cities in the world are at the top of the danger list. (Note: the predictions at that link are based on some fairly severe warming predictions. They do NOT necessarily reflect what's going to happen or when.)

The cities that are going to be in danger the soonest (still away btw) include New York, London, San Francisco, Tokyo, and Dubai. Lots of very rich people in those cities! Who would really like to not have to move (any of their ten different homes lol)

So, flooding aside, we're going to (by necessity) get a lot better at figuring out the quickest, cheapest, most scalable, and most effective types of coastal defenses real fast.

Are rich countries going to be way more able to get strong coastal defense systems up quickly? Yes. Does that suck? Sure fucking does!! But these solutions don't all require a lot of money or tech to implement, even at a large scale, especially when it's local communities driving the effort.

And, importantly, when rich countries pour a ton of money into figuring this out, that will hugely expand our understanding of what techniques work best, why, and how best to deploy them in different situations. Unlike physical structures, that's valuable knowledge that can be shared very, very widely.

And any technology that comes out of this is going to work like solar panels and other green energy: as more people use it, it will get cheaper and cheaper. Probably really quickly.

So, all told, no one's going to be swallowed up in the next few years. We have time to work on this and a lot of people are already doing so.

Mostly, experts predict that the first wave of large-scale issues will be happening around 2050.

Three decades doesn't sound like enough time, in the face of something like this. But you know what? Responses to climate change are speeding up exponentially, and different types of responses are multiplying and magnifying each other.

We went from inventing flight to landing on the moon in just 66 years.

I wouldn't count us out of the climate change fight yet.

(...I wouldn't count on retiring to Florida either, though)

#Anonymous #sea level rise #ocean #micronesia #pacific islander #mangrove #flood #flood mitigation #ask #me #hope #it does suck but I also really do think there is hope #this post was supposed to be like 2-3 paragraphs how did it turn into an entire essay #I have too many words disease #too much nuance #hope yall appreciate the extra context lol

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dunmeshistash · 12 days

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it's funny seeing dungeon meshi opened my eyes that Gnomes are real mythical creatures cus I assumed they're just lawn decorations.

then again there was a kids show I watched about fairies and elves and they have a real Gnome character. but then I watched Gnomeo and Juliet movie and I thought "oh so they ARE just sculptures that western people put outside their house"

LMAO

I also keep forgetting about gnomes or mistake them with other magical creatures tbh, I think I associated them with those shoe fixing elves from some fairy tale for some reason?

Garden gnomes are so weird tho aren't they, they aren't a thing here so I only know them from tv and the sims. Gnomeo and Juliet was also very weird.

#ask #anonymous #i have no context for whats a gnome supposed to be tbh

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robinmage · 4 months

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It's curious to me, how the general consensus among others when it comes to Chise's curses are "bad; we need to get rid of it (we just don't know how.)" Which, considering they are both curses made of pain and suffering, makes sense why someone wouldn't want to keep those around.

We (the audience) know vaguely how the curses interact with each other. The dragon's curse: made from strong emotions of anger and despair, provides Chise with her strength and durability against both magical and physical elements, at the cost of her own strength one day tearing herself apart. Cartaphilus' curse prevents her from dying, but offers no protection against injury or decay. Together they "keep each other in check"-- Cartaphilus will keep her alive, the dragon will keep her strong.

A lot of things have happened in the past arc that make it easy to forget the fundamentals of the first season. When the series started, Chise was a few steps away from walking off a roof. Even after she arrived in England, it took a long time before she decided that maybe life wasn't so bad. Her entire life up until that point had been nothing but misery; abandoned and alone, she had no one to protect her from the constant targeting and harassment by both fae and humans alike. She believed that the only way to escape her torment was through death... I think its a facet of her character that goes unfairly unrecognized a lot (especially after the first arc).

When she's in England and is going through her mental/psychological character development, she is still facing the imminent threat of her weak sleigh beggey body constantly failing her. Using magic exacerbates her condition, causing her to be sick and/or incapacitated for significant stretches of time. It's painful, it's uncomfortable, it's frustrating. By the time she realizes she wants to live, her clock is already running quite short.

Her solution is handed to her on a rusted platter. To be "just like everyone else", for once. Finally.

Going to school, hanging out with friends, using magic without it killing her-- all things shes never been able to do before. All thanks to the curses trapped in her. These things that should be considered a horribly tragic fate have now become her salvation. Both physically and mentally, she's the strongest and most resilient she's ever been. Yet, when faced with the idea of liberating herself from her curses...

The curses only work the way they do because they're in sync with each other. Taking away either curse would leave her vulnerable to the other-- the dragon's curse would slowly overwhelm her into a brutally agonizing death, while Cartaphilus' curse would leave her to live and suffer through the constant breaking down of her sleigh beggey body.

When told about the reality of her curses and just how severe they are (not just to her, but to the people around her), she doesn't seem to completely understand what that may mean for herself and her future. Or perhaps, she just doesn't care. After a life where pain and suffering was her "normal", she finally has the means to create something meaningful and positive out of herself. How could that possibly be a bad thing?

She understands on some level that these curses were only ever meant to be temporary. Elias' original goal, to keep Chise alive in spite of her sleigh beggey curse, has not changed. Tacking on two more curses was not a part of the plan, and though they've offered a temporary solution and some time, curses are called curses for a reason. They cannot be relied upon. They've got to go.

But getting rid of those curses (both, or either) essentially puts her back at square one. Back to the pain, discomfort, and illness. She probably won't be able to use magic without hurting herself, too. She's gained freedom in both mind and body for the first time in her life. Sure, she encounters a few hiccups, but considering what she's used to, this is a big step up.

Something has finally given her the power and freedom to spread her wings and fly. Would she be able to clip her own feathers just because that power is "supposed" to be "bad"?

Could she? Could you?

Through it all, everyone she's come across has appointed her curses as a problem. Everyone, except...

#i just find it inchresting. i like this guy i think hes cool but i also think his student is a sociopath #<- things that can also be said about elias and chise i suppose #i just KNOW elias is kicking himself for not knowing the existence of this mage when his student was on deaths door last season #sorry this turned out a lot longer than i thought it would #mahoyome essay writers anonymous lets goooooooooo #tamb #the ancient magus bride #mahoutsukai no yome #mahoyome #chise hatori #im not tagging spoilers anymore go read it whores its FREE !!!!!

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cuubism · 1 year

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A little headcannon that has been stewing in my head for a while and has absolutely no proof from the cannon

Death has wings right? What if Dream used to have wings too but when his kingdom got invaded for the first time(that story he tells in the Overture) the invaders cut his wings off. That's the part of the reason why he crafted his helm and why's he so dependent on it. They took his wings so he took their skull and a spine, an eye for an eye kind of situation. Also, that's when Dream first started employing a raven. He still has scars on his shoulder blades that follow him to any form he takes. He's ashamed of them, sees them as a sign of weakness, a reminder of his failure and his flaws and goes to great lengths to cover them up. That's about it, but I'd love to hear what you think of it^-^

(Plus: Hob gently running his hands over the scars, showing Dream his own ones and reassuring him that there's nothing broken, or wrong with him)

NO BUT THIS IS SO ANGSTY I LOVE IT. i love suffering

i feel like a permanent injury like that would have to be done to dream's core essence, such as it is, rather than his 'physical form' - i don't know if dream's physical form in the waking world or other realms can even be hurt like that. it would have to be like, something that deeply wounds the dreaming, or the concept of dreaming, or just like the deepest core of dream as an 'entity' rather than it being a physical wound. (this is leading me on a mental tangent about injuries to large groups of dreamers also injuring dream, like, extinction events and such, but that's for another time).

you managed to rope me into it, congrats XD

content warning for blood, gore, violence, Things Done That Can't Be Undone, etc.

There is not much, in his long life and memory, that Dream is able to forget. Thoughts do not drift into irrelevancy, into the past, the way they do for humans. He is able to hold much, all at once, in the cavern of his mind, eons of all that has happened hovering close enough to touch. It is a heavy weight more often than it is an aid.

But he forgets, sometimes, with Hob.

With Hob, the rare points of their contact stand out as singularly bright stars in the nebula of Dream's existence. All else within him fades. When Hob takes his hand Dream feels clear as a desert sky, when Hob kisses him for the first time, Dream is floating free in a great salt lake, hanging weightless.

He forgets.

It's only after, bodies pressed together with pleasing heat and sweat-tackiness, Hob tracing patterns over his back, that Dream begins to remember again.

"Dream..." Hob's fingers stutter over his shoulder blades. His voice catches with the hesitance he has often displayed with Dream since their reunion. I think you're here for friendship. Dream feels the echoes.

He kisses Hob's throat, tastes the salt tang of his skin, hides his face away there. The weight of embodiment returning. "Ask your question," he says. "I swear not to part from you now."

"Is this from...?" Hob's fingertips dance up the raised arcs of scar tissue over his back. Pain sparkles in the wake of his touch like the sharpness of a hand-drawn tattoo in the permanence of its inking. As humans imagine it. Dream is not truly physical and could not bear such a mark. Except for this.

"No," he tells Hob. Blame for many of Dream's recent ordeals can be laid at Roderick Burgess's feet, but not this one. "Much older than that."

"Oh." Hob keeps tracing the scar over Dream's right shoulder blade. The touch aches deep in Dream's being where those wounds originate, but he does not tell Hob to stop. Even like this, Hob's hands bring him back, and back, and keep him here.

Hob is waiting, leaving an opening for him to elaborate. Dream is not yet sure whether he wishes to.

"It is not a pretty story," he says.

Hob strokes through his hair. Dream keeps his head tucked under his chin and so feels each word as it's spoken. "Neither of us is a pretty story, darling. Tell it if you want to."

Dream has not spoken of this in many years. There are those in the Dreaming who have served him for millennia whom he has not told. He has taken lovers, had them see the scars during their lovemaking, and still not relayed the story.

"When I was young," he begins, "and still coming into my power, the Dreaming was invaded. My borders were not as strong, then. My realm, less populated. Ancient beings, older than I was at the time, hungered for my realm. Sought its power for their own."

"Older than dreams?" Hob asks.

"In their universe, there were no dreams," Dream tells him. "Perhaps it is what drew them to me."

"Alright. Wow." Hob sounds thoughtful. He rubs Dream's back, between his shoulder blades where it doesn't hurt. "Go on, love."

"I fought them. But the collective unconscious of this universe was young and undeveloped, as was I; I had not mastered all elements of my domain. I fought, but inelegantly, and struggled to counter dreamless beings when all my power was in the unconscious. They were wholly anchored in the present; I, in the space between seconds; we were poorly suited as combatants."

"What did you do?" Hob asks, quiet. He can sense, Dream thinks, the direction this is going, that Dream would not be so hesitant to tell the story of scars born of victory.

"I did not know," Dream admits, equally quiet, still shamed by it, his own failure, and its branching repercussions, "what to do. And the Eldest God, he who had first rent open the walls of my realm, pounced on my uncertainty, captured me, held me--"

The memory, never forgotten, always just within reach should he turn towards it, rises again -- the silk-smooth black sand on the shores of the Dreaming, crushed into his cheek; the warm waters lapping at his mouth, nose, eyes, drowning him; the impossible weight on his spine of the impossible dreamless creature holding him down, arms wrenched behind his back, the feral animal growl that had escaped him, the equally animal panic beating under his ribcage, the fragile spun dreamstuff of him held in the sharptoothed maw of cold reality, his wings--

"Dream?"

Dream comes back to himself. Comes back to Hob. The overwarm flannel sheets. The soft press of Hob's body. He's tapping something on Hob's arm, and hadn't realized he was doing it. It's the rhythm of an old song from before the time of men, the electrical beats passed along root chains from tree to tree to tree, all the way across the great forests that now exist only in scarce patches on the earth.

Dream shifts ever closer to Hob's body, slips a knee between Hob's thighs to tangle them, bare skin to bare skin, limb to limb, root to root.

"I had wings, then," he says.

--his wings, flapping frantically in the face of the thing that pinned him, feathers catching and tearing on jagged armor, held to the ground the way a creature of flight was never meant to be--

"Oh," breathes Hob. He touches the long scar over Dream's shoulder blade again and pauses there. The pain catches the story to Dream again like a hook and holds it there as he continues bleeding it dry.

"The Eldest God dug his claws into me and tore the wings from my body." Dream's voice doesn't shake but he does not manage more than a whisper. "I am not a physical creature, Hob, understand this, I cannot be so easily harmed, it was not a physical form that was damaged, rather, the Old Gods came from stone and earth and it was stone they harnessed as their claws, ancient stone to carve into my being and tear out my wings from the essence of me, root and stem, flesh and bone, air and feather and starlight."

All of this comes out in a continuous rush, and Hob kisses the side of his head, says, "Breathe."

He can still feel, if he but thinks back, the tearing of the claws. A cold so bright it felt like burning. His face ground into the sand to muffle his scream, the howling whiteout of pain overtaking all other noise, the crack of his shoulder joint as it was broken. Star stuff spilling out over the sand - Dream hadn't even known he could bleed until then. Hands that should never have touched in the first place releasing him. Collapsing, disarmed, to the ground. Every limb on fire, the ones that were left.

"Dream."

He lost himself, and found himself again some time later curled in the shallows of the Dreaming sea, seeking shelter from the cold in the warm waters. Face half submerged, breathing as much salt water as air. Blood still spooling around him like leftover paint whirling in a water glass.

"Dream."

Even in those warm waters, he was shivering. Dream doesn't think he's ever been quite warm since; that cold latched itself in him somewhere and never left.

Hob's voice, now, against his ear. He's curled himself around Dream while Dream wasn't paying attention, Dream's back to the warm protection of Hob's chest. "You don't have to finish if you don't want to."

Dream will not leave a story unfinished, not even one such as this. "When I had regained my strength enough to fight back," he continues, "I was... not in control. I knew only survival. If the Old Gods had wished me to understand their world, they succeeded. I abandoned my powers and fought with my hands and my claws and my teeth, and I tore the Eldest God's skull and spine from his body. Both of us would be maimed, I thought; if he would have my dreams then I would have for my own the backbone upon which he held his earth. I listened to him scream. I watched each rib pry up from his chest and snap, my hands slick with his blood, his with mine, and felt nothing but the raw satiation of a wolf setting upon meat. I have told you, Hob." He takes his first breath in a while and feels it rattle, hollow, around his ribcage. "It is not a pretty story."

"No." Hob's hand finds Dream's against his middle, tangles their fingers, holds him. His breath is shaky in Dream's hair, words more so. "No, darling, it's not. I'm sorry."

They rewrote the story of the Dreaming, Dream recalls saying to Destiny, after. Before he had come to know, truly, what Destiny was. Kneeling in his garden, blood still draping his raw back like a shroud, Dream had sought meaning, answers, reason. Foolish, in retrospect, to even consider asking for succor.

Destiny had said that the Dreaming had seeped too far into the Waking world. That what had happened was a necessary rebalancing.

Had Dream not been forbidden from physical violence against his siblings, he would have bitten off one of Destiny's hands with his own sharp teeth and asked if he felt more balanced then.

"Now you know what vicious creature you lie with, Hob Gadling," Dream says. The words are heavy in his throat, but he can't find it in himself to slip from Hob's hold. Now you know the jagged turn at the beginning of my story.

He wonders, sometimes, what the Dreaming might have been like had it continued on the other branch of Destiny's forking path. What he might have been like. There is so much space between a winged creature and a once-winged creature. The entire sky.

"I know." Hob bites at the back of Dream's neck, light but sharp, then kisses that same spot. The nip of pain is unexpectedly soothing. Hob too knows what it is to bite and claw and writhe and maul. “I know. I’ve known your darkness, honey. Don’t you worry.”

“They fled me,” Dream tells him. “The Old Gods. After. I did not understand why at the time.” He had stood, bloodied, shaking, over their Eldest one, bones grasped in his hands, and watched them disappear. These beings that could still have shredded the Dreaming and swallowed it, but chose to run. “Now, I imagine it is like the way men will flee from an animal that is so much smaller than them but has gone rabid. The wrongness. The danger of irreparable madness. They saw me ruined and wished not to catch it, saw the Dreaming—”

This wound has dulled over time and become but a throbbing ache at the base of his skull, a reminder of something missing. But it never disappears.

“The Dreaming, changed, from what they had wanted.”

Dream’s back has never been quite right, since. His anatomy is meant for two sets of joints, not one. But it is only a fitting marker of the permanent damage done that day.

“Changed?” says Hob, so gentle now, lips brushing his skin.

“There was once more,” Dream says. “The collective unconscious was once more… collective.”

“Wait. D’you mean…?”

“Yes. There was more interconnection between minds when I was young. There were not human minds in the sense that you would know them, not yet. But there was communication, and knowing, back then.”

Vestiges of it still linger. In the vast underground networks of the trees, the paired spins of distant atoms. The matched steps of lovers finding perfect synchronicity in a dance. But—

“That was sundered with my wings.”

The cold that had washed over Dream when that realization hit had been worse than the pain of losing the wings in the first place. How he had failed the dreamers under his care. Let things fracture and tear and separate when they were meant to be together.

Hob sighs against the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dream.”

“I am sorry,” Dream says. “It should never have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Hob agrees, and it’s sweet pain sliding between Dream’s ribs, for Hob to press his fingertips to the rawness of him and say, yes, failure, failure, I see it now.

But Hob kisses the point of his shoulder, the ever-tense muscles of his upper back, the hard curve of his scapula and the calcified line of another almost-joint, lost to time. His lips find the uneven scar tissue and press there, which is its own sweet pain, but sliding towards sweet, a sharp bite to kissed lips.

“It shouldn’t,” Hob whispers, and the words vibrate to the core of him. Hob does not see his failure, will not; Dream had forgotten Hob’s charity towards him, how he will see the blood on Dream’s hands and wipe it away instead of asking how it got there. Dream’s failures have stolen something from him he does not even know to miss, and still.

Now Dream does wish for Hob’s hands slipping under his ribs. Hob would find the aching wretched thing within him that had been loosed that day and hold it in his palms, wash the blood from it with careful strokes. Would that Hob could have held him then, submerged him deep in the waters of the Dreaming sea until the dark and the warmth and the strong hold of his arms had soothed the flayed and violated creature that Dream had become back to sanity. Before the gnashing rageful part of him had turned predator and fully grown its claws.

Perhaps there is succor to be found, after all. How quickly Hob Gadling has become it.

“I wish that I could have…” Hob sighs. It sounds mournful, longing. “I don’t even know. Helped you. Held you. Futile, I know.”

“I would not have you feel badly. It is long past and cannot be undone,” Dream says, as if Hob’s words don’t mean more to him than he could possibly know.

“Nothing can, sweetheart,” Hob says. His hair brushes Dream’s shoulders. It is terribly soft now, in this day and age. Dream suspects it was not always so. Human lives have rarely been soft on their bodies. He appreciates the softness of Hob’s body now, and how it cradles him. Dream himself has long been unchangeably hard-edged. “But I would still help you.”

“Sweetheart,” Dream repeats. Dream might have been sweet, once, at the end of a different story. “You would call me this, at the end of this tale?”

Hob turns him so they are facing each other once more. A tear has gathered in the corner of his eye, and slips down to wet his pillowcase as Dream watches. Tears for Dream. Warm salt water. He smiles at Dream anyway.

“You’re my sweetheart. My dear one. You think I would think anything about this other than sadness for you?”

“Dear one,” Dream echoes. “Always good to me, my Hob.”

“‘Course.” Hob squeezes his hand. Hands that too have known violence, but soft for Dream, always. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“Only what you have already done,” Dream says. “Be a cavern where I can shelter from the cold.”

Hob kisses him, hot and lingering, and pulls the blankets up over their heads.

#thanks for sending this anon i'm extremely obsessed with it now #thinking about young dream still new to the world building the dreaming for the first time and learning his powers and still full #of softness and wonder and getting ripped to shreds for it #and now i am Screaming #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #my writing #ask #anonymous #tw gore #tw blood #fuck i did this while i'm supposed to be working so i should really get back to that now. adios

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allastoredeer · 3 months

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your drawing guides are SO helpful. Thanks for making them! I was wondering, how did you get to good at breaking down and figuring out what forms/shapes to use?

Thank you! I'm so glad they've been useful!

Well, something I've learned is that you can basically draw anything, and I mean anything, with just a handful of specific shapes, which are cylinders, spheres, squares, rectangles, and cones/triangles.

These are your building blocks to drawing anything and everything, it's just a matter of breaking whatever it is you want to draw down to these shapes.

For example, here's a picture of my doggo.

Let's break him down.

It's all about ignoring the details, colors, textures etc... and simplifying your subject into its most basic form. And once you do that, it's easier to sketch them out using these shapes as building blocks to construct them. Once you have the basic shape, pose, or expression sketched out, you carve away what you don't need and add detail, clothing, hair, facial expressions etc..

We'll use Lucifer as another example, as I can go back to his character sheet.

You can even break down their clothes if you want, like Lucifer's hat:

You give the shapes curves and depth to show direction and action, don't feel like you have to keep them frigidly in their pristine, straight-lined shapes. Be loose with it.

So far, with deconstructing Hazbin characters, I've found that most of their shapes are triangles and cylinders (of various sizes and widths). They also tend to be very curved and fluid, which is fun.

In the end it kind of just takes practice and training your brain to strip away all the fancy details, cut the character 's body into the basic sections we know of (face, neck, chest, torso, pelvis, arms, legs, feet), simplify those into their most bare-bones shapes, and pay attention to how those those shapes connect together.

Hope this helped, or shed some light on my process XD

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kanrix · 9 months

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Saw the shirt garter post. Can we get a drawing of the shirt garters and sock garters at the same time? Like he's wearing both pairs at once?

Close. your damn legs

#ask #anonymous #clay puppington #suggestive #i suppose #moral orel

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canisalbus · 5 months

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If I remember correctly you created Machete around 2007-2008. But when did you create Vasco? (I'm sorry of this has been asked before, I couldn't find anything)

First finished pictures of Vasco are from 2018, but even before that I had been thinking it would be interesting if Machete had had one (1) romantic relationship in his youth before he was ordained. I just didn't have a name and design for him yet.

In the earliest sketches of Vasco, he first looked a little bit like a bordercollie, then like a spaniel or a setter. He had a darker color palette as well, sort of chestnut brown with white markings, but combined with the overpowering whiteness of Machete he looked kind of impassionate and drab, so I kept making him warmer and lighter until he became the golden boy he is today. The name came later, I just thought Vasco sounded friendly and charismatic. (Also the old finnish word 'vaski' means brass and bronze, and even if it's a tedious connection and doesn't factor into their canon at all, it felt too fitting to me personally and I had to go with it).

#answered #anonymous #he was meant to be an absent character #one who appeared only in a couple of flashbacks or dreams #but the fact he used to be there and then wasn't was something that still influenced Machete #how he viewed love and other people and himself #Vasco wasn't supposed to show up again but he sort of elbowed himself back into the story and into a central position just last summer #really switched up things you could say #I originally imagined him to be more cocky and entitled and thrill seeking #but he mellowed out pretty instantly #I like him a lot better as a genuinely good and sincere person #maybe partially because you wouldn't expect someone that coddled and spoiled to have a sense of empathy and a working moral compass?

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