All my Art Fight drawings for this year!! The theme was just too perfect, so I made a point to draw everyone floating in the stardust of space lol. I'm super proud of how they all turned out.
In order, we've got:
The archivist for Borb_go_nyooom (revenge, got to design the fullbody and outfit)
Charlie for Licominga (random character, just a cute lil kid)
Furruitcake for @omgeeve3 (random character, very cute character design)
Dai for @jennasart (revenge, been so long since i've drawn friend art)
Aten for @molenaide (friendly fire, gotta draw gf's starry boi)
So Iâm actually attempting Inktober this year. Good opportunity to improve my art and design.
First pic is an adoptable I got from BuenasnochesLilDucky on dA. His name is Shiro. Used a sketch I made of him a month ago to test out some ink pens I had sitting around.
Second pic is the actual start of my Inktober drawings. Iâm using a spooky Pokemon list and another list of themes. Iâm gonna make gijinkas of the Pokemon with the themes in the second list. I used a couple ballpoint pens for this. Donât like them. Iâm gonna go back to using the ink pens.
Gaius is an oc of mine that Iâve had for five years. Heâs gone through a lot of changes, but in his most recent incarnation heâs an osprey hybrid who loves swimming almost more than anything else. Now, when I saw the new male swimmer in Pokemon Moon, I freaked out cause heâs the spitting image of my nerd bird, right down to the goatee and triangle-shaped eyebrows. Only difference is the hair and eye color.
So what did I do? Draw him in the male swimmerâs pose of course! It was also a shameless excuse to draw him shirtless, which I hadnât done for a while.
I might clean it up later to make it look like an actual screenshot, but who knows...
Hereâs Gaiusâs most recent app, except that the app pic doesnât feature his undercut cause itâs new.
I'm actually really proud of how this turned out. Used a different brush than I usually do for lineart, and then soft shading mixed with cell shading. And I'm so proud of how soft and flowy the dress looks.Â
Anyway, Jericho's outfit for the Winter Wonderland dance this weekend in Revoice.
My rp character, Jericho, first in his aggressive bull form and second in his Jack-o-Lantern Halloween costume. Drawn with Micron pens. Brightness and contrast was adjusted in SAI.
This is Jericho, my minotaur character for the dA rp group, Revoice. The group just had a Fairytale Dance, so Jericho went as the Goose That Laid the Golden Egg.
I tried something new involving lineart-less coloring and a much more complicated design than I'm used to designing, but I think the end result was worth it. I really like how it looks.
These three are a part of the same story I've been working on for years, currently titled Strings. With any luck, you'll see more of them in a webcomic I'm planning, or read more about them if I write the book instead.
Kerrigan is a living puppet created by the sorcerer, Ambrose. He's childishly mischievous, which makes sense since he's really only 10 years old, but he's disciplined enough to know the limit. After all, his creation was illegal and if he gets found out, his master's punishment is death.
Which brings me to Ambrose. His full title is Lux Sorcerer, Master Ambrose Silverwing. He earned his certification as a sorcerer in light magic (aka elemental magic), but he specializes in the forbidden arts (soul manipulation). Shortly after becoming a sorcerer, he brought Kerrigan to life using that forbidden magic and he's very careful to make sure no one ever finds out.
This is where Jester comes in. He's a living puppet, like Kerrigan, but his master died shortly after his creation from the strain of using the magic that brought him to life (it's forbidden for a reason). He developed a hatred of humans and hates being thought of as a puppet to be controlled. He aims to enslave humanity, and otherwise kill those who resist. Jester is much more prone to childish outbursts than Kerrigan since he's only 5 years old, but even he knows how important it is to keep what he is a secret. That's why he's the ringmaster of a circus he owns as cover.
If you want to know more about my characters, feel free to drop me an ask.
Meet Luka, my muse. More often than not, he shows up as a doodle on my page to comment on the things I write or draw (and I respond OTL). I canât call him my favourite character, but he is the one I doodle the most.
Luka is what I've called a Mimic, a shapeshifter that copies the appearance of animals (in this case, mammals). He's not that dangerous. He's really a sweetheart who loves hugs.
Written for Camp NaNoWriMo. My goal is to write a short story per day which I'm already behind on.
Every day he met with the stench of death, the rust of blood, newly decaying flesh. Every day he met with resistance, denial, hostility, and ultimately resignation. Every day he worked tirelessly and without appreciation. So it would be until the next Reaper took his place.
This current Reaper held the position for several years now. The cloak he wore was beginning to fray at the edges from years of wear, and his scythe was developing scratches from use. His body also changed over the years. His thinning physique made his bones more prominent, and his eyes became darker and more sunken in. The only thing that never changed, the reason the image of Death was a skeleton, was the skeleton tattoo that appeared on his body shortly after becoming the Grim Reaper.
With a wave of his hand, a list appeared before him. On it were names, places, and numbers that counted down to the second. At the top of the list was a manâs name with only minutes left. He was an elderly man, sleeping peacefully in bed with his wife by his side. She was holding his hand as lovers do, and as she slept, too, her heart beat in time with his.
The Reaper quietly watched them sleep, not that they would hear him if he made any noise. He smiled, knowing that they had spent long and happy lives together, but his eyes were shadowed by the sad knowledge that he could not experience the same. He had a wife once, a person he loved dearly, a friend with whom he could share all secrets, and a woman he wanted to spend his life with. However, his life was cut short and he became the Grim Reaper, cursed to escort the dead, and never to be seen by the living.
One of the heartbeats stopped, the other skipping for a moment in response to the loss of its partner. The temperature of the room fell slightlyâas it always did when a spirit was presentâand the woman shivered in her sleep. A glowing mist seemed to rise from the man and wavered there, seemingly uncertain as to where to go, before settling at the foot of the manâs bed. The Reaper waited patiently for the manâs spirit to gather itself and manifest in the form it chose.
The manâs spirit was young, taking on his appearance from the time he met the love of his life. His eyes were vibrant, his skin smooth, and his hair full of color. For a moment, he held up his hands, fascinated by the lack of wrinkles and age spots. His eyes then wandered to his wife and he frowned. She would wake in the morning without him, and it crushed him to know how lonely sheâd be in his absence.
âShe will meet you in the next life, when it is her time.â
This seemed to satisfy the spirit who, though his eyes were still sad, smiled as he stroked his wifeâs hair. He looked up, then, his eyes widening.
âYouâre not⊠I mean, this isnât what I expected.â
âIâm rarely what anyone expects.â The Reaper recognized the same tenseness in the man in other people he had encountered. They, too, remained guarded, curiously and fearfully eyeing his scythe. âItâs not for you.â
âThen whatâs it for?â
âNot for you.â To say any more was unnecessary.
The Reaper turned toward the wall and raised his arm. A portal appeared before him, rippling and swirling as if a puddle had been turned on its side. He glanced at the man to see that he had his undivided attention and then nodded toward the portal.
âIâll escort you to the next world.â
The man started to take a step forward, but hesitated when he heard his wife shift in her sleep. Her movement allowed him to smell her perfume, a floral scent heâd gotten her as a gift. He slowly shook his head.
âI want to stay here a little longer.â
âYou canât.â
âJust until itâs her time, so we can travel together.â
âYou canât.â
âPlease! I donât want to leave her behind.â
âIt will not go without consequences!â
While both were silent, the womanâs eyebrows furrowed as though the argument affected her dreams. The man looked away from the Reaper and back toward his wife. The Reaper wandered toward the other end of the room, leaving the portal behind him.
âI do not force anyone to come that does not wish to leave. However, I must warn you against remaining in this world.â
âWhy?â
The Reaper leaned against the window as he peered outside. Very little could be seen on a moonless night, but the stars were brighter. He knew all too well the attraction spirits had to this world, as well as the danger of that attraction.
âThis is the world of the living. Spirits cannot stay here as they are and must move on to the next world. However,â he said with a serious tone deepening his voice, âspirits that remain become ghosts. They become malevolent manifestations of the most negative feelings of humanity, losing their sense of self and all good memories of their life. These ghosts then latch onto people, places or things that have particular significance to them and haunt them. Very rarely do these ghosts regain their senses; most are doomed to either wander the space between this world and the next, or eventually fade into non-existence.â
The Reaper turned to face the man, who gave him his full attention.
âWith that said, it means that should you stay, you will be unable to pass on to the next life.â
âYou mean I wonât see her again.â
âAnd she wonât see you.â
The man nodded and then bent down to place a kiss on her forehead. The Reaper gestured to the portal, waiting for the man to pass through it.
âThatâs whatâs beyond the portal, isnât it?â the man said as he approached it. âThe space between worlds?â
âYes.â
âYou said ghosts were there.â
âThey prefer to attack lost souls. Stay close to me so you donât get lost and it is unlikely they will bother us.â
âAnd thatâs what your scythe is for? Ghosts?â
âTo ensure the safety of the spirits I escort across.â
The Reaper cocked his head expecting another question, but instead, the man turned back to his wife once more.
âIâll see you again, my love,â he whispered.
The man was satisfied and took a step through the portal. The Reaper followed him through and closed the portal behind them.
And the woman smiled as she slept, dreaming of good times and her loverâs embrace.
His eyes were reflective like a polished blade and just as sharp. These were the eyes of a man who was wise from experience and valued his knowledge as a peacekeeper valued her sword. (Ambrose)
One of the creature's eyes was as dark and deep as space, full of interest like glittering stars. The other was pale and dangerous like clouds in the calm before the storm. (Luka)
The puppet's eyes were young and playful, almost childlike with a hint of mischievousness. But they were also gentle at times, soft like a rose's petals and similarly colored. (Kerrigan)
Though the ringmaster smiled as his audience applauded and cheered for each act, his eyes held a deep, pooling hatred for the people before him. The suffocating darkness in his eyes contradicted the brightness of his circus. (Jester)
The names in parentheses are my four main characters. Ambrose, Kerrigan and Jester are part of my main story (one I've been developing for years), and Luka is in my newest story.
From Keyboard Smash Writers, exercise 3 from the Voice and Style Summer Camp, Pacing.
Exercise â
Write a fast scene: a fight, a chase, an escape, a rescue, etc.
Then, write a slow scene: falling asleep, enjoying the company of another, working on a personal project, etc.
Goal â
Fast scenes read like this. Short. Spurts of information. Only the most necessary of words. Minimal padding. Minimal fluff. But fast scenes also need to be interspersed with longer sentences, a combination that quickens the flow and slows it back down so all that information can be unpacked and repetitious patterns donât become aggravating.
Slow scenes can take more time to develop the senses, teasing, inspiring the imagination, exploring and building and adding layers, like this sentence. Short sentences break up the long, drawn-out flow and let the reader catch up. Brevity changes things. Like this.
In your scenes, be aware of how long or how brief each of your sentences are. Study how the sentences affect pacing and flow. Make sure ideas translate clearly. If youâre using sentence fragments, are they adding to or are they jarring the flow? Are they easy to follow or stilted? When you finish, set it aside for a while, then come back with fresh eyes to see what you created.
My attempt:
Fast - Too loud. His nails were too loud on the tile. They'd know which way he went. He wound through twisting hallways. Voices were getting closer, angry and shouting. They were too fast. He'd never run like this. He couldn't keep up the pace. Luka was tiring. He would get caught. Another turn, followed by another. Was he even getting closer to the exit? He hit a dead end, a door that wouldn't open without a key card. Luka's ears lowered and he slumped to the floor. The guards blocked the way back behind him. He waited. They approached.
Slow - The door opened slowly, the feeder taking cautious steps into the room. Luka didn't care. He lazily opened his black eye, like the deepest darkness of space but lacking the interest. He observed the feeder bring in a tray of dried kibble and set it down an arm's length from the door, the same as everyday. Luka snorted, hoping to express his disgust in a way the human woman could understand. For a moment, the feeder froze, her eyes wide and her heartbeat echoing in Luka's ears. He grinned, flashing his sharp white teeth at the feeder in amusement. The feeder stumbled into the door frame as she retreated. The guards shut the door behind her and Luka heard the familiar lock click in place. He went back to sleep without eating.
