Creativity Blog @creat1v1ty - Tumblr Blog

july ‘19 vs september ‘19

so here’s a tiny tutorial about light reflections (i’m no expert though!!)

the drawing made in july is lacking on light reflections

the one done in september looks much better since i paid attention to them

Also remember that the intensity of the lighting depends on the material on which it is reflected, eg. glass / metal / fabrics etc. Glossy surfaces reflect the lighting more than matte surfaces

usurperss

another example:

catchymemes

“My wife was tired of our dog sleeping in our bed at night. So i decided to build him his own house.“

lieutenantdarvell

FALSE. The real story is much more heartwarming!!

Buster is a rescue who had severe anxiety and trust issues. He would hide from his new dad and avoided being in the same room as him. So, to make him feel safe, his dad built him this space where he can chill without being bothered. It’s also soundproof for when fireworks are being set off! It’s helped Buster become a much more confident dog, to the point he’ll not only remain in the room with his dad but will actually cuddle with him!!

infinite-bag-of-boys

BEHOLD! Every Balance arc (plus one Lunar Interlude)!! I’m so proud of these i wanna print them out and have them tattooed on my ass

[Here There Be Gerblins: x] [Murder on the Rockport Limited: x] [Petals to the Metal: x] [The Crystal Kingdom: x] [The Eleventh Hour: x] [The Suffering Game: x] [Lunar Interlude V: x] [The Stolen Century: x] [Story and Song: x]

kiwi

"art styles" like, arent real

kiwi

i just woke up so this is sleepy rambling but unless youre working on a piece of media like a show or comic or something that requires a consistent style, my best advice is to stop trying to fit your art into a "style" and just draw whatever you think looks good at the moment

it can be really limiting for practicing artists to focus on developing a recognizable style or trying to cram their own art into a style category theyve seen elsewhere

anyway obviously theyre real in the same way that art/music genres are real, i was just planning on making a silly post and going back to sleep, but i guess ill elaborate: people put way too much emphasis on developing a style when that simply should not be something you focus on in my opinion. artists will naturally develop unique recurring qualities in their art over time just by being themself and drawing what they like. have as much fun as you possibly can

herrhasen

Not to barge in here but something young artists should absolutely understand is like, anything that comes from your hands WILL be recognizably yours, I promise this to you dearly even if you don’t think one drawing looks like another drawing.

Learning your craft is about muscle memory as much as it is about the decisions you make with the knowledge you gain as you progress. Like op says, unless you are specifically making an effort to go against the way you naturally work (for a job, for a challenge, whatever), your journey will be reflected in whatever you do because your “style” was YOU all along!

Beep beep im using this for a homebrew and need this to be on the internet somewhere

rainbow-squirrels-7

Laika: 1954-1957

Opportunity Rover: 2004-2019

learielle

Rise

kqueemrt

Strikes like a bomb, and departs like a storm…

bbbaaarrrkkk-deactivated2021072

Inquisitor, take your breath

itsladykit

4 reasons you shouldn’t just tear it all down

Sometimes, it’s very tempting to start tearing things down, to disconnect and disengage when you’re upset. Because you feel like you don’t belong somewhere or you feel like no one wants you or you feel like the things you make are pointless and stupid. It’s tempting. It is. I know.

Destruction is so much easier than creation. Even easier now—click a button and an account is gone, a file’s erased. Easy.

Here’s why you shouldn’t—

Someone, somewhere enjoys the things you made. Sometimes they feel like your works speak directly to them. They identify with the struggles and hardships of your characters. Or maybe they just enjoy the softness of the scene. The sweetness of it. Don’t take that away from them. Just because you can’t find value in it doesn’t mean someone else can’t. Let other people enjoy the things you’ve made.

It’s okay to be niche. Like the things you like. Even when it’s ‘weird’ or unusual. Other people occupy that same niche. Even if it’s not their usual thing, even if they only occasionally drop in to take a look around, that doesn’t mean they don’t like what they see.

It doesn’t matter if you’re off in the corner producing the kind of content only a few people enjoy, or if you’re in a creative slump and feel like you aren’t producing anything at all. That’s okay. You are not defined by the quality or quantity of the things you make. Don’t pressure yourself to do or be more than you’re comfortable with. There are no standards to meet, no bar to pass. You’ll get better with practice, but be nice to yourself in the meantime.

You have value as a person, beyond the things you make. You aren’t perfect, but no one expects you to be. There will be people that don’t like you, and there will be people you don’t like. But there will also be people you like and people who like you. Not just your content, but you as a person. You are wanted.

Destruction is easy. Disconnection is easy. Creation is hard. Connecting with other people is hard too. It’s not always fun. It’s not always a good experience. There will be pain. I won’t lie to you about that. But the good will outweigh the bad. Don’t deny yourself the opportunity to experience the good things because you’re afraid of the bad.

And remember, it’s okay to step back and retreat for a little while. It’s not all or nothing. You can put a hold on things. You can back away. And you can do that without destroying the things you’ve made and cutting off from the people you care about.

pk-platinum

i dont like anything anymore

polyglotplatypus

here is the best boy. hes the best.

here is also the best of the best boys in my animation:

this one good boy stared into your soul and saw only good things. it made his eyes sparkle. he loves you so, so much.

gywozeppewi-deactivated20200630

everydaylouie

doodle based on a sign i saw in burbank

muffinpines

Getting some good place comics out of my system

argodeon

You know I had to do it

writing-prompt-s

An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.

eatbreathewrite

It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.

It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.

It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.

As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.

Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.

“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”

She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.

The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.

That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.

“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.

It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.

Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.

The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.

“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”

The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.

“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”

When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.

“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”

Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.

voidbat

this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.

bigmammallama5

i had to

geniusorinsanity

I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE

rocky-horror-shit-show

Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.

Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins

silvermoonphantom

I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils. Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch. Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart

wickedwitchofthewifi-deactivate

In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather. Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here. Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.

They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.

captaintinymite

gilajames

P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.

kaijufluffs

jumpingjacktrash

the last lines of the show:

demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?

anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.

demon: then why?

anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.

demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.

anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!

honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗