#image 2

[itsradiogoblin]

her name is Image 2. daughter of subspace and medkit. she has fetal alcohol syndrome and also was born addicted to meth. she is the second coming of christ. medkit throws beer bottles at her head also her parents divorced and neither of them wanted custody of her so they sold her to phighting one direction. also her gear is r orb

[illshowyourhurricanes]

LAST ONE I SWEAR!! #2 for Season 2 Billy

Are you sure, boo? Are you sure?! (I am kidding, I love your requests!) Either way, I am so glad you requested this for who you requested it for because the way it popped into my head for our poor deserving of a redemption arc Billy felt right and I needed to reel in the fluff and get back to my angsty stuff. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Swan Song

Image prompt 2: Billy Russo x OC (I got permission for this, y’all!)

Rating: PG-13 to R-ish for language

Word count: 1468

Tag list: @dylanobrusso @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @ms-delos @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @bicevans @maydayfigment @thisisparadisemylove @ladyofnaps @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes

Follower event tag list: @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @witchygagirl @breanime

If you’d like to be added to/removed from/added to my permanent tag list, please just send me an ask!

Special thanks to @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ for beta reading this (and for the cool conversation).

His inky, dark eyes narrowed behind his mask. 

Billy’s leg was shaking, frustration and confusion further distorting the disconnect in his mind. Dipping his head, he ran the palm of one hand over the hair on his scalp as the other balled up into a fist. He squeezed and released, squeezed and released, yet the fist remained. He was nerve endings on fire yet unconnected, a maze of impulses uncontrolled, and his brain was squeezed too tight in a vise or fucking lies. His face hurt. He was wired and wild-eyed and overly exhausted from lack of sleep and those fucking skulls that haunted him and why— how? Why was he here, how did he get here, why did this happen, what happened, who happened, where was all this bullshit supposed to fit in his life? 

He stood too quickly, causing his chair to fall backward with a loud, echoing clatter. People turned to stare. Billy looked at each of them, sneering behind his mask, tilting his head slightly as his eyes moved from person to person to person. As they each looked away, he shuffled to the far wall, toward the barred windows that didn’t open, and he began pacing the length of the room. 

Though he looked straight ahead, he was seeing nothing. Instead, he was in combat. He was back in Kandahar, Lieutenant William Russo, out of breath, exhausted, covered in a filth of dirt and dust and gunpowder and sweat and blood. His entire body ached just from the effort of staying alive, killing anyone who stood in his way. It was exhilarating. It was a feeling of success and triumph that turned to a hot rush of adrenaline throughout his body, heartbeat felt throughout his chest. 

It was triumph, something that Billy could remember the feeling of but could not conjure up, not anymore.It was one emotion he could not bring himself to feel— what was there to be triumphant about? His face was ruined, sloppily sewn together like fucking Frankenstein. 

Frank. Where was Frank?

Billy stopped pacing, his eyes beginning to focus on his surroundings— sounds of some goddamn loon sobbing in group therapy down the hall, a doctor’s heels click-clacking down the tiled corridor. He slowly turned; they were still there, those intrusive cops that took shifts watching him, always fucking watching him. Billy Russo was a dangerous man, they said. He was a Marine, had gone through extensive training and spent time serving multiple  tours overseas. He was a Special Forces Scout Sniper, trained to kill. 

It was war. 

This life he’d woken up to without knowing how, it was war. But Billy did not have a gun. He didn’t have a sense of identity. He was not a dangerous man. 

His face hurt. Lifting his mask to softly run a hand over his face, his fingers swiped from his forehead down to his chin, over the thick scarring of defeat and ruin. Frank. He made his way to an empty table, noisily scraping the legs of a chair over the floor, slumping down, legs splayed and elbows over the table top. Billy sniffed, moved his head side-to-side, heard the satisfying cracking of his neck. Why hadn’t Frankie… where was he? Billy was locked up in this shithole, all for… for nothin’. Frank, he knows me, he’s my brother, he…

Billy bolted up from his seat, jogging toward the officers. The pair of cops straightened their backs, standing on alert, each of them reaching for the grip of their guns. Billy’s eyes caught the movement, and he swallowed past the immediate craving to have his own gun to use on these pigs. The realization of his hand itching for a handgun hit him, hazing his thoughts… why had he approached these cops? He stood dumbly. Wordless. 

“Frank,” he said finally. “Where’s Frank? Frank Castle, he’s my brother, he knows…” He let out a puff of air, closing his eyes, trying to gather and organize his words. His voice was muffled behind the mask, his tone falling flat like his affect. “You gotta get in touch with Frank.”

The policemen just stared at him, bored expressions on their faces, hands still on their guns. Billy stared back from behind the visage of his mask, clenching his jaw, challenging the chumps facing him. With a deep inhale he turned to retreat to his table, and that was when he saw her. She was sitting in the chair facing the windows, perpendicular to where Billy had been seated. It had been the only empty table in the room. Now, the tabletop was littered with a rainbow of paper, each sheet perfect squares. 

Her hair was the color of honey, and it was clean, brushed and pinned back from her face. Why is she here? Billy approached the table, resigning himself to possibly being presented with small talk. He didn’t do small talk. 

But she was so focused on what she was doing, she didn’t look up when Billy sat. My fucking face hurts. He crouched down back into his chair, his head still but his eyes locked on the girl’s hands. She folded the paper, a shimmering silver, with exact precision. Edge to edge, corner to corner, unfolding and flipping. He continued to watch sideways, and when she was finished, she smiled in satisfaction, perfectly content, and plucked another square from the array of paper— a vibrant purple. She’d not once looked at Billy, nor had she said a word. She folded another bird, then another. 

Maybe she should be in here. 

When she set her fourth paper bird on the table and picked up an emerald green square, Billy spoke. “How many swans you gonna make?” he asked, his voice rough and laced with annoyance. 

The woman finally looked up then, and she didn’t bat an eye at the sight of his stark white mask. It was going to stay white too. Billy thought of his doctor with disdain: what a joke. She wants me to fingerpaint. This joint is far from kindergarten, lady. She should be locked in here too. 

Then, the stranger had the nerve to smile, and so brightly that it lit up her entire face. Billy’s brows raised, not that she could see. Beginning to fold again, she brought her attention back to the paper. “Cranes,” she said finally. “They’re cranes.” 

Billy’s hand rubbed over his skull again, back and forth, once, twice, three times. “How many cranes you gonna make?” He corrected himself, voice dripping with sarcasm. A bird was a bird, he thought, but then he recanted. Raven, it’s Blackbird. 

“Legend says a thousand.” She interrupted his thoughts and it seemed like she was speaking in some kind of riddle. Billy didn’t reply; instead, his eyes darted around the room in paranoia, unconsciously shaking his leg again. His face hurt and it itched and he was hot behind the mask. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Slowly, he gripped the mask and slid it upward until his mangled face was revealed. Her eyes lifted to his face again, two seconds before looking back down. His nostrils flared and he set his chin, raising his head high. If someone was going to look down on someone, Billy was going to be the one looking down. 

“Orizuru— paper cranes—the Japanese call them birds of happiness or paradise. Legend has it they carry souls there. To Paradise.” Her voice lilted and fell like wind chimes. “They’re also a symbol of hope and healing.” She finished by folding the beak downward. She smiled again, and Billy just stared. She’s delusional. 

“Here,” she said, holding out her most recent bird. Sunlight from the false, imprisoning windows reflected off the jewel-toned paper. “For hope and healing.”

Billy stared at the swan, the crane, whatever sort of bird that she held delicately in the palm of her hand. His heart began to hammer against his rib cage, anger rising from his core and threatening to escape from his throat. 

Hope. Healing. Fucking bullshit. 

In one swift motion, he ripped the mask from his head with one hand and grabbed the stupid paper bird with the other. Standing, he caused the chair to clatter to the floor for the second time—third maybe, he’d lost count— and looked down at the girl menacingly. His upper lip was curled in contempt. 

“I don’t need your fucking swan.” He crumpled the perfectly folded paper in his hand, tossing it to the floor and turning to walk away. As he approached the cops, the ones who would be escorting him to his room, he heard her voice call out. 

“Cranes. They’re paper cranes.” 

He stopped short, standing perfectly still for just two seconds, and rolled his shoulders, inhaled deeply. Never looking back, Billy began walking again, throwing his mask to the floor to join the broken crane. He nodded to the cops, each one wrenching an arm back a little too roughly as Billy led them down the hall. 

[dragonfoxstar]

Kingzvire Arc  #3-2 - Clash

Finished printing this one yesterday evening on my colored collagraphed. Tried using more vibrant colors this time around instead of the pastel. Probably will add an image either pen/ink on top or tracing mono of the largest figure on the right (Nosch) since the serendipity of the swirls show his actual hands and lines of the armor. Will be printed some more today and then working on finishing up environment with komodo eagle that’s due tomorrow as well as prepare for my final thesis presentation. x3

[natalia-bazilenco]

💎The Golden Entry High-Conversion Travel Discovery Flyers: Turn casual tourists into guaranteed customers with this flyer master. Perfect fo

💎The Golden Entry High-Conversion Travel Discovery Flyers: Turn casual tourists into guaranteed customers with this flyer master. Perfect for famous landmarks, hidden local restaurants, and boutique workshops. ⭐ Engineered for 99.99% conversion with insider hooks ⭐ Integrated info-stack ⭐ Premium Exclusive Pass visual style ⭐ Commercial Use ready

[mjs-cacs-blog]

Essentialism

Essentialism is centred on the individual and their essence/make up. Rather than it being the individuals identity according to the world around them it is an inward identity detached from the environment of the individual. The essence of an individual starts at birth and develops over ones lifetime. However there are certain aspects of an individual, which will form part of their essence, many of which are unavoidable or unchangeable such characteristics are gender, race and culture. The essence of a person is what helps to define their identity or is what assists an individual in the search for their identity.

The image above shows the balance between masculinity and femininity. This is a constant debate particularly within a more modern society. Yet despite debates masculinity and femininity is a part of our essence it helps to define us whether we want to be defined in this way or not. 

[viscoms]

Project 1B Image 2

So project 1B Image 2 is my line drawing! 

The tools used to create this image is a mechanical pencil and 0.1, 0.2, 0.5 and 0.8 nib pens. These pens are specially created for drawing, alongside ink-work. Initially, I wanted to use a Copic marker and a Muji 0.3 pen. However, upon initial testing, I noticed that Copic markers tend to bleed all over the paper, causing the work to have non-clean lines, where the lines have a certain ruffage to the side. To neaten these lines would require me to go over the sides of the Copic strokes, making the lines too thick for the effect which I want. I also didn’t use the Muji pen as it faded in and out when tracing over pencil, making it unsuitable for tracing over the pencil work. 

This image was basically a three step process, where I drew out the image in pencil with all the rough details and images I wanted within my line image (which was everything). Not a lot changed at this step. The next step was the linework stage, which was honestly very difficult for me as I was often worried about how steady my hands were. What I realised about linework is that there’s no room for error. There is no choice but to succeed the first time or live with the fact that that line will always have that imperfection. For the final step, I added the thickness and detail to the image. That was another scary part as I did not pencil in my additions and had to go by feeling. The reason for this was that I believed the emphasis can’t exactly be pre-determined, but has to be ‘felt’ according to the way the image ‘moves’ on the paper. It’s very particular especially in this case, where there is a sense of movement and wind.

When I looked at was the original image, I followed their thickness and thinness of lines. Obviously line is one of the most important techniques here, but I carried over the idea of narrative here, where the base layer is the one seen in the first Image in this series. The second part of narrative can be seen in Chihiro’s movement, which indicates her movement out of the image into the third and final image of the series. The ideas of background movement and foreground/background/perspective are highly apparent here. These techniques are highly linked to line. The background movement is emphasised through thin lines that were drawn with emphasis to one direction. The perspective is forced using thin lines to create the background with a lot of detail but very little emphasis on it. These thin lines are used to create a detailed background where the thick lines will stand out due to their density according to the black vs. white negative and positive space chasm.

What I really enjoyed about this image was the way it caused your eyes to move across the images from right to left, focusing on Chihiro, then Totoro, then the background details. I truly believed that this image was crafted specially for this project and was effective in it’s use of techniques. I personally enjoyed the play on light and shadow which was created and implied through the thickness and thinness of lines. It’s interesting how some effects can be created even without colour and the linework in this image helped to achieve that interesting effect. 

In particular, what I felt was really important was the dirt around Totoro which was described by the 0.1 pen. That was one of the key highlights as I realised without the addition of it, the idea of strong winds could not be captured and the wind would always feel very background, compared to it’s ability to affect the foreground.