Banana

💜✨

Day 3

Very deer. Rein her in!

A smattering of freckles

let's delta this rune

Hello, sorry if you've answered this question before, but what advice would you give to a absolute beginner learning to draw fantasy character illustration art? (Also do you draw while high? Since that is the only way I know how I can experience new methods of thought openly without judgement.)

Hey! Sorry, i havent checked asks in a while!

There's 2 things id recommend an absolute beginner do:

Learn fundamentals. Check out /ic/'s How to Draw resource. They've put together a pretty comprehensive guide including a number of books and tutorials from all around the web. I'd recommend the free Proko and Andrew Loomis stuff they have. Preferably, start learning with pencil on paper.

Identify 5-10 of your favourite professional artists, and build a large reference library with their art. Study the hell out of it. Identify which qualities of their art you're keen on, and try to imitate them. This will help you figure out your own style and aesthetic sensibilities.

PS: I dont smoke, but i do have artist friends who like drawing under the influence. You do whatever you feel makes you perform the best!

normal sibling behavior

The psychic gave the reporter a scoop—she saw the story coming a mile away Clair Voyance was once a household name, the precocious child star of “Clair-ity,” a 1970s television program that capitalized on her eerie intuition and unsettlingly accurate predictions. Decades later, she still wears the mystique like a second skin. Now in her forties, Clair is a real psychic—elegant, enigmatic, and deeply withdrawn from the spotlight that once adored her. She carries herself with an air of mystery, her aloofness giving her a somewhat unapproachable demeanor, though for good reason. Her past has left her guarded, perhaps jaded, but she still feels the pull of fate and responsibility. Clair is more attuned to the spirit world than she’d like to admit, and though she keeps her distance from most people, she holds a quiet respect for Dean and those like him (though she believes he has potential for more).

Justin Time is a paranormal journalist with the energy of a game show host and the stubbornness of a dog with a bone. He’s got a tendency to speak before he thinks and believes wholeheartedly in things most people laugh at—ghosts, cryptids, psychic powers, and ancient curses. Though his methods may be questionable—he has a habit of showing up uninvited and is incredibly nosy—his heart is always in the right place. He genuinely wants to uncover the mysteries of the unknown, not just for fame, but because he believes. In Dean, he sees a goldmine of stories, and in Clair, a living legend. He’s relentless, talkative, and occasionally foolish, but his earnestness gives him an unexpected charm.

Nedzu 🥺

“I… what?” was all Toshinori could think to say, looking to Nezu with deer-in-headlights eyes. Hell, that was all he could think at all, besides perhaps, “Where did that come from?”

Nezu’s teeth gnashed. His tail thrashed. His hold on the nameless rat loosened, and God help him, he did it on purpose. To hell with it: it was the time! “Toshi, you could’ve visited at any time this last month,” Nezu and the nameless rat seethed in sync as he shot to his feet, standing on the seat of that bench. “Could’ve called, could’ve emailed, could’ve even sent a letter, something. You didn’t. My message that Tenko was coming home didn’t even get a simple ‘congratulations!’” Nezu jeered, complete with a sneering smile and mocking jazz hands. “And this week, even though you knew Tenko was with me, I still did not hear a single word from my best friend!”

Toshinori didn’t notice his jaw was slack until he closed it, only to open it again and fail to form a word, closing it once more to try again. He was like a floundering fish in more than just the motions, flailing and failing to get a handle on where the conversation was going or had even come from. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t call, Nezu,” he finally managed to say. “I could have done that much, I admit. A visit, though? You said it yourself: I’m the greatest pro hero the world has ever known. I’m the main reason Japan’s crime rate is less than half the global average.” He leaned away, glanced to the side, avoided Nezu’s angry eyes. He’d seen Nezu angry before, he’d seen Nezu far angrier before, but never at him. He’d had people angry at him before, he’d had people far angrier at him before, but never Nezu. It made him… there was no better word for it: squirm. “Every hour I would be at your place would be an hour I’m not where someone could need me, an hour I could be finding a clue to lead us to All for One.”

“So, what, was your offer to visit Tenko just a moment ago good for less than an hour? ‘Less than half’ that, mayhaps? Ten minutes, in and out, a cup of tea and a quick hello and off you go?” Nezu smarmed, not with charm, but with sarcasm so caustic it could eat through steel.

Toshinori shook his head, raised his hands in a gesture both pleading and placating, still too disoriented to be anything other than bewildered and defensive. “I owe it to the world to save every kid in trouble, Nezu! I need to be a hero to everyone, not just those close to me. You of all people should appreciate the sheer scale-”

“I am well aware of exactly how many millions depend on you,” Nezu found himself snarling, snapping, lashing. He just couldn’t hear another word, couldn’t control the stress, it was all just too much- “It doesn’t matter if it’s for the greater good or their own good, if it comes from ruinous paranoia or, or neurotic nobility; you are still walking the same path of neglect that she did! Laud her intentions all you want, worship the woman until the day you die, but she left him to rot!”

To call Toshinori familiar with hope would be an understatement bordering on an ugly lie. It was his heritage, after all. It was closer to him than his own heart, more familiar than his own name. It would be a mistake to say that he wasn’t familiar with other emotions, though. He knew solitude. He knew shame. He knew doubt. He knew dread. He knew fear.

Anger? Anger was a distant memory. Toshinori had not been angry, All Might had not been angry, for over a decade. Not like he was that moment. What bubbled in his emotional bottle was not righteous anger, not the raging desire to protect people that got him out of bed every day, but an ugly anger, a tainted anger, a hurt anger, viscous and vile, roiling and boiling-

“You take that back.”

—All We Might Have Been, Chapter 5 Art by the lovely @secretgaygenttomura!

Gonna be me

what the computer screen sees as i write the most gut-wrenching scenes of my novel