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valdotpng · 4 years

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Question. Do you have any specific resources you used to learn art and painting, etc?? Your style and skill is so so good and I'd love to see how you Do It

oh, gosh. i dont think i could ever answer this question in a truly satisfying manner, but i’ll try my best to do it!

learning art in general has just been a road of trial and error for me! looots of trial and error. im a ‘self-taught’ artist & i’ve been drawing since i was a toddler, so i’ve accumulated certain skills just bc i’ve been doing it for so dang long

that being said, i’ll share some links in a moment! but first, some advice from me to you, anon. just.. go wild. try new things and dont set too many rules for yourself, yknow what i mean? nowadays i tend to use lots of weird textured brushes + work on only one layer (which i hear is quite bad for when youre working on commissions, but i paint for myself so i dont gotta worry about correcting things all the time), and as a person struggling w/ a pretty severe case of OCD, i find it so liberating to be Forced to not give a shit through that painting method. just have fun! allow yourself to be messy, to make mistakes, and remember that you can just paint over them later. some of your ‘mistakes’ might even end up being the things that make your drawing look more interesting/organic, in the end! the ‘happy little accidents’ mindset just makes the whole process much more enjoyable imo :]

ALSO, an important thing to me was finding the right brushes for painting. just dl a shit ton of the ones that look fun to you (or make your own if your drawing program allows it!) and make an effort to try out each and every one of them at least once!! the brushes certainly arent that important-- you could paint a masterpiece with a simple square brush-- but more often than not i find my style being subtly influenced by the brushes that i use at the moment. its a thing worth considering!

another thing i should note is that, while im mostly happy with my art nowadays, i AM still learning, and i dont think i’ll ever stop learning, so, like, check in in a couple of years for some better tips i guess asuhdfuashfusdf

anyways, here are some resources that are/were very helpful to me:

when i need to browse for general art tips/tutorials/cheat sheets/etc, i usually go here: [link 1], [link 2], [link 3], [link 4], [link 5],

now, here are some specific posts ive collected over the years that really made me rethink how i approach composition and the like in my, uh, more ‘serious’ paintings: [link 1], [link 2], [link 3], [link 4], [link 5]

this [link] video series is a Godsend, its got some very good advice AND its got nice editing too, my hellbrain was actually able to focus and learn smth from a video tutorial for once

heres a nice post about practice and improvement that you should deffo read before using all of these resources

i also find it very helpful to just.. look at art that inspires you/ that you find appealing Right before painting? that way all of the techniques you might pick up while staring at other peoples art will stay fresh in your mind, so you’ll be more likely to try em out. (setting a drawing that you really like as a phone/desktop bg works well too since youll inevitably stare at it quite often)

i also really like seeing other peoples process, so i tend to watch speedpaints/analyse process gifs & photosets a lot! seeing how messy and abstract most drawings are in the early stages of painting is really comforting/reassuring to me :] heres a couple for u: [link 1], [link 2], [link 3], [link 4], [link 5], [link 6], [link 7], [link 8], and finally, [link 9] and [link 10] (3, 9 and 10 are the ones that inspire me the most atm)

as a bonus, heres one from me as well! (usually i only post these on my patreon, but ik times are tough rn and any of your spare money could (and should) go to a far better cause) im putting it under a read more bc it contains blood and self-impalement, so beware! (bloodborne bosses, man) i might make a speedpaint in the future, too, so watch out for that!

#good luck!#hope you have fun :]#Anonymous #gif #blood

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ikesenhell · 4 years

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American Dream

AMERICAN DREAM, Chapter 1. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: HOLY SHIT IT HAS BEEN A MINUTE. Thank you so much to @missjudge-me, who commissioned this whole piece. You have them to thank. I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back up, but being homeless and in grad school and working and getting formally diagnosed with an autoimmune illness and being in a pandemic and moving kinda takes it out of you. This was very fun to write. Enjoy!

---

Masamune wasn’t used to his childhood bedroom anymore. His mother had converted his loft bed desk into her scrapbooking station. That was fine, in theory, except that it meant two things: one, she hadn’t changed the sheets in actual years, and two, the loft bed was still there.

“Sweet!” He announced with a laugh, scaling the ladder in a single bound. It’d felt so tall once. He ducked low against the ceiling, pressing his back flat. “Holy hell, I was smaller then.”

“Duh.” His brother, Kojiro, smirked from the door. Time changed everything. Masamune felt so big when he was in high school himself, but looking at his teen brother changed his perspective. “You’re a big lunk now. You eat like The Rock.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Masamune kicked off his boots and army-crawled into the loft.

“How much clearance you got?”

“Eh. Six inches from my chest to the ceiling?” He tried to roll onto his back and failed, laughing against the drywall. “Did you know about the time that I knocked myself out up here?”

Kojiro’s luminous blue eyes appeared over the lip of the bed. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Got too excited freshman year of high school, bolted straight up when the alarm went off.” He motioned at a dent in the ceiling. “I was late. Dad didn't stop laughing for about, I dunno—”

“—the whole ride there.” Kojiro chuckled. “Yeah. Sounds like him.”

The funeral wasn’t so far behind them that it didn't hurt, but it sure as hell hurt less. Masamune checked his knuckles into the dent. It was the whole reason for his coming home. His mother needed someone to sort out all of the old things, all the memories and bills she couldn’t bear to look at. It didn't matter that they’d never gotten along. Kojiro was her favorite; that was obvious (and Masamune couldn’t blame her for that, Kojiro was a joy by anyone’s standards). Even then he couldn’t let her hang in the lurch. His dad taught him better than that.

Damn. He missed his dad. Everywhere he looked in this old town, in this old house, were reminders. There was the trashy diner where they used to get the world’s best milkshakes once a week. There was the old stove with the broken burner they’d never replaced (because it was ‘perfectly good’) where he’d learned how to cook. And it wasn’t just his father he felt the absence of. Masamune fingered along the space between the wall and the loft bed where he’d pasted all the pictures and keepsakes from his friends. Him and Nobunaga, posing in a picture by the beach with matching glasses. Hideyoshi and Mitsunari peering at homework, Mitsuhide poised to drop an ice cube down his shirt. (Nobunaga was a broker in New York City, conquering Wall Street with Hideyoshi. Those two shared an apartment in SoHo, all the way across the country on the other coast. Hideyoshi worked with Nobunaga now, and no one knew what Mitsuhide did. Mitsunari was off in the Peace Corps.) There was a snapshot of Masamune and Ieyasu squished together in the back of an old 1960s Volkswagen Beetle his mom had for decades, Ieyasu frowning over a mouthful of jalapeno poppers. Ieyasu was a doctor in Maryland now. He was terrible at texting back, too. Masamune made a mental note to call.

And then there was Her.

Even after all this time, he missed their friendship. He fingered the worn photograph; After-Prom senior year, her in a bikini that made his stomach somersault, him holding her on his shoulders. She was laughing. He still wore the fake eye back then, and it sat oddly in the socket, but even that didn't take away from the sheer joy as he gazed up at her. When she lived with her parents in the little green house across the street, he used to build paper airplanes with stupid jokes scrawled in the folds and fling it at her window, hoping that they’d hit and knowing they never would. They’d measure how far it got from his front door and compare their poorly-kept notes, misremembering all the numbers.

Now she was out there in the world.

Kojiro craned his neck over the loft edge. “What’cha got up there?”

Masamune didn't answer that. Instead he wondered if she was happy. “If I’m gonna stay here for now, we gotta fix this situation. I’m too manly and brawny to fit up here. Wanna swap beds?”

“No! This thing is so uncool, you can’t get—” And the teenager furtively checked the doorway, lowering his voice. “You can’t get anyone up here with you.”

As an adult, Masamune rolled his eyes. As a brother, he snapped back, “I promise, you can.”

“Gross, why the fuck would I trade with you now—!?”

Downstairs, their mother shouted, “Who is swearing up there!?” Kojiro paled. Masamune, bolstered with smug elder brother energy, kicked him from the ladder.

“Move, punk! Run for your life! You fucked up!”

His mother, louder now. “Who said that?!”

“That was Masa!” Kojiro bellowed, fleeing the scene of the crime. “Masa said it that time!”

“That time!? Kojiro—!”

Masamune finally wriggled himself free from the narrow confines of the loft. On the way down, he pocketed the picture of Her.

---

The only reason he remembered the day his dad bought the ‘85 Camaro was his mother was well and truly pissed about it. It wasn’t a pretty looking thing then. Masamune later sussed out that his dad had picked it off a side road out in the country because it was ‘a nice looking car’ and ‘could be fixed up’. Of course it could. Maybe it was his time in the military, but there wasn’t a damn car under the sun that his dad couldn’t fix. The Camaro was better than new, but his mom drove a newer Hyundai, so it sat neglected in the garage, shiny and electric blue and begging for a test run. When Masamune backed it into the driveway, his mother sighed ragged.

“I ought to sell that thing,” she announced.

Masamune bit back his reflex answer of ‘not on my watch’ and replied, “Kojiro’s gonna need a car when he can drive.”

“I’m going to get him something new. A nice car. That one is too old for anything now.”

“I could take it.”

“You already have that infernal death trap.” She thumbed at the Harley parked in the grass, right where she hated it most. In the name of getting along, neither of them had mentioned it. “You don’t need another car payment. Besides, don’t you have anything better to do right now? We have all sorts of things to settle with your dad’s estate.”

“Ma, the car is paid off.” But she was right in one way; he did already have a vehicle, and paying the taxes and insurance on both was a waste. It was sort of pointless, keeping the car in the garage forever. “I can’t do anything until I get the extra copies of his death certificate, and that’s gonna be a minute. I ordered them today. Did you want me to put the car on Craigslist or something?”

She gazed at it, her steel expression softening. Ah, yes. There was his mother. His parents loved each other dearly. It just took moments like this to remember it.

“Would you?” She replied. Her feather soft voice broke his heart. “I can’t bear to do it.”

“Yeah, Ma. I’ll get it to a good home.”

---

All it really needed was a wash and an oil change. The guys at the auto parts store whistled enviously when they handed over the filters. No; it wouldn’t be hard to sell at all. No doubt he could post it on some Reddit forum and get a hundred hits in an hour.

Masamune was about to post the listing when fate intervened.

The driveway was warm on his bare back, the first chill wind of autumn cooling his shoulders. His phone was stark against the sharp blue sky, his shirt rolled under his hair.

A shadow fell over him. “Masa?”

He blinked his only good eye, floundering against the sudden contrast. The woman murmured an apology, stepped away, and blinded him with sunlight again.

“Hey!” He laugh-yelped, rolling onto his stomach. “Goddamn!”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He clutched at the Camaro’s bumper and pulled himself up, blinking sundots away. “Gimme a sec, hang on.”

And then—she swam into view, all bright eyes and curves and nothing like she used to be and everything like she used to be and so much better. Was this his friend, this fully grown woman with a face like all his best memories? Where his words? He was usually so good with them.

“That you, Masamune?” She asked, the ghost of a smile on her mouth.

“Well, hell.” SAY SOMETHING, YOU STUPID BASTARD. He forced a grin back—but then it arrived all on its own. “Wow. Damn. Where have you been this whole time, Kitten, Hollywood? You runnin’ everyone out of a job out there? Puttin’ those Hadids out of work?”

Her laugh was the same. Good God, it sent shivers all the way down his spine and into his toes. Her eyes crinkled and he wondered if he could bottle that expression. “You’re still calling me Kitten, huh?”

“Your fault for wearing cat socks all the time. I don’t see a reason to stop now, ‘specially now that you blinded me in my own driveway.”

Even her eye roll was a shot of nostalgia to the veins. What now? Did he shake hands? Masamune stared at his oil-slicked palms from changing the filter. “Well, if you don’t mind me smearing grease all over you… Shit, what am I asking for?”

“Oh my God, Masamune, do not rub motor oil on me!”

“Too late!” He charged forward. She squealed but didn't run; he caught her around the waist and squashed her against him, bringing her feet from the ground. Those eyes were wide with surprise and delight and so much joy. Something smelled of cinnamon and cloves. “God, is that your shampoo?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s great. You look great.”

She batted against his chest, wriggling in his grasp. “And you bulked up. What, you one of those CrossFit junkies or something now?”

“C’mon, don’t insult me like that. Their form is terrible.”

“And you ditched the glass eye.”

“It was hurting. Figured I might as well let the lid close up and deal with it. Not like I could see from it anyway.”

But she laced her hands around the back of his neck and tapped just above his brow. Such easy physical intimacy. Oh, how he’d missed that! They’d always been the most handsy of the friend group, never shying away from each other. “I wasn’t complaining. You rock the pirate look, Captain.”

Masamune snickered and clicked his tongue. “I’ll own that. I love some booty.”

With a roll of her eyes, she let the comment slide. “You busy? Wanna catch up?”

At last he let her slide from his arms, setting her feet on the ground. Why was the world so much colder when her body parted from his? “Hell yeah. Let me make you some gyoza and we’ll chat.”

#American Dream #commission #ikesen masamune #modern au #roadtrip story #angst #death mention tw

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closetcasefabray · 5 years

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& they were

neighbors

this will become a full fic but until then i’m just going to write this shit out in this weird amoeba phase.

so after the beach, a week later clarke shows up at the library. “anya told me you were here. also your campus security is a prime example of systemic white privilege. i got on campus & here without anyone asking for ID, like the fuck?” she says, handing a surprised lexa her iced coffee.

“so you’re uh. here.”

“right! my birthdays at the end of the month. you should come. also anya said the bathroom piping upstairs is leaking down into your shower so your bathroom is out of commission.”

“that’s really the order you decided on?”

“yeah. i’m a leo.”

lexa & anya have to shower over clarke & raven’s for a week. they end up with a door open agreement. clarke falls a little harder for lexa when she hears lexa singing janelle monae in the shower.

lexa walks in on anya & raven making out on the couch one night & pretended not to notice anya removing her hand from under raven’s shirt or raven failing to stealthily resnap her bra together. “hey, uh, finished work early?”

clarke is not surprised when lexa tells her about it at brunch the next day. “raven’s a go-getter.” & lexa is just like ???? & clarke shrugs, “she said after the beach she wanted to jump anya’s—“ “o.k. got it.”

one night a slightly haggard looking lexa shows up at clarke’s door. “i can’t listen to my cousin having sex.”

“fair point.”

clarke bursts out laughing during a serious & quiet scene of the movie when she hears the distinct sound of raven moaning very loudly through the apartment wall.

lexa just puts her face in her hands, “oh god there’s no escaping it...”

the four of them hanging out ends up more like double dates.

raven & anya are practically rolling their eyes out of their heads with each shared glance & smile between clarke & lexa.

raven’s with anya again, so lexa gets out of the apartment. she ends up going to eat at clarke’s restaurant. clarke hugs her & gets her a seat at the bar. the bartender, miller, was at raven’s birthday party. he makes her a french 75 & they talk as clarke takes care of her tables. jasper is a cook there & sends lexa some free food.

clarke gets cut first so she gets lexa & they walk around the city a bit. they get some citi bikes & decide to bike over the brooklyn bridge. when they get to their apartment, clarke kisses lexa on the cheek goodnight.

when the new semester begins, lexa comes over to study & clarke paints or sketches. they’ll both put in headphones & just work in each other’s company.

clarke twists her ankle at work so she’s out of work for a week. lexa brings her coffee & they work & take breaks to watch whatever’s new on netflix.

octavia & lincoln join to keep clarke company.

raven & anya are arguing in the apartment & it’s getting late for lexa at clarke’s. clarke tells lexa to crash with her. not trusting raven to have changed her sheets between the last time anya was over, she offers to share her bed. (ONE BED! check!)

clarke really wants to kiss lexa, but they just lie there, shoulders touching, like the useless lesbian & bisexual they are.

clarke’s with raven & O when she gets a text from lexa. a stupid meme that makes her laugh. raven rolls her eyes & says, “i can’t believe you shared a bed & didn’t kiss her.” O almost spits out her drink & raven goes “oh yeah. they shared a bed.” & O just wipes her face, “no it’s just. i thought you two were already banging! i gotta text lincoln!”

lexa finds out she has to attend a faculty & phd candidate dinner the night of clarke’s birthday party. clarke’s disappointed but understands. lexa promises to come by after.

lexa shows up late, knocks on the door. octavia is asleep on the couch. anya is asleep with her head on a sleeping raven’s shoulder. lincoln is giving clarke water who’s just sitting on the kitchen floor.

“oh no, floor drunk clarke?”

“it’s not bad floor drunk. it’s nice. come sit!”

lincoln takes that as his cue & gathers O, gently stirring raven & unfazed by her slapping at him to initially go back to sleep.

lexa moves clarke to her room. clarke is sobering up but also tired. lexa laughs when clarke just stands there pouting. “stay.”

“ok.”

“help me,” more pouting m & raising her arms to ask for help getting into the PJs lexa handed her.

lexa pulls clarke’s shirt over her head & tries not to stare at clarke’s midnight blue lace bra. clarke just laughs lightly & turns around to remove her bra, pulling the sleep shirt over her head. she leans heavily on lexa to get her shorts off.

“chivalry isn’t dead,” clarke jokes, winking at lexa.

lexa gets clarke more water as they brush their teeth. she hears anya telling raven, “scooch over butthead.” & raven reply, “your butthead.”

clarke wakes up the next day promising to never drink again (for a few days). lexa makes some good hangover breakfast for everyone.

clarke finds a card for her on her nightstand later. two tickets to the Met. raven asks what lexa got her from the hallway. clarke yells back.

“did you say mets tickets?” raven says, popping her head in clarke’s room.

“no. tickets to the Met.”

“oh never mind. take your girlfriend.”

they go to the met. somewhere along the way (warhol), clarke takes lexa’s hand in hers & lexa doesn’t let go.

they end up going to a different museum about once a week.

lexa almost kissed clarke in MoMA in front of a bizarre image of a door made of neon tubing. almost.

clarke almost kissed lexa in AMNH when her eyes were bright with stars in them as they looked up at the galaxies in the space show in the planetarium. almost.

lexa brings clarke flowers when one of her paintings makes a debut in a small art gallery in the LES. clarke’s cheeks turn a shade of pink from the gesture so lexa kisses one & hugs her, congratulating her again.

clarke kisses lexa’s cheek goodnight before going into her apartment.

clarke’s barely put down her things when there’s a knock at the door. she smiles when she opens the door to see a slightly anxious looking lexa.

“is raven over?”

lexa just shakes her head & leans across the threshold to press her lips to clarke’s.

the next morning lexa’s making coffee & hears a knock. raven & anya are both standing there.

“i just wanted to make sure it was safe.”

“she ‘heard things.’”

“my how the tables have turned, woods...”

—

now that i did all this i just gotta make it all pretty & shit. boom! a fic.

#ccf rambles #ccf headcanon #clexa au #nn au #ny neighbors au

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