#Matching crosshatch

[jadematthewsxxx]

What was hiding under my uniform today???

#cute crossdreser #cd #posing #trans #m2f #black leggings #feelin cute #Spotty socks #Black t-shirt #Matching crosshatch #Matching outfit

[dimensionzero]

yet more frame-by-frame atsv analysis, art style edition!

I still cannot fucking figure out what art medium earth-50101 is supposed to be, my best guess is, like, paint/maybe markers over linework? in any case there's the fun little detail that even though pretty much everything in mumbattan has very distinct outlines, the colours aren't perfect --- sometimes they go outside the lines or don't fill the whole space inside the lines.

like, look at how the colours of the clothes and scarves bleed out past their outlines here! and check out the outlines vs. the shading of the background --- they don't quite match up. the somewhat messy colouring only seems to be for colourblocking/base colours, though. that horse's finery is very detailed and looks very precise!

here's miles crashing through the street a couple seconds later for comparison:

look at him and his sharp outlines and crisp colours! it's subtle enough that it's not distracting, but miles is still very obviously sticking out from the rest of the crowd here

something else I noticed just now: miles still has his comic-book shading dots where the light hits him, which no one else has

on the contrary, the place where the light is coming from (the right side of the frame) has some darker lines staining it --- I'm no artist but I think they might be simulating the look of art done on a canvas rather than on paper?

gwen does not seem to be retaining her watercolour anywhere except her own universe, but although she adapted to earth-1610's style before, she's apparently keeping the comic book look in mumbattan too. didn't know you could do that! (she's even got the comic-misprint motion blurs!)

then we've got pavitr, who actually also has the comic-style shading dots (which is admittedly a little confusing since nothing else in his universe has them?). other than that though he follows his universe's style pretty much exactly --- very distinct outlines, messy colouring but precise details. you can see it most clearly on the close up of his mask, where the outlines of his eyes are perfect but the red of the mask bleeds out into the background.

(another miles for compare/contrasting!)

oh wait are pav's shading dots supposed to be the "canvas" showing through the lighter colours?

I think they are! you can see it much more clearly here, it looks less like dots and more like a crosshatch kind of texture --- I think it is canvas. mystery solved!

#also just noticed that in pav's handstand he's balancing on one (1) knuckle??? lmao this showoff #anyway no idea what this is supposed to be yall im just having fun #across the spiderverse spoilers #across the spiderverse #miles morales #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi! Thank you so much for sharing your fic recs with us, I have discovered so many amazing works because of you. Hope you don't mind me requesting some more - favorite hurt/comfort fic(s)?

You're welcome! I also want to say (in case you don't already know) that @whenyourbirdisbroken has great fic recs: the pinned post on their blog (sorted by category! I'm in awe) is a great way to start. If you're ever looking for more reading material!

Here are some hurt/comfort fics I love. I tried to keep the overlap with whenyourbird's recs to a minimum. ;-)

Above Us Only Sky (candle_beck): Early years J/P. The hurt isn't so much Paul being bruised and sick, it's the violence of Paul falling in love with John, whose personality scares and overpowers him. And the comfort is in brief moments and words of tenderness. Contains the unforgettable sentence John will pretend not to know him tomorrow, but he’ll take care of him tonight.

two of us (burning matches) (@scurator): Also early years J/P (synonymous with hurt/comfort?!). John gets into a fight on behalf of Paul; Paul takes care of him. Again, the true violence is in their feelings breaking through the surface, their desire, and also, damn, the general painful intensity of growing up and being different.

my turn to resurrect (@backbenttulips): John survives the shooting, but his body and soul are scarred and starved. Paul invites him to stay with him in London, and nourishes him back to full health. I love the slow-burning sensual descriptions, for instance of Paul in the garden...soil on hands, etc. Not to mention delicious food...!

see what love has done (@monkberries): The Night We Cried. This is about the four Beatles as well as the individual relationships between them. A story that takes place in the bathroom and a single bed (no sex, but lots of love). I thought this was very much in character, and I enjoyed the deft crosshatching of the different types of hurt and comfort. I love John's POV in this one.

Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin' (@waveofahand): Another young J/P one. John and Paul grieve their mothers and fall in love, slowly and sweetly. Paul is also beaten up and John takes care of him—in this story, they are good for each other.

Thanks again for asking, and of anyone has more recommendations, please feel free to add them! <3

#asks #fic recs #mclennon #mclennon fic #mclennon fanfiction #hurt/comfort fic recs

[comfort-questing]

17. touch averse/ "leave me alone."

guess who did the Wriothesley story quest and has Feelings.

-

"Your Grace?"

His hands ached as he unclenched them from the bedcovers, his jaw tight and the taste of blood in his mouth from a bitten lip. How long he'd managed to sleep before the night terrors caught him, he didn't know; all hours were the same down here, beneath the weight of the water and above the tilted cap screwed over disaster.

Had he woken anyone? His throat was dry, from thirst only he hoped. He feared it was from screaming, though.

Again the knock, small and muffled, down the twisting stair. "Your Grace, may I come in?"

It was Sigewinne, of course. Always Sigewinne, at the rightest and the wrongest moments. With any luck, she wouldn't have a health drink with her.

Wriothesley staggered upright out of the bed, grabbing his coat to bundle around him against the ever-present chill of the Fortress. The floor was icy beneath his bare feet, and he winced, fumbling for his slippers wherever he had thrown them. By the time he managed his boots, Sigewinne might have decided to shoot the door latch.

He would turn on the light, he would put a record on, he'd find some tea and chase away the shadows. He would remind himself that he was the Duke of Meropide and not a ragged waif anymore, to need a hug and a head pat to chase away nightmares. All this he told himself, his knees shaky as he climbed down the stairs.

True to expectation it was the little Melusine outside his doorstep, as he pushed one door open a crack; her face was folded in worry, hands tucked together in front of her, the nighttime lights of the Fortress crosshatching her form.

"Your Grace, one of the guards mentioned you seemed - distressed."

"I'm all right, Sigewinne. I - need to go back to sleep, that's all."

"You were crying out." Sigewinne swayed back and forth where she stood, the frills of her jacket flaring out. "That doesn't seem all right, sir."

The cut inside his lip stung as he licked it. "Please don't trouble yourself - "

Her calculating gaze swept up and down his form, face pensive. "Are you ill? You don't seem ill, but your heartbeat is abnormally fast and I can see you're exhibiting other panic symptoms - "

No matter how slowly he tried to breathe, he couldn't seem to fool her. She knew; she had always known. But this was his battle to fight, and an old familiar one. "I said I'm fine. Go back to the infirmary, Sigewinne."

"If you want me to get someone else - one of the guards - "

Sigewinne stepped forward, trying to squeeze through the half-open door. She put out a hand to touch his, soothing and soft on the back of his scarred knuckles.

"Leave me alone!"

The words burst out of his throat before he knew he'd said them, startling back with a force that dissolved the last of his careful facade of calm. He was trembling in every limb, his knees threatening to give way underneath him. Distantly, he recognized that this was going to take more than tea and a song to fix; he hadn't had an episode like this for a long time, had thought he was past that...

Miserably, he watched as Sigewinne shut the door behind her, stopping just short of where he stood leaning against the office wall.

"I won't touch you, Your Grace, but I want you to breathe with me, all right?"

To sink down to the floor now would be too much of a match with all the rest of the memories now tearing at him - the kind of thing a scared child would do, hungry and longing for a comfort that he now loathed the very thought of. He clenched his teeth and willed himself to stay upright as he followed Sigewinne's exaggerated breaths.

Sigewinne's voice was quietly even. "I'm going to open and close my hands, can you open and close yours too?"

He could. He did.

"You don't have to be alone when these things happen," Sigewinne murmured. "Anyone can have nightmares, or be afraid. There's nothing shameful about it. It's part of being human. Your minds are as complicated as your bodies, and I don't understand all of your feelings and thoughts... but just like your bodies have scars that take time to heal, your minds are the same, and there's no more weakness about it than it's weak to take to bed when you're ill..."

He didn't remember the last time he'd let himself go to bed with an illness, either. Maybe Sigewinne needed a new metaphor. But listening to her steady voice and clenching and unclenching his fists had helped slow the racing of his heartbeat, and ease the clutch of panic around his ribs. The round-walled office had begun to seem real around him once more, all brass and gold and echos, the thrumming of the Fortress's machinery never quite beyond hearing. Slowly, Wriothesley straightened up, pushing his shoulders back.

"I think - I think I'll make myself some tea," he said, stiffly, around the lump in his throat. "Do you want some, too?"

"Of course!" said Sigewinne, her voice brightening up. "I think that would be perfect, Your Grace."

-

White tea with Bulle fruit, steeped as long as the little hourglass told, with two lumps of sugar, for him; Sigewinne wanted four, and salt as well, but there was no accounting for Melusine tastes after all. The record had almost finished its scratchy song, a hollow mimic no doubt of the musician who had once composed it. Wriothesley sighed, and found himself yawning.

He was safe. He wasn't alone anymore, or helpless. Whatever darkness awaited him in his dreams, they were dreams and nothing more, and he would survive them as he had survived everything else before.

And in the morning there would be more matters to tend to, and his Fortress to handle, and new inmates to welcome and old ones to counsel, and more contraband to search and papers to process - so he had better finish the tea soon, and get back to sleep, so that he would be ready to do his best in justice and in mercy both.

#whump #genshin whump #hurt comfort #emotional whump #panic attacks #whumptober day 17 #whumptober 2023 #might crosspost to a03 perhaps

[nosockstensai]

🏀 Slam Dunk and the mysterious disappearance of Chapter 265's ugly Rukawa 🏀

A NoSocksTensai investigation (not really)

In chapter 265, after finally learning that passes are a valid strategy, our favorite ace from Shohoku goes on to reveal to Sawakita that there is a mysterious *third option* (aka three points shoots).

It's his moment to shine, he just shot a beautiful three pointer. The spotlight is on him. You would expect a glorious panel to celebrate this moment.

But instead we've got this.

His face is...weird. It's flat looking and the perspective on his facial features is a bit off. Maybe it's not *that* shocking, but it threw me off the first time I saw it.

The art during the Sannoh match is overall absolutely breathtaking. Gorgeous. Magnificent. And god knows Inoue *loves* to draw majestically this pretty boy in action with his messy dark bangs and silly long eyelashes. As a consequence, I was a bit... confused by this drawing.

Over time, I learned to cherish ugly Rukawa for what he was, a curious but endearing sight that felt like it *shouldn't* be there. I thought the story would end here.

BUT.

I was flipping through the french version of the manga again and...

SURPRISE ???

Ugly Rukawa is not here anymore. He's replaced with a perfectly normal, perfectly good looking little Kaede.

A side by side comparison, one can notice a lot of small differences.

At first I thought It was just an issue with the English scans. In the paper version, Rukawa is right in the middle of the double page and since these scans appear to have been uploaded by fans, I thought the fans may have tried to patch up the scans of the two different pages together, resulting in an odd-looking drawing...but upon closer inspection...

His lips and the crosshatches on his neck and cheeks are not even the same ??? Some crosshatches were added, some removed. It's *not* the same drawing. I doubt that the people who uploaded the english scans would go so far as editing a drawing and adding/removing details.

So... what happened to ugly Rukawa ? Was he exiled from the manga when it was re-edited ? Why was he there in the first place ? So many unanswered questions.

I feel like it is now my duty to investigate the matter further.

More to follow.

Or not. I'm lazy.

#rukawa kaede #shohoku #slam dunk #wanted: ugly tsundere princess #extremely spiritual and deep analysis i know #inoue i need answers why did you kill your kid #i miss him #i am probably the only person interested in this #might delete later

[roseamongroses]

[ID: Fanart of Riri Williams and Shuri from  Black Panther 2: Wakanda Forever. The art is heavily inked with hatching and crosshatching as shading. The piece depicts Riri shielding herself from the rain with Shuri’s jacket. Shuri is running from the rain, ducking underneath the same jacket. In the background there are several large puddles and a building. Riri Williams is a brown skinned woman with with cornrows that reach her mid-back. She wears a light blue tank top with a blue heart graphic on it, a long red cargo skirt, a gold chain and matching gold hoops. Across her body she carries  a blue messager bag with the text “@roseamongroses” on it. She looks at Shuri with upturned eyebrows and a slight smile. Shuri is a brown-to-dark skinned woman with short curls and a fade. She wears a grey tank top and purple track pants. She looks at Riri with a smile. end ID]

imagine letting ur gfs hair get wet couldn't be me

#mcu #wakanda forever #riri williams #mcu!riri #shuri #mcu!shuri #shuri udaku #shuriri #shuri x riri #wlw #fanart #shuriri fanart

[clawsextended]

@chernayavidua asked : [ MEND ] for sender to treat receiver’s wound which leads to them having to remove an article of clothing resulting in revealing scars hidden beneath

natasha gently shifts aside the hair at the nape of her neck — brushes strands dyed chocolate brown to match her soft, soft brown eyes. beneath marks crosshatch furious crimson in hateful lines. her gaze is enormous, rounded out and delicate, and direct contrast to the soft black flannel patterned in charcoal greys. she feels twitchy, stills it forcefully when fabric connects with skin to clean blotchy blood away.

one hole sits deeply embedded into the flesh there, an old scar left by the unkind embers of a cigar. all her own inflicted marks create an awful mess of pink and red. in spite of all things, that aged imperfection has never changed. and how she has around it.

“i fucking hate fear toxin.”

she’s only coming down from it now. and she’s been trying to pretend it hasn’t been in her blood for hours. every inch of her feels raw.

(at least holly’s with bruce. at least the only one she’s hurt is herself.)

#CLAWS EXTENDED. #CHERNAYAVIDUA #self harm / #drug mention / #[fear toxin thread my beloved.]

[skepwith]

Where Is the Revenge’s Toilet?

In ep 1 Stede gives a tour of the Revenge that includes the “en suite,” a small room with a toilet and some kind of bathing bucket. But we’re never shown where on the ship it is, exactly.

Stede of course has a bathroom next to his cabin, but from what we can see it only has a bath, no toilet.

So does this mean Stede uses the en suite along with the crew? Not necessarily! On navy vessels of the period, the officers used toilets in the quarter galleries—the enclosed balconies that stick out on either side of the stern. Presumably this is because of the way they hang out over the water, so the waste can fall straight into the ocean.

Right: “Seat of Ease off the Captain’s Quarters” by Robert G. Hewitt © 2020.

On the Revenge, the port gallery contains Stede’s bed, but there are some spaces around it that could maybe house a toilet. The starboard gallery is a mystery: yes, secret passage, but also maybe toilet(s)?

As for the crew, there’s the time-honoured tradition of just pissing over the rail, but in heavy weather you might lose your balance and fall overboard. By the 1700s ships were built with a pissdale, a basin or trough placed just inside the low walls around the main deck. It acted as a urinal, funnelling the urine off the side of the ship. I can’t say for sure the Revenge has a pissdale, but it seems like something Stede would include. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jim figured out a way to use it too, maybe with an 18th-century P-Mate.

“Pissdale on Deck of Ship” by Robert G. Hewitt © 2020.

But of course this wouldn’t do for, ahem, solid waste. Below is a 1728 diagram of a ship’s toilet, labelled “necessary seat” (14), also called the “seat of ease,” as in the earlier illustration. It’s located in the ship’s head (or beakhead), which is why the word head came to mean toilet, as in “I’m gonna hit the head.”

The deck of the head was also partly open—slatted rather than solid—to let the waves in to rinse everything out, which is why toilets were usually placed just above the water line. Here’s the beakhead of the Swedish warship Vasa from the 1620s, with two box-like toilets. You can see the remains of a seat on the right-hand one.

As for the Revenge, it makes sense to put the en suite in the head, somewhere where the toilet can open directly over the water. Let’s look again:

Left of Pete there’s a vessel with a handle sitting on a small barrel. This could be a scoop and a covered bucket of seawater for “flushing,” i.e., sluicing the inside of the toilet with scoops of water. This only makes sense if there’s somewhere for the waste to go; if the toilet was a stool with a chamber pot inside, you could just rinse it out when you dumped its contents.

Also, look at the right-hand wall. It’s decorated with moulded panelling (carved squares), which seems pretty fancy for a toilet room. Unless it’s a continuation of the fo’c’sle’s front wall.

I was very proud of this theory until I noticed the panels don’t match. Alas.

There’s also a noticeable gap in the toilet room’s right wall. It could just be the door, but my theory is it’s an open gap to make room for the bowsprit higher up the wall (see diagram below).

Another piece of the puzzle is the pattern of light and shadow against the walls. We don’t see any other shadows like it (except in the “ball room,” which is another post). It doesn’t match any of the gratings we’ve seen, which make a crosshatch pattern, nor does it line up with the ship’s railings. Does this matter? Well, look, someone on the film crew had to cut out that shape and stick it in front of a light, or however they do it, to cast that specific shadow, so I’m guessing it points to something.

My first guess was that the light here is shining through the railing around the head, which is a different shape from the ship’s other railings. If the head’s deck isn’t solid—like on historical ships—the light could be coming from behind the railing and shining through the slats.

But…the deck of the Revenge’s head looks pretty solid, as far as I can tell. Still, we haven’t seen the entire deck…

Just leave me my delusions, okay?

So, finally, here is my new improved diagram of the head:

Is it accurate? Who can say. It’s really all headcanon at this point.

(Sorry.)

#ofmd #ofmd meta #mapping the Revenge #nautical history #historical ships #history of toilets #truly obsessive attention to detail

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN’S RECKONING - Chapter 2: The Scythe

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Things turn bad very quickly for Cassian. Commence whump.

Thank you so much for the feedback and the interest generated by chapter one. I hope you enjoy this new chapter :)

Please heed the tags. This is a whumpy fic with subject matter that some may find difficult. Please check the tags on AO3.

READ THE FIC ON AO3

——————–

CHAPTER 2: THE SCYTHE

The mission started fine. Cassian’s credentials were real, taken from an Imperial Intelligence officer currently being held prisoner by the Alliance, so docking on the star destroyer had not been a problem. The inspection crew came aboard, approved their presence, and allowed them to disembark. It was the first and last step in the plan that went well.

Cassian led his men into the ship’s corridors and headed directly for the data vault, only to be sealed in a crosshatch almost immediately. When one set of blast doors opened, a death trooper squad poured in and the game was up; the mission was an instant failure. If Cassian had known what was going to happen next, he would never have agreed to the assignment.

He and his men were quickly disarmed, lined up, and forced to their knees. A viper probe droid came forward and scanned them one at a time, moving up the line, registering each face before finally reaching Cassian. The large red iris rotated and whirred. He lowered his eyes, praying for a miracle, but his face produced a match in less than four seconds. The droid buzzed loudly and projected hologram footage of Cassian taken from the Scarif security system.

The lead death trooper’s voice crackled through its helmet. “He’s the one we want. The rest are expendable.”

The squad lifted their weapons and shot all of Cassian’s men. He screamed in useless protest, grabbing hold of his fellow rebel who collapsed beside him. But, before his brain could process the horror, something heavy collided with his head, sending him sprawling across the reflective, black deck. The trooper who hit him advanced quickly, expertly striking him again across the face with his blaster’s stock. Cassian’s head snapped back, knocked senseless by the blow.

He didn’t lose consciousness but he no longer had control over his limbs. He lay stunned, aware that blood ran down the side of his head. Eventually, two troopers hoisted under his arms and dragged him down the corridor. He couldn’t really see, and his brain could not understand the troopers’ voices. All he registered was how his body jostled, how his feet dragged, and how occasionally he heard the whoosh of blast doors opening and closing. After what felt like a lifetime, he was dragged through a final set of doors and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. He looked up just in time to see a heavy, armored fist pummel him. A strange grunt escaped his throat before his head smacked against the tile, making the world go dark.

——————–

Cassian woke long before he opened his eyes, passing in an out of consciousness over an indeterminate amount of time. Everything was eerily still, no shuffling fabric, no mechanical whirring, no energy from another living being. He gradually became aware of himself; his head was wet with cold blood, his arms and neck and face ached, even his teeth hurt. Slowly, he opened his eyes to get his bearings, but froze when he saw his wrists. He had forgotten about the death troopers, forgotten about his murdered soldiers, forgotten he had been on an imperial star destroyer. But when he saw his wrists locked with metal cuffs to the arms of the chair he was sitting in, everything came flooding back. His veins turned to ice as his stomach dropped.

He twisted in his seat to check the rest of the room but he was completely alone. The chair he was secured to sat in the center of a cold, plain metal cell. The walls were totally bare. A table covered in his confiscated gear was behind him against the wall.

His mind began to race. Where am I? How long have I been here? Has it been long enough for Jyn to realize something’s gone wrong? No one has a clue where I am…

His thoughts were interrupted when the cell door suddenly hissed open. A squad of six death troopers entered and took position around the room’s perimeter.

A final figure crossed the threshold, a man slight and compact but who moved like a scythe through wheat. Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin had the most unsympathetic eyes Cassian had ever seen. The very look of his sharp, skeletal body sent a shiver up the rebel’s spine. Andor clenched his jaw, replacing all feeling of fear with disdain and practiced smugness.

Jyn, like a mythical oracle, had predicted this mission’s pitfalls down to the letter. Cassian felt relieved she wasn’t part of this assignment. Force knew what kind of horrible punishment awaited an Erso if captured by the Empire. Whatever Tarkin had planned, Andor was grateful she wasn’t here to experience it.

The Grand Moff stood staring at him for a long time, as though waiting to see if Andor would display any bravado. When it became clear the rebel refused to speak first, the older man smiled mirthlessly. “Cassian Jeron Andor, rebel intelligence. An excellent catch, to be sure, but imagine my elation when I discovered you were also the scum who led a deadly attack against Scarif. How fortuitous.”

Cassian doubted that Tarkin had ever felt elation. The hatchet-faced man clearly only felt sadistic or sardonic pleasure.

Tarkin advanced on Andor, glaring down his beak-like nose at the young man, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Your mole on the Death Star is really my mole in the Rebellion. I have to confess, I’m rather disappointed by how easily you fell into my net. But not to worry. We’ll make the most of our time together.” He waved his hand at the death troopers around the room. “Each of these men lost a comrade at Scarif. They want their pound of flesh, Andor, and I’m inclined to give it to them. One can never underestimate the importance of keeping up morale.”

The officer nodded to one of the troopers before returning to his place by the door. The soldiers closed in, one grasping Cassian across the forehead, straining his head back while other troopers began pulling off his boots and socks, leaving him barefoot. His mind instantly flashed with fear as memories of Narkina 5 came rushing back. His belt was removed, then his stolen imperial jacket was unbuttoned and pulled open revealing his white undershirt.

Cassian had run his own interrogations; his mind quickly tried to anticipate what was coming, tried to comprehend why they had removed these particular pieces of clothing. Even so, he was unprepared for the torrent of ice water that suddenly sprayed down on him. A tapered nozzle directly above his chair quickly drenched him and left him gasping for air.

Finally, the deluge ceased. Cassian spit water and squinted through the blood that washed out of his hair and into his eyes. He couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering against the cold that burned across his skin, the kind of cold that eventually sunk into your bones.

Tarkin didn’t say another word. He simply turned on his heel and left the room, followed by the death trooper squad.

Cassian, wholly caught off guard by this encounter, sat violently shivering.

The lights flashed out and he was left in total darkness with only the sound of his icy gasps to keep him company.

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE COLD” - The Empire would need a lot more than cold and dark to break Cassian Andor.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3 - Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 "The Detritus"

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

READ CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 "The Reprieve"

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 "The Redemption"

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 "The Reach"

READ CHAPTER 19 "The Hologram"

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 "The Fallout"

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

#cassian #cassian andor #andor #rogue one #rogue one a star wars story #star wars rogue one #wilhuff tarkin #tarkin #Grand Moff Tarkin #jyn and cassian fic #jyn and cassian fanfiction #cassian andor fic #cassian andor fanfiction #rogue one fic #rebelcaptain #rebelcaptain fanfic #rebelcaptain fic #whump #cassian whump #cassian andor whump

[handsomeamoeba]

A lot of things are really hard for me right now, but one small blessing is that I'm getting back into drawing!

I drew for much of my childhood. Pretty much since I had the manual dexterity to pick up a crayon, I've been drawing. I went to an unlicensed Montessori school so imagination was encouraged and art was a huge part of how I came up. We were taught basics of illustration and painting. I sculpted with oven-dry clay. I did so many craft projects. My mom still has paintings hanging up that I did as a child, including a sunflower in the style of Georgia O'Keeffe (not that I'm saying I nailed O'Keeffe's level of mastery at 8, god no, but I was doing a school project on her at the time).

My first high school art teacher (we'll call her Mrs. D) was... well on one level she wasn't a good teacher. She didn't really push us or... assign us anything. Her classes were effectively free periods that most people just fucked around in. But I wanted to create. So I did. I had a comic I worked on for a while (I remember nothing about it except that it was blasphemous), I did abstract wood sculpture from scraps from the woodshop, I did mosaic, I even tried my hand at figure drawing for a little bit but never really nailed anatomy.

And then I had Mrs. P. She was new to the school but quickly learned that Mrs. D hadn't really... taught us anything, per se. Despite this, she insisted on treating our Advanced Art Class as being, well, advanced, and graded us based on basics we were never taught. I was putting all of myself into that class. I was staying for hours after school in addition to in-class time. And I was only pulling a C average. The crosshatching isn't differentiated enough here. These paints aren't matched well enough there. You busted your ass creating four mixed-media sculptural panels including teaching yourself how to cast from a mold... but you were supposed to make six panels, so not good enough.

So I convinced myself I couldn't do art. I was 16.

I'm 35 right now and I've sketched and doodled here and there but never really believed it was worth anything. But recently I picked up a pencil to sketch a map for an RPG concept, following a tutorial I found online.

And you know what? I'm proud of it.

And I want to keep drawing.

Here's a couple things I've drawn recently!

Maybe it's not perfect. But it's mine, in my own style, and I like it.

By the way, I have this whole book of 550 blank stickers to fill out and I'm taking suggestions.

[crimetimesteadicam]

Oh! What's the new brush pack you've been using?

-Jey

It's called Beat Tones and it's $19! (or less... they go on sale sometimes/there's coupon codes out there)

there's like three "types" of brushes in the pack and i did a picture for each type.

clean halftone

"dirty" halftone (this is what i called it in my head but it's the halftone that reacts to brush pressure)

crosshatch

i like the crosshatch the best because i'm a slut for lines. there's also a few liner brushes that do some big brain mathematics and exactly match the angles of the halftones , but it's way too "exact" for me. i need a loosey goosey liner brush because i resize parts of my lineart like all the time lmao

#hopefully you dont mind if i answer this publicly i wanna recommend these brushes to the world

[jerry-moon-art]

The Night’s Work.

20240318.2154.

“The Portal Of Dutiful Children”, 24in x 24in, oil on panel.

I finished this one on February 2, but was waiting until I got time to retouch varnish it, so I could evaluate the final color of the thing.

I’m feeling “meh” about this series.

I have struggled with getting the color to visually fade into each other as they progress to the center. It’s not “smooth”enough to match my inner vision, and I think it’s because of my handling of the hatchwork and because the color is different when wet.

I add paint, thinking I have it “smooth” enough to satisfy me, only to find a different shade when I begin the next session’s work. Swatches of each color have not helped. They are far from perfect, but I’m willing to accept “close”.

In frustration, I’ve destroyed six of them, as they weren’t even remotely “close”. Six survive (so far). Sometimes you have to kill your darlings.

I may turn away from the crosshatching in the future. I love the look, but it’s compromising my vision.

#gloomweave #jerrymoon.net #abstract #contemporaryart #oilpainting #painting #abstractart #abstractpainting #jerry moon art #portals

[ammonitetestpatterns]

edging elliptics tend into angelic diction, airwilt and whet the word larmescent, match the stems and string in flame a crosshatch to recall. of its essential elusion, time trails to tear a snailing hearse in diffuse peaking sequence, invert remembrance pulls you out by its stitches

#text

[broodwolf221]

okay. trespasser armor theories forthcoming - as well as a very colorful tracing

i tried to use color-coding to show connections

the red seems to be a strange curved leather piece, and the orange belts across his torso appear to be holding it in place - i'm guessing the orange circle is where the belts connect, one on each side but the other is hidden by his wolf pelt

the green bandolier (?) is presumably holding a lot of the weight of the heavy armor on his left arm. i think the paler green piece is still attached to the darker green unit, but it's also attached to the (leather? metal?) layered armor on his arm, thus the matching blue circle

i... don't get his "pants". the very dark color/almost black is chainmail while the kinda gold color appears to be some sort of fabric cover that attaches... who knows where. the way they curl RLY high up the outside of his thighs implies an upper attachment, perhaps to the purple main layer? but i also theorized, as shown, that the outer leggings might be attached to the chainmail. by his knee there's a small deliberate gap in the cloth layer that shows more chainmail, so it presumably goes all the way down. i also have to assume for my own sanity that he has another layer on underneath all that, bc chainmail directly against your legs sounds... unpleasant.

i have no earthly clue what the little white hook things are. they dont appear to be more teeth, but they're pointy bits right on top of his thighs. dont bend too fast buddy!

the material of the blue eludes me... i think it might be leather? given the shaping of the hood(s?) and the heavy, rather fixed way they lay together, that doesn't strike me as cloth. ofc it could be a combination, cloth-lined leather, particularly as there's a color difference between the two layers...

i do not understand the purple shit. what it's made of, whether it's a solid piece or not, none of it. it has multiple necklines and layers on the torso, but it all seems to be roughly the same color so...?

also, interesting sidenote: the crosshatching on the cloth (?) cover on his legs actually looks more like it's been pressed in, implying that perhaps it's a thin leather instead of cloth...? or a very durable cloth. idk!

also there are many little figure-eight clasps going down the inside and outside of his thighs, so maybe the outer layer isn't attached to the chainmail after all - that, or the clasps work to secure both layers...?

the pale grey belt clearly holds the base of the fur pelt in place, and the pink belt (probably one, but maybe multiple) holds the fur sleeve in place.

#broodmeta #tagging it so i can find it again ajkflakfja

[raining-anonymously]

[ID: Doodle of Perry the Platypus and Dr. Doofenshmirtz from the chest up. Perry is depicted as a human with medium brown skin and turquoise hair. He wears a collared shirt matching his hair with suspenders and a crosshatch tie resembling his tail. He is tied up and has an annoyed or even angry expression, which is focused on Dr. Doofenshmirtz. Doofenshmirtz is vaguely smiling and wearing a lab coat over a black turtleneck. He points at Perry while looking at something offscreen, saying, “Oh, no, he’s not mad! That’s just his face.” end ID]

#autistic guy with barely any facial expressions meets adhd guy with ALL the facial expressions #pnf #drawing anonymously #perry the human #dr. doofenshmirtz #heinz doofenshmirtz #perry the platypus #phineas and ferb #i don’t know how to draw platypuses. platypi. monotremes. those guys.

[spotsies]

Image description: a digital bust portrait of Katherine Plumber from the Broadway musical Newsies. Katherine is smiling at the viewer and a speech bubble reads, “So whatever happens, let’s begin!” She has light beige skin with flushed cheeks and rosy pink lipstick, and brown eyes drawn in a large, round style with mauve eyeshadow. Her hair is rendered extensively compared to the rest of the drawing in shades of warm auburns and browns and is suspended in midair to suggest movement. She is depicted in colourful late Victorian walking clothes- a pastel striped shirtwaist or blouse with a magenta vest and navy blue tie atop it. She wears earrings and a matching hairpin made of a green gemstone set in gold. The background of the drawing is the same blue as the tie, with light magenta crosshatching over it. End description.

#katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #newsies #newsies musical #newsies live #newsies broadway #art #my art