#pulled a muscle trying to take refs for this. the things I do for art

[figofswords]

which came first, the robin or the grave?

#pulled a muscle trying to take refs for this. the things I do for art #jason todd #red hood #robin #batman #batfamily #dc #dc comics #a death in the family #batman a death in the family #under the red hood #pen doodles

[ask-the-ryans]

I'm not an expert on character design and this "layout" is something I use amidst all my inconsistency, but here are some things I try to keep in mind. Apologies if this throws you off since I got pretty selective interests, but I still hope this answers your questions!

First I figure out who my characters are, and in this wildly specific case, they're boxers. Everyone knows boxers are muscular, but they have a special kind of muscle.

One thing you might notice is that boxers' bodies are pretty diverse, even in the same weightclass (take Andy García and Luis Ortiz together, for example), but the things that tie them together are their solid cores -another word to say that their abdomens are strong and shaped like squares- and that their pecs or legs aren't usually very muscular given the kind of sport they're in. Exceptions can happen, but it's generally for stocky/short athletes like Tyson who hold tremendous amounts of power.

Now compare one to a wrestler or a bodybuilder.

What do we see here? For one, wrestlers got very thick legs and great amounts of their strength go to their upper bodies, so it's easy to see them more as meaty triangles. Then we got the bodybuilders, whose muscles are well-defined, but not very "useful". I'm not saying that they're not strong, but these guys practically dehydrate themselves to show off, so I'd recommend not modelling athletes after them.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I personally like to take in consideration all the little nuances of the human body, so I go over this small process of research. That's just me who'd rather have a more grounded approach, but I encourage you to take creative liberties if reality is stopping you from drawing the next Baki. :)

(Side note, please check out Howard's Schatz's athlete photography. It can give you a beautiful array of examples.)

Once I figured out what kind of body I want my character to have, I do exploration sketches. It's very fun to hop straight into making an illustration, but I've found said sketches to be very useful because they make me feel familiar with whom I'm dealing with. You might also get a funny face that sticks with your design the rest of it's life (happened to me with Aran's "unibrow" and Joe's droopy face even though they already got a canon design), but beyond that, it's a way to give everyone you draw an identity.

Expressions are another thing. This is more an intuitive act in my part, but you might see that in real life, despite people sharing happiness/ sadness/anger/etc, our expressions are not going to be the same. How do you think an energetic lunatic might laugh vs a mild-mannered scaredy guy?

Exactly.

When all of that is done, for consistency's sake, I tend to have a ref sheet right next to me when I draw (this involves pulling out pinterest, old art, comics, etc. whatever I got at hand). I've done turnarounds before, but I'm honestly a bit lazy when it comes to that-- so to Joe and Don anon, don't escape from your responsabilities like some people.

⚆ _ ⚆

I think it boils down to treat each character as an individual, taking in consideration things like their profession, nationality, age, etc. You don't gotta have a super expansive biography, but what has generally worked for me is going for a gut feeling of what feels natural and what doesn't, and said feeling has developed over time the more I meet people in real life and study other artists.

(And thank you for the kind words, anon!)

#punchout #punch out!! #art #art tutorial #artists on tumblr #nintendo #tutorial #punch out #anatomy #character #character design #rant #boxing #soda popinski #aran ryan #super macho man #king hippo #mr sandman #sketch #ask #glass joe

[meirimerens]

Geniune question how do you draw so much? I really admire your work but I have such a hard time not getting constantly hit with artblock I wonder how you do it.

i'll begin to tell you that being unemployed and out of school does help. won't lie! the art you see posted here is part of a bigger pattern of Making Art (for portfolio-related reasons & whatnot) so i'm always. Makin Art. i'm fully focused on Art for the better or the worst. second disclaimer is that i hyperfixate and not in a fun teehee enjoyable way - when i start a piece, i will neglect getting enough sleep or feeding myself well until i see it finished. this is not healthy, and while it is part of how i Draw So Much, it's unsustainable for you as much as it is for me. do not fret if you can't Churn Art Out like i do - you're probably healthier off this way. i'm trapped in cycles of Arting and when i stop drawing or writing get get genuine physical symptoms of restlessness, my limbs itch or ache, i pace a lot, i have racing/disordered/cyclical thoughts, like Not Fun. tldr i pray To God You Don't do it like i do.

now some actually helpful tips lol:

have multiple things going on at once. it might seem counterproductive but not being hyperconcentrated on Art allows for your mind to get inspirations from multiple areas. that might be having a job, being in college... for me it's having both personal and fanart on my plate among other things. - i've found that art block can come when you try to cram too much art at once, a form of burn-out, a psychological bottleneck; it's like constantly pulling on the reins of a horse, it will get used to the pulling, and you cannot out-strength a horse, nor can you out-block artblock. when i'm not drawing, i'm writing, listening to music, checking out movies, traveling (even on small scales): all of that feeds into my art, it's all inspiration fodder. when i'm writing, i might write a line which i think would have a banger foundation for a scary image, and the scary image appears to me. new idea!. - don't force yourself to draw, you cannot out-block the block, do something else and inspiration will come.

artblock can often comes when your ideas/desire to draw outdo your current skills, which is a Very, Very common issue, especially if you're improving fast. identify what you're struggling with, and take the time to study it, even if it's just for 10 minutes. full focus, nothing else going on. i also have on my phone entire folders will of references, typically "how to draw [bodypart]" refs, some art pieces i find are visually striking and inspiring, pictures for poses, etc. - if you're struggling with backgrounds, try to trace a picture as study, then reproduce it without tracing, just with it as a visual reference. watch tutorials on how to paint a landscape, or how to understand perspective. - if you're struggling with anatomy, try to do some live poses studies on quickposes, line of action or something of the sort. - something else that has helped me tremendously is anatomy for sculptors PDF. it's pretty expensive but you can find it online for free. wink wink nudge nudge. it breaks down all the muscle groups on the body and gives you a better understanding of the way the human body moves. invaluable resource imo. it's very thin-centric though, so i'd recommend pairing it with like. google search [how to draw fat on a person], [body type you want to draw] and pairing it with the knowledge in the PDF. if you're pudgy or chubby or fat yourself you can use your own body as a reference ain't nothing wrong with that and see how the anatomy underneath reacts with the different levels of body fat or muscles. - i also have saved a tab for head angles ref, light on a face 3d ref model, and the pose tool. the pose tool has collections of live drawing pictures for both clothed and nude, in different poses (sitting, reclining,...). it's also very thin + young-centric (mostly for the women, how curious) & a number of the female poses are eroticized/male gazey but I Grit My Teeth And Bear It. i use them in application with the anatomy knowledge i learned from mentioned above, etc.

something that might seem counterproductive but works for me is that I Hoard WIPs. this makes it so that if i'm not fuckin wit a piece i'm working on and it's frustrating me, i put it aside for a little bit and go work on something else.

preddy much it... tldr I Do It in unhealthy, hyperfixated ways that if i catch you reproducing i'm coming to your house and hitting you wit a stick, however there are a few things that help me power through artblock, namely I Be Studyin What I Draw, i keep these mfer thangs [my refs] on me, and i find inspirations in multiple areas of life.

GOOD LUCK SOLDIER

#ring ring (answers) #anonymous #art block #tips #i guess.

[pathfinderunlocked]

Unlocked Bone Ship - CR18 Undead

A Pathfinder Unlocked version of the bone ship.

Artwork is official art from Pathfinder 2e, by Damien Mammoliti on ArtStation, copyright Paizo Inc.

Unlocked Monsters are my series of redesigns of official Pathfinder monsters to make them more interesting and interactive to fight.

The bone ship is, as the name might suggest, an undead ship made of bones, which comes from Bestiary 5. Ghost ships are a classic staple of many types of adventure stories, and the ship itself being an intelligent accursed undead thing that can lash out at you on its own is a very cool idea.

Unfortunately, the creature has the problem of being, you know, a ship. A vehicle that creatures can ride, and that players are very likely going to try to board, not stab in the hull with a shortsword. The original stat block really doesn't support this at all. This is my solution. I wanted to make something that not only could be boarded, but that actually rewarded players for doing so, while still being somewhat able to fight back. I also wanted to make something that made more sense in a setting without cannons, in case you're using this in a low-firearms or no-firearms setting.

Oh, and here's a fantastic battlemap or token you can use for it. Note that this is way bigger than 30 ft., and not square like most creatures. Because it's a ship. The official art clearly shows a much bigger ship, but its space is only 30 ft in Bestiary 5, because Paizo was scared to make an irregularly sized and shaped creature. I'm not.

Bone Ship CR 18

Muscle holds together the large bones that form the hull of this ship. Rotting sails hang from masts crafted from gigantic spines. The water within 400 feet of it is stained red, and seems to be made of blood.

XP 153,600 CE Colossal undead (water) Init +4 Senses darkvision 400 ft.; Perception +40 Aura blood wake (40 ft., DC 30)

DEFENSE

AC 32, touch 2, flat-footed 28 (+4 Dex, +30 natural, –12 size) hp 499 (26d8+182) Fort +17, Ref +14, Will +20 Defensive Abilities all-around vision, bound souls, channel resistance +4 Hardness 5 Immune undead traits Weaknesses rotting heart SR 29

OFFENSE

Speed swim 60 ft. (slow turning) (cannot submerge) Melee slam +28 (8d8+24 plus energy drain) Ranged 3 energy rifts +13 (3d6+9 force plus 3d6+9 negative energy/×3) (30 ft. range increment) (ranged touch within 90 ft.) Space 25 ft. wide x 95 ft. long x 35 ft. tall (20 ft. above water, 15 ft. below water); Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks energy drain (2 levels, DC 30), energy rifts, ghostly boarders, spectral energy cannon, trample (8d8+24 plus energy drain, DC 39)

STATISTICS

Str 42, Dex 18, Con —, Int 11, Wis 20, Cha 25 Base Atk +19; CMB +47 (+53 bull rush, +49 overrun); CMD 54 (57 vs. bull rush, can’t be tripped) Feats Far Shot, Great Fortitude, Greater Bull Rush, Greater Overrun, Greater Vital Strike, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Great Fortitude, Improved Vital Strike, Lightning Reflexes, Point Blank Shot, Power Attack, Vital Strike, Weapon Focus (slam) Skills Intimidate +36, Knowledge (geography) +13, Perception +34, Profession (sailor) +18, Swim +53 SQ cannot submerge, rideable, supercolossal, slow turning, unholy repair Languages Common, Necril (can’t speak)

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Blood Wake (Su) The frothing, churning waters around a bone ship are stained crimson with blood. Creatures entering the bone ship’s aura must attempt DC 30 Fortitude saves. Those that succeed at their saves become shaken for 1d6 rounds. Those that fail become shaken and staggered as they feel themselves drowning and envision themselves pulled down into the bloody waters. staggered creatures take an additional –4 penalty to AC, on Reflex saves, and on Swim checks. Creatures can attempt a new save at the start of each of their turns to resist this effect. Those that succeed at their saving throws are immune to the bone ship’s aura for 24 hours. This is a mind-affecting fear affect, and works only when the bone ship is in the water. The save DC is Charisma-based.

Bound Souls (Su) The souls of numerous sailors and sea creatures form the bone ship’s collective consciousness and hull. A bone ship is immune to spells and effects affecting a specific number of creatures (but not those that have attack rolls). Any creature attempting to communicate with a bone ship, such as through telepathy, hears only the anguished cries of the imprisoned souls and must succeed at a DC 30 Will save or be driven insane as per the insanity spell (CL 20th). The save DC is Charisma-based.

Cannot Submerge The bone ship floats and cannot swim underwater or otherwise submerge, although its hull extends 15 ft. underwater while it floats.

Energy Rifts (Su) The bone ship can create three energy rifts anywhere along the sides or bottom of its hull as a swift action. These function as ranged attacks with a +3 enhancement bonus, which deal 3d6+9 points of force damage and 3d6+9 points of negative energy damage, and have a x3 critical multiplier. The energy rifts have a range increment of 30 feet, and target touch AC within the first three range increments (up to 90 ft.). The bone ship can fire all three energy rifts as a standard action. The bone ship's Strength modifier is added to the damage, and both this bonus and the enhancement bonus are split evenly between the force and negative energy damage; this is already included in the statistics above.

After firing its energy rifts, the bone ship cannot fire them again for 1 round, as they recharge.

Ghostly Boarders (Su) Once per minute as a one-round action, the bone ship can disgorge the souls of the sailors bound within it. This ability can be interrupted as if it were a 6th-level spell; the bone ship has +26 to concentration checks to maintain concentration on this ability (CL 20th, +6 Charisma).

At the end of the casting time, the ghostly boarders appear as spectral entities and slaughter all living creatures in and around the bone ship. Living creatures within 40 ft. of the bone ship take 20d8 magical aging damage (DC 30 Fortitude save halves), and if killed by this effect, their souls are dragged into the bone ship. Creatures slain in this manner can be restored to life only by a miracle or wish spell. The save DC is Charisma-based.

Rideable (Ex) Enemy and ally creatures can safely stand on - or even inside - a bone ship, riding it like a normal ship.  A bone ship cannot perform melee or ranged attacks against an enemy that is riding on top of or inside it.

A creature adjacent to a bone ship can attempt to grab onto the side of it with a grapple check or a climb check rolled against its CMD.  A creature holding onto the side of it in this way can then climb up the side of the bone ship; it’s 20 feet up from the surface of the water to the top deck where a creature can safely stand.  The Climb DC for the exterior of a bone ship is 20 (a slippery surface with handholds).

Rotting Heart (Ex) A bone ship's interior is a 25x95 ft area (the same size as the bone ship) containing a massive rotting heart with countless tendrils of blackened flesh connecting to the bones that make up the exterior hull. This interior can be reached through a hatch accessible from on top of the bone ship.  The hatch is locked with a superior-quality lock (DC 40 to open with Disable Device).  The hatch has 5 hardness and 15 hit points.  Damage dealt to the hatch counts as damage dealt to the bone ship.

A creature inside a bone ship's interior treats the bone ship as flat-footed, ignores its hardness and spell resistance, and automatically deals a critical hit with any attack it makes against the bone ship.

A creature inside the bone ship's interior is considered to be riding the bone ship.

Slow Turning (Ex) The bone ship can only turn 45 degrees per round.

Supercolossal (Ex) The bone ship gains an additional +4 size bonus to CMB and CMD, a -4 penalty to AC and attack rolls, and a -16 penalty on stealth checks, on top of those normally granted to a colossal creature. It gains a +200 bonus to its maximum hit points. These modifiers are already included in its statistics above.

Spectral Energy Cannon (Su) As a standard action every 2d4 rounds, the bone ship can combine all three of its energy rifts into a spectral energy cannon that deals 18d6 points of negative energy damage to creatures in a 180-foot line (Will DC 30 half). The save DC is Charisma-based.

Unholy Repair (Su) By spending 1 full day inactive, the bone ship can heal itself to full hit points by scavenging the bones of dead sea creatures within a 10-mile radius, pulling the bones up from the bottom of the ocean to join its hull.

#d&d #pathfinder 1e #undead #water

[spaceinvadeeer]

Answering your requests for headcanons...what do you imagine the Nordics' body types and personal styles to be? Obviously, we see some of this in your art, but I'm curious about how you'd put it into words.

as far as style goes it depends on what time period we're talking about, cause i have a lot of ideas floating around and describing them all would take forever ghfdgo so i'll try to sum it up!

denmark: physically, he's your average dude but got more physical strength that what appearances lead to believe. just a little muscle, as a treat. style-wise, he craves formal stuff like dress shirts, suits and such but doesn't have preferences between plain-colored ones or fantasy-patterned ones. the 80s definitely were his fantasy pattern peak.

sweden: interestingly enough i interchangeably imagine him as either lean and muscular, or slightly on the chubby side bc of @losnordiquitos (i saw your post abt it and felt targeted /lh /pos). he's the tallest regardless, and he doesn't have a particular preference in clothes as long as it doesnt draw attention on him. cream and navy blue might actually be his sweet spot but he doesn't notice...

norway: he's slender but his bones are much more visible than the others in specific areas like his shoulders, fingers and hips. he's perfectly healthy though, he just hides a lot of it under woolen sweaters, dress pants or more gnc outfits when he feels like it. he definitely has a preference for earthy tones, or lavender when he wanna make that icy glare pop out. he just went crazy around the 90s-2000s and wore pastel outfits to pull off the androgynous y2k aesthetic.

iceland: he's similar to norway body-wise, though for some reason i think he'd have more calloused hands and a softer jawline (it's so specific but it's clear in my mind hgdfg). when it comes to clothes he tries to get something neutral-colored but that's still unique or unusual in some way. long bowties, puffy-sleeved shirts, torn jeans and the like! he def had an emo phase too so..... hehe

finland: chubby, definitely chubby with a misleadingly soft round face and a big nose. he's also the smallest after iceland but he's not to be messed with. as for his style, it's easy and i only have one thing to say: horrendous.

i actually thought of drawing little refs for how i see them! i think it'd be much better than words. i may do a full-body lineup in the future, it'd also help me improve with drawing body diversity! tysm for that question anon

#ask #hws sweden #hws finland #hws denmark #hws norway #hws iceland

[macybeckham7]

Tattooed Heart - Jack Grealish

tagged: @luc-57x @cinnnabaee

Part Two 

Jack was sat watching as Yn dancing on the table with Tyrone, the two had the biggest smiles on their faces as they danced, they were holding hands as the footballer spun her around before they swayed from side to side. Jack smiled as he saw how big their smiles they had one their faces. It was one of their teammates birthday party which was 90′s themed. He raised his glass up to her as she spotted him and instantly said something to Tyrone before making her way over to him.

‘There’s my favourite’ she giggles as she sits beside him, instantly stealing his drink and taking a sip and instantly grimacing in somewhat pain as she didn't like how strong, and the burning sensation running down her throat.

‘That’s what you get for stealing my drink asshole’ he mutters making them chuckle with each other. 

It had been a few months since Jack did the tattoo on her, and they had been nonstop talking, he would text her ever morning hoping she had a good day, and every night asking her how her day was and to sleep tight. They would have hours long facetime calls, where Jack was working out while Yn was drawing some tattoo details, while the other weren’t looking the other found themselves just in complete awe of the other. Yn always texting Jack wishing him well for the game ahead, and often finding a photo of her IG story of her either at home or in the shop and showing that she was in fact watching. Jack had invited her to a few games, especially the game against Chelsea which she brought her dad along. After the game he took her onto the Villa Park pitch, the two playing under the flood lights as they both had massive smiles on their faces as Jack was somewhat surprised at her skill. She scores and instantly jumps into his arms as they celebrate as if it was a goal in an important match. Yn had often been midway through a design when a delivery guy had popped in and brought either her favourite smoothie or a doughnut from her favourite place or a bunch of flowers with them all having a little slip with a small J writing on it in mark, making her feel butterflies in her stomach. 

They had countless sleepovers together, but nothing really happened between them, a few kisses here and there but then they finish the night just snuggled up with each other, just enjoying being close to each other. 

As the two sat watching Tyrone now dancing on the table with one of his teammates girlfriends, Yn rested her head on his shoulder as they both laughed and tried to get the other to hear what they were trying to say. Jack followed her outside as she looked through her little clutch bag and pulled out a cigarette, he watched as she placed it in between her lips and flicked the blue lighter and burnt the end and took a long drag, he watched her as she exhaled. 

‘So are you coming home to me tonight?’ he asked with a small smirk.

She walks towards him and gently places the cigarette in his mouth as they looked deeply in each others eyes. She gently caressed her cheek before kissing him softly. 

It was currently 2am in the morning, YN had her  heels in her hands as she walked carefully along the road. They both had McDonald’s milkshakes as the two laughed and joked with each other. The two getting a few weird glances from people, as they probably looked like they had just walked out of a time machine and was lost in the present day Birmingham. They both were being pretty rowdy and every so often they brought out a rather questionable dance move, or started playfighting, which ended up with YN dropping her milkshake which she wasn't too happy about. The two of them felt like they were best friends, but also could be something more. With Jack he had never had a feeling for something like this before and it kind of scared him. Previously his other relationships had finished because he had always put his career ‘first’ and he didn't want to fuck anything up with YN, because how cheesy it sounds he doesn't want to think about his life without her in. 

The two stumbled into his house, as they were in a heavy make out session, he pins her to the wall as his mouth moves along her jaw, he picks her up and takes her to the bedroom. He lays her down on the bed and undressed her, his eyes took in her beautiful body before her starts leaving a trail along her skin, making a gentle moan escape before she bites down on her bottom lip. He leaves a small kiss on the tattoo on her hip bone before he looks up at her and sees her smiling at him. He pulls off her panties and pushes her legs apart, he leaves a kiss along her inner thigh making her whimper. He moves closer to her as he watches her reaction to his touch, her back arches as he slots to fingers inside her, before he starts to eat her out, she enjoying how good he was making her feel and the how good his stubbles feels against her skin. 

…..

YN was feeling somewhat fragile as she entered the tattoo complex, she waving to her dad who laughed at how she was feeling as he saw the Mr Bump plaster on her knee. Which she got last night from tripping over a few times. Her first client was already sat on the sofa filling out a form, so she luckily didn't have time for a grilling from her family. She quickly set up and called her over, the two girls with her came along and sat next their friends. YN wasn't as chatty as she usually was but tried to make the best experience for them, her mum appearing and offering drinks and snacks which she usually does.

‘Are you the girl who is dating Jack?’ the girl asked as YN was getting the area ready.

She looked up shocked about the question. ‘Grealish’ she mutters, as if she had to be certain she knew which Jack they were on about.

The other piped up, mentioning that they had been seeing you on Jack’s and Tyrone’s IG accounts, with even the #40 mentioning in a recent video ‘imagining being with a tattooist and not getting freebies’. YN couldn't help but giggle as she knew that was such a Tyrone thing to say. She decided to keep quiet as she focused on getting the tattoo stencil on. 

‘You’re really pretty’ she smiled. 

YN only had a half a day and she felt like she had spent the whole day talking about Jack, either clients mentioning him and gushing how cute they were or how they met, or talking about the Villa captain might be moving away to Manchester United, YN just keeping quiet as she listened to everyone’s comment. 

They didn't see each other till the weekend, when Villa had a game, YN wore his jersey and went to Villa Park to support the boys. She felt her heart in her throat as she saw him get clattered into and was left on the deck on the floor, she could tell he was hurt, luckily the ref stopped the game. She felt like she didn't breath until she saw him get up, he winced but managed to carry on in the game. After the game they both were at his house, YN showing some attention to his ankle, his eyes trained on her as she gave soft delicate touches. 

‘Can you tattoo me..’ he mutters. 

Her eyes meeting his as she looks at him questioningly, the two jumped in the car and drove down to the shop. He wanting her to free hand draw a heart on his ankle. She asked a few times if he was sure with him nodding and telling him to colour it in too. He noticed her hand shake slightly before she took a deep breath and started the tattoo gun, she looked at him again before leaning in and concentrated as he was going to have a piece of her art on him forever.  

She looked at him and saw him wincing in pain, his thigh tight as she could see his muscles contracting. She decided she needed to get his mind off the pain 

 ‘Do you feel the pressure to be the captain to your childhood club?’ YN asked. 

He shook his head. ‘No I think I thrive with it’ he mentions. 

She smiles as she wipes the tattoo. ‘How did you get into football?’ 

‘I think any boy gets thrown into football’ he smiles. ‘But I just wanted to be Gazza’ he explains. There was something about YN for Jack, where he thought he could just talk to her about anything and she wouldn't judge him like someone else would because they didn’t understand him. He felt safe with her and that kind of scared him. 

A few weeks had past and just like YN said the tattoo was coming alone nicely, YN and Jack are still at the awkward ‘what are we’ point, both set of friends kept trying to get them to ask the other one out and questioning ‘what is the worst that could happen?’ and for them both they both couldn't help but think what if they had read signs wrong. It was only really behind closed doors and when they were alone when they would show any affection to each other, when they were around anyone else they just casually flirted with each other. 

It was a nice summers day when YN suggested they should go on a bike ride and have a little picnic together. Jack invited his sisters as they enjoyed the day together. 

YN was laying on the blanket as Jack was watching his sisters mess about, Jack gently leaned down and kissed her. 

‘I like the new hair colour’ he smiled as he gently played with her hair, as he noticed his two sisters watching them. 

He had already got a grilling from the two of them, they were getting attention from his fans, a few of them turning up at her store, having to stop with her clients with a few people wanting to know if she was dating Jack. She didn't understand how people even knew where she worked, because she kept her IG separated from the business IG. A few just choosing her just to spent a few minutes with her. He knowing this was all new to her and was probably scary, he kissed her again with their lips moving perfectly insync with eachother, the two not caring about the pressure or anything else in the world when they were with eachother.

#tattooed heart #jack grealish imagines #jack grealish blurbs #jack grealish

[chibimuiwritesstuff]

MMA Fighters HuaLian - Meeting

Right. I’m just going to post this. The backstory to the Hualian MMA AU idea I thought up of how they initially met. This is not edited btw, so apologies for any errors.

----

They meet in a match.

Xie Lian has met many people in matches before, he is one of the best MMA fighters out there after all, so usually he doesn’t remember most of his opponents—but he remembers this one. He remembers him because he is tall (not an issue), lanky (he’s experienced enough to know skinniness doesn’t mean lack of strength), has an eyepatch covering his right eye (a handicap?) and is absolutely, ridiculously, unfairly, gorgeous.

The referee counts to three, the whistle blows, and Xie Lian tenses and is surprised when the other man barely moves a muscle. Just looks at him, expression unreadable. There’s an intensity to his gaze, but it’s not the usual look of a fellow fighter preparing to attack, it’s… it’s something else. It unsettles Xie Lian for a moment, makes his heart beat just a bit faster, but, well, if his opponent will not make the first move then that’s their mistake.

A rookie perhaps?

He launches forward and feels his heart sing when the man not only catches his blow, but dodges to the side in a way that looks effortless, but Xie Lian knows speaks of unbridled skill. Not a rookie then.

Not a rookie at all in fact.

The match is one of the toughest Xie Lian has had in ages. The other man is incredibly defensive and catches Xie Lian’s punches, kicks and feints blow for blow, although rarely making an effort to strike out himself. It’s mildly frustrating, somewhat confusing, and incredibly invigorating. It’s fun. It’s a joy Xie Lian hasn’t truly felt in a fight in ages. He dances around and is somewhat glad for the mask he wears so no one can see the ridiculously large smile he can feel stretching across his face. This is why he loves martial arts. This is why he loves fighting. So that he can dance with people like the man in front of him.

He’s almost sad when he finally manages to pin the other man on the ground for a count of three, and the referee blows the whistle again.

‘Winner, give it up for The Crown Prince!’

The referee holds his hand up, but Xie Lian can’t take his eyes off his opponent, who by this point is already sitting up and also looking back at Xie Lian as well. He looks unphased, unruffled. He does not look like a man who has just lost a fight. In fact, the small smile on his face somehow makes it seem like he was the winner of this match somehow.

His is registered under the fighter name ‘Crimson Rain Sought Flowers’. The people in the mixed martial arts underground call him Hua Cheng.  

Xie Lian remembers him and looks forward to the day he might be able to fight him again.

-

It takes another year before Xie Lian is able to meet Hua Cheng again—and it’s not for lack of trying. After their one match he had tried to seek him out, find out more information about this mysterious opponent who had stepped into the ring and fought with Xie Lian like he had just decided to do it on a whim, but there was nothing. There had been no previous fight records, and no fights he had signed up for afterwards. It was truly as if he had just appeared to fight Xie Lian and then left.

Mu Qing had commented dryly that maybe he had scared the other man off, as he did to so many other earnest newcomers, but Xie Lian didn’t see how that was possible. Hua Cheng had not been a rookie fighter, and Feng Xin had agreed on this as well. But, whatever the reason—Hua Cheng had never reappeared until now.

Once again Hua Cheng stands before him looking deceptively relaxed. If Xie Lian were anyone else he might have felt insulted. After all, he had won their last fight—Hua Cheng should look at least somewhat wary. But he doesn’t. Instead something about his expression makes Xie Lian feel like he’s just as excited for this match as Xie Lian is himself. Xie Lian smiles under his mark, forgetting for a moment that Hua Cheng can’t see his face. It’s nice, to face an opponent who not only isn’t intimidated by him, but appears just as excited and actually has the skill to back up their own air of confidence.

Xie Lian’s heart skips a beat as he catches Hua Cheng’s single eye and can’t help but shiver in anticipation of the match to come.  

The whistle blows, and this time Xie Lian waits. He wants to see what Hua Cheng will do, but Hua Cheng does nothing. In fact, the both of them stand still for so long, the audience begins boo-ing and Xie Lian’s mounting excitement begins to curl into confusion, and then into frustration.

Hua Cheng merely raises an eyebrow, “What is gege waiting for?” he drawls, smirking.

“I could ask you the same question.” Xie Lian replies.

Hua Cheng nods his head, as if he’s considering Xie Lian’s words very seriously, “Hm… that’s true.” And then he launches himself forward.

Xie Lian had been prepared, this is what he had wanted after all, but it shows just how skilled Hua Cheng is that for a second Xie Lian can’t track his movements at all and he is hit with a spike of surprise. It is only through muscle memory, born from hours and hours of training, that allows Xie Lian to effectively dodge Hua Cheng’s fist, following immediately with a counterattack of his own, which Hua Cheng also effortlessly dodges in return.

They continue like this for a few bouts, and it’s similar enough to their last match that it causes Xie Lian to pause. Despite Hua Cheng opening with the first strike, they’ve somehow fallen into a pattern where Xie Lian is on the offensive and Hua Cheng only defends and it’s… it’s frustrating. Xie Lian has never really cared about the actual competition itself, he simply joined matches for the sake of being able to fight others who were just as crazy about fighting as him, and so now he just feels incredibly put-out that it seems like Hua Cheng isn’t taking things seriously.

He stills, pulls out of his last punch and as expected, Hua Cheng jerks his arm back at the last second as well instead of taking the obvious opening to his advantage. Once again, they’re just two opponents, standing in the cage, staring at each other but neither of them moving. Neither of them have even taken a stance—standing almost casually, albeit somewhat alert. The crowd has also noticed the pattern of the fight, and some bystanders have begun jeering at Hua Cheng specifically.

“Come on! Put up a proper fight or just get out!”

“Don’t waste His Highness’ time!”

Both of them stand and listen to the calls of the crowd and while Xie Lian usually doesn’t like to encourage this sort of heckling, he can’t help but cock his head to the side and ask, “Well, are you going to take this seriously?” because what other conclusion is there to draw from this bout? It’s obvious that Hua Cheng doesn’t want to beat Xie Lian at all, doesn’t even really want to fight him at all. It doesn’t make sense and it makes Xie Lian wonder why he’s even here.

Hua Cheng simply smirks at him, but his posture doesn’t change. “What makes you think I’m not taking this seriously, dianxia?”

“You’re not even trying to go on the offensive. Any other person would have felt insulted by now.” Xie Lian replies.

“Well, it’s good that you’re not any other person then isn’t it?”

His voice is low and velvety smooth and it makes Xie Lian feel warm for reasons besides physical exertion. “Perhaps, but I also refuse to continue a match with someone who clearly doesn’t want to engage.”

He turns to the referee who also looks like he’s one second away from giving both of them warnings and it’s this that finally seems to pull a genuine reaction out of Hua Cheng.

“Wait--!”

Xie Lian turns and cock his head to the side again in question, since Hua Cheng can’t see his face.

“You’ve got me gege, this newcomer didn’t mean to offend. I was simply excited at being able to spar with you again and wanted to do anything to extend the time as much as possible.”

Xie Lian lets out a huff of air, feeling somewhat affronted.

“And what makes you think going on the offensive would have made the time shorter? Either you think too highly of yourself, or you are severely underestimating me.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head vehemently, “No, I can assure you I would never!”

Xie Lian signals to the ref to stand down and that he will handle things before turning back to face Hua Cheng properly once more, “Then, are you going to fight me properly?”

Hua Cheng nods.

They both return to the center of the cage and take up positions, eyeing each other warily. Since no time outs were taken, there will be no whistle to signal a new start—it is simply up to one of them to make a move.

The fight that follows leaves everyone breathless.

It is Hua Cheng that makes the first move, and when he does it is clear that he had been holding back. His attacks are quick, aggressive, and absolutely wild, but what is perhaps even more wild is how composed Xie Lian managed to remain in comparison. The only sign that he may have been struggling lay in the fact that despite the sharpness of his own moves, equally quick and unforgiving, he still had not won.

Attack are blocked, grabs and holds are escaped from and used to lead into secondary attacks, throws that would have had most fighters winded on the ground ended with miraculous recoveries with both parties somehow still on their feet. Even when the fight had devolved into wrestling, as Xie Lian struggled to pin Hua Cheng down for three counts, it was hard to see who was at an advantage—but eventually, a winner was decided.

The crowd roared with enthusiasm, a whistle was blown and as for the fighters themselves…

Xie Lian flinches when the referee grabs his wrist, having nearly forgotten where he is and what he has been doing. He had been too immersed in the fight. Too immersed in Hua Cheng. He hears nothing but the blood that is still roaring in his ears, continues to feel nothing but the soft panting of Hua Cheng’s breath on his skin as they had rolled on the ground, and sees nothing but Hua Cheng’s eyes as the other man continued to stare at him from his position on the ground—gaze dark and dangerous.

Then he blinks and he is back in the cage, his arm being held up, the crowd cheering. Hua Cheng stands and dusts himself off, calm and cool as ever, although even with the noise Xie Lian could still hear the ragged panting of his breath—matching his own laboured breathing.

“Good fight.” Xie Lian hears himself say, truly meaning it as he shakes the other man’s hand. It is warm, strong, and Xie Lian can still feel the traces of where those hands had left marks on his body. He represses the urge to shiver.

“It was truly an honor to be able to fight you again, dianxia.” Hua Cheng replies, smirking once again. Were it anyone else, Xie Lian would have been sure they were mocking him, but there was something in Hua Cheng’s voice that sounded more like reverence. Xie Lian drops the other man’s hand and laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

“I think the honor should be mine, you really didn’t make things easy for me.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t reply, and afterwards they are ushered out of the cage to make room for the next match. When Xie Lian turns his head after toweling off his sweat, Hua Cheng is already gone.

-

Feng Xin and Mu Qing both tell him to forget about Hua Cheng. They are, and have always been, Xie Lian’s best friends, so usually Xie Lian does try his best to listen to their advice—they care for him after all. But he cannot forget about Hua Cheng. During training he imagines the other man in front of him, he walks down the street and pictures fights with him in his mind, he goes from competition to competition seeking him, tries and fails to search him up on social media, but just like last time, it is like he has disappeared.

“You’re thinking about him again aren’t you,” Feng Xin grumbles as he sits down, practically throwing his tray of food onto the table of the university cafeteria.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Xie Lian replies promptly as he takes a bite of his own lunch.  

Mu Qing takes the seat beside Feng Xin, placing his tray down more gently and completely ignores Xie Lian to turn to the other man at his side, “He was thinking about him again, wasn’t he?”

“I wasn’t!”

Feng Xin has the audacity to grunt and nod as he slurps up his noodles at an alarming pace.

“Hey! I said I wasn’t!”

Mu Qing lets out a sigh that Xie Lian thinks is supremely unfair, given the fact that his friends are the ones being rude to him. Then, Mu Qing grabs something from his bag—a piece of paper it looks like, and places it on the table. “We’re only doing this because we know you won’t stop mooning about him otherwise.”

“I’m not—mooning? I’m not mooning!” Xie Lian splutters, but he grabs the paper anyway, with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm and then stops short.

It is an address and apparently it is for a place called Ghost City. He’s heard of Ghost City. Xie Lian frowns. Before he can ask the question though, Mu Qing already gives him the answer.

“He’s there. We told you to give up on him, but we knew you wouldn’t so we thought it’d be better to just see for yourself what type of person Hua Cheng really is.”

Ghost City was an underground cage match arena—everyone who was anyone in the MMA world knew about it. It was for the fighters who desperately wanted to prove themselves beyond the world of sanctioned, formal, competitions. For the fighters who truly wanted to test their skill in a match where they had to put everything on the line. The only rule in Ghost City was the one: there were no rules. Although Xie Lian loved fighting, this was a place he had no interest in. He had never been interested in hurting and dominating others, he simply just wanted to test his skill and to experience the skills of others.

If Hua Cheng was there though…

“Please, just remember to be careful alright Xie Lian?”

Xie Lian nodded, gripping the paper more tightly than was probably necessary. He looked up at his friends, at Feng Xin who continued to studiously eat his noodles as if they had somehow offended him just by existing, and at Mu Qing who was looking somewhere off to Xie Lian’s left looking disgruntled, and smiled. “You two really are the best.”

Neither of them bothered to give him a reply, but the address was enough.

#tgcf #heavens official blessing #hualian #MMA AU

[wof-reworked]

Here’s my application for @fireflythenightlight​‘s rp: The Underpass! Meet Leonas (Leo), your local changeling punk with a penchant for making potato-based foods, partying too hard, and making questionable life choices. 

 Big big shoutout to @wofuckery​ for drawing their reference, full ref and personality below the backstory and the cut ^^

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I wrote this at 2am so like,,, bear with me lol 

Leonas grew up mostly sheltered from other people for most of their childhood. With an overly-protective and very distrustful family considering of their mom, dad, and 3 siblings, most of their education was home-schooling (read: being turned loose with a bunch of books) and sparse meet-ups to see other, pre-approved families and their children. With their family being well-off and with enough books and entertainment to go around, Leo’s early life was comfortable, if isolated and slightly boring. 

As they got older, they began to get restless about being cloistered away, getting more and more annoyed and bored. After a good year of campaigning and pleading, at the age of 16 they were switched to public high school, much to their parent’s reluctant agreement. It was a good mixture of overwhelming and exciting for them, being able to be around other people and actually explore their personality/identity. They were unused to the deadlines and actual work though, and even as they got to making new friends and going to new places, their actual academic performance slipped, their grades and attendance sinking further and further. 

Leo was having the time of their life, but their parent’s got more and more frustrated and mad. With them barely passing their sophomore year, their parents gave them an ultimatum for junior year: Do this year better, or get put back into home-school for the forseeable future. If this was meant to incentivize them to get good grades, all it did was push Leo further towards resenting their parents for keeping them away from the rest of the world/micromanage their childhood. During this time, they also started getting more popular, learned bass guitar (badly), put a word to their gender (non-binary), and started spending more time sneaking into bars, and clubs, partying, and generally just becoming a complete hedonist and having a good time. They made it barely through junior year, and their parents were absolutely pissed. 

After a summer of yelling and arguments and sneaking out, their parents tried to force them back into their isolated property, the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Grabbing their clothes, a sleeping bad, their familiar and a few precious items, Leo took off to their friend’s house. 

After that, it was basically a slow sliding decline through senior year, until, finally out of high school, they began to try to make their way in the world. Crashing from friend’s house to acquaintance’s floor to comfortable alleyway to club bathroom back to friend’s house, they continue to make their way through the world, working odd jobs and cooking potatoes. Whether or not this is their best life remains up for debate, but they can’t really think of any better way to spend their time. 

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BONUS PERSONALITY + FULL REF + TIDBITS UNDERNEATH THE CUT

Their familiar is a phoenix in the shape of a large, slightly fat blue-jay, lovingly named Gnocchi 

They are a genius with potato-based recipes, and absolutely no other part of cooking or baking (the one exception is popcorn)

Growing up primarily around other changelings has made them extremely casual about shapeshifting: when they’re bored, they’ll often “pull” fingers out of the flesh on their hand and squish them back down, or mess around with their face/eyes

They have a natural aptitude for picking up small skills, things like origami or braiding, and have very good muscle memory: one they learn the actions of something, they rarely forget it. 

They draw and sculpt for fun, sculpting especially!! It’s not uncommon to see them fidgeting with a mound of clay in their hands, making little pinch pots when they’re nervous. Both those, and the braids are things they sell to make spare money

PERSONALITY THUS FAR:

At first, people are inclined to assume Leonas is more of the introverted type. With a calm way of speaking and a laid-back, relaxed attitude, they tend to exude a warm, friendly, and welcoming energy, a vibe that is, for the most part, well-earned. Leo is relatively open-minded, they tend to wait before passing judgement on a person completely, and are always ready to make new friends. One of their biggest talents is being social: Leo has learned how to switch from zen best friend to loud fun party animal effortlessly, and both versions of themself bring them joy. They’re energetic in a way that isn’t overpowering or annoying, and relaxed in a way that doesn’t come off as dismissive or spacey. They always hold a space for their friends, and while maybe not the best advice-giver, are exactly the right person to go to if you want to watch some television and cuddle and maybe cry and rant a little bit. 

That said, Leonas is a lot of talk without much show, while they’ll follow through a bet any day, actually finishing a chore, cleaning their space, or holding down a steady job elude them. They work in spotty bursts of motivation, creating interesting art and creations but that they can never follow up on or recreate again. Leo is intensely stubborn to the point of denial: if they don’t want to believe something, they will twist facts, intentionally forget critical details, and generally do everything in their power to feel like they are in the right. It takes them a long time to get their mind completely made up, but when they do, trying to change it is like trying to clean away the sand in a desert. They’re garbage at apologies as a result, as nothing is completely their fault in their head. Either their apologies are just them trying to get the person off their back, or something like “I’m sorry you feel that way” that refuses to take responsibility for what happened. 

Leo cannot be in the wrong. They refuse to be proven wrong, to be shown that they made an error or at all need to correct what they’re doing. Leo’s entire sense of self and identity is pinned on being right, on never being incorrect one. The idea that they could mess up, that they could’ve made the wrong choice, terrifies them to their core. They’re acutely aware of their own mortality and limited time on this earth, and the idea they could’ve wasted it or missed an opportunity is too terrible to ever indulge. This intersects terribly with substances, Leo may not have an addictive personality, but their refusal to admit when they’ve drunken too much, or that they feel sick or gross, leads to them pushing their limits to an unhealthy amount. While not a fully fledged alcoholic, their lifestyle certainly isn’t doing wonders for their liver. They have no self-preservation instinct, no understanding of when to back off and relax, and it continues to come back and bite them in the ass time and time again. 

APPEARANCE:

description:

Leonas has choppy, thick, wavy black hair reaching down just below their chin, usually tied up into a small little ponytail. They have pale skin with a smattering of freckles across their cheeks, ears, and shoulders, and a round face and slightly chubby cheeks. Their body is on the shorter and chubbier side (endomorph body type) and their body shape is relatively square/rectangular, with semi muscular/thick arms/legs. Their fashion sense is basically camp counselor kidnapped by a punk band, and their default outfit is a black jean vest with a handful of colorful pins/patches, a thick/long red/pink/orange tacky knitted scarf, a rainbow tye-dye shirt, and jean shorts with sturdy black, slightly scuffed combat boots.

reference (by @wofuckery​):

Thanks for reading all the way to the bottom, hope you love them like I do !!!! I’m so excited for this roleplay, you have no idea. I hope to see forms from all of you too !!!

#underpass rp #underpass application #rp form #sunny's ocs #I know it's not quite wings of fire but it's also good

[malisonquill]

Half-Raptor Rex (and Emmet)'s Biology

So to start things off, Rex is roughly half raptor. For the purposes of making things simpler, I'm gonna refer to him as being half and half, but that's probably not the case. He didn't set out to be a hybrid when he altered himself to be stronger, that was an accident, so he had no say over just how raptor-y he ended up. I would say when you take into account his looks and all his behaviour and stuff it does work out to being half human and raptor. But physically? He's definitely more human. After all, his body structure looks pretty human. He's still got a very human looking torso, head, and arms. It's just his extremities (his legs, hands, and addition of a tail) that are far more raptor looking. That's why when I draw him, those raptor-y parts fade to a darker shade of blue. So like, raptor parts = darker blue like how the raptors have, human parts = lighter blue similar in tone to what his normal human skin colour would be. (That's excluding his markings of course. They don't count in that and they're all over him.)

And whilst we're on the subject, let's first take a look at his outward appearance!

So the stripes. They start on his neck near the base of his skull, run all the way down his back/ spine, and down his tail. Then there's more stripes on his shoulders, that run down his bicep and the top of his forearm and hands, stopping at his knuckles. He's also got stripes that start at his hips and go down the sides of his thighs, all the way down to stop near his ankle/ where his trousers end. (Hmm… I should probably draw a ref for all that at some point 😏)

Then like I said before, all his extremities go to a darker blue at the ends. You can see this on most pics of him I've done.

Then of course there's his strength. He's very strong, very buff, and also very tall (I’d say he’s about 7’6” and you can see his height in comparison to Lucy in this pic). I don't constantly jokingly refer to him as "beefman" for nothing! xD Cuddlesome summed it up best in her fic: 

“Dumbbells and barbells had long since stopped being a challenge for his mutated body to handle, so he’d taken to power lifting with the Rex-wing fighters. It’s the only thing that poses even a bit of a challenge to his massive arms.”

Strength was the aspect he was going for and most hoping to improve when he changed himself, so of course he’s physically very strong. To workout, he either has to lift very heavy objects or maybe use some kind of sci-fi dumbbells that can have their gravity increased (like in that one episode of Futurama). People pose no challenge for him to lift. He could easily carry both Emmet and Lucy over his shoulders, or under his arms if he wanted to and be able to keep that up for a long time. (Here’s a doodle/ wip of him doing that. Rex is a tad too big in it tho.)

He mostly uses his physical Dino strength when it comes to him master breaking. He only uses the more mystical "destroy a temple in one punch" kind of thing in rare circumstances when he's incredibly mad. Because his dino strength is enough most of the time. 

But before I can talk more about physical stuff and behavioural traits, I first gotta talk about my headcanons for Rex’s/ the Lego Movie-verse raptors. 

Now real velociraptors were covered in feathers and about the size of a turkey, only coming up to about the average adult human’s knee. Obviously the Lego Movie raptors are a LOT BIGGER and much more based off the Jurassic Park interpretation. 

So I came up with the idea that the movie raptors are a subspecies that are a lot larger. It’s a fictional world after all, you can take liberties. Though despite me doing that, I have tried to include as much real science as I can. So for example, real raptors apparently went from hatched to fully grown in about a year. And as the movie raptors are 3/ 3 ½ times bigger than a normal raptor, I think they’d take 3-4 years to fully grow. They eat a lot in that time to grow big real quick.

As for noises they make, I think they make many different sounds. They can roar, screech, growl, chirp, hiss, all that stuff. 

And for their behaviour, they obviously act like dinosaurs. So they’d do a lot of lizardy/ snakey/ crocodile-like things. But the movie has them act like dogs too, what with how they go after tennis balls and all. And personally I’ve given them some cat like aspects too xD Like with their slitted eyes going wide in fear or at something they like. So their behaviour to me is kind of a melting pot of all that.

And so of course, how does that apply to half-raptor Rex?

Well let’s start with behaviour. He has a lot of raptor instincts, and they can overpower his rational thinking when his emotions get too intense. Which is why he has a fairly good handle on controlling his feelings. Using things like meditation techniques to calm himself down is very important when you can do a lot of damage when their left unchecked. Or conversely, if the situation calls for it, he can let himself go entirely to unleash maximum destruction. 

The most obvious example with his heightened emotions is anger. He gets angry, he’s gonna growl and snarl. He starts off with quiet growls when he’s only a little angry, and would react like a human would mostly. If he was fighting someone at this point, he’d be using normal things like punches and martial arts techniques. But the angrier he gets, the more he loses control and the more raptor-like he acts. So when he’s furious and out of control, he does a lot of roaring, growling, snarling and goes into raptor fighting mode. Claws and fangs and kicks with his feet are used. (Also apparently scientists think that raised claw raptors have was so it’d be constantly sharp. So… he could use that in a fight >:3).

But raptor behaviour taking over his rational human behaviour doesn’t just apply to anger. It applies to all of his emotions. Fear can make him go wide eyed and whine, or super happy makes him go into raptor puppy/kitty mode. Some days he’ll get in a sad mood and follow Lucy and/or Emmet around like a sad puppy. He mopes and whines if they leave him (for too long). He'll just want to sit near them if they want to do their own thing, or cuddle until he feels less mopey. 

Raptor instincts taking over like that could help as a kind of defensive thing. Tho probably annoys Rex more than anything xD Like you know, if he's just trying to be chill and normal, but then someone throws a tennis ball and he has to REALLY restrain himself xD

Now obviously being around pretty much just the raptors for years, he picks up a lot of their behaviours and is more prone to doing them unconsciously. He’s generally more aggressive, but that’s probably more his normal Rex anger being heightened by the raptor-ness. He’s defensive of his food, he’ll hiss or growl involuntarily a lot, swish his tail at things, his pupils will change, etc. 

The raptors probably taught him how to ‘properly hunt’ as well. Which thinking about it, the image of him running alongside a group of them as they teach him and chase something down is almost cute? But he himself is probably gonna only take down small things. Taking down a big animal with a group of raptors might be a bit too raptory for him to want to do. Tho he probably did it at least once to see what it was like. (Also on the note of hunting, because he’s so equipped to do it, eventually during his redemption, he becomes a bounty hunter, but more on that in another post…)

All these raptor like things that he does, he only becomes really aware of post movie, when he’s hanging around Emmet and Lucy. He realises just how much humanity he’s lost after spending time with them. It hurts. It makes him loathe what he’s done to himself even more. 

But those two will help him act more human again. They can pull him up on behaviours and help him, and he’s grateful for that. Any little thing to make him feel ‘normal’ makes him feel better.

Now about some more physical stuff. 

When he’s standing still, he’ll let the end of his tail rest on the floor. Unless the floor is super dirty, then he might lift it up or curl it around a leg to keep it elevated. When he’s walking he’ll lean his torso forward slightly and lift his tail up. When he’s running at full tilt, his tail is out straight behind him and he leans forward a lot. (Almost like Naruto running xD but his arms are forward.)

Diet wise, he needs more meat than a human. He’s still an omnivore, but with a lean towards the carnivorous side. So he does need a balance of foods. And he can’t last on a meat free diet. If he tried to be totally vegetarian (not that he would xD) he would get sick or malnourished in only a few weeks. He can’t live on just veggies. And conversely, he can eat raw meat, more so than a human could, but if he tried to eat nothing but raw meat in his meals, he’d make himself ill with food poisoning after a week or two. Also to keep up his muscle mass, and also just because he’s a very big guy, he needs to eat big meals. Lots of protein, that kind of thing. 

So on that note of food, he’s got a lot of fangs to deal with eating meat, and if he was hunting prey, and that’s mostly at the front, but he does still have some flatter molars at the back of his mouth. Also he can open his mouth quite wide and has very strong jaw muscles for clamping down on things. 

His eyes are obviously raptor/ cat-like, so he can see in the dark quite well. 

His skin is rougher and feels a bit like soft scales. It’s gotta be tough you see. Means he isn’t as injured by light scratches. And the more raptor parts of him have tougher/ more scale like texture. 

He isn’t cold blooded, but in some ways he is a bit? He is a lot more sluggish in cold weather. He hates being out in it, and avoids it at all costs. He’s more susceptible to the cold too and can have trouble keeping up his body temperature in cold environments. He needs to wrap up warm and can’t stay out in the snow or something for as long as a human could. 

He can make all those sounds the raptors can, and speak and understand raptor fluently. Sometimes he talks like this instead of using words by mistake. He’s just so used to the raptors for company. 

“How many T-Rex jokes does he have to deal with?”

Mostly the raptors joke about that to annoy him if he wants them to do something they don’t want to do. But if they piss him off too much by doing that, they quickly do as they're told. He’s like their Alpha. He’s the boss, and you don’t mess with the boss 0-0

Lucy would joke about that too. He begrudgingly lets her get away with it more than he otherwise would.

Now for some Emmet stuff!

Emmet as a half raptor is still pretty sweet, but if he gets aggravated he can snap a lot more easily and violently than he would as a human. He doesn’t have any control over his feelings/ instincts like Rex does. Rex could hold himself back if someone threw a tennis ball for him. Emmet would case after it, catch it, and not realise he’s done that till it’s in his mouth and he’s chewing on it. He does a lot of things like that involuntarily. 

But for the most part, Emmet is like a giant puppy. Playful, clumsy, likes to chew on things he shouldn’t. It’s cute.  

And that’s pretty much all I can think of for now!

#Roarsome Rex AU #i spent a long time on writing this ;-; #rex dangervest #tlm2 au #tlm2 #lego movie 2 #lego movie #emmet brickowski #My writing #mali speaks

[lauxeyson]

SUBMARINE

Pairing/Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: It’s such and ancient pitch, one he finds so hard to resist. It’s so easy, so comfortable and so much more than what he ever could have hoped for. Slow dances and slow touches, slow kisses and slow hands are all that Steve wants for his birthday. 40′s AU + My prompt was “Optimistic”. Slightly based on “Witchcraft” and “Summer wind” by Frank Sinatra.

Warnings: Steve finally learned to dance, at least in this au, Professor Rogers, fluff upon fluff upon fluff and more fluff. 

Word Count: 1,423

A/N: Written for @redgillan ‘s Steve Rogers’ 100th birthday challenge. I hope I did this some justice! And i hope it all makes sense and that i met all the requirements to the challenge and that you’ll like it. And I think I may have taken the prompt in a slightly different way than most but here goes nothing. I tried to put in some small refs to what living in the 40s would actually be like and I hope I didn’t fail miserably at it! GIF is not mine, all credit goes to the rightful owner. Feedback is VERY much appreciated!

MASTERLIST 

That sly come-hither stare, your fingers in his hair. Your lips only inches away from his own, his hands around your waist. It’s such an ancient pitch, one he finds so hard to resist, and when he looks at you, all the little control he has vanish into thin air.  

His back rests on the counter, pants hanging low around his hips. A silly grin dance across his features, his eyes gleam with joy, and you bite your lip as a wicked smile of your own claims its place. Your head snaps back, only slightly, as an idea fills your mind and you untangle your hands from the back of his neck, pushing away from him. Steve watches as you move away from his warmth, your eyes set on the record player he got for more money than what he could afford.

He has no defence for it. His heart beats so intensely in his chest when the music begins to play. The vinyl scratches as the needle hits it mark, the record spinning around and around, almost hypnotical. You turn to him, your arms held out wide in a silent invitation for him to take. Steve just cannot resist it when you arouse the need in him. The need to feel your hot, sweaty skin on his. To feel your chapped, breathless, breaths against his lips and to feel your arms around his body, clinging to him as if he is your only lifeline. He has never danced as much as he does when he is with you; never felt the pull to it, the crazy urge to get it out of his system. Working as an art professor, Steve does not get all the exercise his body craves, and his toned muscles scream in agony after a long day spent in an office chair, or on a small stool before a blank canvas, they beg for some kind of release.

And when it all seems broken, when the world’s judgment lie upon his shoulders and the scrappy economy of your time weighs him down, his body may say no even though his heart says yes to take a spin around the living room floor. He keeps on hoping, that it will all be enough, that you will be happy with him even when things are this rough. He hopes that he can give you everything you want, even if you have to ration out everything you eat and look for coins underneath your mattress every day. That smile you wear on your lips, like witchcraft, calms his mind and confirms what he so desperately needs to know. That you are happy, and you will always be as long as you are with him.

His conscious is stripped bare just by looking at you, feet already moving along to the steady rhythm. Your arms sway side-to-side, so unimaginably graceful, and the way your skirt flows along the lines of your body, the fabric seems to obey your every command, makes his head buzz.

You stop briefly to turn the volume up, your fingers dancing upon the buttons with such ease, it is close to enchanting. Steve looks at you with stars in his eyes, all the love they hold within them threaten to spill over for each second that goes by.

“Do you mind, professor?” Your voice is sultry, low, and dangerously close to making him interrupt you and the music, making him interrupt it all. His eyes meet yours from across the room, and he feels it again: the need, the urge, the pull.

Steve swallows hard, his jaw clenches and he allows the music to take control over his body. Each chord, each word, each beat seeps into his veins, into his heart, into his soul. He knows the words like they are his mantra, his prayer, and like they are the only thing that keeps him afloat. His mind races, you always play this song; you always dance to this song, your song.

“Proceed with what you’re leadin’ me to.”

He unconsciously snaps his fingers along to the tune; his feet take him over to where you stand, over to where your hips slowly sway side-to-side. The French doors of your shared apartment stand agape, the small balcony with the rusty railing stands as the only barrier between you and the buzzing city. The birds tweet happily outside, and the high sun is only climbing its way further up the sky, its rays shining through the shear white curtains that hang in front of the chipping doors. His left arm find its way around your waist, your eyes search his face and map its every detail, store it away in a vault so secure you can never forget them. Steve’s right hand grabs a hold of your own, it is warm and rugged and it fits so perfectly with your smaller one, like a puzzle finally being completed.

The two of you sway back and forth, slow at first, then quicker and quicker as you pick up your pace. And you let out a sigh of relief when the summer wind came blowing in from across the sea, when it lingered there, to touch your hair and whiff it around as Steve dips you down. It fills your gasping lungs as you let out a bright laugh, and his heart flutter by the sound of it. He brings you back up, his head coming down to meet yours, and it rests there, his forehead on yours, like a silent promise between you, two sweethearts dancing in the summer wind.

The heat is too intense for it; you are both out of breath. He brings you closer to his chest, press a kiss to your temple and he holds you, he just holds you. Your chest is heaving up and down, and the next track on the record starts to play. Even if none of you want to, you break away from each other, stretching your worn limbs and wiping down the beads of sweat glistening on your skin.

“Let’s go again, sugar,” he says and walks over to switch records, to find the next song you always dance to, make out to.

You laugh, again, louder this time as your breathing evens out.

“I need to sit down,” you say with a small chuckle and move over to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. “It is too warm to dance, it is too warm to do anything.”

He smiles over at you, his hands lingering over the stack of vinyl records that are stacked in piles on the floor. Steve knows exactly what he is looking for, and he doesn’t hesitate to rummage through them all, searching for that perfect song for a perfect day.

“Baby,” he says, almost pleadingly. “One more time,” he says and puts in a pause. “Please?”

You can only sigh and smile at his soft ask, his puppy eyes burning into your own. A far bigger smile finds its way to your features and you put the glass down, condensation dripping down the sides of it, your feet forcing their way over to him.

“We can make one more before we collapse of heat stroke,” he says and you cannot help but to laugh. “One more, I know we can.”

“Why do you always have to be so optimistic?” You sigh lovingly, your teeth grazing your bottom lip, trying to keep the smile at bay as you snake your arms around his back.

“You love that about me,” he tease and turns around in your arms, a small smile playing on his lips. “Please?” he whispers, and place a small kiss on your temple, once again, while his strong hands holds you tightly against his chest.

“Fine,” you say and throw your head back in an exasperated manor. “Since it’s your birthday and all, what harm can it do?”

He lights up, his lips connect with yours, at long last, and you can’t help but to smile wide into the kiss. His lips feels like velvet against your own and his fingers gently brush against your cheek.

Like painted skies, those days and nights went by flying, dancing, living; the world seemed new under a blue umbrella sky. You danced once more that night, and then again and again until you lost the track of time.

And he loves it, he loves and he thrives in every second of it. He swears, it’s witchcraft, and there is no nicer witch than you.

FOREVER TAGS: @imboredsueme @ex-bookjunky @daysoffuturepast @spiduhgirl @sgtjbuccky @deputy-orange-juice @sgtbxckybxrnes @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th @thatcraxygirl15 @cutie1365 @raindancer2004 @writingsofawaywardnerd @shieldagentofthemonth @lokiandbuckyaremine @teamironamerica @whatiswrongwithpeople @proud-of-being-me @mrs-dr-strange

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#stevesemotionalbirthday #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #imagine steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #imagine captaim america #captain america imagine #marvel imagine #imagine marvel #lauxeyson

[deanogarbage]

find me in the drift (FiKi)

FiKi Week Day 4: Science Fiction or Fantasy.

Anyone who knows me knows that Pacific Rim has slowly consumed my life and I am trapped in the perpetual hellscape that is Newmann. So of course I’m going to pick sci-fi and finally write my Pacific Rim AU that I’ve told @safarikalamari that I’m going to write for over a year. I wrote this in one sitting again like a crazy person.

If you’ve never watched Pacific Rim, I tried to explain the best I could within the fic so watching the movie isn’t necessary but it sure would help. Plus I need more people to join in the sadness of Newmann.

Pairing: Fili/Kili Rating: T Words: 2k-ish Summary: Pacific Rim AU. K-Scientist Killian Durin is thrust into a new position when his uncle is injured and his brother needs his help. The drift reveals some things.

2025. Hong Kong Shatterdome.

Other worldly creatures, known as the Kaiju, have been terrorizing cities on the Earth’s Pacific Rim for nearly ten years. The human world has not sat idly by and let these monsters destroy the world. Jaegers, large human operated robots, have become the saving grace of the world. These Jaegers are each powered by two human pilots through a neurologically controlled processed called the Drift. The Drift allows the pilots to move in sync to operate the Jaeger, but not just any two people are able to drift. A compatibility process is necessary. Jaeger pilots often being siblings or lovers. While the Jaegers, their pilots, and the science around them are important, there are also scientists dedicated to understanding the Kaiju and how to help the Jaeger pilots find their weaknesses and eradicate them for good.

Dr. Killian “Call me, Kili” Durin was one of the leading K-scientists in the world. He held several doctorates in several fields of biology having gone to and taught at some of the most prestigious universities of the world.

While he was proud of his job and the research he had provided toward the Kaiju Wars, he was still the black sheep of the family overall.

Back when the Kaiju had first attacked ten years prior, his two uncles became the heroes of the First Kaiju War as the top Jaeger pilots. It was assumed that he and his brother would follow in their footsteps, but that didn’t seem to be his plan.

On the other hand, his brother Philip “Please don’t call me, Fili” Durin was perhaps the best Jaeger pilot to have ever existed, or so he thought. After their Uncle Frerin’s untimely death at the end of the First Kaiju War, Fili became his Uncle Thorin’s copilot.

The Second Kaiju War had unfortunately began, the giant Godzilla-esque monsters had been spotted outside of Sydney and all hands were back on deck after a decade of relative silence.

Kili was excitedly elbow deep inside part of a kaiju carcass when one of the floor assistants came in with a worried look.

“Dr. Durin, there has been an incident with Oaken Shield. It was severely attacked by one of the Category 3 kaiju. Your uncle and brother are being transported to med bay as we speak,” her voice is worried and a little frantic.

Kili hardly has time to clean himself off before he is running off to the medbay demanding to see his family.

Fili turns out to just have minor injuries that will heal up over a week or so of rest (Kili heard that as a day or two, knowing Fili). His uncle however was not as lucky. He was suffering from some major, but not life threatening injuries.

His piloting career was over at the worst possible time.

Kili knew that there would be knew kaiju coming any day, any moment, and they were officially one Jaeger team down.

Fili had healed up in a matter of days and was already back training. He had been a Marine recruit when the First Kaiju War started. He immediately was deferred to the PPDC’s Jaeger piloting bootcamp. He was never on the deployed teams, having struggled to connect with another pilot.

It was the cruel twist of fate that his career began at his uncle’s end. He finally made a drift compatible match with his uncle. They were able to take down some of the smaller Cat 1’s and the random kaiju sighting over the past decade.

This kaiju was the largest either of them had seen and it was their undoing. While their drift was compatible, it wasn’t the strongest. Now he again was copilot-less and would have to try to find some random pilot to try and bond with.

It was his first day back from the accident, he was healed up but his muscles and body were still sore from a combination of disuse and the injury itself. Many other pilots and crew members filled the on-base gym full of machines as well as a private sparring room.

Kili is working on a punching bag with another scientist when he sees his brother walk him. He excitedly launches himself in his brother’s direction, hugging him tight.

“Look at you! Good as new!” Kili grins patting his cheek teasingly.

Fili chuckles and peels him off gently.

“I need to spar, but I need to start easy. Think you can handle it?”

Kili scoffs in offense crossing his arms.

“May I remind you that I went through all the same martial arts classes as you when we were kids. Ask Hae-Won, I was tearing that bag up over there,” he scrunches his nose.

Fili grins clasping his shoulder and pushing him toward the sparring floor.

“Well then you have nothing to be scared of then!” He pulls his own curly blond hair into a bun and slips padded gloves onto his hands.

“Jiu jitsu rules?” He offers to his younger brother who shrugs with a smile and a nod.

“Sounds good to me.”

The two meet on the middle of the floor, one of the other pilots playing referee. Kili ignoring the whispers of mostly the other pilots.

“He’s a scientist, Philip is going to kick his ass.”

“Ah, he’s injured. I bet the kid gets a good hit or two in.”

“Injured or not, I wouldn’t want to be on the opposite side of Philip.”

They bump their padded knuckles against one another before the reffing pilot signals for them to begin.

Fili easily takes Kili down on the mat within the first few second, Kili nervous about hurting his already injured brother. The knock of air out of his lungs is enough to light the spark in him.

Kili is surprised himself when he is able to go toe to toe with his brother, each fighting and maneuvering easily around one another on the floor. When Kili finds an in and has Fili pinned to the ground and having to tap out, there is nothing but a bit grin and excitement.

Less than an hour later Kili finds himself in his uncle’s hospital room as Fili and Thorin are in the throes of an argument.

“It only makes sense Thorin! Who else better for me to drift with?”

“He isn’t like us Fili! This isn’t the life he signed up for!”

Kili clears his throat realizing he must be the topic of the argument.

“He can talk for himself, you know? Fili, you want me to...drift with you?” His voice is almost incredulous.

“You’re an amazing fighter, Kili. Sure, you need some training and some finessing, but I think you could make an amazing pilot.”

“But I’m a scientist.”

“Yes, but you can be more too! Please Kili, we can do a practice drift and if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But I can’t not let us try,” Fili begs with a renewed energy.

“I don’t like this,” Thorin says resolutely from his bed.

“You don’t have to like it, Kili just has to. You’ll give it a shot, won’t you Kee?”

Kili looks between the two of them before focusing on Fili.

“One time. I’ll give the practice drift one shot, if I don’t like it, I’m not doing it,” He says seriously to his brother, “I’m only considering doing it because I want to see a kaiju up close and personal.”

Fili rolls his eyes but is beyond excited at the idea of having a true drift partner.

They schedule the test drift in one of the Jaeger practice pods the next day. Fili unable to wait any longer.

Even though it is just a practice, the idea of drifting has always scared him a bit. He’s heard the pilots coached enough to know that you don’t hang onto anything in the drift, you just let it ride through.

The drift exposes each pilot to the memories, thoughts, feelings, and emotions of the other. There are no secrets in the drift. Both pilots share an intimate and genuine connection where their minds temporarily become one.

Kili swallows nervously as he steps out in the Jaeger operating outfit, his worried eyes finding Fili who offers a reassuring smile.

“These outfits are ridiculous,” Kili nervously laughs as some of the J-tech crew shows him how to get set up in the mock Jaeger unit.

Fili laughs a little in response, needing no help himself. “Yeah, they are. Hopefully, you’ll get used to it.”

Fili’s voice switches over mid-sentence to the comm link within the helmet.

“Okay Kili, just trust me. Follow my lead and don’t hold onto anything in the drift.”

“I feel like I should start a confessional for all the fucked up things you might see in the drift, so I’m apologizing now.”

Fili laughs again as he speaks in to the mic, pushing in buttons on the HUD of the Jaeger interface, “Activating neural handshake. In 3...2...1…”

Kili gasps as a wall of blue hits his vision and he feels like he may be sick from the spiraling feeling as memories and feeling flood him.

He sees first days of school, Fili fighting bullies, their first martial arts classes, their sleepovers they share as children, Thorin yelling at them.

“You are teenagers! This childhood dependency stops now.”

Fili being sent away for military school. Both sobbing at night, the intense heartache, emptiness.

They feel their first hug in Hong Kong, they hadn’t seen each other in years. A decade spent making up for lost time in their childhood.

Accidental drunken kisses. Fear, shame, they have to hide, if anyone were to know. Their lives would be over. He’d ruin Fili’s life. Fili he loves Fili but he can’t love Fili. Brothers, they are brothers and brothers aren’t like this why is he like this? Why can’t he be better? Fili don’t go-God, ithurtsithurtsmorethananythingwhycanttheyjustbetogetherwhydoesithurtsomuchmakeitstoptheblueisswallowinghimmakeitstopbrotherfilifilifilifilif-

“Kili, let it go! Kili you have to LET GO!”

He surges forward, gasping for air as he makes it onto the other side of the drift. Fili looks concerned at him from behind his helmet.

“Kee, you okay? You made it through. You’ve let it go, now let’s focus on the mission okay?” Fili orders in a reassuring tone as Kili nods catching his breath.

“Yeah, I’m good,” his breath evens out some before he pushes a smile on his face, “Let’s kick some virtual kaiju ass.”

Kili isn’t surprised when they take down the kaiju with relative ease, his mind feeling clear and strong with the guidance of Fili there. It’s reassuring and calming. Like he doesn’t have to think as hard with Fili doing half of the work as well.

Kili however is surprised when the J-tech crew excitedly clap them both on the back.

“You guys just beat the current record of beating Knifehead! With minimal damage at that! It was incredible!”

They both are helped out of the mock Jaeger, the drift ending. Kili searches Fili’s face when he hears a soft rushed voice in the back of his head.

So proud. I love him so much. Kili, I love you.

Fili takes off his helmet not saying anything at first.

“Well then.”

“Well then what?” Fili says softly looking at him.

“I’m going to really, really miss my lab,” Kili sighs holding the helmet under his arm.

Fili couldn’t possibly grin brighter hearing in his own head a soft, I love you too.

#fikiweek2018 #fiki #durincest #fili and kili #pacific rim au #my fanfiction

[sketchesofsam]

The Illustration Master Class - A First Timer's Journal

This is a long blog post. It's mostly for my own purposes, but also for those who want an in-depth look at what being at the IMC is like. I have some pointers for first timers, things you might not think of and things to consider in advance. They'll be at the end of the article. I want to thank Dave Palumbo for allowing me to use a couple of his amazing photos too, he's a talented SOB. 

probably won't forget the moment my Facebook messages suddenly started pinging off. 'Congrats Sam!' 'Hey Sam, you won!' I distinctly remember thinking, hmm, what did I win? Did I enter another twitter giveaway or something? Then someone followed up with 'you won the scholarship!' It took me a moment. Then the chat I was in the middle of with my other half suddenly filled with lots of expletives and capitals on my end. Holy shit. I'd won the Muddy Colors scholarship to the IMC, something that had been a long-term wish of mine since I'd found out about it 5 or 6 years prior but hadn't ever had the funds to attend. So to find out that my entry to their scholarship program - through the generous donations of the Muddy Colors Patreon - submitted on a 'what have I got to lose' mentality that was still shadowed by the fuzzy sting of not getting into Spectrum, had scored me the full cost of the course. I'd honestly forgotten I'd applied. Let that be a lesson to those of you who hold back on submitting to things, especially the things that are free. It's always worth a punt. 

So what's it like to go to the IMC? I can tell you that winning the scholarship made the pre-IMC thumbnail assignment a lot more stressful than if I'd paid for it. The weight of imagining disappointing the people who had seen my work and voted for it - artistic heroes of mine -  was pretty heavy. It made me feel like I couldn't just go and do the same thing I'd always done, even if it had won me the scholarship. Before I started drawing, I reconsidered my influences. I'd started a secret pinterest board a few months back simply called 'Ho Fuck That's Good.' Stuff that gave me a gut punch when I looked at it. I spent a lot of time looking at those images and a lot of the others I had pinned. I stopped paying attention to work that I simply found technically impressive, that had awesome composition or great values. I looked for what moved me. Why it moved me. I started making notes about themes I found compelling or that cropped up a lot in my own work. I decided I wasn't going to do just a straight up realistic narrative Whaler Girl piece, I was going to try and make my own work be more like that which moved me. A risky, and perhaps somewhat dumb move, given those same realistic, narrative images had won me the scholarship. 

We were asked to provide 4 or 5 thumbnails, either of our own choosing, or from an assignment provided, such as an illustration to accompany a short story, the likes of which are often published on Tor.com. With themes like duality, death, grief and love in relationships crowding my brain, I created a lot of thumbnails. I wasn't going to take the first 3 or 4 that came out. I did about 20 in total and narrowed it down to the 6 I felt most attached to. Some of them even had hints back to The Whaler Girl in a very asbtract way. They'd come out better than I'd hoped for and I could see a tiny glimpse of the sort of painting I might get out of it. It made me excited to put them in front of my chosen faculty member. 

We were asked to pick a top 5 from the vertiable smorgasbord of faculty. That was hard. It turned out that most people got grouped with their top pick and that dictated who the other faculty were that would give you feedback. I suspect my pick would have surprised a few people. Kent Williams was actually the instructor I was least familiar with, but researching his work, especially his most recent work, it hit the same kind of buttons that my inspiration board had. His work felt emotionally personal and while I knew I didn't want to necessarily paint like he did, I felt he might be able to give good feedback on how to tap into that sense of the personal. Perhaps someone who could help keep me on track with the first wibbly steps I was taking with my own work. I count myself lucky to have landed in the group with Rebecca, Kent and Tara (McPherson). 

I wanted to make a good first impression, but there were so many approaches to the dreaded 'crit day'. Some folks brought only one or two finished colour thumbs, some folks just had small, traditionally drawn thumbnails, occasionally done on arrival the night before. Some brought photo mockups of the exact piece they wanted to work on. All approaches got good feedback. I'd been forewarned that crit day could be rough, but I think the Studio 201 guys were pretty chill. I did peek my head in on the other two rooms briefly. Donato, Greg Ruth and Scott Fischer were all highly animated and I've been told often argued with each other's feedback. Dan Dos Santos, Irene Gallo and Greg Manchess were part of the group that, from chatting to folks, seemed to get the most direct feedback.

I was a little surprised when there was no tracing paper used during my crit. All three faculty members responded favourably to what had been my favourite thumbnail, despite its weirdness. No direct suggestions other than resolving the shapes in my minimal, non-figurative space (that minor bit of feedback would come to haunt me by The Thursday of DOOM, but I'll get to that later). Inspirations like Inka Essenhigh, Hope Gangloff and Dorothea Tanning were thrown my way, I loved all three for very different reasons. It was safe to say inspiration was running high and I had a tonne of positive energy to run with. 

I felt like I was well prepped going into the IMC, but I wasn't. Choosing to go full traditional when having to fly internationally was a pain. I didn't have a lot of the stuff I needed and had to rely on the infinite kindness of my fellow students and faculty to see me through. Stephen, Annie, Chris, Julia, you were all lovely, I can't thank you enough. 

My Tuesday started with James Gurney sat at my breakfast table. That was surreal but awesome. He and his wife Jeanette are as lovely two people as you could hope to meet, full of insight and always taking notes. The previous day's lecture on photo reference was flowing through my mind and I dreaded having to ask fellow students. My figures were both nudes and that wasn't something I was comfortable with, though I thought perhaps I could take individual legs and arms and use a little online ref to fill in the rest. I wish I'd drummed up the courage to ask my fellow students, but that particular social step eluded me the whole week. I spent the day instead with many sheets of tracing paper, figuring out What marks were what. I had discussions with Greg Ruth and Donato Giancola about how to find those shapes and make them fit in my piece. You have to figure out who to listen to, and whose advice to stash for a later date. You get bombarded with advice if you go in as open-minded as I did. I'd thrown myself into a pool I should have been paddling in first, pretty much at the very public deep end. I'll admit I found ways to put off getting to painting, as it was only the 2nd oil painting I'd done in the last 20 years and the company I had in the room was stellar and a little overwhelming. Eventually, I chose to redraw via a grid so I could edit as I went along and I used some reference I shot of my own limbs to help flesh the drawing out. I left Tuesday feeling reasonably positive about the work.

Wednesday was a full day with faculty feedback, up to the first 5 pm lecture. Dan Dos Santos, who is perfectly lovely, but also very honest with feedback, stopped by my easel. Overall, very complimentary, he pulled me on a bit of weird anatomy, that after using a lot more photo ref with the rest of the piece, had begun to stand out. He suggested I grab Rebecca after our discussion. I'd responded best to her feedback, as she seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so I grabbed her after lunch. She immediately told me the leg and anatomy I'd had in the thumbnail had been working, and that if I liked the weirdness (which I did) to go weird with the rest of the piece to make the leg fit. Literally the opposite of Dan's feedback. Feedback is such a personal thing, every instructor has their own view of art and own journey. I'd probably tried to take a little bit of everyone who'd stopped by and given feedback and every little bit had nudged me slightly off the course I'd intended to take. Dan's feedback was spot on, if I'd been after something with a solid grounding in realism, but I wasn't. I was after an emotional feeling rather than muscles that looked like they fit where they were supposed to go. Rebecca suggested I just print the thumbnail out, mount it to masonite and paint on that. But resolve my shapes first. 

That led me to ask Tara for advice and after some back and forth, I thought I knew where I was going, and decided rather than be tied to the values I'd got in the thumbnail to start with, I'd trace down the printed thumbnail and resolve my shapes. All went well, I got the drawing on the board, and aware of the ever-ticking clock and my ability to get feedback on my painting process, I was keen to get started the following day.

I nick-named Thursday 'Thursday of DOOOOOOOM' in my sketchbook notes. With that many 'O's'. It started well, with my sketch on my illustration board, I figured I'd use acrylic underpainting to speed up the process, then seal with matte medium and start on top in oils. I'd brought a lovely lime green and violet with me, my underpainting was done in warm purple-reds as a counterpoint, and I was winging it. It felt good. I stepped away for a bit before lunch and came back after to the horror of a C-shaped warped board. A brand I'd not used before, I hadn't been heavy with it at all. I threw some matte medium on the back in the hopes it would pull itself out of the curve, but it only stiffened. I think panic set in at this point, I knew there was no point in doing more on the board, but I'd been stubborn over mounting the printouts I'd done. Old dog, new tricks and all that.

Distraught, I knew I had no choice. I slunk off to the back of the studio and tried not to blub my eyes out as I tried a totally new method of mounting with less than perfect tools. Flustered, my hair constantly got stuck in the medium, making me even more panicked that the whole thing would be a disaster and that I'd missed the last supply run and would have to face the very public shame of asking someone for actual help. If there's one thing I hate, it's not being self-sufficient. My fellow students would have happily helped out, but shame is a pretty powerful emotion, it tends to rule what you do. I prayed the mounted paper wouldn't need a 2nd sheet mounting on the back to counter the drawing mounted on the front. At best, in the blazing sun, this stuff would take a couple of hours to dry to the point I could paint on it. The wind did its best to prevent me from stacking the board outside and in my hours of deepest bleakness, I figured that maybe if it blew over into the dirt and insects, I'd say fuck it and make them part of the fucking thing too. It was also at this point I realised the printouts had cropped the two thumbnails I'd chosen to work with, altering their composition drastically. My own dumb fault for not setting the page size up properly in the printer. One more shame I'd suck up and live with. I wish I'd asked for help. I think knowing the pieces weren't what I'd initially intended broke my ability to give them my full attention and killed my mojo for the next couple of days. My anxiety rats, as Rebecca delightfully referred to them, were in full swing. 

While I waited for it to dry, I headed back into the studio and mentioned to Rebecca I'd given in with the curved board and mounted the thumbnail and would she have a look over what I'd chosen to do with the background. Rebecca is gracious and lovely and patiently listens to me explain what I've done. Then she points to some of the graphic elements I'd put in and gently says that they still feel too literal and forced, that the motifs I choose should be something I relate to closely and that it doesn't quite live up to the right hand, figurative side of the painting. I suggest a couple of other ideas, feeling a scrabbling panic bulding in me, only to hear her tell me everything still feels too literal. My logic brain knows she's right, but after a distraught morning, I'm clasping at any straw I have to salvage the situation. I don't know if it showed, and she saw that I was struggling with it or if it was just honest feedback for the moment, but at that point, she looked at me and said 'maybe this piece is a step too far for you right now, maybe you should do the other piece, if that's something that's more comfortable for you.' I think I agreed with her, nodded and extolled the virtues of taking a step back into my comfort zone, getting a painting I knew how to do done was a good thing, yes? But damn if that wasn't a kick to the gut at that very moment. 

She was absolutely right, though. I'd throw myself into a deep pool, with people who were olympic athletes at diving its depths, and in the course of a week expected to be able to at least dive a good distance with them. I'd been able to get my head underwater with my well-planned thumbnails, but in this overwhelming, information packed, inspiring, public test of artistic mettle, I'd punched above my depth, so to speak. Trying to shift gears artistically when you have your own space and the time to find your journey is one thing, I don't know if it can be done in a week, no matter how much amazing input you get from your artistic heroes. Chris, Erin, Annie, I'm sorry if my energy those next 48 hours was a bummer, it wasn't a place I was familiar with being. 

Kent Williams came to the rescue of my very bruised ego that evening with a talk about his personal journey through art. Indirectly, seeing the bredth and depth of his work over such a long time span, I confess to feeling a little idiotic that I'd expected to be able to make that leap in a week. Every faculty member who gave a talk like that had shown me that their journeys were long, and often fraught with failed ventures or periods of doing artistic things they didn't want to. I left the lecture with my tail between my legs, but a renewed sense that I would do my best with the hand I'd given myself. I did a couple of colour studies that evening, traditionally, inspired by seeing James Gurney's master studies in his lecture. I loved doing them, and wish I'd had more time to do more. But I found a piece online that had a palette I liked and did a couple of explorations of a similar theme. I finally, finally, 4 days into the escapade, managed to put down some oil paint. 

Friday and Saturday I painted as much as I could, but tentatively, I was making marks I'd never made before. I listened to the feedback being given around me and let anyone who wanted to stop and give me feedback, do so. I'm not sure I actively asked for it. I struggled as the ladies around me with their amazinly characterful pieces drew the attention of everyone who went past. I wondered if I was so far off the mark and weird that no one knew what to say about my piece. Maybe it was so bland that they couldn't praise or crit it. In retrospect, I recognise that my mood and lack of decent sleep was tinting my mood heavily, and I suspect I was giving off the same vibe, which is enough to make folks give you a bit of a wide berth. 

The theme of finding your niche and doing what you love came up in more than one lecture over those days. I went to bed at 2 am both nights, in an attempt to get as much done as I could. I socialised a little more, realising that was as much a part of the experience as the painting. If not more. I'm hugely thankful for the bonds I forged during that week, something I couldn't have done at home, no matter how much I painted. Those bonds were worth much more to me than the painting I half finished. I think I came to accept that what I wanted to do was going to be a journey that needed a little longer than a week to take. I wish there had been more 'round table' lectures with all the faculty, seeing them interact together on the business lecture was amazing. 

Sunday was chill. I'd had the intention of painting more, but clearing up took a while, and I felt good being relaxed. So I socialised more instead. Our final lecture with Donato was the perfect note to end the experience on and the open house was a chance to take in everyone's work, the standard of which was amazing. After a super tasty mexican dinner and strawberry margherita, the bar beckoned. After drawing I don't know how much hentai in people's sketchbooks and getting a badass Bill Nighy sketch from the awesome Bud Cook in my own sketchbook, alongside the weirdest pseudonyms and animal drawings ever, I crashed and burned as being under the influence after a week of mental stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me. Conan, thank you for making sure I got back safely that night, I really appreciate it, I suspect I'd have passed out in a dark corner of the bar otherwise. Sad I missed out on the late night partying that ensued, but damn, did I need that night's sleep. 

So there's one woman's view of what it's like to go to the IMC, to throw yourself at the mercy of the faculty and your own desires. To fail and not deal with it well, to realise that the painting was never the important thing. IMC was amazing. I can only hope this gives those of you who haven't been a teensy insight. I'm not going to cover what the lectures were or what faculty shared with us, that's a very specific IMC experience, that you really have to go to appreciate. I will say I am hugely thankful to Dan, Rebecca and all of those on Muddy Colors who made that experience real for me. It has enriched me in ways I suspect I'll only realise as my journey continues. Thank you to everyone who gave me kind words and praise and to those who tried to guide me on my way. If ever the opportunity arises for you to attend, I would say grab it with both hands and run with it. Even if your experience doesn't run as profound as mine, and it simply lets you have some time to paint whatever the hell you want, being in a huge room full of people going through the same thing is well worth the price, not to mention watching faculty paint in real time is invaluable. 

So, what if you've taken that leap, some months from now and you're going to the IMC? Here's a few pointers from someone who thought they were prepared and was woefully not. 

1 -  THE DORMS Are basic AF. I was somewhat prepared, but when the FAQ says the beds are firm, they mean it. Think springs wrapped in a bit of plastic tarp. The sheets are functional, but the blanket looked like someone had put used dog bedding through a shredder and mushed it out into a rectangle. I bought a spare blanket at the CVS store, cause no way was that thing touching my skin. I may be a little sensitive though. I affectionately referred to the whole set up as my prison bed, cause honestly, that's all I could think of. If you can bring your own bedding, I'd recommend it.

The dorm bathrooms are gender neutral, which means anyone can use them. I was fine with it, but it's odd the first time you wander into the bathroom and find the opposite sex brushing their teeth. I never had any problems taking a shower, though, they were pretty quiet. 

Morris Pratt Dorm was definitely the more social, I was very thankful to be on the 3rd floor, as a light sleeper, the partying into the wee hours would have kept me awake had I been on the lower floors. The box fans helped with white noise, but the doors are all pretty heavy, so unless folks are very delicate with how they close them, expect some noise. I found the box fan enough without the AC, even when it got pretty warm on the last couple of days. 

2 - FOOD. Having never been to a large educational establishment in the US, I wasn't sure what to expect with the food. Would I have to venture into Amherst to find healthy stuff, would there be much choice? The food was surprisingly decent. It's still a large facility, so it's never going to be amazing restaurant quality, but there were a few choices every day and a well-stocked salad bar. They even had a soft serve ice cream machine, that I managed to avoid until Sunday. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I had it on good authority that the coffee in the dining hall wasn't great. It might be an idea to bring a drinks container with you, as mealtimes are the only time you can get drinks on campus, outside of water fountains. Amherst is only a 10-minute walk down the road, though. 

3 - ART SUPPLIES AND STUDIO SAFETY. I brought paints, brushes and surfaces with me, with the knowledge I'd ordered a couple extra things for while I was there and that there was a supply run. If you work on specific surfaces, it's best to bring those with, Michael's wasn't super well stocked, and more speciality things like large clayboard weren't available. A lot of people bring extras and are happy to share, thankfully. I would have brought more old rags or kitchen towels and some tape. People often used walls to tape up thumbnails or other pieces of art.

The university runs a very strict number of safety policies surrounding paints, water and mediums. Bring some lidded jars with you for mediums and water. Everything has to be labelled clearly and remained closed when not in use. Even water used for rinsing acrylic and watercolours. All have to be disposed of carefully too. Same with anything you wipe paint or mediums on, so using something a bit more disposable like kitchen towel might do you better. They ask you to cover your oil paints when not in use, though that can be with a simple piece of palette paper. 

If you choose an easel, if you have space for a little extra table, you'll likely make good use of it. The chairs they supply are also very basic and not comfortable for long periods, so bringing a cushion is definitely a good idea.  Oh, and they say the studio opens at 8 am on Monday but I got there at 8 am and a lot of the spaces had already been taken, so if you want prime real estate, get there early! 

4 - SELF PROMOTION This sounds like a no-brainer. I brought business cards for the faculty and my portfolio review with Irene Gallo. I thought I'd sorted my work out reasonably well, but actually, my website would have been a better place to show off my work. I also wish I'd brought a physical portfolio to leave out for students and faculty to flick through, perhaps an example of finished work that was either nicely printed if I was doing digital, or one of my traditional pieces. The latter is tricky when flying. My business cards were on the pricey side so I wish I'd had some decent postcards or stickers, printed for the open studio, where folks were picking stuff up. You never know who's going to pick one up! The internet can be spotty in the building, so unless you have some 4G going on, it can be tricky to show off folios digitally. 

You might also be lucky enough to score a second portfolio review if the guests have enough time, I am so glad I could put my work in front of WotC's Jeremy Jarvis. It cheered my Saturday up no end! Make sure you check the lists when they go up and bag your second spot early. And don't puss out. 

5 - DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP I'm stubborn and British, so asking for help is the worst, but everyone there will gladly help you out if they can. Especially the assistant team, Daneen, Julia and Stephen and the 'honored easels' who've been in your situation. Take advantage of them, they are all lovely people.

And that sums it up! An amazing, tiring, exhausting, mentally demanding, inspiring, overwhelming experience that I wouldn't change for the world. I hope to repeat it in the next year or two. I count myself lucky to be part of the alumni and perhaps if you're reading this, I might see you there too. 

[hekate1308]

All I Want for Christmas is Drowley - Day 1 (Prompt: Snow!)

Hello there! So my Day 1 submission for you got a little…long. Sorry? Takes place in some amorphous winter time point in S12. All ref’s to roadside attractions are legit places, honest to Chuck.

Roadside Attractions

It’s half-past who the hell knows o’clock. The sun’s up and he’s yet to get any sleep, that’s all that really matters about the time at the moment, far as Dean’s concerned.

It’s also damn cold. Dean can see his breath as it wafts out in front of his face; a threat of ice and snow building up around him. All things being equal, he’d rather be sitting down to a heaping helping of pancakes smothered in glorious maple syrup, or tucked away in a warm bed, then hanging out in an auto-yard looking at…

“What the hell are we looking at here?”

Crowley shrugs, the movement shifting the demon’s body just a hair closer to Dean. Neither of them move to accommodate the change. “Not sure. It’s…certainly an interesting form of artistic expression.”

“Art?” Dean cocks an eyebrow as he spares a glance to the man next to him. “It’s a giant gorilla holding a Volkswagen in the air by one hand.”

“Like I said, an interesting choice. Not my preferred style, but not everyone is as discerning as yours truly. It does have a certain panache, don’t you think?”

Dean tries and fails to bite back a laugh. “Not the word I would use.” Dean looks at the, whatever it is, tilting his head to the side to see if that helps it make more sense.

It doesn’t.

“Why’s it holding a hand out like that?”

“That’s for photo-ops, Squirrel. Shall we snap a selfie, for old time’s sake?”

Dean snorts. An image flashing to the front of his mind from that summer, when the two of them had ended up at some weird-ass ketchup festival and antique car show in Illinois. There may or may not be photographic evidence saved within the depths of Dean’s phone (and Crowley’s Flickr album), of him and the King of Hell looking absolutely ridiculous standing in front of the world’s largest bottle of ketchup. The memory sends a bolt through Dean that’s not quite nostalgia, but isn’t all that far off either. “Nah. I’m good.”

“Your loss, darling.”

Dean shifts his weight a little, pressing back against the hood of the Impala until he can feel the cold of the metal seeping through his jacket. Crowley does the same a few scant inches away. This close to Dean, the demon’s body heat is a tangible thing, and with his own body temperature dropping what feels like several degrees every second he stays outside, Dean finds he has to curb the urge to lean closer so that he can suck up some of that warmth for himself.

He should probably be worried that his initial reaction is to move closer to the demon, but really, considering their history, he hardly thinks it matters. 

Exhaustion seeping in at the edges, Dean yawns, a big open-mouthed breath. The action spurs on a full body shiver as he sucks in the frigid winter morning air. Which is when a smattering of fat snowflakes hits the ground in front of them.

Snow. Great. That’s, that’s just great.

“Cold, Squirrel?”

In time with the snarky question, a round droplet of snow lands on Crowley’s forehead, melting instantly at the contact so that a droplet of water rolls down into the other man’s eyes. He blinks his eyelids rapidly to brush it away. The action, comical as it is, is also - if Dean was willing to admit to such things, which he is not - a little endearing. Dean doesn’t bother trying to bite back his laugh this time.

“Gotta little snow in your eye there, Boris?” The demon glares at him, grumbling out a nonverbal response and tucking his hands deeper into his coat pockets. Dean mirrors the action, pulling his jacket in closer to hold in what little warmth remains. As the snow begins to fall faster, he gives serious consideration to just getting back into the car. “How long we gotta wait here?”

“My contact should be here soon. Never fear.”

Dean grunts in response. Trusting Crowley on that count. Crowley might not feel the cold the way that Dean does, but he doubts the demon wants to risk his suit by hanging out in this weather for much longer either.  

The fact that Dean’s willing to put any amount of faith, or trust, in the things that Crowley says and does is another thing that should worry Dean.

But it doesn’t, not really. He’s past the point of trying to pretend like everything between them is the same as it always was. Hell, there’s no use in trying to pretend like there isn’t a between them at all. Though sometimes the demon pulls shit that makes Dean wish he could.

Now’s not one of those times though. Not so far as Dean can tell at least. No, at the moment, Crowley appears for all the world to be helping them. Again.

Which is why, despite the cold and falling snow, Dean is left in this weird space where hanging out with Crowley is more comfortable than anything else. Like he can just…relax around him.

Doesn’t mean he needs to stand outside like a fool while a blizzard rolls in. “Screw this. I’m waiting in the car.”

He pushes off from the hood and makes his way to the driver’s side, pulling the door open. He pauses before climbing in when he notices that Crowley hasn’t moved an inch, scrunching his forehead in confusion in his direction. “You comin’ or what?”

There’s a brief flicker of surprise that passes over Crowley’s face before he nods his head and heads to the passenger side, climbing in right as Dean starts the engine and turns the heat up.

His muscles relax as the heat begins to blast out of the vents in counterpoint to Sabbath coming out the speakers at a low volume, Baby revving to life around them

“This contact of yours - can we summon his ass to get him here any faster?”

“Not a demon, unfortunately. He’ll be here.”

“He better. We stick around much longer, we’re gonna be stuck.”

Logically, Dean knows that Crowley could leave whenever he wanted. The demon teleported here to meet Dean. It stands to reason he’ll teleport out when their done.

Dean also knows that if he gets stuck here, Crowley isn’t going anywhere. 

“Why, Squirrel, don’t want to be snowed in with me? I’m hurt.” Crowley waggles his eyebrows. “We can huddle for warmth.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Keep dreamin’, Crowley.”

“Every night, Dean.” The inflection on the words is heavier than Dean would expect. Not the light type of teasing they sometimes do, or the hotter, dirtier kind that they once indulged in (and that Crowley still tries to employ to his advantage on occasion). There’s a serious quality to it that makes Dean’s spine straighten.

Dean meets Crowley’s gaze across the seats, trying to gauge the intent behind the words best he can. He’s not sure exactly what he sees there, but he knows it’s not what he was expecting. It makes something warm settle over him that has nothing to do with the forced air blowing at him from the dash. His tongue darts out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Focused as he is on Crowley’s expression, he can’t miss the way the demon’s eyes follow the motion. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than it has any cause to be.”Crowley…”

He’s interrupted by a well-timed (or horribly timed, depending on your perspective) series of taps on the passenger side window.

Crowley sighs, turning away from Dean to look up and out the window, rolling it down after taking the time to observe the person on the other side, barking out an angry “What?!”

The contact, an oddly familiar looking frail man with sallow skin and tightly coiled hair that’s begun to gray at the edges, doesn’t seem at all bothered by Crowley’s annoyed demeanor. Just hands him an oblong package wrapped in brown paper. “Your order, sir.”

Crowley’s countenance relaxes a fraction, though when he speaks it sounds a little strained to Dean. “Thank you, Gerald. You’ll find your payment has been delivered to the usual address.”

“Pleasure doing business, as always.” Gerald tilts his head in a half nod, dark eyes glancing over Dean before he straightens and heads towards the giant gorilla statue. To Dean’s astonishment, the man climbs into the thing’s open hand (Crowley’s self-proclaimed selfie spot), and takes a seat.

In the middle of the snowstorm.

Dean narrows his eyes in the man’s general direction. Trying - and failing - to place him. “Your contact - I met him before?”

Crowley clucks his tongue. “You have, briefly.”

Dean thinks back, surprised by the large quantity of people he’s been introduced to - unwilling or not - by Crowley. A moment of reflection later, and it comes to him. “That the same odd bastard we met up with at the giant talking penguin statue?”

“One and the same.” Crowley slides a glance at Dean, mouth curling up at the corners in the hint of a smirk that makes Dean wish he hadn’t asked. Because while the giant talking penguin statue was hard to forget as far as weird-ass “art” pieces were concerned, the memory of the motel located at the same place - or rather, what Dean and Crowley had gotten up to at said motel - is even harder to forget.

Dean swallows, hoping his cheeks aren’t heating up as much as he suspects that they are. In a poorly concealed effort to deflect, he says “Dude’s got a real thing for roadside attractions, huh?”

Crowley, to Dean’s surprise, let’s it go. “Gerald is…eccentric. Don’t worry, he’s harmless.” He slips the package - still wrapped - beneath the seat, and claps his hands together, rubbing his palms briskly back and forth for a few seconds. “What do you say we get some breakfast? I know a place just a short drive away. Serves the best waffles you’ll ever have.”

Dean furrows his brow. “You’re not gonna open it?”

Crowley shrugs. “No reason. It’ll keep until after we’ve eaten.”

Dean gaps at him. Wondering what the hell he called him out here for if all that was happening was a hand off for a package that Crowley can’t even be bothered to check.

He says as much to Crowley, anger flaring through him the whole while. Crowley just huffs out a slow whiff of air in response. “Relax, Squirrel. I asked you here as backup, in case things went sideways. They didn’t so…” He spreads his hands out, palms up. “It’ll keep.”

“What if it’s not what it’s supposed to be?”

Crowley just looks at Dean, holding his gaze for a half a beat longer than is really comfortable. His words are slow, and measured when he answers. “Then I’ll have to activate the warding spell on Gerald’s payment, won’t I?“

Dean considers this for a moment, the anger draining out of him slowly at the explanation, thin as it is.

Trusting Crowley? Not all that easy yet. (But also not as difficult as it once would have been.)

Dean’s not sure if that’s progress, or something else. He knows what Sam’s opinion on it would be. But Sam’s not here, off chasing another lead with Cas instead, so Dean’s not sure it matters what his brother would think.

“Now, breakfast?” There’s a tight smile on Crowley’s face as he makes the offer a second time, and Dean knows that he’s well aware of what Dean’s response is going to be.

It’s almost enough to make Dean want to do the opposite, just to be contrary. Almost. Instead he does the expected, shaking his head. ”Crowley-”

“Did I mention that they have bison sausage too?”

As if on queue, Dean’s stomach growls. “Bison? Like bison bison? Not cow labeled as bison?”

“MmmHmm. Come on, Squirrel. Live a little. What’s the point of coming to Vermont if you don’t stop for something smothered in artery clogging genuine maple syrup?”

Dean thinks on it for a few moments. His stomach arguing in favor, his brain arguing against. He looks away from Crowley and towards the man sitting in the giant gorilla hand catching snow on his tongue, and makes a decision.

Dean wraps his hand around the gear shift, and puts the car in reverse, easing her back slow on the slippery snow. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

“Of course, darling. What kind a date would I be if I didn’t?”

OMFG THIS IS AMAZING THANK YOU SO MUCH

#drowley #all i want for christmas is drowley #everything about this is wonderful #submission

[flauntpage]

McGregor In Reverse: Boxer Heather Hardy Ready for MMA Debut

Heather Hardy is synonymous with New York's boxing scene.

The 20-0 WBC international featherweight champion is from Brooklyn's Gerritsen Beach, she trains aspiring boxers at the legendary Gleason's Gym in DUMBO, and as a professional boxer, she's built a reputation for selling tickets at nearly all of the city's venues: Coney Island's Ford Amphitheater, B.B. King Blues Club in Times Square, the Roseland Ballroom, and the massive Barclays Center, just to name a few.

Until now, the only notable exception was arguably the world's most famous arena and boxing's Mecca: Madison Square Garden.

The good news is that Hardy will cross MSG off her "to-do" list on Saturday night. The catch is that at 35, the single mother and veteran pugilist will do so by making her mixed martial arts debut in a flyweight match against Alice Yauger (4-5) at Bellator 180.

In moving from boxing to MMA, Hardy didn't exactly become the Neil Armstrong of combat sport crossovers. Holly Holm was famously the first athlete to win titles in both sports. And at the opposite end of the spectrum, UFC superstar Conor McGregor is preparing to make his boxing debut on Aug. 26 against Floyd Mayweather, an undefeated legend and heavy, heavy favorite.

And like McGregor, who's under contract with the UFC and needed president Dana White's go-ahead before finalizing any deal with Mayweather, Hardy had her own red tape and needed approval from notorious boxing promoter Lou DiBella.

DiBella was reluctant at first, but politics helped to force his hand.

When New York became the last state to legalize professional MMA in 2016, the new law came with a major caveat: For every athlete competing in a combat sport, promoters were required to provide $1 million of insurance covering any potential life-threatening brain injury. (In 2013, Russian boxer Magomed Abdusalamov suffered a significant brain injury during a fight at MSG, and his subsequent lawsuit is believed by many to be the impetus for the steep insurance requirement in New York's MMA Law).

Not only did the new law effectively make boxing cost prohibitive at the club level, but such an insurance policy did not exist for boxing. That put New York's boxing industry on hiatus for four-and-a-half months before the proper policies were approved.

Without her usual boxing purses, Hardy signed with Invicta FC and planned on making her MMA debut in January before her opponent pulled out because of injury.

Since then, Hardy won a pair of boxing matches against Edina Kiss, including one at LIU's Paramount Theater, which was the first club-level fight card since last September. Following that unanimous decision, Hardy announced that she would fight Yauger at Bellator 180 with the blessing of DiBella and help from her new trainer, jiu-jitsu black belt and MMA fighter Daniel Gracie.

The following is an interview with Hardy in which she discusses boxing, MMA, the business of both sports, and Conor McGregor's (non-existent) chances against Floyd Mayweather.

Fightland: How did you first get the idea to try MMA in your 30s? Heather Hardy: Last year [June 25, 2016], I was 15-0 and I was boxing on the undercard of [Keith Thurman-Shawn Porter's fight on CBS]. I was boxing the girl that was ranked No. 2 [Kirstie Simmons]. I had the perfect argument to be put on TV. I lobbied and lobbied and did all the things. At the time, I was being sponsored by Dove, I was in the commercial campaign; so much stuff was happening; 15-0. And they wouldn't do it. I was passed over by a guy who was like 2-0. And I just felt so defeated. I was doing all the things I was supposed to do and it still wasn't enough. So I thought I needed a backup plan. That summer I started wrestling. Soon after I started wrestling and posting on my social media, [Premiere Boxing Champions] did my fight [against Shelly Vincent] on NBC Sports.

So boxing was starting to take a good turn, but at the same time, I was already doing the jiu-jitsu and thinking, 'man, I'm OK at this.' And then we had the insurance issues in New York, where there were no boxing for six months, so it was the perfect time to get Lou [DiBella] to say that I can do a fight. Then that Invicta fight fell through and I was so disappointed. The girl pulled out the day before the way in. It sucked.

DiBella didn't have to say 'yes' to you? Yeah, I'm really grateful for that. I had to kind of go up to him like when you're asking your dad for money when you know he has none. I was like, 'Please, please,' and I know he's not a big fan of MMA. And why in the world would he want to let me go into another combat sport, where I could potentially get injured? So it was a big thing for him to allow me to do this.

So you went from wrestling to jiu-jitsu. I started American wrestling. I had kick boxed before I boxed, so I'm kinda familiar with kickboxing. And getting back into that hasn't been so difficult. I transitioned from wrestling into jiu-jitsu, and now training I'm with Daniel Gracie.

What's the biggest challenge of this transition? They can pick me up and throw me on the floor. That's really not OK with boxing (laughs).

The biggest challenge is that the tricks you can use in boxing don't work in MMA because people can pick you up and throw you on the floor. You could do a little shoulder bump or lean on your opponent if you're tired or tuck a little on the inside to bully them.

Too many punches at once and you wind up on your back.

In MMA, you're not doing such complicated combinations, right? My MMA coaches are telling me that, "Don't think more than two punches at a time," and if you stand still, someone is gonna look to tie you up.

In boxing, if someone ties you up, the ref breaks it up. In MMA, so much can happen: elbows can get thrown, knee kicks can get thrown. It's dangerous when you get close. They tell you, "Strike and get out; strike and get out."

Is your MMA strategy similar to your boxing strategy? I wish I could say that it is, but my boxing style is being more of a volume puncher. I'm an aggressive puncher. The challenge for me has been to try and add movement to stick and move instead of just stick and stick and stick.

Without any corners in the Octagon, does your footwork have to change? There's no corners, but there's also no gives. With the ropes [in boxing] you can push back on the ropes, you can get a couple of extra inches to move out of the way of a punch. You can work off the ropes.

The cage hurts. You don't want your back on the cage ever. And so many different things, like takedowns in jiu-jitsu and strikes can happen up against that cage. It's not where you wanna be.

But an official MMA cage is almost twice the size of a boxing ring, so I almost feel like I'm fighting someone in my back yard.

With that much space, is it easier to evade an opponent? No, because in boxing, when you get away, you only have to get away from two hands. In this, you're getting away from throws, kicks, knees, elbows, fists. Getting away really entails a lot.

Some see boxing as being more of a skill and MMA being more like a street fight. Is that what you've found? There are very few things you can't do in MMA. You can't poke someone in the eye; you can't bite anybody. It's not a vicious street fight. What I've been telling people for years—and as a boxing fan, you know—you tell people that boxing is a skilled sport. When you watch two people box, it can be like watching two people dance when they're doing it right. It's a beautiful art.

The same can be said for jiu-jitsu, for wrestling, and for all those things that the common, untrained eye may see as just people rolling around on the floor trying to maul each other. Actual beautiful transitions are happening if you know what to look for.

Is it like a street fight? Much more like a street fight than boxing. You can crack your elbow on someone's face after you knock them on the floor. But there's certainly skill involved.

Was jiu-jitsu a good way to transition into MMA? I think that it's important to know what I'm allowed to do, but what my opponent is capable of doing. So I felt like I needed try all of the martial arts just to see what's out there. My coaches might say, "We're gonna work on this drill; you'll never do this in a fight and I never want to see you do this in a fight." But I need to be aware of what can be done to me.

How does the length of the fight compare? Three five-minute rounds.

Does it feel shorter? Longer? Usually I do 10 rounds, but I'd do 10 two-minute rounds. This is a tremendous difference.

Is this more like a marathon? It's like sprinting a marathon is more like it.

How have you responded physically? Getting the grappling stamina that's required and the muscles used has been challenging. But I've been sparring five-minute rounds. We did all the work to prepare.

Did anyone warn you against doing MMA? Well, we had a little of that from Lou in the beginning. Outside of him being a scared dad, no. My team and I are always on the same page. Some of my boxing coaches, some of the old-school guys at Gleason's [Gym in Brooklyn] were like, "What are you doing? What's wrong with you?"

You've said you're not leaving boxing. If you immediately have MMA success, would you turn your attention to that? I don't know that I won't turn my attention to it anyway. I plan on having a lot of success in this field. I'm hooked now. I had my training camp, and about halfway through training camp, something clicked. The green light went on and I was like, "Oh my God, I love this now." I'm really enjoying this.

What clicked? One day I was training and I was trying so hard to do something with the jiu-jitsu and one of my coaches said, "Stop thinking so much; just do what you would naturally do." All of the sudden, everything got easier.

It was just a common takedown defense drill. Someone slams you up against the cage: how do you stay on your feet? I was trying to do all the technical steps: You hit your overhook or your underhook; your hips have to turn; drop your waste.

I'd be like, "Oh, I forgot to do this! Oh, I forgot to do this!"

The coach was just like, "Stop it. Don't let her get you on the floor. How about we think about that instead of the ten things you're supposed to do?"

Once I started thinking like that, it was like, "Oh duh, it's like a fight." It's not a recipe. I'm not baking a cake.

You have to defend more of your body now besides your head and torso. Is that a problem? There are two ways to think about it: More body to defend, or more opportunities to strike.

If you go into boxing and think, "She can do this; she can do that; this can happen to me," that changes your game. My focus is just to stay out of the way and do as much damage as I can when I'm in the zone.

Were you an MMA fan before this? No, but in all fairness, I wasn't a boxing fan either. I grew to appreciate it through doing the sport.

How are you finding the business side of this? It's just different. The business side of anything is just difficult. People keep asking me, "Are you so nervous; it's fight week?" And fight week is fight week. It's business week as a fighter. I gotta close out tickets; I gotta finish making my weight; I gotta see who didn't get T-shirts. I have so much stuff to do, and that doesn't change. This is the same kind of business.

If anything, Bellator is more corporate then boxing. Boxing isn't very corporate. So now I'm finding I'm dealing with lots of different departments to get stuff done and figuring out who to direct questions to. The fundamentals are the same.

Were it not for the insurance issue, would you have just stayed in boxing full time? No, my coach is a three-time world champion. The transition to MMA was always something that was hanging there. He always told me you have to get great at something first. We can't come out of the Golden Gloves and just go into MMA. You have to get great at your boxing.

Not to say that I'm great at boxing, but I'm certainly above skill level against most of the [MMA] competition in terms of boxing. I feel really comfortable making the transition now because of the level I go to in boxing.

Did you scout your opponent? I don't watch video. I leave that to the coaches and let them tell me how to train. You can get so preoccupied with what you see on tape. You don't know how someone is gonna react to you. So I don't like to overplan as much as just being prepared.

You're a boxing expert and you're becoming an MMA fighter: Does McGregor stand a chance against Mayweather? No way does McGregor beat Mayweather in a boxing ring. No way does Mayweather beat McGregor in a cage… Anyone on the planet who thinks that McGregor has a chance does not appreciate the science of boxing.

I don't know that [McGregor will] land one [punch]. I've done sparring sessions where no one hit me, and I'm nowhere near Floyd Mayweather.

McGregor In Reverse: Boxer Heather Hardy Ready for MMA Debut published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv