jcryptid

Latest Posts by jcryptid

Poster for a Screenwriting course :)

(I'll update this with the Logline in a bit, just gotta sleep first -_- )

Been thinking about starting a comic lately…

“She feels angry all the time, because of what they did to her. She’s so angry she doesn’t know what to do with it… sometimes I feel like that, you know?”

Trying out procreate on my new iPad, and my country keeps trying to revoke basic human rights. So needless to say Jason Todd has become something of a comfort character lately.

Getting over art block by drawing me and my brother’s sonas as our favourite eevelutions.

(Content warning: US election/politics) 

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

Over the last few days, the phrase “Hope for the best but prepare for the worst” came to my mind a lot. 

My post with safety tips (things you can do now that may potentially help when project 2025 comes) got a lot of notes, and many people added on their own advice or ideas. I wrote that post when I was still very much in the initial stage of shock over the election result. I wrote it because I felt really helpless and enraged and scared and heartbroken… and I just felt like I had to do something, anything, to help before the world goes to hell. I guess that’s a feeling a lot of us had or are still having. 

I didn’t want to - or maybe I just couldn’t at that stage - talk about hope in that post. How could I watch a fascist criminal become one of the most powerful men on earth and then go on my silly little blog to ramble about hope? In fact, I told you that you don’t need to feel optimistic, but you need to take care of yourself. You need to be kind to yourself. 

What I didn’t say (and should have said) is that taking care of yourself IS hope. 

None of the safety tips I shared or the ones you guys added would matter if it wasn’t for hope. We need to believe in a future to prepare for it. To fight for it. 

If we didn’t have hope, we wouldn’t make appointments to get an IUD or a flu shot. We wouldn’t share advice on which health products to stock up on. We wouldn’t remind each other to check in and connect with each other. We wouldn’t share advice and resources and ideas with each other. If we believed we are all doomed and there’s no future, we’d do none of that - because you wouldn’t fight for a future if there wasn’t one. 

Every time I see that post popping up in my notifications, I am reminded that there is hope. Because hope isn’t just a feeling. It’s an action. And I see you taking that action.

We are here and we are queer and we are willing to fight for our future. And as long as that’s true, there is hope. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHO NEEDS TO HEAR THIS RIGHT NOW. I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THIS WILL GO FAR.

BUT I WILL MAKE IT OUTRIGHT TO YOU HERE AND NOW, ZERO FILTER. YOU HAVE TO FUCKING LIVE. DON'T KILL YOURSELF. YOU HAVE TO OUTLIVE TRUMP. WE WILL OUTLIVE THAT 78 YEAR OLD JACKASS. NOBODY CAN SILENCE US.

I personally thought I wouldn't make it to be the age that I am today. When I was 9, I thought I was going to die because of something that happened in the area that I lived in. But I made it.

Your future self is counting on you. You have to stay alive. That is your main job above all else until that orange man finally fucking dies. If you need support, there's SO MANY PEOPLE that can support you. Friends, teachers, mental health workers, trusted adults, SO MANY DAMN PEOPLE. AND EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANY OF THEM, THERE ARE HOTLINES FOR A REASON!!!

This post is not just limited to LGBTQIA+ and people of colour, but it's aimed to EVERY DAMN PERSON THAT ISN'T A DUMB FUCKASS TRUMP SUPPORTER. I LOVE YOU ALL, I REALLY DO. AND EVEN THOUGH I'M SOME RANDOM TEEN ONLINE, I'M HERE FOR YOU ALL.

Put your mouth where the money is, people. We need to fucking win this, or else not just the US, but the entire WORLD will be fucked.

This reply means the world to me. Regardless of where you’re from, or what’s happening in your country, you matter. Your struggles matter, even if they don’t feel large enough or aren’t getting any international media attention.

This post isn’t just for Americans, or Australians, or Palestinians or people living in the UK. It’s for everyone, who just needs a little reminder that there is reason to hope, and that reason can manifest in a thousand tiny ways.

A PSA from my D&D Characters in light of the recent election.

I don't live in America, but like so many others we are feeling the ramifications of what happened and how much the right's hate has emboldened facsism and hate across the world.

I can't do much alone and I don't intend to, but hopefully myself and my art can help you find just a bit of hope. Enough, at least, to take care of yourselves and eachother, and enough to find the strength to keep fighting for a brighter future.

Please remember that in a system that wants you gone, caring for yourself and eachother is a form of rebellion they will never be able to take away from us.

We will survive this.

A PSA from my D&D Characters in light of the recent election.

I don't live in America, but like so many others we are feeling the ramifications of what happened and how much the right's hate has emboldened facsism and hate across the world.

I can't do much alone and I don't intend to, but hopefully myself and my art can help you find just a bit of hope. Enough, at least, to take care of yourselves and eachother, and enough to find the strength to keep fighting for a brighter future.

Please remember that in a system that wants you gone, caring for yourself and eachother is a form of rebellion they will never be able to take away from us.

We will survive this.

I hope none of you disappear in the coming days. Seriously don't do anything that can't be undone.

I need help for an oc-based zine!

Hello hello hello! Do you have original characters? Do you like art/writing? Well boy, do I have a zine for you!

I'm planning to make a zine called "Toaster oven". It'll focus on ocs and their worlds, and will be formatted like a gossip tabloid!

Here are the columns/parts/whatever that will be included (if enough people participate, of course.)

LANDLINE - An advice column.

JAWBREAKER - A gossip/journalism column.

DEAR DOVE - An interview column!

BREWER'S CHOICE - A cooking column. (Can include spells)

PENCILKILLER - Little tasks / comics / poems.

And fake in-character ads!

How you can help:

LANDLINE - Send me a dm, ask (preferred), or reply to this post with a question your oc would send into an advice column! Example question (yours can be longer, but id recommend keeping this format) : "Dear Landline. I am a multiversal traveller (M, 45+), and I've been travelling like this ever since I got separated from my (adopted) child (Agender, infinitely old????). Recently, I have been dealing with my boss's bullshit, some random guy that looks like the guy that attempted to capture my child and grandchild, and a horrible family reunion. Which alcoholic beverages would you recommend for my situation? Preferably ones that can be consumed by machines. Many thanks." -@toastylicious

(obviously, replace the text within the "" with your own and the @ with your own) THERE WILL BE 3 LANDLINE PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (0/3 slots filled)

JAWBREAKER - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a tabloid-style "article" about your oc/an event that happened to them. 500 word minimum, 1500 word maximum. BONUSSS: you can add 1-3 images of your oc that will be placed with the text. (Image not required, preferred) THERE WILL BE 3 JAWBREAKER PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (1/3 slots filled)

DEAR DOVE - Reply to this post with your oc and some info about them. If you're chosen, I'll dm you questions for your characters and you dm me answers! THERE WILL BE ONE DEAR DOVE PARTICAPANT CHOSEN (1/1 slots filled)

BREWER'S CHOICE - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a recipe that your oc would use. It can be a recipe for a meal, a spell or a potion. BONUSSS: You can add an image (preferably drawing) of the meal/spell/potion your oc would make. For example, if you send in a recipe for enchanted croutons that electrocute you if you eat them, draw someone getting electrocuted by the croutons! (Image not required, preferred) THERE WILL BE 3 BREWER'S CHOICE PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (0/3 slots filled)

PENCILKILLER - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a small 1-2 panel comic, a little task the reader could do (Drink water, do some streches, idk!), or a poem!

THERE WILL BE 4 PENCILKILLER PARTICAPANTS CHOSEN (1/4 slots filled)

ADS - Send me a dm or an ask or reply to this post with a drawn "ad". Obviously, these aren't actual ads. But they can be your oc trying to sell something! A witch selling her spice brew? A necromancer selling his dead-2-life services? A robot looking to buy parts? The options are endlessssss!

THE NUMBER OF ADS IS UNDECIDED (0/? slots filled)

ALL PARTICAPANTS WILL BE CREDITED, HOWEVER I CANNOT PROMISE CONPENSATION. THE FINISHED ZINE (If finished) WILL BE FREE.

DEADLINE: 01 / 01 / 2025 (Deadline is flexible, can change.) As always, reblogs and sharing appreciated :) Please help me spread this stupid idea and make it into a reality!

Forget favourite colours and aesthetics, tell me what personal thematic motifs and symbols you love using in your life?

The beautiful thing about art, is you can find meaning in anything. What I want to know, is what you find meaning in the most.

Heh... wouldn't it be fun to draw some slightly more detailed fanart for Keiko and-- oH gOD! OH FUCK!

@whatweoughttosay

The final boss of “learning social skills” is seeing someone online say something about a special interest of yours that’d be the literal perfect opportunity for you to talk about it but deciding not to do it because the person made the comment so long ago it’d be kind of weird to reply now. If you can restrain yourself, you’ll be awarded the “King of Acting Normal” prize on national television by the president. Or so I’m told.

Recently got possessed by the Spiderverse Hyperfixation, so drew this quick piece so I could have a break from assignments

Another drawing of my Raptor Rangers OC

Happy Spooky Month!

crappy last minute drawing of my dino-riding-bushranger sona thing

(Had a lot of fun trying out texture functions on Clip)

@kiki-whentheyart

the constant inner struggle of a Na'vi speaker/teacher browsing Na'vi OCs

really helpful technique ^ once you know how to divide by halves and thirds it makes drawing evenly spaced things in perspective waaay easier:

Bad: aliens that insist upon referring to human women as “feeeeemales”.

Good: aliens that insist upon dividing humans into binary categories, but the binary in question is based on something we’d regard as trivial and bizarre.

Trying out some new ClipStudio pens and techniques I found online, so here's a little doodle redraw of my favourite cursed wizard and his dragon boyfriend

Short Story I wrote based on a D&D Character concept

Ophelia Carlisle was a liar.

She wore masks of mirrors reflecting back an image of yourself you could trust. Draped in fine golden chains, her eyes twinkling like jewels and dazzling the eye so that the dagger at her side remains unnoticed.

Be a rose her mother had said. Dainty and beautiful and the picture of grace. Be the rose, so that others may not see your thorns until it is far too late.

Ophelia Carlisle was a liar, but she was also the lie.

Ophelia the Tiefling, born into squalor and taken in by a family of nobles out of the goodness of their hearts. Raised and taught well in the art of politics and spinning dazzling words in a rich tapestry of conversation that would leave all who had the pleasure of knowing her enraptured. A child who grew and blossomed into a woman of great renown, once draped in golden finery and precious velvet, now travelling in relative secrecy, searching for a way to restore her family to the honour and favour of the crown they had so long dreamed of. Bravely choosing to take on her father’s dying wish and see his dream of their family finally stepping into the light of respect and recognition realised after so long in the dark.

But Ophelia Carlisle was a liar, and also the lie.

Thalia Drabek was taken in by a noble house, it’s true, but for a purpose. She was chosen for her beauty and her ability at magic and stealth off the streets by a family looking for a tool he could use in a giant game of chess. She was taken without her consent to a house laid in rich marble and dazzling sculpted fountains to be a spy in high society. Taught well in espionage and stealth so that she may assist them in their mission to clear out the corruption that permeated the royal courts. But their mission, as she discovered, was a lie. One told to keep her under their thumb and believing themselves righteous, fighting for good when in reality it was merely a bid for control. When she discovered this, she made preparations to disappear but was discovered. In the process of fighting her way to freedom from the family’s clutches she faked her death and resurfaced under the name Ophelia Carlisle. In hopes she could remain free.

Thalia Drabek, however, was nothing more than a fabrication and a falsehood.

Isla Blackthorne had never seen the inside of a ballroom until her late teens, and at the time she worked as a servant for the noble house of Drabek. Before then she had lived in squalor with an absent father and a mother who worked so hard for their lives that it killed her. Even as a child Isla looked upon the nobles who trussed themselves up in finery with an envy that went beyond the want of a poor child. She dreamed for so long that one day she might find herself whisked away to a home with a hall of mirrors and a table filled to the bursting with cakes and delicacies every morning for breakfast.

She snuck on grounds of a mansion whenever she could, and watched as people in glistening gowns twirled with partners on a marble tiled floor and her heart ached for the kind of luxury and comfort and joy they seemed to take so easily for granted.

But it always seemed like a pipe dream.

In the meantime, she learned well how to lie, how to sell a bottle of piss like it was the finest of wines. She swindled hundreds out of their coin, ran scams and tricked those same nobles out of their coin and all the fineries they enjoyed with wit and dedication. She learned well how to imitate their way of speaking, walking, acting. In time she found herself able to infiltrate even the most well-guarded of parties and events and convince people out of sizeable donations with a voice sweet as honey as she promised to pay them back in time. She took the names of noble houses and wore them like aging badges that could get her anything she wanted with just her words. But she always lived adjacent to their splendour. Never quite able to reach their level of honest respect and well-known golden reputation.

In her life she had made many enemies like this, flying too close to the sun and being burned one too many times. More than once, she’d been caught in the act, and only barely escaped with her life. Swapping out names and masks and clothes to keep herself safe. It’s easier to pretend after all, to be something you’re not, than to admit that every good quality about yourself is a lie, one borrowed from those who truly deserve their respect and admiration. However much she resents them for having what she never will. A stable household, a family that loves her and never had to worry about where their next meal would come from. A life lived like a fairytale, the same one she told herself every night as a child.

Isla Blackthorne, however much she swayed the hearts of many who heard her tragic tale, was nothing more than a fiction.

The once Lady Czarina of Whitehall though, played a dangerous game.

Born into wealth but nonetheless growing up believing in the lie her parents told her and everyone else to cover for their reputation. By the time she found out the truth, it was far too late to clear away the golden falsehoods that stuck and covered her history. Her father was a noble with close ties to the royal court, and her biological mother a woman made to sell herself for the privilege of bearing his child in secret, whilst his wife remained unable to bear a child for his purposes.

Czarina has no living memory of her true mother, and likely would not have known about it had it not been for her schooling. When she was a child, she knew a woman, who at times looked at her with an emotion she’d never been able to place. She was her primary nanny, who dressed her and made sure she was on time to all her summons. When she was six the woman gave her a gift, a little wooden bird she said her mother had carved for her that she was told to keep secret. Not even a few days later, when her mother spotted her fiddling with it during dinner, she clutched her hands with an iron tight grin and demanded to know where she’d gotten it. She cried and begged her not to be mad for bringing “her mother’s gift” to dinner and was demanded to explain herself. She would not know until far later that it would be the reason she never saw that nanny again.

Czarina, in time learned fast to keep secrets. As she grew, she was afforded more leeway and was taught well to treat life like a giant game of poker. Never letting anyone know the information in her hand, learning tricks and tells to accurately guess as to the cards held by those around her. Through her father she learned the complicated world of politics and the ruthlessness that lurked beneath the golden exterior. Through her mother, she learned how to weave a conversation with such intricacies that none could tell how empty the space behind her words truly was. From them both she learned how to tip the scales of any interaction in her favour, and that the only way to truly get what you wanted was to hold all the cards, and wait for just the right moment to use them.

In time when she looked in the mirror, all she could see was her mask of mirrors. A face that would show everyone just what they expected to see. And in time, she grew into the perfect picture of elegance, power and skill. The shining gem of her parents’ lives. A priceless jewel they could show off at extravagant balls to the highest of high society and use to not only gain their favour and respect, but also use as a tool to gather every dirty secret and manipulate their way to the top.

No one ever saw the true face of Czarina of Whitehall, likely not even herself; but there would always be the one who got dangerously close.

Isabella Wisteria was the daughter of a noble house barely a rung or so lower on the ruthless chain of renown that the Whitehalls so desperately sought to climb. She was a high elven woman with dark hair and sharp silver eyes framed in thin glasses who made Czarina’s heart flutter when she laughed and despite everything, managed to lift away just a little of the mask she had so long believed grafted to her skin forever.

That first night they danced, Isabella had stumbled her way into Czarina’s heart by making her laugh with a joke about the ancient wizards Ixhis and Melanoe that no one else seemed to understand. And after over 4 hours of deep conversation into various topics of interest and their theories, building towering cathedrals on the knowledge they’d collected over the years, Czarina could never forget her. Even if she wanted to.

They exchanged letters for what felt like a millennia, meeting up at events and after the mandatory greetings and small talk, sneaking away to a private alcove or the gardens to share conversation and deeper truths as the moon set. Isabella was a visionary at heart. A quick wit to rival her own and a never failing conviction in the face of injustice. A heart that longed for a world where the silenced could make themselves heard and the wherewithal to fight for it. Someone who looked at Czarina and made her believe, for the first time, that there could be more to herself than merely the empty husk of a glittering mask pulling the strings in her family’s favour.

The third night they met, hiding away from fellow partygoers and tucking themselves frantically away in a pantry to avoid notice, Carina found herself close enough to Isabelle that she could feel her warm breath on her face in the dark. She felt herself blush, against her will and all her carefully constructed composure slipped as the two locked eyes.

And after a moment’s hesitation, Czarina stopping halfway as she closed the gap between them, Isabella gave a small nod in unspoken consent, and, after tucking a loose hair behind Czarinas ear, the elven noble leant in and kissed her.

It was not Czarina’s first kiss by any means, nor the longest. But it lit up her world in a way no other kiss she’s ever shared, because for the first time it felt real. For the first time a kiss was shared not out of drunken haze, or to wrap someone tightly around her finger. For the first time it wasn’t an act that made her feel empty, and one she had to force herself to convince them she enjoyed.

This kiss was real, and so was the love they shared. And for the first time nothing else mattered, and everything could be okay in a way she’d never known before.

Because Czarina, just Czarina, with not even a touch of Whitehall ambition or influence, was in love.

But the tale of Czarina of Whitehall, was not a love story.

8 months later, Isabella received her final letter from Czarina. It barely explained a thing. Czarina did not tell her about the months of blackmail and manipulation from her father, nor did she tell her about her love being repeatedly leveraged against her. It wasn’t a problem of Czarina having found love with the wrong person after all, it was because Czarina had found love at all. Because now that she had a weakness, allowed herself to love and care for someone, her father was all too ready to use it to control her, to twist her arm behind her back and allow him to tighten his hold on her. So much so that every attempt to counterbalance the scales were met with nothing, and the only way to loosen his hold, she could find, was to cut Isabella out of her life forever.

It didn’t matter to him what Isabella meant to her. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been just a common whore she’d been toying with, or a project she was working on for her own amusement, or even her most trusted confidant. All that mattered, to him at least, was that she cared about her, enough to make her willing to do anything to keep her happy and safe.

And whether it was because he couldn’t have that, jealousy on his part, a mere opportunity he couldn’t help but exploit, or simply to teach her a lesson; none of that mattered in the end.

All Isabella would know, was that they couldn’t continue as they once had. That Czarina had loved her, that it had been fun while it lasted, but whatever relationship they had couldn’t continue. That Czarina couldn’t allow things to go any further than they had, because it too was a mask.

And in catching tears before they could meet the paper, Czarina told the greatest lie of her life. The lie that she had never cared as deeply as she had for Isabella. That she never would.

Isabella tried many times to find and talk to Czarina about the contents of her letter, about what she meant by them. She tried for months to get her to explain herself, tell her to her face that every moment they’d shared, all the private admissions and connection they’d felt had been a lie.

But Czarina continued to evade her. Keeping her at arm’s length and plastering on the perfect picture of the play girl bastard ex her love would hate with every fibre of her being.

No matter how much her heart ached.

In the end, Isabella was no longer a piece of the game her father could manipulate, and though Isabella was confused angry and heartbroken by her love’s betrayal, Czarina continued to play her part well. Now with a hollow in her chest and the deepest of regrets, even though she knew there was no other move she could make.

In time, the rumour mill moved on from the scandal she had caused, and her father and mother did too. In time there came the last day her father would ever give so much as a passing mention of her love, and Czarina and Isabella both could be free.

But though the courts and nobles may have forgotten, though her father and mother and family had likely forgotten, though Isabella in all her heart wrenching hurt had grieved and been forced to heal from what she had done enough to cast it behind her….

Czarina would never forget.

And in time, when that seed of hatred and resentment at her situation and her father and all he had twisted her into grew, when she had finally finished the long game between them that had stretched through her whole life and pulled all the right strings to land her father swallowed up by fish so much bigger than them all, he asked why, and she didn’t tell him all she had done or why. Only left their house in ruins behind her as her father cursed her name and her once mother’s blood stained the woman’s own hands, and her father was drained of everything he was worth.

He died never knowing she was to blame for the destruction of their house, as did her mother. As far as her father was aware, her greatest betrayal was refusing to fetch the doctors as the poison his enemies slipped into his drink took effect and rendered him paralysed and unable to fight back in his bed. As far as he knew, she was a coward who just watched from afar while he was forced to sign away all of his assets in his final moments, who had the gall to kiss his forehead and smile before leaving them all together.

As far as Isabella or any of the other nobles or servants had heard some part of Czarina had died beside her only family, who’d died in shame as the poorly constructed facade of their wealth and success finally crumbled around them. That she had been whisked away to safety by a distant relative or married off to a man in another country in a desperate attempt to retain her standing in spite of this. That she remained desperate to spend her days in recluse healing from the trauma coming home to the sight of such a brutal loss had left her, and the shame that came when his lies to her were finally uncovered.

But the shadows lurking beneath the masks that pulled the strings had just undertaken a far loftier goal.

To find the Passerine, whoever they may be, and end them before they could use their secrets against them.

And as for Czarina herself well…. She had plenty of names and lies and the skills to wield them well enough to keep herself hidden no matter where she was. And Ophelia Carlisle was certainly far more appealing than the hollow space where the once Czarina of Whitehall had resided in ages past.

All that was left for her now, was to find the truth. Whatever it may be.

"A little boy struggling to fit in with the crowd of strange creatures that inhabit the mystical jungle he calls home, meets another just like him, who encourages him to shed his disguise and have some fun. But soon he faces the choice between expressing himself authentically, or going back to a life of conforming to expectations."

Trying to put some more of my art up here as, so here are some early Concept art for a short film I'm working on for my storyboarding class

Some Environment Concepts I did for my Concept Design Class :D

reminder to worldbuilders: don't get caught up in things that aren't important to the story you're writing, like plot and characters! instead, try to focus on what readers actually care about: detailed plate tectonics

A quick TLDR summary of potential words to use instead of “Tribe”:

- nation

- people/peoples

- community

- chiefdom

- kingroup

- village

- kingdom

- civilisation

- mob (used specifically by and for First Nations Australians)

Where to use each will come down to context

for example “chiefdom” or “kingdom” might be better used communicating the specific social/political structure of certain peoples, while words like “community” or “village” might be better employed by members of the community as a casual referential term (I.e. “we better get back, the rest of the village might be wondering where we are”)

Of course, (from me at least not necessarily OP) take this as a grain of salt as I am neither a linguist nor someone who has any real experience as part of a chiefdom, Kin Group or Mob.

My contributions are specifically based on what little I have picked up from First Nations friends of mine, and may not be representative of how all First Nations people feel about such terms. It is important to understand that while there may be similarities in social structures, different peoples (especially in Africa which had a vast variety of different cultures, physical and social/political infrastructure, and traditions).

So often people of colour are lumped together as all having lived in the same cookie cutter stereotype of what a white imperialist interpretation of a primitive society. This blatantly ignore the vast and incredibly unique and beautiful complexity of different cultures all over the world that are so much more interesting, in favour of not having to think about them at all or god forbid entertain the idea that there may be alternate ways of living than the one we are used to.

my first reading in my African history class this year is about why using “tribe” to refer to ethnic groups stems from a racist desire to make African conflicts sound primitive or stemming from a desire to pretend that these are just ancient conflicts that have always existed. great article and I also feel like I’m vicariously experiencing the bullshittery that this author has been subjected to from people they’ve tried to talk to about this. like the article remains extremely professional but you can just hear in the tone that they’re talking through gritted teeth, you can practically see the customer service smile

[ID: a screenshot from a section of the article titled “But why not use ‘tribe’? Answers to common arguments.” Under the bullet point for the argument “Africans talk about themselves in terms of tribes” is written, “Commonly when Africans learn English they are taught that tribe is the term that English-speakers will recognize. But what underlying meaning in their own languages are Africans translating when they say tribe? Take the word isizwe in Zulu. In English, writers often refer to the Zulu tribe, whereas in Zulu the word for the Zulu as a group would be isizwe. Often Zulu-speakers will use the English word tribe because that’s what they think English speakers expect, or what they were taught in school. Yet Zulu linguists say that a better translation of isizwe is nation or people.” /end ID] 

translation: “ ‘Oh ho ho but some Africans themselves say tribe!’ You dipshit. You fucking donkey. When someone has a word that means “nation” or “people” in their own language but then when they learn English YOU TELL THEM IT TRANSLATES TO “TRIBE” then THAT WILL BE THE WORD THEY USE. Maybe if you LISTENED TO THE LINGUISTS OF THAT GROUP you’d have more accurate information. Asshole.”

each point is repeated over and over with like five different examples because you just know there are dipshits out there who will keep arguing.

to the anonymous author of this article for the Africa Policy Information Center I hope you have a good day every day and experience fewer people being assholes about this, your patience is actually legendary

I love my friend group actually bc it’s always like “this person is definitely a vampire!”

“And this one is the spitting image of how I imagine my favourite podcast character!”

“This one is a feral animal (and I have a sneaking suspicion they’ll turn into a fox and root through my garbage if my turn my back on them for even a second). I am still working on house training them.”

“This one is absolutely some kind of eldritch Fae horror posing as human. Every time I see an apocalyptic mutated hell scape, I think of them.”

“This one likes making friendship bracelets with colourful beads but will absolutely stab a bitch with no hesitation. They found out I was enby years before I did and was subtly dropping hints to me in all that time. Somehow their whole body decided to pull some absolutely insane shit on them, and at this point even the doctors are impressed.”

“This one is a pixie and we all call them ‘Mother’. I’m pretty sure I’ve never met someone who made me feel like I still have time to make up for my childhood”

“This one is the living embodiment of everything anti-vaxers fear and turns everyone they meet Autistic. They’ve called me on my bullshit more than once,”

“This one is loving embodiment of what conservatives fear, and turns everyone trans, and is also dating the autism virus. Together they are terrifying. We actively warn new cis friends of their immense power. ”

“This person we picked up on a train to the middle of nowhere. They have a toadstool named Terry and treat every bug they meet like a new friend. I’m pretty sure they aren’t human either, or at the very least not entirely.”

“This person is my go to for chatting about and sharing fanfiction. We are both unapologetically seeing feeding each others fanfic addictions, and have no desire to get clean.”

“This person is 6ft and has the demeanour and fashion sense of a fluffy pastel unicorn. I met them at a youth group, I scare away the men at bars for them.”

“This person helped me figure out I was touched starved by giving me hugs and gave me all their favourite recipes they made us during final exams”

“This friend helped me understand what sharing in fandom with friends could be like, and we did our first cosplay together”

“This friend and I trauma bonded during high school and adopted a legion of younger teenagers”

“This friend pulled me out of quicksand that one time, and gets mad when I don’t update my fanfic”

“This friend is always there to chat when pulling all nighters”

“Me and this friend have a relationship exclusively built on bullying each other for the most mundane things”

“I feel like it is my god given duty to protect this person at all costs”

“This person is my go to if I ever have a group project bc we work so well together.”

“This friend said some of the wisest shit I’ve ever heard, and they have all the experience in things I was too scared to try”

“I have no idea who this person is but I must have met them at some point bc I invited them to the discord chat and they’re always there for us”

“This person is my go to if I need a scary as fuck monster design. They are definitely some flavour of undead.”

“This person is constantly bidng their time for the perfect moment to say the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever heard. No one ever sees it coming. It’s uncanny, and frankly impressive.”

“This person is secretly absolutely a kids tv show host. And not the human kind, they’re probably made of felt to be honest.”

And so on.

What a strange and wonderful group of people I’ve collected in my life. 🙃

maybe I did want to get the next chapter out before I got to college but. packing. moving.

but i've got tonight to myself and if it's not finished by tonight, it WILL BE before classes.

hot artists don't gatekeep

I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard

Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.

Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.

Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.

Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.

SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.

SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.

Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.

Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.

Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.

Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.

Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.

Redraw of a double page spread I did in my sketchbook.

Meet Djalu/Neferatemu of the Tirratzlikhan and his little desert adder familiar! A Dnd character in a growing list of characters I hope to play one day.

I had a lot of fun thinking about the culture of the Tirraztlikhan, a desert village supposedly blessed with immunity from a particularly mischevious and often malevolent God. Specifically the naming conventions, as each person usually has at least three.

The first name is received upon birth, and is endowed by the druid/wiseperson. Djalu's childhood name was Neha, a name that is continually used throughout adulthood to refer exclusively to the person as a child.

During childhood, he picked up the personal family name of Xhochi, something name that functions a bit more like a nickname exclusively for close family and loved ones throughout his lifetime. You have to know him really, really well to be able to use this name.

At his coming of age ceremony though, Neha got to choose a new name for himself, and settled on Djalu. A name generally used informally between casual acquaintances and friends.

In becoming a druid though, Djalu was also gifted a formal druid name: Neferatemu, which he pretty much only uses in formal contexts or when he's throwing his weight around as a druid.

And of course, finally, there is his spirit name. A name only known by Djalu and higher powers, and used exclusively by the Gods in addressing Djalu during communion or ceremonies.