DAVIN AND CHA-CHA

NOT TWO FUCKS WERE GIVEN. NOT EVEN A SINGLE OF THESE FUCKS. 

Davin and Cha-Cha, PISSED ABOUT SOMETHING OR OTHER. Must be those Great Jaggis. BI TROLLOSAURUS

HOW DARE YOU

I am going to screw up your day with this pokeball so hard, you have no idea. HE MEANS BZNESS AND I MEAN BZNESS SO BACK OFF, TOOTS. 

Yeah. BI WORD.

The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead

Peter Everard, the star of the game that's been shuffling around in my head for quite some time. Granted, it started out as just a...XD A STORY, A WOOOORLD~ the world doesn't even have a name yet, as far as I can remember. Penta and I call it Peterverse. It isn't only about him, of course. There are plenty of others who call the place home. For now, here he is, and I'll hopefully have everyone else tossed up sometime in the near future. ;>

• Peter Everard, AKA "Peter Pumpkinhead"
• His name came from a song by XTC, "The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead." One of my favorite songs ! Please don't listen to the Crash Test Dummies version. >; 
• Peter is a farmer; these are his GOING INTO TOWN~ clothes, not his farming clothes. 
• Autumn is his favorite time of the year!
• Orange is his favorite color. uwu
• Pumpkins are his favorite vegetables -- surely you can see where I'm going with this.
• He tends to give everyone nicknames, if possible. So despite Fremont's displeasure, Peter cannot bring himself to call him anything but Monty; similarly, Volker is Volk, and Stefan is Stef. There are others, I promise. 
• He has an upbeat, glass-half-full personality, but he tends to hide when he's sad or upset rather than share it with those around him. He finds it much easier to comfort others than accept comfort, himself.

Monster Hunter Tri: MEN IN TIGHTS

Meet Davin. My poor hunter. Image still a WIP.

So these are my Monster Hunter 3 Tri adventures in a nutshell so far. I really feel for my poor hunter, I do. I've put him in all manners of embarrassing clothes, had him kill tons of Great Jaggis who run in and ruin his day, and never have him home in time for supper.

Also potions are totally hallucinogenic drugs and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise!

Nadine WIP

One of these days, I'll get off my ass and finish this. ONE OF THESE DAYS. I mean man she's THERE FOR THE COLORING. I'm just having trouble uh picking the colors. OTL

LOOK AT ALL THIS IMPROVEMENT. LOOK AT IT.

Darcel is my victim bwah-hah hah.

AAHHHHHH-dam.

AKA: All your businessmen are belong to Silent Hill. 

Say hi to Adam, everyone!

Also EMOTION PRACTICE

Corbett Liridon is going to fuck your shit up, dude. >8l

...uwu; While poor Cormag Liridon just looks terrified.

YAY BROTHERS, BUT I'M STILL MISSING THE BAAAABY BROTHER

SO MUCH ART PRACTICE

Just some sketches I did in the margins of my notes a few weeks ago. XD

Hrrrrng, FARIS. He's a victim of me getting out of college and flailing at art wherever I can do it. uwu;

Younger incarnation of another character, Beryl. He's yet another victim of my artsie shenanigans. 

Adonis -- An Ode to Charlie Sheen

For my Creative Writing class. X3

~~

Adonis

Once upon a time in the land of Odd, there lived a man named Charlie Sheen, a man with tiger blood. With his army of warlocks and machetes to spare, he terrorized Odd with his own brand of sick humor. No one thought he was funny, but they laughed anyway, wary of his wrath and a retaliatory doomsday. For Charlie Sheen was no ordinary man, and could do things no other man can. He won and he won, and won some more, until one day a young resident of Odd decided she was done with his fun. 

She neither snorted nor smiled, chuckled or chortled, and found none of his jokes humorous -- only sordid. The citizens of Odd were baffled by her strength. They had never rebelled or revolted, or even not laughed, and they could not understand how she could go to such lengths. Charlie Sheen’s rule -- as King of Odd -- had only one rule: that everyone laugh, and laugh, and laugh, or else he’d force them to write their own epitaphs. He launched daily stand-ups and made people listen, and with pasted-on smiles, they’d watch and they’d wonder if their lives were worthwhile. 

But this one little girl with a heart of stone didn’t care if she was all alone, or no longer an unknown. Her insubordination launched her right into the limelight, but she wasn’t going to give in to his demands without a fight. Charlie Sheen himself found her one day while she was walking to school, and before she could even say “Hey,” he raised up his hand and dared her to disobey. 

“Little girl, little girl!” he started, glaring and snarling with none of his usual fun. “You droopy, armless child, don’t make me go wild! Don’t you know the penalty for staying silent? Are you a fool or a troll? Do I need to get violent?” 

Lips pursed in a frown, the girl didn’t falter, and stared him down with all her might. “Mr. Sheen, Mr. Sheen,” she parroted back, totally unfazed by his holier-than-thou smack. “You can primp and you can preen, you can sneak and you can scheme, but when I look through my eyes, I can see that you are not a funny guy. You’re mean, you’re mean, Mr. Sheen. And I’m sick of your lies.”

This took him aback, and his haughty façade disappeared in a snap. He stared for a moment, awed and amazed, then stepped backwards with a downward gaze. 

“You don’t understand humor, not even one bit!” the girl wasn’t done -- she hadn’t yet won. “Now sit and listen, you overgrown tumor: you’ve overstayed your welcome and you’ve overstepped your bounds. Get out of this land! The people can’t stand you, and neither can I, so pack up your bags and say goodbye!”

 And Charlie Sheen left the land of Odd that day; dethroned and decrowned, he stood no chance against his subject’s angry rants. And in this way, the land was free, thanks to one girl and her courageous decree.

Rorick von Karthik

~~~

And here is a near and dear character of mine, Rorick von Karthik. He's a big, scarred up guy, and he looks kinda scary, but he's really a big teddy bear. ...I mean, he's a berserker and he's killed a bunch of people but he's still a teddy bear, I swear. ;w; He, uh, doesn't actually ENJOY the killing, and only does it because his dad tells him to, and uh...yeah. *Dies*

SIGNUS FACE

Yessss

Mmmmyes, Signus scribble <3

Liam the Angry Angry Man

Say hi to Liam. He certainly wants to say hi to you, too! Probably with his fists, though. It's not the best way to greet people. uwu; Naaaah he'd give you a hearty smack on the back and a beer, most likely! 

Also, this is Fidelis. He's pretty sickly, but he dun let that stop him. );< Still a WIP.

Finished Narcis!

I am indeed finished! I hope you all enjoy! And to think...

Two years ago, this was what I was doing. ..Not even two years, more like one and a half. Sheesh. XD

This is what practice can do! GO OUT THERE AND PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE ;A; I still have a ton to learn!

Narcis WIP

I can has much tablet practice? Indeed I can! Thankies to my dearie Penta for pointing out my mistakes and helping me fix them. X3 NOW IT'S TIME TO COLOR HIM FOR REAL. This is mah guy Narcis. Pre-face-pwn, that is. 

That Guy

That Guy

There’s always that one guy.

He meanders in ten minutes late

like he doesn’t give a damn about the class,

but comes in anyway out of spite. 

He’s got thumbtack hips

and pants that only stay up by some 

God-given miracle, or maybe it’s because 

they’re too tight to go anywhere. 

His hat is that special kind of “fuck you” orange, 

an extra-neon highlighter atomic bomb of color

that clings to the peripheries of your vision 

and tosses your concentration the bird.

When he opens his mouth to answer a question,

you expect there to be bits of brown between his teeth

from all the bullshit he spews, 

but sometimes he surprises people.

You can tell this is a topic he likes from the way 

he sits - upright, hands on the desk, feet on the floor, 

those scuffled, shredded shoes of his staying silent

for once, their usual baseline tapping postponed. 

His answer is better than any one you could have 

come up with. You almost feel insulted, but you 

can’t hold back your surge of absurd pride instead, 

like you were secretly waiting for this day all your life.

When he leaves the room, it’s with a shake of those

hips that could cut diamonds, that hat firmly in place

on his head even in the unusual heat of early Spring,

and a smirk as crooked as his logic.

Art Destressor, Go!

Voooolk Volk Volk

;A; You look so sad, why so sad? ...No, okay, I totally know why, but BWAH DON'T YOU JUST WANT TO HUG HIM. I know I do. uwu

Guh SO MUCH SCHOOLWORK but at least job stuff is behind me. Well, for now. ATM I just wanna focus on school stuff and only school stuff. >;

Surviving Creative Writing

Soups and Stems

At the age of ten, my best friend 

and I fancied ourselves culinary connoisseurs

of the wild. The Iron Chefs themselves

couldn’t stand up to our creativity 

when it came to the fine art of mixing

just the right amount of dirt

with the right amount of leaves.

We liked it best when it rained - after, really,

once our bikes dried off and we were allowed

to go out again - because our street, a true South

Burlington masterpiece of unfilled potholes and 

mountainous frost heaves, became our kitchen. 

We had no need for cast iron pots or fancy skillets 

when the pavement made bowls filled with water just for us. 

The largest puddles were the ones we claimed.

Then we would split apart in a squeal of wet rubber,

with the smell of sodden grass in our noses,

and dart off to start our collection. Only the 

brightest flowers could be added to our little make-believe

stew, even if that meant being naughty and sneaking around

a neighbor’s garden. We were never caught. 

To the water, we added all sorts of finery. Bits of pine cones,

fresh and old pine needles, sun-colored daisies, lilacs, twigs, dirt

for consistency, a torn-up red tulip petal if we were lucky enough to snatch one. 

Our favorite ingredients were the berries from a hedge

that only grew during certain months, but squished in the 

most sticky, satisfying way when we smashed them up. 

We created inedible food from Mother Earth and we were proud of it.

The next day always found our soups bone-dry and dusty, 

crushed to bits by unkind cars and pedestrian feet. 

Misook has since moved away, leaving behind our legacy 

seeped into the cracks of Cottage Grove Avenue and its shoddy, 

crumbling patchwork. I think of her whenever I take a walk 

and find the perfect puddle, left there as if just for me, 

brimming with the ghosts of flowers and years gone by.

An Ode to Gaming

The sounds of a person playing a video game

can only be compared to a symphony 

of aural delights. 

The joystick is the conductor’s baton

controlling every movement 

of the character on-screen. 

The frantic tapping of the A-button

is the drum keeping the band in steady 4/4 time

while the player grunts and groans out the accompanying chorus.

The B-button soon joins in 

as a counterpoint to A 

and both are smashed together in desperate syncopation. 

Faster and faster the buttons go

until the time signature is all out of whack

and the player’s voice stutters, choking as it climbs higher and higher.

The final phrase is met with a heart-wrenching shudder

of human and controller meeting game-over screen;

the song ends on a crescendo and an expletive. 

~~~

Like the title says! I'm in a creative writing class this year, and I'm striving to get my creative juices pumping. First unit is poetry, and here're the first two I've done! I hope so improve as the semester goes on. <3

Art Bloop

~~~

HAVE AN ART DUMP

LOOK A TOTALLY SEPARATE BLOG

Yeaaaaah Penta brought to my attention awhile ago that I should probably separate my materials from my like...PERSONAL ART. I though this was a good idea, but couldn't bring myself to start moving things over. Eeeeh, gonna start now! Purely art posts/fluff posts/videos/WHAT HAVE YOU are going to be moved from my materials blog to here.

I hope you guys don't mind! This blog won't get nearly as much traffic, anyway. FOR GOOD REASON