Big Boi Has A Title Now!

Big Boi has a title now!

"Path of the Wayward Souls" is gonna be a journey centered around a group of intrepid travelers (who you'll get to meet later) and their rapidly interconnecting stories.

Again, the story will contain a lot of adult themes and content especially as we move further along. There also won't be any set update schedule.

And it should be noted that I'm winging this with not a lot of planning so... yeah.

Alrighty, that's all, goodbye for now!

ATTENTION ARTISTS OF TUMBLR

since tumblr is going to start scraping blogs to train ai be sure to glaze and nightshade your art!! Not only will both of these programs protect your art from being copied but nightshade also poisons any ai that tries to steal it

here is some more info on these tools and where you can download them:

Nightshade: Protecting Copyright (uchicago.edu)

Nightshade: Downloads (uchicago.edu)

Glaze - What is Glaze (uchicago.edu)

Glaze - Downloads (uchicago.edu)

THE WAITING LIST IS OPEN!   💌   stadmaal[at]gmail[dot]com  ⬇️ more info below  ⬇️

➡️Commissions status ➡️Commissions rules ➡️Drawing process ➡️Background prices

What I WILL draw: - Fanart - Original Characters - Real people and self-inserts - Couples of any gender (WLW/MLM etc) - Animals - soft NSFW (only with adult characters - NSFW fee included!) - gore, violence - furry (If you are not sure if I will draw what you want - just ask!) What I will NOT draw: - ecchi - sexualized: minors, celebrity - fetishes

Choose the correct form and fill it in!

Commission-form for Illustration

Your Social Media (Tumblr/Deviantart/Facebook/Instagram, etc.) 

Your Complete Paypal Email

Number of Characters

Art Type (Flat Color/Shading)

Body Length (Waist up/Full body)

Name of Characters

References (only links/pics)

Short info about characters' appearance (gender, height, ethnicity/race, body type, age, chest size, moles/scars, etc)

Personality (only a few words)

Pose (Optional) (Sitting, Running, Laying Down, etc)

Angle/View (Optional) (Side view/ Front View/ etc)

Background (Choose type from THIS doc.) (You can either send me references or describe what you want)

Commission-form for character sheet

Your Social Media (Tumblr/Deviantart/Facebook/Instagram, etc.

Your Complete Paypal Email

Name of Character

Which series does the OC belong to (My Hero Academia, Haikyuu, etc. or none)

Personality (only a few words)

Short info about characters (gender, birthday, height, body type, age, birthmarks, moles, etc)

Number of Figures (1,2 or 3) If you want more than one figure, describe them separately including the info:

Type of Figure (school uniform, work outfit, casual outfit, hero costume, etc.)

References (only links/pics)

Pose

Facial expression/mood

Outfit (attached pictures of every piece of clothing)

Quirk description/Any other info you want to be put in the infobox (200 characters long!)

Background color

Send this to me via my email:  💌  stadmaal[at]gmail[dot]com * promotions can be combined

(If I do not answer you within two days - write to me on Tumblr, maybe the e-mail has not arrived!)

Reblog and sharing are always welcome and appreciated,  thank you for your support ! ! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

was trying to find body positivity posts for trans guys that look like me and couldn’t. so here’s a post for all the trans guys with wide hips and dad bods. you are hot, you are desirable, and you are doing great

Hello! If it's not too much trouble, can I request some Narinder appreciation? He's my favorite character.

Sunlight and Fire

Silva was born into a world of colors, shades and hues so numerous he couldn’t count them all, varied and beautiful. But strangely, the color of the sun, of gold and flowers and so many other things, has grown with him. 

His cradle was green leaves and soft grass, new eyes taking in the veins beneath the verdant surfaces. The sky overhead was grey, pale silver light passing through the clouds while crystal rain fell in droplets upon his face. Lightning, yellow and stark against such a uniform background, crackled with energy and set trees alight in orange fire. Silva, newly birthed from the Mother into the storm, watched the lightning and felt fear.

As he grew, tended to and nursed by dryads and river spirits, his forest cradle grew dense and lush in the coming spring. Vernal danced through the spaces between branches, sang songs with the coming of new life, the plants budding and blooming in riotous colors. Pink, purple, white, red, green, blue, all coiled together along vines and branches and stems that bent whenever Silva passed by. The nature spirit coaxed the young god to join in his merriment, and daisies grew around Silva’s feet wherever he tread. 

The god grew older still, the trees swaying to bow as he moved between them. Autumnal cast the leaves in warm hues of red, orange, and yellow, an ombre that reminded Silva so vividly of fire and magma flowing beneath the earth. Lightning struck, storm winds toppled the forests and flooded the rivers as war began. The forest was alight in yellow flames and lightning, and his once lush home became a grey mountain, bubbling and belching molten rock high into the atmosphere with his rage.

When the fighting was over—for now, the promise hissed—there was rebuilding to be done, as the remaining dryads mourned their fallen kin and the river spirits snuffed the last fires. Silva gathered them all, his nature bound brethren, at the foot of that grey mountain, dried black as ash fell like snow around them. The forest he regrew, the grass and trees growing thicker and twining around him, swaying toward their god, was darker than before, evergreen and deadly with roots to trap and vines to ensnare. Solstice swept over the land, and the flowers that bloomed there seemed to glow white while their thorns flashed amber in the dim light, spreading around the base of the mountain like a protective shield. In many ways, it was.

The city Silva built, heeding the pleas of frightened mortals, became golden, as the new residents painted their houses in colors of brown and red and orange and oddly, yellow. Yellow flowers mimicking those at the base of the mountain, and golden murals in the shape of Oro’s horns took shape along walls and roofs, the solstice casting everything in bright sunlight. Silva was almost blinded as he walked through the city, once small and humble, now resplendent and full of life. 

When there was time, in rare stretches of peace, Silva would trace the patterns on Oro’s back, glowing with white-hot gold beneath dark stone skin. His friend would say nothing, would only wait his turn until Silva was finished, and then the vines that made up the god’s hair would be tended to, stone skin on stone skin as they curled together, powerful yet frightened.

Solaris’ hair is as yellow as the sunflowers she creates to adorn the grounds, tending to the flowers that turn their heads toward the sun. Silva changes their colors, from a lemon hue to blue or purple, all for Solaris to throw her head back and laugh, flaxen hair blooming as she lets the world know of her joy. Silva would dance with her in the square to make more flowers bloom, and the daisies from before made a triumphant return.

Ophel’s eyes shine sallow in the low evening light as they sing in the entrance’s antechamber. They sing of victory, of peace, of tales so old Silva remembers them dearly, all reflected in the color of the spirit’s gaze. The spirit sang of betrayal, of heartache, and of a god who saved them, and all Silva could do was beg that the spirit not thank him. He has done many things, impossible things, but he did not wish to be thanked for saving a life. He has taken far too many.

Winter descends on the mountaintop, the snow dusting the tops of trees and casting everything in a somber silver. Secretly, or perhaps only cautiously, Silva finds winter to be his favorite season. With his yearly visitor, Silva may admit that he has a bias. Hiemal does not wear yellow, preferring blues and greys that suit his pale visage more, but his blue mingles so nicely with the colors of Silva’s wardrobe. He dons a golden robe this time, and the god expects the blues and yellows of their clothes to meld into green, to bloom into snowdrops and winterberry and crocus as snow settles on the windowsill. Instead, they tangle but never mix, the gods a bit too in their cups and sprawled over cushions on the floor, laughing and touching and kissing through the haze as the lanterns cast the room in warm light. 

Of all colors that Silva has seen, of all colors his flowers take on and the many shades of gems hidden beneath the rock, he always finds himself partial to the color of sunlight and fire.