#i didn't blend my paint strokes at all

[brokenchainsandfallenleaves]

Yesterday's project. Even Link needs a break.

Likes are love. Reblogs are life.

[goldenstring6123]

Zayne & Rafayel: Married to...

Warning: Angst no comfort. Major character death. implied suicide. Drama. Self insert. AFAB!reader.

Author's note: I was supposed to upload another thing but my tumblr is having problems so i hope y'all could settle for this in the meantime...

Zayne:

It was a bittersweet sensation. Seeing you at the front of the stage, wearing the gown you always dreamed of wearing. It was the most beautiful gown he had ever seen, yet the soft, warm glow of the chandelier made you prettier than the dress.

He was reluctant to attend your wedding; after all, he, too, proposed to you back when you were together. He got on his knee as well and offered you the ring you kept eyeing when you went on that particular date. He placed it on your finger, and from that point on, he thought that you were his future.

His foolish thinking blinded him to other possibilities. He didn't know where it went wrong, but all he knew was that he lost you and that your kindness to end it on nice terms with him was a double-edged sword.

Perhaps a part of him wished you never got along once you canceled the engagement. Maybe it would've been easier for him to move on. Maybe...

He could've used your anger as an excuse to not see you ever again.

But the heavens wished otherwise.

Much to his dismay, he never truly had an excuse to turn down your wedding invitation. You wished the best for each other and bid farewell on that chilly morning; he dropped you off at your house, wanting to embrace you and wipe away your tears that never stopped streaming.

Zayne, despite being the collected and intuitive man that he is, waited for you to at least call him back. You never did. Only the universe knows how many times he wanted to call you and how many times he wrote you a message only to delete it. But after a few months, he never once thought that the first time you ever contacted him again was to send him a wedding invitation.

The world was too cruel.

He gifted you both some old champagne, one that was recommended to him by Yvonne; it was the very same champagne he would open for you had you managed to celebrate your first wedding anniversary with him.

The rest of the reception was bleak. He couldn't recall things quite clearly despite not touching a single glass of alcohol. Those few hours, he was left in a daze, teetering between joy and grief, with him congratulating you face to face being his respite. He was happy that you were happy in the embrace of your new husband, and although another chapter awaits your life, his had come to a standstill.

The passage of time felt faster than it did, yet when you, your husband, and your daughter visited him for your child's check-up, only then was he reminded of where he was. It had been years since you ended your relationship with Zayne, but he clung to the memory of you every day.

Nothing changed for him. You were happily married with a child, and he was still working in the hospital as the chief surgeon, the only difference being he's now focusing more on research. It was unfortunate that his feelings didn't change, too.

Maybe in the next life, he'll get to stand next to you in front of the altar.

Rafayel:

Before him stood a painting.

A painting of you on the beach holding hands with your current husband. Under the moonlight, the painting seemed dull, devoid of the color that he ever so loved putting. It was an ugly painting, barely able to capture the smile you made on that day. Your husband's face was blurred in the painting, seemingly almost finished. The brush strokes were gentle, blending into one another, yet as the layers of paint built up, the strokes were sharper, rigid, almost seemingly cold, and coated with anger.

And it was precisely because of that that he scrapped it. And as he did, he pulled another canvas. It was a gift for you, a remembrance of a new beginning in your life and the end for Rafayel. He wished that even if you never got together in the end, there would still be remnants of him in your home.

He gave you a different painting. It was still at the beach, yet rather than blue, the sky was colored orange and red, and your bodies and faces turned into silhouettes, yet embracing one another. He couldn't capture your husband's face. You were beautiful in his painting, immaculate even, yet he can't ever recall the expression your husband made simply because he was imagining himself in that position.

With enough alcohol, Rafayel mustered the courage and energy to make the best piece he could; he wanted to see you light up once he gave you the painting. He wanted your smile to be the last memory rather than your tears when you broke up.

"Congratulations," he remembered saying to you.

"Thank you, Raf."

Your voice played in his head over and over again like a broken record. The alcohol swirled everything in sight, and seemingly, the only thing he could make sense of was the harsh crashing of the waves outside his home.

The night was the darkest at that hour. He reeked of alcohol.

Rafayel dropped the empty whiskey bottle onto his floor, hearing it shatter loudly. He picked up the biggest shard and dug it onto the canvas before him. Once, twice, thrice; he slashed the image of your husband, yet your figure was never harmed. He wasn't angry, no. He was grieving.

He flung the canvas away, disregarding whatever it crashed into, and the moment he did, another canvas stood against the wall.

He stared at it for a minute and then looked at the sea once more.

He felt happy, like a sense of pressure lifted off of his heart. With slow steps and feet against the cold parquet floor, he walked to the outside of his home, through the neglected garden, and to the sandy shoreline.

Every splash and whisper of the waves soothed his mind. The blank sky became a canvas for his thoughts. I love you's, I'm sorry's, and thank you's mingling with one another, incoherent. The image of your smile warmed up his body against the growing tide that crept to his waist. A phantom of an embrace, numbing the sharp, cold breeze against his damp back.

He waited for you for more than 800 years.

He's grown tired. He still wanted to wait, but he deserves some rest.

Emptiness washed over Rafayel as he continued to walk farther from the sandy terrain.

Nobody heard his woes, not a single soul; the only thing he left behind was that big canvas that captured his unfulfilled wishes.

The image of you kissing him under the moonlight.

His smile and yours are as vivid as they can be.

He'll wait for you again in the next life, but until then—

he'll rest with the sea.

Author footnotes: No footnotes but poor Rafayel.

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |

[trashhumanbeing]

Poppy Partridge art yet again!

I practiced with watercolor pens today, a little messy but I think I'm getting better!! It's fun once you learn to blend, my suggestion

Put your shading down before your actual color, and dip your pens in water first before putting it on the paper. But that's what helped for me, could vary for anyone! (And ignore the side with all the paint strokes, I didn't use a separate paper, oops..)

[cheseely]

Hi, I'm sure you get this often but I really love your recent genshin artwork, do you think you could explain your painting process? I love the colouring effect in that piece especially. Thank you.

Thank you so much! I got a few messages like this from my previous piece (thank you guys for the staff pick & blaze btw, I really didn't expect all the support😭) so I thought I'd share a bit of my process below as thanks.

I always do my lineart first because it feels less daunting to me when applying colours. I will do some rough colours first so I can easily adjust it to my liking.

Next, I make sure to separate each character into different layers when I clean it up. I like to work one character or object at a time, it's less overwhelming for me that way, and I can use clipping masks for ease of rendering.

I'll usually apply some adjustment layers on top of the base layer for shadows and highlights. When I say base layer, I just mean a layer of the colour without any effects.

I like using 'hard light' for shadows, and 'screen' for highlights, but you can really use whatever clicks with you.

Rinse & repeat this process for every character in the illustration. Note that I make Furina the focus so everything behind her will be less rendered than the elements in front of them (Neuvillette is a lot less rendered compared to Furina, and the painting in the back barely has much shading).

Once I render out each asset in the illustration and add shadows & highlights to my liking, I then to merge foreground/ midground/ background elements so I can make the overall illustration clearer to read. I don't want it to feel messy or overcrowded, and I think it's easy to get tunnel-visioned in small details and lose the clarity of the entire illustration.

Make sure to zoom out constantly and make your illustration B&W to check the values to see if the drawing is clear.

I created a simple S curve with the values for readability, and have the foreground elements have darker values & contrasts.

As for the BG, I wanted to add more textures into the drawing, particularly the painting in the back. Here's an image of it when I only added in the base colours.

I use the smudge tool to create more texture once I fill in the base colours. Since I don't really 'paint' anything with the textures in, I just put in the base colours and take a textured brush to smudge it. However, over-smudging can lose the painterly texture I want, so I usually smudge vertically or horizontally in a single stroke to create a sense of movement.

Another thing to note is that I only textured the BG, I thought it would help it blend into the background a bit better. I usually wouldn't do this for the foreground because I want those elements to be clearer.

At the very end, I tend to spend a fair bit of time just fiddling with more adjustment layers, various filters (such as blur, or noise), or liquify small details to really finalize the piece. Just vibes...basically this is me

Anyway, I hope that was helpful & it made sense!! Feel free to message me if you have any other questions & I'll try my best to answer! I might've glazed over a lot since I didn't wanna make this too long.

[mimisempai]

A new step

Summary

After an unfortunate incident, Aziraphale finds himself covered in paint, and despite Crowley's miracle, the angel still feels dirty.

But, when Crowley suggests a bath, Aziraphale doesn't expect this to be a new step in their relationship.

Notes

Our angel and our demon experiment a little more with intimacy (Still non-sexual and will remain so)

On Ao3

Rating T -  1795 words

Aziraphale turned to Crowley before opening the shop door and said, "I'm going to check on the progress of the renovations.

Crowley replied, "Remind me again why we can't work a small miracle to renovate the shop front and put up with this inconvenience?"

Aziraphale sighed and replied, "Because, for the tenth time, we've been getting a lot of attention lately, and people will know right away if the front of the bookshop is renovated overnight."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Aziraphale smiled indulgently and went through the door.

"Watch out for the scaffold-..."

Too late.

Aziraphale didn't have time to take a step aside before he found himself almost completely covered in wine-red paint.

"Angel?"

Crowley came in at a fast pace and, seeing the extent of the damage, couldn't help but gasp, "Well, you don't do things by halves."

Aziraphale began to get upset and said in a high voice, "Help me get in, it's horrible all this red paint on my clothes. Crowley! Stop laughing! It's not funny!"

Crowley closed the door behind the Angel and said with a smile on his face, "Sorry, Angel, but I was thinking about what you said before, about not being noticed! I didn't think you meant blending in so much."

Aziraphale pointed a finger at him, "You, you little..."

He stopped mid-sentence as Crowley repeated the miracle of that day at Tadfield Manor. In one breath he had just made all the paint disappear.

"Oh..." the angel said, suddenly calm, "Thank you, my dear."

"You're welcome, Angel... hm, what is it?" 

He had noticed that Aziraphale had just made a face.

The angel asked, looking a little embarrassed, "Do you think you could do it again, I feel like I've still got some in my hair."

Crowley frowned, then circled him before examining his hair carefully. He said gently, "There's nothing left at all, angel, you're all clean."

Aziraphale replied, "Still, I feel like I've got paint on me."

It was Crowley's turn to look embarrassed as he said quietly, "How about a bath?"

Aziraphale frowned and replied, "It's true, there's a bathtub up there that I never use, hmm, maybe you're right, I could try taking a bath," then he looked at the demon more closely, "But why do you look embarrassed telling me that?"

Crowley replied, his cheeks blushing slightly, "Because I was thinking of helping you..."

Aziraphale also began to blush slightly and replied in an equally embarrassed tone, "Ah... er... yes, I... all right."

"'All right'?"

"Why, don't you want to?"

"Idiot, I offered, didn't I?"

They both started to chuckle and Aziraphale replied, "Look at us, looking embarrassed like a couple of idiots."

Crowley took his hand and said gently, "Well, it's a new level of intimacy that we haven't experienced before, so it's only natural that we're a little embarrassed. But if you agree, I'll help you as much as I can. We both know our limits and how to express them. So you have the last word."

Aziraphale lifted the demon's hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly before replying, "I'd like to, actually. But..." he paused, clearly flustered.

Crowley stroked his cheek and asked softly, "What is it, Angel?"

Aziraphale bit his lip and lowered his eyes before replying, "I have to get completely undressed... and..."

Crowley made him look up and said quietly, "That's better indeed, but I'm going to suggest something to make the situation easier. I'll prepare the bath, you put on something more comfortable, and when the bath is ready, I'll let you undress and get into the water, and I won't come back until you're ready. So what do you think? Do you think it'll be easier this way?"

The angel leaned his cheek into the demon's hand and nodded, "Yes, I think so."

Crowley leaned down, gave the angel a tender kiss on the forehead and headed for the stairs.

Aziraphale followed closely, feeling a mixture of apprehension and anticipation at the thought of what was about to happen.

Once in the bedroom, he heard Crowley humming in the bathroom and his apprehension eased slightly.

A few moments later, dressed only in a bathrobe, he stood in the doorway of the bathroom and saw Crowley sitting on the edge of the tub, checking the temperature of the water.

Then he recognised the sweet scent entering his nostrils and said softly, "Bergamot, orange blossom, lemon... that's the fragrance of my cologne."

Crowley turned to him, "Absolutely Angel, I thought it would help you ease into it," he stepped closer and continued, "The water is at the right temperature I think. So I'll leave you to it and wait for you to call me when you..."

"Stay."

Crowley, not sure he had heard correctly, asked, "What did you say?

Aziraphale said in a voice he tried to keep firm despite his apprehension, "I want you to stay."

Crowley asked, watching him closely, "Are you sure? You're not doing this because you think I want you to, are you?"

"I'm absolutely sure."

Crowley stepped back and leaned against the sink, saying softly, "Anytime, angel. At your own pace.

Aziraphale nodded and placed his hands on the knot that held the sides of the robe together. As he untied the first loop, he saw his hands trembling slightly and suddenly Crowley's hands were on his as the demon asked him in an incredibly kind voice, "Do you want me to do it for you?"

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded.

Crowley gently moved the angel's hands away and untied the knot, dropping each end as he finished.

The robe opened slightly over Aziraphale's naked body and Crowley placed his hands on the angel's shoulders. Then, his eyes in his, he pushed off the robe, letting it fall gently in folds around the angel's feet.

His gaze travelled up and down Aziraphale's body before he told him in a voice that conveyed his genuine awe, "You are so beautiful, Angel.”

As always when Crowley complimented him, especially on his appearance, Aziraphale was overcome with emotion, and this time it was so intense that he couldn't stop a tear from escaping his eyes.

Crowley caught it with a kiss on the cheek, preventing it from rolling away, then took the Angel's hand and led him to the bathtub, helping him get in and sit down.

He then removed his jacket and tie before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbow, fully aware of Aziraphale's gaze following him.

Then he pulled out a small stool, placed it at the end of the tub where Aziraphale's head rested, and sat down on it.

He pressed a kiss to the angel's temple and asked quietly, " Are you still all right, angel?"

Aziraphale replied softly, "More than all right, my dear."

Crowley hummed, then pushed the angel forward a little so that his head didn't protrude from the tub, and grabbed a sponge he'd placed beside him, soaking it in the water before pressing it over the angel's head, wetting his light hair, which curled even more once it was wet. He repeated the gesture several times, then put the sponge down, picked up the bottle of shampoo and took a squeeze. 

He rubbed his hands together to spread the shampoo, then placed his hands on the angel's hair and began to massage gently, burying his fingers in the wet curls.

He smiled as Aziraphale let out a small sigh of contentment and leaned back into his hands.

The angel said softly, "Crowley, my dear, this is absolutely divine."

The demon chuckled softly at the words and continued the massage, running his fingers over the angel's hair.

After a few moments he said softly, "Angel, tilt your head back a little, I'm going to rinse you off."

The angel obeyed and Crowley rinsed his hands in the bath water before taking up the sponge again, soaking it and wringing it out over the angel's head. He continued until the angel's hair was free of shampoo and just as he was about to withdraw his hand, Aziraphale held it back and asked quietly, "Crowley?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"Won't you come with me?"

Crowley froze for a moment before asking, "I would love to, Angel, but, I have to ask, are you sure?"

Aziraphale turned his head towards him and Crowley saw from the determined look in his eyes and the smile on his face that he meant it when he nodded.

Crowley kissed his smile before standing and beginning to undress. He quickly removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the bath, intending to sit on the opposite side, but Aziraphale shook his head and opened his arms. This time Crowley didn't ask if he was sure and sat down between the angel's legs, pressing his back against his chest as Aziraphale's arms wrapped around him. 

He hummed contentedly, basking in the warmth of the water and the softness of the angel's embrace and body against his.

Aziraphale whispered into his ear, "I love this."

"What, Angel?"

"You and me, like this."

Crowley leaned his head against the angel's and replied softly, " I do too, Angel."

Aziraphale gave him a soft kiss on the underside of his ear and they stayed in this embrace for a long time, first in silence, then discussing anything and everything, warming the water from time to time.

Then, with a playful expression on his face, Aziraphale said, "I realise something is missing.

He made a small gesture with his hand and a yellow rubber duck appeared in front of Crowley. The angel added, "Seems appropriate for you, doesn't it?"

The demon chuckled and tapped the water to make the duck move before saying, "Angel, there's a problem, it's all alone, poor thing."

Crowley waved his hand and a second rubber duck appeared. This one had a small tartan bow, while the other now had a pair of sunglasses on its beak.

Crowley felt Aziraphale's chest tremble as he began to laugh and, of course, it wasn't long before he joined in.

When the laughter died down, Aziraphale asked quietly, "Did you ever imagine that one day we would have this?"

"What? Rubber ducks?" 

Aziraphale poked him in the stomach and replied, "Idiot! No, I mean this, you and me like this, most naturally."

Crowley grabbed the angel's hand and kissed it before saying, "Imagine it, no, but hope for it, sometimes. And now this is our reality, and it's better than anything I could have hoped for."

Aziraphale kissed his shoulder and said quietly, "Yes, much better."

They stayed in the bathtub for a few moments, basking in this happiness that was real, accompanied by two little ducks bobbing in the rippling water.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[allsouls-emma]

hiii!! this is request for my bestfriend who’s totally smitten over Léon LMAOOO. sooo her name is Léa ( she’s also french ) and she would looooooove a friends to lovers with Léon.I hope it’s okay for you to write about this 🥰 I think she also follows you on here HAHAHA

✧Colours of the water✧ ─

Léon Marchand x Female! Reader, X OC (Léa)

Hello Anon (and Léa), This was absolutely okay to write, it was super long, I would be a liar if I didn't say I got carried away... Enjoy!

Warnings: Stranger, friends to lovers, school, no prior knowledge of being an artists nor swimmer, oc, heated kisses. let me know if i missed any x

Léa’s fingers smudged the edge of her canvas, blending shades of blue into a deeper, more vibrant hue. The art studio at Lycée Ozenne in Toulouse was alive with quiet chatter, the scratch of pencils on paper, and the occasional exclamation of triumph or frustration from her fellow students. It was a sanctuary for Léa, a place where the outside world melted away and she could lose herself in her art.

Today, her canvas was dominated by swirling blues and greens, a depiction of the ocean that was both peaceful and turbulent, much like her thoughts. She was drawing from memory—images of the Mediterranean Sea from a family trip the summer before, the way the water had seemed to stretch endlessly, a shimmering canvas of its own. But there was more to it than that. The water in her painting wasn’t just the sea; it was infused with something deeper, more personal—a reflection of her growing fascination with the element, and with someone who seemed to belong to it.

She glanced down at her sketchbook, open beside her on the workbench. It was filled with studies of water, of movement, of light playing on surfaces. And then, almost unconsciously, her hand had started sketching him—Léon Marchand, the star of the school’s swim team, the boy who cut through water as if he were born to it. Page after page of her sketchbook bore his image: the curve of his muscles, the determined line of his jaw, the intense focus in his eyes when he was in the pool. It had started as an artist’s fascination with movement and form, but Léa knew it had become something more.

“Another day of Léa’s blue period?” teased Nancy, her best friend and fellow art student, as she leaned over to take a look at Léa’s canvas. Nancy’s voice was light, but there was a knowing edge to it.

Léa chuckled softly, trying to dismiss the question. “I guess I’m just drawn to the color. There’s something about it that feels… calming, like the ocean.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow, her expression sly. “Or maybe it’s because of all the time you spend watching the swim team practice.”

Léa felt the heat rush to her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, focusing on her painting with renewed intensity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nancy laughed, not unkindly. “Sure you don’t. You just happen to stroll by the pool every day after classes. It’s purely a coincidence that the team practices then, right?”

Léa couldn’t suppress a smile, even as she shook her head. Nancy wasn’t wrong, but Léa wasn’t ready to admit it out loud. There was something about watching Léon swim that captivated her. The way he moved through the water, so effortlessly, as if he was more at home there than on land, drew her in. And though she told herself it was just an artist’s fascination with movement, she knew deep down it was more than that.

“He’s talented,” Léa finally admitted, as she added another brushstroke to her painting. The water in her landscape was beginning to take shape, with swirling currents and hidden depths.

Nancy tilted her head, studying her friend with a mischievous grin. “Talented? Léa, the guy is practically a fish. I’ve seen you sketching him in your notebook. Don’t try to deny it.”

Léa bit her lip, caught in the act. She had indeed filled pages of her sketchbook with quick, rough sketches of Léon—his powerful strokes, the curve of his back as he dove into the water, the intensity in his eyes as he focused on the end of the pool. Each sketch was a study in motion, in the way his body seemed to meld with the water, becoming one fluid, unstoppable force.

“He’s just… interesting to draw,” Léa said, a little defensively. “There’s so much energy in the way he moves. It’s like he becomes one with the water.”

Nancy smiled gently, sensing that there was more to Léa’s interest than just an artist’s fascination with movement. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

Léa shook her head quickly, her stomach flipping at the mere thought. “No, no. I’m sure he doesn’t even know I exist.”

Nancy tilted her head, thinking. “You never know. I mean, he might surprise you. Plus, you’ve been drawing him for weeks. Maybe it’s time to take the next step.”

Léa considered this, her heart fluttering at the thought of actually speaking to Léon. But she quickly dismissed it. Léon Marchand was popular, always surrounded by his teammates and friends. He probably had no idea who she was, just another face in the crowd.

But that didn’t stop her from thinking about him. When she wasn’t working on her art, she found herself daydreaming about what it would be like to talk to him, to get to know him. There was something about his quiet intensity that intrigued her, something that made her want to understand what went on behind those focused, determined eyes.

With a sigh, Léa set down her brush and wiped her hands on a rag. “I should probably get going,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I have to walk by the pool on my way home, and I’d rather not run into the team.”

Nancy grinned. “Oh, sure. You wouldn’t want to accidentally bump into Léon or anything.”

Léa rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips. “See you tomorrow, Nancy.”

As she packed up her supplies and slung her bag over her shoulder, Léa couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. Maybe Nancy was right. Maybe she should take a chance, step out of her comfort zone. After all, art was about taking risks, about exploring the unknown.

And who knew? Maybe there was more to Léon Marchand than just swimming.

***

Léa walked through the campus, her thoughts swirling as she tried to shake off the conversation with Nancy. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds. The cool evening air was a welcome change from the stuffy art studio, and Léa took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air.

As she neared the pool, she could hear the faint sounds of splashing and the rhythmic calls of the coach. The swim team was still practicing, their dedication evident in the long hours they put in. Léa hesitated, considering taking a different route, but something stopped her. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the small voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Nancy’s, urging her to take a chance.

She found herself walking closer to the pool, her footsteps slowing as she neared the fence that surrounded it. Through the gaps in the chain-link, she could see the swimmers cutting through the water, their movements powerful and precise. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, her eyes found Léon.

He was in the middle of a lap, his body slicing through the water with an ease that took her breath away. Léa watched, captivated, as he reached the end of the pool and flipped underwater, pushing off the wall with a burst of energy. For a moment, it was as if time slowed, and all she could see was the water swirling around him, the play of light on his skin, the sheer power and grace in his movements.

And then, as if sensing her gaze, Léon looked up.

Their eyes met, and Léa’s breath caught in her throat. For a split second, she considered turning and walking away, pretending she hadn’t been staring. But something in his expression stopped her. There was no irritation, no annoyance—just a hint of curiosity.

Léon pulled himself out of the pool, water streaming off his body as he grabbed a towel and wiped his face. He said something to his coach, who nodded, and then, to Léa’s surprise, he started walking toward her.

Panic surged through her. What was she supposed to say? What was he going to say? But before she could make up her mind to flee, Léon was standing in front of her, towel draped over his shoulders, his dark hair dripping water onto the pavement.

“Hi,” he said, his voice warm and surprisingly soft. “You’re Léa, right? From art class?”

Léa blinked, taken aback. “Uh, yeah. How did you…?”

Léon smiled, a small, boyish grin that made her heart skip a beat. “I’ve seen you around. Plus, Nancy is in my history class. She mentioned you once or twice.”

Léa mentally cursed Nancy and her big mouth but managed a small smile. “I didn’t realize you knew who I was.”

“Of course I do,” Léon said, his tone casual, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re always sketching near the pool. You’re really talented.”

Léa felt her cheeks heat up again, and she ducked her head, suddenly shy. “Thanks. I, um, didn’t think anyone noticed.”

Léon chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made her stomach flip. “Hard not to

..

Certainly! Here's an extended version of **Chapter 2: Unexpected Encounters**. I'll focus on building Léa and Léon's friendship through more detailed interactions, shared moments, and the beginning of a deeper connection. This chapter will delve into their budding relationship, highlighting how their shared interests and differences draw them closer.

---

The warmth of Léon’s smile lingered in Léa’s mind long after she left the pool that evening. As she walked home, her thoughts kept drifting back to their conversation. It had been brief, but it was enough to ignite something inside her—something that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Léon Marchand, the school’s swimming prodigy, had not only noticed her but had also complimented her art. And what was more, he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her.

The next day, Léa found herself replaying the encounter in her head as she sat in her morning classes. Her teachers’ voices became a distant hum as she sketched absentmindedly in the margins of her notebook. Little doodles of water droplets, waves, and even a rough sketch of Léon swimming filled the pages. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she barely noticed the bell ringing, signaling the end of the period.

It wasn’t until Nancy nudged her that Léa snapped out of her daydream. “You’re really out of it today,” Nancy said, her tone laced with curiosity. “Did something happen last night after you left the studio?”

Léa hesitated for a moment before deciding to tell Nancy the truth. After all, Nancy had been the one encouraging her to make a move. “I… I actually talked to Léon yesterday.”

Nancy’s eyes widened in surprise. “You what? No way! What did he say? How did it happen?”

Léa blushed at the excitement in Nancy’s voice. “It wasn’t a big deal. He just… recognized me and came over to say hi. He said he’s seen me around and that he thinks I’m talented.”

“Of course he thinks you’re talented,” Nancy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “But still, that’s huge, Léa! Did you talk about anything else?”

Léa nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the conversation. “He said he’d like to see more of my work. I guess… I guess he’s interested in art?”

Nancy’s grin widened. “See? I told you! He’s into you, Léa. This is your chance. You should invite him to the studio, show him what you’re working on.”

Léa’s heart fluttered at the idea, but the thought of spending more time with Léon also made her nervous. “I don’t know… What if he’s just being polite?”

Nancy shook her head, undeterred. “Trust me, guys don’t go out of their way to compliment a girl’s art unless they’re genuinely interested. You should totally take him up on it.”

Despite her nerves, Léa couldn’t deny the thrill of the possibility. Maybe Nancy was right. Maybe Léon’s interest was more than just casual curiosity. And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new.

***

After school, Léa found herself heading toward the art studio with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. She had spent the entire day trying to muster the courage to approach Léon again, and now that the moment was here, her stomach was in knots. What if he didn’t remember their conversation? Or worse, what if he had changed his mind?

She reached the art studio and hesitated at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. Just as she was about to push it open, a voice called out from behind her.

“Léa!”

She turned around to see Léon jogging toward her, a bright smile on his face. He was still dressed in his school uniform, but his hair was slightly damp, as if he had just come from the pool.

“Hey,” Léa said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Were you looking for me?”

Léon nodded, coming to a stop in front of her. “Yeah, I was hoping to catch you before you went home. I wanted to see if I could check out your art, like we talked about yesterday.”

Léa’s heart skipped a beat. He had remembered. “Oh, sure! I was just heading in to work on something. You’re welcome to join me.”

Léon’s smile widened. “Great! I’ve never actually been inside the art studio before.”

Léa pushed open the door, leading Léon into the spacious room filled with easels, canvases, and art supplies. The familiar smell of paint and charcoal greeted them, and Léa felt a sense of comfort wash over her. This was her space, her sanctuary, and sharing it with someone else—especially someone like Léon—felt both intimate and exciting.

“This is where the magic happens,” Léa said with a shy smile as she guided him to her workspace. Her canvas from the day before was still propped up on the easel, the swirling ocean scene halfway complete.

Léon’s eyes widened as he took in the painting. “Wow, Léa. This is amazing. The way you’ve captured the movement of the water… it’s almost like you can feel it.”

Léa’s cheeks flushed with pride. “Thank you. Water has always fascinated me—the way it moves, the way it reflects light. It’s challenging to capture, but it’s also really rewarding.”

Léon nodded, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I can see that. It’s like the water is alive, almost like it has a personality.”

Léa smiled, appreciating his thoughtful observation. “That’s exactly what I was going for. Water is so dynamic, so full of life. I wanted to show that in my work.”

Léon turned to her, his expression sincere. “You’ve definitely succeeded. I’m really impressed, Léa. You have a gift.”

Léa looked down, feeling a bit overwhelmed by his praise. “I’m just doing what I love.”

“And it shows,” Léon said softly.

They stood in silence for a moment, the air between them filled with unspoken words. Léa could feel her heart beating faster, and she wondered if Léon felt it too—this strange, new connection that was forming between them.

“So, do you have any other pieces you’re working on?” Léon asked, breaking the silence.

Léa nodded, eager to share more of her work with him. “Yeah, I’ve got a few sketches in my notebook. They’re not finished, but you’re welcome to take a look.”

She reached for her sketchbook, flipping it open to a page filled with rough drawings of water—waves crashing against rocks, raindrops falling on a pond, a river winding through a forest. And there, among the sketches, were the drawings of Léon swimming, his form fluid and powerful.

Léon’s eyes lit up as he recognized himself in the sketches. “Are these… me?”

Léa blushed, feeling a little self-conscious. “Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been watching the swim team practice, and I just… found your movements really inspiring.”

“Mind?” Léon said, his voice filled with awe. “Léa, these are incredible. I had no idea anyone was paying that much attention to what I do in the pool.”

Léa smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “You make it look so easy, like you’re one with the water. I couldn’t help but be inspired.”

Léon looked at her, his gaze intense. “I’m flattered. Really. No one’s ever seen me that way before.”

Léa’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. She could see now that Léon wasn’t just being polite—he genuinely appreciated her work, and that made her feel more confident in her abilities than ever before.

They spent the next hour talking about art and swimming, sharing stories about their passions and the challenges they faced. Léa learned that Léon had been swimming since he was a child, following in the footsteps of his parents who were both accomplished athletes. He told her about the pressure he felt to live up to their expectations and how he found solace in the water, where everything else seemed to fade away.

In return, Léa shared her own struggles with self-doubt, how she sometimes questioned whether her art was good enough, and how she often felt overshadowed by the more extroverted students in the art program. Léon listened intently, offering words of encouragement that made her feel understood and appreciated in a way she hadn’t experienced before.

By the time they left the studio, the sun had set, and the campus was bathed in the soft glow of twilight. Léa and Léon walked side by side, their conversation continuing easily, as if they had known each other for years instead of just a few days.

As they reached the edge of the campus where their paths would diverge, Léa felt a pang of disappointment. She didn’t want the evening to end, didn’t want to say goodbye to this new, exciting connection they had forged.

“Thanks for showing me your art, Léa,” Léon said, his voice warm. “I had a great time.”

“Me too,” Léa replied, smiling up at him. “I’m glad you came. It was nice getting to know you better.”

Léon hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something more. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Would you maybe want to hang out again sometime? I’d love to see more of you”

..

---

The days that followed their shared evening in the art studio were a blur of stolen glances, whispered conversations, and a growing tension that neither Léa nor Léon could ignore. What had started as a simple interest in each other’s passions had evolved into something deeper, something neither of them was quite ready to put into words.

But they didn’t need words. Their connection spoke for itself in the small moments—the way Léa’s heart raced whenever she saw Léon waiting for her outside the studio, or the way Léon’s eyes would light up whenever he caught sight of her in the hallway. They began spending more time together, finding excuses to meet after classes, whether it was to walk home together, take a stroll through the nearby park, or simply talk about everything and nothing at all.

One Friday evening, Léon invited Léa to the pool after hours, when the swim team had finished practice, and the place was quiet. It was a bold move, and one that had Léa’s heart pounding as she agreed. The idea of being alone with Léon in the dimly lit pool area, with nothing but the sound of water lapping at the edges, was both thrilling and terrifying.

Léa arrived at the pool to find Léon already there, sitting on the edge with his feet dangling in the water. The overhead lights cast a soft glow over the surface, creating rippling reflections that danced on the walls. He looked up as she approached, his face breaking into a smile that made her stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he greeted her, his voice echoing softly in the large space.

“Hey,” Léa replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she walked over to join him. She sat down beside him, her legs folded beneath her as she dipped a hand into the cool water.

For a moment, they simply sat there in comfortable silence, the tension between them palpable. Léa could feel the warmth radiating from Léon’s body, the proximity sending her senses into overdrive. She had never been this close to him before, and the awareness of his presence was almost overwhelming.

“Do you ever get tired of the water?” Léa asked suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness.

Léon glanced at her, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Sometimes. But it’s also where I feel most at peace. It’s like… everything else fades away when I’m in the water. The pressure, the expectations, the noise. It all just disappears.”

Léa nodded, understanding all too well what he meant. She felt something similar when she was painting, when she could lose herself in the strokes of her brush and the colors on her canvas. But there was more to it than that, something deeper that she couldn’t quite put into words.

“It must be nice,” she said softly, “to have something that makes everything else disappear.”

Léon’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his expression intense, as if he was searching for something in her words. “It is,” he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I think I’ve found something else that does that too.”

Léa’s heart skipped a beat at the way he was looking at her, the meaning behind his words clear. She felt a rush of emotions—fear, excitement, anticipation—all mingling together in a heady mix that left her breathless.

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Léon reached out, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was soft, tentative, as if he was testing the waters, but it sent a shiver down her spine all the same.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that,” Léon murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

Léa’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing. “Léon…”

But he didn’t let her finish. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, as if he had been holding back for far too long and couldn’t wait another second.

Léa’s eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into the kiss, her hand coming up to rest on Léon’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her fingertips. The world around them seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of them, the warmth of his lips against hers, and the sensation of his arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepened, the initial hesitancy giving way to a growing hunger as they lost themselves in each other. Léa had never felt anything like this before—this intense, overwhelming need to be closer to him, to feel every part of him. It was as if something had been unlocked inside her, something she hadn’t even known was there, and now it was impossible to ignore.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady themselves. Léa’s eyes fluttered open to find Léon staring at her, his gaze filled with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something that made her heart skip another beat.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Léon admitted, his voice low and rough with emotion.

Léa couldn’t help but smile, her own feelings mirrored in his words. “Me too.”

For a moment, they just sat there, caught up in the intensity of the moment, neither of them wanting to break the spell. But eventually, Léon pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping her cheek.

“I want to see you again, Léa. More than just at school or in the studio. I want to spend more time with you… outside of all this,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.

Léa’s heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through her chest. “I’d like that too, Léon.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made her feel like she was floating. “Good. How about tomorrow? We could go to the park, take a walk, and just… talk. Get to know each other better.”

Léa nodded, excitement bubbling up inside her at the thought of spending more time with him. “That sounds perfect.”

They lingered for a while longer, neither of them quite ready to leave the moment behind. Eventually, they stood up, their hands brushing against each other as they made their way out of the pool area, the tension between them now tinged with something new—hope, anticipation, and the beginnings of a deeper connection.

***

The next day, the sun was shining brightly as Léa made her way to the park where she had agreed to meet Léon. The air was crisp with the scent of autumn leaves, and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. It was the perfect day for a walk, but Léa’s mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Léon to fully appreciate the beauty of her surroundings.

She spotted him almost immediately, leaning against a tree near the entrance to the park, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he watched her approach. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat, just like it always did, but there was something different today—something that made her feel both excited and nervous all at once.

“Hey,” Léon greeted her with a smile as she walked up to him.

“Hey,” Léa replied, her own smile mirroring his.

They started walking side by side, the path winding through the park shaded by the tall trees overhead. The conversation was easy, flowing naturally as they talked about everything from their favorite books to their plans for the future. Léa found herself opening up to him in a way she hadn’t with anyone else, sharing her hopes, her dreams, and even her fears.

Léon listened attentively, his responses thoughtful and sincere. He shared his own dreams with her—his desire to one day compete in the Olympics, his love for swimming, and how he sometimes felt trapped by the expectations that came with being a prodigy. Léa could see the passion in his eyes when he talked about swimming, but also the weight of the pressure he was under.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you have to live up to other people’s expectations,” Léa said softly as they sat down on a bench overlooking a small pond. “It can be overwhelming, especially when it feels like no matter what you do, it’s never enough.”

Léon looked at her, his expression intense. “Exactly. It’s like… everyone expects me to be this perfect athlete, to always win, to never make a mistake. But sometimes I just want to swim because I love it, not because I have to prove something.”

Léa reached out, placing her hand on his. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Léon. You’re already amazing, just as you are.”

Léon’s eyes softened at her words, and he turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers with hers. “Thank you, Léa. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, their hands still clasped together, both of them lost in their own thoughts. The connection between them had grown stronger, the spark that had been there from the beginning now fanned into a flame that was impossible to ignore.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the park, Léon turned to Léa, his gaze searching. “Léa, I don’t want to rush things, but… I really like you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Léa.

[babyrdie]

Achilles if he was the Champion on Olympus instead of Theseus and Asterius, inspired by a fic (by @baejax-the-great) I read recently.

I ended up drawing Achilles because I wanted to train more metal and Patroclus in this fic doesn't have much metal in his design. Maybe I'll try to do Patroclus too, but I can't promise anything because trying to imitate Hades has already taken me a long time for a train.

I tried to use Hades' style as a kind of observation study. Honestly, I already knew it was going to be difficult all along because I don't have stylization as my strong point, and also the style of this game seemed so unique that it gave me the impression that it would be difficult to replicate. All said and done, it really is. Even if I cheated by establishing a firmer pose on Achilles to avoid the need to draw a good gesture, it doesn't change that the rest is still outside my comfort area.

My conclusion was: the head is the hardest part for me, which I didn't expect. My facial style is very different from Hades' style, so it complicates my life. Plus, using just one brush for the whole thing is surprisingly good. I should practice gesturing instead of avoiding it.

And here I'm going to put some notes about Hades' style that helped me try to replicate it, but that's it: in Jen Zee's case, perceiving characteristic X is more complicated than doing characteristic X! I still think I need to train a lot to really be able to replicate it, especially in the head area. I don't know if this counts as a tutorial of sorts? But that's it, expect lots of images and explanations from here on in this post.

SHAPES

You can easily see "geometric" aspects of the drawing. It's easy to "disassemble" characters into shapes, which is a kind of basic concept often used in drawings.

I think that trying to be "sharp" is a good thing, as most of the shapes I saw on the characters were more sharp than rounded.

I got the impression that Jen Zee focuses on the macro and then goes to the micro, not micro for macro. In other words, she first establishes a visible and well-made shape and then cares about details.

This is very good in terms of anatomy, because a common mistake artists make, for example, is to care too much about detailing things like the face and muscles instead of creating a well-done silhouette. It turns out that the detailed parts are realistic, but the character as a whole has questionable anatomy. Typical case of a perfect face, but too big or small for the body.

I think the most obvious example of Hades' style is its hair. There is no separation of hair strand by strand, but rather making a large, recognizable shape that will later be further molded.

LINEART

The line is always black. Don't paint!

Lineweight: the outer line is thick but the inner lines are thin. There isn't much more line weight variation other than that.

It's mostly consistent but, in some parts, it's purposely interrupted or less polished. It's nothing so noticeable that if you do it completely polished it will greatly affect the result, but if you intend to get as close as possible I would advise you to purposefully "fail" in some parts.

Even with these "flaws", it's a CONFIDENT lineart. This means that you will have more luck copying the style of making your drawings in firm, quick strokes at once rather than slowly retouching stroke by stroke. Draw a line and if it looks bad, just do it again. I don't recommend drawing over it to fix it.

I don't know if this fits in line, but I'll put it here. There are some random lines of striking colors here and there. At first glance, you don't even notice them, although they actually help the drawing stand out, but they are there.

COLORING

Color blocking is your friend.

Don't use blending tools, and use a hard brush and hard eraser. I used one of CSP's default brushes for the entire drawing. It's a style that doesn't require fancy brushes.

From what I saw, Jen Zee doesn't paint this style in grayscale but directly in color. If your fear is getting the color wrong, using layers is a faithful companion because it's easy to change a specific part.

It's IMPOSSIBLE to do the Hades style without inking, which is that part where in the traditional drawing you would apply the ink. In Hades, this is visible in the parts that are shaded black.

Inking is MAINLY used in areas where there is less light, such as the neck, but it's also widely used on metal surfaces.

Don't insist on gradients and blurring the drawing! The shadows here are more solid, quite easy to point out where they start and where they end. In some parts, the transition is made by putting an "edge" on the shadow in a tone that is between the shadow tone and the base tone, not by blending. In others, there is no transition at all. Faces, in particular, seemingly have no transitions.

In the illuminated parts, I particularly found it easier to use rubber to shape them. First paint straight and then start erasing and making the shapes.

Highlights are very important in this style, and they are generally in a more saturated tone.

It seemed easier to follow the order of base color > lighting than base color > shading. That is, first paint in the darkest tone and then add lighter tones instead of painting light and then making it dark.

-Use of complementary colors and analogous colors in certain palettes.

Color picking can make you a little insecure about the base colors, but trust the process because color theory is crazy. The base skin tone of Achilles in Hades is a yellow that is strange at first glance, but together with the other added tones it simply looks like a normal tan. Believe me, I was surprised at first! But, sure, it doesn't all have to be color-picking.

SOME EXAMPLES IN IMAGES

And now trying to explain what I already said, but visually. If you look at the images, I recommend zooming in. Very simple images because some of them were actually loose studies and not something made with the intention of posting so don't expect anything beautiful lol

[skyshard13]

short tutorial on how I've recently been approaching lineless interior illustrations like these

small disclaimer: I am not a professional, this is just what's been working recently for me. this thread is aimed towards digital artists who understand the fundamentals behind perspective, but don't know how to practically use that information

step 1: look up your art program of choice's support for perspective ruler tools. if your program doesn't support these tools (cough, cough, photoshop), I would recommend downloading krita and giving their perspective tools a try. this will make life much easier

programs that have perspective rulers should also have a "snap to ruler" option somewhere that will make all of your brush strokes move in straight lines across a 3D grid. I turn this on, but for details and curves, you may want to turn it off

step 2: once I have an idea for how I want things to look, I start laying down lines to figure out 3D form and composition. the more iterations you do at this step to make your lines clean and precise, the less of a headache you'll have in later steps

step 3: fill in base colors using the polygonal lasso tool. make sure to separate every shape onto its own layer. in the first piece, I made a separate layer for every wall, the bed frame, the mattress, etc. go ahead and hide the lines, but look out for jank where edges meet

step 4: using clipping masks on the layers from step 3, build up texture and ambient occlusion (the space where two planes meet should be darker than the rest of the planes) while considering your light source, start to paint in hard and soft shadows

for brevity I won't delve into what kinds of shadows are appropriate in what contexts, but at least in digital art I find softening hard shadows to be easier than hardening soft shadows, so I would try those first if you're ever not sure

step 5: at this point, you can go where your heart takes you and start painting in details. personally, I like to apply some strange and interesting textures at this point to unify the image. this helps me get out of the "every plane is a separate object" mindset

step 6: start painting! I usually like to continue pushing the lighting at this stage using a soft brush and blend modes. paint in details and objects that have irregular shapes

for wall decorations like posters and windows, I recommend looking into photoshop's "smart objects" feature (or whatever the equivalent is in your program.) these allow you to place a flat painting in 3D space while still allowing you to edit the flat painting

and that's all! I hope this tutorial might have inspired someone to try out painting an indoor space, I know I put them off for a while because I didn't know where to start

if you have any questions, please send them my way :)

[vodoriga-art]

I'm going to be asking a lot of artists I follow this question, but how did you develop your style? It SEEMS like most people find their style and stick with it forever, just making improvements and iterations. I tend to work in a lot of different styles because I enjoy doing that, though I know there are things I gravitate towards as well. But I wonder what your journey was and how you got feedback and improved while staying true to what you enjoyed?

Interesting question!

I never really think about style when making a piece, I don’t worry about making it match the rest of my portfolio, it’s just that the things that make up my style are things that come most naturally to me when I don’t think about it.

✦ TL;DR: My style is a combination of: the different mediums I use (including tablet and PS brushes), the fact I’m scatterbrained and unlikely to finish if I take too long, the aesthetics I like seeing, what feels good physically (movements that feel good to make with my arm and hand), and rhythms that feel innate and come naturally. I really believe that the things that make up your, or anyone else's style, are already within them, they just need to be brought out into view through making art.

Longer thorough answer with images below 👇

✦ I’d say that I “developed” my style by doing what feels comfortable - the shapes of my lines are I think influenced by the fact I’m “lazy” and don’t like erasing, which isn’t a problem in digital, but I used to do a lot of traditional art in ink, and not to mention etchings where I definitely can’t erase without wasting a bunch of time.

✦ My line art looks the way it does because it’s basically a cleaned up sketch, because I don’t have the patience to do both, or line art that was done without a prior sketch, just trying to make lines as good as I can on the first go knowing that any parts that end up feeling off will be painted over later. The brushes I've been using for years also play a role here.

✦ The way I paint digitally, as in colors are not often blended, and often the transitions between colors are made up of blobs of color or even something resembling hatching, stems from:

1. When I started art college, I realized I was waaaay slower than everybody else when it comes to painting, and in order to finish a full body real size portrait in time there was no way I could do it with blended shadows and realism (in high school I worked mostly in pencil, going for as much realism as possible because that's what was expected). So I started constructing planes from these blobs, only going into more detail if time allowed. The goal was to make something that can pass as finished in as little time as possible and then refine it later if possible. Sadly I don’t have much college work to scan as an example (some fruits are below). Quickly this became not just a way to finish a painting in time, but a part of what made my painting mine. I started doing it in charcoal, and in digital even when there was no time limit.

2. Digitally I used to paint with a brush with didn't always match the color on the palette, and the very slight color difference in each stroke or blob was interesting and something I started doing intentionally, and in traditional acrylic painting as well.

3. Long story short, the way I work in one medium influences the way I work in others. So it feels that choice of mediums (digital, acrylic, tempera, charcoal) leads to a style that can be reproduced in all these different mediums.

4. If I had any photos of my (unbaked, unglazed) clay works from sculpting class you could even recognize my style there as well. So we can assume that clay sculpting also influenced my 2D art as well.

Some examples of the non blended colors in different mediums (digital, acrylic, acr., tempera, digital):

✦ Obviously the things I find visually attractive and interesting - shiny or glossy surfaces, interesting pointy shapes, subtle differences in tone, dramatic lighting - will be things I reproduce and emphasize in my art consciously or subconsciously, and those will make a style across different mediums.

✦ A mostly consistent color palette is a part of style as well. I gravitate towards the colors I find pretty - grays, browns, reds, gold, pink, and shades of off-white.

✦ As for feedback, I didn't get a whole lot of it from my art profs (which is one of the reasons I dropped out), but one thing is they encouraged my choice of color palette and gloomy mood, and my messy process. My friends say the most recognizable thing about my art and what they call my signature is the little sparkle shapes I love to use. Not that other artists don’t use sparkles but when I put mine on at the end it feels like one really conscious choice that I make that makes the finished piece feel really mine ✨

✦ Another thing people noted about my art are the solid black areas I sometimes use as pure black cel shading, sometimes as kinda random blobs - I feel like line art needs to have a certain “weight” to look good, but as my lines are mostly the same weight, and often very light and sketchy, I add the black areas to compensate for that lack of weight across the piece. In my head this genuinely feels like weight, and if a piece feels too light in my head/hands, I add weight via flat black areas. I don’t know if that makes sense but it does to me and leads to a style. In pieces without lines it adds weight that's missing because of a lack of contrast or details elsewhere.

✦ And last but not least: The artists I admire and who are an inspiration have and continue to influence my style on a conscious or subconscious level. Either in regards to coloring, composition, shapes, or whatever. Leyendecker and Schaeffer are two pretty obvious ones I think. Mike Mignola and Chris Bourassa (the artist of Darkest Dunegon) also include flat black shadows and planes in their art.

All these things I feel like aren't going anywhere even as I improve, nor do they impede improvement or would hold me back if I decided to completely switch mediums or themes. They are so at the core of my craft(s) I don't think I could change or ditch them without great effort and even then it would be hard to stick to something else.

Basically I guess do what feels good and don't overthink, chances are even when you think you switch between wildly different styles there's something tying them together. At the same time, if there's an element that you really like, nothing wrong with consciously incorporating into your style(s), like I do with sparkles.

[itsuki-minamy]

"K – LETTER STORY"

SILVER: "ANSWER"

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Yatogami Kuro was sitting in front of the tea table, worried.

It all started with a postcard he received yesterday from his brother, Mishakuji Yukari.

On the back of the table, placed on a tea table, was a photograph of the brothers posing as if they were blending into a picturesque foreign landscape (Kuro only knew it was a European street corner), as if it were a painting, and above you can see the elegant strokes of the fountain pen added to it.

The content is simple, with a few lines of recent information and a postscript.

For those who have been keeping up to date, there are anecdotes about where he stayed, how his roommate has grown, and his interactions with the other person who appears from time to time. His short, witty one-liners always remind him of Mishakuji's versatility.

(This is good.)

What bothers Kuro is the P.S., just a word.

He said,

"Thanks for your answer."

"......"

The address of the place where he will be staying is also written on the front of the postcard. Regardless of the moral argument for hanging his head, that nerve is very fraternity-like. But anyway,

(Should I respond as requested?)

His head bowed at that difficult question.

The battle of the past had finally been resolved, and the dispute should have been resolved... Not all of his bad feelings have dissipated... but at least he is no longer the subject of blatant denial... but he can't even say that his relationship is good enough to casually exchange letters.

(However, it is rude to leave it unattended and something is wrong here...)

He suddenly realized this and instinctively hit his knee.

(Yes, from here too!)

Like his brother, he wrote about people close to him. That's perfect for a return sword that doesn't add unnecessary emotions. He's sure everyone will be intrigued, even his brother.

(Let us begin.)

He grabbed a notepad and pen from the desk next to him and started writing a draft.

[Adolf K. Weismann, also known as the ''Silver King'' Isana Yashiro, whom I once considered his master and who now stands by my side as a friend, earned a strange nickname like ''German-Sensei'' in honor of assuming his position as professor.]

(Mmm, that's strange.)

Just by writing the minimum of information, and even a few notes, he filled a space the size of a postcard.

(Well, Shiro is a special man... if that's the case.)

He carefully tore off one note and wrote on the second.

[Neko transferred to Ashinaka High School with his real name, Ameno Miyabi, and causes commotion around her regardless of whether she uses supernatural powers or not. To clean up after that, Shiro and I ran out...]

(Hmm, what do you mean?)

He filled out another page.

(I guess Neko often acts like a cat...)

In that case, he would like to broaden the scope a little more and write about Kukuri Yukizome... no, his brother doesn't know about her, nor about Toru Hieda... a person who was involved with the "Green King".

"No, why?!"

Unbeknownst to him, a cry of agony escaped him.

The advice came slightly from behind.

"I think it's best to let go of unnecessary pretensions and just write as you want."

"It's not an unnecessary pretense. It's the way you should behave..."

After answering normally, Kuro turned around.

Before he knew it, Shiro had returned home and was stacking the books he took out of his bag on his desk. Likewise, Neko, still in her human form, was curled up in bed and yawning.

Kuro avoids unnecessary interactions with these two people he knows well (although he thought that, if he didn't take off Neko's uniform quickly, it would take him longer to iron it).

"I found out why I was trying to talk back to my brother."

Shiro let out a sigh.

"Well, I've been thinking about that since you got the postcard yesterday. When I got home, I found you moaning in front of your notebook, so I can understand why you're worried about the wording."

"Umm, squishy, ​​squishy, ​​squishy, ​​all over again. Nyahahahaha."

Riding a horse, Neko lay down and adopted a series of poses that seemed to imitate another person.

Shiro hesitantly told his friend, who accepted his misfortune with a bitter face, an inference that could be another blow.

"I was also thinking about this all day... that person named Mishakuji Yukari."

"What?"

"Maybe he added that word to mock Kuro, in anticipation that you would worry like that?"

Kuro was about to say "Gah!" and he sat upright.

Intuitively, he was sure that Shiro was right.

That's what his brother might be able to do.

A few days later.

Kuro eventually recovered and, feeling depressed and confused, wrote only a poem of his own in response.

[There is no communication between us, but we have a supportive relationship.]

[thefandomwritersblog]

Ghost of the Ten

Horizon: Forbidden West

Hekarro x Fem!OldOne OC

Action/Adventure/Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Chapter 21

Part 3: Ghost of the Ten

~~

"Hope is this thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all." --Emily Dickinson

~~

Day Whatever The Fuck This Is,

I still think this whole diary thing is the stupidest thing on the planet, but….

Beta gets so proud every time she sees the charcoal stains on my hands. She says that she’s proud of me for trying, even if I do think this whole exercise is pointless. She’s a cute kid, her and her sister, though they couldn’t be anymore different than night and day. Beta’s a quiet kid, she likes to keep to herself, fiddle with little machines she tinkers with. She showed me a workshop that Petra set up for her in the Oseram Camp, she’s been helping them build the cranes the workers are gonna use to repair the crater walls.

Aloy’s the tough one, though. I can see it in her eyes; a hardness there that I know all too well. Like she had to build a wall between herself and the entire world. But when she’s with Beta I can see that wall soften, I can see the love and care they have for each other. It should make me angry; I don’t have that anymore. But all it does is just make me sad. Petra says that I’m incredible, but I just feel lost and lonely all the time despite how hard everyone is trying to keep me going. I wish they’d just stop.

It’d be so much easier to give up if they didn’t care.

~~

The room was quiet aside from Victoria’s soft humming, who sat at her desk with a piece of charcoal in hand. Her fingers glided effortlessly over the parchment, leaving behind a trail of dark dust that she skillfully shaped into precise and purposeful strokes. As she worked, her gaze would occasionally drift to the delicate orchid sitting on the edge of her desk, its dewy petals glistening in the morning sun. She took a moment to appreciate its beauty before returning to her sketch. With each movement of the charcoal, she captured the intricate details of the flower's petals, carefully blending and shading to create depth and texture. She lost herself in the calming focus of her task until she finally leaned back to admire her work, the orchid nearly mirrored on the parchment.

It felt good to have some time for this again. She struggled to recall the last time she had sat and drawn; definitely before the Swarm. Victoria furrowed her brow as her gaze drifted to the wall above her desk. She remembered arguing with Maria then, though she couldn't quite recall what started the fight. She was home for the first time in months, sitting with a canvas and some paint in her apartment while her mama fussed around in the kitchen. Maria wanted her to take a break from her humanitarian work overseas - there had been a health scare and she just wanted their family together. But Victoria was always away, hardly ever returning for holidays or even calling (a guilt that still gnawed at her).

She had been determined not to budge. She finally found a career that brought fulfillment and purpose; something that made her feel like she was really making a difference.

It wasn't until after the Faro Plague reached its peak that Victoria spoke to Maria again, but even then it didn't feel like they had reconciled.

She should have spent more time with them. She should have been there.

Why are you alive and they’re not.

Closing her eyes, Victoria tried to block out the voices in her head.

“Victoria?” Hekarro called out from the other side of the curtained door, “May I come in?”

She frowned; he sounded sterner than usual. “Yeah.” she replied, “Sure.”

He ducked through, all dressed for business today in his armor and crown. He greeted her with a polite smile, but she could tell he was here for a purpose. Victoria then noticed the extra shuffle of feet and murmurs of voices outside the door, and then was surprised to see Dekka enter soon after Hekarro.

"I apologize for interrupting your peace, Victoria," Hekarro said with a slight bow and hand over his heart, “But I fear I must ask you to leave your room for a time.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"There is a storm approaching from the west," Hekarro explained, "and we need to prepare the Grove before it arrives. Your room needs to be secured as soon as possible."

Dekka stepped forward and offered her a smile, “I can imagine you don't want to share your space while others are working, so I thought I'd ask if you'd like to join me for breakfast until they're done."

Victoria hesitated for a moment before muttering, "Sure, why not?" She moved the journal aside and got up from her spot. Hekarro gave her another smile as she walked past him and out the door, with Dekka close behind. The Tenakth guards quickly averted their gazes when they saw Victoria, their conversation falling into an uneasy silence. Dekka motioned towards the left down the hallway leading to the crater. She looked up at the bright blue sky as they stepped onto the crater's edge, following it towards the Maw.

"Didn't Hekarro say there would be a storm?" she asked. Dekka nodded and shooed away some of the guards away from the gates.

"Don't be deceived by the clear sky. Even on the outskirts of the Lowlands, a storm can appear before you know it. But for those who are aware, there are signs that give away its approach. The winds have been picking up from the west, and it carries the scent of thunder and rain. Our luck also held with a messenger from Thornmarsh arriving to warn us beforehand."

They entered the dimly lit mess hall, which was mostly empty except for a small group of exhausted Tenakth gathered around a table in one corner. In the center of the room stood a large, well-stocked kitchen with a blazing fire and a boar roasting on a spit. The delicious aroma filled her senses as they approached the counter, where a small Tenakth woman was bustling around cleaning.

"Chaplain," the woman greeted, "I was wondering if you would come by this morning."

Dekka chuckled, "It's been quite a busy start to the day."

"I heard. Poor thing ran all the way here from Thornmarsh. I made sure to give him some food; he's sleeping now."

"Good. Two bowls for us this morning." Dekka paused, thinking for a moment. "And also the Strike board, if you don't mind."

The cook grinned, "Right away, Chaplain."

The woman set to work in an instant, bringing over an intriguing-looking board and a heavy leather bag for Dekka to take. Both were handed to Victoria and she was directed towards a table against the far wall. "Could you bring these over there?"

"Uhhhh, sure?" Victoria responded with a shrug, doing as she was told. Dekka followed closely behind, carrying two piping hot bowls of breakfast. Once they reached the table, Victoria settled into her seat while Dekka sat across from her, placing one of the bowls in front of her before turning her attention to the board. As she removed tile pieces from the bag and arranged them on the board, Victoria couldn't help but watch curiously as she ate her rice, meat, and eggs. “Am I allowed to ask what we’re doing?”

The older woman chuckled, "Of course, there are no secrets here." She pulled out what looked like game pieces from the bag. Victoria picked one up and immediately recognized it as a machine similar to the one Aloy had saved her from. "We're going to play Machine Strike, or Strike for short. It's a simple game played on this board with different landscape tiles that determine movement and defense. Since you're new to the game, we'll stick with grassland tiles which offer no penalties or advantages. Then we choose our pieces, each worth a certain number of setup points. If your opponent destroys your machine, they receive those points. Each set can only have pieces whose points add up to ten. The first player to reach seven points or eliminate all of their opponent's machines wins. Each piece also has its own attack and defense powers listed at the bottom. Any questions?"

Victoria shrugged, shifting in her seat for comfort and leaning forward. “No, but I learn better by doing anyway.”

Dekka smirked, “Then pick your pieces.”

They fell into a comfortable as Victoria carefully picked out her Strike pieces, eventually deciding on a few that caught her eye. Dekka instructed her on how to position the pieces on the board, humming softly as they set up the game. "Bristleback, Bellowback, and Scrapper. An interesting combination choice. Let's see how it plays out. You first.”

The game started slowly, with Victoria stumbling through her turns as Dekka patiently corrected and guided her. Predictably, Victoria lost the first game by a landslide. She was allowed to switch out some of her pieces for the second round, choosing a Leaplasher instead of the Bellowback and a Grazer instead of the burrower. This time, she put up more of a fight but still ended up losing. Dekka smiled at her as they both collected their pieces and returned them to their respective sides of the board, nearly forgetting about their bowls in the process.

"You catch on quickly," Dekka commented. "I'm impressed. But your tendency to rush blindly into battle won't do you any favors in a strategy game like this."

“Yeah, mi mama always used to tell me I was too hotheaded for my own good.” Victoria chuckled and began gathering up her pieces, adding the Burrower back on her side of the board.

“A trait that has its time and place,” Dekka replied, the game starting again. She hummed as Victoria moved across the board, hesitate, then looked up at her with a curious look in her eye, “How are you adjusting?”

“Fine,” Victoria shrugged, “I guess.”

“I'm glad to hear that. I'll admit I was worried about you for a while,” Dekka said, her focus back on the Strike board. “It's good to see that you've been going on more walks with Hekarro and Beta lately.”

“Well, it's not like they give me much of a choice,” Victoria grumped.

Dekka laughed heartily, “I suppose they don't. Beta can be quite stubborn in her own way. And I know the Chief well enough to know he wouldn't let you languish if he could help it.”

Victoria tried not to perk up at that and instead focused on her next move, frowning when Dekka's Plowhorn took out her Burrower. “You've known Hekarro for a long time then?”

"Since he was just a little boy. I still remember the day he was born, so small compared to his parents. Oh, how proud they would be of him now. He's become more of a legend than a mere man these days."

"Hekarro? Small?" Victoria couldn't help but smirk, and Dekka chuckled again.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it? There was a time when we were worried he wouldn't make it. Life was tough for the Clans back then. The Clan Wars claimed Hekarro's parents before he could even walk, so how could a young boy like that survive in our world? But even at such a young age, you could tell Hekarro was sharp. Much sharper than most people gave him credit for, much more adaptable. That served him well during those early years. And when he finally came into his own, after spending years at Fenrise, under the supervision of the Enduring, his cleverness only made him a force to be reckoned with.”

Victoria moved her Leaplasher closer to Dekka's Grazer, smirking as she destroyed Dekka's Scrounger. "So is that how Hekarro became chief?"

"In part," Dekka replied, retaliating by taking out the Leaplasher with her Plowhorn. "Hekarro was Commander of Thornmarsh before becoming chief. He led the Lowland Clan to numerous victories against the Desert and Sky Clans."

Victoria scowled at the game board. "You’d mentioned a Clan War."

"Exactly so," Dekka confirmed. "A war that lasted countless generations, since our tribe's founding. Differences in lifestyle and interpretations of the Visions found in the Grove led to conflicts, which only fueled more resentment and retaliation among the clans. It wasn't uncommon for Tenakth to die at a very young age back then."

"So, what? Hekarro was just a warlord then? How did he become chief if you all couldn't even get along? What changed?"

There was a long pause as Dekka strategized her next move with her Plowhorn, "Hekarro changed. Don't let his current demeanor fool you, Victoria. He is still a formidable warrior, and like all warriors, he had ambition. The Grove has always been sacred to us, even before the unification of the Tenakth. What better way for Hekarro to solidify his legacy and legend than by laying claim to something no one else ever could? And when he stood among the fallen in the aftermath of his victory, your Mother's Vision came to him alone. Anne Faraday's call for peace resonated with him, and it changed him. It changed all of us, and our lives have only been better because of it. Without her Vision, I doubt our tribe would still exist today."

Victoria moved her Grazer back and inched her Bellowback forward, “How so?”

“Not long after we united under Chief Hekarro, a tribe from the east began to lay waste to our Utaru allies across the mountains. This conflict became known as the Red Raids, and if we had been fighting amongst ourselves instead of joining the Utaru against a common enemy, it's likely we would have been wiped out. Then came the Derangement of the machines, the Blight, the Blood Choke… All of which we survived because we were stronger together as a Tribe, than apart as the Clans.”

Dekka emerged triumphant after the third round, taking the board and bowls to the counter while Victoria was lost in her own thoughts. The fact that she had slept for a thousand years hit her with full force once again. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the rich history of the tribe she coexisted with, and even harder to dismiss the impact her mother had on it all. She couldn't help but feel frustrated that even after a millennium and with Anne long gone, Victoria was still unable to escape her mother's shadow.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked over to see Hekarro entering the mess hall. The Tenakth in the corner immediately perked up, greeting their chief loudly as he walked past them. Hekarro stopped to chat with them, filling the room with laughter and his deep baritone voice. It was hard to reconcile this man with the image of a bloodthirsty warlord. While Hekarro could be stern when necessary, Victoria couldn't imagine him being terrifying or merciless when he had worried about her enough to force her to eat and accompany her on walks just so she wouldn't be alone. And hanging orchid vines above her bedroom tree because they made her happy? A warlord just… wouldn’t do something like that. Maybe, deep down, he had always had the capacity to care about others because people like what he was before hardly ever changed.

“Victoria?” Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up, surprised to see Hekarro's warm, honey-gold gaze. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't even noticed him approaching her. He tilted his head and smiled softly, “Is everything alright?”

She shook her head, “Yeah, sorry. My mind was somewhere else.”

“It is of no consequence, Victoria. We’ve finished securing your room, and are free to return to it when you want. Did you enjoy your morning with Dekka?”

Victoria shrugged, “Yeah, I guess. She taught me how to play Strike? And she taught me a little of your tribe’s history.”

Hekarro chuckled, “I fear much of our history is quite tedious across the generations.” He watched her as she stood, a curious look in his eye as he fell into an easy stride next to her. Victoria nodded as they left the mess hall and veered right towards the gates to the main road.

“Yeah, Dekka said you tribe suffered from Clan Wars and… the Red Raids?”

“Yes, we did. I suppose it must be ironic for you, considering your own experiences with this place. A monument to death and loss, as you called it. Something that the Tenakth can't seem to escape.”

"You're working towards a new name for it though. A different history.” As they walked down the road, she furrowed her brow and looked out at the ruins. “Maybe… maybe losing your past isn't entirely a bad thing."

“Why do you say that?”

"Well, sometimes it's easier to let go of a curse if you don't know its origins." She hesitated before adding, "This place used to bring you comfort, but now it's tainted because I can't let go of everything it took from me. You have the opportunity to give it a new purpose."

They paused to look over the museum—The Grove— and Hekarro hummed softly at her side, offering another smile that sent her nerves fluttering in her stomach, “A purpose, I should think, that I hope you get to see, Victoria. A poetic justice to see this monument turned from death and loss to one of hope.”

“Yeah…maybe…”

~~

Day Whatever The Fuck This Is,

Note to self, learn how to play Strike better.

I challenged Petra to a match and got my ass kicked, and if I have to hear her gloat one more time over it, I’m gonna fucking lose it.

[ozonecologne]

like HOW did you do the shading on that lnx piece!! the velvet?

🥰 I will happily walk you through my layer process for this piece!

First, I do a sketch of my subject from reference to get the general shape of things. Once I'm happy with it, I line everything in solid black with a default hard round brush.

You can see the outline of the durag above the forehead here, and my navigation panel to the right that shows where in the piece this is overall. This canvas was 8.5x11 inches at 720dpi, so I think the size of this outline brush was 15px? I think the smaller lines were a 5px, used with a really low pressure.

Once everything is outlined, I add a base color layer underneath the outline layer. I try to match this color to the reference as best as I can just using my eyes, but sometimes I help myself out by color picking the middle tone. I'm still learning about color so this step is hard for me. Cheat when you can!!!!

Once the main color is under there, I look really carefully at my reference and block in the shadows and variations in the colors that I can see, checking myself with the color picker as I go. I'm sure someday I will get faster at this, but color theory is hard 😮‍💨

I noticed a gray reflective purple-y shadow at the front, but also that the velour/velvet is not uniform. I use a soft round brush at different levels of opacity to make little dots that really tell you what texture this is, and then make the brush bigger and softer to unify them with some longer strokes. There's no rhyme or reason to this part, I just flip really fast between my canvas and the reference image to try and paint what I see.

Once all these colors are more are less where they're supposed to be, I adjust the line art color with clipping masks to make the shape a bit more organic. I just match the surrounding colors I've blocked in so we have a smooth blend, also paying attention to edge highlights.

Time for the bigger and brighter highlights to make everything pop! I lay down some bigger shapes first, like these long strokes of white that I soften at the edges with a low opacity soft round eraser.

You can see on the navigation bar to the right what the zoomed-out piece looks like at this stage. It's getting there, but there's a lot more texture and brighter highlights on this area! To really make it look like velour, I zoomed in on the reference image and noticed that a lot of the highlights at the front here are actually more of those dot shapes. That's what makes it look soft to the touch. I use a really small soft round brush at full opacity to pop those in:

YEAHHHHH now we're talking.

I've spent a lot of time on this area, so I'm ready to move on! Once the whole piece is finished, I use a trick that I learned from Elicia by duplicating everything I've drawn, merging it into one layer, blurring it, and lowering the opacity.

It might not be that noticeable here, but zoomed out it gives the whole piece a bit of a glow and softens up the lines. It makes the painting a little less crisp, a little more dreamy. I love learning tips like this from other artists I admire -- it doesn't always work out when you try to map someone else's style onto your own, but sometimes you find something that really sticks!

Finally, I put on some adjustment layers. I especially like to play with saturation since my color theory is still not that good, and I always worry about my contrast so I usually do a curves layer as well (lighten up the lights, darken up the darks). I'm also a fan of a nice pink overlay, but I didn't do that here. I don't think it needed it!

So now I'm done! And here's the finished piece:

Looks great :) Hope this is cool to you!!!

[peacehopeandrats]

In Class

Belle glanced at the piece of paper taped to the craft store's window and squeezed Rumple's hand. "Why don't we give it a go?"

He blinked at her, tipping his head back in surprise before making a gesture at the shop and then the sleepy city around them. "You want to give up our evening stroll for painting?" Mirth mingled with the words, making each become a sound of pleasant disbelief.

"And why shouldn't we?" Belle thrust her hands to her hips and tilted her head to the side. It had been a while since she and Rumple had time to be on their own. Even longer since they'd had an evening stroll like the ones they used to take in Storybrooke. The atmosphere only served to fuel her playful banter. "Unless you think you couldn't do it."

"Of course I can do it." Her husband wrinkled his nose as he would have back when she first knew him. The mask didn't stay on long, however. After a breath, his eyes had softened. "I just don't want to take away from our limited time together."

Belle gave him a warm smile. "We can hire more sitters for Gideon," she reminded him. "All you have to do is ask."

He looked at the store, eyes narrowing at the activity happening beyond the glass. "I suppose we could see if they are still taking students."

With a giggle, Belle reached for the door and gave it a gentle tug. It responded with a rattle so loud that every head within the craft store turned their way.

One woman, brows knitted tight, strode forward and pointed at a sign in the window opposite to the one the Golds had been focused on. "Sorry. We're closed."

"We were hoping it wasn't to late to sign up for the lesson," Rumple called out kindly. "We're traveling through town this week. We'd be willing to pay full price for whatever you have left to teach tonight."

A thoughtful hum could be heard on the other side of the glass while several of the students leaned close to whisper to each other. Eventually the lock clicked and the door swung partially open.

"I think we could allow that exception."

* * *

The golds learned a lot about the town that night, and a lot about Miss Lanette, their instructor. They also learned a lot about each other and themselves.

It turned out that Rumple was the better painter, which had surprised him, but not Belle, who insisted that his talent came from years of flourished hand gestures. Belle was much more capable of sketching, making short work of copying the form of the flamingo they would be working on. Deciding to work together on one piece meant that they were able to catch up to the rest of the class quickly and were soon as comfortable with the others as if the class were taking place in Storybrooke.

"Now, these lighter feathers should pick up a little of the darker color, but not much. We want a brief, gentle blending, not something muddy."

Belle tucked her lip in her teeth and studied the work they'd done so far. It looked good, or was at least recognizable, but what she liked most about it was the true blend of technique. It was obvious that the painting was a collaboration. Her strokes clashed in look with Rumple's. Yet the spread of their work, the way her strokes and his gently alternated, made it beautiful.

"I'm going to ruin this," she said.

Rumple shifted position so that he stood beside her and reached out to take her hand and the brush in his own. He pressed close and murmured into her ear. "Then we'll do it together."

"I think we found a new hobby," Belle whispered as he helped her make the first, careful stroke.

Her husband's chest vibrated as he let out an approving hum. "Perhaps we have indeed."

* * *

"Where'd that come from?" Alice pointed to a painting of a pink flamingo leaning against the wall. It clashed so horribly with the rest of the house that she couldn't imagine it had ever belonged in it.

Gideon turned to see what she was pointing at and his eyes instantly clouded over, filling with memories Alice would never know. "My parents brought that home after one of their dates. I was too little to remember everything, but I know we were in a small town and they found someone to watch me while they were out. When I woke up the next day it was in our hotel room and they couldn't stop looking at it."

Alice imagined Rumple, the way he would melt at the mere thought of Belle. She could easily picture that expression again; a man dissolving at the thought of whatever romantic moment caused the purchase of such an interesting item that was not at all his style. It was harder to picture Belle exactly, but she could piece together something from all the stories Gideon had told. She would be sipping tea, elbows on the table, one arm brushing Rumple's. As Gideon munched on his morning oatmeal, his parents would lean into each other until their heads touched and stare at the haphazard feathers that made up their bird...

And everything would be whole in their universe.

Based on the flamingo and city at night images at the Monthly Rumbelling post here:

[suvidrache]

Colors

age in bio when interacting. minors do not interact.

Word Count: 546 | Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Tag List

The world was a dark, depressing place. The human world was full of bright colors and pretty decorations. He longed for his world to be like the humans’. He wanted colors. He wanted happiness. The humans would never like someone like him. The humans feared the ghouls and wanted nothing to do with them. Uta painted, and he made masks—the only thing that he could do that had color. Besides eating human food, which wasn't very good for his stomach, he didn't mind. The colors drew him to eating.

When he met you, you blended in with the ghoul world. You wore dark clothing. You didn't let people in. You were almost like Uta. Uta was a little more friendly, but similar nonetheless. Uta didn't think that he would ever find himself someone. Despite it all, you stayed with him. Uta wasn't going to be the first to mention having children. He never thought about them. He never thought that he'd meet someone. He never thought he could go any further.

“Uta, I want children with you.” You said as you sat on the bed watching him paint. You were calm and emotionless as you spoke.

Uta blinks and continues painting. Normally, he was good at hearing things and going with them. Sure, he wouldn't show emotion. He never did, but he was speechless. That wasn't normal for him; for a moment, you thought that he hadn't heard you. Uta turned and looked at you. His paintbrush was still in his hand.

“You do?”

“Yes, I think we'd make great parents. You'd make a wonderful father.”

Uta blinked. If he had been one to show emotion, he would have smiled.

“Thank you.” He said simply.

He set his painting stuff aside and moved closer to you. You looked up at him before standing up. He gently placed his fingers underneath your chin, his eyes closed as he leaned in and kissed you. You kissed him back, and your fingers slipped beneath his shirt. He stopped kissing you for a moment. He took his shirt off, and you removed yours. His lips met yours once again, and your hand slowly traced the outline of his abs. Your hand slid beneath his boxers and began stroking him. He let out a moan, and his hand slipped beneath your pants and began to rub/stroke you in return. You let out a moan, and you stroked him harder and faster. He did the same to you. Your lips met his neck, and he let out a small moan. He wasn't very loud, but you didn't mind. Your hands continued to stroke him, bringing you both to cum. Uta looked at you, his eyes slowly looking you over, before he stepped back and removed his pants. You removed yours, and he picked you up and sat you on the bed. He moved in between your legs. He looked at you.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He slid himself inside of you. You let out a moan, and he waited a moment, letting you get used to his size, before he slowly began to thrust his hips back and forth. He began to pick up the pace, thrusting harder and faster. Your hands grasped the bedsheets as he continued to move.

© SUVIDRACHE — do not copy, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work. reblogs are appreciated!

Tag List: @eli-chris, @stygianoir, @hornybilingual, @theelderhazelnut, @ssbptigers

[nelapanela94]

Hello my friend, I hope that you are having a good day! 😊 Well, For my first request, I wanted to see if you could do a headcanon with Levi Ackerman x short black!reader (Short meaning like 5’2 in height and who’s he didn't think had existed with Trinidad and Tobago Caribbean roots/culture which includes the accent,food and of course Soca Carnival) who they date, want to marry and have children with in the future? ( You can choose how many kids each of them should have!)

Hi sweetheart!!!

TW: set in our AU! in the 70's, mentions of Dad Levi, Kuchel and Kenny are alive, fluff

WC: 1k

Levi hugs Kuchel goodbye, pricking with guilt for his mother's tears, but the driver hits the horn, beckoning him.

He was twenty-five when a travel agency add popped on the tv, promising paradise. So, out of an impulse, he scrubbed the dregs of his savings account and booked a round trip to the Caribbean. He packed on his shoulders the basics for summer land, and a bottle of antibacterial gel mellowed with aloe.

Coming from a place that barely sees the light for six months of the year, where the cold gnaws at your bones and you have to toddle around with at least six layers during winter, he did feel like crossing st. peter's gates once he hops off the plane in Port of Spain. Enduring ten hours squeezed between the snores of an old rickety man and the wails of a baby was worth it. At the airport, he hoards all the tourist guide pamphlets he can cram into his pockets and calls Kuchel from the public phone to let her know he’s all right. Then he spends long minutes in the bathroom washing his face and hands.

The soft frizzling on his skin; the breeze tousling his hair. In few days, his skin is flushed with a farmer's tan, and cafe au lait freckles stud his shoulders and nose. But he relishes the energy with which this land sizzles, the babble of different accents and the diversity of its people who anchored on the island from all around the globe. The market pulses with different languages, colors, textures, smells, and flavors, and he spends all morning trying fruits he'd never heard of in his life. He takes more time though, to accustom his taste buds to the spiciness.

He never forgets to send a postcard to his mother every week to let her know her little boy is doing fine. He also mentions at the end of one that he’ll reschedule his return ticket, though he has not selected a date yet. Maybe until spring begins.

One evening, he saunters along the Maracas Bay promenade and wallows in it. The sunset on the beach is like a painting coming to life. The sky is a canvas of orange, pink and purple, blending in a swirl of colors. The sun, a fiery ball, slowly sinking into the horizon. The waves sparkle with golden light, reflecting the sun's rays. The briny breeze strokes his hair and the warm sand smoldering his feet invites him to sit. He takes pictures with his XG-9 Minolta, capturing the world’s beauty through the lens. He zooms and zooms, looking for different angles until he stumbles with a group of girls, dancing and laughing, eating lay's and drinking sprite. One smiles and winks and waves a hand, and a frisson of both panic and exhilaration ripples through every inch of him. His cheeks begin to tingle. He drops the camera on his lap and looks away.

“Hey!”

Levi’s heart bangs like the gallop of a horse in a race. His lips part. His eyes snap, and he gulps before turning around. She is wearing a billowing midi dress, her deep ochre skin glowing with a healthy sheen, lips plumped and moist. A set of golden bracelets clanking with every lithe movement. Her eyes are brown, the type of brown that becomes honey under the light, rimmed with long lashes. Levi stutters a hi, his hands too clammy he can’t let go of the hem of his white t. “My name is [name], and I was wondering if you would go to the carnival with me.” She tries to cajole him with a smile. Her eyes soften, pleading, glinting. Lashes flitting. Levi blinks while his brain tries to connect thoughts and metamorphose them into words. He doesn’t know how that ‘yes’ comes out from his mouth. 

“Great!” She beams and pries a sharpie from her purse. “Where are you staying at? I’ll pick you tomorrow at 10 am.” She holds the cap in her lips and the tip glides smoothly on her palm with Levi’s address. “For whom I ask at the front desk?” And he relaxes his shoulders, “Levi Ackerman.”

He watches her running back to her friends, and from time to time, she steals a quick glance at him.

She takes Levi to the parades and tries to teach him how to dance, how to loosen his hips, but he… just don’t have it in him. A futile attempt. He can’t stop looking at her, the way her body follows the lively rhythms of the music. Whenever their eyes meet, he feels a flush rising in his cheeks. She’s shorter than him, not more than a couple of inches, and that makes them the perfect dancing partners. “Come on, admit you’re having fun.” She quips and he replies with a smirk, “I can’t ruin my reputation as a first-class grump.”

She takes him to the best local restaurants too, introducing him to a kaleidoscope of flavors and he feels guilty to think that Kuchel’s food lacks some spiciness. He loves roti with beef, pastelle and sweet bread. His abs start melting, but he can’t care less; the food is worthy.

Levi’s been bewitched, bespelled, mesmerized, impossible and illogical, yet the only explanation of his desire to stay. He wants to know her, to find any excuse to talk to her, to find out what she thinks of things. Hold her hand and walk by the beach under a starry night sky. They are so different, but she brings a kind of music into his life he’d never heard before. Twinkling bell notes, distinctive and beautiful, descend into a sweet slurring that untangles the twisted, bare wires in his head.

She kisses him of course, Levi is too nervous to take the step, and from that kiss, his mind races from the kiss to touch her more. To pick out the wedding invitations, to build a home and set up a baby crib.

Weeks later he calls Kuchel and drops the bomb, something he’d been postponing, claiming he needed to find the right words, and tells her, fiddling with the telephone cord, “I’m staying, indefinitely.” But when a shocked why comes in from the other side, he panics and pushes the hook.

Levi scores a job at a top accounting firm in the capital. They move together, get married in a small and intimate celebration, and have those little twin brats that can’t stop wailing and giggling and pulling at his hair with their strong grip. Two girls with big almond-shaped gray eyes and golden skin. Though, things didn’t happen in that exact same order. Indeed, when he wired his mother, he was carrying the pregnancy test in his pocket.

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[wishful-seeker]

As a real artist i can easily tell when art is real or ai generated no matter how "good" it looks because, ya know, I've literally studied art and the world around me for over 15 years.

It cannot even look like art. You could show many any ai photo that exists and i could tell you with 100% accuracy that a human didn't make it. The skin looks uncanny, like plastic, the hair goes no where, not to mention the hands, even the lighting is wrong.

Art has human imperfections, the skin isn't flat, the colors all have a purpose, EVERY SINGLE STROKE WAS PLANNED AND THOUGHT ABOUT, and layering thousands of strokes over the course of hours finally creates a masterpiece.

How tf can any of you think ai art is art?

Arts purpose is to express HUMAN emotion, and a machine CANNOT express your emotions for you. The emotion is literally translated by the artist onto paper, and every artist has a completely unique language that takes years to even create.

Taking random photos you like and putting them into ai is not a new style. Part of an artists style is literally the way they hold a brush or pen, which direction they make their strokes in and how they blend and choose color. Style is not a look ITS A LANGUAGE and you ai fuckers think you're doing something on the same level and its just not fucking true.

I remember in high-school i took notes on what i liked about other art styles as i tried to blend them together to make my own, but its not just the artists you take inspiration from, its the way my strokes always curve to the right, its the way i use turquoise paint every chance i get, its the way i choose to give all my characters different shaped eyes, its the way i use sparkle paints on top of gouache, ITS MY LANGUAGE, ITS ME, ITS MY EXISTENCE AND PERSONALITY TRANSLATED ONTO AN OBJECT. And only i can draw that style in that way. If anyone tried to copy my style it would ultimately become their own through their own physical quirks and the way their body moves and the way their brain thinks.

Do you wanna know why everyone is okay with people drawing and painting recreations of the stary night painting and it's not okay to put it in ai? Because no matter who you are or how skilled you are the way you paint, Draw, whatever, AND THE WAY YOUR BODY PHYSICALLY MOVES WHEN YOU DO IT, AND THE WAY YOUR BRAIN LITERALLY PROCESSES EVERY INDIVIDUAL STROKE, MAKES THE ART YOUR OWN.

With AI you cannot do any of those things. It is not human expression, It is not your style, It is not your language, It is not you. Therefore it is not your art. And because a human did not create it, It is not art at all.

Art is a goddamn spiritual experience, It is looking inward and understanding your own body and mind, It is refining something for decades, It is learning what matters most to you, What is most beautiful to you, And why. And this isn't just with painting or drawing this is with writing and photography too. This is with carpentry and welding, cosplaying, and sewing, leather working and crochet! This is in every form of human creation!

But not AI.

I genuinely hate you ai mother fuckers because if you are anything, its IGNORANT. You think you know about art when you've never touched any of these art forms before. And I have never met in "ai artist" That does anything else when it comes to creating. They don't draw or paint or write, They see creative people around them and want to be like them without putting in any of the work, And when they found their shortcut they acted like they knew more than us. More than people who have studied art their entire lives. I bet if you ask any of these ai artists, How does perspective work? How does anatomy work? Color theory? Lighting? They. Wouldn't. Know. Shit. And they still have the audacity to say they know more about art than we do.

A child, scribbling on the wall is more of an artist, and more spiritually connected with art than any of you ai fuckers will ever be.