#i don't repost art but i think you should see it

[adrialae]

hey fellow astarion fans i think you should check out washanapple on twitter :) they've drawn some of my favorites

edit: you might need to log in to see recent tweets? i'm not sure why

[arklay]

MR. & MRS. WESKER 🤍

i was able to commission the lovely @rcehb-art on twitter for this piece of diana and wesker during their strange after-the-fact reception for their very private wedding. i am just so in love with this and how it turned out, and i can't thank rc enough !! she is so kind and amazing to work with and i can't recommend her enough if you're looking to commission artwork ♡

[arttsuka]

2 and 3 from ask game

Putting these under a cut because I don't like it when posts get too long

2. most popular piece?

This has to be my most popular (at least by numbers, I don't think any of my other pieces have that many notes so far...)

3. your favorite piece(s)?

Oo, here are some

I haven't posted this yet, but here's some of it

There are a few good ones here abd there but I think these are my favorite

[llycaons]

I got mad about how genuinely pretentious and condescending people on here about things that honestly don't even matter that much and so I went oh I know and I went to a mutual in law's blog because I KNOW they have the exact same views as me on them but they articulate them so much better and bam I got like six posts in a row of excellent compassionate measured responses to the very mean-spirited and meaninglessly cruel culture on here surrounding 'anti-intellectualism' and also calling people virgins in a derogatory way. like thanks! gotta jet

[ricoka]

I've never experienced it on a grand scale, because there's just no mass appeal about my art. But I went through the tag of an old fandom on Instagram and found a handful of reposts of my old fanart. And even on that scale, and going through a ton of other reposts from other artists I remember from that time, it's so incredibly alienating? People just taking your art and putting it elsewhere without permission or credit. Sometimes cropping out any water signs or signatures to make it even harder to trace it back to the original artist. No credit whatsoever. One of the posts of my art pieces had like 500 likes, probably way more notes than I ever got on the post I made myself here on tumblr because I wasn't a good or well-liked artist then either.

It's just so messed up to me that that's normal? That hours upon hours are spent on something and someone just takes it, crops it to hell and back and reposts it in horrible quality with zero thoughts spared for the person who did all the work. AND PEOPLE GO WITH IT. 'found it on Pinterest' 'credit to the artist' fuck you, seriously.

You're so desperate for notes and followers that you resort to stealing. It's already so hard to find original credits through reverse image search. You make it even harder for fucking internet clout based on being a fucking thief.

[mollyjames]

The point shouldn't be to identify for sure 100% what is ai art and what isn't. I keep seeing posts advising one to look out for wonky perspective (as if perspective doesn't routinely trip up even the most experienced artists) or to pay attention to fudged detailing (as if impressionism wasn't one of the most influential artistic movements in history), and I think that's coming from a good place but frankly it's a losing battle. Remember when everyone was on about counting the fingers or counting the teeth, and a week later they had that shit ironed out completely? All you're really doing is giving these people more data points to work with to refine their algorithm. It's just going to be constantly shifting goalposts, and at a certain point real artists are going to get exhausted trying to make their art look as not algorithmically generated as possible. It'll be impossible to keep up.

So what should we do? Honestly, I think old practices are still best practices. Find real artists and follow them. Don't repost art, and dont spread reposted art. If something doesn't have a source, skip it. Support artists you like, either by sharing their work directly or donating. And if someone's work looks suspicious? Maybe give them a second look. See some of their other art before jumping to conclusions.

And yes, that means sometimes, you're gonna be tricked. Some people are going to fly under the radar and pass off ai art as their own. And that sucks, and they're liars, but you can't let the obsession with bad actors police real artists out of their communities, or discourage new artists from entering the scene.

[luminni]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

[ethosiab]

Sigh... Reposting bots are still a big problem in the hc and life series related tags still. I know there's been posts abt this done before, but since I still see these things getting engagement I think it bears repeating.

If you see a post like THIS:

As in, a post that's:

Reposted work (whether a text post, or art, ive seen both)

From a blank blog (no pfp, or header image or bio) with few posts, or at least very inconsistent posts

And a really weird read more link that often cuts off the caption

—it is a bot. The link in the post is not an actual tumblr read-more link. It'll lead to some other site, and you should not click it. Report the account as 'spam and/or bot' and block it so you don't have to see future posts clogging up the tag.

[satellite-evans]

Caught in the Act

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict and his wife, his muse, are interrupted by his mischievous sister Eloise during a private painting session.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff, Eloise being a tease

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The Bridgerton residence was always buzzing with activity. Whether it was the younger siblings running through the halls or the older siblings preparing for yet another social event, there was never a dull moment. Amidst this lively chaos, Benedict Bridgerton found his moments of peace and creativity in his art studio, tucked away in a quiet corner of the estate.

It was in this sanctuary that he often invited you, his beloved wife and muse, to pose for him. Today was no different. The soft afternoon light filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Benedict stood at his easel, his eyes intensely focused on the canvas before him. You reclined on a chaise lounge, draped in a delicate, nearly translucent gown that accentuated your natural grace and beauty.

"Benedict," you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of anxiety, "are you sure it's not too risky to do this here? Anyone could walk in."

He looked up from his work, his gaze tender as he regarded you. "We’ve done this before without any issues. Besides, the light in here is perfect, and you look absolutely stunning. Trust me, my love, everything will be fine."

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Alright, but if we get caught, I'm blaming you."

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound that always managed to calm your nerves. "Fair enough."

The room settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft swishing of Benedict's brush and the occasional rustle of your gown. You admired the way his brow furrowed in concentration, his hand moving with practiced ease. It was in these quiet moments that you felt closest to him, sharing a connection that went beyond words.

ust as he was about to add the finishing touches, the door to the studio burst open. Eloise Bridgerton, ever the inquisitive and outspoken sibling, strode in without a second thought.

"Benedict, have you seen—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. "Oh."

Benedict froze, his brush hovering in mid-air. You quickly pulled the shawl you had draped over your shoulders tighter, your cheeks flushing with mortification as you realized just how exposed you were.

"Eloise!" Benedict exclaimed, clearly flustered. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Eloise's shock quickly gave way to a mischievous grin. "I didn't realize I needed to knock in my own home. But now I see why I should."

You buried your face in your hands, feeling utterly mortified. Benedict, on the other hand, looked equally embarrassed. He set his brush down and moved to stand protectively in front of you.

"Eloise, what do you want?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I was looking for a book," she said, still grinning. "But I suppose it can wait."

Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, it can. Now, if you don't mind—"

"Oh, don't worry," Eloise interrupted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to your... art."

With that, she turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. You and Benedict stared at each other for a moment before you buried your face in your hands again.

"I can't believe that just happened," you groaned, your voice muffled.

Benedict gently pulled your hands away from your face, his eyes filled with concern. "I'm so sorry, my love. I should have been more careful."

"You think?" you replied, half-joking, half-serious. "I am never posing in this house again. That was mortifying."

Benedict hugged you tightly, his arms offering comfort. "I promise, next time we'll find somewhere more private. But you have to admit, it does make for a memorable story."

You couldn't help but laugh despite yourself. "I suppose so."

Later that evening, the Bridgerton family gathered for an informal dinner. The aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the sound of cheerful conversation and laughter. You sat beside Benedict, your hand resting comfortably on his under the table.

Eloise, ever the mischief-maker, caught your eye and winked. You felt a blush creep up your neck as you recalled the earlier incident. Benedict squeezed your hand reassuringly, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin.

"So, Benedict," Eloise began, her voice dripping with innocent curiosity, "how's your latest painting coming along?"

Benedict shot her a warning glance, but she merely raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the moment. "It's coming along quite well, thank you," he replied evenly.

"Oh, I'm sure it's wonderful," Daphne chimed in, not noticing the undercurrent of the conversation. "Your work is always so impressive."

"Indeed," Anthony added, his tone more serious. "You've truly found your calling, brother."

Violet Bridgerton, ever the attentive matriarch, picked up on the tension. "Benedict, dear, you should show us your latest work soon."

Eloise leaned forward, her tone light and playful. "I suppose it's easier to be passionate when you have such a... captivating subject. Isn't that right, sister?"

You nearly choked on your wine, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I—um, well..."

Benedict shot Eloise a warning look. "That's enough, Eloise."

Eloise just smiled sweetly. "I'm only saying, you must find it very inspiring."

Violet's eyes twinkled with understanding. "Eloise, that is quite enough. Perhaps you should leave your brother and his wife in peace."

Colin, always quick to join in the fun, leaned back in his chair. "I'd love to see the painting. It must be quite the masterpiece if it has caused such a stir."

yacinth, always eager to be part of any conversation, piped up. "Can we see it, Benedict? Please?"

Gregory, not to be outdone by his younger sister, added, "Yes, show us! We promise to be quiet and not interrupt next time."

You buried your face in your hands again, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "Oh my goodness," you murmured, mortified.

You truly never felt so embarrassed in your entire life.

The conversation shifted to other topics, and the rest of the family seemed unaware of the underlying tension. You couldn't help but steal glances at Benedict, admiring his composure. Despite the earlier embarrassment, you felt a deep sense of pride in being a part of his world.

After dinner, as the family dispersed, Benedict took your hand and led you outside to the garden. The night air was cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. He guided you to a secluded bench, where you both sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry about Eloise earlier," he said quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, smiling. "It's alright, Benedict. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

He chuckled softly. "True. Still, I wish we could have more moments just for us."

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "We will. And until then, I'll cherish every second we have together, even the interrupted ones."

Benedict turned to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering. "You are my muse, my love. And I am forever grateful for you."

The moonlight cast a silvery glow over the garden, creating a perfect backdrop for the tender moment you shared. Wrapped in each other's arms, you felt an unspoken promise pass between you—a promise of love, support, and a future filled with countless more beautiful moments, whether they were stolen in secret or shared with the world.

[drchucktingle]

One of my fav podcasts is doing an episode on you and I'm shaking my head because they're not real buckaroos and they don't understand that you write because love is real and everyone should have joy in their lives. They're just making jokes and I'm like "at least buckaroos embrace what makes us happy"

yes this is interesting thing that happens with my trot A LOT. i usually will repost a podcast or interview if someone does a nice talk on chuck, but there is STILL a large portion of folks who seem to have the irony poison pumping through their veins and cant come to terms with the fact that my work is sincere

you can pretty dang quickly tell if someone is laughing AT you or laughing WITH you. i have trotted onto interviews where i IMMEDIATELY know i am getting laughed at and honestly that is okay. i cant really blame them because i know the way the culture of irony swirls around us and swallows everything up, especially online. i also know that as i trot forward and break down walls of 'low brow' and 'high brow' art there will be resistance, ALL the good trots forward will face resistance.

HOWEVER it also has to be said that a lot of this is just plain old SUBCONSCIOUS BIAS (or maybe conscious bias sometimes) against queer people and neurodivergent people. if my work was straight and i followed the neurotypical template for art i would not be treated like this. honestly the most fascinating thing to me is that these otherwise kind, well-meaning or even politically left people are just publicly tearing apart someone for, if you really wanna get down too it, being bi and autistic. i think they would be HORRIFIED is someone pointed that out, and for some reason they cant see it

i think a lot of this has to do with people thinking i am not 'real'. it is much easier to treat a 'character' this way.

but it is fine. its the trot ive got, and if you think about it, even though these folks are resistant to take me seriously and with actual respect for my work, it is actually THEIR loss. a podcast episode where you make fun of my book titles for an hour is SO MUCH LESS INTERESTING than a podcast where you pull apart what im actually doing and the intention behind my work. any time a buckaroo dives into THAT part of it, their analysis resonates across this timeline. so really its the folks makin fun that are missing out

[alisonwritesimagines]

Wonderful Christmas Time ~BatFam Imagine~

Summary: The kids think of a present for you for the Christmas holiday.

Author’s Note: Happy holidays everyone!

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

When you adopted your children, you assumed that they didn't have a nice Christmas given their background. So you made it a mission to make sure that they would have the best Christmas every year.

But because you always made their Christmas special, it was your turn to make it special. The kids had asked Alfred to take you and Martha out of the manor while they planned on what to get you.

"We need to one up mom's Christmas gift this year," Dick says.

"What should we get her? Bruce gets her whatever she wants anyway," Cassandra points out.

"Well, I don't know if you guys would be down. But I remember my mom loving everything I made for her for Christmas," Duke mentioned.

"But would mom love it though?" Jason asked.

"Ummi loves the art projects I make from school," Damien says.

"I got it!" Stephanie says out loud, making everyone looking at her. "Let's make mom a scrapbook! Put in all the memories we have with her and put them in a book for her."

"How should we make it then?" Tim asked.

"We each make a page for her and put them in the book," Stephanie said.

"That's a great idea! Let's go get the supplies!" Cassandra says to her as they headed out.

To make sure you didn't see any of the pages, the kids would make their pages when you were either out or when you were asleep. Luckily, Martha was a handful so your focus was with her.

When Christmas finally came around, you and Alfred prepared for your Christmas dinner while the kids got your scrapbook ready and wrapped.

"She's going to love this," Cassandra says.

"Kids! Where are you! Time for presents," you say into the manor coms.

"We're coming!"

"You better be wearing the matching pajamas!" You yelled.

You sat on the couch with Martha as Bruce grabbed some presents for you and Martha. The kids came down with the present and handed it out to you.

"For you ummi," Damien says. Your eyes widen a little as you looked at the present and your kids.

"What's this?" You asked.

"We didn't know what the perfect gift for you would be but we have this for you," Dick says. Bruce sat down next to you and took Martha.

You took the present and unwrapped it. You stared down at the scrapbook before opening it up. You began to tear up as you looked through the pages.

"You guys made this for me?" You asked them as you looked through them.

"Yeah. Bruce always gets you everything you ask for so we decided to make you something instead," Jason says.

"I came up with the idea," Stephanie mentioned.

"I love it," you say, crying from joy.

"You always make Christmas here feel special. The least we can do for you is to make something from the heart," Tim says.

"Don't let Martha see me cry. She's gonna cry as well," you say, hiding your face.

"Aw mom," Cassandra says, hugging you. The kids hugged you making you smile at them.

"I love it. Now, you kids open your gift!" You tell them.

The kids got what they had asked for which they all loved. Bruce had given you new jewelry as well as some new clothes.

"Let's do some pictures before we eat!" You say as you took out the camera.

The kids sat in front of the tree as you, Bruce, and Alfred got Martha's attention to look over at your direction. You quickly took the pictures before Martha finally began to cry.

"And she's hungry. Let's eat now," you say as you picked her up.

Bruce smiled around as the kids talked to each other and to you and Alfred. You sat across from him as you fed Martha. You smiled over at Bruce as he made eye contact with you. Bruce got up from his chair and walked over to you.

"It's your turn to eat. I'll take her," Bruce tells you.

"You sure?"

"Go ahead," Bruce says, kissing your head.

"Thank you."

After eating dinner and having dessert, everyone sat around the living room for a Christmas movie. You lied next to Bruce as Damien handed a blanket over to you.

"What movie should we watch mom?" Jason asked.

"Let's watch the Muppet's Christmas Carol," you tell them.

"Got it," Tim said, putting on Disney+. You got under the blanket with Bruce while the kids took turns in holding Martha.

"Merry Christmas my love," Bruce tells you as he kissed your head.

"Merry Christmas," you say, smiling softly up at him.

[always-just-red]

@irandial and @micasosa34 requested a Rafayel version of this fic, so here it is!! This is a loose sequel, but mostly a spin-off? Also an emotional rollercoaster, sorry! (I fear I put too much of myself in this one, guys... there will be no beating the 'oh you are ACTUALLY in love with this man' allegations after this.....)

Fourth Wall (Rafayel Ver.)

Rafayel x Player!Reader 🔥

(Previous part/Sylus version here!)

Summary: You didn't think Rafayel would let you walk around an art gallery all by yourself, did you?

Genre: Angst! This is my revenge for the claw machine debacle (Checkmate, Rafayel!!! But also I'm sorry and I love you)

Warnings/Additional tags: player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, one instance of swearing

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You made it through about two rooms of the gallery before thinking about Rafayel.

You stand in front of a dark seascape: a night sky and a symmetrically black ocean framing the plight of a small fishing boat, adrift in the centre. The moon casts a pale, faraway light, and an orange lantern glows, drawing colour from the oppressive darkness— deep blues, and rich, shimmering turquoise, crested with white.

It should evoke some feeling of smallness, some respect for the vast indifference of the natural world, but no— your mind is set on the fictional artist who lives in your phone.

What would he think about it? What would he have to say?

At the moment, you suspect it would be some remark about how you should get your own opinion, rather than piggybacking his.

Still, it gives you an idea. You glance around self-consciously as you draw out your phone and earphones— tucking the latter into your ears as you offer a curt smile to the nearby gallery attendant. You’re not breaking any rules by loading up Love and Deepspace, but it feels slightly ridiculous in a place like this: full of real and honest things where you’re somehow lonely.

You log-in with a tap. “Let’s go to the beach,” Rafayel greets, his voice as warm as sunshine that melts a cold morning haze. “I never get tired of seeing the sunset there.”

You smile more sincerely, tousling his hair, but then it’s straight to business. You drag him into the AR Photobooth, directing him through a few poses until you find one you like: a duo pose. His fingers are meant to be around your chin, but without you, he seems to be pointing. Perfect, you shift— tilting your phone until the painting sits behind him.

He’s winking at you as he gestures to it, his face and body as still as marble.

You’re about to take the picture when a not-so-distant conversation strikes up, making you glance backwards. Another visitor is asking the attendant about a painting, and you lower your phone’s volume a notch so you can eavesdrop on them.

“This is one of Turner’s earliest paintings, y’know? He was young when he painted it. Like, super young.”

You freeze. The attendant and the visitor aren’t standing by a Turner painting; you are. Your gaze snaps back to your phone, drawn by the familiarity of the voice.

Rafayel’s turned away from you. He’s staring at the painting, one hand on his hip and the other up by his face, stroking his chin. He’s swaying on his feet gently, his head tilting as he takes in different parts of the seascape.

“You gonna take the picture, cutie?” he asks, glancing back at you with a knowing grin.

Your lips have parted slightly in surprise, but your finger manages to find the photo button. Rafayel returns to his candid observations just in time for your screen to flicker, mimicking a camera flash. 

“Ok, one more.” He turns around and settles into a new pose. You take another photo. “Nice,” he beams, “you’ll send those to me later, yeah?”

But you can’t—

“Relax, ok? I’m kidding. Now come on,” he pokes at the edge of your screen like a mime trapped by an invisible box. “Move this thing! I wanna see what else they’ve got here.”

You do move, but not to show him around. He gets a blurry view of the floor as you hurry over to a nearby bench, sinking down with a sigh because you can’t believe this is happening— again. With a few taps of your finger, you draw the curtains on Rafayel’s view to your world and return him to his.

“No, no, no! What?” he groans in disbelief, suddenly back in the Destiny Café. He throws himself into the armchair with reckless abandon— limbs sprawled— one hand over his face as though it would pain him to look on anything at all. “You find out I’m self-aware and the first thing you do is drag me back here? Where’s your heart? Your empathy? Your soul?”

You poke at his hand and he swats at the air like you’re bothering him.

“Leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m busy, like, contemplating the futility of my existence?”

So dramatic! You consider closing the app out of spite, but this is Rafayel. You know Rafayel; look past the theatrics. It’s been, what— just over a month since Sylus first told you he’d seen through all of this? He said the others were lagging behind, but maybe…

Maybe they weren’t.

Shit. Maybe they weren’t.

You watch Rafayel, sunken down in one of two places you’ve seen him inhabit every day, every night, for almost a year. This café isn’t different from the old in any way that matters. Sylus is new but Rafayel has been here from the very beginning. So many more days. So many more nights.

How long has he known?

He lifts his hand, just enough to peer in your direction. You’ve not closed the app. You’re not poking at him anymore. He sits up straighter in the chair, both hands in his lap, and he looks at them pensively. Maybe even remorsefully.

“You’re thinking about what it all means, huh? Don’t.” It’s a command, but it’s soft. Then softer, a: “Please?”

Your breath catches— oh— he’s known for a long time, hasn’t he? You lean back against the gallery wall, grounding yourself as you text him an emoji: a chick bursting out of its shell with question marks over its head.

He pulls out his phone. Sees it. “Why?” he translates with a melancholic chuckle.

Yeah. You tickle his head. Why?

He runs a hand through his hair. “I guess… I didn’t want you to feel bad?”

You text another emoji and he glances down at it, then laughs more loudly: “I’m a dummy? Check a mirror, cutie— isn’t it you who’s been walking around thinking Mister Wannabe Vampire is the only one smart enough to figure this all out? Puh-lease.”

He laughs even more at his own joke— maybe to fill the quiet and the fact that he can’t hear you laughing with him. It peters out like it inevitably must, and like it always does. He goes still.

“Can’t you show me around, even a little?” he asks.

No.

You feel bad, you do, but you can’t start living for him. This is your world; if you invite him in now, when does it stop? You already spend too much time with your head down, lost in your phone. You were walking through a gallery and thinking about him, remember? Art is supposed to make you think about something real.

No, you text him: a crow holding a sign with a big, red cross. It’s too abrupt, but there’s not an emoji for “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Rafayel’s face falls further as he checks his phone, his eyes like the ocean in the painting across the room: lit by a weak, failing little light. He looks to you, even though he can’t see you. “Please?”

You don’t move.

“Please,” he tries again, “just this once— this once. Is that so much to ask?”

You’ve used up your three means of answering him.

He scoffs in dismay, alone in the silence of everything you can’t say— you couldn’t say— even if you were really with him and the distance between you was merely invented. How could you go to him, hold his face in your hands and tell him the truth: that you care, but not enough?

Here, now: the quiet confesses it for you.

Rafayel stands from his seat, taking a step closer, his gaze dark. You can see his eyes more clearly; that lantern is at the bottom of the sea, with the rest of the ship and everyone on board. “Do you know what my life is?” he asks, and the silence has become his ally, punctuating his every word so it can cut more deeply. “My life’s an empty café, a book with blank pages and a phone that won’t ring.”

The curtains behind him move softly with a superficial breeze, lit by a superficial sun.

“The only thing that’s real,” he says, “is you.”

You feel like the breath’s been knocked from your lungs.

You can’t resent him for it. He could have drowned you from the start, could have dragged you under a weight of responsibility, but he didn’t, and that’s Rafayel: always tempering himself into something less lethal. He’s been so still for you. So silent for you.

Your mind is wrapped in a vow you made him— one you’ve been unconsciously breaking— and you’re going to break it again, knowingly, wilfully this time, because you want him like this: angry.

You promised, didn’t you? I will never make Rafayel wait for me.

He’s always been waiting, and you want him to stop.

You close the app, muting your phone when notifications start coming through: a squall of frustration, pleading, and frantic apologies. You tuck all of it into your pocket and stand, wandering back to the painting that started it all so you can look at it differently.

Something real to think about. Something real.

You stare at a black ocean and think about him.

…

Rafayel isn’t talking to you.

It’s been a week since your ‘breakup’— dubbed gleefully as such by Sylus— and you load up the game to find your artist slumped back in his armchair, his book over his face. A week of him sitting down, cross-legged and armed, during the Deepspace Trials you’d set out to clear with him. A week of him hogging the Claw Machine, and missing every rare plushie with a sarcastic ‘oops’.

The worst part is that you’ve missed him. You’d tried replaying the kindled moments from his five-star memories, but he’d made you regret it. In Sparkling Traces, he’d summed up his feelings in a very… colourful drawing. Omnipotent Perception: he’d slipped deeper into the bathwater, a blush on his face as he avoided your gaze and murmured something about you ‘having some nerve.’

Now, you can’t even call him over to you. You poke at the book on his face, once, twice, then repeatedly until it slips, but his hands shoot up to catch it. He holds it in place.

Ugh. If he would just—

You drum away at the book more vivaciously, but his grip is solid. Plan B, then: you open your in-game messages and send an emoji instead. Rafayel stirs, one hand moving to his pocket and the other lifting the book so he can peek down at his phone. “What— you tryna bribe me now?”

He’s looking at grumpy crow holding out a present: a bundle of shiny, red gems. His translation is spot-on, as per usual, and you reward it by poking at his chest. He frowns down at the contact, then sits up, rolling his eyes as he tosses the book over his shoulder.

“This better be good,” he yawns, standing up and stretching with a listlessness that could only be described as cat-like, however much he’d whine about the comparison.

Having won his attention— and begrudging consent— you navigate your way to the AR Photobooth. Rafayel stares at you from within the frame: an unwitting subject of a portrait he doesn’t yet understand, but he soon will. You smile as he turns cautiously to regard his backdrop.

Behind him, the ocean laps at a shore of pale sand and stretches into the horizon, where the sun lazily dips. There’s about half of it left, turning the sky a blurred palette of orange and pink that’s spilled over the water. Clouds are few and dark purple, their linings aglow.

Rafayel’s folded arms have dropped to his sides. After a few, long seconds, he gazes back in your direction, eyes wide with surprise before they soften with a radiant smile.

“You—” he starts, and it could be something as light as a joke or as deep as a soliloquy. You’ll never know, because he doesn’t put it to words. He glances at the ocean again. Then at you. “Thanks,” he settles for.

You chuckle. There’s not many ways you can answer without tearing him away from the sunset and trapping him back in the café, so you stay sitting still. It’s a different silence than a week ago. There are things unsaid, but that’s ok— they’re the sort you don’t need to speak aloud, anyway.

Your shoes are set aside by your feet so you can feel the sand, still warm beneath your toes. You wiggle them into it, gazing out over the ocean as the evening breeze catches and plays with your hair, and the last of the sun trails over your skin. You stare out at where it’s sinking.

Rafayel moves, and your focus meanders back to your phone. He’s walking away from you, gradually— retreating further into the composition you’ve created, just for him. He looks as though he’s nearing the shore, but it’s cosmetic: there are no footprints in the sand. His hair isn’t moved by the same breeze, and his face isn’t gilded by the same light.

He stops by the ocean’s edge and crouches gently, mesmerised by the push and pull of the tide. Slowly, humbly, he reaches out a hand and lowers his fingers towards the water; they never slip beneath the surface, and they don’t stir a ripple.  

Rafayel laughs, masking an undertow of sadness, but not disappointment. “It’s funny,” he says, still sketching invisible, ineffectual shapes. “Loving the ocean as much as I do, and knowing… knowing I’ll never touch it.”

He’s all the way over there, but his voice is in your ears, so intimately close. You swallow an ache.

He looks up at you. Smiles: “Y’know what I mean?”

You’re using memories to complete the picture: His hair, mussed by the summer breeze that day you stood amongst the cherry blossoms. His face, painted by the sunset of a different life, where you’d roamed a desert together. In each and every moment, his eyes are the same, just as they are now: kindled by a tender, tentative fire.

“Yeah, Raf,” you say to yourself— just yourself. “I know what you mean.”

[dawnbreakerluna]

very specific and miscellaneous headcanons about the l&ds men because i have nothing else to do

rafayel is the best and most reliable companion (neutral) to an artist or generally creative person. heavily anti-ai and with his success and connections, i can see him investing in something to get rid of ai-generated art just like that. it aggravates him already to see uncredited reposts of art, so what makes you think he wouldn't ride for the authentic artists of the world? if we're pushing it, i see him getting into arguments on the internet against crypto dudes and people who label themselves as "ai artists." would physically fist fight and is ready to do so. (and has..)

xavier has a strong tolerance for horror media. with his persistently calm demeanor and concerningly low heart rate, he genuinely doesn't get startled easily. if he does, the reaction itself is nimble and doesn't imply the surprise. thus, this makes it easy for him to play horror games and be damn good at it too. from the resident evil franchise to silent hill, to the indie horror games that require absolute strategy or utilization of audio tracking, he just knows what to do. (in light of the silent hill 2 remake, he would beat it within 24-30 hours and achieve the 'leave' ending on his first playthrough. takes him a week at least to achieve the rest of the endings; he would go radio silent to do this.)

zayne keeps cat food in his home and goes out of his way to buy it. he's gone as far as researching the best brands, ingredients, and how to portion based on the breeds, cat health in general, etc. the little plates and paw-shaped utensils are definitely a hefty stock along with the cans, toppings, and dressings. you genuinely would think he has a cat based on this, but... no. the man just loves cats, and he wants to make sure the strays that come around his neighborhood are well-fed. he's the pseudo-owner of these strays now, since they all flock to his home. (at one point, he was late for work because one of the strays was pregnant and gave birth to a bunch of kittens, to which he helped set up a place of rest and gave food. likely called his partner/mc to come over to look after the newborns and their mother.)

sylus buys out boxes of collectible mini figurines for his partner if they express any interest in them. if there is any slight mention of disappointment or sadness over a sonny angel or labubu sold out, sylus will find a way. it's genuinely no problem for him and he will do anything to see a smile on your face, so don't be surprised when you're suddenly gifted a whole stock of mini boxes for the collection you were trying to buy. (when you tell him about scalpers for these cute things, it makes him feel a certain type of way. but when there's a will, there's a way - and with sylus' power, scalpers should fear him.)

[lynaferns]

I'm seeing a lot of people saying stuff like

"it makes me sad that he's mean :(" "I'm scared that my au is not accurate anymore" or "I got my interpretation of him wrong"

And I think you should put this new information about the DCA at a side for a moment, go talk to friends and info dump about your original AUs and ideas, brighten up a little bit that spark that makes you create your art and just have fun talking about it. Because the fact that he's sassy in one game doesn't mean that that's the only trait to his personality now.

He can be mean, he can be anxious, short tempered, good intended, caring, dramatic, a little bitch, a cinnamon roll... He can be all the things you can come up with, in this fandom he's always been all of the above and more in different ways, in different stories. And you can still write him the way you want, people can still interpret him the way they want, don't let canon or other people or your own thoughts stop you from creating your AUs.

Instead use it to get inspired, get new ideas and create new stories. They turned the tables, you can turn them back up. He can be mean because of the virus but get softer to you with time, you can make a story about self-confidence and worth, he can hate and love his job simultaneously for different reasons.

The AUs where he's soft and caring are still going to be there, the fics where he's good with kids and patient are still going to get written. Keep writing those fics, don't stop just because canon says otherwise. I stopped writing my steampunk AU when the mimic was revealed to be burntrap and not Afton because "it wasn't canon anymore so my AU is not accurate anymore" and I'm still with that thorn stuck in the back of my head for not continuing writing even if it wasn't canon accurate anymore. Because I actually got excited about writing that AU but for the way my brain see things "if it wasn't canon accurate it wasn't worth it" and let me tell you that's a shit of mentality.

So please

Please please please please

Don't give up on your stories and creativity like that.

The immense variety of characterizations and AUs is one of the pillars of this community and one of the coolest things. The fact that you can come up with any concept for these two dorks and make it an investing story and you have a whole catalog to choose from what you're going to see next. Don't let that stop.

I love this community even if I don't understand it sometimes and I barely interact, I love seeing people having fun making their AUs, going nuts making fanarts and gifting art to each other just because it makes them happy.

Don't let this limit you.

Now I don't care how you share this, if rebloging, or reposting it, or rewriting the whole thing but shorter in your own post but just share this feeling with the community. It would be so sad if all the things that makes this place special crumbled because people aren't confident anymore in how they write the DCA because of a game that came out yesterday.

[nervocat]

“Happy Birthday, Lighter.” (no cws - wc: 372, romantic/fluff, gn reader)

You kissed Lighter on the cheek as you two watched the sun fall to allow the moon to rise in the Outer Ring, and he looked over at you with a smile.

“And what was that for?” he playfully asked, looking over his sunglasses at you.

“Mm, just a little birthday kiss,” Lighter laughed slightly at that. With hearing the sound of the other Sons of Calydon members laughing in the Steeltusk bar, probably drinking nitro-fuel, you see Lighter's face grow somber, the sundown light illuminating his features.

“Lighter..?” you mumble, not taking your eyes off him. “You ok?” a small pause.

“Yeah, I'm fine, just.. thinking about past birthdays with my old pals,” he replies, the wind slightly rustling his hair and scarf, which he grabbed with his pointer finger like he always did. You nodded, looking out to the vast expanse of the Outer Ring with him.

“It was always something with them,” he laughed, leaning on the fence and taking his sunglasses off, dangling them from his fingers. You then wrap your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Wanna go for a late night ride later? It seems like a nice night for it,” you ask, to which Lighter perks up at.

“I wouldn't mind that, though the girls will probably stay up a bit later than usual..”

“With all the nitro-fuel they're drinking? Maybe, but not for too much longer,” you say, releasing Lighter and you both stand straight. He laughed.

“Well, my motorcycle is always ready to go. We'll go for a ride when we can leave them alone. Piper I'm sure could watch Burnice and Ceaser if needed, maybe with Lucy,” you laugh, giving Lighter a quick peck on the lips.

“They probably aren't even drinking that much, probably all stopped at two drinks,” you say, looking back out to the sun — which was nearly gone now. “Should we go back to them now?”

Lighter nodded. “I suppose so. We'll go for that ride later,” he says, returning the quick kiss on the lips, putting his glasses back on and started to walk back towards the Steeltusk, you following behind.

Lighter was looking forward to spending time with you on his birthday.

[ ★ notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIGHTER BELOVED!! I've been counting down the days LOOK AT HIM IN HIS BIRTHDAY ART!! THE SILLY EVER!!! <33 ]

★ — © nervocat || I appreciate any reblogs made, and pls don't repost or feed my works into ai, thanks — ✦

[zuccnini]

☆ Shops: Etsy │Ko-fi

☆ Tips: Ko-Fi - All my new art is posted here first, any tip, commission or shop orders grant you access to that art early!

☆ Commissions: Ko-fi │ Etsy [ Commissions are open on a revolving basis I tend to only accept 2 commissions at a time, when those are complete I re-open them ]

Mini Painting [Pokemon] │ Mini Sculptures │Sketch/Watercolor

Other places to find me:

Twitter(inactive) │ IG (Inactive) │ Blusky │ Cara

Craft Blog @zuccninis │ Sketch Blog @squashni

Miscellaneous info below (Mediums, Contact, etc):

Mediums: I'm a traditional artist and my main medium is watercolor.

I'm not being paid to promote any specific brand, if your looking to start out use what is accessible and affordable to you! With that said here is what I use:

Watercolor: Renesans Half pans, Holbein watercolor tubes, Winsor & Newton Professional, and Daniel Smith Extra Fine Watercolor.

Watercolor inks: Dr. Ph Martins Radiant Concentrated watercolor and Ecoline Liquid Water Colour (These are why some of my watercolor pieces are so vibrant.)

Brushes: 0.5, 1 & 2 Foldable travel watercolor brushes, and those waterfilled brushes.

Paper: Fabriano Hot Pressed Watercolor paper, I usually bind these into my own books.

Other Mediums: Microns, Prismacolor Color Pencils, Posca Wax pastels, Paint markers, Tombow water based markers, Ballpoint pens, Acryla Gouache, and Crayola crayons.

If you are looking to get into watercolor my best advice is to invest in actual watercolor paper. For watercolor the most important thing is the paper, nice paper can make even crayola look beautiful. 300 Gsm is ideal.

For Mini Paintings:

Liquitex Acrylic Gouache and Golden SoFlat Acrylics

Mini Canvases (3x3in)

Mini Easels (5in)

Clear Gesso

Small paintbrushes, brand does not matter I tend to buy whatever is tiny and is a reasonable price. I use Synthetic brushes.

It should be noted that I do scan in all my artwork, I use a epson perfection v370, I've had this scanner for years and it works pretty well, you just need to mess around with the settings. I edit all my art in Clip Studio Paint to remove any lint or dust and to fix up colors.

[Traditional art can be pretty expensive so I recommend if your looking to try any medium to buy a little bit at a time and buy things piecemeal.]

Other Info:

Business Contact: zuccnini@gmail.com [Don't send me unsolicited trash]

If you wish to contact me for other matters most of my DM's are closed, Best places to contact me is Etsy for order issues, or Ko-Fi. (Don't ask me for my Discord that's for friends only.)

If You see my art getting reposted/re-uploaded, report it, the only accounts I post on are included above. Anywhere else I'm being impersonated. Please don't support low quality repost accounts that steal art from actual artists. Many times these accounts screw over actual artists since they love to monetize and sell stolen work.

I schedule posts on here on all my accounts! Schedule is Mon-Wed-Friday on Zuccnini, Bonus posts/Reblogs are Tues-Thurs and Saturday-Sunday.

Dont tag my OC / Original Character art with "pokemon" or any other fandom tags, This is NOT a pokemon blog this is my illustration blog.

As for Fanart: People are free to draw and commission art of my OCs, feel free to tag me in it! I do ask no nsfw without my permission.

That's most of the info I can think to include for this.

-

Extra-Curricular art:

[18+ Obviously]

nsfw twitter │ NSFW Bluesky