#i guess. it is mine. and i suppose it is art
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devdozes ¡ 3 days ago
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♥ Love you Love you Love you Love you
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AND 100 FOLLOWERS THANK YUO SO MUCCH AAAA FLAMEREAVER PHAINON AAAA!! Phainon header art is mine!! Flamereaver phainon fanart below at the end of the post
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The first time you met Phainon, he was leaning against the marketplace wall, bathed in the amber glow of Amphoreus' setting sun. His fluffy white hair ruffled in the breeze, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he greeted you with a grin, the picture of an ordinary young man with a penchant for teasing.
But you were never one to trust easily. Especially not when his swordsmanship—so graceful, so precise—felt oddly reminiscent of a ghost story whispered through the alleys at night. But in the end you fell for him, you fell into an inescapable rabbit hole for him.
The Flamereaver.
A nameless swordmaster who carved a path of ruin, driven by a thirst for the Titans’ Coreflame. A shadow in the black tide, their identity unknown.
You brushed the thoughts away at first. Phainon was charming, sometimes irritatingly so. He paid attention to the smallest details, catching things even you overlooked. His laughter was easy, his movements controlled, but there was something about him—something lurking beneath the surface. A momentary flicker in his gaze when he spoke of fire, of war, of lost things.
And then the Grove of Epiphany burned.
You stood at the edge of the ruin, the scent of ash thick in the air, staring at the lone figure amidst the wreckage. His back was to you, but you knew that stance. That impossible, immaculate swordplay.
A gust of wind carried the embers, and he turned.
Phainon’s blue eyes met yours, and for the first time, they were cold.
Madness and obsession entwined within them like an inferno restrained by sheer will. His sword—slick with molten red—gleamed under the fractured moonlight.
“Ah,” he murmured, voice still as light as before, but tinged with something… older. “I suppose you’ve figured it out now.”
Your heart pounded. “You’re the Flamereaver.”
Phainon sighed, running a hand through his ashen locks, expression almost sheepish. “I preferred when you just thought I was a little too perceptive.”
“Why?” The word came out raw, barely above a whisper.
He tilted his head, considering. “Because I must. Because the Coreflame calls.”
His sword rose, an invitation, a warning.
��Will you stand in my way?”
You didn’t know how to answer.
Because the Phainon you knew—the one who smiled, who made a game of guessing your thoughts, who felt so achingly human—was standing before you, wreathed in the flames of a legend that should never have been real.
And yet, he was still Phainon.
Still the man who watched the stars with you.
Still the man who now waited for your answer, his gaze unreadable, his grip on his sword loose—but ready.
The flames crackled around you both, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat.
And his quiet, unwavering breath.
Then, he spoke again, his voice softer, almost pleading beneath the weight of something neither of you could control. "I didn’t choose this. The Coreflames… they are my burden. I must take them all, or—" He clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes for a moment before opening them again, burning with desperate resolve. "Or everything will be undone."
His fingers tightened around his sword, knuckles pale. "It’s madness, I know. But I have no choice. Every Coreflame I claim brings me closer to an end I cannot escape." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, but there was no mirth in it. "So tell me, will you hate me for it? Will you turn away now, knowing what I am?"
His gaze softened—achingly so. Even with those cold, inhuman eyes, he looked at you as if you were something precious. Something he wished he could hold onto, even as the fire consumed him.
"If you stay…" Phainon exhaled, his grip trembling for the first time. "You will see what I truly am. And I fear—" He hesitated, his voice dropping into something barely above a whisper. "I fear that I will not have the strength to let you go."
The fire roared behind him, licking at the ruins of a past he could never return to.
And yet, in this moment, with his sword lowered and his heart laid bare, Phainon stood before you—not as the Flamereaver, not as a legend, but as a man on the edge of despair, clinging to the last remnants of something real.
You.
And then, as if realizing his own weakness, Phainon took a step back, forcing steel into his voice. "You should leave." The words were clipped, calculated—like the swing of a blade meant to sever something before it could grow too deep. "Go before I change my mind."
But his eyes betrayed him.
Even as he turned away, as he tried to retreat into the cold, his gaze lingered, filled with something twisted and aching. A love so consuming it bordered on obsession. A longing so desperate it threatened to unravel him.
Phainon had always been good at deception. But not with you.
Not when his very soul was screaming for you to stay, even as his lips told you to run.
And in that moment, you understood.
Phainon did not fear the Coreflames. He did not fear battle or ruin or even his own demise.
He feared losing you.
And the worst part? He already had.
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Your breath hitched as you took a hesitant step forward. The embers danced around his silhouette, painting him in a light both divine and damning.
"Phainon…" You whispered his name, but he did not turn. His grip on his sword tightened instead, knuckles bloodless.
Another step.
The blade was at your throat before you could react, its edge gleaming with the reflected flames of everything he'd destroyed.
"Don’t."
The word was hoarse, raw, barely above a breath, but it carried the weight of something lethal. Phainon's expression was composed, carved from cold steel—but his eyes.
His eyes betrayed him.
They held the torment of a man drowning, even as his hands pushed you away.
"You don’t know what you're doing," he continued, voice sharper than the blade itself. "I warned you. You should have listened."
But you did know. You knew exactly what you were doing.
And you knew what he was doing, too.
You could see it in the way his fingers trembled, the way his chest rose and fell with breathes too uneven for someone as disciplined as him. You could feel it in the space between you—so close yet impossibly far.
"Then tell me to leave," you said, voice steady despite the sting of metal against your skin. "Tell me you don’t care. Tell me you wouldn’t regret it if I walked away right now."
A flicker.
Just for a second, his lips parted—silent, breathless, as if the words had caught in his throat before they could escape.
Then, his jaw clenched.
He pressed the blade a fraction closer, the bite of it sharp but not enough to draw blood. It was a warning. One that you knew, deep down, he would never follow through with.
"Go," he forced out. "While you still can."
And yet, despite his words, his gaze remained locked onto you, burning with something far more dangerous than fire.
Something desperate.
Something that screamed that if you took another step, if you reached for him—he would break.
And he would take you down with him.
But maybe… maybe you were already falling.
"One more step," he murmured, his voice flat, almost bored, "and I’ll carve you open like the rest."
A lie.
You knew it was.
You could see it in the tension coiling through his muscles, in the way his grip on his weapon was almost too tight, as if it were the only thing tethering him to this wretched act of self-denial.
But his eyes—
Those blue, frostbitten eyes were void of the warmth that once greeted you at dusk. They didn’t waver, didn’t soften. They remained locked onto you with the lethal calculation of a man who had convinced himself of his own monstrosity.
And still, you moved closer.
Another step.
Another drop of blood slipping from his blade.
Something inside him snapped.
With a sharp inhale, Phainon moved faster than breath, his weapon slashing outward—stopping just short of your throat. Close enough for you to feel the whisper of its edge, for the heat of freshly spilled blood to radiate between you.
You didn’t flinch.
He noticed.
His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a snarl. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was quiet, laced with something dark. "I am not playing with you."
His weapon remained poised, steady, the weight of it absolute.
And yet, in the flickering light, you saw it—the minuscule tremor in his fingers, the unspoken war behind his stare.
He wanted you to fear him.
He wanted you to run.
But even now, with his face splattered in blood and his hands heavy with ruin—he could not bring himself to push you away.
"Why aren’t you afraid?"
You didn’t answer. Because you knew fear had never been the problem.
He let out a sharp breath, his control slipping. "Damn you," he whispered, his grip tightening. "You should be running. You should hate me."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He took another step forward, backing you into the ruins. Not to corner you—no, it wasn’t that. He just wanted to be closer. To see you clearer.
To feel your warmth in the cold abyss he had thrown himself into.
His free hand, the one not gripping his sword, twitched at his side. He wanted to touch you. To brush the soot from your skin, to trace the shape of you with reverence, to make sure you were still real. That you hadn’t left him behind like the rest.
Phainon inhaled sharply through his nose, his expression twisting. He was losing this battle.
"You don’t understand," he growled, his voice raw now, slipping past the walls he had built. "I would burn this world for you. I would tear the Coreflames from the Titans themselves if it meant keeping you safe."
His blade lowered an inch. His control cracked another fracture.
"But you… you are the one thing I cannot have." His voice was hoarse, his breathing uneven. "Because I would ruin you. I would drag you into my flames, and I would never let you go."
You could see it now, the full weight of his obsession. The way it clawed at his ribs, at his very being. He could not afford to love you, and yet he did—so completely, so utterly, that it hurt.
And still, despite it all, you took another step. Closing the space between you.
Phainon shuddered. His sword fell from your throat. He let it drop, let it clang uselessly to the ground between you. His hands, empty now, hovered—hesitant, desperate, aching.
His breath was unsteady, his entire body wound too tight, as if one more second of restraint would shatter him entirely.
"You should run," he whispered one last time.
But his hands had already found your face. His sharp golden claws went over your skin, the cold metallic claws made you shiver, touch featherlight, as if he was afraid he would break you.
Or maybe… as if he was afraid you would break him.
His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm, shaky. His heart thundered against his ribs, wild, unrestrained.
"I should let you go," he murmured, but his grip only tightened. But Then— Phainon trembled.
For all his power, for all the flames that had swallowed cities at his command, he was fragile beneath your touch.
His breaths came shallow, uneven. His body was wound tight, every muscle locked in a battle he had already lost. And when your fingers—warm, steady, unbearably gentle—cupped his face, he broke.
A sharp, wounded inhale. A shudder.
Then, the first whimper left his lips.
It was soft, barely there, but it shattered something inside him. He tried to hold it in, to swallow the weakness, but it was too late. His knees buckled slightly, his weight pressing into you, seeking something—anything—solid to hold onto. His forehead still rested against yours, but now he was trembling, his breath hitching as the first tear slipped down his cheek.
"I…" His voice cracked. His hands, rough with callouses and stained with blood, clutched at you like you were his last tether to sanity. "I can’t—"
Another whimper, this one quieter, almost strangled.
Phainon, the Flamereaver, the man who had stood alone against armies, who had burned everything in his path, was crying.
Not for the world he had lost.
Not for the lives he had taken.
But for you.
Because he knew he could never have you the way he wanted—not without dragging you into his fire, not without dooming you to the same madness that consumed him.
And yet, he couldn’t let go.
His fingers dug into your waist, clinging as if you might disappear. His body shook against yours, and when you ran your thumb over the tear-stained skin of his cheek, another broken sound escaped him—something between a sob and a sigh of surrender.
"You shouldn’t be here," he whispered, but it was an empty protest. One he didn’t believe himself.
Because when you held him, when your fingers combed through his bloodstained hair, he leaned into you like a man starved.
Like you were the only thing that had ever been real in his world of fire and ruin.
"I love you," he choked out, the words raw, torn straight from the depths of his soul. A confession and a curse all at once. "I love you so much it’s killing me."
His grip tightened, desperate.
"And if you don’t leave now…" He exhaled shakily, pressing his damp face into your shoulder, his body curling inward, caging you against him. "I’ll never let you go." . . . . . You had always loved Phainon. Not just the man who teased you beneath the golden glow of Amphoreus’ sun, not just the warrior with an unreadable gaze and a blade that moved like lightning, but all of him—the bloodstained, broken, and burning parts too.
Your heart ached, raw and desperate. He had tried to push you away, to scare you with the sharp edge of his blade, but he had underestimated you.
You were just as lost in him as he was in you.
With trembling hands, you cupped his face, your thumbs gliding over his cheekbones, wiping away the smears of blood that marred his skin. The red smeared under your touch, streaking his pale skin with warmth that did not belong to him.
His breath stuttered, his lips parting slightly, but he didn’t pull away.
He never could, not from you.
Your thumbs brushed down, grazing the corner of his mouth, lingering there. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, his breath hitched—a shuddering, fragile thing—and you could see the war raging inside him.
The desperation. The love so overwhelming it made him weak.
Phainon’s hands twitched against your waist, torn between pulling you closer and keeping you away. But you made the choice for him.
You surged forward, claiming his lips in a kiss that burned.
It was not gentle. It was not soft. It was everything you had both held back for too long.
Phainon inhaled sharply against your mouth, a strangled gasp lost between your lips as his hands finally—finally—snapped up to grasp you, no longer holding back. One hand tangled into your hair, the other clutching your waist so tightly it almost hurt, pressing you against him as if you might disappear if he let go.
You deepened the kiss, tilting your head, and he whimpered against your mouth. The sound made your stomach twist, heat pooling in your chest as your fingers slid into his silver-white locks, pulling slightly. He groaned, the sound low and needy, and then he kissed you back with a fervor that nearly stole your breath away.
Phainon kissed like a man who had never known softness, like he was trying to carve the memory of you into his soul. His lips moved against yours feverishly, desperately, like he was terrified this moment would be ripped away from him.
His tongue flicked against your bottom lip, hesitant, seeking, and you granted him entry without hesitation. The kiss deepened, turned messier, hotter. He swallowed your gasp as his arms caged you in, his body pressing you closer, like he was trying to mold you into him, to make you his in every way possible.
Your hands slid down, over the hard lines of his shoulders, his chest, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. His heart pounded beneath your palm, beating wildly, erratically, and you realized—he was scared.
Not of you. Never of you.
But of what he might do to keep you. Of how far he was willing to go.
Phainon broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and uneven. His hands trembled where they gripped you, his body taut with restraint, as if he was fighting himself even now. "Please.. Stay.. By you, I am forever incomplete."
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THIS WAS RUSHED IM SORYRYR IM USING MY MOBILE DATA
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starstruckodysseys ¡ 2 months ago
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@angelwiththeblue-box i drew this in like fifteen minutes so sorry if it’s bad but. the girlies <3
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mail-me-a-snail ¡ 6 months ago
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one of my favorite things about unmasked spy is that he has such a peculiar hair pattern with his little gray wings. like if he grew a white streak he could be the next administrator.
also engie is here 👍
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courfee ¡ 8 months ago
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remus is very unimpressed, sirius is very happy :)
based on this post
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oyabun-draws ¡ 21 days ago
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reupload bc i just noticed that i uploaded a version with the scar layer hidden IM SORRY POOKIES!!!
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ghost-realms ¡ 21 days ago
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Revamped concept art for characters that'll appear in mine and @sourmiiiilk's next game: The Eye's Embrace. Shoutout to Milk for helping me make changes to Crow and Salem's drips. <3
Art style isn't consistent between each character, since I drew all of them at dramatically different times.
More info about them and art under the cut!
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These guys are your potential roommates at Evergreen Grove University.
From left to right:
Crow: An emo dude who absolutely does not even remotely believe in the paranormal. He has a bit of a temper, but cares deeply for his friends Absinthe and Salem. Crow spends his free time pumping iron at the university's student gym, binging horror movies, and searching for a friend of his who's gone missing.
He's 23 years old.
He majors in tech (IT).
Absinthe: A scene girl who's totally in love with the game StarBlitz. She ships Strawberry Paws and Zephyr, and likes to incorporate elements of her favorite characters (and hobbies) into her outfits. She's a ball of sunshine, an avid competitive gamer, and always makes time to hang out with her friends Salem and Crow. Although she participates in Salem's paranormal investigations, she's terrified of the occult!
She's 24 years old.
She majors in fashion design.
Salem: A goth guy who isn't allowed to dress gothic due to his helicopter parents. He's PASSIONATE about paranormal investigation, he even has a whole channel dedicated to the spoooooky adventures that he and his friends Absinthe and Crow embark on. He's similar to a golden retriever, always full of energy and hope, even being a bit naive at times. He has no sense of personal safety.
He's 24 years old.
He majors in film production.
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b4kuch1n ¡ 1 year ago
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IT ARRIVED IT ARRIVED IT ARRIVED
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DESPITE EVERYTHING DESPITE MY CHRONICALLY CURSED INTERNATIONAL MAIL PROBLEM I AM STILL THE ZONE RPG
#bakuspeech#and I guess this counts as#bakuspecial#ouuuuuu#my art! on cards! characters I kinda got to build with my visuals!!#also upon getting this which I had mailed to the senpai's place instead of mine in an effort to break the curse we immediately#ran a game. that was supposed to be short. but ended up extending past midnigt#AND had to stop for the night before act 2 even begins#but. its SO fun. the game pieces do just the right amount of heavy lifting for u that it frees u up to make up Real out there stuff#like. we ran a game on the browser version. and while it was also Really fun it got stressful to make stuff up#now if we're stuck we just pick up cards#and like. idk for kinda the first time really? I get the appeal of roleplaying with someone else#I'm usually such a control freak about the stories I tell lmao#with the visual aids in this set I get to imagine the character dynamics so much more easily#like this time around the senpai picked the scientist archetype#and he made that guy a white guy with some means who has been sending people to death to serve his science#and my character's an asian guy who was with a pest control service (yes I picked the trevor henderson character lmao)#who got drafted into the bureau and works as like cleanup/fodder#so immediately I got to go like oh so I hate your guts. and you condescend at me#which turned out to be a Very fun dynamic to roleplay lmao#throughout act 1 we've made this dynamic steadily Worse. one of them envies the other into oblivion#while the other can now communicate with No one except his mission partner#and we're gonna craft the second act as chase. a predator and a prey. gods. it was SO fun#its so funny both of them were touting to be smart or good at their job. and then they went into the zone and Immediately got fucked up#this game really gives u that satisfaction and fascination with like. when things go wrong in way too thematically fitting and messy ways#lmao my contract's fulfilled I do not have to talk this game up. its just really fun. man I enjoy that so much#sadly my pool of english speakers who can play this game with me is not big#I'll try and find time to run a few small games in the near future... maybe during lunar new year#I was over at the senpai's today to toast out birthdays lol. to get that out of the way we've been planning something like that for weeks#weve been both way too busy. with different sliding scales of uh. how pleasant that busy's been
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unholycourier ¡ 8 months ago
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woe. synth / human yes man be upon ye
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its-coda ¡ 9 months ago
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Giving him the coda drip (it sucks)
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oblong-egg ¡ 6 months ago
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[OC] Can’t tell you how nervous I am about posting this.
Voice is Corpse Husband
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claitea ¡ 2 years ago
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luigi time!
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mail-me-a-snail ¡ 9 months ago
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ok i havent made it very far re: blockbench. but *thru gritted teeth* im having fun im doing my best
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celestedoesarttm ¡ 5 months ago
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there are two wolves inside of you. One wolf wants to be a goth bloody vampire wearing leather. The other wants to wear frilly ruffles and pastels. They are both correct
(I learned how to edit on CapCut just to make this…a valuable skill I will no doubt use a LOT in the future….Skrilliant I’m looking at you next i have a song picked out and everything)
@bicolor-art :3 come get yall juice
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tea-cat-arts ¡ 2 months ago
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Idk, is this anything?
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redgoldblue ¡ 1 year ago
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just realised i have to get permission from two separate deans if i want to do a masters. i don't want to contact deans :( emails :(
Edit: made a list about it. am telling myself that if I got through year 1 med surely I can write six emails and also a cv. not sure i believe myself.
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iamthemaestro ¡ 1 year ago
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man. I don't think I've ever spent so long on a piece of music because I've never had the motivation to follow through but I'm finally finishing up the writing for this brass quintet and I didn't realize how... significant it would feel to end it? I have friends who can write a 12 minute piece of music in less than a semester. for me it took nearly a year—of both writing and not writing, of crying in front of my parents and one of the best friends and composers I know and my extremely prestigious professor, of struggling to remember why I even chose to do this in the first place and being gently but repeatedly reminded what made me love music when I had been alone with it for so long. I'm not healed. the piece is not finished. it's not even, like, a huge magnum opus that I can really brag about. but I like it, which is more than I can say about most of my work these days, and I'm relatively proud of it. I can confidently say that this is the piece that's seen me through the most and it's going to be a little bit terrifying to end it
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