#trying to learn art nouveau

[talesfromnatea]

[ssavaart]

Scott! I’m an incoming college freshman going in for an art degree. What’s the best advice you can give to a little guy like me?

PS. Thanks for being so inspiring to me! :)

Hi. I don't know if this is the "best advice", but this is what I would tell 18 year old me if I could go back to 1987...

I know you like comic books and you want to be the artist on Spider-Man one day. But... use this time to learn about Art Nouveau and Impressionism and all of the OTHER wonderful kinds of art in the world. Also, I know you love ONLY colored pencils right now. And you're REALLY good at it and you want to make a good impression so you want to use a medium you know best.... BUT... take these 4 years to learn painting. Try new mediums. Experiment. Grow.

Don't look at the next 4 years like you HAVE to get good grades and you HAVE to make good art. Look at the next 4 years as a chance to finally focus ONLY on art and get exposed to other artists and styles and techniques.

Use this time to expand your worldview. Play. Have fun.

Your art can grow SO much if you just step out of your comfort zone and let yourself TRY something new.

That's what I would tell my 18 year old self in 1987 going to the Academy of Art in San Francisco.

I think I would have learned SO much more had I done that.

I hope that helps. And congratulations!

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

[kagooleo]

johto’s champion and chronicler for the deity of the ilex shrine, it’s lyra!🌿

this one took me a while due to trying out different techniques (studying a Lot of art nouveau) and making a couple changes to her outfit (the details help), but I’d like to think she’s learned a lot in her journey and wanted to reflect her experience more in her champion fit

her specialty would be in fairy types and her meganium’s divergent evolution is grass/fairy 🧚🪷

and a bonus w/ the johto gang after the photoshoot!

[fairiedance]

I made this flag with old open source art nouveau patterns.

As usual ALL PROCEEDS from my shop are for my Palestinian best friend to help him support his loved ones. I've recently learned that some of the money I've raised has made it through to people he has in Gaza to help them purchase food, I'm very happy to hear this.

Here are a few sample product photos with this design, all products found here:

You can find my full shop here. To see a design on different products click on the display product and scroll down or go here to browse by design. I try to use a wide range of different styles so there's something for everyone. Here are some examples:

Thank you to everyone who has helped so far!

[alicenpai]

Baccano rewired my 14 year old brain fr (true story) 🍾🗽🚂💰🔫

i made a sticker sheet for one of my favourite animes ever, for anime north 2023 this month! One of the drawings I did for my first ever con was Baccano, so I wanted to pay tribute. It makes me overjoyed the fandom is alive and kicking in 2023. if you can’t get to AN and you want the sticker sheet, keep an eye out this summer for my online shop!!

A lot of the media I first experienced when I was a teen was so formative for me as an artist, Baccano was one of them - and I love inputting vintage aesthetics in my art whenever possible (unfortunately not possible half of the time). I've watched the anime many times, and I'm almost done the 1st book, unfortunately I learned theres 22 other books (DW voice: I can't read!!! 💔) Planning this sheet took a LOT of work - each individual sticker composition, trashing and reworking sketches, research and visual reference, drawing inspiration from the art nouveau and art deco periods, as well as film noir era posters. 

There were countless times where I regretted my choices and thought, "Oh man, why did I do this to myself?! I think I should have drawn chibis of the characters instead!!". Planning and drawing this took so long that I couldn’t envision it being complete for my deadline. But with the power of god and anime I pulled through. I'm quite happy I went with this more graphic design approach! I definitely want to try more graphic design stuff in the future, it’s a lot of fun 🤔🤔

I ended up with a completely NEW pinterest board of 125 art deco related pins over the course of drawing this... help

the flames in the “The Grand Panacea” poster were inspired by these two posters

[datcravat]

if you don't mind me asking, what are your artstyle inspirations?

Not at all!!

Shigenori Soejima and his team (the artists behind persona 3-5) are a huge inspiration. The instinctive look of the black shading, facial structure, and use of gesture really stand out to me.

Hungry Clicker's deceptively candid-looking poses, quick but gorgeous painting style and incredible use of reflected light live in my head rent free! I have all his books! His reflected light inspired me to incorporate that into the black shading to artificially create more depth in a 2D style, and spaces for colour

Kuvshinov Ilya's spectacular understanding of anatomy, colour, and how to make a face look cute as hell really helped me nail making a character look appealing. I also often use their idea to add a soft glow to the black lineart. Recommend studying him a lot

Alphonse Mucha was a master of composition and pioneered the Art Nouveau movement. A legend. His beautiful use of composition, pattern, bold lines combined with photorealistic elements, carefully chosen areas to supply immense detail, is fascinating and I'm trying hard to learn from that. I think combining elements from this with solid black shading could be gorgeous. You also see very little use of perspective in his work.

Helloclonion, to me, is a genius. Their use of black is beyond anything I've ever seen. Just a pure master. The black shading does not look invasive, and there is an element to it that makes it a little more 3D-looking than others, perhaps the use of IRL models. The way they translate real shadows to blackness is something I can't yet comprehend but man, I study their work all the time!! I also got very inspired to use vastly different hues as rim light from them.

Media that's inspired my art a lot are 90s anime (Interstella 5555 is my fave), Steven Universe, Sonic, Crash Bandicoot 2, Ghost Trick, Persona (ofc).

My art looks like this right now:

Hope this is the kind of depth you were looking for, haha. There have been and will be far more than just these inspirations of course, but right now it's very strongly these five!!

[skyrimfuckery]

How did I forget this.

This is the "next" thing I had in mind when I was working on the squire's plate redo. And the dark witch outfit! This outfit is based on the Goliath beetle. I came across one when I was in Spain last winter, in the Zamora ethnographic museum. Why an African beetle is in a spanish ethnographic museum remains a mystery to me. But I digress.

I was immediately enchanted. I wanted to make a design that captured the essence of the creature: black and white when resting, and revealing the copper wings when in flight. From the get-go I knew I wanted to do a high fantasy styled outfit, with motifs from art nouveau and quite some visual noise. When I came across this bug, back in January, I didn't find myself capable enough to actually accomplish this design. So I worked on other things that were still on the backburner. The dark witch came first, then the squire's plate.

And here it is. The Garment of the Goliath. The cloak moves in movement, revealing the flame-painted copper armor underneath. The pattern of the beetle is reflected on the cape and tabard. The design language is supposed to be somewhat organic and unconventional. I also tried straying away from generally accepted high-fantasy designs, as you get a lot of that when you're doing elvish stuff or working with art nouveau motifs. It really was a bit of a test to see how well I could pull of a more complicated design like this. And I think I succeeded. I'm really happy with the way this thing turned out. All elements of the design, compared to older outfits, look better. The pouch is big step up compared to the squire's. The coin bag's textures look splendid, and I'm also super happy with the way the cuisse turned out. Lots of relief, lots of detail. There's this one shape/motif that's constantly being repeated across the entire armor. It's in the pauldrons, chestplate, vambraces, cuisses, and the boots. Can you spot it?

I did cut some corners during texturing, which is a bit of shame. These are learning opportunities. For example, the belt is a bit bland. When I'm striving to be holistic in my design, I need to pull it all the way through. For my next design, I'm intending to do just that. And I want to get that shit going from the concept stage onwards.

What I also want to do is to continue to be inspired by nature. So for my next project, I will make something as inspired by the American hummingbird. Of course it'll be armor. This time I'll try for a contrasting design to this goliath outfit. Colourful, but not demanding. Stay tuned.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Breaking the Class Ceiling Chapter 1

This is set in early 1900s U.S.A., during the Edwardian era with some style changes into the upcoming Art Nouveau period. I've changed history a bit for this. Pretending that America didn't have a full Civil War and trying to create a more optimistic outcome for the purposes of the story. I've also tried to research what the rules for society/socializing were back then, and tweaked some of them.

Warnings for upcoming chapters: minor character death, some sexual harassment/assault (but nothing too graphic or traumatic), smut.

Next chapter

The year was 1904.  America was in a technological boom and desperate to prove itself as a major power.  After infighting and a near civil war there had finally been peace and treaties made just years before, and as everyone learned to live with each other and create equity within their communities, prosperity flourished.  The World Fair was to be held in St. Louis, Missouri, that year, and the entire eastern seaboard was abuzz with excitement.  As families who had been previously destitute were now doing better financially they were all making plans and investing in the finer things in life, including making the big trip to St. Louis.  

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the son of an office manager, was taking up on his father’s work under a local lawyer in Brooklyn, New York.  He’d been working as a clerk in the office since he was a teenager, balancing books and ordering supplies.  His penmanship was the best in the office out of all the other clerks and receptionists, thanks to his mother, so he was in charge of handling official letters and working with dignitaries in the area.  It got him connections with the high class, and he was able to make good friends with business men’s sons, who were born into money.  He was able to get invited to all the big parties, hitch along with the high-brow at sporting events, and court the higher class women.  

His father, George Barnes, was proud of him for rubbing shoulders with the old money men.  Bucky and George were able to make a good living, but nothing that compared to the types of things that Bucky had been able to experience.  George encouraged him regularly to find a well off young woman to marry so that his future would be set.  Bucky worked and saved to make sure he had the best clothes and accessories so he would blend in with his friends, saving for his future when he could.  No woman in high society would give him a chance otherwise.

As Bucky was partying and scouting the local women, you moved back into town.  A rich woman whose family had hit it big in the beginning of the oil industry, you were the only one left after a long bout of illness that took your family.  All you had left was your uncle Alonso, who pretended to care for you, but was hitching his wagon to yours in hopes of a monetary gift and retirement.  He acted as your chaperone and matchmaker, looking for promising young men that he felt were worth your fortune.  Unfortunately for him, you were not looking for the same criteria of men he was.  He wanted someone high class, also from a well off family, or someone who would add to your fortune.  You wanted love, friendship, companionship, with someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by your fortune and your confidence.  A rich woman with full access to her own money was few and far between in this century, and you knew it.  You didn’t need a man, you wanted one.  A good one. 

The news of your arrival spread quickly.  Your last name was plastered on many a product and business, as you invested heavily in your home state, and the idea of an American princess returning after years of traveling was an exciting change of pace for Brooklyn.

“Good morning Bucky!” Steve Rogers greeted loudly as he swung open the office door, making it bang against the window behind it.

“Jeez, Steve, don’t break the glass, will ya?” Bucky grimaced, but gave him a clap on the shoulder in greeting.  “‘Morning, punk.”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said sheepishly, checking on the glass then turning back to the front desk.  “Hey, did you hear about the Y/L/N girl coming back to town?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his paperwork, “Yeah, I heard.”

Steve looked at him expectantly.  “And?”

Buck glanced from the papers, the pencil in his hand hovering over the stack, “And what?”

Steve snorted at his best friend.  “And what?  She’s throwing a party!  It’s gonna be the biggest party Brooklyn’s ever seen!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you got your invite already,” Bucky looked back down at his paperwork.  Steve came from a wealthy family who had made good money after selling a number of sugar and tobacco plantations.  His father had invested well and they were able to live on without needing to work anytime soon.  Of course he’d get an automatic invite.

Steve sneakily took out an envelope, a sly look in his eye.  “Yep, and I may or may not have bribed the mailman to give me yours, too,” he waved the envelope in Bucky’s face.

Bucky gawked at him, his eyes widening as he stared at the envelope.  Sure enough, his name was written on it in pretty script.  He ripped it from Steve’s hand and hastily opened it.  The paper was high quality, the writing done with a neat hand.  His eyes flew over the page as he tried to comprehend the words.

“I got an invite?” he wondered quietly.  

“Yep, that’s all you, bud,” Steve beamed at him.  “And before you ask, no, I didn’t pull any strings or make any calls.  She invited you specifically.”

Bucky was having a hard time understanding.  He never got personally invited to things, he was always the tagalong, the guy who had to be let in by his friends who put a good word in for him and opened those doors for him.  

“But…why?” he thought out loud, looking off through the window at the people passing by.

“Beats me,” Steve said nonchalantly.  “But it’s gonna be the bee’s knees.  That mansion we’ve always wondered about downtown?  That’s hers!  The whole place is being cleaned up and prepared for a big night.  You’ll need new clothes,” he finished quickly, straightening up and dusting off his suit jacket.

Bucky sighed at that.  “I don’t have enough savings for a whole new outfit, Steve.”

Steve waved him off, “Please don’t insult me.  When you’re done today stop by Barton’s and he’ll get you fixed up on my tab.  And I’ve given him strict instructions to not let you barter him down to cheap materials, so don’t you dare try it, Barnes.  You will go to that party in glad rags just like everyone else.”

Bucky wondered what he’d done right in a past life to get a friend like Steve.  “Thanks Stevie, you don’t have to do that.”

“Bullshit I don’t,” Steve countered.

“Language!” a yell came from the back.

“Sorry Mr. Fury!” Steve yelled back, looking sheepish again.  

“Alright, I’ll go,” Bucky quickly agreed, knowing he’d have no other way of looking appropriate for such a fancy function.  He knew of you, hell anyone would have to be living under a rock to not know who you were in America and many parts of Europe.  He wondered how you’d heard of him and what made you want to invite him at all.  Things were changing in society, but inviting a clerk to a multimillionaire’s mansion was still strange.

***

The weeks seemed to fly by as the party approached.  Bucky had been fitted with a whole new suit from Clint Barton’s warehouse.  Steve bought him a new straw hat for it being the first spring party with a crimson red ribbon, a matching crimson lounge coat and pants, white dress shirt, an off-white and navy plaid waistcoat, cobalt blue bow tie and cognac-colored Oxford boots that were shined to perfection.  To up the ante Steve threw in gold chain cufflinks and a matching plaid pocket square.  Bucky always brought his own pocket watch given to him by his father.  It wasn’t in the best condition, so it could give away his status, but it was the one piece he wouldn’t compromise on.

Bucky had seen the hustle in town get worse as the party got closer.  The women were desperately trying to find new fabrics and accessories to make them stand out and be in-fashion to catch your attention.  The barbershops and salons were busier than usual as people got themselves cleaned and spruced up.  There was one particular day where the sounds on the street had become quite intense as a crowd followed someone.  He looked out the window and could only make out the top of the hat on your head as people not-so-discreetly-whispered your name repeatedly, some being brave enough to approach you on the street and introduce themselves to try and gain favor.  He wondered what you looked like, what you’d be like, what things you’d seen on your travels.  He didn’t want to get his hopes up.  He was getting older than most of the upper class men around him, and hadn’t been able to peg down an upper class woman, let alone any woman yet, but you had invited him to what would be the biggest party of the season, so he hoped you were a little more open to people from all walks of life rather than just the upper crust.

Party day began with a buzzing excitement over the city.  Bucky could feel it himself as he finished work that day and ran home to wash up and get ready.  Steve was going to pick him up in his car so that they could come in style, and Steve was desperate to show off his new 1903 Pierce-Arrow.  Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to fool you into thinking he may be in a higher social standing than he was, but he would at least show you he could play the part.  

The mansion was nestled in between other downtown homes that paled in comparison to its opulence.  The gilded aged home was covered in turrets and filigree detail around the edges and doors.  Fresh flowers were adorning every window facing the street and the front entrance that people were filing into by the time Bucky and Steve pulled up.  Pastel floral colors and shining buttons with pristine white satin gloves shone in the sunset as they entered the front hall.  Traffic jams were happening every ten steps as the partygoers got lost in the decor of the mansion, craning their necks as they looked up at the paintings on the walls and the murals on the ceilings.  Bucky found himself getting caught up in the majesty of the mansion as well.  He and Steve had peered into the windows through the years as it sat empty, wondering what it looked like inside.  Nothing in his wildest dreams could have prepared him for what it was.

The ushers herded the people along the hallways towards the middle of the house, which opened up into a grand ballroom.  Seating was scattered along the walls with waiters holding platters of decadent-looking food and sparkling champagne flutes.  A small orchestra was playing in an upper balcony above the party, with another balcony across the way holding a band that waited for their turn to play.  The fresh flowers continued inside along the walls and pillars providing a sweet smell to waft through the room.  As everyone was finally admitted and waited in the ballroom the orchestra became louder to gain the attention of the audience.

Everyone fell silent as the orchestra finished and all turned their eyes towards the doors at the other end of the ballroom from where they’d entered.  After a brief pause the doors opened and presented the host of the party.  Good god, Bucky thought.  You were dressed in a cadmium blue evening gown that had elaborate ruffles and appliques that shimmered under the lights.  The neckline was wide, the off-the-shoulder sleeves hanging on your upper arms showing off your upper body, and the front dipping lower down your chest than what was considered normal or appropriate in American fashion, displaying a tantalizing view of your cleavage.  Whereas all the other women had their hair curled and pinned up on top of their heads, your hair was in intricate braids and wispy curls with pieces deliberately falling out, the rest pinned up with sapphires.  Instead of traditional white pressed gloves your hands were adorned with lace gloves that matched the color of your dress.  You also weren’t wearing an overly restricting corset.  Everything about your outfit made you stand out.  Bucky could hear a few light gasps and whispers in the crowd at your dress choice, and it made him smile.  As you confidently walked into the ballroom, smiling kindly at everyone, he noticed a mark on your upper left arm.  Was that…a tattoo?  Unheard of.  You were a walking contradiction, and he felt like he was going to like you already.  Just a step behind you was an older man that was dressed more in the British fashion, looking out at the crowd and scanning carefully.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Steve murmured next to him, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of the champagne in his hand.

“Mmhm, this should be fun,” Bucky agreed, his smile widening.

A butler walked forward from the side where you entered and cleared his throat, “Presenting, Lady Y/N Y/L/N, and her uncle, Mr. Alonso Y/L/N!”

The band now took a turn as you let people come up to you first, greeting them politely and giving customary head bows and occasional handshakes.  As you glided through the people Bucky pulled Steve along to a point where you’d be walking by soon.  “Come on, Steve, you gotta introduce me,” Bucky urged him.

“Buck, you introduce yourself, you got a personal invitation.  You don’t need me,” Steve protested, trying to finish his drink.  

As they settled in their spot, slowly pushing forward to greet you soon, you finished talking to a man who evidently thought highly of himself, a Mr. Rumlowe, who eyed you like something to eat.  Bucky knew him and his reputation.  Seeing the tightness of your eyes as you dismissed yourself from him, he hoped you could already see past his facade.  Your eyes fell on him and Steve and you smiled politely as you walked up to them.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Steve Rogers,” Steve spoke up first, giving you a head bow.

“Ah yes, Steve, your father was a good friend of my late father,” you said, your eyes shining at the recognition of his name.  Your uncle behind you shifted as he recognized the name as well, his mood lightening.  “He always spoke highly of your family.  I am planning to call on your parents at a later date, I hope you’ll join them when I do.”

Steve seemed delighted at the prospect of the meeting, “Yes of course.  My father has spoken of nothing else since your arrival.  You may get his card before he gets yours.”

You laughed lightly at him, introduced your uncle to him, who was very interested in Steve, then turned your attention to Bucky.  Your bright Y/C/E eyes gave him a quick look up and down, as if memorizing him.  Bucky knew he looked a bit more colorful than the other men in attendance, a purposeful choice that he was now patting himself on the back for making.

“And you must be James Barnes,” you offered him in greeting.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Yes, Miss Y/L/N, I’m surprised you know me already.”

You raised an eyebrow conspiratorially at him, “I do, your mother was a favorite of my mother’s.  I do wish I had had a chance to meet her.  My mother always spoke fondly of her,” you added, a look of mourning flashing across your face.  “I have a photograph of them together, and you look just like Winifred.”

Bucky’s breath hitched at the mention of his mother.  She had died suddenly a few years ago, taking his father’s cheerfulness with her.  She had been a bright light in the community, always looking out for others and educating the girls in the neighborhood.  He remembered her mentioning your family’s name before as being good people, but nothing concrete that would have made it seem like they were close friends.

“Oh, that’s very kind.  I am sorry I didn’t know they were good friends, but she always spoke highly of your family,” he added politely.

You nodded, your eyes searching his face for a moment.  You then surprised him by reaching your hands out for his.  He quickly met you halfway, reciprocating the greeting so as not to embarrass or reject you.  Your uncle scoffed and excused himself at your actions.  If his dismissal bothered you, you didn’t show it.  A quick glance at your hands and arms revealed that the tattoo peeking out from your sleeve was an elephant with an Indian print inside of its shape.  He could feel the stares on him as you held his hands, stepping closer to him to speak lowly.

“I hope you and your father will accept my deepest condolences.  Losing a mother is…” you trailed off, your eyes growing sad as you searched for the right words, “it is one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced,” you squeezed his fingers.  “I plan to call upon you and your father as well, please promise me you’ll accept?  I’d like to be your friend,” you proclaimed.

Bucky was floored.  It was extremely bold for a woman to ask for friendship outright from a man, and yet you showed no signs of embarrassment or hesitation at the situation you’d just created with him.  He lightly squeezed your fingers back, giving you a small smile.

“Yes, of course, Miss Y/L/N.  I’d love to be your friend, as long as you save me a dance,” he teased her.  He knew he was pushing his luck and protocols of manners, but he was rewarded when you gave him a hearty chuckle.

“Of course, Mr. Barnes,” you answered him, letting go of his hands and lacing yours together in front of you.  

“Oh please, Mr. Barnes is my father.  Friends call me Bucky,” he added.  Although it was incredibly informal to give you the option to call him his nickname, he could tell you were more open to a break in etiquette.

You smiled widely at that, “Hm, Bucky.  I like it.  Well my friends call me Y/N,” you offered him your first name back.

“Y/N,” he repeated, liking the way your name sounded on his tongue.  

You gave him a quick sly smile, “I like your candor Bucky.  Come find me soon for that dance.”

“I will, Y/N,” he gave you a smirk back.

As you bowed your head in farewell and moved on to the next person Bucky couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.  He turned to Steve whose wide eyes were gaping at Bucky in amazement.

“What just happened?” Steve asked once you were out of earshot.  

Bucky shrugged as he picked up a champagne flute from a nearby waiter, “I don’t know, but I like her.”

As the night drew on and you had greeted everyone at least once, the dancing began.  The orchestra and band took turns each song, playing slower European melodies and then switching to more American upbeat tempos.  You flitted across the dance floor, taking short breaks here and there to speak to the groups of women in the room, making small talk and promising audiences and outings.  Bucky was impressed with your ability to charm each person you talked to, ignoring the stares and sideways glances from disapproving eyes and enjoying yourself.  You ate freely, which was also strange, as most women didn’t snack offhandedly in upper class dance settings, and you nursed a champagne flute between each break you took from dancing.

Bucky decided it was time to take you up on that dance, moving through the crowd until he was on the outskirts of the dance floor, waiting for you to finish your current dance with Steve.  You spoke with him as you danced, your laugh ringing out periodically at something he said.  As he watched he felt a hard nudge to his side.

“You’re a real popinjay,” Brock Rumlowe muttered, bumping his shoulder into Bucky.  

Bucky rolled his eyes, not deigning to turn towards him, “And how’s that Rummy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Rumlowe grunted.  He pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal a white powder.  “Tonic?” he offered it to Bucky.

“No,” Bucky scoffed.  

“Your loss,” Rumlowe shrugged, taking a quick sniff before pocketing it so no one would see.  “You think you’re real big stuff, hm?  Getting to hold her hand and get an invite?”  He circled around Bucky’s back.  “You’re nothing,” he spat.  “Here among the high life, you’ve got nothing to offer her, or anybody for that matter.  I wonder if she knows your clothes were bought for you, by your beau Rogers.  Just go home, you mooching, freeloading, indigent bum.”

Bucky breathed deeply to calm himself.  Normally he’d just sock Rumlowe, but not here.  His father would never forgive him.

Rumlowe chuckled at his silence.  “We’ll see who she chooses.  Her uncle’s scouting for suitors.  She’s getting older, needs to marry and hand down that fortune to somebody.  Don’t want a spinster with that much money and a dead womb, such a waste.  I think he likes me,” he added.

Bucky sighed, “A woman with her fortune doesn’t need an elder to decide her future for her, Rummy,” he chided, finally giving him a glance.  “You’ll have to impress her, not the uncle.  And judging from the look on her face after meeting you earlier, I’d say you’re not winning any prizes soon.”

Before Rumlowe could say anything the dance ended, everyone clapping as they separated from their partners.  Steve saw Bucky on the side and led you over to him.  

“Ah, there you are, Bucky!” you chimed, your eyes lighting up.  “I was beginning to think you’d disappeared on me.”

“Never,” he said, placing a hand on his chest in jest.  It made you giggle.  “May I have that dance you promised me earlier?”

“Yes,” you answered, nodding resolutely. 

Bucky offered his arm to you and led you out to the floor, giving Rumlowe a triumphant smile.  Rumlowe gave him a scathing glare then stalked off.  Steve laughed and pumped a proud fist in Bucky’s direction.  As they got into position and the music started Bucky tried his best to look like he knew what he was doing.  He’d had some practice in dancing at other parties, but wasn’t the best at remembering which dances went with which songs.

As you came together and he took your right hand in his left, then wrapped his left hand around your waist, he pulled you in a little closer than he would normally.  Your eyes widened slightly but you smiled easily, letting him guide you across the floor.  

“You’ve come back from some long travels, is that right?” He started the conversation, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yes, I’ve been working my way through Europe, Africa, parts of the Ottoman Empire, and then the East Indies,” you answered.  “After my family passed, I was looking for an escape, so I quite literally ran away from my problems to tour the world.”

Bucky laughed at the forwardness in your answer.  “Well what better way to handle grief than to ignore it?”

You chuckled at his joke, enjoying the fact that he was willing to entertain you and speak plainly without such pretense.  You meant it when you said you enjoyed his candor.  You were looking for someone to not only share your life and fortune with, to create a family, but for someone you would genuinely enjoy spending time with and who would let you live your life without constant chastisement about rules and standards.

“I wouldn’t say ignore it, more like work through it while working through the countries,” you explained.

Bucky’s eyes lit up, “Oh? And what did you find while you were out there?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly as you remembered your travels.  “I found a new god in each place.  Rejection of a god.  A new way of living.  A new way of grieving.  Acceptance,” she trailed off.  

Bucky tightened his hold on you, grounding you back into reality.  You wistfully came back to the present, squeezing his arm that you were holding.  “It was beautiful,” you whispered.

He smiled at your tone.  “It sounds beautiful,” he agreed.  “I would like to see more of the world someday.”

“I hope you do.  It’s good for you,” she smirked at him.

“Is it?” he chuckled again.  He then leaned in and lowered his voice, “If you don’t mind me asking, is that where your tattoo comes from?  The east indies?”

You glanced at the tattoo and nodded.  “Yes, India, it was amazing there.  The air is filled with spices!” you whispered at him, your nose scrunching and eyes narrowing as if you were telling him a secret.  

Bucky had never met a woman like you.  All the etiquette and propriety that everyone else was adhering to you seemed to throw to the wayside.  It was hard to get to know women in society well before courting them, and even then everything was watched by chaperones or the public around you.  Finding someone with a full personality that she was unafraid to boldly show off was new.  He wasn’t sure how to handle it, but he liked it.

“I’ve read about India, my father was always picking up books about far off places.  He loves learning about tropical flora and fauna.  He used to have quite a garden before my mother passed,” Bucky continued the conversation, not wanting to lose the momentum in their interaction.

Your eyes widened considerably.  “Ooh!  I have a greenhouse!  In the back courtyard!  I was able to bring home many tropical plant species, and I’ve had a gardener taking great care of them.  I will show it to you when you and your father come to visit,” you offered excitedly.

The music died down and you both pulled away to give a proper bow.  As you straightened up Bucky quickly took your left hand, and in a quick flourish pulled your glove off your hand and kissed over the knuckle of your ring finger.  There were audible gasps around you at his brashness, whispers and gossip erupting in quiet fervor.  Pulling off a glove was scandalous, seen as a form of undress.  You gasped lightly, a look of shock briefly gracing your features, but you quickly schooled yourself and smiled widely at him.

“Thank you, Y/N, for this dance, and your offer,” Bucky held your bare hand in his for a moment longer, giving you a deep gaze before placing your glove back in your hand.  “I look forward to the greenhouse tour.  My father will be pleased.”

He bowed his head, gave you a wink, then walked away into the crowd.  You stayed still, your right hand sliding over your bare left hand, gingerly touching the knuckle where his lips had been.  A blush filled your cheeks as multiple women surrounded you, giggling, gossiping and fussing over getting your glove back on.

NEW STORY!

Here's something I thought of. I hope you guys like it. I tried to write it as a "You" fic rather than Y/N, but there are a couple of Y/N's here and there for dialogue.

[ocelot-t]

do have any Hazbin Hotel or just RadioRose headcanons? Like Rosie being a really good painter or Alastor technically being younger than he seems or something? (I just like reading other people's ideas on their favorite characters lol)

You arrived just in time.

There will be a lot of words I have mostly a lot of disconnected thoughts in my head, which I sometimes consciously or unconsciously implement in drawings. besides, I don't remember what the canon is, and what the old fanon is, to be honest. If you would like me to, I can share not only my headcanons, but also some of the AUs I have.

I understand where the theory comes from, but I don't like the idea of Alastor being forced to smile all this time. I think he wants to keep everything under his control so much that he smiles even in death. The idea that he is just a sick man, serial killer makes his eternal smile even more unnerving. I don't want to justify him.

I think Al would have enjoyed reading H.P Lovecraft’s works. The tentacled creatures and descriptions of people as nonentities suffering defeat in a fight with chthonic creatures... btw, some of Lovecraft's stories were published during Alastor's era. I have a small headcanon about Alastor's death, and I plan to create a comic in the future (if I can actually get it done).

There are 2 possible deaths of Alastor's mother in my mind, and I’m uncertain which one I want to illustrate. maybe both continuing the theme of Alastor’s human life. I sincerely believe that even if Alastor had really had an abusive father, Al would have been cruel since childhood. Guess what? I have an unfinished little comic with a hum!Al by another artist, and I'm uncertain when I’ll manage to complete it. The headcanon that suggests Alastor’s father is an abuser already seems like a canon; however, I don’t want to portray him as a completely terrible person. I like the idea of Alastor enjoying hunting, so let's say he learned it from his father. Just like all the dad jokes. on the other hand, as for the scars on Alastor, some of them probably came from his father, since domestic violence was a common problem. Regarding art, as you might have noticed, I have a headcanon that Al understands the arts in general, whether it's painting, cinema, or music. Perhaps I think this way only because I am trying to combine things I love very much. I imagine him as a person you could have a discussion about these topics with??? It seems to me that Alastor and Rosie would often discuss these topics over a glass of wine or a cup of tea. Suddenly, Alastor would show up at Rosie's and instead of hello I READ ABOUT FRA FILIPPO LIPPI. DO YOU HAVE AN HOUR FREE? BTW I HOPE YOU WATCHED THAT DZIGA VERTOV MOVIE THAT I RECOMMENDED Rosie would love art nouveau and I don't know rococo? and Alastor would be like no art nouveau is okay, cute, but rococo is bullshit. *2-hour episode of drunken dad teaching life* Continuing on the topic of artists, I repeat myself, I have a silly unfinished series of mini-comics about Alastor and Rosie as art academy students, the plots of which are based on real life (almost). I have thought about what kind of styles they would draw in, what kind of themes they would focus on, and so on. Again, there is a lot of text here already, so I'll wrap up this topic for now. P.S. I have a strange idea in my head about how to imagine Alastor in the USSR in the 10-30s. It was quite fun there: the World War I, the revolution, the civil war, the post-revolutionary years, famines and so on, and so on. For fun, of course, but Alastor the Communist has a good reason to hate Vox the Capitalist and his MMM I mean VVV or Lucifer the emperor of hell, if you know what I mean. Instead of telling dad jokes, he would say that life under Stalin was good and quote Lenin. Of course, these are all jokes, but I did have some abstract thoughts about how his life and his family's life would be arranged. However, I don't know enough about the history of USSR to actually implement this properly. so yeah

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves Of Dusk

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, East Asian!Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight

Gliding out of the lively event inside the Mayfair Auction House, Benedict Bridgerton made his way outside, disappearing into the shadow cast by the building and twilight. He snuck to a vacant corner between two giant stuccos, leaned back against the wall, trying to mend his fraying nerves.

It’s alright. He told himself. You’re alright. It was getting rather stuffed in there. The socialising, the drinking, the parading. The presence of art and relics played only second fiddle to the oppressive atmosphere of quiet, vicious competition, mixing with the joyful flow of coins and banknotes. Nowhere, Benedict discovered, was the contempt between the titled and the moneyed for one another magnified quite like the way it was in an auction house.

And he was one of them now. Moneyed and then titled. Well, at least his eldest brother was. Anthony, or as he had been known for the past three years, Viscount Bridgerton, bought his title with an exorbitant amount, the likes of which usually bankrupted a well-off man, but made only a small dent in their family’s fortune. Not only was this move considered, privately, a social spit on the face to the sensitive high society of Britain, Anthony also had the audacity to take a piss on his initial offence by holding half of the Lords in debt, and the other half in his employment.

Benedict was the backup Viscount, at least temporarily. His brother had been hard at work procreating.

Meanwhile, Benedict was sent out into the world, presenting himself as a respectable gentleman of Mayfair society. On the other hand, his job also consisted of being Anthony’s errand boy, running things his brother had neither the appetite or taste for. Things like acquiring a new painting for their drawing room. What kind of painting, Anthony did not say. An expensive one was not a particularly helpful description.

So now, here he was at an auction house, pockets heavy with funds, attempting to bid on an expensive artwork that would fit their drawing room, out of all the other expensive paintings, excluding the ones that could only reach the pricey range.

The experience was so horrendous, so overwhelming that Benedict had to excuse himself in the middle of it to catch his breath. It was not that he was incompetent. He liked society, for the most part. He liked playing the role of a charmer. He had learned to like subtly manipulating the conversation and quietly instigating shit. It was only--

All this art was sitting right there and he had to pay for them?

The Bridgerton siblings did not come from money. They were born within the halls of a fledgling gambling hell, eight labours of love between an ostracised noble lady and the owner of said gambling hell, a former bruiser who she had eloped with, and who was now dead. Anthony certainly could not have risen to the position he did today purely by running that establishment in a respectable, honest manner. Edmund had been, and Violet was as close to saints as mortals could get, yet they had given birth to a collection of unnaturally talented liars, cheats, brutes, swindlers and murderers.

And Benedict loved his siblings even more for it. Every single one of those seven fuckers.

He eyed the side of the building. The ledge above him, where a nimble chimney sweeper was scaling, looked promising. He could imagine it now. In five minutes, he would return inside. Perhaps he should chat up Lord Bhandari and then attract the House’s director into their conversation. Maybe he would pretend to be drunk off his ass and stir up some chaos. But that might be found out by Anthony, and Benedict was too old and too bored to receive another scolding from their eldest brother. He could try to get the director himself drunk? Which approach then? The man was conservative enough at whist, preferring to serve as accessory to the egos of bigger, more powerful players. With the right kind of bait… A man like that would not miss a chance to amass, especially on art, even more so if he only needed to spend but little for vast returns. What if he heard of an obscure blackmarket offer from a raw, undiscovered talent, who also had the misfortune of being gravely ill and desperately poor? Which tales of greatness and/or of woes could he bullshit up so the honourable Auction House’s director would forget about his keys, long enough…

His fingers twitched at his sides in excitement. Nighttime. Craft knife. Tubular case. Fuck! He tightened his hands into fists. Steel yourself! He took three deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Calm down, Benedict. We’re going legit now. Think legal thoughts.

Tucking a hand into his breast pocket, Benedict pulled out his cigarette box, entrusting the vice to fog up his racing mind.

Just after his first inhale, as the warm chemicals were only starting their invasion of Benedict’s veins, soundlessly, a figure landed in front of him, not so far away. It took him a few seconds to recognise the chimney sweeper he had observed not long earlier. The smoke of his cigarette was making his vision extra ghostly.

It was when they looked up and met Benedict’s mildly intrigued gaze, that his breath was knocked out of his chest, for they were the most enchanting creature he had ever laid eyes on.

It sounded rather absurd, as he could hardly make out any particular features under their ragged, dirty, ill-fitting clothes, including the dark stripe of cloth covering the top half of their face. All he could tell was that they were small in stature, they moved so gracefully and lightly as if gravity was of no concern at all. Around their waist and half-hidden, was a curiously intricate-looking chain, whose metallic shine Benedict was fairly certain came from silver. A strangely fine item, utterly out-of-place on a drab chimney-sweeper’s costume. 

The stranger was smiling while looking at him, their eyes imprinted an exhilarating thrill and unadulterated joy into his soul. 

And they were coming his way.

‘Good evening,’ he uttered, trying to sound smooth, briefly forgetting that he was still holding a cigarette in his mouth. With swift motion, the stranger caught the tube between their fingers before it could reach the ground.

Well, that was embarrassing. Benedict thought, blushing. I must look like a bloody idiot.

Fortunately for him, the expression his new company showed him leaned more toward amusement than mockery. More… flirtatious than mockery. Their eyes on him, still smiling, they brought the cigarette to their lips, giving it a greedy whiff, then releasing the vapours in a blissful exhale.

They had very kissable lips, Benedict remarked mentally, plump and soft, framed by elegant lines of the cheeks and chin.He suspected there was a woman under that disguise. Or a very young, very pretty man. Suddenly feeling shy, he averted his eyes from their mouth, drawing his attention back to the little torch they had stolen from him. They were quick, he must admit. Too bad Benedict was no slowpoke himself. 

The cigarette had returned to him before they noticed it. 

Taking his time, Benedict took another whiff, carefully closing his mouth around where theirs were, seeking their taste. Meanwhile, his gaze fixated on the object of his fascination, watching as the eyes of the dust-covered little pixie grew wide and their lips trembled in surprise. As if they were taken aback by his boldness, by his indirect kiss, or had just come to the realisation that flirting with him was a reckless impulse on their part.

Very interesting.

Benedict could rationale, from personal experience, that their presence here, at this auction house, meant no good deed. 

‘Who are you?’ He asked.

The stranger grinned, delighted in their own mystery. The tip of their tongue caught between their teeth in a mischievous manner, and Benedict resisted the urge to press his own tongue against the spot.

‘Guess.’ Their voice was raspy and strained, perhaps a disguise attempt. The excitement and curiosity were not hidden, however. He could hear it.

There, as they stood between day and night and between social bubbles, as cigarette smoke billowed gently between the two of them. It was as if they existed out of time, Benedict and this vibrant phantom. Their identities were protected by half-lights, by the mute, blinded nature of elevated, civilised Mayfair streets and by criminality, against the eyes of the world and each other.

Using his left hand, slowly, openly, giving the stranger the time to react, to change their mind, Benedict took a hold of their right hand, pulling their bodies closer together. Little bursts of lightning shot up his fingertips where their skins touched, expanding all over his body. Carefully, with his thumb drawing little invisible circles, he memorised and processed the stories written on the skin of the adorable enigma with his touch. Their hand was small. He did not know any adult males with such small hands. A bump on the first joint of the middle finger. A writer’s callus. So they were educated and right-handed. Many noble ladies slathered their hands with lotions and filed their skin down to within an inch of their lives to soothe these bumps away, ashamed that the hardened skin would mar the perfectly pampered appearance. Their skin was cracked, dry and callused. These were most probably resulted from manual labour. Not a prominent weapon user. The little surface of their palm and along their fingers were riddled with little nicks, cuts and burn marks. 

Benedict noticed the contrast between his smooth palm and the mysterious marvel’s roughened one, and felt the whisper of a murderous rage getting louder inside him. What happened? Whatever, whoever occupied this beautiful creature’s life so much that they had no time to take care of themself? A good criminal ought to maintain a tailored, professional appearance. He flipped their hand over to inspect the back. More burn scars. Were they a black smith? They certainly did not carry themself like one. And why would an intellectual put one’s self through the dangers of blacksmithing? No clear impressions or calluses on the knuckles, the exact opposite of how his younger brother, Colin’s hands looked. His siren certainly did not possess the punch of an experienced bruiser.

He leaned down, surreptitiously studying what he could perceive of their profile. At this distance, he could see how their left shoulder was tense, weighed down by something they were carrying up their sleeve. No trace of cosmetics on their cheek. No shaving scars. Most definitely not a man. It would not lessen his attraction to this person in any way were they of one sex or another. More information about one's opponent, however, was always better than less.

She, he half-decided that they could be a she, smelled of the city. Not of perfumed leather and pruned gardens, not of the Mayfair part, no. Her natural scent was buried underneath layers of smoke, his cigarette among them. She smelled of darkened alleyways, of sweat and metal, and the garden. The scent was not conventionally pleasant, and it would have taken an ass kicking his skull off for him to expect something more arranged, considering what she might be doing and what he knew himself of the profession. But her smell did give him a calming effect. It reminded him of Covent Gardens, of their gambling hall, of his wild, chaotic and utterly free childhood. Few where he was now would look at the area and consider it an optimal place to raise children. Anthony would not. Neither would Daphne. But Benedict had always recalled their harsher times with fondness.  

‘I got nothing.’ He grinned against her face, delighted in feeling her shiver and the heat emanating from her cheek. He decided to keep all that he learned in those short seconds to himself instead. Retreating back to where he was against the wall, he put out the cigarette, put the stub into his pocket, then lit a new one. Milking the tension for all its worth. ‘Except for that you smell like a ghost. Well done.’ He was, had been, a cardsharp after all.

She looked frozen for a few seconds, registering his remark, unsure if it was a compliment or a snide. And based on the way her mouth dropped into a pout, on how she yanked the cigarette away from his shit-eating grin, and on how she smoked it in the most petulant manner afterward, he could see that she came to no satisfactory conclusion.

‘My turn.’ He offered his own hand to her. ‘Who am I?’  

The stranger took his hand and stared down at it. The brim of her cap, the mask over her eyes and the dim light made it impossible to glimpse her expression. What would she learn of him? Would she see the faded, chequered cuts of his fingers and deduce his upbringing in a gambling hell? Would she notice the old indentations of ropes and strings and discover his once-familiarity with them? Or would his recent lack of action already put a pristine mask on all of his past, and that would lead her to conclude that he was no more than a pampered aristocrat, who had never lifted anything heavier than a champagne flute in his life, pretending to play it tough? Would that perception be more charming? Was it a personality type she would prefer?

His heart pounded like a top thoroughbred in a race at the featherlight grazings of her finger all over his palm. Their close proximity did not help slow the rhythm. He almost wanted to pull back, to retreat, to put the hand she was holding into a glove, into his pocket, behind his back, to hide himself away from her gaze.

Benedict had no idea how he wanted to come off to this person, and it terrified him. 

‘Hmmm’, she started with a hum, releasing a puff of smoke. ‘Very healthy, vigorous male. Yet a turbulent life, your life, full of ups and downs.’ He pondered that statement and shrugged to himself.He supposed there were some degrees of truth to that.  ‘A chaotic professional life, indeed. Greedy man, you have not been able to commit to anything, have you?’

‘I prefer the term jack-of-all-trades.’

‘You have close, meaningful relationships with people around you.’ He smirked. ‘A mind of many ideas, can rarely keep his feet on the ground.’ He winced.

‘I don’t believe you saw all of that on my hand.’ He complained, on the defence. ‘Are you a witch?’

She looked back up at him, smiling. ‘It’s just palm-reading. Nursemaids’ hobby.’ Quietly, he tucked that information away, wondering if she realised she had given another clue about her identity. ‘Why, are you going to report me? If you do, considering I am telling you your fortune, I would include a forewarning as part of my fees.’ She tried to keep her voice playful, but he sensed true anxiety in her voice, in the way she subtly gripped his hand.

‘No,’ he swore. ‘I will not report you.’ And meant it. ‘Never.’

He heard her breath a sigh of relief, drawing his hand slightly closer to her chest. She trusted him. They’ve only just met, but she trusted him. And to Benedict’s surprise, he trusted her too. This stranger whose name he did not know and whose face he could not even see fully.

He gestured to the hand that she was holding again. ‘What else do you see?’

‘You are,’ she continued, slower this time. ‘A romantic soul. Artistic. A poet. There is so much love inside you.’ He quickly took the cigarette back from her, using it to mask his bashfulness. Benedict Bridgerton did not feel bashful. Unless when he was high. He leaned closer, attempting to decipher the comprehensive archive of his life and character, written in a foreign language between the lines of his palm. A language that she was apparently reading with ease.

‘You also possess great charm.’ She sketched a line from between his index and middle finger to the base of his pinkie. ‘Others can’t help being drawn to you.’

He smiled. ‘I think you are just describing my face now. It’s up here.’

She looked up, mouth open, fully prepared to give him another sarcastic remark. No words managed to escape her. Lost in her diligent inspection of his hand, she did not realise the gap between them had grown smaller. Their eyes met, closer this time.

And then they were kissing. With her hands still closed around his, he pulled her closer to him, before sliding that hand away from her grasp, making a lingering trip up her neck, then resting upon her cheek. Her newly freed hands clutched at his lapels, while her body enthusiastically pressed him even further against the wall. Benedict’s other arm, the one holding the cigarette, snaked around her waist. His pinkie looped a few twice around her silver chain.

With her breath and lips, she put the moon on his tongue. He swallowed it, and it lit up his insides. Feeling her response, he trusted  a celestial body resided in her too. It ignited her bones, and he knew he put it there.

When Benedict nipped at the edge of her mask, intending on removing it with his teeth, his silver mystery was startled out of their trance. She pushed against him, took a few steps back, and readjusted her mask till it sat firmly again across her face. Where he toyed with the chain on her waist left a mark on his hand. Neither of them noticed it.

‘I must go.’ She said quietly. They were pulled back to their existence inside time.

‘What are you doing here?’ He asked, feeling fundamentally altered.

‘Guess.’ Her smile reflected his own melancholy. Then that feeling made room for a blossoming of brewing mischief.

He did not answer. Not with words, anyway.

He gave her back his cigarette. A challenge. An inquiry. 

Show me.

He was damn excited to see what she would do.

‘Thank you’, she whispered, so softly Benedict could not make out her voice. Then the twilight nymph, one of the many names he would later refer to the stranger, retreated back a few steps and revealed briefly to Benedict the strange, elegant mechanism attached to her left wrist. She took one last drag of the cigarette, reigniting the dim glow, then inserted it into the mechanism.

Then, she almost levitated up the walls of Mayfair Auction House, tiptoeing from balcony to balcony like a sparrow. Aiming her arm with what Benedict just then realised was a kind of small, personalised crossbow, at an open window on the third floor, she shot the cigarette into the room. Then elegantly, she landed back on their feet, gave Benedict a little bow, and ran away.

Just as he started to take off after her, the explosion that came almost immediately halted him.

Reeling from the shock, Benedict lost track of his target in the smoke and the commotion. Furthermore, he was waylaid by the spectacle of the stranger’s handiwork. Sparks of gold and silver lit up the fancy building like a goddamn birthday cake. The air reeked of sulphur. Pediments and balconies fell over each other like flaming dominos. A symphony of confused worries growing steadily into horrified screamings, swelling in and out of the building. He could make out the desperate, ineffective authority of the director, ordering his employees to protect the auctioned lots.

It was fucking magnificent.

Yet just as swiftly, the Metropolitan Police rolled to the scene. From his vantage point, Benedict watched them making quick work of disbanding the gathering crowd of peasants. The vision of the Auction House’s door getting knocked down was not unlike the collapse of the Gates of Hell. Dust and smoke flared. An ash-covered entanglement of limbs, screams and chaos clawed its way out. Glamorous nobles, horror-stricken, losing all their dignity, climbing over each other to escape.

The police’s efforts to escort the guests to safety were met with earnest cooporation. All one could feel was relief. No one bothered questioning why only half of the servants assigned to work there that day made it out of the building.  

The auctioned pieces were carried into the police wagon in an orderly manner, before substantial fire damages could get to them. The process was further assisted by the director’s and his esteemed visitors’ hefty vocal demands and to some degree, warnings of the value of the item, how the lifelong servitude of the person carrying it would be inadequate compensation.

For once, to his dismay, their city’s police proved to be annoyingly competent. Even their unreliability is unreliable. Benedict thought irritably. Left on his own and out of sight, he made a surreptitious scan of the area, searching and then erasing any sort of trails that might lead to his darling firestarter, his fun was thought spoiled.

Until thirty minutes later, a second group of police arrived to assess the situation and attempt rescue, having been waylaid by an angry, drunken scuffle and then a swarm of curious civilians. They were struck dumb to discover the group of perfectly alive, albeit shaken and soot-covered Lords, Ladies and wealthy Misters outside the building. Their assistance was apparently not needed. The auctioned properties were reported by the house director, to be on their way to the station with the first responders.

‘We are the first responders.’ The constable said, growing more alarmed by the syllables. The Auction House’s director processed this knowledge, he turned white, then red, then white again, slowly understanding that the valiant officers, who had bravely and generously rescued his valuable collections, were none other than the thieves themselves. Benedict watched the man growing ill many times over in seconds with immense, yet hidden, amusement.

For his part, Benedict remained charming, confused and absolutely useless during his interview with the real  police. Only after he returned to the safety of his apartments, that he allowed himself to break into a smirk, which grew into a wide grin, then hysterical, uncontrollable laughter.

‘Oh, you brilliant creature.’ He was wheezing. ‘That was good.’

Benedict Bridgerton was completely, utterly, smitten.

I will find you. He swore to himself, determined to unmask his silver siren.

[fablepaint]

First off, congratulations on your help with Lackadaisy!✨️✨️✨️

Second, I've been practicing with the Lackadaisy style using nothing but traditional art (paper and colored pencils), and I'm nervous about using digital art for the first time😓

I've been procrastinating with practicing digital art for years, and now I'm ready to get started!✨️✨️✨️

Got any helpful tips or advice for drawing Lackadaisy characters with digital art?🤔

Also, I have ADHD and I'm Autistic so trying new things takes time with me😅

Well the nice thing about ADHD and Autism is when you get into something, you get REALLY into something. So if you are able to build a routine that allows you the freedom to explore the medium you want to jump into, then you'll steamroll ahead. If you're finding it hard to kick off that fixation so you can focus easier, try to pair it up with an existing fixation. Are you into every kind of horse? Okay then, draw an example of every warmblood, coldblood, and hotblood you can think of. Every pony, every donkey, every mule. Find some good photos and go to town. Piggy-backing off my existing fixations is how I can chain together a lot of information that I would otherwise struggle to absorb and recall fully.

As for helpful tips, you're already doing it. I think starting with traditional materials is a good way to build up good art habits without the convenience of infinite colors and the undo button. You'll make quicker decisions and be a little less precious about mistakes. Cuz you have to live with them IRL, so might as well keep going even if the work didn't turn out great. Maybe you'll learn something along the way?

A second tip, more specific to Lackadaisy, is breaking characters down into simpler shapes and seeing if you can build them back up again. Feel free to trace them to turn them into mannequins. Then, knowing the proportions of those mannequins, can you draw them doing other things?

And research. Tracy deep-dives into historical stuff like clothing, hairdos, jobs, jewelry, etc. If you immerse yourself in something you find interesting, you'll see it cropping up in your work occasionally. Look into art deco and art nouveau, two schools of design thought that have a thread running between them that goes solidly through the 1920s. Consider how that design philosophy might get integrated into clothing or furniture.

Other than that, digital specific? There's isn't much, just have fun with what program feels good to use. Don't go too nuts on color (you have a million colors, but a million colors does not a good painting make) and make sure the ergonomics of your digital art situation doesn't hurt you longterm. Take breaks for your hands and stretch. It's more strenuous than traditional. Maybe it's the lack of physical feedback or the way we tend to curl around our devices. Not sure, but I find it more draining than trad work.

[kaycode1999]

hi! i was wondering if i could get male lmk matchup?

please don't ship me with mk, sandy, tang and pigsy because i see them only in platonic way<3

ᓚᘏᗢ general info:

/ 19 / she/her / enfp / 7w8 / leo /

𓆈appearance𓆈

𓆈 i'm tall, taller than most of my friends → i'm 6'2. my figure is hourglass shaped, something like models in 50s/60s fashion magezines, i think. i have shaggy golden blonde thick curls, my hair is long so i usually tie it up in two buns and two braids (like goldilocks from puss in boots: the last wish). my eyes are amber. i have skinny hands with long fingers

𓆈 my clothing style is mix of whimsigoth, cryptidcore and grandmacore. i really like unusual jewelry → weird shaped rings, earrings, brooches (i especially love the insect shaped and art nouveau ones)

𓆣personality𓆣

𓆣 i'm positive and upbeat person, i try to see the bright side in most situations. i'm friendly, cheerful and bubbly. i'm full of energy and i can be a bit chaotic, but i try to be as responsible as possible, i want people to feel that they can rely on me

𓆣 i'm really confident and i'm not afraid to express myself

𓆣 i care about my friends and family a lot, and go out of my way to show it. i love making people smile

𓆣 i'm super kind person, but won't take any nonsense

𓆣 i have morbid, dark sense of humor. sometimes i randomly say a weird obscure fact in the middle of conversation

𓆣 i'm kinda struggling with taking rest, doing nothing, because there is always something to do, something new to learn, etc. → i'm afraid of stagnation. i overwork myself a lot

𓆣 can't think of anything that i don't like, guess i'm so fixated on my hobbies and passions, i don't pay any attention to other things

𓃹 my hobbies 𓃹

𓃹 dancing and performing. i'm ballet dancer since i was a kid. i also try my skills as figure skater

𓃹 sewing and knitting. i sew most of my clothes and i made for myself tons of sweaters, with most silly patterns like characters from old cartoons, for example "wilk i zając" or "krecik"

𓃹 playing on instruments. i can play on violin, cello, piano, guitar, saxophone, harp and drums, i'm currently learning how to play on trumpet

𓃹 learning. about world and universe or learning new skills. i'm deeply fascinated by space and oceans, they're still unknown to humanity, learning about them makes me sigh in wonder and admiration. i also love nature, i could spend days wandering in forests, observing and learning about animals, insects, plants

𓃹 doll making. i love making dolls, puppets, marionettes. wooden, porcelain, rag, basically every type. i organize puppet theaters, sometimes i give my works as gifts to my loved ones

𓃹 art, any kind of art actually. i like to learn about artists and their work, and i like to try different types of art. sculpting, painting, ceramics, photography, filmmaking, i adore them all. i work as illustrator for fantasy books and books for kids (and honestly this job is dream come true for me!)

𓃹 gardening and herbalism. i work on in garden a lot, i grow flowers, vegetables and herbs. i know herbal medicine, i make my own infusions and tinctures

𓃹 cooking and baking. i learn new recipes whenever i have the opportunity. my favorite things to bake are bread and cookies. i also pick mushrooms, dry them or pickle them

sorry if it's too long or chaotic

thank you so much for even reading this!

I match you with

Monkey King- AKA Sun Wukong- AKA The great Sage equal to heaven

I’m pretty sure he's a little taller than you so your height works out well, and he just thinks you're the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen

He really likes your jewelry, like a lot. Almost like a bird with shiny objects, your jewelry just fascinates him

He loves and admires your confidence. He finds it inspiring

Your kindness is one of the reasons he adores you

He appreciates your expressiveness and he needs someone who isn't afraid to tell him when or if he does something that upsets you

Your sense of humor was a surprise, but honestly he finds it so funny. Also he enjoys any facts you have

He helps you take things more easy so you don't overwork yourself as much, and you get him more interested in learning and doing things

If you're dancing or just performing in general he's completely entranced with the most heart eyes look on his face

If you make anything for him, be it some kind of clothing or a doll he will treasure it forever

He's an immortal being so he will make special trips into outer space or into the ocean to bring you some special souvenirs like a piece of space debris or pictures of a deep sea creature

The monkies and the other animals that live on mountain all love you being around

He actually loves helping you with your gardening and herbalism. You have 2 beautiful gardens near his house and the monkies all make sure not to mess with them

While he loves anything peach-flavored, he's just generally a foodie so he loves anything you make him

P.S. I'm sorry this took a minute. I've had a rough couple of days but fingers crossed things are looking up👍🏻

[omgthatdress]

Samantha absolutely got the WORST BeForever dress. I mean okay Felicity’s dress probably wins for the ugliest, but at least there it at least looked like they were TRYING to be accurate.

Looking at Samantha’s newer outfits and BeForever line.... goddamn is it PINK. Granted, pink was a popular color in the 1900s, but not THAT popular. And somehow this very modern looking party dress is supposed to be an every day Edwardian girl’s dress? Just.... no. Fucking no.

Look, I get the urge to go pink. And the good news is that in this era, you can go pink! but this..... ugh it just completely disregards the pigeon breast  and dropped waist silhouette and goes for lacy and ruffly. I know Samantha can be a little reckless with her nice clothes, but going bicycling and climbing trees in THAT? No. No. No.

Why does she have a headband? I think they’re going for the art nouveau thing but NO. A proper young Edwardian lady going out about her day must have a hat! Ugh this is such an atrocious mess. You can go pink, but do it like this:

(Abiti Antichi)

You can even do a pink party dress, but do it like this:

Ugh the worst part is they abridged her books into just two (which all the girls got, literally fucking diminishing the brand) and they took Eddie Ryland out completely! That is fucking criminal! I know I said previously that both Annabelle and Harriet were THE WORST, but Eddie Ryland somehow managed to be even worse than both of them. I mean, look at this little ginger fucking gremlin:

He was born to antagonize girls and would be an incel today. And the worst fucking thing about him is you just fucking KNOW he grew up to be a senator who said that the New Deal was socialism and that Hitler was nothing to worry about. OF COURSE HE FUCKING DID. Brett Kavanaugh lookin ass. How are girls supposed to learn what misogyny is if they don’t have Eddie Ryland there to embody it?!

Ugh Samantha Mattel did you so dirty I am sorry.

[snek-panini]

At long last, I have a new book to share! Feels like forever since the last one. This is Vita Nova, a fantastic Good Omens fic by @philoomenaa that I asked to bind way back in October. It took me a while to get here and I learned several new techniques for this bind but it was so very worth the wait. It's an excellent pre-season 2 story from 2019-2020, involving the fandom's favorites dealing with an unexpected bout of both humanity and memory loss. It's just...really really good and I love it.

More photos and process talk under the cut! There are a lot of details to see with this one.

One of the things I learned for this bind was homemade book cloth. I used the heat n bond method and had pretty good results with this satiny bronze cloth that I found in the Joann's remnant bin. The making of the cloth was fairly straightforward but it handles very differently to regular book cloth. The satin is really slippery and absolutely would not hold a crease at the hinge. I think it also shrank a little at the gluing stage? Which sounds weird but I left my usual amount of space for the corner turn-ins but still had teeny tiny gaps on three of the corners, which has never happened to me before. I also had an issue with glue seepage when I applied HTV to the cover and spine. You can see this in the images above, and here in the spine photos:

Part of the reason it has that fancy art nouveau frame on the cover is an attempt to hide this. I think it's the heat press re-activating the heat n bond to cause it. I found out two things here: that fabric requires less press time than book cloth or cardstock, and that if you move the heat press slowly but constantly like an iron it is way less likely to do this. I was super disappointed that it happened but now, a few days later, it doesn't seems so bad. I guess some items just come with a little personal history already baked in.

Here, have some more glamour shots:

The geometric endpapers were chosen specifically to go with this cloth. I found them at the same craft store and knew I had use them together, they look so incredible. And I learned edge gilding for this project! It was very annoying. The final result here is with heat transfer foil, and I did about six tests on scrap text blocks before I got a result I was at all satisfied with. I tried rub n buff (great coverage, not shiny enough, kept coming off on my fingers even after curing for 2 days) and an actual gilding kit (flaked off as soon as I separated the pages). The heat foil still has some patchy spots but was by far the best-looking result. I also learned double-core end bands for this project! Because I wanted some kind of match for those opulent endpapers and didn't want to settle for just two colors. I think they came out pretty well for a first try and I'll definitely be doing them again.

Couple of photos of the ribbon I chose for the bookmark. It's probably a little too wide for a book this length; you can see in the end band photo that I had to fold it in half to get it to lay in the spine properly. But it looks so good with the other design elements that I couldn't resist. Luxury all the way on this one.

Speaking of luxury, have a look at the interior:

From left to right, we have the title page, the ornament I chose for the chapter numbers, and the scene break divider. All the images came from rawpixel with just the lightest amount of editing from me. The chapter image is the same as the star on the title page, but I made it gray and took out the center to turn it into a frame for the numbers. The cloth and endpapers really set the tone for this one all the way through, and all the other design choices followed from there. It's really gorgeous, guys. I love it so much.

And that's it! That was the last work in progress I had from 2023, and I'm so pleased to have finally finished it. Hope you like it, AMidnightDreary!

[carpeossa]

If anyone one was wondering were I’ve been with original content, I was at a very remote corner of internet archive trying to learn more about art nouveau and how to draw it.

And look at my test run! She looks so majestic! I can’t wait start on other art nouveau inspired projects.

Also, for my POTO and SOTL followers, more content is on the way, just with a new twist.

If you’re interested in this piece or any of my other art check out my RedBubble or TeePublic site.

[motherhenslittlespace]

Hello! So…I’ve been gone a while. I lost interest in trying to regress or being a cg and I wasn’t much help to myself or others. I will try and get to my askbox soon. I’m sorry for my absence. I’ve just had a lot of anxiety, social and general. Since I’m back, I’ll start this off with a discussion. What’s your underrated comfort movie? Mine is Dilili in Paris. I’ll say that the character design and voice acting is….mid at best. I love it because Dilili is a lot like me when I’m little and I feel that there is a lot of culture in the movie! There’s a lot to learn about from the movie and the bright colors and music is so cool! I also have a love for Art Nouveau lol currently watching with a bowl of soup and a cup of tea.