#water wax pastel

[build-a-stim]

pink fluff pawlette (2024) with cute pink and cherry blossom stims for anon

X | X | X || X | X | X || X | X | X

[bluecapsicum]

[cutiepieautistic]

Dratini (pokemon) stimboard

×/×/× ×/× ×/×/×

[gmanmedias]

GIVE YOUR IMMORTALITY TO ME

📖 📖 📖

🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️

🖌️ 🖌️ 🖌️

Pastel blue and pink mermaid that is a historian for anon!

[prismatic-skies]

[soupskull]

happy to report that the thrill of a new box of crayons does not diminish with age :)

[chaotictomtom]

slowly getting back to drawing Humans™ and the need to draw succession related shit with the new season coming is also coming back wahoo

[artfromartlexamarshall]

Greetings,

more from my sketchbook. It's a sleeping squirrel. I worked with water soluble color wax pastels on paper that I don't really like. BUT the sketchbook is almost full 😅 Bless.

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[acaaai-t]

and it was all yellow.

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of cheating, breakups, reader likes yellow

“Let’s live together when we get married! Oh oh, and we can get cat too,” you exclaimed. “Or a dog, if you prefer.”

“No kids?” a smile tugged at the corner of his lips at your bubbling excitement.

Your nose scrunched up at the mere thought of having children. “No, no kids,” you said, shaking your head.

Scaramouche laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling up as he looked at you, eyes filled with just pure adoration and love for you.

“Our bedroom can be painted.. hmm..”

“What about yellow?” Scaramouche suggested. “It’s is your favorite color after all.”

You clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Ooh yes! Great idea. Let’s go look at furnitures, please?”

“I still think you’re thinking too far ahead,” he mumbled, yet nevertheless, he took your hand and guided you out the living room.

“It’s never too late to start planning,” you said, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his lips.

…

“Mmm, no. Too… blue.”

“How about this one?” the sales lady gestured to a simple pastel couch placed upon a soft plush carpet. “This one just came in, part of out newest collection of furniture.”

You looked at Scaramouche, who had an unpleasant expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be a fan of the colors—nor the shape of the furniture itself. You turned back to the sales assistant and gently shook your head.

She looked slightly disappointed at your rejection, but she quickly led you to another set of kitchen setups, all the while explaining the benefits provided and how nice it looks. You ran a finger over the waxed surface of the wooden dining table. A cloth of yellow and white checkered pattern lay over the center of the table, a vase of yellow daffodils sitting atop of it.

Yellow.

For as long as you can remember, it’d always been your favorite color. You’ve taken quite the liking to sunflowers recently, and coincidentally enough, they were a beautiful shade of yellow too. Scaramouche knew—he somehow always knew—and made sure to surprise you with bouquets of fresh flowers every once in a while, the giant sunflower being the centerpiece.

Scaramouche knew you, inside and out. The good and the bad. He’s seen through with you through your worst and your best. He knows exactly how to cheer you up when you’re feeling down, via a long cuddle session; how you like your coffee, always black with a splash of vanilla creamer; the people you love and hate; that you adore the color yellow.

Never was there a day where Scaramouche would hear himself say that yellow was lovely color. For some odd reason, ever since he was a young child, he’d always hated yellow. But after meeting you, it’s as if yellow had been completely painted in a new light. Everything yellow he saw, he saw you in it. Splashed across the sunset, blooming in a field under the stars—you. You were always there.

“Do you like it?” Scaramouche asked.

You met his eyes and smiled. “Yeah.”

…

“Yeah, its… true.”

You said nothing.

Scaramouche shifted uncomfortably in his seat at your silence. You kept your eyes trained on the nearly dead daffodil leaning helplessly against its ceramic cage. The petals had begun falling off, you noticed. When had that happened? Just a couple days ago everything was fine. It was healthy and thriving. Happy.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Did he think that such a measly apology was enough to compensate for your broken heart? Nothing Scaramouche did or say could soothe the burning ache that hollowed you from the inside-out. He’d been playing with your emotions for nearly two weeks now. Had it not been Scaramouche slipping up, you would’ve never caught on that he was being intimate with someone else that wasn’t you.

Tears brimmed, the water tension so close to falling. You blinked, and it broke, tears trailing down your cheeks. Does he feel anything seeing you cry? Does he regret his actions? Will he hate himself for what he’s done to you? You gritted your teeth. Even if he begged for you to stay, you won’t waver. It’s his loss.

You sniffled and wiped away your tears. It’s useless. Crying won’t reverse what’s been done. “Whatever,” you muttered, pushing away from the dining table. Your heart aches, but you pushed the pain aside and slowly collected yourself.

The place that you’d once shared with Scaramouche—a place that you once dared called home, was now nothing more than a painful reminder of what once was yours. A place where you’d spent creating countless day and nights painting up a paradise where you’d raise your children with your husband. Everything you’ve done was futile. It’s over.

It was bitter. The process of packing your belongings as Scaramouche remained at the dining table was cruel. Everything you wanted to take only serves as nothing more than a taunt to your now dead relationship. Everything you ever loved you shared with him, and now, you don’t think you’d ever be able to look at them in the same light anymore. Your hands hovered over a pot of crocheted sunflowers sitting above the fireplace. Crestfallen, youfelt your heart twist once more.

In the end, your tiny backpack was only filled with everyday essentials. You swallowed back a cry and dialed a friend as you prepared to leave this god forsaken place.

“Hey Xiao,” your voice was quivering.

Scaramouche stiffened up at the mention of your friend’s name. You didn’t see it however, for your back was turned to him. He wanted to stop you from leaving, to stop you from stepping out the door. But he refrained from doing so. He chewed anxiously at his bottom lips. Don’t leave. Please. He wanted to say. I’m sorry.

Yet he did nothing, only squeezing his eyes shut, listening to the sound of the door slamming shut. When it was finally just him alone in the apartment, he buried his face in the palm of his hands and cried.

The yellow curtains fluttered gently, and the last petal of the daffodil fell.

✩ ·┆ masterlist┆ >> part 2 <<

notes—

— quick life update: haven’t played genshin in a year now, and it’s college application season so i’m going to start stressing; sorry if i disappear again it will keep happening, unfortunately

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[zuccnini]

☆ Shops: Etsy │Ko-fi

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

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

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

Other places to find me:

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

Craft Blog @zuccninis │ Sketch Blog @squashni

Miscellaneous info below (Mediums, Contact, etc):

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Mini Paintings:

Liquitex Acrylic Gouache and Golden SoFlat Acrylics

Mini Canvases (3x3in)

Mini Easels (5in)

Clear Gesso

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

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

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

Other Info:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

Extra-Curricular art:

[18+ Obviously]

nsfw twitter │ NSFW Bluesky

[aweina]

ᰔ. a gift for you : sub-zero. scorpion + smoke.

there was an array of young flowers tucked between the glossy leaves, warm paper lanterns guide you through the maze of flora. there’s water colored butterflies sipping the nectar of your favorite flowers, the scent of honey and earth soothing your nerves. bi-han has gifted you a greenhouse. considering the fact that the lin kuei palace contains lots of open land to train on — it was fitting to add something less grueling and tense. he directly thought about you, encased with delicate, floral pieces as you beam at the variations of flowers and other greenery you always mentioned during your afternoon walks. it started off with short nods, listening intently to your frantic words with amusement. then he’d silently gift you engraved pots filled with young flowers and all the needed tools to build a lively collection of plants. that didn’t seem enough. the grandmaster always had urges for something more, something greater, that he also applied it to you or rather, your fondness over flowers. since the freezing climate wasn’t so fitting for sun enriched plants, constructing a greenhouse would be fitting and also, fulfilling for him to do in secret. it was hard work to pull it off. there were times you nearly spotted it in the middle of its development and your suspicion towards bi-han’s sudden interest in flora made him sweat icicles, but it was all worth seeing your radiant smile in the end. for now on, he’ll find you within the maze of bustling blossoms — individually nurturing them with love and care and amusingly talking to the clusters of flora like little children. at that the thought of your happiness, he smiled under his mask.

the parchment felt light and airy in your grasp, but much more of them were tied with a silk string — each individually sealed with set red wax, blotches of little lighthearted notes and tea stains smudged along the handcrafted envelopes. they smelt faintly of sweet herbs and dried ink. kuai liang has gifted you a collection of love letters. it all started when he met you, his usual writing was put off for his lin kuei duties, leaving the pens to dry off and the stacks of parchment to pile dust bunnies. then your gentle presence gave him a boost to write small notes in the middle of the night. the adorning look you would give him would make him write paragraphs with such ease, leaving a shade of blotched blue all over his palm. then your contagious laughter and assuring gaze made a mountain of neatly crafted love letters in the corner of his usual tidy room. along the ink read his first impressions of you, the beautiful details that you missed about yourself, lengths of innocent admiration, and millions of confessions about how much he loves you. each letter had little surprises tucked between the pages. a frail cherry blossom petal when you both first trained together. colored origami animals that you spotted during missions. he kept them all as a sign of his love — dedication towards you. watching you carefully unfold himself with gentle hands, he safely locks the image of your big grin and droplets of joyful tears in his memory for another love letter.

the glimmering of delicate light reflected over the bare walls, adding a pretty iridescence on the wallpaper. clashes of soft yellow, with pastel greens and pinks made your skin twinkle under the sun. the silhouette of a dainty butterfly floated through the air. tomas has gifted you a sun catcher. the warm village of fengjian had pockets of small businesses. crowded bookstores, fragile porcelain shops, and fresh produce stands. he didn’t have any personal feelings towards these stores, rather he wanted something more personal — made with his own hands and heart. that’s when he finds a workshop filled with dozens of personal projects, unfinished ceramics and even glass bracelets. then he eyes a mesmerizing piece, a sun catcher. it reminded him how you seem to unintentionally fill every room you’re in with light, how you always impressively shined through the bitter ash of his magic — winning every spar between the two of you. the process of making a sun catcher was meticulous, melting down metal small rods together, inserting colored glass with clear precision but with very nervous hands. tomas finishes off the butterfly piece with a string of patterned beads that he collected when you both visited different villages. a crescent moon dangling at the end to represent him — your opposite, your midnight protector. there’s instant relief when you beamed ever so brightly at your handcrafted gift. he helped you hang it by your window, the glimmer of reflection blinding the both of you for a second. then he sits with you, explaining the meaning of each individual bead and glass — while your smile brightens the whole room.

add. note : the alt title would’ve been ‘if he wanted to he would’, but i’ll refrain from men slander for now (`ー´) …

[mcromwell]

Crayon as a word is not trustworthy. Let me explain.

These are crayons. Right? No one's contesting that. However...

THESE are not called crayons, they're called wax pastels. Even though they behave like and resemble crayons. (I believe 'wax pastel' simply sounds more like a quality art supply than just 'crayon' which is probably why it is this way.)

And it gets worse:

These sticks are called crayons! Sometimes. They're conté crayons, or just conté, and they behave more like compressed chalk than they do a crayon. It's pigment + clay pressed into a stick.

We can blame this on the French, because the French word crayon means pencil. And art supplies are full of French words. Things get confusing.

But not more confusing than this:

These are colored pencils, right? But in French they're called crayon de couleur and some Canadians call them pencil crayons. Then there's these jerks muddying the water even more

So, yeah, the word "crayon" is... A little all over the place in the art supply world

[coco-oats]

Me with my shower steamers, By Nature face serums, pastel pink scrunchies, full body exfoliation, morning stretches, natural wax melts, honey lip scrub, clean bedding, Lush lotion bar, organic foods, claw clips, nighttime camomile tea, peppermint halo essential oil roller, rose jam products, and rose water facials :

[de-mykel]

Joan Mitchell. Untitled, 1985.

water-soluble wax crayon, pastel + wash on paper

[prismatic-skies]