#you don't wanna know how much they spent on framing this garbage it will make you so sad trust me

[vanivenivici]

Hang on I gotta rant real quick:

I am SICK of ai techbros (and techbros in general) trying to worm their way into industries that they know nothing about.

They've already tried infiltrating Art Spaces (what they do is not art, it is theft); but now there's a handful of them printing and selling their images, so they're telling these gullible idiots how to properly handle and frame the "artwork" like they're professionals.

They know nothing about art. They know nothing about framing. They are yelling at the people they scammed through a youtube video about mounting their cotton (and then varnished??) paper onto aluminum composite that they refer to by its brand name. [Probably because they own stock in the company but that's merely conjecture.]

They say things like "you have to do it this way!!" when 1) again, they know jack shit about framing, never mind conservation or archival framing; 2) they say it with that haughty, grifter's tone like they know what they're talking about; 3) the stupid fools who fall for it also have no idea what they're talking about, but they've fallen for the scam, so if a professional gives them any conflicting advice they lose their shit; and 4) THE PRINT IS WORTHLESS YOU IDIOTS. Why are you taking framing advice from someone who didn't even study art or photography, let alone someone who doesn't have a Framer's Certification??

They're so busy following trends that they don't think! (It has to be mounted on metal?? WHAT.) This includes the poor saps who fall for this bullshit and actually spend real money on a print of an ai generated image oh my god we've really reached this point....

And even if the print is worthless they keep hyping it up like it's priceless or will be so oh boy you'd better frame it properly so it doesn't depreciate in value! BUT GODDAMN METAL IS NON-ARCHIVAL. FUCK.

[Sidenote: the customers that brought in this piece were two of the most unpleasant, exhausting, rude, and self-important chucklefucks I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. Jesus Christ. You're not smart because you watched some rando speak with purpose in a youtube video. I literally get paid to do this.]

[fainthedcherry]

2024 Human Art VS 2019 Human Art !!!!!

AS PROMISED, HERE'S A POST WITH SOME NEW ART!!!

And also an art comparison, just to see, how much I improved in drawing the 2 bois <3

I'm MEGA tired despite having slept after work, but I WON'T let that deter me from writing a description!! YAPNADO AHEAD;

FINN AND MARCOOO. FINNANMARCO. BEEN A WHILE SINCE I'VE ACOUSTICALLY AND FERALLY YELLED ABOUT MY 2 FICTIONAL MEN WHOM ARE CLOSE TO MY HEART.

I'm SO glad, that in the new drawing, Marco finally looks like the twink he always was, but still enough meat on the bones to look NORMAL lmao, can't say that about the 4 other sketches of me trying to redraw this ref for years. xD (why yes, his wings took forever, why do you ask? /lh)

I'M MEGA SUPER DUPER GLAD, that Finn FINALLY looks like a chubby, wild bastard TOO, OH TOOTHPASTE MAN, HOW MANY HEARTACHES YOU GAVE ME OVER STRUGGLING TO DRAW AN ENDOMORPHIC BODY TYPE. BUT I CAN NOWWWWWWWwwww!!!!!

God this habit of loudly reading out my posts as I type them made me realise what a bad Schwarzenegger impression I do on accident bc I'm overly excited to post something after a month of silence SDKFSKLDG

ONE THING I ALWAYS WANTED TO DO. IS PUT EVERY DETAIL I NEEDED ON A BIG REF. SO I DID! I've drawn closeups of the boys's eyes, I've drawn Finn's tongue so that I don't need to constantly remind myself what his blush and flesh colours were sdfkldsgkl, I FINALLY denoted their heights, so people know that they're tall TALL dudes (and that Finn obviously will struggle w/ his lanky mfing legs, we LOVE giving a middle-aged man heart attacks once he reaches his 40's!!!)

ANNDDD ALSO SOME SIDE VIEWS OF THEM. The last side-view I had of F & M, looked REAL bad. Like, Marco's face looked WAY too stereotypically European (to my fault bc surprise surprise not many African people live in Europe so I had poor frame of reference but I've been fixing it via looking up images online instead, at least it helps but yeah, I have a hard time so far unfortunately💀), Finn's was just... B u c k e t. NOT LIKE HANDSOME BUCKET. BUT JUST BUCKET. IT NEEDED FIXING (fun fact I accidentally made Finn have the most attractive jaw shape for men according to beauty standards and I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I JUST WANTED THIS MAN TO LOOK S Q U A R E AND THAT'S IT, MINECRAFT STEVE HAS MORE RIZZ THAN MOST MEN OFFICIALLY).

OH YEAH ALSO A CLAW REF AGAIN FOR FINN!!! His old ref looks too cool for me to give up on it tbh even as dated as it is sfjklsdglk, BUT I felt like I needed to redraw them properly.

FUNNILY ENOUGH A PERSON I COMMISSIONED SAID I HAVE SOME REALLY CLEAN AND NICE LINEART. I wish I heard that 5 years ago when I was really insecure about my bad lineart skills xD, I don't use lineart anymore nowadays outside of reference-drawings like these I don't plan to redraw in the next years unless necessary soooo yeah! They're gonna appear much rarer unless I go off and about making more ref sheets of all of my Sonc OC's sfklsdgsdfksdg

This drawing took 5 days to make btw. Not the hours spent on this LOL. 5 days of my life I'll never get back tho bc I care too much about my babies and I feel they deserve proper refs sdfklsdglk

WHAT ELSE SHOULD I MENTION.....HOPEFULLY I PLAN TO DRAW MORE HUMAN REFS IN THE FUTURE INSTEAD OF STAY IN MY COMFORT ZONE OF SONIC OCS ONLY. I for years wasn't confident in my ability to draw humans, but I can do so NOW at least!!!!!!!!!! Even if I'm like...3 years too late to how I wish my art looked back then already dsklfdsg, I have some high standards I need to continue to knock down as my 2024 resolution sdfklsdg

^IT'S BEEN WORKING THOUGH AS YOU CAN TELL BC I'VE BEEN UPLOADING SOME BAD DOODLES AND SKETCHES, BEEN DRAWING MORE GARBAGE AND BECAME MORE INVOLVED IN MY BELOVED FANDOMS. I wanna continue doing so! It was the most fun I've had with art ever. I hope to properly meet more fandoms I left in the past bc I thought it'd be embarrassing to share my passion for a franchise back then. I EMBRACE THE CRINGE NOW AS AN ADULT AT LEAST EVEN IF 7 YEARS TOO LATE ON THAT FRONT TOO. We all age and mature ig but I just become more silly year by year,,, c:

Oh yeah if you also see this btw lemme know, whether the new watermark tiles are subtle enough to not be noticed!!!! I know, watermarks are annoying and nobody likes them, but ever since AI invasions, I REFUSE to put my work online without ANY form of proof that somebody took it from my page. I just want people to stop lying on the internet for cloud and pick up a pencil. It's not that hard smfh. The only time I could excuse AI art is w/ amputees man. That's the only time I could empathise with someone, who wants to be an artist but LITERALLY can't bc they got dealt a bad hand in life. I digress my AI hate can be rambled about some other day, I know I love yapping and writing essays about THAT topic for sure sfklsdklg

I chose to post this ref to my Tumblr first tho, bc I still wanna work on my drawing of Abbacchio,,,, he is quite dear to me and I'd love to put effort into a doodle of him that won't take too long. Like 4 hours or 5 hours tops. I still have yet to figure out, if his cute star shape on his head is a hat or part of his hair. Bc I CAN'T TELL TBH AND I'VE BEEN DRAWING IT AS PART OF HIS HAIR PATTERN BUT I THINK IT'S A HAT NOW EVER SINCE I LOOKED AT MORE ASBR CAPS OF HIM I TOOK FOR REFERENCES. xD

Also another side-note, but I've ofc reduced down the lankiness of the dudes I draw™, but I in result wanted to sliiightly make larger feet/hands bc my Sonic phase will continue to possess me 'til the end of time /hj, if you also wanna lemme know what you think on that, bls do! I am messing about with stylization still. I am finding my footing with stylizing humans sOOO yeah!!!! I hope to some day be satisfied with my artstyle change of '24! So far it's been really rewarding and eye-opening to me and my journey as an artist for my 7 years of existing on the 'net w/ my silly goobers I like to scream about to in the void <3

Once again, tagnado also incoming below bc I dunno how to properly tag my art so lemme throw in things I THINK are relevant to this post sdkldsgkl

See you hopefully tomorrow w/ a lil doodle dump if I get around to it!!!! : D

[gardenerian]

hi hi! i hope you’re doing well <3 it’s so lovely to see you be so uplifting and positive to everyone on here it truly feels like a safe space from all the negativity that you can sometimes stumble on to on this app <33

i also enjoy reading everything you write sm the garden fic was such a treat!! if you’re still taking prompts i’d love to see anything about these pictures 😭❤️❤️. maybe the boys reminiscing about the past/how long they’ve been together, the fact that they’re each other’s first loves (!!) etc etc? 💗💗💗💗

hey there kre! you are so sweet, i’m glad my goofy little blog makes you smile! and thank you so much for sending this prompt! i put a bit of a spin on it... hope you like 💕

Mickey’s lounging on the couch, blissed out from an afternoon spent playing xbox and eating pizza rolls while Ian worked on the Gallagher house with Lip. Sleep is just about to pull him under when -

Ian chooses this moment to burst through the door, struggling over the threshold with a comically large box. Mickey sits up, rubbing the would-be sleep from his eyes and smirking as he watches Ian maneuver it into the apartment.

"No, don't get up, Mick," he calls sarcastically, "I got it. Didn't struggle to get this up here at all."

"You made it this far and all," Mickey teases. "Didn't wanna deprive you of your victory lap."

"You're - so generous," Ian pants, dropping the box unceremoniously on the floor and throwing himself on the couch beside Mickey. He tosses an arm over his face like he's just flopped over on a fainting sofa.

"Are you not going to tell me what's in this giant fuckin' box?"

"Shit from the house," Ian explains, voice muffled by his arm. "Lip packed up what no one else wanted, I thought we'd take a look."

"Oh great, I'll be sure to thank Lip for all the trash he saved for us."

Ian just chuckles and hauls himself upright, pulling the box closer and popping it open. Together they poke around in the remains of a life in the Gallagher house.

A hand mixer with only one beater.

A bag of aquarium rocks.

Old textbooks, passed down from sister to brother and onward.

And stacked between them: a photo album, thin and worn. Ian frowns as he picks it up.

"I don't recognize this," he says, laying it in his lap and running his fingers over the cover. He opens it gently and gasps at the first photo that greets him.

Mickey never met her, never got more than a glimpse of her as she tore through the neighborhood, but he knows Monica Gallagher by the crinkles of her face as she smiles up at him.

She beams at the camera, holding a baby in her arms - and Mickey knows without reading the notes scribbled underneath that it's Ian.

"Wow," Ian breathes, tracing Monica's face with his fingers. Mickey reaches a hand forward, lightly touching baby Ian's head. There he is.

There are only a few photos in the album - mostly combinations of Lip and Fiona holding Ian. They don't look at the camera; their gazes remain firmly on Ian.

There aren't any photos after this day. The shine must have worn off on the domestic bliss after that.

"No one wanted to keep this?" Mickey asks, suddenly sad that Lip had tossed these moments in a box of garbage. Ian's first day alive.

"They probably didn't see it," Ian guesses. "Family photos are few and far between. You know how it is. Not like now, where we all have hundreds of Franny or Fred pictures on our phones."

Mickey does know how it is.

Did anyone capture his first day in the world? He tries to conjure images of Iggy's chubby fingers reaching to hold him, of his mother smiling down at him. Birthday parties, first days of school. Did his first steps go unnoticed? Did anyone clap?

"I don't remember anyone even taking my picture until -"

Until Ian.

He thinks his mother must have, at least in those early days, maybe on some disposable camera. Maybe he just wants to think that. And if she did, that was all. They never made it to a frame. He never saw his younger self grinning down at him from the mantel.

But with Ian, he remembers.

During that summer before everything went to shit, he remembers Ian watching him. Then he'd surreptitiously hold up his phone, trying to snap candids of Mickey as they roamed around the neighborhood, drank beers at the dugouts, or lounged at the Milkovich house.

Mickey noticed him every time, but chose to let Ian have it. Chose to let himself be watched and seen. Sometimes he acquiesced to a fucking selfie, screwing up his face and pressing in close to Ian.

Those photos are mostly gone now, another victim of those lost years. There weren't any real photos of them together until they'd left prison. Ten years of history, existing only in the minds of those who lived it.

"I wish there were more," Ian says a little sadly. "Pictures of you. Of us. As kids."

"They'd be shitty, man," Mickey tries to joke. It comes out flat and bitter. "We'd have black eyes and dirty fuckin' faces in most of them. Don't need pictures of that."

"What do you think our photo album would have been," Ian asks, "if we'd grown up in a normal place? With normal parents?"

"I dunno," Mickey answers. He doesn't really like to think this way: what's done is done. But he indulges Ian a little. "Prom photos?"

"You never would have gone to prom," he laughs. "Parties, though. We would have gone to parties together. Costume parties, maybe?"

"Pool parties, eh? Fuckin' tailgates, or those lame high school house parties? With the red cups and shit."

"Graduation parties."

"Yeah, maybe."

"We would have had a lot of fun," Ian sighs.

"We did have a lot fun."

Ian leans over and kisses him swiftly, soundly.

"You're right," he says, still hovering by Mickey's lips. "I do wish I had pictures of us. Young, silly - safe. But I'm glad things are how they are."

"Yeah?" He leans in for another kiss, then pulls Ian into his side.

"Yeah," Ian tells him. "I don't need the pictures. I remember it. The Kash and Grab, the bleachers. I remember all of it."

Mickey hums happily, warmth spreading to his toes. "Me, too."

They're quiet for a moment, until:

"We have wedding photos," Ian says, clearly on the cusp of a very earnest train of thought.

"We do," Mickey agrees.

"That's - that's really special, Mick. And it's kinda the start, right? We have family photos now. We could start making albums of our own."

"You wanna stuff a bunch of photos in a book you'll probably never look at again?"

"Fine," Ian relents, "but we should start framing some, hang them up."

Mickey stills for a moment, considering. Photos of him, his life, on the walls of his home. The permanence of it settles warmly in his belly.

"Yeah," he says, kissing the top of Ian's head. "We should."

[noctuascion]

Don't think I've sent you a prompt yet. So here ya go. Possible fluff prompt: Crypto gets sick and Mirage has to look after him.

Ahh, the good ol' sick fic, my favorite. Ty for your ask!! I'll do my best!!! ✨

---

Mornings were always particularly hard for Park. The night prior was either spent restlessly looking through files on his computer, or he was struggling to remain asleep due to constant nightmares or insomnia. Sleeping was something that merely evaded him, and he was thankful the cameras never zoomed in too much, otherwise they'd see just how fatigued he usually was during games, even if he still managed to pull his weight, if not just by a sliver.

Mornings were spent sleeping in until he couldn't stay in bed any longer. Breakfast was either skipped entirely or the bare minimum—toast and coffee—and all of his other meals were relatively spotty as well. He sometimes forgot lunch entirely, and, if it wasn't for Makoa politely asking him to join them for dinner, he'd probably forget that, too.

He ate very little, unconsciously trying to conserve his food, a habit likely picked up from his days with Mystik at the orphanage. His preference for junk food and takeout didn't provide for a healthy diet either, hence why he could admit he was a bit on the skinny side.

Coupling that with his horrible sleep schedule could likely provide an explanation as to why he woke up one morning feeling uncomfortably warm, head aching something terrible, throat sore, congestion in his nostrils, and limbs weak, a feeling of fragility he despised. He hadn't been feeling the best these past few days, but he had just assumed it was just a lack in sleep.

The hacker groaned when he tried moving, the action upsetting the headache he was currently nursing, before looking to the clock beside his bed. It read six thirty-seven, which meant he was up way earlier than he normally was. The other Legends tended to tackle the day before the sun was at the zenith of its arch, but Park preferred sleeping in, especially on days off.

However, with how horrid he currently felt, like he was overheating in his blankets, he couldn't see himself doing much else besides laying in bed, more miserable than he usually was.

That is until he heard a knock on his door, a rhythmic seven taps that indicated only one person.

"Rise and shine, butterscotch!" came Elliott's voice, providing yet another ridiculous appellation assigned to his person. "You said we could go see that cool fireworks show later, and I thought: why not get there and enjoy the festival for a bit?"

Oh, he had completely forgotten about the supposed "festival" being hosted by Hammond Robotics, some ridiculous, over-the-top celebration about nothing Park could bring himself to care about. He had said he didn't want to go, but Elliott had nearly begged him to go—and he agreed, though he didn't want to be around people for too long. His boyfriend understood his introverted tendencies to a degree, but Park knew there were still aspects he was oblivious to—much like how Park was completely oblivious to any and all aspects of Elliott's extroverted personality.

When no answer was had, Elliott opened the door with the spare key provided, something Park entrusted him with for situations just like these. Sunshine incarnate stepped inaide the surveillance expert's gloomy abode, donning that fond smile and gentle eyes. If Park didn't feel like absolute garbage, he'd happily welcome the other into his room with a hug and a kiss—if he was feeling confident enough, that is.

"Hey, you wanna get up anytime soon?" he asked gently, nothing condescending or belittling in his tone. He sat down on Park's bed, the mattress dipping with the added weight, and cringed upon seeing his boyfriend. "Wow, you look like shit—worse than usual—n-not like you're ugly or bad looking—it's just that you don't sleep much and—"

"I'm sick…" Park managed, immediately regretting it when he heard just how congested he sounded, how his throat burned at uttering just two simple words.

"Y-Yeah, I can tell."

Elliott's too warm hand came to rest on Park's forehead, the back of his hand pressing delicately against heated skin. He already felt like he could snap in half—he didn't need Elliott treating him like he would.

However, Park couldn't find it in himself to be angry—not when Elliott was shining those puppy-like eyes at him, concern painting his handsome features. Frankly, he felt bad for making him worry, but it wasn't exactly something he could stop.

"My poor shortcake. You got hit hard, huh?" the trickster whispered, likely taking into account Park's possible headache, his hand sliding along heated skin to gently cup the other's cheek. "Lemme go to our lil' clinic and grab you some meds. I'll ask Makoa if he can get me some tea for your throat and sinuses, too, m'kay?"

"Unnecessary…" he mumbled, hoping the quieter volume wouldn't elicit any flaring pain; it did, but not as severe. "I'll wait it out… Don't worry…"

"… And you call me an idiot."

Park wasn't exactly the easiest person to get a request from. Elliott had asked him countless times what he wanted and needed, getting the same responses over and over again, like he was a broken record. He hated feeling like a burden, and hated feeling indebted to someone. Elliott had to learn from picking up on social cues just to figure out he wanted a hug. Getting him to voluntarily ask for help, especially since he's too sick to go to the festival, the one Elliott really wanted to take him too, would be potentially be near impossible.

Park was stubborn, but Elliott was, too.

"Sweet angel that fell from the heavens, my beautiful boy, the cutest shortcake to exist—just let me do this for you." Hopefully, the puppy eye look was enough to get his stubborn lover to finally give in and let him be taken care of. "I love the shit out of you, and I hate seeing you sick. Lemme help you feel better—or I'll just have to kiss you better."

"Then you would end up sick, moron." Park pulled up his blanket a bit to cover the cough suddenly shaking his frame, expression pinched and pained; it was probably murder on his already sore throat. "Fine… But I promise to make up for the festival…"

"You don't have to, hon. Just feel better soon."

Despite knowing Park would protest, Elliott leaned down to press a kiss to the other's skin, a hand leaving the comfort of his blanket to swat him away, eliciting a laugh from the trickster.

Quickly, he made his way out of the hacker's room, shutting the door quietly behind him, before hurrying off to fetch the promised items. He asked Makoa first if he'd be willing to make some tea, explaining that Park was feeling under the weather, and even offered to make soup for him. The man was a saint, laughing off Elliott's "would that be asking too much?" with that same boisterous laugh. Afterwards, Elliott made his way to the clinic, their resident medic checking over medications and organizing her supplies. After explaining his symptoms, Ajay provided some ibuprofen, asking if he'd tell Park to "get better soon so they can even the score."

Once the medicine was acquired, Elliott returned to the kitchen, where the scent of ginger and tomato seemed ever so prominent. Makoa waved him over, allowing him to see the progress. He wasn't finished just yet, but he would be soon.

And, once he was, Elliott placed everything on a tray and brought it back to Park's room, where the hacker had fallen asleep in, though his slumber looked anything but peaceful. Elliott set the tray at the end of Park's bed, making sure it wouldn't tip over, before gently placing a hand on the slumbering man's shoulder, gingerly shaking him awake. Glazed over hazel optics moved to blearily stare at Elliott; said man could only smile once seeing him awake.

"Makoa made you some tomato soup and ginger tea, and Ajay gave you some ibuprofen," he said, moving to grab the tray and bring it over. "You think you're strong enough to eat and drink?"

A tired nod was all he got in response, Park's arms moving to push him up into a sitting position. Elliott moved his pillows around a bit so they'd provide some support for him, setting the tray in his lap. The hacker attempted to take a whiff through his congested sinuses, humming when the ginger tea provided some semblance of assistance.

"Okay, you eat, take your meds, and I'll go run you a cold bath."

"Cold…?" the hacker suddenly asked pitifully; he wasn't particularly fond of lower temperatures…

"It's to help with your fever, baby. I doubt feeling like you're cooking alive under your blankets is a good feeling."

Park let out a huff, a hand reaching for his ginger tea and the other taking the recommended dosage of ibuprofen. "I guess you're right…"

"I'm always right. The rightest man on the Frontier. You won't find a righter man than me." Elliott leaned over to press another kiss to heated skin, receiving yet another swat for his efforts, which, in turn, elicited yet another chuckle from the taller. "Enjoy your soup and gross meds, angel cake."

With the wave Park sent his way, Elliott hurried off to do as promised. The bath wasn't frigid, but it was just a little below lukewarm. He didn't want the other actually freezing; his sensitivity to the cold was cute, sure, because it meant more snuggles and hugs when they were out in the cold, but he didn't want to actually bring his boyfriend any discomfort. He even put in that little Nessie rubber toy the other insisted he hated, even though Elliott's seen him admiring it or even having it in his tub when he's washing up.

When he finished, Elliott returned to see Park had finished up most of his soup and that his tea was nearly gone. He assumes he took the medicine; Park's never given him any reason to doubt in the first place.

"Finished?" he asked, receiving a nod. He lifted the tray off the other's lap, setting it on his desk, which had a few takeout containers and papers strewn about. They'd have to clean that later. "You okay enough to walk to the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Cool, cool."

And, despite the answer that couldn't have been anymore straightforward, Elliott moved forward, pulled the blanket off, slipped his hands under the baffled hacker's legs and back, and lifted him up like he weighed almost nothing. Park's arms unconsciously wrapped around his neck in a panic, already red-hued features darkening at the sudden action.

"I said I can walk," he muttered angrily, glaring up at his uncaring boyfriend, who didn't seem bothered by the scowl adorning the hacker's visage. Frankly, it's lost any intimidation it used to have and just reminds Elliott of a feral but sweet cat.

"I know."

"Then put me down."

"Nah."

"Idiot."

"Shortcake."

And if bathing with Park, who had rested against Elliott's chest the entire time, pliant and quiet, nearly dozing off, wasn't worth missing out on the festival, then watching as the hacker drifted off to sleep later that night, content and comfortable in Elliott's arms, definitely made it worthwhile.

He couldn't help but press a kiss to the other's forehead again, knowing that, if the other was awake, he'd just swat him away like he normally does. Even though Park's fever worsened, fluctuating between stable and unstable, and eventually broke a few days later, Elliott didn't mind any of it, didn't mind the fact that they missed out on a few date opportunities, that they missed movie night and a few hours of sleep. Seeing his lover get better made any problem worth it, and the smile he got was all the reward he ever needed.