#I have several sketches to do ✨

[the-c0nquerer-w0rm]

...Why do I hear boss music?

[leafdragon16]

DPL DOODLE PAGE!!

It appears I have been sucked back into Legoland which means binging my favorite AUs

Awesome AU and character designs belong to @ask-the-departed-lords / @prime-pulse !

Closeups under the cut

[dakusan]

MAYBE, BABY

Tattoo Artist!Yang Jeongin x Reader | Clean lines. Dirty talk. No strings. Lies.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. What started as a no-strings-attached hookup with your tattoo artist turns into something much messier—and much more intoxicating. You only wanted a rib tattoo. He only wanted a night. But from the moment Jeongin drags his fingers across your skin like he’s signing his name, the lines start to blur. And you let him. Again and again. Until something shifts. What was supposed to be a fuck-only situationship turns into something terrifyingly close to love.

💌a/n: I have no fucking idea how long this thing is. I blacked out while I was writing and organising the Ask Dump. I present to you a full-course meal with a side of feelings and a kiss on the forehead?? If you made it to the end, congratulations. You now have an Innie-sized corruption kink and a severe attachment issue. You’re welcome. Enjoy??? IDK??? I’m too far gone to process anything except the words “say my name again.” p.s. reblog if this fic ruined you. I wanna know who survived and who ascended. p.p.s. added my Spotify + Apple Music links on my pinned, just saying 😗 p.p.p.s. no strings, my ass. You’re mine now.

⚠️ warnings: NSFW / 18+ ONLY — DEADASS | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. GO TO BED | Unprotected sex (wrap it irl) | Oral sex (m & f receiving) | Fingering, spit play | Face sitting, thigh riding | Degradation kink (light) | Praise kink (heavy) | Possessiveness / “mine” kink | Bratty teasing, power play | Multiple orgasms, overstimulation | Breathless, sweaty, studio sex | Aftercare (eventually… Jeongin learns) | Lowkey romantic shift under the filth | Explicit language | “No strings” turning into: oops, we’re emotionally attached now | ✨ Tattoo shop + apartment sex ✨

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch. Ice your thighs.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Stay Tonight — CHUNG HA « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Jeongin was the youngest artist at NO SAINT INK.

When Chan opened the studio—an industrial-meets-artsy little corner spot on the edge of Itaewon—Jeongin was still a baby, barely legal, and fresh out of a back-alley apprenticeship that nearly made him quit the industry altogether. His lines were good back then. His hands were steady. But it wasn’t until Chan saw the sketchbook he kept buried in the bottom of his bag—spine cracked, filled with anatomy studies, linework so fine it looked like thread—that he offered him a space.

Not a job. A future.

“You’ve got hands like a ghost and an eye like a scalpel,” Chan had said, flipping through the pages with the kind of quiet approval Jeongin would chase for years after. “Let’s make you sharp.”

So he stayed.

Became Chan’s apprentice first—studied under him like a monk, learned symmetry, balance, the rules before he broke them. But Chan was a generalist, and Jeongin was greedy. He wanted more than just solid lines. So he floated—between Felix, who taught him piercings and dotwork with the same flirty chaos he used to charm every client in a five-block radius; Seungmin, who drilled design philosophy and made him redo stencils six times until the curves were perfect; Minho who didn’t teach. Not in words at least. Minho was instinct. He only took blackwork clients. His designs were architectural. Cold. Brutally beautiful. Jeongin watched him once sketch a full spine piece upside down without lifting the pencil. And Minho didn’t explain it—just nodded toward the chair and said, “Try it.” ; Hyunjin, who was chaos of a different breed. Rarity. Flash. Pure art. He lit up the room. He painted with colour, emotion, movement. He made skin weep and bloom. So Jeongin learned to feel. Not with his mouth. Not with his words. But through ink. Through hands; And finally—Jisung. The wildcard. He made Jeongin rewrite every script piece by hand—no fonts, no tracing, no stabilizers. Taught him how to letter like a poet on a deadline. Drilled gradient theory into his skull until he could shade a full moon from memory. He also got him drunk exactly once.

But, Jeongin absorbed all of that information. He rarely spoke unless it mattered. Didn’t flirt, didn’t joke. Just worked. Clean ink, smooth lines, deceptively delicate work that always left clients breathless by the time he wiped them down.

And that made him dangerous.

Clients came in expecting the sweet-faced boy in black gloves to be safe. But he wasn’t. He didn’t smile. He didn’t talk. But he saw. He looked through you with those fox-sharp eyes and touched you like he already knew what would make you shiver.

He wasn’t even your artist.

But you asked for him anyway. Over and over again.

And honestly? You didn’t expect to find anyone like Jeongin in a place like NO SAINT INK. You were a digital artist—head designer at a massive marketing firm in Seoul, the kind of job that paid well but chewed through your soul one brand guide at a time. Long hours. Clean lines. Corporate clients who wanted “authentic grunge” and then asked you to make it “less aggressive.”

You came to the shop for the first time six months ago. It was raining. You still remember the way the neon buzzed through the window, warped by the fog. You’d booked the session weeks ago, and if you bailed now, you’d never go through with it.

The piece was for your sister.

Delicate—inked across the side of your ribs. A fine line moth with wings shaped like her initials, its body drawn from her favorite pressed flower. You designed it yourself. Could’ve gone to anyone to ink it. But Felix—who you’d met at a gallery party once—told you to book with the youngest.

“Jeongin’s got the hands for it,” he said. “Real gentle. Real quiet. Real clean.”

And he was.

He barely said five words the whole session. Just pressed the stencil into place, gloved up, and looked at you once—soft and serious—before asking, “Can I touch here?”

That was all.

But when the needle buzzed to life and his hand steadied on your ribs, something cracked open in your chest.

He didn’t talk. He didn’t flirt. But his touch was so steady. So precise. You tipped your head back. Exhaled. And something in you settled. You didn’t think of him again until a month later—when your hand brushed the moth in the mirror, and you remembered how warm his palm had been against your skin. You booked again. And again.

You weren’t looking for anyone. Least of all him. But something… clicked.

Maybe it was the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. Or the way his gloves lingered a little too long during placement. Or the fact that he remembered your preferred ink tone without asking.

You didn’t flirt. Not at first. But that changed the night you showed up just before closing—allegedly to “ask about a touch-up,” but really, you were just bored and restless and wanted to see him.

The tension snapped before either of you said much.

He was the last one cleaning up. You were the last one out the door. The shop lights were already half-dimmed when he finally looked at you across the counter and said: “You’ve been staring at my hands all week. Just ask.”

You didn’t ask. You just kissed him.

That was the first time. The second time, he pulled your panties off with his teeth. The third time, you were already naked by the time he locked the door.

Your current dynamic? No rules. No titles.

Just fucked-up timing and bad habits and “this doesn’t mean anything” muttered between gasps. You swore it wasn’t serious. You weren’t stupid. Jeongin was a fuckboy—quiet, calculating, the kind who didn’t do commitment but did make you scream into his sheets like it was your religion.

“Friends with benefits,” you called it once.

He snorted. “We’re not friends.”

That stung a little. But you let it go.

You told him once, arms still trembling from orgasm, voice flat:

“You’re just easy to fuck.”

He didn’t miss a beat. Just wiped his hand on the sheets and replied: “You’re easy to keep fucking.”

Fair enough.

But then he started looking at you differently. Staying longer. Not reaching for his phone. Brushing hair from your eyes like it mattered. And you? You haven’t slept with anyone else in weeks. Not since the last time he kissed your throat after, then said—barely audible—

“You smell like ink.”

Like it was a compliment. Like it meant something. Like you meant something.

Seoul, South Korea. Tuesday, 2:41 AM.

It started with a text.

Technically, it started with a drunk sketch at 2:41 a.m. on a Tuesday and a half-eaten tub of mint chocolate ice cream balancing precariously on your thigh. But the text came after—blurry photo, minimal explanation.

[YOU]: [image attached] [YOU]: thinking of putting this behind my ear. or on my hip. thoughts?

You didn’t expect him to reply right away. He never did. Jeongin had a habit of leaving you on read, sometimes for hours, sometimes until you forgot what you’d even sent. He only ever texted back when it mattered.

But this time, he answered in six minutes.

[JEONGIN]: Hip. [JEONGIN]: Bring the original sketch. I’ll clean it up. [JEONGIN]: You free Friday night?

You stared at the screen. Blinked. Then typed:

[YOU]: Yeah. I can come.

He didn’t respond after that. Of course he didn’t. Classic Jeongin. Always just enough. Always just under your skin.

The design was something you’d drawn weeks ago without realizing what it was for—a feather, sharp and broken at the tip, its spine twisting into barbed wire that coiled once before vanishing into smoke. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t meant to be.

You’d doodled it while zoning out during a strategy meeting about a toothpaste rebrand. But when you looked at it later—really looked—you realized what it was: grief, rebellion, exhaustion. A tattoo for survival. A promise inked in blade and burn.

You hadn’t told anyone else about it. Not even your coworkers. Not even your therapist.

But you sent it to Jeongin. Because you knew—knew—he’d get it. Not just the aesthetic. The weight.

You didn’t need him to ask what it meant. You needed him to take one look and say where. You needed him to act like it already belonged on you.

And he did.

Friday, 9:00 PM.

You’re standing outside NO SAINT INK, hood up, hands stuffed in your jacket pockets, trying not to fidget. The shop’s sign glows dull red in the rain—flickering slightly like always—and the front is dark, already closed to the public.

But Jeongin’s still inside.

You know, because he buzzed you in five minutes ago with a single-word reply:

[JEONGIN]: Door’s open.

Not hey. Not come in. Just… open.

That’s how he is.

You push through the door. The familiar scent hits you first—clean metal, warm ink, faded cologne. The space is dim, soft playlist humming low through the speakers.

Jeongin’s still working. Alone.

He’s at his corner desk, black hoodie sleeves pushed up, sketchpad in front of him, pen tapping silently against his lip. Jaw set. The light above him halos his head like something cinematic—sharp shadows, gleaming ink bottle.

He doesn’t look up when you walk in.

Doesn’t say anything either.

Just flicks a glance your way as you approach, then turns the sketchbook toward you.

It’s your design. Redrawn. Sharper. Cleaner. But still yours.

He’s added fine line smoke along the base, twisted the barbed wire tighter, bled the feather edge into a fragmented wing. It’s heartbreak. It’s rebellion. It’s right.

“You didn’t say where on your hip,” he murmurs finally. “Show me.”

Just that. No hello. No how’ve you been. Just show me.

With a quiet exhale, you step out of your sneakers, slide your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans, and peel them down slow. The denim sticks slightly from the rain, catching at your thighs before finally falling to the floor. You kick them aside. You’re left in a long tee and a pair of black panties, the thin lace riding high on your hipbone.

Jeongin doesn’t comment.

He never does.

But his gaze drops.

Not in a gross way. Not even obviously. Just… that half-second sweep he always does—eyes dipping to skin, breath slowing, jaw flexing once like he’s cataloguing the exact shape of you for later.

You swallow. Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

“Here,” you say, brushing your fingers along the curve where your waist narrows into your hip. “I want the feather to sit right above the bone. Barbed wire trailing low.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands, gloves already on, stencil in one hand. He moves like he’s done this a thousand times. Like you’re just another canvas.

But when he steps into your space and kneels to your level—face suddenly inches from your bare hip—your lungs forget how to work.

“Don’t move,” he says, and his voice is low. Focused. The same tone he uses when he’s mid-linework. When he’s inside you.

You still.

His hands are warm even through the gloves. He smooths the skin once—just once—with a barely-there touch, and then carefully presses the stencil into place. It’s cool against your skin. Wet with transfer gel. His fingers trail after it, holding it down, checking placement.

You feel his breath before you hear it.

He’s close. So fucking close. One exhale and his mouth could be on your thigh.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice quiet now, more smoke than sound. “Once it’s on you, it’s permanent.”

You know he’s not talking about the ink.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you glance down—and Jeongin is still crouched in front of you, one hand on your hip, the other brushing the edge of your thigh like he’s testing the gravity between you.

He looks up.

You meet his eyes.

And that’s when it snaps.

Because the silence between you has never been empty. It’s always been a loaded gun. And now, standing half-naked in the soft hum of NO SAINT INK, it finally fires.

Jeongin rises without warning—slow, fluid, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve been thinking about it,” he says, voice low and even. “This exact moment.”

You blink. “What moment?”

He tilts his head, steps closer, so close you feel the heat off his chest.

“The one where I press you against this chair and make you forget what you came in for.”

You breathe in. Sharp. Shaky.

He smirks, just barely. “But you came in for the tattoo. Right?”

You nod.

“Then sit.”

He turns—walks back to his tray like you didn’t just melt a little under his stare. Like he didn’t just say that shit and leave your brain scattered like ash.

He pulls the stool over, checks the stencil one last time, preps the needle—buzzing low now, hungry in the quiet.

“Underwear stays,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “But pull the side up for me. High.”

You do as he says.

The chair’s cold. Your thighs are bare. Your panties cut high over your hip now, nearly indecent. But Jeongin doesn’t touch you yet. He just kneels again—level with the stencil—and studies it. His hand smooths along the edge, careful.

Then his voice, soft and dark: “Try not to shake too much.”

And then the needle kisses your skin.

“Fuck,” you hiss through your teeth, hands gripping the chair’s armrests like it might help. It doesn’t.

Jeongin doesn’t look up. “Too much?” he asks mildly, like you’re inconveniencing him by reacting to literal pain.

You glare down at him. “It’s a needle in my hip, Jeongin.”

He hums—an amused little sound low in his throat. “You’ve taken worse.”

Your breath catches. “Excuse me?”

He finally glances up. Eyes dark. Unbothered. That faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

“You heard me.”

You grit your teeth, refusing to squirm—even though the sensation is starting to blur now, sharp heat ebbing into something deeper. The rhythm of the machine. The drag of his gloved fingers. The low thrum of tension that has nothing to do with pain.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter.

“Mm. But I make pretty things,” he says, gaze dipping back to your skin. “Stay still. You twitch and I’ll have to fix it.”

You mutter something under your breath.

He glances up again. “What was that?”

“I said—” You inhale through the sting. “You’re lucky your dick game is unreal.”

Jeongin’s laugh is barely audible, just a huff of air through his nose. But the way his hand slows for a beat at your words? You feel that.

“Oh?” he murmurs, adjusting the angle, fingers spreading slightly against your hip to stretch the skin. His touch is professional. Barely. “Is that why you keep coming back?”

You scoff. “Please. I keep coming back for your artistry.”

“Right,” he deadpans. “Not because you came all over my tongue in this chair two weeks ago.”

Your stomach flips.

“You’re disgusting,” you whisper.

He leans in—just enough to make you feel his breath again, warm across your skin.

“You’re the one who begged.”

“Jeongin—”

“Begged,” he repeats, eyes flicking up, daring you to deny it. “With your thighs around my head.”

You do squirm now, fingers gripping the chair harder, breath shaky.

He smiles. Just a little.

“Thought so.”

Another line starts, slower this time—agonizing in the way it presses in deep, steady, confident. You hate that it’s turning you on. He’s too close. The buzz of the needle is too low. His voice, when he speaks again, curls up your spine like smoke.

“What’s it say about you,” he murmurs, “that you’d let a fuckboy mark you this many times?”

You narrow your eyes, forcing a breath. “What’s it say about you,” you whisper, “that you keep memorizing every place you’ve touched me?”

He doesn’t answer.

But you see it. That flicker in his eyes. That shift behind the usual quiet. He does remember.

And then he says—calm, quiet, almost cruel: “Stay still, baby.”

And fuck—you do. You have to. Because if you move now, you’ll either ruin the line—

—or climb into his lap.

And you’re not sure which would be worse.

He works in silence after that. Not the kind that feels cold or distant—but sharp. Loaded. The kind that listens. Every brush of his glove against your skin is surgical. Every pause is precise. Every inhale from your side? Noted.

You swear he’s dragging the needle slower on purpose.

“I can feel you smirking,” you mutter.

“Am not.”

“You’re such a dick when you tattoo.”

Jeongin’s mouth twitches—just slightly, just enough to confirm what you already know. He is smirking.

But all he says is, “You’re squirming.”

“Because you’re being annoying.”

“Because you’re wet.”

Your mouth drops open.

“Fuck you—”

He tilts his head innocently, like he didn’t just say that with the same tone someone might comment on the weather.

“You get like this every time I ink your hips.”

“That is not—”

“Every time.”

He lifts the needle for a moment, wiping gently—grazing your skin with a motion so tender it makes you shiver.

“Remember that piece on your inner thigh?” he asks, like he’s recalling the weather again. “Took longer than it should’ve because you wouldn’t stop clenching.”

You bite down a moan. “That’s because you breathed on me, Jeongin.”

“And you begged for a break halfway through.”

“I needed water—”

“You needed a dick.”

Your hand flies out and slaps his arm.

He doesn’t even flinch. Just laughs under his breath—wicked, warm, devastating. Still not looking at you. Still focused on the curve he’s finishing.

“You’re evil,” you whisper.

He hums. “Maybe.”

Another pause. Another wipe.

You think the worst is over—until he speaks again.

“Why’d you ask for me this time?” he says suddenly, soft. “Not your usual spot. Not your usual style.”

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you say.

He doesn’t ask why. Just keeps going—needle buzzing like a wasp in the quiet. But then—because maybe he does want to know, just not directly—he asks, “You never said what this one’s about.”

You hesitate.

He wipes gently. Adjusts his grip.

And this time, when you speak, your voice is quieter. Flat. “Drew it by accident.”

He pauses. Looks up. Not fully. Just enough that you catch the flick of his eyes.

You go on. “During a rebrand pitch. I was half-listening, just doodling. Didn’t even realize what it was until later.”

He stills the machine and wipes

again—more slowly this time. Then leans back just enough to glance at the stencil he’d reworked from your sketch. Your pain. His hands. It looks exactly like what you were afraid to say out loud.

“You added the rest.” you murmur.

He nods.

“It’s better.”

“It’s honest,” he says. “Didn’t want to pretty it up.”

“Thank you.”

A beat.

Then he leans in again, steadier this time. “Ready?”

You nod.

He starts again and goes silent. But not for long as he then parts his lips to talk again. “What does it mean to you?”

You swallow. Then: “Grief. Rage. The part of me that stayed after everything else gave up.”

He exhales slowly. Not surprised. Just—understanding. “You draw like someone trying to survive,” he murmurs.

You huff a laugh. “You tattoo like someone who already died.”

Jeongin chuckles—just once. Quiet. Dark. “Maybe I did,” he says.

Silence again. But not cold. Just… full. And then—without lifting the machine, still tracing ink into your skin—he adds: “I redrew it three times before it felt right. I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

You turn your head. “You never fuck it up.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

He doesn’t answer. But you see the flicker in his expression—something unspoken and sharp and vulnerable. The kind of thing you both ignore because naming it would make it real.

The needle hums again. His other hand steadies you with the barest pressure.

“Stay still,” he murmurs. “Almost done.”

Before you know it, he's done and for a second, there’s only silence. Then the soft rattle of his tray—tools settling, gloves flexing, the gentle hush of something opening. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t say done or look at that or any of the things other artists might say.

He just sets the machine down with care and shifts back on his stool, gaze flicking over your skin with a craftsman’s intensity.

Then—quieter than before: “Go look.”

You blink. “What?”

“The mirror.” He gestures with a tilt of his chin toward the full-length mirror across the room. “Go see it.”

You hesitate—your thigh prickling with heat, the skin raw and new—but then slowly rise from the chair.

He doesn’t watch you walk. Not exactly. But he feels you go.

You stand in front of the mirror, eyes tracing over the tattoo. Your idea. His craft. You stare at it—at you—for longer than you mean to. Behind you, Jeongin moves again. You hear the snap of fresh gloves, the squirt of antiseptic, the fold of paper towels. Then—

“You like it?”

You nod. Still watching your own reflection.

He walks over slowly, crouches behind you again—this time not kneeling to tattoo, but to clean. The disinfectant is cold. His touch is not. You flinch anyway.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Stings a little.”

You exhale. “It’s fine.”

He works quietly—wiping carefully, checking for any sign of irritation, scanning the lines with a gaze that misses nothing. Then he grabs the wrap and tape from the tray and starts dressing the tattoo, pressing the edges down gently.

“You’ll need to keep it clean,” he says. “No tight pants. No soaking. I’ll send you the aftercare again.”

You glance at him in the mirror. “You think I’ve forgotten?”

He lifts a brow. “You think I trust you?”

You smirk. “Fair.”

The tape seals into place with a soft press. His palm lingers on your thigh a beat too long.

Then—

“There,” he murmurs.

You look down. The tattoo is covered, secure, safe.

But the tension is not. Neither of you move. His hand is still on your skin. And in the mirror—you catch it: His eyes, locked on you. Not the tattoo. Not the wrap.

You.

That same look he gave you the first time you fucked against the wall of this shop. The look he had when you said you didn’t want anything serious. When he nodded like it didn’t matter—and then kissed you like it did.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.

Just stares at you like he’s trying to decide if now is the moment—if this is the time he finally stops pretending that you’re just another client, another warm body, another convenient fuck.

Your breath tightens.

And then he speaks low and even: “Say it.”

You swallow. “Say what?”

He tilts his head, fingers flexing just slightly against your skin. “Whatever excuse you’re about to make to leave.”

You flinch. Not visibly, but enough that he feels it—because his hand slides higher. Not inappropriate. Not quite. Just enough to remind you of every time before. His fingers warm against the edge of your hip. Just under the hem of your crooked panties.

You meet his gaze in the mirror. And whisper, “I wasn’t gonna leave.”

A pause.

Then: “Good.”

His hand flattens, slow, spreading possessive heat across your thigh. His voice stays soft—never louder than the buzz of your heart in your ears.

“‘Cause you came here for more than a tattoo.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. Because he’s right. And he knows it—because his mouth brushes just behind your knee, a featherlight kiss that shouldn’t be as devastating as it is. Then another. Higher.

“You always come back,” he murmurs, lips grazing up the inside of your thigh. “Even when you say you won’t.”

Your eyes flutter closed. “Jeongin—”

“I waited,” he says, almost to himself now. “Thought maybe this time you’d ask for someone else. Felix. Seungmin. Minho.”

You shiver. “I didn’t.”

“I know.”

He stands. Rises slowly—like a shadow overtaking light— and moves behind, close enough that his chest is against your back, and his breath fans against your ear. His hand stays where it is, gripping the meat of your thigh. But his other hand—oh, it trails up. Over your ribs. Your waist. Until his thumb drags under your bra strap.

His lips hover at your neck. “And I told myself this was the last time.”

You can’t breathe.

“But you walked in wearing that little smirk,” he says, voice darker now, rougher, “and sat in my chair like you knew I’d ruin you again.”

You glance at his reflection. His pupils are blown wide. His jaw tight.

“You think I did this on purpose?” you whisper.

His smile is sharp. “Didn’t you?”

You don’t get a chance to answer. Because his mouth is on your neck in the next second—hot, open, biting just enough to make your knees weaken.

“You said no strings,” he mutters against your skin. “But you let me draw on you like I’m signing my name.”

You gasp.

And then—his hand slides up, past your tattoo, past the tape, until his palm cradles your lower belly.

His fingers splay. Possessive. Intentional.

Like he’s reminding you where else he’s touched. Where else he plans to.

“Still no strings, baby?” he whispers. “Even now?”

You don’t answer. Instead, your turn around to face him, lips crashing onto his. Hungry. Needy. He groans into your mouth—low and wrecked—like he’s been starving for this, for you. Like he’s been holding himself back since the second you walked in, cocky little smirk and all, asking for him again. Like every time you said “no strings,” it sliced just a little deeper.

His hands are on you instantly—one gripping your waist, the other fisting into your hair as he drags you closer, mouth devouring yours like he’s reclaiming territory he never really lost.

Your fingers claw at his shirt, dragging it up, desperate to feel skin. He helps—yanking it over his head in one sharp motion and tossing it somewhere behind him. You don’t even get a second to admire the view before he’s on you again, teeth grazing your bottom lip, hips pinning you against the counter.

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters, breath hot against your cheek.

You don’t.

You grab his jaw instead, kiss him harder—tongue, teeth, everything.

And that’s all he needs.

He lifts you onto the edge of the sink like you weigh nothing. The mirror rattles behind you, your thighs parting as he steps in close, his fingers already dragging your panties aside.

But he pauses—because of course he does. Jeongin, for all his unhinged quiet-boy energy, never forgets to check. His thumb presses gently against your inner thigh. His mouth brushes yours.

“May I?” he whispers.

You nod—shaking, desperate, soaked.

But he waits.

“Words,” he breathes. “Give me words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “God, yes, Jeongin—please—”

He growls, low and filthy, and drops to his knees like a man worshipping something he’s already ruined. Because that’s what you are now. Ruined.

Jeongin's hand grips your thigh—tight, possessive—spreading you wider as his mouth descends like a death sentence. The first lick is slow, deliberate, a warning shot. Just the flat of his tongue dragging through your folds, gathering every ounce of heat you’ve been soaking in since the stencil hit your skin.

Then—he moans.

Like it tastes as good as he remembered. Like he missed it. Like he fucking needs it.

You choke on a gasp, hips jolting—only to be slammed back down by the firm pressure of his palm.

“Stay still,” he mutters, mouth grazing you as he speaks. “Wanna do this right.”

And then he devours you. Not sweet. Not gentle. Just—Jeongin. Filthy, focused, starved.

His tongue works you open with slow circles, sharp flicks, then a sudden seal of lips around your clit that makes your vision flash white. He’s quiet, but his mouth is chaos—sucking like he’s trying to pull your soul through your cunt, fingers digging into your thighs like he can feel the pulse from the inside.

You tangle your hands in his hair, back arching off the mirror behind you. “Jeongin—fuck—please—”

His grip tightens.

He hums, tongue stroking deeper, and the vibration nearly undoes you.

“You always beg so pretty,” he murmurs, voice muffled against you. “No strings, right? So let me ruin you.”

And ruin you, he does.

His pace shifts—knows the pattern that makes you shake, that makes your knees weak and your breath break in your throat. He works you like a song he’s played a thousand times. Like your body was made for his mouth.

And when he slips a finger in—then a second, slow and curling—you nearly sob. His fingers curl again—precise, relentless, stroking right where you need it. His mouth stays locked around your clit, tongue flicking in sync with every pump of his hand. Like he’s in your head. Like he knows exactly when you're about to fall over the edge and drags you back just to watch you tremble.

“Jeongin—” you gasp, voice breaking. Your thighs twitch around his shoulders, muscles drawn so tight you’re shaking. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Cum for me,” he breathes, lifting his mouth just long enough to say it—wet and ruined against your skin. “Come on, baby. Let me have it.”

And you do.

The tension snaps like wire—hot, vicious, absolute. It hits like a wave crashing through your core, stealing the breath from your lungs as you cry out. Your hands clutch at his hair, your back arches against the mirror, and your hips buck once—twice—before he locks you down again, tongue lapping through your orgasm like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Your moans taper into a long whimper as he slows, soft licks now, gentle—comforting. His fingers slip free with a final curl that makes your whole body flinch. You sag against the glass behind you, boneless and wrecked, breath catching in your throat.

Jeongin rises slowly.

Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes heavy, lips swollen.

And smirking.

He cages you in with a hand on either side of the mirror—still fully dressed, still composed, like he didn’t just make you fall apart on a bathroom sink with the kind of head that ruins lives.

“You came so hard you almost forgot your name,” he says softly. “Want me to remind you?”

And you—your hand already at his belt—just grin. Weak. Wrecked. “Only if you use your mouth again.”

His mouth twitches at that—half smirk, half growl—and his hands drop to yours, guiding them as you undo his belt. The metal clinks through the quiet, obscene in how deliberate it sounds. You’re still trembling, your thighs sticky with the aftershock of what he just did—and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

But you can feel how hard he is. Pressed against the fabric. Heat radiating between you. Dangerous.

“You sure?” he murmurs, breath hot against your cheek. “Because if I fuck you now, it’s not gonna be soft.”

You nod. “I don’t want soft.”

He laughs—dark and low—and kisses you again.

One hand fists in your hair while the other drags your panties down your legs. They drop to your ankle and stay there—forgotten, tangled.

He pulls his cock out—thick, flushed, already leaking—and runs it once through your folds. Slow. Teasing. He watches your face as he does it, watches your eyelids flutter and your lips part.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmurs.

“You’re still stalling,” you shoot back, voice ragged.

That earns you a sharp snap of his hips—just the tip breaching, making you gasp.

“Say it again,” he rasps.

“Fuck me, Jeongin.”

And that’s all it takes.

Jeongin thrusts in—deep, perfect, filthy. The stretch has you gasping, clawing at his back, your head tipping back against the mirror with a soft thud. He groans low in his throat like he’s the one unraveling—like you are the ruin he can’t stop coming back to.

You’re wet. Still fluttering from the orgasm he gave you. And he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. Just starts moving—deep and rough, hands gripping your hips like they’re his handles. Like he owns this moment.

“Still no strings?” he pants, voice cracking as he fucks into you.

You can’t answer. Only moan.

“Still just a fuckboy?” he grits out, dragging your hips forward, fucking deeper. “Even now?”

Your nails dig into his shoulder. You’re close again, already—tension building fast. Too fast. His thrusts get sharper. His forehead presses to yours, and when he speaks, it’s quiet. Desperate.

“Say my name when you cum,” he breathes. “I need to hear it. And you will cum. All over my cock.”

His words detonate something inside you.

You clench around him—so tight he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder for a split second before he snaps back up, hand fisting in your hair to keep you exactly where he wants you.

“Louder,” he pants. “Let them hear you. Let the whole fucking street hear how good I fuck you.”

And fuck, you do. You're moaning, gasping, whining his name like a prayer dragged through broken glass. Your hips grind to meet each thrust—sharp, fast, brutal—and the mirror shudders behind you, rattling with each slick impact.

He’s everywhere. His mouth is on your neck, biting, dragging bruises like signatures down your skin. He sucks just below your jaw—hard enough to make you whimper—and bites again. Possessive. Proud. Like he wants every inch of you marked.

“You’re mine right now,” he growls, breath hot against your pulse. “Every time you fuck someone else, you’re gonna feel this. Right here.”

He drives in, deep, angling his hips until your legs twitch around him.

“Feel that? That’s me. That’s how you’ll remember.”

Your mouth opens—maybe to sob, maybe to curse—and he doesn’t give you the chance. His thumb presses into your bottom lip, demanding, and your body obeys before your brain catches up—sucking it in, lips closing around the digit as your eyes flutter shut.

“Just like that,” he whispers. “So pretty like this. Fuck—don’t stop.”

His cock grinds deeper. Filthy. Perfect.

And then his hand moves—thumb slipping free, wet and shining, before he curls it beneath your jaw.

“Open,” he orders, voice hoarse.

You do.

He spits—hot and slow—straight into your mouth, watching with half-lidded eyes as it lands on your tongue.

Then he crashes his mouth into yours. Kisses you like he’s drowning. Like your mouth is the only thing keeping him alive. Tongue fucking, teeth clashing, breath shared like oxygen isn’t real unless it passes between you first.

The thrusts don’t stop. He fucks you through the kiss—fast, messy, ruthless.

You feel it building again. Pressure winding tighter. Ready to snap.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Cum for me. Say my name.”

And this time, you scream it.

“Jeongin—fuck, Jeongin—”

Your body breaks. Wrung out on his cock, his mouth, his name. Everything shatters. Every nerve lights up. You cum so hard your vision blacks out, breath gone, hands shaking. You collapse forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder, chest heaving, body limp and twitching from the aftershocks.

But Jeongin doesn’t stop. Truly insatiable.

“Mm-mm,” Jeongin hums, low and cruelly sweet. His pace slows just enough to feel—deep, dragging thrusts that have you sobbing into his skin. “What, you thought that was it?”

His cock pulses inside you, thick and hot, still painfully hard.

“You’re shaking,” he coos, like he likes it. Like he’s proud of it. One hand smooths up your spine, mock-gentle, before he fists your hair again and tugs—just enough to tilt your head back.

“Look at me.”

You try. Barely. Your lashes flutter, lips parted and glazed with spit, wrecked in every sense of the word.

He groans—deep and hungry—at the sight.

“Fuck. You are pretty like this.”

Then his grip tightens, and he pulls out slow—just the head still inside—before snapping his hips forward again, hard enough to make your voice catch on a moan.

“I’m close,” he pants. “But you’re not gonna take it here.”

You blink. Confused. Barely able to string two thoughts together.

“Wha—”

He grins, eyes dark.

And then—he pulls out, dragging slick down your thigh as you whimper, empty and raw.

“On your knees,” he orders, already stroking himself, cock flushed and angry in his fist. “Mouth open.”

You slide down, dazed, trembling, ruined—but obedient. And Jeongin watches you drop like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Eyes locked on yours. Jaw clenched. Chest heaving.

You kneel, wrecked and flushed, thighs still shaking—and he’s towering over you, fist tight around his cock, breath hissing through his teeth.

“Open,” he growls.

You do. Lips parted, tongue out. Wanton. Waiting. “Fuck—” he chokes, stroking faster now, his other hand gripping your jaw, thumb pressed just under your chin to keep you steady. “You look so good like this, baby. All mine."

He laughs, breathless—half-mocking, half-obsessed. And then he spits again. Right into your mouth.

“Swallow,” he commands, voice wrecked.

You do. Without blinking. Without shame.

He groans, low and rough. “Good fucking girl.”

And then he breaks.

A guttural sound rips from his chest—he jerks once, twice—then he’s spilling across your tongue, hot and filthy, painting your mouth like a claim he’ll never admit to out loud.

You swallow again. Eyes locked. He’s panting. Still holding your face like you’re fragile. Like you’re holy. Like you’re his, even if he’ll never say it.

And then—after a long beat of silence—

“You’ll come back,” Jeongin murmurs, voice soft and certain, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Maybe,” you whisper, licking your lips.

But you both know the truth. You already did.

The air is now thick with sweat, sex, and something else neither of you dare name. You’re still kneeling, flushed and dazed, your breath coming in short waves as you finally—slowly—rise to your feet.

And Jeongin catches you.

No hesitation. No smart-ass remark. Just catches you—hands steady at your waist like instinct. His grip is gentler now, his gaze darker but softened. He brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, his thumb dragging lightly along your jaw, and then he tilts your face up.

“You good?” he murmurs.

You nod, but he’s already moving—already kissing your temple like he didn’t just fuck the sanity out of you. Like it’s reflex now. Like it’s routine.

Because it is.

Pulling up his jeans again, Jeongin reaches for a clean towel from the cabinet—one of the soft ones, the kind he used to never bother with when this all started—and runs warm water over it, checking the temperature against his wrist like you’re breakable. Like you matter.

“I’ll clean you up,” he says quietly. “Don’t move.”

He kneels again. Not like before. Not like worship.

This time it’s care.

You feel the difference when he wipes between your thighs with slow, deliberate strokes. Not rushed. Not clinical. He even murmurs a low, “Sorry,” when you twitch at the sensitivity.

“You didn’t used to do this,” you whisper, voice dry with post-orgasm rasp.

His hand stills for a second. Then resumes.

“Didn’t used to care if you got home safe, either,” he says, not looking up. “But I do.”

You swallow. Something hot curls low in your chest.

When he finishes, he tosses the towel in the laundry bin and returns to you—pressing a water bottle into your hand, then grabbing your discarded jeans and helping you step into them. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t smirk.

He just tugs them gently up your legs, careful not to touch the fresh wrap on your thigh.

“Tell me if it starts to hurt later,” he says. “Text me if anything feels off. I’ll fix it.”

“Jeongin…” you murmur.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “No strings.”

But still—he presses his forehead to yours. Just for a moment.

Something shifted.

You felt it first the next morning—not in your body (though, yes, your thighs ache and your tattoo’s tender), but in your phone.

[JEONGIN]: how’s my favourite canvas? [JEONGIN]: tattoo feelin okay? [JEONGIN]: or do i need to come kiss it better

You laugh—because of course he’s still a menace—but you also… pause. Because he’s never texted you first. Not like this. Not with check-ins, not with half-flirty, half-soft words that make your stomach twist in a dangerously not-just-horny way.

You reply. You always do. But this time, the thread doesn’t end at “come over.”

Instead, it leads to—

[JEONGIN]: wanna get boba or some shit later [JEONGIN]: bring your sketchbook. i wanna see more of what’s in your head

So you do. And he does.

He makes dumb faces behind his cup lid when the pearls hit your teeth wrong. He teases your handwriting. He compliments your line work in the same breath he makes fun of your playlist. He asks about your job—not just the annoying clients but what you actually like doing. When you mention the burnout creeping in, he hums thoughtfully and says: “You should quit and be my studio wife.”

“That’s not a job.”

“Then I’ll make it one. Full benefits. All the orgasms you can handle.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he says with a smirk. Then coughs. “I mean—not officially. But, you know.”

And then he blushes. Fucking blushes.

In the weeks that follow, the change isn’t loud.

It’s subtle. Warm.

He starts saving you a seat at the shop when you visit. Starts texting you good luck before meetings. Starts calling you after just to hear your voice when you sound tired. Starts drawing more—leaves his sketchbooks open, just in case you feel brave enough to peek.

He still fucks you like a goddamn fever dream, of course. Still ruins you in every corner of the studio when the door’s locked and the music’s loud enough.

But after?

He doesn’t vanish.

He lets you stay. Brushes your hair back while you’re curled up on his chest. Taps your ankle with his foot until you laugh again. Offers you a hoodie, then scowls when you steal it for real.

Sometimes—when he thinks you’re asleep—he traces your tattoo with his finger. Like it anchors him. Like he knows something changed, too.

And sometimes, you open your eyes just enough to see him looking at you like this—like he feels everything you won’t say yet.

No strings? Yeah. You’re both tangled as fuck.

Your sheets are already half-off the bed, twisted beneath your back, damp from sweat and friction and his mouth.

Jeongin has been between your legs for what feels like forever. Not rushing. Not teasing. Just—feasting.

Tongue deep and slow, then fast and flicking. Then back to slow, like he’s savoring something no one else is allowed to taste.

Your thighs keep trembling. One’s thrown over his shoulder; the other keeps spasming, jerking whenever he sucks that one fucking spot. He’s holding you open like you’re an offering, like you owe him this.

“Fuck—Jeongin, please—”

He hums against your clit. The vibration makes your hips stutter, back arching off the sheets.

“Sound pretty when you beg,” he murmurs. His voice is wrecked. Drenched in filth. “Could make you do it all night.”

You whimper—high and helpless—and try to push his head down, needing more. Needing everything.

He laughs, dark and low, then gives you exactly what you want.

Sucks your clit hard, tongue circling, then sliding down to fuck you deeper. His nose nudges the swollen bud just right, and you choke on a sob.

You’re gone.

You can’t hold back. Not with the way he’s devouring you. Not with the way he knows your body better than anyone. You feel it—your climax crashing through like a violent wave, all heat and light and wreckage. You scream his name—loud, broken—hips jerking as your orgasm hits like a car crash.

But Jeongin doesn’t stop.

He growls into your cunt and doubles down. Licks you through it—messy, wet, relentless. His mouth is soaked, chin dripping, and you swear he smiles against you when your thighs start to close in.

Jeongin finally pulls back—face glistening, lips swollen, breath ragged—and climbs up your body like he owns every inch of it.

He crashes into you with a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and desperation. No finesse, no restraint—just need. His hands roam everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, your face like he can’t touch you fast enough, close enough, deep enough.

“Mine,” he pants between kisses. “Mine—mine—mine—”

You’re still trembling. Still trying to come back to earth. But you manage a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Innie?”

He freezes. Just a little. Eyes flicking up to yours, wide and dark and soft.

“Mmm?” he hums, like he didn’t just break you open and eat your soul.

You smile, wicked and sweet. Drag your nails gently down his back. “Remember when I said no strings attached?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer.

You lean in, press your lips to the shell of his ear, and whisper: “And you said—maybe, baby.”

He exhales—shaky. Vulnerable.

You pull back, meet his gaze, and smile softer this time. No teasing. Just truth. “Well,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair, “I think that maybe was about more than you let on.”

You smile, smaller this time. “Because I want the strings now. All of them.” Your thumb then brushes his cheek. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Jeongin stares at you.

Still. Silent. Like the earth just tilted on its axis.

Then—finally—he exhales. A soft, stunned sound. His eyes flutter shut for half a second, and when they open again, they’re wide and warm and wrecked.

“You’re really gonna say that to me while I’m still hard?” he mutters, voice hoarse, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

You giggle. Actually giggle.

And Jeongin melts.

His hands slide down to your hips, squeeze once—possessive, reverent—and then he’s rolling, flipping the two of you in one smooth, easy motion until you’re straddling him, flushed and still catching your breath, hair wild around your face.

He looks up at you like you’re the only thing left that makes sense.

“Let me fuck you properly, baby,” he says, voice low, hungry—but laced with something new now. Something real.

You smile—wide, wicked, his. You lean down, kiss the corner of his mouth. “Then shut up and show me, Innie.”

He groans—low and fucked-out—and lets his head fall back against the pillow. “Jesus, baby—gonna be the death of me.”

You roll your hips once, just to be a menace. “Thought you said you wanted to fuck me properly.”

His hands fly back to your waist like instinct, like gravity. “I do,” he pants. “But if you keep doing that, I’m gonna wife you instead.”

You freeze—then burst out laughing. “What?”

He grins up at you, smug and wrecked. “You heard me.”

You blink. Stare down at him. “You’re such a little shit.”

“And you’re on my dick,” he shoots back. “So maybe we’re both exactly where we belong.”

You groan, drop your head to his shoulder. “God, I hate you.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe.”

He pulls you down, chest to chest and kisses your temple, wraps his arms around you like he’s never letting go. And then—just to make sure you know? He grinds against your already soaked folds.

You gasp. “Fuck—Jeongin—”

He smiles.

“Say my name again. Say I'm yours.”

“You're mine.”

[yuurei20]

I see you mention Magical Archives a lot. Is that like an official artbook? Can I get it in English somewhere?

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question, I have been hoping to write about this for weeks 🥳

The Magical Archives Game Guide vol. 1 (full name: 『ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド』公式ガイド＋設定資料集 Magical Archives ) is maybe the single-most informative Twisted Wonderland resource available!

It includes a huge amount of extremely detailed information, from gameplay to the characters to early-stage development illustrations to a multi-page interview with Toboso Yana herself, only one of two that she has ever given on Twisted Wonderland.

While it may be described as an artbook it is also much, much more, and if you are only capable of purchasing one piece of Twst merchandise in your life, it is absolutely the #1 thing I would recommend.

First published in 2020 it is still available for purchase from outlets such as Square Enix's Online Store, Amazon, Rakuten, Animate and more.

It is not currently available in English, but for a brief while Aniplex USA was releasing "Player Guides" for free via social media:

These were multi-page PDFs that were, visually, quite similar to the first 1/3rd of the Magical Archives game guide, but with updated gameplay information.

These game-guide-inspired PDFs combined with how out of date the gameplay information in the original guide has since become makes me wonder if maybe there not are any plans for any official translation of the original Magical Archives :<

There has since been a second volume of the Magical Archives released (in September 2024), but it is not quite as detailed as its predecessor, including gameplay information and a huge library of game sprites but very few sketches from Yana and no interviews.

On the subject of translated art books, there actually is an official English-language book being released in December!

While its English-language title is "The Official Artbook," this is actually one of four books of a series called "Visual Books!"

Much like the magical archives the first volume is the most detailed, including pre-colored base art and the occasional messages from Yana to the colorist (re: a comment that there is no need to put any light in Rook's eyes for his labwear vignette groovy ww).

The Visual Book Series is not really comparable to the Magical Archives, consisting of pre- and post-groovy card art.

The "Design Note" might be the closest to the usual definition of "artbook," consisting of insight into event outfits worn by various characters and even including a few sketches of unused designs.

Unlike the Magical Archives, however, there are no behind-the-scenes notes such as "He has a black-hearted side, so he may laugh with a hint of that often" (about Trey) and "He has vertically-slit pupils that become round in dark places" (about Leona), which can only be found in the game guide.

There are also volumes 1 and 2 of the Art Gallery! These are collections of artwork by artists that are unaffiliated with Twisted Wonderland, depicting Twst's characters, much like Square-Enix-branded fan art (no contribution from Yana involved).

Lastly, there are the fanbooks! Contrary to their titles they do not consist of any fan-made content.

Volume 1 of the Fanbook mostly consists of character/story overview, but it also has some fascinating etymology information and exclusive interviews with several members of the voice cast!

The second fanbook focuses moreso on events, and also includes detailed recipes of Master Chef cuisine, a report on the since-concluded Twisted Wonderland Exhibition, a look into a Twst-themed hotel room in Tokyo Disneyland's Ambassador Hotel, and more.

And a third fanbook was just recently listed 🥳 (Amazon link), said to include event, card and story content from the 2nd to the 4th anniversaries.

I hope this helps! ^^

[u3pxx]

when's it my turn? wouldn't i love love to explore that shore up above? out of the sea wish i could be part of that world ⛅🌊🐚

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW GLAD I AM THAT I GOT TO DRAW SOME EMAMAYA FOR @onceuponaturnaboutzine!!! i've wanted to draw these two in a high-effort drawing for a long while now and this zine just gave me the perfect opportunity, truly a dream come true! ✨

like this art? it's a print, here! | like what i do? support me on ko-fi!

some initial sketches for what their designs are! just some big inspiration from the disney movie and also splatoon unintentionally, WHEEZES. also, i just thought it'd be hilarious if phoenix was maya's fish sidekick instead

i also originally had a more busy composition but it was just too cluttered and i couldn't find a way to make it work so i decided to just focus on a single moment instead of several!

[duckieduccss]

Emi‼️✨

I colored in one of my sketches i did for her & even tried out a new different rendering style ive been meaning to try out (I’d like some feedback if possible tho ofc ONLY CONSTRUCTIVE ones). As for the many suggestions/feedback i got from you guys for my au, I’ll do my best to get back to you all with adding in several of the ideas & seeing how they could fit into the overall story I’d like to tell hopefully. (I’ll work out how some kaiju could fit into a baseball team. Ken does his best to make things fair for everyone & most importantly a welcoming experience for all those who are part of the team)

Some have even mentioned a possible rival team of kaiju to play against Emi & Ken’s own team, which i also welcome the idea (if any of you have further ideas just for the rival team, plz lemme know!!! I’d love to hear them!!!)

[Thank you yet again for the immense interest in this idea for an au & hearing all your input. I’ll make sure to make this an exciting & amazing au for everyone to learn more about ^^]

[1980ssunflower]

Hey guys! I have been ✨jobless✨ for several months now and i am broke 🧡 Please consider supporting me by buying a commission! Please help me out by reblogging this post! Thanks so much and hope you guys have a great day :-]

Notes:

Payment through PayPal or Ko-fi

Payment of 50% after approval of initial sketch, other 50% after commission is finished

Prices may vary depending on various factors such as props, highly detailed/complex designs or poses (may or may not be able to do mecha)

I can refuse any commission request for any reason

Will Do:

Fan art

OC's

OC x Canon/Selfship

Blood/Light gore

Won't Do:

Proship

Selfship doubles (see F/O list in pinned)

NSFW (Some suggestive stuff ok)

Hardcore gore

[jamieedlund]

☁✨Sky witch✨ ☁ and The pumpkin -- thing🎃

-Happy Halloween!!! 🎃✨🧙‍♂️ - ...It's November.

Maybe the real Halloween is the friends we made a long the way...

I spawned this massive brainrot Halloween arc during work because of course I did... if there is a holiday that can drag me back from the pit, it is Halloween. But in true Jamie fashion I couldn't make it in time. So I'll leave the brainwormy sketches and concepts bellow 👇

>>The over-arching concept of a plot, probably, maybe

He's not the pumpkin king👑❌, he's just a pumpkin thing 🎃😔

If a good deed wasn't done with good intentions, it's ultimately meaningless, and I was too embarrassed to tell you.

"I don't think that at all."

Thank you blanchin "Yknow...Maybe this is a good look on me. For next year." You may or may not have noticed they swapped hats.

Anyways

Happy Thanks Giving It's too early for Thanks givin-

Bonus! Some extra doodle I do not know where to fit into so you guys are just gonna have to-

I genuinely believe this man has something in his arsenal similar to Hollow Purple and he will not hesitate to throw one if not severals.

Coming soon.

[uva124]

¡ Valentino redesing!

We finally have the baby!

(This redesign belongs to the Wish Au "Kingdom of wishes", written by @annymation and illustrated by @emillyverse and me)

This will surely be the redesign where I have the least things to say lol, but I still have some things to comment on so let's go!

At first I hadn't thought much about how I would redesign Valentino, what I was sure of was making him more adorable and cuter so that everyone would want to have a goat as a pet, because if I'm completely honest, Valentino's official design in the Disney movie I didn't find it adorable at all (sorry Disney artists, I know they put effort into drawing and animating but I just didn't like Valentino's design)

(Do you get my point? He's just not cute or adorable, and the voice they gave him didn't help either, or the face idk ,but I thought the joke about his voice at the beginning of the movie was funny ¯_(ツ)_/¯)

So I made a mental list of things I wanted to do (which aren't many if I'm honest): -Make it fluffier and fluffier -Give him other clothes -Add even one symbol in your redesign

Anny sent me several references of goats and concept art, among them I found this one, which I based myself on mainly because 1-I have always liked that animals had moles or spots on their fur or skin 2-When I saw that on their clothes You could see the seams that joined the different fabrics, I realized that it coincided with Asha's redesign (on the sleeves) so I was like: "AWWWWW it matches his mom's clothes!"

In the end I only added a part of it with a different fabric because I didn't want to complicate the design too much, but I liked how it turned out, I added some symbols of the tattoos that exist in the Amazigh culture, which is also to protect the person (or animal in this case) of the bad influences that are around them

I also liked adding that little ball of curly hair on our goat's little head, it just looks so cute!

FINAL COMMENTS!

As I said, this is not very long, but I'm satisfied with how the drawing turned out, I wanted to try something new that looks like the lighting was a sunset, I don't know if it's noticeable but at least it turned out nice lmao, as a curious fact, with this drawing I realized how MUCH my sketches change when I paint them in detail

…..BRO HOW THE HELL DID THIS CHANGE SO MUCH WITHOUT REALIZING ME? (ESPECIALLY ASHA)

Well that's all for now, until next time! ✨✨

[sweet-star-sketches]

Sketches from June 17th, 2025

tonight on Severely Underestimating How Long It Would Take Me To Do A Bit: a silly idea from 3am last night that I felt like drawing while actively procrastinating, and also my first time ever drawing either of the Yugis LMAO drawing the hair especially was an experience, I felt like I was mind linking with every person on the planet who has ever drawn this boy in their middle school notebooks xD godspeed, fellow drawers of the starfish hair o7 can't believe i'm finally going through my anime art phase (like i have been for about half a year by now, i'm only 15+ years late to the party lmao) i thought about giving him the revolver from the Quick Draw game instead but thought Ranger's blunderbuss was funnier

not sure what it is, but I really like how I drew Kirby here ;u; not like he's hard to draw and I always have a good time with him, but still there's something about it this time

anyway, enjoy! ✨

[00lunect]

★JD with Braces: Take 7★

Translation:

Viva (enters happily): SURPRISE, JOOOOOOOOOHN!

Viva: Guess who it is~? It's me, Viva! How are you, how are you feeling? I haven't seen you since you got your braces! I came because I ran into Floyd and Bruce at the market, and they seemed pretty worried about having to leave you alone after Clay and Branch went off to do that thing with Poppy, but I was free and missed you, so I told them I could come check on you! They also told me you've been having a really hard time with all that pain. Poor thing! But don't worry, the superhero Viva is here to-

Viva (horrified and shocked): JOHNNY?!?!

JD (dying on the floor): *indigestion noises* uuuuggggghhhh…

Not much later…

Viva (relieved): It's actually a relief that all that drama was just from a little heartburn! I thought you were going to die…

JD (nauseated, with a brand new braid in him freshly styled hair): I want to die, Viva…

Hello world and all who inhabit it! (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠).

After a scare and some preambles, here it is! Finally with us is the original Take 6 of JD with Braces, now transformed into Take 7! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧. For those missing some context, over a week ago I accidentally deleted the original comic drawings and almost had a heart attack. But luckily for me, I was able to recover the sketches thanks to taking a screenshot of them to show to a friend on Discord! So all I had to do was dig through the conversation a bit, and I found the images!

So, here it is! The next installment of JD with Braces! Featuring an adorable Viva and more suffering for JD! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Because yes, JD's suffering continues. ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ. Seriously, I love beating this guy up and making him suffer (lovingly). Now I understand why there are so many hurt/comfort fanfics surrounding this guy. It's really fun to hit him with a stick and then have someone in his family hug him!

And yes, my JD will soon be getting a hug, because he deserves it, but I wanted to throw him another curveball before we get to that.

So you know what that means! Lore time. ಠ⁠∀⁠ಠ

Oh, but first, here's a new link to my masterpost! Where you can find links to my other posts and, of course, to the previous Takes on my Braces JD AU (this AU) in case you stumbled across this post by pure chance and need context for what's going on. Also, in case you missed it, a few days ago I posted the Official Braces JD Designs along with a good portion of the general lore! So go check it out if you haven't seen it!

And with that said, let's talk about what happened in this Take. (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠).

As everyone should know by now, JD had to undergo several orthodontic treatments to remove tartar from his mouth, treat three cavities, fix a molar tooth, and finally get braces for an underbite he'd been diagnosed with as a teenager and put off fixing for the 20 years he was alone, only for his oral problems to come crashing down on him once he was reunited with his younger siblings, causing his family to kick and scream at him to the dentist.

Because of this, JD was put on bed rest for a month, along with a strict dental cleaning routine, a specific diet, and a prescription for a wide assortment of medications he has to take every day if he wants to survive the immense pain in his mouth and for his teeth to heal properly. He's followed these medications almost religiously since being sent home after his braces were installed… and I say "almost" because John's medications are so disgusting that it's a struggle for him to take them every day, to the point where he runs away from his brothers to avoid them. And the fact that he likes to sneak out every night to steal ice cream. The whole situation has him exhausted and stressed, having temporarily caused him to lose some of his color very recently. But that's the last of his problems, because a new one has been unlocked.

✨Heartburn✨

His brothers had left him alone in the bunker for a few hours while they did some things. Branch and Clay headed out to help Poppy with her Queen duties, while Bruce and Floyd headed out to get some fresh food for dinner and take Floyd to his own checkup, since despite everything going on with John Dory, Floyd was still recovering from the diamond incident. Floyd and Bruce weren't supposed to take more than an hour for either of their two tasks, but they were both late to the market and consequently, late to Floyd's appointment, which would mean JD would be alone longer. They were discussing what to do when suddenly, Viva shows up to greet them, and since she has nothing else to do, they ask her to check on John at the bunker. At least to see if the man was okay and hadn't gone looking for ice cream in the bunker (because Branch eventually decided to hide the ice cream somewhere else to keep John from eating it, and he definitely wasn't going to let the one thing that makes his life less miserable disappear).

Naturally, Viva accepted the errand and left excitedly, since she hadn't seen JD since he got his braces and hadn't been able to visit him to see how he was doing. She'd only heard from Poppy (who was informed by Branch) that the guy was having a really bad time, so she made it her mission to cheer John up once she saw him and maybe braid him, since she'd also heard that John had been too tired to fix his own hair lately.

However, on the way to the bunker, Viva nearly had a heart attack when she found John lying on the floor, writhing in apparent pain and moaning.

The princess thought the worst, and in a panic, she scooped JD up and ran straight to the doctor, obviously causing a scene along the way. News soon traveled, and the other brothers, plus Queen Poppy, were already dropping everything to get to their older siblings and see what the hell had happened, freaking out after learning of Viva's exaggerated reaction.

In the end, and of course, it was all a kind of false alarm... but no less important. The doctor examined JD and, after being told about his condition and his recent orthodontic treatments, along with the medications he had to take, the doctor concluded that what JD was experiencing was just heartburn: apparently a result of the numerous medications he had to take raw.

Because, of course, a person couldn't take antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and migraine pills all at once, unadulterated, on a daily basis without them causing a stir in their stomach, so now JD, in addition to his other problems, suffered from a horrible burning sensation in his chest and stomach, along with a sickening feeling of nausea.

So, after calling the dentist and getting a consultation with the doctor, they both prescribed a new batch of medications. All of them still tasted revolting, and now, among them, a stomach medicine that would neutralize the mess of the rest of the medicine. Luckily for John, it wasn't a bitter herbal concoction, but a simple tea that would negate the effects of his usual medication.

But it would only have a 60% chance of working, so JD would still suffer from heartburn from time to time.

Oh, and upon learning of his sleep problems, the doctor also prescribed JD some sleeping pills. More guests for the cocktail of medicines that would party in his stomach and make his life hell!

By this point, JD wanted to kill himself.

The good thing was that Viva decided to stay for dinner that night and took the opportunity to comb JD's hair while he rested on the couch, happy that his friend and brother-in-law wasn't (actively) dying. She wanted to do something more elaborate and brilliant, but she also didn't want to force him to move around too much and adjust for her, so she made a simple braid with what she had. Although it wasn't a big deal, John felt a little better not having his hair in a mess for once since arriving at the Bunker.

But only a little, since his stomach was still burning and he felt nauseous.

And that would be all.

I hope you enjoyed this new piece of Lore! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧. And yes, in case you were wondering, it is possible to get heartburn from taking too much medication. I speak from experience. (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ. At the end of last year and the beginning of this year, I developed 3 CONSECUTIVE ABSCESSES, and on the third one, they prescribed me an antibiotic and an anti-inflammatory, which gave me heartburn, so I had to take a third pill for the upset stomach. But don't worry about me, I'm fine now and I don't have to take medicine anymore✨.

Unfortunately, John doesn't. (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠). However, don't feel sad either. Things will slowly improve from here on out! The road to braces is long and tedious (from what I've researched), and added to those other issues John had with his mouth, it's definitely going to be quite an odyssey for him.

And we're just getting started. XD

But anyway! Speaking a little about the art itself, I decided to try some new things this time. Drawing Viva wasn't as difficult as I thought, and the truth is, she turned out very pretty for my first time drawing her🩷🩷🩷.

It's a shame I couldn't do her eyes open. She probably would have looked very beautiful, especially with makeup. While I was coloring her, I realized that Viva's makeup is very pretty, and I would love to be able to do something more elaborate for her another time. I also redid a profile, which didn't turn out too bad, and a lying-down pose. The pose I chose for John (if you noticed the reference) was difficult because the original image isn't very detailed and is even a little confusing, but I did my best. Now, I'm not sure I got the effects right. I wanted to do anime-style reactions, but I think they came out weird. Especially the shadow around John.

This would be the image without those effects.

Finally, for the third panel, I decided to take a risk with a much more complex pose. Originally, JD was supposed to be leaning on Viva's gift on the couch, but Viva's seated body wouldn't come out, so I made it look like she was leaning on the couch from behind. I also had to draw a couch, which, I know, turned out awful. (⁠─⁠.⁠─⁠|⁠|). It's just really hard to make characters interact with objects, and I wanted at least the couch to look somewhat soft, so excuse me if it turned out ugly. Like I said before, I'm experimenting with a lot of new things with my art in this AU, so it's mostly just me doing what comes to mind without much thought.

And as always, I'm so sorry for the mess that is the speech bubbles and dialogue. I'm seriously still not sure how to place them coherently. (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠). Luckily I can organize things better in the translation, but it's still something I definitely need to improve.

Anyway, that's all, friends! I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading!

[stolaz-the-artist]

Alright so.... here's my first NK request.

MORE PRINCE CLAY!!!!!! PUFFY SLEEVES AND PANTS AND A FANCY VEST PLEASE!!!! And a talking robot hawk because royals used to hunt with birds of prey and also its his symbol :3

‼️YEAH NEXO KNIGHTS, FINALLY‼️

This is the first fully finished piece i've made in weeks! i know that doesnt make sense since i've kept up my consistant posting every friday, but thats only because of ✨scheduled posts✨

Exams have been kicking my ass. So getting to put my baby boy in a pretty little outfit after weeks was such a reward. I had so much fun working on this. Figuring out the colour palette wasn't easy, but i liked what i came up with in the end. And i also messed around with a few variants on the gems. It was a hard pick, but here are the other ones i really liked.

Now i had a lot of fun with this AU once more, so obv i came up with my own ideas, so a bit of text is coming up along with some sketches. But if not, at least check out the original version of this AU made by @localcryptid3. Super cool people, both the asker and AU creator. Support them!

Want to make a request? Heres info, and a deeper dive into the rules.

Alright here we go!

In the orginal version it seems like Merlok is somewhat the king, but i personally woulndt go with that. In this specific version i made Wanda is the queen but she's sort of crazy. Like cursed. I recently got back into Ever After high so i'd imagine something like the Queen of hearts maybe. But if Merlok would be the king i'd put her in more of a spot like The evil queen iykyk. If you don't, watch it!

This is not his prefered style at all. This is Wandas style, which she forces him to wear. So dont come after me. He def doesn't like the corset, and crystals, yada yada. So bulky and gets so much in the way for him.

He definetly has this formal persona that is meant to make social situations less awkward, but it really doesn't. Big words, strict mannerisms. People mistake him for trying to act like he's better than everyone else, but he truly doesn't think that at all, not even remotely. Cough Cough autism Cough Cough

He'd be in a very similar place as Macy, where he has to beg his mother to let him be a knight. His mother only caved in because he promised to prioritises his magically studies (He's still overworked, he cant and wont escape that fate.). But he is still very well taught in fighting, just not in a knightly way.

I always like that Clay seems to have a minor fear to public speaking (according to his VA) and i would definelty wanna play more on that. Like him dangling over a mental breakdown before every royal speech, only for him to bottle it all up and just push through it (something that totally wont have sever consequences)

The castle isn't as open as it is in canon. Very closed off, scary gothic castle vibes. The spying birds is to both keep track of staff and Clay and Fletch.

Alright enough rambling, time for doodles

(Cursed/put under a spell to be crazy/crazy)

(Misses how she used to be but plays along for the kingdoms sake)

Fletch appreciation

Was forced to wear this if he was to work at the castle (endures it so he can ensure his nephews safeties)

Crazy lady appreciation

Pre-curse (Yeah physically you cant really tell a difference)

Fletch fit

Fletch ❤️

Anyway, do give me more NK requests, i enjoy doing them so much! i had a lot of fun and would love to have an excuse to keep drawing my babies!

[pinkiemachine]

Man.... can I ask as someone who is still pretty new in graphic design how you break down creating those titles.

Like, do you sketch out the concept and then match it? Or were you just on an insane font hunt cause it feels as though I never find a font that matches the vibe 100%

Font hunt, 100%. I wait in the bushes near one of their favourite watering holes—it’s peculiarly referred to as dafont.com—and as the fonts pass by, I hold my breath, take out my font-catching-net, and I pounce—scooping them up before they have a second to understand what’s happening! I’ve caught several rare fonts this way, but I don’t always know which ones will work with the project I’m working on, so I’m always sure to grab a few extra, just in case. From there, it all comes down to how you arrange them. A font by itself does not a logo make. The right background, gradient, lighting and shading, are all important factors in achieving ✨ DA MAGICS ✨ It should also be noted that I have no training in graphic design and I am flying by the seat of my oversized clown pants, mostly just having fun, doing whatever tickles my fancy. OH, there’s another rare font waddling by the bushes—I gotta sign off now—good luck!

[studiodrydock]

Interview With a Werewolf - A deep dive into the character of Westley Vuk from Wylde Flowers

We've put together an in depth look at Wylde Flower's fuzziest romanceable character, Westley Vuk! 🐺💕

Westley, the romantic werewolf bookseller, is one of our most beloved characters, and we had the privilege of chatting with several members of the team involved with bringing him to life, including Iona Vorster (concept artist), Desiree Cifre (narrative director), Mike Taylor (animator) and Ray Chase (his voiceover artist).

We discussed all things Westley including his inspiration, design, and what makes him so popular (and dreamy)! Enjoy! ✨

Writing a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Desiree Cifre (Narrative Director)

Q: Can you start by telling us a little bit about Westley?

Desiree: Westley is a bookish werewolf originally from Alaska. He became a werewolf due to a case of mistaken identity. His identical twin brother, Lou, was a marksman for a logging company, and shot at a werewolf who then returned and attacked Westley one full moon. Once Westley turned into a werewolf, he vowed to keep his distance from humans to protect them and himself, and found safe harbor in the magical village of Ravenwood Hollow. He hopes to find a cure for his lycanthropy and in the meanwhile, prove that werewolves can be positive contributors to the magical community.

Q: What was your process like, including inspirations and challenges, when creating Westley?

Desiree: Our original scope for the narrative limited the characters to the members of the coven and the other, non-magical villagers, so I was delighted when Amanda and Alex told me we would have the budget for a magical village with four residents. I knew right away that I wanted one of them to be a werewolf and that I wanted him to be a romantic interest for Tara. A bookseller seemed like a natural fit so that he could sell Tara the parchment and incantations she would need for her spellwork, and when Iona drew up some concept art of our nattily dressed Westley we all knew that was the right direction for the character. Once I learned we could support him having both human and wolf forms, that opened up the space to create a little mystery around his first appearance in town, and then we got to dive into his backstory a bit more later in the game.

Q: Do you have a favorite line that you wrote for him?

Desiree: Well, I was expecting players to love Westley, but even I couldn't have anticipated how much of a fan-favorite he would become. I have to say one of my favorite lines is one that only plays if you are partnered with him: "Tara, you're looking ravishing today! Not that I want to, or would, I mean, you know." The actor who plays him, Ray Chase, gave such a hilariously brilliant reading of that line and it makes me giggle every time I hear it! The thirst is real.

Drawing a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Iona Vorster (Concept Artist)

Q: What was the process like for designing Westley? How did you incorporate his personality and backstory into his design? Iona: Initially I started with sketching out ideas for all the Ravenwood Hollow characters in tandem. I wanted to make sure they would sit well together, and since they are all (mostly) fae, I wanted to make sure they felt consistent across their designs while figuring out “what do the fae look like in the world of Wylde Flowers.” Once I had a good idea of what they’d generally look like, I took each character one by one to work out the specifics.

With Westley, the process was a bit more complicated because I also had to figure out what his werewolf anatomy would be like and how far we wanted to push it. Since Westley is a romanceable character, I wanted his werewolf form to still feel personable and able to emote like the rest of the characters, so going very wolf-like with his design didn’t feel like the best option!

As with all the characters, I did have a wonderful character background to reference for Westley, written by narrative lead Desiree! A facet of his personality is that he likes dressing well, so along with him being a bookseller, a suit seemed like the natural choice!

Q: Which did you design first, werewolf Westley or human Westley? Did you have to put any considerations into giving him a (relatively) consistent appearance between the two forms? Iona: I started with his human form, since I knew his werewolf form would need R&D on aspects of his anatomy like his face and legs. However, eventually I moved back and forth between the two, because parts of his werewolf form, like his fangs and his fur, informed design decisions on human Westley. I wanted to hint at his werewolf form when he was in human form, and vice versa/

I also wanted to keep consistency in his outfit, especially since there’s the comical details of his suit not quite fitting his massive werewolf frame, which accentuates the differences between the two!

Q: What is your favorite part of Westley's design? Iona: His fangs! Designing all of him was fun, but I love that he has fangs in human form.

Animating a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Mike Taylor (Animator)

Q: What did the collaboration (if any) look like between you, Desiree and Iona? Mike: I wasn't involved very much in the concept of Westley. As with all characters, I was asked for feedback on each concept, but the concepts are always so good, I have very little to add, and Westley was no exception. Soo-Ling (Wylde Flowers’ 3D Artist) and I would discuss his model more and especially the hair, since we knew that was a big part of his design. We would work together to decide how to structure Westley's hair so we could have the most movement as efficiently as possible.

Q: What types of personality bits or other considerations were you trying to showcase in his animations, and how did you achieve them? Mike: Desiree and Elizabeth put together Casting Notes for all the characters, citing specific actors and/or roles that best exemplified the character. I always started there as the basis. For Westley in particular, I know I felt that he should be a little withdrawn and maybe a little brooding. He's an intellectual who has been cursed with being a werewolf, after all. From that I thought his walk - which is the animation that gets the most personality - should be pretty subdued, compared to the other characters, and he should be looking at the ground rather than straight forward. It's subtle, but hopefully reads just a little.

Q: And for Wolf Westley? Mike: For Wolf Westley, the goal was to make him more feral, without going too far. To do this, I added some exaggerated chest breathing to his idle, arched his fingers and turned his hands inwards, then made his walk very 'stompy' to highlight the extra weight he was carrying around.

Giving a Werewolf a Voice

Questions answered by: Ray Chase (Voiceover Artist)

Q: Can you describe the direction you were given when portraying Westley? What types of personality traits, emotions, etc. did you need to convey? Ray: Westley is a really deep character - and one who I was immediately drawn to. Going back through my auditions for this game, it looks like I only chose to audition for him and the reverend! I love how genteel he is - there's a huge part of me that wants to go run my own bookstore in a small village, so I'm playing out my own fantasies when I'm playing him. :D The voice director, Krizia, was a big help in dialing in just the right amount of werewolf into this character. He shouldn't be frightening, but rather be a warm wolfy snuggle.

Q: Westley's fans have become quite passionate From an acting perspective, what do you think is the secret sauce that makes him so appealing? Ray: I'm definitely using my bedroom voice most of the time for this guy. I have heard that it can be...most enticing....

Q: Are there any lines or beats with Westley that stick out to you? Ray: I'm a vegetarian, so it's always quite alarming when I have to do his butcher shop quotes! I can't believe he eats that much meat... But I guess it's better that he buys from a friend than go roaming the woods at night… And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading! Victoria and the Studio Drydock Team Find out more about Wylde Flowers Here

[amity206]

Days of Nature Commissions!

Opening commissions again now that the Days of Nature prices have been announced!! Several slots open, all prices USD - there will be a ✨ next to the items I especially want

Full Body (approximately $14)

(CLOSED) Ocean Necklace + Ocean Sonorous Seashell + Nature Wave-Touched Hair ✨✨

Full Body with Light Creature Buddies ($19.99)

(OPEN) Nature Wave Pack ✨

(OPEN) Nature Glasses Pack

(OPEN) Nature Turtle Pack

Process:

You message me letting me know what you want, and I’ll tell you what kinds of reference photos I’ll need to do the art, as well as the current items there are for said slots (for example, I’m currently looking for Days of Bloom and Nine-Colored Deer items)

Exchange QR codes! This can be skipped if we’re already Sky buddies.

We discuss what kind of pose you’d like your character in, and I’ll sketch out some potential poses to show you.

Since there’s a 3-day waiting period before gifting IAPs is an option, during those days I’ll send you progress shots with the option to change anything you don’t like.

You will receive the final art piece once the IAP has been received. Throughout the waiting period, I may also send you little random doodles of your skykid. Please stop trying to pay me for the random doodles. Please.

As usual, I won’t do anything NSFW, with heavy gore, hateful, or ridiculously complex (sfw furries are okay, so is light gore and non-Sky characters). DM me if you have any questions or are interested!

[hbprophetie]

I'm selling little Snape goods with my art to support my daily life!✨

My fellow Snape fans! Long time no see, I hope you've been doing alright. I'm back once more, after what might be my longer absence on here so far.

I owe you an apologize, and even if I won't develop very deep on my personal situation, I wanted to give you some kind of explanations. I've been leaving far from home in Japan for more than 2 years now; last year, I started to work as a 2D animator for the anime industry in Tokyo, and got through a very difficult experience. Working culture in Japan is far from the one why might have in Europe or in the rest of the world, and the anime industry makes no exception; insane working schedules, very bad working conditions, no consideration of personal life and low salary are basically considered as the norm here. Sometimes I was shamed for only working +50 weekly hours and not commiting to work for free on weekends.

As I couldn't stand the toxic environement anymore, I finally moved to the Japanese countryside where I managed to find a little animation studio that works on my favorite series of all times: Pokémon. My collegues now are all very nice peoples, I feel accepted and respected despite the very rought working conditions; But above alI can now realise my dream and work and be implied on my childhood favorite anime.

However, I get close to no money from my long 6 working days week. I hardly pay the rent, and I rely on my savings for paying bills and food. I'm happy and I'm not in immediate danger: I have been saving money in preparation for this kind of cases for years before moving to Japan; However, I want to continue to pursue my dream and know that in the long run, I cannot afford to leave a life that doesn't allow me to move more freely and meet my family even if it's only one time in two years.

That's why I'm now trying and hope to develop a little side hustle to help cover the daily life expenses while developing my skills for creation and illustration. I have little to no visibility on social medias and it's difficult, but I want to trust time and would be extremely grateful in even a few of you could consider checking my work if interested. Of course I don't exclusively draw Snape, but I'm putting all of my heart in my recent illustrations including Pokémon fanart, food illustrations and sketches on the daily life in Japan. My main tumblr is https://lucie-foselle.tumblr.com/ , I also have a IG page called "tenma_draws_pokemon".

However, I have a little treat for you Snape fans: I recently come up with the idea of making postcard and stickers with some of my Snape fanarts. I'm pretty happy with the result and would like to propose you to get them if you want to either get a little Snapey decoration, want to share your love to another Snape fan, or support me and my work!

Everything is printed, signed and stamped on demand! Note that the colors and result might therefore look slightly different than the pictures. My stamp will also appear in the 2 darker background cards, as featured in the visuals bellow.

Everything is made by me, I print in a small local shop and look for the best quality as possible for the illustrations! I can ship worldwide from Japan, and it would be made with love, care and an immense gratitude.

✨ Poscards (4 patterns available now, can be seen on this Tumblr) ✨

Price: 3$/3€/3£ /pc, worldwide shipping included! ✨ I can make little discount if several items are bought.

Size: 10x14.7 (~3.9x5.7 inches)

The little pumpkin is part of a collection I have on my main illustration Tumblr, you can check at https://lucie-foselle.tumblr.com/)

✨ Stickers (Snape crest pattern) ✨

Price: 3$/3€/3£ /pc, worlwide shipping included! ✨

Size: ~5x6cm (~2.5 inches), might add holographic effect. ✨

You can contact me via DM here or on my IG, and payement is made via Paypal. I plan to launch my kofi page soon and might consider selling other goods and take commisions in the future if I feel like it could interest some of you! 💚 I can either draw and animate, still have to sort it all for 2025! 🤗

Note that I would do my best but I'm just starting to print and ship my art, there might be a little delay in the shipment and the goods might take up to 3 weaks to reach you. Plenty of non Snape pattern are also available so if you are interested do not hesitate to check or ask, my DM are open! 🤗

Even a little like, comment or share gives a lot of support. 💚 A huge thank you to all of you who would have read until now, and would show a little bit of support! ✨ Have a good rest of your week-end, fellow Snapers. 🐍