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gingerteafairy · 5 months ago

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𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

Love potions work and don't require magic. You just a charming bartender with a sugary smooth talk. tags n warnings: smut/mdni, bartender!alex x fem!reader, temperature play, licking, little dry humping as usual, drink kink, drunk sex. word count: 4.3k masterlist

@ikkyfics that video inspired the hell out of me, thank you for being my friend, this is for you. a little nasty, but it's a gift

It was your first time in a pub. Since your teenage years, you’d fantasized about it, maybe influenced by the romantic movies you watched. The space was small but cozy, with an almost secret charm, as if you had just discovered a cave filled with new sensations. The woody scent of the furniture blended with the perfume of alcohol and cologne, creating an inviting atmosphere.

You walked in, adjusting your outfit—perhaps a little too sophisticated for the occasion. You made your way to the bar, the sound of your heels softly echoing against the floor. The place wasn’t crowded, and you sighed in relief when you found an empty seat. You sat down, crossing your legs, the fabric of your clothes gliding over your skin.

Your gaze wandered around the bar, landing on one of the bartenders. He shook a cocktail shaker with skill, and the emerald liquid poured smoothly into the customer’s glass. It looked delicious; you found yourself making plans to try it later. The girl grabbed her drink and moved to a corner, leaving room for the curly-haired bartender to approach.

“Good evening,” he greeted you, his voice full of natural charisma. A charming smile played on his lips as he threw a towel over his shoulder. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“Good evening…” you replied, hesitating. The drinks you’d researched online vanished from your mind like locked characters in a game. You bit your lip before admitting, “Well… it’s my first time in a pub. I don’t know what to order.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “Lucky for you, it’s not crowded tonight.” With a corner smile, he quickly crouched down to grab something under the counter. “Here, this is the menu. If you want, I can make a few for you.”

“Would you do that?” you asked, your voice clearly full of expectation.

He shrugged, his response casual. “It’s fun. Look.”

Before you could answer, he was already in motion. You watched as he grabbed bottles and utensils, his movements precise and agile. There was something fascinating about the way he worked—like an alchemist mixing unknown potions, each ingredient transforming right before your eyes. The vibrant colors, the shine of the alcohol under the bar lights… it was almost hypnotic.

When he finished, he lined up six glasses in front of you, each with a unique color and composition.

“Mojito. Margarita. Negroni. Martini. Piña Colada. Cosmopolitan,” he pointed to each one, and at the end, he touched his own chest with a smile. “Alex.”

You laughed, surprised by the confidence with which he included himself on the “menu.”

“Are you on the menu?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, intrigued by the boldness and precision of his flirting.

“Does it bother you?” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he dried his hands on the towel over his shoulder.

“No… just surprised.” You ran a hand through your hair in an automatic gesture, twirling a strand between your fingers.

“Years of practice in front of the mirror,” he joked, drawing an easy smile from you. There was something magnetic about him—an effortless charm that made everything around feel lighter.

“I recommend starting with the Piña Colada. It’s smooth, sweet, tropical.”

You stared at the decorated glass, the creamy tones looking inviting.

“Sounds interesting.”

“If you want something more refreshing, the Mojito is a good choice. Balanced, not too strong. Doesn’t hit you right away.” He chuckled, sliding two glasses toward you.

You made your choice and took a sip, your eyes widening at the burst of flavor. A satisfied sound escaped involuntarily from your throat, and Alex smiled with evident amusement. You wanted to drink it all at once, but he snapped his fingers in the air.

“Slow down, sweetheart. You don’t want to get a hangover on your first adventure.”

You laughed, setting the glass on the table, your tongue running over your lips to catch a remnant of the drink.

“Sorry, it’s just so good.” You grabbed a napkin to wipe the corner of your mouth, his gaze following your movements.

“Second round.” He leaned slightly forward, like a host about to reveal a prize. “Something stronger and more sophisticated. Margarita and Cosmopolitan. The best of tequila and vodka, with a fruity touch.”

“You make it sound so good,” you smiled, reaching for the next glass, ready for the next experience.

“It’s because I love Cosmopolitan. I know, it’s cliché. Sex and the City. But I put a double shot of vodka in mine.” He joked defensively, watching you sip the chosen liquid more gently this time, paying attention to every note.

“It’s strong,” you commented, lowering the glass and setting it on the table, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through your chest.

Alex raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You haven’t seen strong yet.” He picked up two glasses with darker colors and placed them in front of you. “Espresso Martini and Negroni. Dry, strong, citrusy.”

“Wow, you convinced me.” You laughed, impressed by his ability to make even a drink choice feel irresistible. Grabbing one of the glasses, you brought it to your lips more cautiously this time, allowing the liquid to burn slightly down your throat before swallowing.

"Yes. Just a second." He moved away casually, going to attend to a new customer—the woman who had just arrived at the bar.

You should just stick to your drink, but for some reason, it bothered you. There was no reason to feel a little pang in your chest, but you felt it anyway. A subtle bitterness, like an echo of that drink. Dry, strong, citrusy.

You shook your head, pushing away foolish thoughts. He was just doing his job. Deluded. Yes, definitely.

When Alex returned, his eyes scanned the glasses and landed on you, noticing that the level of your drink had dropped considerably.

"Someone really liked this drink," he joked, crossing his arms, the work towel still hanging on his shoulder.

You shrugged, feeling the warmth of the alcohol beginning to blur the line between rationality and impulse.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, watching you with a mix of amusement and caution.

"A little dizzy," you admitted, resting your elbow on the table to hide the slight instability.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a half-smile. "Too bad... I was hoping to have some fun with you."

The words escaped before you could filter them. "You still can."

Maybe it was the alcohol loosening your tongue, or maybe it was just the Alex effect on you.

He chuckled softly but shook his head. "I don’t like taking advantage of others." The smile he gave was polite, genuine. He grabbed your empty glasses and turned, walking to the back of the bar.

He was ethical, too. Men like Alex had been extinct, you were sure of it. But then, just before disappearing completely, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"You know, you seem like a really cool person," he said, spinning the glass in his hands, thoughtful. "I have a solution for this."

"What?" You leaned slightly over the counter, intrigued.

"I’ll get like you," he said, grabbing an empty glass and mixing some drinks without even consulting a recipe. He brought it to his lips and downed it all at once. "My shift ends soon. By then, I should be starting to get a little tipsy."

You widened your eyes, letting out a surprised laugh. "Oh my God. You really are amazing."

Excited, you reached out to grab another drink, but he was quicker and moved the glasses out of your reach.

"That’s enough juice," he joked, swapping the drink for a pitcher of water and pouring you a glass. "Drink this. It’ll help."

"Fiiine…" you grumbled playfully before bringing the glass to your lips.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the magnetic effect of Alex, but you spent a long time smiling like a fool. You tried to hide it, covering part of your face with your hand whenever your gazes met. But it was useless. He noticed.

Every now and then, he’d take another small sip, just enough to keep him present at work, but noticeable enough that his energy started to shift. He laughed more, cracked more jokes. He became even more charming—if that was even possible.

When his shift finally ended, you felt a little more sober. He, on the other hand, was starting to look visibly cheerful, his posture relaxed and his smile more effortless.

"How’s it going?" He asked, circling the bar to meet you face-to-face.

You looked up, realizing just how tall he was.

And, up close, even more handsome.

"Wow, you’re gorgeous," Alex murmured, leaning in closer, his eyes scanning your face as if he wanted to memorize every detail.

The proximity lasted only an instant before he pulled back, letting out a nervous laugh and running his hand through his curly hair. "Oh my God, sorry. What am I doing?"

You laughed, the effect of the alcohol and his presence making everything easier, lighter. You grabbed his hands, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

"No. Come closer again."

Alex paused for a moment, as if processing your words, then smiled, interlacing his fingers with yours. Slowly, he brought your hand to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on your fingers. His soft laugh filled the space between you, and he tilted his head slightly, fascinated by the way a lock of your hair slid to the side with the movement.

"Come with me," he said, pulling you by the hand.

Without hesitation, you followed him, crossing a side door that led to a narrow staircase lit by dim yellow lights. He stumbled on the first few steps, laughing at his own slip, and you laughed too, holding his hand tightly until you reached the top.

Alex unlocked a door with a key, stepping inside first and glancing around before making space for you.

"Where are we?" you asked, surveying the cozy environment. It was small like the bar downstairs, but much more organized.

"My place," he smiled, spinning the key in the lock before tossing it into a bowl on a table.

"Above the bar?" You raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Family business. I’m taking care of it while my parents are away." He stretched, his t-shirt riding up slightly, revealing a strip of pale skin and a provocative waist before he moved closer again. His hand found the small of your back, tracing a slow path to your waist.

"You’re full of surprises," you smiled, feeling a shiver where his fingers glided—firm, yet gentle.

He tilted his head, studying each expression of yours with that intense gaze. The flush on your cheeks gave away the warmth of the alcohol in your system, but there was something more there—something genuine.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" he asked, his thumb giving a lazy massage to your waist.

"You did at the bar," you murmured, looking up and noticing how close your faces were. "But I still don’t know how to respond to that."

"Respond like this."

The whisper came before the touch. Alex closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours with the same softness as the Piña Colada you had tasted minutes earlier. But there was something more in his kiss—a mix of all the drinks in the world. A sweet, warm, slightly intoxicating touch.

And you wanted more.

The kiss slowly broke, neither of you wanting to leave that moment.

"Do you always kiss like that, or just when you’re drunk?" you joked, your face breaking into a smile that turned into a carefree laugh.

"I think getting drunk makes me a little desperate," he laughed, pressing another kiss against your lips. "I think I slobber a lot when I’m drunk. Is that bad for you?"

"You think you’re slobbering? Then I must be a fountain," you laughed, not hesitating to steal another kiss from him, using his arms as support to lean in.

“I like things a little wet.” He teased with a sideways smile and you knew exactly what he was talking about, judging by the hoarseness of his voice. “Have you ever had drunk sex?”

“No.” You said, feeling your heart race at Alex’s implicit suggestion. “Actually, I’ve never done what I’m doing now. Going up to the apartment of a bartender I just met.”

“Fuck.” He laughed, leaning his head against yours with more force than he planned, groaning in pain, smoothing his forehead. “My God, I must be really drunk. Sorry.”

“No plobrem. Pro. Prob. How do you say that word?” Your laughter became loud as you massaged your forehead. He took your hand away and kissed the spot, as an apology.

“I don’t invite a drunk to my apartment either.” He expressed, with an amused look through his brown eyes. “I enjoyed the experience with you. When I saw you I thought you were pretty, but in fact you’re ugly. No. Wait. It's the other way around. Beautiful. You. I thought you were beautiful. Holy shit. Forget everything I said now.”

Your bodies swayed with the sweet melody of laughter filling the room. Paying closer attention, it was noticeable that the bar still existed downstairs, small murmurs crackling beneath the floor and the firm chords of Glenn Miller sounding muffled from the speakers downstairs. You stifled your laughter. Alex did the same, trying to camouflage the smile that still insisted on marking his face.

“When I saw you arriving, I thought of offering you Love Potion.” He pondered, starting to sway his body to the light rhythm of Moonlight Serenade in a dance so eloquent to the melody of the song.

You inhaled deeply his perfume, the lingering scent of the extra shot of vodka in the special Cosmopolitan. “What made you think of that possibility?”

“Well… the first reason is because I love that drink. It’d be a perfect cliché to give you a love potion.” He beamed, lowering his hands to your hips to guide them closer to his pelvis, making you feel his aroused state discreetly. “Vodka. Peach liqueur. Cranberry juice and prosecco.”

“It looks delicious.” You hummed, your mouth opening slightly at the sensation of the light friction between the tissues. “And the second reason?”

“The drink is pink.” He smiled widely, laughing even before the answer that would follow was so comical and erogenous. “I would ask you nonchalantly: you know what else is pink? But I thought that would be sexual harassment.”

“You really think of everything, don’t you?” Your smile widened as you closed your eyes, waiting for Alex’s next kiss. His lips met yours with an almost lazy softness, as if he savored every second of the contact.

“I think about a lot of things.” He murmured against your mouth before pulling away just enough to watch your face. His thumb slid across your cheek, tracing a distracted path. “My mind never stops. I actually thought of something else for tonight while you were drinking.”

His husky, casual tone sent a shiver down your spine. Alex placed one last peck on your lips before turning and starting to walk towards the kitchen. “Come here.”

You followed him without hesitation, watching his every move as if trying to decipher his thoughts. He opened the refrigerator and began to take out some ingredients, his eyes focused on what he was doing. Rum. Strawberries. Lemon. Sugar. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his hair messy, but still, he seemed to own every space around him. Washing his hands quickly, Alex grabbed a lemon and cut it in half with precision. Without a juicer, he improvised, holding the fruit over a glass and using the palm of his hand as a sieve to keep the seeds from falling out. The juice dripped slowly, the citrus aroma mixing with his already intoxicating smell.

The strawberries came next. He picked up a pestle, crushing the berries at the bottom of the glass with a controlled movement, his fingers firm around the wood. The sugar was added next, dissolving into the red mixture before he finally topped it all off with the amber rum.

You didn’t even realize you were biting your lip until Alex grabbed a few ice cubes and dropped them into the glass, the sound of the ice clinking against the glass. He looked up at you, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth when he noticed your expectant expression.

“Let’s head to my bedroom.”

His voice was low, almost an invitation, almost an order. Alex placed a hand on your waist, his touch warm even over the thin fabric of your clothes, and guided you to the bed without rushing, without letting go of you for a second.

When you reached the bedroom, he left the glass on the dresser, the ruby-colored liquid shining under the low light. Then, he turned to you, stopping for a few seconds to simply observe. His gaze traveled over every detail of you, as if he wanted to memorize your image.

He approached you again. This time, the kiss came slower, deeper. His mouth slid over yours with an almost torturous patience, his tongue tracing lazy paths, while one of his hands went up to the back of your neck, his fingers sliding through your hair. It was a kiss that felt like a long sip of something strong and addictive.

He pulled away briefly, his hands tugging at the hem of his own shirt before pulling it over his head in a carefree movement. The fabric slid easily, revealing skin warmed by the soft light of the room. Your eyes instinctively scanned his silhouette, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he tossed his shirt aside.

For some reason, that made you move too. Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and without thinking much, you pulled it up, feeling the fabric slide against your skin before falling onto the bed. Alex smirked at your gesture, but didn't say anything. He just picked up the glass from the dresser, bringing it to his lips for a slow sip. The clink of ice against the glass echoed through the room, and for a moment, your eyes fixed on the way he tasted the drink, the way his lips curved around the rim of the glass.

Without looking away, he handed you the drink. The glass was now in your possession, the citrus and sweet aroma arriving before the liquid even touched your mouth. The fresh and slightly burning taste of rum slid across your tongue, the touch of the cold drink contrasting with the heat that your body was beginning to feel.

A sudden need to settle down better took over you. As if the mattress was silently calling you, as if that moment demanded more surrender. Without hesitation, you lay down, feeling the weight of the bed adjust to your body. Alex just watched, his expression softening for a second, before leaning over you, his eyes filled with an intensity stronger than the rum itself.

“People do that at parties. It might be a little gross, but I’ve always wanted to try it.” He whispered against your mouth, his dark eyes fixed on yours as he pulled the dark jeans off your body.

“What do they do?” You dared, biting your lip in anticipation, the excitement screaming inside your body. Alex bent down to kiss you quickly, smiling against your mouth before lifting a little and picking up the glass.

He caught the ice in his mouth, keeping it in his cheek, returning with a lascivious look to your body. Leaning back down, you understood what that meant. The cold sensation spread to your neck. The ice locking an indescribable sensation in your collarbone. You couldn’t help but gasp, a shiver running down your spine as Alex began to slide the ice over your breasts, pulling your bra to the side. Taking the ice out of his mouth, he licked your nipple with his cold tongue, closing his eyes to memorize the sensation. There was no way to describe that feeling, you just allowed yourself to enjoy it, punishing Alex’s curls in your fingers.

“Was it bad?” He asked, standing up to glimpse his flushed, uneven face.

You bit your lip, wetting it before you started to speak. “No, it was… intense.” Your voice was thin as a moan, certain that Alex could see how wet you were and not just from the ice that was melting on your sternum.

“Wanna try?” He suggested, biting your shoulder.

“Yeah.” You purred, finding the strength to get up from the bed, sitting on your knees. You grabbed the glass and poured the sweet liquid down your throat, stopping for swallowing before savoring how it felt in Alex’s kiss.

You took the ice in your mouth and did the same step, sitting on Alex’s lap, his thick erection covered only by the thin fabric of his navy blue underwear. Placing the ice on your fingers, you slid your icy tongue down Alex’s flushed neck. He groaned, pulling your hips onto his lap, forcing them down.

Placing the ice back in your mouth, you went down to his chest, kissing the spot and sliding back down to his jaw. He grabbed your thighs in a stronger movement, not taking another second of teasing and kissing your mouth.

You broke the kiss quickly to remove the ice and kiss him hungrily, enjoying the hot and cold sensation. Alex pulled his cock out of his underwear impatiently, opening the drawer on the side of the bed and pulling out a condom, rapidly taking it.

Sliding the plastic around his cock, he pulled your panties to the side. You adjusted your position so he could stuff himself inside you. He pushed inside, groaning loudly when his entire length was inside your warm walls.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” He whimpered, pulling his hips back and forth, his eyebrows knitted together as he looked at your sexes touching between the forgotten fabrics. “Your pussy is so damn good.”

He threw his head back, his fingers buried in the soft flesh of your bum. You leaned forward, humming as you felt the thickness touch your spot. Your eyes watering with overwhelming pleasure. Alex opened his eyes, grabbing the glass from the dresser again and pouring some of the drink on your neck, licking the sweet skin hungrily. You moaned louder, your hands going straight to his brown hair, pulling it with trembling hands.

“Alex. God— This feels so good. I can feel it on my— Fuck.” You couldn’t finish a single sentence, your system only focusing on Alex’s cock abusing your needy pussy, swallowing the entire length without complaining.

“Kiss me.” He pleaded and you nodded, chasing his sweet lips, sometimes breaking the kiss with uncontrollable moans and pants, his hands sliding and squeezing harshly between your neck and breast, incapable of controlling his body.

“Alex— Alex…” The name escaped, like the only anchor at the moment, your eyes cloudy. Alex’s tongue circling yours, his hips starting to move against yours, the smacking sound of flesh echoing through the room.

“That’s it. That’s it. Fuck, doll. If you keep talking like that, I’m going to—hmmmm—come too fast and not even enjoy your pussy.” He whined, the tip of his cock sensitive against your cervix, his balls starting to betray his approaching climax. “So perfect. Shit.”

“Yeah? Then come.” You begged kittenish, your hips uncontrollably moving against him, forward, sideways, backward, up, down. Your body screaming for orgasm you knew it’d be hard like any other you had before. “Alex—”

“Gonna cum, gonna cum.” He warned, embracing your shivering body, grounding his feet on the bed and starting to force his hips up and down harder. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Alex, please don’t stop. Shit, i’m cumming.” You whimpered, burying your face on his neck, loud moans tearing from your throat as he fucked your pussy without the slightest mercy, moaning nonsense in your ear, babbling brainless as he engorded your cunt.

His thrusts became more uneven, out of rhythm. He shutted his eyes, your walls squeezing his cock making him roll his eyes and spill out the pleasure.

“Oh, Alex. No. Alex, it’s too much.” You protested, your thighs aching and shaking from the position. Alex kissed your disheveled face, prolonging the sensation even more.

“Shhh. Hold on—just a little longer, love. Hold on for me, go on.” He groaned, grabbing your hair, one last thrust being given as he felt the cum all released. You were still moaning when he was slowly stopping, feeling him soften inside you. “That’s it… That’s it, so good for me. You take me so well.”

He kissed your face, moving your messy hair to kiss you more intensely, a long, loving kiss. You reluctantly got off of him, feeling the emptiness return as he stood up and went to the bathroom to discard the stuffed condom. He came back to bed with a damp towel, drying the remaining liquid that was still on your neck and the sweat from your face.

“Better?” He asked, leaving the towel aside to lie down next to you.

“Yes. It couldn’t be better.” You smiled, settling into a caring hug in Alex's arms.

“Good. I guess the love potion worked.” He joked, pulling a sheet to cover your semi-naked bodies. “Although that wasn't a Love Potion. It was a Strawberry Daiquiri.”

“It worked. I loved it. Thanks for all the drinks.” You grinned, seeking Alex's contact closer, while he left gentle kisses on your forehead, turning to the side to hug you freely, letting the tiredness and the drink envelop you both in a deep and well-deserved sleep after so many experiences in the same day.

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yanderslutt · 20 days ago

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CHERRY ˚₊ · »-♡→ CHROLLO X YAN! READER X HISOKA

˖°࿐ •⁀➷

Chapter 2 - ˚₊ · »-♡→

The Things We Offer

You don't knock right away.

You stand in the hallway for three full minutes—watching the flickering fluorescent light above his office door, heart racing like you’ve done something wrong. Like you’ve already been caught.

You stare down at your ribbon-tied wrist. Red. Soft. Silky. It’s ridiculous, you know. You’ve rehearsed your question a dozen times in your head. It’s academic. Safe.

But your body doesn’t believe you.

You raise your hand.

Knock twice.

“Come in.”

His voice is a melody wrapped in smoke.

You push the door open.

—

Chrollo Lucilfer’s office smells like sandalwood and red wine.

Not the sweet kind. The dark, bitter kind that stains your mouth and makes you say things you regret in the morning.

The lights are low, drawn from a single antique lamp tucked behind a stack of leather-bound books. A candle flickers on his desk—its wax bleeding down like a slow death.

He looks up from his chair, framed by shadows and shelves.

“Miss Y/N,” he says. Not surprised. “Please. Sit.”

Your throat tightens. You obey.

The chair creaks beneath you. Your thighs press together automatically—not out of fear. Something worse. Need. Heat. Anticipation you didn’t prepare for.

“You had a question about the reading?”

You nod. “The section on heroic self-sacrifice… and devotion. It caught me off guard.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, folding his hands in front of his lips. “Yes. The illusion of noble decay.”

He stands slowly. The movement so smooth it feels choreographed. His coat shifts behind him like a stage curtain. You grip the arms of the chair.

“Tell me,” he says, walking to the shelf, “what disturbed you?”

“The implication that love is only authentic when it violates something sacred.”

He tilts his head. Selects a book. Then turns.

“Good.” “Good?” you echo. “It disturbed you. That means it reached something real.”

He places the book on the desk in front of you. Not yet handing it over.

“We are taught that love is symmetrical. That it’s shared. Fair.” “But it’s not,” you whisper. “No,” he says. “It consumes. And when it does, it leaves behind art. That’s the sacrifice.”

Your breath hitches.

He leans against the desk, one hand resting on the edge. So close. His fingers curl, just a fraction.

“You’ve begun to understand that, haven’t you?”

You nod.

“Your recent work—” he continues, eyes scanning yours, “—is unraveling. In a beautiful way. Lines fraying. Color bleeding. Composition losing control.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“That’s why it’s honest. Unfinished work doesn’t lie. It hasn’t been polished into fiction.”

You swallow. Loud in the silence.

Then he finally places the book in your hands.

“The Desire for Ruin” by Kuro Tazawa. A rare out-of-print copy.

Red ink stains the margins.

A cherry stem lies between the pages—pressed and dried, tied into a knot.

“Things rot when left untouched,” he says softly. “But sometimes, we offer them anyway. Not to please—but to provoke.”

Your hands tremble.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I… I’ll take care of it.”

He smiles—slow, deliberate, like the sun rising on something ancient.

“I hope it changes you.”

You flee before your body gives away just how much it already has.

You don’t notice the extra weight in your bag until you’re halfway up the stairs to your apartment.

The hallway is still. Quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that listens back.

Your fingers pause over the zipper, chest rising too fast. Something pulls at you. A wrongness.

You unzip your tote and find it. A folded page. Old. Soft. Familiar.

You don’t even need to open it to know.

You recognize the grain of the paper. The frayed corner. It’s from your sketchbook. The one you burned last winter. Or thought you did.

Your hands shake as you unfold it.

A charcoal sketch—of you. Lip parted. Collarbones exposed. Your eyes wide and dilated, lashes smudged. Neck arched.

You remember when he drew this.

Not with pencil. But with touch.

Hisoka had pressed you down into the mattress, one knee between your legs, his hand pinning both of yours above your head as he whispered:

“Look at you. You're a canvas.”

His fingers had trailed your skin like brushes. Painting bruises. His teeth had left crescent moons on your thighs.

“You're a masterpiece, Y/N. And I ruin everything I love.”

Your body remembers before your mind does. Heat curls low in your stomach. Not just fear. Shame. Desire. Recognition.

You blink down at the note scrawled across the image in violet ink:

“You look beautiful when you’re nervous. Still as sweet as I remember. But does he know how you sound when you’re begging?”

Your breath stutters. You drop it like it burned you.

The floor feels unsteady. You fumble for your phone.

No missed calls. No messages. No sign of forced entry. No camera alerts.

You slam the door behind you and lock it. All three bolts. Twice.

Your chest rises. Falls. Rises too fast again.

Then—

You see it.

Taped to the window.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Another note. Same violet ink. Same unmistakable scrawl—loopy, chaotic, almost playful if it weren’t so sharp.

You step closer.

Your fingers tremble as you peel the paper free.

“You’re not hiding from me, darling. You’re just giving me better angles.”

Your knees nearly give out.

Because now you remember what he used to say— When he would straddle you, camera in hand, clicking the shutter as you squirmed beneath him.

“Keep your eyes on me, bunny. I only capture what’s mine.”

You press a hand to your mouth.

He’s been here. Not days ago. Not weeks ago.

Tonight.

And he’s watching again.

Not because he misses you.

But because he doesn’t believe he ever lost you.

Hisoka’s POV

She leaves her balcony door unlocked now. Not on purpose. But not by accident, either.

He can tell.

She used to double-check it three times. Used to draw the curtain. Now she leaves it cracked—just enough for the cold air to slip in. Just enough for a watcher to breathe her in.

And tonight, he’s the air.

Hisoka crouches on a rooftop across the street, gloved fingers steady on the edge of the ledge, camera balanced between his knees. The wind howls through the alley below, but he’s still as a gargoyle—and just as old, just as cursed.

It’s raining.

Not heavy. But persistent. Cold. Silver. The kind of rain that slides down his temple, catches in his lashes, wets his collar. He lets it. Doesn't even blink.

He wears black tonight. Of course.

A wine-colored silk shirt clings to his chest, open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His slacks are fitted, leather gloves slick and creased with wear. A long trench coat clings to his back, soaked through, but he doesn’t care. His hair is tied loosely at the nape, strands sticking to his cheekbones, damp and wild.

A single cigar burns between his lips, the tip glowing like a warning flare.

He takes a slow drag. Exhales smoke into the wet wind.

“There you are,” he murmurs, voice low and spoiled with hunger.

Y/N stands at the window, barefoot, one sleeve sliding off her shoulder. She’s holding a book—his book. The one Lucilfer gave her.

Chrollo’s fucking book. Chrollo’s fucking cherry stem pressed between its pages like a goddamn signature.

Hisoka’s teeth clench on the cigar.

That smug, sanctified bastard, he thinks, thinks he’s going to rewrite her. Mold her into his next tragic little thesis.

He flicks ash off the side of the building.

“No,” he whispers, licking a drop of rain from his lip. “She’s already been written.”

“By me.”

Hisoka lowers the camera and just watches.

Watches the way she shifts. The way her eyes stay on the page, but her body betrays her—hips tilted, thighs clenched, chest rising too fast.

“He’s got your mind,” he murmurs. “But I had your whimpers. Your nails. Your blood.”

He remembers the way she slept: Curled around his leg, mouth bruised, breath shallow. The scent of sweat and candle wax between them. The little gasps she gave when he whispered filth in her ear, the way her eyes rolled back when he pressed just hard enough.

She thought she could erase that.

But it’s etched in her. He wrote his name on her lungs.

“He won’t touch you like I did,” he breathes, tracing her silhouette on the fogged glass with one gloved finger. “He won’t make you sob without using a single word.”

Lightning splits the sky. Thunder rolls.

Hisoka pulls something from his coat pocket. Gently. Reverently.

A ribbon.

Her ribbon.

The one she wore the night she screamed his name loud enough to wake the neighbors. The one he pulled off her throat with his teeth and tied around her wrist like a leash.

He runs it between his fingers now, careful not to crush the memory.

“Go ahead, little cherry,” he murmurs around the cigar. “Let him make you feel safe.”

“When he breaks you, I’ll be the one who picks the pieces.”

“And this time—” he grins, feral, “I’ll keep one.”

He walks down the fire escape, slow and deliberate. Boots clicking wet metal.

He reaches her floor. Strolls past her door like a shadow on two legs. The hallway light flickers once.

He leans down and slides a third note under the crack—two fingers pressed to the envelope like a kiss.

“Still watching. Still sweet. Still mine.”

He flicks the cigar to the floor. Stomps it out with a gleaming heel.

Then he disappears into the rain.

Before the moon even registers his absence.

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sitervlitoy · 5 months ago

Note

Can we see your drawing process? The way you colour and render (esp your insane lighting skills) is so impressive 🥹

Sorry for late answer, I've finally managed to compose myself and make this post Let me walk you through my process Usually I have a complete idea of what I want to draw in my head, and if the final art is close enough to what I see in there, I consider it a success Starting with a sketch, the idea in my head might be blurry, so to better understand what I want a pose or composition to be, I use references (everybody should) You can see it clearly below

Also I use browser app called Magic Poser, it's a bit clunky, but it helps to figure out a pose/angle/composition

Usually I try to keep my lineart clean so it will be easier to render later, but sometimes it's just prettier to clean up a sketch When it comes to colors, I don't use palettes, I kinda see colors in my head, so I just eye-pick them, and then use overlays to correct stuff I use blue/purple for shadows, and orange/white for light Also my art mostly in the same hues (blue or orange), so I'm used to work with these colors Here's an example of how bland my art looks without overlays

Render is actually my favorite part! I can fix any mistakes and add some details I don't have much to say about the process, I just mish-mash everything until it looks right, add some shadows on edges, smooth some lines

I do lighting with shine overlay, and to add deepness I use multiply (and a bunch of other overlays) As to how I think light should land on things, I think it's a mix of poser app, references and trained eye (so my lighting usually don't make sense haha) (same goes for folds)

I can't say anything about background work, because my brain just shuts down in the beginning and powers back up when it's done (but actually it's, again, references what helps)

So ughhhh I don't think this post was helpful in any way, but thank you for giving me an opportunity to blab about my process!

Here's a full process of one of my art that I was able to compile

#ask

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pricklenettle · 7 months ago

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What’s your art process like?

I’m sorry I’ve been sitting on this one for so long, because honestly I feel like I have a pretty typical process. But I’ll do my best to explain what I do with a few pictures!

Thumb-nailing is always a good idea and will help you know what the heck you’re doing. It really helps with value and composition! Here’s my thumbnailing for the christmas truce comic I did (you can see a random warm up doodle I did before starting something else XD

You can see how loose it is, and also the dialogue is just off to the side XD

for comic making this is maybe the hardest part, but once you have it, it’s pretty smooth sailing to sketch it out and make it bigger. I don’t have a photo of that part unfortunately because it’s quick. (I usually just loosely pencil in where the people are with more attention to the structures and panels around them, and maybe what they’re expressions are) Then I make it pretty:

The actual pages are fairly small because most people are going to be reading it on their phone. Then I line it with pen which always goes really fast.

For colored things, I am still often figuring things out. I usually put a base color down first and then layer on top of it. Also, I try to keep my color pallets fairly limited, sometimes by picking out before hand the colors at my disposal. Once you have those colors if you mix them the whole piece will look more interesting and cohesive as long as your initial colors play well together (don’t have to worry so much about this with colored pencil, but watercolors play best with others the fewer pigments they have already mixed inside.)

Here’s one that I’ve only put a base color down, usually I don’t leave blank spaces unless value or glow is really important

The wirt and greg pictures have a hot pink wash behind them

You can see the layering easier in this gauche painting

I think most traditional artists would describe something similar. In my opinion, the most important part is practicing and doing so on a regular basis. For me, even if I do nothing else, once a week I go to church, sit down in a pew and get out my sketch book. If you can find a time like that for yourself it really is valuable! I won’t say anymore because there are so many more awesome tutorials and explanations elsewhere on the internet! If nothing else, I hope to leave you with the impression of how doable this is, even with something simple like a ball point pen or crayola pencils

here’s some bonus doodles for reading to the end ✨⭐️🌌

#nettle speaks #long post #my art

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redslug · 2 years ago

Text

Denoiser wisdom

Since a lot of people showed interest in my workflow of using SD like a renderer for existing sketches, I'll be sharing the little tricks I find while exploring the capabilities of SD with Neuroslug. Read the inpainting post to understand this one. When inpainting, the model takes into consideration what is already in the area it regenerates and in the areas around it. How exactly it'll follow these guidelines is determined by denoising strength. At low values it'll stick closely to the areas of color it sees and won't create anything radically different from the base. At high denoising strength it'll gladly insert colors, shapes and silhouettes that weren't there originally. Basically the more you trust your sketch the smaller your denoising strength should be. It doesn't mean you won't need the high denoising at some point. Let me explain it using yesterday's artwork. It all starts with a rough sketch.

Since I have a particular composition in mind and want it to be maintained, I'll be using a low denoising strength to fully regenerate this image.

It means that the algorithm won't have enough freedom to fix my large-scale mistakes, it's simply not allowed to change the areas of color too dramatically. So if you want to do this yourself make sure to set the image to black and white first and check that your values are working and contrast is good.

To make sure the result isn't too cartoony and flat I used brushes with strong color jitter and threw a rather aggressive noise texture over the whole thing. This'll give the denoiser a little wiggle room to sprout details out of thin air.

It kept the composition, the suggested lighting and the majority of flowers kept their intended colors too. This was denoising strength 0f 0.4. To contrast that, same base image with denoising at 0.7:

It's pretty, but it's neither the style nor composition I wanted. Let's refine the newly redrawn base to include the details that were lost in transition. These were intended to be roses.

It's here where I learned a little trick. You can mix and match different models to achieve the look you desire. Neuroslug is good at detailed moths and painterly environments. It's not good at spitting out really detailed flowers, they end up looking very impressionist which is not what I want in foreground. So, I switched to an anime focused model and let it run wild on this bush with high (0.7) denoising strength.

Nice definition, but it looks too smooth and isn't in line with what I want. Switching back to Neuroslug with denoising at 0.5 and letting it work over these roses.

This way, I get both the silhouette and contrast of the anime model (counterfeitV30) and the matching style of Neuroslug. It's also useful in cases where the model doesn't know a particular flower. You can generate an abstract flower cluster with the anime model and use the base model to remind the AI that what you want is in fact a phlox specifically. So I did this to basically every flower cluster on the image to arrive at this:

It's still a bit of a mess but it has taken me about 80% of the way there, the rest I'll be fixing up myself.

My "Lazy Foliage" brush set was really helpful for this. I'll release that one once it accumulates enough brushes to be really versatile. Now we block in the character.

Yes, I left the hands wonky since I intend to be drawing them manually later, same about the foot. There's so much opportunity for the AI to mess them up that I'd rather have all the control on these details.

When it renders the face it can really mess up everything, so I do it with low (0.45) denoising strength to discourage new eyes popping up in inappropriate places. Take note that I kept the antennae out of the mask. AI is easily confused when one subject overlaps the other.

Good, good. Wait. Why are your eyes hairy? Now, mask out the eyes, remove all mention of fur from the prompt and

That's about right. Since the eyes are all one color block I can afford to raise the denoising strength for more wild results. Same for areas of just fluff on the entire body, it's all one texture and having the denoiser at 0.6-0.75 is beneficial because it's going to add locks, stray hairs and other fluffy goodness. Just make sure to not make the mask too tight to the silhouette, it needs some space to add hairs sticking out.

With the skirt it was back to really low denoising. The folds I blocked in make sense with the position oh her legs under it, so I didn't want it to be lost.

Lastly, I drew in a flower that she's planting and ran over it with moderately high denoising to make it match the surrounding style. Ignore the biblically accurate roots there, I'll fix them by hand.

One last pass over the whole thing in Procreate. I draw the hands and add details such as the round pseudopupils, face ridges and wing markings to keep the character consistent with the previous image of her. And a bit of focal blur for a feeling of depth. Phew, even with generous use of AI this whole thing took an entire day of work. In the end what determines quality isn't the tool you use but the attention you choose to pay to finding inconsistencies and fixing them.

#neuroslug #ai assisted art #stable diffusion #anthro #moth #tutorial #I guess it counts as a tutorial at least #what are these long posts even #slug's experiments

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bangtanbeom · 3 months ago

Text

✧*̥˚ pygmalion *̥˚✧

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader genre: angst, artist/muse au, dark romance, psychological drama, oneshot. summary: two artists—a reckless painter and a perfectionist sculptor—collide in a quiet studio. chaos, fascination, and the kind of connection that threatens to consume them both. they must navigate the fine line between brilliance and self-destruction. w/c: ~2.7k warning: not entirely proofread, toxic & possessive/obsessive relationship dynamic, artistic self-destruction, identity erosion, mild cursing, destructive perfectionism, validation. a/n: hello! this is one of my old drafts, i wrote this in the week when winter ahead came out and read all sorts of theories about the pygmalion mythology and it made me want to write something. i hope you'll like it! <3

the studio was quiet except for the sound of charcoal scratching against paper and the occasional sigh of frustration.

taehyung's hand moved with methodical precision, shaping the curve of a collarbone from cold marble. around him, students whispered—admiring, envious.

'it's like the sculpture could breathe.' 'how does he make it look so real?'

but he didn't hear them. he only heard the silence of his own dissatisfaction—the lifeless sculpture.

then—chaos.

a sharp curse, the clatter of a brush hitting the floor, the scent of turpentine thickening the air.

his gaze flickered to the corner of the room, where you stood in front of a canvas, fingers tangled in your hair, paint smeared across your cheek like a bruise.

"you look like you're fighting your own work," he said, voice low, carrying just enough to reach you.

you didn't turn. "maybe i am."

he tilted his head. "why?"

finally, you glanced at him, eyes dark with something raw. "because it won't listen."

a laugh threatened at the corner of his lips. "art doesn't listen. it yields."

you scoffed, turning back to the canvas. "or maybe it fights back."

he watched as you dragged your brush across the surface, a violent streak of crimson. it was reckless. imperfect.

it was alive.

and for the first time in years, taehyung felt something stir in his chest—intrigue.

he started lingering near your easel.

at first, it was subtle—passing comments, critiques wrapped in velvet.

"your composition is unbalanced," he murmured one evening, fingers hovering near the edge of your canvas.

you didn't look up. "i like it unbalanced."

his thumb brushed a stray drip of paint. "it could be better."

"better isn't always right."

his eyes darkened. "then what is?"

you finally met his gaze. "whatever feels right."

he exhaled, slow, measured. "and what does this feel like?"

you hesitated. then quietly—

"like i'm tearing myself apart."

something in his expression shifted—fascination, possessiveness, need.

"show me," he said.

and like a fool you did.

the art building was nearly empty at this hour, the hum of the ventilation system and the occasional creak of the old floorboards were the only sounds in the room.

you hadn't meant to stay so late, but the painting wasn't right—the colors were too muted, the lines too restrained. it looked like something you'd hand in for a grade, not something that clawed its way out of you.

a shadow fell across your canvas.

"you're still here."

taehyung's voice was low, smooth like the edge of a blade. you didn't turn, but you felt him step closer, the heat of his body just inches from your back.

"could say the same to you," you muttered, dragging your brush through a streak of ochre.

he hummed, fingers trailing along the edge of your easel. "i don't sleep much."

"neither do i, apparently."

a pause. then, his hand closed over yours, guiding the brush with deliberate pressure. "you're hesitating."

your breath hitched. "i'm thinking."

"don't." his lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "just feel it."

you wanted to pull away, but his grip was firm, his other hand settling on your hip like an anchor. the brush moved again, this time with more force—a violent streak of gold cutting through the composition.

it was reckless—real.

and when you finally turned to look at him, his eyes were dark with something unreadable.

"see?" he murmured. "isn't that better?"

you swallowed hard.

it was.

the cafe near campus was always packed on sunday mornings, but you'd claimed a corner table, sketchbook open, a half-finished latte going cold beside you.

you were trying to capture the way the light cut through the window—sharp, almost harsh—but your lines were too careful, too controlled.

a chair scraped back across from you.

"mind if i join you?"

taehyung didn't wait for an answer before sitting, his long fingers wrapping around a black coffee.

you scowled. "do you always invite yourself into people's space?"

he took a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours. "only when i'm interested."

your pencil stilled. "in what?"

"your process." he reached over, turning your sketchbook toward him. his thumb smudged a line you'd drawn too lightly. "you're holding back."

you snatched the book back. "not everyone needs to bleed onto the page to make art."

he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "then what's the point?"

"the point is to create something good."

"good isn't the same as real." his voice dropped, almost intimate. "and you, of all people, know the difference."

the air between you crackled.

you wanted to argue. wanted to snap that he didn't know you, didn't get you—

but then his foot brushed yours under the table, deliberate, and your breath caught.

it already felt like he did.

the storage room smelled of turpentine and dust, the only light bleeding in through the cracked door.

you were searching for a fresh canvas when his voice slithered through the dark.

"you've been avoiding me."

taehyung

you didn't turn, fingers tightening around the edge of a blank stretcher. "i've been working."

a lie.

his footsteps were silent, but you felt him anyway—closer, always closer—until his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck.

"liar."

his hands gripped your waist, spinning you around. the canvas clattered to the floor.

up close, his eyes were black—hungry, longing.

"you promised you'd show me your new piece," he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. smearing the red paint you hadn't realized was there.

your pulse thundered. "it's not ready."

"or you're afraid i'll hate it."

"i don't care what you think—"

his lips crashed into yours.

the kiss was rough, possessive—his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. you gasped, and he took advantage—tongue sliding into yours, tasting the coffee and frustration on your breath.

when he pulled away, your lips were swollen.

"liar," he repeated, softer now.

you shoved him back, your chest raced and your breath shook. "what the fuck was that?"

a slow smile curled his mouth.

"proof."

the critique had gone badly.

the professor praised your piece—'finally applying real technique'—while taehyung stood in the back, arms crossed, gaze burning holes through you.

after class, you stormed out into the downpour, not caring that your sketchbook was getting ruined.

he caught up to you under the skeletal awning of the sculpture garden.

"stop running."

you whirled on him. "you did this. you twisted my work—"

"you improved," he corrected, water dripping from his hair.

"it's not me anymore!"

"because it's better now." he stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "admit it. you were ordinary before me."

the words cut deeper than any blade.

you slapped him.

the sound cracked through the garden. his head snapped to the side, dark hair clinging to his forehead.

for a second, neither of you moved.

then his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

"again," he dared, lips curling. "if you're not scared."

you trembled—with rage, with something worse.

you wanted to hit him. you wanted to kiss him.

moments shattered when thunder rolled overhead.

he released you, stepping back into the storm.

"see you tomorrow," he called over his shoulder, as if nothing had happened.

the studio was too quiet at 3 a.m.

you stared at your latest painting—his latest painting, really. the brushstrokes were tighter, the colors muted into something 'refined'. it was technically flawless.

it made you sick.

taehyung watched as you gripped the edge of the easel.

"it's still not right," he said.

your nails dug into the wood. "what's wrong with it now?"

he stepped closer, his chest pressing against your back as he reached around you, pointing at the center of the canvas. "this part. it's weak."

you flinched when his fingers closed over yours, forcing your hand to drag a harsh black line through the heart of the piece.

"no—" you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"fix it," he murmured, lips grazing your ear.

the line was too sharp, too final. it ruined the balance. ruined everything.

your throat burned. "you're destroying it."

he turned your face toward him, his other hand still trapping yours against the ruined canvas.

"no," he corrected, voice soft as a blade sliding between ribs. "you let me."

and that was the worst part—you had.

you stayed.

even as the painting—your painting—became something you didn't recognize.

even as you became something you didn't recognize.

his thumb brushed your cheek, smearing the tear you hadn't realized had fallen.

"try again," he whispered.

and you did.

the studio was too quiet.

rain tapped against the high windows like impatient fingers, the only sound in the cavernous space besides the occasional scrape of your brush against the canvas. you'd been working on this piece for weeks—a commissioned portrait, something safe, something sellable. the kind of work that wouldn't make galleries raise their eyebrows or buyers hesitate.

taehyung's influence.

you didn't realize your hands were shaking until the brush slipped, leaving a jagged streak of umber across the carefully blended cheekbone of your subject.

a sharp inhale. a curse bitten between your teeth.

behind you, the scrape of a chair. slow, deliberate footsteps.

"you're overworking it."

taehyung's voice was low, his usual velvet murmur against the shell of your ear as he leaned over your shoulder. his fingers closed around wrist, guiding your hands back to the canvas with infuriating precision.

"it's fine," you muttered, trying to pull away.

his grip tightened—just slightly, just enough to remind you.

'i'm here. i'm watching.'

"it could be better."

you swallowed hard. "or maybe it's done."

a pause, then his free hand came up, the thumb brushing against the color of the painting—a spot where the colors bled just outside the lines. "this is careless."

"it's intentional."

he exhaled through his nose, a quiet, disappointed sound that made your stomach twist. "you're regressing."

the words hit like a slap.

you wrenched your hand free, spinning to face him. "or maybe i'm remembering what my work used to look like before you—"

before he carved you into something else like one of his sculptures.

the unspoken words hung between you, sharp as a blade.

taehyung's expression didn't change. calm. composed. perfect. but his eyes—dark, endless—flickered with something dangerous.

"before me, your work was chaos."

"it was alive."

a beat of silence. the rain grew louder.

then, slowly, he reached out, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. a mockery of caress. "you're being sentimental."

you jerked back. "and you're being controlling."

something flashed in his gaze—irritation, frustration, hunger. "i'm trying to make you great."

"no," your voice cracked. "you're trying to make me yours."

the words landed like a grenade.

for the first time, taehyung's composure slipped. his jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at the sides as if they were itching to shape, to fix. "and what's so wrong with that?"

the question was raw. honest.

it made your chest ache.

you looked away, toward the canvas—toward the portrait that looked nothing like you, nothing like your work. nothing like the wild, untamed pieces you used to create before him. before his hands, his voice, his expectations sank into your bones.

"i—i can't breathe," you whispered.

a flicker of something like panic crossed his face. his hand twitched toward you, then stopped. "then let me help you."

"you can't."

"i can." his voice dropped, rough with something close to desperation. "just—listen to me. let me show you—"

"no."

the word was final.

silence. heavy. suffocating.

taehyung stared at you, his chest rising and falling just slightly too fast. then, abruptly, he turned, snatching up the chisel from the nearby table.

"fine," his voice was cold. "do what you want."

he strode toward his latest sculpture—a half-formed figure, all sharp edges and unfinished lines. you watched as he drove the chisel into the marble with violence that made your breath catch.

chips flew. dust settled.

and you realized, with a sinking heart, that the sculpture—rough as it was—had your silhouette.

you took a step back. then another.

taehyung didn't look up.

but as you turned to leave, his voice followed you, quiet and vicious,

"you'll come back."

a promise. a threat.

the door clicked shut behind you.

and the sculpture remained—unfinished.

the chisel slipped again, biting too deep into the marble's left cheekbone. taehyung's breath came in ragged bursts as he stared at the flaw—another imperfection in his quest for perfection.

sweat dripped from his eyebrow onto the sculpture's blank marble eyes. he'd been working through the night again, fingers raw and bleeding where he'd ignore the blisters forming. the studio smelled of stone dust and his own desperation, the air thick with the weight of failure.

he stepped back, wiping his hands on his ruined shirt.

it was you.

every exact measurement, every perfect angle—the slight crook in your nose from when you'd broken it as a child, the way your lower lip was just slightly fuller than the upper. he'd captured it all with clinical precision.

and yet.

the sculpture remained lifeless.

cold.

empty.

a perfect replica that couldn't mimic the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed too hard, or how your nostrils flared when you were trying not to cry. the marble couldn't capture the paint stains on your fingers or the way you bit your tongue when concentrating.

"damn it." his fist connected with the worktable, sending tools clattering to the floor. the sound echoed through the cavernous studio, mocking him.

then, the door creaked open.

dust motes swirled in the sudden shafts of afternoon light, catching the edges of the abandoned canvases and half-finished clay studies. he didn't need to turn to know who it was—the hitch in your breathing was enough.

"you're still working on it."

your voice had changed. there was a strength there that hadn't existed before, a rawness that made his chest ache.

taehyung's hands trembled as he set down his tools. "where else would i be?"

when he finally turned, the breath left his lungs.

you stood framed in the doorway, changed. your hair was shorter, wilder. there were new paint stains on your clothes—vibrant reds and blues that hadn't been there in a long time. your eyes held something he couldn't name.

freedom.

you stepped forward, boots scuffing against concrete. the sculpture stood between them like a ghost.

"it's not right," you said softly.

a muscle in his jaw jumped. "i know."

"it's missing something."

the words cut deeper than any chisel. when he met your gaze, he saw no pity there, just understanding. you—who had once let him reshape you—now stood before him, whole.

he gestured wildly at the marble. "then tell me what! i've measured every angle, studied every line—"

"you made it perfect," you interrupted, reaching out to trace the sculpture's too-smooth cheek. your fingers left streaks on the dust-coated surface.

"isn't that what matters?" his voice broke.

you smiled then, sad and beautiful. "no. you took out all the things—all the things that made it real."

the silence that followed was deafening.

then—

CRACK.

the chisel struck the sculpture's face with a violence that made you flinch.

again.

marble fractured under his assault, the perfect nose crumbling, the lips chipping away.

"you're right," he gasped between blows, sweat and dust coating his skin. "it's not you. it was never you."

when the dust settled, the ruins of his masterpiece lay at their feet. jagged, broken.

alive.

panting, he turned to you, his hands bleeding, his vision blurring. "show me," he begged. "show me what real looks like."

you studied him for a long moment before walking to a forgotten easel in the corner. when you picked up a brush, it wasn't with hesitation, but with purpose.

the first stroke was violent, a slash of crimson across pristine white. the second, a whirl of indigo. there was no precision here, no measured technique. just emotion made manifest.

taehyung watched, transfixed, as the woman—you—he'd tried to perfect, destroyed the canvas with beautiful, chaotic truth.

and for the first time, he understood.

perfection wasn't in control.

it was in the surrender.

the gallery lights hummed overhead, casting sterile white beams across the exhibition space. two installations stood facing each other in perfect opposition—the final conversation they could never have out loud.

on the left—

a marble sculpture, deliberately unfinished.

the face emerged from rough-hewn stone, one side polished to impossible smoothness, the other left jagged—as if the artist had walked away mid-stroke. the plaque read simply:

'unfinished (self-portrait in absence)' - k. taehyung

on the right—

a canvas exploding with violent colors.

brushstrokes layered recklessly, paint so thick it cracked and peeled at the edges. in the chaos, a familiar silhouette emerged—not captured, but suggested. the plaque:

'study of control (after the storm)' - y/n

the critics murmured about artistic dialogue, about the tension between form and freedom. they didn't understand these weren't companion pieces, but gravestones.

taehyung came at midnight when the gallery was empty. he stood before your painting, fingers hovering over the dried ridges of pigment where your hands had been. the colors were already fading—ultramarine bleeding into umber, carmine oxidizing to rust. impermanent, temporary.

beautiful.

across the room, someone touched his sculpture.

he turned to see you smudging fingerprints into the marble's polished cheek, the oils of your skin clouding the perfect surface.

a year ago, he would have grabbed a cloth. would have rushed to preserve, to protect.

your eyes met. you didn't apologize, nor did he.

tonight, he let the fingerprints stay.

when the dawn cleaners came, they found two sets of footprints leading away in different directions, and between them on the gallery floor,

a single paintbrush—yours, its bristles still damp with vermillion, resting next to a shattered chisel—his.

#bangtanbeoms drabbles #bts #taehyung oneshot #taehyung au #kim taehyung #kim taehyung au #taehyung x reader #taehyung x female reader #taehyung x you #bts taehyung #bts v #bts v oneshot #taehyung fic #taehyung imagine

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thisautistic · 11 months ago

Note

Hi! Question for you, as a gifmaker: how do you compliment someone who makes gifs?

For artists you can mention their line work, their colour palettes, composition etc, and for writers you can mention quotes or imagery or character moments you enjoyed - what sort of things should you mention for a gifmaker?

I'm sure it's appreciated to have someone say "wow your gifs look really cool/pretty/amazing" etc, but I know it always means more to me when someone picks up on specific skills or methods needed for my craft - not to downplay more general nice comments! But having someone mention specifics always feels better (to me at least 😅)

I love seeing all these incredible gifsets but I don't know how to give specific compliments - what kind of details do you notice in gifsets that people can look out for to comment on when they see them? All I can think of is sharpness? Image quality? I know there's SO much more to them but I don't know the language to talk about them 😔

I'd really appreciate any pointers you have!

oooooo! okay so first I'll explain about how you make a gif:

you make gifs by taking a video clip (or screenshots depending on how you do it) and you form them into a timeline. then you use adjustment layers to change the brightness, colors, vibrance etc

Imo the BEST compliment i can get as a gifmaker is 'wow your colors are so beautiful!' 'theyre so bright, uniform (because sometimes its hard to get them looking the same in different shots (yes really!))'

like you said I like getting compliments like 'these gifs are so SHARP (smooth, the quality is so good)' that's a great complement to get for sure

and last but certainly not least 'i love these moments you chose!' because depending on the quality gifs can range from about 20-100 frames (that is 1-5 seconds) so sometimes we are not able to get exactly what we want in each gif.

personally my favorite thing about giffing is the coloring part so it always makes me feel amazing when someone mentions that!

I love this question! I'll add more and reblog if I can think of any.

also gifmakers please sound off in the replies about what your favorite compliments are to get!

😘💖🫂

#gifmaking #asks #non

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yourmaidsp · 1 year ago

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How do you come up with your compositions? They are so cool I wanna know if you have any huge inspirations :-) your art is so lovely

Hiiiiiii! Awww thanks for the appreciation!

I'm actually working on a more comprehensive art tutorial rn (bc someone asked here earlier), that would include composition， but I'll do a shorter answer first for u bc you're asking sth. more specific ?( hope it's okey (❁´◡`❁))

(Oh and also I've seen ur req! don't worry, I'm doing that as well, it's just there's still some before yours( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`))

Um and when the long tutorial is out, feel free to check that out ~

On Composition:

Goal

For me the goal of my illustration r Storytelling n full on Emotional experience.

(It's something I've been trying to achieve but cannot guarantee I hit it all the time, sometimes bc of my habit I'll lost myself during the process and looking back find out I miss something important, so the following is the best theories I could provide. Most of improvement r still in daily practice(●'◡'●))

To paint with beautiful compostion, you'll first have a solid story in mind, it can be simplified into " who when where n what", writing them down on a note n stick it near by would help.

And as to emotional experience, is something I can't get hold of all the time... music might help I guess? I have headcanon playlists for every chatacter or ship I wanna paint, and extract emotions from them everyday.

But there's some practical methods too.

Methods

I've worked storyboard n director for 2 years in the past, even though I'm not proud of the projects I worked on, some knowledge might still be useful.

It's mostly 2 methods: Silhouette & Movement

Well for silhouettes there's already bunch of books discussing this, one of my favs is Framed Ink, I'm sure u can find a pdf somewhere on the net.

(I find this photo on the internet bc mine is not around)

Basically it's that, think about the objects within your image, by using shadows n their original colors, you can split it into interesting shapes. This will visually elevate the overall feeling of composition.

Also, there's a cheat build in humem's understanding of an image.

basically this, putting important object on the 1/3 points of an image is the fastest cheat.

Also, contrast your silhouette. If you're painting sth that has no background, try giving your silhouette a constrasted design.

(like in this one, the right side is smooth but I'm putting lots of variation on the left.)

For movement, think about your image as a shot taken when your characters r doing sth.

They would each have a direction to move to, and that forms their movement. Your job here is to arrange them into logical or emotional lines.

If it's a series of work, u can plan out the movement toward the same direction.

(the only time you're seeing their car facing left is when they stopped, I was trying to say that their trip kinda ends here)

Also for manga, comic n movie, make sure your important information is within safe area.

(the area within dotted lines is the safe area, u want your character's expression to be mostly within it. if it's like extreme close-up, the certain area u want to emphasize should be within it.)

I have some examples for these two theories.

First let's analyze this screenshot of one of Kurosawa's film, Seven Samurais.

The story here is that these guys r about to fight, possibly some big conflict. There silhouette can be sumed up like this, within the orange line.

We see this guy sticking out from this shape, implying he might be the head of this crowd.

Movement wise, their spears n heads face the same direction, telling u that the enemy will come from that side. Even this is a still frame, the movement is implied perfectly.

Another sample from Synecdoche,NY by Charlie Kauffman

This is a minimalist way of conveying emotion, u only see one main character here, and hardly any movement. Why is it so powerful?

Our main character, Caden, is in the almost center of this shot. He has a clear n simple shape. You don't normally put your main object in the center, so we'd assume he's very important.

Then there's this repeated notes in the background. When something is repeated a lot, it giver u an impression of pressure. Especially when he's surrounded by them, and they take more space within the frame than he does.

Also, this is a down shot, the camera is pointing down and behind him. You'll feel your character being watched or at his lower point of life when u do that.

Inspirations:

Movies mostly, and traditional artists.

Back when I was in film school I watched a bunch of movies n that slowly became a habit, movies r very good sources for ideas.

Even if you're not having enough time, watching reviews n analysis would also help, (but I'd suggest u try to consume the films not listening to critics to get a unique experience.)

Some of my favourite directors are:

Kelly Reichardt (First Cow)

Apichatpong (Tropical Malady, Memoria);

Charlie Kaufman (Synecdoche NY, Adaptaion);

Satoshi Kon (Paprika, Perfect Blue);

Kurosawa Akira (Yume, Kagemusha );

Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz );

Kusturica (Black Cat White Cat, Underground 1995);

Carol Reed (The Third Man)

Errrm I hope it's helpful? (❁´◡`❁) The next tutorial is gonna be even longer.

#maid's requests #art tips #art theory

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budderdomo · 2 years ago

Text

My Paint Tool Sai Brushes/Painting Process Tutorial!

Explanations and Examples down below

Disclaimer: long post

Hello! I wanted to first thank everyone for liking/reblogging my most recent art piece (the Darkiplier one) It has become my first post with over 1000 notes which is just insane for me. I just wanted to do something to thank you guys for that.

Anyway, this post will be divided like this, so scroll to the title if you want specific things

Introduction

Brush textures/shapes for download

Overall process -> Terms and Definitions

How I use each brush (+ examples) -> Sketch -> Lineart (only do this sometimes) -> Rendering -> Textures + Post Processing

Conclusion

Introduction

This post is mainly for me in the future to look back on how my painting process was. My process changes ALL the time, sometimes I use lineart, sometimes I paint, sometimes I don't use textures, sometimes I have 100 layers, sometimes I have 1. It just changes depending on the piece. There is no "correct" way to do art. Do what you want!

Second of all, I feel I should point out you don't need fancy brushes or many brushes to make good art. I painted this piece with 1 brush.

That's right, 1 brush (it was the P A I N T brush shown in main). I didn't have a sketch, I didn't have any lines, I started with big shapes and went from there.

Third of all, I use Paint Tool SAI (the first one). So this will be specific to that program. I'm sorry, it's just what I know how to use.

Brush Textures/Shapes

You may see in my brushes that there are textures/shapes that don't come with the standard SAI program. I tried to find the links for you to download them yourself.

Arrow: https://www.deviantart.com/digikat04/art/Custom-SAI-Brush-I-265506547

All texture brushes: https://painttoolsaibrushes.splstc.com/painttool-sai-textures/

For some reason I can't find where I got marble pt. 2 or chalk so here's the png files. (You can convert them to .bmp files) (Hopefully that works!)

Chalk : Marble pt. 2

Overall Process

Before I go over my process I'm going to define some terms I'll be using and what I mean by them:

Flats - base colors

Rendering - Includes shading, lighting, small details, and texturing to define a form

Blending - mixing two separate colors together

Reduction - Once you've made a line/shape, reduction is the act of erasing part of it -> At the bottom of my brushes (in the images up above) you can see a checkered box which makes your brush transparent. I use the erasing brush to Reduce the red circle.

Persistence - How well the brush can create a new shape/color on top of pre-existing colors (If the brush blends a lot on top of other colors it has low persistence)

"Hard" vs "Soft" brushes - How well defined an edge is on a brush

Stabilizer - Turns trembly lines into smooth lines

So, I draw a different way each time. My canvas size is normally between 2500 pixels and 4000. I usually do around 3000 though. In general for my paintings I usually do

A sketch

Flats

Hue Shifts

Lighting/Shadows

Brighter Light/Deeper Shadows (Highlights/Ambient Occlusion)

Smaller Details

Texturing

Post Processing

For my bigger compositions, I make thumbnails. And for my "comic book" style I use lineart and layer modes (like multiply, luminosity)

How I Use Each Brush (+ Examples!)

Sketch

I have 2 sketch brushes. "pencil" and "sketch" For most of my life I have been using the default pencil brush on size 1. But recently I have been using this softer "sketch" brush on size ~20 or so. Either way works, but I find that the "pencil" brush is easier for linework and the "sketch" brush is easier to blend into paintings

"Pencil" : "Sketch" examples

Lineart (opt.)

Nowadays I don't use lineart that often, but if I do it's with my "Softlines" brush. It's great for both very thick and very thin lines. I lower the opacity of my sketch and put lineart on a new layer on top of it

"Softlines" brush examples

Flats

With lineart I seperate each new color with a new layer. For painting I'm now using one color as an underpainting color and working on top of that layer. So I render one thing at a time while working on the same layer.

I lower the opacity of the sketch and create a new layer under my sketch. I use my "pencil" brush to lay out the underpainting color and "blur" for hue shifts. And then I reduce it to the silhouette using my "sketch" brush (This gives a softer outline)

Rendering

This would take way too long to explain every step of how I do it. So I'll explain how I use my brushes in this step.

"Arrow!!!" - I use this brush for laying out intial shapes, big areas of color, shading, lighting. The arrow shape has a point on the end that's really great for triangular shapes. It's not very good at small details because of the texture applied to it.

"Sketch" - I use this brush during the rendering as well. It's great for small details that you want a softer look of. It has a high persistence so it's great for working on the same layer.

"P A I N T" - This is a brush that's good at very many things. It has higher blending than "sketch" or "Arrow!!!" and it's shape is square. Great for blending, general painting, small details, reduction, etc.

"blur" - great for gradients or to smooth something out a lot

"Gaussian" - is a gaussian blur. Great for making things out of focus or fuzzy

"square TEX" - texture brush that has high persistence with some blending

"metal TEX" - texture brush with high blending and a spread shape.

"speckle TEX" - texture brush for kind of a sparkly look. High persistence

"water TEX" - texture brush that works kind of like a glaze. You can use for flair/fun

example

Post-Processing

Typically I use more filters for this. Paint Tool Sai has sliders to change hue, saturation, brightness, contrast, luminosity, and color deepen. So I tend to mess with those. I also add effects like chromatic aberration

The tutorial I follow for chromatic aberration in Paint Tool Sai: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thmaephD9Ec&t=169s

I also add particles like dust and other objects.

Finally I use my Gaussian blur to make things out of focus/motion blur

Conclusion

I hope this helps! I feel like I'm at a point in my art journey where I'm good enough to give advice. So hopefully this helps someone out there with their art journey! Obviously I have a long way to go, but I'm pretty proud of where I've come. I remember watching speedpaints and tutorials trying to become better at art. So I kind of want to add to that cycle for artists. :D Have a great day!

#paint tool sai #brushes #art tutorial

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