#Reddish Studio

[sorrysomethingwentwrong]

“Venus of Jaffa” 

© Reddish Studio

[iihih]

Beautiful Balloon Sculptures Are Homage To Archeology

Beautiful Balloon Sculptures Are Homage To Archeology

Reddish design studios has created a series of balloon sculptures whose rotund shapes are unmistakably a reference to the historical artifact known as Venus of Willendorf. Archeology-Inspired Balloon Sculptures Top: Reddish Studios, Venus of Jaffa (detail); Bottom: Venus of Willendorf figurine seen from all four sides; Bjørn Christian Tørrissen, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons One of the most…

[melancholyhigh]

ARTWORK

ft. leon x artist!reader

synopsis. you're an artist, and leon's your muse.

content. 1.5k words. fluff, smut. nude painting, leon's pov, needy leon, praise kink, masturbation, handjob.

note. this was j supposed to be fluff but i got ahead of myself.

masterlist. i love your guy's feedback :3

“Paint me like one of your French girls.”

You laugh at Leon’s statement. He’s perched on the small, green couch in your home art studio, wearing nothing but his pink, fluffy robe as you prepare your oil paints. 

“You’re my first French girl, Leon.”

–-

You had suggested painting him nude while you were both in bed, lazing around. You’re in each other’s hold, Leon’s arms around your waist and face on your chest when he asks about any new projects you had in mind. 

He loves hearing about what art piece you were doing or planned to do. It was how you expressed yourself, whether there was a deeper meaning or none at all. He found it beautiful. Every work you do it had a bit of your personality in it. He could tell your work from thousands by the intricate details they carry. 

When you told Leon you wanted to paint him, he wasn’t too surprised. You mentioned he was your favourite thing to draw or think of when you had art block. The admission had left him sputtering, his face red as he tried to get his words out.

On the third date, you showed him your sketchbook, pages littered with drawings and portraits of him. Some were quick sketches, while other’s looked like you took time to get every detail of him. 

You’re always on my mind, Leon. You had confessed. Was it a little creepy? At that moment, flipping through the drawings of him, the attention to detail they held, he’d say it was romantic.

People have always said he was pretty as a picture, yet you’re the only one that makes his heart beat faster and his tummy fill with butterflies when you say he’s the type of gorgeous you’d find in a painting. 

“A nude painting,” you specify. It was as if you told Leon he was the object of your affection for the first time again. His head buries into your chest, trying to hide his flushed face. You smile at his sudden bashfulness. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, baby.” You run your fingers through his soft hair. “I want to try something new, but it’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“‘S fine, angel. But can’t you use a picture?”

“Where’s the fun in that, pretty boy.”

He groans, muffled by your shirt, and you giggle. 

He loves to please you — in more ways than one — and nothing compares to the smile that graces your face, so he agrees. It’s not like Leon’s uncomfortable with you looking at him bare and vulnerable. There were other problems he was worried would interrupt your craftwork. 

–-

Leon leans back into the couch, doing just as you instructed. His bare back hits the soft cushioning, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. 

His robe is off, on the floor next to your easel. He rests his chin on his hand, supported on the arm of the couch.

He’s nervous. You said it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but this almost feels more intimate than being intertwined with you in bed.

Maybe it’s the gaze you hold when you’re analysing him, grasping the compositions and layering basic shapes onto the canvas. 

He can’t help but think of when you told him he’s your favourite canvas to mark up. Sucking the reddish marks into his skin which turn the prettiest shade of purple, as you like to put it. Or when you said the colour on his cheek was your favourite shade of pink.

You always did like to rile him up, muttering the filthiest things to him in the most mundane setting, just like right now. 

“Spread your legs wider, Leon.” You mumble in a casual tone as if you don’t know the implications of your own words. You’re so engrossed with getting your work right you probably don’t.

It’s so fucking sexy seeing you in your element. Your brows pinched together, and your face serious with concentration. 

He obediently listens to you, parting his legs wide, and the problem he wishes wouldn’t happen is currently hardening between his thighs. You don’t notice, mixing paints to ensure it's the correct shade. 

You’re probably 30 minutes into painting, and he’s already hard. You said you’d take a while to finish, and he could tap out whenever he wants to, but he doesn’t want to disappoint. 

Finally, you’re looking up from the canvas and towards Leon. Your brows quirked up in surprise when trying to examine his features, studying the curve of his nose and the sharpness of his jawline to imitate on the canvas. His face is pink, the shade you know and adore so much. 

Your eyes trail down his body, his dick fully erect, slapping against his stomach. Your gaze is on his face again with a smirk on your lips.

He knows, you know, he’s rock-hard simply from the glances you take at him and the words you mutter. His lashes flutter, and he moves his hand to cover his face while the other is shamefully obscuring his cock.

“Be a good boy, and don’t move, Leon. I want to make sure everything looks good.” You say, and he thinks you aren’t going to acknowledge his 7-inch problem.  

“Oh, and make sure your pretty dick is hard for me, okay, baby?” You go back to your painting, trying to hide your smug expression.  

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his nerves, but he relents, going into position, not before giving his cock a firm squeeze. 

“Don’t cum too, okay? I want to be the one making you cry.”

A few hours pass, and Leon is on the verge of tears. He listened to what you said, only providing himself with enough stimulation to keep his cock hard but not enough to tip him over the edge into bliss. 

Precum leaks from the head down to the shaft. His dick is red and spent. He wants nothing more than for you to stop painting and make him cum.

“I’m almost done. You’ve been such a good boy for me, baby.” 

Your words are almost enough to make him spill his cum over the expensive fabric of your eccentric couch. 

You’re adding the finishing touches to the painting with each stroke, making sure you get the placement of each mole or freckle correct and each vein of his cock following to the tip right. 

You swear he belongs in a museum. No art can replicate how beautiful he truly is.

“I’m done.” You sigh, moving to get up to rid your skin of paint. 

After rinsing yourself off the paint, you make your way to Leon. You get comfortable in a seat on the couch right next to him. He’s breathing heavily in anticipation, looking up at you through his long lashes. Pretty, pink lips parted as pretty gasps left him. 

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft as you move your lips slowly in unison. He breathes out your name when you pull away. One of your hands moves to his throat, softly squeezing. Leon whimpers, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“Good job, baby. You didn’t cum once. I know it hurts, but I'm going to make you feel better,” you whisper, softly kissing his flushed forehead. 

Your hand moves to his pulsing cock, and gives it a soft squeeze, relishing the whine Leon lets out. Your touch sends goosebumps along his skin, and he plants his head into the crook of your neck. 

His hips eagerly buck into your hold. He’s practically sobbing into your neck, his soft hair tickling the underside of your jaw. You rest your chin on top of his head, smelling the fragrance of his shampoo. 

You thumb the slit on the tip of his cock, using his precum as a lubricant to start moving your hand back and forth on his shaft. 

You start at a slow pace. You don’t want Leon cumming quickly, wanting to enjoy every cry and whimper. 

The soft shlick noise of you jerking Leon’s cock fills the room with his desperate cries. He pulls back away from the crook of your neck, tears flowing down his blushing face.

“Please, please, please, g– go faster, angel. I’ve been such a good boy for you. Let me cum, please.”  He pleads, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. His hips rutted frantically into your palm. How could you deny your boy?

“Okay, pretty baby. Cum for me.” You say softly, picking up the pace of jerking him off.

He whimpers loudly, thighs quivering lightly as his orgasm crashes and hot spurts of his cum spill onto your hand. He’s panting, dazed with lust and staring at you with what seems like hearts in his eyes. 

“T- thank you, thank you, s’much.” Leon gasps like a broken record, and you think he’s fucked himself dumb with your hand.

You peck his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up so I can show you my favourite artwork yet.”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hazbin Hotel Men - Take care of you

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, crying, no use of Y/n, fem reader

Characters : Alastor , Angel Dust, Husk , Sir Pentious, Vox , Valentino

Info : So it is here my first work for the hazbin hotel fandom and I'm very excited. I'm in it again after watching years ago the pilot, the first few episodes of hb and the great/amazing music video adict. So have fun everyone and enjoy it ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor : A smile always graces his lips and even if you're not used to it, he's quite disturbed when his loved one doesn't smile too. They've been through a lot together, but when he walks through the corridors of the hotel from his broadcasting studio and finds his darling sad, even crying, the static goes out of his voice for a moment. He will always worry about his darling, the only one in his dark, twisted heart. ,,Darling, what's wrong...who should I make scream?" he asked, his claw-like fingers resting on your hands, the strange charged static running through you strange yet familiar. Almost judging and somehow tickling. He would listen quietly to what was on his darling's mind and let a soft song play over his wand, the song that had played when he got the letter. Your letter of admiration in such a cruel place as hell the radio demon had marveled at. ,,Or I'll just stay with you mhhh a little show?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheek with his fingers before pulling his sweet tone from the bed and flicking the room into a reddish dance hall. The radio waves turned to a song and he gently guided his darling around the room, brushing away her tears with each turn, reminding her of the things they had together. The time they had together, the things they had done for each other. His special affection, his gratitude and his love that belonged only to her. ,,You know I'm always with you darling, no matter what," he reminded his heart before leaving a gentle kiss on the back of her hand as the music faded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel Dust : Angel Dust knew best what it meant when it came to money. He had lived it hell he was in that vicious circle and knew what it was like to be exploited for money almost every night. But in all this fire and poison he had found his own drug, so to speak. The one that had helped him when he was down, when he needed a break, when he couldn't sleep after night after night. She had sacrificed herself, Val had practically thrown herself at the throat, had taken it upon herself to become the number two in the business, something "enough" as Valentino called it. But Angel knew better than anyone that something like this didn't just pass you by. Which is why, with a warm tea in his hands, the spider heard the quiet knock on the door before he heard the ,,Come in." He didn't have to look to know that the runny makeup was from tears and other things. ,,Hey princess, come here," he murmured, putting the tea on the side table before slowly putting his hands around her. Never firm enough that she couldn't resist, always calm enough to show her that he didn't want what the others in the store wanted. The words flowed slowly over her lips and even though they both knew there was no point in talking about it, it felt good. It eased the pain and Angel was able to wipe away her tears before he gave her the tea. Because if there was one thing he had learned, it was that a cup of tea could work wonders in a few minutes and make you feel warm and safe. ,,I promise this will all end soon," he murmured, letting his beauty lay her head on his chest and he smiled gently as he saw the trembling of her body lessen with his calm heartbeat. At least they would both have something like hope for a while...a moment of calm and peace in the vicious circle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Husk : The clinking of glasses was something that could always be heard at the bar, either when the former overlord was sorting, washing or serving the glasses. The bottles made about the same sound but darker. But something still filled his bar: sniffling and sobbing. The sadness of his favorite, lucky clover, sitting at the bar with his head buried in his hands. He had just blown away to take another order because everyone else was already off to Satan's place. The beating of his wings could be heard as he hurriedly came over to her. He didn't need to look at the sad face, ,,I know you've given everything we all know that" he said and reached for the right drink he knew her favorite order was the one she had brought him back when he was lucky. He handed her the drink and slowly and gently took her hands from her face before she took the drink with a slight look of gratitude. He nodded in acknowledgment as he saw them both just sitting there for a moment, he slowly wrapped his sweat around her waist and pulled her a little closer, placing a wing on her shoulder. Knew the feathers were something she wanted. Because he was right, she let her fingers wander over the pattern. She finally gave in and told him about her yet another failed attempt to get money and power for the hotel, maybe even a few free ones, but nothing had worked. Instead, only the usual cursing and swearing...as the cave was true. Without happiness and kindness. ,,But our happiness and togetherness will last forever," he said and handed her one of his golden dice before the two of them rolled it over the wood of the ceiling. But in fact, when Husk pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek, both dice landed as doubles. They knew that together they had the best luck they could have as a couple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sir Pentiuos : The airship's engine was loud, but the serpent demon was able to distinguish between the sound of an engine, the cracking of eggs and the sobs of its first officers. Turning away from the steering wheel, hoping that a cherry-scented bomb would not be thrown through the windshield, he made his way into the interior of his airship. ,,My beauty? Are you in here?" he asked as he looked into the individual rooms of the ship before he heard her from the craft room, where she was mostly developing her weapons. Weapons that had often led them both to victory, but this time it didn't work out. it was the third time in the last week that they had been caught by the bombs. He saw her sitting on one of the tables with another broken weapon in her hands, a mistake she took to heart. ,,Ohh darling please don't I'm here come here" he whispered and his forked snake tongue wetted her cheek lightly as he pulled her into an embrace. The kiss on her cheek made her smile as she saw that the serpentine demon was a little pink in the cheeks himself. His cuteness that he mostly didn't know about always cheered her up, he would always manage somehow. His snake tail curled around her body and his slightly scaly skin felt warm when she put her fingers on it. He knew his scales soothed her and his words dug into her like the bite of a snake. He slowly put her weapon aside and cuddled her again, encouraging her. ,,Shall I fetch the eggs? A big party, my dear, maybe a party," he suggested with a smile and shortly afterwards he lifted her into his arms before the two of them went to the little ones. The family sat down together and soon instead of crying, laughter and joy could be heard as Sir Pentious stood by their side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vox : Voices can get loud, programs can get loud and with the three Vees it can get very very loud. If not the models, then Val's employees or hookers suffer from this. But this stress for new eriesn, new porn shoots and new clothes became too much for every demon. And when Vox went back to his office/broadcasting station he had, as always, an overishct on everything. A look at everything and everyone, but a look at the one screen he always had closest to him. Just a second later, he showed up in her room using his skills to make the viewers go haywire. They were always surrounded by noise, so he knew how good it was to have silence. ,,Hey button we'll take care of the ratings later...what do you need mhh?" he asked taking her cell phone from the one she was using to monitor the other ratings. He used his hands to pull her towards him, moving her slightly around the room, not necessarily dancing but playfully looking for that spark. ,,Come on, tell dear Vox what it is? Something special you want me to take care of?" he offered a small spark on her body, seeing that she smiled briefly knowing she liked it, that little shock that made her heart beat faster, drove her nerves and dispelled her fear. ,,You know no one can do anything to the four of us, we're different...and hot," he reminded her, laughing with her as his mood brought her back to her proper self. She felt the loaded kiss on her lips briefly but like catching up on a television. Before they moved across the room they shared a drink and she rested her head against his shoulder as they looked across the cave knowing that if they all stayed together she would stay with Vox he would never leave her and everything would work out in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valentino : Obscene noises, neon pink signs, and a reclamation board and TV that gave a taste of the videos and movies that would come out if you went to the brothel in the compartment that belonged to Valentino. In this particular business, one thing mattered above all else. Stamina. Stamina if it was going to be a long night with twenty guys, stamina to film it all, stamina to count the money at the end and stamina when you were in hangover. It was exhausting for the employees and for Val, but especially for the assistant. The brothel mother, designer, scriptwriter and partner of the moth demon. It all just became too much at some point, which is why it took the Overlord a moment to realize that crying wasn't what he knew. In a flash of his smoke and the flutter of his wings, he made his way to their shared room. ,,My sweet kitty, what's wrong? No inspiration shall I fetch Angel or our favorite maybe Vox?" he suggested with a grin and took a puff on his cigrette as he approached the bed. Sha, however, that this only made him more depressed and his grin diminished as he extinguished the cigarette in the smoke and came to her, his wings blocking out the bright pink light from everywhere and the two of them a little darkened. Quiet and just the two of them. ,,Too much...I know it's a bit too stimulating sometimes," he mumbled, trying to find the right words, still not the best at taking care of others in his egocentric worldview of sex and money. But for her he would give anything and he could feel how it bothered him not to see her smiling, not shining with inspiration. He held out his hand to her for permission as she slowly cuddled up to him. ,,Here just the two of us just here and no one else just us" he whispered quietly trying not to hold her too tightly but not too loosely as the wings wrapped around them both like a blanket. As they both listened to each other's heartbeats, the sweet smell of Valentino was familiar but reassuringly true. It was just that hold they b oth needed in a place where they knew there was no going back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[catiuskaa]

under the weather.

SUMMARY: is that a sneeze what he’s hearing? unnaceptable! changbin will take care of his sick little bunny... no chance of escaping.

WC: 0.8k

CW: a quirky attempt at humour, and really fluff! will rot your teeth! ^^

REQUESTED! here by my pookie @deadcrow-donteat, hope you get well soon and you like what I’ve come up with! <3

[☆★☆★☆]

It was difficult to say, but it had to be the loud slam of the bathroom door flying open that gave it away.

“Baby?” Changbin had been getting ready for a long session in the studio with the boys. “You ok?” He voiced loudly, and when he didn’t get a reply right away, he wasn’t so sure about leaving now.

You looked… well, um. Definetely not your best. Paler than usual. Droopy, reddish eyes that struggled to stay awake stared back at him.

He craddled your cheek with one of his hands, and you sighed, leaning into him, his body looking like the most perfect weighted blanket anyone could ever wish for.

“sick.” you muttered with a hoarsh voice.

“Oh, my poor bunny,” he cooed at you, and you blinked at him, surrounded by the fluffiest blanket you owned. “Feeling cold?” You hummed, doozing off when his hand stroked your cheeks, then softly touched your forehead.

He leaned in and pressed his lips on your forehead. Too hot. Changbin clicked his tongue, leaving his bag on the floor. “Let’s get you to bed. Binnie’ll go fetch the thermomether, yeah?”

His voice sounded so sweet that there was nothing else for you to do than flush the toilet and sickly waddle your way back to bed, throwing yourself at it like a lifeless body.

Changbin came back in less than a minute, and you were almost asleep. He shook his head, smiling softly. How couldn’t he stop thinking about how cute you looked, all cuddled up in bed, when you were this sick?

No further comments.

He bent down at your side. “Bunny?” You nodded softly, and he couldn’t hold back a toothy grin. “Medicine.”

Changbin had to hold back a loud snort when you frowned. “Bunny, it’s just for a moment. C’mon. For me, please?”

You gazed at him, then squinted your eyes.

“Just ‘cause you cute.”

He snickered, handing you the glass with those god-awful powders that allegedly taste like lemon —only to people that have never tasted lemon before, or any fruit, by any means—. You drank it with a groan, then made a silly face, disgusted by the taste.

Changbin patted your head, and you pouted at him, sick eyes gazing lovingly.

“What?” He knew he had to be blushing when you smiled cheekily.

You scooched up closer to him. He didn’t like the face you made, traces of guilt lingering on your beautiful face.

He couldn’t have that!

“You’re gonna be late for the studio.” You whispered in a low voice, taking his hand and fidgeting with it, much bigger than yours.

But instead, he tutted at you. “Nuh-huh.” He shook his head, then he got closer to your face, and booped your nose. “What if you suddenly combust? I can't just leave now! You’re sick.” Changbin explained, almost as if you couldn’t figure out that by yourself, and you rolled your eyes, a silly smile creeping out.

Yeah. Much better.

“But you called the boys already.”

He snorted. “The boys won’t mind. They like you better than me.”

The thermomether beeped after a couple of seconds. His face contorted in what seemed like shock.

“What is it?” You frowned, confused and slightly worried.

“Oh my god. You… you’re going to die.”

A loud “huh?” left your lips instantly. He turned the thermomether so you could see it for yourself.

“You’re at 38 degrees! You’re frozen inside!!”

You whined loudly, and he laughed giddily.

“That’s fucking Celcius, you dingus.”

You rolled onto your other side, and he stood up, laying a knee on the bed to see your face, but you covered it with the closest pillow next to you.

“JYP will kill me if you stop going to work, mister.”

Changbin cackled loudly.

“JYP can't kill me. His sweet dreams performance? Maybe. But not him.” He couldn’t even finish the sentence without laughing.

He tenderly moved the pillow away from your face.

“I called the boys already. I’ll just go by later. That ok, love?”

Your heart softened at the way his brown eyes looked at you.

You groaned, sick and grumpy.

“Snuggles.”

Tugging at his shoulders, you unstabilized him enough for him to fall next to you.

Changbin giggled, and you tutted at him, a finger above his lips. “Shh.” You murmured teasingly, and he smirked, lightly gracing his teeth on your index.

Eventually, you know he had fallen asleep, both of you now a mix of tangled legs and linked hands that rested in between your bodies.

A text dinged loudly, and you moved as much as you could with Changbin’s strong grip on your body to fetch your phone.

> hann☆♪

that idiot is down bad for you girl

marry that simp soon! ㅋㅋㅋ

You snorted, quickly typing a reply and turning your phone on mute.

Staring at Changbin, you sighed lovingly, falling asleep aswell.

Maybe Jisung had just given you a crazy idea.

~Kats, who wanted to type something and is actually surprised that she managed in just one sit.

[loljaeyunz]

#SECRET MOMENTS WITH ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE

enhypen hyung line x gn!reader

warnings: none other than heated kissings <3

word count: 1.3k

HEESEUNG

“Okay class, see you tomorrow.” Your dance instructor dismissed everyone before leaving the practice room. 

“You both are not coming?” One of your friends in the dance class asked, referring to you and Heeseung. 

“Oh, we’re staying today, we need to do more practice.” Heeseung spoke as he taking his place beside you on the floor. Your friend nodded before leaving, giving you a warm smile. 

As soon as the last person in the room left, Heeseung put his head on your thighs, a mischievous grin creeping up on his face. 

“We're not gonna practice, are we?” You looked down at him laughingly.

Heeseung's mischievous grin softened into a gentle smile as he looked into your eyes. "You know, there's something about these practice sessions that I really love."

You raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing on your lips. "Oh? Do tell, dance maestro." 

Heeseung shifted closer, his hand finding yours. "It's the moments when it's just us, no distractions, no judgments. Just you, me, and the music." Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn't help but return his affectionate smile.

You leaned in, and your lips met with his in a sweet, lingering kiss. The dance studio, once filled with the echoes of laughter and music, now held the silent promise of something more. As you pulled away, your fingers gently traced his jawline, hiis head still on your thighs. 

"You're aware that anyone could walk in at this very moment, right?" You said, massaging his scalp gently. 

“I hope someone walks in right now, that would save us from hiding in the corners of the practice room.” He smugly smiled at you. 

JAY

When Jay came up and asked your friends if he could steal you and take you with him to collect some branches, you immediately understood what his intentions were as excitement bubbled in you. Your friends exchanged knowing glances and teasing whispers as you chose to ignore them and took Jay’s hand, guiding him into the thickly tree-covered area.

Being alone with Jay was one of your precious moments as the two of you were on a school camp trip. Everywhere was full of your classmates and teachers, which made it harder for you both to be close to each other during the trip. 

As you and Jay ventured deeper into the woods, the camp seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you surrounded by reddish and orange leaves. 

You helped Jay gather fallen branches until he stopped, tossing all of the branches aside. Then he took the branches you had gathered and tossed them as well. 

“You didn’t think that we’re gonna run some stupid errands, did you?” He stepped closer to you with a sly grin. 

You stepped back as he came closer. “I don’t know; you looked quite serious about branches.” You played fool.

Jay's sly grin only widened, and he took another step closer, trapping you gently against a sturdy oak tree. “I can be quite serious about other things, you wanna see?”

You felt a flutter in your stomach as Jay's playful demeanor turned more intense. His words hung in the air, teasing and inviting. You decided to match his playfulness, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "Show me," you challenged, your heart quickening.

Jay’s fingers lightly traced your jawline, and he leaned in, lips brushing against yours. You closed the gap between you and wrapped your arms around his neck while his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The tree behind you provided a steady support as Jay deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Jay's sly grin had softened into a genuine smile. "Now, that's what I call a serious matter," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection.

You chuckled, “Well, now show the same seriousness on collecting branches then. We can’t go back with empty hands, they’d catch on us.”

Your playful remark earned a laugh from Jay, and he stepped back, a twinkle still in his eyes. "Alright, alright. Let's get back to the task at hand," he said, picking up a couple of branches and gesturing for you to do the same.

JAKE

"Jake, my brother will be here any minute," you warned, but made no move to stop Jake from peppering kisses all over your face. You both sat closely, with him holding you on his lap. 

Despite your verbal warning, Jake continued his playful assault of kisses on your face, seemingly undeterred by the imminent arrival of your brother. The laughter in his eyes reflected a mischievous defiance as he teased, "Your brother won't mind, will he? I can be quite charming when I need to be."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Jake's boldness, even as you attempted to gently push him away. "Jake, seriously, you know my brother has zero tolerance."

Jake, undeterred, flashed a sly grin and replied, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Plus, I've been dying to do this all day.”

Jake dove in and captured your lips again, igniting a whirlwind of emotions. You reciprocated, momentarily swept up in the spontaneity of the kiss, yet acutely aware of the impending presence of your brother.

As the kiss lingered, the sound of approaching footsteps down the hallway intensified. In a swift and almost comical synchrony, you and Jake abruptly pulled away, exchanging wide-eyed glances. Yet the mischievous sparkle in Jake's eyes remained. 

Your brother entered the room, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, and greeted you both with a casual, "Hey, what's up?"

Attempting to conceal any telltale signs of recent activities, you replied with a nonchalant smile, "Oh, just hanging out. Jake and I were catching up."

Jake added with an effortlessly charming grin, "Absolutely, just enjoying a friendly chat."

Your brother, seemingly accepting the explanation, joined the two of you. Little did he know about the sneaky kissing session you and Jake had transpired just moments before.

SUNGHOON

It was close to midnight when you heard tapping noises coming from your window. You immediately got up from your warm bed, quickly pacing to the window in order not to let the cold weather freeze your lover. 

As you opened the curtains, his soft smile greeted you, and you returned it in a heartbeat. Sunghoon hugged you tightly as he entered, burying your face into the layers of his thick clothing, with the scent of his soothing cologne filling your nostrils. 

“I thought I was going to freeze to death.” He murmured, nestling into your hair. 

You chuckled, “Let's warm you up, big baby.” 

Taking Sunghoon's hand, you guided him to your still-warm bed. He laid down, waiting for you to join him, but there were a few things to take care of first. You locked the door, wary of your mom's untimely arrivals, and then turned off the lights, leaving the room with a dim glow.

Comfortably ensconced in Sunghoon's embrace, his arms securing you, you acclimated to the rhythm of his hot breath against your face.

Observing the locked door, Sunghoon quipped with an amused smile, "Taking precautions, I see?” 

“If mom were to see you in my bed, I'd be fucked up.”

You both chuckled at your response silently. 

“You really have to stop coming at midnight, tho. We're gonna get caught.” you remarked. 

“Can you blame me? I was freezing by myself and I needed my baby's warmth. Also I missed you too much to wait until tomorrow.” Sunghoon said, brushing some hair out of your face.

“Still, It's too cold, love. What if you get sick?” 

“You'd be right beside me to take care of me, so I don't have to worry about that.” he said with a smug smile, prompting you to playfully hit his shoulder and share a laugh.

[itscolossal]

In ‘Speculative Hummus,’ Reddish Studio Explores the Plating Potential of a Traditional Middle Eastern Dish

[unboundprompts]

Could you do reddish brown eyes? And if you’ve already done if could you link that post

Different Ways to Describe Reddish Brown Eyes

-> check out these posts as well, they might give you some inspiration: x , x

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

She had eyes like the red clay he used in his pottery studio.

His eyes reminded her of the old burgundy barn that sat in the backyard of her childhood home.

Her eyes were as beautiful as the leaves of trees in autumn.

Their eyes reminded her of old brick libraries and vintage books.

His eyes were the mahogany wood that his grandfather used to use to sculpt little figurines.

She had eyes like a dark sunset after a stormy day.

They had a faded tattoo on their arm-- that looks like it was once a vibrant red-- that matched their eyes almost perfectly.

He just couldn't get out of his head that her eyes looked like baked beans. He wanted to describe them as something beautiful, something that he couldn't quite put into words, but all he could come up with were baked beans.

She had eyes like the tea kettle set his mother used to leave out on the table.

His eyes were the same color as the lake water. It reflected the trees, the sun, and the muddy ground on its surface, hiding secrets beneath its docile waves.

They had auburn hair and it made their eyes look so much more noticeable.

She wore a necklace adorned with smoky quartz gemstones. If he didn't know any better, he would say that she had replaced her eyes with those very same stones.

Tragedy was hidden behind their red-brown eyes, weaved between their irises so it was well out of sight.

His eyes were like the red leaves on a maple tree.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[sirfrogsworth]

I've been trying to figure out how I want my house to be. What I want it to look like. And as I've been thinking about this I've discovered I have never really developed a personal sense of style. I always let my mom choose the direction and then just added or riffed off whatever she did.

So I have no idea how to figure this out.

My initial thoughts are that I like being surrounded by stuff that makes me happy. My friend's artwork, my photography, my nerdy knick knacks and toys. My bat'leth. But I really don't want to be one of those dudes with a samurai sword on the mantle. I want to elevate the neckbeard aesthetic, ya know?

Plus I'd really like to keep some sense of my mom's style as a tribute to her. But how do I incorporate all my nerdy shit into her antique-y vibe?

The floors are pretty much at end-of-life. So are the walls. So I need to pick colors for both. But I don't really know how to visualize that. I'm wondering if I should just do gray floors and white walls. Keep all of that neutral so I can embellish with my nerdery on top of it without worry of clashing.

But I also know from my former bedroom in the basement that I like being surrounded by warm colors. My walls are a reddish orange and that always made me feel warm and comfortable.

There is also the new photo studio I want to create. I originally painted my old studio black because it was so small and I was worried about light bounce. But now that I'll have more space, gray would be more optimal. So I could do like a fake concrete-y style floor throughout the entire upstairs and it would work in the studio as well.

As far as furniture goes... no idea. Maybe that is where I could incorporate my mom's style. Just fill the place with old rocking chairs or something.

Perhaps I shouldn't even be thinking about this. I haven't won my disability case yet. I'm kinda spending money before I even have it. I swear I'm not superstitious normally, but for some reason I am fearful of jinxing this. But I also do need to start preparing for the future and making basic plans so I'm not overwhelmed with a million decisions all at once.

Maybe I should make just one decision now.

Okay, I'm putting the bat'leth on the mantle.

Don't you judge me.

[iirlshinji]

ᵀʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵃⁿ ᴵⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ! ᴹᵉᵃⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵘⁱˡᵗᵖᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵗˢ! ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵉⁿᵈ ʳᵉqᵘᵉˢᵗˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᵈʳᵃᵇᵇˡᵉ!!

A beast or a cold-hearted monster is what everyone said while dating Toji Fushiguro, he could never fully open up and that’s what he hates the most about himself. But never mind that after his recent breakup with yet another angry lady…he decides to go around town to get some fresh air.

That’s when he hears it, an alluring sound. It’s smooth and gentle, but cold and fragile. He needs to see what is making this noise, and when he does he finds a place…your place. It has posters of sword dancing and some information about where it comes from. 

He sighs, looks around, and figures out if he’s entering! (He does!) and that's when he sees you, in the most stunning kimono with sharp swords in your hands dancing. But not any dancing, it’s deep and kinda pulling him closer. 

Then he sees you turn to you, with the most beautiful features he ever seen. He could feel his cheek go beet red and his heart pounding. “Shit” is what word he stutters mutters out, due to you noticing him. But he could feel your glaze go down onto him, landing at his mouth.  

His scar. That same scar haunts him, making him feel pathetic and sensitive. 

But he soon feels your glare disappears from his entire body, thus making him a bit sad. He stares at you for a couple of seconds before sitting down. (Honestly, he was trying to take a sneak peek of you but he was trying so hard) 

He barely knew you and was already craving for all of you and wait why is random people coming at his seat…but of how he wished it was you.

The place is packed with people all ready to see you, and only you. Lights go dim and there’s you, in the middle of the stage.   Swords into your small palms, music fills his ears and weirdly it reminds him of his childhood. 

Then, comes the action…Intricate choreography intertwines with the sharp glint of blades, creating a symphony of movement that entrances both the performer and the observer. Each step is imbued with meaning, every motion a testament to the skill and dedication of the dancer.

The swords themselves become extensions of this mysterious woman's body, moving in perfect harmony as if guided by an unseen force. With each twist and turn, the blades flash and gleam, catching the light in a dazzling display of artistry.

He continued to watch you, that’s when you two looked into each other's eyes and everything seemed to pause… butterflies seemed to hatch because he felt sick. His face turns beet red, head is light and fuzzy. His eyes stuck into a trance, widened along with his whole body was shaking like a damn Cicada.

Furthermore,,  he only gets unstuck when you suddenly turn away and keep performing.

The show had ended in the most beautiful way possible, and he decided to just leave since he wanted a smoke break. So during the round of applause, he leaves. 

Walks outside the dance studio and walks around the back, just to hit a pipe. And he clicks his lighter and puts the cigar butt which turns an orange and reddish color. But is completely ruined as he hears a feminine voice mutter “i let him get away!” And he was a bit curious, maybe a night-stand would happen.

Quickly, he smashed the cigar on the floor to approach this mysterious lady. Turns the cornerback and soon spots his newly developed crush muting some nonsense about some guy. He froze, stuck in one place until you finally noticed his presence.

You bumped right into him, you were so lucky he was there to "save" you. Landing on his muscular chest, heh that made him so cocky honestly!

"m'am are alright?"

.

.

.

ⁱ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵈᵈ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᵏᵈʳᵃᵐᵃ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ, ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉ..﹗ ﹕ᵈ ® yukkiimrew 2024, do not copy or translate.

[pennyserenade]

ONLY BACKWARDS

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: explicit (oral sex (female receiving), pinv, references to unprotected sex, hate sex, light dirty talk (not degrading) tags: angst, age gap (reader is 34 and bravo is 48), hurt/comfort  word count: 2.8k+ summary: it has been 6 months since you last heard from dieter bravo. this time he comes back to you with a black eye and he asks for too much. it is just like always.  a/n: i wrote this in about a day so if its a little funky, that’s probably why. unbeta’d. songs i recommend you listen to while you read (if that’s something you enjoy): american dream by lcd soundsystem, sculptures of anything goes by arctic monkeys, californication by red hot chili peppers, and conversation 16 by the national 

Fourteen years and two days. Depending on the way you look at it, that’s either a long time or too little of it. 

As you take a good look at the man who you share this age gap with, you aren’t sure where you fall on the spectrum. 

Dieter looks like shit. Beneath his right eye is purplish yellow, no doubt the reward he got for committing one of his heavily repeated mistakes. His eyes are reddish, bloodshot and he looks like he made some attempt at looking nice a day or two ago, but what he’s left with is stubble on his cheeks and hair gone greasy from too much product. You used to want to nurse him in these states, to hold his head between your hands and speak to him tenderly. 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own age for once?” you say to him, pushing your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose. Your voice doesn’t possess the vitriol a sentence like that needs to really land. He squints against the sun, waiting. Your fingers press into the steering wheel. Be good, do good, you tell yourself. You can’t pick up a grown man’s baggage for the rest of your life. You don’t want to. 

He doesn’t attempt to charm you. “I just want to take a shower and a nap and then I’ll never bother you again.”

“Why can’t you do that at your own house?”

Dieter pouts out his lips, looking above the hood of the car. In the other corner of the studio lot, there are people making a ruckus, laughing, talking too loudly. He looks back at you, brown eyes devoid of any real emotion. “I don’t like my own home.”

You think of all you’ve got to do. A script to write, a meeting in the morning, a date at 9. You really think you could like the guy too—a salaried television writer who lives in a sizable house and graduated from somewhere like Princeton. Your friend who set you up says he’s the perfect match for you: handsome, sweet, smart. Reliable. 

“One shower and a hour nap, Bravo, and then you’re out.” He nods his head gratefully. “I mean it,” you say, voice serious. “No silly business this time. I’m doing this because I’m feeling charitable today.”

He makes his way to the passenger side and you take the time to glance down at the car clock. It’s two o’clock.A familiar pang of regret hits you. Seven hours seems like an eternity to you now. 

You decide it then: fourteen years is too much, even if you are thirty-four and he is forty-eight. It matters to you today, because you know if you don’t let it, you will be picking up his baggage forever. It is an entire ocean separating the both of you today, because it has to be. 

———

Dieter’s hair is still soaking wet, the towel you set out for him abandoned at the head of your bed. It hasn’t even touched him, didn’t get the chance before he settled between your legs. As he presses his warm tongue to your cunt, cold droplets fall from his head onto your thighs. You are keenly aware of the way they make their slow descent down, onto your freshly washed bed spread. 

You don't know why you let these things happen. It’s as if something takes hold of you when he’s around, makes you foolish.

The worst part is that you know it’s your fault. For once in his goddamn life, Dieter was being good. He didn’t make any passes, didn’t even say much aside from a few pleasant “Thank you”s. You couldn’t stand it, which makes you on par with him, foolish and reckless and self absorbed—and oh God, his tongue feels good. 

Your legs are draped over his shoulders and his fingers grip into your hips, pinning them down before they even get the chance to lift. Because he knows they will, knows because he’s made them do that before, many times. As he parts you with his tongue, lapping up your juices and making more of them, you watch him. His long nose barely grazes your sensitive clit and you moan openly siri want—too giving for so little effort. 

Dieter works with patience. You will give him this: he is a good pussy eater. He licks you open and leaves you wanting, pressing into every part of you except the parts you desperately need him to. He works you for so long, his warm tongue pressing hard against your lips, the place above your entrance, the place just below your clit. You are so sensitive beneath him that you feel like you might explode from the anticipation. You feel everything: the coldness of his wet hair as it presses against your thighs, your lower stomach, where he’s moved one of his hands, the fabric of the bra on top of your pebbled nipples. 

Dieter knows how to overwhelm you so well that it’s the center of most of your fantasies when you’re alone. You’d never tell him that, God forbid the ego it’d give him, but you relish the fact now. You’ve touched yourself so many times thinking about his tongue, the way it drinks you up and splits you apart, and here is he, doing it better than you remember. It’s like hearing a favorite song live after only listening to it on a scratched, over-loved vinyl for too long: exactly how intended, and better than it should be. Your toes curl and he doesn’t even come close to what aches the most.

You’re not going to make your date. It’s the fate he writes out with his precise tongue. He watches you as he spears the tip of it inside of you and he draws out the show he wants: that open mouthed, silent moaning that comes from feeling too much pleasure all at once. It’s the type that makes you tip your head back, flooded with a pulsing desire that causes your knees to try to draw together. He does it again and again, swirling around inside of one. You clench around nothing when he abandons it to run his tongue through your lips again, with no real destination. 

“Don’t make me beg,” you whine, voice low, tugging at his hair. Water drips out into your hands but you don’t care. He listens, attaching his mouth to your sensitive clit and he presses his tongue down, making you struggle, trying to lift the hips he’s got pinned. He takes it into his mouth, sucking at the tender flesh. You feel split open all the sudden, not vulnerable - not really - but laid out just for him, your body craving only what he can give. It is an embarrassing amount of desire that covers the entirety of you, and yet you aren’t embarrassed by it at all. 

For a moment, it is better than all the love in the world, which is exactly why you end up like this. You know that. You shouldn’t lie to yourself about it. That one second where he is enough - more than enough - can sustain you until the next time he will inevitably fail you. 

He draws the orgasm out of you quickly this way. The heels of your feet dig into his back, unable to stop the way you grow stiff with ecstasy of it coursing through you. He doesn’t stop when it hits, his tongue lapping up all your juices until you’re tugging at his hair, almost raw with oversensitivity. 

His lips glisten with your slick. You urge him forward, tugging at his forearm, letting him kiss you on the mouth before he has the chance to wipe you off of himself. He likes that, you know. You’re so blissed out for a moment, you forget the seas that part the two of you. Suddenly he is not Dieter Bravo, the man you have to rescue every six months, but Dieter, the one who knows you better than you do yourself sometimes. 

As his eager tongue meets yours, you allow him to position his hips between your legs, opening them up wide to fit his body. 

His weeping cock presses against you as he kisses you, hard and desperate to be touched. As his fingers gently skim over your jaw, down your neck, you think about how easy it would be for him to slip inside of you. How in one fluid motion, he and you could be so close, the thickness of him satisfying a greedy desire you have to take all of him. Fucking him all of the sudden seems like the very simplest solution to all your problems. It’s a primal thing that he inspires in you. His soft tongue drew out desires hidden in you and now that they’re out, you can’t put them back. 

You wrap your legs around him, pressing him closer. You want him to flirt with the idea in the same way you do, to crave it so badly he stutters asking for it. He freezes against your lips, overcome with the way you press against one another. Everything, everywhere, is warm. Tense. Taut. 

He kisses down your neck but is careful not to move his body, perceptive of the fact he is pressed to your cunt and with one accidental motion, will rub against it. He is wanting, sensitive. You want him to beg. 

“You’re so good, Dieter,” you tell him, hands intertwining in his drying overgrown locks. “I’ve missed this. Missed you,” you add, your breath against his ear. 

He pants against your neck, unwillingly pressing himself into you, rubbing slightly. He stops kissing you, focuses fully on not doing what he shouldn’t. He is being good, telling you to take the parts of him you want, saying sorry in the only way he really knows how: by clumsily handing himself over to you. 

You lift your hips into his, forgoing your need to hear him beg. His eagerness is akin to soft pleas. It is enough just to be wanted, and you know he does: he can hardly contain himself, pressing down when you finally press up. You wet his cock this way, letting him rub up and down, up and down, gathering you up and relishing what warmth of you you’ll give him as the mattress groans beneath you. 

“I could cum like this,” he pants, bringing his lips back to yours. He kisses you hard, enough to make your lips swollen, red. 

You shake your head. “Don’t cum,” you tell him, panicked. You stop moving and he stops too, eyebrows knitting together. “Fuck me, Dieter. I need you to fuck me.”

There is a vulnerability in his gaze as he takes those words in. You are pinned between his arms, beneath his solid body, surrounded entirely by him, and yet it is this look that makes you feel the closest to him. You share a feeling, not an agreement but an understanding: this is it. It is everything you are to each other, and perhaps all you ever will be. 

You hate him for that. You need him to tear you up, split you in half, make you feel the residuals of his affection through the quick snap of his hips and guttural moans you will feel in your bones. You don’t want understanding. 

Because you are angry or perhaps because you’ve gotten a little wiser since you last saw him, you tell him, “Condom,” evenly. It’s a barrier, some precaution you don’t usually make him take. He had told you once that he had never fucked anyone without one, that in all of his recklessness, he had never failed to do that. So of course you gave it to him, let yourself be his first. Now you’re taking it away. 

The purplish yellow of his under eye reassures you that this is right. He didn’t get that being good, being kind. Probably, he fucked someone’s wife, someone’s husband. He hadn’t called you for two months before today. He isn’t kind. Not always. The bruise is the violence he tears through life with. A marking of his wreckage. 

Dieter doesn’t protest about the condom, but you can tell he is wounded. He moves almost dutifully as he opens your bedside table and takes one out. 

You don’t watch him put it on. You look up at the dark of your ceiling, your heart in your stomach. 

“Okay,” he says with finality, wrapping a hand around your ankle. Your eyes soften as you look at him; he is blotted with desire, patchy with remorse. When his dark eyes gaze upon you with open tenderness, you feel your anger dissipate. 

When you open your legs wider for him, he crawls back on the bed, nestles between your thighs. His hands slide beneath you, groping your ass, lifting you to himself. When your bodies connect, his cock sliding into you, you feel all of it. The thickness of his head, the shake of his body as he eases in slowly, the way he settles in you as he bottoms out, trying not to lose control. It is tender, soft. It curls up in your chest and softens a resolve you need to survive on scraps. You don’t want it. 

You dig crescent-shaped moons in his ass, urge his hips forward as they begin to find a rhythm that is quick, angry. Your lips find each other clumsily, teeth clacking against teeth like inexperienced  teenagers. When you move your head away, he kisses the side of your mouth by accident, and then stops trying altogether, burying himself in your neck. He’s never faulted you for not wanting his affection and won’t now. Calloused fingers continue to grip at your ass, pushing you up to meet his hips; it is hip to hip, his cock pushing into the deepest part of yourself, filling you to the hilt with a shared frustration. 

You moan his name, a quick succession of Dieter, Dieter, Dieter, and he grunts helplessly, his body no longer his own, overtaken by desire and anger and disappointment. You are angry with yourself, angry you told him to put on the condom. You want him to fill you with it now—want the sticky substance of his desire to run down your legs and outlast the bitterness. 

He eases you into the mattress, fucks into you with the slow, lazy roll of his hips again. His hands slip away from your ass, travel up to your hands. He interwines your fingers together, pins them above your head. 

You whine, ache. “Harder,” you urge, your hips rising to make up for the lack of speed. You expected him to speed back up once he repositioned and the idea that he won’t fills you with dread. Fuck me, you echo again, hoping he understands. 

He pushes into you, more focused, like that is what you mean when you say harder: more focused. It isn’t. You mean harder. You paw at his hips, shake your head. “Dieter,” you plead. 

He draws back, snaps his hips into you. You gasp. Yes. You whisper it against his hot skin, and he does it again and again and again. Does it even when you sputter, voice straining, hips rising, rubbing against the patch of his body that meets your clit. He fucks you as you cum around his cock, lets your sensitive body feel the fury with which he takes you. With which you asked him to. 

He continues this pace even after he fills the condom, lingers over this spot in time and allows your cunt to suck him dry, to take pieces of him until he is gripping tightly to your hands and overdone with pleasure. He exits you quick, draws back like he’s going to snap forth but doesn’t. You miss the feel of him immediately and you understand the craving you’ve got has to do with far more than sex. 

Your eyes roll back, look at the clock on your nightstand. 3:30. You have time, but you won’t take it. 

Dieter discards the condom in the bathroom and comes back out wearing his underwear and a t-shirt. He offers you a towel and you take it, wiping your connection away. 

He helps you put your underwear back on and you let him climb back into your bed, lay yourself on top of him. He rubs your back as you listen to his heart thud in his chest. 

“Dieter?” you say, voice quiet. 

“Hm?”

“What happened to your eye?”

When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head up. His eyes are closed but he’s not pretending to sleep. 

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs, not opening them. 

“It’ll make me mad to know?”

He nods, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Why can’t you just be good?” Your voice is so quiet - timid - nearly inaudible. But he hears it, winces. 

“I don’t know,” he tells you honestly. You’ve touched upon an open wound; he shifts beneath you, moving you to his side. But he still wraps himself around you, holds you close. “Let’s sleep.”

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?” 

He holds your head to his chest. “If you want me to be.” 

“Please,” you manage, before closing your eyes. 

[rebeccathenaturalist]

COOL SNAIL ALERT!!!!

Okay, so yesterday I was teaching my Introduction to Mycology Class for Wildcraft Studio School at Tryon Creek State Natural Area just south of Portland, and while our main focus was on various fungi, we found some other cool stuff along the way, too!

One of the highlights of my day was this particular snail:

That is a Pacific sideband snail (Monadenia fidelis), one of our native terrestrial gastropods (as opposed to several invasive species found in the PNW and beyond). What makes it stand out is that the shell is entirely lacking the usual brown background on which various stripes are overlaid; it looks more like the yellow shell often seen in some Haplotrema species, such as the native H. vancouverense.

This is a more typical specimen, found not far from our extra-pale oddball above:

As you can see, the body color on the two snails is almost identical, so it's not albinism. I considered whether it might be a rare case of invertebrate leucism, but I was only able to find one reference thereof, in a paper on a single leucistic scorpion. I think, though, it's more likely just a normal variation where the brown pigmentation is at an extreme minimum.

It's not surprising that this mutation would be exceedingly rare; that yellow shell stands out like a beacon amid the darker colors of the forest floor, making any paler snails easier for predators to spot. OTOH, H. vancouverense is found in similar habitats and does have a typically yellow-colored shell, so maybe it's not as much of a liability. And when I looked at iNaturalist results for M. fidelis, there were a very few paler-shelled individuals mixed among the more common reddish-browns. They weren't clustered in one part of the species' range, but scattered throughout.

Anyway, I thought you all would appreciate seeing this!

[lilyblossom-art]

Would you ever consider doing a step by step for your drawing process? (Nothing too complicated necessary!)

Yes sure! I'll try to explain my process as best as i can :>

Just fyi, i use clip studio paint for most of my art

Starting with the sketch, i don't usually put all too much detail into it when i'm planning to line it. I'm mostly just trying to figure out what goes where and stuff

When it comes to the lineart, first of all, i rarely use black. I also like to use a pencil brush (design pencil iirc) since my lineart is essentially my clean-up sketch lol

I rely a lot on being able to flip the canvas and resize and move things around, especially when it comes to the face

I do like to make the eyes black so that they stand out more :>

To get a colored lineart look without actually having to color the lineart i set it to multiply so that the base colors can show through. That is also the main reason why i prefer to use brown for lineart

I fill in the base colors manually because the bucket tool often leaves gaps due to the texture of my lineart haha

For blush i just take the skin tone, move the hue slightly closer to red, and add more saturation. After that i set it to multiply and lower the opacity

And for the white of the eyes i want an off-white color, so to achieve that without having it clash with the skin, i just use pure white and lower the opacity to 75%

If the drawing doesn't have any specific lighting, i usually use a reddish orange for shading

I don't usually pay much attention to shading. i just put it where it looks good, set it to multiply (multiply really is my best friend here lol) and lower the opacity until i'm happy with it

If i'm feeling fancy i even add some blue for bounce light :>

Lastly, i add some highlights on the eyes and sometimes on the jewelry, aand it's done :>

I hope that was helpful haha

[upheavalofmemory]

pick a pile || random things about your future spouse

welcome to my newest pick a pile reading! this reading is some random things about your future spouse/partner, although it can be your next relationship or current relationship if it resonates.

this time, images are inspired by vultures~! images are not mine.

masterlist

decks being used:

The Dark Mansion Tarot by Taroteca Studio

Pile 1

Hi pile 1! As I shuffle the cards, I'm feeling quite stubborn energy, the cards were pretty straightforward, and I feel that your future spouse is as well. I heard fixed? They might have some fixed signs in their chart, although I am not keen on astrology. I feel like they're absolutely in love with you! When I saw the first card I went "aww" since the imagery on the four of wands in this deck is so cute and romantic. I feel like they've went through some troubles in their life and they never had expected to be in a loving relationship. The relationships in their family may have been bad and they simply just expected to fall back into the same cycle, but they're so glad that they broke the chain and found you <3. They might have a lot of struggles, they might struggle with depression or something sleep-related like sleep paralysis but they're working through it and they wouldn't let you be affected by it (I'm getting that they don't let people see their struggles? Make sure to check in on them sometimes pile one, they don't open up easily but they'll appreciate your presence). I get a big underlying presence of sadness.

You are their world. You guys may eventually move out from where you are and it'll bring you a lot of abundance, you both will be very happy in the end I'm seeing. They might also be from another country or very well-traveled and they can't wait to share that experience with you.

They might be wearing red when you first meet them or their favorite color is red. Appearance-wise, they might dress very classically and they look well put together. They might thrift for their outfits? Cool, we love someone sustainable! Although I'm feeling it's more that they struggle to find clothes that match them in normal stores. They might be a little bit more eccentric but classy. They might have hair that's light brown or a dirty blonde to reddish, and I'm picking up on freckles and/or moles as well. Also, blue eyes might resonate.

4 might be an important number by the way.

Pile 2

What's up pile 2! I'm feeling super pumped for this reading! Your future spouse seems to be quite radical, quite the positive thinker and your definite cheerleader! If you don't like positive people, you might change your mind with this person because they'll truly make your heart flutter <3. While I was shuffling, I couldn't help but sing! But I feel like this super cute and lovely aura hides something...darker? Not in a bad way, but they might be more serious than you expect them to be!

I'm getting like, positively aggressive? They want to kill the world with kindness and nothing is going to stop them. They're very family oriented and love their family and friends, I'm seeing a very good relationship here with both. They'll do anything for the people they care about, even running someone over with a car!!! To be clear, the imagery I got in my head was some sort of zombie apocalypse where they're driving their friends through a crowd of zombies or something...they might be a SciFi fan lol.

Don't expect them to cut off their family or friends for you though, they love them greatly. They may still be in good ties with their exes or something like that, they're a hard person to hate! But don't expect them to be a pushover. If someone treats them or their friends badly, they will CUT! THEM! OUT! You might hate them at first and then realize that they're actually not that bad. They're a very just person and value fairness to a T.

If you know anything about MBTI, it's giving ENTJ and ENFJ.

Despite always servicing and helping others, they really do love you. Sometimes they need to be dragged back to you or back to home but they're really not trying to hurt you, just let them know what you need!! They might really wear themselves out but for you, you are their rock and place of healing. They love being around you when the world is too much for them to bear because they feel like you'll always be there for them. Remember your boundaries though pile 2, communication is super important. They're hopeless romantics though, they really love you they just don't always have the time to give you everything but they want to give you the world and they hope that if they aren't enough to be your partner then they hope to be enough as friends... aww :,(. They may have had this pattern before but it's just their nature to help people. You might help them with setting better boundaries and not letting themselves get to their breaking point.

Appearance-wise, they may have dark hair (brown to black) with possibly tanned skin. They might be taller, they may have a v in their name, they like apples :)?

Pile 3

hii pile 3 uwu <3

Not sure why I felt like I needed to say it that way, they might talk to you that way as a joke? Both of you sending cute emojis and stuff back in forth and saying "nya" and "uwu" shit as jokes, ya'll are funny lol... it's giving the energy of that one couple who is constantly on each other in middle school, everyone hates them because they're head over heels for each other. The couple post that people post comments of "aww how cute *jumps off a bridge" and shit like that. Sorry, not sure why I keep swearing in this one, seems like two different energies here. That might be how they actually are, they might swear a lot.

Ooooo they're sneakyyyy. I thought I felt ENTP (mbti) vibes at the beginning, you might be stuck with an ENTP or someone just hella sarcastic and funny. Anyways with the sneaky part, they're not sneaky in a bad way, they just always keep you on your toes. They might scare you/play a prank on you randomly one day and then come home with a kitten the next, I have a feeling you guys really like cats for some reason. They're gonna steal your heart (and you're gonna like it >:((), they really like you and you really like them. A stupid (affectionately) match made in heaven. They're an inventor, a thinker, always coming up with new and innovative ideas. You really aspire to be like them, they might be the top of your class or something and you have no idea that they like you. But the are EYEING U UP, READY TO STRIKE !!! Your night in shining armor, your best friend <333 if anyone tries to hurt you they'll beat them up immediately (or go cower in a corner and tell you to fight them yourself... smdh they think they're funny). Also they might be an Aries? Or a Capricorn, I see a ram/goat like creature here, maybe you guys go and do goat yoga or something.

Appearance, they may have long dark hair, facial hair maybe, they like wearing dark colors. I feel like you call them emo as a joke, something like that but they're not and they're just dark or something. Might have a mischievous look to them, they might also be very generous. i also got that they might be a politician uh... they might do underhanded things??? watch out if this is for you LOL don't get involved in dirty shit 🤨. People might think they're a drug dealer???? Is this person playing with me 🤨?? real funny guy.

Pile 4

Greetings, my lovely final pile! This person is giving me very regal vibes, they might be very careful with their words but they always have a lot to say!

They might live by the water, they love ponds. They might be an environmentalist or activist or zoologist. They find comfort in the stillness of the water and the balance of life (woah?), very deep person. You also won't find them in shallow water, both literally and figuratively. They do their shadow work, always improving themselves and their well being. Their body reflects upon the rest of the world so they take great responsibility in being careful with how they express themselves.

This is a vey diferent energy than the last pile for sure. They pull their weight (accidentally typed eight if that resonates), they're an important member of society and they take that very seriously. They might work in construction or some public services area, they are important to their community and they put in a lot of work to make a difference. They may not have a high-paying job but their character reflects more on the people around them, they might be people's favorite person, someone that people absolutely adore. They might be an immigrant, they worked extremely hard to get to where they are and they don't take anything for granted. They have everything they want in life because they put in the work for it. The people in this pile might be older or your fs might be older, they feel very calm and mature <3. You might meet them when you are older also, maybe you were married before and this is a remarriage, take what resonates.

They definitely see the fruits of their labor or will see it soon. If you're looking for someone safe and stable, they are yours. Appearance-wise, lots of grey hair or black hair in these cards. They may have really long hair. Facial hair is also on the cards. and they might have really pale skin, almost ghostly. They may not tan? 🤷🏽

No doubt though, they do love you. They might be initially hesitant to let you in and share their abundance but they'll be glad to let you in once they know that they can trust you. They want to spoil you, they've been waiting their whole lives for someone who they can trust <3.

Finished~

Thank you for reading! Once again if it doesn't resonate, let it go <3 This was a lot longer than my previous reading, and if you'd like to leave a tip or if you'd like to purchase a personal reading (pay what you want), feel free to contact me! Thank you so much once again <3

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Prompt-ober 2023 – Breathplay, deep kissing, transformation

Read part one of Harrygmalion and Galatom here~

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Harry’s back in his studio bright and early the next day, eager to examine his sculpture with fresh eyes. If it’s as close to finished as he thinks it is, he’ll make the call to Luna today or tomorrow about getting an exhibition set up. He’s loath to part from this particular piece, but he can’t really afford to be precious about displaying and selling his work.

And there it sits, looking glorious in the morning sunshine and exactly as he’d imagined it when he first brought that marble block in here. He’ll really have to think of a name or title for it soon. Something regal to match that haughty look.

As he gets closer, he sees something that brings him up short. There’s something off about the lips.

“Shite,” he curses. If giving into a bit of whimsy last night left a stain after he’d been so, so careful for months to prevent exactly that, he’s going to be extremely cross with himself.

He gets out a soft cloth to see if the damage can be wiped off. Stepping up on the plinth, he leans over the figure and rests a hand on the throne to keep his balance. But, upon closer examination, the lips don’t look like discoloured marble. They look human.

Impossibly strong stone arms wrap around him, holding him pinned against the sculpture. He shouts in surprise and confusion – what…? Looking down, Harry sees the figure’s white, stone eyes staring back at him in flinty amusement. He freezes in shock – jesus, he hadn’t ever thought the statue would actually come to life – until he’s pulled down to the sculpture’s eye level. His struggling doesn’t have much (well, any) effect on the cold, hard stone, even after one of its arms releases him to raise a hand to Harry’s jaw and draw him into a kiss.

…What in the fairytale nonsense– Did he actually kiss his sculpture to life last night??

The lips pressed to his grow gradually warmer and softer, slowly parting to deepen the kiss. Harry feels a too-smooth tongue trace along his bottom lip, encouraging him to open to his mouth. With a light moan, he does. If he’s lost his mind, might as well enjoy it. 

The kisses are slow and thorough and drugging. He’s having trouble catching his breath and his head is spinning. When one of the sculpture’s hands tangles in his hair and holds his head in place while its mouth seals over Harry’s, he realises the sculpture is stealing the air from his lungs. He pushes and smacks frantically at solid shoulders, but there is no pliancy in that grip and black spots start to cloud his vision.

The other heavy marble hand grabs hold of Harry’s right wrist, forcing his arm against the edge of the stone sword. He didn’t think he’d made the blade all that sharp, but it slices into his forearm easily. Blood wells up around it and begins to drip down the blade and his arm, pooling against the hilt and the sculpture’s hand, and spilling off onto its lap. The blood sinks into the stone flesh wherever it lands, turning the translucent-white marble surface to milk-pale skin.

When the hands release him, he steps back too quickly, tripping over the plinth and his feet and landing hard on the studio’s floor. Harry stares uncomprehendingly at the figure in front of him as he heaves air into his oxygen-starved lungs.

Everything looks as he carved it to look �� brows, hair, lips, nose, firm body, long arms and legs – but now the skin is inarguably living, with a network of veins and arteries just visible beneath its pale surface. The thick, wavy hair is a faceted dark brown, the lips a light pink, and the eyes are a dark reddish-brown and shine with intelligence.

The seven dark green striations remain, however – the only thing to mark the figure as inhuman.

If he weren’t so on edge and possibly bleeding out, he’d pat himself on the back for creating the vision of perfection before him.

Glancing quickly down at his arm, he notes that the wound, while still bleeding and several inches in length, is fairly shallow. He’ll likely need stitches, but it didn’t cut into the muscle tissue and probably won’t affect his ability to work. If he survives his suddenly animate (and amorous?) sculpture, that is.

He may still be in shock.

When the figure continues to sit and stare at him, Harry clears his throat. “Erm…”

Great start.

The figure (which he really needs to name) tilts its head to the side as a sharp, lopsided grin pulls at its (his?) lips. “Hello, Harry.”

“Uh… Hi,” Harry replies warily. The sculpture knows his name. Is that normal? 

(He internally slaps his forehead. None of this is normal. Maybe he fell and hit his head on the plinth last night and his imagination is going buckwild in the moments before his brain bleeds out.) 

The figure stands, notably still holding the kind-of-bloody marble sword, and steps off the plinth towards him. The modesty sheet he’d carved for the statue’s lap slides off and he gets quite the eyeful. Damn. That is an unfairly pretty dick.

The sculpture-guy gives him an amused look. “My eyes are up here.”

He just got called out for perving on his statue by his statue. He’s had that nightmare before, and now he can officially say that it’s a humiliating experience in reality, too.

“Er, sorry,” he says, eyes firmly fixed above the waistline. “Uh, could you maybe put the sword down?”

The figure looks down at its hand, as though it hadn’t realised it was holding anything, before glancing calculatingly back at Harry. “I will not. I am all too aware of how troublesome you can be.”

“Wh– I– troublesome??” Harry sputters, standing up and pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re the one who just turned months of hard work into something I can’t sell anywhere other than the black market!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the figure dismisses disdainfully. “Fate has once again brought us together. It would never allow you to sell me like chattel, nor would I let you part us. Especially not so soon after our reunion.”

Fate? Reunion? What on earth…?

(Wasn't the face familiar even though he knows he's never seen it before? Hadn't he known what to carve with a level of certainty and exactitude he'd never felt before?)

“Who are you?” Harry asks wonderingly.

“I am Lord Voldemort,” the sculpture-turned-man announces imperiously. “And you, Harry Potter, are mine.”

[dried-up-f1sh]

This is my Hazbin Hotel OC, Genevieve. She's a siren overlord. In this drawing I just drew her in a different outfit from her usual ones, so yes, I'm aware it doesn't fit her era. Her main outfit is actually a yellow polkadot swing dress. Anyway, here's some info about her:

TW: brief mentions of murder, and drowning

Powers: She can control people's emotions with her singing, shapeshift, imitate voices, she has hydrokinesis, and she can detect electric fields underwater (kind of like a shark). She's able to do so because she has ampullae of Lorenzini.

Likes: Gardening, cooking, her kids, singing, keeping the hearts of her victims as trophies, making people smile, old movies

Dislikes: Being undermined, misogynists, being watched, being replaced, not reaching people's expectations

Backstory:

Genevieve, a famous singer in the 1950s, and a scientist with a streak of impulsiveness, was opened to a world of crime after accidentally killing a man in self defense. After getting away with it, she became bolder, killing those who deserved it by luring them backstage after concerts, but, unfortunately one night her recklessness cost her.

While attempting to dispose of a body by throwing it off a pier, her still conscious victim dragged her to the sea with him as they drowned together. One moment she was kicking and screaming against the water as it forced its way into her lungs, the next moment she woke up to the feeling of cold concrete and reddish skies. That's when she realised she was in hell.

Determined to continue her career as a singer, she decided to work alongside a strange demon who called himself Vox. He promised her a world of ideals, similar to that of the life she lived before it was tainted with sin. Unfortunately this dream involved the destruction of herself in order to fit the expectations of everyone. To be completely flawless at the expense of her individuality. Sure, it was unhealthy, but she was used to it.

Eventually Vox's partnership with a certain moth man drove her away, but it was for the better... or for her it was. That's when she decided to work for the radio demon, a friend who taught her that she didn't need to create an image of herself for people to enjoy, just to be adored. She assisted him in his killings by broadcasting her songs and putting demons to sleep, so he could carry out his next step. He was more than capable of doing it all on his own but her assistance was appreciated.

She enjoyed it all. She enjoyed showing up to the studio, being greeted by the familiar sight of his wide, almost uncanny, smile everyday, but one day it was gone. He was gone. Genevieve's old habits returned and with it, some crippling abandonment issues, and she found herself crawling back to Vox.