#and i filled various pages of my art sketchbook with that

[mcytgallificated]

Im out of asks so I will either succumb to boredom now or go batshit insane and make something ridiculous you guys arent ready for this

[miguelhugger2099]

Punk!Miguel who’s proud of his tattoos. At least most of them. He has some professionally done and others were stick and pokes from when him and Gabriel were younger.

Punk!Miguel who watches you with a smile when you touch up and down his arm. He hides the shivers down his spine when your perfectly manicured pink and green nails rake across the art decorated on him.

“What’s this one?” You poke at a terrible done smiley face, it was a little blobbed but barely noticeable with the much nicer ones done around it.

“One of the first tries my brother did on me when he was starting out.”

“And you kept it?” You tilt your head with a scrunch of your nose. Miguel laughs.

“Sentimental value.”

You scoff. “No way.”

“Yeah, way.” He takes your hands and pulls you closer, lugging you forward onto his lap where you belonged. Getting yourself comfortable you placed your hands on his chest.

“Are you just gonna have them on your arms?” You ask, tugging down his shirt for a peek at any new ones. Miguel smirks and stops your peeking by tsking and shaking his head—a knowing look on his face.

“Course not but tattoos cost money, babe.”

“You should get one of me.” You pout your lips, crossing your arms that makes you seem snobbish.

“What? Like get one of your face?” He laughs and leans back on his hands.

“No! Like—I dunno! Something sentimental about…me?” You look away, feeling the prickling embarrassment crawling up your neck. “Never mind!”

“Oh, so you want to be on my body, huh?” He teases, taking your hand and sliding it under his tank top to feel his warm stomach, faint dips of abs.

“You know what I mean!” You whine, feeling frozen with him holding your hand in place. He can’t help but find you adorable. Letting go of your hand to come around your waist as he leans up again, one hand coming down to cup your ass. He swallows your squeak with a kiss, unable to stop himself from biting into your sweetness.

Punk!Miguel who—even if he teased you about it—actually adored the idea of having a tattoo of you on him.

Punk!Miguel who thought day and night of what could represent you. Flowers he felt was done often, your name was cute but basic and anything else could very well be mistaken for something else. He wanted something that was obviously you.

Punk!Miguel who was rearranging his room again, bustling through various boxes for some spring cleaning.

Punk!Miguel who found his box of memories from when you two first began dating. It had been filled with all your gifts and letters you’d given him—every last piece saved securely in the corner of his room.

He smiles as he opens the box up again. Some pieces of papers falling out and the little broken keychain you got to match with him until it snapped when he accidentally sat on it.

He sits at his desk, flipping through the pages and tiny plushies you’ve given him. His heart swelling at the swirls in your writing with blue ink—the bunny pen you always wrote with.

The smile on his face continues as he reads through your words of love for him—words that you often found too difficult to say. He slams his forehead on the desk, blush coating his cheeks and ears while he groans loudly.

Each letter you’d given him ended with a print of your kiss mark at the very bottom. Some of it was a matte red, others was a faint glitter stain, but most of it was a soft pinkish color. The kind that was glossy and gave you just enough color that it looked tinted and natural.

His finger grazes the mark, an idea popping in his head.

Punk!Miguel who goes to a tattoo shop he was very well acquainted with, with an artist he knew extra well.

He slams his arm on the counter where a man was behind it, sucking on a lollipop and doodling in his sketchbook. The guy raises an annoyed brow.

“Do you have any space open for a walk-in client?” Miguel asks with a smirk.

“I don’t have space for annoying ones.” He sighs and puts his drawing pad away.

“I have money this time, Gabri. Plus, family discount.”

Punk!Miguel who is both afraid and excited to show you what he’s done to himself. He feels his heart hammering while he preps himself to show you. He’d done the aftercare as precisely as possible, taking extra care of it because this was no ordinary tattoo.

Punk!Miguel that lets you take off his shirt when he tells you he’s gotten a tattoo of you.

Punk!Miguel who smiles with amusement when you gasp and hit his arm that you were joking before! That tattooing is a permanent thing! He tells you that he knows.

His heart stills when you eyes land on his chest. On his left side, where his heart would be was your kiss mark. Just like the ones you left on the letters you used to give him.

You touch your lips subconsciously, your other set of fingers hovering over his lifted skin. You look up for permission and he nods, brining himself closer.

You marvel at the piece of work that replicated your lips. “Oh, Miguel…” You sigh, blinking back tears.

“Are you getting emotional?”

“No!”

He brings you to his chest in a tight hug, your hand still resting beside your kiss mark now permanently etched on his person—a permanent reminder that he is yours and that he loves you.

[arielluva]

so back in april i had the idea to draw ace attorney characters as if they were in fantasy life (so essentially combining two of my favorite games) but only finished phoenix then. tonight i finished up the page with some more, and since we know what the new lives in fantasy life i will be, i got the excuse to include vera as an artist :))

id under cut

[image ID: 5 digital drawings of some ace attorney characters drawn in the fantasy life art style, which is a very expressive, stylized chibi style. they are drawn in the outfits for different lives as if they were in fantasy life. in the top left, phoenix wright is drawn as a paladin, with text next to his head that says "Phoenix Paladin". he is wearing silver armor with gold trim, the trim forming a 'P' on his chest. the 'P' has a red gemstone in the center of it. his shoulder guards also have red gems on them. he has a long blue cape fluttering behind him, as he stands confidently, holding a sword in his left hand and holding up a shield with his right. the sword and shield are also silver with gold and red accents like his armor. next to phoenix, in the top middle, apollo justice is drawn as a blacksmith. he has text next to his head that reads "Apollo Blacksmith". he is wearing a teal apron on top of a white shirt and pants. his sleeves are rolled up, and he has a red piece of fabric tied around his waist. he is wiping sweat off his forehead with his right hand, and holding a hammer in his left. next to apollo on the top right, is vera misham. she is drawn as an artist, with text next to her head that reads "Vera Artist" she is wearing a pink beret that resembles her bandana, and has a paint brush with pink paint on the very top. she is holding her sketchbook in her right hand, and a paint brush in her left. she is wearing brown gloves that are stained with various colors of paint. she is wearing a pink dress with a darker pink collar and bow, and the skirt of the dress has a darker pink line going horizontally across it. she has a white apron tied around her waist that is also stained with various colors of paint. she is wearing brown sandals. on the bottom left of the drawing is trucy wright drawn as a wizard, with text next to her head that reads "Trucy Wizard". she is in an excited pose, running while holding her staff, a tall wand with a glittering green gem on top. she is wearing a light blue pointy witch hat with a white ribbon wrapped around it. the inside of her hat is pink. she is wearing a medium length black dress with a white belt, and she is wearing pointy white shoes. she is wearing a light blue cloak, with the hood on her shoulders, that has her green diamond brooch hanging where the ends of her hood meet. her cloak is fluttering behind her and trimmed with white and gold, the insides if her sleeves being pink. on the bottom right of the image, ema skye is drawn as an alchemist, with text next to her head that reads "Ema Alchemist". she is wearing gold goggles with pink lenses, and her hair is drawn more poofy than usual. she is wearing a white coat over a light green dress. she has a pink tie loosely around her neck, and she is wearing a darker green corset with gold buttons. her shoes are plain black. she is holding a potion bottle filled with a yellow liquid in her right hand, and is looking at it calmly, with the left hand in her white coat's pocket. end ID].

[tainted-liquor]

'Make it Awkward...⋆｡°✩

E1610!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, Kisses, n a lil bit of smiles! TWs: Awkward teen love like rlly rlly awkward W/C: 1.8k A/N: SZA Inspired fic ❤︎!! another cute lil req from my 100 special!

You and Miles had developed a sturdy friendship in middle school, with you always being hyped up as the "art kid" in each of your classes. Initially, he was a little bit bitter because he didn't really understand what the hype was all about. He could draw, and he could do it just as good as you. Which, granted was indeed true, but your work felt like something out of a Van Gogh discography. Each and every one of your paintings and drawings almost looked like there was a filter over them, like something out of a flurry dream that evoked nostalgia and warmth in whoever seemed to view them. To say he was inspired by you was an understatement, he wanted to drown himself in everything that was your talent.

But as time passed and spiders bit, you two grew apart from each other on account of him semi-blowing you off for Gwen. You stopped hanging out slowly, he began to drop art and pick up a sudden interest in physics and inter-dimensional travel, and even got...meaner? The kind and innocent kid that once was Miles suddenly became jumpy and antsy. You thought that you two had something worth way more than any other friendship you had, but one day shit just shifted into complete, and total, awkward silence. But as time heals all wounds, you slowly began talking again at the top of this month, right before your summer came to its close.

Miles quietly hummed along to the steady bump of the music in his headphones, nodding to the rhythm as he began illustrating a head in his sketchbook. As 'Les' By Childish Gambino slowly fizzed out and the electronic chords of 'Awkward' By SZA became known, his sketch started to warp a little. He didn't necessarily remember how or when, but he noticed his sketch become a lot less androgynous and more familiar, with twinkling brown eyes and thick curly hair becoming more detailed with each pencil stroke. It took him a while to realize, but eventually, he had drawn...you. Down to the finest details as well, your smile lines and your perfectly sculpted Nubian nose.

What he hadn't anticipated was filling up the next 2 pages of his sketchbook with both your face and the signature crochet fingerless gloves you wore during the winter. What initially was just a warmup while waiting for you to arrive at his house turned into a full-blown drawing session with you as the muse. You weren't even there and he still had drawn you 100% accurately from memory. He sighed as his playlist continued to play out a steady stream of nothing but SZA, leaning back in his chair as he stared up at the ceiling before he heard a knock on his room door. "Ah-Come in!" he yelped as he quickly put away his sketchbook, swapping out the pencils and paint markers for paintbrushes and canvases.

You gently pushed open the door, showing Miles your painted tote bag full of art supplies, such as watercolors, charcoal, oil paints, three palettes, and various paintbrushes. "Hey, Miles! Sorry, it took me a lil bit...that fuckin' line in the art store was INSANE" you chirped as you slowly entered Miles's room and set down your bag. You placed your shoes in the corner of his room before walking over to sit on his bed. He pulled off his headphones, gently placing them on their stand before spinning around in his indigo desk chair. "That's fine! Don't even worry about it I know how full them stores get" he shrugs as he grabs his Bluetooth speaker from off his shelf, motioning for you to follow him as he stacks the canvases and art supplies in his hands.

"C'mon, there's not enough space in my room for two people to paint," he explains as he climbs the stairs up to his apartment roof. You followed closely behind him, setting up the art supplies as he fidgeted with his speaker. You lean back against the wall as you sit on the concrete roof, taking in the pretty sky as you sketch out some buildings and a landscape on your canvas. "So how's summer for you, huh? What's her name...Gwen was it? How'd things go over with her?" You ask as you begin to add minor details to your sketch. Truth be told it ate you up every single time he would mention her in your past conversations, with you having a small...thing for him that grew over time.

"Oh! Uh, Gwen...yeah. Things went south, we don't really talk anymore..." He shrugs as he rips the plastic off of a rather large canvas. You nodded slowly, indicating that you were hanging on to his every word as you cracked open a fresh bottle of paint thinner, pouring it into a small glass cup before coating your brush in the clear mineral spirit. You slather a couple of shades of deep blue, rusty orange, bright magenta, and off-white on your paint palette as you work to form that beautiful 'sunset gradient' on your canvas. He connects his phone to the small black speaker, his playlist resuming quietly in the background. "But how's your summer been?" he asks as he mirrors the process of sitting beside you and leaning against the wall.

"My summer's been fine actually. Nothing too eventful, no trips or nothing, just taking a couple...ahem...adventures!" You explain as you recall how you nearly got in trouble with the police for trespassing in various abandoned locations for funsies. Miles gives you a playful side-eye, looking you up and down. "You sound a lil sketchy...what did YOU do this summer?" he chuckled as he began sketching out some scenery and what looked like the early stages of a body on his canvas. "Shhhh, your dad's a cop" you giggled as you picked up a smaller brush, filling in the buildings and scenery in your painting. You both chuckled at the slight confession, looking ahead of you so you could get an accurate view of what you were currently painting.

You took a small glance at what Miles was currently sketching, getting a good look at the faceless humanoid figure sitting cross-legged, with an unidentified object that vaguely resembled a pencil in her hand as she drew on her...face? Eyeliner maybe? You hummed along to 'Supermodel' By SZA. You held up your canvas closer to Miles's canvas, analyzing the difference in art styles. Yours was much more realistic, and heavily influenced by the world around you with your unique play on your color palette. whereas Miles was more stylized and thought out, the colors remaining true to their actual hue.

"What do you think this needs more of?" you ask as you tilt your canvas towards Miles. He thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly so he could thoroughly analyze the painting. "More shine to the light sources maybe? Like a soft glow!" he beamed as he pointed towards the canvas with the opposite end of his paintbrush. You nod with your signature full smile, smile leans indicating your raw and unfiltered joy. Miles's eyes lingered on you for a couple of seconds before he madly swiped away at his canvas, seemingly blocking out more details with darker shades of watercolor.

You spent the next four hours, yes, four hours giggling like children as Miles sang along terribly to some of the songs on his playlist, starting a mini karaoke session on his roof with the both of you. It began to get cold and dark, so you decided you would pick up the canvases again after going inside to get something to eat. He grabbed his speaker and supplies, leaving his large canvas on the roof of his building before disappearing through the door to his apartment complex. You stuffed most of what you wanted to bring back down into your bag, before deciding to look over at Miles's painting. It looked exactly like you, but you were younger.

You remembered that damn scrunchie you had locked on your wrist, your favorite dark red satin scrunchie that went perfectly with your uniform. You shifted slightly to get a better angle of the canvas, watching as 8th grade you sprung to life in the form of doing your eyeliner on the bathroom sink. Miles had been there with you, watching as you painfully kneeled on the edge of the sink and leaned hazardously close to the mirror. You smiled softly to yourself as you noticed each beauty mark you had perfectly positioned on your face, from each scar to every minor indent in your smile. You chuckled quietly before swinging open the door and bolting down the stairs, straight to Miles's room.

And there he was, viciously fucking up a cup of noodles like someone would take it from him at any moment. "Damn, is it good? it ain't goin' nowhere now..." you joked with wide eyes as he gestured to an identical cup cooling off by his mini desk fan. You ate alongside him in silence, not really knowing what to say to each other. "I see you're still painting like in middle school...?" he states, referring to your distinct blurred style of painting. "Huh...Oh! Yeah, haha. I miss middle school kinda." You shrug as you sit the cup down on the side of his desk.

"Really? I always thought you thought I was a lil annoying back in middle school. I think you were my quietest friend ever" he joked as he finished his cup, dunking it in his trash can. "Huh? I literally thought you were the cutest thing ever! If I thought you were annoying I would've told you!" you stated with a small chuckle. Miles seemed to think for a moment, pausing as he processed the first half of your sentence. "Wait, you thought I was cute this whole time?" He asked with wide eyes. "Yeah! I was quiet cuz I didn't wanna fuck anything up! I think I had the fattest crush on you!" you laughed as you realized he thought that YOU thought he was annoying this whole time.

He gawked for a minute, his jaw slacked and eyes even wider than before. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?" he semi-shouted as he began pacing around his room. You could only laugh, saying "We were like 10 and I didn't know if you would've liked me back." He looked at you as if you had 2 heads, going on some long rant about how he always thought you just weren't interested or thought he was annoying. You silently got up from his bed, walking over to him and stopping him entirely.

Miles looked at you with a rather confused and amused expression, probably still processing the fact that you openly admitted to liking him in middle school. But nothing in the world could have prepared him for the delicate kiss that you placed on his lips. He eagerly closed the space between the two of you, wrapping one arm around your waist almost by instinct. You pulled away from him after what felt like years, muttering a small "Who taught you that?"

[deoidesign]

Two things

Any tips for line work?

Any tips for drawing eyes?

You’ve got a killer style for that and I struggle for things like that, so was wondering what you do for that and have any advice for a young artist? Also Steve is gender goals and me and him have the same haircut which makes me happy. Comics with an older queer character are nice, makes me happy to see someone like me get to get older like that :]

This ended up really long, sorry...

"Style" is really just an amalgamation of every decision an artist makes. When you're starting to learn, your brain is processing a LOT on the technical and fundamental side. In time, these will become tools for you to use as you please.

Your style is in you already, I assure you. It's the clothes you love, your favorite color, the season that makes you comfy... Art is a form of communication, and the first person you have to learn to communicate with is yourself. It's a lifelong process of growth, self love, and personal expression. It's nothing to rush!

these are from 2011, 2016, and 2023!

(13, 18, and 25 years old)

You can see how my skills have evolved, but my tastes are rather much the same. I've still got an absolute ton to learn.

When it comes to lineart, if you find yourself regularly struggling with "losing energy from the sketch", then making your lineart thicker might be a solution; thicker lines are a lot more forgiving!

This is a common issue many artists struggle with. It happens because the sketch has multiple lines, so the brain gets to choose which one it likes most. When you do lineart that choice isn't up to the brain, so it's not tricking itself to seeing all its favorite lines anymore.

Lineart can also help you define depth. Generally speaking, thicker lines tend to be on closer objects, and further away objects have thinner lines. You'll also lose more and more detail (and sometimes edges) the further away an object gets.

It can also define light in your lines. solid blacks can block out entire sections of shadow. Another option is hatching, and another is stippling. It doesn't have to define light, though, many styles define their light through various other shading methods.

My biggest tip for lineart is to practice "line confidence." fill a sketchbook page with lines that span the entire length of the page, evenly distanced, as straight as you can, without lifting the pen. Do this every day. Fill a page with ellipses, fill a page with circles. Do this every day. Eventually, you'll learn to 1: draw with your entire arm, which will save you a lot of quite literal pain in the future, and 2: you'll be able to draw the right line the first time more often, which will save you time and frustration!

I didn't have an example offhand so I did this to show what I mean, but I highly suggest doing this on paper in ink and not on the computer, if you can.

When it comes to eyes, definitely look lots to real people, and also pay attention to how artists stylize them! There's generally 4 main things to keep in mind:

1: the top lid. This one is major for defining the expression, so it changes a lot depending on context.

2: the bottom lid! this one doesn't move nearly as much.

Each lid has a vertex, and changing where the relative high and low points are on them between characters can change a lot about what the eyes are saying.

3: the sclera (whites of the eyes), iris (color of the eyes), and pupil (the hole we see out of)! These change an absolute TON based on style.

4: the eyelid!

and here's me just moving each of the elements around! it changes a lot about what the eye is saying as you change each element, play around with them! try not to always go with your first choices.

There's a lot more to eyes than this, and a lot more to lineart as well... but I hope this is something of a starting point! Getting better about art is about learning to think and study everything you see. I genuinely see the world differently than I did 10 years ago, and I'm much happier for it (and a much better artist!)

And when it comes to writing stories about queer characters who get to be older and still happy, I hope to someday see you making stories that bring someone the same sense of comfort you had reading my work. I hope it someday becomes normalized, mundane even. And I know it starts with people like you deciding it's important! We're here, we've always been here, and we're not going anywhere.

Best of luck on your artistic journey, I wish you a long lifetime of growing closer to yourself through your art.

[dearest-dirt]

Moments Between Lovers  (Kyle Rayner x Reader)

Warning: Very Fluffy 

Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 507

Masterlist

Author’s Note: Hi! I want DC to know that if they ever hurt my little baby boy, I will gnaw off their heads. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! Bestie, please reblog!

Summary: Kyle is very much in love and he has the drawings to prove it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You studied Kyle’s face, wondering what he was drawing. You didn’t want to disturb him; he looked too cute with his tongue slightly sticking out and his eyebrows knitted together. You just went back to laying on the couch, mindlessly watching some movie on tv.

Kyle would occasionally look up from his sketchbook. His eyes gazing intently at your body, at your face, the way you were laying on the couch. He would then go back to drawing you half from sight, half from memory. His mind occasionally lingering in memories of the feel of your skin against his, your lips against his, your hands in his.

You were starting to fill all the pages of his sketchbooks. A study of your hands, eyes, nose, smile, hair, etc. A study of you. Various mundane activities you did, were translated into art every chance he got. From cooking dinner, to folding laundry, to brushing your teeth, it was all there. He was trying to capture all the moments he wasn’t there for, all that he missed from being away so much. And he missed the mundane moments just as much as everything else.

When you looked back at him again, he looked up from his drawing to meet your loving gazing. You sat up and motioned for him to come to you. He smiled and shook his head, rejecting your offer. You thought for a moment before getting up and walking across the floor to him. He closed his sketchbook and set it aside, just as you sat down next to him.

“Whatcha drawing? Can I see?” You ask.

“It’s not done yet,” he shrugged, playfully nudging you with his shoulder. You smiled.

“Just once I wish you would draw me,” you joked. You had sat for a few sketches before but you hadn’t seen the fact that you had taken up almost every inch of the sketchbook. You didn’t pry into his sketchbooks out of respect for his privacy; plus, if he wanted you to see something, he would just show you. “I wouldn’t mind sitting for you. I could be your muse.” You striked a pose as you conclude your sentence. Kyle laughed and tackled you to the ground with affection.

He caught your lips onto a passionate kiss. His fingers interlaced with yours as you kissed him back with equal passion. Pulling away he rested his forehead against your, eyes looking deeply into yours.

“Have I told you that I love you today?”

“Yes, about every 10 minutes.” You nodded, slightly laughing.

“Hum, not enough,” he pretended to contemplate. “I’m gonna tell you every 5 minutes now. I love you,” he said, wearing a big goofy smile.

You laughed in response, “That was twice in like 30 seconds.” You lifted your head up to kiss him again. Pulling away you whispered, “I love you too.”

Your eyes gazing into his with so much love, affection, and admiration, that his breath hitches. He makes a mental note to draw the way you were looking at him.

[starheirxero]

tell me every fave you have of each fandom (tsams, ultrakill, undertale aus, etc)

now this is a threat /silly

- 📦

OH OH OH!!!!!!!! BOX ANON ILY. I’LL EVEN SHOW U PICTURES OF EACH HOLD ON IM ABOUT TO AUTISM THE FUCK OUT

TSAMS - SEE OKAY GET THIS. I have four faves that I cycle through at random but i physically cannot chose one. Those four are Lunar, Bloodmoon, Solar Flare, and Eclipse. I could write genuine actual essays about each of them i LOVE THEMMMM take my art of each bc i don’t wanna take a gazillion screenshots ABAJABA

Ultrakill - THIS IS PROBABLY SOOO OBVIOUS BUT UGHHH I LOVE GABRIEL HE’S MY ALL TIME FAVE. V2 and swordsmachine are close competitors tho now that I’ve played the game and kmow all their lore and such <3

UTMV - LISTEN. I MAY NOT GO HERE ANYMORE BUT CROSS WILL ALWAYS HAVE A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART. Same goes for Killer bc that boy was my go-to for projecting and angsting and I literally made a 4-page doc noting various facts about Error soooo. yk (credits from left to right: jakei95, rahafwabas, and askerrorsans)

For “etc” we’re gunna do a speed round for a bunch of my back burner fixations!! Not gunna do images for them bc I have a lot so let’s go LMAO

Null from No Mans sky!! Laughed at by god, kinda selfish, desperately needs therapy, I love them endlessly!!

RGB from The Property of Hate!! Haven’t read the comic in forever but I still have the pin of his face on my billboard!! I lost the spooky eye version of the pin at school in 6th grade tho :( SAD!

Wheatley from Portal 2!! Everybody loved this bitch can you even blame me rn!!

Fern from Adventure Time!! I was like 12 and had an “I can fix him” approach!! I still have a big red sketchbook that I carried around in school filled with several doodles of him!!

SCP-049 and SCP-3090!! 049’s interview audio where he speaks old french made 11 y/o me go INSANE and I truthfully tried to learn french for years because of him!! and 3090 is a trans lesbian tv head who came back from the dead!!! Epic!!!!!!

WHOO. OKAY. Ahem. Straightens tie. I’m normal now. Thank u beloved box anon I love talking abt my faves HEHAHAJS

[drill-teeth-art]

May I know what art supplies you use to draw? I love you art sm 💗

Behold! My swag filled guide of my art materials! I'll even call this a masterlist for now!

Markers

I use Ohuhu, dual-tip, alcohol markers!

Here's a link to the set I have on their site: Ohuhu Markers I Use

This set is pretty big, but they have plenty of smaller sets to try out as well. I really recommend them! I have used copic markers before and a couple other brands, but these are my favorite. And they're more affordable than most of the copic sets I've seen. I recommend the brush and chisel tip sets, but they have fine tip and brush too.

Pens

The pens I use are made by Sakura, mostly their Pigma Microns, but I get a lot of use out of a Pigma Graphic pen that has a bigger tip.

Here's a link to their site's pen category: Pens I Use You can't buy directly from your site, but they have a section where you can see the online stores that sell their products and the retail stores that carry them as well.

I also use the white Gelly Roll pen they make for touching up my drawings. You can put it right on top of already laid down pen ink or marker ink and it'll show as opaque white. Sometimes you have to do a couple passes of it to get it super white, and it works best if the ink you have down already is fully dried. But it is handy. And you can run an alcohol marker over it when it is dry to color it, but that has been hit or miss for me. So I'm figuring that technique out still XD

Paper

The paper I use is just Canson's XL Mixed Media sketchbook right now! I buy various sizes. The one I have now is on the smaller side, but the bigger ones are great too!

Here's a link to the Mixed Media section on their site. Same sort of purchasing deal as Sakura. They provide irl and online places to buy: Paper I Use

The markers definitely bleed through, but they don't destroy this paper. And it's good for pencil if I ever want to use it. I do not use pencil much because of sensory issues, but I like having the option. Just put something between the pages like a piece of card stock or a plastic sheet, and the other page won't get any marker on it.

Digital Art Tablet

The art tablet I use is their Kamvas Pro 13! It's got a screen display and some buttons you can assign keys to. It's on the pricier end of the tablets they sell, but I am getting a ton of use out of it. Bought it a few years ago. And they have plenty of non screen tablets to check out if you wanna try an art tablet. Their tablets still use USB ports to my knowledge, and the screen one I use also need an HDMI port. So keep in mind you might need an adapter with those.

Here's a link to Huion's online store generally: Tablet I Use

-

I have a few assorted things laying around I use on occasion, but this is the main stuff. Thank you so much for the kind words! And I hope you enjoy this list of tools and get some use out of it.

[stop-pressing-e]

Portrait of a Soldier

The Lost Swan

/Thought I decide to share another one of my stories about Krauser and Dullahan and this is one of the first stories I wrote about before The Lost Swan. So think of it as a look into their little quiet life.

Enjoy reading!/

Mentions of: Suggestive talks and Krauser being a prev lol

It started off with a little headshot sketch of Krauser at the corner of the paper on the layout of the building she had drawn out so they could set out a plan to infiltrate. It was a small sketch not bigger from his index finger and yet nothing was missing from his face with those detailing of his scars done with a ballpoint pen. Dullahan didn’t realise it as he hid it with a mug. It was only when she was folding it away was when the sight of the sketch made her remember what she had done, forced to pretend that she didn’t see her own work or that Krauser knew it was her doing.

She won’t know that he liked her little sketch.

The next time Krauser discovered more of her work was when he dropped by her loft via the glass door on her balcony. He was given a keycard by her recently so he could enter her place normally, but oh well, old habits die hard sometimes. He knew Dullahan was currently away on her own missions so he took his chance to recuperate for a couple of days after taking quite a number of mercenary works over the past couple of weeks. Two days should be enough for him. Maybe more if he’s waiting for her return. He does miss her admittedly after all. There were some leftovers that were still good, coffee was full, and his clothes awaiting for his next return were neatly ironed and folded when he opened his wardrobe. 

Her loft was spotless as usual knowing the hitman needed the sense of order in her own haven. 

The easel, however, was not standing there last time he was here.

Krauser knew she does art as a hobby and he has seen her paint from landscapes to still life of the places she has visited. Last time he had seen her paint was at an opera house she attended alone and he watched her paint the singer on stage before returning his focus to his weapons. Normally when she’s not painting she would have it tucked away.

There a fabric was draped over the easel, presumably to hide the canvas underneath. Curiosity got the best of him to take a peek at her new project. The canvas remained blank, save for a memo stuck to it to remind her to buy more paints, and figure out how to get the smile right for the portrait she’s going to be working on. When it comes to her little art studio in the corner of the living room, there would always be an artist’s sketchbook to see what the memo was talking about. And so there it is, the red well loved leather bound sketchbook is found resting on the table. He has seen her sketches before and albeit without her permission, so nothing like the usual peek doesn’t hurt anyone.

Only he didn’t expect to see his own face staring back at him. Krauser’s face was drawn quite stern with a pencil based on the shading on his face and how most of the details were focused on his eyes to the wrinkle of his brow and the furrow on his mouth. Why the hell did she draw him like this? Was that how she saw him when he got annoyed with her or anyone during those times? That woman, unbelievable. However, that wasn’t the only sketch she had drawn of him. In fact, there were a lot more sketches of him. From headshots to full body drawings of him in various poses and with different mediums, she has filled out a variety of him in over five pages. A couple of them were nude drawings of him done with charcoal and watercolours.

The way she had drawn those were not done in a lewd way or to make him look like a god. Dullahan had drawn him as she had seen him whenever he’s naked, normal. The way his back muscles shifted in charcoal as he was drawn sprawled out on his front on the leather couch he lain on, recalling the time she had given him a back massage. The other drawing that was done in watercolour was when he was taking a shower. He looked completely bliss, possibly for the fact that he was taking a hot shower at the time when she walked in and he never saw her admiring his body from the door that was not lustful.

He has to admit, she has done an amazing job drawing him that he couldn’t help but smile a little upon each inspection of his own appearance. It was then he realised what the memo had meant on the smile. The headshots of him had been drawn with a smile on his face. It wasn’t a big obvious kind that gets into everyone’s face and nor was it a faint kind. It was…simply there, smiling back at the person holding the sketchbook. The smile in those sketches were not exactly how he’s smiling right now, but he can clearly see how hard she had worked to get it right from a pencil to a pen in most of her sketches of him based on imagination alone. Krauser rarely smiles and never does even when a day is good. It was always neutral or stern looking with a rarity of smirking to tease the woman.

The sketchbook was placed back where it found and positioned it correctly so when Dullahan returns, she doesn’t know that he took a peek inside of it and see what has been on her mind lately to draw these out. Krauser has seen past headshots of people she has met once to people she knew but to have multiple drawings of a particular person made him feel special about it and that simply has him smiling as he heads upstairs to shower and get ready to sleep in her bed.

The next time he was at her place, Dullahan now Trish Odile was home too as it was one of her days off from both her waitress job and her hitman contracts, allowing her time to relax and recuperate too. Krauser was lounging at the couch with a book from her bookcase in hand and Trish painting by the glass doors. Both of them minding their own business in the comforts of their home. 

From the placement he laid himself across the couch, it was the perfect angle to sneak a peek at Trish in the middle of painting, knowing full well she must be painting a portrait of him based from one of her sketches at her opened sketchbook by her side. Sometimes he would sneak a peek at her finely shaped legs sticking out from the oversize T-shirt she’s wearing that currently belongs to him, also knowing full well that she missed the smell of his scent as he does with her bedsheets. The way her ankles crossed over one another, or how one is crossed over the leg when she leans closer towards the canvas, and sometimes his favourite is when she tucked a leg under her or propped a knee up all while fixing up the shirt, sneaking a glimpse of the rest of her legs and to see if she’s either wearing underwear underneath or those tight yoga shorts.

“You’re staring at me.” Trish called him out on his peeking, never once halted her work and her eye not leaving the canvas to look at him. She wasn’t going to admit that she was peeking at him on her end too. Krauser looked content in his position and the book he chose to read was The Invisible Man. From her angle it was her eyepatch he would see her ‘looking’ back at him, and yet she still knew he was looking at her. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He said, flicking his gaze back on the words he last stopped at, pretending to skim through the sentences to continue his rouse of reading. “Just curious about what you’re painting this time.” He can hear the creaks of the chair being made as she shifted her position again. “Something for my mission soon.” She started. “I have to act as a painter for a gala my target is going to open and I’ll need enough examples to show them to him to have them on display.”

“Sounds fun.” He knew it was a lie and simply went along with it. “You already have your alias on this mission?” “Of course.” Trish let out a chuckle as she stood up and stretched her body, allowing Krauser to lower the book a bit to catch his shirt riding up to see those legs again. He’s going to have them wrap around his waist very soon on this couch and hear that moan she’s currently making after she has stretched. 

Trish finally looked at him, a small smile forming on her face. “Do you want to attend the gala as my plus one when the time comes?” “Tch, fancy events are not my forte for missions like yours.” He brought the book up to hide his face and soon catches the hitman approaching him from the top of the book, catching sight of the small pout she’s making. “I’ll pass.” 

“You’re no fun, Jackie.” She purred out his nickname he secretly liked as she got closer, and soon she was straddling on his hips, taking the book away so she could have his full attention on her. “It would be nice to see you wearing a suit for once. Maybe one of those fancy military suits you probably had to wear during your army times.”

“What will you be wearing?” He asked her, resting his hands on her hips and rubbing one of his thumbs over the outline of her lower garments. It was definitely the yoga pants. “Matter of fact, what are you wearing underneath?” His free hand decides to sneak under the shirt and tries to tug down the shorts. “I don’t see your nipples poking out. Bra?”

Trish cocked her head to the head, the smile switching to a smirk. “Take it off?”

“That’s an order.” He stopped her from removing his shirt. “Leave it on. Bra off.” Krauser soon smirked when Trish let out a huff while she complied to his orders, snapping off the hooks with the flick of her hand, pulled the straps out from the sleeves, and then pulled out the said bra itself from the opening of the shirt. It was lacy and dark red, one of his favourite colours and one of his favourite sets from hers. Once her shorts were pulled off, Trish planted her hands on his chest while her hips gave the slightest rub against his clothed hips, a soft moan emitted from her lips, and bowing her head down so their faces were quite close to each other.

“Now what, Jackie?”

“You start by calling me ‘Sir’ this time.” He said, grabbing a fistful of her hair in his grasp, pulling her head back to hear that sweet sharp gasp. “And get down on your knees on the floor right now, sweetheart.”

The strong smell of lavender from her shampoo disappeared from his nose, leaving a lingering scent and forcing him to wake up from his deep slumber. Trish was gone from his grasp in the king size bed they shared. Krauser forced himself to sit up from his place, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to see the warm light illuminating the little art studio. He quietly slid out of the bed, approaching the balcony to see the woman preparing her tools and her paints to continue her work at the canvas. From the top, he can’t see the progress of her work from where he stood and due to her angling the canvas to ensure her shadow doesn’t obstruct her painting session. 

He wasn’t sure why of all times, especially in the middle of the night, she chose to continue painting. He had to step back into the darkness when he watched her rush to the kitchen for what he could tell was boiling water to make tea or coffee. It was tea since he doesn’t smell coffee. As much as he wanted to head downstairs and confront her about it, he left it be, returning to the warm sheets and the alluring smell of her body lotion she applied on herself on the comforter to the smell of her lavender shampoo on her pillow.

Dullahan wasn’t lying about having a mission as a painter and he can’t believe he actually joined her as her plus one for the gala they’re attending. Dullahan had to disguise herself with a blonde wig, green contact lens, and cover up her scars as usual. Krauser did not as no one in this building would recognize him. Not even the security guards who simply waved them in and didn't check him for any weapons he might carry, which is his knife hidden inside his jacket. No military suit for him but a simple yet classic black tuxedo Dullahan has managed to convince himself to wear with a black bowtie. As for her, she wore a dark red dress with spaghetti straps and a long silt on her skirt, exposing her right leg. 

The sight of her chest simply revealing for other men to take a quick look at almost had jealousy bubbling at the pit of his stomach while at the same time he admitted that she looked sexy wearing this kind of dress and in the same shade of red like her bra a week ago. To be the matter of fact she’s not wearing a bra at all for her outfit. 

“What colour is your underwear right now?” He whispered in her ear while Dullahan collected two glasses of champagne from a passing server, handing one to Krauser. A teasing grin formed on her face. “Why ask me such a curious question like that, darling?” Her voice was laced with a sweet enduring tone a lover would give to their significant other since they are posing as a married couple. She tugged on his arm with her arm wrapped around him to guide him to one of her paintings people are admiring currently. The first painting was a beautiful beach with the view of the ocean, and if one looked closely at the cliff, there was a little cottage, with a lone woman walking along the path barefoot and her shoes held in her one hand. Part of the body concealed with a parasol. 

Krauser, who is not a fan of the fine arts, was oddly impressed by the colours she used in her painting. It almost gives off a hazy feeling of a dream one might still be having currently. He doesn’t recognise where the beach is and he’s simply assuming it must be her dream for the future. Peace and quiet. 

Dullahan tugged his sleeve to get him to lean down as they head for the next painting and whisper in his ear. “It’s black and it’s a thong.”

A smirk graced his lips. There was no one by one of her other paintings, allowing him the chance to whisper what he has in mind for her. “The next time you wear this dress again and I have to tag along, I want you to wear nothing underneath it.” Trish, continuing to keep up her facade of enjoying her time, simply smiled as if he told her something sweet before she took a sip of her champagne. “I will make you rub yourself on my leg like a depraved whore and it’ll be music in my ears to hear you beg for sweet relief from me.”

Whether it was automatically or by his words alone, her face flushed and she let out a soft giggle, hiding her smile with her glass. “Oh darling, how sweet of you. I should go and find our dear host and say my thanks to him. Hopefully I won’t take long but meet me in the private room over there soon.” Pointing at the closed doors guarded by two men at both sides of the door with a velvet rope to steer off anyone from approaching. “Tell them you’re with me and they’ll let you in.” Trish patted his broad shoulder and winked at him. “Fifteen minutes. Enjoy yourself, honey.”

He did his best to enjoy the rest of the gala alone. It was almost suffocating with people asking him for his thoughts and opinions on other artists’ works to Dullahan’s. As much as he didn’t like any of the artworks, he wished he could slit their throat right now if someone makes another disapproving remark on her paintings simply because of their thoughts on them. Bloody critics they are.

Fifteen minutes was nearly up and Krauser made his way to the private room she told him about. He noticed a selected number of people were allowed to enter, possibly connections with the said painters itself, and he was one of them to enter as soon he told the guards of his connection with Dullahan’s alias. 

The lightning in the room was dimmer and warmer compared to outside and there was a lesser number of paintings itself. Only five paintings, each belonging to one artist themself. One of the patrons did a double take on Krauser and was forced to look away when he bared his teeth at them. 

Why were they looking at him like that?

That’s when he met his painted self hanging on the wall. His portrait was wearing his military suit during his golden years with his signature red beret he wears now. In the painting, he was sitting on a fancy chair, his signature knife resting in his hand with his elbow resting on his knee propped up higher than the other. It made him look like he was one of those commanders from old period war era but with a modern take of it. Krauser noticed that she painted him scar free of them, making him look less stern than he is currently yet there was a glint of mischief in those icy painted blue eyes and the way his head is angled to the side as if someone caught him thinking something bad. More importantly, it was the smile she painted on him. It still wasn’t right but the way the corner of his mouth curled upwards to the way his lips parted very slightly exposing a flash of teeth matched the mischief look she painted. The background she painted was a dark green with a single window behind him showing a brief view of the beach that oddly looked familiar. 

Krauser was honestly awed by how much work she put into this portrait of him. He was lost with thoughts and no words could describe how she portrayed him to be displayed for private eyes to see.

Dullahan finally arrived, joining the soldier by his side. She smiled from seeing his stunned expression of her latest painting. She took note of his body language from his right hand cupping his own face, possibly to hide those parted lips from her eyes, the way his brows knitted together while one of them was raised, and how he wouldn’t stop staring at the painting to look at the painter herself.

“I’m glad you like it, Jackie.” She spoke softly so only they could hear it. “To be honest, I didn’t want this on display at the gala but he insisted I do. Thankfully none of these in this room are for sale but the ones outside.” She tucked the loose strands of her blonde wig behind her ear while she looked around their surroundings. “He’ll die slowly and by tomorrow it’ll be on the news. From a heart attack or a sudden stroke.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his arm. “What do you think of it?”

“I like the colours.” He said. “Plus you didn’t make me look like those arrogant captains painted like gods.” 

“Glad to hear that, love.” Her mouth twisted and sighed a bit to herself. “The only thing I don’t like is that I couldn’t get your smile right. I did the best I could with what I did there.” 

“I don’t care. Looks good to me.” His answer was nonchalant despite her disappointment at the one thing she couldn’t achieve correctly. “Next time if you think of painting me again, paint the scars on. It’ll look better.”

“I’ll take note of that.” Dullahan lifted her head up to give him a sincere smile for his honest words. “I’m heading back out so I can have an alibi. Care to join me?”

“In a moment.”

“Sure thing.” She nodded her head and soon left the private room. Once everyone else had left the room, a smile graced his scarred lips, cocking his head to the side to admire the painting better and soon letting out a chuckle while stuffing his hands into his pockets. She nor anyone will ever see him smile right before their eyes and that will be his own secret. Besides, he liked how she painted her version of his smile. Despite not being a fan of art, he’s certainly a fan of her work.

“You did well, sweetheart. You did well.”

[laraartistsworld]

I like to paint bugs !!

A few of my pages I did during lockdown in my sketchbook

The first bug was a random one I found on Pinterest to use as a reference but with no name ughh don’t you just hate that when there is no explanation on a picture ?!!

Anyway he is watercolour and ink and I love this guy what ever type beetle he is !!

This guy is a tiger beetle I didn’t really do him justice as he had a beautiful green body

It interesting looking back over work I did a few years ago how much I have grown in my confidence and my work has definitely improved

I try to work in a sketchbook or something creative at least 15 mins everyday but mostly that will

Lead into a few hours

As this is my sanctuary my since my daughter left

Home 5 years ago and I turned her room into my art studio my art work has been daily and has grown with me all the way to me holding my first exhibition September just gone I sold 5 paintings and 4 prints this was such a huge boost to my confidence that I’ve made about £800 and all who bought one of my pieces was so happy with them and happy to pay

Also had such great feedback in my visitors book

Two days before the exhibition no nearly talked myself out telling myself I wasn’t good enough

But yay I did it and so happy I did.

I love this spider I did the contrast of the pencil and water colour love this effect and the mushrooms.

I love how this spider came to be :)

The ladybug page was made up from random old found papers, I collect and have far too much off I lie !!!! (HahHa never too much !!!) I built the Pages over a few days, I never plan what I’m going to paint,I just go for it, sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t I happen to love this whole sketchbook for some reason it was flowing for me during lockdown and each page just works ,

I’ve not returned it to the Brooklyn sketchbook library yet as two more pages to complete also was finding it hard to let go of my baby ,but I’ve reached the point I’m cool to share it !!

Let me explain if you don’t know about the Brooklyn arts library

A fabulous idea so you buy a sketchbook from them fill it however you like and send it back to them ,they digitalis it and also take batches to various exhibitions etc

Such a great community and drape needs our support it would be too sad if they couldn’t continue

Anyway folks I’m still learning about this blogging thing ,

I used to blog by avatar in second life

But this is my real life and it doesn’t quite flow like it did when I blogged by avatar

So bare with my guys and gals I’m sure I’ll grow and find this easier , and not so many teething problems as I’ve been trying to post this for a few weeks now !!

I’m now happy to put it out there !!!

[zarabrown-the-artists-blog98]

I Need Space

There is something that has been a problem of mine for years that I find very difficult to get rid of, to the point that it is almost a thorn in my side, and it is a mind-set that I know I desperately need to get rid of because it truly is doing me no good. 

The thorn in my side is my mind-set with use of space in art.

I’ve had this unconscious belief for years, a belief that I forget I have till I’m staring at the issue face to face, that belief being that any illustration of mine doesn’t look professional or ‘finished’ if there is a large amount of unused space in the work. I’m not quite sure where this belief stems from but nonetheless it is one that continues to pester me.

I believe this thought to be limiting at best as it discourages me from experimenting with different types of art techniques, I need to realise that using space in my illustrations may be a good thing, and that negative space is merely using the space around a subject and that is what artists use to create the image (Dernavich, 2009).

Artists like Jon Klassen, who is well known for his minimalistic style in his various children’s books uses space to his advantage and it is something that I believe truly adds to his work. In many of his works the storyline is simple as are the design of the characters, however there examples of his work where negative space has almost become a character in itself, such as the case with the book: ‘The Dark’, in which Klassen was the illustrator and the character of ‘the dark’. 

Klassen, 2013

I love the way that Klassen has used huge spaces of black, representing the dark to emphasise that the dark is everywhere around the main character and is something that he must confront on his own. 

For years I have had this mindset that I must fill every corner of the illustration in order for it be considered finished and its actually been something that I’ve had great difficulty overcoming, however when I look at the works of Klassen I am reminded that the use of space can and often does have a purpose and in fact does add to an illustration, it doesn’t take away. 

This was the subject of talk I had frequently with a tutor maybe 2 years ago now, they had suggested I leave a large space around the subject and after voicing my opinion they advise to view space as not the absence of something but to view it as part of the work. Although the advice was very helpful it’s still something I struggle with greatly, but strangely enough it’s not large spaces of black I have an aversion to, it’s white. 

Truthfully whilst writing this blog I’m starting to wonder if this belief of white space meaning emptiness has stemmed from my childhood love of Japanese comics, otherwise known as manga, many Japanese comics when I was growing up such as Pokémon, Detective Conan and Fruits Basket were all black and white, only the covers and special editions had the first few pages coloured in and from my memory those were quite rare. According to Dragana white space does indicate emptiness, suggesting that is why it is so commonly used in minimalist architecture (Dragana 2017). 

When I look back at my comics whenever a spread was filled with black that meant something was present, such as something was in the dark and if a comic spread has spaces of white I often associated that with emptiness or lack of something present, or it was a break in the scene of the comic. This is in relation to the concept of ‘visual weight’, Golombisky suggests that visually, dark value is heavier that its opposite, light value. So, as dark value is used consistently through manga, the white space is used to visually balance out the heavy use of black (Kim Golombisky, 2017).

I have begun to apply the purposeful use of space in my own work as presented below and have started to find that white space, at times can add to your work more than filling every inch of your sketchbook might do.

(Brown, 2022)

Although, as I have mentioned many times in this blog the use of space in my work for the future is something I would like to incorporate as I do believe it would truly benefit me to no longer view white space as the enemy to my work and as a sign of incompletion but instead view it as something that can add to my work, not take away.

Although the use of white space does have mixed reactions with the public, an example being the white paintings by Robert Rauschenberg, I do believe like everything in the world it has its pros and cons I do believe it is important for illustrators like myself to understand the use that space and colour can have on our work and how people perceive it. I am looking forward to seeing how I will use it in my future practice. 

References: 

Vasilski, D. Nikolic, M. (2017). Minimalism in contemporary architecture as one of the most usuable aesthetically-functional patterns. Facta universitatis - series Architecture and Civil Engineering. [Online] 15(3), pp. 333-345. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/323198218_Minimalism_in_contemporary_architecture_as_one_of_the_most_usable_aesthetically-functional_patterns [Accessed: 27th November 2022] doi: 10.2298/FUACE160814029N.  

Dernavich, D. (2008) ‘An Interview with Noma Bars’, The New Yorker. Available from: https://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/cartoon-lounge/an-interview-with-noma-bar

Golombisky, K. & Hagen, R(2016) White Space Is Not Your Enemy : A Beginner's Guide to Communicating Visually Through Graphic, Web and Multimedia Design. [Online] London: CRC Press. Available from: https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/herts/detail.action?docID=4807045. [Accessed: 28th November 2022] 

Klassen, J. (2013) The Dark [Online] Available at: https://tygertale.com/2013/05/30/1872/ [Accessed: 28th November]

Brown, Z. Untitled. Unpublished personal work

[whatsupwithmymind]

I used to have ideas

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi, I was wondering if I could have headcanons with an artist reader S/O who asks Vil, Rook, Lilia, Jade, and Leona if they can draw them? Thank you!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Of course you may—but be prepared for that task, because Vil takes your request very seriously! As a professional and an A-list celebrity (that is usually paid to lend his time and image), he’ll insist on formally modeling for you.

He’ll will show you around in his (huge) walk-in closet, allowing you to pick out your ideal clothes, shoes, and accessories for him to wear for. If there’s something that he doesn’t have, then it’s time to take a shopping trip! Vil emerges from the dressing room every minute or so, decked out in a new getup—and you, the single audience member of that private fashion show, cheer for him.

When you’ve found the perfect look for him, you seat yourself with your art medium of choice. Meanwhile, Vil assumes a statuesque pose for your reference, directing his gaze right at you so you can capture the full extent of his face. It’s amazing how much emotion he can convey with his expression alone—his eyes are so intense that they seem to burn right through your canvas, making your face heat up.

You’re nervous when you present him with your final product, anticipating his judgement. And, as expected, it does come. Although Vil appreciates your unique artistic style, he points to various areas around the piece and offers advice on how you can improve upon what is already there.

“After all, you are not satisfied with stagnation, are you?” He asks with a slight smirk, brushing a hand along your canvas. “This is a strong foundation to build upon—and together, we will fill many pages with works of us growing with your skill, won’t we?”

Rook happily agrees to your proposal. However, he asks that, in return for allowing you to draw him, you must allow him to draw you! He’s an artist himself, and he wants the chance to capture your visage in paper and pencil.

In a well-lit room, you sit across from one another, each with a sketchbook and art supplies on hand. You set to your own work (and Rook sets to his), occasionally glancing up to look at his features and compare it to your work in progress. As for Rook, he, in truth, has actually already memorized all the details of your face long before this moment... but that won’t stop him from stealing glances at you anyway!

Sometimes you’ll happen to glance up at the exact same time, and your eyes meet in that moment. Rook’s smiles slyly, the green of his eyes turning into fox-like emerald crescent moons. How he cherishes these fleeting moments when your attention is all focused on him—and all of his, focused on you. All in a world of your own.

When you’re both done, you exchange your works. Rook has done an excellent job jotting down your every little detail, somehow managing to twist even the imperfections into something beautiful. As for him, he absolutely adores your piece, even the mistakes here and there. He gushes that they only add to your work’s charm, making it something wholly unique to you.

“I’m honored to receive this original work of art. Truly, it is one of a kind, irreplaceable!” Rook declares, smiling not just just his eyes or his face, but with his entire being. “I will proudly frame and display this in my personal quarters, mon amour. All that look upon it will surely know of how deep our bond runs!”

Lilia’s elated by your idea. He has only ever had himself depicted in history books and by the royal painter in his home country, so he’s looking forward to seeing how a new hand draws him! Lilia tells you to give it your all and to surprise him!

He guides you to the library and pulls out tome after tome, showing you how the textbooks illustrated him in the past. There’s more mature Lilias, tiny Lilias, scary Lilias, and Lilias inbetween! He rattles off facts about the fashion of each era and location he has visited, which grants you lots of ideas about what clothes to draw him in.

... Unfortunately for you, Lilia won’t make it easy to catch him still for reference. Every time you look back to him, he’s in a wildly different and uncool pose. Once, you look up and Lilia has disappeared entirely. While you’re glancing around and trying to locate him, you suddenly feel warmth upon your face. Ah, there he is, hanging upside down from the ceiling as he plants a surprise kiss on your cheek.

The final work delights him to no end. Lilia thinks there’s a lot of sentimental value to be had in a traditional, handmade piece like this! He carefully folds it up and tucks the artwork into an amulet, then slips it into his breastpocket. Placing a finger against his lips, he gives a playful grin.

“Now a part of you will always be with me, no matter where I travel, or how many years pass us by,” he chirps. “Kufufu. It will be my personal treasure. Perhaps I shall pass it down to my dear child as a family heirloom... and perhaps, this too, will become something for the history books one day.”

Jade finds your request to be an unusual one, but he’s greatly appreciative that you were mindful enough to ask for his permission first (he does enjoy his privacy). He humbly remarks that there is nothing of note about him to draw, but allows for you to do so anyway, as he is curious about what you will create.

Jade has been interested in improving his own artistic abilities, so he picks up some charcoal sticks and paper to join you for drawing sessions. You find a nice, quiet spot in the mountains to sit and doodle him, while Jade scrutinizes your surroundings and attempts to recreate mushrooms on his page.

Jade invites you to the Mostro Lounge after hours, promising to grant you “unconventional inspiration” for your art. The lounge is dark, save for the eerie blue glow of the water from outside of Octavinelle. You’re drawn to it—and suddenly, there’s a tap tap against the glass. It’s Jade beyond the barrier, his lithe eel tail trailing behind him like a ribbon, a display of power and grace. You press your hands against the glass, meeting his webbed fingers, breathing in a gasp of awe as inspiration floods you, just as he had said it would.

Jade is pleased when you finish your work, calling it a perfect expression of himself, drawn by your hand. You’ll later find it laminated and placed inside one of his terrariums, which provides a unique backdrop for the plants and rocks that adorn it. It sits proudly on his desk, watching over him as he goes about his work—whether clean or dirty.

“I think of it as a collaborative piece between you and I. There are elements of us both contained in this terrarium,” Jade explains with a mysterious smile. “Fufufu. I don’t have anything else quite like it, so I find that it is very near and dear to my heart.”

Leona isn’t that thrilled about being drawn (he’s had bad experiences with the royal painter back home giving him strange stares throughout the entire experience), but he isn’t exactly against it, either (who knows, it might be amusing). He’s really very neutral on the idea—“Just do whatever,” he tells you with a yawn.

You’ve got plenty of opportunities to watch Leona in his natural habitat. When he’s napping in your lap or dozing off midday, you’ve got a perfect view of his peaceful sleeping face. Maybe you prefer to recreate that contemplative look he has when he’s thinking of his next move in chess, or that cocky smirk of his when he one-ups you. Or maybe you like to see him in motion, tearing through the field on his broomstick—there’s so many sides to Leona to admire, so many sides of him to put on paper.

When he catches you sketching away, he’ll peer over your shoulder to see your work in progress, sometimes even resting his cheek or his chin on you while he looks on. Leona teases you for your pursuit--if you put in this much effort to draw his various expressions, to make him look as handsome as possible, then you must really see him as that dreamy that in real life, right?

It’s hard for Leona to find something to say when you show him the finished work. It’s not that he thinks it looks bad, but he’s not used to his image being portrayed in a positive light. One could say he is stunned into silence.

“Hmph. It looks better than Cheka’s scribbles, that’s for sure,” he, at least, manages. Leona smirks, plucking the picture from your grip, his other hand coming down on your head to muss your hair. “... Good job. You got your king’s good side.”

[webangchan]

✧✦ canvas ✦✧ hyunjin x fem!reader 1.1k words kinks & warnings: artist!hyunjin, unprotected sex, threw in some art metaphors because i could, dirty talk, hyunjin has a big dick, cumplay, overall pretty soft and sweet.

Hyunjin is an artist.

His lofty studio apartment is filled to the brim with various supplies.  Two large easels with partially completed works take residence in his living room, boxes of paints and markers and pencils and crayons are stacked neatly in the empty space next to his couch, and sketchbooks are literally everywhere.  One time you went into the bathroom and found one next to the shower, another time one was left on the kitchen counter, flipped open to a page decorated with an incomplete sketch of the city skyline as seen from his bedroom window.

He is an artist, and you?

You are his muse.

He doesn’t always draw inspiration from your appearance -- although there are many portraits of you gracing the pages of his favorite leather bound sketchbook -- but mostly from your aura.  Just being around you gives him peace; clears his mind of anything negative or chaotic and imbues him with the confidence that he can paint or draw or sculpt anything that his heart desires.

And tonight, his desires are focused on you.

He dyes your lips cherry red with his kisses, leaves splotches of baby pink that turn to cobalt on your neck with his pearly white teeth.  You bite back a moan as he laves your erect nipples with his tongue, his fingers running up and down your pussy, coating the digits with your slick.  You’re so fucking turned on and so fucking done with this lazy pace that he’s setting.  You grab the wrist of the hand that’s teasing you and pull him forward, your legs wrapping even tighter around his hips as you dig your heels into the small of his back.  Hyunjin’s eyes widen in surprise and then flutter shut in ecstasy a moment later when you rub yourself on his hard cock, a pleased hum reverberating in your chest when the head bumps against your clit.

“I need you, Jinnie.”  You capture the lobe of his ear between your teeth, pulling lightly on the soft flesh, grinning when his breath catches in his throat.  His ears have always been sensitive.  “Please.  I can’t wait any longer.”

The growl that leaves him makes you throb with need, the head of his cock pushing gently against your entrance as his tongue runs hot over your collarbones, leaving goosebumps in its wake.  He’s slow to enter you, taking special care since you never gave him a chance to stretch you with his fingers.  The slide in is tight but easy enough given how wet you are and when he’s buried to the hilt, you groan deeply at the sensation of being so utterly full.  Hyunjin is bigger than the previous partners you’ve been with and you never put too much importance on size but you absolutely love this feeling.  With every thrust you lose a bit of breath, the snap of his hips shunting you up the bed, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“God, babe.  You’re so beautiful like this.”  Hyunjin leans down and presses his body to yours, his pace slowing so he can grind against you with tiny swivels of his hips, no space at all between the two of you.  “Laid out naked with your legs spread for me, so eager for my cock.  You paint such a pretty picture.”

He stretches up slightly to rest on his forearms, his fingers gripping the sheets near your head.  He pulls out until only the head of his cock is inside of you and then slams forward, his teeth gritting as he fucks you harder harder harder, your eyes rolling back in your head at the sheer amount of pleasure that’s taking over you.

“I wish that everyone could see you like this,” he pants, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  “But I’m too selfish and want to keep your beauty all to myself.”

The thought of someone else seeing you in this state sends an unexpected zap of arousal to your core and that’s something that can be addressed later but right now, all of your attention is on Hyunjin and the tightening coil in your belly, your moans and pleas reaching a fever pitch now that you’re close to release.

Hyunjin knows you and your body very well and doubles his efforts, thrusting into you harder and faster, his right hand sneaking between your bodies and finding your clit easily.  He presses his thumb hard against the swollen bud and rubs it in tight circles, using the perfect pressure to send you over the edge as quickly as possible.  Your body is trembling, the muscles in your thighs twitching spasmodically as you fall apart, a litany of curse words spilling from your lips while white hot pleasure warms your body.  As you come down from your high Hyunjin pulls out and straddles you with his knees bracketing your hips, his golden skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat.  He tugs roughly on his cock and and it doesn’t take long until he’s coming, a low groan leaving him as his release lands on your stomach, painting your skin with white.

His beautiful lips stretch in a satisfied grin and you mirror his expression, feeling completely and totally blissed out.  He gets off of the bed, careful not to whack you with his knee, and slips on his previously discarded boxer briefs before going into the bathroom and wetting a washcloth so he can clean you up.  He wipes the drying cum from your skin and tosses the rag into the hamper that’s situated in the corner of the room, his lips brushing softly against your stomach, between your breasts, and up to your lips which are puckered in invitation.  He kisses you deeply, lovingly, and then he climbs into bed next to you, one arm slung over your waist, his face pressing into your hair.

“Don’t do that,” you whine while lightly pinching his side.  “I’m sweaty and gross.”

Hyunjin chuckles and breathes in comically deep, laughing harder as you swat his stomach.

“I don’t care,” he states, tilting your chin up with his finger and capturing your lips with his own.  “Let me love on you.”

And so you do, happily allowing him to cuddle you as if his life depends on it.  You’re warm and content, growing more and more drowsy with every passing second.  You peck the base of his throat and settle down to sleep, smiling serenely when he murmurs ‘goodnight love’ and kisses your forehead.

[villainworshiper]

Grabber x artist! Gn! Reader HC?

Would be so lovely to see what you come up with, feel free to ignore also!

/knuckle cracking

this is my jam, dear anon I love you for giving me this topic.

The Grabber x Artist GN!reader

Warnings

you might have diabetes after reading this post, mentions of kidnaping, stockholm syndrome, older reader

--------------------------------------------------

being trapped sure is disturbing enough but not having your sketchbook nearby was torture.

the boredom when he wasn't around was enough to make you start looking for something, anything you could use to draw.

you ended up finding a small piece of chalk in a corner, that would be enough.

you started drawing on the wall next to the bed, flowers and anything you could think of that you would miss from outside, even your pet.

then you drew a pair of blue eyes hidden in the side of that black phone on the wall, that unmistakable mask and his intense gaze were the only thing that haunted your mind after all, every second you were there was because of him.

it was a bit chaotic but your style was more like that, a bunch of mixed feelings in a rushing mind.

you drew until the chalk disappeared from your fingertips.

you woke up by a presence the next morning, he was staring at the wall crouched down with your tray of food in his hands.

"Did you do that?"

shit, you thought you were already dead, he was mad that you messed with his walls.

you nodded with fear in your eyes and sweat on your palms as he pulled off the bottom of his mask to reveal a smile.

"I didn't know you were so into art."

"well you didn't ask anything before you kidnapped me so..." you thought but nothing came out of your mouth, just a nod.

after that he got easier with you.

one day after your meal he gave you a dusty black covered sketchbook and a red pen. (of course, his trademark colors because he can).

he never asked you about your preferred art supplies so he felt insecure.

but when your eyes lit up like a lighthouse he released the air he had in his lungs.

he literally searched every corner of his house to find something for you to draw on.

he stood there while you opened the sketchbook but you couldn't get started.

i mean he was still there and you could feel his gaze on you making your face burn.

you asked him to leave and surprisingly he agreed on the condition that he would come back two hours later to look at your sketches.

that was a very frequent routine since then, he would come down two or more times per day to see how many pages you filled with various things.

he would even give you extra food if he really liked the drawings you did, and of course he does.

he already liked your style, but seeing it on paper really amazed him.

once you asked him for colors, you liked the red pen but you wanted to be a bit more colorfull.

he went to buy you some but when he came back god, if looks could kill he would have disappeared from existence by now.

"What? You said you wanted colors dove."

he gave you crayons, child size crayons.

that sketchbook became your personal art journal.

until you got guess what, an artblock.

you were very upset when he came over and asked you why you weren't drawing today, you explained.

he told you he wasn't sure he could help you with it.

then you had an idea.

you really liked the magician outfit he was wearing when he forced you into the van so...

still thinking it was a questionable request, you asked him to wear that without the mask, if that was okay.

it didn't take long for him to come back dressed like that.

he stood there, near the bed, while you relayed into the wall and began to draw him.

it was the first time he could see you work and you looked so confident, so calm and full of concentration that he lost himself in you and your expressions for a bit.

your lines were so smooth, so free and you finally finished turning the sketch for him to see.

oh no his smile was doing things to make your heart race, you didn't draw him creepy you were actually picturing him as a person, not a monster and he liked it.

you started drawing him more often, maybe so often that your last pages were just filled with him and occasionally you posing for his attempts to draw you.

because sure, he wanted to learn and you were trying to teach him but you were a horrible teacher and he was a stubborn man when things didn't go as planned.

by the way, he never erased those drawings on the wall.

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”