#canvas bellow

[visionfilter]

Telescopic Canvas Bellow

Unveil the versatility and precision of our Telescopic Canvas Bellow. Crafted with premium materials, it effortlessly extends to meet your needs, while maintaining durability for long-lasting performance. Elevate your projects with this essential tool designed for efficiency and reliability. #TelescopicCanvasBellow #PrecisionTool #VersatilePerformance"

[classicdavinci]

George Bellows (American, 1882-1925) Little Girl in White (Queenie Burnett) 1907

[portrait-paintings]

Jean Bellows

Artist: Eugene Speicher (American, 1883–1962)

Date: 1940

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL, United States

[lionofchaeronea]

The Lone Tenement, George Bellows, 1909

[galleryofart]

Love of Winter

Artist: George Wesley Bellows (American, 1882–1925) Realism

Date: 1914

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL, United States

Description

In January 1914 George Bellows wrote to a friend, “There has been none of my favorite snow. I must always paint the snow at least once a year.” Soon after, on February 13, a major blizzard hit New York City, inspiring the artist to paint Love of Winter. He used bright reds, yellows, and greens to intensify the winter scene and broad, slashing brushstrokes to convey movement, wind, and speed. The energetic group of skaters and onlookers, composed of people of a range of ages and social classes, reflects the diverse populations who enjoyed the public parks and the leisure activities they offered in early 20th-century New York City.

[phoenixortheflame]

Bound: I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di

Typeset, bind, and illustrations by: me, @phoenixortheflame.

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography. An invitation to the Hogwarts class of 1998's 15th reunion isn't welcomed by either of them, but neither could predict how the night, and their reunion, will upend their lives.

I made this bind for a friend who wanted me to surprise her with a Drarry bind of my choice. I'd had I Am Not Who I Became on my list for a while, because I just knew it would lend itself to some really beautiful imagery.

In the fic, Draco teaches Harry to fly fish, and so I instantly had the idea to draw a unique fly for each chapter head (there are 15 total), which I also included on the dust jacket.

I've been wanting to push myself to include more original art in my designs, and this was the perfect opportunity to practice my drawing on something low-stakes. It took me just under a month to draw all the flies, in between binding and writing and watching Severance.

I've been really loving the printable canvas for wrap covers, and I found this piece of public domain art titled "Cleaning Fish" by George Bellows which, in my opinion, fits the theme perfectly. I was going to do gold HTV on the spine, but decided against it since the art is so beautiful.

I think I'm finally getting better at endbands, but I still hate doing them just the same. @sits-bound introduced me to a new technique, which you'll see in my upcoming bind. In the meantime, this is a faux double-core endband, which I achieved using @maleekamolscreates amazing tutorial.

I had to gild the edges, because gold. I used Liquitex Iridescent Bright Gold acrylic ink and I highly suggest doing at least a bit of a sand before you apply to keep it from flaking too much, even if you do have a guillotine.

The endpapers are chiyogami paper, which might be my favourite paper to work with. The colours are so rich, and the patterns are so striking. This one in particular was made for this book.

I kept the typeset simple so as to show off the flies. Though I really like the vertical chapter titles, which I think add a modern touch to an otherwise pretty classic overall aesthetic.

As always, I made a copy of this fic for the author. And one for me, too.

All copies were gifts and no money was exchanged.

If you have any questions and want to learn how to bind fic for yourself, feel free to get in touch!

[lazyjellyfish300]

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑺𝒏𝒐𝒘~𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 ✼

Synopsis: you share a passionate and intimate night with your husband, Kento Nanami, after he returns to you, his pregnant wife, in your farmhouse in the countryside after being away. Sequel to Part 1.

Words: 8k 💕

CW: X PREGNANT FEMALE READER, READER HAS LONG HAIR (no other physical descriptors used), POST SHIBUYA SCARRED!NANAMI KENTO, light angst with body insecurity, SMUTTY(PREGNANT SEX, P IN V, ORAL SEX, HANDJOB, BLOW JOB CUM EATING, SOMNOPHILIA), PREGNANCY SYMPTOMS/ATTRIBUTES-STRETCH MARKS, CHEESY FLUFF, SELF INDULGENT HELL, THIS IS FICTION. MAKE SURE YOU PEE AFTER HAVING SEX.

a/n: posting this late for a certain anniversary...but hope it's worth it! Ty for reading.💕❄️ dividers: @/saradika-graphics . Pics from pinterest

12 days of Smutmas Masterlist 🎄🎅🏽

Your cows, chickens, goats, and pig were fed and tucked in. The sear of the cold was no match for the warmth from the golden nests of hay inside the barn. The lowly bellow from the cows spun a countryside lullaby that thrummed distantly outside your frost painted window.

The Christmas tree glowed in multicolored stalwart jubilee downstairs, freshly adorned in the new Campbell's ornaments collection of your very own amongst the forest of other sentimental trinkets like a fond patchwork quilt that emitted the cleansing smell of pine.

The air of your bedroom tonight was silent, barely moving. The glow from the incandescent bulb of your lamp on the nightstand bathed the scene in a relaxing yellow while the singular candle on the windowsill shed its scent of gingerbread and cinnamon vanilla.

"Let me help." He utters to you in the subdued light.

And you could only watch as the faithful warmth of Kento's palms sought the underside of your wooly sweater, working over your baby bump.

While your mind was at ease, your cheeks burned with a fever that reminded you that you were simply weak to the magic way that he venerated you. It was like muscle memory that could revert you back at any point in time to your relationship where your love scorched with an intensity comparable to the present moment.

The coursings of affection fueled by the intimate element of familiarity were making their way in potent shivers up your spine as the sweater was lifted up and over your head in careful assistance, where it joined your dress, followed by your underwear, then your bra in a heady pile on the creaking wooden floor, the muffled sounds causing your thighs to press together.

"Beautiful..." He remarks reverently. "You're so breathtaking." He beckons you a little closer with a traced love note from his fingernail on the small of your back, so that your bodies meet slightly pressed in the middle, only prevented by the ample swell of your belly.

"So handsome..." You whisper in turn as he trustfully allows you to gently slip away the black cloth from where his left eye used to reside, unveiling the scarred texture underneath.

You wet your lips, the rise and fall of your ribcage began to feel heavier as his hands cupped the sensitive swells of your breasts in tender preoccupation while you began to quietly undo the buttons of his shirt.

This was your way of seizing time back with him that still loved to crawl between you like a thief. Showering Kento from head to toe in the heaven of your loving gaze as every gradual inch became slowly revealed to you.

The lack of reunion between buttons pushes both flaps of his shirt open, revealing the canvas of texture underneath which you do your best to take in despite him closing off the distance, leaning in as his fingers sweetly graze your pert nipples.

You admire the expanse of scars, the ridge you've traced over countless times where the marred skin of his left side bled into the right. You contemplate as you drink him in slowly how such a beautiful, strong being was made to exist and breathe in your orbit.

"Just as you are..." You remember whispering to him that first night you made love in this very room, when the creaking roof over your heads still had leaks in it and the windows still carried a draft that made you seek the warmth in each other while the rainstorm ravaged the flooded levy outside.

He wonders, as he watches you, bare in front of him, belly swollen with his child, how such a lovely thing as you were permitted to gift him your presence.

The tenderness in your eyes that crept out when you didn't will it to, the graceful dance of your fingers over his skin with complete indifference to the imperfections they explored, the wistful cadence of your voice that would bubble like the butterflies in his stomach when you released a laugh at his doing, would quiver like silk with the honeyed utterance of his name against his throat during precious moments like this, would warm him from head to toe from a place deep seated inside his bones like the rich mocha that settled at the bottom of both of your mugs in the mornings you always shared together.

His mind sometimes wandered in moments such as these into brief bouts of insecurity. Wondering if you ever wished to know what his skin looked like when it was whole, when there wasn't an imperfect half of him, when he still had a left eye, before his life changed that dreaded night that felt like a lifetime ago.

But, he never stayed there for long when your reassurance and love poured over him like the beginnings of the soothing warmth that trickled from a faucet and into his scalp, anchoring him back to the present.

Right now, he adores how you worship all of him, how your featherlight touch writes a love letter sealed with the ink pen of your kisses as you lean in and press them generously to his stomach, ribs, and chest, indiscriminate about where they land, so long as not an inch of him remains uncovered.

It's his turn to sigh your name, and he mutters silent approval with the subtle arch of his spine as his fingers lose themselves in the shadows of your hair.

"Darling, please. Don't tease..."

His grunts grow more heady as the path you're blazing with your lips only begins to travel more south.

You love seeing him like this, watching him slowly lose all inhibitions and eventually giving into his wanton desires that you knew only you could wring out of him. You love being the reason for his unraveling, relish being responsible for the furrow in his brow from pleasure that had previously been plagued with worry.

He gazes at you with parted lips and lust blown eyes. The clinking sound of his unraveling belt only keeps that switch in your brain steadily turned on, and his dress pants join your clothes on the floor, the only other place you both loved to see them besides each other.

As you lower yourself down, you begin to knead slowly at his cock through his underwear with your lips, kissing them to the pulsing life you can feel building in his already well endowed size underneath the thin fabric as your hand gently begins to rub the underside of his balls.

"Fuck, please, my love..."

He releases a sound somewhere between a whine, widening his stance a little bit more that only goads you into nuzzling your nose further into his lengthening cock, immersing yourself in his scent, his musk, his essence. So that every greedy push of your nose and press of your lips conveys how needlessly you desire him at all times. How the duration of an entire week apart and the few hours he had been at home with you when you were forced to receive and not worship him had you so pent up.

"Kento, honey, love..." Your breathy pleas smolder him and travel straight to his cock. He chases the intonation of his name and your sweet words sliding from your lips greedily with the movement of his own hips, his hand cradling the back of your head while the knuckles of the other clenched into a fist against the peeling wall.

"Need you..."

"Aaah....ah, darling, I..." He rolls his head back in blissful surrender with a smile, before snapping it to meet your sultry gaze, almost losing himself completely before he meant to. The tops of his fingers trace along the fragile edge of your jaw.

"Baby, haah...n-not yet." He rasps, swallowing his choppy breaths as he pulls back just a bit, cradling your face in his hands, pink blush dusting his cheeks.

"You're pregnant, my love. I don't want you to hurt yourself." He helps you stand, but keeps his hands in suggestive fashion, right in the middle of the swell of your ass, to let you know he had every intention of revisiting where you'd leave off.

"We should bathe first. Then we'll get comfortable?"

"Okay." You smile and pause with an exhale, allowing the dust to settle as he kisses your forehead before wrapping you in the comforting escort of his embrace as you make your way to the master bathroom.

---

He notices the goosebumps on your arms and throws a fluffy towel over you as the water begins to patter from the faucet and into the large ivory claw foot tub that overlooked the stained glass window in your bathroom, streaks of snowflakes running in silent trails outside the dewy exterior.

He guides you warmly into his naked chest, as he lays his chin in your hair, absentmindedly swaying you to an invisible melody while the water slowly begins to heat up.

You smile at him from your view in the mirror and he smiles back, before turning to him again and indulging him in more kisses to pass the time between the trickling water.

When the water is ready, he helps you slip the towel off. You fix and clip your hair in the mirror as he removes his watch and places it on the counter next to you, before slipping the towel into the dryer across the hall where it can toast while you bathe together.

He returns and strikes a match, carefully lighting some lavender almond candles on the windowsill to relax you. He reaches out with a careful hand to check the temperature of the water, then holds you steady so you don't slip as you step inside the tub, before he helps you comfortably sit against him with your back to his chest.

You sigh with relief as the bath douses and turns the texture of your skin silky with its warmth, completely stripping you of any lingering chill from earlier, seeping in your bones to provide much needed relief to your swollen appendages, the mild candlelight and wafting floral scent with notes of vanilla from the almond adding to the soothing atmosphere that caressed you on all sides.

Kento watches you fondly, loving how gorgeously relaxation was worn on your face, the subtle sheen that the heat kissed into your eyelashes, the glimmering shine on your lips from your lip oil, how supple and pliant your breasts felt underneath his fingertips.

He shifts to allow you to lay your head backwards in the space between his shoulder and his neck. He cradles you against him, pressing his cheek to your forehead as the water sloshes in faint ripples around you.

You talk quietly amidst the cacophonic echoes of the water trickles and still hum of the steam around you.

"Any news from the school?" You ask with your eyes still closed.

Kento allows a small offering of water from one of his palms to roll off your shoulder before leaning down to kiss it.

"Nothing noteworthy." He paused, thoughtfully chasing a pathway from a drop of water that trickled slowly down your neck with his finger.

"Masamichi mentioned he was seeing someone new."

"Really, who?" You perk up.

"I neglected to ask."

"Kento." You groan, pinching his thigh with no malice underneath the water. "We've been over this lesson before on collecting half cups of tea."

You point an accusatory finger from the floating cloud of bubbles over your chest, aimed at his face from where he's smirking out of your view.

"I collect only what's necessary." He teases as he attempts to move it away.

"Those ARE necessary details!" You turn around in his lap and he scoops you into it like you're weightless, welcoming this abrupt closeness with his flaccid cock resting on your belly underneath the water.

"We have very different ideas on what that is, my dear."

"Well, get it right next time!" You splash him playfully and he scoffs.

"How rude." He splashes back. Not too much to soak your hair, he was a gentleman after all, but he had no problem with matching your moods when you found them to be more playful.

"Me, rude?? You sputter incredulously. “You're the one edging me with all this important information with no details."

"Nonsense."

You cross your arms with dramatic flair. "You might as well make a sandwich with no bread."

Kento's expression darkens ever so slightly, however the mischievous intonation behind his words carries no threat. "Watch your tongue."

"Mmmm, lettuce wraps." You taunt, leaning in closer.

Behind his calm exterior, flames were being stoked, one by one as you tested his patience.

"You wouldn't do such a revolting thing."

"Wouldn't I?" You tilt your head.

"You're being coy." Kento replies cooly, gazing at the sheen of your lips.

"Because you know you love it." You purr, inches away from his face. "Think I know what I'm making for lunch tomorrow..."

"You're not to step foot within a mere vicinity of our kitchen, Mrs. Nanami."

"Oh yeah?" You raise your eyebrows.

"Yes.” Kento answers, lifting his chin. “Not unless you abandon these... atrocious ideas."

"Don't like my recipes, sweetheart?"

He huffs, leaning in dangerously with a sultry mutter, "If you can even call it that."

He captures your cheeks in his fingers, before reuniting his mouth on yours without wasting another moment.

Suddenly, the source of pettiness from your banter is long forgotten, as his lips delve you headfirst into focusing on returning the slow, teasing rolls and flicks of his tongue as you made out in the rising mist of the heated tub.

His hands find their home in your hair, driven to chase after that intoxicating velvet sensation of your lips, before his hands dance down to feel and measure the warm weight of your wet breasts and those delectable nipples that had become more enlarged since the day he got you pregnant, sensually forgoing what started your squabble in the first place.

"Still planning on making those ridiculous wraps of yours?" He breathes as he nips your tongue.

"No..." You pant. Your lovely, heavy eyelids and withering tone give him an irresistible edge of smugness.

"Good."

He kisses you much more deeply than before, and it's clear that the place that you stopped earlier is making a swift return, as he guides your wet body against his lap, your sweetly throbbing clit slowly rubbing along the veins of his hard length.

He moves his lips with intention to devour you like honey, the motion of his tongue gliding over yours triggers a series of soft grunts that contain less restraint than the previous, as though your kiss was an aphrodisiac that chipped away at his composure. The wet, soaking warmth you're grinding all over his cock is almost too much to handle combined with the steam and the sweat being conjured by passion on the slippery surface of both of your bodies.

You grip both sides of the tub as he concentrates on controlling your hips and following them back and forth in agonizing rhythm with the reciprocation of his own. His cock becomes impossibly hard underneath the surface, and he brings his finger back to your throbbing pearl again while the fingers of the other bruise into the squishy flesh of your ass.

“Fuck, Ken…”

“Ah…” He seethes with want and gritted teeth as you hump each other in the water, the ache in his balls returning that desperate desire to be emptied inside your warm pussy, perhaps dripping down the valley of your tits, maybe even in a gorgeous trail down your chin and neck, or on your tongue where he could have a taste if he was feeling more filthy.

You coo angelically, a smirk growing on your lips as you reach down to stroke him.

“Let me...” You beg him.

“God...” His resolve is all but hanging on a thread, but he doesn't want to take anything away from you in this passionate moment you were enjoying together.

“You don’t have to, darling. It felt good when you were riding me…”

He tries to move you closer where he had you in his lap, but you shake your head, pressing your forehead assuredly against his.

“Please. Let me, I need to...” You kiss him, smiling again as the lilt in your moans oozed with allure.

“You're so hard for me right now, sweetheart.”

He exhales and holds your face as the hinge in his jaw slackens as you slowly pump him in your hand.

“You…” He struggles, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows, more sweat dotting underneath his blonde locks that hang over his eyes as his hips seem to move on their own accord, utterly enraptured under the spell of your eyes, your voice, your beguiling touch.

“You kill me.” His lungs freeze with an abrupt intake of breath, before releasing a heady groan, his toes curling away from your vision as he resigns himself to the sheer ecstasy that was wracking his body.

“Fuck…” the white of his good eye peeks out as he rolls it back.

You love it when he slowly becomes greedy, when he becomes so far removed from how selfless he really was outside the mellow allure of your bedroom, when he allows his passion to indulge himself to be a little rough, but never to the point of hurt, no. You know he'd rather deprive himself before ever thinking about hurting you, rather using it as a vehicle to convey his profuse passion when all words in the dictionary paled in comparison.

The look on his face emulsifies as he thrusts wantonly into your hand, ripples of the bathwater splashing over the edges of the tub. You giggle, and he can't stop the pink from showing in the tops of his ears, knowing that this is far from the first time that this has occurred.

He takes the liberty of repaying you in the frantic caress of his hands all over your body, squeezing, groping, and kneading every inch of softness available to him: your breasts, the globes of your ass, the slope of your shoulders, before seizing the back of your neck and sucking intermittently on pieces of your throat in the hopes to leave love marks in his wake while his cock throbbed and pulsed in your palm as you worked him closer and closer to his inevitable fall.

“I love you so much.” You whisper, cheek pressed against his throat.

Those words hit him with the gravity of a typhoon, surges with an urgency that catches him by surprise, and his hold on you grows impossibly tighter as he nearly cums on the spot, only delaying it so he can respond with the expression of his mutual, undying love, catapulting his pleasure and the overwhelming feelings in his body to an almost sear-like ache.

“I love you. God, more than anything.”

His hips buck upwards and scorch with white-hot lust, the silky texture of his cock glides in your hand until he buries his face in your neck, loud groans falling and becoming trapped in the soft skin near your pulse as his slick cum leaks in thick, milky bursts underneath the expanse of bubbles in the bath.

He trembles as he embraces you close while he rides out the dizzying tide of aftershocks, emptying himself completely.

He turns your chin, and kisses you as he eases you both back down from the clouds and off his lap. Somehow, the embers of the fire you lit inside his ribs linger still for him to want to burn off the remainder in the bedroom properly, if you were up for the occasion.

But, from that nubile pout you wear on your face as he kisses your head while wrapping you in your toasty towel, he can tell you certainly are.

-----

Wrapped up in your fleece pajamas while he stands next to you in just the bottoms of his matching pair, you brush your teeth, hips occasionally bumping side by side.

He can't help the twinge from the pangs of adoration pulling at the heartstrings in his chest at the sight of you and your baby bump that now skimmed over the countertop, the buttons of your pajamas that fastened much more snugly.

You finish brushing before him, and you turn and bring your hands to his face, brushing the skin of his right side, intentionally skimming with more precisional care over the scarred of his left.

"Are you sore tonight, sweetheart?" You ask, eyes searching for signs of discomfort from his reflection in the mirror and back to him while he wiped his mouth.

You know him though, and how he'd most likely say no. Not with dishonesty, just always characteristic of that way of his that always put his well-being second.

"I'm alright." He answers just as you predicted.

You give a click of your teeth.

And he knew you wouldn't buy it, either.

"We should apply your cream." You state, turning towards the medicine cupboard.

He catches your fingers before you can reach for it.

"Not after you've been on your feet all evening, darling."

"It won't take long, sweetheart."

"No." He insists and you look at one another in playful stalemate. He sighs, the first to raise the white flag.

"Not while standing. Let's sit down, then we can."

---

As you straddle his thighs, with his back against the headboard of your master bed, he wonders what this scene will look like mere months from now, when sleep would evade you due to the daunting new schedule a tiny baby demanded both of you, when the flames of intimacy would need to be extinguished temporarily and you had to cultivate and navigate the new form your love would inevitably take on because of the changes. He thought about the tension and stress that no doubt would plague you both, testing you to the point of possibly breaking entirely under the weight of such an irrevocable change in your lives.

"Something's on your mind." You whisper as more of a statement of fact as you work the cream into the creases along his cheek.

With how well you could read him on any given day of the week, most of his worries are dispelled at once from that fact alone.

"Just thinking about when the baby arrives." He answers, letting his hands resume the soft kneading he had neglected moments before when your nurturing touch and the soothing cream on his skin made him forget what he was doing.

"Are you excited?" You ask gently, moving back to the planes of his chest, spreading the ointment into a thorough lather.

"I am." He answers truthfully, and he opens his eye, confirmation and hope glimmering tenderly in that strong brown iris. "But I am nervous, too."

You pause, dropping your hand to rest in your lap, holding his gaze as you sense the shift in his tone. It was not to the point where you were overly worried, but he emitted that feeling that carried a more serious undertone when you were dealing with important matters that seized your attention.

"How so, sweetheart?"

"I'm…nervous to be a father, to be responsible for our child's upbringing." He continues in his honesty, thoughtfully chewing on each word as he speaks. He holds your thighs steady, punctuating each line with a tender brush of his thumbs, as if to calm you for your sake.

"I'm nervous about the stress parenthood might put us under, but mostly for you." He pauses, and you pause with him to sit quietly in solidarity with his vulnerability.

"I'm worried about the toll this will have on you and your health. So l need to do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

Realization slowly pulls at you the longer that you ponder together in your mutual reflection. But his caring admission stirs that tender spot in your heart that had his name burned into it.

Always thinking of you, even in the troubling midst of his own worries. The fog was never enough to cloud his focus from what he would eternally revere and honor above himself:

You, his wife.

"Thank you, sweetheart." You smile, and lower your head as you realize you must be his anchor in this moment too. He would stack burden after burden on his shoulders without ever thinking twice. It’s how he's always been, and how he always would be.

It was an unshakeable piece of Kento's foundation that you gracefully accepted with no conditions, just like the rest of him. However, you understood the role of your place by his side, holding his hand and letting him know that this journey was never meant to be embarked nor this trial shouldered alone.

"I'm scared too, Ken.” You look at the brown freckles dusting the point of his shoulder blade that sprinkled just above his collarbone, like a displaced constellation that found itself pulled from the sky and embedded in his skin.

“…for breastfeeding, getting enough sleep…."

“Don't pressure yourself, love." He whispers with a shake of his head. "What matters is that our child is fed. But I know you want to try, so I'll support you in every way that I can."

"Thanks, sweetheart." You whisper and your lips reunite, reveling in that unspoken strength you fed one another that always rose to the occasion, empowered at each other's side.

"Look at us, all afraid. When we're the best team the world's ever seen."

He smiles, fondness seeping in the crow’s feet by both eyes, even in the vacant left side that the scars could not obscure completely.

"You're very right about that. But you've seldom been wrong about anything."

"You mean to say, never?" You wink.

He beams, knowing better.

"Of course I did, my love. Thank you for correcting me."

-----

Soon, you were laying on your side as the night mellowed closer to sleep. You were naked on the velvet surface of your pale blue pregnancy pillow you cradled between your legs, fleece pajamas discarded when the latent warmth under Kento’s skin became a far more enticing prospect.

Kento peels off his pajama pants, letting out a slight huff of amusement and frustration behind you as he tried his best to fit in the pillow next to you, but to no avail, which causes you both to land in a fit of giggles like you were kids.

Now, the small cardboard book was open as you read aloud, your husband spooning you from behind. You had heard from your doctor that reading and speaking often to your little one inside your belly could be a fulfilling exercise for both parents-to-be.

Tonight's selection was Goodnight Moon.

Kento's hands skim over the delicate bumpy lines on your belly that run vertically and weave like the vines that grew over the cobbled exterior of your farmhouse.

"Goodnight stars. G-goodnight…" your cadence weakened as the appealing press of Kento's naked body against yours steadily made the words a bit more labored on their way out, his presence warming you from where he laid.

"Go on." His lips continue their prolonged kiss over the juncture of your jaw while his fingers start their gentle dance over your belly lines and the dimples embedded in your hips in reverent appreciation for the goddess they belonged to.

The sensual cascade of your hair over your shoulder was slowly driving him wild as your beautiful voice continued in that hushed tone that begged him closer, like a curtain concealing a treasure he yearned more and more to pull back and unveil. He holds back for now, although precariously positioned on a wire-thin thread as you begin to respond more sensitively to his experimental touch.

It started with the innocent drumming of his fingers over your belly and hips, and then it trailed suggestively along the length of your ribs, leading with the tip of his middle finger, teasing the base of the swell of your left breast.

“There's still a few pages left...” Kento murmurs in your ear with that unmistakable, husky inflection that both confounded and aroused you.

He knew very well what exact implications it carried, and the indecent effects it had on your beautiful body. He gloats to himself as you let out a groan of defeat, concluding that, in his mind, it was only fair retaliation for the shaky mess you reduced him to earlier.

“Are you going to let me finish reading?” You breathe softly as his nose tickles your hair, licks just behind your ear before sealing it with a kiss, his index finger and thumb so slyly tracing the perky bud of your nipple.

“I am.” He replies, dragging the surface of his seeking palm over your belly in a seductive descent, loitering closely near your sex.

“But it would appear that you're getting distracted. I wonder why?”

The book tumbles out of your grasp as he starts to slowly rub your clit, pressing his lips to the column of your frantically rising pulse.

“Ken-”

“Keep going, love.” The heat from his voice sinking an octave is almost visceral as the pet name rolls off his tongue in coy delivery, his face directly against your cheek as the rhythmic circles on your clit deepen.

You arch against him, trying to find some reprieve as you press your thighs together in feeble resistance, but you feel the inside of his foot ride up along your calf, until he parts them easily with his knee, holding you open.

“Shall I assist?” He whispers.

Now, he's being just plain smug, asking all of these questions he knows the answers to, pretending like he doesn't know the ending to a simple story you've read together several times.

A helpless whine becomes ragged and breathy as he tears it from your throat, throwing your head back so it rests on his shoulder.

“Goodnight stars…goodnight air…” He breathes, coaxing two fingers past your glistening folds. “My, my, you're unbelievably wet tonight. Was it because of what I did to you earlier?”

“What part..?” You moan and bite your lip.

“When I had you on your back on our couch?” He purrs, pushing his middle and ring finger knuckle deep into your dribbling pussy.

“Those beautiful sounds you made and the way I had you look at me as you came all over my hand…” His jaw tenses at the erotic memory fueling his ministrations in the present moment.

“Or was it from when you were getting so aroused from stroking my cock in our bath this evening?”

“Sweetheart, too much…” Your fingers curl into a vice-like grip on the hair at the base of his neck.

He moans unabashedly at the sensation. The action moves his head down, just a little, and he chuckles as he realizes what little control you're doing your best to take back.

“Ah, ah.”

He sits up, his lean muscles flexing in his stomach, veiny cock raging pink at the tip that slightly curves to the left, thicker girth on that side from the scar tissue. He hitches your left leg over his shoulder, kissing the arch of your foot, ankle, and a pathway from your calf to the bend of your knee. He drags one of the spare pillows down, tucking it under your hips in a fluid motion.

Before you can protest, his lips are on yours again, while he fondles your breasts with greedy abandon.

“I can't wait until you're lactating…” He utters, humming as he rocks his hips in tandem with the circular kneading of your breasts, the underside of his cock teasing along the soaked seam of your folds.

“Yeah…?” You slur before your train of thought dissolves into mush as he begins taking them in his mouth.

“You've always had such stunning tits…” He moans in between sucks as he feels the apex of your nipple harden and pebble against his tongue.

“But I'll appreciate them particularly when you're milking for our baby that I fucked into you. And these hips, these thighs…” He acknowledges them with passionate squeezes as his cock throbs with every haphazard thrust against the wet surface of slick dripping out of your pussy.

“And this gorgeous ass of yours.” He whispers through gritted teeth, before landing a sharp smack against your soft flesh.

Warmth trickles between your thighs in heated ripples at how crude he was being, a side of him he revealed only on a few select occasions. (chiefly that long, passionate afternoon in the bed and breakfast following your wedding nuptials by the seaside). Usually, Kento wasn't so talkative. You noticed he gradually became more ravenous, more insatiable to scratch that everlasting itch he had for you ever since those two lines appeared on the pregnancy test.

“You're so sexy…” You giggle, watching him with an endearing gaze as he intoxicates himself with his preoccupation with your pregnant body as he moves lower, slotting between your thighs. “What's gotten into you lately, baby?”

He chuckles, keeping his eyes on you as his tongue makes that first slow, languid lick between your folds, wringing a delicious sigh from your lips.

“I'm not sure…” He presses a dainty kiss to your clit, before nuzzling his nose against it as he takes a deep inhale of your arousal, the scent contributing to that heated pooling in his stomach that unlocks something primal in his mind.

“I just desire you with an intensity that I didn't know was possible.”

“Ah, so it wasn't there before?”

He scoffs. “Don't be silly, darling. You know what I mean. It's just, seeing you like this…” He groans as he kisses along your pussy, coating his lips before he sticks out his tongue, a low “aah” sound grumbles from his throat as he begins to flick it back and forth.

“Oh, Ken…” the knot hovering over the fire that builds along your spine tightens impossibly fast. He knows every sensitive spot you possess, and this time he goes for them directly without giving you a chance to breathe.

“Ken, please.”

“Shh…shhh, darling, please, just feel it. Let me do this to you…”

His tongue explores and delves in your warm silk, creating an overflowing pot of honey in his mouth. He sucks and spits, nuzzling his face impossibly deeper into your warmth. You watch him hump the mattress, his heavy, scarred, veiny cock leaking and pulsing pink at the tip surrounded by his uncut skin, slowly thrusting into the sheets.

The scrape of your painted nails against his scalp only fuels the gasoline being poured on his fire and doesn't pull him out of his pussy-drunk stupor. His warm, velvety tongue strokes and fucks your slick pussy in long, deep flicks. He takes intermittent pauses, pulling back with a slurp as his tongue darts across his lips, adding his fingers instead to gaze at your pretty face while you fall apart underneath him for the second time tonight as he pumps his fingers against your soaking walls.

“So beautiful.” He says that word like it's your name, and the possessive feeling almost overwhelms him to no return as he takes note of your shiny arousal sinfully bathing the silver of his wedding ring, the physical representation of every vow he swore to you that day.

“I can't…” you cry underneath him, breasts still marked with his spit, hair spread on your pillow like a halo behind you, tears brimming the curve of your lashes, your pregnant silhouette only emphasizing your femininity in this moment that only intensified his existing ruminations of you that never ceased, your skin kissed in alluring sheen of both your sweat, illuminated so sensually in the golden glow of your bedroom.

He knows you’re close, and even though you found your way into this position from what transpired in the bathtub in this passionate back and forth that started in your living room, he loves you too much to make you ride it out alone.

He brought you to the edge and he'll hold your hand as you fall over.

He moves your hand gently, before seizing it tightly, murmuring to you.

“You will, love. I'm right here.”

He dips his head down and goes back to feasting on the oasis between your thighs, drowning in his favorite sea, moving his tongue with more urgency.

You cry out louder and your hand that is holding his hand winds up in his hair, those silky locks of blond, seared permanently into your eyelids peeking out between the steadfast glint of your complementary rings.

You say his name and it's immortalized in the air around you as you cum in his mouth. He laps greedily with a low groan, not wasting a drop of nectar and devouring it like he was long deprived of sustenance. Despite having it earlier, it was an unquelled thirst that could be momentarily satiated, for now.

You gaze at him and he gazes back in the tame silence that washes over you both in contrast to the heightened throes of pleasure that overwhelmed it before, a love blown lustrous expression in his good eye.

You could stare for a lifetime of this, of seeing him like this. Your scarred husband bathed in the dim light of your bedroom, low thunder rumbling beyond the walls of this old house in the country, until the love bleeds in the streaks of grey that eventually claims your hair.

“You alright?” He asks, leaning over you, before giving you a lazy, deep kiss.

“I'm wonderful.” You chuckle and sigh at the taste of your nectar that clung to his tongue. “Couldn't let me go without tasting?”

“You know I never do, darling...” He purrs as he lays down behind you again, scooping you close as he pulls the quilt over you both. He turns, bringing the glass of water from the nightstand to your lips.

“Drink.” He lovingly instructs, and he strokes your hair as you take several generous sips.

You're sleepy now, cozy and safe with the dwindling night that's been nothing short of carnal and passionate, but tender all the same. A soft flutter settles in your belly and Kento smiles against your neck as he feels the shudder of your little one against his hand.

“I adore you.” He whispers.

“I adore you…” you whisper back. The word “more” hangs on the tip of your tongue, and he chuckles because he knows you so well to the point that he can sense that you want to say it, and you know him well enough to know that it will just lead to another disagreement with no clear-cut winner.

“Sleepy?” He asks, his tone hushed as he presses his nose into your hair on his way to kiss your neck. You feel the subtle prod from his hard cock against the globe of your ass, and you can't deny the warm stir that lingers.

“A little, but…” You tone drips with sultry mixed with the slow clutch of sleep. “Not enough to not take care of you, first.”

He sighs, and he can't deny the seething ache that rushes through him, either. He would normally swallow down his desire, hold you close if that's what you really need, but this assurance from you that you're not opposed to the idea…This entire evening he was dying to be inside of you, to wrap his soul up in yours as he'd feel your warm, glossy cunt grip him until he was dripping down your thighs, a proper reunion of sorts that a devoted husband like him should bestow on his darling wife after being away for a whole week.

“Should I fuck you to sleep?” His bottom lip brushes the shell of your ear before giving it a kiss, his finger tracing the vein in your neck.

“Mhmm…”

He presses his lips to your shoulder while he pumps his cock, sitting himself up on his forearm so he leans above you, eye simmering, and mind overcome with fuzzy reprieve.

His bridles loosen as he feels the sea of slick wet the tip of his cock, before sliding in slowly, and then all at once.

He uses your breast to pull you closer, stretching your silky warmth around his pulsing head. You moan softly into the pillow as he begins thrusting, slow and deep as his shaky breath gently fans your ear.

The sound is so wet, messy, and quiet. His cock sweetly squelching, sliding and dripping between the soft lips of your pussy. He groans huskily as his hips recede like pale blue waves ebbing from the shore, the girthy tip kissing your velvety entrance, before it ripples back to land and he pushes into you, deep and hard.

“Kento, fuck..." You breathe like a siren with the eyes of a doe.

He murmurs your name back to you in the shape of a heart with his kisses on your neck, measured and rhythmic as his thrusts begin to slow, taking your chin softly in his fingertips as he turns your head, kissing you deeply as he drinks the sweet melody of your moans.

The mild tempo and cozy feeling from being filled and fucked so softly while cradled against his chest has you melting like a cloud. His lips are on your temple as he tenderly rocks you with his hips, until his warm, milky cum gushes deep inside of you, and you're both eventually drifting out to sea with the beguiling tides of sleep.

----

A cozy feeling rustles you deep in the heart of the night some time later. You fell asleep connected, his left hand on your belly, white gold ring with the muted diamond in the middle, his cock still buried inside you.

The room is shrouded in indigo, and the precipitation from the clouds outside have ceased with the wintry quiet, all the warmth trapped inside your shared bedroom.

You bite your lip as you can't miss that electric sensual sensation blooming up your spine. Staying naked was a dangerous idea, much less falling asleep in such an intimate position. You sit up, gentle as he barely stirs as he slips out of you.

You look at him asleep in the midnight shadows, how breathtaking he looks when he's dreaming. Golden hair in a sleepy tousle that will bear that endearing cowlick he can never tame when the sun crests in the rain-laden clouds, cast over his weary yet peaceful expression on his relaxed brow free from his eye patch, a sight you never took for granted.

You trace the ridge of scars over his heart, tentatively exploring until they come to rest on his belly, just above his softening cock which barely twitches, still latently warm with your webs of slick that mutely glisten as they cling to the shaft.

You smirk as you tease a lick to his belly before taking his length in your palm, careful swipes with your thumb to the slit in the lopsided tip from scarring.

You notice his jaw tense from where you're kneeling, but his chest rises and falls again with that soft rhythm of carefree dreaming.

Kento feels warm, so warm as you envelope him in your mouth, comparable to laying in the sun that starts in his toes until it washes over him completely. So sinfully soft as he brushes the coaxing plush of your cheeks.

The cadence of his breathing halts, as you begin the slow rise and fall of your head, bobbing at a gentle pace as little twines of drool leak from the corners of your lips and they run down the veins of his cock. You can taste the mixture of you and him from earlier, some of the scent lingers in his dark pubes that becomes venereous in potency the longer you keep him inside your mouth.

You notice his lips part, until a heady groan slides between them. Your eyes water as you try to take him as deep as you can, but that unmistakable lump at the back of your throat makes you pause, the increased gag reflex a rather unwelcome side effect from your pregnancy.

His breath stills, but you're eager not to let up from the edge you were slowly pushing him towards. You focus on the tip and work him up with a tantalizing tease. You flatten your tongue and lick him starting from the girthy base, burying your nose in his pubes again until you reach the crest of his curved blooming pink tip that pokes out elusively from the sensitive foreskin around it.

You trace and softly kiss over the sections of marred flesh where some of the scarred tissue remained, your clit starting to throb when you remember how their texture felt when he was slowly pumping his cock inside you from the side with your thighs open.

Kento shudders, and his stomach muscles tighten as he becomes closer to being stirred awake. It was like being showered in rain after crawling for months in the desert, collapsing into a warm bed at the end of a long day while the weather raged outside. He finally moans, and the ragged sound travels straight to your pussy, the baritone pitch being committed to memory for you to retrieve at a later time.

“Sweetheart…” He sighs but his hips betray him as he slowly thrusts to meet every bob of your head.

“Oh…..fuck….” The corners of his brows scrunch together, his beige cock shiny and smeared with spit and slick that fuels another filthy record of wet sounds, his weak breathy sighs, and your angelic coos that disrupt the mellow air of the nighttime.

It was a common occurrence anyway that had merely doubled in frequency since you became pregnant. But sometimes, particularly in the summer, you two could stay naked and fuck like animals at will. The location of being here in the quiet countryside made it all too easy to let the soundness of solitude take you both to not-so-innocent places, amplified by the indulgent satisfaction of knowing that you two could be as loud as you wanted. There was scarce a surface that remained on this property that had not been christened from your love making.

“Don't stop…” he mumbles as his hands seek your hair once again. He's letting himself get carried away, but it's a realization that a more awake version of him will have to make. Right now, he's far too locked inside heaven as he deeply yet eagerly fucks your mouth.

You chuckle as you slobber and drool, sticking your tongue out to collect what you left at the base and drip along parts you neglected near the middle. He feels leathery from the veins, but he tastes even more heavenly from your slick.

You use your hand to pump him in tandem, while the other made work of his heavy, sweaty set of balls. You bob faster and he moans louder. Your sweet, tender kitten licks focused around the tip of his cock make him melt, and he almost cries when you dip into his slit.

"Cumming…” He moans to you and you taste the warm, dripping salt as he cums inside your mouth.

These moments between you were as certain as the crest and fall of the sun, of the clouds that would never run out of rain and as long lasting as your wrinkled fingers passing over the other as you'd one day sit in accompanying silence with grey in your hair and a legacy of love and posterity behind you both.

And, especially in moments like these, the flame would swell and burn, carnality pouring out of his skin and onto yours in such an irrevocable manner that you couldn't recognize its origin.

He slowly opens his eye, only to see the goddess responsible for his undoing kneeling innocently at his feet, pregnant with his baby, your breasts squished together with an alluring bounce, soft lips covered in your favorite lip gloss, hand wrapped in a ring that once belonged to his mother, soul pouring out of your body and ripping at his in your siren-like stare.

Now, you and him are even, but then again, that discussion would just need to wait until the freshly brewed coffee in the morning.

---

@ambiguouslady42 @actuallysaiyan

[mayhemspreadingguy]

This! -my favorite part! the piercing eye and the glowing streaks of red and yellow (thanks for giving me the permission to crop it and put it in everybody's face XD)

I wasn't going to post it, as it's merely a test of messy and really blunt brushes that lack texture or finesse (part of my neverending journey to attempt and switch to drawing on an android tablet and suffering profoundly for the lack of ps brushes) However, for 4 days now, I kept jumping with surprise at the intensity of his gaze each time I opened my drafts (saved there to relocate from tablet to pc) and so in the end I decided that I might as well just leave it here as a, WIP, I suppose.

I do enjoy those details, though. Lately I've been in my black-gold-red era.

[sam-keeper]

Hey Look At This Comic: The Property of Hate

I don't know if any form of comics is as love with wild digital experimentation as webcomics. while even indie print comics often feel like they're opting for a more traditional and coherent look, webcomics feel like the place to be if you want people furiously twiddling the knobs and dials to see how far the machine can be pushed aesthetically. a lot of the boldest and most beautiful hypercomic experiments along these lines--stuff like NAWLZ and A Lesson Is Learned But The Damage Is Irreversible--probably aren't anything like household names anymore, but it feels like that spirit is alive and well in contemporary webcomics.

like just take a gander at the above pages from The Property of Hate. what an incredible, juicy abundance of style! this is a comic that's not afraid to get messy with layers of effects, even to the point of sometimes being kind of hard to visually parse. this is a digital comic writ large. actually, it feels like it's doing stuff that other comics these days eschew, stuff that was more a staple of--and probably is somewhat negatively associated with--early, rough, photoshop heavy webcomics. (the fact that the Property of Hate started, I guess, in 2012 probably has something to do with both this stylistic tendency, and its love of guys in suits with objects for heads.) like, look at that layering of semitransparent text elements in the first page above. look how hard it's going on the different layer styles all mashed over one another. it's full on reveling in this look, and the effect is a lot of fun, really conveying the idea of "this little sock puppet creature, Assok, just bellowed out a wall of prerecorded sounds".

of course, it helps that the actual cartooning and paneling here is a delight:

I love the touch of having RGB, the tv object head tumblr sexyman there, extend slightly out of frame in that first panel. it does a great job of establishing the "camera" and its exaggerated perspective for the sequence of three panels, setting up the gag of having the Hero fall on RGB in the background while in the foreground Assok's head pops up (and what a great expression lol). this sequence in turn acts as the setup to the big structural break that is the bottom of the page and its wall of noise, Assok comically small at the bottom. good stuff!

that second page, a sequence in which the Hero and RGB navigate the darkness under trees under sea by... sound essence I guess? is more painterly but also has some gorgeous digital art touches. I love the way RGB's body is a grey staticky cutout that looks like a uniform texture painted onto the canvas. the whole page is so lush, especially for something so defined by a very simplified set of brush strokes sitting on deep areas of black.

and then there's this third page, crowded with neon-outlined object head guys. this style does a great job of capturing the concept of a whole city of characters who haven't reached completeness and departed for their individual works of fiction or art--outlines waiting to be filled. the color palette of this location is delightful cause it feels like a black light poster or gel pen drawn on a black backpack. and it's got that mark, again, of digital production: scope out how those outlines have clearly been drawn first then covered in glowing gradients. this is the kind of technique that breaks with the vogue for digital inking and painting emulating physical media.

that's nothing compared to the incredible rushing storm on that last page and its bedlam of filters and blending styles. fitting for a storm that threatens to erase the main characters, the page is almost unintelligibly dense with effects and textures. it's almost a bit... too much? the comic can sometimes be a bit obscurationist in both style and narrative. after reading through it all recently, I wound up skimming back through in search of pages to talk about here and found that things were clicking a LOT better for me after getting some very necessary lore dumps later in the story. nevertheless, I can't help but look at a page like this and feel kinda thrilled! it really feels like Sarah Jolley is constantly looking ways to swing for the fences with the aesthetic of the story.

the cool thing about webcomics is, you can just do that and no one can tell you not to layer on as many filters as you want!

pages from:

this post originally ran on Cohost on June 3, 2024. you can read more reviews in the Hey Look At This Comic tag and support me on Patreon.

[portrait-paintings]

My Mother

Artist: George Wesley Bellows (American, 1882–1925)

Date: 1921

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL, United States

Description

“There she would sit, as in a throne,” a niece once recalled of George Bellows’s mother, Anna. In this painting, which evokes the Parisian interiors of such French artists as Édouard Manet, Bellows depicted his mother in a large chair in the Victorian parlor of their family home in Columbus, Ohio. This forthright presentation of a distinguished, elderly woman with a strong character, coupled with the subdued palette, also recalls the portraiture of Thomas Eakins, whom Bellows greatly admired. The painting’s power derives in part from its highly structured composition. Influenced by the artist Jay Hambidge’s theory of dynamic symmetry, Bellows constructed the portrait in an organized, geometric arrangement of proportionate rectangles and triangles.

[lionofchaeronea]

Title: Bellowing Bull Artist: Copy, perhaps by Adriaen Cornelisz Beeldemaker (Dutch, 1618-1709), after Paulus Potter (Dutch, 1625-1654) Date: 1650s Genre: animal study Period: Dutch Golden Age Medium: oil on canvas Dimensions: 92.1 cm (36.3 in) high x 115.6 cm (45.5 in) wide Location: Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA, USA

[galleryofart]

Tennis at Newport

Artist: George Bellows (American, 1882–1925)

Date: 1919

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond, Virginia, United States

In the summer of 1919, George Bellows attended an invitational tennis tournament at Rhode Island’s prestigious Newport Lawn Tennis Club. Evidently captivated by its luxurious setting and finely attired people, he produced four large paintings of the subject over the course of the next year. This version is the most complete and captivating of the series. Exquisitely composed, it reveals the artist’s concern with light as a means of directing the viewer’s gaze. Light radiates not from the interior background of the image, as in his other paintings of Newport, but rather from outside the canvas. Casting shadows away from the viewer, the technique effectively highlights the focus of his image, the elegantly dressed spectators in the foreground.

[letsatomicbanana]

Quick headcanons (although some of them are canon) for Ink and Dream! Was planning to add Swap too but the canvas was too small for him...

(transcript bellow)

Dream: Demi-Aromantic (flag in his right hand), Transfem and Asexual! (flags found above). The grey-ish symbol stands for Dyslexia! It's a mix between the letters p,q,b,d.

Ink: Aromantic Asexual (flag in his left hand), Objectum sexuality and Genderqueer! (flags found above). The rainbow symbol stands for the AuDHD symbol! It's a mix between the rainbow infinity symbol (Autism) and the butterfly (ADHD).

Ink belongs to @/comyet

Dream belongs to @/jokublogs

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls Chapter 11 1/2

masterpost

“It’s hard to believe that these people aren’t on any warning lists yet,” Jason mumbled to himself at the base of the sidewalk where he’d parked the rental bike. He had his hands in his pockets as he craned his neck upwards, trying to be stoic about the Fenton residence. A van was parked on the street, probably theirs. Weirdly, it had a big canvas draped over it. All he could see were the tires.

The base of the house was an unremarkable brick rectangle, taller than it was long. But the customization job had not been subtle. There was of course the enormous neon sign that Jack Fenton had probably designed. He wondered if he saw Madeline Fenton’s guiding hand in the shitty space-age aesthetic of the hulking metal goliath crouched on top of the brick building.

There was zero percent chance that was legal, which led to the question of why the city officials weren’t enforcing building safety on an obvious hazard.

Jason blew out air and snorted. “This is definitely the place.” He jogged up the unkempt lawn and hit the bell. An alarm started whining inside.

His hackles went up. A hand curled towards a gun, but didn't fully commit.

A joyful whoop came from inside the house. It was quickly followed by a bellowed “Coming!”, and then a huge thud.

Very normal, thanks.

‘Is that really just their doorbell?’ Jason thought, aghast.

The door was wrenched open. “Hello, hello, come in!” A beautiful middle-aged woman was there, looking up only slightly to make eye contact with Jason. She had faint laugh and smile lines.

“Hello,” Jason said, hesitating. “Do you need to finish up in the lab?” He gestured at her outfit, a little unnerved to see protective equipment just out in the open. It made him feel underdressed. It was always a bad idea to be wearing less protection from chemical warfare than someone else in the area. His Gothamite sensibilities considered it both a faux pas and a tactical error.

Madeline Fenton made a flapping hand gesture to blow the idea away. “No, I'm at a good spot!” The grin she gave him was somehow sharklike. “Jeremy, honey, won’t you come in?”

‘Said the spider to the fly,’ his subconscious filled in for some reason.

Jason shook it off, thanked her, and entered the house. Then he drew his gun on the thing that levered out of nowhere to point at him.

Turret. It was a fucking gun turret, in the entryway.

Madeline Fenton let out a cheerful “Huh!” and put her hand on top of the turret. There was a faint beep as she disengaged whatever alarm that had been. “You don’t have any stowaways, do you?”

She was not a good enough actor. He didn’t know what the hell that he meant, but he could hear real tension beneath her cheerful tone. “No, ma’am,” Jason edged. “Not that I know of.”

There was a pause. It felt a little heavy. Jason slowly holstered his gun, despite the wary suspicion that he actually might need to defend himself.

The moment passed. Dr. Madeline Fenton whirled around and cupped a hand to her face to sweetly shout, “Jack! Honey! Our guest is here!”

Something extremely heavy thudded. The floor actually shook under Jason’s feet from the impact.

The smile on Dr. Madeline Fenton’s face didn’t falter. A chill went up his spine.

‘She has to be on a watchlist. No way. I just didn’t find it.’

He followed her to the living room where she gestured for him to take a seat. A huge man burst through the other door.

“What did they feed you?” Jason asked blankly. “Do they have more of it?” Sure, he’d never fit in his current gear, but Talia had deep pockets for custom armor.

Dr. Jack Fenton had a hearty laugh. The couch creaked when he threw himself on it, but impressively, nothing broke. “Standard stuff growing up I’m afraid,” he said cheerfully. “I feed myself an awful lot of fudge, though! Maybe that’s what did it.”

While he was talking Jason barely noticed Madeline Fenton had slunk off in horrifically perfect silence, like a red-haired Talia. He respected that, but he did not like it.

‘She’s going to be the Doctor to me,’ Jason decided. ‘Jack is just Jack. I’m tired of calling them the same thing.’

“Oh,” Jason pretended to just now notice that someone was gone. He looked around. “I’m sorry, where did Dr. Fenton go?”

“Just getting refreshments!” Jack said cagily. He leaned forward. “Now, Jeremy, son-” he was cut off by a low siren coming from his wrist. He paused. He lifted his hand and pointed it around the room. The noise got louder when he pointed it at Jason.

[theothernads]

𐙚 ❛❛ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ²³ : 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 💔 𝐫𝐧 ❞ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

▪︎ ִֶ𐀔 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 ✧₊⁺ — (𝐘.𝐉𝐖)

☰ SYNOPSIS: ₊˚⊹♡ : With the third magical academic year starting, you and Jungwon plan to have a normal school year and complete many goals. Except, you have to earn Enchantix with your frequent burn-outs, and Jungwon wants to become a full-fledged warrior and push past his anxiety. With their own goals in mind, they feel like 2 idiots that keep meeting by chance. However, when mysterious events threaten the magical kingdoms and schools, the specialists and fairies have to figure out the culprit and save the magical universe. But fate has other plans for their adventures and for your ‘coincidental’ meeting with Jungwon.

╰┈➤𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 (comment or give an ask)

W.c: 786

<< M.LIST >>

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻❁

IS THIS WHAT CRASHING OUT WAS? Over contemplating all memories that you had lived in the past week like a broken, flickering light?

The thing is, you shouldn't even be having this meltdown. You don't need to be having this. For what reason, really?

Because Leerae kissed Jungwon? Ridiculous. You don't have a right to let any disappointment in, not even a droplet to ease the dryness suffocating your chest. Even then, with all these convincing thoughts trying to mould your emotions, the pressure in your chest remained like a thick anvil, declaring your true feelings.

Ugh. It was unreasonable. And, who wouldn't like an outgoing, carefree girl like Leerae? She was a princess, the fairy of animals, and possessed all qualities that a warrior should have rooted in them.

She knew what to do. She was smart and intuitive, and she took the initiative when things went wrong. Like, in the dragon incident a few weeks ago.

Opposite of you. You weren't a princess, but you acknowledge the wealth you had; you can't even keep your nature powers alive for long enough to work; and you are not a warrior.

Instead of being decisive, all of your thoughts swarmed your mind like a herd of zombies, all wanting to tear your mind apart in all directions.

You sighed, flopping back on your bed in your family home, phone idly on your chest, and the ceiling becoming a great view for an imaginary canvas for your colourful thoughts.

Then, there was Sunghoon.

He offered you a drink that day at the fundraising event, talking about the show and his classes. You had nodded along politely even though you were thoroughly occupied with... something.

But, you were grateful. You would have stood there like an awkward human statue hadn't he come to accompany you.

You groaned and rolled over to stuff your face into your pillow, thinking you could at least suffocate the sentiments flooding you.

Then, the doorbell bellowed throughout the whole house, jolting you slightly. Your parents were at work, so it couldn't be them. Jungkook was taking a luxurious shower that had to last at least half an hour.

What a drama Queen.

You groaned and got up, heading downstairs to the door. Linae, your brown fairy cat, meowed as she twisted about your legs. You ignored her and went to the door, opening it without checking.

"Hell—oh..."

Standing before you were five imposing figures, dressed in professional, grey uniforms, and a fancy badge pinned to their blazers. They all had either a tablet or a briefcase, and they scanned you head to toe.

The bewilderment clutched all your vocal chords, your lips parted in a half hello.

One of them stepped forward. "Good afternoon. Is this Jeon Mei's and Yoonwan's residence?"

"Yes, um. They're my parents. Who are you guys?" You asked cautiously, holding onto the door as if it would keep you safe from their judgement.

"We are from the International Authority Agency, the IAA. We believe on the night of the fundraiser event, your mother made a transaction that didn't abide by the charity guidelines," he began saying, stepping forward again. Your heart dropped. "Your mother is currently being accused of charity fraud."

All thoughts from before disappeared, your brain short circuited, and you stood there with a gaze of disbelief and confusion.

Charity fraud? Your mother?

That woman could barely stay away from your revision and practice routine without correcting you, so how did your mother manage to make a mistake regarding a transaction using money.

"Fraud..?" You echoed incredulously. The men nodded in sync, and you held the door a little tighter.

"Can we come in?"

When Jungkook finally finished his shower and your parents came back, you were sitting in the corner next to Jungkook, observing your mother about to lose her damn mind. She stood there hands on hips, and your father was sat with too many thoughts running behind those eyes.

"I had no such information relayed back to me! I never even agreed to it." She paced back and forth. The five agent men stood with unmoving determination.

Jungkook was side-eyeing everyone, having no idea how this conversation would go.

"We understand that, but Eraklyon has scoped out the transaction. Your secretary signed an undocumented deal," the agent said, causing your mother's temper to ignite a thousand times more.

You winced silently.

The agent sighed, rubbing his temples and looking on his tablet. He tapped something, turned it to your mother, and both parents scanned meticulously, as if they were trying to find out the odd thread in it all.

Let's just say your mother did, indeed, crash out once more.

She's just like you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━━━━

<< M.LIST >>

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ. [NOTES]: um. Hi. How yall doing after almost 2 months of no update?😃 I'm back now. So. I was too busy writing the Jungwon fanfic that I forgot abt this one. And also, this smau is gonna be longer than 100 chapters. Fawk 💀‼️‼️

LIKES, COMMENTS+ REBLOGS are appreciated <3

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