#i know nothing about brushes or canvas size

[niwtkren]

"kiss me, doctor"

[reveriebae]

The Hypnotist's Plaything [part 1]

pairing(s) : Hypnotist! San x reader

word count : 2732

summary : You don’t know his name. You don’t know why you said yes. One touch from him and your mind shuts off—your body his to use, bend, and break. He says you were made for him… and under his spell, you believe it.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Hypnotism / Mind control (non-consensual, dubcon themes), Stranger sex, Somnophilia / mindless submission, Public initiation / street setting, Degradation & praise, Dumbification, Rough sex, Choking (asphyxiation), Spitting, Cunnilingus, Multiple orgasms, Squirting, Biting & marking, Creampie, Power imbalance, Size kink, Possessive behavior, San being a cocky, filthy soft dom. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : This fic has been in my draft for 8 months. Part 2

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut🪐

“You okay?”

The voice stops you.

You blink, looking up. There’s a man standing in front of you. His eyes are deep, a dark brown that almost looks black in the dim streetlight. His lips quirk into something soft, almost amused, but not quite kind. He’s not smiling like someone who’s concerned. He’s smiling like someone who already knows the answer.

You don’t respond right away.

Because when his hand touches your shoulder—just barely brushing it—something shifts.

Warmth.

Pressure.

Then fog.

Your mouth opens, but nothing really comes out. You forgot what you were even about to say. The thought just slips through your fingers like smoke.

He steps closer, still holding your shoulder so lightly, but it feels heavy. Anchoring. His touch feels like it’s crawling deeper into your skin, soft but possessive. You know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you don’t know him. That you were just walking home. That he’s a stranger.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore.

“You look a little out of it,” he says, cocking his head. His voice is honey-slick, low, and calm, almost like he’s talking you into something. “Wanna come over? My place is nearby.”

You shouldn’t.

You absolutely shouldn’t.

You feel your lips part. And before you can even process the question, your body answers for you.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

His smile sharpens just a little.

“Good girl.”

He turns, still gently guiding you with his hand on your shoulder. Your legs move automatically, obediently, like you’ve been doing this your whole life. Like he’s not a stranger. Like he owns you already.

---

The apartment is quiet. Sparse. Cold in color but clean.

You don’t remember the walk here. You don’t even remember his name—did he say it?

“You can sit,” he says, nodding to the couch. You obey. Instantly.

Your heart should be pounding. But it’s not.

There’s a calm haze settled over everything, like you’re watching your body from a distance. Like you’re floating and sinking all at once. The only thing grounding you is him—and that damn hand that keeps finding your shoulder again, fingers curling over the curve of it slowly. Every time he touches you, the fog gets thicker. Your body gets warmer.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, crouching in front of you. His hand slides up to your neck, his thumb resting under your chin. “The way your mind just shuts off when I touch you. Like flipping a switch.”

You nod slowly.

You don’t know why. But you have to.

“Pretty thing,” he whispers, gaze flicking down to your lips. “I didn’t even have to say much. You wanted to follow me.”

Your breath stutters.

No, you didn’t. You didn’t even know him.

…Right?

“Say it,” he commands softly. “Say you wanted to.”

“I… wanted to.”

“Say you want me to touch you.”

You swallow hard. Your thighs press together instinctively. “I… want you to touch me.”

His smile deepens. And this time, it’s full of intent.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear.

“You don’t even know me, but your body’s already mine.”

He doesn’t rush.

His fingers trace your jawline like he’s studying you—like you’re a canvas he’s about to desecrate. “You feel warm,” he murmurs. “Do you even realize how soaked you are already? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You blink at him, lips parted, breathing shallow. Your thighs press together tighter.

“I love how fast it works on girls like you,” he continues, voice low and smooth. “One touch. One command. And now?”

He leans closer, lips ghosting over your cheek, barely touching. “Now you’d do anything I say.”

His hand trails down, slow, until it rests on your thigh. His thumb strokes the inside of it—once, twice. You shiver.

“You’ll let me spread your legs, won’t you?”

“…Y-Yes.”

“You’ll let me play with this pussy in my living room like a dirty little doll?”

“Yes…”

“That’s a good girl.”

He grips your thighs and spreads them apart, slowly, watching your face the whole time. You let him. You want to let him. Your underwear’s damp—completely, shamelessly wet—and when his fingers graze over the fabric, your hips twitch up toward his touch without meaning to.

“Oh my,” he breathes, mockingly soft. “Look what I found.”

He pushes the fabric to the side.

His fingers slide through the slickness so easily it’s obscene.

“You’re dripping,” he says, licking his lips. “You don’t even know me, and your little pussy’s begging for me. You’re soaking my couch, sweetheart.”

You whimper.

Then gasp when he rubs his thumb over your clit—firm and slow.

“That feel good?” he murmurs. “Can’t even think, can you?”

“N-No…”

“You don’t need to. Let me do the thinking for you.”

---

His fingers work you slow at first, but relentless. Circling, pressing, teasing your folds until your head tips back and your hips rock against him.

And when he slips two fingers inside—deep and curling—your mouth drops open with a moan so filthy you almost don’t recognize it.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me feel how stupid I’m making you.”

He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your body jolt—and you clench around him like you’ve never wanted anything more.

“Sensitive already? God, you were made for this.”

You nod, eyes glassy. You are. You want him. You want more. You want to be used, praised, ruined—whatever he wants, you’ll give.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he asks, mouth dragging along your throat. “Let me make a mess of you with just my fingers?”

“Y-Yes, please…”

“You’re such a good girl.”

His pace speeds up. His palm grinds against your clit now. Your body arches, thighs trembling, head swimming with heat and fog and that overwhelming pressure building so fast you can barely breathe.

“You gonna cum all over my fingers like a filthy little mindless fucktoy?”

“Y-Yes—!”

And when it hits, it’s hard—blinding.

You cum with a choked cry, clenching around his fingers like your body’s trying to keep them inside. Your walls flutter, hips jerking as waves crash through you—soaking him, soaking yourself, shuddering with helpless pleasure while he watches you unravel.

And then?

He pulls his fingers out. Slowly.

Wet. Shining.

He brings them to his mouth. Sucks them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“Hmm,” he hums, licking the taste from his knuckles. “Just like I thought.”

Your body’s still twitching from the orgasm, but San doesn’t give you time to recover. He lifts you from the couch, lays you flat against it with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You cum like that from just my fingers?” he teases, brushing your cheek. “Baby, we’re just getting started.”

He settles between your legs—again. You expect him to unbuckle his belt. You want him to. But instead, he lowers his head and lets his tongue flick—just once—against your clit.

You gasp, legs jerking.

San chuckles, looking up at you. “Sensitive, huh? That makes this more fun.”

His hands grip your thighs and pull you open wide—completely exposed, dripping, helpless. Then his mouth dips back down, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds, so agonizingly gentle it makes your hips chase him.

But he pulls back.

“Aw, already trying to grind on my face? That desperate for more, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes,” you pant, voice trembling. “Please—San—”

He freezes.

Then smirks. “San, huh? You guessing now?”

“I—I don’t… I don’t know why I said that…”

He leans in, licking your clit with a maddening swirl.

“Oh baby,” he purrs against your heat, “you just guessed right.”

You whimper.

“Say it again,” he commands. “Beg properly.”

“San… please… please eat me out, I need it, I need your mouth, I—”

“You need it?” he interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “God, you sound pathetic. Soaked and begging for a stranger’s tongue? You are gone.”

Then his mouth drops again.

This time, he doesn’t tease.

He devours you.

His tongue laps over your clit in firm, steady strokes, pressure building until your back arches and your cries echo through the room. He moans into you like your taste is addictive, like ruining you is his favorite fucking hobby.

And all the while?

He’s talking.

Between every lick, every sinful flick of his tongue—

“You were made for this.”

“Feel how messy you are? You’re dripping onto my fucking chin, baby.”

“God, listen to you—moaning like a bitch in heat.”

You’re losing it.

Completely.

Your fingers claw at the cushions, at his hair, at your own thighs. You can’t stop moving. Your mouth is wide open, babbling filth right back at him:

“S-San, oh my god—don’t stop, please don’t stop—fuck, I’m gonna cum again—your tongue feels so fucking good, you’re so good at this, you’re making me so dumb—”

“Shhh,” he teases, dragging his tongue slowly, deliberately over your clit, “You don’t have to think anymore. Just make those cute little sounds for me, pretty thing.”

“S-So close—! Please, please let me cum, I’ll be good—”

He moans into you again, lips sucking your clit with perfect pressure. You snap, convulsing around nothing, head thrown back, scream raw in your throat as you cum again—harder this time. Wetter. Filthier. You’re shaking uncontrollably, legs closing around his head, but he doesn’t stop.

He rides it out with you. Drinks you in.

Only after you’re twitching, limp, broken open and gasping for air, does he lift his head.

His mouth glistens with you.

He wipes it with his thumb, then leans up and presses that thumb to your lips.

“Suck.”

You do. Instantly.

He watches you with half-lidded eyes and a cocky smirk.

“There you go,” he whispers. “Now you know my name. Now your pussy remembers it too.”

You’re barely conscious—floating on overstimulation and slick heat, heart racing, skin fever-hot. San lifts you off the couch like you weigh nothing and plants himself on it, legs spread, bulge thick and heavy under his jeans.

He undoes his belt slow—deliberate—watching your eyes the whole time.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmurs.

You nod, too dizzy to speak.

“You’re gonna ride it—but I’m the one moving you. Understand, baby?”

“Y-Yes, San…”

His hands slide down your hips, grip your ass tight, and pull you onto his lap. You can feel him, thick and hot between your folds, rubbing against your soaked entrance but not pressing in yet.

“You’re so wet, fuck,” he growls. “Just from my mouth and fingers? You’re easy, huh?”

You don’t even deny it.

You can’t.

And then he pushes inside—slow, but deep. The stretch is overwhelming. You cry out, body going stiff at first, then limp as he bottoms out, cock buried to the base.

“Holy shit,” he hisses, gripping your ass harder. “Tight as hell. Gripping me like you were made to sit on this cock.”

You moan, legs shaking, mouth open and useless.

San smirks.

“Too dumb to speak now?” he coos, brushing his lips along your neck. “That’s okay, baby. You don’t need words.”

Then he starts moving you.

Big hands gripping your hips, pulling you up just an inch—then slamming you back down.

Again.

And again.

The sound of your soaked pussy hitting his lap echoes in the room—wet, loud, filthy.

“You hear that?” he whispers in your ear. “That’s the sound of your cunt loving every second of this.”

Your head falls onto his shoulder. You can’t stop moaning—every bounce forcing another whimper, another gasped “fuck—San—feels so good—can’t—”

He groans, burying his face in your neck, licking up the sweat on your skin.

“You feel perfect,” he pants. “So fucking warm—so dumb for me.”

He kisses down your collarbone, then sucks a mark onto your chest. His hands never stop moving you, bouncing you on his cock like a ragdoll. One hand comes up to grope your tit—squeezing, pinching, licking and sucking your nipple until you’re trembling in his lap.

Your pussy clenches.

Hard.

“Ohhh fuck, baby,” he growls, “you’re gonna cum again, aren’t you? Just from riding me?”

“I—I can’t hold it—San, please—!”

“Don’t,” he whispers darkly. “Don’t hold back. Cum for me like a good little fucktoy.”

And you do.

Your head throws back, eyes rolling, mouth open in a silent scream as your pussy clamps around him, milking his cock. Your whole body trembles, overwhelmed and wrecked, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

San groans deep in your ear.

And finally—

He slams you down one last time, grinding his cock into you deep.

“Fuck— I’m cumming—”

You feel him pulse inside you, hot and thick, cock twitching deep as he fills you up completely.

His arms wrap tight around your waist, holding you flush to him, cock still buried inside.

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes. “You took it all.”

You’re still twitching in his lap, cock still buried deep inside you, when San lifts you again—this time rougher, greedy, like he’s done playing nice.

“Face down,” he growls. “Ass up.”

You blink, fucked-out and foggy. “Wha—”

But he’s already moving you, flipping your boneless body over the couch. Your chest presses into the cushions, ass in the air, pussy still dripping and spread wide open for him.

“You think we’re done?” he snarls behind you, spitting on his cock. “No, baby. I just started.”

He slams back inside in one thrust—hard.

You scream into the cushion.

The wet sound of skin slapping skin fills the apartment. His pace is brutal now—hips snapping into yours, hands gripping your waist like a man starved.

You can’t even speak—just gasp, moan, babble.

“Ohmygod—San—so deep—so rough—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he growls. “You will.”

One hand grabs your throat from behind, pulling you up just enough for your head to tip back, arching your spine. His grip tightens—not enough to cut off air completely, but enough to make your eyes flutter.

You clench around him so hard it makes him groan.

“Fuuuck, baby… choking you makes you squeeze me like that?”

You whimper.

“God, listen to you—babbling like a little cumdump. Drooling all over the cushions like a broken toy.”

“D-Don’t stop, please—feels so fucking good—can’t think—can’t—ahhh—!”

Your hands claw at the couch, searching for anything to hold. The fabric, the edge, even your own hair—anything to ground you as he pounds your g-spot over and over, making your vision blur.

Then—

He bites your shoulder.

Hard.

You cry out, body shuddering.

His tongue licks the spot right after, soothing it.

“Fucking delicious,” he growls.

Then he flips you again—onto your back.

He climbs over you, pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding under your thigh to yank it up.

“You gonna fucking squirt for me, baby?” he pants, cock rubbing through your folds again. “Make a mess all over my cock?”

Your body’s already convulsing.

“I—can’t—fuck—I’m gonna—San—”

He thrusts in again.

Deeper. Harder.

Faster.

You’re screaming.

Eyes rolling. Body spasming.

Your pussy clenches so tight it’s almost painful, and then—

You squirt.

Hot, soaking, spraying out between your thighs with each thrust.

“Yes, fuck yes—make a mess for me—fucking soak me, baby—fuck—”

San’s moaning now—loud, raw, desperate. His teeth sink into your neck, your tit, your shoulder—marking you over and over while you cry under him, soaking the couch, completely helpless.

And when he cums again, it’s violent.

His whole body tenses. He growls into your throat, burying himself deep inside you, cock twitching, pumping more hot cum until you’re overflowing.

He collapses on top of you, both of you drenched, gasping, ruined.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes against your lips.

You can’t even answer.

You just moan, clinging to him, twitching with aftershocks, a sloppy, squirming mess under his heavy body.

He chuckles softly, kisses your cheek.

“You’re not walking tomorrow.�

[0oolookitsme]

Piece of His Heart

Hii everyone, I'm back from my long hiatus!! Hope you missed me because boy did I miss YOU! <3 This one is a little emotional, a little sweet, and VERY Harry focused. Also, I was inspired to write this piece while listening to 'London's Song' by Matt Hartke, and trust me, it's a lovely song. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Verse - Artist!Harry x Photographer!Y/n

Word Count - 1.0k

Warnings - Mentions of unplanned pregnancy, financial stress.

Harry and Y/n were students, and now, parents to a newborn babygirl as well. With all of the newfound emotions rushing through them, one thing he knew was that they were going to build this new little family slowly, and lovingly.

Harry looked up at the ceiling, at the overused fan moving slowly and creakily, with one of his arms under his head while the other one remained draped over his little baby's back. 

She was curled up on top of him, breathing softly, her little hands fisting his shirt. 

Daylight was pouring into the room through the gap between the two curtains, and Harry still couldn't believe that the little one sleeping away on his chest was finally here, after a worthwhile wait of a full nine months.

He still remembers the nickname he'd given her while she was still inside her mum's belly – 'Pumpkin' he had called her, and her little frame couldn't have agreed more with him. 

Full and round cheeks hung a little low on her face, her small mouth in a pout and eyes as circular as pearls, nothing if not the true meaning of grace.

Which is why he'd settled with the name 'Opal', grinning widely while Y/n had nodded furiously with tears in her eyes, saying how it was the perfect name ever.

His mornings suddenly became impossibly sweeter, something he hadn't expected since he had moved back in this childhood home with Y/n.

A few days ago, when he had laid his eyes on the bundle of sunshine for the very first time ever, a huge piece of his heart, if not his entire heart, had been taken right then and there. 

Sighing, Harry got up very carefully, wary of waking up the newborn and then, when he successfully hadn't, laid her on the two person size sofa – all that he could fit in the name of a seat inside his small art studio. 

He had just turned to get back to his awaiting Canvas, when Opal began mumbling. She was talking in her sleep, he realised with a smile growing on his face, making his dimples show up. 

Another piece of his heart was taken then. 

He wondered, each time that she slept, about just what she was dreaming up. On nights, he worried if she wasn't warm enough, wanted her to know that there was a blanket of stars above her – but he knew he could wait until she began talking to do that. 

Even though he couldn't afford the best, he was going to make this work. He was going to be the best father out there, give Opal all of his love, all with Y/n by his side.

Putting back down the paintbrush he had picked up because he couldn't stop thinking of her, Harry walked back over with his stool to sit and watch her. He crossed over the chair, his front against the chair's backrest as he rested his face on his arms, gazing down with a soft smile on his mouth. 

"I can't wait for you to grow up so that we can talk, you know? So, hopefully, you can tell me if this is where you'll always wanna be," he spoke, brushing away the unruly mop curls on her head. 

"And we can go to a place where you look at the light and it splinters," he sighed, moving to cover her up with a blanket. "Where there's plenty of gas in our car to last us the cold, cold winter," tears glazed over his sight, sniffling as he looked at her small figure lull to side as she slept – he almost let slip a chuckle. 

Right then, she took whatever pieces were left of his heart. 

Winter this year wasn't easy, but that wasn't to say that it wasn't the best one aside from the ones he had spent with Y/n. So much financial stress had come with the unplanned pregnancy, and now a baby. But he knew that the both of them could pull through the loans and make it out as a happy and healthy family, if they stuck together. 

Y/n’s dad, a single father, was a little bit bitter about the whole situation but had begrudgingly stepped forward to help out the two with handling the house, seeing as the both of them had to attend college as well as take care of the baby. He dropped off the groceries last weekend, along with the last minute new-born-baby stuff that Y/n had told him they needed. 

Even Anne stepped forward, letting the two of them borrow a room in her house for as long as they needed – likely until they could get back up on their own feet financially.

Currently, as Harry sat feeling overwhelmed with all of the love and other emotions rushing through him, he could hear Anne talking to Y/n down the hall. The walls weren’t the thickest and he could tell that Anne was sharing her own stories with Y/n, telling her about how she’d had Harry at a young age, and more. 

He’d heard it before, had even seen the two of them having this chat. So he knew that Anne, very likely, had Y/n’s head in her lap and brushing her hands through her hair, trying to console the woman high on hormones and the insurmountable number of emotions she must be feeling. 

Wiping away at his nose with the sleeve of his flannel, Harry blinked away the tears and pulled up a smile on his face again, trying to be courageous, for Y/n and their daughter. Because he knew that Y/n was doing the same for them. For the little family they were both going to build slowly and lovingly now.

"But I also want you to be this little forever, so that I can cherish you enough, yes?" He asked her, nodding his head when she mumbled something incoherent, something similar to ‘we’ll be fine, dada', Harry wanted to believe. 

And unable to help himself, he picked her up again, holding her flush against his exposed torso because he didn’t have the energy to button up his shirt and the skin to skin contact made breathing a little easier. 

"I'll love you tenderly," he whispered, pressing a kiss on her forehead. "I'll love you forever, and more, little pumpkin." 

[aether-starlight]

Those Eyes - Rafayel

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: Rafayel takes up on your offer to hang out and something of his catches your eye.

Word Count: 1k

For all Rafayel complained about hunter’s lack of refinement, you were quite an avid reader. He watched you get through half of your book in one afternoon, brows creased in concentration.

It was something fantastical, a journey amongst strangers with a common goal who would later become friends.

He supposed that if the core of you could be described by a book, it would be something like that.

Meanwhile, he had been painting —not studying you and following your mannerisms like a total weirdo, not at all. 

Since that time you had realized your face was on his canvas —he underestimated your artistic eye— he had settled for details. Pieces of you he could keep only for himself.

His current work had the expressiveness of your eyes, it swirled in the color of your irises and dipped into your pupils. 

To most, it probably appeared abstract, perhaps sand slipping down or crashing waves, the bark of a tree, a midnight sky.

To him, it was another attempt at unraveling you. He wanted to find the soft center of who you were, brush against your sharp side. 

There was a secret at the edge of your lips and he wanted to hear all about it. 

He imagined that kissing you would feel like drifting at sea, fresh water easing the blazing sun as all earthly burdens dissolved into salt water.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from you, making a total fool of himself. 

“You know, I met the author,” he feigned nonchalance, gesturing at the book cradled between your hands. “Had a nasty habit of interrupting people.”

“As opposed to talking all the time?” You raised an eyebrow, smirking to yourself. You were way too smug about your own jokes.

“You know, there was a time when you were actually polite to me.”

“It wasn’t you, per se. It was AI you.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” He shrugged.

Your gaze drifted from him to the canvas.

“I like your painting,” you praised, uncharacteristically. “I don’t know why, but it feels like longing.”

Rafayel felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. He coughed.

“You think?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, resting your cheek against your hand, draped over his sofa like a lazy cat. “Are you going to auction it?” 

“No.” His reply was visceral and much too quick, enough for you to perk up, and close the book on your lap.

It was his eternal curse; when he wanted you to pay attention to him, you ignored him. When he wanted you to pay him no mind, you were like a hound dog on his trail.

“Why is that?” You feigned to be casual.

“Artistic reasons you wouldn’t begin to understand,” he primly smiled at you.

“Uh huh.” 

You stood from the sofa, stretching a little before coming to sit by his side on the stool. It was a tight fit.

He liked everything about it.

How cozy you looked, out of your hunter’s uniform, barefoot and dressed comfortably. The way sunlight bathed down your hair like a cascade of gold.

Most of all, he enjoyed the openness in your gaze when it met his.

“What if I want to buy it?” You pouted. “Not even a painting for your bodyguard?”

Rafayel felt himself blushing.

“This?” He scoffed. “You have seen nothing yet, Miss Bodyguard. I’ll make you a painting the size of your bedroom wall.”

“I don’t care about the size.”

His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Dick.” You slapped his arm.

He laughed.

“You make it too easy. Give me a week and I’ll have something for you,” he offered.

“But I want this painting.”

Rafayel was mystified. 

An idea surged.

He smiled beatifically at you. You narrowed your eyes.

“Alright. I’ll give it to you under one condition.” 

“I’m not posing naked for you.”

“Yeesh, what kind of artists have you met before? It’s nothing like that.” 

He felt just a bit scandalized, and if the idea of you posing for someone else made something ugly sprout at his chest, then it was nobody’s business.

“Then what is it?” You pressed, impatience laced into your voice. 

He leaned closer, until you could discern the light freckles grazing his cheeks.

“Tell me why you want it.”

You blushed furiously, sliding away from him in an instant.

“I told you, didn't I? I like it.” 

Rafayel pressed closer, positively glowing at the opportunity to tease you. 

“Why do you like it then?” 

He smelled like a fresh breeze, and every time he was near, you swore you could hear a distant song over crashing waves.

He was driving you insane.

“Fine.” You shifted closer to him, a silent challenge. 

It might have been your imagination, but his pupils seemed to dilate. “I want it because… I know what it is.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, openly curious.

His breath brushed your cheek, a reminder of the strawberries he had been eating absentmindedly while working.

You kept your attention nailed to the swirls of color. They harmonized, brought each other to life in a way that was both fantastical and realistic.

“I can recognize my own eyes, Rafayel.”

This time he was the one to blush furiously, quickly stuttering: “Narcissistic much?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You wish.” 

He choked back another cough. Dressing himself on his flirty bravado.

“And what if it were? Why would you want a painting of your eyes?” 

“I like the way you made them so expressive.” You looked down and mumbled: “How they feel.” 

“About what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, fish boy.”

“Admit it, you’re just obsessed with me.” 

You scoffed.

“I’m not the one crafting paintings of you.”

Rafayel offered you a look filled with promises of trouble. Beneath the sunlight his irises seemed more rouge than mauve, they were like a sunset reflected over sea water.

“But I bet you fantasize about it.” 

“That made no sense.”

“For someone who wants something from me, you’re being incredibly crass,” he complained. “You’re definitely getting nothing.”

-

The next day he gifted you the painting and refused to let you pay for the delivery.

[stariikis]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 | 𝐧𝐫𝐤 ˖ ࣪⭑

synopsis ; like the moon needs the stars, riki's whole life would crumble without you. his inspiration, greatest motivation, and his muse.

pairing ; artist!nishimura riki x muse!reader genre ; fluff, established rs, realllly really short drabble of thoughts

this love's possessing me, but i don't mind at all

There are a million ways to say, 'I love you.'

Aren't there?

One chasing after their certain eye-candy may purchase a whole bouquet of that person's favourite flowers. Another would pour their heart and soul onto a piece of paper, a subtle love confession decorated with stickers and fanciful designs. Another might try their hardest to impress them with whatever their forte is.

Riki, however, takes all these and mashes them into one gorgeous painting on an easel.

He emerges from his 'workplace', one of the study rooms in your shared apartment. A blank canvas, about the size of his hand, accompanies him out. Not to mention the various brushes, the bristles sticking out all over the place revealing how loved they are. The paints, watercolour in a small box, acrylic aligned in their designated tubes, and oils of any colour possible.

Lips puckered in a pouting motion, he scans you as if wondering what light he wants to paint you in today. Where he wants to set up his painting station for the next few hours.

The reasons for his choice of background go from the smallest of things to the most obvious. It could simply be the style of your choice of clothes, but once it had been because of the way you reacted when he woke you up in the morning.

He used a fiery red base colour for that artwork. Perfectly encapsulating the constant frown you wore the rest of the day. His words, not yours. They could only ever be his words.

When he finally dismissed you from 'work', he paid you for your efforts with a kiss.

Your sour expression morphed instantly. In the blink of an eye, it was almost as if you had never woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

it's taking over me, don't wanna fight the fall

Today he quietly brings you to the edge of a field, just as sundown occurs. He looks up at the sky, cotton candy clouds bleeding into a warm hue of orange. Nothing leaves his mouth. An absolute silence has overcome him.

And knowing that there's no need for you to break it, there's no need to coax him out of this state for the better, comforts you deep down to the core.

It's like you know exactly how to go about routine, as you settle yourself in the wispy, tall grass and wait for him to set up his materials. However, after propping up his easel, he doesn't unpack his paints and brushes like he usually does. He doesn't unroll his scuffed-with-paint marks apron.

He merely gazes at you, soft and mesmerised.

As an artist, he should have neutral feelings towards his muse. He should be evoking surrounding emotions and feelings. He should be drawing them from deep within himself, and expressing them on the canvas before him.

A muse is only meant to be an inspiration. At times, it's the subject of the art piece. However, it's never the sole purpose.

But the way Riki looks at you proves all that wrong. The way his calloused hands held yours on the way to this destination. The way he scoots closer to you just as you drift off into sleep, and whispers all the newest paintings he's made. He confesses all the sketches he makes are of you. He can't get you out of his mind, he murmurs in a shaky tone, he can't rid himself of your influence on his artistry.

But he's so in love.

Why would he ever want to?

it's like supernatural ₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖

thank you for reading! i'm so sorry to anyone expecting me to write any other members. i'm just too addicted to writing for riki... i promise they will have their own fics soon. pls scold me if i don't churn them out... TT

[breakfastatmiles]

Your art is wonderful!!!

A constant inspiration to my own creativity and art work. Could you explain some of your art style to me? I’m interested in looking at a bunch of different ones to try and finally find one for me.

Goodnight!!🌙

Thank you so much! That means the world to me! I’d be happy to share some of my process with you 😄

Keep in mind I’m completely self-taught, so this is just the process of how I make my drawings and not any sort of professional advice 😅 apologies for the long post ahead 😪

Starting with the basics, my biggest influences are Jin Kim and Ami Thompson. Both are amazing character designers and I really admire their stylization and expressions. Whenever I feel stuck on something, I always go back to their drawings for inspiration.

I typically start in Procreate with a canvas size of 3300px x 4200px or 11” x 14” with a DPI of 300.

I put my reference in the corner of the canvas (in this case it’s a screenshot from the movie She’s the Man) and I start my rough sketch (emphasis on rough). Sketching is probably the longest part in my drawing process because I’m focusing on expression, composition, proportions, etc. This usually has about two to three passes before I move on.

Then I lower the opacity of the sketch and clean it up with some lineart on a new layer. Lineart doesn’t play a huge part in my style, but I still like to play around with line weight. Since I knew this was going to be a fully rendered piece, I didn’t spend much time on lines that I knew were going to be removed later in the process.

Underneath all of that, I use the skin tone and color the base of the character. I make sure that I color ever so slightly past the lineart, for reasons that will be important later. This part can be tedious, especially because I use a textured brush, so there are a lot of gaps that I fill in later.

Then using new layers with clipping masks, I start the flat colors. Nothing too crazy here.

I’ve made color palettes for characters and backgrounds that I typically draw, so this way it speeds up the process and maintains style consistency. If I need a color that I don’t normally use, I’ll just play around with the colors until I find something that fits well with everything else.

Next, on a multiply layer, I add some basic shading (with the skin tone color) and blush (with an orange-pink color). I also move onto the background. Some are more complex than others. If I’m going for a more cinematic look, I’ll fill the background in with some basic shapes and blur it slightly. Thankfully the background was pretty simple in this reference.

I start checking proportions now that everything has basic colors. Then I duplicate my lineart layer and change it to a pinkish-red and put it on multiply mode and turn down the opacity. This is why the base color layer needs to line up with the lineart, otherwise there’d just be gaps underneath. Instead of erasing my black lineart layer, I put a mask on it and just keep the eyes and eyebrows.

Then I start working on the shading and hair, which is an entire process in itself. Maybe I’ll make a tutorial on that one day 😅

I also use some vivid light and soft light layers and put in some subtle colors for extra pizzazz.



Then I add a hard light layer to the eyes for that glossy look and on a normal layer add some white details just to make some things pop more (like the nose, lips, eyes, sometimes hair, etc.)

I did make an eye tutorial a while back, but my process is still the same!

Lastly, I spend a lot of time playing with different blending modes (multiply, add, soft light, vivid light layers) and really focus on the lighting. I used to focus on adding a lot more details and make the coloring more realistic, but I found that the more simplistic coloring was easier for me to do and fit my style better. Sometimes I still tend to go too far with the details and realize that it looks better when I tone it down a bit.

That’s pretty much it! Let me know if you have any questions! Hope this helps. Have fun making art!

[suzdin]

Washed Up Has-Been: a Dieter Bravo one shot

Dieter Bravo x F!Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: soft!Dieter, sweet!Dieter, smut, angst, bodily insecurities, reader is plus sized but no other physical attributes are described, Dieter is a little chubby as well, mentions of drugs and alcohol, oral (m receiving), mention of sex toys, fluff? (gasp!), did I forget anything? I know next to nothing about the film industry, don’t judge me :(

Word Count: 2,800

Enjoy and feel free to reblog and comment if you wish! 💜🙂

——

Dieter Bravo had not been the same since Cliff Beasts 6.

What did they call it? Losing your spark? Your mojo? Your moxy? Whatever it was called, he’d lost it, along with his marbles… if he ever had any to begin with, and he was sure many would agree he hadn’t.

The reviews were bad, abhorrent, really. ‘Dieter Bravo as Gio Ricci baffling’, ‘Bravo couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag’, ‘I can’t believe this man has an Oscar’, ‘Did he get his Italian accent at an Olive Garden?’, on and on the critics wailed and lambasted.

He’d had a mental break shortly after the premier, firing everyone he could in his vicinity — his publicist, his hair stylist and manicurist, hell, even his agent of twenty five years. He’d hired a new one, of course, a potential script FedExed to his door that morning, fist curled and white knuckled in anger around the thick stack of papers as he perched himself like a sentient gargoyle on his couch, in the tattered clothes he’d been wearing for nearly a week.

A dad. They wanted him to play a fucking dad, some sort of buddy comedy family film opposite Dwayne Johnson, it might be a good move for your career, buddy, his agent had explained. But seriously, him? Hollywood heart throb Dieter Bravo, reduced to playing someone’s bumbling father, opposite THE FUCKING ROCK?

He couldn’t believe it.

He had put on some weight since his last film, sure, but that was no reason or excuse to allow himself to be typecasted as a dad.

Or was it the ever persistent graying in his hair and beard? The laugh lines? The crow’s feet?

‘Dieter Bravo is a washed up has-been’ the internet screamed at him daily, leading him to drown himself in an endless stream of drugs and alcohol…more so than he was already doing, anyway.

He was barely a functioning person. A husk of his former self, he could no longer get it up, unsure whether to blame the drugs or his steadily fleeting mental health, and even putting brush to canvas felt more like a chore than an escape nowadays. He’d become a hermit in his own home, the ghastly, aging 1970s mid-century horror he resided in the Hollywood Hills, that he thought was amazing when he originally bought it a decade ago.

Well, much like him, older things fall apart, and the house was a piece of shit, which was apt.

He had hired you as his assistant and he was so vague as to what that entailed that you were sort of a jack of all trades as far as helping was concerned, acting as his maid, his cook, the middle man to screen his calls, his emails, so on and so forth. Hell, you even took care of the large python he’d bought ‘because it looked cool’, that he was now too scared to touch, himself.

You did it all, and although he never properly expressed as much, he was more grateful for you than he let on.

He always found you pretty, too. Beautiful, even, and not in the fake way he’d grown used to, living in Hollywood. You were kind, sweet, and uncorrupted by a crueler world, always happy and eager to assist him with whatever he needed.

And if he was being honest with himself, the thought of you sheathed around his cock was the only thing that could even get him half hard anymore.

When you arrive for the day, you find him on his couch, glowering at what you can only assume is another bad script, graying hair disheveled and curling away from his skull, teeth gritted in disdain. A look you had come to recognize and were more than familiar with.

“Let me take that to the garbage for you,” you offer, as you normally do in these situations, stepping forward to reach for the offending script.

His eyes clock the way your breasts sway when you walk, the roundness of your belly, the plushness of your arms. He can’t help but stare; he wants to bury himself in you and stay there forever.

He swallows, moving the script away from your extended hand and tucking it behind a cushion, distracted by your body.

“No — no, it’s okay,” he replies and his voice feels like gravel in his throat, realizing he hasn’t spoken all day until now.

Although the script sucks and he doesn’t want to do it, he needs the money. “Thanks.”

You notice his eyes on you and you sit, leaving about a foot of space between you to maintain a modicum of professionalism, observing the sadness behind his dark brown eyes and knowing this has been the norm for several months now but still hating it for what it is.

“What’s on the docket for today?” you ask him and he shrugs, unhelpfully, his lips pulled into a frown, shadows staining the lines of his face. You haven’t seen him this bad in a while.

“I can… make you some hot tea?” you ask, looking down at the schedule in your lap, of which nothing is jotted down for the day.

He shakes his head, carding a hand through his hair. “No. I’m out of tea.”

You chew your lip. “Okay… well, then I guess I’m running to the store today. I have a list already, but can you think of anything else?”

Once again, he shakes his head. “No. I’ll just order it or something.”

You frown and tuck the schedule away, crossing your legs and turning to face him, contemplative.

“Then what do you want me to do today? You’re paying me to be here,” you note. “Unless you’d rather I go home.”

“No!” he damn near shouts, making you jump, and he immediately regrets his lack of impulse control. His gaze traverses your subtle cleavage and you clear your throat, heat warming your skin. “Sorry, it’s just… I don’t want to be alone right now. Can we just hang out?” he queries.

“Dieter, are you okay?” you question and he shakes his head in response.

“No.” A single word that says so much more than that. It pulls at your heart strings, seeing him like this. “I — I’m a nobody.”

“You aren’t a nobody, you’re Oscar winner Dieter fucking Bravo,” you counter, and he snorts, picking at some dry skin on his ankle.

“Yeah, Dieter fucking Bravo, the aging has-been who can’t act his way out of a paper bag,” he snorts.

“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to take away your internet access so you can’t read all the mean tweets about yourself,” you threaten.

“You wouldn’t.”

“One call to your financial advisor and I would and could,” you retort and Dieter scoffs, trying to remember if he’d fired him yet or not.

You cross your arms and flop back against the worn and flattened couch cushions, eyeing him smugly.

The movement pushes your chest up and out, his gaze on you once again and he isn’t subtle about it this time. You clear your throat and stir, staring back at his soft, plush lips.

“Dieter—“

“Come here,” he murmurs quietly and the spontaneity of it catches you off guard, your jaw hanging agape in disbelief and confusion.

“…What?”

It had been months since anyone had touched him, had wanted to touch him, and now, as he stares at your body and smells your light vanilla perfume, after the shitty week he’s had, he needs to be touched, even if only briefly.

“Come… here,” he repeats, more dogged than before, and in spite of yourself, despite how unprofessional it is, you find yourself scooting forward.

He grabs your hips when you’re within reach and drags you the rest of the way, pulling the cushion partially off the couch in the process, a small yelp of surprise escaping your lungs as he softly grips your face to bring his lips to yours.

They’re plush, dry, lightly chapped and he tastes a little like whiskey and weed, but you don’t really mind, his coarse, wiry mustache scratching and tickling against your nose.

Suddenly, with a soft groan in the back of his throat, his hand is under your shirt, cupping your breast, and you break the kiss, looking down to where his arm disappears beneath the fabric, shock settling over your features.

“Dee… are you… are you sure?” you ask. You don’t exactly look like the people Dieter had been confirmed dating in the past, and you feel a wave of trepidation, your self conscious nature bubbling to the surface. You’ve always felt Dieter Bravo was more than a little out of your league.

Not that you’re dating him, but, you know.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure,” he tuts and kisses you again, rougher this time, palming your breast, making your cunt throb.

He groans. You’re so good to him, always taking such good care of him, and you feel exactly the way he thought you would, warm and luscious and supple, his dick already fighting with the seam of his pajama pants, the first time in weeks.

And you’ve wanted this, too, as long as you’ve worked for him, never confessing your feelings for fear of losing your job. You never imagined Dieter fucking Bravo would feel the same way about you.

You know Dee needs this, you need this, and you want to make him feel good.

You brush a hand over his hardening cock and he damn near bucks himself straight off the couch with a grunt and a sharply uttered, “Fuck” against your lips. You grin into his mouth at how much composure he’s already lost from so few touches.

You pull away after a moment and scoot off the couch, sinking onto your knees in front of him, nestling yourself between his broad thighs.

He watches you, rigid cock tremoring in his pants at the sight, the outline of it clearly visible and straining against the fabric. “You… you don’t have to…” His voice is thick, haggard.

“Let me take care of you, Dee,” you mewl as you nuzzle your face against the squishy paunch of his stomach, lifting his shirt to plant small, reverent kisses in a circle around his belly button. He giggles and flinches at the contact.

“Sorry, sorry — ticklish,” he explains and you smile, placing a few more kisses there, more delicate than the ones that preceded them, trailing a line from his navel to the thick swathe of hair leading to his crotch.

Despite the pounds he’s put on recently, he doesn’t feel at all uncomfortable in front of you, eyes darkening as he drinks you in visually, lips tight and parted, breaths growing deeper in the barrel of his chest.

You look up and from your current perspective, he’s all wild haired and broad shouldered, panting, your cunt clenching with desire as you eye him with a wry grin.

You smooth his shirt down over his belly and move your face to the hard bulge below, nosing the bulk of it through the fabric and inhaling his natural scent, thick and musky and masculine in your nostrils. You both groan in unison.

“Dear god,” he grunts, “I feel like I’m about to— aaaaugh— fucking bust already.”

“Save it for my mouth, at least,” you snip and his head rolls back against the cushion at your words, the one with the sag in the middle where his neck always rests, eyes sliding shut.

“You’re so good for me,” he pants softly, already so close to falling apart, “I take you for granted and I’m sorry.”

“Dieter, shh.” You find the stretchy waistband of his striped trousers and drag them down his hips, not all surprised to see he’s gone commando, cock springing free from the cage of fabric, uncut and dribbling against the drag of soft cotton. He’s girthy, and you’ve never seen one intact in the flesh before — literally — a small puff of air escaping your lips, taking in the sight of him for a few seconds before coming to your senses.

“Is everything alr—“ he starts to ask, cutting himself off when you unexpectedly cup his heavy balls in your palm and lick a slow stripe up his length with the flat of your tongue, his hips quivering and bucking involuntarily. “Shit—“

You grin, humming satisfactorily to yourself and continue to tease him, his hands finding your hair, fingers twisting at the roots as the rings he insists on wearing get caught in the strands, pulling ever so slightly. You moan.

You feel incredible, your tongue working his most sensitive areas, and he’s having a hard time holding it together, torso heaving above you, tiny whimpers departing his lips, and he hasn’t even entered your mouth yet.

You sense how much trouble he’s having at keeping himself in check, so you back off a touch to give him a momentary reprieve, shifting to kiss along the meat of his inner thighs, nipping at the tiny elephant tattoos etched into his skin as you do so.

He cups one hand on the back of your neck, watching you through half-lidded eyes, your lips like pure velvet and heaven.

He’s already forgotten about the shitty script tucked into the couch, about the bad reviews and the critics with their cruel, baseless quips. Faded away to nothingness, akin to what he experiences when he’s completely blitzed, negative thoughts dissolving to the back of his mind to be discarded, and for now, for the moment, the only thing that matters is you, your beauty, and how well you take care of him.

After what seems like an eternity of small, worshipping, teasing touches to the insides of his thighs and the rim of his belly, your lips return to his cock, lapping at the precum that’s beaded up at the slit before taking him into your mouth, hand fisted at the base as you work him into your throat.

He’s impervious at this point to keep his hips flush against the couch, shuddering into your mouth as you take him and pushing further down your throat, not entirely on purpose, moaning as the wet heat of your mouth engulfs him.

“Wanna— fuck your pussy next time— with a vibrating plug in your ass,” he grunts, hardly able to string a single cohesive thought together, making your cunt throb and slick leak into the cradle of your panties.

Dieter wasn’t one to shy away from toys, and in fact had an entire drawer full of them, which you had accidentally stumbled upon one day when putting away some of his clothes; everything from butt plugs to cock rings to flesh lights with multiple attachments and bondage gear.

You steady his hips with your hands and hold him in place as best you can, difficult with how much stronger he is than you, jaw stretching to fit him, the musky tang of him flooding your tastebuds.

You steadily rock your head up and down his length, taking him all the way to the back of your throat, and you can feel the veins running the length of his shaft pulsating against your tongue, feel the way his balls tighten as he edges ever closer to the precipice.

He’s wanted you, needed you, for so long, that he can’t contain himself much longer. His hips begin to stutter and you feel his body growing taut, hear his breaths growing shallow and haggard, fingers curling against your scalp.

“I’m… I’m gonna… fucking cum,” he grunts deep in his chest. That’s all the warning he allows before his hips stall and he lets out a visceral growl of pleasure, spilling a hot and heavy load across your tongue, some of it seeping out at the edges and dribbling down his thighs until you’re able to steady yourself.

You hold him in your mouth until you feel the very last drop hit the back of your throat, slowly pulling off only when you feel him starting to go soft.

“You should really clean up this awful mess you’ve made,” Dieter taunts when you sit back to catch your breath, watching the cocktail of spend and saliva slide down his tan skin.

You grin and tip your head forward to obediently lap at the escaped fluids. He groans as he savors the delicious sight of you, affectionately brushing his fingers through your hair as you do so.

After a moment, you rise from the ground, your knees cracking from the exertion, joining him on the couch as he tugs his pajama bottoms back up his hips.

He snakes an arm around the small of your back and kisses you, deep and full, moaning when he tastes remnants of himself on your tongue.

He grins against your lips and then rises, yanking you off the couch and giggling along with you when you pass him a perplexed look.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, pleased to see him happy and relaxed again after all this time, to actually see him smiling.

“You took care of me, so I’m going to take care of you. You’re familiar with my special drawer, aren’t you?”

—

FIN. xx

[foreludes]

Blood on the Side of the Mountain

pairing: young!coriolanus x reader

summary: coriolanus snow, a man known for his charm, his wit, and his passion for power, meets a talented artist in the capitol. she spends most of her days painting portraits for prominent figures and finds herself painting one for none other than coriolanus snow himself. through all the ups and downs, will coriolanus and the artist be able to defy all odds? or is this so-called love merely another version of control and a means to a devastating ending?

word count: 1,806

chapter 1: blood on the side of the mountain

Elitism has always been a terrible thing, but it pays well. At least that's what you told yourself whenever you got hired to paint portraits for the most prominent figures in Panem. It wasn't always easy living in the Capitol, especially when your wages depended on your customers. If someone didn't like your painting, they simply didn't pay. And that's how it had been for years. You painted, people looked at it and then decided if it was good enough. It was an endless cycle of not knowing whether you'd be able to afford rent that week. But, it was better than living in the districts.

It was an early morning when you received a phone call from an unknown individual. At first, it sounded like a prank and you almost hung up. "President Snow is requesting that you paint his portrait," the monotone voice said at the other end of the line. Your heart stopped. President Snow? The most powerful and prominent figure in Panem? You were definitely going to be able to afford rent for a while. "Um y-yeah, I could do that," you stuttered as you shuffled around your small and stuffy apartment for a pen and a piece of paper. "When?" You asked as you finally found what you needed. "Do you have time for this afternoon?" Shit, you thought to yourself. You had other clients, people that needed you. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make some real money, one that you couldn't deny. "Yes, I'll be there." The person at the other end of the line swiftly hung up after giving you details about a specific time, what President Snow wanted for his portrait, and where to enter the President's mansion. You couldn't believe this was real.

Now don't get me wrong, you weren't the biggest fan of President Snow. He had a reputation, one that said he was cunning, cold, and hungry for power. You believed that he cared about the people in the Capitol, but you knew that care didn't go past the boundaries of District One and beyond. At least that's what you were told. One of your friends had been in the academy with him. She had said he was determined and motivated, but heartless behind the eyes. He would do anything to get what he wants.

You gathered your paints, making sure the edges of the pans were clean. You turned to your left and looked at the mess of brushes that were splattered all over your floor. You hastily picked them up, washing them off in a small bowl of water that was sitting on your desk. You didn't usually pay much mind to what your paint set and brushes looked like, but this was the President, someone you wanted to impress.

Rescheduling your afternoon appointments was rough. You figured people were going to be upset. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You had now gathered all your belongings in a medium-sized burlap bag. You had plenty of extra canvas left over that would suit the portrait President Snow was asking for, so you picked one out and began your trip out of your apartment. You closed the door and struggled to lock it behind you. You didn't have the nicest apartment in Capitol, that's for sure. But it was enough. You couldn't really complain either, this was the life of an artist, this was the life you had always wanted.

The President's Mansion was one of the most elegant places you had ever seen. The yard was well maintained, as you expected, but it was like nothing you'd ever seen before. You followed the instructions that you had written down on the notepad that was given to you on the phone and walked towards the entrance. A staff member was waiting at the door for you, it seemed like everyone was always at the right place at the right time. You smiled anxiously and said, "I'm here to paint President Snow's portrait." Fuck, I probably sounded so stupid when I said that. Of course, they know I'm here to do that you thought to yourself as you looked down at the canvas that was shoved between the crease in your arm. "Yes, we've been expecting you," the staff member retorted as she opened the door revealing the inner workings of the magnificent mansion. You stepped inside, feeling out of place. You had been in some nice places before because your job took you there, but nothing like this.

The staff member led you to a room further down the hallway in the mansion. The hallways were dimly lit with tasteful light fixtures, ones that you probably would've picked out yourself if you had a place like this. The woman opened the door and stepped aside, allowing you to enter the room first. "You can set up over there," she said as she gestured towards a chair at the far end of the room. You nodded and began to walk towards the chair that had been set up for you. "President Snow will be in shortly." The door closed loudly, causing you to jump a little bit. You were on edge, this whole experience was nerve-racking. What was President Snow really like? Was he like everyone said he was? Was he going to intimidate you? You placed your bag on the ground, pulled your foldable easel out, and placed it in front of the chair. You began to set everything up.

It had been about ten minutes since the woman who had let you into the mansion had left the room. You were too nervous to sit down, yet too nervous to pace. So you just stood there, waiting for something to happen. About five minutes later, the door opened. A man, a little over six feet tall, with platinum hair entered the room. His eyes, even from across the room were pools of blue that you had probably only seen one other time in your entire life. He walked with confidence, the confidence of a man who had power. You knew this to be, President Snow.

"Are you going to shake my hand?" You hadn't realized you had just been standing there the entire time, staring. The deep voice caused you to refocus as you looked up at the man you had been admiring just moments before. It was hard not to admire such an esteemed individual, especially an attractive one. "Oh yes, my apologies," you said as you reached out your hand it meet his. His. handshake was firm, his hands were soft and warm. "My apologies President Snow," you said once again as your hand left his. "Call me Coriolanus, y/n," he said as he walked across the room to sit down on the couch that was perfectly placed in front of your easel. Coriolanus, you thought to yourself, the name fits perfectly. And he knew your name too, of course he did. He hired you.

You had been painting for some time now and the sun was beginning to set, meaning that the light you had been using for your portrait was no longer pouring in through the windows like it had been before. Pres- Coriolanus had been silent the entire time you had been painting. It was intimidating. He sat still, only blinked when he had to, and never moved a muscle. He was the perfect person to paint. Most people you painted complained about having to stay in one spot for so long, but Coriolanus never did. It seemed like he might be someone who appreciated the arts and knew that in order for you to finish, there couldn't be any obstacles. The last bit of light left the room until all that was left was the light from the light fixtures you had admired before.

"Okay," you said as you dipped your paintbrush into the water bowl you had brought. "We'll have to continue tomorrow when the natural light is back." Coriolanus nodded his head and stretched out his arms. The fabric of his button-down tightened around his muscles as he did so, allowing you to see the curvature of his figure. You stood up and turned around and began to put away your paints when you felt a hand on the small of your back. Your entire body froze at this moment, a shiver running up your spine. "The painting," he said slowly as he looked at the canvas, "it's good." You let out a sigh of relief as his hand removed itself from your back. "It's not finished yet," you said as you stood up to look at the man who was inflicting you with so many emotions. You really never allowed people to see your work before it was done, but who were you to deny the President of Panem that right? "I'll be pleased to see it when it's done," he responded as he began to walk towards the door. "I'll have my staff walk you to the door and I'll see you in the morning." And with that, he exited the room, leaving you with so many thoughts.

After leaving the mansion, you could finally breathe again. It was as though you hadn't breathed the entire time you were painting. This feeling made you exhausted, it made you feel all kinds of things. A part of you was excited to go back in the morning, to analyze the almost mysterious man that was the President.

In the morning, you made your way back to the mansion. It was the same routine as before, but this time with a different staff member. You sat down this time to wait for Coriolanus to come into the room. And when he did, you stood up to greet him. The morning sun cast a beautiful shadow of curly blonde hair across his forehead, his tired eyes meeting yours as he sat down on the couch after the greeting. "There's something about you," he finally said as you began to lay your paints out in front of you. "How do you mean?" You asked raising your eyebrow slightly. "You're quiet, you hold yourself with care, I like that," he responded. You felt a warmness enter your body, a sense of validation. He had complimented you. "Thank you," you said as you sat down on the same chair you had sat in for hours the day before.

After a couple of hours, you were nearly done with the painting. A twinge of sadness entered your body. You liked the time you spent at the mansion. It was more peaceful than your apartment, it felt distinguished, and you liked that. "Would you accompany me to lunch?" Coriolanus suddenly asked as you prepared yourself to take a short break from painting.

Now why would the President ever ask you to lunch?

Hi! This is the first thing I've written in a long time but I was just feeling inspired by the new movie. I'd like to continue this series and make longer chapters, but I wanted to see if anyone was interested in the plot. If so, I'll write a much longer chapter 2. I feel like this chapter is a little bit slow because it's just the beginning of what could be a wild series. If you've gotten this far thank you for reading! Chapter 2, if wanted, will be even better.

Edit: Chapter 2 coming out 12/03/23 thanks for all the support!

[bcacstuff]

STELLA MCCARTNEY dress and GIVENCHY boots.

There’s something about Izzy Meikle-Small. It’s not just the delicate cheekbones or the quintessential Englishness that makes her a favorite for period dramas. It’s not even her enviable resume which includes her stepping into the shoes of some of the UK’s most luminous stars. No, there’s a quiet but resolute determination to claim her own narrative—shadowy beginnings, a taste for the unconventional, and a new era of artistic self-possession.

For years, Meikle-Small was cinema’s favorite time machine—a younger Carey Mulligan, a pint-sized Vanessa Kirby, a teenage Charlize Theron. Yet, there’s something deliciously ironic in her being cast as the precursor to these screen giants. “I don’t really look like any of them, but I’ll take it!” she laughs. “It was amazing to learn from them.” For a young actor finding her footing, the sets of those films were both playground and classroom. “Being on set as a kid can be really intimidating,” she admits, “but all three of them made an effort to make me feel really comfortable.”

Indeed, while her face was a canvas onto which casting directors mapped their favorite leads, Meikle-Small was watching, learning, absorbing. Working alongside the likes of Mulligan and Kirby wasn’t just a brush with greatness—it was a kind of mentorship. “We would have big conversations about the characters and the plot, and that helped me understand their process, which therefore informed my own and taught me how successful actors created their characters. I really appreciate the time that they took with me because it really helped shape my view of the industry and what it means to be an actor and a filmmaker.”

SACAI jacket and shirt.

Meikle-Small is no longer standing in someone else’s light. With her role as Rachel Hunter in season seven part two of runaway success historical drama series, Outlander (streaming now on MGM+ in the UK and Starz in the US) she’s stepping out of the shadows and into her own spotlight. “I’ve never joined a show which had such a pre-existing fan base,” she says. The Outlander fandom is nothing if not passionate, and Meikle-Small knows she’s shouldering the expectations of readers who’ve cherished Rachel on the page.

“Rachel is so sweet and pious and all of these things. She’s sassy, but she’s a really kind person, which is lovely to play, but I’d love to play someone with maybe a bit more edge. Maybe somebody in comedy could be fun, or something modern, where I could wear jeans,” she laughs. That’s not to say she doesn’t appreciate the role’s intricacies. “Rachel wears a bonnet, and that’s a lot to do with her religion but also feeling bound in. Doing period dramas, I feel like the history informs your character, and with Rachel being a Quaker living in the 1700s, all of these layers of history do add to your character.”

SACAI jacket, shirt, and boots.

And the audience reception has been equally rewarding. “The Outlander audience connects so deeply with every episode, and they’ve really welcomed me in with very open arms,” she says earnestly. “I was worried that people might not love me as [Rachel] as much as I would want them to.” For someone who spent her youth in roles that were more scaffolding than centerpiece, this level of engagement is a revelation. “When I was younger, I didn’t have a fan base in the same way. Because I was a kid, my exposure was different. Coming and doing this now is such a blessing.”

If Outlander marks Meikle-Small’s coronation, her ambitions reach well beyond bonnets and bodices. “I would love to do an indie British film,” she says. “In the last few years, we’ve seen some amazing films coming out of the UK. I think the new year will bring new freedom. I just started auditioning, so we’ll see what happens.”

This isn’t her first time coming out of the shadows and shaping her own destiny. “I got my first job at nine and my first movie at 13. By 18 or 19, I’d missed a lot of school. It got to the point where I was like, ‘What if I just went away, lived my life for a few years, was able to kind of grow up and mature physically but also mentally, and have some life experience?’”

UNDERCOVER dress.

She’s also drawn to the unexpected. “Genre isn’t really that important to me. There are genres that I prefer to watch as a viewer, but in terms of acting, I always want to do something different. I tend to be cast a lot in period dramas, and I think I just look very English, and that’s why that happens,” she chuckles at the inevitability of it all. “If I haven’t done a genre before, I’m more likely to be drawn towards it because it’s something that I’ve not done yet.”

For example, Meikle-Small is a dark comedy-fan, and since she specialized in medieval dark comedy in school, she’s grown incredibly fond of them. “I think that probably is one of my favorite genres to watch,” Meikle-Small admits. “It’s funny, but also it really normally packs a bit of a sucker punch message. It’s a clever way of concealing the emotional message to make it more palatable.”

While at university, Meikle-Small fell in love with producing, a role that seems perfectly suited to her thoughtful and measured approach. “I tend to work with a lot of writers who were actors who’ve turned to writing,” she says. “Because I am also an actor, they trust that I will understand and can see their point of view and that I can lead them behind the camera in a way that they’ll understand.”

If there’s one thread tying together Meikle-Small’s eclectic pursuits, it’s her deep love of stories. “I definitely would say I am a book lover,” she says, noting her background in English literature. “Doing period dramas feels natural because I love adaptations. It’s kind of my niche.” But she’s not content to simply bring existing narratives to life—she’s crafting her own.

UNDERCOVER dress and shoes.

“I have started writing, which feels a little bit scary,” she reveals. “There’s a short that I co-wrote with my friend—it’s not ready at all, but there’s something really interesting in the idea. There’s also a book that I’m trying to adapt to be a film screenplay.” For someone who has spent years embodying other people’s characters, the act of writing is an exercise in autonomy. “Whenever I’m writing things, I’m imagining myself playing the character that I would like to play, which always makes it more fun.” 

Her dream? To merge her passions into one cohesive whole. “The aim is to kind of get bigger and welcome bigger things. My absolute dream would be to act in something that I’m also producing and be able to have a kind of creative say in front of and behind the camera, especially on Outlander like watching Caitríona [Balfe] and Sam [Heughan] do that with such grace. It feels more tangible now, and I think I’d have less imposter syndrome.”

As Meikle-Small looks ahead, she’s taking stock of what she’s achieved and where she wants to go. This self-assurance radiates in her ambitions. Whether it’s an indie film, a dark comedy, or something completely different, Meikle-Small is ready to embrace whatever comes next. Izzy Meikle-Small is no shadow; she’s the whole picture.

All seasons of Outlander, including 7 Part 2, are available to stream on MGM+ in the UK and Starz in the US now. 

UNDERCOVER dress and shoes and JAEGER-LECOULTRE watch.

Photographed by Lee Malone

Styled by Karen Clarkson at The Wall Group

Written by Lily Brown

Hair: Grace Hatcher using Sam McKnight

Makeup: Irina Cajvaneanu at Caren using Lisa Eldridge Beauty 

Stylist Assistant : Maïlys Pereira

[theslut4smut]

𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗿𝘁 | 𝗵𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻

𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗿𝘆: fluff & smut

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: hyunjin uses his wonderful artistic skills to make his sweet y/n realize how beautiful her body is when she becomes ridden with insecurity

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4.5k

𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀: afab reader, curvy/heavier/plus sized reader, insecure reader, sub!reader, i don’t even wanna say softdom!hyunjin… he’s just the sweetest and mushiest little gumdrop that is trying to make you smile and cum simultaneously, terms of endearment, lots of “i love you” ’s, some tears, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, sweet ol’ missionary 🥹, USES YOU LIKE A CANVAS!!!

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: this was requested!! to the sweet little baby anony that requested this, i hope you don’t mind that i added more of an overall body insecurity. of course i will still mention hyunjin loving that big ol’ booty like you asked, but i felt the story would be too short with just that.

i’m a chubby fat girl myself, so this should be ✨ healing ✨

also!

my second hyunjin story! and it’s another insecurity reassurance one 🥺🤧

_____________________________________

you peek into the somewhat messy room. canvases of different sizes leaned against the walls, used paintbrushes in tubs of water, tubes and buckets of paints scattered along the floor.

hyunjin’s safe space.

the room he’d go to when he felt overwhelmed or stressed, excited, inspired.

you look over to him sitting in his chair in front of a large canvas, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he twists and twirls the brush in between his fingertips.

he was so handsome like this.

you make your way over to him and hold up the bowl of fruit you had prepared for him in his line of sight.

he snaps out of his focused state. “ah.” he says, smiling excitedly before putting the brush down.

he places an orange slice into his mouth, closing his eyes and letting out a hum of approval. “fruit is always so much better when you give it to me.”

you laugh softly. “all i do is cut it.”

“mm, well you’re a great cutter.”

you give him a playful eyeroll before turning to look at the progress of his creation that only had a few strokes near the bottom.

“what is it gonna be?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

he takes the bowl from your hands and sets it on the desk in front of him. “a surprise for you.”

you look at him with wide and sparkling eyes. “for me?”

“don’t act like i haven’t made you hundreds of them already.” he says, laughing softly as he wiped his brush on a stained cloth.

“i know.” you start, turning back to the painting. “but it makes me feel so special every time.”

he places a hand on your bottom, rubbing his palm on it in circles. “you are special.”

you feel your body stiffen as he continues to touch you. as much as you loved hyunjin’s affection, you had been struggling with insecurity for the past couple of weeks and it was causing you to not want to be felt or even perceived by him.

of course he had respected the lack of intimacy the two of you had shared in recent time, not questioning the excuses you had when you stopped moments that were becoming intense.

it made you feel miserable. not allowing yourself to kiss, caress or savor hyunjin the way you so desperately craved.

hiding yourself behind baggy clothing of either yours or his just to not be seen. eating only enough to survive instead of what was satisfying.

you knew that you didn’t have to hide yourself away like this. being a larger girl was something you were always self conscious about.

and despite those insecurities, hyunjin did nothing but show love and admiration for them.

you were one thousand percent certain that you were loved and that he would never see you the way you see yourself, but it was just too hard to fully accept.

you reach around to his hand that was still playing with your bottom and interlock your fingers with his, pulling it up to kiss his knuckles.

he closes his eyes and smiles at you.

“i’m only allowing you in here because you can’t tell what it is yet.” he says.

you giggle.

he grabs you by the waist and turns you around to look at him.

he pats his thigh as he looks up at you. “c’mere, baby.” he says softly.

“no, it’s okay.” you say, rubbing your lips together as you try to keep your composure.

he shakes his head as he furrows his brows. “you love to sit on my lap while i paint.”

you begin to pick and pull at your fingers as you think of excuses.

“i can’t watch you, it’s a surprise.” you stammer.

he sighs with a laugh as he shakes his head again, grabbing your hand. “i’m just placing the base color today. you won’t be able to tell.”

he begins to pull you into him, puckering his lips to kiss you.

“i-i don’t even wanna see that.” you dig your heels into the groan.

“angel, it’s fine.” he says, using more of his strength to bring you closer.

“hyunjin, please!”

he immediately stops, giving you a concerned look.

“i’m not sitting on you, hyunjin. i cannot sit on you.” you exhale deeply as you place your hair behind your ears and cross your arms over your chest.

he lets go of you, placing both hands on his knees. “you don’t want to or you can’t?”

you close your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. “i… can’t.”

he leans closer, poking his cheek with his tongue. “and why can’t you?”

“i’m… ”

“you’ll hurt me because you’re too heavy?”

you bite the inside of your cheek.

he sighs as he rubs his temples and closes his eyes. “god, y/n.”

he shakes his head as he looks around the room.

“what have i told you? what have i done to ever make you feel like you’re not able to relax and accept yourself?”

“it’s not anything you did, hyunjin.” you say softly.

he stands up and pulls you into him, caressing your hair as you lay against his chest. “i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

you move your head, your chin pressing into him as you look up into his eyes.

“i think you’re so perfect. inside and out.”

you smile sweetly as he continues.

“everything about you, i adore. your smile, your laugh, your voice, the way you hold me.” he kisses your forehead softly. “i don’t care what you think, your body is gorgeous. desirable. it’s beautiful because it belongs to you. and anything that has to do with you is everything i’ll ever want.”

you close your eyes as you shake your head slightly.

“yes.” he says, holding your face with his hands. “you don’t have to believe me for it to be true.”

“i know you mean it, but it’s been so hard.” your voice cracks slightly.

“baby.” he wraps his arms tighter around you as he places kisses into your hair.

you squeeze onto him desperately, feeling as if you hadn't experienced the sensation of his body on yours in ages.

all of the horrible and intrusive thoughts that had been clouding your mind for the last several days were finally silent as he held you in his embrace.

there was no need to ever feel insecure with a lover like hyunjin, but it was so difficult sometimes. it was clear he meant all of the praises he gave you. whether it be for your looks or what made you you. quirks, traits, habits.

you felt guilty for it not even being that serious. you were confident in who you were. you were never one to make jabs at yourself or feel incompetent. you gave yourself grace for making mistakes and congratulated yourself when you accomplished a task.

it was purely physical. you hated the way you looked.

life would just be so much easier in a smaller body.

and you knew how much that upset hyunjin too. he always talked about how cheap it was to value or prioritize appearance over well being and personality.

looks alter and change as time goes on, and it's such a waste of time to spend the years of your life that are filled with the most freedom and opportunity worried about whether or not people find you attractive.

you knew it wasn't important, but there was also a part of your mind that couldn't accept that it was okay to not stress about what size you were or the number on the scale.

you were always so close, yet so far.

the hardest part had to be the lack of intimacy. you wanted to throw all of your cares away and just let hyunjin have you the way he wanted, but something always held you back.

you missed his touch, the way he smelled, the feeling of the two of you becoming one.

you couldn't bare to go a second longer without him.

"hyunjin." you huff breathlessly as you dig your nails into the grey sweatshirt he was wearing.

he pulls away and looks down into your pleading eyes staring back up at him.

he places your hair behind your ears before pulling you in with his hand placed on the back of your head, ghosting his lips over yours. "can i take care of you, baby? i just want to make you feel better."

you let out a soft whine as you nod slightly.

he grabs your hand and pulls you beside him as he clears the tools and brushes from his desk.

he turns back to you and places his hands on either side of you, causing you to hold your breathe.

he notices, letting out a small sigh. "i can lift you, angel. you don't need to be scared."

you release a shaky breath as you looked down at your feet.

he redirects your gaze back onto him, cocking an eyebrow. "may i please?"

you fold your lips in before exhaling through your nose and nodding.

he smiles happily, lifting you up from the floor. you can feel your heart rate quicken as you watch his toned arms flex. it had been too long without him.

he places you onto the now clear surface, running a hand down your clothed body.

even with the barrier between the two of you, you could feel the jolts of electricity run through you.

you let out a soft moan.

he chuckles softly, pecking your lips. "can i take off a few layers, princess?"

you squeeze your eyes shut tightly as you nod.

"awe." he laughs an empathetic laugh as he caresses the side of your face. "it"s been so long, hasn't it, baby?"

"yes." you whine.

he begins to undress you, maintaining eye contact as he does.

"is this why you've been avoiding our special time?" he asks, rubbing his hand over your soft skin.

you nod as you pout.

"oh, baby." he coos. "i'm so sorry i didn't bring it up. i just assumed you wanted your space."

he stops inches away from your lips. you feel his breath fan against your face. "let me make it up to you."

before you can respond, his lips are on yours.

you sigh into the kiss as he gently pushes you to lay on your back.

the cool surface against your bare skin makes you hiss slightly, but you’re too distracted to pay that much attention to it.

he remains standing as he continues to make out with your soft and lust swollen lips.

“i missed you, my baby.” he says in between the smacking of your two mouths.

you let out a soft whine. “missed you.”

he giggles that cute giggle of his at how worked up you are just over kissing. it's been some time since the two of you had shared a moment like this.

he pulls away to admire you. the way your soft and supple skin glowed under the gentle morning sun that spilled in through the open window. stray pieces of hair that framed your red and pleasure covered face beautifully.

"hyunjin." you say, soft and needy. "i don't want all of the build up right now. i need you so bad."

he laughs through his nose before leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. "i never want to deprive you, angel. just let me savor and take my time with you the way you deserve."

you let out a whine as you close your eyes and squeeze your thighs shut.

"you're just so... breathtaking." he says.

you keep your eyes shut as he continues on, trying to calm down as you feel yourself become more and more aroused.

"all of the art i’ve seen in my life, whether it be mine or someone else's. it could never, ever compare to you, my love."

"hyunjin-"

"ah." he stops you with a finger against your lips. "i wont argue with you. you cannot change the way i feel."

you can hear him shuffle through something on his desk before he begins to speak again.

"i've tried to encapsulate your beauty so many times before, but it simply cannot be replicated. no one could create your perfection on a canvas."

he's silent for a few moments before you feel cold paint touch the surface of your skin.

you gasp sharply as your eyes snap open.

"shh." he coos, using your chin to pull you in for a kiss. "i can't show how beautiful you are through a painting, so let me try it this way instead."

he leans down to kiss your exposed tummy, causing you to slightly push his head away.

his big brown eyes look up into yours.

“y/n, let me be creative with your body. have you see it the way i do. there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

he uses the pads of his fingers to gently outline the shape of your curves with the light pink shade, his eyes sparkling with love and admiration as he did.

“look at how beautiful this is, my love. the way you were created.”

you glance down yourself. even though it was nothing but simple tracing, he always managed to make things look so good. whether it was a sneaky doodle of you on a coffee shop napkin or a quick sketch of the sunset on the horizon, it was never sloppy.

“i love how full and soft you are, baby.” he starts, moving his fingers up to one of your nipples and swirling the paint, causing you to slightly twitch and sigh. “sensitive, too.”

he gently places his hands on both of your knees before spreading your legs and slightly lifting them to your chest.

you make an uncomfortable noise before turning your head away.

“what is it, my love?”

“i don’t like that.” you say softly with a slight crack in your voice.

“don’t like what?” he leans into you as he places a strand of hair behind your ear, observing your upset expression.

“the way my stomach does that.”

he furrows his brows before pulling away and looking down at your tummy. he places his hand on it before looking back up to you.

“the way it doubles into rolls, i- i hate that.”

“my tummy would do this too if i were in the same position as you.”

“hyunjin, that’s not the same. yours is not nearly as big as mine.”

he blinks at you without saying a word before dipping into more paint, swirling colors near your lower tummy and thighs.

you whine again.

“your skin being able to stretch and move to accommodate your needs is a blessing, angel. not something to feel distain towards.”

he begins to trace tulips and dandelions on your left thigh while gently kneading your right.

you huff and sigh as he does, not being able to handle his close proximity to your most aching part.

“i love the way your tummy folds like that.” he says, looking up from his doodles on your skin, cocking a single brow. “it reminds me of how good and spread i have you for me.”

your chest begins to rise up and down quickly at his words, causing you to grab onto his arm in desperation of some sort of stimulation.

he smirks proudly to himself, knowing the effect he has on you. “and these thighs.” he leans down to gently peck the soft and plush skin, making sure not to smudge the fresh designs. “thick and enticing. the way they force me in between them once you can’t take anymore.”

you gasp as you begin to squirm.

“yeah, pretty girl? you love suffocating me with these when i’m making you shake and cry, don’t you? the way i dig my fingers into them as you press into me harder and harder? completely disregarding my oxygen intake as i devour you. feeling you just let go. twitching and spasming all over my tongue. you love that, huh, my angel?”

“h-hyunjin.”

“shh.” he coos, leaning down and brushing his lips delicately against yours. “you have to stay calm for me, baby. we haven’t even started yet.”

he pulls away from you before resuming his previous actions.

“you just get so excited, huh?“ he begins to trace his fingers closer and closer to your heat, but never to the exact spot you needed him.

you nod quickly, letting out a huff.

“but so patient, too.”

you open your mouth to plead, only to be cut off by the feeling of his breath ghosting over your swollen bud.

he looks up from your slick and eager heat with a deep desire in his eyes, his pupils slightly blown out.

“why don’t you do that thing that i love so much, hmm? just crush me in between them. show me how you’re able to let go for me.”

you gasp as you feel yourself beginning to pulse and contract on nothing.

“can you do that for me, pretty baby?”

“y-yes.” you whine breathlessly.

without another word, his lips connect themselves onto your sensitive clit, causing you to squeal as lapped up the juices you were already starting to secrete.

his fingers quickly find their way inside of you.

you let out a short and quick squeak as he pumps them in and out of you rapidly.

“oh-“ you grab onto his wrist, the sensation already being too much.

“pretty girl.” he says breathlessly against your skin as he continues to split you open on the two digits while simultaneously sucking onto your mound. “taking my fingers so well.”

you clench around him as you begin to feel the knot in your lower tummy form.

god, it’s really been far too long.

he can feel how close you’re becoming as his eyes pierce into yours.

he quickens the pace.

small trickles of your arousal begin to fly and shoot out of you before you’re full on squirting into his large hand.

“that’s it, baby. mix those colors for me.”

your hand quickly covers your face as it burns red, feeling humiliated at just how fast you came undone.

and just as he wished, your thighs slam into either side of his head with a thud, causing a muffled moan of his to vibrate throughout your core.

cries and moans of his name fall past your lips as he helps you through your intense orgasm, rubbing your thigh reassuringly as he did.

your legs twitch and shake as he continues.

a warm and soft kiss from his full and pouty lips grounds you a bit as your climax reaches its end.

you didn’t even realize he was no longer buried face first into your needy cunt.

you let out an exhausted sigh.

he disconnects from the kiss and pulls his dripping fingers out of you before rubbing the mess you made for him all over your body, swirling the lilac and mint green paint from the lower half of you in a beautiful way.

you look up to the ceiling while you regulate your rapid breathing as he begins to open another can of paint.

he whistles a tune to himself as he dips into the pale yellow, allowing you the time to become fully present for him again.

your head feels fuzzy and filled with love as it all sets in for you.

it’s been so long without hyunjin and the pleasure he’s able to bring you.

he was always so patient and delicate with you. like you were his little flower to nurture and protect.

you feel tears already beginning to prickle at your lash line.

he walks over to you with a sweet smile as he continued to stir the fresh paint with his finger.

“you back, baby?” he asks sweetly, his voice filled with tenderness and warmth.

you hum in response, still not being able to form words yet.

he sets the paint down and leans in to peck your forehead.

you grab onto his sweatshirt, letting out a whine.

he chuckles under his breath before softly caressing the outer part of your ear with his thumb. “you want me to take it off?”

“mhm.” you tug at his collar as you try to pull yourself closer to him.

he obliges, pulling the puffy top over his head and leaning back into you.

you take your turn to show hyunjin how you feel through art, dipping into the paint and tracing small hearts along his abdomen.

he smiles at you endearingly as he hums happily, rubbing his knuckles along the sides of your waist and hips.

he re-coats the now dry paint, using his long and slender fingers to stain the surface of your skin, twisting left, right, up and down to make different shapes and patterns.

“this color reminds me of the light you bring into my life. like my eternal sunshine even on the cloudiest of days.”

you bite your lip, once again feeling the overwhelming bubble of emotions trying to fight their way out.

his praise was never anything surface level and simple such as: “you’re beautiful” or “you make me happy.” it was always so much deeper and more passionate.

“when i see you, it’s like there’s no such thing as pain or heartache. nothing could ever phase me with you in my presence.” he says, taking his non-paint covered hand to stroke your cheek softly.

you sniffle a little as you place both hands on either side of his face and pull him in, noses touching.

“you know that, don’t you? how much you mean to me?” he asks.

you bite your lip as you try to suppress an upcoming cry, nodding your head. “yes.”

he places his hands on both of your hips before turning your body to face him as he stood before you.

“don’t ever think you have to deprive yourself from me. i will always be here to reassure you. in any way, my love. with my words, paintings, my tongue, fingers.”

you shiver as he whispers against your neck.

you pull him into a kiss by his hair.

“love you, hyunjin.” you stop to let out a soft and needy moan as he nibbles at your jawline. “i love you so much.”

he lifts his hips up before finally entering you, causing you to throw your head back as you let out a long and high pitched moan, your fingers turning white as you grab onto his torso.

“look at me, baby.” he says softly, pulling your head back up.

he exhales deeply before pressing his forehead onto yours, pounding into you harder and filling the room with the sound of your two bodies becoming one.

“take me, take me, take me.” he says, breathing heavily as he devoured you with his eyes.

“oh- oh my god.” you dig your nails into the flesh of his back desperately, wishing you could be even closer to him than you are right now.

“mhm.” he groans, grabbing onto your face as he kisses you, smearing paint onto your skin.

“you’re so beautiful, angel. so perfect. you were created so divinely and with such grace. i’ll never stop thanking every star that you’re mine. all mine, my baby.”

you begin to flutter and pulse around him, gasping as you arch your back. “hyunjin!” you whine.

“give it to me, baby. you’re so gorgeous when you come undone for me.” his voice becomes more desperate and filled with whimpers as his thrusts begin to falter and lose precision.

the two of you hold onto each others faces as you both unravel onto and into one another, moaning loudly as you reach your peaks together.

“ah! i love you, i love you, i love you.” he says through gritted teeth, fingers bruising your skin as he fucks in and out of you.

you stop fighting back the tears that so desperately want to escape and allow yourself to cry softly as you lay your head against his shoulder, slightly twitching as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

he exhales deeply once he’s finished, lifting your head up to meet his gaze as he smiles at you.

your face is pink and stained with a few blots of mascara, hair slightly untamed. but to hyunjin, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“you did such a good job, angel.” he says, caressing your cheek tenderly, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb.

you smile as you bat your sleepy lashes up at him.

he changes both of your positions, switching the two of you to lay on your sides as you spoon each other.

“thank you.” you say softly to him.

he runs a finger from your forehead, to your nose, over your lips, down to your chin before tilting his head to the side. “you don’t need to thank me, baby. i’ll always be here to help you see the beauty in you that i do. i promise.”

your face turns a light shade of pink as you look down. he lifts it back up, smiling that precious squinty smile of his before kissing your lips soft and delicately.

“let’s just stay like this for a little while.” he says, closing his eyes as he rests his chin on top of your head, pulling you in closer.

“hyunjin, i’m not napping on your art desk.” you say, pushing yourself away from him and giving him a sassy look.

he groans dramatically, throwing his head back. “i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

you giggle softly as you get up from the desk, looking down at your bottom with a sigh. “ugh, it’s so big, hyunjin.” you say, shaking your head.

“hmm. let me see, baby.” he says, giving you a concentrated and serious expression as you turn around for him.

he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, causing you to look back at him. “what is the point of- ow!”

you spin around, rubbing the cheek of yours that was stinging with burn of his slap. you feel something wet on your hand, realizing that it was paint.

you gasp. “did you just put paint on my butt?!” you try to hold back your laughter, wanting to seem upset with him.

“that’s what you get for speaking poorly about your body.” he says, wiping his paint covered hand.

you cross your arms and pout up at him, causing him to sigh and pull you in for a hug.

“i’m sorry, baby. i’m just teasing. but i meant what i said.” he says, poking your side slightly. “no more negative comments, alright?”

you sigh. “okay. ow!” you push yourself off of him and smack his chest at yet another swat against your bottom.

“and that one was for me. i just can’t get enough of this thing right here.” he says, squeezing into your butt roughly with his hands.

you shake your head, turning to walk out of the room, hyunjin quickly following behind.

“that handprint on your ass is amazing, angel. i should take a picture of it with my camera.”

“will you shut up?” you snap, scoffing as you fight back a smile.

“or better yet, i’ll use it as inspo for my next piece!”

“shut up!”

[lalaluvvs]

vampire bf satoru

cw: slightly suggestive, fluff, bloodsucking (??)

Contrary to popular belief, Satoru Gojo definitely has a morning routine- one he follows from beginning to end. It's the only constant in his life, not including Suguru.

In fact, it was Suguru that suggested the routine and helped him stick to it. Gojo would probably be nowhere if it weren't for his best friend.

When Gojo wakes, he palms the bed groggily, searching for the familiar warmth beside him. It takes him a few tries before he finds purchase on a bare shoulder, its' owner grumbling with annoyance.

As part of his routine, Gojo will hold him close, chest to his chest as he runs a gentle finger down that sensitive part of his neck. He'll linger there a moment too long, hesitant to savor the skin there. He can smell the dark blood rising to his cold touch, eager to be released. His fangs extend from his mouth, small for a typical vampire but just the right size to stab into Suguru's neck. He winces at the sensitivity- he hates that part the most- and grazes them across his neck until they catch onto the scabbed lumps along the base of his nape. Meanwhile he holds his best friend like a lover, gliding careful fingertips over his back. Those same fingers dig into the flesh of his back while he slowly presses his fangs through the healing scabs.

If it were up to him, he would feed all over his neck, covering the expansive canvas in little love bites to mark his claim.

Suguru is almost never fully awake before feeling the fangs puncture the lower side of his neck. He prefers it this way, so he can get it over with. He's trained his body to sleep through a good amount of it, though he would generously trade his sleep for Satoru. He would be happy to give him everything- body and soul- if it could benefit Gojo in any way.

The blood-sucking idiot has to restrain himself half the time, his body feeling the overwhelming urge to drain. While he feeds, Suguru stirs and leans into the embrace, running his fingers through snow white hair. A warm smile pulls from his lips as he thinks of the times Satoru would hide his face, or be too embarassed to feed. Luckily, he could only go so long before he ran out of options and was forced to drink his blood.

After moving away from the Gojo clan and moving in with Suguru, it was hard to find ways to feed himself. The Gojo clan always had new sacrifices, and when they ran out they would just start feeding from their employed humans. Satoru only knew starvation in the Gojo clan. He couldn't bring himself to feed from innocent people. He can recall the pain, and how badly he wished for a death that would never come.

His body hates him for that. He's sure of it. But he can't help but feel anything short of blessed for the situation he's in now.

When he's finished, Satoru politely wipes off the blood from his neck and stares in awe as it pools. He takes a small lick before dressing his wound, causing Suguru to grunt in disgust.

The world stops for him when Suguru meets his eyes, a grin pulled taut across his face. He looked ethereal in the morning light as the sun came down to set in the sky.

Suguru yawns, stretching his limbs before pulling Satoru close again- careful to avoid pulling him to his neck. He trusts Satoru with his life, but not his own self control.

"Mornin'." Gojo yawns, eyes barely open. He smiles lazily, dark blood dripping from his retracted fangs.

Suguru pushes him back by his chest, staring at him incredulously.

"Are you kidding? Go wash out your mouth, I don't wanna see that shit."

Satoru pouts, whining as always, "But Sugu, it's your blood. There's nothing nasty about it!"

He tries to reach around him, pull him back into his strong arms, but Suguru knows better by now.

"No, brush your teeth first. Fuckin' animal."

"Hey, that's totally unnecessary!"

Suguru raises a brow. "Only animals would have manners like yours."

The other man pouts deeper, brows furrowing contemplatively before giving it up.

He rolls over, pushing himself out of bed and makes his way toward the shared bathroom. He drags his slippers against the cold tile, only because it feels nice to wear the things Suguru gets for him. Even if he only bought it to keep Satoru's dirty feet off the bed after walking barefoot.

Well- he did forget a few key parts to his routine, but Suguru was there to keep him in check. The other part of the his routine is the cleanup- which he can't stand but he does it because Suguru asked so nicely. If he gets to drink his blood, it'll be on his terms. Not that there would need to be blood involved for Satoru to give him what he wants. He would always spoil his best friend.

His mind wanders to other pleasant Suguru thoughts while he brushes his teeth. Warm arms wrap loosely around his waist, pulling him out of his dream-like state. His radiant smell alerted him before his touch did.

Suguru rests a sleepy head on Satoru's shoulder, leaning into his back. " 'M so cold. You should quit feeding from me so early in the winter."

Gojo gasps loud, pausing his brushing and turning his head to see him. "You mean... you want me to skip breakfast?"

Suguru grimaces and shakes his head, pulling away to lean against the doorframe.

"You don't need a full meal in the morning. It's just convenient for you."

And it's true. Having a full breakfast means he'll be full of energy throughout the day while Suguru recovers from his blood defeciency. Even with the iron supplements, he didn't seem to be getting much better with that.

Suguru grabs the small blanket at the edge of their bed and wraps it around himself. "You could just feed from the bag for a while, right?"

Gojo has to turn his whole body to face him, mouth agape as if he'd heard the most vile thing from his mouth.

"Dude. No."

He continues with his routine, putting away his toothbrush and walking around the room to pick up the remnants of bandages and bloody napkins.

"Don't 'dude no' me. It's my blood." Suguru crosses his arms. "I say you're getting too spoiled."

"Spoiled?" Satoru shouts, pausing his routine yet again. "It's my food! I need it to live!"

"You don't need a whole liter of blood a day, 'Toru."

Satoru huffs, continuing to clean his mess. "Oh, it's not a whole liter." He waves his hand dismissively. "Trust me I keep track. It's two."

All Suguru can do is stare at him, dumbfounded. Two whole liters?!

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Not particularly, no. I don't think I'll ever find someone with blood as sweet as yours." He says, matter-of -factly.

His features darken noticibly, his hyperactive mind returning to thoughts of life without Suguru. It would come, when Suguru goes grey and his bones wither beneath him. Gojo would have nothing but distant memories to keep him alive.

But they were so far from that now. It didn't make sense to ruminate on something so depressing before it even reached that point.

Suguru sighs, fingers brushing against the bandage on his neck. He felt the lumps underneath, tender and sore. He's lucky Jujutsu High was so flexible with dress codes- he'd need to cover this up.

"Listen... we'll talk more about this when we get back. You need to get ready for work before I leave your ass here."

Gojo's eyes widen and he swears there are tears forming. "You wouldn't dare!"

Suguru chuckles, running into the bathroom before he does. "Watch me!"

a/n: this is my first posted fic but it was so much fun to write, i love my boys :PP

[willtheweaver]

OC asks: Character design tag

Thanks for the tag @whatwewrotepodcast

As I am currently editing A Feather in the Forest, I’ll be doing Fen for this:

-Face and features-

Glance- at first glance, what stands out most about your OC’s appearance? What’s their distinguishing feature?

Well, the first thing is that Fen is not human. He is in fact a crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos to be specific). As such, there are features that the most casual bird watcher would recognize: black feathers, a long straight beak, and a fan shaped tail. What is unusual is Fen’s size, as he is nearly as large as a raven. He also has noticeable fingers at the end of each wing.

Face- describe your OC’s face. What’s their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Amidst the mass of dark feathers and a large straight beak, Fen’s eyes stand out; a deep blue somewhere between lapis and the depths of the sea. His eyes are usually the only thing seen as he conceals his avian appearance beneath a mask whenever he goes outside.

Stature- What is your OC’s body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try and mask it?

Middle of the road. Robust, but not overly muscular. Fen is around 33 in. tall, which is unusually big for a crow. As he does not want anyone to know who is really is, his choice of clothing is designed to conceal as much of him as possible.

Motion-How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

Fen moves deliberately and with subtlety. He does not like drawing attention to himself. His choice of clothing not only allows him to conceal himself, it also allows him free range of movement.

Stillness-How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or ticks? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

When he is calm, Fen stays almost motionless. Of course, he does have some small ticks, such as turning his head, or brushing the sewn ears of his hood. He carries the weight of clothing well, and his apparel does not affect him.

Canvas- Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them all up?

Fen has no scars of tattoos. Even if he did, they would be concealed and hidden.

-Cut and clothing-

Night- What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of pajamas, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Fen doesn’t wear anything when sleeping.

Day- What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to these clothes? Do they wear similar things or do they change it up?

Normal everyday wear consists of a long tunic or robe, arm and leg wraps, a hood with sewn ears, and a mask. His clothing is all very similar in cut, color, and decoration.

Formal- What’s your OC’s formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have a different look for different occasions?

The only real difference between Fen’s formal attire and his everyday look is that his formal raiment is more ostentatiously adorned with embroidery.

Informal- What’s your OC’s lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when wilding down?

Fen’s lazy day look is much like his everyday look. Only when at home does he lose up, opting for a light mantle.

Outerwear- What’s your OC’s outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

A long cloak is sufficient for dealing with the weather. The weather can be unpredictable, with summer thunderstorms and winter blizzards as common as clear skies.

Footwear- what does your OC wear on their feet?

Nothing.

Road- What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

Fen wears his everyday apparel, opting for his most durable clothing. Apart from that, he carries a small satchel containing medical herbs and bandage cloth, a small pouch filled with sling stones, and a bag containing spare clothing, a blanket, fire starting kit, and bedroll.

Armor- What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

No armor…at least not yet. In my notes on the planned sequels is a line that wouldn’t work in AFitF, but was too good not to use eventually. Intrigued? You’ll just have to wait, I’m sorry to say.

Arms- Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when not fighting?

Fen’s main weapon is a sling. He always has a bag full of shot on hand (mostly river rocks, but he also has some lead slugs). When not in use, he wraps it around his right leg. He also carries a knife kept on a belt.

Roots- Is your OC’s look inspired by any kind specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/ or inspiration for their look?

I’d have to say that the aesthetics of Fen, and all the characters of the story more or less, are pretty generic fantasy/ D&D (I.e. Medieval/ Renaissance Europe centric) …but I add some flair to it by mixing in influences from the ancient Celts, First Nations, and even Indo-Persian and Japanese.

Texture- Does your OC favor any kind of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can’t wear or don’t like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Fen does not really have a favorite type of fabric or texture. He is more concerned about durability. That being said, he does like the feel of hemp cloth.

Wardrobe-how big is your character’s wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending or repairing their own clothing?

Fen has a modest wardrobe. All the basics are there. As for how long Fen keeps clothing, he wears them until they are beyond repair. He has skill at repairing and mending tears and holes, and he can even sew his own clothing in a pitch.

-Accessories and accents-

Bling- What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

None.

Hair- How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

N/A , for obvious reasons.

Makeup- Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup and do they like it?

Fen does not wear any makeup.

Favorite- Dose your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What’s the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

A favorite? Well, the closest thing Fen has are the wraps, hood, and mask that were made for him by Sorrel (his adoptive mother). They are important to him, being the only connection he has left to Sorrel. Being an important part of his wardrobe, he wears them every day, taking great care to insure they are well maintained.

Change- Has your OC drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about change?

Fen has not changed his appearance drastically. As for how he feels about change, he believes that it is a natural part of the world, and everyone and everything changes at their own pace.

Alternate- What would your OC’s alternate universe look like? If they’re a fantasy character, what’s their modern look? If it’s sci-fi, what’s their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themselves? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

Hmmmm…. I think what would be interesting would be a post-apocalyptic AU, something like Mad Max or Fallout. It would be interesting to see Fen wandering around the wasteland, wearing a mishmash of scavenged clothing and armor.

Tagging @theverumproject @corinneglass @eccaiia @creative-author @drchenquill @frostedlemonwriter

@cherrybombfangirlwrites @honeybewrites @winterandwords @lychhiker-writes @somethingclevermahogony

@rickie-the-storyteller @indecentpause @revenantlore and open tag

[exandrothinadresseveryday]

um um um I'm back and I decided to analyze your art cause I really admire it :')

Honestly, I've noticed you use the same line width, if not similar line widths throughout the entire piece, which makes the dresses easier to swallow compared to how some artists draw, and I also think it goes perfectly with the overall simplicity of your art! While it is rather simple, it is also rather easy to add details into it to make it much more fun to do and gorgeous to look at.

I also love how you color things, as it is also pretty simple and goes with the line art, but it's also really easy to add details that you can overlook but still add to the drawing! Not even to mention how well the background goes with the outfits, especially in cases like the black hole dress or the white and blue angel dress (which both look amazing and are easily some of my favorite pieces ever)

Anyways once more, your art looks gorgeous and has given me so much inspiration and insight into my own art and how I can better it, as well that keeping things simple can totally help my art a ton!!!

um anyways sorry for the paragraphs but tysm for making the blog, it has cheered me up multiple times before and it probably will do it again countless times <33

This is so freaking cool to read, you absolutely hit the nail on the head with some of these comments :D Hope you don't mind if I add some insight on my part since it's so lovely idk if I could post it without anything to say.

But yeah, my usual choice in brush is literally a default CSP brush with the pen pressure turned off, and it tends to be 6-12px wide? There's nothing particularly special about it other than drawing with a smaller brush size helps me keep my canvas roughly the size I like (since I alter it each drawing), and I'm not a big fan of line weight in general lol. I'm definitely not the kind of person who will swear by a special custom brush or specific settings, I've always been the kind of person who will just make art with whatever the fuck I'm given.

If I can be honest, a lot of the time I just wing it with colours and the background- so you don't see it but there's a lot of me trying to slap a bandaid on a leak I created by not planning ahead. Sometimes things go smoothly, other times it doesn't.. For the record, an artwork will turn out wayyy nicer when you have a complete idea of what it's meant to look like. Do not aim to emulate me 100% I am but a fool in the grand scheme of things.

ANYWAYS, you wanna know something fucked up that might make ppl look at my art differently? This is my process for the latest drawing I did. I took my sketch, I drew it over it digitally and inked it, THEN I overlayed the sketch because I liked how it messed with my colours-

I paint OVER the artwork, realised my sloppy colouring makes the bottom part stand out so I add a shadow trying to adjust for this, decided I needed the artwork to be 100x more vibrant so I upped the contrast a bajillion times..

Then the rest was just shit i painted over:

I didn't even have lineart for the angel dress.. Check out this freak shit:

Have fun guessing what part of my artwork is what now,,,

[th3-0bjectivist]

1500 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION post w/ page mascot Springin' Chip!

Heya folks! Springin’ Chip here with a very special celebratory post! This last week, th3-0bjectivist hit 1500 followers! To be fair, about a quarter of his followers are more than likely AI pornbots, but let’s not get hung up on unnecessary details! Being a canine, there’s very little that I can personally offer our audience on Tumblr… save for some drool, dog snot, and poop. So, we’re going to celebrate the only way I know how!

Pictured with me in this photoset is my big sister, Ruby, and for this commemorative post you get to watch me beat her up! I assault my big sister all the time these days, sometimes for no reason, numerous times a day! I think she likes it! If weight class and overall size were a factor, Ruby could just brush my little Spaniel ass aside like a dust bunny. But she plays well with me, and just lets me kinda passively dominate her most days. Works for me! On with the festivities!!!

And now for some page lore! About a decade ago, th3-0bjectivist was comically barely known as v3ritasartiste on Tumblr. It was a page centered around conspiracy theories… and art, and music. And whooooooo boy, did it suck ass through a bamboo straw! The layout was atrocious, the conspiracy-addled dipshit in charge of the page had no idea what he was doing because he was high out of his mind on government-strength sativa and indica strains 24/7, and nothing he posted made a lick of sense! After gaining a whopping 78 followers over two years, butt-hurt and utterly disregarded, v3ritasartiste shut down his page out of pure frustration.

Yeah, take that Ruby! Years later, during the stay-at-home fallout from ***THE UNSPECIFIED VIRUS FROM UNKNOWN ORIGINS***, v3ritasartiste became th3-0bjectivist with three main goals in mind: 1. Jettison the conspiracy bullshit entirely 2. Create a page that actually makes contextual sense 3. Promote art, both own and others. And, by gum, it worked! Well… sorta. There was still a learning curve and he pissed off a few people to start things off (those blocks were well-earned in retrospect) because he was too brash and cocky, but some social refinement and further diversification of materials led us to where we are today. 1500 and counting!

Do ya see how Ruby just lets me rule her!? She could swallow me in a single gulp, damn I love her so much! Getting back to the point of this post, th3-0 wants you to know he greatly appreciates your follows, your likes, reposts, and most importantly your presence here on Tumblr! You may not realize it, but we’re all on a journey together while we’re on this platform. th3-0 has been able to share some of his joys, sorrows and art with you over the years… and those moments aren’t just precious, they are the universal moments that bring us all together as a species. Well… not me personally per se. Just to be clear, I’m a dog! Th3-0, who is a human, just wanted me to express those things to you… yeah, that’s the ticket.

Unlike last year, we’re at full mast with new art. We’ve got plenty of new paintings coming which just need to be more fully realized. We’ve practically cornered the market on original painting-animations on Tumblr, and musical entries and snarky commentary will continue to flow like wine until we’ve determined they are no longer working for us (which will be NEVER). Warts and all, th3-0bjectivist LOVES Tumblr. And just a reminder, if you’re ever interested in purchasing some canvas work, which would really help us, just head on over to our page on DeviantArt and browse the selections in the Featured section. Our wall decorations can make your home or business weirder and more wondrous at the same time! Tumblr restricts gifs to a pathetic 10MB download, which severely confines the visual quality of the gifs. But on DeviantArt, all our artistic gifs are available in high definition and they’re free to download!

Time for a nap with my big sis…. while th3-0bjectivist deletes 386,712,364,871,236,857,623,547,612,376,451,457,282,367,487,264 pornbot messages from his Tumblr inbox! Thanks Tumblr, we love you all!

Until next time fellow literate dogs, ¬ Springin’ Chip for th3-0bjectivist

The 0bjectivist on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2sONH8IwzL_2sZie0ZNSnw/

I’m also on BitChute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/uvKfJpNkzkIL/

FULL ART GALLERY on Instagram at: https://www.instagram.com/th3_0bjectivist_gallery/ <---- screw that garbage website, we deleted our profile this year!

FULL ART GALLERY on DeviantArt at: https://www.deviantart.com/th3-0bjectivist/gallery

[crazy-hazy-sims]

I hate when people hate on modern art its so fucking stupid why do you think you get to judge what is art and what is not? You dont know what someone else considers art!! Why do you think you are the end all be all of this topic???

I will never hate on modern art or geometric art or Abstract art because 5 years ago i had sketched and colored a bunch of goth and punk protraits (i was practicing how to color with markers and decided to draw a familiar subject that has alot of sharp lines and details) and posted it on my old Facebook, friend's shared it and an hour later i got this weird DM of a guy i didn't know asking me why don't i draw hijabi girls, it was weird because i did actually draw them and it was on my page he just had to scroll but he didn't lol

Anyway we talked alittle he obviously was religious and was wondering why i would draw people who dont conform to our religion, i told him i draw what i observe and they exsist in this life that i observe so i draw them 🤷‍♂️ its simple as that

He then told me he didnt think art was that simple and that he always wanted to draw but he never did because he doesn't like the way "art" is and how complicated it is

i was confused and after alittle back and forth i figured he didn't like art that shows "life" people, animals, birds etc but the thing is he didn't know there was other types of art he thought that was all there is to it..

so i showed him all different types of art i showed him modern art i showed him abstract art and geometric art which he liked alot and revealed he was studying to be an architect (shockers)

So i told him he clearly likes lines and shapes and dislike the more natural forms and that is important to realize if he wants to become an artist, i told him that his architectual work is already art in itself because of that fact too!

he was mind blown completely changed from the disgruntled extreme religious judging guy to a guy eager to make art and express his feelings

I told him he should try to use the lines and shapes he likes to make art that depicts a feeling instead of using them for function purely even though that is still art too!

And within a week he was transformed into an an artist! he posted his stuff on his page and it was interesting! he told me he now loves to look at art that is made of " various sizes of colored squares and bold lines" he called it, he said it brought him so much joy to look at them, it inspired him to buy his first set of acrylic colors and brushes

and despite his friends making fun of him for calling his lines and shapes art because they too thought art has to be all about portraits and oil paints and details he was happy he became an artist like he always wanted to, he changed to be a better person he started to appreciate art and life as a whole

So no i dont hate modern art i will never shun it because yes, that big canvas painted a sold blue with nothing else on it is still art no matter how much you make fun of it, it is art to someone else out there and thats enough.

[tarta-de-limon]

Hiii!!! I know you're new to procreate. Can you share your thoughts about it and how different it is from Ibispaint? Is it hard to use? Does it have good brushes? Does it have different qualities than Ibispaint?

It's totally fine if you don't want to answer. Thank you 💚💚 Have a good day 💖

HI, OMG OF COURSE I CAN!💖💖💖💖

I think it's definitely... something. You have to download some apps to have some brushes, if you don't know how to create your own and tend to look for brushes others do (like me😭) it definitely shocks you. At first I was like: ??? Where is the option to look for brushes online???

You also have to pay for some of those brushes/in the apps for brushes, I mean. Which, is fair, I guess???but at the same time it shocked me, because, well, ibis paint.

Procreate already comes with lots of brushes included, but personally...none of them were of my liking and I kind of altered one that I found similar to the one I used on ibis paint. I still like better my Ibis paint brush.

It doesn't have as much filters as ibis paint either, I mean it has the essentials, but that's it.

Ibis paint is way easier to just, use. I had to look in Google where the ruler was and how to turn my canvas 😭, maybe it's just because I'm clueless 😭😭😭.

As for quality, I do find procreate better. I mean, no adds, no having to look adds to use my brushes, and you can do animations in better quality too! Tbh, I thought the animation part was other app and I was so disappointed. Still... it's kind of meh, but at least you can create your animations in whatever quality and size you want.

Idk where you live, but it costed me 15€ (14.99 or something like that) and, to be honest, I don't think it's really worth it. maybe it's because I had lot of expectations...and because I'm poor and I don't like spending money lmao, but, idk, that's just my opinion. I'm really getting use to it and I can say that is, idk, more pleasant to use than ibis? Maybe it's how it looks, well it definitely it's because definitely the lack of adds lmao, I've been drawing a LOT lately.

I don't think it's hard to use, maybe a little tricky at first but nothing a couple drawings can't fix.

The brushes are meh to me, but if you like texture and all that, then I think you'll like them. My art is kind of...messy, and none of the brushes it had really catched my attention.

My conclusion is...that it's not necessary and if you want you can keep using ibis paint. I still have some sketches on ibis I'll finish on ibis because I feel like procreate doesn't give me the same result. Maybe it's just me. I'm not saying the app is bad tho, as I said, it definitely has more quality than Ibis, but I guess that's what you pay for? Idk. I'm still learning to love procreate, so sorry if this comes off as negative/discouraging :(

I hope my opinion can give you a new perspective and help you choose if you buy or not procreate tho, if you do, I'd love to know what you think! Maybe having your POV helps me love procreate more.

Lots of love! ✋💖💖💖💖‼️‼️‼️