#ive gotten to know how to draw it finally

[drag00ni]

Absolutely adore drawing him

[skunkes]

the restrained sniffer

[spacedlexi]

is anybody else out there still creating twdg fanworks 😭📢 where is everyone please dont say reddit i cant go back there

[writerpeach]

Ambrosial: Part Two

IVE Jang Wonyoung x m!reader

9.7k words

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five_1]

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After leaving Yujin’s bedroom in complete disarray, the shower comes next. Not that it’s going to do anything to keep you clean or quell any other urges. 

Normally, you'd keep your fingers buried inside Wonyoung until the hot water runs out, kissing all over that pretty neck. And certainly, you do that—but you spend a little more time appreciating her perfect body under the running water, with a hand between her legs, getting her off more times than she can handle. 

Despite that, the shower ends up rather quick, with only enough time to leave her a shaking, whimpering mess from all the merciless overstimulation given, barely able to stay upright on her own two legs when you finish. Once you’re sufficiently refreshed and had enough fun, you head to the kitchen, completely forgetting the mess left on Yujin's sheets, to grab something to replenish the energy you've used up. 

The two of you share a bowl of strawberries atop the kitchen island countertop, not bothering to put any clothes back on—because you know where they’ll end right up again. 

Wonyoung feeds you a berry, one after the other, before she sucks all the juices off the next one, wanting to demonstrate what she really wishes she was doing to some part of you right now. You can't say you're surprised—because she’ll take every opportunity to turn something innocent into something completely salacious.

Not before long, all the strawberries vanish, leaving you with a lingering hunger for something else. So while you've got Wonyoung here, naked as could be, looking like an absolute meal, you guide her down on the counter, flat on her back, planting kisses all over her slender, bare body.

You’re met with a plethora of gasps and whimpers while you explore her, wet tongue going all over those sensitive nipples until they're left stiff and swollen, chest heaving with every breath. A slight bite here or there, then your kisses trail further down, turning into long licks all over her flat tummy, hungry little swipes to draw out the cutest little moans from her. 

“See? Daddy can’t ever get enough of me,” Wonyoung says through her cute gasps, but you don’t give her any acknowledgment, despite how she's got a point. More or less, she’s gotten all of your attention, while you haven’t had so much as a thought about Yujin in these past few hours.

“It’s not my fault you’re so fucking delicious, princess.” 

Wonyoung's long fingers rake through your hair while you get your mouth back on her perky tits, slurping harder, drinking in her reactions—this lovely, sultry noise that leaves her throat when your teeth graze a little too hard around her sensitive nub. 

And you’re nowhere close to being done tasting her, having not gone between her milky thighs yet, knowing the delicious nectar you’ll find there is incomparable to anything else. 

She’s so desperate for your tongue to move there, right where she really needs it, where your fingers haven't ceased their playful touches on her thighs. But instead, you keep this buffet going, letting your mouth wander with no plans to neglect any part of her. 

Peppering more kisses down the slope of her neck, your lips make their way along her collarbone, across the sleek surface of her bare shoulders. After a moment to relish her reactions, you lift her slender arms up over her head, so you can lick all over her armpits, tasting that distinct, delicious flavor you crave. 

Wonyoung is already squirming with each lick, loving the extra attention as she keeps her arms up for you while you indulge in this favorite part of her body. It has you utterly addicted, when your tongue slides all over, wet and messy, while those cute little sounds leave her lips that she tries to suppress, leaving no doubt she loves this as much as you do. 

“Princess—“ you finally groan out when you come up from burying your tongue in those luscious, creamy pits, before diving back in with an insatiable hunger to appreciate her body more and more. You won’t stop until you’ve licked this area absolutely glistening from your slobbery tongue, having tasted the skin there so thoroughly.

“Love the way you taste, everywhere, so goddamn delicious. Don’t wanna stop.” You’re so completely lost in devouring Wonyoung that you've lost all track of time, completely unaware of anything else when you suddenly hear another voice that isn't hers.

"Having fun, daddy?"

Not bothering to look up, you know it's Yujin standing there, with a look of amusement all over her features, while she watches you lick away without breaking your focus.

"Daddy got a little hungry," Wonyoung plainly states in place of you being too preoccupied to interrupt your meal. Despite a third body in the room, you don't cease in licking up this girl’s tight body, determined not to leave a single inch neglected.

"I can see that." Yujin chuckles, opening the fridge to grab something to drink, showing no real surprise seeing her two roommates going at it with absolutely no consideration for where they are. "What about you, princess? Had anything to eat yet?"

“Strawberries and daddy's big cock—that's all I've had," Wonyoung says so openly, prompting another boisterous laugh. Yujin joins you two at the counter, doing her best to not distract from your lustful licking and worshiping of her best friend's body.

You haven't even managed to make eye contact with Yujin yet either, too entranced in devouring Wonyoung laid out like a full course meal for your consumption, and that’s all before you even make it to the real delicacy between her legs.

"Sorry we made a mess on your sheets," you say once you speak up, lifting your tongue away from all this hot, flushed skin for only a moment, eager to head towards your next destination.

"Did you now?" Yujin asks, not even looking a little bit mad, every bit proud and content that you’ve used her bed for your escapades. Without any response, you decide to skip straight to the point, hopping off the counter and guiding Wonyoung closer by her milky thighs until her bare ass barely hangs off the edge of the counter. Now that she's all splayed out with her legs draped over both your shoulders, you've reached the best part—this divine treat ready for you to dive right fucking in. 

"As long as our princess got the rough fucking she deserves from daddy, that's all that matters." 

Yujin's approval has Wonyoung beaming at her until that smile fades quickly as your mouth travels where it belongs—right between those spread thighs. There's no better view than this, no sweeter taste while your tongue licks up her slit from end to end to flood your ravenous mouth. 

Having Yujin a few inches away, keeping a close eye, amused by the show, only encourages you to give your all, to work Wonyoung into an overwhelmed mess as fast as humanly possible.

"Looks like she really loves daddy’s tongue, huh?" Yujin asks while sipping her drink, more than pleased at watching you work between Wonyoung’s messy thighs. 

Neither of you offer anything in response, your mouth too occupied, Wonyoung obviously well out of commission. The longer you lick, the louder she gets, turning into a mewling mess even before you wrap your lips around her swollen little clit and start to suck relentlessly, getting lost in her blissful eye contact the entire time. 

Her fingers desperately clutch onto the edges of this hard counter, hips so eager to buck against your face. Wonyoung can’t begin to muffle her high pitched, needy moans falling from her lips, completely brazen with bliss as you eat her succulent cunt out. 

"Oh god, daddy, fuck, right there," she cries out so prettily, begging for more, even when you have your face buried between her trembling thighs, slurping away without any respite. "Please, just like that, don't stop—"

Yujin, she just sits there with a proud look on her face, savoring how Wonyoung turns into a puddle in no time at all, her presence doubling your efforts. A firm hand rests on her toned stomach to keep her pinned to the counter, not giving an ounce of control, only leaving her defenseless against the pleasure from your greedy mouth. 

"Daddy's so good at this, isn't he? Licking that wet little cunt, getting his lips all over your clit,” Yujin says, not allowing her eyes to leave this scene for even a second, so enthralled with how desperate Wonyoung looks. “Gonna cum on his cute face soon, aren’t you?”

Wonyoung frantically nods as you keep her needy clit between your lips, suckling so harshly in response to draw every bit of ecstasy you can, knowing exactly what she needs to get close to that much desired edge. "Did our princess make daddy cum today?" 

It takes a few moments before Wonyoung can satiate Yujin’s curiosity, grabbing a handful of your hair to steady herself from all those overwhelming sensations that make her toes curl. 

"T-twice." One little word has her struggling to say it, nearly at the edge of losing complete control. The moans that spill out from her lips are almost as endless as the slick that drips down your chin, too addicted to this taste that you simply can’t get enough of. "Daddy came once down my throat, then again in my pussy while I was all tied up."

"Tied up?" Yujin repeats, raising an eyebrow with amusement in her tone as she looks in your direction. “Without me?”

"We found your little box. Under the bed."

Yujin smiles to herself, with no intentions to deny she owns anything like that. "Oh that? I was gonna use that on daddy, but it looks like you beat me to it…"

Wonyoung ignores every part of the conversation, arching her back off the table as she grinds her wet cunt right against your face, rocking her hips with a harsh tug of your hair. You've got her on the brink of release, and you're not going to stop now. “I'll never get tired of eating this delicious cunt until you cum all over my face, princess."

With each tug to your hair, Wonyoung draws closer and closer to the edge, until her thighs shake around your head. You’re trapped there without a way to escape—not that you'd want that when her juices run into your hungry mouth and down your chin, lapping up as much as she spills. 

Meanwhile, Yujin's tired of being a spectator and wants to join for these final moments, leaning over the counter to play with Wonyoung's hard nipples, rolling and pinching them while the poor girl can't handle the excess bliss. 

“So close, aren’t you, princess? Do you wanna cum for us?" Yujin purrs as she leans down a little lower to whisper in Wonyoung’s ear, knowing she can't endure much longer. Having nowhere to go with her legs over your shoulders, and now hands working on her heaving chest, tweaking the sensitive, perky buds—there's only one outcome left.

Wonyoung can only let out a sob of pleasure, her clit throbbing right up against your relentless mouth, and then when you shove two fingers deep within the velvety walls of her wet pussy—she simply shatters. 

A deep cry and Wonyoung arches her back off the counter, body surrendering to bliss, shaking through a full orgasm, as Yujin keeps biting on her lobe, fingers twisting those hardened nubs to make her cum as long and as hard as possible.

Nothing could keep you from licking up all this delicious nectar that keeps gushing into your open mouth, the pretty sight of Wonyoung trembling, squirming, while you never relent, letting her ride her orgasm right on your tongue.

This double team of stimulation renders Wonyoung incapable of any coherent thoughts, delirious in nature as you keep your lips sealed around her clit, fingers pumping away in her wet heat. The faster you suck, the harder she sobs, and the messier you get, mouth slick with her delectable arousal. Her long legs still dangle lifelessly over your shoulders as she pushes at your face when it becomes all too much, the little whines becoming more pitiful by the second. 

So, finally, you decide to let up, looking all proud between her legs, that she weakly drapes over the countertop, still shaking as her heavy breathing fills the room. 

"That looked like it felt good," Yujin says after finally prying her own eyes away from Wonyoung to look over towards you while she recovers, running her fingers through your messy locks until her body can remember what normal breathing feels like. The corner of her mouth curls up when she notices the mess all over your face, giggling to herself.

"Fuck, so, so good, daddy always knows how to make me cum so hard…" Wonyoung’s voice struggles not to fade completely as she sits back up, staring down at you as you give her sensitive cunt a few final licks to help ease her down.

"You deserve it, princess," you reply, kissing the inside of her thighs softly. Yujin keeps up her playful touches while Wonyoung cools down, keeping her fingers dancing over those stiff, perky nipples, knowing just how sensitive they must be. Then her lips trail more kisses over the side of her face, letting that orgasm linger before she leans back to where her mouth meets yours, sharing that delicious sweetness.

"Hate to cut this short, but I have studying to get back to," Yujin says when your lips break apart. "I’ll have to miss daddy wrecking this pretty little cunt...” 

There’s genuine disappointment in her voice, but unlike Wonyoung, priorities exist on Yujin's end that she keeps at the very top, no matter how often she misses times like these. 

So with a quick kiss to your lips and then Wonyoung, Yujin makes her way to leave the two of you alone in the kitchen, heading up the stairwell off to her room, disappearing from sight. 

✦ ✦

Following Yujin’s departure, you've somehow regained some semblance of normalcy, managing to put clothes back on after grabbing something to eat that isn't between Wonyoung's legs.

"So, daddy—" she starts out, scrolling mindlessly through her phone as she kicks her feet up on your lap, making no effort to hide the mischievous grin that curls onto her lips. Surrounded by silence again, it's a challenge for Wonyoung to sit still with all this freedom. Her eyes glance right at you, but you already know what’s at the end of that sentence. 

"No," you answer firmly, despite the lack of anything else leaving that mouth. "We shouldn't bother Yujin."

"Who said anything about bothering her? I'll be quiet."

"You? Quiet? Did you forget the library incident already?" 

"That wasn't my fault," Wonyoung scoffs, crossing her arms and looking rather offended that you bring that up first thing, shifting the blame so naturally. "You know I can't help how I sound when you've got your cock buried in me." 

"Then why did you pick the library, of all places?" 

"It was either that or the cramped bathroom stalls again and—besides, those shelves were full of dust and cobwebs. How was I supposed to know that someone needed a book on microeconomics at the exact moment you were balls deep in me?"

“Yeah, who would’ve thought someone needed a book at a library? How dare they.” 

"Exactly," Wonyoung says, completely disregarding your clear sarcasm, still believing she's innocent in the matter. "I don’t even think that’s a real subject.”

Nobody can make you sigh as heavily as Wonyoung can. 

You’re not going to try (again) to convince her why a library is off-limits, and no matter how stubborn she can get, or how cute and charming she can be, you're putting your foot down for this. There’s hardly anything that can hide the kinds of explicit sounds she’ll make (outside of soundproofing the entire bedroom) when you've got her folded up in half, taking every inch of your cock deep in her guts.

So if not the apartment, and definitely not the library, where else can you satisfy the insatiable, these desires Wonyoung has for you to plow into her without interruptions? 

Sure, you have Wonyoung's repertoire of fancy cars at your disposal, but if you're being honest, there's little space in the backseat to really enjoy yourself, and the sun hasn't even gone down yet. It’ll be far too easy for anyone out and about to catch you in the act. The weather is still rather chilly to be outside by the pool, and you’re not about to check into a hotel just to rail this needy brat, so that doesn’t leave very many options. 

Keeping your eyes locked on Wonyoung, you’re determined to not give into her demands—because those eyes say what she’s holding back. Surprisingly, you get a reaction you’re not expecting instead of more complaints, followed by a cute little smile out of nowhere. “Fine. I’ve got the perfect place we can go then.” 

You raise an eyebrow with every level of suspicion imaginable. 

With no promise to behave herself and a smirk she can't keep off her lips, Wonyoung drags you right out of the apartment and into her car in a heartbeat, handing you the keys. Because of course, you’re the one going to drive, unsurprised at her need to be passenger princess. 

A short drive and she directs you into an empty parking lot, as you let her pink Ferrari come to a halt. 

"Alright, get out," she says, slipping out of the passenger's seat, which leaves you there to simmer in curiosity and confusion. You slide out of the driver’s seat, following right behind as you trail after Wonyoung like a lost puppy. Off in the distance, you can see that you’re still on campus grounds, but exactly where? There’s no telling. 

"Where the hell are we?" Standing outside in the barren parking lot, you survey the area—it looks empty and abandoned, which makes her pink sports car look even more out of place. 

"You said no library, so this is the next best thing," she answers, still not willing to tell you anything. "Just follow me.”

It’s not like you have much choice. Wonyoung doesn't bother to elaborate or explain anything while you tag along close behind, heels clacking on the asphalt as she leads you into an unfamiliar building. 

“Don't you trust me?"

“Not in the slightest."

That doesn’t stop you from staying a step behind as Wonyoung saunters through the hallways, walking so confidently like she’s done this route a hundred times in a building you didn’t even know existed. Though it gives you plenty of time to admire her from behind, those long legs that steal your attention with every step, and the rhythm of her hips so mesmerizing. 

The entire floor seems completely vacant when you head down another hallway, and Wonyoung navigates with precision—past an array of classrooms, to the very end, until the two of you reach a set of elevators.

"Why do you even know about this place?"

"Perks of knowing the right people, daddy," Wonyoung answers with a sly little grin as a set of elevator doors slide open with a ding. "Although there's nobody here—so you could just fuck me in the elevator to save some time, couldn't you?"

You don’t answer her. At best, she doesn’t deserve one. That option is far too easy and unsatisfying, especially since you’ve been brought through this maze of hallways that leads up to—you’re not even sure. 

With the press of a button, the doors shut once you step inside and this metal box begins to climb, groaning like it hasn't been used in months. It’s a slow ascent, leaving you alone with your thoughts of what exactly Wonyoung’s agenda is while she stands beside you, too close, arms folded in this little black dress that you have to fight not to stare at.

By the time the elevator reaches its stop, the doors part to another empty floor that’s more of the same. 

"Come on. This way."

You continue to let Wonyoung lead you through, taking note of department names posted across each room's entrance, most all with a layer of dust over them. The entire floor is desolate, and you’re surprised the lights are even on, given how it must stay unused. Eventually, you stop questioning it, because your entire purpose here is to get out of the apartment, to give Yujin the space needed to focus on her studies, so you can focus on how good Wonyoung is going to look once she’s out of that stunning black dress. 

All of this leads to a heavy-looking door, unmarked aside from a singular letter across the door in black—'A'. Wonyoung hesitates in opening it, as if wanting you to do the honors instead, which you oblige, only to find out the door handle won't budge an inch, locked tight.

"It's locked," you say, frustration creeping up in your tone as you wonder if this whole journey has been for naught. 

“Is it?” There's a glimmer of deviousness in her voice that doesn’t phase her one bit, digging through her purse before fishing out a white plastic card. "That's the point." 

With that, she swipes the card, and instantly the red light illuminates the scanner beside the doorknob, changing to green. Another firm turn, and she twists the door knob, now able to push it open as the both of you head right in.

"You just have a key to this room?" you ask, growing increasingly more and more confused. "Did you steal it?"

"Of course not," Wonyoung answers with a scoff as she flicks the nearby switch on, lighting up the room as a huge row of windows comes into view, revealing what looks to be a rather spacious conference room, with a large wooden table in the center. While this building appears to be rather useless, these massive windows offer one of the best views of campus. 

Aside from that, nothing of note exists, enough chairs for at least a dozen people, yet no signs of a single person occupying one recently. 

"Like I said, perks of knowing the right people," Wonyoung says, seemingly satisfied to leave it at that. "Nobody even knows this room exists. They were supposed to rebuild this building a year ago, but that never happened… so it's a nice, big empty room for daddy to rail me in." 

"How do you even know about all this?" 

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" Wonyoung huffs, feeling the mood start to fade as her patience wears thin. "You wanted to leave Yujinnie alone, didn't you? All you need to worry about is fucking me until I can't walk." 

"So romantic," you respond with all the sarcasm you can muster as Wonyoung heads over towards the table, climbing on top and crossing her legs so you can get a good view of how this dress hugs her deadly figure in all the right places. “The princess is so full of surprises today.” 

"Less talking and more shoving your dick in me, please."

Wonyoung is already slipping a finger under one strap, sliding it off her shoulders so fluidly. And the same with the other, until the dress is barely holding on. You find yourself just watching, knowing it'll never get any easier to tear your eyes off that sinful body that's presented just for you to admire as she slides the fabric down further. 

"What makes you think I'm going to fuck you so easily, princess?"

One quick tug and the dress slips right off her body with no assistance, answering the question with ease. The sight of her left exposed has your mouth going dry in the snap of a second, her black dress a heap at the floor between her legs. Underneath is a pair of black panties but no bra, wearing nothing to cover up her perky tits, nipples already hardening at the touch of cool air. 

Her fingertips graze her chest, lowering until they reach the waistband of her panties, and she peels them off in one swift motion, leaving her standing in nothing but black heels that accentuate those ridiculously long legs. Now completely nude, Wonyoung spreads her legs, offering the sight of her freshly shaven cunt that already glistens in the light, wet and swollen from her desperate hunger for your cock. “Does daddy ever need a reason to fuck me senseless?” 

Without looking away for a second, Wonyoung slips her fingers right between her legs to tease herself before holding them up, letting her arousal speak for itself. No further convincing is needed, and with a few steps forward, those fingers meet your lips, slipping straight into your mouth. 

A whimper falls when you wrap your lips around those digits to clean them off, but they leave again as soon as they arrive, so fast, while Wonyoung wastes no time dropping to her knees with a single intent in mind.

Those fingers hastily move to unbuckle your belt, tugging your pants right to the ground so that nothing remains on your lower half. All the attention immediately goes straight to your stiff, throbbing shaft that Wonyoung practically drools at, stroking up and down at a tauntingly slow pace. 

"Rock fucking hard, just how I like it, daddy," Wonyoung breathes in satisfaction. Her hand gives you one more squeeze as a test, noting the familiar throb against her palm.

"Just shut up and start sucking, princess."

With zero reluctance, those soft, plump lips wrap around your cockhead, easing you into the pleasure. 

"But wouldn't daddy like it better if—"

And then you thrust hard and without warning, your length shoved far deeper than Wonyoung anticipates, because that's the only way you're going to shut her up. That makes her pretty mouth fall open, taking the entirety of your length in the back of her throat, so deep that her lips rest against your base with ease.

“That’s much better,” you say, as you hold the poor thing right there, unbuttoning your shirt while she stays like that, gurgling on your shaft until you toss it aside, leaving you just as naked as her. 

Another thrust follows right after, and there's no remorse as you fuck her face, indulging in the way her eyes immediately widen, struggling to take every inch of that throbbing cock while it plunges past those glossy lips. 

Wonyoung looks right at home, a messy bobbing of her head to help, her fingertips clinging onto the back of your thighs to pull you in closer. This is right where you need her, on her knees, throat stuffed, with your hands gripping fistfuls of dark hair tightly, while those beautiful, watery eyes stare right up when you take control. 

“Fuck, this bratty fucking mouth—your lips feel so fucking amazing around my cock," you growl, and there’s not much else that needs to be said when this bliss runs through your body, when her tongue eagerly works along your length, slobbering over every single inch in the warm depths of her throat. 

Wonyoung fights the urge to gag with her head firmly cradled between both of your hands, and her jaw wide open. There isn’t anything more beautiful about this sight, when her lips get covered in drool, tears running down her cheeks, and those hungry slurps mixed into her breaths while you use that pretty mouth.

"I think I like this place now," you say, cock lodged all the way down Wonyoung's tight throat, holding her right where you want her, which earns a few heavy, muffled coughs. Not even realizing you've picked up the pace, you get a little rougher in the process, pulling that hair a bit more than usual. Your cock drips with spit every time her stretched lips part, drool dripping all the way down her chin and naked body.

You can’t be gentle whatsoever when she looks so needy on her knees, never once hesitating to make sure Wonyoung knows exactly who is in control here. Her nose buries into your stomach every time your length slides back in, and she takes every last inch like a champ, proving she wants nothing more but to keep her tight, wet mouth stuffed with cock. 

Because that messy mouth never pulls away, no signs of wanting to tap out anytime soon, that heavenly little mouth so willing and eager to be a toy all for your pleasure. All Wonyoung can do is hold your thighs tight as you fuck her face mercilessly, and you can never hold back your hips from bucking right in a harsh, relentless rhythm. 

Seeing such a wrecked mess is everything you want, all the encouragement needed—this pretty thing all ruined, nothing like her usual prim and proper demeanor. 

As the tears start to well up in her eyes now, you’re really taking advantage of her obedience, shoving yourself deep into the back of her throat without faltering, so you can do a number on that perfectly applied makeup. Despite the continuous onslaught in her throat, Wonyoung stares up with such devotion, hardly able to breathe.

The look in her eyes says it all—getting off on being a complete slobbering mess that takes your dick so well, this gorgeous girl kneeling beneath you couldn’t be happier. 

When you eventually stop to take in the masterpiece you’ve created, Wonyoung leans back and lets out an immediate whine, gasping for air while your shaft, all covered in spit, rests on her face. Her mascara trails down those reddened cheeks, streaks of saliva all over her chin, lips swollen from sucking so hard on your thick shaft. “Please—please keep fucking my throat, daddy.” 

Wonyoung sounds so pathetic when she speaks, when drool spills out of her lips the moment they leave your cock. She’ll have to wait until later, because that’s all she’s getting now—you’re not going to end the fun without bending that body over the table. "Don't get greedy." 

As if she can do anything but that, worshiping your cock by planting these ravenous little kisses on the underside of your length to get more throbs from you, savoring the weight and taste like she can’t go a second without it. "Can't help it, daddy. Not when it tastes so good, just need it back in my mouth, need to choke more on it, please—“

“No, princess. This is going in your pretty little cunt now. Get up.” 

A hasty rise, and Wonyoung heads to the edge of the conference table, turning around to peer out at the campus for the briefest moment—lost in lust with only thoughts of your cock entering her. "Y-yes, daddy. You better cum in me. I’ve earned it.” 

"Have you now? Because I don’t think you’ve earned a damn thing yet.” Before she has a chance to answer, you smack her tight ass hard, and she yelps in response, the soft flesh reddening immediately at the harsh sting. 

"I’ve earned for daddy to fuck me like a toy, haven’t I? And to be a good little cum dump?” 

You don’t even dignify her comment with a response, slapping her other cheek twice as hard. Wonyoung bends down to remove her heels, only for her wrist to be caught at the last second, getting the message loud and clear. "Leave those on, princess. Want you in those fucking heels while I ruin you."

“Whatever daddy wants...” With her palms flat, Wonyoung braces herself on the table, legs spread in anticipation. There's a certain charm and elegance about her wearing nothing but those sexy heels as she takes her position, offering up that glistening pussy while she awaits your cock. 

"Such a pretty pussy, already so dripping wet like the slut that you are," you say, sliding right up to that backside so that your shaft can line up right between those cheeks. "Do you want me to be rough with you, princess? Do you want me to pound this greedy fucking cunt and breed you?” 

"Always," she says, an immediate answer despite her voice wavering. “Daddy can always be rough with me. Use me however you want.” 

An offer like that can’t go to waste. Spending a moment to admire the beauty of this petite goddess, you push down on her bare back to bend her further over, ass sticking up in the air while you tease her warm entrance with the tip of your cock. 

"Should make you beg for this dick. Made me come all the way up here just so nobody else can hear you scream when I rail you, huh?” You decide not to, because when you’ve got Wonyoung bent over so deliciously, eagerly waiting for your cock to stretch her all out, the view of her inviting cunt is far too irresistible. 

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to get us away from Yujinnie. I would have been perfectly happy taking that dick in the kitchen or anywhere else. Now hurry up and—“

Before Wonyoung finishes, you silence her with a harsh snap of your hips, sinking deep inside in one powerful thrust. The heat from her cunt hits all at once, as does the grip of those velvety walls when you open her up so wide from the start. She's so fucking wet that you slide in to the hilt with ease, echoing her moans when you're bottoming out within seconds.

"Oh god, that's so fucking good," Wonyoung cries out, biting on her bottom lip when you start to pound right into her slick depths, again and again, and you can't believe how impossibly tight she is despite all this. "Love it when daddy splits me open with his thick fucking cock.” 

You hardly have a moment to savor this tightness as your hands settle on Wonyoung's hips, squeezing with so much force that it makes her walls clench unbelievably so all around your entire length. She whines so prettily for you when her pussy swallows the entirety of your cock in these unforgiving thrusts, rocking her slender body forward against the table every time you drill into her warm, needy cunt. 

"Fucking your throat was just what I needed, princess, getting me all nice and warmed up," you say, gaze fixed solely on how those buttcheeks look every single time they collide with you. Wonyoung takes it all in stride, every inch filling her up with ease as her soaked cunt adjusts so well to your length. Her heels clack to match the rhythm of your hips, accentuating those absurdly long and slender legs that can barely touch the floor when she's bent over like this.

"God, your cock is so good, so big inside me, daddy," she whimpers, and your hips don't cease for a moment, pulling her tight body into every motion of your hips. “Aren’t you glad I brought you here? So I can be as loud as I want while I’m creaming all over your cock?”

You’re too busy indulging in her intoxicating heat to care, offering nothing but the deepest of thrusts that hit right in the gut, fingers digging into her supple skin. Wonyoung, she’s made to take it just like this, the most perfect fit for your cock. 

“Stop talking and take this cock, princess,” you say, fucking your cock into her warm hole all rough and careless like she’s desperate for. Wonyoung’s going to do only one of those things, not afraid to let out every frantic moan and breathless gasp, surrendering completely to you and the pistoning of your hips that are unstoppable at this point.

There's nothing but an echo bouncing through this empty room, the filthy sounds of bare flesh clashing together as you drive in over and over, buried so deep into Wonyoung’s perfect pussy that’s somehow gets even wetter around you from getting railed just like she wants. 

“Fuck, can’t get enough of your tight pussy, princess,” you groan out, slamming so roughly as you relish the sight of her back arching, feeling the weight of your body all over hers. "You feel so so good, you're just dying to be filled up again, aren't you?"

"Y-yes, daddy," she replies, voice quivering while struggling to speak in the midst of her cunt being pummeled against the table. "Daddy can dump as many loads as he wants, wanna be so fucking full with your hot cum—"

“Then maybe I should be fucking you against the window—let everyone see you all naked and exposed, watching me destroy this perfect little pussy until I breed you so deep and full." 

That makes Wonyoung tighten up so harshly, because even though you're so many floors up, she can't deny the thought of being watched by absolute strangers as she's pounded against the glass until she's screaming—

While her imagination wanders, you let go of her hips for now, leaning forward to seize her forearms instead, pinning them behind her back as you keep plowing her into the table. Wonyoung clenches more at that, now that she’s so utterly helpless to do anything but take the brunt of aggressive thrusts as your pace only quickens, even more relentless with a bruising grip on her delicate wrists.

“Shit, oh fuck, daddy, just like that, pound my little pussy just like that!” 

Nothing could ever stop you from doing exactly that. Every fresh thrust accentuates the loud clap of your hips against her pale cheeks, the room filled by the sinful symphony of her loud moans that escapes so shamelessly. “So desperate for this fucking cock, you’ll do anything to get your slutty pussy wrecked by this, won’t you?"

Wonyoung just nods vigorously, as much as she can with you in control of her limbs, her forearms pressed right behind her, all bound in your grasp so you can keep her body firmly in place. You've got her cunt all stretched out, a hot, slick warmth to impale your throbbing shaft into, and you know she can feel all of you as you thrust and thrust without holding back a single time. “Daddy—fuck, so fucking deep in me, oh my god, use that pussy, use me to cum so deep and full—“ 

Those stiletto heels don't do her any favors as they clack rapidly against the ground, even lifting up at one point as she succumbs to pleasure, her entire body driven forward by your ferocity and strength.

"Oh my god, oh my fucking god," she gasps, borderline screaming with every snap of your hips, those wide open legs a blur of motion every time you bury inside. Wonyoung keeps you so snug inside her, refusing to let go while you drill her mercilessly, a series of breathless little gasps with each different thrust that drives her petite frame forward every time you hit balls deep.

“So, fucking, good,” you groan, punctuating each word with your hips. The resounding smack of hot flesh through this vacant conference room sounds every bit filthy the more you continue. Through all the moans, those drenched pussy lips cling to your cock whenever you ram back in, making it nearly impossible to hold back—so fucking tight and perfect, your shaft getting squeezed when it fills her all the way, never an inch remaining outside her. 

And she loves every single moment of it. 

“Daddy—“ It’s the only word on repeat falling from Wonyoung's mouth, a chorus of pathetic little whines, too gone to speak a coherent sentence. Her body jolts forward every time you plunge in deep, dripping sweat, at the absolute mercy of whenever your shaft hits at the perfect angle, shedding away whatever decency she has left. "Your huge cock is gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me this hard."

"That's the point, princess," you say, keeping this tight grip on her wrists to plow away, using her sweaty body how you see fit. Though you’re rapidly testing your own limitations, unsure how much longer you can keep up the current pace, Wonyoung is struggling to hold on, pussy spasming wildly through this onslaught of punishing pleasure. "But how many times can I do this? How many times can I make you cum on my cock?”

Wonyoung offers no clear reply other than desperate moans, shuddering in her bound position, so desperate to regain some control to impale herself right back on your length. But you keep her right here for as long as you need, a nice toy to pound into, this perfect tightness wrapped around your cock never ever enough. 

“Can't hear you. Better speak up, brat," you growl and loosen your grasp on Wonyoung’s slender arms, kneading two handfuls of her pert ass, digging your fingertips into the supple flesh. 

It’s rather animalistic, the way you watch her body bent over, so helplessly accepting your ruthless strokes. But now, she has the freedom to finally push herself back against your length, making sure her cunt swallows up every single inch. You don’t let up for a single moment, fucking Wonyoung so harshly against the table, both hands sinking into her asscheeks that jiggle each time you thrust, with only the tips of her black heels meeting the carpet floor. 

“Asked you a fucking question, princess. How many times does daddy’s little slut want to cum on my cock? Two? Three? Or have I fucked you so hard you've forgotten how to count?" 

“D-dunno, daddy, as many as you want me to,” Wonyoung stammers out, and you know she’ll greedily take as many orgasms as she can handle. Yet right now, all she can think about are these rapid-fire thrusts that get her closer to the edge, meeting your hips to speed this all up. “Feels so fucking good when you’re this rough—gonna fucking cum, gonna cum on that thick cock, oh my fucking god—“

Those heels finally slip right off her feet, and all this spiraling bliss has her toes curling on the ground while she braces for the inevitable. Right on cue, Wonyoung hits the tipping point, and her pussy convulses with absolute need around your throbbing length. Her voice echoes out daddy like a chant, those messy warm walls squeezing the life out of your shaft, all while these uncontainable trembles persist. 

She’s gasping, moaning, aching for more while you ram into her soaking heat at a dizzying rate, a new rush of wetness that drowns your cock and threatens to push you out of her.

The pleasure rips Wonyoung to shreds, and you fuck her through every intense moment, hips smacking so fast and rough against her tight little ass to savor the ripples that you help create. She rides this blissful high, wave after wave, gushing all over you until a pool of arousal drips down her thighs, staining everywhere it falls. 

“D-daddy—“ Wonyoung just keeps shaking beneath you, cumming on your cock again and again, her erratic sobs filling your ears. You love how overwhelmed she gets, when she falls apart, reduced to such a mess of heavy panting and those parted lips that struggle to catch a breath. Every inch of that porcelain skin glistens with sweat, strands of dark hair clinging to her pretty face, eyes half lidded as they try their best to meet yours.

"So good, daddy fucks me so damn good…” Wonyoung murmurs, still shaking after a release that hits like a truck, hardly able to let out anything but exhausted sobs and ragged breaths. 

Now that she’s coming down, you slow the pace back to something much more manageable, something less taxing on your body. Because you’re not done with her yet. Words can’t even describe the state you’ve left her in, a complete fucked out mess, legs barely holding up her weight through the aftershocks of climaxing so hard on your cock, and there’s no part of her tired frame that isn’t still spasming.

Letting Wonyoung collect herself, you run a hand down her spine, fingertips slipping through a layer of perspiration that shines against her pale skin, and that's before you look down between her legs. You really hope her claim that nobody uses this room—or this entire building holds weight—because this room is going to be in shambles when you’re both done. 

Only when she's gotten the most out of her overwhelming ecstasy, do you pull out for good, giving one more harsh thrust for good measure, still holding those cheeks in your grasp as a tired whine slips past her lips when left suddenly empty.

But Wonyoung doesn’t have time for her body to recover, barely catching her breath while turning back around to face you, and she practically crumbles to her knees before you can do or say anything about it. Immediately, she engulfs your cock in her warm mouth once again, lips wrapped around every drenched inch, eager to taste the tangy sweetness of her own juices.

"Jesus—so hungry for this fucking cock, aren't you?" you ask, looking down at the beautiful sight of Wonyoung bobbing her head between your legs like her life depends on it, savoring every single drop of her pussy as if she'll never have the privilege of tasting you again.

Wonyoung releases you with a loud, wet pop, letting your shaft smack on her face with a giggle before wrapping fingers along your slick, spit-covered length. "Can’t help it. Not my fault daddy's cock is so delicious." 

As good as she looks with your cock in her mouth, one of those conference room windows has her name written all over it. So without another word, you help Wonyoung back to her feet, earning a cute little gasp of surprise when you hoist her up in the air—then slide your cock right back inside with one swift movement as she wraps her long legs around your waist.

"H-holy shit, daddy, oh fuck—" With each powerful thrust upwards into this pretty cunt, her hands fall around your neck, arms clinging as tightly as she can while your hips drive right up into her. And with an extra squeeze of her scrumptious ass to help, she holds on as you walk her to one of the large windows nearby, continuing right where you left off. 

Her naked back meets the glass surface, the cool sensation catching her entirely off guard. You've got your hands right under her creamy thighs, and Wonyoung feels so light in your arms, practically weightless, able to easily pin her up against the glass like a prized piece of artwork. 

Wonyoung’s petite body is almost too easy to carry around—it takes no effort to bounce her on your cock, starting out with these shallow pumps, before really fucking her on your shaft, returning to something that resembles your earlier pace. "Hope you’re ready for me to blow such a thick fucking load into you, princess." 

“Always am,” she says, as her head rests against the glass window, eyes fluttering close whenever you slam her all the way down your length. Wonyoung feels so good wrapped around your cock, so unbelievably tight as you pound her deep and fast in such a vulnerable position on display for anybody who looks high enough to see. “Love when daddy uses my little pussy and fills me up with hot cum.” 

“Good,” you start to say, focusing on drilling as deep as possible in every thrust, so addicted to the moans that spill out so freely, exactly like before. "Because I'm gonna cum in you so hard. Gonna fill that pretty cunt to the fucking brim. No goddamn way I’m pulling out."

"I know daddy would never. Wanna feel it all unload inside me. Don't waste a single drop, pump it all deep into my pussy, empty those heavy balls right in me—that’s where it belongs." 

"Yeah, it fucking does," you reply, feeling a new surge of energy as you keep Wonyoung pinned against the glass, relishing how helpless this position is making her feel. You’re both completely lost in it all, the slick walls of her cunt spasming like crazy, every thrust hitting harder than the last. “All this cum belongs deep inside this perfect cunt of yours. Not gonna have to wait long for me to fill you up."

With that said, you give everything you’ve got, staring into those eyes that demand her wet cunt gets used by your shaft, stretched out with every pump. And just like that, you fuck Wonyoung into another devastating orgasm, pounding relentlessly into her dripping heat while she writhes uncontrollably in your arms. 

“Greedy fucking slut can’t stop cumming on my cock, can you?” you ask, and there's nothing to muffle her high-pitched cries. She clenches harder and harder in response, knowing how equally close you're getting, far too close for comfort, wanting that hot, sticky release shooting deep.

And as much as you want this to never end, to keep Wonyoung impaled on your shaft with her sweaty body against the window, you simply can't fight your inevitable end. You get a nice, firm grip on her ass, fingertips filled with that supple flesh, and keep her body securely in your grasp as she hangs on tight, taking every unforgiving thrust. Her legs secure so tightly around you, clinging to your body, and those desperate moans turn into whines and whimpers whenever you bring her body down on the base of your shaft every time you drive deep. 

"Inside me. Cum inside me, daddy, right now, please, just—“

As if there's any choice to be made. You can barely hold out, keeping her pinned against the glass while you bury your throbbing shaft back into those glistening pussy lips. It's all a matter of seconds, until her cunt grips you just the right way and makes you fucking explode inside her warm, slippery depths.

The look in her lustful eyes, those sweet pleas that beg for you to pump it all into her like she deserves, it has you there in an instant. When you inevitably topple over the edge, you let out a loud, guttural groan, and empty everything into Wonyoung like you’ve been building it all up for weeks. 

Thrust after thrust, your shaft throbs violently, flooding Wonyoung’s intoxicating heat with thick, sticky strands of white, and you spill it all into the deepest part of her soaked cunt. It's pure ecstasy, and the first pump inside makes her convulse around your cock, her pretty features contorted with relief as her pussy takes in everything, refusing to give back a single drop.

The most perfect place to unload all your cum, right where it fucking belongs.

Through this final ride of bliss, Wonyoung’s long legs stay wrapped around you, holding you hostage, and every squeeze her cunt gives has you fucking your messy load deeper into her greedy pussy, hips nearly on auto-pilot. Because once again, it’s another way of proving that she’s actually the one in charge here, despite your defilement of her body that would say otherwise. 

“Feels so full, so warm, daddy always cums so much in me,” Wonyoung says, as she buries her head in your shoulder, muffling her attempts to catch her breath. 

“You earned it, princess. For being such a—“ you cut yourself off, because you’re much too tired to even think about anything but the bliss lingering through your body. 

“For what? Being daddy’s slut? Or his favorite cum dump?”

“I was about to say a good girl, but clearly I was wrong, once again. You really are nothing but an insatiable little slut.”  

“Daddy’s insatiable little slut. You should know already that I’m not a good girl…” Maybe they go hand-in-hand more than Wonyoung thinks. 

As good as this glass window must feel against Wonyoung's exhausted figure, you're far too spent to keep her pressed here. With whatever stamina left remaining, you carry her over to the conference table and deposit her limp body onto the flat wooden surface before you collapse right on top of her, still sheathed in her warm pussy. 

It's Wonyoung that moves next, wrapping her hands around you to pull you close, lips meeting in a sloppy, heated kiss that’s considerably less intense than before. Her hands settle around your cheeks, and she cradles your face to meet your gaze, content with you just staring at her. 

“Just a little longer, daddy. Feels so good to have you inside me. Stay like this a bit longer.“ You can’t possibly say no to that. So you simply nod, resting your body on top of Wonyoung as she continues to keep you warm in her messy cunt. 

The two of you lose track of time while basking in the afterglow with no concerns for anything else, making out lazily. After all the roughness that comes with the territory of fucking Wonyoung, these delicate kisses prove just as necessary, brushing strands of hair that stick to her forehead. You could easily rest here forever. 

"Daddy..." Wonyoung mutters when you finally part from her sticky folds, all that oozing mess dripping out into a puddle on the ground, joining the previous evidence left by this rigorous session. "Let's go get ice cream. There's a new place nearby I wanna try." 

It's so very Wonyoung that even while she rests here, fully naked on this table, covered in sweat with her legs hanging off the edge, that all she can think about is eating ice cream. But hey, nothing sounds better, other than maybe a long, long steamy shower. "Whatever you want, princess. You deserve it." 

"Of course I do. All this thick cum pumped into me proves it," she says, swiping two fingers through her messy folds to scoop out a bit of the seed you've shot deep, then sucks on her fingers so obscenely, like it's her favorite thing in the world to taste.

There’s that look in her eyes again, suddenly energized by tasting what you’ve left between her legs. And yet, you can't exactly hide that you share the same desire, no longer the least bit exhausted while Wonyoung’s naked body stays on full display, glistening with sweat, cum dripping down her thighs, hair all disheveled, looking like an absolute gorgeous wreck. 

"Or does daddy wanna fuck another load into me first?” 

✦ ✦

Finding every excuse not to return to the apartment, ice cream only happens somewhere near the second or third round, after finishing inside Wonyoung again, then once more over her tight body all sprawled out on the conference table.

Without a shred of guilt, you've both left that room in absolute shambles, trusting Wonyoung's word when she swears nobody's going to even bother checking this place, anyway. So after trying to clean up what you can, ice cream turns into another quick fuck in the bathroom, plowing her against the sink while keeping a hand right over her mouth the entire time, until you shoot another heavy load all over her eager, gorgeous face. 

Wonyoung always looks the prettiest when she’s covered in your load. 

And of course, that wasn’t enough—because nothing ever is, even as she stares at her cum-glazed face in the mirror, almost daring to leave the bathroom wearing your load. 

You manage to sneak in one more session, this time outdoors, by the river, on a park bench in an area that you hope is secluded enough to escape attention. At least the sun has gone down, though the lust from Wonyoung clearly hasn't. 

The stars shine bright in the sky, highlighting every inch of this girl’s ridiculous figure while she rides you until you warn her you're about to explode. She quickly slips off your shaft and drops to her knees in the grass, eager to finish you off with her mouth as her lips slide down to your base just in time. And somehow, you’re still throbbing hard through another explosive release, gripping the edge of the bench while she guzzles it all down her throat.

In typical Wonyoung fashion, she keeps sucking like a greedy slut, as if she hasn't already emptied you several times over. You don't have the energy to protest, which, of course, she uses to her advantage, keeping her warm fucking mouth around your oversensitive, swollen shaft. There’s no point in resorting to begging, because nothing’s going to stop her from making you blow again, refusing to let off until she claims one more pathetic load. 

When she finally has mercy on you, she drags her cum-soaked tongue up to the tip of your cock, smiling innocently like she just didn't force everything you had left into her throat. Then she has the audacity to plant these little kisses all over your cockhead, watching how it twitches uncontrollably, continuing to stroke along every inch until there's nothing left to spill. 

And just like that, she's in your lap, running fingers through your hair, giggling that she still has the taste of your cum lingering in her mouth. The way Wonyoung goes from depraved and starved for cock to sweet princess so suddenly makes your head fucking spin.

It's almost midnight by the time you get under running water, and you’re so devoid of energy that Wonyoung ends up having to scrub every inch of your body before her own—or that's just another excuse for her to get her hands all over you. Either way, by the time she's all finished cleaning you up, you collapse right onto the mattress. 

"Poor daddy's so worn out," you hear Wonyoung say as she crawls under the sheets right behind, pressing her naked body into your back, legs coiling around you. An arm hooks over your chest, wrapping tight enough so that you can't escape, even if you wanted to. "Wanted you to fuck me until I couldn't walk straight, but seems like daddy can't even move an inch."

Even when you're about to pass out from exhaustion, you can't help but let out a smile at how brazen she sounds. Wonyoung nuzzles against the back of your shoulder before placing a little peck near the side of your neck. Then another. And one more for good measure. 

"Maybe we should leave Yujinnie alone more often if it means daddy gets to have so much fun with me..." 

That's the last thing you hear, thinking about how much Yujin's going to jump all over the both of you the moment she's done with studies before the exhaustion finally takes over, welcoming a deep, long slumber. 

And you can’t wait. 

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[villainousauthor]

The hero wrinkles their nose at smell of antiseptic wipes, at the cold feel against their skin, as the villain prepares to draw more blood. They've lost count how many vials Villain has taken at this point.

Hero winces, trying to flinch away at the inevitable sharp pinch, and Villain digs their fingers into their arm some more. They press hard, cold hands keeping them still. "If I mess up, I'll have to stick you again." They warn, voice level. Paper crinkles under where Hero sits, the soft sound filling the silence.

Hero keeps their gaze downward, the bright florescent lights over head giving them a headache. You think with how long they've been here, they would have gotten used to the ugly, artificial glare, but they miss the sun.

They look up at Villain through their lashes, who's currently too focused on their current task to notice, eyebrows pinched together as they seem deep in thought.

"I doubt you're even certified to be drawing blood in the first place." Hero ribs, voice quiet, the words light but the humor just quite not there.

Villain snorts, as they finish and pull the IV out gently. "I've seemed to be able to do it fine all these weeks." They apply the cotton bandage to the area, securing it in place, though it's honestly not necessary, the small wound already likely healed.

Hero knows they shouldn't be trying to make Villain laugh, or trying to lighten the tense air that surrounds their every interaction. They should be attempting to escape, should be fighting tooth and nail against the strange experiments their arch nemesis insists on trying, but so many failed escapes and so many weeks without the presence of any other person has them weak for any human contact they can get.

They've almost begun to mistake the way Villain grabs their arm when taking blood, the way Villain's cold hand holds their face still when swabbing their mouth, the way they stand close when checking their vitals, as misplaced forms of affection.

It's pure delusion, Hero knows this, but they crave another persons touch so much they can almost believe it. Thinking about it too much makes their head hurt more than even the obnoxious overhead lights do.

Villain takes their silence as a sign to continue speaking. "Soon enough, I'll find the secret behind how your regenerative abilities work and then I'll be unstoppable." They say cleaning up, and placing the three tubes of blood they took on the tray to their left. Hero's head swirls as they watch the swishing of the dark red liquid.

Facing them again, still standing close, Villain's eyes finally meet Hero's and their voice softens slightly when they say this next part. "I won't have to poke and prod you so much when I do." Their voice is gentle enough that Hero wants to believe them, to trust them.

Hero licks their dry lips, voice cracking slightly. "Will...will you finally let me go once you do?" The question Hero has been avoiding asking this whole time.

The question gives Villain pause, as they seem to consider it for a moment. They step closer, placing their hands on either side of where Hero sits, bracketing them in. "I could...I probably should.." Villain's voice is whisper quiet as they stand inches away, breath fanning over Hero's ear.

"But I think prefer keeping you for myself."

[n1ght0f-nyx]

woven bonds pt 4

pert'ah x fem reader

you've struggled with sleep since you first moved in with your arranged orc husband, one night you find him awake in front of the hearth, drawing quietly

tags/warnings- arranged marriage, human female x male orc, gentle giant, your starting to develop feelings for big man

also feel free to request non-woven bonds related things that involve pert'ah or my other ocs (see my masterlist) i love writing for all these characters and seeing the mass of support ive gotten over the last month!

word count-1025

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warm, golden light flickering across the small room. You were curled up on the straw mattress, a blanket pulled up to your chin as you tried to sleep, but rest wouldn’t come. It hadn’t for weeks now—not since your father had sold you to this…orc. You didn’t even know how long it had been since you arrived in the orc’s encampment. Days blurred together in a haze of resentment and exhaustion.

You shifted under the covers, your eyes squeezing shut as you willed sleep to take over. But the soft, almost rhythmic scratching sound near the fire caught your attention. You opened your eyes and turned your head just slightly. Pert’ah was seated by the fire, his broad, muscular form hunched over something in his lap.

You studied him, curiosity tugging at you despite the cold distance you had tried to maintain. His rough features—large tusks, strong jaw, and dark green skin—were cast in soft shadows by the firelight. His long, dark hair was tied back, leaving his sharp, intelligent eyes exposed. He was so different from the human men you had known, yet there was something almost peaceful about him at this moment.

He didn’t notice you watching him as he worked. His large hand moved with surprising gentleness, guiding a piece of charcoal across the page of an old, worn book. The scratching sound was his sketching. It struck you as strange at first—an orc, known for their brute strength, sitting quietly by the fire, creating art.

Your gaze drifted to the rest of the room—his space, now shared with you. It was small but organized with care, wooden furniture crafted by hand and everything in its place. There were his weavings, hung neatly on the walls, adding splashes of color to the otherwise drab space. You had always kept your distance from him and his belongings, but tonight, your defenses felt weaker. Maybe it was the late hour or the quietness of the moment, but you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of curiosity.

Slowly, quietly, you rose from the mattress and tiptoed toward him, careful not to disturb the peace. He still hadn’t noticed you, his focus entirely on the sketch he was working on. You hesitated just a few feet away, unsure if you should say something or return to bed. Before you could make up your mind, his hand stilled, and his head lifted slightly.

“Why you awake?” His voice was low and gruff but not unkind. He still hadn’t turned to face you.

You swallowed, caught off guard by the question. “I…couldn’t sleep,” you mumbled.

He nodded, still looking down at his work. “Fire helps. Calm mind.”

You shuffled awkwardly, unsure how to respond. His broken English always made conversations feel a bit stilted, but you could tell he was trying. He always tried. Despite everything, Pert’ah had never been cruel to you. Frustratingly kind, even. Still, the bitterness of your situation gnawed at you, making it hard to accept any gesture of goodwill.

“What are you drawing?” you asked softly before you could stop yourself.

Pert’ah finally turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable in the firelight. He hesitated for a moment, then held out the book in your direction.

You took a tentative step closer, eyes darting down to the page. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was a sketch of you.

In the drawing, you were lying asleep, the blanket pulled up around your shoulders. It was a peaceful image, detailed and precise. The lines were soft, capturing your form with care. He had been drawing you without your knowledge, but there was no malice in the action—just quiet observation.

You stared at it, unsure of how to feel. His drawing was beautiful, but the thought of him watching you sleep, even harmlessly, made your skin prickle. “Why did you draw me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pert’ah looked back at the sketch, then at you. “You are…here. In my life now. I want remember this. Peaceful moment.”

Your chest tightened. A part of you wanted to snap at him, tell him that you weren’t here by choice, that nothing about this was peaceful to you. But another part of you—the part that saw the care he put into that drawing—felt…something else. Something softer.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, unsure of what to do with this strange mixture of emotions.

Pert’ah’s gaze fell to the floor. “I sorry… if this upset you,” he mumbled, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“No,” you said quickly, surprising yourself. “It’s just… unexpected. But it’s—” You paused, searching for the right word. “It’s nice.”

He nodded once, clearly unsure how to respond to your hesitant compliment. The awkwardness lingered between you like an invisible barrier, but it wasn’t as heavy as it had been before. You glanced at the sketch again, still processing how gentle his work was despite his imposing exterior.

Without thinking, you reached out toward the page, wanting to take a closer look. Pert’ah, moving at the same time, reached to turn the page, and your hands brushed together.

The touch was brief, just the lightest contact, but it felt like a jolt of electricity had passed between you. Both of you froze. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you saw the surprise mirrored in his expression.

The air in the room seemed to still. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you didn’t pull your hand away. Neither did he. It was a simple touch, nothing more, but the warmth of his skin against yours lingered, refusing to fade.

Pert’ah was the first to break the silence. He pulled his hand back slowly, looking down at the book as if embarrassed by the moment. “I… make you new blanket,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “Orc blankets warm...Keep you comfortable.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension settle back into the air. “Thank you,” you whispered, stepping back toward the mattress. Your hand still tingled from the brief contact, and you weren’t sure why it affected you so much. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t let any of this matter.

But it did.

As you lay back down, you glanced at Pert’ah once more. He had returned to his sketching, but his movements were slower, more hesitant. You could still feel the faint trace of warmth where his hand had touched yours. It was a small, fleeting moment, but it stuck with you, lingering long after the fire had burned low.

Maybe it was the quiet of the night, or maybe it was something else entirely, but for the first time since you’d arrived, you didn’t feel completely alone.

In the quiet darkness, your thoughts churned, and for the first time, you wondered if perhaps things might change—if maybe, just maybe, you could learn to see Pert’ah not as the orc who had taken you, but as the quiet, kind soul who had always offered more than you could give in return.

You weren’t ready to admit it to yourself, not yet. But something had shifted tonight, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

And for the first time in weeks, sleep came easier than before.

[pupyuj]

campus rebel! g!p wonyoung who fucks the shit out of the stuco president for getting her into trouble 😵‍💫😵‍💫 OH MY GOD I WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS

bad girl wony... yeah.. yeah exactly. i giggle every time i get g!p ive asks esp annyeongz i just want them to double team me tbh—

LISTENNNN ... ever since 230423 wonyoung i have never been the same, that look is literally how i picture rebel wony 😭😭😭

wwhat if she has never gotten in trouble for all the bullshit she did when you weren't the stuco president :(( wony got away with everything scot-free bcs the previous presidents were scared of what might happen to them (like expulsion) bcs wony had a bit of a hold in the school 😟😟 but then you got elected, and things changed real fast 😁 teachers were actually scolding her?? giving her shit when she was late to class or wandered the halls during?? and she has never gotten detention before... until you personally put her in one 😭

the detention in question being held in the student council meeting room, it was just you and her. wony was pissed, she could be out partying and getting laid right now but instead, she had to stare at your pretty face while you did your work and babysat her at the same time! looking up from your desk briefly and seeing that the paper in front of wonyoung was still blank. "it's a simple apology, jang. i'm doing you a favor by saving you from a criminal charge. this won't hurt your reputation, you know." you said with a sigh.

"oh trust me, it's been hurt the moment you stepped up that stupid podium in the gym and did your campaign speech like you were the leader of the nation." wonyoung picked up her pen and started scribbling on her paper. well, at least you wouldn't have to deal with her eyes just burning holes into your head anymore! she doesn't even get why she has to apologize 🤨 spray-painting cock and balls to that creepy janitor's truck was funny! and he deserved it!

and then a few minutes later, here comes wony marching over to your desk and slamming her paper down in front of you. what you didn't see was a proper apology but rather a big drawing of a middle finger. this was useless.

"do you wanna go to jail, jang? don't forget that this isn't the first time you've broken a literal law!"

wonyoung merely shrugged, a cocky smile on her lips, "you're just afraid you'll miss me."

you grabbed a new piece of paper, stood up, and pushed it on her chest, "get your shit together. not even your daddy can pull you out of the mess you want to create." but wonyoung was not at all threatened! see, she has always thought that as much as you were a pain in her ass for always scolding her about what she wore, her attitude, and everything... you were still hot. and to you, even when wonyoung was the bane of your existence, you still wanted her badly deep down (pretty, charismatic, cute smile... who could ever resist?), so you didn't complain at all when she suddenly grabbed your waist and kissed you 😳😳

it was messy, what with wonyoung biting your lips and forcing her tongue in your mouth,,, and it wasn't until she lifted you on top of your desk that she finally pulled away, busying her hands with unbuttoning your shirt, her lips now on your neck,,, the way she wouldn't stop teasing you 😭😭 "d'you get me in trouble just so you can have me alone? you could have just told me that you wanted me, prez." shes so annoying 😩

shhdfdkffbf wony marking you all over and you complaining about it 😭😭 AND YOU'RE ARGUING EVEN WHEN SHE HAS HER DICK INSIDE YOU BCS SHE'S TOO FAST OR SOMETHING 💀 you really have no fucking idea why girls throw themselves on her all the time when all she's focused on is her pleasure 🙄 but wony doesn't give a fuck, she's still pissed at you for making her look weak and small now 🫠🫠 so she doesn't care that her pace is too fast, or that she practically forced her big cock inside your tight walls, or that she left too many bite marks on your neck and shoulders... people were gonna know what happened here, and people will know that it was all her doing 😈

wony forcing your legs open for her while she pounds your cunt 🤤🤤🤤 but she's baby so she was whining and groaning in your ear, head buried on your shoulder bcs you feel really good :(( and she gets addicted to the way you say her actual name, totally different from the usual spiteful way you say 'jang', so she makes you say it again and again :((( your voice becoming the thing that grounds her but god she literally can't help but just ruin you so after coming together for the first time, wony immediately puts your legs on the ground and bends you over :((((

her saying mean things to you while she's destrying your cunt from behindddd 🫠🫠

"you're a f-fucking bitch, prez... i hate you.."

"be thankful that you're so pretty, and that this pussy is fucking sweet c-cuz.. ahh, fuck...! i would have gotten you expelled a long time ago... mhmm.. feels so good... so good..."

"from now on, i'm gonna make you my slut... i'm sure you'd like that, unnie.. j-jang wonyoung's cute little cocksleeve sounds more of a better title than student council president..."

needless to say, she fucks you stupid until detention was over! but since you still had stuco prez things to do until sundown, you had to stay in school and ofc wony did too 😁 tho you didn't complain this time bcs cockwarming her while you did your work and kissing her from time to time made everything a little less boring! 🤤

[mx-pastelwriting]

Little Long

Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x GN! Reader

Summary: Cutting Copia’s hair after a long tour.

Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Copia being his cute self, Reader cuts hair, Haircut, Mention of Sexual Attraction (At End)

Minors do not interact!

Drawing circles on the red fabric of Copia's tracksuit, having gotten him back from weeks of touring minutes ago. Having said little to you as he made way into the closet to change, seconds later sporting his comfy red tracksuit.

Cuddled against his chest, watching the game on the screen play as Copia controlled the character, whispered curses sound out from his lips as the noise of damaged hits killed the character.

Looking up at your papa, seeing the focus in his eyes that purple bags hang from, outlining the rest of his cleaned face, leading your attention to the length of hair. Softly running fingers through the messed hair, finding small tangles within the grayed brown, turning the papa's attention, allowing the two-toned pair of frustrated eyes meet yours.

Eyes softening at the sight of you still playing with the long length of hair, "What? Do I have something in my hair?" laughing at his rambling questions of worry. "No, it's just long," you respond, making him look and feel for himself.

"I guess it is," Saying before looking back at you. "Do you want me to trim it?" you offer, finally looking at him. Laughing at the confession on his face, "You know how to cut hair?" he asks, but you do not answer, only sitting up moving off the bed.

"Come on," saying as you grab a spare chair before moving into the bathroom, going through the drawers finding a perfect pair of scissors.

Looking at the door frame that Copia stood in cutely, "Going to have to wet your hair, so take off your jacket and shirt," you inform, turning on the shower.

"If you just wanted me naked, you could have just said so," saying as he unzipped the top of his red tracksuit, looking laughing flushed, leaving him to undress.

Turning back, taking in his bare chest only for a moment before helping lean him under the water, quickly soaking his hair, then grabbing a nearby towel. Shutting off the water, moving over to the chair, quickly drying his hair to finally work away at the long length.

Removing the towel reveals the crazy style of hair, making you both laugh. Grabbing the comb and scissors before taming the beast of hair. Working slowly to get the best results, thinking of what sister would do if you fucked up.

Shaking off the pressure as you ruffled the cut hair, seeing as it blended nicely, the cut ends landing on his bare shoulders. Unaware of the eyes that watched you pleased with the work, having yet to meet the watchful eyes while finishing up.

Resting upon his shoulder, looking in the mirror, taking in your work, gladly meeting the watching eyes with a smile. "All done, handsome," you compliment, running fingers through the freshly cut hair.

As Copia played with the new length, you broke away, starting the shower once more, undressing as the water warmed, shocking the papa. Peering over at him, picking up his eyes that were once glued to your body. "I want you naked, papa?" needing no more sinful word, the papa fumbles out of the chair to join you.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @littlebitchsposts @urlocalfanficwriter

[smoliboops]

JSE Egos x Doctor Who Au - Jameson Jackson as the Eleventh Doctor

finally finished coloring my sketches from April :D! Dont know if i'll go as hard coloring-wise for future sketches lol, but hoping to get around to drawing more ego/doctor combos soon ^-^

(Bonus slight alternative for series7B JJ and bonus info/ramble in the read more:)

JJ with all brown hair since while coloring I forgot that I wanted to still give him his blue hair but more grown out (to kinda show the passage of time for 11! JJ to imply that he retired for a bit like 11 did after TATM/before the Snowmen.) I like how both versions turned out although idk which I like more lol. also i used an online Sherman's Gallifreyan translator for the first pic; it's "Jameson Jackson" in gallifreyan!

also yes i have been thinking about this specifically since i accidentally used Doctor Who to spot that Schneep was studying time travel equations back in 2019 and I went insane xD

also also, shoutout to the discord server im in (ya'll know who you are) who've been seeing me work thru these on and off the last 2 months, genuinely appreciate ya'll <3 :)

and finally if you got here, i have ideas/episode scenes i want to do for either 12! or 15! Marvin, 10! Chase, 9! Schneep, and Master! Anti cos ive wanted to draw him as either Dhawan or one of the classic incarnations 👀 (someone also mentioned Valyard! Anti as well on the sketch post and while i havent gotten around to watching Trial of a Timelord/more classic DW i see your vision 👏). but im very slow at finishing art so pls let me know which ideas yall might want to see next if you like this niche crossover ^-^ ✨

[drdemonprince]

When other people say that they do not have enough time to get something done, they (often, if they're quite healthy) mean they are taking into account the time it takes to do the laundry and arrange new pieces of furniture and cook dinner and meet up with friends to see a movie and run to the post office or the hair dresser and take the dog for walks and do the dishes and paint their nails and drive to the store and go to their cousin's wedding and go to the barbecue their friend is throwing on the weekend

they don't winnow their life down to just spending time at the computer, working from when they wake up until they cannot focus their eyes anymore, granola bars, coffee, and bottles of water all around them because of course they did not take time to have lunch or breakfast, only dragging themselves away from work when they are truly too exhausted to do any of it anymore, and then lacking the energy to do much of anything that remains of life but to eat a tiny bit more, sponge themselves off, and go to sleep.

i just saw a video of a fursuiter on their bed, legs kicked back, head propped on their hands, delightedly announcing that after many years of hard work they had finally finished their Master's degree. And some part of me, some sick withered part, thought really? you had time to do a Master's degree while also getting a fursuit done? and going to conventions, presumably? you had time in the day to research fursuit makers, have a sona designed and drawn by someone else (or to draw it yourself), to contact a maker to make a duck tape dummy of yourself, and to have a friend over to help you make it and to cut it off of you, to send it in the mail to the maker, to then get it and make videos? you had time to set up this beautiful bedroom that i see in your video, with a soft pink sham on the bed and LED lights behind your bookshelf and lamps and all kinds of stuffed toys? you had a life? you were out playing, and dancing, and pursuing your hobbies, and you did a master's degree?

because when i was working on my doctorate, there was nothing. three layers of foam on the floor with a fitted sheet over it. a folding card table from aldi that had cost $40 that my grandparents got me. no food in the fridge. no time to even get the internet installed, just stolen wi-fi when my laptop could pick it up. i woke up, got dressed, and slunk into the office. i sat alone in the dark working until my hunger made me furious and i could not write another word. and then i walked to the grocery store, got something to subsist on, went home, ate, kickboxing video, went to sleep. every day. with almost nothing breaking the routine.

and ive gotten better, so much better, but my brain still kind of works that way. i feel like i have to quit my job and stop being a writer if i want to have hobbies. to paint my bedroom. to marinate a meat for longer than fifteen minutes. to get a driver's license again. to take a trip. but i dont want to be like that any more. how do people know when to stop? i feel like i have to give everything my absolute all until there is nothing left or else i have done nothing. i feel that i would have to treat a hobby like a job to get it done. I feel that anything that takes more than two minutes is a huge waste of time i must feel guilty for. i am working on all these things. jesus i have been working on them for years at this point. but because i have been so successful at telling people to do less, i get pulled in. interview. workshop invitation. email. urgent in the subject line. call from my agent. meeting request from my boss. new book idea, better sell it now while my sales figures still look good. recording studio session. deadline. writing. can you talk about this. can you talk about that. tag. email. book idea. deadline. long heartfelt email. still so often i have to take my own damn advice.

and this is why i am getting a fursuit made!! and going to cons! and going to leather and latex events! and making socials that are separate for these things!! i am going to let myself be silly and soft and do frivolous things. i am so sick of what i do to myself, all the pursuit of seeming like a strong mature adult.

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[meruz]

hi!! im sure ppl have asked this b4, but i scoured your asks tag for an hour or so looking to see if you answered anything abt it and couldnt find anything, so i was just wondering if youve made any posts on your process for making n selling merch b4? and how you know which franchises you can make merch for w/o getting into trouble w copyright n trademark stuff (hopefully that makes sense, im not sure,,,)

hi! got a bunch of asks abt merch stuff lately im gonna put it under a cut.

preface: i don't know if i'm the best person to ask about all this stuff because I'm doing merch on a strictly hobby basis LOL. I have a fulltime job which takes care of the bulk of my finances, I don't really make big quantities of anything and my main priority at cons is to just make enough money to see my friends in different cities at minimal expense. i pretty much always get a refund when i file my con taxes because my profit after all the deductions is like fucking..nothing.. lmao. So if you ultimately lose money following my advice don't blame me. OK NOW lets get into it

my process for making merch: when I have an event scheduled that I want to make merch for I start by brainstorming a bunch of stuff I wanna make. for mgscon this is what I wrote down in my sketchbook lol

i made a legend to denote which ones are actually just reprints. it gets easier to plan out merch when you already have merch. out of the new merch ideas here i actually only made like 4 of them. and out of the reprints i only reprinted like three. i also came up with like 4-5 other merch ideas after writing out this list that i actually did do. LMAOO UM. my point here is that nothing rly goes as planned.

when i get a merch idea i start with thumbnails what i want it to look like (sometimes this is based off merch ive seen before so its very realized and sometimes its really vague bc im kind of pulling it out of my ass)

then BEFORE i go into making the final art I research how I'm going to make the merch. whether its printing/constructing it myself or looking for a manufacturer. There's a lot of different places that you can get custom merch made, i used to go shopping around at local printing shops but nowadays it's really common to do it all online. For both these jet tags and the washi tape I did some of my own research into manufacturers and also asked friends for their contacts/referrals/recommendations etc. most manufacturers either have their specs/template publicly available or will give them to you when you ask. so once I've locked into a manu and gotten the specs I'll start designing the final art.

then it's sending it off and waiting! easier said than done.

i will say this process is a lot lengthier for some types of merch than others LOL. for prints... I've been doing prints for like a million years and I plan out almost none of it. I draw everything at print resolution so a week before I have a con scheduled I'll simply go through all the files I've accumulated since my last con, squeeze whatever drawings I want into standard print sizes lol (ie. 8.5x11, 11x17, 4x6 etc), and print them at a local shop. takes like a couple hours max.

how you know which franchises you can make merch for w/o getting into trouble w copyright n trademark stuff?

I mean. honestly I don't know. selling fanart is the kind of thing that IP holders kind of just let slide as long as they don't think they're losing a substantial amt of money on it. there ARE a couple franchises people avoid because they've been known to send IP lawyers after fanartists... disney is the big one and they're known for being pretty petty abt it... that's why you don't really see people selling fanart of the disney princesses at cons. ive heard pokemon will also crack down if your project seems to be making a lot of money lol, part of why i think a lot of pokemon fanzines operate on a charity basis. I do feel like the pokemon company has bigger fish to fry than someones artist alley table though so i wouldn't sweat it too much.

it's also generally considered impolite/bad taste to sell fanart of small franchises. webcomics and indie games especially if they only have like 1-2 devs who rely on the income that game makes.

I'm not a lawyer so you shouldn't consider this legal advice BUT I will say... I don't think you should let IP law stop you from selling fanart lol. especially if it's low quantities/not mass produced and you're not making crazy amts of money I think you kind of have a leg to stand on. Besides, most cases it seems like the worst you'll get is a cease and desist.

you Will notice that when people start turning their artist alley endeavors into a real business they'll generally ease up on selling fanart (the case most prominent in my mind is omocat lol). but i love fanart and thats why i will never make money and thats a promise [snake saluting gif]

SORRY IDK IF ANY OF THIS WAS HELPFUL. I've been doing merch and cons for a long time (10+ years lmao, you can find record of this on this very blog) and i think im kind of old fashioned about it. i recognize the artist alley/merch scene is a lot more demanding now than it used to be but start small at local low-risk events, online sales etc and work your way up and remember to have fun and itll be ok i believe this wholeheartedly.

its literally just layers of acrylic like any other dinky charm. I'm sure pretty much any manu that does acrylic charms could do it but this specific charm/template i did order through a group order server. they're pretty well known! heres a link to their twitter

@wheatormeat sorry for taking a full month to answer this... anyways. This is tricky because I've actually been changing up my sticker manu everytime LOL IDK if I've found one I actually love.

these ones i ordered thru an alibaba manu because I was jumping on a friend's group order to save on shipping. it was ok. they arrived a liiiitle late and printed a lil dark but i think thats kind of my fault LOL I use dark colors i always need to lighten things before i get them printed and i think i just didnt lighten these enough. otherwise i rly love the quality!

i realized i never posted these online and also this is not a good picture (the lighting in my living room sucks rn) but i printed these tmnt stickers thru stickerninja they feel really solid but they needed kind of a lot of space for the cutline. but their customer service was very nice and helpful!

these ones i got printed at washimill and i was so impressed with how fine their cutline is... pricing and quality of the sticker itself is alright they feel a lil flimsy? idk. but i do like the printing. i kind of elected to go with them solely because i was already ordering washi tape. A LOT of my manufacturing decisions are made based on how much money i can save on shipping tbh.

and thats my sticker manu reviews dont forget to like comment subscribe idk if i have one im gonna stick with forever or anything im rly indecisive. ideally id like a manu based in the u.s...? because im based in the u.s. and international shipping is pricey. but idk if i keep ordering washi tape maybe ill keep using washimill. who knows...

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

Hi, random comment but Holy shit your half-transformed Monster Tom with the mouth in his chest is so fucking cool! Also, monsterfucker Tord is so real! Can only imagine Tord's reaction when he saw Tom like half-transformed for the first time.

THANK YOU! im like. super happy with how i draw tom, monster form ABSOLUTELY included. i put like. way too much thought into it lmao but ive always been a fan of unique creature designs so what else is new.

RRRAAH RAMBLINGS UNDER THE CUT

so ive been obsessed with the concept since i figured out what exactly happened during PowerEdd, ~2015. tom was kind of already my favorite but i only got more obsessed now that i could draw him with claws and fangs now.

(lmao old art^ lets all point and laugh)

when i finally got back into eddsworld this most recent time and started thinking about how i'd draw the guys i already knew i wanted tom to be trans, so when i started sketching i drew him with top surgery scars... which kind of looked like teeth... and the canon monster design already has a mouth on its chest/head... it just worked!!

...

ok tangent time- i dont like the canon design very much (the combined head/torso is Very limiting for poses. F!!!) but i also have never really liked the popular fanon of just making monster tom a wolf with horns and a single eye. it always feels so reductive!! do you KNOW how many monsters there are out there who are just "big dog/cat plus one fantastical feature"???? MANY!! so i was pretty determined to find a design i liked (one that was both flexible and fairly unique) before putting it in anything.

...and the partial transformation cliche of just putting accessories on a character is SUPER boring to me. so i wanted something that would be an actual halfway point to a fucked up freaky creature that is only barely humanoid.

ok back on track it took me like fuckin forever to finally get the final ~50% design together. i tried mimicking the merged torsohead of the canon monster and it just left me disappointed. :/

the single blank eye instead of the rest of the face was a god damn GENIUS move i am so proud of it im pretty sure the first time i drew the design was the actual draft sketch for the comic. because fuck making reference sheets!! the design's in your mind, right???

oh! as for the second half of your ask, the first time Tord saw Tom half transformed was right here^^!!

then a couple weeks after that i managed to find a 100% design i liked that still looked like a reasonable end point. at which point i actually made a little ref sheet! BEFORE i used the design in a comic!! it hasnt gotten much use but i still like it :)

i took a much more wyrm-like horizontal approach as opposed to the vertical design of the original, but the arms (connected to top of spine, directly behind head) and legs (close to the bottom, optional) allow it to still match the original's body plan, especially from the front view. then extra legs, big spiky scales, even larger mouth... because who wants just a dog with horns am i right!!

ahaha so basically im incredibly proud of how the design turned out so thank u for liking it :))

[vulpisnocturna]

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter IV - Repercussions

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Chapters: I; II; III

Warnings: captivity, murder, violence (not towards reader), Chrollo being a menace, obsession, controlling behaviour, Yandere Chrollo, manipulation, emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, suicide threats/attempt

Word count: 6k

Your preparations were complete. This was the day. The day where you would finally escape. Just before getting on the blimp, you would enter the airport, and at the gate, you would find a way to approach security and let them know you were in danger. Chrollo had already told you that you would travel alone, just the two of you, therefore, you didn’t have to worry about any of his horrid friends giving him a hand. And yes, he was a thief, and he had superpowers, but a bullet to the head always did the job, no?

You hated him more than ever. After that night you had gotten drunk two weeks before, you had woken up to find he had left a love bite on your throat. You had been seething, and had actually tried throwing things at him, which had resulted in you being tied to the bed for a full three hours, forced to listen to him monologue about everything and anything just to get a kick out of you. He asked you questions, of course. What your favourite films were, what your favourite flowers and books and artists were, and even if you did not answer, he answered for you, because he was a disgusting stalker who knew the answers already. Then, he gave his review on each of the answers, psychoanalysing you based on the things you liked.

And of course, he had not stopped kissing you. It had been wishful thinking, truly, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t press you. But no, he was even more hands-on. Like an octopus, he seemed to attach himself wherever you went. His hands may not have been sticky, but they sure felt like it. He would wrap them around your waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck and keeping you still as he had his fix of kissing your neck and sucking disgusting hickies on it like he was a fifteen-year-old who had just discovered snogging.

And it should have been gross, and distasteful, and it should have made you feel dirty. And it did, but not in the right way. No, it made you feel dirty because every time he kissed your neck and told you all the things he just couldn’t wait to do to you and how good you would feel if you just let him have you, your lower stomach would feel tight and hot, and you’d find yourself aroused. And it felt so revolting to be betrayed so severely by your body.

There were few times where you had the presence of mind to thrash around and flail your limbs to hit him or get him to let you go, but by the point you put a tight leash around your mind, he had already gotten what he wanted. By the time he had kissed you and pulled you on his lap, you had already shown it took you several seconds before you bit down on his tongue or his lips. And if you did draw blood, he would smile at you, his eyes growing darker and full of lust, revealing a sadistic part of him that made you feel like it actually turned him on, and that he could barely restrain himself from retaliating in kind. His fingers would curl around your hips like a vice, and he would let out a soft groan, looking at you like you were prey.

So you had stopped biting, because you were terrified of what would happen if Chrollo Lucilfer lost control.

You hated how he played house with you. How he liked to cook for you, telling you about all the things he liked about you, forcing you to cuddle with him and acting like this was all normal. Your anger, your venomous words, your violence, none of it affected him at all. You were at least glad he never hurt you physically, but no, Chrollo was much more subtle and devious than that. No, Chrollo liked mind games. He liked bringing up the fact that he was so so saddened by the fact that your behaviour prevented him from taking you outside, from letting you see and experience the outside world. He was not expecting you to escape at all. But you would. Oh, you would that very day.

As you stood next to him in front of the door that had been the lock of your gilded cage, you felt... excited. Fearful, ridden with nerve-wracking anxiety, dreading what could go wrong, but also excited. Because you would do it. You had to believe that.

‘Now, you know the rules, darling’ he said softly, and you saw his red book appear in his hand. The lock clicked, and he picked up the suitcase, placing his hand on the small of your back and leading you outside. You walked with him to the lift, pretending to be a well-behaved dog that would follow him everywhere and never stray far away from him. You obediently got in the passenger seat, and Chrollo put on some music, seemingly in a good mood. You lowered the window to get several mouthfuls of clean air after a month of strict captivity in the house and did your best to ignore him. You didn’t even try to ask him where he was planning to take you next, and you did not want to know what job he would be involved in next.

Chrollo, on his part, did not seem particularly bothered by the fact that you were not talking, and the drive was fairly quiet. Your stomach was churning, a lump of anxiety burrowing itself in your throat, almost suffocating you. Your heart hammered like a Metallica concert in your ribcage, and you were worried he might actually hear it, because to you, it was as loud as the crack of thunder. Nevertheless, you tried to act natural and composed, fearing he would see your nervousness and be on his guard. He would notice if you were suddenly nicer to him in the hopes of relaxing him, so instead, you tried to act as dismissive and bitter as you always did.

He parked the car in the parking space of the airport, and like the pretend gentleman he liked to masquerade as, he opened the door for you and offered you his hand, which you promptly ignored. Not deterred in the slightest, he got your suitcase and walked with you towards the entrance. You swallowed, your legs weak as you glanced at him and then at the people walking around the main room. You quickly pinpointed three guards in one corner by the ticket stall and another two near the exit that led to the docking area. He grabbed two tickets from his pocket and gave you a slight smile. You shifted on your feet.

‘I need to go to the bathroom before we leave’ you said, pointing at the toilets on the other side of the room. He lifted an eyebrow.

‘You can wait until we get on the blimp’ he said. You shook your head.

‘I have to go now’ you retorted, staring him down. His dove grey eyes bored into you for a few seconds, and then he nodded. You gulped, cold sweat running down your spine as you rigidly made your way to the toilets. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head. You locked eyes with one of the guards, and brought one hand in front of your stomach, so he wouldn’t see it, quickly but deliberately showing the guard your thumb bending towards the palm of your hand and the other fingers closing over it, in a signal for help. The guard’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and after a second, she nodded. You ran towards her and her two colleagues all of a sudden, standing behind them.

‘Shoot him! Now! He’s really dangerous’ you said, your voice cracking as Chrollo turned to look at you, his hand sliding from the handle of the suitcase, his expression growing cold.

‘Ma’am, what is the situati-‘ the female guard started to say, but before she could finish the sentence, she stopped talking with a weird grunting sound. You slowly looked over to her, confused, and your horrified eyes set on a pen sticking out of her forehead, and a trickle of blood pouring on her brow. Your voice caught in your throat, and you watched, paralysed, as the guard slumped on the ground and hit the tiles with a thud. The other guards drew their guns, and the ones behind Chrollo also came rushing over, but before you could even plead with him, they were all dead.

You shivered wildly as you saw him walk towards you with graceful, unhurried steps, though his expression was stony.

People started screaming and running, but Chrollo took out his magic book, and in a few seconds, all of them were on the floor, unmoving. Your eyes widened in horror and despair, and you quickly crouched and grabbed one of the guns on the floor, pointing it at him. He stopped walking and tilted his head.

‘I would not have had a reason to do this if you hadn’t tried to leave me, sweetheart. What’s with that look? I told you your actions have consequences. Put the gun down’ he said, his voice unwavering, calm, authoritative. You didn’t.

‘You’re a sick fuck- a sick fuck’ you said in a croaky voice, your teeth gnashing and grinding against each other to the point your jaw ached. He did not stop approaching, and did not seem particularly bothered that you were pointing a gun at his face.

With your heart and your brain filled with naive, delusional hope, you pulled the trigger.

You did not see him dodge, but the next moment, there wasn’t a hole in his face, and his head was tilted slightly, which meant that monster was fast enough to dodge bullets. You let out a choked sound of despair, your grip unsteady, your eyes brimming with tears, your breath shallow and uneven, your heart thundering in your throat. Your heart and the blood in your veins turned to ice as you realised what the only way out of this was. It was all your fault. Those people he had killed... it was all because of you. You slowly placed the gun against your temple, the cold metal of the barrel burning your skin as you stared at Chrollo. As you placed the gun to your temple, Chrollo's expression turned from calm and confident to concerned and deranged very quickly. His aura exploded around him like a cataclysm that paralysed you.

'No! No, you don’t!' he growled, his voice low but desperate.

In a single movement, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled the gun out of your hand and away from your head. In his eyes, you saw his fear of losing you, his worry about your safety, and his reluctance to hurt you. All your hope of freedom disappeared as Chrollo threw the gun far, far away from you. Your fingers shook as your arms fell limply at your side. Primal fear of death took hold of you, and coldness seeped in the marrow of your bones.

‘Shh, shh, shh’ he murmured, dipping his head and placing a finger on your lips, instantly collected and composed again.

‘You are a very troublesome girl. My heart aches, darling. Have I not been kind towards you? I have given you everything. I give you love, affection, gifts, a nice house, nice food, expensive wine, flowers, books, films. I would take you outside, if you knew how to behave yourself. But you are one greedy girl, no? All you want is to be by yourself, all alone. Isn’t that sad? I’m not very happy now, and neither are you. See? This is a distressing situation for the both of us. Did you not think this through? Did you forget the rules I told you? That I would be forced to utilise violent methods to deal with those who would seek to take you from me? You are mine, darling. Remember that for me, yes? You do not leave me’ he said, staring at you, his face inches away from you. He wiped the tears from your cheeks, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You trembled, frozen, rooted to the spot.

‘You can either come with me now, or I can knock you out and carry you on the blimp. Either way, you are going to be on that airship in five minutes’ he said, his voice calm and mellow. Your chest heaved, and your eyes trailed to all the corpses around you. There must have been at least fifteen. You felt the sudden urge to throw up. Your fault. It was all your fault. All these people, they were dead because of you. Why were you worth more than any of them? Why weren’t you the only corpse strewn on the white tiles? If only you’d been smarter, if only you had devised a better plan... but no, you realised all was useless in front of a monster such as he was. A monster that could kill with a pen. A monster that could dodge bullets. A monster that stood unflinching in the face of mass murder. What were you hoping would happen? You were only a normal girl. He was the stuff of nightmares.

You let him drag you towards the docking area. He took out his phone and started calling someone.

‘Shal, I need you to hack into the security cameras of Starling’s airport. Then, tell Shizuku to drive here to clean up. I ran into a little mishap’ he said, and then nodded and ended the call, grabbing the suitcase and dragging you along onto the blimp. Apparently, he had reserved all of it, so the pilot was none the wiser about the bloodbath that had ensued in the airport. He sat you down in one of the luxurious rooms, on a sofa, and poured you a glass of wine, and then one for himself.

‘Would you like to say something?’ he asked, twirling his chalice in his hand. You jerked your head “no”, your eyes fixed on the glass of the coffee table, your mind replaying the images of the corpses in the airport as the blimp took flight.

‘I hope this won’t be repeated. Otherwise, you understand I will be unable to trust you outside’ he said calmly. You gritted your teeth, your trembling hands balled up into fists as your shoulders hunched.

‘Curious how your face was not on the missing people board at the airport, don’t you think? None of the guards even stopped you. How curious. I wonder if your family submitted a missing person file to the authorities’ he mused after a few minutes, opening his bag and getting a copy of “Crime and Punishment” out, taking out a bookmark and starting to read, lounging in an armchair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You did not fall for the obvious bait, but you could not stop the horrible thoughts that clouded your mind. Had your family filed a report? Had Chrollo killed them? Threatened them?

You got up from the sofa, walking numbly towards the cabin and closing the door behind you, lying down on the bed and staring at the patterns in the wall paint.

Chrollo sighed, bitterly taking a swig of red wine, his grey eyes trailing to the closed door of the cabin where you had gone to half an hour earlier. He turned a page, feeling distracted and slightly hurt.

It was illogical, obviously, considering he had always expected you would try at least once to leave him. It was just human nature to seek freedom. But was freedom not overrated in your case after all? He had lifted you up from a life of boring routines, awful working conditions, inane friends and a family that did not care for you as well as he could. He was giving you the chance to travel, the chance for adventure; he was giving you affection, protection, respect, sharing all his possessions with you, treating you to the finest food, the best clothes and jewellery, he stole ancient tomes, invaluable artefacts, pretty necklaces and earrings, even paintings for you. He knew you at least found him physically attractive. He knew he was good-looking, and whenever he kissed you, you always struggled to be stubborn and reject him, because your body and your mind were not in agreement. He knew he was not a good person, but did you truly see him as such an abhorrent, unlovable monster? Was he such a disgusting individual in your eyes?

Chrollo traced the rim of his wine glass, his eyes clouded with disappointment and a slight twinge of sorrow. The truth was that he was lonely. His heart had been empty for so very long, and the moment he had met you, the world had burst into vivid colours. Emotions had sprang in his chest, joy and contentment warmed him whenever he held you. He felt alive for the first time in more than a decade and a half. Was it so wrong for someone like him to seek companionship and acceptance? Was his darkness truly so overwhelming that you would never see all of him and find him anything but repulsive?

Chrollo was not one to deny his own nature. He was prideful, arrogant, egotistical, manipulative and possessive. But with you, he also felt a twinge of kindness, respect, admiration, something he had never had with any of the many women he had spent time with in his life. He was filled with personality traits you might find unsavoury in a person, but he was also intelligent, loyal, protective, dependable, open-minded, and frankly, he thought himself to be a very interesting person. Surely, there were positive things about him you might like, if you actually considered giving him a chance. Contrary to popular beliefs, he was not devoid of human emotions. He felt just like everyone else, though his feelings were kept on a tight leash out of the belief that they could be used against him. “There is no greater curse than loneliness”, he thought to himself, taking another swig of wine and turning a page. His life had been anything but easy, but there had been times, especially when everything seemed at the point of collapse, when he had wished he had someone by his side, someone he could share his inner demons with, someone who would not judge and condemn. Someone who understood him, both the darkness and the light. But those people did not exist, and Chrollo did not want to share his pain with anyone. He did not want to see the pity in anyone's eyes.

One way or another, you would stay with him for life. But Chrollo didn’t want you to be unhappy either. At some point, he thought, you had to give in. At some point, you would be too tired and lonely to keep rejecting him. But it had been a month, and you were still as proud, headstrong and stubborn as you had been on the first day. Even if he hadn’t abducted you, upon finding out what his job was, you would have been repulsed, because you seemed to have the morals of a saint. He simply did not understand, though he had to admit he found himself charmed by your naiveté and innocence at times. You were like a flower blooming in the harsh snow, or through the cracks of cement, untainted by the cruel world.

He was a villain, but he was no monster or savage. He had only killed those people because he couldn’t afford to leave witnesses to your stunt at the airport. He was no rapist, he had never forced himself on you, even when his desires had boiled and set his body aflame with lust at the sight and feel of you. He had never hit you, not once. You were too precious for him to hurt. And yet, all he got from you was bitterness, fear and coldness. He believed you would come to love him someday, but he was lonely and filled with yearning. Your presence, your body, the taste of your lips, it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted your heart, your mind and your soul too. He wanted to be the only one you held dear in the world. He wanted you to feel safe with him, to love him, to understand him, accept him and foster a meaningful connection with him. Was he destined to spend the rest of his life without those things, with the meaningless farce of a relationship?

The harsh truth was that he had felt a pang of hurt and panic when he had witnessed your attempt at leaving him, your attempt at killing yourself, naive as it had been. He had been scared of losing you.

'A human heart is a fragile thing,' he mused. He put the book down and took another sip of wine, leaning back in his armchair, a sad, almost tired look on his face. You were like a puzzle, the piece that he wanted so badly to connect with the others, to finally form an image that made sense. He wanted you to be happy, to be satisfied, but he also wanted you to be his and only his, for him to own your mind and your heart. It was a difficult conundrum; but Chrollo was determined to make you fall.

He sighed, and his gaze hardened at his own wavering thoughts. If his beliefs vacillated, he would never succeed. You would come to accept him and cherish him, one day. And most importantly, the lesson he had imparted that day would make you think twice about trying to leave him again.

He closed his eyes, his mind drifting to a dream of a hopeful future. A cold night of Autumn, in a home warmed by the blazing, crackling flames in the fireplace, your body underneath him on a comfortable sofa, your skin glowing, the light dancing on your curves as he grazed his fingers over your body, tracing, gripping, kneading, caressing, your laboured breaths mingling, your lips swollen with his kisses, your eyebrows furrowed in bliss, your hair strewn around your face, your legs around his hips, his mouth against your throat, your soft sighs and moans filling the room. He imagined your arms around his torso, fingers curling on the skin of his shoulder blades, your back arching into him, your nails digging in his back as he gave you pleasure. He imagined lying down with you, spent and satisfied, stroking your hair, kissing your forehead, whispering words of devotion to you as you caught your breath and smiled at him. He imagined running you a bath, wrapping you in a blanket, making you a warm drink and sitting with you outside to watch the stars in the peaceful forest he would have bought a home in. What a perfect life, he thought longingly. A small sliver of peace in a world that had robbed him of every piece of happiness and serenity. He liked the life of freedom, adventure and danger he had with the Troupe, but in his heart, there was something Chrollo had never been able to steal: peace. What he wanted with you, what he truly wanted, was someone to come back to, someone to feel alive with, someone to protect, cherish and trust, someone who loved him, a home.

He downed his glass of wine.

His phone buzzed, and he picked it up, reading the text from Shalnark. “Cameras erased. Shizuku cleaned everything up”, it read. He wrote a quick reply and picked up his laptop, connecting it to the wi-fi and absentmindedly googling a website listing houses for sale. Perhaps, you would feel safer in one place. Perhaps, he could give you a place to call home, and a place for him to call home too. Of course, asking for your input would be like poking a rattlesnake at the moment, when you were so upset over what had happened at the airport, but he could still save some possible options. Perhaps it was a good move. Besides, he remembered your routine before you started living with him consisted of long walks in the park every weekend, so he knew for a fact you enjoyed nature. Some would think Chrollo enjoyed the city life, but the truth was that he liked peace and solitude. It would do you good to get some fresh air without him having to deal with a possible escape attempt on your part. It would be perfect to have a nice house somewhere that was quite isolated, but still not too far from civilisation, both to keep you from going to other people for “help” and for him to live in relative secrecy, away from prying eyes. He started looking for houses in natural reserves, in a place that was neither cold nor hot.

The blimp landed four hours later, and Chrollo sighed, closing his laptop and putting it back in his bag, getting up and walking to the cabin. He gently knocked on the door. No answer.

‘Dearest’ he said against the wooden door, listening in for any noise. Nothing.

‘Dearest. Would you come out, please?’ he repeated, his voice calm and purposely soothing. Once again, there was no answer. He let out a deep exhale, turning the doorknob and walking in. His face smoothed and softened as his eyes set on your sleeping form curled up on the duvet. He silently walked closer, observing the damp patch under your face, a clear sign you had cried yourself to sleep. He brushed your hair out of your face with reverence, observing the face of the woman that had thawed his heart. You looked so fragile when you slept. It made him want to protect you and hold you close. He squeezed your delicate hand slightly.

‘Darling, wake up’ he said, his voice soft but slightly louder, and you stirred, gasping, your eyes snapping open, and you scrambled away from him. He observed you quietly.

‘We have landed’ he said simply, his gaze darkening ever so slightly at your reaction, but he did not let it deter him from treating you with the utmost tenderness. Even idiots knew vulnerable times were the best moments to manipulate someone into depending on them.

‘You do not have to fear me, sweetheart. I would never hurt you, you are my precious girl’ he said with a slight smile. You grimaced, and he could practically taste your next words in the tension building in the air.

‘So I’m precious, but everyone else is trash and it doesn’t matter if they die? They’re disposable? They’re unworthy? They mean nothing? But me, I’m oh so fucking special?!’ you said in a disgusted, angry voice. Chrollo straightened up, leaning towards you and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

What an obvious question, he thought.

‘Exactly. You are my woman. You are the most important thing in the world, and your life is worth millions of theirs’ Chrollo remained calm, despite the anger that blazed in your eyes.

'Is that so difficult to believe?', he continued candidly, 'when you think about it, that's exactly what every human being thinks, myself included'

He straightened up, his face serious again, his voice still soft.

'Yes, my love, that's exactly what I think. You are the most wonderful person I have ever met, you deserve the world, and everyone else means nothing at all to me. This is how the world works. A parent will let millions die if it means they can save the life of their child. People prioritise that which is dear to them’ he said simply. At the candid, casual tone of his voice, your arms flopped at your side and your jaw slackened in defeat and resignation.

‘That doesn’t mean they had to die’ you murmured, your eyes searching for something, anything in his dove grey eyes. Something that would make him human in your eyes. But what he said... perhaps that was the most human thing of all. To be selfish, to care only about one’s own, to look only after one’s own. And yet, you didn’t even think what Chrollo had with you could ever be considered “caring”.

He took a step towards you, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, and he sat down on the side of the bed, leaning forward.

'Look at me, darling'

Your eyes slowly followed his finger and met his gaze. Chrollo remained very still, not daring to move so as not to break the balance of the moment, and he spoke softly.

'Do you care, love? Do you care if anyone else but you dies?' he asked almost curiously, with clinical fascination. You stared at him, your lips parting in disbelief at his question.

‘Of course I do’

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, his expression intrigued as he looked at you.

'Do you?' he asked, and you stayed silent and Chrollo continued to study you, his voice still soft, ‘Do any of the people who died today mean anything to you, my love?’

Chrollo's fingers slid across the duvet over your knee and he touched your skin gently, the movement of his fingers soothing and gentle, and yet to you, it was like being burnt.

‘This is just how humans work. You only care about those who are important to you. It is how you protect yourself’ he said simply. You stared at him, shaking your head stiffly.

'Do not liken me to you. I care because they are human. I care because you took human lives. Innocent lives. Just... just to stop me from escaping. You killed- so many people... do you not think of all the potential you robbed them of? Every single one of them had a life as nuanced and complicated as you or I do. And yet... you do not care, because they are not close to you? You have no humanity' you said, torn between disbelief, guilt and rage. Chrollo was selfish, you knew, but somehow, you had hoped in the depths of his darkness, there had to be some humanity, some... compassion. But you were once again mistaken.

‘I don't care. Their lives meant nothing to me’ he paused, but kept his fingers gently stroking your skin, 'I know you do not approve, but I stand by what I did. They were in my way. And I did not want you to leave me. Can you blame me for wanting you to be mine forever and not wanting another soul to touch you? I had to kill them, to stop you from leaving me. Simply put, my lovely, you signed their demise. You were aware that by trying to escape, you were putting innocent lives in danger, but you put yourself and your happiness first. Shh, it’s okay. I could never judge you for it, it’s as it should be, my darling. But you cannot play preacher with me, and speak of morality, when you also thought of your own needs above people’s lives' he said with a small smile. You froze, a cold, bitter nausea gripping your body, paralysing you, making you its prisoner in the truth he spoke. Because you had known Chrollo was powerful, strong and dangerous. You had heard him say he would kill people to ensure you did not leave him. But you had chosen to naively ignore that fact, blinded by the delusion that everything would work out in a world where nothing ever did.

‘I never wanted- I never wanted...’ you stammered, clutching your lurching stomach.

‘You didn’t want it to happen, but you overlooked it' he whispered, keeping his voice gentle and soothing. He looked at you, his eyes taking in every inch of your face, of your skin. His fingers continued to stroke your knee, his touch soothing and tender.

'I know, darling, I know. Your mind and your heart are telling you different things. I am like a poison to you, and yet you cannot resist' Chrollo tilted his head, his eyes still on your face, 'I know your struggle is a difficult one, but I will help you overcome it. You can abandon your morality, the shackles of society, the good and proper, and you can have freedom from those useless rules that society has imposed on you. It is only human nature. Break free. Life is so much easier when you do not care for those that are not your own, sweetheart' the last words were laced with some kind of heaviness as he uttered them, as if they carried a much larger meaning than what he was willing to divulge, but you were too concerned with the breaking of your own mind, the shattering of your own heart over the guilt and repulsion you felt for yourself, the dread you felt at knowing he was right, in a way. You had chosen yourself even at the expense of many innocent lives. You were selfish, heartless and a monster.

'You are my own, my love. You're the only one worth anything in this world, and I would destroy a thousand worlds just to keep you by my side. Is that not the ultimate expression of love?' Chrollo's lips curved up in a slight smile, as if he had just imparted a sacred lesson to you, as if the words he had spoken were the wisest in the world. He had some kind of dreamy look in his big dove grey eyes, as if he truly saw himself as the romantic lead in a film. It made your stomach churn.

‘You think murder is the ultimate expression of romanticism? Have you any idea how fucked up that is? That you should be obsessed with somebody, and willing to trample on the whole world and all its worth just to get what you want? Even at the expense of the happiness of the one you are so obsessed with?’ you asked, your voice straining, struggling to pass through the heavy lump constricting your throat.

‘It is not only romanticism' he replied with a slight frown on his face, 'it is reality. People murder, steal and ruin each other's lives over and over again, all over the world, every day. This is the way of the world. I know you find it difficult to accept, my love. The truth is that most people are selfish and cruel, and if you want to live a happy life, you have to be as well’ he said simply, as if it were a dogmatic truth imparted from the heavens.

‘And so, instead of attempting to better the world, you simply decided to be the worst of them all? Why add cruelty onto cruelty? Why make the world worse?’ you continued, spreading your arms as if to illustrate your point. Chrollo sighed deeply.

'Because the cruelty of the human race cannot be changed, my love. It is part of our nature, and attempting to deny our own nature is futile. But that should be a good thing. It is who we are, and we should not want to be any other way. And those who accept their human nature, darling, those are the ones who shall be free and happy’ he said with his placid, enigmatic smile.

‘I will take everything from this world, and create freedom and happiness for those I call my own. The rest of the world could burn, and I would not care' he said simply. You stared at him, shaking your head slightly. Arguing with Chrollo on morality was utterly useless. You'd probably have more luck convincing a lion to stop eating zebras. You picked up your bag and exited the cabin, wanting nothing more than to get off that blimp and get to whatever flat Chrollo had decided you would live in next and try to forget the massacre you had caused. Forget the blood and the corpses and the smell of iron in the air.

[kokoasci]

hi! sorry I already asked something like this but I realise I didn't phrase it very well ;v; if it's too much of a bother you can just ignore this but I just wanted to ask how you draw heads? like the circle sticks way or just any egg sorta shape because all of mine just end up looking weird when I flip them or like a potato that got hit by a car

sure! im not nearly as technical as ive seen other people do it, but this is the process i generally follow for most angles:

start out w/ a general shape idea (circle + guidelines for angle) this is something ive just kind of gotten from experience, i look at ref pictures all the time and do general shape guidelines like that

add general stick guidelines + another oval for the head/hair shape, i find this easier to work with bc then you know how big your corpus callosum™ needs to be to fit that big brain. sometimes i do the triangle-ish method, sometimes the sticks method depending on the angle

3. add some more shaping for the general face, i like to take into account that where the eye/eyebrows are have a little dip in a 3/4 profile

4. now add features! general rule of thumb i follow is top of the eyes matches with the top/middle of the ears, eyebrows are closer in depending on expression and angle, and i erase most guidelines at this point. i like to draw everything on the same layer, so i just erase as i go

5. detail + hair! this is usually on a separate layer, i usually redo this a few times though bc angles are hard

on the note of wonky angles when you flip, i highly recommend flipping the canvas as you work. having a weird looking base will lead to a weird looking final result, so catching that it looks ok at the start will help a bunch <3 if you still think it looks weird, procreate's distort tool helps me a lot too bc that way you can fix the angle easier w/out having to redraw it

you can tell my stuff looks rlly weird at the start b/c usually build up to my artstyle (and im not professional by any means) so id take this advice with some caution, this is just the way that's easiest for me ^^

hope i understood your question correctly! thanks for asking !!