#palm springs art museum

[elizabethaethertownusa]

Here's a pictorial rug I really enjoyed by Isabel John (c. 1975).

I want to start collecting pictorial rugs this year and the next. Hit me up if you can recommend good sites for finding rugs for prices that are fair to the artist and yet which a poor author can afford

[garadinervi]

Mark Bradford, Rat Catcher of Hamelin IV, (mixed media collage on canvas), 2011 [Palm Springs Art Museum, Palm Springs, CA. © Mark Bradford]

[illusionstravels]

“great rhombicosidodecahedron” by anthony james, palm springs art museum, california

[longlistshort]

This sculpture, The Only Other, 2021, by the artist Midabi, was located in Union Square Park in NYC from June 2021- June 2022. 

It is currently located adjacent to Palm Springs Art Museum in California.

[taf-art]

Interlocking Forms (blue, lavender, white) (1959). Karl Stanley Benjamin.

[images-mcm-mexico-california]

early morning shadow reflections 

image by your curator, 2017

[dartandmap]

Desert Art

Most folks go to the Palm Springs, CA to hang at hotel pools and relax, & Yucca Valley to visit Joshua Tree National Park or to check out a band at Pappy & Harriets. Of course, so do I. But I also very much enjoy cool desert art.  When you are looking for a more off the beaten path experience, here are some great places to check out. Glass Outhouse Art Gallery 77575 Highway 62, Twentynine…

[jetix]

Yoshitomo Nara - Your Dog, 2002, Fiberglass, Palm Springs Art Museum

[gimmethatagustd]

venor (6) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 3,727

○ Warnings: It's what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, how delish

○ Notes: This one is dedicated to @remmykinsff cuz they realized i forgot to delete an old draft from my queue so i ended up posting the wrong fucking thing 😭 Also, I tried so hard not to write too much about the Amarna Period during the 18th Dynasty of Ancient Egypt 💀 It was hard to control myself tbh

○ Post Date: March 11, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

“Are you sure you don’t want a jacket?” 

Taehyung’s question ends with his lips downturned. He leans against his car while he holds the door open for Jungkook and watches with narrow eyes as Jungkook scoots out of the passenger seat.

“I’m okay! We didn’t park that far from the entrance.” Jungkook’s attempt to look confident by crossing his arms against his chest makes him look even colder.

It’s relatively chilly outside, and despite Taehyung’s pestering, Jungkook hasn’t bothered to dress appropriately for the weather. He doesn’t miss the way Taehyung’s gaze drags over his body, taking inventory of his cropped sweater that stops just before the waistband of his tight, ripped jeans. When Jungkook turns around, he swears he sees Taehyung’s eyes drop to his fluffy white tail poking out of the little hole in his jeans. It almost excites him enough to wiggle, but he holds it in. He can’t possibly embarrass himself before their not -date has even begun.

It’s not really a date if they’re only going to the museum together for a school assignment, Yoongi had pointed out. Suyun said otherwise, but Jungkook isn’t sure if he should get his hopes up.

“Museums are always cold,” Taehyung finally points out before closing the car door behind Jungkook. “I have an extra one in the back.”

“I swear, I’m okay,” Jungkook rushes to shut Taehyung up. He grabs Taehyung’s wrist and tugs. “Let’s go!”

Surprisingly, Taehyung lets Jungkook drag him through the parking lot without fussing. By the time they slip through the museum’s front doors, Jungkook’s hand migrates down to Taehyung’s, their palms pressing together and fingers intertwining.

There aren’t many people lingering in the museum’s lobby, but the few around are mostly prey hybrids. One of them, a mouse hybrid, turns around so sharply to stare at Jungkook and Taehyung that it startles Jungkook into nearly tripping. She doesn’t speak when they walk past her toward the check-in desk, but her nose wiggles and pulls up into a deep scrunch. 

In the still air of the museum and without the outside breeze to muddle smells, even hybrids with weak senses can pick up Taehyung’s scent mingling with Jungkook’s. They bring with them the smell of a warm spring rainstorm, earthy and floral, life-bearing. 

Taehyung doesn’t seem to notice the mouse hybrid’s reaction to them — or he pretends not to, choosing to keep his attention on the task at hand. He had been focused like this on the drive from Jungkook’s dorm to the museum, so quiet that Jungkook had assumed he might be angry with him over them scenting each other. It wasn’t until a Girls’ Generation song came on the radio that Jungkook sang along to that Taehyung’s hard edge melted. 

It was overwhelming to be in such a small space with Taehyung, surrounded by his petrichor scent and distracted by the flick of his tail, which rested on the center console. Jungkook had to stop himself from staring while Taehyung drove, just like he has to stop himself now. 

On the outside, Jungkook is calm as he waits in line to buy their tickets for the Egyptian art exhibit. Internally, he’s freaking out over just how big Taehyung’s hand is. He even lets himself sneak a peek and tries not to burn with shy embarrassment when his heart flutters at how his hand is engulfed by Taehyung’s.

“Bun,” Taehyung calls out, bumping his shoulder against Jungkook’s. The ticket line is moving, and Jungkook isn’t.

He needs to pull himself together.

But first, he needs to pull himself apart from Taehyung.

Letting go of Taehyung’s hand, Jungkook reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. However, he’s too slow, and all he can do is watch as Taehyung slides his credit card to the employee behind the desk in exchange for two rectangular strips of paper.

“You’ll take the elevators to the left up to the third floor. The exhibit will be on your immediate right,” the employee explains, but Jungkook isn’t listening.

“Why did you do that?” Jungkook hisses as Taehyung heads toward the elevators, not even bothering to glance at Jungkook.

“Do what?”

“Pay for both of us!”

“Because I wanted to?” Taehyung shoots his arm out to stop the elevator doors from closing and ushers Jungkook inside.

There isn’t a reasonable rebuttal, so Jungkook glares at him while the elevator beeps as they pass the second floor. They stand on opposite sides, leaning against each wall's handrail. Luckily, the elevator doesn’t stop for anyone else to get on. 

“So pouty,” Taehyung smirks but keeps his eyes on the changing number above the elevator’s doors. “Don’t prey like to be taken care of?”

“No.” 

Jungkook’s answer comes too quickly, and his tone is too petulant. It makes Taehyung laugh, finally bringing his bright gaze to rest on Jungkook’s face.

“Not even little domesticated bunnies like you?” Taehyung teases.

“You’re domesticated, too!”

“Are tigers domesticated?” Taehyung’s boxy grin widens.

At a loss for words, Jungkook follows Taehyung out of the elevator.

As the museum employee said, the entrance to the exhibit Jungkook and Taehyung are looking for is directly to the right of the elevator lobby. Another employee in uniform stands at a small podium in front of the large glass doors to check guests’ tickets. He’s young, likely a college student working a part-time job, with black and orange striped ears poking out of straight black hair.

“Good afternoon,” the tiger hybrid greets lowly. He pauses to look over Taehyung before gazing over Jungkook’s form.

It’s intimidating, standing between two large predators. Jungkook never feels weak, but he feels meek, knowing he is the weakest one here. As usual, this doesn’t deter him. He stands with his head held high and his eyes locked on the employee.

“Have you visited before?” the employee asks Taehyung, who shakes his head. The employee explains the setup of the exhibit and then hands Taehyung a pamphlet about the artwork and a museum map in case they need it.

It shouldn’t bother Jungkook that the employee never speaks to him, but he feels irritation prickle his skin as he walks away. His mood must sour his scent or muddle his expression because Taehyung bumps shoulders with him again once they’re inside the exhibit.

“What’s up, bun? Already tired of being here?” Taehyung folds the pamphlet and map to stick them in the back pocket of his jeans. It’s obvious that he’s been to this museum before; he has only listened to the employees explain everything to be polite.

“That guy didn’t even talk to me. He only talked to you.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Jungkook pouts at Taehyung’s dismissive response. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to what Jungkook says; instead, he is scrolling on his phone.

“Taehyung.”

“What, did you want him to talk to you?” Looking over, Taehyung gives Jungkook a boxy grin. “Did you think he was cute?”

“No!” Jungkook whispers harshly, peeking around to see if they’ve disturbed anyone with their talking.

Unconcerned about their surroundings, Taehyung advances on Jungkook, forcing him to shuffle further into the exhibit.

“Do you have a thing for tigers, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s floppy ears hug tight to the side of his face, hiding him from Taehyung’s sparkling amber eyes. Mortified, he turns on his heel and walks past the large signage welcoming guests to learn more about Amarna art, the art style of the Amarna Period during the Eighteenth Dynasty of Ancient Egypt. 

The exhibit comprises open rooms connected by long, wide hallways. Each room is organized by art medium, with the first devoted to sarcophagi. Taehyung follows Jungkook into the first room, laughing under his breath about Jungkook being “skittish.”

Jungkook pretends not to hear him.

“Starting off with the mummies is an interesting choice,” Taehyung mutters as he strolls through the massive glass display cases. Some of the sarcophagi are empty, and most are closed, but a few mummies are on display near the back of the room.

“Why do you say that?” Jungkook asks, his natural curiosity and infatuation with Taehyung winning over his desire to be pouty.

“Mummies are all people care about. Shouldn’t they make us work for it by putting them at the end?”

Jungkook shrugs.

“I’m sure people don’t only come for the mummies. If they’re paying money, they might as well see the whole exhibit.”

Taehyung gives Jungkook a look that tells him he’s being naive, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He wants to believe people aren’t so simple-minded, even if Taehyung is the one going to school to study this stuff.

Despite appreciating art and considering himself an artist, if only to an extent, Jungkook has spent little time in art museums. His parents never celebrated the value of the arts. It seems silly to think about since he’s an adult now and can visit museums whenever he wants. Perhaps having the chance to appreciate art at his own pace is part of why it feels nice to meander through the different rooms with Taehyung.

Jungkook is also self-aware enough to know that he’s enjoying himself because half of his energy goes into watching Taehyung examine the art. Every once in a while, they’ll run into other museum guests discussing the displays in hushed voices, and they even come across a small group tour, but for most of the visit, they’re on their own.

The solitude allows Jungkook to see Taehyung in what appears to be his element. Taehyung occasionally hums to himself as he squints at the pieces, though Jungkook most enjoys it when he frowns. When it seems like he really likes a piece of artwork, his tail skirts the floor, flicking up to curl around his calf like he’s giving himself a little hug. It makes Jungkook wonder what Taehyung is thinking about — if his thoughts are purely about the Art History assignment they’re working on or if there’s more to his analysis.

Jungkook quickly concludes that Taehyung is simply a giant nerd when he peeks over his shoulder to find Taehyung skimming an article on his phone about the statue he’s standing in front of.

“What made you want to study art?”

Taehyung slips his phone into his pocket and frowns at Jungkook’s question – his face stuck in art examination mode.

“I’m good at it. Making it, critiquing it, researching it,” Taehyung begins, his hands finding the pockets of his jean jacket. “But mostly because it’s rather magical, right? How is it possible for art to trigger our emotions? How can a painting or song make people cry? Or for sculptures to make us nostalgic for a world we didn’t come from?” Taehyung gestures to the wooden toy horse amongst other treasures found in a child’s tomb.

From what Jungkook has learned about Taehyung over the semester, he is more of an observer than a participant in conversations. Still, when Taehyung has something to say, he never fails to leave Jungkook speechless — for better or worse. 

They’re silent for the rest of their time in the exhibit, only stopping to exchange quiet words when they need to take pictures or write notes about certain art pieces. They take their time admiring the busts and sunken reliefs of the ancient pharaoh Akhenaten and his wife, Nefertiti.

Jungkook gets easily caught up in the transformative magic of art history, losing track of time and place as he examines canopic jars in glass cases on raised pedestals and takes too long reading the information placards next to every item.

Just over an hour passes before Jungkook and Taehyung reach the end of the exhibit. Jungkook feels like hardly any time has passed at all.

“Wait,” Taehyung pinches the sleeve of Jungkook’s sweater as he’s about to push through the exit doors to return to the main hallway. “We have to take a picture as evidence.”

“Professor Jung is so silly for that. Who is going to lie about going to the art museum?” Jungkook says with a laugh.

Taehyung gives him another skeptical look. “You are too trusting.”

Jungkook lets Taehyung pull him into his side to take a selfie in front of the exhibit signage. Taehyung’s arm is a heavy weight around Jungkook’s waist. He tries not to be obvious when he breathes in deeply to cherish their brief closeness as Taehyung takes the photo before stepping away.

Not once does Jungkook question spending alone time with a predator or letting one get so close to him. Maybe he is too trusting.

“Do you want to leave now?” Jungkook asks once they’re out in the hallway.

He pulls at the sleeves of his sweater, giving himself sweater paws and avoiding Taehyung to look down the hall where the elevators are instead. He doesn’t want to leave because leaving means Taehyung will take him home, and Jungkook wants to spend more time with him. He’s just afraid to say that out loud.

“Want to go back to my place?” Taehyung asks like it’s the easiest question in the world.

Feeling hot in the face, Jungkook hides behind his ears when he mumbles a shakey, “Sure.”

“Cool, cool,” Taehyung nods, tail flicking as he leads Jungkook through the winding hallways to get back to the elevator lobby. “We can get food and work on our project.”

It takes everything in Jungkook not to launch himself into a hyperactive fit of wiggles, even with such a strong urge to jump at Taehyung, to throw his arms around his neck and latch on for dear life. It’s just too much excitement all bottled up in the young bunny’s body. He tries to focus on getting back to the elevators and keeping his heart beating at a normal rate, so much so that he doesn’t realize he’s leading the way rather than Taehyung. 

Jungkook has definitely taken them down the wrong hallway because they end up in the Renaissance era rather than the elevator lobby. He’s so hyped up on excitable energy verging on panic that he forgets to ask Taehyung to check the museum map. 

“Bun, look at this portrait.”

Noticing that Taehyung is no longer behind him, Jungkook backtracks down the long, wide hallway. Whichever painting has caught Taehyung’s eye must be unique; he seems picky about art.

“Wait,” Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s arm and pulls him to the side, positioning him for the perfect viewing experience. “Okay, now look.”

Following Taehyung’s gaze, Jungkook turns to look at the portrait — only to realize that the art hanging on the wall isn’t a painting, but a mirror. The sixteenth-century walnut frame is impressive, rectangular, and adorned with beautiful carvings and gold details painted around its curled edges. In the middle is an oval glass, clear as a teardrop.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Taehyung whispers, his eyes meeting Jungkook’s through the mirror from where he stands to the side. “Who knew such gorgeous bunnies existed in Renaissance Italy.”

Jungkook watches with shining eyes as his cheeks turn pink in the mirror. Taehyung’s praise floods his body with warmth even as Jungkook trembles when Taehyung takes a step closer.

“Stop teasing me,” Jungkook whispers, afraid his voice might echo through the empty hall.

“I’m serious,” Taehyung purrs against the curve of his ear. He curls his arms around Jungkook’s waist, pulling him close in a back hug and making Jungkook’s breath quicken.

“You’re just saying that.”

Taehyung maintains firm eye contact with Jungkook through the mirror as his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. He’s warm and solid against Jungkook’s body, securely holding him into place when he trembles.

“Are you nervous?”

Breathless, Jungkook nods.

“Because little bunnies should stay away from big, scary tigers like me?” Taehyung teases in a syrupy voice that’s darker than it is sweet.

Is that why Jungkook can’t calm himself down? He doesn’t know; he can’t think straight. He watches a slow smile build on Taehyung’s face, one that ends up sharp and, well, predatory.

“I…”

“Hmm?” 

Taehyung presses his palm against Jungkook’s lower stomach and rests his chin on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

Jungkook licks his lips like Taehyung had, leaving them slightly parted as he tries to slow his breathing. He feels Taehyung’s quiet chuckle rumble through his chest and against his back. It brings Jungkook’s attention to the rest of his body, and he nearly goes weak in the knees when he realizes his ass rests against Taehyung’s crotch.

“Can I kiss you, bun?” Taehyung whispers in Jungkook’s ear. 

Jungkook can hardly formulate a response, every coherent thought fizzling from his brain like water evaporating off a summer sidewalk. It’s embarrassing how badly he wants to feel Taehyung’s lips on his. Rarely has he let himself consider the possibility that it may happen, always too shy – perhaps even insecure – to let such a genuine thought grow inside him. 

But now Taehyung’s breath fans across Jungkook’s neck, and he wishes he’d let himself fantasize more about the predator who’s always on his mind. Maybe then he could have been confident and sexy rather than the goopy mess he’s turning into as Taehyung cups his chin to tilt his face up and to the side. 

“Am I embarrassing myself right now by reading this whole day wrong?” 

“Y-yes,” Jungkook stammers, cheeks flushing pink. “I mean, no, yes, you can kiss me. Please.”

Taehyung’s sharp mouth turns boxy, and a bit of his predatory allure falls back to reveal the boyish charm Jungkook only rarely gets a glimpse of. 

“Good,” Taehyung hums as he slides his hand along to grip the back of Jungkook’s neck. 

Jungkook’s breath gets caught in his throat when Taehyung squeezes his neck to hold him in place. His grip isn’t tight, but his hand is large, and his hold is firm. The odd sense of security it brings Jungkook makes him feel gooey inside. 

Despite his aggressive hold on Jungkook, Taehyung kisses him gently. It starts with a soft but sure press of Taehyung’s lips against Jungkook’s, close-mouthed and almost a test run, as if Taehyung thinks Jungkook might pull back if he dives in too deeply. 

When Jungkook doesn’t, Taehyung kisses him harder, running his tongue over the seam of Jungkook’s lips until they part with a small gasp. Emboldened, he sucks Jungkook’s bottom lip into his mouth, swiping his tongue and dragging his teeth over it before he lets it go with a wet sound far too loud for a museum’s hallway.

“I love that you smell like me,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s lips before capturing them again and slipping his hot tongue inside Jungkook’s mouth. 

Jungkook twists in Taehyung’s embrace so their fronts fully press together. Throwing one arm over Taehyung’s shoulder and using his free hand to grip the front of Taehyung’s shirt, Jungkook pulls him close so Taehyung can hold up his weight. There’s no way Jungkook can stand properly when Taehyung is sucking on his tongue and biting his bottom lip, coaxing out shameless whimpers from the bunny hybrid.

“You taste so good,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s lips when they finally pull back just enough to breathe. He slides his hands down Jungkook’s back to grab his ass, squeezing and kneading it in his large palms.

“Oh,” Jungkook gasps and tightens his arm around Taehyung’s neck. Heat floods his body as his floral scent sweetens and spikes so strongly that Taehyung audibly inhales. 

It’s Jungkook’s slick. He can feel it drip between his cheeks and soak his briefs. It’s embarrassing how his body pulses with desire, stronger than he has ever felt in his entire life.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” Taehyung growls as he surges forward to steal another kiss. The deep, gravelly sound makes Jungkook leak more slick. 

Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s ass again, this time pulling him closer when he does and forcing their hips to grind together.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook tries to speak through his uncontrollable whimpers. They’re making out in the middle of a museum, and now, Jungkook is so wet that he’s sure he has soaked through his pants. “Taehyung, there are cameras.”

“I know.” Taehyung grins into the kiss, causing his teeth to press against Jungkook’s lips.

It isn’t until Taehyung’s fingers brush Jungkook’s fluffy tail that Jungkook finally jerks away.

“Tae,” Jungkook rasps, panting and flooded with embarrassment that leaves his body shaking. “I’m, I, um...” 

Flustered, Jungkook trails off. He tries to look away, but Taehyung squeezes his chin, thumb pressing his cheek to force him to look at Taehyung. 

“Hey, bun,” Taehyung speaks softly, “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“My pants,” is all Jungkook manages to say, his brain a fuzzy mess, the only coherent thought being Taehyung Taehyung Taehyung. 

“Shit, take my jacket.” Taehyung quickly removes his jean jacket and wraps it around Jungkook’s waist, tying it by the sleeves at the front so the rest of the jacket covers Jungkook’s butt where his slick has leaked through his pants. 

“Can anyone tell?” Jungkook whispers while checking over his shoulder to see if other museum guests are nearby. 

“You’re okay.” Taehyung chews his bottom lip, cheeks tinged pink and eyes heavy. “I can take you home.”

“No!” 

Taehyung raises his eyebrows, and Jungkook feels his face burn even hotter. 

“You don’t want me to take you home?” 

Jungkook plays with the sleeves of Taehyung’s jacket, and a different kind of warmth floods his body when he considers how well Taehyung is trying to take care of him. He knows he should go home, but he doesn’t want to leave Taehyung – especially not with his lips tingling from his kiss and his head spinning from how Taehyung had sounded, practically moaning his name. 

“I thought we were going to work on our projects together…”

Jungkook doesn’t mean to put on the charm; his sparkly doe eyes naturally react to how giddy and alive Taehyung makes him feel.

With a grin that makes Jungkook’s stomach flutter, Taehyung grabs the jacket sleeves tied around Jungkook’s waist and tugs, forcing Jungkook to stumble toward him. It’s impossible to deny how much Jungkook enjoys Taehyung taking control and how Taehyung looms over him when they’re standing flush against each other – especially when Jungkook starts leaking even more slick. 

“Let’s go.” Taehyung’s sharp canines glint in the fluorescent lighting, and Jungkook finds it difficult to swallow. 

What has Jungkook gotten himself into?

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[germanpostwarmodern]

Palm Springs Art Museum (1974-76) in Palm Springs, CA, USA, by E. Stewart Williams. Photo by Julius Shulman.

[starlitheaven]

I WANNA BE YOURS — KURORO LUCILFER

anon: Congratulations on 1k followers! For the summer mix tape can I have chrollo + I wanna be yours from Arctic monkeys, nsfw too!

note. kuroro’s name isn’t mentioned here because he gave the reader a fake name! not edited. for the 1k follower event.

tags. fem!reader, slight religious comparisons, oral (f.receiving)

1.1k

the scent of his cologne fills you. it’s dark and elegant, just like him. similarly to him, it leaves you wanting more and you’re not sure if you can even handle it. it’s not often that you’re unsure about something.

his hands slowly rove over the satin of your dress, and his palms are more calloused than you thought. his lips are ghosting the line of your throat so you tilt your head back, silently begging him to keep going. still, you can’t help but think how the roughness of his hands doesn’t make sense for a man of his upbringing. just like that headband he always wears, saying he’s merely hiding a childhood injury. nothing about him makes sense, yet here you are.

he claims to have lived an opulent lifestyle just as you have from a family across the world. he was raised in wealth and has all the makings of a high-born man with a passion for classic art and antiques. everything someone like you would want.

you’re knowledgeable and polished from a well known family who became enamored with the mysterious new curator to one of your family’s several museums. his charm is what initially drew you in and his intelligence is what made you stay. throughout the months you’ve listened to his thoughts on history, politics, art, philosophy, psychology, and anything that can come to mind. his melodic voice instantly put you at ease. not to mention that he’s so very handsome.

his loose inky black hair makes him look somewhat boyish and it contrasts with his dark eyes. they’re cunning—as if he’s anticipating your every move and you can’t help but find that attractive. then there’s those cheekbones and that jaw.

it’s been difficult trying to figure him out in these few months and even now with his lips sucking marks on your collarbone you’re still not confident that he likes you like that.

he hums against your skin and you shiver when his fingertips trace your shoulders. his featherlight touch is driving you insane. but then he dips his index fingers underneath the thin strap of your dress. “may I?” he asks with a sly grin. like he knows there’s no way you’ll say no.

and he’s right. you nod, watching him as he teasingly pulls the straps down. and down, down below your ribcage until your tits spring free. your nipples immediately harden in the cool night air and he’s quick to rub his thumbs over the nubs as if too sooth you.

“you’re divine.” he murmurs, before leaning down to place a tender kiss at the center of your chest. your hands brace themselves over his shoulders as he begins to pepper more kisses over the newly bared skin, giving little nips here and there. “and so sensitive, sweet lambkin. one would think you’ve never been touched like this.”

if you thought about denying this, it flies out the window as you gasp when he kneads at your chest. your cheeks are burning in shame—how can he talk so casually while he’s face deep in your chest like this?

“oh—“ you mewl when the flat of his tongue suddenly goes over your hardened nipple. the stimulation makes heat pool instantly in your gut and he takes your sudden grasp of his jacket as signal to keep going, leaving wet open mouth kisses before taking the soft flesh into his mouth with a hard suck. “mmm, ohhh. don’t stop, don’t stop. please, oh fuck.”

he hums in response as he continues to suckle on you, seeming to enjoy your reactions. without thinking, your fingers rake into his dark locks and you gently pull him closer towards you. since you’re not experienced in intimacy, you’re unaware of just how lost he’s become in you. how aroused he is pleasing you and being the first to witness you unravel. perhaps it’s the rush of power to have you reduced to a blushing and whimpering mess when all he’s done is suck on your tits.

after a life of greed and living for himself, he’s never wanted to give so badly. he suckles on you like a babe, alternating between one and the other until the sensitive flesh is tender and raw. he teasingly blows cool air onto the wet skin and revels in your sweet whimper. this is definitely new territory for you and he’s privy to it all.

your legs are trembling so he settles his hands over your waist to keep you steady. it’s then that he realizes that you’re the real treasure. he thinks this must be what gods felt when consuming ambrosia. this is his salvation, right here, taking you apart. the rarest gem. when he when he pulls back from your wet tit, he gazes up at you. your eyes are glazed with lust and you’re lightly panting. no longer the composed woman the world knows you as. undone and greedy for pleasure. looking to him to give it to you.

celestial beauty. goddess.

mesmerized, he sinks to his knees. before the altar he gives his his offering, pulling the rest of your dress down until it sinks to the ground. he loosens his tie at the sight of your cunt. presented just for him. you’re glistening, even between your thighs which only strokes his ego. he guides you against the wall so you can rest comfortably as he enjoys his feast. the soft flesh between his face makes him groan and he selfishly nips and sucks on your inner thighs until bruises form. intimate marks of tonight, that won’t go away soon. he can only imagine how you’d react seeing them for the next week. especially after this job is done.

he’s leaking in his slacks and pays no mind to it, focusing all on you and showing you just how sinful a body can be. all of your previous hesitation is gone and you’ve become the little devil he’s always known to be. loud in your pleasure and feeding him with that nectar he didn’t know he needed. he’s filthy with it too, making sure his chin is soaked with your juices as long as you pulse around his tongue.

it’s fucking delicious and he sucks it all up. your legs tremble and like the gentleman he’s pretended to be, he catches you in his arms and takes you to the large bed. cleans you up, takes off his shirt and allows you to wrap yourself around him as if you two will wake up together.

that’s not the plan.

the key to the locked door beneath the manor was pocketed the moment he stepped into your bedroom. security was tight, but not enough to give him trouble. especially not with phinks and franklin with him. but charming his way into your life and gaining your trust with his fake persona was a lot more fun. he’s heard stories of you—the wealthy heiress who doesn’t let anyone in. who is well mannered and brilliant, but keeps people at a distance.

kuroro saw a challenge and decided to play. he always wins, he thinks as he brushes some hair away from your face. you’re relaxed in sleep, unaware of him sneaking off and unaware of the fact that the entirety of the priceless items beneath your mansion will be gone by morning.

he’s not even out of yorknew until he’s aching for you again. it seems he won’t be fully gone.

[trehontin]

SEASONAL  AESTHETICS !

[ bold = applies ; ítalics = sometimes applies ; both = perfect ; strikethrough = doesn't apply ]

WINTER.     a chill right down to the bones.   tobogganing.   teeth chattering.   sleeping all day.   sitting by the fireplace.   spending time with family.   layered clothing.   seeing another’s breath.   loving the cold.   a state of inactivity.   cold hands.   blistering winds shaking the closed windows.   a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them.   cable knit socks.   a bitter remark.   a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.   hating the cold.   full length windows to peer out of.   pale skin.   deep conversations.   watching the snow fall.   sharp edges.   hot cocoa.   smelling every candle in the store.   a wild snowstorm.   melancholy.   lighting candles around the bathtub.   snow globes.   expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words.   the softest of blankets.   liking, but not loving something or someone.

SPRING.     the smell after it rains. being in control of yourself.   a soft breeze blowing your hair.   lightning when it strikes.   cherry blossoms.   bright mornings.   the first sign of hope.   the relief of finding something you lost.   paris in the spring.   birds chirping.   the art of growing.   a kiss on the cheek.   the clap of thunder.   a tornado in the valley.   smiling at a stranger.   planning.   saccharine pinks.   making promises.   trying something new.   hugs when you need them most.   a bee sting.   sitting on the steps of the met.   coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm.   picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun.   that feeling you get when you put on a good dress.   a long hike.   rushing when you can take your time.   going to the gym/training at ungodly hours.   excitement for what’s coming.   becoming yourself.   rain boots.

SUMMER.     lanterns lit around a campfire.   seeing the sunrise like it’s the first time again and again.   melting ice cream.   the warmth of sun rays upon skin.   fireworks.   the feeling of never wanting something to end.   beach days.   the lone blow up floaty left in the pool.   drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else.   music blasting at 3am, loud and proud.   palms trees on sunset boulevard.   longer days and shorter nights.   wanderlust.   nights spent staring at the stars.   sand castles.   road trips.   blood orange sunsets.   leaving the laundry to hang outside.   flowers in bloom.   sneaking out of your room late at night.   pure contentment.   barefoot in the sand.   the street lights coming on.   the sound of the ocean in a seashell.   freshly squeezed lemonade.   loose clothing.   a cannonball into the pool.   sunflowers.   the hazy pink before dusk.   relaxation.

FALL.     the leaves changing colors.   a heavy backpack.   the smell of old books.   eating until you’re stuffed.   deep, dark woods.   the silence in loudness.   abandoned houses.   ripped jeans.   crunching leaves beneath feet.   feeling like you’ve been somewhere before.   sitting at a bay window.   having endless amount of work.   charcoal drawings.   screaming into a pillow as loud as you can.   pumpkin patches.   creaky floorboards.   accepting that some things do have to change.   museums.   small talk.   being ignored.   procrastinating.   a door slamming shut.   going to bed early.   baking pies.   the fear of walking alone in the dark.   feeling completely and terribly lost.   a twig snapping.   crisp, cool days.   belly laughter after crying.   converse.   foggy mornings at the shoreline.   writing a daily entry in a journal.   a lonely day.

tagged by:      my own blogs

tagging: 💕   @nekurooma | @kuraikyu ; @kkageokuri | @quirofiliac ; @mortul ; @chernozemic | @thusspoke ; @humificates | @baishouqijia | @zajevre | @godsbox | @parieha | @malxshrine | @adenial | @inouehs ; @yahchiru | @cinghialefedele | @despairforme | @keikakudori | @starrkc | @owabisuru | @jinjahime | @bornhollow | @kamitakes | @hxbiris | @liecoris | @deathleads | @imagend | @achroanimus | @vxmpirehunterd | @deityforged | @determinazione | @biskael | @guadanya | @shiinigamism [ and whoever wants to! multis can knock themselves out, gimme all ]

[longlistshort]

The image above is of Squeak Carnwath’s painting, Best Borrowed, 2005, Oil and alkyd on canvas, taken at Palm Springs Art Museum in 2018.

A solo exhibition of her work is currently at Pt.2 Gallery in Oakland, California, on view until 2/16/24.

[espectres]

SEASONAL AESTHETIC ~ !

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑.     a chill right down to the bones. tobogganing. teeth chattering. sleeping all day. sitting by the fireplace. spending time with family. layered clothing. seeing another’s breath. loving the cold. a state of inactivity. cold hands. blistering winds shaking the windows. a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them. cable knit socks. a bitter remark. a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. hating the cold.  full length windows to peer out of. pale skin. deep conversations. watching the snow fall. sharp edges. hot cocoa. smelling every candle in the store. a wild snow storm. melancholy. lighting candles around the bathtub. snow globes. expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words. the softest of blankets. liking, but not loving something or someone.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.     the smell after it rains. being in control of yourself. a soft breeze blowing your hair. lightning when it strikes. cherry blossoms. bright mornings. the first sign of hope. the relief of finding something you lost.  paris in the spring.  birds chirping. the art of growing. a kiss on the cheek. the clap of thunder. a tornado in the valley. smiling at a stranger. planning. saccharine pinks. making promises. trying something new. hugs when you need them most. a bee sting. sitting on the steps of the met. coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm. picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun. that feeling you get when you put on a good dress. a long hike. rushing when you can take your time. going to the gym, training at ungodly hours. excitement for what’s coming. becoming yourself. rain boots.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑.     lanterns lit around a campfire. seeing the sunrise like it’s the first time again and again. melting ice cream. the warmth of sun rays upon skin. fireworks. the feeling of never wanting something to end.  beach days. the lone blow up floaty left in the pool, drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else. music blasting at 3AM, loud and proud. palms trees on sunset boulevard. longer days and shorter nights. wanderlust. nights spent staring at the stars. sand castles. road trips. blood orange sunsets. leaving the laundry to hang outside. flowers in bloom. sneaking out of your room late at night. pure contentment. barefoot in the sand. the street lights coming on. the sound of the ocean in a seashell. freshly squeezed lemonade. loose clothing. a cannonball into the pool. sunflowers. the hazy pink before dusk. relaxation.

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.   the leaves changing colours. a heavy backpack. the smell of old books. eating until you’re stuffed. deep, dark woods. the silence in loudness ( the loudness in silence ). abandoned houses. ripped jeans. crunching leaves beneath feet. feeling like you’ve been somewhere before. sitting at a bay window. having endless amounts of work. charcoal drawings. screaming into a pillow as loud as you can. pumpkin patches. creaky floorboards. accepting that some things do have to change. museums. small talk. being ignored. procrastinating. a door slamming shut. going to bed early. baking pies. the fear of walking alone in the dark. feeling completely and terribly lost. a twig snapping. crisp, cool days. belly laughter after crying. converse. foggy mornings at the shoreline. writing a daily entry in a journal. a lonely day.

tagged by: stolen ! lol

tagging: @whirling-fangs, @tvrningout, @atsushima, @dnangelic, @trattcria, @kudakenai, @cauterisen , @wolfvirago, @whitedvl , @nulltune, @novashe ! & anyone ever!

[yama-bato]

Left: Leon Polk Smith (American, 1906-1996), untitled, 1957, paper on paper (embossed), 25 5/8 x 19 3/4 inches. Right: Leon Polk Smith (American, 1906-1996), untitled, 1957, paper on paper, 26 x 20 inches. © Leon Polk Smith Foundation. Photograph by Adam Reich.

https://www.richardgraygallery.com/news/palm-springs-museum-of-art

[politesper]

𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗔𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗦.

bold what applies to your muse   *   repost, don’t reblog.

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑.     a chill right down to the bones.    tobogganing.    teeth chattering.    sleeping all day.    sitting by the fireplace.    spending time with family.    layered clothing.    seeing another’s breath.    loving the cold.    a state of inactivity.    cold hands.    blistering winds shaking the closed windows.    a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them.    cable knit socks.    a bitter remark.    a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.    hating the cold.    full-length windows to peer out of.    pale skin.    deep conversations.    watching the snow fall.    sharp edges.    hot cocoa.    smelling every candle in the store.    a wild snow storm.    melancholy.    lighting candles around the bathtub.    snow globes.    expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words.    the softest of blankets.    liking, but not loving something or someone.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.     the smell after it rains.    being in control of yourself.    a soft breeze blowing your hair.    lightning when it strikes.    cherry blossoms.    bright mornings.    the first sign of hope.    the relief of finding something you lost.    paris in the spring.    birds chirping.    the art of growing.    a kiss on the cheek.    the clap of thunder.    a tornado in the valley.    smiling at a stranger.    planning.    saccharine pinks.    making promises.    trying something new.    hugs when you need them most.    a bee sting.    sitting on the steps of the met.    coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm.    picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun.    that feeling you get when you put on a good dress.    a long hike.    rushing when you can take your time.    going to the gym at ungodly hours.    excitement for what’s coming.    becoming yourself.    rain boots.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑.      lanterns lit around a campfire.    seeing the sunrise like its the first time again and again.    melting ice cream.    the warmth of sun rays upon skin.    fireworks.    the feeling of never wanting something to end.    beach days.    the lone blow up floaty left in the pool, drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else.    music blasting at 3am, loud and proud.    palms trees on sunset boulevard.    longer days and shorter nights.    wanderlust.    nights spent staring at the stars.    sand castles.    road trips.    blood orange sunsets.    leaving the laundry to hang outside.    flowers in bloom.    sneaking out of your room late at night.    pure contentment.    barefoot in the sand.    the street lights coming on.    the sound of the ocean in a seashell.    freshly squeezed lemonade.    loose clothing.    a cannonball into the pool.    sunflowers.    the hazy pink before dusk.    relaxation.

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.    the leaves changing colors.    a heavy backpack.    the smell of old books.    eating until you’re stuffed.    deep, dark woods.    the silence in loudness.    abandoned houses.    ripped jeans.    crunching leaves beneath feet.    feeling like you’ve been somewhere before.    sitting at a bay window.    having endless amount of homework.    charcoal drawings.    screaming into a pillow as loud as you can.    pumpkin patches.    creaky floorboards.    accepting that some things do have to change.    museums.    small talk.    being ignored.    procrastinating.    a door slamming shut.    going to bed early.    baking pies.    the fear of walking alone in the dark.    feeling completely and terribly lost.    a twig snapping.    crisp, cool days.    belly laughter.    converse.    foggy mornings at the shoreline.    writing a daily entry in a journal.    a lonely day.