#I forced myself to use the airbrush for this one

[kokodrawings]

The second coming of Tsunade

[bellewintersroe]

Charles Leclerc X Schumacher!Daughter.

Lila is the youngest of the 3 Schumacher siblings, at 22 shes catching the attention of the public eye. With the new found popularity through Drive to Survive, social media has dubbed her the next ‘it’ girl despite her constant desire for privacy. When her love interest becomes more or less the most sought after man in F1, how will she cope with being the internets fascination? Both Charles and Lila have dealt with immense amounts of loss and trauma, so their mutual understanding for one another fuels their so called ‘friendship’.

Part 5, here is the LINK to part 4. Lila is beginning to feel envious of the beautiful girls that surround Charles on social media. Does she even have a chance with him? It’s been weeks since she could last fly out to a Grand Prix and Charles is beginning to feel oddly rejected. It’s not until after one not so fun race, that he’s finally open with her, and the two can finally be honest with one another about their feelings…

A deep sigh escaped my lips, scrolling down through my Instagram page. It’s not real, it’s not real, none of it’s real. Everything was an illusion, I reminded myself as I zoomed in on the perfectly airbrushed girl, with flat abs, a sucked in waist and the best tan I’d quite literally seen. She was beautiful to be quite frank, and when I saw who followed her I let out an even heavier sigh.

charles_leclerc

“If you breathe any heavier you’ll fly away…” Gina, my elder sister informed me in German from the other side of the table. Social media was originally ruining me. One minute I was confident and happy with my life, the next I was being prayed upon by thousands of people, intrigued into deeper into my personal life than ever. I switched off my phone and glanced back up, to real life. “Sorry.” I forced a smile, eyes falling back down to my phone. There was no new notifications- sadly enough for me.

“Are you coming to Hungary with us?” My sister then questioned again, “what for?” “The GP?” She spoke like it was obvious. My stomach twisted in excitement. “Oh! Yeah!” It had been 3 weeks since I’d last made it to a GP, I was finding myself obsessively feeling the urge to be there, especially because Charles would ask when I was next there. Now was my opportunity to text him first with the good news.

There was only one issue I found myself struggling with, and that was my insecurity and anxiety surrounding this whole ‘thing’ with Charles. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, we hadn’t seen each other enough to become anything more than friends, and when I had to tell him for the seventh or so time I couldn’t make it to where he was, I felt disheartened and worried he’d think I was rejecting him. That’s why I hopped on the opportunity to tell him I’d be present in Hungary, cheering him on. Phone cameras now eagerly followed me around the grid, desperate to gather some footage of me interacting with the Ferrari driver. All the attention had made me nervous, I was constantly checking over my shoulder, and I felt the cold stares other girls would give me, threatened that I was taking their favourite driver. It was almost like I was in competition with all these beautiful women that practically lived in or around the Grid and Paddock. I felt inferior, my own insecurities eating away at me as I kept my head down and continued walking on to do my own thing.

“Ah, Lila!” A familiar voice called out, I caught a glimpse of Toto walking by. “Hello!” I greeted, the taller man bringing me in for a tight hug. “How are you?! Here to see your brother?” “I’m good, how about you? I Just come for a little wonder, that’s all.” I nodded. “I’m good, and yes, yes- looking around for Leclerc I’ve been hearing?!” His words jabbed at a delicate part inside of me, burning my cheeks up a scarlet pink.

“Oh, rumours, Toto! Rumours!” I played it off like I wasn't a nervous wreck, but when i noticed red uniforms out of the corner of my eye, I practically jumped out of the confinements of my skin. It was just a handful of Ferrari mechanics making their way towards their garages. “Oh, of course. You have a good day, I will see you after with Susie?”

“Yeah of course! Oh, and tell Lewis and George I say good luck!!”

“I will, thank you Lila!” Hungary wasn’t so lucky for Mercedes or Ferrari. With Lewis in 4th he’d just narrowly missed a spot on the podium, George came in at 6th, and both Charles and Sainz were in 7th and 8th. As I lingered in the Mercedes area of the garage, people were still fairly happy, but the disappointment lingered in the room. It was a little stuffy and awkward, so I wondered outside to get air, pulling out my phone to be bold enough to text Charles. Just as I was typing a message, I heard a faint voice call my name. “Lila??” Spinning around, I locked my phone, noticing Charles lingering. “C’mere.” He gently ushered me inside, “hi.” I felt a little breathless, following after him in the garage. We were just inside the doorway, a bustle of people around making me feel a little overwhelmed. I was all flustered from seeing Charles, and although he looked a little saddened he still had a gentle smile lingering. “I was just about to text you.” I held up my phone as his smiled widened slightly, eyes gazing over my face. “I was going to text you-”

“Charles!” Somebody called out as he glanced back to a woman calling his name. It looked like his publicist. He let out a sigh, “I am sorry- yeah?!” He called out, scratching the back of his neck. “Will you come do a couple interviews?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Sorry, it’s a bad time.” I shyly spoke. “No, no, ill- uh, Mia!! Mia, please would you take Lila to my- ah what’s it called?” He fumbled as a pretty blonde approached with a smile.

“Motorhome?” Her accent was thick, Italian I assumed. “Yes please- is that ok?” He quickly asked as I giggled at the slight chaos. “That’s okay, Charles.” I agreed as he gave me a gentle pat on the arm before he had to rush off to complete interviews.

“Hello!! Lila isn’t it? I’m Mia.” She smiled. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” We engaged in small talk as she led me to Charles’ motor home. It surprisingly wasn’t awkward at all, I really liked Mia, I learnt she worked for Ferrari as a media and PR officer, super cool, I found it fascinating. Eventually though, she had to head back into the garage and I was left sitting alone, nervously awaiting Charles return.

“Guys… I’m in Charles’ motor home. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know why- he’s, he’s doing some interviews but I am shitting myself, how do I calm down?!” I quietly spoke into my phone, voice noting my friends as my leg jiggled anxiously. 10 minutes turned into 20, and nothing seemed to cool my nerves. I’d swallowed a full bottle of water and gone through 3 pieces of chewing gum and reapplied my lipgloss four times over. Finally, I heard voices, and when the door swung open my head lifted from my phone. My breath hitched seeing Charles, he looked a little stressed but still smiled when our eyes met. “I am sorry.” He exhaled, sliding the door shut behind him. “Oh, don’t be sorry!” I sat up a little straighter as he pulled a drink from his fridge. “Would you like one?” He glanced down to my empty water bottle. “Yes please. And yeah, don’t be sorry, I came at a bad time.” I caught the bottle as he gently threw it over.

“No, no.” His face scrunched. “I wanted to see you Lila, now is perfect. Even if the race didn’t go so … good.” He awkwardly laughed at himself as I drunk a little more water.

“You did drive well though, I was watching.” I pointed out. “Ah, thank you… not where I want to be though.”

“I know, I can imagine it’s frustrating, I feel like you and Carlos are doing everything right it’s just…” “Out of our control.” Charles finished my sentence as I nodded. “Still… we move.” He cleared his throat. “How have you been anyway, miss Lila, it’s been weeks?”

“Good, I’ve been good, honestly nothing so interesting has been happening lately. My life’s been pretty boring.”

“Pretty boring, sky diving?” He stripped the top half of his full driving suit off, revealing his white fireproofs. He was sat on the couch to my right, a little further away as I leant back into the plush of the pillows.

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “I do that all the time, my dad practically threw me out of aeroplanes as soon as I reached 12.” “12?!” He gasped out loud, looking astonished. “I don’t even think it’s legal anymore, we were in Australia, I was petrified, I cried all the way up. The poor man on my back must’ve been so annoyed.”

“Sounds… fun.”

“When you get used to it…” I giggled. “How about you, have you ever been sky diving?” “One time in Dubai… I got so- eh what’s the English- en difficulté.” (In trouble).

“In trouble? Why?!” I blubbered our a laugh. “Because I didn’t tell anybody and uh- I think they were worried I would ah fall and die or something.”

“That wouldn’t have been good.” I snickered. “I have the videos.” He showed his phone, ushering me over as I moved to sit besides him on the couch. He scrolled through his camera roll, finding the video where he showed me plummeting down in Dubai. “Have you ever done it in Dubai?”

“Done what in Dubai?” My eyes narrowed as his widened. “Not that! I mean sky diving!!” “No we were meant to but we ah… went Skiing instead.” I awkwardly recalled, scratching the back of my neck. If only we went to Dubai, maybe things would have turned out very differently for my family.

“Ah nice..” Charles nodded as I glanced to see a video of a monkey on his screen. “What’s that?” I pointed out as he attempted to scroll by quickly.

“That was nothing.”

“No, a video of a monkey. On the floor.” I turned up to look at his lips tugging into an amused smile. “You really want to see it?”

“I do.” What Charles proceeded to show me was a video of a monkey physically chasing him around a group of people whilst he sprinted frantically away. I cried with laughter, watching it three times over as Charles shook his head, holding it in his hands.

“That’s- that’s too funny.” I giggled to myself as Charles let out a low chuckle. “You’re crying!” Charles exclaimed, laughing again himself as he rested a hand on my thigh.

“I can’t help it, that was so funny.” I wiped at the tears that had fallen from my ambush of laughter. “I was frightened… for my life.”

“I could tell.” I giggled, glancing down to see his hand still rested on my upper thigh. “I like you, Lila.” Charles spoke on an exhale as I turned to face him now. “Hm?” My smile perked as my laughter settled down.

“I really like you.” His brows furrowed, causing me to swoon at the serious expression that covered his face. “I like you too, Charles-” I casually responded.

“No, like.. I really like you.” He nodded as my lips parted slightly. “Yeah, so do I…” I whispered, gaining the confidence to move forwards and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It surprised me how quickly the kiss happened, Charles’ hand slipped over my cheek and I swear I had to hold onto his arm so I wouldn’t go dizzy from how intense I felt kissing him. It was more than good.

When we broke apart there was a second or so of silence, it was comfortable, his eyes were gazing over my face, a gentle smile lingered as I let out a slight breath of laughter. “I wanted to do that in Spain but the paparazzi ruined it.” My face heated remembering our date. “Oh yeah.” I brushed the lip gloss slightly off the outside of my lip. “Now your lips are shiny.” I pointed out as he laughed, throwing an arm around me, the other wiping at the gloss.

“How long are you in Hungary for?” He then asked, eyes flickering up and down over my lips again. “Ah, just until tomorrow.” Charles eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What about Belgium?”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Will you come? I’ll take you out before- and after.” Charles shrugged. “Before and after?!” “Yeah, and I’ll even get pole position for you…” interesting…

[einsatzzz]

Ein's Art Log #1

@lixenn!! Here's the timelapse I recorded for my rarepair week submission! I'm just gonna start this log series because I wanna study art more and take notes of it here in this blog. And maybe it will help people with their drawings? I'm putting my notes below ↓↓↓

Draft & Lineart

First, for this art, I used a base made by Ging (깅). Using bases like these are always useful for a lot of things and it also forces me to draw things (like poses, hands, etc) I wouldn't normally draw by myself (if its up to just my hand with zero braincell input, I would just draw the characters facing 3/4 to the left over and over). Also a lot of them are just so *chef kiss*, god bless Korean artists. They're so good, especially with how they do the figures and anatomy!

I just adjusted the base a bit to match the characters' heights, since Kurumi is taller than Chrome by like 6cm.

Then when making the drawing a draft layer over the base, I usually use bright colors like green, red or blue (most often green). I usually don't think about the draft too much even if it turns out ugly, I think it's actually better that it turns out ugly and messy.

Otherwise, if the draft looks slightly more decent than expected, then I'd become too lazy to draw a more proper lineart. Whenever I remember to do so, I also use a gray-colored background so it's easier on my eyes, especially since I drew this after work.

For the "lineart", I used a brush called 촉펜 (MTL says it's "Touch Pen" in English; Content ID: 2050169). I recently started using this for doodles/sketches, it feels nice. It was free when I downloaded it, but it costs 10 Clippy now.

Anyway, I used a little bit more braincells for the "lineart" now after the draft, but then I didn't really try that hard to make it look clean, since I'm rushing to finish it as fast as I can. I just made sure that the outside lines are connected just enough for easier selection & coloring later.

Coloring & Shading

The coloring is where my experiment actually started! I usually go ahead and color them one-by-one per each color and part, but to be quicker, I used the Magic Wand selection tool to select the area outside the background, then inverting it so now the selection is at the characters *except* the background.

I then used the the bucket tool to fill the selection with the color I use as the base skin color. I still keep the selection there for further coloring purposes.

Just from here, I added another layer on top for the shading of the skin! For the shading, I used a brush called Yuri Watercolor (Content ID: 1889385). This one's really a paid brush, but I liked it a lot so I got it hahaha.

I do plan on replicating on doing this on IbisPaint one of these days! My plan so far is to use the free watercolor brush there, lower the brush opacity to around 60-70% and then draw the shading on a clipping layer set to the Multiply layer effect.

After shading, it looks like this now! I didn't mind the colors bleeding through the non-skin parts (except for two parts: the neck shading that would bleed to the face and thigh shading that would bleed to the skirt). I also used this brush to color Chrome's eye. Huhu I can't remember how I did it, helpskjfbjsbf

Then for the coloring of the hair and clothes, I just used the soft airbrush! I tried using the Yuri Watercolor brush for it too, but I couldn't quite grasp it yet on how to use it for coloring/shading those parts. I guess I know what to study next hahaha

When coloring the hair (and clothes), I did color the middle parts but didn't really full-on color till the edges to make that fading effect at the edge.

For the shading, I added clipping layers above and used the watercolor brush again!

For the hair highlights, I used the soft airbrush again. I just used a white color on a Soft Light layer effect to add a faint highlight on their hair (showed on picture on the left). Afterwards, I added another layer above with the Add/Glow effect and turned down the opacity to around 50%, to put more shine to it (showed on picture on the right).

Additionally, I also added a paper texture layer at the bottom! I also grouped up all the lineart and color layers into one folder and set the layer effect to Linear Burn.

Finally, after a bit color corrections/adjustments, blur filters (post-processing stuff, maybe for a different post?) and adding some decorations, the drawing is finally done! KuruKuro my beloved 💖

That's the process I'm playing around with so far, but I think I can still improve on it. I'm also planning on making a page on my wiki to compile my resources, references and such (maybe some free to use assets too). But anyway, that's all for now!

[ruroken77]

i don’t know how many people that build Gunpla, either professionally or just for fun, know this, especially since i still consider myself sort of a beginner when it comes to Gunpla, i know some of the general basics, i have some basic tools and stuff (minus an airbrush, some paint, and a spraybooth, mostly due to expenses and not enough space (what happens when you’re forced to share a bedroom with your mom since the other two bedrooms in the house are occupied -_-)), but i know some people say to use an exacto knife to cut off the excess nub after clipping a part off of the runner-sprue-thing (see how much of a noob i am?) and then sanding it, and i was kinda worried, like what am i supposed to do, i don’t trust myself with a knife, but when i’ve looked up advice for beginners on the internet to help me get started, i’ve seen at least one person say they don’t trust themselves with an exacto knife cause their hands aren’t steady and they worry about hurting themselves in the process, so they just use their nippers to cut off the excess nub instead, and i was just surprised like “wait... you can do that? you can just use nippers like that?” so i completely agree with that, now that i’ve tried it for myself, if only because i really don’t trust myself with a knife. if you’re like me and you don’t trust yourself with knife for whatever reason, but you really wanna get into the hobby, just use your nippers and some sandpaper or sanding sticks and you’ll be fine.

[glareandgrowl]

5, 11, 16, and 19 please.

(Link to ask)

Absolutely!

5. Anything you haven’t drawn yet but want to?

I've got so many ideas of stuff I want to draw, but just never get the time to do. The most recent fanfic comic I did was one of them until recently! But I guess a few would be some scenes from Assassins! that I haven't gotten around to illustrating, some more character study sheets, as well as an entire long running comic I plan to create once Cigarettes and Assassins! are both complete! Just to name a few...

In terms of like... concepts or physical things and ideas I have wanted to draw but haven't, I don't really have any qualms. I'm pretty good at just doing whatever I feel like in that regard lol.

11. Favorite comment you’ve ever recieved on your work?

I don't receive many comments on my stuff, which is unfortunate but not something I can really change. The one that has stuck out to me the most, however was one that I received on One Mistake when I was still in the middle of finishing it.

It was a bit of an indepth criticism of a certain character dynamic I had made the focal point of that part of the story, and a critique on how I had handled the 'making up' portion of the relationship.

While criticism may not be the first thing most people think of in terms of 'favorite comments' I cherish it for the sole reason that it was the first time anyone had given me an analytical response to something I had meant to be taken with that analytical context. It was the reply I was hoping people would give to the part of a story I had put a lot of time, effort and continuity into. Plus, the ideas being presented were things I had already been toiling over in my rewrite of One Mistake to begin with, so that was also pretty cool to feel like I was sharing a mindset with someone absorbing my creation.

I also just now realized this was meant for art stuff and not fanfic lol. Same applies to artwork I guess, still don't get many comments so none in particular really stand out.

16. What’s the most daunting part of your process? Ex, planning, sketching, lineart, rendering etc

hmmm.... that is a thought provoker for sure. I don't really have one part of the artmaking process I favor over the others, since it is all just kind of a process for me. Ever since I started this cool thing of turning my sketches into my lineart via the airbrush tool in Paint Tool Sai, I haven't really had any problems!

I'd say the most daunting process is just getting started. Putting pen to paper and just doing sometimes seems impossible. But if I just force myself to sit down and start, it usually turns out ok.

19. Favourite character(s) to draw?

You'd expect me to say Kiyotaka. Which is half true, mainly because I've drawn him so much and he has been the catalyst to change my art style entirely. But believe it or not, I used to never draw people, like at all. I was a furry artist in the lamest sense of the word, since most of my OC's at the time were animals in some capacity. So I really should give it to Taka for pushing me out of my comfort zone and forcing me to take the daunting journey of learning over two years how to draw people good.

The characters that are my real true favorites to draw are my OC's of course. James, Goose and The Oposstag to be specific!

They're my babies, my darlings, my easiest things to draw. James specifically, used to be my go-to if I was ever in a slump and needed to draw something easy and simple. Bones and furry creatures have always been my specialty when it came to art, (If you've seen any of my animal-ish drawings you could see the difference in quality compared to drawing people) It just always has come easier to me than drawing people, but as an artist, I need to push myself out of my comfort zone to improve, and I'd say I've done a pretty good job improving!

Thank you so much for the ask, I hope I answered it all in good proper english and good proper wordage :)))

-Goose

[separatist-apologist]

Don't Blame Me

They Say She's Gone Too Far This Time

Summary: Elain Archeron is certain Graysen Lockhart is the love of her life. She'd stake her life and her reputation on it, and could not be swayed…until visual proof of his constant, unrelenting cheating is sent to her in the undeniable form of pictures and screenshots. Humiliated and angry, Elain vows revenge the only way she knows will get under his skin.

She decides to sleep with his arch nemesis, Lucien Vanserra.

Part 1: For You, I Would Cross The Line

AO3

A decade of love ended with two simple words. Hey girlie. Elain sat in LAX’s terminal staring at the notification on her phone, a pop-up from a stranger on Instagram. It was the first of a series of messages, each longer than the last.

You don’t know me but I know you, the next began. Elain cleared it with an immaculate nail, painted yellow for the upcoming Easter holiday. There was another waiting.

Told me he was ending things, that it was just a matter of breaking his lease

She cleared that message too, ignoring the message over the loudspeakers. Around her, figured blurred into lines of colors, people moving through the airport for flights, towards lives that mattered, that had meaning.

A new message begging to be accepted popped up on Elain’s screen, obscuring the engagement photo of her and Graysen. Ten years, encapsulated in one photograph. The two of them, grinning ear to ear. The picture was retouched, airbrushed, and had been slapped on a million fliers, shoved in mailers, and splashed over billboards. Consistent. Reliable. Family Man. Graysen Lockhart. And Elain, his pretty, smiling fiancé, showing her ring off to reporters and baking fucking pies while he—

I have pictures.

Elain cleared that message with a furious swipe of her thumb, for all the good it did. Screenshot after screenshot after screenshot poured in, barely visible in the little icon and yet Elain knew what she would find if she looked. Every light night she’d happily gone to sleep believing he worked, every business trip he took, every time she went out of town to visit her sisters…Elain knew she’d find Graysen making the rounds.

There are more of us…but they’re afraid to text you. I could add you to the group chat—

Elain let out a soft scream, drawing the attention of the flight attendant waving people through the gate. She needed to get in that line if she planned to go back to D.C. Elain should have boarded ten minutes earlier, had remained glued to her chair, staring at her phone. Her entire life was Graysen. They owed a townhouse together, were six months away from a wedding. The idea of flying back home where he’d surely be waiting made her feel sick.

Blowing things up might cost him his career. Half the seats in their state were up for election and Graysen was supposed to be campaigning for another four years. Elain had taken a break from driving through endless sleepy towns to see her younger sisters new baby and had planned to rejoin him.

I’m sorry.

Elain laughed dryly. So was she. Still paralyzed with indecision, Elain was saved by God or fate or the universe, whatever strange force watched her in that moment. A new message, one that came through her regular phone and not Instagram, from a pretty, blonde face she recognized.

Arina. Elain’s best friend in the entire world despite her marriage to a Vanserra, and utterly unaware of what Elain was going through, sent her a quick, pleading text.

I know you’re on your way home right now BUT please please PLEASE consider ditching Graysen for a couple days and helping me plan Eris’s birthday party. PLEASE. Elain, no one throws a better party than you. This is me, begging on my knees. Graysen will live but I will not if Eris manages to outdo me. I will have to exile myself from both my marriage and my life.

Elain liked to keep things quiet. Her life was private…until it could be exploited. And Graysen had taken everything, every cute story, every soft memory, even their proposal and turned it into something he could make profitable for his career. And Elain had allowed it with a smile, had been more than happy to stage her engagement knowing full well he intended to propose, in an effort to maximize the public’s opinion of him.

Without her, what was Graysen? He was a loser, she decided angrily, rising to her feet. Her feet ached in heels, worn with her tight pants and even tighter—yet modest, of course—top, so when people took photos of her reunion with Graysen in the airport, she would look perfect. She wouldn’t embarrass him. They would maintain that flawless reputation of pretty people in love.

Elain accepted the Instagram messages after buckling herself into her oversized gray seat, paid for with Graysen’s airline points, tucked safely away in business class. The tiny, round icon of her smiling face slid to the bottom, letting the other woman know Elain had seen those messages.

Elain, like she did everything else, took meticulous screenshots of everything. She saved every photo, creating a little folder on her phone labeled Arina Birthday Party, knowing full well every picture she saved went straight to their shared icloud account on their shared computer in their shared home.

And as the flight attendant made the rounds, asking people to put away their devices, Elain paid the absurd twenty dollars for inflight wifi before returning a message to the interloper. The homewrecker. The woman she ought to hate.

Please don’t tell him you told me. Add me to the group chat.

The plane roared forward, all sound but that of the engines filling Elain’s head. It settled her, giving her a moment to stare out her little window and appreciate the sunny view of the pacific ocean. The plane would circle back, crossing over mountains and plains, before landing in the swamp Elain called a home. The entire time she’d been with Feyre, her sister had pleaded with her to move to California. Feyre modeled in Paris and Milan, had married a handsome Silicon Valley type who had a lot of handsome friends. Feyre had already successfully set Nesta, their eldest sister, up with Rhysand’s best friend. Why not Elain, too? Wasn’t Elain tired of the cold and the wet and the humidity? Didn’t she want sunshine and soft sand?

And Elain had laughed at the absurdity of it all. Sure, D.C. was cutthroat but Elain was above all that. She had love, she was happy. Let the rest of the city squabble and fight—she’d always been content to watch, certain her and Graysen were better than all the rest of the slime that slithered through the halls of the capitol.

Clouds covered Elain’s view of the ground, drawing her back to her phone. In the group chat, seven different people began offering apologies and explanations. These girls were friends, she realized. Perhaps not at first but they’d become friends through their realization Graysen was lying scum and their own hurt feelings. They’d met more than once, for drinks and then regular brunch as they debated if they ought to tell Elain. She swallowed her anger because their hurt was, of course, valid and they’d all known. The entire time, they had all known she was there and had only thought to tell her when it became apparent Graysen was never going to leave her.

Elain turned to Arina, the only person she could trust.

Of course I’ll help you. Question, though. If you ever caught Eris cheating, what would you do?

Arina’s answer took longer than it might have. Elain blamed the spotty wifi for that .While she waited she ordered a drink—vodka tonic, which she shot without touching the tonic, before ordering another. The stewardess arched a brow but said nothing, merely handing Elain two more mini bottles and walking away before Elain could order a third.

I’d fuck his mom and destroy his life, in that order. Why?

Elain scoffed, her fingers hovering over the glass screen to tap her response. She couldn’t sleep with Graysen’s parents and she certainly couldn’t destroy his life. She wouldn’t know how. If she left him, Elain knew he’d figure a way to spin it. Graysen was the master of spin. He’d make her into some bitter ex or worse, paint himself the heart broken ex-fiance pining for his heartless love.

A Washington Post article popped up in her notifications. Lucien Vanserra pulls ahead in Prythian City by six points, giving him a sweet lead ahead of the debates.

Elain blinked, opening the article to read. She kept careful tabs on Lucien Vanserra. Their state had two available Senate seats—Graysen occupied one, and Lucien the other. The pair hated each other. Lucien was from Vanserra money, so old it could be traced back centuries into Europe. Arina had told Elain the Vanserra’s were in line to the British throne distantly, and she’d been required to invite more than one Duke scattered about Western Europe, some of whom sent very nice gifts.

Graysen’s family was also wealthy but the money was newer and Graysen used that to his advantage. Lucien could never pretend to be a down home country boy but that was Graysen’s entire image. Elain knew Graysen had attended the same Ivy, had grown up in a sprawling estate with ocean access, and had attended the finest private school’s money could buy. But to the voters who saw pictures of him in scuffed up boots on John Deere Tractors, Graysen was just like them. A working man, a man of the people. And Lucien? He was an outsider, a traitor from the city with money that only cared about protecting the stock interests of his wealthy pals.

The truth was more complicated. Graysen certain did his fair share of protecting the wealthy at the expense of the working class just as Lucien had championed fair wages and capping housing costs.

She sat there, settled in her seat, mind racing. Destroy his life.

Lucien Vanserra would keep his seat, but Graysen’s was in doubt, contested by a bartender named Jurian Iring. Vanserra was helping him raise money but with his own campaign to run, he’d need help. She could help. Graysen wouldn’t have to know. She didn’t have to end things now. Elain could wait, could bide her time, could collect information and quietly pass it along to Jurian’s camp and watch Graysen’s campaign crash and burn. She could choose how to leak his multitude of infidelities, so they had the maximum impact and force him into corner of her own design.

Elain looked back to her phone, at the picture of Lucien Vanserra waving to a crowd of his supporters. Broad hands, brown skin and that Vanserra red hair tied off his face. He was broad, his musculature unhidden in his crisp, expensive suit and his features were just as elegant as his older brothers though softer somehow. She cocked her head, her anger sharpening into something else. Something darker, uglier.

Revenge.

Elain would destroy Graysen’s life and fuck his nemesis while she did it.

LUCIEN:

“What are your thoughts on the internet?” Vassa LaFlamme asked Lucien mere seconds before he stepped out of his office doors.

“Good for some things,” he said quickly, snapping the door shut behind him. Vassa was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. He regretted offering his assistance to her boyfriend Jurian, who was still unbelievably working his day job and had left campaigning largely up to the wide-eyed naivety of Vassa. She was a fire-bird and yet Lucien could not be her mentor, not when he had his own campaign to run.

“I got a DM today about Graysen from an unverified account. Looks like it was created this morning,” she added. Lucien glanced down, snatched the phone from her hand and read the message. It was just as Vassa said—no profile picture, no pictures or anything that would prove it was anything but a pornbot, with a downloadable PDF. Any other time, Lucien might have dismissed it. Swearing he’d buy Vassa a new phone, he clicked the link on a hunch. In his line of work, a dead profile usually meant someone high up was trying to make waves—or ruin a life—and didn’t want to risk getting caught. He prayed for a sex scandal and instead found a schedule of events Graysen was attempting to nail down for the final leg of his campaign. All in smaller town, towns Lucien might even skip in favor of bigger voting blocs.

It meant Graysen either assumed those places would vote in his favor or that hitting the more rural parts of the state would make up his deficit. “Well?”

He handed it back to Vassa. “Looks like someone wants to help. Maybe he fucked over his campaign manager or one of his volunteers. If you beat him there, you might have a decent chance of swaying some undecided voters.”

Jurian was persuasive when he got on a stage and Vassa wasn’t a polished politican’s wife. If you set her beside Elain Archeron, Vassa, while beautiful, looked absolutely normal. It was obvious Vassa did her own hair, that her clothes were purchased in places anyone could buy them and when Vassa smiled, it didn’t seem practiced in a mirror. Jurian and Vassa were the polar opposite of Graysen and Elain, D.C.’s stepford couple.

The problem was getting Jurian out of the cities and into the rest of the state. Jurian had hung his hat on the liberal parts of the state outvoting Graysen, tired of his pandering. He underestimated how deeply entrenched rural politics tended to be, how conservative the east coast still was, and that he was another city outsider. Lucien was just barely tolerated, a liberal Vanserra always mucking about. His family name helped. Jurian had none of that and needed to assure the rest of the state they would not be left behind if two liberal senators represented their interests in the capitol.

“Can I trust it?” Vassa asked, her cerulean eyes somehow bluer beneath the harsh fluorescents overhead. Bouncy red curls offset golden brown skin and a constellation of freckles. Vassa didn’t belong somewhere as profoundly ugly as D.C., though Lucien did not have the heart to tell her. He certainly preferred Jurian to the smug preening of Graysen, at any rate.

Lucien shrugged. “If I knew the answer to that, I’d run this place. My advice? Go with your gut. If you think it’s legit, beat Lockhart to every place he’s planning on attending either with volunteers knocking on doors or with Jurian himself talking to people. No matter what, though, you two need to leave Prythian City.”

Lucien’s phone rang, ending his talk with Vassa. She seemed to understand her time with him was at an end, peeling off at the end of the hall while Lucien paused. Eris. His brother only called when he needed something. Lucien hit the green button and loosened the blue tie wrapped too tightly around his neck. “What?”

“What’re you doing this weekend?”

“Drinking in a hotel bar,” Lucien replied automatically. He’d be campaigning right up until election day. “You want to join?”

“Do they even have bars in a Best Western?” Eris replied dryly.

“Fuck you, Eris.”

“It’s my birthday, asshole. Arina is arranging something, and I need you to be here for it. Father is coming.”

“Your father,” Lucien corrected automatically. “Not mine.”

“You have his last name, that makes him your father. Don’t make me face him alone or I will send the press the nakedest baby picture I can fine—”

“That will only help me,” Lucien shot back, his stomach tightening at the prospect.

“Yes, I have heard about the finsta,” Eris replied dryly. “Arina is monitoring it with glee. Will you come or not.” “Yes, I’ll come but if you think I’m going to speak to Beron, you’re wrong.”

“He wrote your campaign that very generous check, did he not?” Eris questioned a little too slickly. Lucien’s hand balled to a fist at his side before he took a breath. It was late and in his wing of offices, Lucien was the last to leave. It wasn’t usually like that for him and today he was grateful no one but the sanitation worker was there to see him quietly losing his temper.

“You know I have no idea what or who is giving me money,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Ah, of course. Politics is so famously free of money’s influence. I’m sure this was just a good faith donation from a constituent.”

“If he’s hoping I’ll do him a favor he can get fucked—”

“Calm down, baby brother. I never said that. Don’t let him rile you before you’ve even seen him?” “Why bring it up at all?” Lucien demanded, well aware that Eris loved to cause problems for the simple joy of it.

“Ever since mothers fair was revealed, you pretend you are above us all. You aren’t, and I intend to make you remember it. See you this weekend. Bring Arina a nice bottle of wine for her troubles. She’ll have to arrange another seat for your last-minute arrival.” “Tell her I’m coming,” Lucien snapped but the phone went dead, leaving Lucien angry in the middle of the nation’s capital, holding his phone like it was a lifeline. He ran a hand over his face, catching a hint of rough hair ghosting his cheek.

Everything is fine. Your life is fine, he reminded himself. He would shave in the morning, just as he always did. He was a man and Beron could not hurt him—not anymore. Not with his money, not with his words, and not with his fists.

But just to be sure, Lucien changed course for the gym.

Just to be safe.

ELAIN:

“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” Graysen asked Elain as she folded another of his shirts, setting it neatly into his suitcase. “Surely Arina can live without you.” “I promised,” Elain replied, holding firm when she knew any other time she would have rushed to join him. “And besides, no one wants to see me. You’re what everyone has come for.” His cheeks flushed with pleasure. Graysen stood in their bedroom in front of a full length mirror she’d driven over sixty miles to buy. Vintage, in its ornate frame, with glass made over a century before. Elain had hung a strand of pearls from one of the corners to soften the burnished edges and even then, as Graysen admired his own reflection, Elain admired her handiwork. She’d designed a life, had turned the once empty brownstone into a home, for all he cared. She could hardly stand to sleep in her bed knowing he’d brought so many other women into it, staining her sheets not just with the act itself but with the lies told.

She intended to change them out entirely when he was gone. He’d never notice. She was merely another piece of decoration in his life that he could appreciate when he needed to, only to forget when it no longer served him.

“I hate the thought of you spending the night with a Vanserra.” Graysen turned to look at her, unaware the tight, slinky black dress she wore, with the draped sleeves and low neckline, served a secondary purpose. His words were double-edged. Elain had told Arina everything, had shown her the pictures, the texts, and most important, had shared her plan. It was risky—Arina was a Vanserra and might very well balk at Elain’s plan to involve the youngest silbing in her revenge plan.

But Arina had merely played along, suggesting Eris invite Lucien to offset Beron’s surprise attendance at the party he certainly had not been invited to. Elain could do the rest. Lucien might not like her but men were stupid and Elain was pretty. Let him think he was getting something over on Graysen. What did she care?

“It’s only Eris,” Elain reminded Graysen, trying not to shove him away when he wrapped his arms around her waist. “And he is very married.”

“Mm,” Graysen murmured, pressing a kiss against her mouth. He could be so sweet. It messed with her, had been all week since she’d returned. She wanted to pretend she’d never seen any of those texts, wanted to go back to how things had been before. “I can’t wait until that’s me.”

She hated him for making her love him. Elain smiled, swallowing her hurt while he caressed her face. “Elain Lockhart. My beautiful wife.”

“Soon,” she lied. “Only six more months.”

“Where are we with that?” he questioned, releasing his hold on her to zip his suitcase on the bed. “I haven’t heard you mention much about it.”

“There’s not much to say,” she lied again. She’d put everything on pause, unsure if she was better off cancelling her deposits or pretending things were fine and eating that money. She didn’t want to waste anyone’s time—and the date she held for the cathedral downtown was coveted. Someone else was surely dying for her early afternoon Autumn wedding.

“Mom says you haven’t responded to her text about a dress,” Graysen accused, glancing at her. “Are you still angry about what she said at Christmas?”

Elain crossed her arms over her chest, letting him see, just for a moment, how furious she was about everything. He didn’t blink, didn’t react. “You mean when she called me fat?”

He sighed, exasperated. “She didn’t call you fat, she just thought you were eating a lot and was concerned about your health. You took it the wrong way. Please text her, okay? Let her make it up to you—” “By shaming me into losing ten pounds for a wedding dress?”

Graysen slammed his bag to the floor. “Don’t cause problems for me right now, okay? I love you, baby. Call my mom. It’s one day at the expense of a lifetime of happiness. Punish her through her credit card but don’t punish me. I don’t want to be in the middle of this cat fight.”

He kissed her cheek and Elain fisted her hands at her sides to keep herself from punching him in the gut. “You’re under a lot of stress,” she murmured. “How can I help?”

“Want to suck my dick?” he asked, his tone light as though he were joking. She hated him for daring to ask her such as thing, when she knew the second he got on the road he’d be texting some new girl who wasn’t part of the group chat, who didn’t know what a liar he was…who would be all too happy to fall to her knees and suck him off the second she arrived to the hotel he was staying at.

“You should have asked sooner,” Elain replied sweetly, kissing his cheek. “You’re going to be late.” “When I get back,” he decided, as if there was a chance in hell. “I’ll be thinking about it all weekend.”

She had no response to that, so she only smiled, smiled until her teeth ached and her cheeks hurt. Graysen continued to talk right up until the car taking him to the airport arrived, unaware that Elain was privately plotting his demise in her head to get her through the interaction. She counted silently to one hundred once the dark door closed after him, just in case he came running back in for headphones or a charger and then, once she was sure he was gone, let out a scream the neighbors almost certainly heard.

She wanted to trudge back upstairs to the bedroom, bury her face in the cream sheets, and sob until there was nothing left. She hadn’t let herself cry—Elain knew if she let go of her anger and gave in to her sadness, acceptance would follow. She’d tell Graysen everything and lose her advantage. He’d spin things to his advantage; he’d salvage his career and he’d get to go on with his life as though he’d done nothing wrong.

She couldn’t stand the thought of it, so Elain took a breath and fixed her hair. She blew a controlled breath through perfect, red lips and smoothed a hand over her flat stomach until she felt calm again. Graysen would not return until Monday evening. It was Friday. For three days she’d be free of his presence, of his lies.

And in the strangest turn of events, Elain almost felt free.

LUCIEN:

“You hardly needed me for this, brother,” Lucien complained, raising a crystal glass of whiskey to his lips. Beside him, Eris looked around the room of mostly Arina’s friends, one hand on Lucien’s shoulder. Lucien supposed Eris did not have time for friends as he headed the family business. Beron had been ousted half a decade earlier for fraud and, despite the utter scandal, had merely paid his fine to the securities department and gone about his life as if nothing happened. He had an absurd presence on twitter and an almost cult-like following. He also had not come, despite his threats.

The party was winding down and Lucien regretted the wasted day no matter how many of Arina’s pretty friends had been giving him fuck me eyes all night.

“No, but it did feel like old times,” Eris admitted with an easy smile. He clapped Lucien on the shoulder, walking him from the large living room towards the connected dining room. The pair paused in front of the wall-length windows of Eris’s penthouse that overlooked the city. Eris truly was king up here, surveying his domain with satisfaction. Lucien wondered if his brother ever felt pleasure at what he’d obtained. “Besides. You made my wife incredibly happy. She likes you.”

“A moral failing,” Lucien joked. He was just as fond of Arina despite the absolute insane decision on her part to marry Eris in the first place. Arina was nice, she was normal. She liked to cut down her own Christmas trees, she knew how to cook for herself and had once forced Eris to return a necklace when she learned how absurdly expensive it was. Lucien had heard a rumor Arina made Eris take her to Olive Garden every year for their anniversary and he believed it, though Eris had never admitted the truth of it.

“Stay the night. Let Arina make you breakfast and then continue your tour of fuck all nowhere,” Eris continued dismissively. “Or better yet, drop out and come work for me.”

“I’ll stay the night,” Lucien agreed. “But only because the bar in my hotel is probably closed.”

“Smart man. Ayva is out there, if you’re looking for something to do…Arina invited her specifically for you.” Lucien rolled his eyes and waved off his brother, heading down the hall for the bedroom he typically occupied. He’d dumped his bag on the bed earlier to mark it just in case a horny couple decided to take it upon themselves to find more private accommodations.

Lucien flipped on the light, surprise to see Arina had covered the once white walls in a blue floral wall paper he quite liked and Elain Archeron sitting on the edge of the bed, massaging one of her feet with a perfectly manicured hand.

“Wrong room,” Lucien informed her, gesturing towards the bag she’d tossed gracelessly to the floor.

“I thought it looked cheap,” she replied without moving. Elain kicked her other shoe off, as if daring him to do anything about it. Was she drunk? Lucien couldn’t recall a single instance in which he and Elain had ever spoken to each other, a feat considering they’d both been in Eris and Arina’s wedding party.

“Graysen let you off the leash tonight?” he bit back, catching how her eyes flashed defiantly. She rose, all five feet of her without her absurd shoes and Lucien had the sense he ought to shut the door behind him, if only to keep someone from seeing him get slapped.

“I am his good little pet, aren’t I?” she murmured when she reached Lucien, looking up at him through thick, dark lashes. She was gorgeous, cheeks flushed, brown eyes sultry. “What would he say if he knew you were here right now?”

“You’re drunk,” Lucien guessed, suddenly unsure what else he could say. She laughed dryly, fingers reaching for the button of his jeans. He stilled.

“Would it matter if I was?” she questioned, undoing the metal clasp with one hand. Well practiced, his mind screamed, staring at pouty, red lips.

“What are you doing?” he asked instead. Because Elain was right—he didn’t care if she was drunk or not, just like he didn’t care if she was engaged. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, pushing them down his knees.

“I’m off my leash tonight, remember?” she murmured, cupping his cock through his underwear. Lucien exhaled softly, hardening beneath her soft hand. “I want to see what all the fuss is about.” “If you think I’m going to stop you, you’re wrong,” he told her, reaching for her hair as she pulled him from his pants. Elain’s smile was almost cruel, so at odds with the endless pictures she’d seen of the bright, friendly woman supporting Graysen in a Chanel pantsuit.

Elain sank to her knees, pumping the length of him once. “When did I ask for a gentleman, Vanserra?”

Fuck her, he thought as arousal spiked through him. His grip on her honey blonde hair tightened and the moment her lips slid around the tip of his cock, Lucien shoved, forcing her to take far more than she meant to. Elain gagged, hands braced against his thighs.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he groaned because despite the intense dislike he felt for her, her mouth was utter heaven. Her tongue slid along the length of him, lips wrapped around her teeth and despite her initial discomfort, she adjusted quicker than he’d expected. He could not picture nice, polite Elain taking anyone’s cock, and certainly not like this. Her cheeks hollowed, creating the most delicious friction and Lucien closed his eyes for a moment.

Her teeth scraped roughly against his skin. He jerked, looking back down at the furious expression blazing from her eyes. Elain pulled back, letting him keep his grip on her hair, still fisting the length of his cock she could not take in her throat. “Look at me or finish yourself,” she demanded roughly. His balls tightened and Lucien could only nod, guiding her back. He repaid her by pushing her further, delighting in the gagging that erupted from her own mouth as she struggled to adjust. He knew he was big and liked to imagine she wasn’t used to a penis so large, and certainly not one being shoved so inelegantly into her mouth. There was something primal about it, watching her on her knees, practically subservient before him, her mascara streaked down her cheek, head bobbing as he kept her in place. His whole body was hard, tighter than a bowstring as she sucked, her saliva pooling from her lips and dripping down his sac. Any other woman would have been given a warning but for Elain, he merely held her still so he could fuck her throat, delighting in the way she gagged. It was music, in a way, to debase her this way. And when he came, he said nothing at all. She squealed, pushing back but Lucien held her until he’d pumped every last drop down her throat.

She looked up at him with more of that blazing hatred, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Lucien felt the most terrible urge to taste her, then, and, pressing his luck, reached for her. She scrambled to her feet and, hand raised, slapped him roughly across the face. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

He gestured down his body, his cock still twitching and swollen, her lipstick stained along his skin. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that hitting him only made him want her more. What the fuck was wrong with him.

“Give me your phone,” she demanded and wordlessly, Lucien handed it over. A moment later, Elain had typed in her phone number though instead of putting a name that would note her, she’d put a small, pink flower. She sent herself a quick text and then tossed his phone at his feet.

“You couldn’t hand it to me?” he asked, yanking his pants back over his hips.

“Get it yourself. I decide how this goes. Not you.” “What makes you think I ever want to see you again? I got mine,” he shot back with a smirk. Elain only smiled and collected her shoes, as if she knew what a liar he was.

“See you around, Vanserra.”

And she left him, half hard and feeling stupider than he ever had in his entire life.

ELAIN:

Elain was curled on the sofa when Graysen returned, her phone tucked beneath her thigh. She heard the door open softly and close softly. His bag thunked to the ground. Elain waited for him to tiptoe through the foyer into the living room where she waited. “You’re awake,” he said, clearly surprised. And she was. Any other night, Elain would have been in bed by eight in order to be up at four am for the gym but she’d made an exception. She wanted to know how late he’d been sneaking in and at one thirty am, Graysen had finally snuck his way in, smelling of J’Adore.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Elain murmured with mock sleepiness. That was half true. She couldn’t sleep knowing he was out with another woman not using protection. “It’s been a long weekend. How was the trip?”

“Awful without you,” he lied, keeping his distance. Hidden in the dark, Elain wondered what other tell-tale signs she’d find if she turned on the light and looked for herself. She merely curled her legs beneath her body, reaching for her phone. “Fucking Iring beat me out there, the prick. I’m gonna need you next weekend. “Of course,” Elain agreed sweetly. “I should have told Arina no.”

That pacified him. “I should shower. Meet me in bed?”

Elain rested her head along the back of the cushioned tan couch and nodded, her hair spilling around her face and Graysen, thinking he’d gotten away with something, continued up to the bathroom where he’d scrub away the evidence of his crimes.

Elain pulled her phone from beneath her and scrolled through her contacts, looking for the little fox emoji that denoted Lucien. He was an ass, choking her on his dick and still it had been almost fun. Certainly gratifying, in its own way. She’d masturbated to the thought of blowing Lucien just as Graysen had begged her to a few hours before.

5am? She texted, unsure what she even wanted from him. He didn’t seem like a particularly kind or generous lover and it occurred to Elain if she was going to cheat on Graysen, she might pick someone who could actually make her come. She’d been faking it for years, getting off only when Graysen felt like going down on her, which was infrequent at the best of times. She’d told herself it was the tradeoff for love, that you either got mind blowing sex or the love of your life, but never both.

Still, she’d fake it with Lucien to one day rub this whole thing in Graysen’s face. She could get on top and control the entire thing. Use him just as surely as he’d used her, she decided. What did she care what he thought of her touching herself while he fucked her? It made Graysen insane—he swore it would upset any man.

Lucien sent back an address and nothing else, as though he’d made his peace with the situation. Satisfied, Elain turned off the television, straightened up the living room, and made her way into the bedroom upstairs. She passed the bathroom where Graysen showered, his bodywash overpowering the lingering perfume she’d smelled when he came in.

She was in bed, back turned to him when he came in. She felt him slide in, felt his hand on the middle of her back.

“Baby?” he whispered. She almost scoffed at his audacity but instead focused on keeping her breathing even. Graysen leaned over and Elain continued to feign sleep, eyes closed, until he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade and settled back to his side of the bed. She was fuming, so angry she was sure she’d never sleep.

She was startled when her alarm jolted her awake at four am, cheerfully reminding her that Elain always got up at four am so she could make it on time to her hot yoga class. Graysen groaned, flinging an arm over in Elain’s direction. She pushed it back, silencing her alarm and headed for the shower. Still holding her phone, Elain realized she had a notification.

Lucien, ten minutes earlier, had sent her a sweaty, shirtless gym picture. Elain, ignoring the way her whole body tightened at the sight of glistening abs, responded with one word.

Gross.

He was hardly gross. He had the biggest penis she’d ever seen in her entire life, a low bar considering she’d only ever seen two. He was in incredible shape and there was something appealing about a man with discipline, who got up early like she did to work out. Graysen preferred to run and was often dieting, which meant Elain, too, was running and dieting. She hated running. Elain liked weights, she liked dancing, she liked anything but the monotony of running. Graysen thought weights made women too bulky and dancing was too slutty.

It was a reminder that Graysen controlled every aspect of Elain’s life, from the color of her nails to the kind of clothes she wore and everything in between. Elain wasn’t allowed in anything too short, too low cut, that showed the barest hint of skin. That included shorts to work out in, it included bathing suits on the beach, and it often extended to even the lingerie she wanted to wear. Someone might see her buy it and think she was the wrong type of woman.

What would he think of her now, carefully soaping her body only to send a strategically posed, low light selfie straight back to Lucien? There was no way to know the pair of wet tits belonged to her and though Lucien was a bastard to be sure, he didn’t seem like the kind of asshole who’d leak the pictures.

His response was instant.

Hurry the fuck up.

It only slowed her down. Pleasure coiled through her all the same and Elain took her time drying her hair and curling it, applying a thin layer of make-up, and all the other stupid shit she did because Graysen demanded it even though going to work out in make made her skin itch. Her workout would be different, and she thought she quite liked the sight of her lipstick smeared over Lucien’s cock, besides. Maybe she’d take a picture of that, too. Maybe that would be the picture she showed Graysen, when this was all over and she’d completely blown up his life.

Graysen didn’t budge by the time Elain left, her tennis shoes laced up, her bag tossed over her shoulder. The only difference between today and any other was her lack of kiss—she always kissed him on the cheek before she left, just in case anything happened. Murmured an I love you he never returned. She doubted he noticed the difference, was grateful for the quiet.

Just like Elain, Lucien lived in Georgetown. Why shouldn’t he? A Vanserra living in the historic neighborhood was practically a right, a king come to claim what was his by birth and blood. It made sneaking around much easier, when she merely had to jog four blocks down. Lucien’s home didn’t share a wall and wasn’t a townhouse, a fact Elain was immensely jealous of. Three stories of gorgeous white stone and Victorian architecture, bathed beneath the early glow of the morning sun, left Elain momentarily stunned on the sidewalk. Remembering she was supposed to be at yoga and not at a Vanserra’s, she jogged up the steps, hands gliding up the old iron railing and wondered who had once lived there before him. Who else had walked those steps?

He opened the arched door before she could knock, dressed casually in black basketball shorts and a blue v-necked t-shirt. She’d never seen his hair loose around his face—it had always been neatly pulled back but in the doorway it hung damp and thick around his handsome face, making him seem rougher and almost rakish by comparison.

He gestured for her to step inside, further impressing her with a modern, bright interior that utilized the high ceilings and large windows to maximize the amount of natural light pouring in. She wanted a tour more than she wanted to fuck him in that moment but Lucien, unaware or unconcerned with her interest in his décor, merely gestured for her to follow him up dark hardwood stairs.

And she did. She hadn’t come to compliment him, after all. His bedroom was a little darker, the curtains pulled against high windows, his duvet a blood red that wasn’t totally at odds with the cream of his walls.

“Get naked,” he said the moment he’d shut his door. “I only have an hour.” “I’m sure that’s plenty of time,” Elain sneered in response, pulling her tank top over her head. Lucien’s expression darkened but he didn’t argue. He also didn’t take a piece of his own clothing off, a fact she didn’t realize until she was shimmying out of her leggings.

“What about—” she began but he growled softly, shoving her to the bed and yanked roughly, stretching the seams. She gasped, worried he’d rip a hole if he wasn’t careful. He took only a moment to look at her, a hungry gleam in his eye, before he reached for her wrist and yanked her back to her feet.

It occurred to her only a moment later that she’d very explicitly told him they would do things her way or not at all. He’d heard her and perhaps interpreted it to mean she would decide when while he decided the how. Elain began to protest his wordless manipulation of her body until he was flat on his back and she straddling his chest.

“Lucien you—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, pulling himself further down, arms grasping her thighs. He yanked and Elain gasped again, this time from the feel of his tongue dragging up her pussy. The pads of his fingers dug into the bone of her hip, holding her so tight she wasn’t sure how he was breathing. She fisted his hair just as he had done the weekend before, deciding he didn’t care. Let him suffocate, if he wanted to say that kind of shit to her.

And oh God, she had to use her other hand to hold the head board. Her hips rolled against his face of their own accord, urging him on though he had set a very polite, almost leisurely pace. She remembered what he’d said only a minute before. I only have an hour.

An hour. If she could get Graysen to spend more than five minutes between her thighs she considered it a win and Lucien was bemoaning an hour. She could not imagine it, was sure she’d come even if he changed nothing about how he currently stroked against her.

“Turn me around,” Elain gasped, practically writhing when he switched between long, broad strokes of his tongue to short, faster flicks. He said nothing though he paused for a moment and then, with a slowness that made her scream softly, delved into the opening of her pussy, fucking her with his tongue. She hated him, hated him for how good he was with his mouth and how bad she wanted to come. “Lucien, let me suck—”

“Fuck, Elain,” he groaned, letting her climb off his face long enough to reposition herself, his hands frantically pulling his shorts from his hips. He was achingly hard and utterly erect—the sight of his bobbing cock against his abs thrilled her a little. Graysen had told her eating her out did nothing for him, made him so soft he needed to stroke himself while he was down which he found distracting.

Lucien hauled her back against his face without warning and she squealed in delight, sighing at the feel of his fingers spreading her apart. It took her a moment to remember what she was supposed to be doing. She reached for his cock, pumping twice with her hand to get a feel for him. Lucien’s breath quickened, hot against her cunt and Elain moaned softly, grinding against him.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that shit,” he told her, mouth pressed against her body. She wasn’t sure if she meant the stroking of the grinding of her hips and as a test, she did both, first her hand, and then her lower body. He groaned against, losing his rhythm for a moment.

“Suck my fucking cock, Elain,” he ordered and Elain had never been so aroused in her life. She ought to have told him no, but Lucien’s tongue was back in her pussy and Elain was building too hot, too fast. She sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth, her mind focusing on taking as much of him as she could, to see if she could take more than before. It gave her something else to focus on, beside the throbbing pleasure between her legs.

“You’re only pretty when you’re sucking me,” he told her, his words panting and muffled. She would have laughed had she not had half his cock in her throat. She raked her teeth up the skin of his shaft in warning, a reminder to shut his own mouth if he wanted to finish at all and Lucien seemed to understand the message.

He couldn’t hold her head against him as he pulsated closer, the vein in his cock raised. She knew he was about to come, had figured out his tell—his hips began to thrust upwards, trying desperately to fuck all of her. What would it feel like to actually have every inch of him in her, pumping desperately, madly?

Elain came for the first time in a year, grinding hard against her face. She let herself be loud, let herself press against him, use him for her own pleasure just as she said she was. He didn’t mean anything to her, was merely an object for her to use. The feeling was clearly mutual as Lucien pulled her off him just in time to coat her in his come. She punched him hard in the thigh, using her other hand to wipe his emission from her throat.

“I get it now,” Lucien panted, grinning ear to ear as he looked at her. “Why the press is always calling you beautiful.” “I hate you,” she replied, standing quickly. He didn’t stop smiling. He merely gestured towards the bathroom door at the far end of the bathroom.

“I know you do. Go clean yourself up.”

And Elain did exactly as she was told.

LUCIEN:

“I can’t stand them,” Vassa hissed, arms crossed over her chest as Elain and Graysen swanned into the little auditorium. Graysen and Jurian would face off in a series of townhalls. Lucien understood Vassa’s frustrations—Elain was a veteran when it came to greeting constituents. When Vassa came in, she’d barely spoken to anyone, focusing on getting things set up, still leaning the ropes. Elain immediately began greeting the people seated on benches around the circular stage, eyes bright as she inquired after their lives and heard their problems. Lucien knew without a doubt Graysen would never have gotten half as far without Elain baking pies and kissing infants and remembering the names of a seemingly endless stream of strangers.

He resented Graysen for it almost as much as he disliked Elain for her willingness to play along. What did she get from the whole thing? Did she imagine she might one day be First Lady? That hitching her wagon to someone like Graysen would one day pay off for her?

Lucien let hismelf imagine her covered in his come, messy and disheveled and so fucking hot. Where was that woman, he wondered? The Elain he saw now wore a bright blue pencil shirt with a modest jacket, a silver bracelet that matched the delicate chain around her neck and the gleaming diamond on her finger. It occurred to him that in the time he’d spent with her, he’d never once seen her wear her engagement ring.

Not a hair was out of place, her lips the perfect shade of pink, her eyeshadow creating the sweetest, doe-eyed effect. Graysen approached in his navy suit and placed a hand on her back. Elain turned and offered him a beaming smile…until he looked away. It was only a moment but Lucien, so busy studying her in his resentment, caught the hatred that flashed over her features before she caught herself. It was the briefest flicker, hardly anything at all.

“I’ll bet he’s fucking women all over the state,” Vassa, unaware of Lucien’s obsession, continued whispering from her spot in the stands. He was there as moral support, sitting in the front row beside Vassa just opposite of Elain and Graysen. Elain took her seat, smoothing the back of her skirt before sitting and tossed a pretty curl over her shoulder. Graysen said something to her and her smile tightened for a moment but she smiled in agreement all the same. Graysen joined Jurian on the stage, preparing to be mic’ed up and flipping through his note cards in his jacket pocket.

“You think?” Lucien murmured. “You don’t think Elain unplugs him when the night is over and puts him on a charging dock?”

Vassa giggled. “If anyone gets put away, it’s politician’s wife barbie. She’s too perfect. I’ll bet she’s pent up as fuck.”

Lucien couldn’t comment on that, though Vassa wasn’t wrong. She sucked dick like she needed it to breathe. He couldn’t think about that or he’d have an erection in the middle of what promised to be a very dry town hall. Lucien had given Vassa the run down earlier—he personally thought townhalls were preferable to big debates. People were obviously preselected ahead of time and each candidate had a sense of the questions that would be asked, but there was an intimacy to them that made viewers and participants feel like they knew a candidate better. It let candidates show off more of their personality, of their values. Jurian needed people to see he had more in common with them than Graysen, who was guaranteed to come off too polished, too slick no matter how back woods he wanted to portray himself.

And Elain, in her thousand-dollar shoes, did Graysen no favors in this venue. Lucien supposed she existed simply to make other men jealous, to perhaps make them think subconsciously that a man with a woman like that might rub off on them in some way. As though there was anyone half as beautiful as Elain anywhere else.

Her eyes met his, that practiced smile shifting into something else. Her gaze drifted towards the hall and Lucien didn’t dare believe she’d chance such a thing. He was merely thinking with his dick while she was letting her mind wander. Still, it was him who stood even as Vassa looked up at him.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Totally fine. I need to take care of something really quick,” he added, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Jurian is going to be fine. This is where he shines.”

Vassa nodded, curls bouncing sweetly. She was exactly what she needed and if Jurian ever got smart and hired an actual campaign manager, Vassa could give Elain a run for her money. He’d try and sell Jurian on the merits of that later. He turned towards the aisle, nodding at the same people he needed to vote for him before pushing through wide, double doors. There was a dressing room between where he sat and Elain sat—small, practically a closet all things considered, but he didn’t need a lot of room.

What he needed was a condom and to get that, Lucien had to run from the purple carpeted lobby to the parking lot, trying to remember where he’d left his car, fish his keys from his pocket, and pull the yellow foil from his glove box. He slipped it into his pocket, walking back to the glass doors of the auditorium. He could hear the booming words of the moderator welcoming guests and hoped the dry political droll wouldn’t permeate through the walls.

Lucien considered, for one brief moment, this was all in his head. That he’d imagined Elain’s desire from across the room and was walking to that dressing room, the same he’d once spent a terrifying ten minutes standing in before his very first town hall, to find it empty.

Lucien yanked the door open and Elain grabbed his tie, dragging him further inside. The door slammed shut behind them and Lucien couldn’t help himself, leaning to kiss her.

“Not my face,” she snapped, her fingers pressed to his lips.

“I’ll bet you’re a shitty kisser anyway,” Lucien lied, hiking her skirt towards her hips, mouth finding her arching neck.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she replied. “Why are you here?”

“I hate Graysen as much as you do,” he couldn’t help saying. Elain fumbled with the belt of his dress pants, yanking too hard. Lucien didn’t care, rubbing himself against her slim leg as he hauled hre against a small table shoved against the wall. He meant to bend her over it, but her skin was so soft and smelled sweet, like honey and jasmine and Lucien needed to lose himself in it. He was cognizant of her hair, burying his hair in the soft strands for only a moment.

“You’re not running against him,” she reminded Lucien, dragging him back to the present. Right. They weren’t friends—she was going to marry his worst enemy.

“I’m here to support Jurian,” Lucien told her, taking step backwards so he could pull his cock from the opening in his pants. He had no intention of getting naked or being caught with his pants down.

Elain hopped off the table, hips wiggling as she shimmied out of a pair of lacy, hot pink underwear. Her eyes darkened at the sight of the condom in his hand, watching as he ripped the corner with his teeth.

“Turn around,” he told her, pocketing her underwear. She was so obnoxious, the way she watched him over her shoulder with those big eyes, as if daring him to do anything about it. Knowing they could get caught, that anyone might walk in on them. How would she explain it? Elain Archeron, soon to be Lockhart, caught fucking a Vanserra?

Why did the thought making him so hot? Lucien rolled the condom over already straining cock and pushed the hem of her dress up over the perfect curve of her ass. He ran his hand over her skin before slapping hard, the sound ringing over the muffled conversation humming in the background. The print of his hand immediately reddened against her fair skin and Lucien couldn’t help his smile, satisfied.

She merely wiggled her hips invitingly, spreading her legs, still incased in those black heels, wider apart. “Tick tock, Vanserra. I don’t have all day.”

He wrapped a hand around her throat, brushing his lips against her ear. “When we get home, I’m going to make you regret this moment.”

“I regret every moment I’ve spent with you,” she replied sweetly, pushing her hips against his straining erection.

There was clapping in the background, acknowledging Elain’s sharp wit and Lucien could appreciate the humor of the moment. He snapped his hips, sliding into her without warning, without an ounce of sweetness. She gasped, gripping the edge of the table. “Ass,” she whispered, as though he were the problem. Lucien knew, the moment he was fully incased in her body, that it was she who was the asshole. How could she not have warned him, he wondered? Dizzyingly, Lucien rolled his hips, forcing himself to stay silent despite how tightly she gripped him. She felt like a second skin, the heat of her body seeping through the condom until he could all but imagine what it would feel like to fuck her raw. He held her hip, yanking her against him until Lucien could hear nothing but the sound of their combined breathing and the slap of their skin.

“Can you come like this?” he asked her, reaching for one of the curls of her hair.

“Does it matter?”

He hated her in that moment. He tugged her hair until she leaned backwards, looking up at him and, ignoring her earlier request, kissed her because he couldn’t stop himself. Like everything about them, there was nothing elegant or nice about it—the kiss was bruising, his tongue in her mouth, her teeth biting too hard until he swore he could taste blood.

“It always matters,” Lucien swore against her lips, releasing her so he could focus. If he kissed her again, he might be tempted to seek out her taste where it was stronger, to bury his face between her legs and let himself enjoy her until she was writhing and bucking against him.

She exhaled roughly when he snaked his hand between their bodies, cunt clenching tightly around him. “Tell me what you fucking need,” he growled, rubbing her clit until she practically dripped around him, her whole body a vice, sucking him deeper. She came with a sweet whimper, the feel of her convulsing around him emptying his mind of all other thoughts. He came almost regretfully, knowing the moment he finished his wild, primal pumping he would have to send her back to Graysen.

Elain all but shoved him off her, pulling her dress back to her knees. “My underwear—” “It’s mine,” he interrupted smoothly. “I’m not giving them back.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you going to smell them later?” she taunted, raking her fingers through her still immaculate hair. He took a step towards her, wiping a bit of smeared lipstick from her mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m gonna use them to masturbate tonight,” he replied. “Want me to send you a video.”

Her eyes burned with hatred. Elain reached for the door handle as Lucien quickly zipped himself back into his pants.

“Send me the video, Vanserra.”

Elain snapped the door shut behind her, leaving him grinning like an utter fool in her wake.

ELAIN:

“How the fuck is he always one step ahead of me?” Graysen raged, turning the television off to pace across the plush white rug in their shared living room. “Someone is telling him something, I just know it.”

Elain didn’t look up from her phone, staring at a series of filthy texts from Lucien. “Maybe you should vet your volunteers better.”

“Its like he’s in my mind. I say I want to go to a soup kitchen and there that bastard is, photographed by the press—” “You left last weekend for Our Little Sisters,” Elain reminded him, looking up from her screen with a frown. “What happened?”

Graysen paled for a moment, caught in a lie he’d obviously forgotten about. “I told you, he beat me to it.”

Elain looked back at her phone, knees pulled to her chest. Come over.

“You could still go,” she reminded Graysen stone faced despite the arousal currently pulsating through her. “Good deeds aren’t a first come, first served sort of thing. Pick an organization in a county you haven’t visited yet.”

She wondered if he was considering which of his mistresses he’d told all this to that might be blabbing. He began to pace again, brown eyes stormy, his handsome face ugly with anger. “It’ll look cheap in comparison. It’s just one thing of a long list. Someone has betrayed me—” “Vet your volunteers better. It’s the same staff as before,” she reminded him, fingers flying across the screen.

You sound desperate.

Graysen ran a hand down his chin. “Do you have plans tonight?”

She frowned, once again forced to look at her fiancé. “No. I thought we were staying in?”

“What about Arina? You haven’t seen her in forever.” “Her and Eris have been in the Maldives for his birthday.” “They’re back though, right? You should visit her.” His desperation infuriated her, so transparent she had to work to keep her expression thoughtful.

“It would be nice to spend some time with her.” “Spend the night, even. Have a girls night. You’ve been working really hard, Lainey. On me. Take my card and really go crazy. Spa, drinks, dinner, shopping, whatever you want.”

Elain glanced back at her phone, to the new message waiting for her.

Desperate to see you covered in cum.

She plastered a smile to her face. “You spoil me.”

“You deserve it, baby. I mean it. You’ve let me drag you all over without any complaining. Have a nice night with Arina.”

“What will you do?” she asked, rising to her feet, well aware he was about to lie to her face. Would he see his mistress? Graysen crossed the room, holding her face in his hands.

“Work. I’ve got to figure out how to bury that piece of shit. It’s going to be a boring night staring at my computer.”

“You work too hard,” Elain told him too sweetly, her mind wandering to every filthy thing she’d do to Lucien as repayment for this moment. “I’ll miss you.”

He slapped her ass. “Go have fun.”

Elain put on a slinky red dress and a pair of matching red heels with absolutely nothing underneath. She concealed that fact in a long jacket, buttoned over her breasts so when she came to see Graysen he didn’t notice her nipples poking from beneath the silky fabric. Not that he looked in her direction at all. It was ridiculous to think he was staying at home, in his button up blue shirt and his navy dress pants. He had his watch still on, for fucks sake. He was clearly waiting for her to leave.

And she did, unbuttoning the beige coat as she walked the four blocks to Lucien’s house, each step freeing her of her resentment. By the time Lucien pulled open the door, wearing only a pair of long, athletic pants loose around his hips, Elain was almost excited.

“You’re overdressed,” he commented, eyes immediately zeroing in on her breasts.

“It’s called a gift, and you’re welcome,” Elain retorted.

“To see your tits through clothes? That’s only a gift to someone whose never seen you naked. Take your dress off…but keep the shoes.” “You’re a pervert,” she accused, sliding the dress tortuously slow over her skin, reveling in the feel of the fabric against her overheated skin. Lucien watched hungrily, not moving from the foyer. 

“Did I steal your only pair of underwear?” he asked, reaching for her now naked body and skimming his hands over the sides of her skin.

“I couldn’t risk you keeping them,” she replied.

“Answer me one thing, Elain Archeron,” he began, his mouth so close to hers she could taste the alcohol he’d been drinking. “When you’re done punishing Graysen for whatever fuckup he’d=s committed, are you going to marry him?” “Jealous?” she taunted, eyes searching his.

His eyes flashed with heat. “Yes.”

She didn’t let him say another word in the wake of that admission. She should have left him entirely. It was too far, to admit there was something at stake for him. This was supposed to be meaningless, punishment for every wrongdoing of Graysen’s. Instead, Elain grabbed Lucien by the back of his neck, kissing him roughly. She was stupid, thinking she could walk away. He was utterly electric, his hands pure heat as they hauled her into the air.

Fingers rubbed between the globes of her ass, his mouth bruising. Elain dragged her fingers through his hair, pulling through thick tangles. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms around his neck as Lucien walked them up the steps, never breaking the kiss. She was grateful for his athleticism in that moment, certain she would have died if he set her down, if his clever fingers stopped their expert, soft touches.

He dropped her to his bed, his heady, masculine scent enveloping her. She yanked at his hair, unwilling to give him a moment to say another word that might betray whatever feelings were bubbling in his mind. As far as Elain was concerned, she had a plan and Lucien asking if she intended to marry Graysen would only fuck it all up. He knew what this was.

She pushed desperately at his pants, not wanting to think about anything but his cock buried inside her, of the oblivion fucking him brought. He kicked them off, panting over her before trailing a series of punishing, bruising kisses over her skin, sucking against the skin of her breasts so hard she was certain there would be tell-tale purple bruises in the morning. She didn’t care. She raked her nails roughly against his back, hoping she might scar, wanting to hurt him for scaring her.

His cock slid through the slick folds of her pussy, reminding her she’d always meant to be in charge of their sexual interactions. She shoved him off her roughly, straddling his hips before he could stop her. He misunderstood, groaning his approval and trying to haul her up over his face but Elain slapped his hand off her. She centered her body over her cock, taking the base of it into her hand, and guided herself down.

“Look at me,” he demanded when her eyes shuttered. “You’ll look at me when I fuck you.” “I’m fucking you,” she reminded him breathlessly, rolling her hips quickly, desperately. They moaned in time, his broad hands spanning her ass again, practically holding her over him, his pace just as frantic, just as needy.

“Please, Van—”

“Say my goddamn name!” he all but yelled at her, reaching for a strand of hair and yanking until her face was mere inches from her own. “Say my name, Elain. Look at me and say my name.”

Their eyes met, her hips frantically meeting him thrust for thrust. The pain only made her wetter, made her want him more. “Lucien,” she whimpered. “Please, I—”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Elain and Lucien froze, looking behind them at the crisp, stunned figure of Eris Vanserra. Eyes wide, pale-faced, Eris seemed genuinely surprised, maybe for the first time in his life. “I don’t know which of you is dumber right now. Get fucking dressed.”

Elain slid Lucien from her body, wrapping the blood red blanket of his bed around her as Lucien very quickly dressed. He looked wild and a little afraid, yanking a shirt from his desk against the window over his head.

“Stay here,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

Something was bubbling in her chest, something Elain had kept buried for far too long. When the door snapped shut behind her, she stood with a numbness she hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling. She pulled open his dresser drawers, pulling on a pair of blue basketball shorts and one of his t-shirts before sitting on the floor, her back against his bed. Elain drew her knees up to her chest, waiting for Lucien to return.

The door opened and familiar blonde hair and green eyed peeked in. Arina, hurried and clearly worried, quickly slipped into the room. Arina, who had known about this plan the entire time, even if Elain had never shared the specifics, who had likely been waiting for Eris in the car when he stopped by to see his younger brother.

Arina, dressed in a beautiful blue dress, sat on the wood floor beside Elain and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Graysen has been sleeping with other women behind your back, Elain,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

And the tears Elain had been so desperately trying to keep at bay finally erupted from her chest. She buried her head in Arina’s shoulder, her sobs loud enough to interrupt the sound of Eris yelling at Lucien downstairs. “No. I’m not okay.”

[wellfine]

Do you have any anatomy or drawing tips?

Woah, what a broad question, lol! I actually have plenty of advice, and I'm really open to questions about exactly this subject on Twitter (or CuriousCat, if you're shy), but it's hard to know where to start without something more specific. So if you had anything in mind, feel free to hit me up!

Generally, my drawing tips are:

Draw what makes you happy, because that's the best self-motivator, and push yourself to draw what you actually envisioned, not just what you can currently do. So no more hiding hands behind people's backs, defaulting to a simpler perspective if you had something more ambitious in mind, etc. You won't get better at drawing something by not drawing it, so chop chop! If it doesn't turn out well this time, you can just revisit later when you've improved!

Practice doesn't make perfect, it makes permanent, so make sure you're practicing the right things. Drawing the same thing over and over without reference and relying on symbol drawing is a surefire way to ingrain bad habits you'll only have to UN-learn later, which is way, way, WAYYYyy harder.

Speaking of reference - the best way to use references in your studies is as a tool to actually understand what's happening in the picture. Too many beginners - myself included - treat references as if they're suggestions on what pose to draw without actually studying how that pose is happening. Like, you look at a photo of a someone with their hands behind their head and their ankles crossed and think, okay, I'm gonna draw someone with their hands behind their head and their ankles crossed- no. Draw that person with their hands behind their head and their ankles crossed, exactly as they appear. Try and understand the shapes, the foreshortening, how everything connects. You'll find it's WAY harder and also WAY more rewarding.

If you've never really done studies or life drawing before, Line of Action not only explains the basics of how to do a fruitful art study, but it can also set you up with a plethora of reference images. Go. Do it. I don't care how stylised your art style is, life drawing will help you understand how to stylise it better!

DID YOU HEAR THAT!? IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW STYLISED YOUR ART IS!! STUDYING FROM LIFE WILL ONLY HELP YOU KNOW HOW TO STYLISE EVEN BETTER!! I know stuffy fine artists like to dismiss stylised art but that's not what this is about! You can't stylise something properly without understanding the base form you're working from first!

Make comics. They will force you to draw a lot of things you've never drawn before at a great frequency and HURL you out of your comfort zone. You don't have to share them with anyone. They don't even have to be good. But they're like an expand-your-art-skills intensive course.

Flip your canvas as you draw. The point of this is not to make sure your image looks perfect from both directions - most images have a 'bias' towards one angle, and that's fine - but to force you to see your image in a new light and notice mistakes you had grown oblivious to. For the same reason, I often zoom out to make the image very small to see if I need to clarify any shapes, etc. and flip my canvas upside down, mostly to check for compositional issues/dead space.

Line confidence is a very important skill. You can practice this by drawing in pen (on actual paper) and forcing yourself to stop "feathering" or "scratching" your lines (i.e. building up a continuous line out of many smaller lines rather than just drawing one line). Do a bunch of rapid-fire life drawing studies from Line of Action on paper in pen - you won't have enough time to worry about getting every line perfect, which will teach you how to be less wishy-washy about your lines.

And my anatomy-specific tips are:

Please, for the love of god, reference real photos of real people, not (just) airbrushed celebrity/social media photoshoots, 3D video game models, or anime character thirst traps. Those can all make good references for how to stylise anatomy, but you'll be severely limiting your understanding of the spectrum of human body-shapes if you don't supplement it with real, unadulterated references. It's easy to tell when someone has tried to diversify the range of body types they draw (good!) but hasn't based it on any actual study (not so good). Line of Action is a great resource here again, but athletes from different sports are a great source of action-packed references of dynamic body types. A top ranked cabletosser will look different to a rugby player will look different to a sprinter will look different to a surfer, etc.

Anatomical knowledge is best applied as a touch-up and not as a foundational tool. I see a lot of people complain that their art looks or feels too stiff and inorganic, and then I see their process is veeerrryyy steeped in making sure their figures are anatomically "correct" even from the initial concept sketch. In reality, human bodies can look kind of funny and warped when they're in motion, especially extreme motion, and one of the benefits of art is being able to choose what you exaggerate and push in order to convey a stronger emotion, or action, or vibe than you would with perfectly "correct" anatomy. Start with a line of action (the concept Line of Action is named after, which they also explain at the link above) that conveys the dynamic movement and/or silhouette you want, and then apply your anatomical knowledge around that.

[ellenoir]

Finally wrapped these up! I got permission from @alkalinefrog to colour her “Goodnight” pieces, which were in turn inspired by the work of the lovely @captainhysunstuff‘s comic about L and Light trying to figure out how to sleep during the Yotsuba arc (here’s the first one, it’s super cute and still ongoing!). 

I have a bad habit of rendering too much, so I took this opportunity to practice just laying out colours, making shapes, and forcing myself not to use the airbrush or blenders. Looking at their feet as I type, I can spot a hundred little details that I would obsessively polish out most of the time. 

But I still love them. I like how much movement I put into their clothes, the forms I was able to convey, the lighting in the scenes. I think they turned out wonderful, for all of their flaws. With all of the flaws. The messiness seems to fit a lot...

Huge thanks to Alka for giving me permission to colour these two. Not how I expected to make my first piece of art on the site, but here we are. 

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

I relate so much to the not feeling hood enough even for fictional characters. So often when I read a fic I need to literally stop and put my phone down bc they the reader is described as beautiful and perfect is just so far away from how I see myself. And the way Eddie (or whoever the fic is about) is so intensly into the reader and so incredibly turned on and eager when it's smut and also just the intense infatuation when it's a fluffy fic - the way the writers make him think about the reader is almost off-putting to me in some instances bc I can NOT imagine anyone ever feeling this way about me. Like it's so insanely unrealistic that I literally have to stop reading bc he called the reader pretty one too many times.

Oh, honey.🫂

I suppose, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We're our own worst critics; we fixate on things we think to be imperfect and we tear ourselves down. It's too easy to do, especially when media airbrushes and photoshops celebrities so much that they don't even recognise themselves in adverts! But the people who love us see those imperfections, or maybe they don't because we can fixate on those perceived imperfections and make them seem bigger than they are in reality, but they love us. They love us, so those imperfections don't matter because it's a part of the whole person. It's a part of you and could any part of you, physical or otherwise, not be worthy of love?

I totally understand; I feel the very same way. I can't imagine anyone loving me romantically. I was terrible in relationships when I was a teenager/young adult. I found it so hard to believe that I was worthy of love that I - and I'm not proud of this - actively sabotaged my relationships because it was easier for me to walk away on my own terms than it was to watch them leave me, there's no way they loved me. Now, I've grown enough to realise that I hurt those people by hurting me, and were I to be in a relationship right now, I'd be wiser than I was as a teenager but I'd probably still run it into the ground before it had a chance to go anywhere because I'm not in a place where I'm ready to accept that I can be loved. Platonically, familially? Hell, yes!! I own that love. But romantically??? I wrote myself off when I was twenty. I'm now twenty-five and, I fear, too stuck in my ways.

That includes Eddie, unfortunately. I imagine he'd be embarrassed if he saw how I talk about him, how I look at him, and I think way in the back of my head that we'd be doomed from the very start; we'd never last. And it upsets me, it opens the door for me to rip into myself and I do it well. All in Eddie's name and he would not appreciate that. This is also not something I'm proud of, but it's why I ask for and write about Eddie reassuring and comforting the reader frequently. I write what I want in love and in a relationship. It's the only way I can allow myself to have that comfort but even that's a struggle on my bad days. I'm sorry you feel a similar way to what I do in this matter.🫂💔

But as I said, we're our own worst critics and I'm sure you're much, much more than you give yourself credit for. The beauty of self-insert fanfics is that we get to imagine who we are. Y/N can be you as you are right now, you but with some variation, or an OC or someone else entirely. As you read, it's up to you. We fic writers give you some brain food, essentially, and you get to make up the nitty gritty details. You deserve love, you deserve to let yourself be loved, and you deserve to love. You deserve it all!

I totally understand finding it kinda off-putting, sometimes I need to put my phone down as well and just breathe because no way someone like Eddie would love someone like me (derogatory), right? But I almost force myself to keep reading anyway, because it's Eddie. My love for him overrides my sorta-love for myself and that helps me to believe for that moment, while I read that fic, that Eddie could love me.

I went way off on a tangent here and I'm not entirely sure what my point was supposed to be, so hopefully there's some words in the sauce which resonate with you! I just... I get it, and I'm sorry you feel this way too, and I'm certain Eddie would love you. How could he not? For every reason you give in answer to that question, he'd have a compliment contradicting it!💞

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 134

Since I am queueing this chapter the same that I queued the last one, I just want to say:

If you have found my story in the last week, and liked it, thank you. It makes me smile when that happens.

If you shared my story with others, and they liked it, or even found a little bit of themselves in it, I’m very glad. Thank you for sharing something with your friends that they enjoyed.

As always, thank you to @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, @baelpenrose, and @charlylimph-blog for being my ports in all storms and the family everyone deserves to have.

Annnd the podcast. Don’t miss the podcast!  I don’t profit from it in any way, shape, or form, but the idea of a version of this story that is more accessible for people who would struggle to read it is something that should always be supported! 

A week later, I was wincing and out of breath when I reached my office for the day.  Tyche had enthusiastically agreed with Arthur’s suggestion, and after some tests from Maverick showed that I could apparently kick hard enough to break a grown man’s pelvis - although not without also breaking my foot - I had been expected to be in the gym for nearly two hours every day.  My legs hurt and my feet looked worse than the time I tried to learn ballet en pointe.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, I was also apparently very slow in reacting with my legs as a result of years learning to fight with, you know, my hands. Like a normal person.  This meant I was also wearing five pound weights on each ankle, all day, including when sparring.

So far, the only thing I had noticed was a demonstrably shorter patience and a reduction in how much I bounced my legs. Or sat comfortably.

I was so absorbed in my bad mood and how badly my legs hurt that I had already gotten coffee, greeted my mentees, and sat at my desk before I noticed something out of place.  As usual, Parvati and Hannah were across from each other at the table they typically sat at, but Parvati was standing and demonstrating something.

While using the table emitter, which they only ever used for my benefit.

Tilting my head in what probably looked like what Sparkle’s expression when she was denied a treat, I watched as Parvati picked up a vaguely pen-shaped object - it really looked more like a sonic screwdriver than a writing implement - and started making neon pink lines of various widths, swirls to test the slant it would make, and using it at various speeds before closely considering the color of each line.

“What in the world is that?”

“Paint testers,” Hannah explained. “Charly dropped them off with Vati last night, along with the programming to simulate how they work so we could test them with an emitter and not a wall.”

“Paint?”

“For the Festival. Charly designed these for us to use instead of trying to get permission to use actual spray paint.  The fumes of spray paint are apparently very caustic to Noah.”

I shuddered. “Yeah, no spray paint, clearly.”

Apparently satisfied with the pink, Parvati keyed her datapad to clear the emitter and picked up a different pen.  This one was a beautiful lapis blue. “She’s quite brilliant,” she murmured as she tested the pen. “The pens work like an airbrush, but she took some inspiration from something Arthur Farro gifted her several years ago and ensured the pigment will only last three Ark-days.  It also only appears under certain lighting.”

“And it’s non-toxic, of course,” Hannah added with a smile. “Because, you know… Charly.”

I hesitated before asking the next question. “How non-toxic are we talking?”

To my utter horror, rather than respond, Parvati opened her mouth and used a different button on the pen to paint her entire tongue blue. “They’re edible.” She closed her mouth with a smile before her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! That one is pomegranate!”

Hannah furiously made notations on her datapad before looking back up at me. “Vati already tested them on canvas in her quarters, but we also wanted to make sure the simulation software works so that we don’t waste pigment trying to figure out the design elements.”

“We’re also rather curious about what flavor each one is,” Parvati admitted before swapping to a toxic-looking green. “This one is peach, I do remember that. The pink was popcorn.”

I shook my head. “Do you want people licking the walls? Because this is how you get people to lick the walls.” I walked over as I was speaking and idly picked up one that was labelled as Titan Black.

Hannah snatched it away quickly. “That one is scotch bonnet flavor. I found that out the hard way.”

“I get making them non-toxic, but why are they flavored?” Hannah arched an eyebrow at me and I held my hands up defensively. “Other than the obvious application. Why design flavored paint pens for the Food Festival murals?”

Parvati blanked the emitter again and swapped pens. “That is going to be part of the design and experience,” she started to explain. “We originally wanted them non-toxic in case of the non-zero event that Else tries to eat the paint off the walls.” I nodded since ‘non-zero’ was putting it lightly. “Then I had the idea to include the possibility of Else eating the mural into its design.  Rather than worry that Else will eat it, I am planning on it: I am going to create a piece that changes as the various colors are devoured.”

“Annnnnd how do you plan on controlling what order Else eats everything in?”

She waved to the row of pens on the table. “These are each in a flavor that we know Else likes. I am currently testing in my quarters what the order of preference is.”

As my mind started to catch up, I started nodding. “Your test swatches last night.”

“Precisely. I have them laying out in a grid, easily accessible to Else, and they are being monitored. We will take the recording and determine what the order of preference is from there.”

I shook my head with a huge grin. “That’s one hell of a performance art piece.”

Hannah straightened her posture in an imitation of Pravati’s normal ramrod-straight demeanor. “There is nothing more fitting for a celebration of how humanity persists in surviving, despite how transient and brief life can be, along with a clear showing of how we intend to welcome and embrace the differences between ourselves and those most different from us - even those who once nearly destroyed us but wished to make peace.”

“That’s frighteningly good,” Parvati praised nonchalantly as she squirted a fluorescent yellow into her mouth. “It makes no sense for that one to taste of something spicy.”

I took the pen and forced myself to spray it in my mouth. I perked up when it was actually very familiar and delicious. “It’s gochujang…” They both looked at me skeptically. “Apparently Else likes spicy food?”

“I’m starting to think this is how she flavors her popcorn,” Hannah murmured.

My head shook on that one. “No, all her popcorn is decidedly popcorn-flavored. The coloring is added while it is being made, along with the flavoring. Same thing with her ice-cream, and with the candy bars.”

“I agree,” Parvati added. “This pigment is quite wet, it would never work on something like popcorn.” Pausing in her testing, she turned to me. “She has made popcorn in your quarters before, did you notice how she colored it?”

I thought back to the movie night, fighting through how nostalgic and relaxing it made me feel. “It has to be a high-saturation powder.  Other than the actual oil she used to pop it, everything she put in was powdered.”

“But it was toffee popcorn,” Parvati argued. “I remember because it was such a lovely shade of purple.”

Hannah and I both glanced at each other before turning concerned looks to Parvati. I was the one who eventually spoke. “You make toffee popcorn by adding sugar and salt while it’s being popped, Vati. Both are powders.”

“And how am I supposed to know that?” she demanded with a scowl before picking up a pen.

I looked back at Hannah, who was as baffled as I was. “Vati? Do you cook?”

She scoffed. “Of course not. Xiomara is a brilliant cook, why would I give that up?”

“But you know how, right?” I prodded. “We always have cooking classes going on here.”

She decidedly ignored us.  I gaped at Hannah, who eventually crowed with laughter. “Oh my god! We found something Vati doesn’t know how to do!”

“Xio does make a wicked roti with veg curry,” I tried to defend her. If she was deflecting, Parvati clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

“And I can cook,” Parvati argued. “I can roast meat, and forage edible plants, and clean them both.”

“Works for me!” I chirped, trying to defuse the situation before Parvati actually got upset. “If you can cook enough to feed yourself in an apocalypse, I consider that a solid fundamental basis.”

Hannah finally took the hint. “Well, if you ever want to learn more, gods know you have plenty of friends who can teach you. Hell, Sophia taught Maverick to cook, and when they first met he had a very iffy relationship with the concept of food in general.”

That got me a look. “He had been through a lot, okay? You spend thirty years with everyone blaming your sensory issues with food on just ‘being picky’,” I used air quotes for emphasis, “and yeah, you start living on the three foods you like and a lot of vitamins and protein drinks.”

Parvati stopped in her tracks and slowly turned her head toward me before taking a seat. “How did someone who doesn’t even eat to live end up with two people who live to eat?”

I felt my face heat up, but managed to limit my reaction to a shrug. “If he said he didn’t like something, I took that at face value and didn’t make him eat it. If he never had it, I thought really hard about how similar it was to things he did or didn’t like, and offered it to him - or didn’t -  based on that.  I never took it as a challenge I needed to make him overcome, just as a challenge I needed to rise to.”

She considered this for a moment, glancing to Hannah who nodded in confirmation, before speaking. “This is why you cook.” It wasn’t a question. Parvati stated it as a fact.

And I confirmed it was, indeed, a fact. “One of the few things Huynh and I agree on is hospitality. I don’t want anyone to come to my table and feel they can’t eat.  It’s how I was raised.  There will be food they like, and plenty of it.”

I heard a popping noise from Hannah’s direction, and turned only to realize that it was her neck popping when she turned from Parvati to me.  Eyes wide, she was barely audible when she whispered, “That’s why the Food Festival is so important to you…”

It took several attempts and a lot of nodding to swallow the lump in my throat. “We were all scared, and all strangers in this insane reality that we weren’t even sure was actually real.  I thought - knew - it would ground us, and even start uniting us. If we could all see that arroz con pollo, paella, chicken biriyani, chicken etouffee weren’t all that different? What’s more familiar than chicken and rice, or fried puffs of dough, or pancakes?” I shook my head. “I remember my first day on the Ark. I was in a mess hall, and even with my sister and cat, I knew I was luckier than most but so lost.  I just - “ I gulped and fought back tears. “I wanted shepherd’s pie so bad it hurt my soul. And I tried and tried to get it from the food consoles, and it was never the right thing. I must’ve tried eight times. It was so frustrating!” I didn’t catch myself in time to keep from slamming my fist a couple times on the table. “I felt even more lost.  Someone came up to me and asked what I was doing.” 

I took a deep breath to banish the concept of Arantxa from my head. “And dragged me to Conor because she realized that what I was saying and what she was hearing weren’t the same thing.  That’s how I actually met him. And, bless his face, he knew exactly what I was asking for and got it for me if I promised to help him get French toast, of all things.”  The memory made me smile. “Believe it or not, that moment mattered more to me than even waking up on the Ark when I should have been dead. Just… the idea that this person who knew nothing about me except what I wanted for dinner, was able to fix that lost feeling.  I want everyone to have that.”

Parvati was staring at me like she was watching the most romantic story in the world, but at least Hannah nodded seriously. “Steak and ale pie. I always want that when I’m stressed.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at her. “Exactly. And multiply that by every type of steak and ale pie anyone can possibly make on the Ark? I know I don’t have to convince you two to keep the Festival anymore, but yeah.  That’s why it matters so much to me.”

I turned to Parvati, who was drumming her fingers and looking down somewhat sheepishly. “Most cultures have a kind of curry, so I never really thought about it,” she admitted. “But it makes sense, from that perspective. I never thought about it.”

Reaching out to pat her hand, I gave her a serious look. “That doesn’t mean you have to learn to cook anything more than what you already know,” I assured her. “It’s my motivation. No one else’s. If you ever want to learn to make something you don’t know how to, I’ll be happy to teach you. If you never want to learn how to make anything you don’t know how to, I will be happy to cook for you. Just… don’t ask me to bake? That’s a Tyche thing.”

She groaned. “Those mini black forest donuts….”

“Exactly. Don’t ask me to make them, I’ll ruin them ten times out of ten,” I laughed.

“She should make donuts for the Festival,” Hannah suggested wistfully. “Do you think we could talk her into it?”

I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m not asking her to do it, so have fun.”

“But you’re her sister.”

“How the hell do you think I know not to ask?” I gave them both a flat stare that set them giggling. “Donuts for the family? Fine. Donuts for the whole entire Ark? Not touching it.”

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[veiledsilver]

Top five moments you've felt like the universe was messing with you.

Oh boy everyone get ready this is a long list. In descending order, from mildly funny looking back on it to "oh god oh shit oh fuck":

5. Catfishing: College Edition

In 6th grade, I decided to apply to colleges early to see how they were like. I was scared that if they knew I was too young, they'd arrest me. So I created a gmail account as my persona, a white 12th grader named Emilie Alexander. Emilie was planning to go into nursing, dating a high school linebacker named Kyle Kenderson, and deathly allergic to bee stings. If she even came near a bee, she would die.

This part was of the utmost importance.

See, I was constantly paranoid that one day, the jig would be up- I might forget that my fake last name was Alexander. Or the college dean might come knocking at my door and tear up my home in his mad search for Emilie. If that happened I would fake her tragic death, presumably caused by one big fucking bee.

I secretly collected my information. What nearby states were the prettiest to visit. Which colleges were the safest and most affordable. How often they held courses that I liked. In my emails with colleges I tried to sound as mature and professional as possible.

Then, one day, a college member asked me what high school I was in, so they could check my records.

My blood froze.

It was time to bring out the bee.

In response to their question, I sent an email that was like this:

"Dear Mr. McLaughlin, I was a proud graduate of- ugh! Ah! Kyaaaa! Uwaa! W-w-what's this... huge goddamn bee doing here?! Eek, pardon my foul language! It's just that, as I told you earlier, being stung by a bee would kill me.... and now it's stung me thrice (three times)!!

What do I do?! I can't die... I've always wanted to attend your beautiful college...

But this is... the end...

Mr. McLaughlin...

*looks at you sadly*

Tell... my mother... I loved her...

*dies*"

He never responded, probably because he was rendered speechless, but I never touched that account again.

My private gmail for fun stuff like tumblr still has "Alexander" as a surname, though.

4. Wild and Authentic

Alright. Alright. So. My art teacher in middle school.

Right off the bat, they endeared themselves to the tumblr art kids- they proudly used they/them pronouns, dyed their hair vibrant colors, deeply encouraged OC creation, and was chill with any art style even if it was anime. Mx. Mason was very cool, except for one thing.

We had complete artistic freedom when it came to their assignments, EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.

Drumroll, please.

Take a deep breath if you must.

Ready?

...

Cats had to have extremely distinct whisker pores.

YES, they believed that modern depictions of cats were too streamlined. Too... idealized. As a cat owner themselves, they were convinced that society's vision of cats did not do their feral feline ancestors justice. In making their faces flawlessly smooth-furred, we were stripping the cat of its true nature.

I found this out the hard way, when I was drawing warrior cats fanart for class (it was of Firestar cuddled in the arms of an orange haired anime catgirl who was his reincarnation in my first ever comic series, Warriors Neko Desu! ♡ Heart Academy Dokidoki).

Mx. Mason came over to look at my magnum opus, and I expected them to have their socks knocked off at my artistic talent. They lifted up my drawing for all to see, and I smugly leaned back in my seat.

Only for them to launch into a passionate lecture about how, in neglecting to draw whisker pores on cats, I was DENYING THIS FICTIONAL CAT OF ITS WILD AUTHENTIC SELF.

My friends absolutely lost it when I told them this story, and there was a period of time when all our discord nicknames were wild and authentic too.

As for Firestar and his counterpart Hoshineko Orenji-chan, I never did give them wild authentic whisker holes, but that's to be expected of a kittypet, I guess.

3. Stan Jungkook Or Whatever

A couple years ago, my family and I flew to Seoul, South Korea, to visit our relatives and teach me more about my heritage. It was very nice! I got to visit shrines and festivals and palaces, and I was in awe that this was what my ancestors had once seen in their daily lives.

Then, when we went to the modern side of Korea, I realized just how much I didn't fit in.

It was clear that I didn't know how to act, or how to speak Korean, and I spent my days fumbling around and getting scammed multiple times by salesmen. But I clowned myself the most... during an interactive event with kpop stars.

They had this experimental event where holograms of the boys would sing onstage and dance in place of the actual idols. Before the show began, girls could stand in booths that scanned their appearances, and holograms of THEM could dance onstage with the hologram boys.

I didn't know this.

When Cousin Ae-cha told me to step inside one of the machines, I thought I'd be hilarious and stand backwards, so it would scan the back of me instead of my front. As I walked out, I saw other girls putting on their best makeup, cutest clothes, and most expensive accessories, and I slowly realized that I was in danger.

But the danger didn't come until halfway through the concert, where the boys looked eagerly off-stage and a holy staircase appeared and all the hologram girls descended from heaven. There were cherry blossoms. There were roses. There was me, among the crowd of beautiful airbrushed girls, walking backwards.

I felt the judgemental gazes of twenty girls and their mothers.

Each boy danced with a girl, who got a cute animated moment with special effects, and sang about how they found a dream girl to have a true love romance with. Finally, all the girls vanished except one, and it was me.

One of the boys didn't dance with any girls, and now he was all alone in the rain, feeling dejected that HE did not find his true love girl to have a dream romance with. Then the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I emerged. Still backwards.

He was thrilled and sang about how my face (that he didn't see) stole his heart, and now everyone in the audience was giggling, and he slowly brought me very close to kiss me... but because I was backwards, his nose was cutely nuzzling my hair.

The audience members- at least the adults- were now laughing their asses off. His lips met the back of my head, and together we vanished into the wind.

I'd say I couldn't show my face there ever again, but I never did show my face, so... hm...

2. Horrid Little Temptress

If I wasn't a minor, I'd need a drink before starting this story. Sadly, I cannot drown my sorrows- and neither should you after you hear this, because it's only fair.

Mrs. Appleby was my Spanish teacher in like, 9th grade. Even the wild and authentic art teacher thought she was insane. Appleby forced kids to brew tea for her and yelled at them when they didn't get it right, and I thought she had a chronic squint until I realised she just did that to mock me and my Asian eye-folds. She forced us to watch Dora the Explorer to "absorb knowledge." Everyone fucking hated Mrs. Appleby.

But the worst thing she ever did... was during the school festival.

See, whenever she's angry, she zooms right into kids' faces to scream at them. Her wrinkled flesh would blot out the goddamn sun and all you see are her bloodshot yellow eyeballs so victims just stayed rooted to the spot like cornered animals or something similar. This is important.

Because when she was sampling her own brownies (read: hoarding them so no one else could eat them), one parent foolishly decided to grab one and she thought it was a student and she grabbed his wrist so hard she could've nearly snapped it and... and... zoomed into his face.

Except she underestimated his height and kissed him by accident, but it was more like her mouth was sucking in his face like a vacuum.

His wife was shrieking like an ape. His kid, my classmate, saw his social life flash before his eyes.

In her defense, she did not mouth to mouth with him on purpose and afterwards she cried in the bathroom and when I foolishly followed her in to comfort her, because I am a teacher's pet through and through, she snatched the paper towels I got for her and wailed that she was a-

A-

HORRID LITTLE TEMPTRESS.

If I had decided to not be kind, I never would've heard that string of fucking words. But I did. And I paid for it dearly. The end.

1. Violence IS The Answer, Sometimes

Thomas, my dearly detested.

Back in sixth grade, I used to have a crush on him because he had the surfer boy look with nicely tanned skin and pale blond hair and the clearest aquamarine eyes I've ever seen. He also liked surfing and swimming. He seemed like the perfect little trophy waifu except for one absolute dealbreaker.

He and his parents were extremely conservative and so, when I told him I liked him, his response was basically "haha no you're a [slur] and would probably eat my dog."

I was horrified and ran away to cry. But then, by the next day, I decided I needed to punish him. Thomas walked in before class started and I was waiting for him with these hands. I kicked him so he doubled over, slammed his face into his chair's seat, and quickly clambered on top of him to SIT ON THE BACK OF HIS HEAD. He started shaking and twitching and trying to pry me off, but eventually he went limp and stopped moving.

I thought he fell asleep, but Mohammed, another classmate who was bullied by Thomas, told me that Thomas might never wake up again (not that he was very sad about this. I didn't know until later, but Thomas said slurs at him too).

While I was sitting on the guy, he'd straight up passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Screaming and crying, I told our homeroom teacher that Thomas suddenly fainted, and she was the type of Caucasian that thought all little Asian kids were sweet and innocent, so it didn't even cross her mind that? It might've been me? Who sat on his head when she walked in?

He was sent home early that day. I had to go to a different school next year because Thomas's mom threatened legal action. The only reason I didn't get punished further was because my rich cousins out-Karen'd her and donated a huge amount of money to the school to keep them quiet.

Anyway, I never did anything that insane ever again, because something like that is enough for a lifetime. My cousins made it clear they would never back me up again. I was sure this whole event would be put behind me, too.

But last fall, during my first day of online learning... who did I see in my zoom meeting... BUT THOMAS! I had my mic and camera off, but the moment he saw my name, his face went pale. His soul would've left his body, but then it would've gone to hell, so it wisely decided to stay inside.

Still, out of shame and embarrassment, I never turned my camera on for the rest of the school year.

[idreamofplaid]

Beneath the Smile

Summary: Jared’s struggle with depression bubbles to the surface, and the reader is there to love and support him through it.

Characters: Jared x Reader; Jensen

Word Count: 2119

Warnings: Discussion of depression

A/N: This fic was inspired by an Ask I got from @sandlee44. It takes place at the time of Jared’s Season 3 breakdown. It is, of course, fiction. All the love to Jared always for having the courage to share his personal struggle with so many of us fighting the same battle. 

It was two o’clock in the morning when the phone rang. I reached in the dark for my bedside table and patted my hand over the smooth surface until I found it. When I turned it over, the little screen brought a faint amount of light into the room. Then my eyes focused, and I read the name of the caller. Jensen. I sat straight up, instantly awake now, and pressed the button to answer his call.

“Jensen, what’s wrong? Jared? Is he okay?” My words were spilling out of my mouth at a rate to match the now pounding beat of my heart. 

“He’s okay, Y/N, but I think you should come to Vancouver.” I noticed that his voice was still in the register of Dean deep. At first, I thought that was because of the late hour, but as he kept talking I realized it was because he was exhausted. “I’m at Jared’s apartment now. I came home with him.” My heart sank down to the pit of my stomach. I was terrified of what Jensen was going to say next. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

I struggled to find my voice. I had to ask, had to know, and Jensen wasn’t the kind of person to offer up information. The mere fact he’d called me told me just how serious this was, especially considering it was the middle of the night on the east coast where I was. “Tell me what happened, Jensen.”

I could practically hear him thinking, trying to figure out the best way to tell me whatever it was. “Jared had some kind of breakdown.” I grabbed a handful of my comforter and clutched it in my fist. “He was late coming back to set, so I went to his trailer to find him. He...he couldn’t get off the couch. He’d...just...shut down.”

“Why?” It was all I could think to say. My mind was racing, flying back through all the years I had known Jared. I’d been scared something like this was going to happen for a long time. Jared’s struggled with depression went all the way back to high school.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Nothing unusual happened. It’s about what he’s thinking and feeling, but that’s something he should tell you.”

I got off my bed and went to the closet while Jensen talked. My suitcase was on the shelf where I’d put it when I got home from my last trip to Vancouver. “Where is he now?” 

“He’s sleeping. It was a long day.” Jensen paused, and I could tell he was weighing something in his mind. “The producers wanted to shut down production, but Jared wouldn’t. We’re going back to work tomorrow.”

I dropped my suitcase on my bed with a thud and zipped it open. “Jensen, please keep an eye on him. I’m catching the first plane I can tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was early October, and the air was filled with a crisp Canadian chill. Jensen had arranged to have a car and driver pick me up at the airport and bring me back to the set. I’d only been there once, but it still seemed familiar to me, probably because I’d pictured it so many times. It was the way I stayed connected to Jared over the months I was falling in love with him from thousands of miles away.

I walked up the steps of the very trailer I’d imagined so many times and opened the door. The inside was neat, but not perfect. That was a good sign; Jared was at least trying. Keeping things tidy was a challenge for him because he had the type of personality that just exploded around you in a sunburst and often he was so wrapped up in that energy that the details of his surroundings didn’t even register with him.

There were throw pillows scattered over the couch. I’d gotten them for him after that first visit because I thought his work space needed a homey touch. I wanted him to be comfortable here. I made my way to the sofa, sat down, and picked up a navy pillow. I hugged it to my chest and remembered the first time Jared brought me here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One Year Ago

The smile had barely left Jared’s face since we’d gotten to the lot. He enjoyed being here, and everyone clearly loved him. The hair stylist had winked at me as she settled him in the chair and handed him a pack of gummy worms. “It’s the only thing that keeps him still.” Jared had pulled one of the sugar covered candies from the pack and held it out to me. I’d taken it from him and took a bite. The sugar had quickly covered my tongue, and  the sound of Jared’s laughter caused a smile to bloom on my face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

That seemed like a long time ago at the moment. The rattle of the door pulled me out of my reverie, and I hastily put the pillow back into its place. Jared sighed as he walked through the door, then he saw me. “Y/N.” He scrunched up his face, and the spot at the bridge of his nose wrinkled. “What are you doing here?” He was immersed in the look of Sam Winchester from head to toe, complete with all the layers, but he was still every bit my Jared. My Jared, full of sunshine and the darkness that tore at him.

I chose my words carefully. “I thought you might like to have me here, and...I wanted to be with you. Jared took off Sam’s jacket and dropped it on the counter. We were going to talk about it eventually, so I might as well say it. “Jensen called me.”

Jared had unbuttoned his cuff and was rolling up the sleeve. He stopped when he got to his elbow and hesitated before moving on to the other side. “He did?” Jared lifted his eyes to glance at me, his hand was on his sleeve motionless. “What did he say?”

I didn’t want to make Jared uncomfortable, but I couldn’t stop staring at him. The love I felt for him had guided my every move these past few months. I was actively engaged in trying to make myself a better person for him. He inspired me like that, and he didn’t have any idea.

“He told me you had a hard day, but he didn’t give me any details.” Jared didn’t answer, and I stayed quiet too. He walked over to the couch and sat down on the other end, then he leaned back and stretched his arm out across the back. He wasn’t making eye contact, but he shrugged and started to talk.

“I don’t know what happened. Shooting was going great. We were taking a scheduled break, and I came back here. I planned to unwind for a few minutes, listen to some music, but when I got here something just kind of came over me.” Jared lifted his arm and ran his hand through his hair. “I just started thinking I don’t belong here.” I saw him swallow, and I wanted to reach out to him, but I knew it was important to let him talk. “Look at this.” His head turned, scanning the trailer. “I’m a lead on a TV show. I’m not that good. There are so many actors better than me. There are people who hate me because of what I have, and there are people who want to be my friend because of it, because of what they think I can do for them.”

Jared tipped his head back, resting it on the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “There’s just so much pressure. What if I can’t keep this up. I’m cracking, Y/N.” He turned his head to look at me without lifting it. “I sat here on this couch, and I couldn’t move. I was scared if I went out there, everyone would know. They’d know I’m fake, that I’m not really what they think I am at all, and I can’t do this.”

Jared abruptly lifted his head and stood. His back was to me as he continued. “How’d I get here? I got lucky. That’s all. I’ve always been too skinny. My hair just does whatever it feels like. I have too many moles that have to be airbrushed and covered with makeup. I can’t cry when the script says to do it. It always looks forced, and then after I can’t stop crying because I couldn’t cry.”

He turned, ran his hand through his hair again and then down over his face. “I want to be good at this. I want to be an actor, but there’s so much of this that isn’t acting. Image. I don’t want to hear that word anymore. I’ve got all these people telling me who to be and what to say in interviews. They tell me how to dress.”

Jared took a deep breath. “There’s so much pressure. Kripke told Jensen and me at the very beginning that this whole thing is riding on us. If it fails, it’ll be because of me, Y/N. What would PR do if this got out? How would that look? I had a breakdown on set. I couldn’t take it, Y/N.”

It was time to say something. “Jared, come sit with me.” This time when he sat down, it was beside me. I took his hand in mine, so big, so strong but soft. “Jared, you have a very special gift. Acting is part of it, but it’s not the most important part. You know how to connect to people.” It was true. That was what had drawn me to him in high school. Jared circulated outside cliques; he actually saw people.

I scooted closer to him. “The world doesn’t always appreciate that. It wants to put us all in a shiny box, and you resist that.” I slipped my free hand into his hair and combed my fingers through the soft locks that he thought were so problematic. “You keep hold of what’s real about you, no matter how many cameras and lights they put in your face. Your heart is kind; that’s why I love you.” 

Tears formed in his eyes, and they threatened to fall. “I don’t deserve any of this, Y/N. I’m not worth it. I’m not who they think I am.”

I pulled my hand from his hair and let it rest on his cheek. “It doesn’t matter who they think you are. It matters what you know, and you’ll figure it out.”

A single tear slipped down Jared’s cheek, and he nodded silently. Then he wrapped his arms around me and held on. “I love you, Jared.” I rubbed my hand up and down his back. “You don’t have to be anything for anybody. Just you.”

After a few minutes, he pulled back and began to try to compose himself. “Jared, you don’t have to put on a face for me. I want you just the way you are.”

I fed him, using the ingredients in the fridge to make a sandwich. When Jared got like this, he tended to stop eating. It wasn’t time just yet to talk about finding him a therapist, but we would have that conversation before I left Vancouver. Right now, the focus was to take care of him by keeping him hydrated, nourished, and feeling safe, feeling loved. With this last in mind, I asked him. “Do you want to lie down with me?”

He bit his lip, and it would have been cute if my heart didn’t hurt for him. “Yeah. I’d like that.” I led him to the bed at the back of the trailer. Jared unbuttoned his top shirt and took it off, followed by toeing off his shoes. He took off everything else, leaving him in his t-shirt and boxer briefs. I made my way to the little closet in the corner and found one of his shirts I could wear, then went back to the bed where I found Jared under the covers.

I climbed in next to him, and he pulled me close. There was no sex; this was more basic, more intimate. Jared eased his hand beneath his shirt where he could feel the warmth of my skin. We stayed wrapped in each other like that, and I gave him the comfort he needed until he fell asleep. I would make sure he got the rest he needed too, and when he woke up; I would still be there to love and support him. 

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @maddiepants @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @iknowwheremytowelis @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything

Sam/Jared Love: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @theychosefamily @winchesterxfamilybusiness @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @i-joined-social-media-finally @wingledsam @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @wendibird @fantasy-shadows @team-free-will-you-idjiot @waywardnerd67 @neii3n @fullmooner @supernatural-took-me-over​ @julesthequirky​ @songbird400

[emma-what-son]

(Echee post) Emma Watson criticises 'dangerously unhealthy' pressure on young women

Posted on March 30 2014

From theguardian.com March 2014 Emma Watson has criticised the "dangerously unhealthy" image projected by the fashion industry and said the pressure to look perfect has taken its toll on her. The actor has also described her doomed attempts to merge into the background as a student at an American university, where she found herself being trailed everywhere by British photographers. After the recent New York premiere of Noah, she tweeted a photograph of the array of cosmetics – and a guardian angel pin – that she said were essential aids to her flawless appearance, and another of herself in a backless dress captioned: "I did NOT wake up like this." The actress said she is better at taking criticism these days than she once was. "As a younger woman, that pressure got me down, but I've made my peace with it. With airbrushing and digital manipulation, fashion can project an unobtainable image that's dangerously unhealthy. I'm excited about the ageing process. I'm more interested in women who aren't perfect. They're more compelling." Watson became famous playing Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter movies and has been constantly in work since. She is about to start filming a thriller, Regression, by Alejandro Amenábar and is also trying to complete her degree at Brown University, Rhode Island. She enrolled in 2009 for what would have been a four year course, but has taken several breaks for film work, and spent a year studying at Oxford. "After Harry Potter, all that mattered was university," she said, in an interview with the Sunday Times. "It wasn't always easy to break down barriers, as having men from the British press following me with cameras didn't help my mission to integrate. The American press, by contrast, "afforded me so much privacy", but her fellow students recognised her at once. "On the first day, I walked into the canteen and everyone went completely silent and turned around to look at me. I had to say to myself 'it's OK, you can do this'. You just have to take a deep breath and gather your courage."

GUARDIAN COMMENTERS SAY: So something like this Burberry campaign she did a few years ago? Hypocrisy at its finest. She flaunts with the fashion industry and enjoys its perks all the time, but hops on the 'female beauty' bandwagon and enjoys a moan when it suits her. I'd find her socially conscientious pleas convincing if she hadn't profited in the hundreds of thousands (if not millions) from the big, bad, evil fashion/beauty industry. A few years ago, Emma Watson appeared in high-profile advertising companies for posh Paris fashion house L'ancome. I'm guessing she was handsomely remunerated for her 'work'. Certainly she was not forced into letting her photo shopped image be used to market expensive cosmetics and perfumes. Did she only discover how 'oppressive' the fashion industry is when L'ancome cancelled her lucrative contract? Ms Watson is essentially a third-rate actress, and her pronouncements on large and complex issues, such as the pressures on women, are so idiotically vapid that one is brought to conclude that she really can have very little aptitude for higher education. I mean, her comments are hardly indicative of an educated person, or even of a moderately literate or intelligent person. By the way, I understand that she spent a year at Oxford as a visiting and/or exchange student while enrolled at Brown. How come? She is a British national, and so by rights she should not have gone to Oxford on a visiting/exchange student programme, irrespective of whether she happens a student at an American university. If I am wrong about this, then I should like to have some explanation as to her status at Oxford, and how she came by it. Otherwise, I suppose that one might be forgiven for thinking that it is yet another case of a once respectable academic institutions bowing down before the false idols of celebrity and money. (This is quite apart from the fact that all that one has read about her since she began life as a student concerns her acting career, her modeling and her various boyfriends.) SOME COMMENTS FROM THE DM ARTICLE Notice how it's always people who are very aware of how attractive they are that babble on about how it's okay to have physical blemishes? I'd like to see an ugly person say the same thing. Only someone young, beautiful and with her whole life before her can say that, and mean it. Sometimes, her comments maKe her more stupid. Get lost and Wingardium Leviosa. What a daft thing to say. But, then again, this is coming from someone who can't seem to finish uni. I feel like I've aged about 10 years reading this article. Annoying girl. Not only annoying, but also pretentious and disingenuous. ^None of this is my words. It from commentators from two sites emma-what-son posted many more so check out her page

Here's what I think As for what she is saying about Brown it's a complete 180 from how she described it before 2013. In 2013 she started to elude to the fact it was not as great as she made it out to be. She gushed how wonderful her experiences had been to so many magazines. Now I think she's looking for pity and to have excuses why she never stayed at Brown. She preached how she was staying put. I am so fucking tired of having to post quote after quote proving my point with this when she lies time after time. She is not honest! What the truth is doesn't matter because she always lying. It's a constant thing with her. As for the pressures on women she is really a piece of work. The guardian commenters summed it up nicely. She had no problem attaching herself to Burberry and Lancôme. She's had no problem giving them praise and talking about fashion and make-up in just about every interview. That part where she talked about photo shopping and air brushing. Just wow! Did she see the Wonderland magazine she edited? Some photos it didn't even look like her. She'll continue allowing her image to be manipulated no matter what. She thinks she’s aging? She still looks 15 without all the make-up and photo shopping. Last year she was stopped at JFK because they thought she was a unaccompanied minor. Did you know one of the product she pushed when modeling for Lancôme was an anti-age cream? That's the dumbest comment in her entire interview. But really she's said this kind of stuff the last three years and most notably in 2011 where she had a various quotes about body image and being comfortable in your skin. I wont bore you with those quotes since I have before. She gets lauded for those comments and people place her in role model status but when you closely look at it they were just words that meant nothing at the time other than to make people think, “Emma is so anti-Hollywood!! She’s a role model for women and young girls” but meanwhile she never believed in any of it in the first place. At the time she said those things she was at a more healthier weight than she ever was. In 2011 you can tell she either stopped working out or ate more. I thought she looked her best then. Now she’s back to stick thin and even surpassed it a way IMO is unhealthy. She sending a bad message to women. From standard.co.uk July 2011, “She sees modeling as an extension of acting, in fact - just playing a role - but is conflicted about its demands. “I think the pressure the media and the fashion industry put on women to look a certain way is pretty intense. There’s a certain tyranny to trying to achieve that kind of beauty. I don’t know, I’m maybe not the best person to speak about this because I obviously completely adhere to it,” she laughs nervously. “ ^She really needs to start taking her own advice and quit being a judgmental hypocrite. Not just with this topic but everything she tends to speak out against that she does it herself. Recently she tweeted a photo of all this make-up and I posted this on my tumblr days ago

^Same phone in this photo is what they're using in the bottom photo that I also posted on tumblr She said something else recently (Sunday Times interview) that is just typical Emma. I covered this a few times. From emmawatsonbelgium.blogspot.be March 2014, "For someone who has starred in eight blockbuster movies and is worth an estimated £30m, she is endearingly modest about how green she felt leaving Harry Potter behind in 2011. Emerging from that magical machine was “really intimidating”, she says. “I’d done two tiny plays when I was, like, six and eight, but I wasn’t driven to act. I wasn’t doing Oscar acceptance speeches into a hairbrush." Yeah it might have no been a hairbrush but who knows she could be lying about that. She'd practice her speeches in mirrors. From telegraph.co.uk July 2007,  "Pauline is utterly obsessed with being an actress and I was just like that when I was younger. I dreamt of it. I practised speeches in front of mirrors. Whenever there was a part at school, I went for it. I was probably a bit of a show-off in the sense that any chance to get up and be seen, I did it. I was such a drama queen. I used to wail and moan and cry, and little things were blown up into being big things. I don't know how my parents stood it, really. I've grown up a bit. I've had to. I actually really want to be an actress, a proper actress who makes it her career. I'm always expecting to be found out and I thought, If I'm no good, now is the time to find out." She really wants people to think she all of a sudden wants to act. What I think is she is really trying to distance herself from her lack luster post Potter career by making it out like she now wants to act and that’s why she has no lead roles because her resume does not equal her hype. The last few years she’s separated herself from “always wanted to be an actress” to “I was not sure”. She’s being disingenuous as usual and people believe it. Plus she said she did modeling so directors and producers would look at her differently so that's why she used Burberry and Lancôme. And she did a course at RADA in 2008 so if she was not sure or didn't want to than why did she do these things? One more thing from the Sunday Times interview From emmawatsonbelgium.blogspot.be March 2014, "It’s about as close as she’ll get to revealing anything about her newest relationship, with Matt Janney, rugby hunk and Oxford’s most eligible bachelor. “I can’t comment on it, I’m sorry,” she says, suddenly jumping up and hastily bundling her things back into her bag, which has exploded across the sofa beside her. “I’m trying to keep my private life sacred, although I don’t want to lock myself up and never go out. So I guard it, because I don’t date people who are famous, and I don’t think it’s fair that, all of a sudden, intimate details of their personal life are public as a direct result of me. I find that so uncomfortable, and I wish there was a way I could protect those people, but it’s not in my control.” When I suggest her boyfriends are consenting adults, she looks worried. “But you don’t choose who to love, who you have feelings for, do you?” She throws her phone into her bag and retreats home to pack, as she’s flying to LA. Just a normal girl, then, off to present an Oscar."

So she can go to international magazines and complain she can't find a man or that men are intimidated by her? She had in the past before Will Adamowicz. It was in almost every one of her interviews for a few years. So she can use Matt Janney (this new guy) on a beach in a bikini PDA session as a publicity stunt to cover up her ex boyfriend being caught rolling coke bombs and also use him to product place an iPhone in Madrid but she wants to keep it private? And she doesn't date famous guys? What about Johnny Simmons (Young Neil) and George Craig (Front man for rock group One Night Only)?  If you can Google their name and you see them in movies or music videos, they're famous.

[swampgallows]

..

i used to be really skinny, and i used to have tons of cute dresses that fit my skinny frame. i used to confidently be a size medium no matter what it was. then i started outgrowing juniors clothes and i realized i wasn’t a ‘junior’ anymore. i had entered ‘adult’ territory. which is frightening. and it wasn’t that i was fat, i just grew up. my shoulders and ribcage became too wide for shirts designed for, you know, thirteen year old girls.

but i wasn’t 5′2″ and 90 lbs, so i always still felt too big, too in the way, too much like i had to wear trash bags and hide myself for being an obstruction to fashion or beauty. 

i had so many cute dresses that i never wore and will never wear again. they will never fit me again no matter how much weight i lose. they wont fit my skeleton six months after ive been dead. 

somehow a gif of a woman cooking while wearing lingerie popped up on my dashboard. i remember buying a thong for Him, wearing it for Him, and how uncomfortable it felt, and how disgusting and awful i felt wearing it, but that i did it For Him, and i was in his kitchen and told him to feel under my already-sheer silk nightie for the black lace thong. 

all he said was ‘oh,’ and half-smiled. then, later, when i told him how heartbroken i felt, he said he was ‘embarrassed’ because ‘sometimes guys just arent horny’, or whatever. but it was because he, by this time, had already been cheating on me. but he sugarcoated it with something about my ‘cute little ass’, which i knew was pejorative, because he always talked about girls’ huge asses and had their ugly spread pussies and buttholes plastered all over his idiot fucking blog.

yeah, i DID have a cute little ass, and i fucking wasted it on you. i tried so hard to be the stupid fucking straight girl you wanted, to be the submissive you wanted, to be your best kept fucking secret because you REFUSED to commit to me, letting your shitty, trashy taste infest mine. your fucking superficial occultism and sex-posi fauxminism. you were only interested in comics because you got off to the same racist sexist trash that crumb did, and you were only interested in bakshi for the pulp. you tried to act ironic about it but jesus christ you really WERE turned on by chainmail bikinis. absolutely fucking pathetic. less of an aesthete than a hippie blowing glass in his airbrushed wizard van. even deadheads would tell you to get with the fuckin times. 

and i wasted it on you! i really did look at somebody with the name [redacted] and thought ‘oh yeah, thats the one. mr generic, that’s the guy for me. a proto-neo nazi? sign me up!’

i cant believe the amount of hatred i harbored toward myself. how much i hated myself to settle for that. how much i hated myself to not wear my pretty dresses. how fearful i was. how scared i was, and am, to be seen. how lonely i feel. how alone i am. how men look at me like i’m a doll, then stick a key in me and wind me up to operate as their surrogate mother.

i’m so fucking over straight men, dude. i’m so fucking tired of living in their world, defining myself by their principles, being compared to their standards of aesthetics. i’m so fucking sick of all the philosophs and academics and theologians and notepad scribblers, all the alphas and betas and omegas and kappas and poggers and channers and goons and what the fuck ever else, all the billionaires and ceos and presidents and managers, all the stupid johns and davids and brians and jameses looking at the world like a game of risk, a game only they would be stupid enough to invent and derive pleasure from, of cordoning up the planet and its peoples like slices of pie that they forced their barefoot pregnant wives to bake. 

i’m suffering in this world from a deficit of beauty, beauty of my own creation and within my own body. i haven’t respected my beautiful body, i haven’t respected my beautiful clothes, ive burrowed myself away in a warren of anxiety and fear away from dawns and sunsets and the crabs on the jetty while counting barnacles, too stubborn and stupid to chip off the ones growing endlessly on my back (and my face). 

i can make my body more comfortable, but i will never get the one i had back. my twenties are gone, and my youth was wasted on the young. 

i feel like no matter how old i get, no matter how successful i may feel or become, no matter what i accomplish of my own merits and how many fears i quash, i will always have this cacophonous jury of faceless pedophiles in my mind reminding me that i am no longer supple, that i am no longer useful, that all of the things i do in my life are only shortcomings in an attempt to make up for being a worthless cumdump. that no matter what i do, even if i find love and make my own home and live a successful life, i will only hear them telling me how my chest isnt flat, how my nose is too big, how the fun is gone now that im no longer a ten year old boy from behind. 

my therapy appointment is in six hours, and i dont really know if i can open up with that.

[houseofvans]

SKETCHY BEHAVIORS | INTERVIEW WITH LAUREN YS

From large scale murals to multi-layered works on canvas, LA based artist Lauren YS’s art captures everything from the female experience, addressing topics like sexuality, death, aliens, monsters, and the occult. Her works are complex much like her own experiences, so we’re super stoked to find out more about what drives her, who and what inspires her, and what challenges and advice she has for our readers in this awesome Sketchy Behaviors interview..

Take the leap!

Photographs courtesy of the artist. 

Introduce yourself. Hey! I’m Lauren YS - Hmm, something you might not know … I used to play ice hockey and my favorite candy are Peach O’s. I am a really good listener, but that also means I hate being interrupted. I dream, often, about being underwater.

Tell folks a little about your artwork and what do you love to make works about? I make work about the female experience, sexuality, identity, space, aliens, heritage, death, monsters, nature, emotions, natural phenomena, the occult and whatever else I might be obsessing about. I like slimy creatures, kitsch, psychedelia, sex and Halloween, and mixing repulsion with attraction. I want the viewer to feel unsettled as much as engaged. I make things in an effort to try to process the beautiful shit rocket that is the world around me.

When did art become something you were aware you could do for a living or as a career you wanted to pursue? I have always been making art, but I never thought it was possible to support oneself as an artist: It seemed really out of reach or surreal. It wasn’t until I had already been fully freelance for a year before I realized I was actually doing it. I think it’s just something that comes out of necessity, it’s like – if I want to keep making art as much as possible at the rate I am living, then damn, I’m going to learn how to make money off of it.

What’s a typical studio day for you like? I tend to work nocturnally. I’ll paint through the night and sleep through the day and watch horror movies, listen to podcasts about art, serial killers and cults, and eat anywhere from 1-2 sacks of tangerines every day. I like to really plow through paintings as well, it’s hard for me to stop working on something once I start. After about three weeks in the studio like this, your mind starts to wander off into deep strange places, and that’s when the really good stuff comes out.

What’s your studio or creative space like? What do you keep around to constantly motivate or inspire you? I have always worked best in a bit of “artistic chaos”–I like to fill my space with odds and ends, knick-knacks, items from my travels, talismans. I believe in the power of objects. I love my lava lamp and need to buy seven more. I also have this drawing I made of an Asian grandma screaming “DRAW, MOTHERFUCKER” which I plan to make into a screen print and give to all my artist friends.

When working on a body of paintings and works for a show, what is your process like? How long does it typically take you to complete a painting from start to finish? Depending on the size of the gallery, it can take anywhere from 2-6-10 months to create a show, given that it is often punctuated by mural tours and big projects to pay the bills. I like to work on lots of pieces at the same time, so generally it’ll take a few days to a week or two to finish a piece. I am trying to get better at reworking pieces rather than just pushing through them one by one. Workflow is still sorting itself out. I also make a ton of pieces that end up being nixed from the final show. I am very prolific but also very psychotic.

Not only do you work on canvas, but you are also known for some of your amazing murals! When did you start going from painting on a regular scale to large scale works? What’s your process like for mapping out these large works? Well shucks, thank you! I started painting murals around 2013, which was a sort of natural transition because I wanted to work bigger and bigger, I wanted to travel and be in the sun and use giant machines to make my art. I actually started learning color from using spray paint. I freehand everything because I like to feel independent of projectors or machines, especially if I’m in a foreign country or don’t have time or resources.

It makes me feel empowered to be able to make big things on my own. Maybe that comes from growing up under the common experience girls have, especially asian girls, where you’re expected to be small and quiet and obedient. I have always worked in active aggression against that stereotype.

Is there a medium you’d love to get your hands on, but yet to have the chance too? And what are your go-to materials? I’d really love to learn how to use an airbrush, a la Sorayama. Outside of 2D I am dying to get back into stop motion animation. My favorite brand of spray paint is Montana Black (high pressure forever!), and I use a wide variety of acrylics and gouache in my paintings, specifically the Holbein gouaches from Japan.

What do you love about where you live, and what is the art community like in your area? I never thought I’d move to LA, but I’ve been really enjoying it here. I’m a communal living person (been in and out of communities for about 9 years) and I am lucky to have found somewhere that fits with my work ethic (intense) and social vibe (weird). I like to be able to work alone while still having people bustling around and making things all the time. It helps me to feel like I’m not dead or a total solipsist.

I’ve also found that the artists in LA–especially the female artists–have proven to be really kind, generous and welcoming. There’s a lot of room for weirdos here; it might take a while to find them, but they’re here. We also have a one-eyed cat, did I mention that?

Who are some artists you’re inspired by and have influenced you throughout the years? I’m a big fan of dark/psychedelic/erotic artists like Keiichi Tanaami, Suehiro Maruo, Sorayama and the whole Ero Guro movement. I also love Goya’s dark paintings and the sculpture work of Bernini. Some contemporary artists I’ve been into lately are Christian Rex Van Minnen, David Altmejd, Robin Francesca Williams and the fabric sculptures of Do Ho-Suh. Jamie Hewlett, Swoon, Andrew Hem, Aryz. I find that my taste changes constantly and I am always thirsty for different influences.

What’s been the most challenging part of your art career? What’s been the most rewarding? What do you do to keep the balance? Something really challenging has been learning how to trust myself while growing in the industry and balancing business, work and travel. It’s a really solid test: moving to a new city, providing for yourself, going on tour, shifting from place to place, managing gallery work and mural work, all while protecting and nurturing your own ambition and positivity, and not feed into the shitstorm of capitalism and social media past what is required of you.

The muralist life is not for the faint of heart. I would hardly say that I keep any type of “balance”–art is my life and there isn’t much room for anything else, and that’s how I like it. It is the most rewarding thing to look around and feel like you’ve created something new and good and powerful, all on your own terms. It is similarly rewarding to feel the need to level up - I enjoy feeling stressed arguably more than I enjoy feeling accomplished.

What would your dream collaboration be? What do you enjoy most about collaborations with other artists or clients? I would love to do something with Takashi Murakami and/or his gallery (Kaikai Kiki Gallery). There’s also this amazing Australian animator named Felix Colgrave whose work I’ve been obsessed with lately, I’d love to find a way to make an animated short with him! I love collaborating - especially on mural work - because it’s such a cool experience to be able to intermingle your visual world with someone else’s. Working with ONEQ in Hawaii this year was really great, she had so many suggestions and ideas from out of left field that made me rethink my own work as well. It also forces you to relinquish some control on the way you work, and reflect on the basic joys of making shit in the first place.

If you could paint a portrait of anyone living or dead, who would you choose and why? I really want to do a tripped out portrait of Yayoi Kusama or Bjork or maybe Steve Buscemi—all heroes of mine.

What’s your advice to folks who see what you do and want to pursue art as a career? I would say, go at it as hard as you possibly can! Make sure you really enjoy doing it! Not all parts of painting murals are glamorous (actually, few are) and it’s important to truly love every part of it if you’re going to commit your life to it.

This means: hustling walls, handling machinery, travel, people, logistics, finding somewhere to pee, dealing with unexpected bullshit, not complaining, being comfortable handling yourself in dangerous situations, being independent and resourceful, etc. I have reservations about artists who genuinely don’t seem to enjoy all the elements of mural painting going too deep into it. But if it’s something you love, there’s nothing better.

What are your FAVORITE Vans? I’ve been rocking the classic authentic Vans in black/burgundy as paint shoes for years now. But I also love the Sk8-Hi boys in burgundy… I never wear them because I’m too scared to get paint on them, haha!

What other artists would you love to see interviewed for Sketchy Behaviors? I’m currently really into Andrea Wan, Louise Zhang and Caratoes. It would also be really cool if you covered a GNC or trans artist, like Nomi Chi or Laughing Loone!

What’s next for you that you can share? My first book is coming out this year with Von Zos, and I’m also going to be designing a tarot deck with them. April is my first mural tour in several months; I’ll be hopping from Australia - Guam - Peru, and then moving around South America for a while, trying to practice my spanish. After that, I’ll be starting work on my next big show, scheduled for a city in Asia, which I’m really, really excited about - keep an eye out!

FOLLOW LAUREN YS | WEBSITE | INSTAGRAM | SHOP

[rami-hoe]

Confessions (Part one)

Pairing: Josh x Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

CW: jealousy

I sat lost in my thoughts on the couch in Josh’s basement. We sat next to each other, the movie on the TV serving only as background noise. Josh was staring at his phone, scrolling through his Instagram most likely. My attempts to focus on the movie were thwarted by the gentle, repetitive way Josh ran his fingers through my hair. He was so enthralled in his screen, I was sure he didn’t realize he was doing it, but I couldn’t ignore the sensation. I rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. This was all I had. Small, insignificant moments. I took advantage of these moments when they came, revelled in them. Tonight, Josh might be on a date without someone else. He might kiss her, take his clothes off for her, have sex with her. But now, in this instant, he was mine. His, though distracted and unconscious, belonged to me.

His text chime rang out and my flitted over to the phone. His screen was too dark for me to see who the text was from, but I made my assumptions when his fingers stopped moving. He moved his arm away from me and brought it down so he could text with both hands. Just like that, my brief moment with him was over. Someone else was more deserving of his attention, and I was left forgotten. I lifted my head off his shoulder and sat up straight. My knees gravitated towards my chest, and my eyes dropped to his phone once again. The name on the top of his screen, Kate, wasn’t one I recognized. She must be a new addition to his ever growing list. An image of her placed itself in my mind: model tall, long shiny hair, eyes like diamonds, cheekbones sharp enough to cut. I saw her, this woman I had never met, smiling up at Josh with perfect red lips, batting her long eyelashes at him, pulling her shoulders back so her gravity defying breasts stood at attention. The picture I had of her wasn’t real. It wasn’t even plausible. The woman in my mind was impossible without airbrushing, three hours with a professional makeup artist, and plastic surgery, but she was real to me. She existed. I saw her as clearly as I saw Josh. I saw him taking her out on nice dates, kissing her, climbing into bed with her, falling in love with her. I saw him looking at her with both adoration and desire, love and lust. That sick feeling bubbled up in my stomach, a symptom of my own imagination.

I slid across the couch cushions to put some distance between me and Josh. He didn’t so much as glance in my direction when I moved. My chest tightened. My heart felt like it was in a vice. And then he smiled. He smiled down at his phone, at her, and the pressure began to build behind my eyes. I turned my face away from him- This wasn’t supposed to happen. I had always managed to stay dry-eyed around Josh before, why couldn’t hold it back now? I leaned down and grabbed my shoes off the floor. The gesture was sudden enough for Josh to take notice.

“What’re you doing?” He asked as I pulled the shoes on.

I tried to shove the lump in my throat down before I spoke. “I gotta go home.” My voice was thick despite my attempts to steady it. “Everything alright?” The hand holding his phone dropped to his lap.

“Yep.” I jumped off the couch and grabbed my bag from the floor, but before I could make my escape Josh got up and blocked my exit. “What’s wrong?”

I found a dark spot on the wall to fixate on. “Nothing’s wrong,” I said. I turned to the side and tried to brush past him, but his hand closed around my bicep and spun me back to him. His concerned eyes made my stomach turn. I yanked my arm away from him and he recoiled, his brow furrowed and lips parted.

“What’s your problem?” He asked.

“I don’t have a problem,” I snapped.

Josh tilted his head to the side and reached out for me again. I exhaled as his hand ran down my arm with oh so much care. “Talk to me,” he said.

“Why do you do that?” I asked. The tears in my eyes blurred his face.

“Do what?” I hated how confused he was, that he had never thought about this the way I had. I should have shut up and walked away then and there, but my mouth had a mind of its own.

“Touch me like that,” I said.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like you actually give a shit about me.” A tear hit my cheek and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You do this- you put your arm around me, stroke my hair, touch my arm like you’re… Interested, or whatever.” His hand dropped from my arm. Through the blur, I could see him staring at me. I willed myself to stop talking, but my mouth continued to move. “But then you go and text some other girl. And that’s fine. I mean it’s- you can talk to whoever you want, but… Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” My face flushed with red hot embarrassment. I wanted to run and hide, but my feet felt like they had sunk into the floor. The carpet latched onto the soles of my feet and held me hostage while Josh’s wide eyes threatened to burn a hole in my forehead.

“So… You… I didn’t think- I mean, we’ve been friends forever.” Every stammered word was like a knife twisting in my gut. I wanted to sink into the ground never to reemerge. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed and forced myself to meet his gaze. “Like you said, we’ve been friends forever,” I said, painfully aware of how bitter I sounded. “You’ve never looked twice at me, Josh.”

“That’s not true.” The attempt to placate me fell flat.

“Come on, Josh,” I said. “I’m not exactly your type.” I had spent enough time watching him flirt his way through every room to know the kind of women he went for. And to know I wasn’t one of them. Josh leaned back and furrowed his brow. “Yes you are!”

I blinked. “What?” Josh folded his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders in. It was a subtle enough change in body language that it would go unnoticed by a stranger, but not by me.

“I mean- shit, if you’d told me…” He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “God, I’m fucking crazy about you. I thought you knew that.”

My breath caught in my throat. I had to force myself to release it. “But you didn’t- I mean you never-”

Josh interrupted my stuttering. “You know me better than anyone,” he said. “After all the shit you’ve seen… It blows me away that you even want to be friends.” If I hadn’t been so stunned, I would have protested his self-deprecation. “But if I’d known you wanted more-” he took a step towards me “-I would’ve given it to you.” I swallowed hard, staring up into Josh’s eyes, searching their depths for his intentions. I didn’t have to search very long. He closed the gap between us and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, as if he was afraid to apply any pressure, but it ignited my nerves all the same. His hands drifted up to my waist, just grazing the fabric of my shirt. I held onto his arms, keeping him from getting too far away when he pulled back. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

A smile spread across my face. “And you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say something that cheesy.” Josh snorted. “That was like line from a made for TV romcom.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “How about this: you’re the only person I can imagine myself being with. Not just a fling or a one night stand, but actually being with.”

I laughed. “Change the pronouns and that would make an excellent Tumblr post.” I wrapped my arms around his necks, playing with the ends of his hair.

“It may be cheesy, but it’s true,” he said as I grabbed the back of his neck to pull him down to me. He laughed against my lips and wrapped his arms around my waist. I knew would never get tired of having his arms around me.