#branch artists how do you do it
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some human brozone doodles, first photo was supposed to be all four of them but i didnt like how i drew branch and the other two so im only showing bruce and jd
(PLEASE DM ME FIRST FOR PERMISSION IF YOU PLAN ON REPOSTING!)
#artists on tumblr#trolls#trolls band together#brozone#trolls brozone#john dory#trolls floyd#trolls clay#trolls bruce#idk if ill finish the other three tbh#branch's hair gave me a headache after attempting to draw it several times#branch artists how do you do it#hes my fave but i never draw her right#turontot art#live laugh love floyd trolls#i FORGOT TO GIVE BRUCE AND JD MORE BODY HAIR#FORGIVE ME. I DIDNT REALIZE OH NOOO#honestly i think i shouldve made their noses bigger#i may or may not have hidden an amongus on john dory
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as far as christian-themed art goes I'm of the opinion that you cannot meaningfully appropriate mainline western catholicism (it's a massively powerful branch of a religion that has been spread by imperialism and that actively seeks out converts as a core tenet. how could you appropriate it?) but that it is possible to engage with it shallowly and that that's fair game to make fun of. I will not be taking questions at this time
#bolo speaks#which isn't to say that you need to be personally connected to a specific branch to make good art about it#I think sincerity and research are key there#but I was just listening to lingua ignota (having a normal one) and thinking how funny it was#that she was raised catholic but as an adult artist her whole thing is usamerican evangelical protestant imagery and ideas#most people who crib elements of forms of christianity they weren't raised with for their art#are ex-protestants ribbing on catholicism. I think it's neat to see it the other way around#on a related note you can't meaningfully appropriate usamerican-style evangelical protestantism either#and I don't think we make enough freaky gay art about that#I want tumblrinas to bring the energy they do to st sebastian to whatever tortured ideas of gender are being cooked up in missouri right no#...though maybe I say that because I watch a lot of fundie fridays
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boy dont lie in the snow thats bad for you
#art#traditional art#sketchbook#artists on tumblr#drawing#inktober#inktober 2024#inktober24#pen drawing#ink drawing#pen and ink#black and white#winter#snow#ice#oc#oc art#oc artwork#inktober day 11#also this is the one from today not yesterday bc theone from yesterday took me too long#so i switched it up#idk whats coming out tomorrow#youll have to wait and see#also do you konw how hard is to get pictures of foliage from above#even if you put a descriptor in the search it always shows it as a branch from the side or a huge forest from like helicopter view
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[Additional Image Description: On a grey background, there are five small black line art illustrations lined up across the center. The first is a sword with a hooked blade pointing upwards, the second is a hand with magic curling up out of it, the center is a castle with wavy lines extending from it into a dark sky, the third is a beaker with steam curling up from it, and the last is a shortsword pointing downwards. The sword has a few dark red shading lines. In the lower right corner of the fanmix cover is the title, "heart of my own," in dark red medieval calligraphy font. End Additional Image Description.]
HEART OF MY OWN - A FANMIX FOR CASSANDRA DE ROLO IN THE TIME OF THE BRIARWOODS
Overgrown - machineheart // Edge of the World - Within Temptation // Ashes and Rust - Wynnie Stone // Take Me Home - The Paper Kites, Nadia Reid // Nobody (Live) - The Crane Wives // The Tangled Tree - Josienne Clarke and Ben Walker // Heart Of My Own - Basia Bulat // Don't She Run - I Draw Slow // Murder City - Abigail Lapell // Until the Fire - Ladytron // Control - Halsey // Lament - Mount Moriah // Catch the Light - Haroula Rose
Fanmix on YouTube
Fanmix on Spotify
#cassandra de rolo#cr1#music#fanmix#id in alt text#described#remember how i was like i spent $8 or whatever it was on paint from cvs because i wanted to make the cass fanmix a painted cover?#l + ratio + i did not have time + my camera isn't working so i can't even do a minimalist painted version#so here's literal clipart (not actually clipart its free use images from pixabay but lets be real. stylistically. its clipart)#you can see what my Vision would have been (i wanted to paint the above in medieval manuscript illustration style on a black#background where instead of the (very nice) castle in the center it would have been the sun tree/tree from the de rolo crest#with curling branches and roots filling the whole paper above and below as well#honestly i think artistic vision clip art edition turned out good! captured the vibe. even found a sword that looks like craven edge.#this is another thing i never made a follow-up post about and i'm going to do that rn (pandemic talk incoming)#i'm stepping away from the fandom by the live show because i can't watch them do a live show in a pandemic#like friends are staying in the fandom and i don't judge/care!! i don't *want* to leave i just can't watch or do art and fic for a#work of fiction after it gets real life human beings killed#thats my uncrossable line#its an incredibly sad and fucked up situation#and this week i'm trying to finish up some fanworks (this and another mix and two fics) that i had done or over half done pre-announcement#so i can get that out of the way and focus on. i guess irl is not the word but keeping in touch with fandom bros and practical stuff for#what i think will be a shitty last couple of weeks before the live show itself
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Question inspired by today's nyancave p3p stream, do you actually need a license to voice act in Brazil? Thought you might know because you live there
Well, not really a specific license for voice acting, you just need to be a registered actor the same way people need to be to perform in theater, television, movies and stuff
What you do absolutely need is a ton of nepotism though
#I'm very mean about the voice acting industry here okay because it feels extremely closed off and unaccessible to new voices#it's always the same idk fucking 15 people max dubbing every fucking thing from kids cartoons to thrillers to anime#it's so fucking frustrating#do you know how jarring it is that no matter which channel you turn to you'll Always be plagued by omg wait I know that voice#and then it'll turn out a character who showed up in the middle of a horror movie to have sex and die gruesomely is the same va as ladybug#I fucking hate it here so much#my friends love it because they get to treat the vas as celebrities and fandomize them and I don't like to yuck their yum but yes I do it's#bad#like artistically#video games branch out a little more? but then the issue is they're barely credited anywhere outside of the game's end credits itself 🙄#another example amethyst su was voiced by the dub director for the show and she would go on to give herself extra roles#as EVERY FUSION Amethyst was a part of even though that's the exact fucking opposite of the concept behind fusion in the first place#AAAaaaah#and the translation is also shit from time to time like I'm nostalgic for gf but they cut like half the fucking jokes and didn't even try#anyways I'm normal#a tag for asks#also i need to catch up the p3p streams#I was there for the 10 hours of watermelon game though lol
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ok guys, I am about to post a shit ton (not really it's like 3) of commissioned art that I've been sitting on because I wanted to release it with my writing but my ADHD has gotten worse recently and I feel bad for holding these amazing pieces hostage.
#just wanted to let you know I'm not a billionaire or anything and I'm certainly not an heir of the Wayne family that would be nuts#ok just gonna get in my batmo-regular carmobile and drive away now#On a more serious note I'm actually trying to give back to my community by hiring artists since the AI thing is BS#Definitely check out some of the artists I've commissioned they've all been awesome so far#Also please don't reach out to me and ask if I will commission you#I do have a secret process that I use to determine who I will request a commission from#I also try to branch out from the DC tag & look for a more broad range of artists so tag your commission sheets because that's how I search
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WHO WANTS TO DO FURSONA TELEPHONE
human -> fursona -> ponysona -> dragonsona -> monstersona -> demonsona -> gemsona -> squidsona -> spidersona -> human
^ list length and order are still subject to change, of course. this is a concept im not sure thats been done before. someone give me thoughts
some artists spawn onto this earth with the drive to make every not-human character out there into a human design. on the other end of the battlefield, some other artists spawn in with the drive to make every human character out there into an animal. these forces are at eternal war, but neither gains any ground, as they are constantly cancelling out each others progress
#how do ppl play those telephone games on tumblr…………..?#maybe one person starts with a human and it branches out to different artists following the order#and then different chains will lead to different final humans#artists building on a chain will tag all of the prevs in the list so it can be its own post#ough how would you even reach all those artists#art stuffs#vex rambles#reblobber
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hey so does anyone have a unifying theory for the 《无数三部曲》 and how 《呓语》 fits into the schema by chance
#I am discovering everything backwards but hold up what do you MEAN that there are three interconnected psychological thriller stages in s3#that maybe also branch into s2 and s4. heLLO#something about these 4-6 minute stages is absolute catnip to me. I love seeing how far they can take me within a single song#we've done science fiction we've done wuxia we've done psychological thriller and hong kong gangster flick#we've done abstract stages and stages with multiple layers of nesting universes and stages made of pure metaphor space#maybe this fondness comes out of several years of attempting to do hyper-contained storytelling onstage as well#and getting to see these artists do so with BUDGET. lordy. straight catnip#hunxi does variety shows#cmbf#call me by fire
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i hate that thing i do where i prioritize drawing/painting/sculpture above like every other form of art. like if i fill a sketchbook that's more of an accomplishment than this cool hat i made. maybe the equivalent to that is crafting an entire outfit down to making the pattern myself. or filling a box with Stuff I Sewed. idk, i think drawing is just valued so so so much online and i watch all those sketchbook tours and i'm like Wow! these people are so motivated and these sketchbooks are so cool and filled with personality and just. so dense with creativity and I Wish I Could Do That but i already do. i just don't do the 'one sketchbook a month' thing. i have The Yearning but not the drive to draw that much and i need to just value what i'm already doing that's easy for me to do right now.
#i (and i think a lot of other people) are definitely not meant to stick to one thing their entire lives#and ESPECIALLY not one artistic style. it PISSES me off when kids are like 'how do i Find My Art Style??'#it's like. when you find a label and you try to fit yourself into that label instead of doing self exploration and finding a label that fit#YOU. or just doing away with labels entirely#it doesn't piss me off in a Kids These Days kinda way but in a Don't You Know It's A Trap kinda way#humans crave variety!! fuck#dude you don't have to stick to one thing forever. branch out!! hold my hand. come with me. i will show you#sketchbook tutorials are so. inspirational to me. like they make me feel good. it feels good to look at peoples' art and it's a bonus#that it's such a personal thing they're sharing. but they're all the same and they also make me feel endlessly hopelss#so i avoid them like the plague. i think my problem is that i hate art school and being told what to do with my art#guidance with a specific thing you're working on is one thing but so much of it is like 'you need to develop these skills to do art good'#and like. you really don't. if that's boring and you hate it and it makes you wanna die then don't do it#fuck around with ms paint and 'perfect your craft' on there and like#find people who like your art and whose are you like and collaborate because community is a part of it also#make a quilt. follow a pattern. make your own fucked up pattern and then realize there's an easier way to make a pattern#do. mud sculptures. buy some dollar store clay.#don't spend more than you have to on art supplies. use a mouse to draw for goodness sake it's so freeing#i'm mad about nothing if you couldn't tell. i'm very sleepy and i want to make art but i don't have the energy#gonna make another hat later
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hi! i was just wondering if you’re getting a piece of this pie. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/voidrealmminis/rise-of-the-eldertubbies?ref=profile_saved_projects_live
Oh my goodness! Haha thanks for showing me! And no, of course, this guy is still selling my dream while claiming it’s totally nothing to do with me. I hadn’t heard about it so thank you.
For those just joining us, here is the saga of the elder teletubbies:
1. in 2017 I posted a dream I had on Tumblr. In the dream I discovered that the childish teletubbies shown on BBC’s Teletubbies are merely the children of a species that grows up to be forest cryptids as adults. The post contained a detailed character description explaining how the children’s simple antennae become more complex antlers; their coats become thicker hair; their eldritch screens are unknowable; here, look:
The adult Teletubbies have more branching, complex antlers and shaggy coats. They are less brightly coloured. They are terrifyingly large. Their strangely human faces, emerging from the thick fur, are unquestionably adult; remote, serene, reproachful. Their television screens are glitchy, esoteric and unknowable. They are cryptids whose public exploitation has undermined their rarity and their strange, alien dignity.
That’s a pretty clear description.
2. The post quickly gained attention and many people drew art, made sculptures, designed in-depth character concepts, and even made DnD character sheets and entries with detailed notes. It was 2017. The post got over 90k notes. It had an extremely clear description of the cryptid in it. This wasn’t at all obscure.
3. The post and four pieces of the concept art, including the first piece by were screencapped and posted on r/tumblr. The post included this art by the now-deactivated @finoliatav which is, I think, the first piece of art. Most screencaps don’t show that it’s animated! Once you see it you can no longer pretend that any more work needs to be done in designing these characters, really - they’re all variations on a very clear theme.
4. A guy called Jars started drawing the BBC Teletubbies as adult Teletubbies. He noted on Reddit that his inspiration for the first one was the r/tumblr post but after that, he considered it entirely his own creative work. He drew each of the 4 BBC Teletubbies as adults using my character description and wrote a little story about how his character had stumbled upon them in the woods. He’s a good artist and his work went viral on Reddit and instagram. Those places being separate from Tumblr by the walls of the enclosure, they quickly believed the Jars was being highly original and praised him for it.
5. jars got carried away by his fame and started merchandising for all he’s worth. He’s selling elder teletubbies placemats. He got a collaborator to help him make and sell plushies.
6. Plushies of my character design applied to BBC characters. Jars sells them. To people. Who buy them. He sells these.
7. I think this is like… his job.
8. It has been years of this. I don’t think he has actually come up with anything else to sell by himself. But given that he now has millions upon millions of views on platforms I don’t use, let alone dominate (Instagram, YouTube, Reddit, TikTok) he seems to have fully subscribed to the idea that this is his THING.
9. After a while I wrote him a friendly email expressing that since my original dream was very much about discomfort with how the teletubbies were being exploited, I didn’t mind him selling his own art but that I wasn’t happy with him selling plushes based on my writing.
10. He wrote back along the lines of it all being his original intellectual property and absolutely nothing to do with me, etc, so jog on and don’t interfere.
11. I’m not entirely sure where the original intellectual property is when taking BBC characters and drawing them according to someone else’s detailed description of how to “evolve” them (branching antlers, shaggy coats, eldritch screens, serene adult human faces) especially having drawn them after seeing four separate detailed reference photos to base your own drawings on; especially when they’re the existing BBC characters from the show and not even your own. Like, Jars, you were given an entire detailed brief, several sets of references, an entire concept and a television show: the only artistic choices made here were to pick up your own personal pen and do the drawing. You have never deviated from my description, which you did not come up with yourself in any way. But okay Jars. You did some real intellectual heavy lifting here, this is Intellectual Property suddenly, and I guess this is your day job!
12. I myself actually have a day job, am capable of generating lots of other original material just for funsies, have never asked you guys for money, and I’m not generally huge jerk I don’t think. Also, I’m uncomfortable but have never been clear on how to stop him - I don’t think I can. So I don’t do much about this, apart from occasionally scream with hilarity with you guys about it.
13. Like this is the opposite of Goncharov. This is a guy making his wage on a 2017 tumblr collaborative shitpost insisting that this is the beautiful fruit of his only brain. And millions of people believe him.
14. There are now YouTube documentaries with millions of views and TikTok lore about Jars, and his lore, the Elder Teletubbies, which apparently he invented. People are making their wage talking about the history of Jars and his teletubbies lore. These documentaries are, if you can’t tell, not especially well-researched, as it is not difficult to find the original elder teletubbies art on the internet, which is all timestamped. Occasionally hilarious people from Tumblr point this out in the comments (thank you, you guys are hilarious) but the juggernaut is unstoppable!
15. Jars is now, apparently, doing a kickstarter to raise money for some kind of DnD sheets using the grown up BBC teletubbies.
16. I will point out that tumblr made and played with DnD teletubbies in 2017 for free and nobody had to pay $3000, but again. The juggernaut is unstoppable.
I have never, ever known what to do about this guy.
I have always been open to advice but genuinely never been able to articulate how it “damages” me, apart from ethical discomfort about how much I hate my writing being monetised by other people, especially when it was about my discomfort with exploitation. The juggernaut is unstoppable though. He fully intends to get thousands of dollars from this. He almost certainly will!
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content: gender neutral reader, noncon!, gore!, mutilation!, captivity
Yandere!Artist is not quite an artist by profession. His skill of trade can be immediately guessed in the way he so masterfully handles a scalpel. He hacks, and cleaves, and stitches right back up.
He's saved many souls, and his competency as a surgeon has never been doubted. One could say he's had a lot of practice with the less fortunate...patients.
It started with anatomical drawings; idly tracing over his used textbooks, untangling the thick vessels connecting the liver tissue. This can't be all, he thought at the time. It looked bland, it looked fake. He needed a different kind of muse.
Oh, he's gained a lot of experience since. It took many bodies to perfect his artistry, but now he can finally return home, sit back, and admire his work adorning every wall.
Then he found you.
A different kind of fascination enthralled his soul. He wanted to learn all there is to you, know you better than anyone else. Special little thing, too innocent and naïve for this world. Worry not, you could never be in better hands than his.
"Oh, it's an ugly one."
Your lips are curved into a pout, soft sobs spilling out of your mouth in hiccups. Through tears, you can discern what's left of your leg. Right above the knee, the flesh is torn, sliced choppily and exposing the bone, with clusters of fat glistening among the pooled blood.
He glances at the axe that tarnished your skin.
"You left me with no choice. How many times must I explain myself to you?"
He tucks a few hair strands behind your ear.
"Do you truly believe that the world out there is any better than here? I'm saying this out of love and concern. If you wished to have a walk, or go somewhere, I would've accompanied you.
If you're going to be sneaky, I have no choice but to discipline you."
You nod, in a daze, ears ringing from the shock. Upon reflection, it might have been a poor idea to try and escape. All the way to your hip, there's a prickly numbness, a wet warmth. You stare at his slender hands as he tucks a thin strip of cloth into your gash.
Before reaching for his surgery kit, he eyes the scenery once more: the steady streams of blood branching across the tile, the femoral artery gushing and spasming against the improvised bandage. Your face is pale, and your gaze hollow. He must confess, you're particularly beautiful in this moment, resting against the wall, your damp lashes reminding him of a Madonna painting.
"Perhaps...might you give me a moment?"
He quickly hops on his stool, and twirls a brush between his fingers.
"Don't worry, I'll be quick. Just the sketch, I promise."
He gently dabs the canvas, observing you in raw adoration. Every detail must be considered. Every stroke must be calculated.
"Afterwards, I'll patch your precious leg back. You'll be as good as new in a few days.
And hopefully wiser, if you want to avoid it in the future. I can't do miracles. This will leave an ugly scar."
Lesson learned. Your nose wrinkles with a sniff, yet you obediently straighten your back.
"Is this alright," you ask meekly, referring to your rather poor attempt at posing.
"Perfect."
#Caravaggio - The Sacrifice of Isaac (1602)#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere oc#tw yandere#tw noncon#tw gore#horror#yandere artist#yandere doctor
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𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟓]
pairing. kinich x fem!reader
word count. 3.1k
genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury
summary.
in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.
author's note. the slow burn is burning... kinich is a little slow to the punch though LOL. this chapter talks about turnfire night, i took a lot of ~artistic liberty~ with the banquet and such so don't hate on me pls. there's a bit of angst in the next few chapters, i'm sorry HAHAHA. pls lmk what you guys think, it's very motivating! i hope you enjoy <3 reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!
↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣
𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 (𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗘)
At some point, the flowers start to speak your name.
Kinich isn’t sure when the idea took root in his mind—it had been slow for sure, a snail crawling over a branch. Living together makes you a perpetual presence in his life, a certainty like the rise of the sun and the glint of the stars. He finds comfort in that knowledge, but rarely thinks on it more than that.
The day he realizes it, the sun is a bright yolk in the sky, honey-yellow and shining dutifully upon his back. A layer of sweat plasters itself to his forehead, and he scrubs it away with his wrist, panting. For as many years as he’s been a farmer, the work hardly gets easier; it still leaves him sore and aching every day.
Across the field, the front door of your home swings open—it’s you that peeks out, waving. Kinich nods back in reply, gathering the vegetables in his basket and jogging back over to you. He frowns when he notices a dark spot on one of his carrots, vaguely noting that he should toss that one out later.
“I ran you a bath,” you offer, leaning halfway out the doorway. Kinich extends a half-smile in gratitude.
“Thanks,” he replies, holding the harvest out to you. You take the basket with a small ‘thank you’, placing it down on your feet. Usually, you would take the vegetables inside right away to wash and cut them, but today, you’re lingering—there’s something on your mind.
But Kinich is nothing if not patient, so he merely waits, arching a brow.
“It’s Turnfire Night,” you finally admit, hands clasped behind your back. “Elder Leik invited us to the banquet, if you’re keen on going.”
Surprised, Kinich glances over his crops. He’s just about done here for the day, and he doesn’t have anything on the to-do list for tonight anyway.
“Do you want to?”
You’re hesitating, likely out of shyness—he watches you rock back and forth on your heels.
“I think it’d be nice,” you reply, short.
You’re trying not to force him, he realizes. You know how much he hates crowded things like that. And usually, you would be right, but he thinks back on the last time he’d visited the village. It’s been long enough, he decides, and one day wouldn’t kill him.
“Sure, we can go.”
Your disposition brightens instantly, nearly ascending with joy.
“Really?” you squeak, hands drawing to your chest. He smiles and nods, shaking his head with amusement when you disappear back inside, cheering. You’re easy to please in a lot of ways.
Kinich takes you up on your offer of a warm bath, then prepares one for you as well. Gone are the days that the two of you washed up in the river—a nicer bathtub had been one of your earlier investments, and Kinich had grown to appreciate the blessings of a warm place to wash at the end of a long day. It does wonders for his aching muscles.
Over the years, Kinich’s house had slowly grown into a home, right under his nose. Your presence had been a driving force in that process.
While his hair dries, he’s in the kitchen organizing a few of the cupboards when you emerge from your bath, footsteps quietly padding against the floor. You call his name, voice thin and uncertain. When he turns, his heart squeezes.
You’re wearing a lovely dress, a forest green with golden accents—he briefly notes that it matches his eyes, then wonders if you had chosen that on purpose. The thought leaves his head foggy.
“What do you think?” you ask shyly, giving a small twirl. Kinich’s gaze follows the flow of your skirt, the liveliness of it. He’s never seen you dressed up like this in all his years of knowing you, and the sight makes something take root in his chest. “I bought it at the market a while ago, just in case.”
There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t sit for long.
“It looks nice,” is all that crawls from his throat, thick. The words sound awkward from his lips, he thinks harshly. A heated flush surges up his neck, curling around his ears and resting there. You practically glow at his response, clapping to yourself.
“I got something for you too,” you sing, disappearing into the bedroom. Kinich waits patiently until you return, gesturing for him to close his eyes. He indulges you, and it’s a few seconds before something soft brushes at his forehead, pushing his bangs aside.
A bandana.
When his vision returns, you’re standing inches away from his face—his breath hitches at the proximity. Your gaze is searching as it meets his, your lip twitching at the edge. The excitement nearly pours off of you in waves.
You’re staring.
Kinich’s fingers brush his own cheek, self-conscious. “What is it?”
You lean impossibly closer.
“Nothing,” you hum, happy as a clam. “I just think it makes your eyes look even prettier.”
You’ve always told him how much you love his eyes, the starburst of jade and gold. You have a tendency to notice things about him that no one else does.
“Does it look nice?” he asks quietly, thumbing at the cloth. He would recognize a product of your weaving anywhere—you must’ve been working on this for a while now. He wonders when you found the time, or even how you managed to do it without him noticing.
You nod, a fond smile gracing your face. “You look really handsome.”
Kinich feels a touch of jealousy at the ease with which the words seem to fall from your lips. Sometimes, he wishes he could speak his mind the way you do. He doesn’t usually hold back in his words—most people he interacts with can attest to that—but when it comes to you, his tongue grows heavy in his mouth.
Still, the idea that you think he looks handsome is…nice.
“Thank you,” he breathes.
You turn and skip back into the bedroom, calling over your shoulder about how the two of you should leave soon. He watches you leave, the dress flowing like silk over your form. He swallows.
It’s really, really nice.
Later on, Kinich holds you close as the two of you grapple toward the village, mountains and trees racing past you. Your giggles are warm against his ear; you love traveling like this, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. Winking dots of light are already visible in the distance, a rousing cheer reaching your ears—the festivities have already started.
He lands neatly on one of the wooden walkways, taking in the scenery. The village is decorated with bright streamers and vases of blooming flowers, crowds of people maneuvering around the party. You maintain your grip on Kinich’s hand, unwilling to lose him in the crowd.
Two taller figures emerge from the swathe of people, greeting you by name.
“Have you two been taking care?” Elder Leik asks warmly, Chief Wayna smiling at his side. The elders are concerned for the two of you, Kinich knows; they’ve tried many times to convince you to move back to the village. Their efforts slowly ceased as the two of you grew older—you’ve always been steadfast in your independence.
You nod enthusiastically. “We’ve been doing really well! Everyone’s seeking out Kinich’s work.”
Your compliment makes him feel a bit embarrassed—he feels an urge to deny it, but the elders only laugh and congratulate him, ruffling at his hair. He does feel a bit satisfied that they recognize his strength.
“That’s great,” Chief Wayna replies, genuine. “Just remember you can always come to us if you ever need anything. But also make sure you enjoy the party!”
He leaves the two of you with a wink, fading into the crowd, and you take the opportunity to grasp at Kinich’s hand, pulling him along. You’re the most excited person there, truly in awe of everything.
Kinich indulges in some of the food, laughing at the gusto with which you scarf down your own—he chuckles as he wipes crumbs away from your cheeks. Everyone’s spirits are high; the music is loud and roaring, an electrifying song that Kinich can feel in his veins. You perk up at the sound.
“Kin, can we dance?” you beg, eyes bright and lips pouted.
He glances around. Really, he doesn’t want to, especially not in front of all of these people. But the music is slowing, and Kinich can never say no to you, so he sighs, pulling you close and placing a cursory hand at your waist.
“Is this good?” he asks, a murmur. You hum in content, resting your head at his shoulder.
“It’s great.”
A permanent grin seems to have plastered itself over your lips. Kinich absently thinks that it makes you look so much more beautiful—a flower in bloom.
“You’re really happy today,” he comments.
Your eyes flutter shut, delighted.
“I’m happy you wanted to come with me. And I was happy that you liked my dress, and that you liked the headband I wove for you. I’m just happy.”
A deep yearning fills Kinich’s chest at the feather-softness of your voice—he feels an urge to hide you away. Somehow, he wants this side of you to only be for him.
“I did really like it,” he confirms. “The headband, and…everything else.”
He likes spending time with you, he likes your dress, and he likes the warmth that permeates his body when you hold him like this. Everything else seems to fade into nothingness.
For a while, the two of you talk about nothing and everything. It’s a truly peaceful existence. Kinich tries to remember if he’s ever been to a Turnfire Night like this before; the last time he’d attended, he’d likely been too young to even remember the event. You just have a way of replacing his darker memories with pleasant ones.
The beat of the music picks up again, and Kinich feels an instant chill when you lift your head from his shoulder. Still, he sways to the music with you, smiling when you start to sing along to the energetic song.
“You’re a good dancer,” you observe, in awe. Kinich shrugs, smoothly spinning you again.
“It’s not that hard.”
Dancing with you is actually fun, he realizes despite his initial hesitation. Your laughter fades with the passing wind, dissipating into the night, and he can’t help but stare at the way the torchlight glimmers against your skin.
The two of you celebrate until the music dies to silence, until people start to yawn and retire to bed. By this time, the sun is already peeking in the distance, barely a whisper of light reaching you.
Kinich carries you home, soft snores echoing from your place on his back—he decides he won’t tease you about it later.
Instead, he promises himself that he’ll keep taking you to Turnfire Night every year after.
(Then, he promises himself that he’ll always protect your smile.)
/
By the time he cries for the first time, Kinich is fifteen.
He feels that he knows the way the world works now—those with strength, with value, survive. It’s not that he has any interest in being one of the rich ones with towering houses that line the cliffside. Really, all he needs to be satisfied is a comfortable life with you at the foot of the mountain. And his needs—things like clothes and food—come with Mora, so he makes Mora. It’s a simple existence.
He spends more time with you. Slowly but surely, he starts to bring you on jobs and hunts with him. You’re eager to learn about the work he does, and even more excited to help—your medical knowledge does tend to make things go faster. Still, he feels extra layers of anxiety whenever he knows you’re coming along, his grip drawing tighter around his sword.
It comes on a day like any other.
At first, it doesn’t seem like a particularly difficult job—it’s a run-of-the-mill request, to subdue a Saurian that’s been attacking travelers near the village. Even still, Kinich is as thorough as always in the days leading up to the job, and you let him take the lead. He’s strict about these things when you come along, and you know better than to distract him.
The day of, the two of you encounter the Saurian in a clearing adjacent to the road. It’s sick, you mention quietly, hidden in the foliage nearby—it’s foaming at the mouth, erratic in its movements. Kinich mumbles back his agreement.
It starts to peck at the poisoned berries he’d left for it, movements slowing. He counts down the minutes—at this point, it should be incapacitated enough for the kill.
It’s only when Kinich creeps up behind it, greatsword in hand, that he realizes he’d been wrong. The Saurian seems to switch at the last second, beady eyes burning as it poises to strike. Kinich barely blocks the attack with the flat of his blade, teeth gritted.
“Kinich!” you cry out, running to his side. The Saurian perks up at the sound, tense.
Kinich’s eyes widen. “Wait, don’t come—”
It’s too late. The Saurian’s claw catches you in the stomach as it whips around, sending you flying.
A sickening crack echoes when your back smacks against a rock—you crumple to the dirt, hunched over. A cold breath hisses between Kinich’s teeth as he screams your name.
The Saurian doesn’t last much longer than that, not that he really remembers any of it. He swings his sword, cutting and slicing, sounds of battle piercing the air. It’s only when he sprints to your side that he returns to his senses.
A harsh gash is ripped through your shirt and the skin beneath, a pool of crimson already gathering on your stomach. The sight brings bile crawling up his throat.
“Kin…”
Your voice is weak, and Kinich hushes you quickly, an urge to save your strength. A striking fear has his blood freezing in his veins—he remembers his father’s corpse. Terror hovers over his body, leaving him breathless. He intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing the back of your hand to his lips.
“That hurt,” you mumble, a touch of humor in your tone even now. “I’m tired.”
Your eyelids are heavy, stare unfocused.
“Don’t close your eyes!” he demands. He palms at your cheek lightly, willing you to stay awake. It’s unlike him, the desperation in his voice. “Didn’t you say you’d always be by my side?”
You chuckle, a line of blood dripping down your chin. Kinich thumbs it away.
“I said that when we were kids, silly.”
He swallows, throat bobbing. Your eyes follow the motion unconsciously.
“We’re still kids.”
His voice cracks as he says it, like his words can’t bear the brunt of their meaning. Your heart pulses, a burst of adrenaline coursing through you at his rare show of emotion. It’s only a moment, because the pain returns milliseconds later and a groan escapes your chest.
Quickly, Kinich pulls his headband off, sliding it between his teeth to hold while he pulls the flask of water from his belt. He sets about cleaning your wound, gentle, but the stress is evident in his expression. His hands are shaking; you can feel the tremble against your skin as he eases your shirt up.
“It’ll be okay,” he breathes. Even he is unsure if he’s speaking to you or himself. You nod weakly.
“It’ll be okay, Kin.” You cough, and something in Kinich’s chest snaps when a spray of blood splatters over the hem of his shirt. A spray of your blood. “Don’t worry, okay?”
He can’t even really hear you anymore. He’s staring at the crimson mist, wondering how this had even happened. He’d assumed he was strong enough—strong enough to do this job, strong enough to protect you—and he had been wrong. There must’ve been an error in his calculations, or maybe he hadn’t prepared enough.
He fastens his headband around your wound, stemming the blood flow. It’s almost an out-of-body experience—he hardly even recognizes the hands as his.
He’d gotten too comfortable, and you had paid the price.
Those with strength survive, but that day brings a sobering realization—Kinich is far weaker than he thought.
A cold tear slides down his cheek as he carries you home.
You’re sniffling in pain at each step, the movement irritating your wound, and Kinich feels truly helpless. All he can do is whisper promises and apologies, that he’s sorry it happened and that he promises everything will be okay. It almost feels worse that you don’t seem to blame him at all—you’re apologizing too, telling him you’re sorry for being a burden on his job.
“You’re never a burden,” he spits. It comes out harsher than intended, so he sighs, softening. “You could never be a burden to me.”
You don’t reply.
A thick lump lodges itself in his throat as he feels your blood soak through the back of his shirt. It all almost feels unreal—he feels like he could return home to your warmth and smile and everything would be okay. You have a way of making everything okay.
“We’re almost there, okay?” he murmurs. You’re sweating from the pain, sticky against his skin. “Just stay with me.”
The house feels unnaturally cold when he kicks the door open.
By the time he has your wound properly wrapped, the sun is gone, a distant memory. He sets you down in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin—you’re already asleep, but your expression is unpleasant, tortured. You must be in pain, even in your dreams.
The thought makes him sick.
With a sigh, he stumbles out of the bedroom, collapsing onto the couch. His hands are still shaking from overuse and exhaustion. He’s not used to the tedious movements anymore like you are—you’re always the one patching him up these days.
A vase sits on the table. It’s full of Saurian Claw Succulents—you’d planted them yourself, cheery at the prospect of decorating the house a bit more. Kinich plucks one of the flowers from the vase by the thin stem, vacantly inspecting each petal.
He wonders what he has to change.
Those with strength survive. Kinich wants to survive. He wants to survive and live his days out with you.
But he’s not strong enough. If you can’t smile at his side, what good is he at all?
Your labored breathing is audible from the other room, the sound grating against his ears. If he had a Vision, or some other kind of power, things might’ve been different. If he had just been stronger—
He thinks back on his younger self, on his innocence, on his weakness. He’d discarded that side of himself long ago in favor of something more powerful, in favor of someone who could protect and take care of you.
There’s no turning back now, he thinks.
The stem snaps under his fingers, under the weight of it all, previous gentleness gone.
#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#kinich x reader#genshin impact#kinich#genshin impact imagines#kinich x you#adeptus ink
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ok, i've gotta branch off the current ai disc horse a little bit because i saw this trash-fire of a comment in the reblogs of that one post that's going around
[reblog by user makiruz (i don't feel bad for putting this asshole on blast) that reads "So here's the thing: every Diane Duane book that I have is stolen, I downloaded it illegally from the Internet; and I am not sorry, I am a thief of books and I don't think I'm doing anything wrong, ideas are not property, they should be free to be used by anyone as they were before the invention of capitalism; for that reason I don't believe it's wrong to use books to train AI models"]
this is asshole behavior. if you do this and if you believe this, you are a Bad Person full stop.
"Capitalism" as an idea is more recent than commerce, and i am So Goddamn Tired of chuds using the language of leftism to justify their shitty behavior. and that's what this is.
like, we live in a society tm
if you like books but you don't have the means to pay for them, the library exists! libraries support authors! you know what doesn't support authors? stealing their books! because if those books don't sell, then you won't get more books from that author and/or the existing books will go out of print! because we live under capitalism.
and like, even leaving aside the capitalism thing, how much of a fucking piece of literal shit do you have to be to believe that you deserve art, that you deserve someone else's labor, but that they don't deserve to be able to live? to feed and clothe themselves? sure, ok, ideas aren't property, and you can't copyright an idea, but you absolutely can copyright the Specific Execution of an idea.
so makiruz, if you're reading this, or if you think like this user does, i hope you shit yourself during a job interview. like explosively. i hope you step on a lego when you get up to pee in the middle of the night. i hope you never get to read another book in your whole miserable goddamn life until you disabuse yourself of the idea that artists are "idea landlords" or whatever the fuck other cancerous ideas you've convinced yourself are true to justify your abhorrent behavior.
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Imagining Wooyoung as a girl dad
quick imagine ...ur honor i love him and im here to push the girl dad! wooyoung agenda masterlist
wooyoung loves kids, even more so when they're his kids
your daughter had just been born a few months ago and he'd had a hard time leaving her side
when she would cry in the middle of the night, he'd jump out of bed before you could even process what was going on. you'd sleepily walk into the nursery to find him rocking her back and forth in his arms, mumbling whatever was on his mind in the softest voice. all with a smile on his face. the love he wore in his eyes was one so special that not even the greatest artists would be able to capture it
he'd always tell you how amazingly you were doing, ridding any doubts and insecurities you had about becoming a new parent
but oh was Wooyoung greedy with your daughter-so clingy he was with her
kisses. so many little kisses. forehead kisses, kisses over her eyes, nose, her tiny knuckles.
as soon as you were done feeding her, he'd whisk her away from your arms and pat her back until she burped, cradling her afterwards.
he'd snatch her from you so often that it started to frustrate you
you whined, "wooyoung! she's not gonna remember who I am if you keep taking her away like that."
"ah, sorry. i just can't stop thinking about having to go back to work in a couple weeks. I don't want to miss anything."
"i know, but just- remember she's not just your baby, okay?"
introducing your daughter to rest of ateez had certainly been fun. so many ranges of emotions- a few crying at the sight of the tiny scrunched face, some scared to hold her, some a little too excited to toss the fragile baby in the air
you and Woo walked into the room with your daughter in her carrier, confused when you took in their appearances- absolutely dressed to the nines. "Oh- are you guys performing after this?"
San spoke with his cat like grin. "Nope, Wooyoung told us to dress up for this."
You raised an eyebrow at your husband, not knowing a thing about whatever was going on.
Woo shrugged. "What? First impressions are important."
They'd all watch in awe at the little being yawning then falling asleep immediately after in Seonghwa's arms, her tiny hand loosening its grip on his index finger
"Wow, she's so cute...thank god she looks nothing like Wooyoung," Mingi joked, earning a slap on the shoulder.
"Shut up, she's my twin." And he would proudly prove so, pulling out his phone to find his own baby pictures.
Whenever it was possible, he'd have the three of you wearing matching outfits he custom made himself, down to the tiniest details- the jewelry, the shoes, socks and hair ties.
Cuteness aggression would overtake his senses when you would walk into the living room, daughter in arm, twirling to show off the outfits he put together. He'd clap and beg for another twirl, pulling out his camera and snapping pictures of the two he loved most. He'd go through the photos with tears in his eyes, zooming in and showing you his favorite ones.
He loved to go on dates to flaunt the outfits, driving you to the park and picking the perfect spot; under a tree with branches that drooped, providing the perfect amount of protection from the sun (and he made sure little baby had her sunscreen on). He'd smooth your favorite picnic blanket on the grass and set up the food- he had packed the baby's food and necessities before anything else. He'd take out his camera, adjust the settings, then snap more photos, excited to edit and print them out later. He always kept a photo of you three in his wallet, switching it out for a new one every week.
With every year that went by, you noticed her personality only grew to be more like Wooyoung's. Between the constant babbling and the energetic outbursts, there was never a quiet day at home. Her and Wooyoung could ramble about nothing for hours, not taking a breath once.
She'd even adopted the habit of sloppily kissing your cheek whenever you were near.
Before Wooyoung, you weren't a fan of so much physical touch, but now you can't go a single hour without expecting a kiss on the cheek or forehead from either of your true loves.
a/n: im so sleepy and this is all i could think about. i have so many drafts but my writing is subpar so i leave u with an imagine. might do these more often
#ateez x reader#ateez fanfic#ateez x y/n#wooyoung x reader#wooyoung fluff#wooyoung fanfic#jung wooyoung x reader#wooyoung x y/n#wooyoung x you#ateez imagines#wooyoung imagines#jung wooyoung#redzie02
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Christmas Tree Smut - NSFW
I wrote this because my wife bought me all of the Rocklove jewellery Ambessa and Mel collection as a surprise for finishing my uni assignments and then we put up the Christmas tree. So thank her. :D
Not proof read, some pet names and choking but it’s a short drabble so not much.
Ambessa was tall. You were fully aware of this, it had its multitude of uses and attractions. This, though, you had yet to see this year.
There she stood, bundled in furs with a stern eye, surveying the tree.
“I think it’s fine,” You muttered to her left, tipsy smirk on your face.
“Since when has fine been acceptable, Dear? Do you love it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say love,”
“Then it is wrong,” She marched off down the sea of green, analysing as though picking new recruits.
You had been looking for two hours, and she had bought you five glasses of spiked mulled wine. Still she would not pick one. You just wanted to decorate a tree, have too much stollen and then kiss underneath the mistletoe. Instead, she was striking the fear of God into the farm attendant as she looked for her “Perfect” Tree.
From the uncharacteristically loud yell of joy, you hoped she’d found it. You were determined to love it even if it was half dead, just so you could leave. It was, in all fairness to Ambessa, astounding. Ten foot tall, plush and full, it loomed just as she’d wished.
“Will it fit?”
She looked at you like you were an idiot. Of course. Her castle ceilings were insanely high, that’s why you’d come to this farm in the first place.
The farmhand chopped it down, with constant commentary and criticism from Ambessa until you whacked her with your handbag and growled. Poor boy must have been a teenager, and Ambessa was calling him a spineless fool.
Then, in a flash, the magic happened. She picked it up, as though it wasn’t over three feet taller than her, and began to wander off to the soldiers waiting to transport it. You tensed, blindly handing the boy far too much money for the tree as you trailed behind her glamorous, toned form.
Her eyes sparkled as she placed it down, a wry grin on her face, “Something intriguing darling?”
“Don’t tease,” You sighed, gazing happily at her.
The journey back was simple, your wine addled mind floaty and dozing against her shoulder until she kissed you tenderly to wake you.
Once the great, hulking thing was situated, Ambessa began putting the lights on. You were not allowed on the wooden ladder, as if a glass bauble prone to dropping. That was fine with you, you’d just stare at her arse the whole time.
Finally, blissfully, you could decorate the fucking thing. Boxes and boxes of glass ornaments from your marriage and travels were brought into the room by attendants, a large wooden table used to spread them out as you contemplated how you wished to decorate this year.
Humming carols to yourself, you danced around Ambessa placing baubles and standing back to survey. She was only to place them where you said further up, your tone demanding and clear. It made her smirk, your perfectionism. Each year she grew to love it more.
Swiftly, she hugged you from behind and began to nibble your neck as you placed a pair of robins on a lower branch.
“Y-“ A huff, “You’re distracting me,”
“You’re distracting me, Little one,” She purred, nuzzling against your nape, “So commanding, so artistic, how am I supposed to resist such seduction?”
You melted slightly against her, taking in the warm glow of the lights as you tilted your head, offering more of your neck.
Ambessa left large, sharp marks all down your throat and collarbone, relishing in branding you as she wrapped her arm around you and began to tease your nipple.
Your knees buckled, ripping an amused moan from your lips, “You do this every year, you never let me finish the fucking thing,”
She pinches your nipple through your dress, hard enough it hurts, “But I let you finish don’t I? And isn’t that so kind of me? Aren’t you so thankful?”
“Yes,” You slur slightly, going limp in her hold as she tugs whimpers and sighs from you. This was how she liked it, the tree would be half done and she would fuck your under it’s great branches and then allow you to finish it naked with your legs trembling.
This year it seemed she had grown especially impatient, and started the process only a third of the way through. You were powerless to resist though, namely because you didn’t want to.
She lay you on the floor, fluffy blankets and pillows preemptively placed, as her wicked tongue trailed down your body, hands preoccupied with abusing your tits until your eyes rolled. Once she finally touched your molten core, you were already in the blind throes of pleasure, her name echoing for all to hear. She allowed you your wantonness in these moments, body shaking as your orgasm ripped through you.
The sparkling of the tree made your vision blur, pleasure merging with whimsy as you smiled dumbly up through the branches.
“Pretty girl,” Ambessa groaned against you, “Perfect slut,”
She stripped herself of all clothes, spreading your legs wider as she positioned herself between them, brushing her cunt against yours. Rutting against you, she wiped your mind of anything other than your clits rubbing against each other, tongue hanging out as you spluttered and leaked.
Panting, her eyes hazy, she squeezed your neck lightly as you came, squirting all over yourself at the overstimulation. Her orgasm was loud and shameless, wrecking you on her search for pleasure as she lent down and bit your nipple between her teeth.
“I love Christmas,” You giggled nonsensically, smiling at the mistletoe bauble directly above your head.
“As do I, my darling,” She huffed, curling you both into a blanket as you basked in each other.
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。 ・ : * ˚ : ✧ 。 「 KINKTOBER DAY TWENTY TWO : STIGMATOPHILIA 」 。 ・ : * ˚ : ✧ 。
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「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER 2023/2024 」
「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」
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「 SUMMARY 」 — rhea is mesmerised by your new piercing
「 WARNINGS 」 — smut, 18 +, [ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ], tattoo!artist!rhea, dom!rhea, sub!reader, sadism/masochism nipple/clit piercings, mommy kink, public sex, oral sex, fingering, praise, squirting
「 WORD COUNT 」 — 2.3k
「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x rhea ripley
「 GENRE 」 — smut
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「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @mjfass @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @heartbreakkidsangel @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @janetreader @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @romanreigns-supreme @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @selena-tyler-564 @alyyaanna @nightmare-freakin-viper @nev-danielgarciawife @teenagedramaqueenlisa @them4lice
「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」
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rhea’s eyes marvelled at the design you had procured for her
it was a grand, cyber-sygial inspired piece, a heart at its centre, that would reside underneath your belly button, branching out around the soft flesh of your lower abdomen, across your hips, finally resting at the axis of where your thighs meet your hips
It was an intricate design, filled with sharp symmetrical points
definitely something that was outside of rhea’s traditional style but one that she attempted nonetheless
after all, anything for her favourite client
“and you want this piece where, exactly?”
rhea questioned with a curious quip, a small cock of her eyebrow as she examined the piece further.
you lifted up your shirt, the fabric two sizes too big, bunched up in one hand, while the other pried down your shorts ever the slightest
teasing, just a glimpse of your panties visible to rhea’s gaze and she could not help but wish her hands were in place of yours in that moment
“i was thinking around here”, you pointed out the space where you envisioned the tattoo would be and explained in detail how you wanted it to go
to be fair, your body barely had and blank canvas left at this point
your skin inked with rhea’s work, your arms held the first memories.
it was your first tattoo, a timid soul you were, staring up at her with doe eyes as she marked you with her art permanently
it was a simple design, albeit overdone in rhea’s eyes.
birth flowers of your parents and older brother, done in a fineline style on the inside of your forearm
the design now faded, melded in between various other designs of hers
her favourtite was the piece across your throat, not so because of the design itself, a neo-traditional black and white death moth, but moreson because rhea had to hold your head still between her thighs on the more intricate details
the intimacy of it, the closeness she craved.
she almost wished that you’d crane your head back just the slightest so the tip of your nose would rub against her clit through her jeans
even now thinking back on it her cunt quivered and drooled with excitement.
“i can do that for you”, rhea remarked with a subtle smirk
“go sit while i draw up the stencil for you”
you beamed excitedly and offered a toothy grin in return as you made your way to the back room, a more private area reserved for more intimate piercings and tattoos
rhea made her way to the back room, stencil drawn up in hand.
her eyes rose from her hands to see you lying on your back, expectantly awaiting her arrival,
shorts disregarded, leaving you just in your panties
“all ready for me i see?” rhea teased, a flirtatious undertone in her voice
“always“ you remarked as you mimicked her tone, eyelids heavy with a sultry gaze.
rhea hummed in response, her eyes fluttered down to the black lace, thong that adorned your pristine skin
gods, how rhea just wanted to rip it off with her teeth and devour your heavenly cunt right then and there.
rhea lined up the stencil as she tried to get precisely the right angle before she adhered it to your skin.
“you, know what, you're gonna have to take ’em for me, sweetheart.”
she tried to play it off as casual, but on the inside she was dying to just get a glimpse of your cunt.
her means were not nefarious in truth, she did need you to remove them to place the stencil on.
“forward arent you? at least buy me dinner first”
the playful words leaving your lips as you slide your panties dow your thighs as you threw them to the same spot where your shorts lie.
“spread ‘em for me a bit”, she manouvoured your thighs slightly after sticking the stencil to your stink, to gain better knowledge of how it would look from different angles
she caught a glimpse of a pearlescant bud between your thighs
“what’s this?”, rhea cocked her head in faux suspicion.
she new it was a clit piercing, the metal shimmering against your slick folds
clit still slightly puffy and swollen, the piercing only being applied recently
“cheating on me now? naughty girl”
“surely you don’t mind, damian did it for me last week”
your words only roused dangerous thoughts in rhea’s mind
sure damian was like a brother to her, and the relationship between the two of you was strictly professional
rhea could not help but let the jealousy overcome her over the fact damian has seen your precious cunt
“oh, so you let a man see that pretty cunt but not me?”
rhea’s eyes stalked across your cunt, her tongue parted her lips, licking the bottom one as her mouth watered with arousal
“i’m offended, sweetheart”
she leaned in closer, her hand resting atop your thigh, lightly massaging the supple flesh, she adored how it would fill the gaps between her fingers as she pawed at your skin, so soft so pliant .
“you know i only got eyes for you”
your response was somewhere half between the truth and a joke
rhea has always been someone who caught your attention,
you’ve always been hesitant to explore your desires with woman despite your attraction to them
“i know, pretty thing.”
rhea’s lips ghosted yours
“but i still gotta punish you for letting a man touch you”
her fingers dip lower, tracing around your piercing, clit still sensitive against her touch
your soft whimpers flooded her senses, a wave of adrenaline coursing through her veins as her fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit
“i can fuck you better than a man ever could, you know that, sweetheart?”
you whimpered out a small “yes”in response, already completely enamored with the way she was making you feel
small jolts of pleasure rushed up your thighs with each subtle stroke of her fingertips
“men dont know how to touch please pretty girls like you”
her tongue lopped out past her lips, licking and sucking small shapes into your jawline and neck
“when was the last time a man even made you cum, huh?”
it took you a while to think, her worlds spiralling in your mind.
upon your recollection, you came to notice that not a single one of your male partners ever had the decency of allowing you to orgasm
you’d come close but it would never reach its peak, it would always end with them leaving and you having to finish the job beneath the sheets, fingers buried deep in your cunt and a vibe against your clit
yet with rhea, even with her fingers languidly stroking your aching clit, you’d never felt more pleasure in your life.
“can’t think of any, huh?”
a smirk crossed rhea’s lips as she gazed upon your bewildered expression, a cocky chuckle leaving her throat
“don’t worry, pretty girl. i’ll make it happen”
her lips attacked yours in a flurry of feverish kisses. A mixture of lips, teeth and tongue colliding together in heated passion
her fingers dipped between your folds, gatherling your slick on the pads of her index and middle fingers, feeling you out to see just how deep you could take her.
“so wet for me”
her words buzzed against your lips, an ecstatic moan ripping through your throat as she inched her fingers deeper inside you
your gummy walls clenching around her inked digits, squeezing and pulling her in, welcoming the force that she brought along with it.
“shh not so loud” she scolded, biting your bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough fo you to heed her warning.
her free hand fell to your breast, palming the mounds of fat and flesh in between her slender fingers, feeling the swell of your nipples graze against the fabric,
“take this off” she groaned, the hand once on your breasts not tugging up your shirt.
her wording more or less a reminder to herself than direct intrusion.
your breasts not exposed, the swell them freely bouncing against the force of her fingers, shee leered down at them, her gaze predatory as she examined the small bars that pierced both your nipples
“these have healed nicely havent they?”
she licked a stripe against your nipple, her tongue twirling around the pebbled bud, a deep moan reverberated through her throat
leaving your skin, bursting and bubbling with arousal
“mhm…”
the sound left your lips in a mere hum of response, barely able to open your eyes to gaze upon her as she worked you over
her fingernails, coffin in their shape, painted black with an iridescent shimmer each time the studio lights would reflect at certain angles
the sight itself vampiric in nature, her especially, hovering over you like a succubus ready to claim what is hers
her fingers tugged and toyed with the bar, twisting it.
the sensation riveting, like volts of pleasure directly to where she touched
and combined with the feeling of the metal, so delicately pierced through the sensitive skin
it was nothing short of extraordinary
“good girl” rhea mused, her words muddled within a mixture of tongue, flesh and lips
sucking and biting your skin
spit dribbling from her lips, across your nipple and down the underside of your breast
all the while her right hand filled and fucked you cunt much like a cock would
not that a cock could ever compare to rhea’s fingers
“gonna give mommy a taste hmm?”
her words like honey, so sickly sweet on the tip of your tongue
you nodded, bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth a desperate and futile attempt to stifle your moans
you felt empty within seconds, your void now free of her fingers
staring up at her through half-lidded eyes, already so worn and fucked out despite the silent denial of your orgasm
her fingers made contact with her lips, grool and spit dripped from them, her tongue working around the digits just how she did your nipple mere moments ago
parting them with her tongue, licking slowly upwards, until her fingers were clean, only how you wished she’d taste your cunt
your taste lingered in her tongue, a mixture of tangy and sweet. perfection.
you could not help but admire how she towered over you, so dominant despite doing nothing of that nature in the mere seconds between actions
she kneeled before you, palms smoothing across your inner thighs, the tip of her nose grazing against your clit
she smiled into you, her breath fanning against your cunt
your thighs shook with wondrous tremors at the feeling
your back arching slightly, a small whimper catching in your throat
“easy pretty thing. relax for me”
she kissed your inner thighs letting her tongue lay flat against your cunt
allowing your taste to mingle with her tastebuds
“fuck..mmm” your thighs almost instinctively clenched around her head as her tongue danced around your clit
your skin heated, burning like furry embers as a blush crept upon your cheeks
almost embarrassed to look her in the eye as you let her tongue explore every crevice of your sweet void
she smirked against your folds
hands placed on your inner thighs, pushing them down to reveal her gaze to you once more
“dont get shy on me now, sweetheart”
she littered kisses against your clit, tongue swirling around the piercing
“wanna see you fall apart, cum all over my tongue…”
she dove into you, biting, licking, sucking, kissing any part of your juicy pussy her mouth made contact with
your taste euphoric on her tongue, ascending her beyond this mortal realm
“wanna see how good i make you feel…”
your hand weaved into the died tendrils of your hair, the black, choppy strands being tugged and pulls by the roots as she continued to consume your sweetness
“oh fuck…that’s it sweetheart, pull it harder, mommy likes that”
the sound of slick and spit accompanied her ravenous words, each syllable, each breath drawing your orgasm closer and closer
“m-mommy” you whimpered, the honorific so foreign on your tongue is almost sounded like a question
she only responded with a simple hum, far too preoccupied for ilde small talk.
your taste was too sweet to ignore
her lipstick smeared, streaks of burgundy stained your under thighs, skin to blood as it the pigment mixed with your slick
not that you minded
“gonna cum? hmm?” her voice like liquid velvet, lowered an october to display her dominance
“i can feel how close you are..mmm…you’re clenching around my tongue baby.”
you gave a meek nod, tightening your grip on her scalp
your breath shudder, release nearing, a moan ripped through your throat, so load that you immediately had to clasp a hand one your mouth
forgetting momentarily that you were still in her place of work
a sight that made rhea chuckle.
“god you taste so fucking good”
she kissed around your folds before returning to your clit
“want be to put my fingers back in, sweetheart? make you feel nice and full again while you cum? you’d like that hmm?”
“mhm…please” your chiseled out through a broken moan, feeling two of her finger slip past your folds, pumping into your at a ravenous pace
“oh fuck mmm…mommy that feels so good-“
her fingers curled up into you, tracing imaginary shapes into your cunt.
“c’mon baby, cum for me.”
she could feel your walls tighten around her
sweetness gushing around her fingers, clit sparking against your tongue, the piercing only heightened the sensation
“that’s it baby, taste so fucking sweet for me”
she pried her self away, allowing your a moment of respite as she gingerly stroked your thighs
“my pretty girl, you made such a mess”
she placed a kiss to you cunt, once which made you involuntarily shudder
“how’s about we get you clean up and finish that tattoo of yours huh?”
。 ・ : * ˚ : ✧ 。 。 ・ : * ˚ : ✧ 。 。 ・ : * ˚ : ✧ 。 。 ・ : * ˚ : ✧ 。 。 ・ : * ˚ : ✧ 。
#{ my fics : 🤍 }#rhea ripley#rhea ripley x reader#kinktober#kinktober 2024#wrestling imagine#wrestling smut#wwe#wwe imagines#wwe imagine#wwe smut#wwe fics
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