#how can i learn portrait painting

[draw-you-coward]

screenshot study! from the movie the sea beast which has SUCH pretty shots :)

this was very useful! i learned that something like this is way over my head rn 😅 it's the first time ive ever done a painted figure study and i can see why people struggle with them! it's a HUGE leap from shading in spheres or eggs. but now that i've seen how i struggle i can start to tackle it! huge difference from before where i was just feeling lost and didn't know how to proceed :)

edit: her dress is apparently fucking YELLOW!! i told you. i warned you about yellow

[juehs34]

I just think his little walrus mustache is neat :3

[jackgoodfellow]

[WIP]

I need to make a Facebook post soon to update my friends and family on where I'm at in terms of my general wellbeing. I have been very isolated, and while I am getting better, I at least want my friends to know that I have ghosted them due to severe illness rather than a lack of love.

For motivation, I told myself i could make some art to go with it, but uhhh... I think maybe it is too scary for Facebook? 😅 But then again, it is both eye-catching and accurate, even if it doesn't incorporate the kind of righteous rage and feral joy I sometimes find in survival. But that's an art project for another day.

This was basically DIY art therapy. Maybe someday I'll post all the paintings I made when I was in art therapy in IOP! I have tried a lot of different therapies, and art therapy is in my top 3 "therapies that actually work on me." I hope those paintings haven't warped too much in storage...

[maroonless]

spiderman? no not that one

[tobiasdrake]

I really do love how much you can tell about Doomguy just from looking around his room.

Like. Yeah, all the stuff you expect to see is there.

He's got his big ol' gun rack.

What appears to be a rock he uses as a punching bag.

Whetstone for sharpening his knives. All the Real Manly Violence Man stuff you'd think would be there.

But also a pair of nunchaku. Doomguy has never used nunchaku in any of his games. Those are just there because apparently he's the kind of dork who likes to play around with nunchaku and pretend he's doing kung fu.

Also a jump rope. Gotta keep his cardio up for all that running and jumping he has to do.

He reads Guns & Bullets magazine, but he also reads Science Monthly. Which makes sense that he'd be a bit of a techie since....

...he seems to have made his new Praetor Suit by disassembling the old one and rebuilding it to be higher-quality. You can see from the guts of the suit that it's powered armor, and he just... knows how to work that.

He's mad. Not stupid.

He also reads cooking magazines, of course. His only friend is Doom J.A.R.V.I.S.; He's gotta be self-sufficient. Though how he got those pizzas delivered is certainly beyond me.

And, of course, he has a collection of regular books that he likes to read as well. Though his taste in literature reveals a certain trend.

Also, he reads comics.

So many comics.

So, so many comics that he's left discarded comics lying around on his munitions cases. This man is a nerd.

And if you doubt his nerd cred, remember that he even keeps collectible toy displays. Doomguy is explicitly the kind of person who will go out of his way in a firefight with the forces of Hell itself to go snatch up a new toy for his collection.

He even has collectible toy figures hanging out on his computer desk. He put a little hard hat on one of them.

On the other side of his desk, he's got some leftover pizza from the inexplicable delivery service, plus takoyaki flavor chips and some candy. It seems Doomguy is a fruity candy kind of guy, not a chocolate guy. Man after my own heart.

Oh, you know he has shredded every single surface of the Fortress of Doom at some point. How do you think he learned to react so quickly in combat?

That is, of course....

When he's not ROCKING OUT with one of his three separate guitars. I bet the middle one's his favorite. It has a place of honor under the giant demon skull.

Some people might say that a record player and casette tapes are old-fashioned but cut him some slack; He's a Gen X-er.

Of course, there's one thing that any walk through Doomguy's room reveals more than anything else. The one thing that matters more than the world to him. The thing that drives him in his every waking moment.

He loved his bunny rabbit. My favorite thing about the portrait - Well, my favorite thing about it is that it's a piece of fanart that got officially canonized, but aside from that - is that he's wearing his Praetor Suit in it.

That's not something he brought from home. He commissioned an artist to paint that after becoming a Night Sentinel. He still loves his poor, late bunny rabbit.

And he keeps her close to him when he's home.

[amalasdraws]

https://www.tumblr.com/bigmammallama5/732632789726478336?source=share do you have any tips on how to detect ai and deepfakes?

Good question and I'm gonna be honest, it's not always easy and it will only get harder and harder. I'm just an artist who has spent their personal time to dive into this topic and study images. I'm still learning and there is a lot I don't know. But let me show what I know. This will be long, but I will make a summary at the end! So far, even with ai having become better and better there are still almost always some things wrong with an image, and they all have a very specific look to them. So let me try to show you some and point out some of them.

As we all know, a biggest struggle ai had were hands. And even though here and there we still see messed up hands, I say "had", because the hands is actual a good example on how ai is improving and will only get better. Still, looking at pictures that show more hands is always worth it, because somewhere in the back there will be most likely at least one messed up hand.

Another issue a lot of ai still has is hair though!

It's very obvious still in many ai "drawings" and in those otherwise well rendered portraits. Hair starts to blend with the ears a lot, or with the clothes.

There is also often this very odd look between something too sharp and way too blurry

There is often a very specific texture to the hair. I actually do not know the artistic or specific name for it. I can only describe it as this weird sharp feeling that makes it look oddly pixely, and then you have areas where it's very blurry. And the kind of loops and almost flame like looking hair we see in the last pic out of the three here is also something very common with ai.

As an artist I know we make mistakes too! The way I draw hair is flawed too! But it's not only that it's flawed here, but it's following always the same pattern and falls into the same issues over and over again, no matter who is "creating" the image. Those flame like loops are a common one, next to the odd blends and weird sharp and blurry textures.

But ai is getting better, and we not only have "art" and something that tries to be a drawing/painting, but photos too.

A lot of those "photos" have a very specific texture and look to them! Again, it's not always the mistakes, but the very specific optic too. A lot of the images are oddly smooth, too rendered, with always blurry backgrounds. And when you look closer at the background you will see the mistakes! The crowd behind Jesus is a hot mess once you look closer. Bob Marley's hair has the same issue than I described before. Lincoln is surrounded by people with messed up hands and don't even get me started on the faces behind Caesar.

So a lot of ai images look alright on a first and quick glance, but as more time you spend with them, as more mistakes you will notice. The wehre is Waldo of ai horror.

And those "photos" shared here are still very obvious. Not just the mistakes and messed up details but the very specific aesthetic too.

Those images get better and better and as less details you have, as less mistakes you have!

With photos like this it becomes harder and harder. There are not many details and no hands. Not many mistakes can be made. Also the very obvious plastic looking smoothness isn't so much here anymore. It kinda still is...but differently. And always the blurry background!! Sometimes the hair is still a giveaway. Collars and clothe straps are also often still a giveaway upon close look. As is jewelry. Earrings will be different and necklaces often don't go all the way around, just end, or blend with the hair or clothes.

Often details on jewelry is also blurry and not shown properly. This is a trick with many details. With jewelry, batches, hair, ears, text. So it's often blurred out and not shown properly because ai doesn't know what to really show here.

It's often really just the small details and when we scroll down quickly we will miss them. Like the wedding ring on the middle finger, the pens on top of a closed pocket, the batches that are always blurry, messed up faces that blend with a blurry background.

And sometimes it's so subtle that I could only really tell that right is the ai image in comparison to the real photo on the left. The real photo shows hands clearly and even when things are blurred out it doesn't feel that it's done to hide things. The ai image on the right hides the hands. There is also a very dead look in the eyes :D

And here I could only tell because the text in the back doesn't make sense. Even blurred out we should be able to make out something here

And after seeing a lot of ai images I recognize the kind of blurred out bg in combination with a very smooth and well rendered foreground/characters.

And here the only giveaway is a closer look at the backgrounds as well

To summarize it:

Ai and fake news rely on a fast living world. We are being bombarded with tons of information and messages daily and we scroll past quickly. But the best tool, for now, in detecting ai is taking our time! Those images get better and better but so far there are still always some things off!! Especially in the background!

Hair. Often weirdly smoothed out and oddly sharp at the same time

Hair often blends with the ears or the clothes

Details are blurred out.

Jewelry doesn't match (example earrings). Details on metal often blurred out and never shown. Necklaces blend with hair or the clothes, and don't go around the neck.

Background is always blurred out.

In this blurred mess there are often hidden very messed up faces and/or hands.

A very specific smooth and yet too sharp/too rendered aesthetic combines with an always blurry bg.

Text, especialyl in the background, is not legible and doesn't make sense.

Backgrounds are often (so far) the dead giveaway. Somewhere in the back things become muddled and messed up. This shows also very well in ai decor/architecture. There will be odd lines that don't align or align too well. Curtain poles that end in the furniture, a plant that is behind a lamp suddenly having leaves in front of the lamp. As longer you look as more you will notice.

Conclusion:

Take your time with images! Sit with them! Especially when it's framed as important and political news. Is it ai and propaganda, or did it really happen? Don't fall for the quick buzz and outrage! Some things are obvious right away but with others you have to take your time. And it's time you have! If you are still unsure if a pic is real or not, do some research on top. Image reverse search. Can you find it anywhere else? Are other news outlets sharing it? Does the image/message make sense? For example there is now a deepfake of Bella Hadid voicing support for Israel. Ask yourself, does this make sense? If it feels out of line compared to previous behavior, do some research! Media literacy is not just as being able to recognize a fake or real right away, but being able to do research. To question things! Don't just take every post online for face value. Even when shared by a mutual you trust. They might have been tricked!

There are so many information online and it's great to have access to so information, but it's also difficult to wade through all of it. Media and truth are a weapon and it's being twisted and bend used to manipulate. Always has! But ai and so many people being able to post and share things, it becomes bigger and bigger and more dangerous. So don't just take everything that is handed to you and share it further no questions asked. Media literacy and being able to think for ourselves and do the research is important!! And as research becomes harder and harder, as sources are being messed up with ai and other fake news, it's even more important to sit with the images and study them. See the flaws, the mistakes. Compare it to other news and images.

This got long, and I started to ramble at the end. Sorry But I hope this helped

[perlelune]

NDA | Coriolanus Snow

When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, you’re beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.

Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the woman’s quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words she’s scrawling that way, but they are indiscernible…just like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

“So what do you think sets you apart  from the other applicants?”

You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed you’d be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snows’ estate. It didn’t hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.

This isn’t your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?

Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertes’ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.

Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of university’s age, you couldn’t afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.

So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your mother’s closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.

It’s a long shot, of course. You’re not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. You’re also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.

Fiddling with your hands, you meet the woman’s impassive stare head-on.

“What sets me apart?” You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.

But what would be the point of pretending to be someone you’re not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.

“Nothing,” you say. “But I’m a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.” Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, “...But I’ll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.” You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. “I can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, and…” You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, “I have a little brother who’s a few years older than Martius, and I’m really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.”

An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.

Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The woman’s attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.

You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. It’s obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snow’s mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isn’t an inch of the house that doesn’t scream excessive, unattainable wealth.

You take your time soaking it in. Chances are you’ll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.

Distracted, you don’t notice the person in front of you before it’s too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body. 

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.

As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.

“P-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,” you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.

As if you didn’t make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you. 

 Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.

The flickering TV screen you own at home doesn’t do him justice.

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not made of sugar,” he jests.

“No…you’re not, your highness…majesty...I mean sir.”

Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

“I am, sir.” You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasn’t impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.

You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried you’ll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, you’re barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, you’ve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.

You don’t even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow. 

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.

Without much thought, you confess, “I just don’t think I did very well with my interview.”

As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

“God, I’m so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if you’re not an extremely busy man, sir.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.” Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, “You may have left a stronger impression than you think.”

He nudges the pocket square between your hands. It’s still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snow’s initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.

“Here. Keep it. Though I’d much prefer it if you didn’t cry.” He pauses, studying you. “Girls as lovely as you never should.”

His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, you’re too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing you’re now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. He’s gone. You look ahead. He’s already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his. 

Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares. 

As the outside gates come into sight, you can’t suppress an elated smile. It’s not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it. 

When you return home, your brother’s already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You can’t help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one that’d have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodents’ paws resonates from the ceiling.

Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.

Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of what’s left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.

“How was the Academy today?” you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isn’t much left. You’ll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.

“My teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,” your brother announces.

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

“Oh, that sounds hard. I’m proud of you.” It doesn’t exactly surprise you. Laertes’ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.

It’s why it’s crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldn’t be wasted.

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you can’t help teasing him a bit. It’s your duty as a big sister after all.

“Don’t downplay it. My little brother’s a genius.”

He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes. 

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

“I’ll make you something,” you say, smiling at your brother.

His brows knit. “Make something for yourself first.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldn’t notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But he’s growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You won’t allow it.

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

“No. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.”

Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.

You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals. 

Once the stew’s ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brother’s and praying he will not notice.

You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“No books at the dining table,” you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.

He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. You’re delighted to hear he’s making a lot of friends and he’s at the top of his class for most science subjects. He’s struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.

“I interviewed for a new job today,” you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it pays really well so I’m hopeful.”

The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You don’t have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

“That’s great. It’d be good if you didn’t have to work as much.”

Your smile falters. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

“Okay.”

His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brother’s twelve now, and that’s old enough to sense when things are wrong.

He rises from his seat. You frown as you note there’s still food left in his bowl.

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.

“Happy now?” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room. 

Your voice rises.

“Don’t stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.”

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every ‘I love you’. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.

The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It’s been a hectic afternoon. There’s a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiress’ birthday due tomorrow. So you’ve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.

You know it won’t take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.

To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips. 

“I’m sorry I don’t want to complain, but…this doesn’t match the hours I put in.”

The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.

“I’m sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.”

Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.

“If it’s a problem, we can find someone else-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, blinking in panic. “Please, I need this job.”

He acquiesces and you’re forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste. 

Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps you’ll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you can’t see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know you’ll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?

You suppose you’ll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.

These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox. 

Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and there’s a wax seal with the Capitol’s symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.

You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up. 

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again. 

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips. 

You read it many more times to make sure your eyes aren’t just conjuring wild fantasies. 

After a while, you realize they aren’t. It’s true. 

Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly. 

You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling. 

Somehow…you’ve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job. 

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. It’s one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasn’t moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray it’s enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snows’ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.

Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driver’s seat.

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

You turn, your eyes widening. It’s the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.

“You don’t need to pay him,” she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. “He’s your assigned driver. He’ll pick you up each day and take you back home.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand. “Nice to meet you…again.”

She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.

“I’m Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. I’ll show you around the estate. Then you’ll meet the young Master.”

She gives you a tour of the mansion. You’re even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Lady’s apartments and she must have rest and quiet.

She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.

“That’s him? He’s so cute,” you whisper. Even the stern woman’s expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval. 

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

He lifts his head and beams at you. You’re immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that. 

You turn to Pandora.

“Is his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.”

Her face pinches. “Mistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. “Is this…Is this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?”

Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.

“You are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Livia’s health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?”

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

“This reminds me. You have to sign this,” she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement’ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a contract, one signed by every one of the President’s employees.”

“I don’t understand most of what’s written here…”

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

“I’ll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?”

You swallow thickly. It doesn’t sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isn’t it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, you’d assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snows’ estate. You’d laugh if her death stare weren’t so disquieting.

You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wife’s privacy. While you don’t know the specifics of the first lady’s condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.

She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire. 

But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.

The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.

You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.

“I’ve…never signed a contract like that before starting a job.”

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, you’ve never worked for President Snow.”

As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. You’re hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And it’s exactly what you’d be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. It’s more money than you’ve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isn’t an issue anymore. Neither is food.

Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you don’t need. Overwhelmed by President Snow’s generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you don’t have the heart to return everything when you see your brother’s happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.

You’ve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. You’re not a seamstress but you’ve always done your best. But you know your best doesn’t compare to the access and privilege those kids have.

Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you don’t recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.

It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other. 

“Lily doesn’t like James anymore,” he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features. 

“And why is that?”

“I think she’s angry that he steals her food.”

You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, he’ll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words you’ve never heard a four year old use.

But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isn’t with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.

Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading. 

“You’re leaving again?”

You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasn’t so clingy before but with your bond growing, he’s been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day. 

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

“I told you before, Martius. I have a brother. He’ll miss me if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didn’t want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetie.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.” His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that you’ll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face. 

You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. He’s just a child. In the absence of his mother, he’s bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that you’re taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isn’t there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.

As time wears on, you’re dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she can’t even see him for a mere few minutes? You’re itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling  screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. You’re clocking out. Whatever’s going on in the house isn’t any of your business at this hour.

But what if someone needs help? What if it’s something bad? You’d feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it. 

Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.

Your eyes bulge. It’s an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.

Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of what’s behind it. 

The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze. 

President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girl’s essence, disappearing into the girl’s spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the president’s harsh, pointed thrust.

Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the other’s on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before. 

The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the president’s mouth. In that moment, he’s not the poised gentleman you’re used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.

A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snow’s head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You don’t glance back, your steps hasty and panicked. 

Pandora was right. It’s best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.

You can only hope he didn’t recognize you through the tiny crack in the door. 

Though you’re shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, you’ve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs.  The positions have likely been filled. You can’t exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back. 

No. So you convince yourself that it’s alright. You have a good thing going anyway. You’re making more than you hoped. The child is happy. You’re happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.

…If you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind. 

You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.

But it isn’t so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain. 

You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps it’s why she’s hiding away. The weight of her husband’s indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think he’d do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.

You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Pandora was in the nursery. 

“Yes?”

“The president wants to see you in his office.”

Dread wrenches your gut. It’s exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.

“Really, why?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming it’s to congratulate you.”

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. “Well, you’ve done much better than we thought,” she begrudgingly admits. “The young master smiles all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.”

A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a small price to pay for his happiness.”

Your smile vanishes as she adds, “Now let me escort you to the president’s office. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the president’s office, your stomach’s in knots. You keep wondering if it’s the day you’ll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldn’t have peeked. 

You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. He’s sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.

A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately. 

His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

“Hm, yes,” you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. “It’s pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.”

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

You bashfully dip your head. “He’s very easy to like. He’s such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.”

He hums in thought. “I can’t take much credit for that. I’ve tried my best to carve out time for Martius…but work’s kept me busy. As for Livia...” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well she isn’t quite herself these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.

“Hm, it’s strange,” he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

“A girl like you.” His lips drag upward. “Sweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldn’t you be married already?”

Your lips part in astonishment. This isn’t the line of questioning you expected. “I-I’m not.”

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

“You must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? It’s hard to believe since you’re so lovely, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. “I mean, a husband would have made your life easier than it’s been thus far, wouldn’t he, dove?”

A long exhale flows from your lips. “I’ve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.” The memory draws a small smile from you. “He proposed. I’m sure he’d make a great husband, but…”

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

“I know it’s probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.”

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud. 

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. It’s sweet that you still believe in love.” He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. “I used to believe in it too. I used to think, ‘Who needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?’”

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement. 

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours. 

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown. 

“But aren’t you and the first lady in love?”

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

“God, you’re sweet.” His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. “It’s like none of the world’s ugliness has gotten to you yet.” He reveals matter-of-factly, “My wife and I hate each other.” His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. “Always did. It’s best that way, more…efficient. Of course, there was a time, when we had…passion.” He licks his lips, something you can’t pinpoint flickering in his gaze. “But not anymore. She’s far too gone for that.”

He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you. 

“Which is why I must…satiate my needs wherever I can,” he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. “Do you understand my meaning, dove?”

“I…yes.”

Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways. 

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

“Do you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, it’s hard to tell.” His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. “Men have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “You saw everything that day, didn’t you?” Your heart stops.

Flames lick your face as you bow your head. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

“Since my wife fell sick, I’ve been very lonely. And sometimes…” He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. “I need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.”

President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.

“Sir…” you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.

He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.

The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. You’re getting embarrassingly wet with President Snow’s attention.

“I just want a little taste,” he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. “Just one time and it’ll never happen again,” he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.

Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But he’s stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. It’s soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.

Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds. 

Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. You’ve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…” 

“But you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.

Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.

You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.

Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves. 

“P-President…” 

He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest. 

When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.

There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt. 

He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.

When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so you’re forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. “The way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyes…it made me rock-hard.” He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.

Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.

“You should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you…” His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snow’s throat as your cunt flutters around him.

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesn’t happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.

Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.

Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.

More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and you’ve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.

As you’ve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snow’s insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.

You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.

But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.

You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish he’d stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.

Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. It’s during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. You’ve tried to run away from him but it’s all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.

Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, you’re on the cusp of asking him what’s wrong…but your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

“Martius. Come here, my love,” says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.

Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The president’s wife.

You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.

“I’m your mom, sweetie. Don’t you remember me?”

The little boy’s fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.

“You’re not my mom.”

A stricken look twists Livia’s features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you can’t imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martius’ back and try to nudge him forward.

“Martius. It’s the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,” you urge softly.

He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.

You’re stunned. Has it truly been that long?

“Martius-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.

“You! This is all your fault,” she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, “You’re his new whore, aren’t you?” Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. “First you take my husband, now my son.”

Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his mother’s frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.

“First Lady, I never meant-”

Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

“Livia, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for you to sleep and take your medicine.”

The familiar sound of Coriolanus’ voice causes your eyes to snap open. 

You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. It’s a painful spectacle. 

“No, don’t touch me!” Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. “You’re killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!”

The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.

Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Livia’s neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

The first lady’s flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you don’t move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs. 

“Are you alright, dove?” He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. “I’ll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.” He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? “It won’t even scar. I promise.”

You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didn’t even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.

“Dada,” Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.

Coriolanus’ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.

“My sweet boy. That was very scary, wasn’t it?” he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. “Don’t worry, son. The scary lady won’t bother you anymore in a few months.”

A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wife’s door.

The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.

“This is for the president,” you announce.

She unleashes a deep exhale. “You should reconsider, sleep on it.”

You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldn’t be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.

All of it feels wrong. 

And most of all, you don’t want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.

You respected him; you admired him. Now you can’t be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.”

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It’s really not that simple. The president has developed…a fondness for you.”

You bristle. “I have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.”

“You won’t like what comes next, trust me.” Her gaze narrows. “No one leaves the president.”

Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandora’s voice echoes down the hallways.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snow’s house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.

How it all went to hell so quickly. You’re still reeling from it. You’ve no idea what you’ll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snows’ estate ever again.

The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passenger’s seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

But before he can respond, the car door opens and you’re yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.

You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.

Peacekeepers.

Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. There’s no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitol’s fist and carry the President’s will. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.

They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. You’ve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.

“You disappoint me, dove.” He lets out a weary sigh. “After everything I’ve done for you…you try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

You twine your hands, sputtering, “I-I’m not the right person for this job, sir.”

He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.

“Oh but you’re perfect. My son loves you. You’re sweet, dutiful and most importantly…” He smirks. “You are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.”

The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Instead of, let’s say…end up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.” Your heart sinks to your feet. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it? So cruel…” he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.

“No, please,” you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brother’s all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him. 

Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.

“It’s all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, I’ll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat again…” A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. “I really don’t know what I might do.”

Chills dance over your spine.

“I promise to never do it again,” you blurt out.

He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. It’s identical to the one he used the first time.

But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before you…even more so.

“Good girl,” he lauds while swiping away your tears. 

He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.

“Now, I’ve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?”

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[tac-the-unseen]

Could you write slashers with a s/o who’s an artist? You can do with all/any you want but I would specifically like maybe the Sinclairs, Billy Lenz, Brahms and maybe Pinhead?

Slashers x Artist Reader + Pinhead

Micheal Myers:

•Pretends not to care, but he's an artist at heart

•If you sculpt or blind things he will insist on watching you over your shoulders

•Will steal supplies for you whether you ask or not

•if you Draw or paint, it's going on the fridge or wall

•He truly admires your work

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Billy and Stu really just lets you do your thing

•Stu suggest glitter no matter the work or meaning

•Billy Suggests You make a lot of gore pieces

•Both of them will go the extra mile to kill models for you, so you have a subject

•Both Jokingly propose to model nude for you

Thomas Hewitt:

•Loves it when you proudly show him your art

•if you draw/paint on paper, He'll build custom frames So he can hang it up

•If you paint on a canvas, He'll make you canvases so you can make more art

•If you sculpt/Make pottery He'll make a display case for your work

•He's very proudly flaunts it to the family

Bubba Sawyer:

•Shows you his Bone art

•Wants to make art with you

•No matter what you do, He wants to join

•Will be as happy as can be if you make crafts with him or use his supply of bones in your art

Bo Sinclair:

•His Brain immediately connects you to Vincent

•He subconsciously starts treating you like his brother, no matter your relationship with him

•When he goes to other town he grabs you and his brother some supplies

•kinda just plops you down with Vincent and expects you to to get along, especially if you sculpt

•That's about as nice as he can get

Vincent Sinclair:

•He's excited to have somebody who understands

•Will silently sit next to you well both of you work on your craft

•Feels oddly comforting to him

•His family has always been connected by art, even though they're not great people. So having you make art with him solidifies your position as family to him

•shows you his technique with wax working, and wants to teach you how to sculpt with wax

Lester Sinclair:

•pt. 3 of familial bond

•because he didn't receive much attention as a kid, He desperately tried to be an artist to gain favor of his mother

•It didn't click with him the way it clicked with Vincent so he was shoved aside for “real artists”

•If you sit down and make art with him, he will cry

•constantly seeking your validation and praise

•holds your art very dear

Billy Lenz:

•Yet another creature looking over your shoulder

•He's fascinated by your ability to create

•You have hands And he has hands, yet your creations are always different than his

•He's a little jealous

•demands you teach him how to be better

•If you already don't know he'll show you how to crochet in return

Brahms Heelshire:

•In All his time locked away He has had plenty to make art

•He focus on the more classical sides of painting and traditional drawing

•He makes stunning portraits, So if you have a different art style it confuses him

•He's lived his life very sheltered so at first he might not even consider it art

•He later learns how much time and care you put into these works and starts to appreciate your dedication

•He also steals some of them to put up in his room

Hannibal Lecter:

•Very excited

•Starts showing off his own private art collection

•Takes it upon himself to teach you “proper technique”

•Gives you random history lessons on your choice of art form

•buys you very expensive supplies

Will Graham:

•Okay dude

•Doesn’t really care

•Just happy that you're happy

•Secretly admires your work when you are away

•Always make sure your work is safe and undamaged

The Lost Boys:

•Marko is immediately grinning ear to ear

•David pretends not to care

•Dwayne silently watches you

•Paul is all up in your personal space while you work

•No matter what you make or how proud of it you are, It's going in the horde pile with all their other treasures

•Paul and Marko asking you to draw them all the time

•If you do it's being hung up on the wall

Pinhead:

•Another artist in his own way

•He prefers body modification and rigging as his art form

•Will creepy watch you work from a distance

•He’ll give you polite criticism from time to time

•Seeing you so focused and dedicated makes him think of all the other past artists he's met

•Decides fairly quickly that you are his favorite

Thanks for reading <3

[dekariosclan]

Gale and Tav’s wedding HCs

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Gale Dekarios cries at his wedding.

The moment he sees Tav—either waiting for him at the altar, or walking towards him as he waits, depending on how they wish to do the ceremony—his eyes fill up, and his lip starts quivering, because he realizes it’s actually happening. He can’t help but get emotional when he feels that overwhelming sense of relief and joy.

He might pull himself together for proclaiming his vows, but when Tav begins their vows and Gale hears how much they love him, it makes him realize yet again how he never received that level of affection and love from anyone, and how thankful he is that Tav found him, and how he still can’t believe that someone so wonderful is actually his and—*tears rolling down his face*

Tara (who is a combo of Best Man/Tressym of Honor/Ring Bearer) is constantly loudly whispering “Mister Dekarios, your eyes are wet again! Please pull yourself together! Chin up!”

If Tav enjoys dancing, Gale ‘mine-was-a-popular-hand-at-the-Blackstaff-ball’ Dekarios would be delighted to oblige.

If Tav would like to dance but never learned how, Gale would happily teach them before their wedding OR just straight up enchant them to be able to dance perfectly the day of. Perks of marrying a wizard etc.

If Tav is too shy and/or would not like to dance, no matter. Instead of a ‘first dance’, they will have a ‘first song’ in which Gale will serenade them later that night, as they lay together in their marriage bed. Softly singing into their ear, pausing every so often to press his lips to their neck, shoulders, chest… (spoiler: he does not make it through the entire song without….interruption.)

The song would have to meet with Gale’s exacting standards and perfectly represent his love, which means: NO reference to gender, be 10000% about loyalty and devotion, and mention/declare love AT LEAST TWENTY-FIVE TIMES.

….allow me to present Gale’s Wedding Song.

If Tav is an illithid, Gale WILL insist on serenading them in front of the gathered guests. Just to reinforce how much he loves his mindflayer spouse, in case anyone had doubts.

Gale and Tav will of course get their wedding portrait painted, and Tara will be happy to offer instruction on Gale to the painter: “Don’t paint his tears in! Make him as stoic as you can! And don’t paint that THING on his chin, either, if you please.”

After the ceremony, Gale will not let go of his new spouse’s hand unless he absolutely has to. The moment Tav’s hand is free again, it will be recaptured and their fingers interlaced with his once more.

Gale will give Tav ample forehead kisses, cheek kisses, and kisses on the back of their hand throughout the evening, but if Tav tries to pull him into a full kiss he’ll break it the moment he feels them try to deepen it, their tongue starting to tease his lips open...

He’ll press his forehead to theirs and whisper, “My love, do you wish to torment me? Only a few more hours until we can be alone …unless, of course, I decide to dimension door us both away from the festivities…”

Gale’s mother Morena is over the moon for the entire wedding, and just like Gale, her affection is not lessened a bit if Gale’s beloved is an illithid.

If any of the guests dare say anything even slightly derogatory about her new family member, they will be getting a verbal flaying from her the likes of which they will not be recovering from anytime soon.

The cake will be three tiers and decorated/enchanted to look like the night sky (to match their wedding invite, of course), and Gale will make sure there are exactly 1,000 stars as a symbol of their everlasting love. Yes, he will count them all.

If Tav is an illithid, they will have their own tier that has a layer of whipped brain filling included. I don’t make the rules, Gale insisted on this.

And last but not least—the catering will all be handled by fifteen copies of this guy:

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Hello, can we have Blitzø, Husk, Rosie, Sir Pentious and Valentino(separately) as a couple, it seems that he is cheating on him but in the end it turned out that they misunderstood him, how would they react to his mistake with his S/O?

Misunderstanding

Blitzø

Blitzø sat in his van, as he had for the past hour, a scowl across his face.

He'd followed you from the Cafe you always went too, then after seeing you on the phone he followed you all the way to some random ass fucking building.

He watched as you knocked, the door opening to reveal some Imp hunk, and you eagerly greeting the guy before walking in, you wrapping an arm around each other.

He was pissed.

But not just regular pissed.

He was Royally Pissed!

But more than that... he was hurt. Really hurt.

The Imp drove home depressed. Anger. Fury. Sadness and regret all sloshing around in him like too much BeelzaBrew. The Imp analysing your entire relationship.

He thought you had a happy relationship. Sure you fought, but it was never anything serious. And you always had the best Make up sex.

He drove around, with no real aim, his body on auto pilot. Just driving. Mindlessly. Completely unsure what to do.

He'd go home, of course after stopping by a drive through liquor stire, the man stumbling into your shared apartment, the man walking in before freezing.

Your calendar...

Marked on the calender was fucking (ANNIVERSARY). And sure enough, checking his phone, it was today.

Blitzø had a full breakdown, drunkenly crying as he curled up on the couch, the poor Imp crying his eyes out between heavy swigs of alcohol.

About an hour would pass until you got home, suspiciously large package in your arms.

You snuck into the apartment, getting everything set up until you found him curled up on the couch, the man grasping a bottle, with even more scattered about, the man sadly blubbering to himself.

Youd approach him, reaching out. "Babe, are you alright?"

He'd slap your hand away, man jerking up on the couch, the man glaring big sad daggers at you.

"Well, if it isn't the big faaaaat cheater!"

He was clearly drunk off his ass, so the accusation of cheating wasn't as painful as if he were sober.

He'd stumble to his feet, jabbing his finger at you. Or rather, in your general direction.

The Man was drunk off his ass.

"Ooooh yeah. Everybody thinks the Blitzø is some sorta, Uh... dumbass man!" He burped, man snifling. "But iiiiim noo a foul..."

You give him a minute, ignoring his verbal typos, before reaching out again, telling him gently.

"Blitzø. I think you need to sleep off your little drinking session before we talk."

But as soon as you placed a hand on his shoulder, he'd smack it away, and with the most righteous fury you'd ever seen in the man, screamed at you.

"I FUCKING SAW YOU WITH HIM!"

The man stumbling back tears in his eyes. "I saw you with that fucking bastard... I saw... I saw you..."

You stood there for a good minute before sighing, you telling him softly. "Wait here."

Youd walk into the kitchen, flipping the light on to reveal the humble spread you'd put out. And grabbing the 'package' carried it over to him.

The large 'package' was covered by a cloth, you placing it down before him, telling him simply.

"Open it."

Blitzø stared at you before looking down at the package, the man glaring daggers at you before reaching out and snatching the cloth off of it.

It revealed a magnificent portrait of Blitzø, the Imp riding a Hell-Stallion.

Blitzø's eyes bulged, the man staring dead at it for a solid minute, the man not even noticing himself dropping the bottle.

Youd set down, pulling him into the seat besides you, you taking his hands in yours.

Holding his hands you'd tell him softly. "The man you saw was an art teacher. I've been seeing him to learn how to paint."

You spoke slowly, making sure he heard you.

"I know we don't normally go big on Anniversary gifts, but I wanted to do something special, so I took some lessons so I could paint that for you."

Blitzø took a minute, looking between you and the painting before he burst into tears, the man pressing his face into your chest as he tearfully apologised.

"IIIII'mmm soooo soooorrrryyy!" He sobbed, drunkenly clinging onto you.

"I- I- I- didn't mean to!" He stuttered, blubbering. Youd just hold him close, gently patting his back as he sobbed into your chest.

You just soothed the poor man, hugging him close as he had his drunken meltdown.

He'd quickly cry himself out, soaking your shirt and apologising all the while, you just telling him it was alright, gently patting his back.

Eventually he'd pass out, man out like the dead, you carrying your drunken idiot of a S/O to bed, making sure to be prepared fortyhe inevitable hangover.

And sure enough, the next morning Blitzø endured a awful hangover, though even as he groaned and threw up he was still profusely apologising, the man feeling even worse when he saw the painting and everything you'd set up for him.

Of course, you didn't care, you were just happy the situation was resolved peacefully, you tending to your poor idiot of an S/O. Letting him curl up with you on the couch as he slept off his hangover, making sure he drank plenty of water, hand running down his spiky, bald dome of a head.

Husk

Husk felt miserable.

And the most surprising part about it, was that he was miserable.

Since you'd arrived at the hotel, he'd been in significantly better spirits. But for the past couple weeks you'd been disappearing for long swaths of time, often staying out till later in the evening.

Husk wasn't an idiot.

And while he did try to drown himself in alcohol, knowing fully well he couldn't die of liver failure.

Though he had lowered his drinking significantly since your arrival into his life, the man actually, and it was hard to say but, you'd made him a better man.

But he wasn't a stupid man.

Back when he actually cared about people, he'd been cheated on plenty, though that may have been mostly his fault as he'd always put too much attention on his drink, rather then those people he cared about. Something he had tried to change with you.

But you still found someone better...

He wasn't surprised. The drunk of a tomcat was a poor excuse of a partner.

He'd be slumped over the bar, as usual, drunkenly grumbling to himself, man downing a bottle of what he hoped wasn't paint thinner as he laid there in his drunken brooding.

The man grumbled, rubbing his eyes as tears stung his eyes, the man wondering what was wrong with him.

Why did he always lose everyone he loved?

Youd walk into the Hotel, approaching the man, in relatively good spirits. Seeing him splayed out, drunkenly grumbling to himself, you grew curious.

Walking over, youd pull up a stool, you sitting there for a long minute before you started getting concerned, so you reached out, placing your hand on his.

Husk jerked up, you jumping back in surprise.

Husk stared at you, you asking him simply.

"You alright babe?"

Husk just stared for a long, pregnant moment. Before looking away, the man sighing as he slumped forwards, man wiping his face.

He'd stand there for a fee moments, not looking at you, only for him to ask bluntly.

"What did I do...?"

You stared at him, not sure I'd you'd heard him correctly, so you asked.

"You alright-" though you didn't get to finish as he blurted out.

"What did I do?!" He snapped, man almost in tears. "What did I do? What did I fuck up?!?!"

You stared at him, genuinely unsure of what was happening.

Youd wrap your hand around his, asking him bluntly.

"What are you on about baby? What did you do?"

Hunker diiiiidnt like that response.

The man yanking his hand out of your grasp, whipping away from you, the man wiping his eyes.

"What did I do?!" He snapped. "Why wasn't I good enough for you?!"

At that things slowly started to connect.

"Baby... do you think I'm cheating on you?"

Husk paused, thinking 9ver your tmstatement before turning and staring at you.

"Your... not cheating on me?" He asked, the cat caught of guard.

You, with a gentle smile, shook your head, telling him. "Nooo baby, I'm not. I'd never cheat on you."

Husk stood there for a moment before bringing up your regular absences, the long stretches you'd spend out of the hotel.

To which you'd sigh.

After a moment, taking your seat, you'd tell him that you weren't cheating. You explained that you'd just met an exe from before you'd died. You weren't sleeping with them, but you had been spending time with them.

Not for sex but just... just to remember when you were alive. When life was good and you were in your prime, back on earth.

You apologised for keeping it a secret. It was selfish but it was kind of your escape from the constant shittyness that littered Hell, something to block out the horrors you witnessed on the daily.

You apologised for hiding it. Holding his hand tight as you sincerely apologised for not telling him.

Youd tearfully tell him you loved him, and that you were so sorry for making him think you didn't.

At this point it'd be a completely intoxicated Husker that would comfort you, the man pulling you into a hug. A hug you'd eagerly accept, you tearfully promising to never make him feel like that again.

Pulling him close before you'd share a kiss.

Said kiss would grow rapidly passionate, you eventually ending up behind the bar, you straddling the cat, the two of you pulling off manoeuvres that would make Angel Blush.

And in the end, all worked up and steamy, you'd curl up with each other behind the bar, the Kitty cat holding you close as you drifted off to sleep.

Needless to say it was awkward when Charlie found you both the next morning.

The situation not helped by Angel whining about missing out on the whole thing.

But with your tomcat close by, the both of you sharing a blush as you all pretended what had most definitely happened, did not happen, well, at least you had each other.

Rosie

Rosie wasn't one to beat around the bush.

She'd wait for you at the entrance to your home, the Amazonian sized demoness, sat back in one of her beautiful sitting chairs, the sort you'd find in a Victorian manor, just waiting for you, teacup in hand.

And upon walking into your shared home, shed confront you.

"Well Hello darling, you've been out a while."

She spoke coldly, you immediately knowing you were in the shit.

With a timid smile you'd begin. "Hello dear, your up late!" You spoke, trying to hide your rapidly growing anxiety.

Rosie didn't lighten up, the lady in red telling you bluntly. "You smell like cigarettes." He leaned back, a scowl crossing her face. "And you reek of alcohol."

He'd place her cup down, frowning deeply, black pools glaring at you.

"Where have you been (Y/N)?"

Your face would contort into an awkward smile, you scratching your kneck as you released an awkward laugh.

She didn't laugh.

Instead Asking bluntly.

"Why are you laughing!?" She snapped. "You think this is some kind of joke?!"

"Running around, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, returning at all hours of the night." She snapped before looking away, growling out. "Do I mean so little too you?"

At that you snapped to attention, gawking for a second before blurting.

"You think I'm cheating?!"

You blurted, rushing over to her.

"Baby! Sweetie! Love of my eternally damned afterlife." You reached out, cupping her cheek. "I am not cheating on you."

Rosie staring down at you, asking gently.

"Then what are you doing? Why are you out at night? Why do you reek like cigarettes and alcohol. Why have you been so secretive before disappearing all night?"

At that you sighed, nodding your head.

"Rose, my love, I have a confession." You began, running a thumb over her cheek. "Put simply, I can't drink any more tea."

You sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted.

"What?" Rosie asked, clearly bewildered.

"Rosie my love, I love you. I love our home. And the aesthetic. And all the pottery and plating and all that stuff. But well, I've been going to a sports bar."

Rosie paused, clearly confused.

"Baby, I miss TVs. I miss modern, mass produced comfy couches. I miss the depleted unsustainable economy of a life you probably never saw."

"I miss cheap beer and overly salty peanuts and wings smothered in addictive sauce." You sighed, almost shuddering.

Rosie sat there for a moment, clearly confused before asking bluntly.

"If thats all it is, then why all the secrey darling?"

You gave another awkward smile, scratching your head. "Well, I know you don't like the 'false decadence of a unurned age of self indulgent walfwits', and I don't want you to, I don't know. I didn't want you to feel like I was choosing the cheap, crapy food and drink over you."

You finished solemnly, looking to the floor.

Rosie, seeing this sighed, reaching out before pulling you in close. "I'm sorry for thinking you were cheating darling."

You chuckled, telling her in turn. "And I'm sorry for not telling you darling. I promise, I'll be more honest from now on."

Rosie chuckled, and you leaned in for a kiss.

Before your lips met however, she pressed a finger to your lips, telling you bluntly.

"I'm not kissing you while your breath stinks of beer and cigarettes."

To which you broke into laughter, stumbling to your knees, head in her lap, giggling away.

"I love you Rose baby~" You purred, looking up at her.

Rosie just smiled back, running her hand through your hair.

"I love you too darling... even if you are an idiot."

The both of you breaking into laughter, you simply laying there, a pleasant mood filling the air.

Sir Pentious

Pentious was a mess.

Bottles of wine were strewn about his airships sitting room, the snake man sobbing as he drunkenly gulped wine from a bottle.

He'd wipe his face, forearm already soaked through with tears.

"Why doth you need to be a loutous betrayer!" He yelled.

It was perhaps his most unique quirk. The man liking to incorrectly imitate old Shakespearian speech when drunk, often saying thing that sounded almost right, but most certainly weren't.

Hed lay there, wallowing in self pity for who knows how long until you'd finally find him. Having searched the house you'd find the empty wine rack, already knowing something was wrong.

And while you'd already checked every place in the manor before, the trail of wine bottles had given his 'sactuary' away.

Youd knock on the steel door before gently sliding it open.

"Hello dear..." You began, staring at the wiggling mass of snake that splaid out before you. "Is everything alright?" You asked softly.

The snake snapped towards you, grabbing you, before throwing you onto the fainting couch he had splaid out.

Youd blush as he drunkenly scowled.

"Ooooooh~ like you don't know!" He drunkenly slurred. "Like you don't know why I'm drinking, you and that *hic* man... that bastard you've been seeing."

To which you'd stare at him, blushing as he leered over you.

Rubbing your face, you'd sigh, leaning forwards and gently cupping his face.

"Penty... he's a tailor." You sighed softly. "I'd never cheat on you."

You finished, but the snake simply stared at you for several moments, processing.

"Tailor... but what about all the... well I saw you undress?" He stated, conflicted.

Youd sigh, gently slipping out from under him ast you stepped out of the room.

Pentious would gulp down the rest of his bottle before you stepped in.

Youd be wearing a rather skimpy, of seductive, version of his outfit. The piece just covering enough to be seen in public, though obviously meant for the bedroom.

"I uh, I thought it'd be fun for... ya know... the bedroom~"

Pentious, red faced, smirked. His body recoiled, priming for a strike, and with the finesse of a heavily intoxicated snake, he snatching you up once more, throwing you onto his bundles up tail, his long lower form gripping you, holding you down.

"Well... I guess I've got to punish you~" He purred, leaning in.

"P-punish me?" You stuttered, face flushed as the man pinned your arms above your head.

Pentious smirking, face flushed lightly as he leaned in, hot breath on your neck as he purred.

"Of coursssssse~" she hissed, tongue flicking your neck. "You run around, scaring me to death~ Making me think the worst. "

His hands ran down your chest, tail sizing as it held you down, leaning in close before smirking, hot, wine tainted breath on your neck as he suddenly bit you.

Youd moan, the man injecting just enough venom to get you high. A speciality of Pentious', the man having used his vemon on your more then once~

But now, he was smirking, domineering you with little effort, tail bound, venom high, he'd trail kisses down your body, kissing you all over.

Youd be at his mercy, the man teasing, torturing you with the promise of pleasure, making you submit to him.

By the end of the night, you'd be a quivering, gasping and moaning mess, Pentious smirking victoriously as you lay besides him, face red, bite marks littering your body as you softly moaned and writhed in pleasure.

With a sadistic smirk covering his face, your legs wrapped around his snake hips, he'd lean in, whispering as he always did when in control.

"Don't worry darling... I'm not halfway close to being done with you~" He purred.

Valentino

Valentino was not happy.

You were deceiving him. Lying to him.

And that could not stand. He was out of the loop. And he hated being out of the loop.

Well that wasn't entirely true.

Truth was, you were telling him you were doing one thing, while you actually did something else.

Though he want sure why you bothered with the deception. He had more informants and eyes then anyone in Pentagram.

Well, except maybe Vox, man had eyes in almost every damn device in Pride, so he probably had him beat in that department.

But well, he knew you'd done something involving your anniversary. More then likely relating to a gift for him.

Though he'd intentionally not found out what it was, the man still liking some surprises in his life.

He'd watch you "sneak" into his penthouse, you smiling and giggling like an idiot. The man smiling as he watched you 'sneak' into his penthouse, covering something in your coat

"Welcome home darling." He spoke smoothly, smiling as you froze in place.

Youd turn suddenly, hiding thr gift behind your back.

"H-hey! Val! Baby! Didn't, uh, I didnt know you were home." You spoke awkwardly, scratching your cheek awkwardly.

You smiled a broad, awkward smile.

Val held back a smile, flushed with adoration, but couldn't express it, not wanting to let you on.

"I know." He spoke coldly, snuffing his cigarette before standing, you shrinking under his imposing form.

Reaching into his coat, you leaned back, eyes closed, expecting the worse.

"Happy anniversary sweetheart."

Opening your eyes, you'd find his hand extended, a white box with a big red bow atop it.

Staring at it for a moment, you'd look up at him with a cocked brow. The man simply smiling back, giving a little smile of his own.

Suddenly it snapped into place.

"OH!" You gasped, almost jumping in place.

Holding the present you'd turn rigid, before slumping, looking down you spoke glumly.

"Oh... Well... I'm guessing you know what this is then?"

Val just chuckled, reaching out and cupping your chin. "A gift. Anything else? I'm in the dark." He finished smoothly.

Youd release a relieved sigh, hand to your chest. Looking up at him you'd smile, leaning in and kissing his cheek before looking down at your present.

"Here, hold this." You told him, holding the present out to him.

Taking it from you, he watched as you turned around, lifting the rectangular present up, before carrying it into the other room.

When he tried to follow, you'd call back. "Nu-uh! No peeking! I'll tell you when you can come in."

To which he just chuckled, rolling his eyes as he leant against the door frame.

And so, standing there for a minute or two he'd wait for you, hearing you as you scrambled around, something glass shattering, your little mumbles and curses making him chuckle.

And so, after some waiting you'd call out.

"Come in."

After which hed step in, looking around the room until he spotted something on the wall. It was obviously your gift, covered in some sheet.

And so, turning to you, he'd give you your gift again, which you subsequently placed down, eagerly leading him to your gift.

Normally, he would have taken great insult at that, but given he was as interested in seeing your gift, as you were excited for him to see it, he decided to let it slide.

And so, with an eager nod from you, he'd tear the sheet off, the man stupefied.

It was him. Or well, a painting of him, and a handsome one at that. It was him sat back, his ever present luxurious coat complementing his stern face as he smoked a cigarette.

He stared at it for several moments before he turned to you, you utterly shaking in excitement.

"Do you like it?!" You asked, almost bursting at the seems.

"No." He spoke bluntly. He let it hang in the air for just a moment. Before reaching an arm out, he'd twirl you into his grasp, the man planting a deep passionate kiss. "I love it~"

Hearing it your smile came back in full force.

"Well that's good, cause I painted it." You spoke with a goofy giggle, puffing out your chest all proudly.

Now that took him off guard.

The man showing a rare flash of surprise, as he snapped between you and the portrait, That flash of surprise enough to make you giggle up a storm.

"Yyyyyep!" You grinned. "All those 'outings' were lessons. Been seeing this professional artist for lessons and now-"

You turned proudly, smiling at the present.

"I think I did the source material justice."

Val stood there for a minute, before the man scratched his cheek, telling you in a playful voice. "Well, for once I think my gift is outclassed."

Hearing that you'd release a gentle snort, rolling your eyes.

Picking up his gift, you'd step forwards, gently cupping his cheek. "Dont worry baby, its from you. I know ill love it."

Val smiled, gently kissing your palm as you pulled back, letting you open the gift.

It was a small red box, the words 'Love you forever~' etched into the top, the smooth rosey wood that expensive kind of glossy.

Opening said gift, you'd find a rather beautiful golden locket, the simple gold heart having the words 'My Love Forever~'. "Oh, babe, it's beautiful." You gushed, hand to your chest.

Val stepped forwards, still surprisingly meek as he took it from your hand, binding it around your neck before pulling up up, holding it in his palm as he showed it off. The man easily opening it open to reveal images inside.

The left was a beautiful image of you and Val in a loving embrace, you recognised it from one of your first dates. It was a good memory.

And in the right, well, let's just say it was a raunchy image of a very undressed Val, the man smiling a very Val like smile.

And so, clicking the locket closed, you smiled, taking his hand in your own.

"Ya know... I've been wanting to do one of you in your 'natural glory' for a while now~" you spoke, making sure your intention couldn't be missed.

"But first." You began, grabbing his fuzzy collar, pulling him towards the bedroom. "But first, I think I need some... physical refrences~"

Val, simply smirked, man shedding his coat as you made it to the bed, where the two of you... tried out some positions for your next piece.

[regexkind]

As my childhood reached its autumn and came to an end, the winter storm of pubescence came crashing down upon me like a tree through the roof of a rustic cabin. Fortunately the cabin in this case can be said to represent only my good sense, and not, as is perhaps more common, my good looks.

This may be most acutely demonstrated by my choice of magnum opus for my boarding school's oil painting final—a choice which has haunted me to this day. I worked obsessively and secretly for weeks. The glory and subtlety of my muse could not be despoiled by some philistine's gaze. For this reason I elected to frame my work with heavy curtains.

I became obsessive as to the particulars of my subject matter. No detail was too small. I learned to paint folds of fabric like a Renaissance master, I studied early 19th-century wigs and hairstyles, I sent away to a (better-equipped) institute¹ for a book on military buttons. I made dozens of preparatory sketches. Finally, The Day Of The Great Unveiling was upon me.

When, with a dramatic flourish, I yanked back the curtain, I was greeted, not as I expected—not as I had hoped—not as I should have been—not with cries of delight, but with gasps of horror and revulsion.

Before the assembled crowd of faculty, students, and parents, nearly life-sized, was a portrait of the emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, boldy astride the buttocks of the Duke of Wellington, who knelt on hands and knees beneath him. Napoleon stared straight ahead, his face alight with that mixture of severity and delight in conquest that suffuses his best portraits. The Duke's head was turned slightly towards the viewer, as if he were perhaps aware of their presence. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth ajar in an "Oh!" of surprise, but otherwise, he was virtually the same as in Lawrence's portrait.

Now, one might assume the cabin of my reason to be completely crushed, but I had exercised certain discretion in the portrayal of my subjects. Both were fully clothed, even unto tricorn hat. I had neglected only breeches, but this omission was hardly remarkable, let alone obscene, due to the length of the then-fashionable frock coats². Only a tiny triangle of flesh was visible between top of garter and hem of coat. Despite this tasteful discretion, and implicit reference to centuries of symbolism in Western portraiture, my audience was, as previously stated, appalled.

I thought their horror could not be increased, until with incredulity, the art master read the title: "Napoleon Comes Again: The Emperor's Revenge". It goes almost without saying, that I was rapidly and unjustly expelled from the academy. My pater familias responded in kind, granting me the frankly miserly sum of fifty thousand pounds, on the condition that I never write to, speak to, or otherwise contact him or any member of my family.

All of this goes to explain how I find myself penniless in this desolate town on the Western edge of Montana. Brother, can you spare me a dime?

¹Perhaps they would have appreciated me. Perhaps all this could've been averted.

²See! See! I told you I did my research

[thatfandomslut]

Green-Eyed Monster

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Trigger Warnings: jealous Regina, friends who don't agree with reader relationship (we've all been there, right?)

Request:

can you regina and reader are dating but reader starts being friends with janis, cady, and damian and regina gets super jealous and it causes a fight with reader and then they make up and it's fluffy at the end

Mean Girls requests are open.

(Y/n) laughed loudly, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth as many people turned to look at her. Within those many was Regina George, her girlfriend. Though, no one knew that they were dating since Regina was still in the closet. The blonde quirked a brow from her section of the cafeteria as Janis placed a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder to help shush her. This was an action that Regina did not appreciate as she narrowed her eyes over at the two. Neither noticed this action as (Y/n) only laughed harder, her forehead gently hitting the table as Janis patted her back, laughing, too.

"Why were you laughing so hard?" Regina asked, sitting across from (Y/n) in her room. She kept her eyes narrowed as she examined (Y/n), trying to figure out what was so funny that she didn't even respond to Regina's texts during lunch.

Regina was still learning how to be in a relationship, and she was far from perfect, but she was perfect at being jealous. Even though there was absolutely no need to be since nothing was going on between (Y/n) and Janis. However, Regina didn't know this. After all, Janis was conventionally pretty, and she came without the baggage of a hidden relationship since she was already out. There was a small possibility that the school's 'it' girl was insecure. Not that she would admit that in any way.

A small laugh escaped (Y/n) as she thought back to what made her laugh so hard. This caused Regina to cross her arms before standing up. "Well, we were talking about this painting from mine and Janis's art class. We had to do portraits, but there's this one guy who like sucks at painting. And, I am perfectly aware it's not nice to laugh, but his portrait of Ms. Klein was not it." (Y/n) couldn't help but feel more giggles bubble in her chest, though she was finally able to keep them at bay.

Regina must have not understood art humor, because this wasn't that funny to her. "Did you have to let Janis put her hand on you though?" She questioned, watching as (Y/n)'s brows knitted together in confusion over what the problem was. "People are going to think you two are dating or something? Do you realize how stupid that makes me look?" Regina looked angry, and (Y/n) was getting to the same point that she was.

Sitting up on her bed and closing her book, (Y/n) considered her words carefully. "Okay, look, I didn't mean to make you jealous, but Janis and I are just friends. I'm not sure what the difference is when you, Gretchen, Karen, and Cady are touching each other's faces to apply each other's makeup. Perhaps you can explain it to me?" (Y/n) tried to stay calm and centered. She knew how heated Regina could get. Still, she must've said something that worsened the situation as Regina's cheeks brightened in color.

"The difference is, Janis is out, and you are out," Regina stated, grabbing for her bag as she started for the door. (Y/n) quickly untangled herself from her blanket, grabbing Regina's hand to stop her. "Don't touch me. You should go hang out with your girlfriend, Janis. She was all over you at lunch, anyways."

(Y/n) let go of Regina, not wanting to anger her more as she sucked in a breath. "Come on, Regina, let's just talk. I don't want to argue over this. I will ask Janis to stop touching me if it will make you happy." (Y/n) offered, hoping to create some peace between her and Regina. She hated arguing with anyone, but she despised arguing with Regina. It was another level of fighting that she couldn't handle. It made her head spin.

Regina walked out of the room and started down the stairs with (Y/n) hot on her trail. "I don't want to talk. I want you to understand how stupid I feel when you just let Janis put her hands all over you." Regina said as she made her way to her Jeep. "Just leave me alone." (Y/n) sighed as Regina shut her Jeep door and ran her hands down her face. She knew to give Regina space, that chasing after her right now wouldn't do anything for either of them.

(Y/n) went back to her room, falling back onto her bed. She was in love with Regina, but the worst part of this being a secret is she couldn't go to her friends for comfort. Instead, she felt unintentionally isolated as Regina's perfume still lingered in the air unhelpfully. She realized that Regina's insecurity more had to do with the fact that she and Janis were both out, but Regina didn't even give her time to help her work through that with her. So, instead, she had to force herself to not call or text the girl.

The next day, around lunchtime, (Y/n) was still somber over the events from the previous night. She had texted Regina a sweet 'good morning' as always but received nothing back. That's why it surprised her when Regina approached her table. "(Y/n), I have a quick history question, can I speak to you in private?" Regina glanced over at Janis, who rolled her eyes at Regina. (Y/n) nudged the girl beside her to stop before following Regina out of the cafeteria. "I realized that I took my anger out at you. To be honest, I was a little scared you might find Janis to be a better girlfriend because she was out, and you didn't have to hide." Regina admitted, causing shock to spread along (Y/n)'s face.

She wasn't expecting Regina to be insecure over Janis. "I understand your fear, and I understand your insecurity. You should know though, I'm not into Janis. She, Cady, and Damian are my best friends. I love them, but it's very different to the way I love you." (Y/n) put her hands over Regina's before their fingers intertwined.

Regina tried to hide the grin growing on her face as she looked down. "You love me?" She asked, her voice filling with emotion, a shift from the apologetic tone she held just before.

(Y/n) laughed softly before kissing Regina softly. Regina kissed back, cupping her cheeks. "Yeah, I love you, Regina George." (Y/n) said softly, glad to see that they had made up and that they were both getting over their previous argument.

"I love you too, (Y/n)," Regina said softly before taking her hand and leading her out the door. "Come on, I'm ready to go out there. I don't care what people think anymore. All that matters to me is that you're by my side when I go out there."

[b14augrana]

Portrait

When Alexia decides to give into her curiosity and sit down at one of the street artist stalls stationed on a busy Parisian road, she leaves with something more special than a self portrait.

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: straight fluff and bad translations but dont worry its only short x

A/N: ALE RENEWED WE CAN ALL REJOICE!! 🙏

The strong Parisian sun beat down on the heads of locals and tourists alike as they walked down the crowded streets. You were perched on a stool, staring intently at your canvas as you gently painted the smile lines of a lovely old lady that stopped by your stall.

You loved your job for this very reason. You knew how hard it was to love yourself from your own perspective; you hoped to do every individual person’s beauty justice with your paintings.

Of course that wasn’t enough income on its own so every morning you found yourself in one of the local bakeries either working behind the scenes or at the front counter. Baking and painting were jobs you loved and found so similar because they both resonated with your desire to indulge in art wherever you could find it, and to you they were the simplest forms of art.

“And… I’m done. Here’s your finished portrait, madame,” you said with a smile, lifting the canvas off the easel and gently setting it into the woman’s arms.

“Je ne peux pas te remercier assez, ma chérie ! C'est beau, merci,” she replied, admiring it with tear-brimmed eyes hidden behind her glasses. You said your goodbyes and watched her walk off with a grin on her face, and then you picked up a fresh canvas and placed it on your easel.

You didn’t have time to shake your head at the many smudges of paint on your clothes as another person approached you.

“Hola!” a woman’s voice spoke, making you look up curiously. Standing before you was a blonde woman smiling slightly, gesturing to the stool behind the easel. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” you nodded, returning her smile and swirling your paintbrush in some fresh water as you prepared to paint her. “You’d like a painting, no?”

“Yes please. Also, forgive me for saying hola — I forget that I’m not in Spain,” she laughed, inciting a giggle from you.

“It’s okay. I do the same when I’m outside of France,” you added, dipping the paintbrush into some fresh paint before grazing the canvas. “So, you’re Spanish.. what’s your name?”

“Alexia. I’m here for a holiday, because I’ve finally got some time off work,” she explained with a huff. You smiled behind your easel, painting the woman’s chiseled bone structure with intricacy as you added to her face.

You liked her already. You had barely said anything to her, but something about her was genuine.

“Are you with anybody?” you asked, curious to know more about her. She nodded her head, “Only two other people, my friends Lucy and Ona. They’ve gone on a wine tasting date, which is why I’m here.”

You laughed softly as you rinsed your paintbrush. “And you? Do you have anyone to go wine tasting with?”

“Next question,” Alexia responded, smiling through laughter. You began to paint her eyes and faintly outline her nose.

The rest of the time you spent painting every detail of her face flew by as you two talked and got to know more about each other. You learned that she was a professional footballer and lived in Barcelona, which you thought was very cool. She asked about your life and you told her that you were a born and raised Parisian who spent the rest of her days at home or in the bakery. You weren’t really concerned about yourself though; you were busy looking at her, and not for the purpose of the painting.

When you had completed the last strand of hair and placed the last freckle on her portrait, the sun had dried most of it already. As she stood up and picked her purse up, you flipped the canvas around and scrawled something on the back with a slight smile.

“There you go. Thank you, Alexia,” you said, handing her the painting. She gasped quietly as she admired it, and she looked at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, chica!”

Even after she pulled away, her perfume clung to your skin like glue. It smelled sweet but not overwhelming… like coconut and caramel with an undertone of musk and vanilla hints. It smelled exactly how you imagined it to smell.

As you said goodbye, you didn’t reach for a fresh canvas. Alexia turned away, holding the newly painted canvas in her hands with her head down, her eyes fixed on it. She stood stagnant for a moment, scoping out every detail, and then she turned it over.

��Llámame, hermosa :)” was written on the back, followed with your phone number and a quick sketch of a flower bouquet. She immediately turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, but you were occupied with someone else.

When she turned back around, a smitten smile was plastered across her face and she couldn’t help but feel giddy to get back to her hotel.

After another second, you looked up from your canvas, your eyes completely skipping the person sat in front of you and wandering over to the direction that she had walked in, watching the blonde woman disappear down the street.

“Est-ce que tu vas peindre ou quoi?” an irritated voice snapped from behind your easel.

“Désolé!”

[hattersarts]

Hii I saw your bertie and jeeves portraits and I was wondering how you made your colors not look "blocky" or patchy even if you layer/use opaque paint? I guess, how do you know what transition colors to use? Sorry, I'm self taught and still learning! Thanks in advance and I love your art 💕

Ah You're lucky i actually have the progress shots of one of those heads. The only real thing i do is have "Average colour" selected on my colour picker tool so after i lay down all the rough blocks i can just select between them and start to create the faux gradient

you can also see how i still add colours throughout the process like the red to bertie's cheek but after a point it just becomes refinement. i try not to use small brushes to shape the gradients until im close to the end which is where most of the "blending" happens.

[hansoeii]

Hello! Hope you're having a great day/night! I absolutely adore your art, you are one of my favourite artists. I love the way you shade and do backrounds. Also everytime I get into a new show I immediately see your art for it??

I was wondering if you had any advice on drawing more realistically (backrounds, anatomy etc) but still keeping a style?

Hey hey!

Thank you so much!

I have a pretty good understanding of facial structures, because before I got into drawing more semi-realisticly, I heavily focused on realistic portraits. Here are some example, these are from around 2019!

(yes, I was really into danmei and kpop back then, haha)

I just always loved drawing/painting faces and it was all I did. But at some point I realized that I wanted to do more than that because just portraits felt super restricting. So it took me around 2-3 years to somewhat find my style. Thought it would be fun to show a little timeline! Advice will follow afterwards :)

2020

I began working on my OCs in 2020 and since I didn't have an exact reference to work off of, I struggled a lot. My art from this year is super wonky.

2021

Still wonky, but the Lokius obsession was the jumpstart into finding my style! My work from this year is all over the place haha, I was experimenting a lot.

2022

This first ofmd piece is pretty much the first drawing where you can see where my style is gonna go, which I think is pretty cool! This is the year I made the biggest progress cos I was drawing SO much. These two pieces are only six months apart. The one on the right was the first time I gave drawing a background a proper go, too! It was a good year.

2023

And this is where I am now! I'm still constantly learning and improving, but I'd say I have a style you can recognize now!

Now here comes some actual advice, haha:

What I highly recommend you to do is to study your favorite artists as much as you can! I have like 5 A4 sketchbooks all from 2020 that I filled with sooooo many studies, where basically all I did was look at artists I like and copy how they draw stuff, to try and figure out how to stylize certain things. Some of my favorite artists are Ami Thompson, Velinxi and TB Choi. But I also liked to just scroll through pinterest and study all the art I came across that I liked! For example, if I saw a really great drawing of a pair of pants I would copy it many times in my sketchbook and try to learn how they stylized the folds. Doing this for a prolongued period of time will naturally improve your own work! It'll be difficult at first, but you gotta push through, it's gonna be worth it!

I also highly recommend studying unique faces to try and avoid the same-face syndrome. Find some cool looking people and try to draw them as simple as you can! Maybe even draw a little timeline where you first draw them as cartoon-y as you can, and keep going until you end up with a more detailed, realistic drawing. Maybe in the middle of it you find a step that feels the most fun to you, so you can try to build on that! It's a great way to figure out what kind of style might be the best for you.

Here are some cool faces I found on pinterest!

I have a pinterest board with many more!

One REALLY important part of learning how to draw all kinds of things is to understand forms and shapes and how to manipulate them. I have so many pages in my sketchbook filled with just shapes that I drew from all kinds of angles without any references.

This is a great video on it:

6 Ways to Draw Anything by Proko

Learning how to do this is so crucial! Young artists often think they first have to learn all kinds of detailed anatomy before doing anything else, but all that's gonna do is make you tired and hate drawing. Shapes are where it's at! Once you understand how shapes work and which ones to use for certain parts of bodies or objects, drawing is gonna get so much easier! Once you understand them, you can get into details such as muscles and bones!

And honestly the most important point is to just absolutely love what you're doing! I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for the fact that I get extreme hyperfixations on certain media that turn me into some kind of beast where I can suddenly draw 10 detailed illustrations a week, haha. Just be passionate about what you do, find something you REALLY love and go crazy!

I really hope this was somewhat helpful! My inbox is always open if there's any more questions :)