#i love drawing but i do not have the patience for it

[maxtermind]

A smut, or fluff story, anything really. Where reader is slightly chubby with thick thighs, and she’s super insecure and lando hates how she doesn’t see her worth and helps her. - coming from a thicker girlie 🥹

a/n :: got me thinking and like im gonna ramble😓

lando would honestly be so fucking sweet everytime you'd feel insecure even when he doesn't understand it.

you are literally so beautiful so how could you feel insecure when he's absolutely smitten but he does get it.. he gets it better than most.

maybe you're just lying in bed with a sheet covering your thighs because it's really one of those days.

lando notices and is quick to reach under the sheet to rub your thighs while continuing whatever conversation you guys were having.

you instantly feel your heart calm down a bit and when you kiss him,'thank you.' without saying it out loud. he's just smiling cheekily as his hand keeps on moving higher and higher till it's cupping you fully and a hiss is leaving your lips.

calls you 'pretty girl,' in public whenever he feels like you're closing off with the insecurities creeping in.

glares at people if they stare till they stop.

he is proud of you and none can ever make you feel bad about yourself when you're his

imagine how he eats you out, teeth dragging sinfully against your soft thighs he is holding securely in his hands. dragging out a low,"patience baby!" when you try to grind against him to get his mouth where you need it the most.

"let me show 'em some love before I get you off, baby," and like who are you to reject such a princess treatment when he's making you feel so good.

you know you can approach him whenever.,

"do you think this makes me look ugly?" and he'll look up before his brows would draw together because like what the fuck?

looking at you literally reminded him that his heart beats because of how fast it goes suddenly.

"you look eatable if anything," lando replies nonchalantly before throwing the phone that was in his hand on the couch, pulling up to his lap so he can show you exactly what he thinks the dress makes you look like.

your cheeks burn and you're sure he can tell when you feel a very hard evidence of how that dress makes him feel.

"this is all for you, love. don't go shy on me now."

lando makes sure to keep an eye out because he knows you are chronically online when you want to be and salty people hiding behind their screens aren't exactly kind.

the minute he comes home and sees you slumped on the couch with your phone in your hand, he is snatching it away.

"babe I'm starving so I think we should cook together."

drags you across the room till you're sitting on a chair while he cooks, keeping you engaged in whatever gossip he gets from the paddock.

you get distracted for a bit and with a smile, lando is leaning against the counter and gently pressing his lips against yours.

hours later, when you both are fed and happily in love, he is again getting on his knees to show him just how much he appreciates your pretty curves.

the world is loud but all you can hear is his voice, he makes sure you know it's the only one that is valid.

it gets easier because he is able to love you at times it's hard to love yourself.

[hughiecampbelle]

Unornamented (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: Not requested, but here are the prompts I used :) 13.) Hum, 36.) Scraped Knees 34.) “Still awake?”

Inspired By: Foxglove by Haley Heynderickx

A/N: I love him, I love him, I love him!!!! Anyways, just an appreciation fic for your patience!!! Thank you my loves!! I actually kinda love how this turned out. I think it's very soft and sweet, even a little sad. Heavily inspired by the song/album. Slowly working through my writers block so that once I start posting again, my work will be what you deserve!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

The cicada's sharp pitch moves with the wind, seeping through the open window screens. You never knew what that peculiar sound was, the screaming, bleating, wailing, only that it swept through you each night on your long, humid walks home. A kind of begging. A performance. A tongue you have not yet mastered. Shakespearean tragedies, you imagine, wars between families, between forbidden lovers and bitter marriages. Feuds. They step out into costumes covered in ruffles, pearls, thick collars and high stockings. The children dress as fauna and flora, roaring like cubs, nipping at one another playfully. On stage, they are someone else. Largely unseen as the sun sets, they intend to make their presence known. The rest of them, the crowds for miles and miles, sing their songs in appreciation. A hum that vibrates through the leaves, the open air, their roaring praise and applause settles goosebumps across your flesh. They’ve grown accustomed to sweet summer shows and they will be forever grateful. Harmless, they went about their time as you wished to do. No biting, nor stinging. Without violence. They draw out these shows, afraid they will be left alone to bear their lives, their thoughts, mundane and overpowering respectively. 

Beneath you, the springs of the mattress puncture the thin fabric, poking at the spokes of your spine the way a mother would her child. It tickles, her bony knuckles, the sharpness of the spring. Interchangeable. A comfort you have forgotten of, one that fills the cavity of your chest with dread. What else have you forgotten? What else have you given up for a life like this? The sheer curtains blow with the breeze. Thoughtlessly, they move and dance and grab at one another, like sisters. They must be laughing, you think, for they are warm underneath the butter yellow street lights and safe and together. They must be laughing, because they are together and that is who they’ll only ever need: their twin. Leaves rustle underneath the insect melodies. A bass, low and of the earth, the tone of an old man telling stories of his youth. You can hear him smiling. 

The sheets are soft, newly washed, and sticking to you. Wrapped around your torso, your legs free to breathe, kissed by the thick air. Lying like this, with your knees tented, you can see the scrapes across them. Earth scorched. What was once torn open, alive and mouthy, had healed only slightly. The skin is pale and thick and chewy. Shiny. They don’t hurt as much as they did. You’re not sure how it happened, only that it must’ve been recent. There are other aches and pains. Healed and unhealed, bruised and not. Old wounds stitched together. Deep purples, cobalt blues, sickly greens. They’ll yellow soon enough. You were always getting hurt. You were always in some sort of danger. Unwise, you knew, and yet there was something about the thrill. The taste of blood in your mouth. Last time – the last time – you’d almost been sliced in half. Not yet a scar, the settled skin inching its way across your belly remained snakelike. Sensitive, you were careful to wash and dry, to dress and dress again. Your fingertips brush where it rests beneath your shirt. You don’t like looking at it. It remains too much of a reminder. On that day. Of what you were attempting to leave behind. Too soon to joke, to laugh, the both of you still a little rattled. 

It’s how you ended up here. 

There is a body beside you. Not unfamiliar. His skin is warm, and though forgiveness was never one of summer's virtues, you find yourself curling into him, all his nooks and crannies, despite the humidity in the air. His chest rises and falls evenly. His lip is split and there is a scab at his temple. How many times have you kissed that very spot? How many times had you checked on it, to make sure it was healing properly. Free of infection. His shirt is worn and thin and it smells of him: soap and sky and the dinner he burned earlier. One arm rests beneath you, your head, the other thrown behind the pillow, perching it up further. His rest is not easy, not without effort, but there is a certain softness to his features. Maybe it’s the light, the setting sun, the deep, bright blue of the night sky. Maybe not. Either way your eyes follow the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. His hair is wild, some of it slicked back. It is his best effort not to overheat. His dreams are still water, not yet broken by growing, gruesome waves. Not yet entering the heart of the storm. It will, of course. And when it does, he will startle awake. Panting. Gasping for air. Clinging to you. 

For now, though, he is quiet. 

The bedroom is cozy. Cozy, you think, is a nice way of saying it’s small. No matter. You had little with you anyways. A lamp. A mattress. You have yet to get a frame, a bedside table. Frivolities. A single dresser you split down the middle, neck to groin. Autopsy-esque. Photos of friends. Notes and doodles. Passports, fake IDs. Enough clothes to get you through the season. You know, when the snow threatens to fall and the cicadas are long gone, you will need more than what you’ve got. The drawers stick and, embarrassed, as quiet as he can, he’ll shake it open. He has done this since you got here. Untethered himself from you, from the bed, gentle enough not to startle you. He’ll dress, and kiss your head, and leave a note: Be back soon. XO Hughie. He’ll disappear in the early morning. Wandering, you suppose. It is the only way he can breathe easily, if he knows where you are. If he understands the layout of the land. You weren’t in the city anymore. The crowds you’d slipped into, becoming just another strange face, were no longer an option here. The hiding places were minimal. Open roads, nothing for miles. The underbelly you could run to for safety, the trains you could crouch into, your hoods up, your faces low, were unavailable. Nonexistent. You’d traded one anonymity for another. You’d pretend to be asleep, watching him, wide eyed, as the morning sun enveloped him. The rays are subtle, not yet full, and they stretch out towards him. Sometimes you’ll fall back to sleep. Sometimes you’ll lie there, soaking in every inch of the room, wondering what became of everyone you’d ever cared about. Wondering if you could make a life like this. When he comes back, he will make you coffee. The only two mugs you brought with you. Chipped and worn. He’ll place his on the dresser, careful with yours, as if it were something precious. He doesn’t voice what he’s seen, what he’s taken into account, but his features are quick to give him away. You will reassure him: he could never find you here. You are both safe. Everyone is safe. The words are hollow, You know this. As long as Homelander is alive, you are in danger. There is only so much of you you can give to him anymore. There is only so much of your mind, your body, your fears, that you can dole out to him. Hughie nods, the steam from his cup bringing color to his face. You will find something else to talk about. The strangers you met on your long walks. The pets you wave to through fences, through windows. The long summer you’ve been granted. How lucky you’ll be when the weather chills and the leaves begin to turn. Anything but Vought. Anything but him. 

That isn’t for many hours, of course.

Your thoughts spread like fog through the apartment. The kitchen (tiny) and the bathroom (even littler). Enough utensils for two. A spongy bath mat. Anything that would fit in the backseat, really. Silly things you grabbed without thinking. The kitschy salt and pepper shakers. A dozen mismatched socks. Only the case of Hughie’s mouth guard. Half a set of slippers. A handful of books. The rest? You would never be sure what happened to them, to anything. You had what the old tenants left behind. The dresser, the lamp, a table for four with three chairs, a shower curtain. There are other things here as well. Spiders in the corners, weaving their webs. Occasionally, you might find one on the bar of soap by the sink, crawling across the counter tops, making its way through the length of the apartment. A mouse or two. If you’re quiet enough, you might hear them scurrying in the walls. Worse, you suspect, though that’s as far as you can name definitively. The first thing he did was get you a mattress. Paid in cash under another name, beaming with pride, he pushed it up the stairs and through each doorway. It was perfect.  The cicadas sing their songs, harmonizing with one another. The sky has darkened. There are so many stars here. That was the first thing you noticed. Driving for days on end, you watched the inky black glitter, thousands and thousands of holes opening up, letting the twinkling light through. It wasn’t like this in the city. It had never been this clear. Perhaps it was the running, the escaping, the tiresome ways you’d been living since you left. Perhaps it was the first beautiful thing you’d been allowed to take in in a long time. There were wildflowers and small towns and houses built long before you, but the time to look in awe, to appreciate, had been so fleeting. Mere moments, that’s all you were allowed. This would go on forever. The scars embedded in your skin ache just a little. You readjust, placing your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Hughie, coming to, wraps his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “Still awake?” He asks in his sleepy voice, and you know he is smiling.

[erabu-san]

Anon try to educate yourself challenge failed. If they wanted white people so much they could just draw their own damn art!!

ANYWAY don’t listen to those idiots your art is freaking incredible. I love your coloured drawings and your Kinich is lovely!! But I honestly love your Mualani the most. She’s so cute!!!

Thank you so much for giving us incredible artworks to enjoy! You’re amazing and I hope you have a great day ❤️❤️❤️

And sorry to point this out but if they wanted white people so much, they are literally everywhere why are they complaining 😭😭

I sweaaar since my fanart of Kinich and Mualani I keep receiving comment playing with my patience 🧍

Thank you so much !! So glad you like my Mualani ! 🥹🫶 I will keep to do my best and continue to draw for fun ! Knowing people liking my work give me a boost

Hope you also have a great day dear anon 🫶 lot of love !

[tavernbrawls]

finally got their personal designs down :D !

enjoy how I interpret/draw these fools (oh how i love them so)

[ollylotl]

a dream of home

[doodleodds]

An "Akechi in a nurse outfit w/ some shuake" comm for @edenfire! (I'm sorry if this isn't what you were looking for lol but this is just what came to mind ^^;) AND I'M NOT DEAD I PROMISE- I HAVEN'T STOLEN YOUR MONEY AND RAN!! I am sorry this took so long to get to you though. My job got very busy recently with school starting up and I just kept coming home too drained to do anything but sleep. But we're back on it now!!! There's a bonus below the cut since this is.... two weeks late, oh god:

So when i initially started this drawing i was like "hm are there any nurse outfits in cannon" and i was like "you know what. I bet Maruki had some nurses that were shadows." and that lead to this! It's not polished AT ALL because i was drawing it for fun, initially, and then the sunk cost fallacy kicked in and i had to finish it to include in the post because it'd already taken me a hot minute to get to you + i'd spent too much time goofing off drawing this to just post your thing with no explanation aside from work, so. Here!

(Whats that saying about falling in love with sirens? Make sure they're saying “I love you” and not “you love me?”)

[cinnamonsly]

i don’t think there is anything worse in this entire world than desperately clinging onto a hyperfixation you’ve had forever that you know is slowly fading away from you

[brother-emperors]

CAIUS TREBONIUS AND MARK ANTONY, MARCH 15th

The Hetairia of Cassius, Luciano Canfora

Cic. Phil. 2

(taps mic) so as we all know, conspiracy is a kind of seduction, and actions not taken can be just as loud as the ones that are. so. uh. fellas! hey fellas. heyyyyyy.

like, I was looking at the Dolabella-Caesar-Antony mess yesterday, but something really fun and vicious happened here and I will be rotating it around in my head at maximum volume for the foreseeable future

the red panels are the Assassination of Julius Caesar by Vincenzo Camuccini (the pen and ink drawing, not the painting)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

hi hi hi hellooo i really loved the art you did of rin :D she's the girl of all time fr fr. and "she never makes it to the ocean" hit me like a gun to the head lol. so do you think you could draw more rin maybe?

:-]

[unexpectedbrickattack]

heehee (pepstavo under the cut)

[hrokkall]

Transit

[martyryo]

draw lesbian/female fight club :3

here!!

this was a fun concept to draw, hope I made them recognizable enough ^^

[pallanophblargh]

Oh no, not me, human often frustrated by the willful whims of mammals, looking warmly at the profiles of mostly bully mix type dogs in local shelters.

Don't worry, I'm not that brand of impulsive. I just love their big smiles and I'd never met one I didn't like.

Alternately, I'm missing my childhood dog (who wasn't a bully type) but like all dogs, he was a certified Good Boy.

[motherforthefamicom]

been playing a lot of sonic the fighters lately =]

[nguyenfinity]

Every time I draw Mamagi it does AoE damage (I am also in the area of effect)

Lighthearted bonus:

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

Surprise appearance by me!

How are you? Hope you're doing well. ^w^

Hello drag!! I'm doing okay :'Dc

I've been very very busy as of late honestly xd it sucks but I haven't been updating myself on social media either HHH the stress was getting to me and my studies :')

I've been going out with family and friends a lot more though so that's better! I've been a little too computer obsessed these past few years so the fact it's broken rn is helping me see more people and build a social life lmao xD

Don't get me wrong, absolutely love posting art here, but it's so nice not to worry about being online when exams keep drowning me HHH

hopefully you guys don't mind the long absence cause I might be gone for a while randomly at times and I really can't help it 😔♥️♥️♥️