#i want to be able to make the art I think of in my head

[bytemee]

۶ৎ STUNNER — yu jimin.

“my little angel in disguise..."

⌗ in which— you're a painter who hasn't picked up a brush in months. then one night at your best friends gallery, you meet a stranger who inspires you more than you ever thought possible. you don’t know her name. you don’t know that she’ll disappear before morning. you don’t know that when your hands finally remember how to move, how to paint, it’ll be her face staring back at you from the canvas.

but—when your best friend sees your finished piece, she says eight words that change everything:

"why the hell did you paint the princess?"

pairing. princess!karina x painter!fem!reader

warning(s). language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mild angst, kissing + implied nsfw but not explicit, happy ending.

word count. 5.7k

authors note. @bimkayd for u. i also have to update my masterlist...bad.

when creativity strikes, it strikes.

like, really fucking hard. and it always comes at the worst times—when you’re in the shower, when you’re half-asleep, when you’re five minutes away from an important meeting you don’t even want to be at. but for the past few months, it hasn’t come at all.

time blurs when you’re stuck in the same four walls, staring at blank canvases like you're trying to have a staring contest with them. the paints dry in their tubes, waiting for you to wake up from whatever this is—this rut, this drought, this fucking nothingness in your head.

yunjin tells you it’s a phase. "everyone goes through it," she says over the phone, her voice tinny with excitement, too busy preparing for her own gallery opening to properly pity you. “come to my exhibit tonight. it’ll help.”

so you go to her art gallery opening. you haven't been out of the house in weeks. you haven't painted anything worth showing in months. it's a miracle you can dress yourself and brush your teeth without collapsing.

the gallery is packed when you arrive, an ocean of well-dressed bodies moving in slow currents, sipping expensive champagne from delicate flutes and admiring the artwork. most of these paintings are by yunjin herself—all bold colors and abstract shapes—but there are a few others here, too, and you spend some time wandering around, looking at them all.

your favorite is a painting done in blues and greys, full of sharp angles and harsh shadows. the paint looks thick enough to feel under your fingertips. there's a small plaque in front of it that reads "untitled" and nothing else. you stare at it for what feels like hours, but it must only be minutes because when you look up, yunjin is standing beside you, smiling.

"do you like it?" she asks.

"i love it," you reply. "it's stunning."

she laughs. "that's what i was going for."

yunjin nudges you playfully with her elbow. “so? feeling inspired yet?”

you scoff, but it lacks real bite. “i don’t think staring at other people’s work is going to magically make me able to paint again.”

“maybe not,” she muses, taking a sip of champagne. “but getting out of your own head for once might.”

you don’t have the energy to argue with her. not when she’s right. not when she’s always right.

you then let her drag you through the gallery, introducing you to people whose names you’ll forget before the night is over. collectors, critics, other artists—everyone here looks effortlessly put together, as if they belong in a world you haven’t touched in far too long. you nod, you shake hands, you make small talk. it takes every ounce of strength you have just to act normal, as if you haven't been locked inside your own head for months now. as if there isn’t a black hole where your creativity used to be.

"your work is so… bold," says one woman, sipping from her champagne flute. "i love it."

"thank you," you say, hoping your smile doesn't look as strained as it feels.

you glance around the room, looking for anything that might distract you from this conversation. a familiar face. a bathroom sign. anything. but all you see are unfamiliar faces and unreadable paintings on the walls, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

claustrophobic.

you need to get out of here.

now.

"excuse me," you mutter, slipping away from the woman before she can ask another question.

you don't know where you're going, but it doesn't matter. as long as it's somewhere else. your shoes click against the tile floor as you weave through the crowd, eyes focused on the exit ahead, sliding out the door into fresh air.

the night is cool on your skin, but not cold. you can still hear the sounds of the city echoing off the buildings, muffled music from inside the gallery mixing with distant traffic and the occasional car horn. it's a beautiful night, perfect weather for an art opening. if only you could appreciate it.

you lean back against the wall, fishing your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. they're crumpled up but still intact, thanks to the tin foil wrapper you put around them before heading over here. you've been trying to quit lately, but old habits die hard.

besides, you figure you deserve this one.

you light a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly, watching as it curls and dissipates into the air. it tastes terrible—like ash and chemicals and bitter regret—but it calms your nerves, just a little bit.

and then the door swings open again.

at first, you think it's security. some guy ready to kick you out for loitering in the wrong place. but then you see her, stumbling out the back entrance of the gallery, looking flustered and annoyed. she's wearing an expensive-looking gown with a slit up one side, showing off her long legs, and heels so tall you'd trip over them yourself if you tried to walk in them. her hair is perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, but her expression says she wants to be anywhere else.

you stare, transfixed. she’s all contrast. elegance and frustration. poise and unrest. a picture-perfect masterpiece comes to life.

"do you have another?" she asks, motioning to your cigarette.

her voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you arch an eyebrow. she looks too perfect, too put together, to be standing here asking you for a cigarette. "you smoke?"

a pause. then, "no. never actually."

you laugh to yourself, not in a mean way, more like you're trying to convince yourself this isn't actually happening. "so why'd you ask me for one?"

"because i want to try," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "i want to try something new."

she’s so fucking out of place here. all that polish, all that perfection—it makes her look like a mirage, something that can't possibly be real. her hair’s perfect, her makeup looks like it was painted on by a master, and that damn dress? it’s made for a runway, not this alley. she’s like someone dropped a fantasy into a real, gritty world, and for some reason she ended up here.

her eyes don’t leave yours as she waits—most likely for you to respond, to offer the cigarette she asked for, to say something, anything—but you stay silent because your mind is working faster than your body right now, and you need a moment to catch up.

“you wouldn’t like it,” you finally say, once the gears have started turning again, your words sounding much steadier than you feel.

her eyebrow furrowed, her lips turning down just slightly at the corners. not quite a frown, not yet, but a near thing. you've never wanted to capture an expression on canvas as much as you do right now, her face in all its beauty and annoyance.

"why not?" she asks, sounding indignant, almost insulted. "do you not trust my judgment? my tastes?"

she seems to be talking herself into it, the challenge sparking something behind her gaze. and though her posture doesn't change, you can practically feel the determination radiating off her.

you laugh. "you're missing out on the exhibit, you know."

"i could say the same to you," she counters. "why are you out here?"

you could give her a simple answer, something about needing a break, needing air, needing to get away from the suffocating crowd of people who actually have something to show for themselves. but none of that would be the truth, so you simply shrug and say—

"—wasn't really feeling the whole art world pretentiousness thing."

"strange place to be if you're not a fan."

"my friend dragged me." you admit, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of your shoe.

she cocks her head to the side, eyes flicking down to the now extinguished butt before looking back up. it's her turn to stare at you. to take in your appearance—the plain button-up, dark dress slacks, and polished black leather shoes. if not for the tattoos peeking out from your sleeves and collar, you'd just look like another patron, dressed to impress and blend into the crowd.

"are you an artist as well?"

you smile at the question, "used to be."

her gaze softens, "used to be?"

"haven't painted in a while."

the pout is back, her eyebrows scrunching together as she stares at you, clearly processing this information, taking in your words and decoding them, working through their implications and how they fit into the context. she settles with, "well, do you plan to ever again?"

it's a simple question. one you should have a simple answer to, but life isn't simple. and art, well, art's a fucking mess. your shoulders rise before dropping.

"why not?" her eyes narrow. "have you given up?"

"not giving up." you tell her. "just stuck."

her lips press together like she doesn’t quite believe you. like she’s debating whether to push, whether to pry, whether you’re just making excuses.

"stuck how?" she asks, arms crossing over her chest.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like knowing things,” she says easily. “and i like understanding people. you intrigue me.”

it shouldn’t affect you the way it does. but those words—you intrigue me—they lodge themselves somewhere deep, twisting and turning like a key fitting into a lock you didn’t realize was waiting to be opened.

you glance down, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the pavement, considering how to answer. the truth is ugly. the truth is that you used to paint like your life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. it was your lifeline, your voice, your way of making sense of things when nothing else made sense.

and then, one day, it just—stopped. the inspiration, the fire, the need—all of it dried up, like a well you kept going back to, only to find it emptier each time.

"you ever look at something so much you forget what made it beautiful in the first place?" you ask instead.

she doesn’t answer right away; she just watches you, eyes flickering over your face. trying to read you is like a puzzle box. or a book. you wonder what kind of story she thinks she finds on your face. what she sees, besides the tired bags under your eyes and the slight tremble in your hands.

when she speaks, her voice is quiet. low. it carries across the distance between you and hits you right where it counts.

"i think everything can be beautiful again. if you look at it the right way."

"yeah?" you say, a little more bitter than you mean to. "that easy, huh?"

her lips quirk, not quite a smile, but close. "i didn’t say it was easy. i just think… maybe beauty isn’t lost. maybe it’s just waiting to be found again."

you swallow, forcing yourself to scoff lightly, to shake your head. "you always this philosophical, or is that just the champagne talking?"

she laughs, soft but real. "i haven’t had a single sip tonight."

"then what are you doing out here?"

"i needed fresh air."

your fingers twitch. she speaks again.

"and maybe you just need a new muse."

you wonder if she even realizes what she’s saying. if she knows that, somehow, without even trying, she’s already painting herself into every blank canvas in your mind.

the night unravels like a half-finished painting—smudged, chaotic, too many colors bleeding into each other. you don’t remember who kissed whom first, only that one second she was looking at you like she saw something worth figuring out, and the next, your hands were on her waist, and she was breathing against your lips.

it’s desperate. messy. her dress pools on the floor of your too-small apartment, and her skin feels like something you’re not supposed to touch but can’t help but reach for anyway. you don’t ask her name. she doesn’t ask for yours. it’s better that way.

and then, when morning comes, she’s gone. no note, no number, nothing. you don't have to guess if it was real or not because the memories are too vivid, too sharp, for it to be anything but. you lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over in your head.

the way she looked. the way she tasted. the way she felt.

your hands are itching, craving the feeling of your brush in your hand.

it’s not a choice. not really.

your body moves before your mind can catch up, reaching for the brushes, the paints, and the canvas that’s been gathering dust in the corner. the moment the bristles touch the surface, it’s like something clicks back into place—like an old wound finally scabbing over.

she appears in fragments first. the curve of her jaw. the slope of her neck. the way her lips parted like she was about to say something, only to change her mind. it’s obsessive, almost. you don’t even think about what you’re doing, only that you have to do it. the need rushes through you like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

you don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the act of pulling her from memory onto canvas. hours, maybe.

that’s how yunjin finds you.

she kicks the door shut behind her, dropping a bag onto the counter like she’s another name on your lease. "you alive?" she asks, but then she sees you—sees the paint on your hands, your clothes, your face. sees the finished piece propped up in front of you.

and she stops short.

"oh."

her tone is surprised, breathless, then she laughs, loud and disbelieving.

"oh my god," she says, eyes wide with something between amusement and shock. "why the hell did you paint the princess?"

you blink, exhausted. “what?”

she gestures to the painting like it should be obvious. “why did you paint the princess?”

your stomach drops. “the what?”

she stares at you. “you’re joking.”

“i—” you look at the painting. at her.

your pulse thuds in your ears.

“yunjin,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

it’s a joke. it has to be.

you wait for yunjin to laugh, to tell you she’s messing with you, but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, then back at the painting, then back at you again like you’re the dumbest person alive.

“you seriously didn’t know?”

your mouth is dry. you shake your head. yunjin lets out a sharp breath.

"oh my god. you—you slept with the princess, and you didn’t even know?” the words hit you like a punch. you stare at the painting—at her—but it doesn’t make sense.

princesses don’t sneak out of fancy events. princesses don't try to bum cigarettes off strangers in alleyways. princesses don’t have one-night stands with random depressed artists they meet in the back of art galleries.

you swallow hard, rubbing a hand down your face. “fuck.”

“yeah,” yunjin says, crossing her arms. “fuck.”

you stare at her, then at the painting, and then back at her. the gears turn in your head, trying to connect the dots, trying to fit this new information into the picture. "are you sure?" you ask, even though you know she wouldn't lie about this. "like, absolutely fucking positive?"

"of course i'm fucking positive!" she throws her hands up. "do you not pay attention to the news at all?"

your mind whirls with the new information.

it’s not that she was just some stranger slipping out before sunrise. she's a princess. a whole gorgeous untouchable, have you said untouchable? — princess.

and now she’s everywhere. on the news, in magazines, her face staring back at you from glowing screens and glossy pages. every headline, every camera flash, every fucking update on her. princess karina seen leaving in the royal car. princess karina attending an art gala. princess karina, princess karina, princess karina.

you try to forget. you try to be normal again—whatever that means. you go back to ignoring your canvases, sitting on the couch, flipping through channels you don’t really watch. you even let yunjin drag you out a few times, shove drinks in your hand, and tell you to move on already. but it doesn’t work.

because she’s still in your head.

so you chase.

not in the obvious way. not in the stupid, reckless, get-yourself-arrested-for-trying-to-climb-the-palace-gates way.

you chase in the quiet ways. the ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. the ways that make yunjin groan and say, “you are literally the most tragic idiot i’ve ever met. but i'll help you anyway."

and that's how you find yourself here. in a palace that is stupidly big.

like, what do you even do with this much space? big. it’s all gold and chandeliers and marble floors and suits of armor standing around, looking vaguely threatening. it makes your skin itch.

you don’t belong here. you know that. but neither did she, that night outside the gallery. and if she could slip out of this world for one night, maybe—just maybe—you can slip in.

yunjin had connections. she always did. you didn’t ask questions when she got you in, just pulled the sleeves of your borrowed suit down and tried not to look like you wanted to throw up.

you have a plan. it doesn't go smoothly.

"i'm sorry, miss. only those on the guest list may enter."

"oh, i—" you scramble to find an excuse. any excuse. "i am on the guest list."

the guard doesn't move. he doesn't even blink.

"what's your name?"

"uh—" your mind blanks. "it's a very long name. very, very long. with a lot of letters. like, a lot of them. you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

the guard doesn’t look amused. or convinced.

"try me."

you throw out the first thing that comes to mind. "it’s, uh… y/n… the first… y/ln… the third."

silence.

then yunjin, from beside you, coughs so hard you think she might pass out. you nudge her with your elbow, but she’s already turning away, shoulders shaking.

the guard, however, does not laugh. he just stares at you like you’re the dumbest person to ever breathe.

"that’s not a real name."

"it could be," you argue weakly.

he crosses his arms. "it isn’t."

you exhale through your nose, willing yourself not to turn and run. not yet. not when you’re this close.

yunjin, finally recovering, clears her throat and steps in. "okay, okay, my idiot friend here—who, i assure you, is actually very harmless—just has a little bit of trouble with names. what they meant to say is that they’re a guest of lady yu."

the guard squints at you both, skeptical. "lady yu?"

"yes," yunjin says smoothly. "you know, lady yu. very high society. loves art. huge fan of… uh, brush strokes."

you resist the urge to slap a hand over your face.

the guard exhales, clearly debating whether dealing with the two of you is worth his time. eventually, he lifts a radio to his mouth, murmuring something you can’t hear. a beat later, he nods.

"you’re clear to enter."

you don’t ask how yunjin pulled that off; just grab her hand and pull her inside before the guy can change his mind.

and then you’re in.

the palace is even more ridiculous further inside. every inch screams money. gilded ceilings, more enormous chandeliers, even shinier marble floors that make you extra aware of how not rich you are.

you scan the room, searching, heart pounding in your throat. and then—

there.

at the far end of the ballroom, half-surrounded by nobles and dignitaries and all the kinds of people who actually belong here, she stands. regal. poised. effortlessly untouchable.

princess karina.

and she’s looking right at you.

you swallow. she arches an eyebrow. her expression shifts, then she's up and moving. in your direction. then, without a word, her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but not rough, and she turns, pulling you with her.

you barely have time to process what’s happening before you’re weaving through the gilded halls, past guards who barely spare you a glance, past murmuring guests too distracted by their own conversations to notice the princess slipping away with some stranger in a borrowed suit.

she doesn’t stop until you’re deep in the palace, past the public rooms, past the private suites, past everything anyone else has a right to see. only then does she let go.

you swallow hard, rubbing at your wrist. "subtle."

she ignores you, crossing her arms. "what the hell are you doing here? you're not supposed to be here."

your throat feels dry. "i know."

"then why are you?"

you lick your lips, suddenly 1000x more nervous than you were standing outside the palace gates. "i—" you inhale sharply. "i tried to forget you. and i couldn’t."

"that’s unfortunate."

your chest tightens. "is it?"

she exhales softly through her nose. "what do you want, really?"

and it hits you, all at once, all over again. why you’re here. why you had to come.

you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. your eyes never leave hers. "do you know what it means to be a muse?"

that throws her. a small crease forms between her brows. "i—"

"it means you exist everywhere," you cut in before she can finish. "even when i try to ignore it. even when i don’t want to think about you. you show up in every color, in every stroke of my brush, in every painting i try to create. you are impossible to forget."

her mouth opens and closes. "that doesn’t—you can't—"

"it means you stole something from me," you continue, your voice growing softer as you close the last bit of distance between you. "something i didn’t even realize i was missing until you came into my life and showed me what it meant to feel alive again. you're my muse."

her breath catches at that, lips parting just slightly, as if to speak, but no words come out. you take advantage of the moment, reaching up to cup her face in your hands, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. she leans into your touch, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, eyes falling shut for a moment. and then they open again, dark and intense and so, so beautiful.

she searches your face as her hand reaches up to rest against yours. you want to kiss her, want to tell her you want her in the simplest terms, in a way that even a princess can understand. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against hers, and ask, "do you feel the same? was it real, what i felt between us?"

you barely whisper the question out loud, barely hearing her inhale as she closes the space between you. her lips brush against yours, featherlight but enough to make your stomach flip. “i can't be that for you,” she says against your mouth.

and your heart breaks. you know you were just a one-time thing, just a quick fling for her. it's the whole princess thing. you knew it would be complicated, but you couldn't stop thinking about her, and she's looking at you with such an intense look, a look that says she can't forget you either, and that has to be worth something, right?

you don't realize you said all of it out loud until she pulls away, blinking rapidly. "wait, no—that's not—that's not what i meant," she stammers, suddenly looking much younger and more vulnerable than you've ever seen her. "that night at the gallery, with you, was real. that was—it was the only time i've ever felt that way."

"but," like always

her gaze softens. "we can't. you can't just come in here like this."

she says the last bit as if you've done something wrong, and her hands pull back to her sides. you don't have it in you to care about her rules anymore. her hands fall to her sides, but you stay still, your forehead hovering near hers, your breath mixing.

"i don't care about protocol," you whisper. "i care about you."

"stop," she says, softer than before. "you can't just say things like that and expect me to—"

"expect you to what?" your voice rises, sharp edges showing. "feel the same? you already do. you’re just scared. and i get it. i do. but don’t pretend this didn’t mean anything."

"i'm not pretending," she snaps, taking a step back, composure cracking. "i haven't stopped thinking about you either, okay? but that doesn’t change the fact that this—us—it’s impossible."

"why? because you wear a crown and i wear paint under my nails?"

"because my life isn’t mine!" she yells. "because everything i do is watched and calculated and twisted into something ugly. if they knew you were here—if they saw us like this—"

"then let them see," you say, helpless and stupid and in love. "i'll stand in front of every one of them and say it. i'll tell them how i look at you like the sun rises in your mouth and sets in your goddamn spine. i don't care."

"well, i care!" she shouts, her voice shaking now, full of fire and something just comparable to fear. "i can't afford to want things. not like you do. not recklessly. i don't get to choose who i love."

it's quiet.

"you need to leave."

you don’t move.

"if you don’t, i'll call the guards."

you flinch, and she notices. her jaw clenches. it takes everything in you not to beg.

“don’t make me do that,” she whispers. “please. just go.”

your throat is tight. you nod once.

you turn, heart heavy, the room blurring at the edges. when you open the door, yunjin is waiting, quiet and still in the corridor, like she knew this was how it’d end.

you don’t say a word as she walks beside you down the long hallway, past the grand ballroom, and out of the palace. she doesn’t push for information or ask about what happened. she just lets you stew in your thoughts, and you are grateful. when you get back to your apartment, you collapse onto the bed. you don’t cry—you never really did, even in high school, and now doesn't seem like a good time to start—but you come pretty fucking close.

you lie there for hours. maybe days. hard to tell. just you, your ceiling, and the hollow space behind your ribs where your heart used to sit before she carved it out with a single sentence and left like it didn’t matter.

you tell yourself it was stupid to fall for her. she’s a fucking princess. what were you expecting? that she’d run off with you into the sunset like a fairy tale? that she’d burn her whole world down just to be with someone who wears the same hoodie four days in a row and forgets to buy groceries until you’re eating plain rice and mustard?

but it still hurts.

the gallery night is yunjin’s idea. she throws a flyer at your chest and tells you to “get a grip and make rent.” you roll your eyes, but deep down you know she’s right. you need something to do with your hands, something to keep you from climbing the palace walls like some deranged romantic with a death wish.

you don’t expect anyone to show up, but people come. some friends. some strangers. a few art freaks who talk way too much about your “use of longing and space.” you just nod along, pretending you're three seconds away from yelling in their face.

everything is her. every painting. every messy, unblended brushstroke. every fucking streak of white paint on the canvas because she wore that blue dress when you first met, and now it’s like your brain can’t forget.

the last person leaves, some guy who said a lot of things you didn't understand, and you don't really remember the specifics of it, but you're pretty sure you shook hands, and maybe he wrote down your name and contact info? you don't remember. but there are no more guests. so you’re cleaning up. closing things. mentally debating whether or not you can drink paint thinner and survive.

the door creaks open behind you, and you don’t even look.

“sorry,” you call over your shoulder, wiping your hands on a rag. “we’re closed. private event's over.”

no response. just the sound of the door shutting. then —

“are you always this rude to royalty?”

you freeze.

slowly, slowly, you turn around. and she's standing there, in a white coat with her arms folded against her chest. there are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping either. it takes everything in you not to run to her. not to kiss her until she forgets all the reasons why she ran the first time. you settle for swallowing hard and clearing your throat.

“you could’ve just knocked."

“i did." she lifts her hand. “twice. and then i panicked and came in anyway.”

you stare. she fidgets.

she looks down at her shoes. looks back up again. looks back down again. like she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she's here. finally, she takes a step forward. you take a step back. it's reflex at this point, some instinct to keep her from getting too close.

"i came to apologize," she starts, sounding unsure, which isn't like her at all. "for—everything."

karina runs a hand through her hair. your throat goes tight at the familiarity of the action, at how much she reminds you of that night, that stupid dress, and the way she kissed you, indicating that she didn’t care what came next.

you exhale.

"don’t apologize," you say, because the words feel heavy and foreign in your mouth, because she's been living a life you can't even begin to imagine, because none of that matters if she's here, looking at you like this, and you have to believe in something. "you didn't do anything wrong. and if anyone needs to apologize, it should be me. i shouldn't have—"

"you were right," she cuts in before you can finish.

it throws you. "what?"

she swallows hard, glancing down at the floor, at your shoes. then back up again, holding your gaze this time. "i don't know much about art, but i know what you meant…for someone to be your muse." her voice drops low. "and i think you're mine."

you blink. "oh."

a pause. her cheeks flush, eyes widening in panic.

"was that—did that make sense? i probably sound like a—"

"yeah."

you nod, trying not to smile as you watch her rambling, trying not to stare too obviously at how her whole face is blushing now.

you want to tell her everything. to show her everything.

you settle for, "i mean, it does make sense."

it does. it doesn’t. none of this does, not in a normal way. it's the kind of thing you tell your grandkids about someday. or maybe a therapist, if you can ever afford one. either way, it makes something flicker deep within your chest.

you pause.

"so what do you mean, exactly?"

her lips purse. her eyes are pleading now. she looks younger. more human. not so much a princess anymore as she does someone trying to figure out how to tell the world to screw off. you're struck, again, with how much you love her. it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

"i want this," she says quietly, gesturing between the two of you. "i want this so much it scares me."

you're not used to this, to feeling seen by someone who isn't yunjin, and it throws you off. you clear your throat again, shifting from one foot to the other. "i want this too."

a pause. you try not to stare too openly at her lips. you fail miserably.

"we'll figure it out," she says softly. "together. whatever that looks like."

"together."

the word hangs between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. and then—

you don’t even realize what's happening until she's already moving forward, pulling you down to her level. you can smell her perfume. you can see every single detail of her face as she stares back at you. your lips are a breath apart. she hesitates.

"tell me you don't want this," she murmurs. "and i'll go."

your chest constricts, throat tight. you want to tell her it'll never be easy, not when you're you, and not when she's her, not when this could be so much more complicated than either of you are prepared for. but you also want this, want her, want to know what her skin feels like against your palms and whether or not the words i love you sound good when spoken aloud. you swallow hard, hands tightening on her hips.

"i can't," you whisper. "i don't think i've ever wanted anything more."

a smile flickers over her face. it's gone too quickly. "good."

her lips are on yours, soft and gentle, and everything in your life shifts back into focus, into place.

there are things you can't explain. the way she feels pressed against your chest, warm and perfect and yours, for now at least. the way your hands shake when you brush your thumb over the curve of her cheek. the way she tastes like starlight.

and there are things you don't have to.

[noodles-and-tea]

Hi! I don't want to be like that one anon (which, very rude. Everyone knew you didn't have malicious intentions), but I do think you have a case of "same face syndrome." Or rather, same head syndrome.

Regardless of fandom, if you line up your works and disregard any unique clothes/hair the characters have, they tend to look the same. For example, I noticed that in your Merlin fanart and MHA fanart, Merlin and Izuku cannot be told apart by just their faces. I feel a lot of your characters have the same long rectangular face and small round eyes. It feels as though you draw distinct design features (EX: Deku's hair, hero outfit, green eyes, green hair, etc.) onto an already generated base.

It's a distinct art style, but it's not great for capturing ethnic features if you stick by this formula! It will get you a lot of flak on the Internet, especially if you draw ethnic features out, even if it was by accident. Your art style must morph to the character depicted, not the other way around.

That may be why Mel in your art style doesn't look like Mel. She's missing her flat nose (I can see an attempt, but the nose is still too small at the base and positioned lower than Mel's real nose is), heart-shaped head (her face in the show is wider and her chin is smaller than your artwork), and her eyes are more almond-shaped rather than the round eyes you tend to depict in your artworks. If you compare her to Izuku in one of your more recent works, they can be twins! Or, siblings at the very least.

I think practicing more unique features would help tackle this! A flat, wide nose, a hooked nose, eyes with an epicanthic fold, "sanpaku" eyes, wide lips, thin lips, different head shapes, and a whole lot more! Playing around with face anatomy is so much more forgiving than body anatomy. It's fun to dissect a character into different shapes and see what makes a character look like them, and then converting it into your art style.

Although the characters you choose to depict tend to morph toward a single base, your art is genuine eye candy. Please do not let this incident discourage you, but encourage you to work on a variety of features to diversify who you can accurately depict. Of course, I am just a random anon. If you do not feel the need to answer this ask publicly or feel my hubris precedes me in critiquing your art, then don't answer! All I request from you is to keep this ask in mind before deleting it.

I appreciate your kind words! Once again, I totally agree with what you're saying, same face syndrome is something I struggle with and am always trying to improve on (if you compare my older art with my newer stuff I hope that you'd be able to see at least a small amount of improvement).

I try to take care in the way I depict characters, obviously I don't get it right all the time, but it is something I work on! I do a lot of character studies (I don't post a lot of them) (I haven't done any on Mel yet (obviously lol))

Again - I super appreciate the effort you've put into this ask which is why I wanted to answer it!

I did also just want to add for anyone else who might want to add their thoughts - art IS something I do for fun and relaxation and I currently don't have a lot of time to prioritise it

[leonalovesalot]

You make me perfect III (final)

Ex!ArtDonaldson x Reader

18+ Minors DNI

wc: 3.3k

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“Beg.”

Art’s lips part. He couldn’t believe you actually said that. He’d dreamt of this before. Countless nights spent thinking about and envisioning your reunion. It always started with him apologizing for whatever it was you broke up with him over. He’d hold your hands tight with no plans of letting go. Then his mind would wander and he’d think about the way your hands felt. And how they used to feel on him. In his hair, on his face, on his chest, around his cock. He’d look down and see the tent forming under his sheets and groan because he knew it was disgusting to think of you this way when you had no idea. But he was too sexually frustrated to care. He’d quickly bring his hand down under his boxers and jerk off until he climaxed while whimpering your name.

But this wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t his imagination. You were actually here. He looked up at you while you stared down at him. He was hard with arousal. He’d let you desecrate him if that’s what you really wanted. You looked so powerful. He couldn’t believe how turned on he was.

“Y/N,” he swallowed. He didn’t realize how dry his mouth was. He continues, “please come back to me-” he stops and shakes his head, “please take me back. I- I can't live like this.”

You didn’t budge. But you couldn’t deny the fact that you were enjoying yourself. Two months of numbness and now you were finally beginning to feel something.

His hands tighten on your hips and he begins toying with the hem of his fleece you still had on.

“You were right,” he sniffles, “I’m nothing without you. You made me the man I am today. You’re the reason I play well. Without you, I’m shit.”

You tilt your head. The way he talked about himself sometimes pained you. He had so much hate for himself and you never understood where it came from because to you, he was flawless.

“I’ve done nothing for the past two months besides think of you. And- and how sorry I am,” he stares at you waiting for a shift in your expression that could indicate whether he was satisfying you or not. Your eyes were just a little watery.

“I’ve missed you. I- I still love you so fucking much,” his hands begin to move under the fleece and under the shirt you wore to touch your warm skin. You take in a shaky breath which nearly makes him cum right then and there.

“I miss being able to talk to you,” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your stomach over your shirt.

Your knees feel weak.

“I miss your laugh,” another kiss, “I miss our closeness,” and another, “I miss who I am with you.”

You look up and close your eyes. It was working. You could feel him slowly tearing down all of your self restraint.

He feels you giving into him and he slowly rises, still on his knees. He lifts your shirt up and starts kissing your skin. You were beginning to inhale and exhale through your mouth, filling the room with sounds of your breathing and his kisses.

“I missed touching you- God, Y/N I missed your body. I still remember every fucking inch,” he raised your shirt further until it was just underneath your breasts. He kisses higher and higher, each kiss more sloppy than the last. He was starting to lose control. He was hungry and he was practically tasting you.

“I miss being inside you, seeing you under me. My back feels so empty without those marks you love to leave, baby. You can scratch all you want- I want to bleed for you.” He opens his mouth and lightly grazes his teeth just above your belly button. Testing the waters.

You were sure you were soaked at this point. To be honest, you were wet the second he unbuckled your seatbelt in the car. It didn’t take much with Art. Your sexual chemistry was indescribable.

He continued running his hands up and down your stomach and back, touching every little bit of skin he could reach.

Your breathing steadied but it was still the only thing he could hear and he was fully erect at this point. He reluctantly takes one hand off of you and brings it to adjust his pants because his cock was rubbing against them creating a wet spot. He didn’t wanna finish right now, he wanted to be inside you. Finish inside you.

Art couldn't wait anymore. He really needed you. He brings both hands to the top of your jeans. He unbuttons them and maintains eye contact with you the whole time.

"Can I?" Art asked, even though he knew the answer.

There was no going back now. You nod eagerly and could feel the excitement in your core. He grins innocently like he wasn't about to shove his fingers inside you. And his tongue, of course.

He pulls your jeans down and the sight of your wet panties sends him burying his face between your thighs. You gasp, "Art," clearly not expecting that. You bring your hands to the back of his head to steady yourself which only pushes him further, making him groan. His nose brushes against your clit for a second but it was enough to have you twitching.

Art thought he had died and went to heaven. He inhaled deeply. Just as he remembered. You were made for him.

Art flattened his tongue against your clothed heat. He was slowly coming back to his senses and he wanted to tease you a little. But this was proving more torturous for him because all he wanted to do was rip your panties off of you and have your pussy engulf him.

Patience.

You threw your head back, shutting your eyes tight, and biting your lip to suppress your moans. You notice your body beginning to grind against his face without thinking. Your bliss comes to an end when Art brings his hands to your ass and slaps it. You yelp and your eyes snap open. You look down at him with nothing but shock and embarrassment burning your face.

"No moving," he says, face still pressed into you.

You just nod and close your eyes, panting, but standing still.

Art hummed in satisfaction knowing he can finally do whatever he wants and you'll listen and obey. He pats the inside of your thigh and you part your legs a little more hoping that's what he was asking for.

He nods and licks a strip from the front of pussy to the back. You moaned and balled your hands in his hair; there wasn't enough of it to grip, but it still drove him crazy. Art always liked a little pain. You remembered that.

"You're dripping through your panties," He speaks low, "I can taste you," he chuckles quietly, "you must have been wet for a while," he lightly bites your clitoral hood and your knees buckle.

Art's hands come up to your hips to help you stand back up. You had forgotten how strong he was. He smiles, amused, at your reaction. Normally, that would make you want to turn the tables on him but right now you didn't even care. You would let him do anything to you.

He stops mocking you and dives back in practically making out with your core. You'll have to throw away your panties because they'd never recover from the combination of your ejaculate and his spit.

You pulled at his hair, he groaned and lapped you up, you moaned. This didn't continue for long before you came in your underwear. You legs twitched and he let you ride out your high on his face. He couldn't fathom how turned on he was by you grinding on his face and he whimpers as he cums in his pants.

"Fuck- fuck," he whispered as he climaxed. He was slightly disappointed that he came so soon and you hadn’t even touched him. But that was the effect you had on him.

You stand there catching your breath, you could barely hear anything. There was no penetration and yet your orgasm was the most intense it had ever been. That’s what happens when you haven’t been touched in two months. You were starved. Your recovery transpired quickly and you looked back down at him and loosened your grip in his hair.

Art was panting as he fixed his gaze on you. His face glistened in the dim lighting, covered in spit and your release. You could swear you were starting to drool at the sight.

You lick your lips and swallow trying to find your voice, but nothing comes out. Art finally stands up slowly, studying your figure as he does so. You both come face to face, this time you were tilting your head up to look at him. You stood on your toes and run the tip of your tongue on the corner of his lips, cleaning him up slowly. He sighs, relaxed, and brings his hands to the fleece you still had on and pulls it back. He wanted to see you. All of you, now. You assisted him and slipped the fleece off letting it fall to the floor.

The feeling of your warm tongue on his cheeks and chin was enough to make him hard again. He smiled lightly, excited for the long night ahead. He wasn't going to hold back anymore. He leaned away from you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts his head down and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

The gentle moment was over within what felt like a millisecond and his hands were at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. You gasped at his fervent action and raised your arms to help him take it off. He threw it to the side, across the room, and began pulling off his own shirt. He was shirtless and you couldn't help but ogle at his physique. He really had gotten more muscular. He would've loved to tease you for the way you stared at him but he was too busy trying not to explode from the way your breasts looked in your bra. Slightly spilling over the edge, the bra was too tight for you. His cock was throbbing.

Your eyes met and you both let out a breathy chuckle. He took your wrist and pulled you to his bedroom. You were burning with anticipation; the whirlwind of thoughts that once occupied your mind had vanished. You were fully present and you wanted him bad. He kicks the door open and before you enter the room, he pushes you against it, finally kissing you. You were caught by surprise and your mouth fell open to gasp, but he just shoves his tongue inside. Your eyes close and you try to reciprocate his zeal. He moans when you do, which shows you were doing something right.

Two months had passed since you two had been together like this and Art was ready to make up for lost time. You weren't going anywhere. Not tonight, at least.

He reaches down and undoes his pants and slides them off without breaking the kiss. He remembers that you prefer when he undressed first- it made you more comfortable. It was a sweet gesture, but you were so titillated right now that you wouldn't care if he fucked you against the door, throwing all comfort out the window. He steps out of his pants and kicks them to the side.

Art's hands come to the back of your thighs and he picks you up, walking you to the bed. You were anticipating a soft landing on your back but instead, he perches you on his lap while he sits at the edge of the bed. He makes you straddle him, and begins kissing up and down your neck and chest. His hands occasionally coming up to squeeze your breasts through your bra. You whimpered at the pressure and throw your head back.

"I missed you," you whine. He smiles and continues sucking on and kissing your collarbone.

He brings his right hand down and index and middle finger quickly find your clit and rub slow circles.

"If you keep doing that I'll-" Art kisses you and cuts you off. He shoves your panties aside and rubs your clit, applying a little more pressure this time.

"I want you to," he pulls away to whisper.

And so you do. It didn't take too long because he knew exactly what pace got you to finish. You moan a string of words that he couldn't make out so he just smiled and kissed you on your jaw.

You finally got your legs to stop twitching and you brought your head forward to rest it on his shoulder. You wanted to return the favour. He'd got you to cum twice and you wanted to even things out. Your breathing steadied and you brought your right hand down and slipped them under his boxers to find his erection which was already covered in his sticky cum from earlier.

He groaned into your ear. You felt a sudden rush of confidence and pushed him back so he was laying down. He let out a quiet 'oof', clearly not expecting that act of dominance. You leaned forward and kissed his chest and pecs, while moving your hand up and down his cock slowly. Art was losing his mind. He felt dizzy and was so fucking glad he brought you to his house. All alone. All to himself.

He looks at you through lidded eyes and wraps his hand around your wrist stopping you from jerking him off further. You look back at him with confusion on your face. God, he wished he could take a picture of you right now. You looked like an angel.

"I wanna be inside you now," Art says, his voice came out so deep that it sent a tingle up your core. You nod and bring your hand out of his boxers and lick it clean. He stares at you in awe. You weren't afraid to be dirty. He really liked that.

Art reaches behind with his left hand and unhooks your bra, which releases your pretty tits that he pictured night after night when he'd pleasure himself. But you weren't his foggy imagination, you were real. You were here.

He latches his lips around your nipple and swirls his tongue around it to make it harder. You bite your lip savouring the sensation. You begin grinding slowly without even realizing which applied pressure on his cock. Art was bursting at the seams. He quickly pulls away and brings his hands around you turning the two of you over- so he's on top.

You raise your head to kiss him but he draws back off the bed and takes his boxers off hurriedly. You lay there and close your thighs tight feeling your pussy pulsing. You whimper at the pressure.

Now that he was fully naked, he crawls back on top of you slowly, and tantalizingly. The two of you stared at each other, small smiles painted on your faces from already envisioning what'll happen next. You reach down and push your panties off. Lifting your hips and so they can reach the base of your ass. From there, Art takes over and slides them off of you, flinging them across the room.

This was it. It was finally happening.

He brings his middle and ring finger to your lips, "open up, baby," he whispers.

You part your lips and he slips his fingers in. Without hesitation, you lubricate them with your saliva. His fingers were salty, you loved it.

He takes them out and replaces them with his lips. Some spit escaped from the sides of your mouth and he wiped it away with his thumb. As he kisses you, he brings his wet fingers to your wet cunt. You were so lost in his mouth, but have to pull away to groan when he slips his fingers inside.

He groans with you as you squeeze around him, "you're so tight Y/N. Are you gonna be able to take me?" He smirks and kisses your cheek. You were so hot.

You nod, not really listening to him. He finds this amusing. He starts moving his fingers in and out slowly preparing you for a much larger stretch. Every time he'd push them in, he'd curl the tips and make you spasm and moan.

"I'm ready, Art. Please," you say huskily. You didn't have to tell him twice.

He holds his cock and aligns it with your inviting entrance. Before putting it in, he runs it up and down your slit loving the sight of him being coated in your wetness.

You squirm and whine, "Art, come on," you were growing desperate.

He chuckles and slams into you cutting off your words. Neither of you were afraid to be vocal. He falls forward and buries his face between your tits. You mewl and he groans. He takes a deep breath and begins moving in and out. You wrap your arms around his shoulders with your eyes shut tight. It hurt so good.

Art quickens his pace a little and it has you both panting like dogs. Your hands itched to grip something. They slid a little lower and you began clawing at his back, just like you used to.

Art hisses but doesn't tell you to stop. It hurt so good. He wanted to be marked by you. He wanted to bleed. He wanted you to dig your nails into him further.

"I'm nothing without you," he growls, "I don't exist without you," his strokes get sloppy and you can sense he's about to finish.

Art brings his hand down and vigourously flicks his thumb over your clit. You cried out louder than expected, a few tears gather at the corner of your eyes. Art licks them away.

"I want you back," he chokes out, "I don't care if you think we're not healthy- fuck," he didn't know how much longer he could keep going. You continue moaning and arching against him. His thumb on your clit showed no signs of stopping, and the pleasure inside your tummy was reaching it's peak. Art continues through gritted teeth, "I like not knowing where I end and you begin- I like when we're one-" he was going to cum. He knew it. You knew it.

He whimpers as he gets closer to his climax and the rubbing on your clit loses the rhythm he'd perfected.

Hearing his whimpers signalling that he was close made your eyes shoot open. He wasn't wearing a condom. You clench around him again and he groans.

"Art, not inside," you manage to gasp out.

He didn't relent.

He kept going, "no, you're gonna stay with me. I need a fucking guarantee," he slams into hard and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You didn't even care. You were on cloud nine, and it was all because of him. He was irreplaceable.

Art finally lets out a guttural moan and slams his cum into you. You bring your hand to his stomach to weakly show your objection but he just grabs your wrist and takes your fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widen and he winks at you. He fucking winks at you. You weren't used to this version Art and to your surprise, you felt a frisson run through you.

You reach your orgasm seconds after, you whine and your legs twitch out of control. Everything was so wet. You were so stuffed with his cum and now yours too. It was heaven.

Art collapses next to you, still inside. He brings your leg up and around his waist so he could reach deeper into you. You groan at the sensation.

You both fall asleep breathing in each other's air.

Still, connected.

Still, one.

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I'm obsessed with the song closer by nine inch nails and always thought the song was only about sex. HOWEVER, it's actually about "self-loathing and obsession" which I couldn't stop thinking about and so that's what kinda inspired me to write all of this.

I hope you enjoyed ;))

I'm also working on another fic, but for Patrick this time!

[moodient]

Bet's On

relationship: sevika + reader

tags: nsfw, kissing, licking, teasing, scissoring, sub!sevika, dom!reader, established relationship, dirty talk, cunnilingus, thigh grinding, sensual, neck kisses, making out, pussy praise, sort of a bet, body worship, overstim, taking turns

a//n: EXCITED- this is sort of my first time writing smut for sevika and i hope you enjoy, my lovelies!~

"hey baby? wouldn't you let me please you tonight?" you asked her, laying on the couch with her. your warm and soft body was being held by your hot, sexy and muscular girlfriend, sevika. she kisses your cheek and sits up a bit, smirking.

"and what makes you think you could please me, hmm?~" she teased, rubbing your ass. you blushed without realizing what she said. and when it clicked, you sat up quickly and pouted at her.

"now, hold on. who said i couldn't? you said, raising an eyebrow at her. and just like that, the vibe in the room has completely changed, from a warm and comforting presence to sexual tension, your breathing blowing hot and slow, eyes glossy with lust, and your faces were flushed in color.

there's a moment in between when nothing is said, just comfortable silence and unspoken words that would have you both on each other in seconds. that is until sevika spoke..

"here's a bet.. if you can make me cum, i'll make you cum twice in a row." sevika says, tilting her head to look at you. and with that, challenge accepted. you smiled at her and practically tackled her, tongues intertwined with one, tasting and feeding off of each other. without even thinking, you placed your knee in between her legs, moving slightly to rub up against her clothed part.

sevika can't help but place her hands on your hips, enjoying all the slow kisses and french kisses you give her, they're sweet, soft, and almost desperate like you've been wanting to explore her since.. her heart flutters, feeling every intent in your kiss, and then she feels your leg, slowly in between her heat. to you, she looks stoic, or more like smug. but in actuality, she was waiting for this... praying that one day, you would give in to the urges you had and completely ravish her, and here you are.

you went from kissing her soft but chapped lips.. to her neck, soft but strong and you pay special attention to her blue mark, as much as she hated it. you admired it so much, and loved how it framed her. she saw it as a mistake and you saw it as art, gently tracing her neck. she smirked at you, thinking that all you were going to do was kiss it until she felt a strong suction, and that makes her grunt. one hickey.. two hickeys.. three... four, she completely lost count of how many you left on her neck and now chest. as much as she wanted you to keep kissing on her, she needed more.. craved more but instead of telling you, she started rubbing her clit with her fingers, softly moaning.. feeling pleasure.

you realized what she was doing and quickly moved her fingers away, and leaned closer to her. "am i doing a bad job?" you whispered in her ears, causing her to shiver.

"no.. i just.. need more.." she said, looking away. you've never seen her this way and it brings something out of you.. you felt hungry for her, starving even.. you pull her shorts down to reveal that she's not wearing panties.. at all, just her perfect cunt and that bush that you prayed that she kept.

"mm, baby you look absolutely delicious." you said blowing air on her clit, making her grunt. seeing her like this made you absolutely feral for her and you're about to make it your absolute mission to make her cum, as much as possible.

you started to rub her beautiful bud, nice and slow. allowing her to feel every twist and tangle in her body unravel. watching her face expression twists into pleasure, she seems to not be able to keep her eyes open.. but you need to see it, you need to see her eyes glisten.

"eyes on me, baby." you said rubbing faster, she grunts a bit louder and opens her eyes slowly, looking at you in the eyes.. soft, gentle, and submissive..

"that's my good baby.. that's it." you said, without a second thought. you slowly put two fingers inside her, feeling her walls tighten around your digits. she lets out a deep moan, arching her back as you slowly start thrusting your fingers slow.

"what do you want baby, tell me what you need." you said, looking at her. eyes teary, whimpering, hair becoming unraveled. when she tries to speak, nothing comes out besides groans and breathless pants. unsatisfied, you stop and came close to her face.

"baby.. i can't do anything unless you tell me what you want." you said, looking down at her. she looks at you and she pouts at you, and something about it absolutely make you moan, but you still needs her words, her deep soft voice..

"i-i need your mouth and fingers on me.. please baby." sevika cooed at you, you kissed her softly, feeling her lips gently pressed against yours. she flutters her eyes at you, shoving her tongue in her mouth and wrapping her arms around your hips. even though, she's the submissive one right now, her hand placements always will give off the dominant type.

after a while, she finally let you go and it's your time to shine. your fingers were still in her but now you lower yourself down to see the beautiful sight of sevika's pussy. as you slowly start fingering her, you flicked your tongue over her clit. you can't control yourself the moment you felt sevika's hand on your head, rubbing your head and throwing her hand back, grunting.

"fuck, you're so good at that.." sevika said, trying to keep her composure but that's slowly and slowly melting.. you can't help but go faster, sucking and flicking her bud as it starts to swell up and your fingers thrusting faster and faster. all of a sudden, you felt her walls tighten, and you both know what that means.

she tries to lessen the pressure by moving her legs around but you're absolutely about to prove her wrong. you wrap one of your arms around her leg, and she can't handle the pressure of it.

"ah, fuck.. baby wait i-" she groans and then she throws her head. all that pressure she had built in her chest was released, juices exploding over your fingers and mouth. swallowing her juices, you're pussy-drunk off of her and you need more.. and more..

"baby, i can't- shit, it's too sensitive." sevika groans, gripping your hair but that just made you want to do it, you stuff your face in her pussy, lapping up the juices and sucking on her sensitive, throbbing and red. as much as you wanted her to rest, you need her to cum again, one more time to prove your case.

as you continued, fingers thrusted fast and tongue flicking around her cunt, you reached up and squeezed her nipples. she throws her head back and closed her legs in between her head, her big thighs squishing your head filled you with so much pleasure, you'd cum alone just feeling her hot skin on yours.

"ahh fuck, i'm going to cum again.." she moaned out, feeling the pressure built up more and more than before." and little did she know, you were about to cum too, her moans and grunts, her hot skin, her delicious cunt, all of it was sending you over the edge, and you started feeling the pressure built up as well.

and as soon as she came, so did you. feeling your pussy throb and feeling your juices spill over your panties and in between your thighs. she finally let your head go and you finally could breath but all you could do is think about kissing her and cuddling with her.

you wrapped your arms around her, kissing her cheek and rubbing your hand over her chest. she starts to chuckle a little bit, and got on top of you, kissing all over your face and finally passionately kissing your lips.

"now.. i think it's your turn to cum, baby." she said, eyes going dark.

"oh.. i wouldn't worry about that." you said, looking away. it took a second for sevika to understand what you meant, when it clicked she started laughing uncontrollably. you covered your face and started turning red.

"oh uh-huh, you're going to cum three times, now." sevika said, getting close to your face, kissing your hands. and you bet your ass, she made you cum over and over and over again.

[avacora]

Comforting cuddles ~ Hyunjin Drabble

Summary: your loving boyfriend needs some cuddles to help with his creative block.

Hyunjin x reader

Warnings: none, just fluff and cuddles, comforting words, no gender specified.

Word count: ~ 700 words

an: just wrote this short Drabble quickly this afternoon. It hasn’t been proofread yet. Xx

You were lying down on the couch with your book in hand, glasses resting against the bridge of your nose. Today was just a relaxing day you were having at your apartment with your boyfriend. Both of you were currently spending time doing your own thing. You were reading a new book that you’ve been waiting to come out for a while. And Hyunjin was in his art studio working on a painting he’s been trying to finish for about a week. The atmosphere in your shared apartment was peaceful and calming right now. No one would know that both of you were home. The comforting silence of the two of you enjoying your free time consumed in your hobbies, was engulfing your apartment.

Hours had passed from when you had started reading your book. You were about half way through your book, totally engrossed in the story that you hadn’t even noticed that your boyfriend, Hyjunjin, had left his art studio and made his way towards you in the living room. As you were in the midst of reading your book when the light above you, illuminating your page had disappeared making you jump. You look up to see Hyunjin hovering above you, looking down at you on the couch. You had noticed that he had a long pout on his face, his bottom lip jutting out. Noticing that he had a sad expression on his face, you had closed your book on the page you were on, and put it down on the side table.

“You look so comfy. Can I join you?” Hyunjin asked with pleading eyes, making subtle grabby hands towards you, indicating he wanted to cuddle with you on the couch.

“Of course my love, what’s going on?” You cooed towards Hyunjin, reaching out your hand to caress his cheek affectionately. Inviting him in to share his worries with you, opening your arms up to him and he quickly accepts the gesture for him to come and lie in your arms. Hyunjin had gently gotten on top of you and laid his long body on top of yours. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, arms around your waist, and legs entangled with your own. He lies there for a while just inhaling your scent, bringing himself as close to you as humanly possible, knowing this helps him feel better. You know Hyunjin well, you sometimes think you know him better than you know yourself. You could tell he was getting upset with himself, he wasn’t able to finish this current painting with the ease he normally does. And because he loves painting and art so much, you know that he was taking this out on himself.

“I’m still struggling with the painting I’m currently on. I just can’t seem to figure out how to finish it. I know that there’s something missing, an element that the painting needs. But I just don’t know what.” He groans into your neck, needing your waist as a way to relieve some of the pent up frustration he was feeling. You laid there with him, letting him express everything he was feeling in the moment. You had one of your hands resting in his hair, caressing his head gently. Whilst your other hand tracing imaginary pictures up and down his back, trying to soothe the frustration he was feeling.

“Hyune, how about we both take a break for a bit. So that we can relax a bit more. Maybe you’ll get some inspiration later today.” You softly say, holding him closer to your body, tightening your arms around to let him know that you were there with him.

“Hmmm, thank you Jagi. I love you so much. Can we just lie here and cuddle for a bit?” He asked melting into your embrace more, shifting his head to lay on your chest. Your soft and slow heartbeat helped him feel more relaxed.

“Of course my love. I love you so so so much too” you reply, planting a soft kiss to the top of his head. The two of you pulled each other closer, getting comfortable and were lulling off into a peaceful sleep.

[serendark]

Source illustrations by @ancharan: • https://ancharan.tumblr.com/post/773860555406655488/theyre-cuties-and-i-think-they-should-kiss • https://ancharan.tumblr.com/post/767336447230492672/this-was-a-really-fun-stream-thank-u-all-for I traced their artwork for personal practice, and they gave me permission to post it when I asked. (Thank you so much for that!)

Me yapping about my thoughts and process under the cut

So! I've been practicing drawing Ford recently, and figuring out how exactly I want to draw him. Lots of artists approach his features or character in many varying ways, and over time I've come across some that really feel like the perfect Ford for me, like those are the Fords that I wish I could draw and want to strive towards being able to on my own.

I think the ideal in my head is this blob of vibes that does not look like any one artist, and I'm getting closer to being able to see it manifest in my own style the more I practice.

Naturally, ancharan's Fords have left a strong impact on me! I really like how they handle facial anatomy in general and also how they make use of it for strong emoting and expressiveness. Their Fords feel so unique, yet also so very like Ford, and it's just amazing!

My goal isn't to be able to imitate ancharan's art style, nor is it to draw Ford exactly how they do. I wanted to figure out what it was that I found so appealing about their Fords, and then I wanted to figure out what I can learn from that as I continue to iterate and practice my own. What is it about my depictions of him that I feel like need work, what are things I can improve on? How can I draw him so he feels better to me?

I find myself already feeling pretty happy with what I've learned from ancharan's work, and it was what helped me out with that latest Ford drawing I just posted. It turns out that the major thing I need to work on is, unsurprisingly, facial anatomy, particularly how to set the eyes into the face. Just in general and also for masc adult or older men, which is completely predictable when I've nearly exclusively been drawing anime magical girls for years, haha. (RIP Magia Record.)

For the above drawings, I started off by tracing my construction lines directly onto ancharan's illustrations and copying various details. My main goal with the faces in particular was not to copy their lineart exactly, but to look at where they put things and how, and try to draw it in my own style, I guess? Like, when I'm constructing the face, here's where I'm used to putting the eyes and nose, and then here's where they are in this image, so what does it feel like when I deviate from what I'm used to and try something closer to this? What is the version of an adult male in my head and how I would draw them right now, versus how ancharan depicted that idea here? That kind of thing.

These drawings are clearly extremely close in appearance to ancharan's and that was on purpose, as I did trace or otherwise draw over the top of them. But I do like the differences between my art and theirs despite that. I like a differently shaped jawline for Ford, and I think larger eyes and a larger nose? It feels like their Fords and mine have different faces, even with the copying, and that feels like success to me. I really, really adore how my top image Ford here came out, and I think it's probably the best Ford I've drawn, period.

That brings me to the Ford I posted earlier (not traced, to clarify, nothing else I have posted has been traced). First, I drew the face just off the top of my head, the way I normally do, while trying to think about and consider what I liked about the above Fords and felt like I had learned. My attempt was....idk, it felt uncanny to me, and not at all like Ford as I was imagining him. I'm pretty sure it was due to anatomy and facial proportions issues?

So I took that bad Ford and tried to figure out how to make it, well, "good", based on what it was that I liked so much about my outcome in the top image Ford here.

I ended up with a much better Ford that I felt way happier with (old on left, new on right):

Honestly, it's amazing how big of an impact seemingly small changes can make when it comes to this. Like, these have such similar lines, but they feel SO different from each other, right? Small details also do SO much work here, to an astonishing extent.

I think the Ford I really like on the right also feels pretty different from ancharan's, and doesn't feel exactly like my results from the tracing, either. It's the most "me" that a Ford I've drawn has ever felt, I believe, and I'm pretty stoked about that. I think that feeling also comes from it being closer to that ideal Ford in my head than I've been able to draw before.

There's a lot I still need to practice and improve, and eventually I want to draw different facial expressions and angles (I am filled with fear). I am glad for the progress I've made though, and thankful for other artists in the community whose work has been inspiring for me and also just fun to see in general.

I'm deeply appreciative of ancharan for letting me post these! I feel like these drawings are such obvious copies of their artwork to where I didn't feel comfortable calling the drawings my own original artwork, and I didn't want to post them publicly without permission.

I am happy to be able to share them here. Thanks again, ancharan! Go check out their artwork!! Their whole gallery is awesome! There's also this cool espresso machine AU☕ that may be of interest...

If this post is incoherent, it's because I haven't slept yet whoops

[rosietoesy]

Thong Song

Summary: I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my waist (neck)

18+ MDNI

CW: daddy kink, mirror sex, cream pie, spanking, choking , hair pulling, pussy spanking

Y2k an era of fashion greatness and faux pas. Although this was one of the greatness that Wally loved from the era; low-rise bottoms and the whale tail. The y-band peaking out from the waistband, which left little to imagination, but enough to drive anyone wild. It especially drove Wally wild when he saw it on you. The sway of your hips when you walk and hypnotizing it has on him when you walk by the whale tail clinging to your hips.

It was springtime which meant the weather started to warm up and meant clothing began to match the weather. Skirts, shorts, crop tops, anything that showed skin drove poor Wally mad. Walter James Clark is or more like was a good boy, but his resolve is close to snapping when looking at you. His pretty girl who didn't know any better that your little outfit was killing him. A skin tight crop top that hugged your chest deliciously with the imprint of your nippple piercings and low-rise jeans that hugged your curves. He squinted, was that a whale tail he saw gracing your hips. They barely concealed the purple bruises he left behind showing anyone who dared look your way that you were taken. Taken by him in every way possible that the pope would blush.

Lunch time rolled around, so Wally was able to see you up close and in person. And boy, weren't you a sight for sore eyes. Seeing you from far away didn't do you any justice Wally thinks. Sure, he saw you this morning, but fuzzy sleepy brains, he couldn't fully appreciate you. As you approach the table that he is currently occupying, his throat runs dry, and his palms are sweaty. He has to steel his nerves and practice the art of self-control.

“Hi baby.” Wally rasped as you sat down next to him. “Hi handsome.” You replied. Lunch was a haze of conversations and mediocre food. The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, and the two of you exited the cafeteria to head to history class since it was one of two classes you had together. Walking together hand in hand until you made your way to your locker to put away some textbooks that you no longer needed. A pen slipped from your grasp, and when you bent over to pick it up, that's when Wally noticed it. If he had blinked, he would have missed it, but he was so engrossed at looking at your ass that he saw it.

A sparkle that only occurred because the light reflected on it. He noticed it on your waistband and squinted to try and see if he could make out what caused the sparkle. Finally standing back up with the pen in hand, Wally knew he had limited time before you turned around and he would never be able to solve the mystery currently haunting him. So he did the only rational thing he knew that would work. He hugged you from behind so that way he can investigate without you getting suspicious of what his true intentions are.

You flinched at first because you were so focused on the task at hand, but quickly recovered when you felt the firm chest of Wally on your back side. You giggled “Can I help you there mister?” He chuckled “Can a guy not want to love on his girlfriend?” You roll your eyes at that and lean back into his chest, “not when said boyfriend is notorious for being a horn dog and typically has ulterior motives when it comes to his girlfriend.” You stated. Wally scoffed at what you said. “I'm incredibly offended that you think so lowly of me princess.” He whined. “Oh really? So it had nothing to do with me being bent over?” You asked. “nah-huh” He vocialized. You pressed your ass against his crotch feeling the tell tale signs of a hard on and he grunted. “Well that is determined to be a lie.” You laughed.

You glanced at the clock nearby and noticed that the late bell was going to ring soon. “Common Baby, we need to get going.” You said while attempting to escape from his arms and that when he noticed it. His name on the waistband of your thong in royal blue gems shining right back at him. He sucked in a breath and tightened his grips on your hips. You whined at the unexpected action and crinkled your nose at him. “What the hell was that for?” You demanded from him. He said nothing but grabbed your hand and tugged you along with him. “Wally!” You shouted and quickly grabbed your backpack and shut your locker door. He was pulling you in the opposite direction of your history class, and the late bell rang out. “Wally!” You called out again, but he continued on his journey. He was a man on a mission. It's a mission to destroy you. “Walter James Clark” You tried but nothing. So you gave up and just went along with whatever he had planned for you.

He yanked open the door and pulled you inside. It was the boy’s locker room you noticed. “Seriously Wally.” You said you were extremely annoyed with him. Once he was in front of the mirror, he stopped and dropped both of your bags on the floor. He spun you around so your front was to him and your backside to the mirror. Honestly, you were beyond confused about what was going on. “So you just want to play dumb is that it?” He spoke darkly. Your head snapped up at him, wondering who or what he was talking about. “What are you talking about?” You said. “You really don't know, do you.” He laughed. You wanted to be offended and snap back at him, but Wally squeezed your cheeks together and turned your head to the mirror. “That's what I'm talking about, dummy.” He said. Your eyes took a brief second to adjust, and then you realized what he was talking about. Oh! “Oh, right princess.” It's like he read your mind. “You really think that you can get away with this?” He rhetorically asked. You didn't respond, not that you could anyways with your cheeks being squished and knowing that Wally could give two shits about what your answer is.

He let go of your cheeks and spun you around. At lightning speed, your baby tee and low-ride jeans were stripped from you. You were left in the middle of the room as Wally took a step back from you. He was drinking in your semi-nude body. Silence enveloped the atmosphere, and you began to squirm under his stare. Heat rose to your cheeks and throughout your body. After a beat or two that felt like forever to you, Wally stripped himself of his clothes and sans his boxers. He approached you and turned you back around to face the mirror.

“I am going to absolutely destroy you, sweetheart.” He said with husk in his voice. His hands instantly cup your breast in his hands, giving them a firm harsh squeeze and taking your nipples in between his fingers, giving them a harsh pinch. A shiver went down your spine and caused your body to squirm slightly. “No ma'am.” He scolded and twisted your nipples. You cried out, and your knees buckled. His fingers released your nipples and his hands went to your waist to steady you. “You okay, baby?” He asked with slight concern in his voice. You sucked in some air and replied “Just sensitive.” He apologized with a pout on his lips. You knew his apology was a facade, and you just held your breath, waiting for his next move. His hands traveled from your waist, one splayed across your stomach and the other cupped your pussy through your thong. His thumb teased your clit by adding a little pressure there. Your breathing became shallow and heavy. He decided to move his thumb in tight circles on your clit and enjoyed you squirming in his arms.

You were struggling hard to keep your body upright. Squirming and shaking in his arms as he continues rubbing his thumb on your clit. He was bringing you closer and closer to the edge of your climax. He kept a sharp eye on the tell tale signs of your climax coming and when he knew that you were right at the edge, he stopped and removed his thumb. You let out the most pathetic whine ever and it went straight to his cock. He needed you now more than ever. The hand that was on your stomach carefully bent you over and his fingertips ran down your spine leaving going in its wake. His other hand pulled your thong and he groaned huskily “ The thong stays on so I can see my name while I destroy you.” A loud moan left your lips from hearing those words. He was rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds. He slowly started pushing into you and it was driving you mad. You started begging, “Please go faster, daddy.” And who would Wally be if he ignored your request with one hard thrust he completely sheathed himself in your pussy. Both of you let out long, loud, echoing moans, ecstasy hitting you both. Again whiny beg escaped from your, “Please move Wally.” Fuck didn't you sound so pretty and so he started moving. His hips moving at a steady pace in and out, hit tip gently tapping against your g-spot.

Wally checked in on you, “Kitten, are you doing okay.” You just nodded your head and he didn't like that. He lifted up his hand and delivered a harsh smack against your ass cheek. You cried out hard. “Use your fucking words. Try again?” He gritted his teeth and paused his movement. More whines spilled from your lips, “ Yes, I'm okay. Sorry Daddy.” You cried out. “Good girl. That's my good girl.” He said and you clenched around him while keening from his praise. “You like that, don't you, kitten?” He chuckled and you responded so fast. His thrust started up again and this time going faster. One hand wrapped around your throat and the other tangled in your hair forcing your head up to look in the mirror. His thrusts started getting hard and his cock head is kissing your g-spot in rapid session. You shut your eyes in pure utter bliss and then you felt a sharp tug on your head. “Keep your eyes open, baby and watch me in the mirror while I destroy your pussy.” Wally rasped. It's exactly what you did and boy it was hard to do. The amount of pleasure coursing through your veins and body were causing your eyes to flutter. You were doing your damn best to keep your eyes open. With his large hand squeezing your throat and one particular thrust sent you over the edge. You cum hard around his cock. Tears filling your waterline and eyes shut closed with spots behind your eyes and a loud cry of his name. He felt your walls clenching down on him and you cumming on his cock triggered his release. Hot cum painted your insides, his head thrown back and your names falling from his pink swollen lips.

It's once you both come down from your highs that Wally pulls out of you and stands you up straight. He readjusted your thong over your pussy and gave it a gentle spank. You whined out in overstimulation and whimpered. “I'm sorry baby.” He said with a pout on his lips while pulling you into his arms. He carefully turned you around in his arms and kissed you deeply. Your hands flew around his neck and tugged the hair on the back of his neck. You both break for air and rest foreheads against each other. “I wasn't too rough?” He horasly asked. “No you didn't.” You replied back. A smile crossed his lips and he pecked you. “I love you baby.” He said while nuzzling his nose against yours. “I love you too, darling.” You whispered.

The two of you redress and exit the locker room. Looking at the clock, it looks like it's in the middle of your science class, and both of you decided to ditch the rest of the day. Wally helped you walk out of the school with you on wobbly legs. Once you make it to his car and he helps you in. He runs around the driver side and gets in, buckling himself in. He pulls out of the parking lot to head home. It seemed like Wally loved seeing his name on the waistband of your thong, and if the sex happened to be like this every time you wore them. You definitely need more of them, you thought.

Enjoy this check out, Peggy.

Summary: pegging Wally Clark

[tunamayojazz]

mithruns of the week...eat well beautiful

[plutonious]

wahtever I like emmie and gogo I want to talk about them.

after emmet gets to hisui ingo is verrry cheerful due to the amount of affection he recives from emmet

ingo's been basically trained out of initiating physical contact from being a part of pearl clan for so long, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like it, just that he forgets he's allowed to do so when theres someone he can do so with, so everytime emmet touches him he practially melts. emmet is latched onto ingo half the time so that's really often. something something he grew up with one million affection and then didn't realize he was missing it until he got it back. now he doesn't like being apart from his brother for too long. because it's warm and cozy to be hugged.

[semiotomatics]

literally just realized ppl without aphantasia can prolly actually visualize what theyre going to make (draw, paint, sculpt, knit, etc) before/as they make it. wtf.

[evanescentsun]

new wip

[luck-of-the-drawings]

when i was in highschool one o my biggest coping mechanisms was drawing all the kids i hated getting killed and eaten and killed. and well. time is a slowly ascending spiral. you will find patterns.(i work as a blackjack dealer. gamblers are FASCINATING

[lemongogo]

[ganondoodle]

the way i think about my stories can be so annoying bc there will be a point when i reach a certain story beat after which i dont know how to continue, and the way i do find are usually ... not good .. or i imagine it is not so i think man i cant do that thats so dumb and annoying i gotta think of something better, but then i cant come up with anything better bc once i got a solution to soemthign i cant think of anything smarter- and then i get bored of it as a whole bc man, this really was stupid from the start wasnt it

(this is all some stupid rambling and does NOT represent anythign that will happen in destiny, i swear the actual story with a proper end makes much more sense)

listen to me rambling but this morning i thought about the essentialyl non-canon good "ending" of destiny, a kind of self indulgent dumb lil alternative where everyone lives blah blah, but then of course it cant just end there, bc the end goal of the both of them is to find out the gods plan and secrets and also kill the gods, as you do, then i got a certain point that i found cool (which initially came from the whole thoguht of what if zelda game but you could play demise and it took place after the alternative ending in which the goal is to get rid of the gods) where the fight one of the gods but are kinda losing and as the god is trying to devour demise, as gods do, he abandons his body and his spirit/core, who cant exist without his body so hes still connected through the spirits tail , and climbs through the gods interdimensional weird 'mouth' while its trying to rip him apart to reach the core of the god in a last attempt to take them down with him, while hylia is fighting to keep the god from severing the thin connection he still has to his body but fails just as he reaches the core so the god is killed but his core is immediatelly starting to dissolve and hylia manages to grab his core and put it back into his body and flee from whatever is happeing to that dead god back into hyrule

he survives but is incredibly weak as his spirit has lost half of itself (blade spirits are also forged throguh sacrificing part of their spirit/core permantently but this is besides the point, none of this makes sense anyway), something he obviously hates but cant do anything about really, once a part of their core is gone its gone (not like lost energy but gone gone) but the core is also slowly dissolving further which is a death sentence with no way to act against- then theres a whole quest to .. well, stop that, while hes falling back into self hatred and fear bc hes now so weak that hylia can break his bones without any effort if she were to treat him in any way similar to before and to a deity that all their life was never so fragile, one whos most defining feature IS his power and strength to keep going no matter what, thats gotta be pretty existentially dreadful (and also its a set back to know that they cant just go fight the gods together like that, theres still two more and he cant fight like that)

then i wondered ok what if then, even if the time doesnt quite line up but at this point the entire prophecy cant be done anymore either so everythings out of order, the cloud barrier weakens and zelda is abducted (not by ghirahim) and link goes and tries to find her, but since everythigns not as it should have been he meets hylia and demise (disguised tho) and they immediately know who he is and then go along and try to help link find his friend (hylia does it bc she got the idea to make him find the triforce and wish demises spirit to be restored, since only a mortal can do that and links the most likely candidate to be able to go through the trials of it since he was supposed to already, even if the circumstances are different- demise goes along with it bc hes still trying to deal with essentially slowly dying and not knowing what to do with himself since hes afraid to get into fights or similar, much to his disdain, so hes acting like a companion of sorts, a mentor figure in a way, not knowing what hylias plan is)

i found the idea kinda interesting to have them be like a lil group that goes on links adventured with him, but with strangely intricate knowledge of how the dungeons work, link still doing the heavy lifting but them being there like parents cheering on their kid in a competetion, all the while putting the whole puzzle and dungeon aspect in a way different light bc half of them were never completed (they wanted to escape the prophecy after all) so they all work completely differently, some bosses being maybe some of the gods creatures instead (like the skysw guardians)- the mid journey point being that they find zelda, and who kidnapped her, it being one of the shiekah having most closely worked with hylia before the whole -break the prophecy- thing started (idk if it would be impa .. idea is neat) and is hellbent on making the gods plan work out like it was supposed to, kinda like the inverse of the games plot, so they got ahold of zelda as part of making her into the new hylia (despite hylia being .. right there, but they dont believe it is her truly since the true tm hylia would never betray the gods- ALSO a paralel to how the downfall of demises world worked bc his mortals turned on him after he started destroying their version of the triforce in the belief destroying it would be the only way to save mortals from going to war agaisnt each other for it over and over, mortals believing that their true deity was gone and replaced by a demon despite demise being ..right there)

after link wins the fight and frees zelda from them they in a kind of last effort to do anything against their group they stab demise, normally that wouldnt do shit against him but in his already fading away situation it basically puts him from very slowly dying to actually dying, as a reaction to it hylia kills the mortal (maybe impa idk), which is the first time she does anything like that to a mortal but i like the idea of her being actually super ruthless when it comes to things she cares about

now with a much more dire time limit hylia sends demise back to essentialyl go hide in her temple and try to not die and to trust her having a plan to make this all still work out- he does and once he is away she reveals pretyt much the entire story around why and what is happenign to link and zelda, hylia herself cant go above the clouds as the barrier is still partially up and she cant do anything to reach the triforce either - so she sends link and zelda to go do that, and it works out in the end bc even knowing the truth know, demise was with them on half of their journey so they know and care, he WILL be mad about them wasting their wish on him (even if he is still happy to be alive- i imagined scene where hes watching himself fall apart and die, alone in hylias temple, having to come to terms with the fact that after everything they had went through hed still die alone- it made me cry while thinking about it, yes, yes you are allowed to laugh)

i didnt get that much further but his spirit was essentially reset to when he was in his prime back in the day through the triforces power- something he both likes and despises, it being the gods power of all things that lets him live again, but also lol to use it agaisnt them by giving another chance to the gods greatest enemy- the next plan is of course to kill the next one of the gods but much better prepared, as they cant just go and do the same thign again (neither wants that), one idea was that hylia goes on a secret quest to try and bring back courage (the third deity that demise killed when his world was still thriving) but it involves diving back into the realm of the gods so she doesnt tell him at first, i do think theyd go together in the end, not to fight but to release courage; the whole thing is also an elaborate revenge plot of hylia, how dare the gods do that to him!!

anyway thats most of what i got from that thinking session but its so frustrating bc none of this is even in the actual comic (since it ends in a way that leads into canon skysw, this is some brain fart nooo i want blorbo to live and succeed!!) and its also convoluted and kinda dumb, the idea to inverse the games plot in a way (instead of it being ghirahim trying to bring demise back its someones plan to make the gods prophecy happen no matter what) is neat but i cant have demise almost dying be the thing THREE TIMES, it kinda undercuts his character and is way too much centered around him, all three times also more or less involving it needing help from others to get him back, when his whole thing should be being unkillable bc he jsut keeps refusing to die, also hylia is, as of now in this spaghetti derailment of random thoughts, way too much of a side character, which i dont like, and it all would make people not like demise when im trying to do the exact opposite of that in the main actual comic

i know being super self indulgent and jsut doing what you want is good for the most part but theres a point where it becomes stale cringy fantasies about my blorbo tm and i wanna write at least decent stories- in the end none of this matters anyway as the actual REAL story of destiny is already pretty long and i got no plan to write that alternative 'good ending' anyway and i mostly just thought about it bc "i dont want blorbo to die :(" and "wouldnt it be fun if the entire plot of the game would get messed up and now demise link hylia and zelda etc can all just drink tea together and make plans to get rid of the gods that wanted them all to suffer needlessly"

i probably shouldnt post this as it was really only a vent to get out dumb thoughts from my brain before they poison me into losing interest of the biggest comic project i have worked on so far but i am unable to keep these things to myself so

if you read all of this, im sorry (´。＿。｀)

[strohller27]

.

[skunkes]

Did or does anything inspire your art? It’s so fun and unique

I do have artists (both Established and like Peers/Mutuals) I enjoy and I do pluck traits from art I like as I see fit to mold my own but I don't have any conscious inspiration ykwim...ive had ppl tell me my art looks like or reminds them of things i like, whether "vibe based" (stuffed animals) or a specific media (care bears) but i dont consciously draw inspiration from care bears ykwim... I could tell u i loved archie comics as a kid and i love the art style but thats not a good answer to the question bc it doesnt present itself in my work (and if it does its not on purpose) ykwim...i hope dis makes sense.

I always bring up Urasawa when this question comes up, like I love urasawa's art and often save lots of it for inspiration but my work doesnt really ever come out as an emulation of his as a result, it's more osmosed as I try to figure out how I want to draw, bc I haven't seen anyone who draws the way I'd like to yet. (Also using him as an example, as this is how I feel about all my other "inspirations").

Theres tons of different ways to draw every possible trait of a face or body etc, so I just do that, taking shapes and such from other artists i observe along the way without really picking up the influence (and if i do its never for very long), since I've yet to find anything im very happy with