#it's such a “renaissance painting” moment and I wanted to capture that

[lauravian]

S2E12: The Fires of Idirsholas

Redrawing a screenshot from every episode of Merlin... (until I get bored of it)

[agattthaa]

Taste

Paring: Lane/Audrey [Asian/Curvy spite specifically mentioned]

Word count: 1.003

Rating: E

Summary: Lane was the only one that could satisfy Audrey's curiosity at that moment. The only one that could give Audrey what she wanted. 

And she would.

Tagging: @rc-catalog

-Emily was bad mouthing you in the cafeteria earlier.

The new information didn't seem to matter or burder her, at all. Lane didn't even bother to raise her eyes from the thick history book in front of her, lazily flipping to the next page without a single care in the world and barely acknowledging her friend that was sitting on her side.

-I don't think I know any Emily.

-The blonde one that lives on 325.

-Oh, the one with the nose piercing?

-Yes. She was surrounded by her friends talking about the way you sweet talked her into getting into your bed and then how you threw her aside when you grew bored of her.

-Hm.

Another page flipped.

Another note taken.

Not a single sign that it worried her or that she minded it. That would be an expected reaction if Audrey had told her that the skies are blue and that the grass is green.

Perhaps that book was part of one of those mysteries that Lane had to uncover since it was able to capture the woman's attention like no person or subject ever could.

-So, is it true?

-I wouldn't say I sweet-talked her.

That made the psychology student let out a small laugh, finally making Lane look up from her book and giving Audrey a small smile.

-Yeah, it's not really your style.

-Besides, we didn't even have sex. I just ate her out.

There was something in the way Lane said it without any reservation that made Audrey's face completely red, a reaction that, somehow, made Lane's smile larger.

-...I see then.

Lane didn't answer anything, instead, she chose to deliberately brush her hand against Audrey's thigh. To test the waters. To see if her eyes were seeing more than it was or if she was right.

The woman was visibly shivering and shaking from the unexpected touch. Lane's smile was now wicked. Her hand slowly squeezes the unclothed part of Audrey's thigh, dangerously close to the end of her skirt.

Audrey's hand instantly flew to Lane's shoulder, giving a long squeeze as she let out a long sigh. Lane could feel every bit of the other woman's skin shivering, but in her eyes there was no fear, no shame nor uncertainty.

There was curiosity.

There was want.

There was Lane.

Her reflection glistening on those soft ocean eyes.

The only one that could satisfy Audrey's curiosity at that moment. The only one that could give Audrey what she wanted.

And she would.

Her hand became bolder, her touch feather lightly slow while her fingers traveled up Audrey's inner thigh and then roughly squeezed her way down as soon as she felt the fabric of Audrey's underwear.

The red in her face did not subdued, instead, it now traveled down to Audrey's neck and torso, inviting Lane's gaze towards the woman's cleavage.

Her breath was already more like a panting, her lips red from her own bites and the red only left her eyes more blue and her thighs parted themselves in a silent invitation for Lane's touch.

She looked like a painting, like what a Renaissance artist would create to represent the goddess of beauty, the goddess of love.

Right now, in Lane's bedroom and in Lane's eyes, Audrey could as well be Aphodite herself.

This time, she let her hand reach it's destination, feeling how wet Audrey was for her through her underwear, how now she breathing even more heavily and how her eyes fixated on Lane, leaving her no other choice but to get up from her seat and kneel down in front of Audrey, smiling deviously when the woman's eyes went wild.

Her hands held both sides of Audrey's and her eyes muttered a single order: up. And that was Audrey did, raising herself on the chair just enough so that Lane took her skirt and underwear on one single pull, and without a single warning, took a taste of her friend, licking from her core all the way up to her clit.

There was no word to describe the moan that Audrey let out other than heavenly, unholy or delicious. Now there was no other choice, Lane had to ravish her.

She pulled apart just enough, lifting Audrey's thighs one at a time and placing them on her shoulders, returning to her place in the middle of her legs and starting to lick again.

Audrey trembled under her touch, grabbing and grasping Lane's hair and shoulders and squeezing her thick thighs so much that Lane thought that she would break her skull.

It wouldn't be a bad way to die.

But still it wasn't enough. So she started sucking into Audrey's clit and quickly inserted two fingers inside Audrey.

She came undone with a long moan, her entire body relaxing under Lane's touch.

It was not enough.

So she quickly took her fingers out and smiled when Audrey whined with the loss of contact, and smiled wider when she entered Audrey again, this time, with her tongue, allowing Audrey no time to recover. One hand went to Audrey's clit and the other separated her folds.

The whines and cries and moans were getting louder and louder and Lane was insatiable for then and for the sweet taste Audrey had. Her tongue went deep and as deep as possible while her thumb rubbed into Audrey's clit frantically and her taste sweeter.

She didn't take long to come once again, this time on a loud whine, shaking from how strong it was. Her entire body was shivering and shaking and her eyes rolling back. And if Lane wasn't sure that she would pass out if they kept on going, she would've continued.

Instead, she got up, licked her fingers clean watching as Audrey slowly got back to her senses and covered her up with a blanket, placing a cup of water close to her friend and went back to her notes, smiling to herself as she could still taste Audrey on her lips.

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Love your writing! Can we have a yandere Spain, Italy and Romano (separately) with a tourist love interest that loves their country (it's been their dream to visit one day and they finally do) and is visiting with a tour group for a week?

Me finally getting out of the pit of my mind to write yay! And I apologize that this ask is late as hell. I hope you like it anon. Have an epic Saturday!

Italy

He’d just awoken from his mid-afternoon siesta. While slightly groggy from his slumber, he’d been eager for food. As he trailed along the medieval streets, he passed by a small group of adventurous tourists that spanned beyond the standard touristy sites like Rome and wanted to dive deeper into the hidden gems that were commonly missed when people came to visit Italy. One particular person stood out to Feliciano from the group of only 7 people. The twinkle that shinned in your eyes as you were engrossed in the tour guide's speech about the History of the Colleoni Chapel. He had to stand in amusement as you did have a notebook taking down some notes so you could admire the memory much more fondly later. Feliciano thought that that was charming, and it sent a few cupid arrows to his heart, all of which made a direct hit. He trailed behind your group for a while with stealth as he snagged a Trapizzano from one of the street vendors; he was enthralled by your excitement to learn more about his country.

As your small group was allowed to disperse for a few hours before they headed to another small town in North Italy decided that it was the right time for him to approach you. “Ciao, carino(a)~ Would you like to join me so that I can show you some of the best cities of this city? Even better than that of your tour guides? I can promise I’ll get you back before your group leaves.”

He’s going to be shocked that you could speak some Italian with some fluency. You struggled with the grammar and pronunciation but he adored you even more for even trying to learn the language even before your visit. He was enamored with you even more.

He’s going to take you on an extravagant adventure that was Disneyequse and entirely magical.

The two of you all giggly and high on the moment of excitement and on the buds of young love that engulfed your senses. The two of you were fully present in the moment. He took you to the Bergamo city gate, that was overgrown with the wildflowers of Northern Italy. The pastel and muted hues of yellows, pinks, and blues. It felt like you were alive in a Renaissance painting. The two of you at this point were now holding hands as he guided you through it’s rich history. He knew about intimate details that made him sound like a distinguished professor who’s been alive for hundreds of years. Even though he looked to only be in his mid-20s, you admired this charming Italian’s dedication to share in the culture of his nation. You allowed yourself to let your eyes roam the ancient pebbles of the ground that paved your way. It was nothing like you experienced from (nation).

“Come Carino(a) I have another fantastic sight to show!” His warm smile tingled your heart like Tinkerbells fairy dust and made it flutter.

‘So this is what falling in love feels like?’ You silently question yourself as you want to take a snapshot of the moment and keep it hidden in your diary so that you can come back to the moment whenever you felt sadness.

“Alright.”

Feliciano picked up his pace, and you were on a stone-carved staircase covered in beautiful florals.

He brought you down through some of the secret passages within the Venetian walls. The ancient stone reminded you of what you’d seen in countless history books, maps, encyclopedias, etc. But none could capture the mystique of the buildings and all of the intricate details of actually being there. As you reached an opening to a rooftop, it overlooked all of the city; the view was majestic. You could see the terra cotta and white colors that defined the city’s landscape.

“Wow, it’s lovely up here, Feliciano. I’m glad I met you today; you made this adventure much more fun.” You couldn’t hold back the smile that had made its way to your face.

“I’m glad Y/N.” He pulls out a lily and places it gently in your hair. As the sun set, you felt him kiss you on the forehead. “Addio mio(a) amore.”

And with that the next thing you knew, you were back in the van with the other tourists that were happily chatting about what they were able to do in Bergamo. Your mind was still at a loss to figure out if what you experienced was real but when you reach into your hair the lily was still there pure white and glowing.

Romano

You were enjoying your tour of the Amalfi coastline you weren’t aware of the dangerous group of inidivudals that were eyeing you to harass and steal some of your belongings. They had recognized that you spoke in broken Italain. Plus since you were somewhat shy and not overly confident showon in your body language it was easy for them to see that you were a forginer attached to a small group of far more adventurous tourists that had a deeper interest in Italian culture than the common tourist sites. You were the perfect target for their attack. You were in the middle of trying to figure out which of the seashell necklaces your best friend would like back at home as a souvenir. You were interrupted when this group had descended upon you and the other adventurer from your tour group. You tensed up and tried to understand the rapid Italian that they were whispering to one another discreetly. You were able to understand the words ‘idiota’ and ‘sciocco’ and immediately knew their attention was not on the vendor that you were currently at. You looked over your shoulder to see if the other person from your group was with you but see that they had already wandered away. With tension in the air and your nerves on high alert you decided that picking whatever necklace and paying for it would be your best bet of escape. As you tried to deiscretly grab only the amount of money that you needed from your pocket, someone had made a deliberate dive for your backpack yaking it off you. You were jerked backwards and everything was like a massive blur. For a few moments you’d wondered if you’d gone blind. You heard some other shouting and curses in Italian. It took you a few moments to recognize that you hadn’t hit the ground but someone had managed to catch you and break your fall.

It was a dark brown-haired Italian man that looked to be in his mi-20’s with a curious curl sticking out of the side of his head.

“Mi dispiace donna/ uomo. Some of my people do misbehave. And your backpack has unfortunately been ripped in half but don’t worry there are always more bags. He gives you a charming smile that you can’t help but giggle at. He was cute you had to admit.

“My name is Romano, what is yours?”

“Y/N” You reply promptly with a blush on your face. “Thanks for helping me out. I’m here on an extended toru of sorts and my Italian isn’t all that great.”

“Well, I can always help you practice and I can show you the hidden gems, after all I’m pure Italian.” He jokes. His accent sounded like harmony in your ears.

The two of you will send the afternoon on the white sandy beaches. The two of you wander around barefoot and free letting the sand sink you further into the wondrous day dream you found yourself in. He tells you about his legendary Grandpa that he affectionately calls Rome. You thought of it as adorable. He’s a gentleman to you for the entire day. He takes you to the Museo della Carta, where the history of paper-making began in one of the earlier centuries. He talks about how he loved to come here and collect paper so that he could keep journals about his life living with his “mentor”. His family history sounded complicated and you wanted to ask but felt like it may have been a bit to personal on the first day of knowing the mysterious but charming man.

As the two of you made your way to the pier that streched over the clear curulean waters that were pristine. It looked as if you were inside one of your fairytale books.

“So Bello(a) there is one more place that I’d like you to see before you’re off to the next city. I promise you’re going to love this place.” He hooks his arm around yours and the two of you head off for the mountains that are somewhat steep, but they have flora and fauna of the Italian coastline. You see a few cuckoos, swifts, and European doves fly by the two of you. The first bird of which was to tell of your future fate with the Italian once you returned back someday for good.

He brought you to Villa Rufolo the masses of pink and white flowers shone the brightest amidst all of the other plants.

“Wow, this place is beautiful!” You took a few moments to take in the enchanting sight. Romano seizes the chance to take your hand in once more and bring you to one of his favorite plants that he’d grown quite fond of the Viburnum tinus flower.

“It was one of my grandfathers' favorites and I’ve grown quite fond of it just like you.”

Spain

You’d been roaming around all day in Calella de Palafrugell a small fishing town that was in the Northern part of Spain situated by the waters. You and a few of your friends decided to camp in one of the picturesque sites called Camping La Siesta. You booked a cabin that had bare beds and a basic bathroom. It was simple accommodations. Not like you needed much since you wouldn’t be inside for much of the time anyways.

“Time to hit the pool guys! Time is a wasting!” You were eager to show off your new swimsuit and do some cannon balls to annoy your best friends. They lagged behind you since jetlag had essentially sapped the majority of the energy they had for the day.

In your rush to get to the pool, you bumped into a Spainaird and a Portuguese man.

“Oh uh, Lo Siento.” Thanking god that some of your Spanish were still useful after being out of school for a little while.

When the man that you’d bumped into turned around the first thing that mesmerized you about him was his verdant green eyes that sparkled brightly in the sunlight. You had to think twice if you were looking at gems or eyes.

“Esta bien. Ningún daño hecho” (No problem. No harm done.) His wide grin made your stomach fill with a flurry of butterflies. Antonio reached out to help you up.

“Are you okay chica(o)?”

“Yeah I’m fine just excited to finally take a swim! It’s been a long flight and it’s been forever since I’ve actually had time for a long vacation!” Excited at the prospect of not having to work for the next couple of weeks.

“Oh well, I guess I’ll be seeing you there! I and my friend are headed there was well!”

“Want to just go together?” (You got that rizz reader.)

“Ah of course!” Glad that you asked because he found you to be quite alluring yourself.

The two of you will spend the entire day together getting to know each other. It will be fun. It feels like that forgotten summer vacation where you’d found your childhood best friend / future lover but never got to see them again because fate can sometimes be cruel that way.

The two of you will be bored of the pool pretty bored so Anotnio will suggest that the two of you spice things up by finding all of the better views and seeing all the secret beautiful sites of his country that most normal tourists will miss. (Yes, the two of you ditch Portugal. Not that it matters because the dude is like on his mid-morning siesta.)

Your heart fills with endless excitement of the prospect of getting to take epic pictures and being led by a handsome stranger.

“Alright Y/N you better text us and take this taser with you if he gets creepy!” One of your friends states concerned for you but feels at ease about you being able to have a once-in-a-lifetime whirlwind adventure with a possible handsome lover. Antiono’s looks did have a disarming effect to them. The three of you were chatting where’d you’d wanted to meet for dinner that night.

“Don’t worry ya’ll I can protect myself.” You send them off with a wink, dressed in your finest summer attire. Once you made your way outside you saw Antino decked out in tan shorts, hiking boots, and a slightly unbuttoned button-up short sleeve, you believed that man could look good in anything.

“Come let's head to the beach!” He grabbed your hand eagerly and you two took the forest trail that was about a mile long to get to the beach. You allowed your mind to be related by his smooth Spanish accent that flowed like fresh red wine. Listening to him talk about the history of his land was intoxicating. Why couldn’t all history lessons be taught by attractive men with culturally accurate accents? You thought to yourself.

Antonio picked up his pace when he began to see the outline of the water at the beach.

“Whoa!” You were almost tripped up by some of the larger rocks that were on the defined dirty pathway.

“Oh lo siento, Y/N! I get excited when I’m able to show off my nation to a beautiful person. Hahaha.” His smile beamed brightly but so did the blush and pink flowers that appeared out of thin air.

Pleasantly shocked you decide to take the lead.

“Well you can kiss me on the lips if you can beat me to the beach!” You quickly peck him on the cheek and make a mad dash off to the la playa where he will tackle you to the sand and win.

[rose-n-gunses]

How about a Renaissance or Western hellcheer love story? Ohh a World War 2 hellcheer!

Okay anon I love u for this it was so fun to think about while I was bored out of my mind checking dates at work <3 these turned into less headcanons and more full on fic ideas 😭 (and I wanted to talk about all three so it's kind of long and I put it under a cut)

I know typically Renaissance is thought of as royalty and all that (like renaissance faires) so obviously I could see the typical 'Chrissy's a princess and Eddie's a knight appointed to protect her' and all that but!! What about the Italian Renaissance!!!

What if the Cunninghams are some wealthy influential (Medici-esque) family and Eddie's an artist/musician and despite his distaste for the family he accepts a commission from them because he needs the money so he finds himself painting their family portrait (since they canonically do have that portrait). He's dreading it until he sees Chrissy Cunningham for the first time and is just head over heels. He's fascinated by her because she's the perfect subject and he's kind of obsessed with trying to capture the way the sunlight reflects off of her hair. He wants to paint her smile and the way her nose scrunches when he makes a bad joke and he wants to write melodies with her laugh and sonnets about her voice. Maybe he gets tasked with painting individual portraits of the family. (Or maybe Chrissy just wants one of herself as an excuse to spend more time with him 👀) They talk and he finds out she's also very interested in art and music and not so interested in doing what her mom wants her to do (ie marry Jason). Maybe he teaches her how to paint and lets her practice and use him as a subject (and she's just as equally obsessed with capturing the warmth of his eyes and the way his personality takes up so much space and makes him seem almost larger than life). They're best friends and confidants and despite her family's disapproval they fall in love and have their happy ending where Chrissy leaves her parents and her wealth and her family name behind to be with him because he just Gets Her and Loves Chrissy For Chrissy, not because of her status and family.

And maybe that portrait Eddie painted of her, simply titled Christine (A Beauty), becomes his best known work (like. Mona Lisa levels of fame).

(Also, I could see this story being told as, like, the historical origin story of Christine (A Beauty), the tale of painter Edward Munson and how he fell in love with Christine Cunningham, or the tale of Christine Cunningham and how she left everything she'd ever known behind in pursuit of happiness.)

Changing gears, a Western au I think could involve Chrissy, in the wake of her father's passing, having to step up and taking on a larger responsibility in the family hotel. She hates it. Enter Eddie, a deputy that's been brought to Hawkins on the trail of infamous bank robber and murderer Henry Creel. Maybe Creel is staying in the Cunninghams' hotel, maybe he's targeting Chrissy and/or Max. Maybe Chrissy ends up acting as bait to help Eddie catch Creel. Maybe she goes with Eddie when he eventually leaves Hawkins to return home to his uncle. Who knows.

And then the ww2 au. This is such a unique idea!! I think it would be a soft slow burn where maybe Eddie is injured in the hospital (think demobat-adjacent wounds) and Chrissy's his nurse. Lots of soft tender moments and lots of comfort.

[lemonluvgirl]

Make Me (Continued...)

So, I got to writing for this story again and it got pretty hot, but then turned surprisingly fluffy and soft. And I know I still need to write another love scene and then probably and epilogue, but all in all I kind of like where this is going.

“What was that for?” he asked, licking his lips like he liked the taste of me on them.

I smirked.

“That was because I always wondered what it would be like to kiss the valedictorian,” I joked.

Peeta tilted his head back and laughed, and at the moment he looked so beautiful it made the spot between my thighs clench.

“I should have known. You only want me for my intelligence,” he said, his voice playing at being wounded but his blue eyes were alight with amusement.

“Now you know my big dark secret,” I said in a playful voice. “Smart guys turn me on,” I added, my shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

Peeta raised his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah?” he asked in a husky voice that sent a little thrill through me that settled like languid heat pooling in my lower abdomen.

I nodded, biting my lip again. His eyelids drooped into something more hooded and his hands caressed my back through my shirt.

“I could talk to you about art theory and the techniques used by master painters, or I could recite the history of the evolution of art, from cave paintings to the modern Renaissance,” he told me in a low, seductive voice. I knew he was just kidding, but I almost wished he would start reciting some stupid art facts that were ultimately meaningless to me. I just liked it when he talked to me in that smooth drawl of his.

“How about we find another use for that smart mouth of yours?” I said in a suggestive voice. I was aware of how bold the request was, but then again, he had come to the other side of town, to a seedy bar to ask me out.

I was kind of betting on him wanting to do more than just kiss at this point. His nostrils flared and his hold on me tightened a little.

“Sweetheart, I could do things to you with this mouth that’ll have you singing prettier than the angels before we’re through,” he promised in a silky tone, pulling me backward towards the couch.

“Big talk, but I like a man who can walk the walk better,” I replied, pushing him down so he fell gently against the couch first before I moved to straddle him, my hands pressing down on his shoulders as his larger ones bracketed my waist.

“Katniss, we can take it slow. Go on a few dates,” he offered, in a more gentlemanly tone but the outline of his erection that I felt through my shorts and his jeans told a different story.

I shook my head.

“I’d like to keep going,” I told him as I leaned down, and kissed his neck before I began to suck on his pulse point to emphasize my intentions.

He swore, as his hips gave an involuntary upward thrust. I let out a small moan of my own when our centers collided. I dropped my hips then, seeking the exquisite friction of his hardness once more, as I slowly started to grind against him in time to the workings of my mouth on the skin of his neck. His hands wandered down, gliding over my back and hips, and stopped to cup my ass as he tugged me closer to him.

“Fuck, you feel so good. I don’t want to stop either,” he admitted. One of his hands ventured further then, coming around front to slip up the inside of my shorts, skimming across my inner thigh and stopping when he could feel the outline of my slit through my soaked panties.

“Oh,” He groaned, tracing my lower lips with his middle finger, “you’re as turned on as I am,” he said, almost to himself, as he played with me, making me lose my concentration. My lips fell away from his neck as I instinctively rocked my hips in time with the motion of his hand. Peeta leaned forward and captured my lips with his mouth, while his other hand snuck under my shirt to palm my breasts alternatively. I reveled in the way he multitasked. He kissed me so well, played with my hard nipples through my thin, unpadded bra, and his other hand didn’t let up on teasing my wet folds through my underwear.

I was so wet, and his movements felt so good, his tongue in my mouth, his fingers over my breasts, and my lower lips, but I wanted more.

I reached for the button on my shorts and quickly worked them open, Peeta made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat and helped me drag the shorts off my hips. He dipped his hand down the front of my underwear, as he cupped me in his palm.

He dragged two fingers through my wet folds, back to front, before slowly circling my swollen clit.

“Ahhh!” I cried out, as more wetness trickled from between my legs as he touched me just where I needed him to.

“Yes,” I hissed, rocking in his lap.

“You’re so wet for me. Practically dripping. Did you ruin these panties just for me, sweetheart?” Peeta crooned in a slightly smug voice.

I growled into the skin of his shoulder, and bit him through his shirt, making him swear.

��Finger fuck me already, golden boy,” I ordered before I took his earlobe in my mouth and sucked on it. He choked on his saliva then, and bucked up against me harder, making me mewl in pleasure, but when he finally thrust his thick finger inside of me I cried out. Loud enough to disturb the neighbors, I was sure.

“Golden boy huh?” he teased, as I rode his hand at a fast pace, plunging up and down vigorously while his thumb circled my clit.

“Homecoming king, valedictorian, captain of the wrestling team,” I panted as I fucked myself on his fingers. “Need I say more?” I added, circling my hips and pressing down on him through his jeans, making sure to brush his hard-on with each pass.

“You-ah-never seemed all that impressed in high school,” he said, his voice thick and his hips straining upwards towards mine. But his eyes were confused as he looked into mine.

It made me pause for a second.

“I wasn’t really impressed by your accomplishments. It was your kindness that got to me. The fact that you could be all those things and a decent human being,” I told him, hand traveling down to rest over his pounding heart. Then I tilted my face up and kissed him softly, sweetly.

He blinked, as I pulled away, his eyes filled with emotion.

“That’s why I always liked you. Because you saw into the heart of a person. You were never impressed with the pointless bullshit,” he whispered, resting his forehead against mine.

I shrugged, I didn’t know if that was really true. I thought everyone tended to be biased and looked at the world from their own perspective. But I knew I saw Peeta clearly. I felt like he saw me clearly too. 

Peeta inhaled deeply and released a soft sigh.

“Can I eat you out?” he asked in a soft voice and I made a surprised noise in my throat. I hadn’t been expecting that even though we had discussed it when all this started.

“Um, sure,” I said, squirming a little because his finger was still inside me, and my body was thrumming with pent-up energy from the long pause I had instigated in the middle of our activities.

“Okay, lay back,” Peeta said, his voice slightly breathless, excited even.

I did as he asked, laying back until my head hit the couch cushion. He pulled my shorts and underwear off simultaneously. Then he gently pried my knees apart to look at me. I tried not to be self-conscious but there was always that awkward moment when someone saw you naked for the first time, that made me want to crawl out of my skin.

Peeta however put me at ease rather quickly.

“Oh Sweetheart, you’re so pretty and wet. So fucking sexy,” he said, tracing my swollen lower lips with his index finger and making me whimper.

Then he licked his finger and moaned.

“I’m gonna love this,” he said before he reached underneath me and hauled me towards him by my ass. He placed my legs on his shoulders and licked his lips before diving in literally face first.

He didn't bother with soft, cautious licks. He gorged on my pussy like there was no tomorrow. I had never been eaten out so eagerly, and it showed.

I chanted a chorus of ‘Oh my gods’ up at the ceiling while Peeta lapped and sucked and plunged his tongue into me. I felt my muscles and inner walls tightening and throbbing in time with his ministrations. He was thorough, paying equal attention to my clit as he did to my lips and entrance, even adding his fingers for extra stimulation.

He flicked his tongue back and forth against my clit, while two of his fingers searched inside me for that soft spongy spot that would make me scream. I moaned embarrassingly loud when he finally hit the right spot, but I didn’t come right away.

“Come for me, Katniss. Come all over my face, I wanna feel you squeezing my fucking fingers while they’re inside you!” He commanded, massaging my walls with his fingers, and I was close so, so close, but I had never responded well to orders.

I looked up at him, his blue eyes burning into me as he stared down at me with his face between my legs.

“Make me,” I panted, in a challenging voice, just like the one he used at the bar when he didn’t back down from Gale. “Why don’t you fucking make me come, golden boy?” I said, and his eyes narrowed at me, while his mouth latched onto my clit and he sucked hard, at the same time he rotated his fingers and then curled them inside of me.

I came in a delirious rush then, shouting his name while he licked me through my orgasm.

Peeta pulled back to survey me as my legs fell in boneless heaps on either side of him. My head rolled tiredly as I looked up at his smiling face.

“Did you like that?” He asked smugly. I just rolled my eyes at him.

“Give me a minute, then it’ll be my turn to make you,” I promised and his answering smile was more blinding than the sun.

~

I huffed out a few tired breaths, as Peeta shifted in front of me.

I caught him trying to hide a wince as he readjusted himself in his jeans.

With the way his erection was straining against them, I almost winced for him too.

That had to be uncomfortable.

“Here,” I said, moving forward to rest my weight on one hand as I reached out to unzip his jeans with the other. “Let me help.”

Peeta caught my hand, and the action caused me to look up into his eyes.

“Only if you want to. I don’t do quid pro quo when it comes to sex, Katniss. You don’t owe me any favors.” He said seriously.

At that statement, my inner estimation of his character rose a few good points. I hated guys who felt they were entitled to sex after a few minutes of messing around.

I gave him a little smile, that I hoped was just the slightest bit mischievous in nature.

“Oh, believe me, I want to. Besides, I said I was gonna make you and I am a woman of my word.” I told him teasingly.

He grinned back at me and released my hand. Together we worked his jeans open, his hands on the button, and mine on his fly.

When they were finally undone, his poor constrained hard-on popped free like a wild animal being set loose from its cage. Peeta breathed a sigh of relief while I gulped nervously. Even though it was still covered by his navy blue boxer briefs, I was slightly intimidated by his sizable bulge.

“Why are you looking at it like that?” Peeta asked with a nervous laugh.

“Sorry! It’s just…a bit bigger than I imagined.” I admitted.

“Oh, you were imagining me?” He asked, blue eyes flashing, and his overall expression was gratified and amused.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.” I snarked, rolling my eyes and leaning forward to brace my weight on my knees as I pushed him to lean back against the couch with my other.

“Too late,” He quipped, falling back without a fight, but then his breath caught in his throat when I reached out to caress him with my right hand.

He was warm and weighty in my hand, hard and thicker than I anticipated. I could already tell he was blessed more with thickness than length, but that was fine by me. Being a small girl, I wasn’t too interested in long, giant cocks. They tended to be more trouble than they were worth. Always bumping my cervix painfully or making it super difficult to breathe if I went down on a guy.

I was going to enjoy going down on Peeta, though. I could already tell.

But first I wanted to tease him a bit and build up the anticipation. So I slid my hands up his muscular thighs slowly and massaged his tantalizingly firm legs.

“Take off your shirt,” I ordered and he complied without hesitation, reaching back behind him and whipping it off one-handed in a very sexy little display.

But what was even sexier was his chest…so broad and well-built, with just a light smattering of curly blond chest hair. The defined line between his pecs looked delicious, and I crawled into his lap to kiss it.

Peeta let out a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest, but it soon turned breathy as I continued to kiss my way down his body, enjoying the feeling of his toned stomach and the soft tickle of his dark blond happy trail against my lips.

I lingered over the skin right above his waistband, licking into the start of the indent near his hip, pulling a strained moan from his flustered mouth, and making his dick twitch in his shorts. There was a good-sized wet spot spreading out from the tip of his covered hard-on.

“Katniss?” He asked, like a question or a plea and I looked up to see an expression of barely contained need on his face. I decided to stop torturing him.

As I peeled Peeta’s boxers over his straining and already leaking cock, I was more than happy to see that while he was a little above average in length, he was also beautifully thick.

Which shouldn’t have been a surprise, given how stocky and solidly built Peeta’s body type was. His penis was a nice flushed dark pink color at the tip and the lines of veins along his shaft made saliva pool in my mouth with the urge to trail my tongue along his length and taste them.

I let out a small appreciative sound as I lowered myself down to do just that.

I flicked my tongue out, licking a fine line from the base to the beginning of his crown, tracing the tip against a long vein and Peeta let out a groan that tapered off into something like a whimper. His skin was warm, velvety, and slightly musky tasting in his own unique way. Peeta's scent and taste were deliciously male, with notes of spices and herbs like cinnamon, and anise.

“Ugghh,” He groaned in a lamenting tone, “I am seriously worried about how quickly this is gonna be over once you put your mouth on me.” He said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

I placed a quick kiss to his crown in reassurance. “That’s ok. You made me come with your mouth faster than I ever have from oral before, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Really? That’s good to know-oh-fuck!” He cut himself off from cursing more when I slipped his head past my lips and started to move him in and out of my mouth slowly.

With him fully in my mouth, I got more of that salty, earthy flavor as it burst across my tongue, making my mouth water even more. Peeta moaned and his hips flexed instinctually, his length tipping forward past my soft pallet but then he seemed to regain control and he sank back down before he could hit the back of my throat.

“Sorry,” He murmured, dragging a hand over his eyes, while his other hand flexed and gripped the couch cousin so tightly his knuckles whitened.

I squeezed his thigh in response, to let him know I was fine and wasn’t upset. He let out a slow breath as I continued working more of his length into my mouth. What I couldn’t fit I covered with my hand (or I tried to, he was so wide I couldn’t cover him with my hand completely) and worked his foreskin back and forth in a steady rhythm while I alternated sucking and licking his crown.

His breathing picked up and I watched the muscles of his abdomen clench on and off as I worked him.

“Uggh that's amazing. You're amazing.”

I tilted my head up to peer at him from beneath my eyelashes and caught his expression of intense pleasure and wonder. I let him go from my mouth with a wet pop.

“You’re just saying that because I’ve got your dick in my mouth.” I teased with a grin. But he shook his head adamantly and reached out to grab my hand and thread his fingers through mine.

“I’m not. You always look beautiful. And sexy. But right now? You’re blowing my goddam mind, not just my dick, sweetheart. I can’t believe this is happening, let alone that you want this.”

“I do,” I replied gently, holding eye contact with him. “I want you.” I added before opening my mouth and curling my tongue around his crown, then sliding up to lap at his slit.

He panted my name, squeezing my hand hard, to let me know he was close. I lowered my mouth over him again, taking as much of his length as I could, and started sucking in earnest, which prompted Peeta to let out a series of grunts and moans.

Without letting up from sucking him, I reached down with my hands and unbuttoned my shirt quickly, unclasping my thin bralette and letting it fall away at the same time my shirt did. I released him from my mouth for the last time but kept my hand pumping his length. The chords of his neck stood out against his pale skin and his cheeks took on a ruddy, flushed color.

“Let’s see how good of an artist you still are.” I told him with a wink, as I let go of him, but I wasn’t sure he even heard me. He was too close to the edge. I did notice his eyes registering the sight of my naked breasts, and he let out a feral groan before taking himself in hand and pumping himself quickly and roughly a few times, his eyes still locked on my chest as he erupted.

Long lines of creamy white fluid splashed across my chest, warm and oddly comforting in a way. My eyes took in the sight of Peeta’s blissed-out expression, as his quick breathing died down. I felt myself slip into a pleasantly relaxed state of my own.

One where I felt proud and content with everything that had happened between us.

And when he pulled me close and used his own discarded shirt to clean my skin before he kissed me, long and sweet, I also felt a strange stirring inside my chest.

It was warm and effusive and it spread quickly down to my fingertips as he gathered me up and tucked me against his chest while we both took a moment to rest.

I rarely liked to linger after sex with anyone (not that I’d felt comfortable enough to do this sort of thing with more than a couple of guys). This time I didn’t get the automatic urge to bolt and go back to my place. With Peeta, it felt different. It felt like more.

It was strange because with me instincts came first, and feelings second, if at all. But Peeta Mellark seemed to have a knack for pulling them out of me with almost no effort.

And for making me want to stay.

~

“Do you wanna stay?” Peeta’s gentle voice brought me back to reality after many minutes of floating along with my pleasantly drifting thoughts. 

“Um,” I answered unsurely. 

“We don’t have to do anything else. We could just watch a movie. Hang out.” 

“Netflix and chill?” I said, as I turned around to face him and arched an eyebrow at him. 

He smiled indulgently, amusement sparking in his eyes that were still slightly dazed, as the apples of his cheeks glowed red with a lingering flush that made his light freckles stand out more. 

“Because if that’s your grand plan I hate to tell you, we did it all out of order,” I told him biting back a grin. 

“Did we? I thought we were spending a nice wholesome time together, but I guess I was wrong. You just used me for sex!” He joked and I hit him playfully on the shoulder. 

“Whatever, Mr. I could do things to you with this mouth that will have you singing like the angels,” I replied, shaking my head at him, trying my best not to laugh. 

“I’m gonna feel real used if you don’t at least attempt to make it seem like you want me for something other than my great oral skills.” He joked and I couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning behind his words. 

“Ok, ok. You really want me to stay and watch some trash tv, I’m gonna need another beer.” I told him relenting. “And some chips or something,” I added, when my stomach began to rumble. 

“Done and done.” He said, planting a chaste kiss on my cheek before moving out from underneath me and pulling his jeans and boxers unabashedly before lumbering off to the kitchen. 

It was only after he left that I realized I was still mostly naked and disheveled. I took stock of myself and reached down hastily to gather up my discarded clothes from the floor. 

I blushed hotly when I remembered the enthusiasm with which I had taken it all off and then allowed Peeta to come across my chest. What in the world had come over me? I’d never been that brazen or wanton with anyone before. 

“Do you have a bathroom I can use?” I called out nervously. 

“Down the hall, first door on the left.” Peeta’s voice called back over the small sounds of him puttering around in the kitchen. 

I dragged my shorts up and tossed my shirt on before I scurried off to the bathroom and closed the door behind me swiftly, leaning my weight against it and reaching out to flick on the light. 

My head was full of questions and uncertainties. 

What was this? Why hadn’t I just left right after? 

I looked at myself in the mirror, frowning at the bright-eyed girl with kiss-swollen lips and messy hair that stared back at me. 

She looked like a right mess, but she was practically glowing with satisfaction. There was a strange lingering softness about her eyes that told a story I wasn’t ready to hear yet. 

“Just one episode. A couple of beers, and then you go home. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.” I watched myself mouth the words to the girl in the mirror, willing her to lose that doe-eyed dreamy expression. 

I set about fixing my clothes. My panties were a lost cause so I just stuffed them in my back pocket and worked my bra back on instead before rebuttoning my shirt correctly. 

I splashed some cool water on my face and rebraided my hair. When all of that was done I gave myself one last stern look in the mirror. 

“Keep your clothes on,” I muttered before leaving the bathroom and gingerly making my way back to the living room. 

Peeta was waiting for me with an impressive spread laid out over his coffee table. 

I saw a tray piled high with sandwiches and three different kinds of chips, plus two more cold beers sweating over their coasters. 

“What’s this?” I asked curiosity and hunger getting the better of me. My empty stomach practically dragged me forward with an invisible hand. 

“Best ham sandwich you’ll ever eat,” Peeta replied, beckoning me closer. “It’s got goat cheese, smoked ham, a special pepper jam, and arugula on a fresh baguette from the bakery.” 

My mouth started watering at the description and I immediately parked myself on the couch beside Peeta, awkwardness and uneasiness forgotten for the moment as I reached out to pick up one. 

The first bite drew a moan from my lips. The creaminess of the goat cheese blended perfectly with the salty savoriness of the ham. And the spicy pepper jam took the whole thing to new heights. 

“Damn, that’s good,” I commented around a mouthful, as I picked up a spare plate and loaded it up with another sandwich and some chips. 

“Glad to hear it. Now, what do you feel like watching?” Peeta asked with an elated smile. 

~

We ended up rewatching a few episodes of The Walking Dead. This put me at ease because it was definitely not the kind of thing you’d watch on a first date. So it was fine. 

“Yeah, but all I’m saying is that trick with the deer was so pointless. It was nothing more than audience scare tactics.” 

“Well, they’ve been at it for a few seasons. At some point, they’re going to run out of stuff to do..” 

“Still. I don’t see why they had to pull that stunt after they offed Glen. He was my favorite. I lost so much interest after that. And then the deer thing just pissed me off. That’s why I stopped watching. Rick and them had just lost too much. What was the point of going on?” 

A strong arm wrapped itself comfortingly around my shoulders at that and maybe it was our easy conversation, or maybe it was the two beers and copious amounts of good food I’d stuffed myself with but instead of pulling away, I snuggled in closer. 

“Yeah, they lost a lot. But look at what they still had. Look at how they persevered and went on to build something good out of all the chaos and craziness. They kept hope alive despite all they suffered. It’s incredibly admirable.” Peeta said in a soothing tone, as he smoothed a hand down over my hair before pressing a light kiss to my temple. 

“I guess,” I replied, eyes dropping tiredly. Another kiss landed on my hairline as my head slipped down. 

“Yeah, well Neagan still deserves an arrow through the eye. I hope Darrel gets to shoot him one of these days…” I murmured as I drifted off against Peeta’s shoulder, saturated in warmth and a feeling of security that I hadn’t known for a long time. 

~

I woke with a start in the middle of the night, some part of my mind aware that I was not in my bed at home. I realized I must have fallen asleep at some point and Peeta had carried me to his bed. 

I was in Peeta Mellark’s bed and it was-I stole a glance at the clock-3:42 am. 

Panic set in and if it hadn't been for the heavy arm slung over my waist, I might have rolled off the bed when my limbs shot out haphazardly. 

As it was, the body that the arm was attached to reacted to my frantic movements by pulling me back from the edge, and into the safe haven of Peeta’s body. 

His warm hand splayed over my stomach above my shirt that had ridden up and his front pressed against my back, allowing for the perfect space for me to nestle my smaller, softer form against his larger, firmer one if I so chose. 

My senses pricked up and I listened to the steady sound of Peeta’s deep breaths, as well as the slow, rhythmic thump of his heartbeat when I turned my head back to press against his chest. 

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum 

The steady sound played like a metronome against the soft sounds of the night. The soft whir of the air conditioner, the chirp of insects outside his window, and the distant call of an owl filled my ears and had a tranquilizing effect on me. 

Slowly, I slipped back into the calm that I had on the couch with Peeta’s arms around me and I fell back into sleep with dreams peppered with sweet and alternately erotic images. 

Peeta’s shy smile from the bar interspersed with the image of his blue eyes shot through with heat and desire as he looked up at me from between my legs, his lips red and wet with my release. 

It was one of the strangest nights of my life, where my body couldn’t quite decide if it was happy to be coaxed into a pleasant comatose condition or an agitated state of lingering low-level arousal.  

Still, it was some of the best sleep I had gotten in a long time. 

~

[reasoningdaily]

From Braids: Fingerwave Saint, based on halos in Renaissance paintings.Courtesy of Crowe

Forget Pinterest inspiration boards—there are some hairstyles that are so inventive, the Louvre would be lucky to have them. Exhibit A: the intricate, braid-centric masterpieces crafted by fine artist Shani Crowe. After receiving a grant from Chicago-based nonprofit 3Arts, Crowe launched Braids, a series of photographs capturing real women adorned with her elaborate hairstyles. Though she’s been commissioned by celebrities such as Solange to create custom works (you might have seen one on SNL), Crowe happily considers new models—who don’t pay for the service.

You’re trained in film, photography, painting, and pottery. Why choose braids as your medium?

I’m a very tactile person—I’m good with my hands. And I’ve been thinking of doing a project like this since I was a kid. I come from a large family, and we often did each other’s hair. I always saw having my hair braided as a privilege, and I wanted to share that.

From Above All.Courtesy of Crowe

The pieces you make are so ornate.

Oh, man. They take hours and hours and hours. The crown I made for Solange took me fiftysomething because of all the individual Swarovski crystal beads and armature—and that’s just for the separate hairpiece attached to her braids. Usually, my looks average five or six hours. You really get to know someone.

How long do people wear them?

Typically, the styles are taken down right after I shoot, because they’re not really wearable. People have to go to work. But if you want a style to last, you should tie a satin scarf flat to your hair at night to keep the braids lying down, or wear a silk bonnet—it helps. Avoid cotton, because it takes moisture away from your hair.

Crowe and Solange backstage at SNL.Courtesy of Crowe

How do you keep styles sharp and eliminate frizz?

I like braids to be very crisp and neat; it’s about the finish for me. You’ve got to pay special attention to the part. If your scalp is dry and an oil isn’t working, try witch hazel on a cotton pad, and gently rub—that’ll help with flakes without drying out the hair.

What’s your view on nonblack women wearing cornrows or dreadlocks?

American culture, in general, doesn’t do a good job of honoring indigenous art. There’s never a moment where it’s like, These braids are from.… People will just do it and say it’s just a hairstyle. Personally, I’m not here to tell people what they can and cannot do. I know what I’m going to do: I’m going to continue to create.

To prep dry hair for styling, Crowe spritzes Vernon François Pure~Fro Moisture Spray (2) before a blow-dry: “It makes hair feel very soft, and it’s a way to help hair receive product a little better.” Harry Josh Pro Tools Pro Styling Clips (1) keep hair in controlled sections for manipulation over long periods of time. To create a perfect design with razor-sharp lines, Crowe saturates hair with Ampro Pro Styl Shine ’n Jam Conditioning Gel (4) before parting it with a heatproof Fromm Diane Ionic Anti-Static Comb (3). “This holds hair together on one side of the part, making it easier to keep flyaways in their position because they’re gelled down.”

[absolute--woman]

Petra Von Cunt  (Self-Sabotage guru)

To get this out of the way; I think this is the best cinematography to ever come out of a 2 hours film shot in a single room, the camera acted like an extension to the gigantic Nicolas Poussin's 1629 painting "Midas and Bacchus" in the set, with the frames resembling renaissance artworks.

I personally think the main theme Fassbinder wanted to convey in the bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant is the way in which many people are addicted to a certain kind of suffering, it explores that part of love that's not beautiful but rather utterly humiliating, it absolutely captures the claustrophobic sense of perfect loneliness, we see this unfold many times, first with Petra's relationship with her husband, what Karin did to Petra, and how Petra in return treats Marlene; the bitter cycle of eternal return.

What I found fascinating is although Marlene doesn't say a single word in the film -a side of the way she was figuratively screaming for 20 minutes throw the sound of the typewriter- is actually how by the end of the film I realized she was my favorite character and the one i related to the most.

There are many other memorable moments in this film, like the brilliant use of music, specifically In My Room by The Walker Brothers played during the first conversation between Petra and Kerin, where the opera-esque of the song’s composition reflects the theatrical aspect of the film, and the lyrics hauntingly foreshadows the scene in the fourth act of Petra on her birthday, another segment which masterfully depict rigid despair.

I also couldn't help but think of one of my favorite films which is Peter Strickland's 2015 film; Duke of Burgundy, I think it tackled the same themes and overall left me feeling the same heavy weight of tormented love. Masterpiece.

[gabrielgek]

Diving into the Digital Canvas: Crafting Your Online Identity with iFoto's PFP Maker

Have you ever taken a moment to think about how much your social media avatar, or PFP (Profile Picture), reflects your personality? It's a small, circular space that carries the weight of first impressions and can even set the tone for your interactions online. For many of us, finding the perfect profile picture is a quest that can feel both exciting and daunting. That's where iFoto's PFP Maker comes into the picture, quite literally.

Let's rewind for a second. Remember the early days of the internet when an avatar was just a simple, often generic icon? It was like everyone was wearing a digital nametag, but without much flair or character. These days, though, the game has changed. Your PFP is not just an image; it's an extension of you, a digital handshake before you've even typed a single word.

So, what if I told you that you could transform an everyday photo into a masterpiece that captures your essence and speaks volumes about your style without being a graphic designer? That's where iFoto's PFP Maker truly shines. It's like having a personal artist in your pocket, ready to paint your digital portrait in any style or theme you fancy.

The first time I used the PFP Maker, I was blown away by how intuitive it was. It's like the app reads your mind, offering filters and editing tools that make your photo pop, or giving it a whole new lease on life. I wondered, "Is this really as simple as it seems?" And guess what? It is. iFoto's interface is straightforward, making it accessible to everyone, regardless of your editing skills.

But let's backtrack a bit. Why is having a unique PFP so important? Well, in a world where we're often communicating with avatars instead of faces, your PFP can be a silent ambassador. It can convey your mood, your interests, or even your sense of humor. So, isn't it worth spending a little time to make it stand out?

Using iFoto's PFP Maker, I've seen friends transform from regular Joes to pixelated icons that tell a story. It's amazing how a touch of filters can turn a bland snapshot into a vibrant work of art. And the best part? It doesn't take hours. In a few minutes, you can create a personalized image that's ready to be your social media flagbearer.

I remember one instance when I used the PFP Maker to give my profile a facelift. I was feeling a little stuck in a rut and wanted a change that was more than skin-deep. As I played with the different themes and filters, it was like peeling back layers to reveal a newer, bolder version of myself. When I uploaded the new PFP, it felt like a fresh start, a visual representation of a personal renaissance.

And that's the beauty of iFoto's PFP Maker – it's not just about the image; it's about the experience. It's about giving users the tools to express themselves, to create something that resonates with their inner self and communicates their outer identity. Whether you're into vibrant colors or a more minimalistic look, the PFP Maker has got you covered.

But here's something else that struck me. As I shared my new PFP with friends, they started to experiment with the app too. It was like a domino effect of creativity. We'd compare our avatars, talk about the process, and even share tips. It became a way to connect on a different level, through the art we were creating together.

You see, in the digital realm, your PFP can be a conversation starter, a way to showcase your personality without saying a word. And iFoto's PFP Maker is the tool that helps you do that. It empowers you to craft a visual identity that's as unique as you are, without overwhelming you with complexity.

So, I encourage you to explore in and give it a try. Explore the different filters, the themes, and see what speaks to you. You might just find a new favorite hobby or find a side of yourself you never knew was there. After all, isn't self-expression one of the most beautiful things about being human?

Remember, your social media avatar is your calling card in the digital world. With iFoto's PFP Maker, it's time to make it a masterpiece that says, "This is me. This is who I am." And who knows? You might just inspire someone else to pick up the digital brush and start painting their own digital portrait.

[invishkind]

Let's Talk About Art Genres!

Ok, I wanted to make a post that starts at a foundational part of art history. Through many of videos and photo scanned, of artwork, it helps to organize works by categories. Categories can include era/time or genres. Genres are “different types of subjects in paintings”. This word is interchanged with movements (ie. Impressionism, baroque, expressionism), but these are separate classifications. The movements focus more on style of painting. The ranking of genres tends to be (1) history (2) portrait (3) landscape (4) still life and (5) lowlife/everyday. If you think in terms of how art history has been taught to you in school, there are more notable pieces that show scenes of action. The first two photos fall in this category.

I’ll make history brief because it’s the most notable. The history genre was another record of power and ego, whenever writing couldn’t be used. These pieces had to depict movement and expression, so their level of mastery was elite.

Portraits are most notable (relating to my last portrait discussed) because only wealthy individuals were commissioning those. The vast number of portraits that live is purely because artists knew they would be paid HEFTY for them. Portraits are not meant to show “likeness”, but rather an inner essence of the subject. Most expression lay in the eyes and eyebrows. If you think back to your high school art classes, people weren’t cheesing in those paintings.

Landscapes arrived in popularity in the 17th-century Renaissance era. Secular art was needed for home = and landscapes fulfilled the need! Western culture most notably understands landscape art in the eyes of Vincent Van Gogh, Claude Monet, and Gustave Courbet (the trailblazer).

Number 4 was my introduction to art history and was also the reason I thought art was BORING. To me, still life was just a painting of a bowl of fruit, that could be auctioned for millions. My valuation of “art” was based on the realism of people. Could you make me think this painting of a person was real? My focus wasn’t on how particular light and shading on an apple was depicted. However, still life is like the oldest genre of art. To me, still life is the act of immortalizing life. Items and objects are the closest thing to understanding or “living” the past. Words may not have always captured every moment. But the objects depicted and the context of the owner(s), filled a gap. Shoutout to Georgia O’Keeffe, my favorite still-life artist. One day, I’ll be able to deep dive into her works.

Lastly, there is a genre called “lowlife”. If you try to search this term, it could also be referred to as “genre paintings”. Honestly, the title “low life” was a derogatory take on removing the intellect and importance of powerful/“important” subjects and moving the spotlight to hustlers, scammers, domesticated women, and people who were nominal in society.

Takeaways: I hope knowing these foundation topics helps my ability to “read” a piece. It will definitely add more context to a painting.

[exhibit-of-the-century]

Q2: ‘Attention to visual form is an essential component of art history’. Discuss.

(Open Book Exam)

Masterlist

BUY ME A COFFEE

Visual form in art usually relates to its three-dimensionality: the work’s volume, length, width and height. The “visual” in this phrase could refer to the arts expression of meaning, message and emotion through a visual means. Such art can come in forms of fine art, photography and sculpture. I believe that visual form is essential, as communicating ideas of an artwork revolves around its presence.

While visual form is an essential component of art history, it is not the most important one. The cultural understanding and history inform us greatly as to why a certain form may have been chosen, in addition to the changes taking place to this form. In this essay I will focus on the development of the modernist movement, formalism and mediums, as well as some theories, particularly relating to canvas works.

Throughout history, most visual forms have been created in sculpture and on canvas; sculpture being a more tactile and three-dimensional medium as opposed to canvas. Canvas works historically have attempted to mimic three-dimensional space and form within their two-dimensional confines. This developed over time, with elements such as foreshortening, contour lines and shading that used a flat canvas to represent a naturalistic form, making it appear solid and with depth. However, it wasn’t until the Impressionists (1880’s), that this began to change and develop.

Impressionism was a movement that heavily relied on visible brushwork due to the speed at which the works were painted. There was an emphasis on light, depicting ordinary subject matter in an attempt to capture a moment. Many theorists like Clive Bell and Clement Greenberg cite this as a beginning to the development of Modernism. The Modernism movement broke from traditional values and styles, developing in the 1900 – 1970’s in a spirit of experimentation. Modernist artworks drew attention to the canvas, as they were usually flat works that experimented with the restriction of the canvas. Usually painted in an expressive manner that was divorced from a recognisable reality, they experiment with line and colour over narrative. I believe this is a movement that highlights the importance of visual form in art history, and emphasises its essentialness in understanding art overall. It makes us reflect on what art wanted to achieve before the modernists, and how it realises that in its form, as well as presenting a self-reflection on the medium of painting.

This self-reflection of the modernists is critical, as when we look at an Old Master in the Renaissance, they look to escape the confines of a flat canvas which they were limited to. However, with the Modernists, we see an embrace of the canvas and its flatness, drawing attention to it. This shows a key comparison and reflection by the Modernists of all art that came before them. This is important for visual form and makes it essential in art history, as we reflect on what is displayed, the size of canvas, where it is displayed and style of display like a tryptic. Visual form becomes even more essential to art history as it can distinguish movements.

Formalism, a philosophy on art, focuses on the purely visual aspect of a painting rather than the content or its relationship to the visible work. It spotlights brushwork, line, composition, and colour over narrative and its relationship to the visible world. This highlights a clear break from traditional canvas painting intentions, and is key to breaking down Modernist theory and the movement. Here, the importance of visual form is reaffirmed as it allows for us to further breakdown what is on display, and how it is created through weight of line, choice of colour and composition.

Clive Bell proposes a theory of significant form in his book titled ‘Art’ (1914), which falls into a similar space as formalism. Here, he reinforces the idea of emotional response over substantial narrative, claiming that personal experiences of particular emotions influence our interactions with aesthetic and the visual arts. Bell goes on to say that there is an aesthetic emotion, a personal response in taste, which comes from the combination of lines and colour. While his argument doesn’t necessarily emphasise the importance of visual form in understanding art history, it does reinforce an idea of its necessity in our attention to analysing visual form. An emotional response to a work can make us reflect on it better and critique it more thoroughly; we can relate our emotional responses to what is presented in its basic forms of colour and line.

Furthermore, Bell looks at historical works, early art that he calls “primitive”. He claims that the art at the beginning of art history is the closest to significant form as they play with line and colour over conveying information. Which, in my opinion, only further supports the argument that visual form is necessary.

Moreover, Clement Greenberg builds off Bell’s points when he specifically addresses the Modernist artists of New York in his work ‘Modernist Painting’ (1961). His theory was that each discipline in the humanities (visual art) had its own agenda and factors which could be reflected upon. Modernism being the most developed self-reflection in history in the art practice. Greenberg argued that Modern painting had properties that you could recognise, like those of flatness (being on a canvas) and being made of different coloured paints. He also saw this to be limiting for the artists and for the practice itself.

Greenberg in his essay cites Manet, an Impressionist, as the first Modernist due to the elements of flat colour, with clear and visible brushstrokes. The works themselves also draw on just a visual aspect rather than a narrative aspect, almost foregoing any storytelling. Greenberg also calls to light the contradiction of our attention to visual form when looking upon an Old Master’s work, as first we focus on the Old Master before the painting, whereas with the Modernists this notion is reversed. The viewer is forced to interact with the work above the artist or creator.

The reason the Modernists are so important to understanding visual form in art history is because they call upon basic line, colour and the actual canvas itself as a way to reflect upon all art. They created an entire movement built upon questioning the very fabric and medium of a work. It is only in painting that you can draw upon and call to the viewers’ attention the flatness of a canvas.

Greenberg reflects on his writing, explaining that while Modernists bring to light the most important aspects of canvas painting being that they are flat, no painting can truly be flat and must permit to some optical illusionism. Moreover, his most critical point is that without the rest of art, which was necessary to bring us to this point of modernism, we could not self-reflect and criticise. Through the modernists we have evolved our attention to focus on line and colour. These make up visual forms and help define movements in art history, making this movement essential to our contemporary reflections on art history. In summary, our attention to visual form would not be as developed if it were not for the Modernist movement and the philosophies that accompanied it. Through Modernism we break from traditional art and delve historically into a deeper reflection of the importance of visual form in art history. It is the entirety of history that has led to this break and reflection in how visual form is represented. Without understanding visual form, we would not have modernism. Modernism has been an instrumental reflective point in art history, and still has impacts on our perception of visual form today.

Clive Bell (1881 - 1964) 'The Aesthetic Hypothesis'

Clement Greenberg (1909 - 1994) 'Modernist Painting'

[theotherseapancakes]

It's a day ending in Y and I'm thinking about how the various artists in the video games I adore influenced me greatly. Kazuma Kaneko, Yasuda, Shigenori Soejima... so I wanna post some of my fave arts from each. Cut because I just feel like rambling IDK.

This one is I think from a cover for an Innocent Sin guidebook. The art on this one really captures making it feel like a real-life thing somehow. Most of Kaneko's art does, if I'm honest, and it's why I love his newer work. That porcelain doll aesthetic, the thick chunky lines, the glossy blacks. It makes his eldritch entities feel horrifically alive.

Something that captures me as an artist wrt to Kaneko's work is how well it takes up space and DEMANDS you FEEL that space. I'm always enraptured. Here's another example, this time from SMT Nocturne (thanks to this tumblr x )

There's so much going on here with symbolism between the 4 Horsemen and the Demifiend, it's phenomenal. Love the palette and the sweltering uncomfortable Amala Labyrinth reds. Moving on to Soejima... I like his recent work, but his older stuff for P3 was what truly captured me most.

The color palette, the Full Moon Shadow masks, the symbolism here. His expression, the way he's just staring. God, this is everything. The paintwork. It's gorgeous and it's serving me anime renaissance vibes. Great shit. I have no notes, Makoto/Minato best guy 10/10. Why not attach another piece of work of Soejima's I like...?

Fucking gorgeous use of the overwhelming spectral-esque palette here. Feels like I'm in the Underworld itself just looking at it. You can tell there's so much going on here. The Great Seal door is really beautifully painted. NEXT. Now, Suzuhito Yasuda gets a lot of flack for his inability to draw tits (deserved to a degree I can't lie) but I'd be lying if I said his simple but REALLY expressive art didn't inspire the hell out of me, so let's look at some Devil Survivor art that got me BIG into that game.

I love love LOVE his fashion designs and how weird and wacky they tend to get. I think he's probably best known for his work on stuff like Durarara but I love how he does eyes and character expressions, and you can see that even better in his own manga Yozakura Quartet, where he manages some visceral feeling moments:

Real feral energy to the faces in his art honestly. I love that shit. Does this post have a point? No, I just really like thinking about art, and I guess I wanted to talk about some art that inspired me a lot that isn't just Jun Mochizuki's Everything, lmao.

[longlivefanfic-net]

Eddie Munson, Boy Scout (p2)

Summary: Part two to this angsty/fluffy camping with Eddie fic. Eddie Munson takes you camping and wants to show you something really cool; you thank him with your mouth. Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Content: Smut, some fluff, camping fic, reader giving head, male receiving head.

A/N: Eddie forever, babes <3 More parts of this to come soon! Part three here!

You can’t stop the smile that tilts your lips, and you lean back towards him, planning to capture his mouth with yours again. Eddie, however, leans back. “I hate to ruin a moment,” he says, as if it isn’t his specialty, “But the sun is going to set pretty soon, and I really want you to see something.” You roll your eyes halfheartedly, still smiling at him, and agree. He stands up, reaching a hand down for you. When you place your fingers in his grip, wrapping your fingers around his ring-clad ones, you feel a flutter through your chest–a definite, noticeable frisson at the contact. He helps you to stand, then brings your fingers to his mouth, bowing slightly at the waist as he presses a tender kiss to your soft skin, eyes locked on you. “My lady,” he says, his warm breath tickling your hand as he closes his eyes momentarily, and you can’t help but wonder if he felt, somehow, the flutter in your chest seconds ago or if he feels the one now. In that moment, slightly bent at the waist, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones, you can’t help but think of Eddie Munson as your knight in shining armor, a warrior who would risk his life to protect you. Something about the way his dark curls glimmer with the warm, golden sunlight, shifting lightly in the breeze off the lake, his wide eyes closed almost reverently, makes him look like a Renaissance painting; all he needs is a sword and the armor. He stands up suddenly, breaking the spell he has momentarily cast over you with the press of his mouth, and keeps your hand in his as he starts walking back towards the tree line. 

“Come on, princess,” Eddie calls, tugging your arm to make you move faster. He had led you beyond the tree line, back into the woods. The sunlight was even softer here, trickling through in dappled patterns to scatter across rough hewn tree trunks and the warm browns and greens of the forest floor. “The sun’s not going to be up for much longer,” he says quietly after about 20 minutes of walking. “Why would that matter?” You ask. You’re still uncertain where he’s taking you–Munson is particularly good at keeping secrets when he wants to be. “It’s not very important,” he says, casually, “But you’ll probably end up creeped out if it’s too dark.” You stop moving immediately. “Munson, what the fuck are you going to show me? I swear to God, if it’s a dead body or something–” Eddie interrupts you. “It’s right here,” he says, voice on the verge of laughter. He turns back to look at you. “No corpses, or maggots, or anything gross,” he promises, solemnly. “Now, ladies first.” He points to an opening in the rock face to your left, a place where the rock seemed to have simply forgotten to form. “Oh, hell no, Munson,” you say, taking a step backwards with your hands raised. “I am not going in there.” Eddie sighs, rolling his entire head with his eyes. “Come on,” he says, “It’s not that creepy!” “As if I would trust your judgment on what is and isn’t creepy,” you say incredulously. “I’ll hold your hand,” Eddie says, tilting his face to the side in a juvenile entreatment. You bite your lower lip, pulling it between your teeth. “Hah!” Eddie exclaims, clapping his hands together. “You’re going,” he says. “Fine,” you mutter, “But I better not die before you make me s’mores.”

You walk through the darkness, fingers trailing over the rough hewn walls as your eyes adjust to the changing light the farther in you go. Suddenly, the wall disappears under your hand and you stumble forward. You squeeze Eddie’s hand, tightly, as he steps closer behind you. “See, princess? Pretty incredible.” The walls of rock have opened up to a small space, the last of the sunlight struggling through a wide hole in the ceiling. You walk forward, dropping Eddie’s fingers as he allows you to experience his find on your own. Water drips quietly, the gentle splashes echoing in the open space, and you can see clear as day how the rock has eroded in the eons it has sat here, rivulets carving out the opening you stand in now. You stand under the opening in the top of the rock, looking up. Tree branches waver softly at the edges, but directly overhead you can see the inky color of the night stretching it’s long tendrils out, out over the light purple of the sky as the sun sets. We missed sunset on the lake, you think, but then a small shimmer in the corner of the sky catches your eye. The first star, peeking out softly. At the hushed gasp that escapes your mouth, Eddie steps closer, his footfalls echoing in the surrounding darkness. His fingers search out yours, wrapping around your wrist before they scrape down to your open palm. You turn to look at him: his hair is loose, still in the silence, and you can hear the slight inhale and exhale of each breath that moves his chest echoing around the cave. His face is lit softly, a mixture of the last of the sunlight and the oncoming lights of the night sky, and the shadows of his nose and brow soften the harshness of his thin face, illuminating the wide set of his eyes instead. He looks…soft, here. Gentle–not that he’s ever been anything less than gentle (except when you begged for it), but something about this place has made him drop the harsh facade he clings to so often. Here, he looks like he does when you’re in his bedroom after he’s cleaned the both of you up, when he props his hands behind his head and reclines into the mattress so you can lay your head over his chest, listening to the gentle thumps as his heartbeat slows from it’s elevated pace. He’s not Eddie Munson, freak, he’s just Eddie Munson. The man you’re in love with. 

You turn your body to his as he fully captures your attention. “Eddie,” you whisper, your voice naturally softer as you look at the smooth, kind face. “Yeah?” He asks, looking at you. While you’ve been studying him, he has stared at the emerging stars and, for a moment, you think you can still see them reflected in the amber warmths of his eyes as he looks at you. Instead of replying, you step closer to him, snaking your hands up his chest to wrap around his neck as you tilt your head and press your mouth softly against his. It takes him a moment to respond–you’re touching him so gently he’s probably unsure as to whether or not it’s even really happening–but he eventually slides his hands around your waist, letting his hands rest on your curves as he leans into your body. Gently, he opens his mouth against yours and your lips mimic his. His tongue slides into your mouth, moving slowly as he pushes it against your own and along the roof of your mouth. Your fingers, desperate for purchase that will bring him closer, knot in his hair and he tightens his hands along your body in response. The sound of the dripping water is interrupted now with a mixture of his heavy breaths and the occasional hushed moan from you as one of his hands comes up to grasp the side of your neck, pulling the skin there tight. Goosebumps rise over your body, either in response to the metal of his rings or the sheer desire you can feel undulating off his skin.

You pull your body back from Eddie, keeping your lips locked together. He whines into your mouth at the sudden lack of heat from your body, but the loud zipper of your jacket cuts off any actual complaints he would have made. Throwing the jacket to the floor, you break off the kiss and stare at him. “Take your clothes off, Munson,” you say, breathless. His laugh is sharp and loud in the near-silence around you. “Don’t tell me what to do, princess,” he says, eyes glinting, but he pulls his long sleeved shirt over his head nevertheless. You reach out, unbuckling his belt for him and he watches your fingers move nimbly over the bulge forming in his jeans. You return your hands to your own body, lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it on the ground with the jacket before shimmying denim down your hips. By the time you have kicked your jeans into the same pile Eddie has added his own clothes to, he is watching you, nearly naked. He’s kept his boxers on–and his rings, his rings that tangle and pull your hair sometimes, making you gasp in a way that you know he can’t get enough of. You stand facing him in just your underwear. “We are alone, right?” You ask, eyes on his mouth as his tongue pokes out between his lips to wet them. “Yeah,” he says, nodding enthusiastically, “Completely alone.” At that, he moves back to you, wrapping one hand around you to squeeze the full flesh of your ass as his other hand slides up your body to squeeze your breast. The only thing separating your sensitive nipple from the cool metal of his rings is the thin material of your bra–which is definitely not enough to protect you from the harshness of his grip. You gasp, drawing his attention back to your mouth. Eddie presses hard kisses up the smooth line of your throat, nearly knocking you off your balance with the intensity of his mouth, then runs his tongue back down the burning trail he has left under your skin. 

“Tell me what you want from me, babygirl,” he says, his voice almost jarring in the quiet. “Mm-mm,” you moan, shaking your head as his mouth finds it’s way to the soft skin between your neck and breasts. “No.” “Excuse me?” He says pulling his head back. The damp his tongue has left over your skin chills immediately in the cool air, and you whimper slightly. “I said no,” you say again, locking eyes with him. His are delighted beneath his furrowed brow; for once, the game is going to be more difficult for him. Instead of following his every command, you’ve decided to make him work for his reward tonight. “I’m not going to touch you again until you tell me what you want. And where. And how, princess,” he says, voice low like a growl. “No,” you say again, smiling slightly. “You can’t make me.” You fight the urge to stick your tongue out at him, aware of how childish it would be–and yet, in this moment, you feel like a petulant child, refusing to do what they’re told and delighting in the rebellion. “And what,” he says, the words tripping over his lips slowly, “are you going to do then? If I give you nothing, since you won’t tell me what you want?” You think about this for a moment, sucking your lower lip in between your teeth as you contemplate his words. His eyes watch the movement, watch your lip turn white between your teeth, watch your lip turn redder than before as it floods with blood when you release it. “I think,” you say, noting his fixation on your mouth, “I’m going to take what I want.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows slide closer together at your words, confusion stealing over his features as his eyes narrow. You give him only a second, a moment really, to ponder your words before you drop to your knees in front of him. The hiss of air down his throat lets you know without looking up at him that he’s happy with your decision, and you pull his boxers down the long, white muscle of his thighs, letting them drop to the floor. He’s already erect, and he’s starting to ache with how badly he wants you. He could barely get his own pants off earlier, the zipper slightly painful as he had pulled it down, because he had grown so hard when you told him to take his clothes off. Now you’re kneeling in front of him, and Eddie can’t help but to think about how beautiful you look, how soft and innocent you seem, though he knows that, deep down, you’re much less sweet than you seem to the world–in fact, you can be borderline vicious at times, leaving him covered in scratches and bruises that you come back to the next night. You’ve even drawn blood a few times and–much to his surprise and enjoyment–you seem to like running your tongue down the shallow cuts you leave on his shoulders, his chest, even his ribs on occasion, to swipe his blood up with the flat of your tongue. That same tongue pokes out between your lips now, wetting your lips, and Eddie can’t stop the moan that escapes his lips. You look up at him, shooting him a devilish grin, and open your mouth. You take his tip in between your lips as your hands work up and down his length, twisting slightly as you get comfortable with the rhythm. Eddie groans, this time reaching his hand down to hold your head. His fingernails scratch against your scalp and you moan, the vibrations in your mouth sending a shudder through his entire body. “Fuck, princess, just like that,” he says. You set your mouth a little farther down, sucking lightly as his warm fluids start to drop onto your tongue. His breath is coming out in energetic pants now, and both of his hands are tangling in your hair. The only thing keeping him from thrusting his hips, forcing himself deeper into the warmth of your throat, is the knowledge that this is your moment. You told him that you would take what you wanted, and Eddie intends to respect that. 

Your hands are near his base now, still rubbing as you alternate between sucking and moaning around Eddie’s body. One of your hands leaves his shaft, taking his sack in hand and giving it a slight squeeze. Eddie whimpers–whimpers, like he’s practically in pain–and his hands suddenly push your head down slightly farther along him. You stop your movement entirely, and when he pulls his hands away, asking “Babygirl?” you pull off of him and look up. Holding his eyes with your own, you say, “Try that again, Munson, and I’ll make you finish yourself.” His eyes grow rounder, and the electricity between the two of you, in this darkness, in this space forgotten by the rest of the world, is almost tangible. You return your mouth to where it belongs, gliding up and down his length as you take him farther in than before. Running your tongue along his length as you pull back, your hands squeeze him near his base and he hisses a gasp between his teeth. You can’t help yourself–the sound, echoing in the cave, is driving you wild, and you take one of your hands to roll your nipple between your index finger and thumb, making your mouth salivate even more around him. “That’s right,” Eddie coos while watching you, his voice shaking as he nears his end, “Touch yourself for me, princess.” You moan at the pet name, and the shift in your throat sends him over the edge. He gasps, holding tightly onto the back of your head as he tries to keep his hips still. The hot, thick ropes of his cum paint your mouth, and you swallow as fast as you can to take his entire sticky load down your throat. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispers as the echoes of his moans finally quiet around the two of you in the cave. You look up at him, his long curls draping down to frame his face as he looks at you. Above him, you can see straight out of the opening in the top of the rock formation. The stars glow around his face, from your angle, and he looks almost otherworldly–ethereal, surrounded by tiny pinpricks of fire burning through the universe. You sit back on your heels, running the back of your hand over your mouth to wipe away the spit that has dripped down your chin. Looking up at him, you say, “You’re kind of beautiful, you know?” Eddie laughs, reaching his hands down for yours. When you place your fingers in his palms, he squeezes them, then pulls you to your feet. “Are you okay, princess? I didn’t poke you in the brain when I was in your mouth, did I?” He’s laughing, genuinely wheezing at his own joke. “Jesus, Eddie,” you say, laughing yourself, “No wonder it took you so long to graduate.” The two of you laugh harder, and he pulls you close so you can feel his chest moving under yours in short spasms as giggles continue to fill the cave. When you’ve both finally quieted down, you start to pick up your clothes from the ground, handing Eddie his as you go. “But actually, Eddie,” you say, eyes intent on the label of the jeans in your hand as you try to decipher if they belong to you or him, “I do think you’re beautiful. You look like an old fashioned knight or something, and sometimes you just kind of…I don’t know, it’s like you’ve got this light under your skin.” You decide that the jeans are yours and bend your knees as you slip them over your feet. Wiggling the denim over your thighs and hips, you say, “Really, Munson, you just radiate happiness sometimes. I know you think you’re scary looking, with your metalhead hair, and your rings, and your chains, and all the black and skulls and stuff, but when I see you, I don’t know,” you sigh as you zip and button your pants, “I just see this beautiful boy who makes me smile.” You turn around, looking at him with your shirt in your hands. He’s frozen where he’s standing, his jeans only halfway pulled up his legs and his shirt hanging around his neck. “You’re serious?” He whispers. “You think I’m…beautiful?” “Of course I do, Eddie,” you say, taking a few steps to cross the distance between the two of you. You reach out, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and pulling it the rest of the way up so that you can duck your head as you zip his pants and say, “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and definitely the most beautiful one I’ve ever loved.” His fingers find your chin, tilting your head up so you have to look at him. Slowly, keeping his eyes open, he leans down and kisses you gently.

[forever-rogue]

The Painting

AN | There is absolutely no reason for this except I saw some vague prompt somewhere about two individuals meeting in a museum while looking at a portrait of people who exactly like them. I couldn’t get the idea or the Thief out of my head so here we are! Part soulmate au, part sugary sweet fluff, but all softness! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | The Thief x Fem!Reader

Warnings | None

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | PP Characters, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Taking the chance and moving to Italy to finish your studies had been both the easiest and hardest decision of your life. The opportunity to live in the birthplace of the renaissance seemed like a dream; but having to leave behind all of your friends and family had been rough. But in the end, as you traveled throughout Europe and had the opportunity to see some of the most beautiful sights in the world, you’d decided that it was worth it. Nothing could compare to the experiences you were having, the art you were able to see and study in real life instead of through books and pictures. 

You loved getting to walk through hallowed halls filled with both beautiful artwork and centuries of history. There seemed to be a new place to explore every weekend and you often let yourself go wherever the day took you. But there was one feeling you could never quite seem to shake. The feeling that something was missing…like a piece of you wasn't quite there. And no matter how many adventures or wonderful things you got to do, that hole in your heart never seemed to be filled. But that was a matter for a different day.

This particular afternoon found you wandering through the halls of the Uffizi Gallery. You’d been here many times before, spending hours walking around and taking it all in, working on your own sketches from all the inspiration around you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was quiet today, the mid-spring rain seeming to keep most people inside or occupied elsewhere, which left you as one of the few stragglers inside. Your sketchpad was clutched tightly against your chest as you made your way upstairs to one of your favorite spots. It was in the back of the gallery and often quiet. The bench in front of your favorite painting was empty so you quietly slid into it, setting your things down before giving the painting a cursory once over. It was only then that you noticed that the painting that normally hung there was gone. The replacement was one you’d never seen before, not online or in books or texts. 

Your breath caught in your throat in a flurry of excitement as you stood up to examine it. At first glance it appeared to be in the vain of Botticelli or Caravaggio, but it had a certain distinct quality to it that you couldn’t quite place. There wasn’t a signature to be found, nor had there been any announcement about any new artwork. How very curious. 

You got as close to it as possible without setting off any of the alarms, taking in the brushwork and color choices in an attempt to see if you could discover the artist. It was some time before you stepped back to take in the composition and subject. The portrait was of a man, shielding and protecting a woman from something off canvas. You wondered what it could have been, what could have prompted the artist to want to capture this particular moment. The man in the painting was handsome; you could see that he was the essence of beauty with dark curls that framed his face and a strong jaw and nose. There was something unique about him, but at the same time you felt like you had seen him before; like you knew him despite the fact that whoever the inspiration was had likely been dead for centuries. 

It was the woman that you noticed only after a thorough study of the gallant man clearly portrayed as a hero. She was beautiful, stylized with a light glow behind her as she gazed upon the man with a serene expression. It wasn’t until you really took a close look that you realized…she looked a lot like you. Or perhaps you looked like her. She had extremely similar if not the same features as you from your nose to your eyes and lips, the same hair only differently styled. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were looking at a portrait of yourself. One that had been created hundreds of years ago. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you hadn’t even heard anyone come up or approach, and you jumped back in surprise, almost falling over your own feet. Once you steadied yourself, your heart beating wildly, you looked at the stranger that had suddenly made their appearance, “I didn’t mean to scare you! I thought you heard me coming.”

“N-no,” your response was a nervous stammer, “I guess I was too caught up in looking at the painting.”

“I can understand why…it’s a remarkable painting,” it was only now that you took a proper look at him. You were caught off guard for the second time since he’d appeared, but this time it was by his beauty. His was handsome, in a roguish type of way, with a head full of thick dark curls, soft but deep eyes, dark but patchy facial hair flecked with grays, and a strong nose and jaw, He was impeccably dressed in a suit that must have been tailored for him; way better looking than anyone had the right to be and completely out of place in the quiet gallery. You look down at yourself and immediately felt underdressed in your simple jeans and sweater. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, offering him a small smile and wondering if he could sense everything you were thinking and feeling. You reached for your bag and sketchbook, ready to make a hasty escape to try and process the sudden onslaught of emotions. How could they be this strong about a stranger? None of it made sense, “I-I should get going.”

“Why did it capture your attention?” it was like he had reached out and taken hold of your arm to stop you. But in reality he had only asked the question as you attempted to rush past him. You turned back to him with an eyebrow raised, “this particular piece has captured your fancy. Why?”

For whatever reason, you felt compelled to walk back to him, standing to where your shoulder was almost brushing him. You could smell the light but undoubtedly expensive cologne he was wearing, and it made you want to bury your face in his neck and breathe him in. You shook your head to get yourself out of this silly daydream little fantasy, “I’ve never seen this painting before…I study art, especially medieval and renaissance art and I’ve never come across it. It’s unique - the composition, the brushwork, all of it. I was looking for the artist’s name but couldn’t find it. Whoever they were, they must have been educated or at least heavily inspired by Botticelli or someone like him.”

“It’s anonymous,” he stated simply as your eyebrows raised in surprise, “the artist was never identified and we’ll never know if they’ve done any other work. Which leaves us with only this piece."

“How did you…know that?” handsome and mysterious? He had your attention to say the least, “I haven't seen anything announced about the painting at all.”

“That’s because it used to be my personal collection,” it was a revelation that left you floored. With that knowledge, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was a recently created painting paired with some made up folklore and sold for money. But no…this painting was undoubtedly old and the Uffizi would never bring just any painting into their gallery, “I thought it was time to share it with the world. Even if just for now.”

“That’s…extremely generous,” you smiled at him, “how does one happen to come into possession of potentially priceless art?”

“There is always a way,” he played it off with a small smile, not completely dodging your question but also not answering it, “I’ve been waiting for the day…”

He trailed off as he studied you intently, causing you to want to squirm and want to melt into the floor. Instead, his large hands gently found your shoulders and he moved you to stand in front of him. You could feel his breath tickling your neck as you tried to keep it together. His hands delicately skimmed down your arms before he stopped at your wrists, brushing your fingers with his before they settled on your waist. A small little moan escaped your lips and you were already too far gone to realize that you were standing here with a virtual stranger where anyone could walk up. 

“What do you see?” his voice was low and velvety smooth in your ear, and it was only then that you realized you’d closed your eyes. You looked the painting over, taking it all in just as you had when you’d first laid eyes on it. Your breath caught in a small gasp as you realized what he was trying to get at. You felt him push your hair to the side before he dragged his nose against your neck, stopping with his lips at your pulse point, “tell me.”

“I-it’s you,” your voice was a small whisper as you realized that it was him in the painting. Maybe it was just…someone long gone that had shared an uncanny resemblance with him. But…no. That was him; it was clear as day now, “the man in the painting is you.”

“Yes,” suddenly you wanted to feel his lips all over his body, to hear him speak the most innocent and sinful of words for just you to hear, “what else?”

“The woman…she’s…me,” you concluded softly, his hum vibrating in his chest, “I don’t understand…how?”

“I’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” he whispered before delicately turning you around so you could face him. You flushed with warmth and tried to turn away, but instead he put his finger under chin and kept your gaze trained on him, “I thought I might never find you again.”

“What do you mean?” you leaned into his touch as his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You had questions, but at the same time, you knew that you already had all the answers you could ever need within you, “tell me.”

“I have looked far and wide for you, mi tesoro,” he leaned in, leaving very little space between your bodies. If you leaned in any further, you could kiss him; and that was currently all you wanted to do. Your whole body was practically humming with excited, nervous energy, “I thought I might not find you in this lifetime. To think I might have lost you forever…I couldn’t bear the thought.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” you allowed yourself to touch his face, ghosting your fingers along his jaw, “I…why can’t I remember everything?”

“You could say I had a feeling,” he admitted with a small smile, “and those feelings have been right in the past. I’ve been watching you, waiting for this moment until I couldn’t wait for you any longer.”

“Oh,” you looked at him with wide, innocent eyes and his heart melted, “how long have you been here? In Italy?”

“Some time,” your heart felt content, like it was suddenly at home after searching for so long. You supposed it had; like it had finally found the missing piece, "I waited until I was sure you'd remember me. At first I thought you didn't…"

"I didn't right away…but now," you cradled his face in your hands, "my heart remembers. I've missed you this whole lifetime but didn't know what was missing. It’s been like a big part of my heart was missing until now - until I felt your touch again. It just needed to see you again, amor."

“May I kiss you?” his umber eyes, soft but ever so expressive, searched yours as held himself back. A small, wistful little sound left your lips as you nodded, wanting to feel his lips on yours once again. You closed your eyes as he kissed you - again, finally - after so long. It was a soft, delicate thing, hardly more than what would be considered a chaste kiss rather than one between lovers. You could feel he was testing the waters to make sure you were still okay with it, with him. You pulled him back down to your lips and stole a few more kisses from him, before letting him go, “I’ve missed you so much. I don’t know what I would have done…any lifetime without you would not have been worth living.”

“And now you will not be alone,” you promised, “we have always found each other, through centuries and lives that were not easy or kind to us. I think we’ll always be together in the end. It’s…the memories are there, vague and distant, but they’re coming back to me.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to kiss you until you remember everything,” there he was. That silly, playful man that had your heart for as long as you could remember, for as long as time itself, “you get more and more beautiful all the time. It hardly seems fair that you’re stuck with me.”

“As if you don’t know you are the most handsome man," you carded a hand through his hair, careful not to mess it up, "if there's anyone that my heart has to be bound to, I'm glad it's yours."

He took a step back, his hand still holding yours as he admired you. The familiarity of the gesture reminded you of the countless times he'd done this in the past. It still managed to make you feel like he thought you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. In his eyes, you easily were.

"You've always been a flatterer."

"It's always worked," you reminded him as the corners of his mouth tugged up into a small smile, “how did you know to have them put the painting here now? That I would be here today?”

“When you have known someone through so many lifetimes, it’s not hard to anticipate what they’ll do,” he had leaned in so he was whispering in your ear, causing gooseflesh to break out all over your skin, “I know you better than you could ever know.”

“That’s very romantic of you, mi amor,” you tugged on the fine, soft lapels of his jacket to keep him close, “but I’m pretty sure I know you just as well. I might not remember everything just yet, but I know that much. Just how closely have you been watching without me noticing?”

He laughed at that, a deep hearty laugh that caused his eyes to crinkle in the corners and that one dimple to become more prominent. How you had missed that laugh; your heart felt more than full at hearing it again, “like I said, long enough. I wouldn’t have said or done anything if I wasn’t sure the timing was right.” 

“One more thing,” you held up your hand and he pressed his against yours, his much larger hand dwarfing yours, “how did you find the painting? Wasn’t it…lost at some point?”

“It was…some few centuries ago,” he brought your hand to his lips and placed a delicate kiss to each finger, “but like I said, I have my ways.”

“Once a thief, always a thief,” you shook your head in amusement, “but I think whatever heist brought it back to you was worthwhile.”

“That’s I stole your heart as well,” this time it was your turn to laugh, causing him to feel warm and at ease, “don’t deny it, tesoro.”

“You are a fool of a man and always have been,” you worried your bottom lip as he stared at you in what was nothing but pure adoration, “thank you for finding me. I suppose next time it’s my turn.”

“My heart will always find yours,” he promised, “in every lifetime. Will you come home?”

“I already am home,” you teased, “but for all intents and purposes, yes. Of course I will.”

He took a small step back and held out his hand to you, waiting to see if you would take it. As if there ever had been any doubt that you would. You might have enjoyed giving him a hard time, but you would always follow him, as he would follow you. You grabbed your bag and slipped your hand in his, “preciosa.”

“One more thing,” you insisted before he could walk away, “how are you going to get that painting back? I’d like to keep it with us, amor.”

“I can find a way,” he winked as you sighed playfully at him, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Always and forever.”

[starryevermore]

the road to the altar: the big day ✧ ari levinson

let’s ride ✧ a biker!ari levinson series | pinterest board | ao3

pairing: biker!ari levinson x single mom!reader

summary: you and ari say “i do”. 

word count: 2,338

warnings?: tooth-rotting fluff, pet name (sweetpea) 

Countdown to the Big Day: Zero Days

If you thought you were nervous at your final dress fitting, it had nothing on what you were experiencing at this very moment. Everything was a flurry around you as the makeup artist swiped eyeshadow across your lids, the hair stylist fixing your hair. Somewhere behind you, Yelena was complaining about the lack of snacks in the room while Sarah tried to wrangle the Liam, AJ, and Cass, who were trying to avoid putting on their tuxes. Nat was off somewhere, telling one of the photographers all the things you and Ari wanted to get shots of before people started arriving and messing with the decorations. Another photographer was in the room, capturing the moments of you getting ready. 

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, almost startled by the change. You wore makeup regularly, sure, but bridal makeup? The woman who stared back in the mirror looked like you, but different. Almost regal. Some sort of ethereal quality about her. 

“You must got some sort of magic in that eyeshadow palette,” you told the makeup artist. 

“Don’t need magic when the subject is so beautiful already,” she said, grabbing the bottle of setting spray and uncapping it. “Shut your eyes for a second, okay?”

You obliged, feeling the mist of the spray coating your face. When you opened your eyes, she passed you a fan so you could dry your face while she grabbed the mascara. She’d said she liked to put the mascara on after the setting spray, something about it sticking better to people’s lashes. Plus, you were less likely to have to fix up runny mascara that way. 

“Alright,” the hair stylist said, “does it look how you want?”

You looked back to the mirror, turning your head slightly to look at the different angles. “Could you pin down this section here? It looks like I’m going to get some flyaways at the first gust of wind.”

“Of course,” she said, grabbing a couple of bobby pins and securing the hair you were talking about. 

“Oh my god! You look stunning!” Yelena said, finally abandoning her pursuit of snacks and looking over at you. 

“Wait til you see her in her dress,” Sarah said, re-entering the room after getting the boys to the room Ari, Sam, and Bucky were getting ready in. 

“Y’all flatter me,” you said. The makeup artist started applying your mascara. “How are the guys holding up?”

“I put Bucky in charge of getting the kiddos in their tuxes,” Sarah said. “Ari looked really excited. Kept asking how you were doing.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Said he was ready to do the first look as soon as you were.”

A first look—it had been something Sarah and Bucky did at their wedding. Instead of waiting to see each other when you were walking down the aisle, the two of you would see each other before the ceremony actually started. It let you get all the emotional jitters out early, giving time to do any makeup touch-ups if you cried a little too hard. Plus the pictures you could get? Oh, it was wonderful. And you couldn’t wait to do it. 

Once your makeup and hair were officially finished, you got out of the chair and Sarah brought your dress over. You shed the robe you were given, and the girls helped you into the dress. Nat laced up the back, you staring at the mirror, tears pricking at your eyes. 

“You look amazing,” Nat said. “Sarah told me how pretty you looked in your dress, but nothing beats seeing it in person.”

“Ari might pass out when he sees you,” Yelena says. 

You laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe pretend to pass out.”

Your dress was truly beautiful. It was a champagne color, off the shoulder with big, puffy, bubble-like sleeves. It had a low back, and a pretty corset. You pictured yourself as the subject of a Renaissance painting. One of a goddess, lounged out in nature, the kind of painting that would be the bane of students’ existence as they had to analyze it over and over and over again. The kind of painting that someone would hang a print of in their home, marveling at its beauty. The kind of painting that was loved and beloved. 

“Can I see Ari now?” You looked over at Sarah. “You said he was ready when I was, right?”

“I’ll get him down to the spot you were talking about, okay? Then you come down in a few minutes.”

Sarah disappeared from the room and, as you waited, you looked out the window, seeing her and Ari out in the garden. You smiled, admiring the way the tux fit him. Even from afar, he looked so handsome. You reached down, gathering some of your dress, Nat and Yelena gathering the rest, and made your way downstairs. 

Ari’s back was to you when you got outside. Both of the photographers were there, too. One was behind you to catch Ari’s face, and the other was behind Ari to catch yours. Your heart thumped in your chest as you walked up to him, Ari bouncing on the balls of his feet as he was equally nervous. You reached your spot and Nat and Yelena let go of your dress, making it look nice and pretty before taking a few steps back. 

Taking a deep breath, you reached over and tapped on Ari’s shoulder. Slowly, Ari turned, his baby blue eyes immediately filling with tears, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. 

“You weren’t supposed to cry so soon! Now I’m gonna cry!” you said, already wiping away the tears spilling out of your own eyes. 

Ari reached out, taking your face in his big hands, his thumbs swiping over your tears. “Oh, sweetpea, you look so beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

“You look so handsome, too,” you said, leaning into one of his hands, sniffling. “You cleaned up your beard.”

“Debated on shaving it—”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t!” you said, adding a dramatic gasp. “You know how much I love your beard. Would feel like I was marrying another man if you shaved it off.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” Ari said. He leaned down, nuzzling his nose against yours. His breath fanned over your face as he asked, “Is it bad luck if I kiss you now?”

“I don’t know about bad luck, but I sure want you to kiss me now,” you said, your lips ghosting over his.

“Your wish is my command.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to celebrate the love between Ari Levinson and Sweetpea—” Sam coughed, sending you a wink. “—excuse me, Y/N Y/L/N, and to join these two in matrimony. Ari and Sweetpea elected to write their vows, which they will exchange now. Ari?”

Ari looked to you, his eyes shining with tears again. He took your hands in his, running his thumbs over the tops of your hands. “Sweetpea,” he said, “you have made me the happiest I have ever been in my entire life. I’ve been alone for a long, long time. I used to think I’d always be alone. I’d accepted that. But that minute I saw you—the most beautiful woman in the world with the most adorable kid, standing right next to my bike…God, I just knew I wanted to be a part of your life. Didn’t matter what the capacity it was. I just wanted to be a part of it.”

“I didn’t make it easy for you.”

The crowd laughed, and Ari did, too. “No, you didn’t. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. You were worth it. You were worth every second. Back when I thought I’d be alone forever, I was sure no one would ever love me. But being with you…Even before we started dating, I felt loved. Even before you knew it. Even when your heart was still guarded and you were scared to let me in. And I loved you, too. I always will. When you finally let your walls go down, when you let me love you and you let yourself love me…I swore I would make sure you knew that I would always be there for you. That, anything you wanted, I would provide. Because you made me the happiest man in the world, and all I ever wanted was to make you just as happy, if not happier. Sweetpea—Y/N Y/L/N, I can’t believe that this is the life that I’m now living, but I couldn’t be more grateful for it. I will always love you, through this life and whatever life comes next. I mean it.”

“Oh, Ari—”

“Ah, ah! No kissing until I say so!” Sam teased. “Sweetpea, would you like to say your vows?”

You nodded, sniffling. Behind you, Sarah handed you a tissue, which you took, wiping at your eyes. “Shoot, it’s hard to come after something as sweet as that, but I sure will try.” You looked at Ari, a smile curving across your lips. “Ari Levinson, you are the most amazing man I have ever met. Before I met you, I was sure I’d never love another man again. I didn’t really want to, if I was being honest. It had just been me and Liam for so many years. I got by with just me and him for that entire time. I was scared that if I let another man into my life that Liam or I or both would get attached, and then he would leave, and we’d both be worse off for it. I pushed out a lot of people because of it. But you…You always stayed. I gave every reason for you to run. I was cold, I was a tiny bit judgmental, it took me ages to finally let you even be a friend. But no matter how hard I pushed, you always stayed.”

“I always will.”

“I know, and I’ve never had someone love me like that. Someone who looked at me and decided that I was worth every bit of trouble I gave. And, God, that scared me even more. I was terrified that the second I let you in, you’d just decide I actually wasn’t worth all that and leave. And I really couldn’t handle that. But then you left town for a week for work, and I…hated every second you were gone. I hated being away from you. I didn’t realize how much I cared until you’d left, and I knew that I couldn’t keep doing things like that anymore. I couldn’t keep pushing you away. Not when I loved you. Letting you in was the second best thing that’s ever happened in my life.”

“The first being Liam?”

“The first being Liam. And I haven’t regretted this decision—except, perhaps, that I made you wait as long as I did. Because loving you, Ari…It’s indescribable. You don’t even have to give me anything, you don’t have to do anything beyond being yourself, and I would feel like I was crowned queen of the world. I never thought I’d love a man like this, but I’m so glad I did, and I’m so glad it’s you.”

Ari started to lean in, his hand reaching up to cup your face, but Sam immediately smacked it. “Nuh uh! We exchange rings and then I say when we do the kissing!”

Ari rolled his eyes dramatically, before turning around, and kneeling down to Liam’s height. “Got the rings, bub?”

Liam nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the tiny velvet bag they were being housed in. He opened the bag, and gave Ari the rings. 

“Thanks, bub.”

“No problem, Dad,” Liam said, “but don’t make Mom cry like that again, okay?”

“Oh, it’s happy tears, baby!” you laughed. 

“Hmm. Well, don’t make her cry that hard out of sadness.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Ari rose back up and turned around, handing you his ring and holding onto yours. “Ready, Sam.”

“Alright, Ari, please place the ring on Sweetpea’s finger and repeat after me.”

Ari placed the ring on your left ring finger. Sam said the words first, a sentence at a time, with Ari repeating, “The fitting of this ring with its unending circle symbolizes my everlasting love for you. The placing of this on your finger is the fulfillment of my dreams to have you as my friend, my love, my wife, to live as one forever. With this ring, I give you my heart. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.”

Sam turned to you, doing the same process as you placed the ring on Ari’s finger, you repeating, “The fitting of this ring with its unending circle symbolizes my everlasting love for you. The placing of this on your finger is the fulfillment of my dreams to have you as my friend, my love, my husband, to live as one forever. With this ring, I give you my heart. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.”

Sam grinned, finally saying, “By the power vested in me under the laws of the great state of Louisiana, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Sam looked over at Ari, nodding his head, saying, “Alright, go on, kiss her like you mean it.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Ari said. He took you in his arms, spinning you and dipping you, kissing you hard. “I love you, sweetpea,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“I love you too, lover boy,” you said. 

“Think we can skip the reception and go straight to the honeymoon?”

“Are you kidding? I wanna eat the cake!”

“Fine, fine,” Ari said. “Cake, then honeymoon.”

“You’re rotten.”

“And you love me for it, Mrs. Levinson.”

“Damn right I do, Mr. Levinson.”

[witch-hazels-musings]

Ok whichever nonnie requested Scaramouche I carry on your will. 😩✋ can I request First with Scaramouche ehe 🚺

firsts

Warning -> NOTSFW (18+) (fingering, penetration, demanding and possessive, uncomfortable body position, cursing, biting, pulling hair, partial humiliation) -- everything written is done by two consenting parties, even if the tone is a bit harsh***

Character x FM Reader | Anthology 

synopsis: first time with Scara

Do not be surprised by the way that he treats you - he isn’t kind, there isn’t gentleness anywhere in his touch, even if he strokes your face or slides his hands down your back - he has something in mind for you and it’s bound to be unkind 

There is a drive in him to make you submit; as he does with everything he’s ever done, you will obey him - don’t make him tell you twice 

You stood in the middle of his bedroom as he circled you; like a bird of prey gliding over a fresh kill, their claws extended and eyes fixated on their next meal. Protectively, you held your hands to your chest and did your best to keep looking forward, as he had told you to do. No matter how badly you wanted to look at him you knew better than to disobey his orders. 

You felt his hand run across your back, slide down your arm, and tug at your hair. A part of you wondered why you let him take this much control of you, why out of all the men you’d ever met, he was the one who you’d let crush you into the ground and smile as you beg for more. 

His voice drifted from behind you and his words sent a shiver down your spine. “Take off your clothes.” 

You did exactly what he wanted, even as the heart in your chest pounded against your ribs, even as your stomach twisted and turned in painful loops of desire and embarrassment. You conceded to him from the moment he captured you all those months ago, you no longer belonged to anyone but him and he reminded you of that every day. 

As you reached for the buttons on your shirt, you heard the sound of wood scraping against the floor but didn’t dare turn to look. Hands grabbed at your waist and turned you violently around to the point you almost lost balance. Legs braced you and hands gripped tighter to steady your uneasiness and, as you looked down, you saw Scaramouche sitting in an elegant wooden chair. He released you and leaned back, crossing his arms and giving you a dangerous smile with unapologetic eyes. 

“Keep going.” He commanded. 

This life he had made for himself was not one for companionship, he had no need for it - there was no patience in him to deal with the emotions of others. Do as I say was always his mantra, and if you don’t, what use are you to me?

However - when he first crossed your path and you didn’t shy away from him, even when he dropped the unnecessary pleasantries of his manipulation, he continuously found himself drawn to where you were

He found you, and he didn’t intend to let you get away - especially not now, not after you were standing in his room and showing him more of the body he longed to dominate 

The final piece of clothing fell from your body. You were completely exposed and standing in front of him, textures and fabric surrounding your bare feet like a renaissance painting hidden in a dark corner. He hadn’t moved since you began to undress, he just sat there, legs spread and arms resting on the chair like a king looking down on his people. 

“Come here.” He beckoned you onto his lap. It was uncomfortable, straddling him in this position. The armrests dug in your ankles as you settled onto your knees, the lack of space pushed your legs tightly against him and as your core settled onto him, you felt his cock push against you. A whine slipped through your parted lips and you covered your mouth. The smirk on his face only grew at your reaction. 

Slowly, he grabbed one of your wrists and pulled it to his mouth. He kissed the tips of your fingers and down the side of your hand, along the palm. You whined again and pushed your hips against him, your other hand gripping tighter around your mouth. He glanced at your face before taking your hand and twisting it until it rested against the dip in your back. When his lips met the fleshy softness of your palm he opened his mouth and bit down, hard. 

“Ah.” Without your hands to cover your mouth the sound spilled out and the sudden pain of his teeth caused you to pull your hand back in protest. His eyes narrowed into slits and the realization of your mistake washed over you.  “... I’m sorry … I didn’t …” Your voice was meek, your eyes wide as you looked at the hand you just took ownership of. 

His hand moved like lightning and snatched your own, encasing your fingers in his grip and squeezing tightly. “You understand that this belongs to me, correct?” You nodded your head, your eyes locked onto him. Roughly, he pushed your hand behind your back and took hold of your wrist with the other, pinning your arms behind you. His hand gripped the back of your hair and pulled you close to his face, the stretch and awkwardness of your position sending desperate signals to your brain to get free. 

He kissed you with so much force you could feel your lips rub against your teeth. “You understand these lips belong to me.” 

He licked down your jaw and to your neck, “You understand that your neck belongs to me.”

He bit at your collarbone and shoulders, “You understand that your flesh belongs to me.” 

He sucked on your breasts and nipples, “You understand your chest belongs to me.” 

Sensations washed over you in waves, the ebbing and flowing of pleasure than pain sending conflicting signals to your ever hazing brain, and dreadful sounds from your throat. You shifted against him in an attempt to alleviate the numbness invading your legs and the painful need growing in your stomach. You moaned, and in your mind, you screamed for him to do more, to command more of you, to make you worthless. 

When his hand slid down your chest and slipped in between your legs and rubbed against your entrance, and his voice filled your ears, “You understand this, all of you, belongs to me.” All other sensations died down and only lust was left.

He always got what he wanted. As a balladeer he knew just how to compose every situation to his liking, the way things played out, the way things built up, and the sounds which spilled from every player involved - he was a great composer of demolition and domination and you were his muse

Your moans were growing louder as he pushed his fingers inside of you, as his hands pulled your hair, and his teeth bit into your shoulder. He had started with two and was now thrusting into you with three. Your legs shook as he forced you to hover over his crotch so he could thrust into you better, and the forcefulness he managed to apply was more than you could handle. When his fingers curled inside of you and twisted in unbelievable motions you felt the ball in your stomach burst. 

“Ah!” The sound of your voice echoed in his room. You shook through your orgasm and he held you there, one hand possessively holding and pulling your hands against your back while the other spanned the space between your neck and collarbone, its fingers pushing into the softness of your skin. He watched you with icy eyes as you came apart on his fingers and he continued to push into you just to watch how much your body writhed over him. When you had no more to give, he pulled out of you and held his palm against your sex. 

“Get up.” He demanded, and even though his tone was cold, you couldn’t help but notice how husky it had become. 

Painfully, you extended your legs and tried your best to climb off of him. There were needles in your feet and as soon as you rested them against the cold floor your legs gave out. You fell like a disgraced noble, your hair falling over your face and hands spread to support your weight. You heard the creak of the chair and knew if you didn’t stand up there would be consequences. Desperately, you tried to lift yourself from the floor but your legs screamed and protested, completely giving up. 

“How pitiful.” Scaramouche’s body came into view, his hand pulling at your chin and forcing you to look at him. “Look at what you’ve become.” He tilted his head and sneered at the sight of you, even still, the sight stalled your heart. With more care than he’d shown you before, he slid his arms under you and lifted you from the floor. 

The feeling of holding you in his arms as you heave from the pleasure he just gave you, as your legs shake and your eyes flutter closed - he couldn’t help but beam with pride

You had fallen into the spider's web, and now, there was no escape

He laid you on the bed and the soft feeling of the mattress hugged your achy muscles. You closed your eyes and relished the sensation as if you had just drunk a glass of water after days in the desert. You hear shuffling and before long you feel the bed dip down near your legs and the sensation of his hands pushing them open. 

You opened your eyes once you felt his fingers cup your chin and his nails dig into your face. 

“I won’t be gentle. I will take from you what I want and, just like a good girl, you will let me.” He positioned himself at your entrance and you felt the tip of him push slightly inside of you. “The only thing I want out of your mouth is the sound of your cries as I fuck you into submission. Are we clear?” 

Your hips moved against him, your lips pursed together and, weakly, you nodded. Using his fingers to open your mouth he takes possession of the space with his tongue and, as it combines with yours, he thrusts himself into you.

[yakumokitten]

Synopsis : Any emotion can grip one by the throat and fixate them to the very spot they stand but nothing is a deadly as love. It creeps into his art work with each scratch of his pencil or stroke of his brush, Yakumo hardly knows your name and yet he finds himself immersed in the deep pools of your eyes. A color he could drown in and he does nothing to keep his head above water. Sinking until he is truly lost in the sea of devotion. 

Warnings : none

A/N, wc : oil painting in banner is by  Ferdinand Max Bredt, please note that the bit of skin color is NOT the set skin tone for reader, her skin is whatever color yours is. 769

The charcoal smears under his fingers as he spreads the soft solid as he bends it to his will. Shading the shadows that your curves cast as you lie draped over an old settee, your back to him in an old period nightgown. The back exposes your shoulder blades as it dips low, the straps falling off of your strong shoulders as you peak just so over them. As if caught in a cat nap with sad eyes. 

Even though it's part of the pose the sight of your normally bright, fiery eyes damped from fresh shed tears has his heart squeezing in his chest. He swallows thickly and tries to focus on capturing the emotion that you so effortlessly cast. You were an art model hired on by the university, around his age and since you were introduced to the class he’s been convincing you for private sessions. 

There were a few he shared with Yatora, who’s cheeks flushed whenever you held eye contact with him. Yatora’s paint brush would waver as he took in your beauty, the awe of you while it fueled the hungry frenzy that drove Yakumo’s insatiable thirst for more. Wetting the tip of his brush in his oiled paints as he gave you a halo in the shape of the moon, like the renaissance, a goddess among men as you looked down with glowing eyes judging the sins of man. 

In the end he didn’t care about the grade he got, an A of course, he only cared about besting the feeling that painting you gave him. Of the droning that drowned out the rush of blood in his ears, of every thought as he became enamored in whatever skin you chose to wear that day. A starving peasant, a young woman in love with eyes that made men and women alike fall to their knees. If a  queen on her throne with a sneering gaze that cuts like shards of glass on your tongue. Last week you were a siren as you told him you wanted to pose in the ocean. 

It felt the pull then, the undertow of your gaze as you had your arms crossed as they rested on the old dock, hair wet and eyes glued to him with this coy smile on your face. Pulling him down, down, down, until he couldn’t breathe anymore despite his feet firmly planted on the old wood. 

And now, now you looked hurt, genuinely pained from what felt to him like heartbreak. Like a woman who’s licking her wounds before she finds her scorn for those who dared cross her. A rare vulnerable moment that happens between the two of you as another tear falls down your cheek as if on cue, as if you were the lady of the house and he is just a butler seeing something he shouldn’t. Even with the drawing almost done his breath catches in his throat and he rises, tassel earrings dancing as he approaches. 

No longer can he stand the thought, the sight of you teary eyed and hurt. As if he was pulled into the fantasy you set for his work he leans over you. One large palm on the edge curved arm while the other cages you by firmly grasping the soft fabric of the back. Slowly, so slowly it almost makes you break character as he closes the distance between your face and his. 

“Please my lady, don’t cry anymore.” His softened tone almost startles you. His voice is normally loud, boisterous until he is lost in the swirling colors of his canvas, “I cannot stand the sight.” 

You can feel his powerful thighs brushing your back as he shifts his weight to get closer. Lips hovering over yours as he stares into your eyes. He looks mesmerized, in love, as if he’s been watching you, pining for you from afar and you were always something he could never have. 

Like a poor man longs for a sliver of gold, like a blind man yearns to see color and a deaf man craves to hear a symphony. 

As if he chalked you up to something he could never have until this moment, this small fracture in time where his lips press softly to yours. The kind that makes you melt with little effort as you feel everything that was welling up in his chest as it spills over into yours, willing to fill you up at the cost of draining him. 

The kind of love that people kill for.

The kind of love that scares you most. 

True, absolute, pure love.