#might do an art giveaway...

[xthechaozx]

i am close to 300 followers here wow, what the heck am i gonna do

[scribblyshipping]

also I’m working on more selfship art❗️❗️ yay! Hopefully I’ll remember to post it when it’s done

[sanchoyo]

very seriously considering launching an art patreon. Lmk if this is smth u guys would be into 🫣

[valkyriexo]

Work of Art | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Best Friend Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Angst (ish?), Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI, Jealousy, dirty talk, swearing, P in V, unprotected sex , fingering, edging, Semi-public sex, Smut. SMUTTT minors do NOT interact

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @skzdreamer13 (sorry it took so long ! ) Also... this is a bit longer then i intended it to be i got... carried away hehehe

The art studio smells like paint, the familiar scent swirling in the air as you dip your brush into a swirl of color. The canvas in front of you is slowly taking shape, the blend of pastel blues and soft pinks beginning to resemble the hazy skyline of a dreamscape you’ve been envisioning for weeks. You’ve lost track of how many hours you’ve spent on it, layering colors, fine-tuning the details, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve always loved getting lost in your work.

Across the room, Hyunjin sits at his usual spot by the window, sketchbook propped on his knee as he sketches something you can’t quite see from where you stand. It’s comfortable, familiar, the two of you working in companionable silence. Every now and then, you glance up to find him already looking at you, eyes soft and focused, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of the moment.

You’ve been friends for what feels like forever, bonded over late nights in this very studio, sharing music while you worked side by side.

It’s...... easy with him, always has been.

Hyunjin is the kind of person who understands you without you needing to say anything. He knows your moods, can read the subtlest change in your expression, and you’ve always been able to share everything with him — your art, your frustrations, your dreams. This studio was your place. You’d both stay long after everyone else left, the hum of creativity and quiet conversation filling the space between you.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning your canvas toward him. His opinion has always mattered to you. Hyunjin’s eye for detail is sharp, but more than that, you trust him to be honest.

He looks up, his gaze landing on the canvas. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his eyes softening as he takes it in. “It’s beautiful,” he says, voice low, almost reverent. “There’s something... ethereal about it. It feels like a memory.”

Your heart flutters at his words, the compliment striking deeper than it should. “That’s what I was going for,” you say, stepping back to look at your painting again.

Hyunjin nods, his gaze flickering back to the painting. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just studies it with that intense focus he always has when he’s taking something in. Then, quietly, he says, “You always manage to put so much feeling into your work. It’s one of the things I... admire about you.”

There’s a softness in his voice that makes your heart skip, something unspoken in the way he says those last words. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his eyes still fixed on the canvas, but there’s an underlying tenderness that you can’t quite ignore.

You open your mouth to respond, to say something — anything — but the air feels thick with something you can’t name, and before you can find the right words, the door to the studio swings open.

Han walks into the studio, a burst of energy and excitement trailing in his wake. He’s carrying a bag of takeout, the aroma of food filling the air as he enters. His face is lit up with a wide, enthusiastic grin, his eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.

“Hey, everyone!” Han’s cheerful voice fills the studio as he strides in with takeout. “Thought you might be hungry.”

You turn to greet him, your mood lifting at the sight of his familiar, easygoing smile. Han sets the bags of food on the table with a casual grace. “I brought some takeout. Figured you two could use a break.”

“Thanks, Han,” you say, trying to keep the atmosphere light. You catch Hyunjin’s reaction from the corner of your eye. His smile tightens just a fraction, and he shifts his gaze back to his sketchbook, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

“Perfect timing,” Hyunjin says, his voice polite but lacking its usual warmth. “We could use a break.”

Han begins unpacking the food, his eyes bright as he glances at your painting. “Wow, Y/N, that’s incredible,” he says with genuine admiration. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

You smile at the praise, feeling a warm flutter at Han’s enthusiasm. “Thanks, Han. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

As Han continues to unpack the food, you notice Hyunjin’s shoulders are tense, his focus remaining on his sketchbook. There’s a subtle shift in the air, a change you can’t quite place but that feels almost tangible.

“Mind if I join in?” Han asks, setting up a plate of food for you and Hyunjin. His casual tone and easy smile make it clear he’s just as comfortable here as he is anywhere else.

“Of course,” you reply, “It’s good to have you here.”

Hyunjin finally looks up, his gaze fleetingly meeting yours before he returns to his sketchbook. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a break,” he says, his tone once again polite but detached.

As you all sit down to eat, you find yourself drawn into Han’s stories and jokes, your laughter mingling with his. It’s clear that you’re enjoying his company, and you can’t help but notice how his presence brings a different kind of energy to the studio.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, remains subdued. He joins in the conversation, but his responses are brief, and his attention seems.....

....divided.

The studio hums with the soft sounds of conversation and the clinking of utensils as Han continues to engage with you and Hyunjin over lunch. His attention is focused on you, and you can’t miss the playful glint in his eyes.

Lately, Han has been visiting the studio more frequently. At first, it was just a casual drop-in here and there, but recently, he’s been making it a regular thing. The three of you have been spending a lot of time together, discussing art, sharing ideas, and even grabbing lunch like today. His presence has added a new dynamic to your studio time, and you can’t deny that it’s been refreshing.

When Han started coming around more, it felt like a natural extension of your routine. He’d drop by with coffee or lunch, sometimes bringing along his own sketches to work on. You found some joy in his company , and it was easy to get lost in conversation with him. His enthusiasm for art matched yours, and his friendly, easygoing nature made him a great addition to your creative space.

The more Han visited, the more you two grew close. You started to look forward to his presence, finding comfort and inspiration in his company. You’d often stay late into the evening, chatting about everything from art to life.

But with Han’s increased presence, something shifted. You noticed how your interactions with Hyunjin became less frequent. Where you used to work side by side, sharing thoughts and critiques, you now found yourself pulled into conversations with Han. 

“So, Y/N,” Han starts, leaning slightly closer with a teasing smile. “How do you manage to make everything look so effortless? I’ve seen your work, and I know it’s anything but.”

You laugh, a bit flustered by his directness. “It’s a lot of practice and maybe a bit of luck,” you reply, trying to keep things light.

Han grins, his gaze lingering on you. He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’d say it’s definitely more than luck. I’ve seen your paintings turn into something incredible. Maybe you’ve got a secret.”

You feel your cheeks warm at his touch and compliment. “Maybe I do,” you say, matching his playful tone. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to share it just yet.”

Han chuckles softly and reaches over to hand you a paintbrush, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. “Well, if you ever decide to let me in on that secret, I’d be more than happy to help you with it.” He gets a little closer, his arm grazing yours as he leans in. “You know,” he says, leaning in a little closer, “I was thinking... maybe we should test that theory. How about we paint something together one day? I’ve got some ideas and I think it could be a lot of fun.”

“That sounds interesting. What kind of ideas do you have in mind?” you reply.

Just as he starts to respond, Hyunjin, who has been quietly watching, stands up abruptly. His voice, though calm, carries an unmistakable edge. “It’s getting late,” he says, his gaze flickering between you and Han. “I think it’s time to wrap things up for today. Y/N, you should probably head home too.”

Han’s expression shifts from playful to slightly confused. “Already? I was just about to ask Y/N to—”

Hyunjin cuts him off with a firm yet polite tone. “I’m sorry, Han, but we’ve all had a long day. We can catch up on the details another time. Y/N, let’s get going.”

You glance at Han, his eyes reflecting a mix of disappointment and surprise, before turning to Hyunjin. “Yeah, I guess it is getting late,” you agree, though you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you stand up.

Han’s disappointment is evident as he offers you a small, wistful smile. “Alright, Y/N. We’ll talk about it soon. Have a good night.” His words are warm, but there’s a hint of frustration in his eyes as he gathers his things.

As Han exits the studio, you turn to find Hyunjin already heading towards the door, his expression a mix of frustration and anger. He’s usually so composed, but there’s something in his demeanor tonight that feels sharp and unsettled.

“Hyunjin, wait up,” you call, catching up to him as he moves toward the entrance. The studio is now quiet, the clinking of utensils and hum of conversation replaced by an uneasy silence.

Hyunjin stops and turns to face you, his gaze intense. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to rush you, but..." He pauses, his voice faltering slightly as he searches for the right words.

“Actually, never mind,” he says abruptly, his tone shifting to a forced calm. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

He begins to walk toward the door, but you reach out, your voice trembling slightly. “But, Hyunjin? What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin stops, his back to you, and for a moment, you can see the conflict warring within him. He turns his head slightly, but the emotion in his eyes is hard to decipher.

"You've...you’ve been spending a lot of time with Han lately.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “He’s been coming by the studio more often. We’ve just been working on some ideas together.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens, his frustration evident. “I’ve noticed. It’s just—” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind. It’s none of my business who you spend your time with.”

Hyunjin’s frustration is palpable as he crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the floor. The usually calm and collected friend is now visibly shaken, and the intensity in his voice is unmistakable.

“Hyunjin, what's wrong?” you ask, concern evident in your voice.

Hyunjin looks up, his expression hardening. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, his voice clipped. “I’ll stop interrupting your time with Han.”

Before you can react, he turns away from you, heading towards the door. The sudden shift in his demeanor makes your heart ache, and you can’t just let him leave like this.

“No, wait!” you call out, rushing to catch up with him. “Hyunjin, please, don’t go. We need to talk about this.”

Hyunjin pauses but doesn’t turn around. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he replies, his tone flat. “I just... need some time alone. It’s better this way.”

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm. “Hyunjin, don’t shut me out. We’ve always been able to talk through things. I don’t want to lose our friendship over this.”

Hyunjin stiffens under your touch and then turns to face you, his eyes blazing with an emotion you hadn’t expected. The usually composed and easygoing Hyunjin is now a whirlwind of frustration and jealousy, his features tense and his jaw set tight. The raw intensity in his gaze is something you’ve never seen before — a mix of hurt and anger that makes your heart ache.

You’re taken aback by his intensity. “Han’s just been trying to be friendly and lighten the mood. I didn’t think it was anything more than him wanting to hang out and have a good time.”

“Are you seriously that oblivious?” he snaps, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. “I’ve been sitting here, watching him flirt with you, and all you seem to notice is how charming he is.”

Hyunjin’s voice trembles with frustration. “It’s not just about him being friendly! It’s about watching you with someone else, someone who’s clearly interested in you. And while he’s making moves, I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend it doesn’t bother me?”

You feel a pang of guilt, your own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and concern. “Hyunjin, I—”

“Do you really not get it?” he interrupts, his tone harsh and edged. “I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been hiding it for so long, thinking maybe it would go away or that it didn’t matter because we’re friends. But seeing you with Han, seeing how easily he gets to be close to you, it’s like... it’s tearing me apart.”

He stands there, struggling to keep his composure, his breath coming in uneven gasps.

“I... I didn’t know,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Hyunjin, I never imagined you could feel this way. I thought... I always thought you’d see me as just a friend, nothing more. Why would you ever think that—”

Hyunjin interrupts, his voice strained. “Because you are special to me. I’ve been falling for you for so long, and I’ve been trying to ignore it, hoping it would go away. I’m sorry if I’ve been selfish, but it’s killing me to see you with him when all I want is to be close to you.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath as if bracing himself. “But I’ll give you space since it’s clear the feelings aren’t the same. I’m sorry for bringing this on you.” His voice is barely above a whisper, filled with regret and resignation.

Before you can find the right words to respond, before you can process the whirlwind of emotions, Hyunjin turns abruptly and walks toward the door. His steps are heavy, each one echoing the weight of his confession.

“Hyunjin, wait!” you call out, but he doesn’t turn back. The door closes softly behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet studio, your heart pounding.

You stand there, stunned and at a loss, the room feeling colder and emptier than before. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered. Your vision blurs with tears, and you try to hold them back, but they come uncontrollably. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sobs that escape.

You’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember, but you never dared to hope he could feel the same way.Standing there, tears streaming down your face, you clutch the edges of the doorframe, trying to ground yourself.

You take a shaky breath, desperately trying to compose yourself. With trembling hands, you wipe at your tears with the sleeve of your shirt, attempting to pull yourself together.

Summoning all the strength you have left, you push open the door and step out into the dimly lit hallway. The cool air hits your tear-streaked face, but it does little to soothe the turmoil you.

As you open the door, you come face-to-face with Hyunjin, who is standing right outside, as if he was about to come back in. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees you crying, and his expression shifts from pained resignation to a mix of shock and vulnerability.

You both stand there for a moment, the silence thick with unspoken words and raw emotion. Hyunjin's eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks as though he's been caught in a moment of hesitation, his own tears glistening in his eyes.

Hyunjin’s gaze drops, and he looks away, clearly struggling with his emotions. “I was just—” he starts, but his voice falters, and he wipes at his eyes quickly, as if trying to regain his composure.

As you both stand there, Hyunjin's gaze slowly meets yours. There’s a mix of desperation and hope in his eyes, as if he’s grappling with the urge to fix what’s been broken.

His expression softens, and with a trembling breath, he takes a step closer to you. The space between you seems to shrink as he closes the distance, his movements slow and deliberate.

Without a word, Hyunjin gently places his hands on your cheeks, his touch tender and warm. His eyes search yours for a moment longer, as if asking for permission. Then, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and filled with emotion.

The kiss is hesitant at first, but it deepens as he pulls you closer, his lips moving against yours with a sense of longing and desperation. You can feel the trembling in his hands

As Hyunjin’s kiss deepens, it feels as though time stands still, the world outside the studio fading away. The intensity of the moment pushes you both backward, and with each tender touch of his lips, you find yourselves moving slowly but inevitably back into the studio, the door closing shut behind him.

The kiss continues, now more urgent and passionate, as if he’s trying to pour all the words he can’t express into this one moment.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both stand there, breathless and slightly disheveled, still close together. Hyunjin’s gaze is tender, and he looks at you with a mixture of relief and hope.

"Why me? I don’t get it” you say.

Hyunjin’s smile widens, and he gently wipes away a tear from your cheek. “Why you? Because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted—kind, talented, and absolutely incredible.Because you’re like your art—full of beauty and emotion. Every piece you create reveals a part of you, and I’ve been captivated by that. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to show you just how much you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time more desparetly, as if he needs to breathe and your his oxygen.

You can feel his hand slide down your body and he takes your hand in his. You feel your own heart skip a beat, and you can't help but smile as you continue to kiss, as he pushes you back allowing you to sit up on one of the tables in the studio. He takes the opportunity to put his body between your legs. 

His tongue explores your mouth, and you can’t help but respond, your own tongue dueling with his.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your hands reach up to touch his chest, feeling the firm muscles underneath your fingertips, and Hyunjin lets out a low groan, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Fuck, I want you,” he growls, his hand gripping your hip tightly.

You can feel his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly, your own desire building up inside of you.     

You break the kiss, gasping for breath. Hyunjin’s lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. You arch your back, moaning as his hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples through the fabric of your shirt.

“Hyunjin, please,” you beg, your hands tugging at his shirt.He obliges, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You can’t help but stare at his muscular chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his abs. 

He smiles, looking at you, as if asking for permission with his eyes. You nod and his hands reach towards you to unbutton your shirt. You undo your bra on your own, and together both items fall to the ground. You blush as he stares at you.    

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts and squeezing gently.

You moan, your nipples hardening under his touch. You can feel your wetness soaking through your panties, and you grind your hips against Hyunjin’s. He groans, both hands now gripping your hips tighter.

Hyunjin leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking gently. You try to stifle your moan, your hands gripping his hair as he switches to the other nipple, biting down gently. His lips trail back up to your neck as his hands begin to slide down the sides of your body.

His fingers find their way to your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growls, his fingers tracing the lines of your panties.

You moan, your hips bucking as his fingers slip under your panties and into your wetness. He strokes your clit, and you cry out, your orgasm building up inside of you. Hyunjin continues to stroke you, his fingers moving faster and faster. His fingers are long and slender, and you can feel them stroking you from the inside.

"Oh g-god, Hyunjin" you say, as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Yeah? Does that feel good baby?" Hearing him call you "baby" sends a flutter through your chest, a warmth spreading in the pit of your stomach. It’s not just the word — it’s the way he says it, soft and full of affection, like it belongs only to you. You’ve heard the word before, but from his lips, it feels different — intimate, tender, and so undeniably right.

Your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm builds. Hyunjin kisses you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers continue to move inside you.

You break the kiss, gasping for breath. "d-don't stop" you whine. Hyunjin continues to kiss you, swallowing your cries as his pace speeds up. You grab onto Hyunjin's shoulders as you begin to ride his fingers, your body trembling with pleasure. "Fuck, I'm going to cum," you cry, as your orgasm approaches.

"Not yet," he whispers and you feel as he pulls his fingers out of you. "I want your cum on my cock."

You blush, as his hands reach down to unbutton his pants. He pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. His erection springs free, and you can’t help but stare at it.

 “Do you want this?” he asks, his hand wrapping around his cock and stroking it slowly.

    You nod, your hand reaching out to touch him. Hyunjin groans, his hips thrusting forward as your hand wraps around his cock. You stroke him slowly, matching his rhythm. You pressed your thumb down onto his dripping red tip, and you could hear him whine.

   “Fuck, that feels good,” he says as he slowly spread open your legs. He pushes you back a little to line his tip up to your entrance.

"You ready for me?" he asks, teasingly.

"Please," you reply, desperately.

He pushes in, his cock stretching you open as he enters you. You moan, your hands gripping his arms as he begins to move, thrusting slowly at first.

"Please, Hyunjin, please." You begged, as your eyes closed from the pleasure.

"God, you're so tight," he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, back out, and back in again.

and he feels SO good.

And then he stops..... while still inside you.

Confused, you open your eyes to see a frozen Hyunjin. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I-I...." he stutters. Hyunjin’s face pales as his eyes dart nervously to the canvas behind you. "I spilled paint,” he says, gesturing to the canvas behind you. He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, visibly distressed. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know you worked so hard on it, and I just... ruined it.” His voice breaks slightly, and he looks away, unable to meet your gaze.

You look at the canvas, your heart sinking a little. The once vibrant colors you’d carefully layered over days of meticulous work are now smeared and distorted by splashes of dark paint. What was supposed to be a serene landscape, full of soft pastels and warm hues, is now marred by streaks of harsh, misplaced colors running down the surface.

"It was perfect, and I ruined it," he whispers, his voice thick with regret. "I know how much this meant to you."

Hyunjin’s hand is covered in streaks of dark paint from knocking over the paint, and you can see how the paint has seeped into the creases of his hands, clinging to him like guilt.

He stares at his hand, then back at the ruined painting, shaking his head. "I should’ve been more careful," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look at this... I can't believe I did this to your work."

He looks up, shocked. "Y/N..."

"Hyunjin," you say. "It's okay. It's just paint."

"But..." he starts.

You cut him off with a kiss. "I'd rather have you than the painting," you whisper. "Besides I think your art is prettier than mine."

"You...you do?"

"Mmhm," You say nodding your head."Besides....I always said I wanted you to paint me one day..."

" You want me to paint you?"

You answer his question by moving his paint coated hands together and placing them both on your chest, leaving his paint handprints right on you.

You've never done anything like this before, but the idea of being so intimate with Hyunjin is incredibly arousing.

   You gasp at the sensation, your body trembling with desire. Hyunjin's touch is electric, and you can't help but moan as he continues to explore your body with his fingers. He moves one of his hands and traces a finger over your collarbone, leaving a trail of paint in its wake.

You feel as he begins to thrust into you again.

Your eyes close from the pleasure, and you moan as his cock fills you completely.

"Oh fuck," you say, your voice cracking. You feel Hyunjin's pace quicken as his cock continues to pound into you. His hands roam, allowing more paint to make its way onto your body. You place your hands into an open yellow and purple paint nearby and place your hands on his chest, covering him with paint as well.

"Oh fuck," Hyunjin growls, his voice hoarse with lust. He grabs you by the hips, and lifts you off the table.

"Wrap your legs around me," he says.

You do as he asks, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. His cock is still buried deep inside you, and the new angle sends shivers of pleasure through your body.

"That's it," he says, his voice husky. "Hold on tight."

He begins to move again, his pace quickening as he pounds into you, his cock hitting just the right spot inside you.

You cling to him, your arms wrapped around his neck and your face buried in his shoulder. You can't help but cry out as your orgasm approaches.

"Oh god, Hyunjin," you cry, your body trembling. "I'm gonna come."

"Yeah?" he says. "Me too."

His thrusts become faster, harder, as he pounds into you. Your cries echo in the room, and you feel him throb inside you.

"Come for me, Y/N," he growls.

"Oh god, Hyunjin," you cry, as your orgasm hits, your nails digging into his shoulders. He continues to thrust into you, drawing out your pleasure. You cling to him, your body shaking as the waves of pleasure wash over you.

"Fuck," Hyunjin groans, as he comes, his cock pulsing inside you, completing the masterpiece by painting your walls.

    When you finally come down from your orgasm, you look down at Hyunjin and see that he's covered in paint. His face, his hair, and even his clothes are covered in a rainbow of colors.

    You can't help but laugh at the sight, and Hyunjin joins in your laughter.

"You look beautiful," he says with a soft smile, his eyes tracing your features. "Like a work of art. Something I'd spend hours admiring, and still, it wouldn't be enough." He places you back down on the table and pulls you into a tight embrace, and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

    The two of you stay there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, before you finally break away.

    "We should.... clean up," you say, gesturing to the paint that's covering both of your bodies.

    Hyunjin nods in agreement, but neither of you move.

Instead, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"We'll get cleaned up soon," he says, his voice soft and tender.

"Right now, I just want to hold you."

You smile, a wave of happiness washing over you. "I'd like that," you say, nuzzling against his chest.

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[thetinyblossom]

Agere community we need to talk.

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I have noticed a huge rise in UNCREDITED and STOLEN works; it being art, edits, collages etc

Specially reposts on Tumblr and Pinterest

Examples:

*Original artists that had their work stolen: @regressionworldz and @cutiecorner

This post is a guide about internet etiquette and crediting

[Text ID: This post is a guide about internet etiquette and crediting. End ID]

1. How to NOT steal stuff!

Any work with the tag “Free to use” (also known as “F2U”) means that they are allowed to be reposted, used in collages, edits etc. Just check if credits are needed!

*Important addition (that I can’t believe I had to add):

* “Why does this matter?” “Can’t you just ask where they got it from?”

It’s a question of politeness and fairness, yes, someone can ask where that piece is from but it’s not a guaranteed answer, people can lie and people can forget!

Also, people might see it and take it at face value, think the post belongs to that person when it doesn’t

Adding to that, there’s folks that do not want their work reposted for many reasons!

To top it off, heres the issue of the original creators not getting the attention they deserve, imagine that you spent hours on a piece just for it to be stolen and that post getting more attention then your own original post, that one you worked hours for it to, to be just the way you wanted it to be, that would upset you wouldn’t it?

Overall, crediting and asking to repost is just the polite thing to do

For Artworks:

Your first need to check if the artist allows reposting of their work or the use of them for collages, if they allow, then you link to their original post and state who drew the pics of art

For GIF’s + non-product photos:

Credit to the original post! Or at least as far back as you can find it!

Usually photos of products such as toys, plushies, accessories etc made by big brands are easy to spot and know where they came from (ex: blogs that post PNG’s usually don’t need to credit all their sources), but, small business/hand crafted works should always be credited!

Reposting moodboards:

Similar to artworks, first ask permission to repost, if allowed link to the original creator!

“But they said “no”!”:

Then don’t do it! Even with credits! Don’t do it! Is as simple as that! Respect others right to say no!

2. How do I identify stolen work?

There are many giveaways of stolen posts, such as:

• Low photo quality

• Watermarks that don’t match

• Lack of information about what was made (for who it was etc)

• Unable to answer simple questions such as what brush they used or long it took

Examples:

3. What do i do if my work was stolen?

1. Inform the person that it’s your work and to either remove it or credit them

2. If it’s still not credited or taken down, report their post

3. If the report didn’t go anywhere or if the account is still doing it to yours and others content, please make an awareness post about it. Strength comes in numbers after all!

4. Overall…

Let’s stop with this unpleasant and rude act of stealing others work!

I really hate to see that on our community, please, inform more people about it and report any acc that profits of others uncredited/stolen content!

[f1minist]

Feminist Youtube Videos for Every Topic

A collection of feminist content, organized topically for ease.

Separatism:

on separatism and heterosexuality

why separatism is good

we're gonna die sometime. might as well be separatists.

stop choosing patriarchy

separatism is a choice

biggest impact, but most won't do it

on vetting men

the benefits of separatism are endless

men cannot be rehabbed

of course the slave is full of rage for her slave master

Lesbian Stuff:

who can use the word 'lesbian'?

on defending gay rights and spaces

what are lesbians supposed to do about het women?

gender critical lesbophobia

the constant rage for gold star lesbians

Political Lesbian Critique:

a simple breakdown of political lesbians

political lesbians... are you ok?

political 'lesbians' are not actually lesbians

i didn't 'come to lesbianism'. i was always here.

homosexuality is not a choice

for those who confuse polilez vs febfem

Comp Het Critique:

comp het isn't a thing

lesbihonest-art (RIP) on comp het

on lesbian experience, by @sunlight-beauty

on comp het, by @rakastiikeri

sespursongles (RIP) on comp het

Preferred Pronouns:

on 'cis' and other language

pronouns are rohypnol

preferred pronouns? no.

what are your pronouns?

Anti Make-Up / Beauty / Femininity:

3 years without makeup: 5 benefits i've experienced

sephora girls: why are ten year olds wearing make-up?

marked women

makeup isn't empowerment

why i stopped wearing makeup

bimbofication: a dangerously idiotic trend

empowerment? no.

give the middle finger to patiarchy

radfems in eyeliner

makeup infinity

on makeup and radical feminism

maintaining the status quo hurts all women

the audacity of the bare-faced woman

critiquing is not shaming

why do women do beauty?

choice feminism is a lie

actually gender critical

Anti Surogacy / Natalism / Procretion:

about mothers

forced pregnancy is involuntary servitude

egg "donation" is exploitation

on sperm giveaways

motherhood is not untouchable

homosexuality does not include reproduction

why i don't want kids

why i'm childfree

on procreation and patriarchy

Porn / Sex Work Commentary:

instagram vs porn

'sex-positive feminism' benefits men (and hurts women)

the influence of porn on the trans trend

on 'sex work'

speaking out on prostitution

'sex work is work'? no, not really.

let's stop acting like 'sex work' is empowering

is porn 'for women' okay?

porn is apocalyptical

'ethical porn' cannot exist

stop glamourizing 'sex work'

porn is the pinnacle of evil

is r/antiwork pro exploitation?

Trans Critical:

mainstream, revisionist, queer nonsense

why transwomen don't have 'female brains', from @ilistened2transwomen

why the hate?

why i decided to stop using the term 'transwoman'

on trans rights activists

TRAs loooove white men

the untouchable male creep - AGPs on parade, from @ilistened2transwomen

'intersectional' does not mean 'trans inclusive'

non-binary is deeply rooted in misogyny

25 questions for trans activists

women's sports are not a dumping ground for mediocre men

on "identifying as" women

stacia samaya on 'non-binary'

why sex is binary

trans rights, or trans privileges?

always chasing the dragon

27 ways in which trans activism is harmful

the actual human rights law

on 'trans women are women'

is transitioning ever 'the best' option?

autogynephilia - a brief overview

the rise of the heterosexual queer

phobia indoctrination

transing away the gay

5 tips for talking gender critical, by @runawaysiren940

the transing of language

autogynephilia, not dysphoria

rainbow-washed progressivism

transwomen are not women

how i became gender critical

autogynephilia explained

[aikuse]

OBEDIENT | 1,659 words (~13 mins reading time). afab!reader, wolf hybrid!togame, slight D/s dynamics, obedience training, cunnilingus (reader!receiving), fingering, pet names (reader calls togame “good boy” and “puppy”, togame calls reader “dove”)

author’s notes: all i could think of after seeing this art was just how cute togame would be with you :(( i’m so sick for him, need him waiting between my legs watching me play with myself and being such a good boy and waiting for me :(( need to make him clean his drool off the carpet after. the brain worms!!!!!!!!

-> taglist: @qichun @mitsuwuyaa @suyacho @stunies -> join the taglist!

Brushing out Togame’s tail takes a lot of effort.

It’s billowing, gray shot through with black, and it always manages to get so tangled throughout the day. With him needing to hide it during fights, it’s easy to see how he comes home with it looking like he’d dragged it through a rose bush backwards.

“Your undercut’s growing out,” you murmur as he plops himself in front of you, right in between your legs. He’s still so tall that his gaze is level with your chest, but he rests his head on your crossed legs with a sigh, feeling your fingers card through his messy, damp hair from his shower. “Should I cut it again?” you hear him rumble, and he looks up at you lazily, his green eyes dulled by tiredness.

“No. I like it.”

He smiles. “Okay.”

He turns around, his back against the couch, and leans his head back against you, bumping your legs with his forehead. Your fingernails dig gently into the top of his head, scratching right in between his ears. “Right there?” you ask, and he nods slowly, humming as you continue your motions.

You go a step further, just to see how he reacts, by leaning over and wrapping an arm around him, scratching at his chin while your other hand stays between his ears. That gets a much different noise out of him, something close to a groan as his head doesn’t know whether to lean back into your scratching, or forward into your palm. He’s surrounded by pleasure right now, and you’re not even doing anything remotely sexual, just giving him the attention he wanted all day.

To come home, and be a good boy for you. To not have to be in charge. To melt into the floor as you coo at him, telling him how wonderful and obedient he is for you.

“Want me to brush your tail, too?” you ask him, and he nods, handing you the brush that he’d already brought from the bathroom. Your legs frame his head as you bend over, beginning to brush out the ends before moving up the rest.

Some of the knots are rough, but as you brush them out, you can’t help but feel the temperature in the room spike. You know he likes this; it’s a weird turn-on that he’s still not used to, but his tail is always so sensitive, feeling the knots work themselves out under your fingers being so erotic for him. You’d asked him once to explain, and he just shrugged. Some things are just like that, was his eloquent answer.

Your eyebrows raise as you let out a chuckle. “Someone needs something?” you whisper in his ear, leaning over, and he turns around to brush noses against you, eyes wide. The brush is set on the couch, momentarily forgotten. His gaze flicks up to the ceiling as if in mock thought, but his cheeks are brushed rosy red, a dead giveaway.

“Maybe.”

Your thighs feel the slightest bit wet underneath your lacy panties you have on, an ache suddenly springing to life. You’d be lying if you weren’t yearning for him extra hard today; being with Togame just feels so easy, and he’s so willing to please that you never fail to feel treasured and important to him. He makes you feel like a goddess, worshipping at your feet as much as you desire him to.

Your voice cracks as you speak. “Well, I might need something, if you’re open to it.”

His ears perk up almost immediately, his half-brushed tail swishing on the floor as he fully turns around. He moves onto his knees, sweeping his arms underneath your legs as his chest is flush, pushing you back onto the couch as he looms over you. “Yeah? Can I have a taste?” His voice is so smooth, so intoxicating that you fall easily into his trap.

You know you hold the keys, but even still, you let him do as he likes. You nod.

Your shorts are gently pulled off of your legs, along with your panties as he stares hungrily at your hole, leaning back on his feet. It’s quite wet at this point, strings of it sticking to his fingers as he gives you a gentle stroke. Your hips don’t fail to lurch up at him, and he smirks at you through his eyelashes.

You can’t help but stoke the flames. “I think you deserve a treat. Yeah? Want a treat, puppy?”

Treat. Togame’s tail wags behind him as his hand drops into his lap. You can see his eyes fogging over; it was so easy to get him to bend to you, naming such simple words for him to become so subservient. He loved it, though, you knew that as well; all he wants is to make sure you feel good. That’s his purpose; his wants and needs are irrelevant right now. It’s all about you.

The power high makes you braver as you spread your legs, and he stares hungrily at you, a small whine falling from his lips. Like a good dog, waiting to be told he can dive into you. You wait, though, because that’s what you enjoy the most; watching him be so desperate, but never disobeying you. How could he, after all?

You lick your fingers, moving them down to play with yourself, watching his eyes follow every movement your thumb makes. Your clit twitches under your finger, a gentle ahh falling from you as you look at him, clicking your tongue. His gaze immediately flips back to you, and there’s a small line of drool making its way down his chin.

He doesn’t make a move to wipe it off. You don’t want him to.

“Yeah? Wanna make me feel good, puppy?” you ask him, slowly swirling your thumb over your clit. You’ve done this so many times, you know Togame would feel better than your own fingers, but it’s worth watching his spit drip all over the carpet in anticipation. He nods, his tail slapping against the floor a little more aggressively than before.

You tut. “Tell me how much. Use your words.”

“Yes. So bad, wanna taste you so bad. Been thinking about you all day.” He emphasizes the “so” to a point where it sounds silly, but you know he means it. You know he’s telling the truth; the last thing Togame would ever do would be to lie to you.

“All day? What a good boy you are, only thinking of me.” You’re getting even braver, pushing the line further as you feel the hot coil in your stomach becoming more difficult to ignore. Your thighs are shaking, just slightly, but Togame’s gaze is drilled onto your own. He knows better than to look away.

“Come on, dove,” you hear him rumble, “please? Need to make you cum myself, I know you can’t do it alone.”

You let out a light giggle; you can’t ever tease him for very long, one of you breaks eventually (and it’s usually you, but you like the amount of leeway he gives you). “Okay,” you respond, finally giving into his demands. “You were so obedient there for me, waiting to be called. V-ahh-very good, you can—”

He’s onto you before you can even give the command, but you don’t care as you feel him move your hand away, pinning it against the couch, his fingers wrapped around your wrist as his tongue dives into you. It’s insane how quickly it yanks you to the edge, almost as fast as him pulling you forward onto his face. It’s like he’s trying to suffocate himself on you, his tail going absolutely insane behind him against the floor. The rhythmic thudding noise is in perfect time with his tongue on you, licking against your slit.

He breathes deeply, smelling your scent on your bush as if to memorize it once again. “Fuck, you smell and taste good, dove,” he rumbles against you, the vibration causing your legs to shudder and your head to fall back, “gonna make you cum now, ‘kay? You’re so close, I can smell it. All mine.”

You nod, your mouth falling open as you feel yourself teetering over the edge. You’re surprised he can sense that, but you consistently forget about his animalistic instincts; his sense of smell is extraordinary, of course he’d be able to smell your orgasms as they near you. It’s insanely hot, too; he’s able to attune to you better than anyone else you’ve been with.

“T-Togam—fuck—”

Your free hand reaches out as his tongue hits you just right, the wave of your orgasm slamming down on you as you tug on his hair, right in between his ears. He growls against you, and you wail, the added vibration punting you even further into ecstasy. He laps you up like he’s starving, unafraid of the squirt that’s spraying all over his face as you hold on for dear life, weathering every rolling climax that doesn’t seem to want to stop.

“S-So good—”

You barely hear him over the roar in your ears.

“Tastes so good, fuck, this is always worth waiting for. You’re always worth waiting for. God—”

You can feel him rutting against the couch as you finally feel yourself coming back down, feeling like you’re sinking into the couch as your eyes flutter shut. Your hand releases his hair, and he decides this time to not continue and lean up and over you once again, pressing kisses to your cheeks as you catch your breath.

“That good?” you hear him whisper in your ear, a gentle kiss following it, and you can’t help but giggle in your post-orgasm, mushy feeling, nodding.

“Yeah, you’re so obedient,” you rasp, and Togame’s lips curve into a smirk, “such a good puppy for me.”

He nestles into your neck, taking a deep breath of your scent.

“Only for you, dove.”

divider credit: @/cafekitsune networks: @pixelcafe-network @themovingcastlez

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

© aikuse 2023-2024

[senechalum]

I’m very sorry I’m not active recently… I’ve been feeling really, really tired recently and I have many exams for work this month. I’m also enjoying a week of « vacations » (despite having to work a lot for a horse riding diploma) at my dad’s house this week, far from Paris. But I’v been working around 60+ to 70+ hours a week since May, so I’m not surprised I’m feeling tired, I’m not a machine 😄

I haven’t drawn anything this week, which frustrates me a bit because I wanted at least to answer 1 or 2 requests. I started to sketch what I was asked to draw, so at least they’re not non existant :)

I also want to be better at 2 things ; drawing FOLDS and digital art in general. Because I haven’t been satisfied with my art recently .. !

Though, to at least post something, enjoy those drawings I did around … 2020-2021 I believe ? (Might been sooner or later, I can’t remember).

I also received some new acrylic markers, I now have all the Colors I need to make the drawings I want to make. In October I may ask for some of you to give me portraits to draw. I’d also love to do a … giveaway ? Idk if it’s the word. Though there’s going to be an original drawing of mine that you can win for the gigantic price of 0€, shipping included.

I’ll come back stronger, with more drawings 🥰 But after my 2 weeks formation though.

Love you all 🫶

[shalotttower]

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

*

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

*

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

*

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

[upsidedownsmore]

ENTRIES CLOSED, reblogs turned off, thank you everyone for entering and sharing your wonderful works!!

A compilation of every entry piece can be found here!

The winner is @mugbearerscorner and the information has been confirmed in DMs!!

Roll proof:

A link to the full spreadsheet of entries can be found here!

I'm so so grateful to all the people who participated in this event!! I'm so happy with how well it turned out and I'm so so thankful to be able to host it!!! Love you all!! :) :) :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

GAUSS PRIME ACCESS GIVEAWAY!

* Provided by Digital Extremes! Info about the prime access here.

To enter, simply reblog with your art of ANY warframe giving a thumbs up!

Giveaway entries will close on FEBRUARY 10TH at 10:00pm CST

The post for the above drawing (with reference screenshot and wips) can be found here.

MORE INFO UNDER THE READ LINE, PLEASE READ IT IF YOU WANT TO ENTER

Notes:

This is not a contest! The winner will be decided entirely randomly, image quality will have no effect on chances of winning! Make whatever you can in any medium you want! (This can also include 3D mediums! The only thing I'm not including is unedited game screenshots/captura, though edited might be okay). Everyone can draw regardless of how good you think your own skills are!

Please submit your own drawing(s)!! Only one is necessary but you can make more if you want of course! Do not use any AI generation tools for your entry.

When reblogging it might be a good idea to enter some text either in the post or in the tags! It turns out reblogs with just an image and nothing else might not show up under the original post, which means I might miss your submission!

Only one entry per person, you will not get more entries for additional reblogs and/or drawings.

The goal of this is for the community to have a fun little gallery of warframe thumb ups in the reblogs, but again don't stress over how "good" your drawing is! As long as you have fun and submit something vaguely in line with the prompt you're good! (such as a wave instead of a thumbs up or an operator instead of a warframe, etc. Up to you how closely you want to follow the prompt!)

You DO NOT need to engage with me in any other way (likes, follows, etc.) to enter, just a reblog with a drawing loosely following the prompt!

This giveaway will only run here on Tumblr due to issues with bots and impersonation on Twitter. The issue of course is that the only way to submit images under a single post on Tumblr is through reblogs, but please know that I do not intend this to be a means of promotion. If people could submit images in the replies I would gladly take that option! If this post gets taken down I will look into other giveaway options.

As this is my first giveaway as a Warframe creator please let me know if I've made any mistakes!

Here are some example drawings that would all work, but of course whatever you want to make shouldn't be limited to this!

Inspired by @ritens, I will be assigning one unique number per individual and then throwing them into the random number generator on random.org. After the entries close and I roll the winner, I will update this post with the winner's name and a message saying that the giveaway is closed. Reblogs will also be turned off once the giveaway is closed, as I am only using reblogs as means of congregating drawing submissions under one post during the giveaway period.

Whoever's number get's chosen will be contacted via DMs here on Tumblr, so please make sure your DMs are open! I will be asking for your Warframe IGN and platform so DE can give send over your prize! If you have cross-save linked or merged then please tell me, though I will also be asking in DMs as well. If the winner doesn't respond within 48 hours or no longer wants the prime access pack, then I will roll a new winner with the same method but with the previous winner(s) number(s) taken out of the pool.

Topmost drawing without giveaway text:

Anyways good luck and most importantly have fun!!

[directdogman]

Hiii dogman! Here's my question for you: Is the DLC going to be free or will it cost a little extra? (Cuz I'm more poor than Gingi atm)

I'm thinking it'll cost $2 or $2.50. The route's quite large (and ofc, I had to pay the collaborators I've worked with on the music, new art + voice acting,) which I'm hoping I'll break even on, at least.

I appreciate your situation and believe me, if I had Scott Cawthon or Toby Fox levels of success, I'd love to make free stuff for people to play, but I'm a long way from that kinda success rn. I might do a giveaway event on release and give some copies out when the day comes! :)

[espresso-ships]

200 followers celebration time!!

CLOSED

Thanks for participating <3

I've never done a GA (gonna short it down to GA so Tumblr doesn't filter this post out LOL) but now I wanna try creating one! :D

To celebrate 200 followers, I wanna give something back, as a thank you! I know my art isn't "top quality", but I do like drawing self ships and spreading love, and now I wanna do so! <3

The contest will be open for a week, and I’ll choose by random one winner who’s OC/self ship I’ll draw in Chibi style!

Keep in mind this is the first time I do this - and I have Adhd and dyscalculia etc so might take a while with counting etc etc... - so bare with me LOL

I really enjoyed ArtFight, and how happy people were when I drew their OC and ships ahshsh, so I thought this could be a nice GA!

I will draw the winners' self-ship - Chibi style!

Ofc, I won't draw, nor let pr0/c0mshippers participate.

I only draw humans tho, sorry! 😭

(Ok with drawing "occults"/vampires, elves, fairies etc)

How to participate

Like and reblog this post

Follow me on this account @espresso-ships 

Reblog 1-2 of my previous art posts, using #espresso self ship GA (so I easily can find posts and entries for the giveaway!)

Comment “Done” so I can keep track of participants! (Important)

Optional - Tag 1-2 selfship community friends!

That’s it! You’re now part of my giveaway :3 Good luck <33

Rules

For self shippers ONLY

No proship/comships or NSFT accounts allowed!

You need to be following me to participate

I only draw humans/non-complex characters. Sorry! :( I wanna learn to draw non-humans and furries but don’t feel comfy with it just yet 💕

Check DM’s! I will contact the winner here on Tumblr for details about the drawing, so keep an eye on messages in case you win! :)

The chance to participate lasts a week!

You can enter the GA until 14 August, 12AM in Central European Summer Time (CEST)

I begin school again next week, so I'll fix everything up and contact the winner during the weekend!

I don't know how long it will take to draw the art for the winner, so have patience with me! <3

That's all!

If something is unclear, or if I've explained something poorly - please let me know!

And don't be shy to ask if you have questions if needed

Thanks for reading, and good luck!

[stevecoven]

I know it's not really a Tumblr tradition anymore but I'm gonna do an art giveaway when I hit 300 followers 👀✨ recommend me to your friends and when the time comes I might draw your fave character for you xxx

[transmutationisms]

how do i help gazans and others if i don't have a bank account? i want to help, and i've wanted to help, but it is not possible for me to give money. i've shared posts here, liked them on instagram and shared them there as well and it doesn't feel like enough

the reality is that posts made by longtime tumblr users who write fluent english get more notes and donations than gazans' own posts because this website is racist. so, sharing posts is a great start, but there are also so many people who need someone to actually write a post for them. if you drop a reply here or send an ask off anon, i can dm you usernames of people who need someone to write them a post about their campaign; i receive (i am not exaggerating) upwards of 200 such requests per day and am nowhere near capable of even replying to all of them, let alone actually writing that many posts. i know that many of the other people on here who frequently boost fundraisers are getting similar numbers of requests, if not more, and we literally always need more people to help.

it's also helpful to write updates on fundraiser posts, whether the original posts were written by you or by someone else. an update can be very basic (amount raised, distance to goal, currency conversion if it's a weaker currency than usd because that's what most of this website uses, link to vetting info if it's not in the original post) but you can also write a few sentences about the person's specific situation and needs. updates help keep a campaign circulating and show potential donors that someone is paying attention to this person. you can do this any time a fundraiser crosses your dash, when someone messages you or sends an ask, etc.

if you are willing to commit for a longer term, it is extremely helpful to 'adopt' a campaign (or more than one, if you can), meaning you commit to continue posting about that specific person until they reach their goal. this is more work, it's more stressful, but it can also make a huge difference for the person on the other end. i can also point you toward people who need this and have asked for it, if it's something you can do.

if you have artistic skills, original artwork is often helpful for drawing attention to a campaign. even just a quick sketch of a family portrait can be helpful for getting more traction on posts. i've also seen people make banners, cartoons, pixel art, you name it. donation posts generally do better when they're short but also eye-catching, and art is one way to help with that.

and you might consider whether you have any skills, artistic or otherwise, that you could offer as a raffle or giveaway to support these campaigns. i've seen people offer art or writing commissions, research skills, aquarium passes, gift baskets, plushies, fibre crafts, etc. frankly i think sometimes these giveaways are just helpful because they reassure potential donors (yet again) that the campaign is 'real' and has people looking after it. you can offer these kinds of incentives whether or not you're in contact with the person fundraising; i've even seen some people just offer commissions or raffle entries as a blanket offer for anyone who donates to any vetted campaign.

i also want to stress again that this truly is a situation where any commitment is better than no commitment -- like, can't adopt a campaign but can write someone an original post once a week? great, that's still helpful to that person. can't do that but can commit to writing short updates on someone's campaign once a day? great, still helpful. literally any time and effort you can put in is good, it's not an all-or-nothing proposition. i think most of us are capable of finding at least a few minutes to do something on this list.

[winchester-reload]

I have a few thoughts about the Winchesters finale, and though I wasn’t gonna weigh in on this, it turns out I needed to write this down to get it out of my head, so here we go.

I understand that Misha was approached to be included on the show and that there was a “scheduling conflict” that included multiple conversations with Jensen. Here’s my interpretation of that: 

I believe Cas was supposed to make a cameo in episode 13 to tee up the confession resolution—this was always the episode where they were going to crack open the “surprise twist” even before learning they would only get 13 episodes total. In the original scenario, episode 13 would have been the hellatus episode rather than a finale, leaving room for everything to come to a head with episode 22 instead. It’s then they would have given us the actual Dean and Cas reunion. This would have wrapped both stories nicely with each group going off into their own respective sunsets—their own happy endings, while still leaving all the room for the new crew to explore more seasons; all along, we see, The Winchesters was about Dean and Cas as much as it was about Mary and John.

When they didn’t get the back half of the season picked up, I assume they feared it would be more dangerous to show a Cas cameo without getting to address the confession, so Misha likely opted to be left out instead. With the only hint to Cas being Dean’s line that he was looking for his family when he found the Akrida, then directly drawing the parallel that Jack and Bobby were “family.” The core crew for Dean has always been Bobby, Sam, Jack, AND Cas. And he wasn’t looking for Sam because he was still on earth. So who’s left? You might be compelled to believe he was window shopping AU versions of his parents, but he confirms he ran into the Akrida in this world and then sought to interfere with the order by approaching John in an effort to prevent it from spreading to Sam's world. (Why Cas would be AU hopping, idk. The boy is really afraid of being shot down, I guess.)

It goes far to explain the vast narrative parallels we saw reflected in the Monster Club crew if it was intended as a setup for the confession payoff. It honestly doesn’t make a lot of sense otherwise. There’s no reason these people should be living Dean's experiences and regrets every episode unless the writers wanted the viewer to be thinking about the lessons and resolutions in how they relate to Dean too.

Additionally, as this has been a largely uncontested take, this is Jensen's well-funded fanfic come to life. Complete with the embracing of many of our favorite fanfic tropes and emphasized by Dean’s own words throughout the season. Because this is an obvious embrace of that “write your own story” fan side, I believe the reason Dean couldn’t even say Cas’ name in the episode is because they were going to change the spelling from “Cass” as it was in the show proper to the fan-adopted (and more accurate) spelling of “Cas,” which would have appeared in the subtitles and later the script pages.  And even that little thing right there would have been a huge giveaway to the whole game. And a very dangerous thing to do if there wasn’t going to be enough time for follow-through. 

But the truth is, this isn’t a game for many people, and the harm that can be caused by good intentions is just as real. It also begs the question: why should this be so difficult? The answer is it’s not. Edging forever isn’t fun. It’s torture. I understand there’s an art to storytelling, but your audience is weary, and trust has been violated too many times. Even still, the flip side of that coin is honest to god respect for DeanCas endgame means taking the story and the reveal seriously. It’s a tightrope walk. And one that Robbie somehow managed to keep balanced after the finale, without it falling either way.  Also we also need to consider the possibility that Jensen did pitch a full-on destiel love story spin-off but got shot down, opting to couch it in a more CW-branded world instead. He’s mentioned over half a dozen pitches were rejected. It's up to you whether you want to give him the benefit of the doubt on that.

But, I’m gonna be honest here, I don’t know that we will ever get that resolution we crave. Even Robbie confirmed The Winchesters were always meant to “go it alone” after the first season. It’s hard to imagine Dean popping in there to fuck around again after that handoff. But the dude is clearly a very restless sea-faring*, swoopy-haired mofo right now, so I’ll leave that one up to the SPN multiverse and the new Mr. Superwholock’s magical universe-traveling impala. (This show used to be about what again? *looks at notes*.) And FWIW, if they do get green-lit for a whole second season or are allowed to move networks, I believe a good-faith effort will be made to tie the narrative parallels we saw in season one to some real Dean and Cas resolution. If there gets to be a world where John *might* not turn into an abusive dick, then this possibility has to be true too.

For the record, I enjoyed The Winchesters, all the new characters, and the doors the finale opened for the possibility of more. I would have been fine half-watching it with no promises, empty head no thoughts, but I got my clown** suit on again, and though I mostly kept quiet, unlike last time, I did regrettably manage to drag a few friends down with me yet again.  Though the spec sessions were epic, and we did get some art out of it—it still rocks the boat when the base level expectations were only 1. Dean alive, and 2. seeing Cas again. 

But for anyone, like me, upset by the (likely unintentional) Cas-baiting or anyone still reeling about why this stuff can hit so hard, here’s an interesting article about the way our brains respond to fictional characters. Tl;dr: There’s nothing wrong with you. This is science. And while you’re at it, take a look at this article about the very real power of disenfranchised grief over character loss.

Ramble on, fam. And take care of yourselves.

<3 Jackie

*Um hi he appears as a sailor? Literally, on a show with a story Dean is writing whose audience is looking for a resolution to a conversation between two people who’re famously the “most shipped” characters of all time? That’s not an accident. That’s intentional. And it’s another reason why there might be a bitter taste in your mouth. These nods came without resolution, so it still feels dirty, despite the brilliant Easter egg.

**I hesitate to say “clown” here because the lesson on episode 12 was that the clowns were the ones who chose a self-induced limbo rather than face some personal hard revelations. That sounds more like a certain closeted character than it does the people cheering him on, and that felt like an intentional nod too.

***obviously, this is my own rambling spec as I try to reorder my thoughts in the wake of the finale.

[aeonmagnus]

Optimus Prime in Motormaster Disguise (Concept)

So in the original Transformers cartoon episode "Masquerade," five of the Autobots go undercover disguised as the Stunticons. I've always thought the episode concept was clever (almost all the Stunticons turn into vehicles that just happen to have Autobot counterparts) but I think the episode would have worked better if the animators hadn't used the Stunticon animation models to represent the disguised Autobots. If you watch the episode carefully, the disguised Autobots spend the entire episode in vehicle mode. This suggests to me that the Autobots were merely painted like the Stunticons.

I feel like the Autobots should have gotten some special animation models for this episode. It probably would have been a logistical nightmare, so I don't blame them for not doing it this way, but it would have been more compelling if the Autobots had been drawn like their normal selves but colored to match the Stunticon colors.

This is my concept of what Optimus Prime probably should have looked like in the episode. Now he actually looks like he's been repainted in order to go on an undercover mission. You might mistake him for Motormaster from a distance, if you squint and took your glasses off.

Jazz in Dead End Disguise (Concept Art)

The Autobots dressed up to look like the Stunticons in the Transformers cartoon episode "Masquerade," and the characters who were selected to go undercover to impersonate the Stunticons were chosen based on their vehicle forms. Jazz turns into a Porsche 935, and Dead End transforms into a Porsche 928. So, not identical, but kind of close. The episode specifically states that paint was used to disguise the Autobots. They weren't reconstructed. Therefore, I think Jazz should have actually appeared in the episode looking something like this.

I did digitally erase the racing stripes on Jazz since they would have been painted over for his Dead End disguise. I figured Jazz's robot mode would also be painted to look like Dead End as much as possible, within the confines of his design and the way he transforms. Dead End has huge wheels on his shoulders and Jazz (in the cartoon) does not, but Jazz got shoulders that are colored as if the wheels are still there.

Even in Stunticon colors, though, it's pretty obviously still Jazz. That spoiler is a dead giveaway.

Sideswipe in Breakdown Disguise (Concept Art)

If you paint Sideswipe's car mode in the correct colors, he makes an absolutely perfect Breakdown. They both transform into a Lamborghini Countach so the resemblance is uncanny. This is why Sideswipe was chosen to play the role of Breakdown when his group went undercover as the Stunticons in the G1 cartoon episode "Masquerade."

The Autobots spent the entire episode in vehicle mode, though, so I don't think they were meant to be drawn exactly like the Stunticons, as they were in the finished episode. I believe the original intention was for the Autobots to retain their original designs but to be painted in the colors of the Stunticons. If that had happened, Sideswipe might have looked more like this.

Sideswipe and Breakdown transform totally differently from each other, though (the hood of the car forms Sideswipe's chest, among other things) so he can't quite pull off the robot mode look as well. Actually, I think there might be an unofficial World's Smallest Transformers version of Breakdown that looks a bit like this, since it was a redeco of the existing Sideswipe toy design.

Mirage in Drag Strip Disguise (Concept Art)

Mirage went undercover as the Stunticon named Drag Strip in the Transformers cartoon episode "Masquerade." In the episode, the disguised Mirage was simply drawn like Drag Strip, which is at odds with the episode's claim that the Autobots were disguised using paint. Given that the Autobots spent the entire episode in their vehicle forms, I wonder if the plan was for them to be animated as themselves, but colored differently.

If that had happened, Mirage might have looked something like this in the episode in question. Drag Strip's color model is kind of interesting because, unlike the Hasbro toy, he appears in two different shades of yellow. It's likely the darker yellow was merely intended to indicate shading, but in some episodes his animation model is taken very literally, with the spoiler and hood and driver's canopy consistently colored a dark mustard yellow.

I added racing stripes to Mirage's animation model because Drag Strip has these, and I feel like it would have been an important part of his attempt at a disguise. Incidentally, I would totally buy a toy of Mirage in these colors, official or otherwise. (Get on it, Takara!)

Windcharger in Wildrider Disguise (Concept Art)

There's a Transformers episode from 1985 called "Masquerade" in which the Autobots get new paint jobs and pretend to be the Stunticons. Windcharger is kind of the outlier here because he's the only Autobot who doesn't really match the make and model of the Stunticon he's impersonating (Windcharger was a Pontiac Trans Am, and Wildrider was a Ferarri Testerossa).

What's interesting about the episode is that the Autobots appeared identical to the Stunticons, even though dialogue clearly indicates they were camouflaged using paint only. Starscream was suspicious of the fake Stunticons in the episode, which would have made sense if their disguises had not been perfect. I think the original plan might have been to animate the undercover Autobots using their regular designs, but coloring them to match the Stunticons.

This is how Windcharger might have looked in the episode if they'd gone in this direction instead. The car mode isn't terrible-looking, but he really can't pull off the look as a robot at all. This is obviously not his fault, and we can't blame him for that.