#nail art workshop

[reksink]

Two Fools, One Freed One Chained

[burning-sol]

I guess you could say she hammered the point home.

[wikirobot]

Put together a simple box to act as gift wrap for the piano coatrack. I had tried making a cardboard box but that felt like it was too simple. Also as this is a wedding gift I'm thinking they could use this as a memories box and stamped their names on the top after I took my pictures. This was made in an evening with some random pine boards, nails, and a bit of hide glue.

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Angel: Fancy Milk Tea

Designer's Reflection: Fancy Milk Tea

Obtained: Casual Drinks workshop

Rarity: SR

Attribute: Pink/Sweet

Awakened Suit: Black Sugar Milk Tea

Story - transcripts from Designer's Reflection

Chapter 1 - Boba Obsession

Chapter 2 - Hardships and Inspiration

Chapter 3 - Popular Channel

Story - summarized

Angel loves boba tea. She even has a channel online dedicated to boba tea: the many flavors, the various toppings, the secret menu, how to pick a flavor for your mood...

Despite how much hard work she puts in, her channel remains slow.

Nevertheless, she still maintains enthusiasm with every new shop and special. And one of her favorite shops just opened a new branch. Angel heads straight there, eagerly waiting in line behind a man who has a long, long, long list of drinks to order.

Finally, she has her own boba, as well as two more for Nikki and Momo. She goes to their nail salon and gives them their favorite teas. As the friends chat and do their nails, Angel brings up her struggle with the channel. She also mentions that she tried fashion designing, but nothing stood out to her as good.

Nikki suggests combining bubble tea with designing. After their meet-up, Angel gets a bolt of inspiration: not only add boba elements to her clothes, but model them on camera when she does her blogs.

Sure enough, within a couple weeks, her channel hits 10,000 fans. All of them adore her style, and some want to buy copies of her designs. All is going well for Angel... until she ends up in line behind a man who has a long, long, long list of drinks to order. Again.

Connections

-Angel continues to come to Nikki's nail salon. Even if you hire Chi Xiaoyu or Helz to take over business for a day, you can check your customers list, and you will always see Angel at least twice throughout the week.

-Momo loves the social media spotlight as you can tell, and he got his big break in Pumpkin Witch when he displayed his very first design online.

Fun Facts

-Another name for bubble tea is "boba tea" because of two things: the tapioca balls look like colorful bubbles in the tea, and also because the Chinese word for tapioca balls sounds like "boba." You can learn more about this Taiwanese drink here.

-While Angel is a regular customer at Nikki's salon, no nail art was released alongside this suit.

-One of Angel's fans commented that she had "tres-cool designs." Tres is French for "very" and it's pronounced "tray" or "treh." Some people think it's trendy to drop French words in their comments or dialogue.

-I personally like how a design based after a sugary-sweet drink gets the Sweet attribute. It's a play-on-words.

[taxi-davis]

[sgmaker]

Art work done 🎧🖌️

Do you want same illustration work

Contact whatsapp no +917448392744

MAIL ID thesgmaker@gmail.com

Go to check instagram @thesgmaker

[earlysunshines]

pretty in pink

minatozaki sana x fem!reader ; smut, cursing (minors, men dni)

synopsis: sana looks good in pink, you look good in sana.

wc: 2k

a/n: top sana stan nation rise

-

keeping your eyes off sana was impossible, it was a fact and everyone knew it.

sana’s face was just perfect, there wasn’t a slight imperfection anywhere.

her features were undeniably sharp, everything about her was so distinct and captivating. the way her eyes had drilled into yours was unmatched, they had a certain force in them that pulled you in with ease. down her face was her nose, and the curve of it is so incredibly flawless—if it were something to be made in a workshop; there’s no doubt that it would be crafted by the hands of hephaestus and blessed by aphrodite. you're met with her lips when you travel down her face; which, can be compared to a captivating work of art. sana’s lips were like a piece of heaven: soft and beautiful in their simplicity, but they’re dangerous in the way that they can be an irresistible temptation, comparable to a forbidden fruit.

kissing her was a treasure beyond measure, a gift from heaven—but there were times when it felt almost sinful, a delight beyond shame.

hearing sana lose herself to your touch was a sensation too good to resist; the last thing you thought of as sana moaned into your lips was how sinful it was. if nipping and marking sana’s neck until it resembled the color of roses was shameful, then you were shameless.

sana grinds against the silicone of the pink strap you have on, the one you had bought just to use on her like this. the way she grinds on it has the strap stimulating you equally as much, and the pleasure that pulses in your core has a low, breathy “fuck,” escape your lips as your senses start to overwhelm. your curses are warm on sana’s neck, almost burning with each small, breathy groan against it.

her cunt is soaked, you can tell from the way the silicone brushes against her folds with ease, and each time the strap grazed against her clit, a high, needy, and whine was heard. you needed more, you needed her screaming.

you pull your lips off her marked neck, making sure to take a moment to gaze at your crimson-colored artwork. sana has her hands around your neck, though the way you’re bucking your hips while she simultaneously gyrates against your cock has her hands moving down and scratching at your bare, toned back. her nails dig deep into your skin and it extricates small hints of a scarlet, liquid essence. it hurts so fucking good.

the sight of sana looking at you with an insatiable craving in her eyes drove you crazy. her eyes looked into yours with a sense of longing, with an impassioned thirst. her rosy, swollen lips were bitten down slightly to suppress the filthy, whiny noises that were trying to seep out—but you couldn’t let her keep quiet now, could you?

“baby,” you coo, moving your fingertips to the side of her hips and then setting your hands on them to control the motion and pace of her heat grinding against you. it elicits a sharp breath from your girlfriend. “my pretty girl… so wet for me, hm?”

sana shuts her eyes and strings of whiny, shaky dragged-out moans spill out from her puffy, saliva-glazed lips as you forcefully use your hands that move her hips to make the pink strap brush against her sweet spot in a harsh, speedy manner. the overwhelming feeling in her abdomen grew, and it felt as if waves of pleasure were rushing over her—waves that she would soon drown in.

sana’s close and you can feel it, you can hear and see it.

“f-fuck,” she sighs breathlessly as you push her against the silicone with a stronger force. “baby, i’m, oh fuck-“

with another harsh motion of your hands, sana’s clit comes into contact with the strap and she completely loses herself.

a loud cry slips from sana’s lips, and she’s gasping out something—which is completely incoherent—then slowing down the pace at which her hips move against your length. sana’s arousal covers the silicone of your strap, making it glisten a bit under the dim lights of your shared bedroom.

the sight and sound of her added to the feeling of the material against your walls, it has you following with your own orgasm soon after. you reach your high with a loud curse escaping your lips as you prop yourself up on the bed with your elbows and lean back in ecstasy, your fingers gripping the sheets.

sana bites her lip at the sight of you with your eyes closed and lips parted, she’s still trembling in your lap, but one of the hands that had been gripping your shoulders reaches up to run a hand through your disheveled hair. she moves the strands that cover your features away so that she can see the rest of your face, taking in the sight of flushed cheeks and lidded eyes.

you admire the sight in front of you, eye fucking your girlfriend and taking in her look.

the laced, pink bra she has on covers her chest, and you think you’ll let it stay on for a moment before you rip it off her later—it’d be a waste to get rid of something she looks so damn hot in so quickly.

sana also has on a pink cowgirl hat, something she’d gotten from a friend and you were glad they gave it to her because she looked so effortlessly perfect in it; your little cowgirl, all pink and pretty for you in her pink laced bra, pink hat, and on your pink, slick covered strap.

“ready to ride baby?” you ask, tilting your head and grazing her cheek with your thumb.

sana nods obediently, biting her lip and humming—it sounds more like a whine.

“that’s my girl.” you coo lowly, smirking at the lovely sight.

despite the fact that the silicone is covered in sana’s arousal, you reach for the small bottle of lube on the nightstand and put a good amount of it on your hand, and you stroke the pink, slick-covered material, coating it with lube just for your little cowgirl.

as you stroke, sana eyes you, everything is so enticing. from the look in your eyes as you stroke, to the throbbing feeling in her core, she smiles at everything, though it’s much easier to compare that smile on her face to a sly smirk. she rubs her hips against you to satisfy the craving she has as you stroke, impatient for your length to fill her.

“ready?” you ask, holding your dick in place and positioning it for her. sana nods in anticipation and hovers above it, teasing the tip with her folds. the feeling of your tip makes her gasp, she closes her eyes and her mouth opens a bit—though the sounds are caught in her throat.

“fuck,” she murmurs, wincing at the feeling of you filling her up. “it’s, shit- it’s oh, fuck, baby,”

sana’s gasps have you throbbing, and the deeper you find yourself inside of her, the more that sensation in your core grows.

your girlfriend sets herself down on your length fully, taking the time to adjust to the size and feel of it. sana breathes out with her head back and eyes shut, you move to kiss her neck.

“good?”

“mhm.” sana hums and you feel her hips start to circle. “feels good baby,”

sudden pleasure courses through you as the silicone that’s within your walls hits you in the right way, and there’s an unexpected groan that leaves your lips, making you buck your hips into her. one hand props you up while the other has a steady hold on sana’s waist as she grinds on you, the room is filled with filthy noises as you start to build a consistent pace, and god it’s so alluring.

sana’s usually the one that has the work done for her, but this time you’re letting yourself sit back and enjoy the show.

the more sana rides, the more you realize that you could get used to these rodeos.

your pupils are fully dilated as you watch sana lean back and slide up and down on your cock, which matches the color of what she has on. it’s a wonderful sight, really, you’d settle for this rather than any exhibit. sana’s expression changes with each noise that’s made from her ass slapping against your skin as she fucks herself on your cock; her brows crease and she bites her lip with each thrust, and the whines she lets out are like music to your ears, sounds that no symphony could rival, noises that make your hand grip at her ass just so the volume of each whimper and moan are louder.

you decide to stop watching and start helping sana reach her high. kisses are scattered all over her upper chest and the thought of her cumming all over your length is something that you need to hear and see.

you begin to thrust into her yourself, moving your hips up into her and filling her up even more, which elicits incoherent cries, whines, and high-pitched moans from sana. her grip on your back and shoulders is unpredictable, you feel the sharp pain of her nails pinching your skin near your upper back muscle, and then back to your shoulders every now and then as her hands start to reach out for anything; they seem to have a mind of their own.

“fuck, so- so big,” sana says in a strained voice, eyes shutting and her arm wrapping around your neck as she bounces on your cock. “baby, fuck m’ gonna-“ she’s cut off with her own cry, and her head sinks down to your shoulder, biting down on it to suppress the uncontrollable noises that flee her mouth.

sana’s pace on you slows down, but your thrusting quickens.

with each clap, there’s another sharp, shaky yelp that slips from her lips, and her breath is growing hotter every time she moans into your skin.

“c’mon baby,” you murmur. your voice is trembling a bit, even trailing off from the lack of breath you have from the overwhelming sensation in your stomach.

“oh my god, y/n, fuck please-“ sana groans. “baby, y/n, fuck,”

the two of you are close, and it’s clear.

your lips meet hers in a shuddering, messy kiss; tongues dancing and teeth biting at lips. the sounds are so sinful, the clapping echoing in the room and the stretched-out pleas—it’s so explicit, so obscene, and the both of you are so incredibly turned on that your brains are all hazy, words can’t form, and all you can focus on is the immense amount of pleasure being given to one another.

a few more thrusts and the two of you drown in a tsunami of bliss, moaning each other’s names and gripping onto each other as you tremble and catch your breaths.

lips meet one another and they’re numb, crimson, and swollen—that doesn’t stop you from making out messily, kissing lazily with loud groans in between.

the two of you pull away with lidded eyes, still smoky with desire in them. you and your girlfriend smile at each other tiredly, then you make your way to kiss sana’s jaw, mumbling something against it that makes sana’s breath shake.

“lay down for me baby, i’ll make you feel good,” you smirk against her neck, “let me fuck you till’ you’re dumb.”

sana throws her hat across the room and lets you unclasp her bra, and she knows you’re going to completely ruin her.

the thought of you ruining her makes her pussy throb again, pulsing at the husky tone of your voice. sana lets you set her down on the bed, and you do it so gently. you stand up and in between her legs, stroking the silicone and rubbing it against her folds, smirking down at her hungrily.

“that’s my girl.” you mumble, biting your lip.

feeling generous with the nayeon and sana fic back to back

[stardust-swan]

Lifestyle of the Refined, Cultured City Girl

She takes advantage of living somewhere with access to many cultural activities. She attends the symphony, the theatre, the ballet, and the orchestra. She visits art galleries and museums. She attends book readings, poetry readings, lectures by experts in various subjects, and writer's talks. She watches independent films in small cinemas. She goes to fashion shows. She unwinds by reading in a beautiful, old library. Many of these activities are free or cheap, so money is rarely a concern.

She has social hobbies, like playing an instrument in a local band, attending a book club or writer's group, participating in poetry readings, and taking evening classes and workshops on subjects like painting, fashion, learning a language, culinary classes, learning an instrument, etc.

She has private hobbies too, like writing a novel, creating art, studying, reading, and taking private music lessons.

On dates, she goes to painting classes where her and her date paint each other's portrait, pottery classes where they make each other something special, fine restaurants where she and her date try new cuisine, and upscale hotels for a fine afternoon tea.

She is always studying. Whether it's in University for a degree that will help her get her dream job, or a less formal education like learning about the world of art from her trips to the galleries, or learning about the history and culture of her city by exploring it, she's always taking advantage of the opportunities she has to expand her knowledge.

She participates in cultural festivities that may be held in her city, such as wine tastings, cheese tastings, art exhibits, film festivals, and book fairs.

She visits historical landmarks and sites to learn about her city's past and culture.

She visits rooftop bars and lounges, both to socialise and admire the view of the city.

She networks with people in high positions, and socialises at events and gatherings like cocktail parties, charity functions, and dinner parties.

She visits both high end boutiques and small, locally owned shops.

She spends time in nature by going to parks and botanical gardens.

She gives back to her community by support or volunteering with a charity or non-profit

She attends a yoga or meditation class at a wellness centre.

She discovers her local patisseries and bakeries and enjoys fresh baked goods.

She takes walking or cycling tours of the city's historic districts to learn about its culture and landmarks.

She visits a local farmers market for fresh produce and unique artisanal products.

She's always dressed impeccably. You will never see her in ratty old clothes, gym gear unless she's actually in the gym, or flip-flops unless she's at the beach. Her hair is always tidy, and her makeup never looks caked on. Her nails are always clean and neat. Her skincare routine is down to a T. She never says "I'm just going to the store" as an excuse to dress frumpily, as she knows there's always the risk of running into someone important and does not want to look like a slob. She does not hold onto clothes that are worn out, damaged, or unflattering, leaving only chic outfits available to dress in. She checks herself from all angles before leaving home to make sure there's no wardrobe malfunctions happening at the back of her outfit, e.g a hole in the back of her jeans. She honours herself, those around her, and her city by looking presentable and neat everyday.

Her home is never cluttered. It is decorated with art, including some paintings or pictures of the city, and she has photographs on the mantelpiece of the friends she's made there. She has a variety of books on a range of subjects that interest her. Her kitchen is well-equipped - no living on takeout for her. She has a set of high quality china and luxurious bedding and linen. She plays classical and jazz music instead of keeping the TV on for background noise. She treats herself to a bouquet of flowers to put in a vase occasionally, and may have a houseplant. She lights candles for a beautiful smell. She may have a collection of herbal teas to help her relax in the evenings. She may even have a well-stocked mini bar, space and funds permitting. Her wardrobe is carefully selected. Her home is stylish, yet comfortable, and always feels ready for guests. She practices the art of entertaining, and does it well.

She knows about hidden treasures in her city that one can't find out about just from doing an internet search. For example, in Paris, a string quartet of musicians meet up on a random day each week and play a free concert in the courtyard of the Louvre, but you wouldn't know this from looking up places to visit in Paris. It's something you must discover on your own or hear about by word of mouth. It could be a small unassuming café that makes the best dish you've ever tasted, or a beautiful building people rarely visit (like the medieval church/graveyard in my neighbourhood that's usually locked up and difficult to see into because of the high walls surrounding it, but if you pass by at the right time, the groundskeepers may be there and let you in to see the blooming flowers and trees beyond the graveyard gates if you ask nicely), an out-of-the-way boutique that sells gorgeous garments, a hidden park tucked away from the main streets, or a secret or exclusive bar or nightclub.

[ilovedonnabeneviento]

What are some donna headcannons you have??

I'm gonna assume you mean resident evil donna so that's what you get

• She is definitely possessive, no doubt about that. If you stand up while talking to her, she's interrogating you. "Where are you going? What are you doing?"

• She probably likes earl gray tea

• Very rarely does she hurt herself while working but when she does she hardly takes care of it/ doesn't notice so there's probably blood stains on her workshop table for more than one reason

• She squeaks when she gets jump scared

• When she's upset the atmosphere around her manor changes and it's very unsettling

• I think she has longer hair than some people anticipate, like shoulder blade length hair. I also think it's wavy

• She definitely has body hair and gets insecure about it until you comfort her

• She has has a library with different sections of books. Botany, herbology, victorian flower meanings, romance(she doesn't read it a whole lot bc it makes her lonely), fiction and mystery

• She's not much of a physical touch person at first due to being alone for so long but eventually she warms up to it and wants it all the time wether it be full out cuddling or resting her hand on top of yours (just don't be too extreme)

• She likes mitski.

• She's to type of person to see something she's scared of, stop in her tracks, and just walk away. "Nope, nevermind"

• I think she has a fear of heights

• Sometimes she makes little toys for angie to keep her busy or when she's having art block (not even she can escape its grasp)

• She made her dress and veil herself and made sure it was textures she could handle all the time

• I know this is probably obvious but she has Social anxiety and general anxiety and the few times when it doesn't affect her are when she's focused on making dolls/clothes

• She and angie are the quiet autism and loud adhd pair

• She prefers to keep her nails short because it interferes with her work (also she's gay)

Thats all I rlly have for her ty for asking 😋😋

[slasher-dasher]

Vincent

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Starry, starry night

Candles lit up the area around him, flickering like the stars he hadn’t seen in who knows how many days now. The smell of wax invaded his nostrils more than usual as he poured the melted material over his latest piece of art. Bo had delivered her to the workshop himself, stomping down the steps with the proudest smile on his face before leaving her in the care of his twin.

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Vincent wasn’t sure if she had passed out or had suffocated from the hardening wax around her face, but he did notice that at some point she had closed her eyes. It was a shame. Vincent had liked the way her hazel eyes danced like the candlelight, flicking between his face and the brush in his hands. She had tried to reach for it at first. Not in an attempt to escape, but in an attempt to get his attention. Vincent tilted his head, taking in every detail he could as she tried to speak. The colors in her iris exploded in a pattern that made him think of sunflowers. His mother always loved that painting.

Swirling clouds in violet haze

He carried the weight of two titles, both passed onto him by his mother. Artist. One that was semi-forced into his blood. He liked watching her swirl the wax in her molds, delicately carving them to seamlessly match the rest of her sculptures. How many times had Vincent wished she would look at her children like those sculptures? He remembered the day she put a brush in his hand after he had pointed at her tools. It hadn’t ended well. Shaking his head, he brought his attention back to the girl on his table. The artist ran his brush over a fresh, purple bruise on her wrist, hiding the imperfection from any ghostly prying eyes.

Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue

Vincent. After Van Gogh himself, his mother’s favorite artist. She had always adored art while growing up, but his paintings always inspired her to create when there was no other option. And here he was, continuing her legacy while starting his own. Bo had worked out the plan years before the boys found their way back to Ambrose, never stopping until he found the two again. Maybe the name was fitting. Two men with loving brothers who, deep down, knew they would do anything for. Two tragic artists with no one to listen to them. Two people with the same name, same signature, same occupation, in separate times. Vincent found it ironic.

Colors changing hue

The artist placed his tools on the rolling shelf nearby, taking a match to light some of the lesser-used candles. Waterfalls of wax dripped onto the floor, pooling at his feet with a few rusty nails he had yet to shove into another makeshift clock. While the wax dried, he gently moved her wrists and ankles into the restraints on the worktable, careful not to break the layers he’d already worked on. This was a rare sight for him. Someone who hadn’t tried to fight from the moment she came to town, just accepting that there just so happened to be a wax museum not far from where her car had broken down. It was obvious his twin hadn’t done much before bringing her down here, at most he had wrapped her wrists a little too tightly in that wretched chair before he glued her lips together. Lips that had become pale and chapped from the chill of the basement, now full of faux life again. All because of his craft. Vincent pulled a small tube of lipstick from the girl’s bag, another rare sight since Bo usually took them for the wallet before getting rid of them. The tube was set aside to be put in a much smaller batch of wax to be melted later. He would honor her color choice, it was common enough to do so.

Morning fields of amber grain

The sculpture’s eyes shot open again as a fresh layer of hot wax poured onto her torso, untouched by the substance until now. They scanned the room in a panic, realization finally setting in as the flowers in her eyes became blurry with tears. The extra light made the green halos around the edge of her iris appear almost yellow, distorting them further as the flames danced. Vincent worked quickly now, muscle memory taking over as he just tried to get this over with. His method worked, he knew this, but it still shocked him how fast pain and adrenaline could cancel each other out in the human mind. She took a few deep, desperate breaths from under the wax face, feeling hot rushes of air that did little to soothe her fear. Her eyes shot to Vincent, pleading and full of life that was snuffed out far too fast for his liking. They closed, hidden from the world for the moment, and he instinctively lowered his head.

Weathered faces lined in pain

Sleep deprivation was starting to get to him just as the heavy doors of the museum crashed open again, followed by familiar loud barking. Dinner time. Lester had likely been sent to get him, which meant Bo was in a bad mood. Then again, Jonesy wouldn’t be with him at this time if he didn’t already have food in tow. Vincent guided his hand over the girl’s eyes, opening them one last time now that they couldn’t be closed again. The artist sighed, taking off his apron to hang on a spare hook before climbing the stairs into the museum. He glanced around at his artwork, some of the newer additions glancing back at him. Vincent guided his hand over each sculpture, wondering if they knew how important they were to this town. A happy bark brought him out of his trance, not realizing he had accidentally cracked the wax of the man as he jumped. Jonesy happily trotted up to him, wagging her tail as he leaned down to pet her before following her to where Lester stood, admiring the House of Wax in all its unsung glory. The trio made their way back to their rundown home, Vincent dragging his fingers across the heavy wax door as he locked it in a silent promise to return.

Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.

Song - Vincent by Don McLean

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

I’ve kinda already written about this before with the college AU I started a while ago but I have a mighty need for a life drawing workshop with Ghost and Soap.

Like maybe Soap runs some classes in a local bar venue space or something and he puts out ads every so often for models. Ghost meanwhile is discharged from the army with a shitty shoulder injury and no where to go. After going for a pint with Gaz to commiserate, and drown their shared sorrows of having to leave army life, Gaz tells Ghost about a new side hustle he has going ever since he’d had to leave months prior.

Ghost snorts out a laugh at first “are you bloody joking? You. A life model?”

Gaz pretends not to get too offended, but rolls his eyes and take a drink.

“It’s not as weird as you think. You stand in a couple different poses-“

“With your kit off,” Ghost chuckles.

“Yes, with your kit off,” Gaz huffs. “You get told how to stand and what props to use and then a bunch of people draw you for a couple hours. It’s totally painless and you get decent dosh for it. I do Soap’s class twice a month and Alex’s class three times - it’s easy money, plus it’s cash in hand so HMRC don’t have to be any the wiser bout it.”

“Hang on a minute, Soap?” Ghost says, shaking his head. “What kind of a name is Soap? He gives you props as well? What next, does he ask you to dance for him too? Give ‘im the old dazzle dazzle, do you?”

“Fuck off Ghost.”

“Aw, im only messing. ‘Sides even if I wanted to do little poses for your art class, I wouldn’t be able to. My shoulder’s buggered remember? I wouldn’t be able to hold a lot of positions for long.”

“Soap’s pretty understanding. He can pick poses that suit your body and he can adjust the times so that you don’t have to stay still too long if you can’t take it. You just have to tell him about your injury and he’ll be understanding.”

Ghost shook his head again and took another gulp.

“Fuckin’ Soap.”

“He’s an eccentric guy, but he’s cool,” Gaz shrugs. “Do you want me to speak to him for you? He’s usually on the lookout for new models.”

Ghost would say he’d need to take some time to think about it, but Gaz would take that as a yes. So a few days roll by and soon enough Ghost gets a text through telling him that Soap would be ‘well up’ for meeting him and said he should come by the next evening before class.

Ghost - I told you I’d think about it, you twat. Not to go on ahead and tell him I wanna join his little cult.

Gaz - show up or don’t, you can think about it all you like between now and then. You’ll thank me later 🤪

After that last text Gaz then sent him a picture of a wad of cash and few coins spread out over a blotted bar top. Ghost would sigh, but as soon as he saw that money he knew his decision was made. He needed something until he was able to figure out what to do with the rest of his life, something to tide him over till he received payments for his injury.

He’d turn up for Soap’s class with a flustered air around him and would step through the shadowy doorway to the bar with soft unsure steps. It was still early, there wouldn’t be many people inside. He’d ask the barman where the function room was and sullenly walk through the curtain, raising his brows when he’d finally lay eyes on Soap.

Ghost wouldn’t know what to expect but it’s not the mohawked barrel of a man that’s lugging chairs around the room and running around like a little worker ant. His eyes would linger on the muscles that were exposed from Soap’s paint and charcoal stained tank top and he’d watch on wordlessly, widening his eyes when Soap would finally notice him. He’d dig his nails into his palms to try to stop himself from blushing in embarrassment.

“You’re a bit early for the class’ mate,” Soap would huff, settling another chair around the raised stage. “Looking to join?”

“Uh sort of,” Ghost would say, frowning as he struggled to find words around the bodybuilder/artist. “My friend Gaz, uh Kyle you probably know him as - he said you were looking for more models and that I should come by…”

Soap’s eyes would light in recognition and he’d smile warmly, striding over to greet Ghost properly. Ghost wouldn’t be prepared for the warm grip in Ghost’s handshake and he especiallly wasn’t prepared for those big blue crystalline eyes to be roaming over him as if they were mentally taking him apart.

“Simon right?” Soap would say, revealing a perfect white grin. “I’m Soap, John’s my name, but I prefer Soap so you can go with that, yeah? Kyle mentioned you had a shoulder injury and that you weren’t sure you could hold certain poses.”

Ghost would straighten up then and nod, pointing out which one it was. From then Soap would take him through a few positions and would discuss the technicalities with him, were Ghost to join. Apparently it was easy to make accommodations for him, and Soap would be more than pleased to have him as a model, and like Kyle had already mentioned, the pay was pretty good.

Ghost would grow interested the more he would hear and eventually Soap would wear him down enough into taking him through a few practice ones. They would be relatively easy, and Ghost would find himself realising that Gaz was right - it was easy money. Plus Soap was no bad company either.

He’d be convinced into watching the class that night and getting to have a little taster of what he would be doing. The model that night would be a tiny little thing, a dancer, and would hold the most intricate stances for the eager artists to draw, contorting themselves into pretzel like shapes that Ghost couldn’t possibly hold. They’d capture his attention for a minute, but Ghost would always find himself staring at Soap right after.

He’d watch the way he directed the model, stroking the air to dictate how he wanted them and guiding them gently into form all without physically touching. He’d encourage the artists, complimenting a few people, and helping anyone that needed guidance. His favourite would be when the others would fall silent and Soap would take to gathering himself a pencil and paper and drawing for a little bit. The immense concentration, the way he’d clench his jaw and narrow his eyes would be so captivating and there was nothing that could stop Ghost looking away. Nothing that could stop him from wondering what it would be like having Soap’s eyes on him like that.

As it turns out it would almost steal all the breath from his lungs. Ghost would be sitting on that same stage the next week, stone faced and gritting his teeth through the slight chill in the air. He’d be used to resisting the cold, though he wouldn’t be used to all the eyes on his naked body, most of all Soap’s as his furrowed brow stayed glued to him. Ghost would swear that Soap could read his thoughts, could strip his mind just as easily as his body and he would know that Ghost was developing a stupid obsession with him (he’d refuse to think of it as a crush).

He’d look purposely look away on the next pose and would still feel Soap’s eyes on him still. They’d warm a path from the bones at his collar, all the way down the ridges of his pecs and right down to the pit of his belly. Butterflies would dance where his empty stomach should have been.

He’d love and hate it in equal measure, barely feeling the eyes of Soap’s gaggle of students because of the intensity of their teacher, but he would still show up again the next week and the next after that. Just hoping that maybe one night it wouldn’t be his own hands pulling the cord on his robe, perhaps he could embrace a pair covered in charcoal and graphite and entice them to touch instead of trace the air. He’d want to break through Soap’s page and show him new colours, tear the world as he knew it apart in only the way that Ghost could.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Character Aesthetic Deep Dive Tag!

I created this tag in this post, and I want to do it again for another Scrapyard Boys OC of mine so here we go!

Rules: Make a moodboard with your character's aesthetic, a playlist that fits their vibe, "badly summarize them" (like, talk about their personality, but funnily), etc. It absolutely does not need to be super detailed!!!!!

✦ Character Aesthetic: Maxwell Cymbelline, WIP -Scrapyard Boys

♡ Moodboard ♡

♡ Playlist ♡

Not All Heroes Wear Capes - Owl City

He doesn't fight crime Or wear a cape He doesn't read minds Or levitate But every time my world needs saving He's my Superman Some folks don't believe in heroes 'Cause they haven't met my dad He loves his workshop And rock 'n roll He's got a hot rod And a heart of gold And you could say he's a man of few words But he talks a lot within And even though I'm a little taller I still look up to him

Could Have Been Me - The Struts

Don't wanna live as an untold story Rather go out in a blaze of glory I can't hear you, I don't fear you I'll live now 'cause the bad die last Dodging bullets with your broken past Well, I can't hear you, I don't fear you now Wrapped in your regret What a waste of blood and sweat Oh oh-oh I wanna taste love and pain Wanna feel pride and shame I don't wanna take my time Don't wanna waste one line I wanna live better days Never look back and say It could have been me It could have been me, yeah

Burn The House Down - AJR

Used to keep it cool Used to be a fool All about the bounce in my step Watch it on the news Whatcha gonna do? I could hit refresh and forget Used to keep it cool Should I keep it light? Stay out of the fight? No one's gonna listen to me If I write a song Preaching what is wrong Will they let me sing on TV? Should I keep it light? Is that right? Way up way up we go Been up and down that road Way up way up, oh no We gon' burn the whole house down

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart - Taylor Swift

'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit They said, "Babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did Lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die He said he'd love me all his life But that life was too short Breaking down, I hit the floor All the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting, "More" I was grinning like I'm winning, I was hitting my marks 'Cause I can do it with a broken heart (one, two, three, four) I'm so depressed, I act like it's my birthday every day I'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague I cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art You know you're good when you can even do it With a broken heart

Gone, Gone, Gone - Phillip Phillips

When life leaves you high and dry I'll be at your door tonight If you need help, if you need help I'll shut down the city lights I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe To make you well, to make you well When enemies are at your door I'll carry you way from war If you need help, if you need help Your hope dangling by a string I'll share in your suffering To make you well, to make you well Give me reasons to believe That you would do the same for me And I would do it for you, for you Baby, I'm not moving on I'll love you long after you're gone For you, for you You will never sleep alone I'll love you long after you're gone And long after you're gone, gone, gone

♡ Badly Summarized OC ♡

Seemingly delicate, polite teenager who loves vintage stuff but can actually pack a punch and is not afraid of a fight - in fact... she rather likes a good bit of chaos

Certified Daddy's Little Girl

That one friend that strangers think is the "Responsible One" but is actually a main Source Of Chaos in the friend group

Feral gremlin of a girl and unashamed, will watch the goriest and intense horror movies while having a girl's night with her friends and painting her nails different colors

Enabler of Bad Decisions who never thinks things through and then gets like "well, went horrifyingly out of control.... LET'S DO IT AGAIN!"

Worst driver in the history of drivers but is trying her best <3

Human embodiment of both an orange cat and a hyperactive border collie in one body

Would practically collect stray puppies and kittens like Pokémons if her current doggo wasn't jealous of every other animal in the world

Likes cereal without the milk. This has nothing to do with anything, but I think its a relevant fact of her personality lol

Tagging (gently): @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@the-golden-comet, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@thecomfywriter

@topazadine, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes

and OPEN TAG

Taglist for Scrapyard Boys below the cut 🧪

Scrapyard Boys Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3, @sleepy-night-child

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri, @lyutenw @finickyfelix

@thecomfywriter, @the-letterbox-archives, @differentnighttale

@wyked-ao3

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[noodlecupcakes]

Finally posting my beautiful commission from @redreart featuring my Saw Franchise OC, Alex Howe and Mark Hoffman. I cant thank her enough for doing this for me, and as always she nails each and every piece. I love how she's captured the love/hate vibes of Alex and Mark as well as the gorgeous red lighting.

I wanna post a lil snippet to go with the art as well and wanna thank @3llisarts for helping me workshop the scene. You've been around for me since I first made Alex in October 2023, listening to all my ideas, helping me with face claims and head canons. So big big big thank you to you, my beloved.

The mechanic straddled Mark lap, pressing the blade to his throat with a smug smirk. It would be so easy to slit his throat and be done with it. But Mark didnt deserve a quick and easy death, not after Alex had found the letter he'd written to Amanda. Amanda might not have died at his hand specifically but he still had her blood on them as far as Alex was concerned. And she would make the detective pay. But Alex wanted to play the long game with him. Mark didnt need to know that yet however. Not until it was far too late. "With me out of the way, there'd be nobody else to stop you from completely taking up Johns mantle. Nobody to stop you from doing what you wanted, you'd have complete control. Because that's what you crave most isn't it, Detective? Control," Alex practically purred. Mark's blue eyes narrowed, Alex was right as much as he hated to admit it. He didnt dare move a muscle as the cold metal remained pressed against his throat. If he said the wrong thing, he knew Alex would cut him and end his life in his apartment. "You got me. So now what's your move, Alex?" Mark asked. "So, now it seems we're at a little impasse. I really should kill you for what you did and you want me out of the way. But...you need me whether you care to admit it or not, you need me for the traps because you don't have the same knowledge that I do," Alex replied, a smug edge to her tone.

[sgmaker]

Art work done 🎧🖌️

Do you want same illustration work

Contact whatsapp no +917448392744

MAIL ID thesgmaker@gmail.com

Go to check instagram @thesgmaker

[volkswagonblues]

what if we do an IWTV role reversal but Armand is the human boy "interviewing" Daniel the ancient vampire??

....with always-a-human!Armand and 514-year-old vampire Daniel? And Armand is a depressed underpaid zillenial artist working at a fuckass theatre troupe, and then the vampire Daniel hires him to work on a mysterious painting? So it's like, instead of an interview with the vampire Armand ends up doing ~Painting of a Vampire~? And also human Rashid is Armand's roommate and is genuinely too cool for his bullshit??

under the cut

HUMAN ARMAND MEETS VAMPIRE DANIEL AU

Armand is only at the pub because the rest of the troupe is at the pub, and the way things are going with Santiago, he can’t risk pissing anyone else or worse, getting accused of not “being a team player.” Never mind that everyone else has forgotten about him at this point. He sees Sam, Celeste and Estelle in the corner playing pool. Quan Pham is chatting up some poor woman clearly dying to get away and get back to her friends. Santiago, the artistic director, is nowhere to be seen, which feels more ominous than anything else. Lately he’s developed a habit of lurking over Armand’s shoulder while he’s sitting at his iMac, pointing at things in After Effects and making comments like “Are you sure it’s scaled correctly?” or “Why’d you name that layer that way?”. Armand sometimes has fantasies of shutting him in a box and throwing away the key forever.

He’s wondering when would be an acceptable time to leave when someone slides onto the bar stool next to him. An older man. He’s white, with a head of corkscrew grey curls and a battered leather jacket. Although they’re indoors and it’s nighttime, he’s wearing a pair of tinted sunglasses. Ambiguous “creative type” hyphenate rich dillettante wanker, Armand thinks. Maybe a show exec, or an actor who’s found niche success in an extremely online fandom. Or he could just be rich. Armand’s only been in the UK for four years and he’s already encountered, by his rough estimate, about ten million versions of these men.

The man smiles. “Hi there,” he says in an American accent.

Armand nods. “Hello.”

The silence stretches on between them. The man’s eyes flicker behind his sunglasses, examining Armand like a bug under a magnifying glass. Armand, discomfitted, drops his eyes. Are those acrylic nails?

“Daniel,” the man says, finally. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Armand.”

“I know.”

Armand frowns. “Have we met before?”

Daniel leans back. Makes a noncommital sound. He says, “I follow your work online, you have a great eye for portraiture. It’s bold. Experimental, but not so abstract you’ve disappeared up your own asshole. If you ever put on a gallery show, I would have liked to see your brushwork up close. How come you don’t do any shows?”

“Uh,” Armand says. “Well, uh, working with galleries takes a lot of time. Mostly I take digital commissions. And painting isn’t my actual job. I work with—”

“Yes, yes.” Daniel waves his drink’s paper straw in the air. He holds it between index and middle finger: the gesture of an inveterate smoker.“You used to be a background animator for le Théâtre des Vampires.” He pronounces it with an American’s exaggerated accent. “How is that going for you?”

“Fine,” Armand says stiffly.

“The vampire’s theatre,” Daniel says, “Fun name.”

“It’s an ironic reference to the bloodsucking aristocracy. The whole point is that we’re trying to make theatre more accessible to the public, which is why we also do youth workshops to introduce lower-income children to the arts—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel says. “I Googled you guys already.”

“Okay.”

“And while I was doing my research, a little birdie told me that they fired you.”

Armand feels his shoulder tense up. He tugs his sleeves over his hands, rubbing the fabirc between his fingers. “I have a contract with them that ended after August, yes. They are still deciding if they will renew it.”

This is true. He wrapped up his last day after their final show for the Edinburgh International Festival. Two grueling weeks at the Lyceum, their biggest gig to date and the last stop before they finish the summer festival circuit. Santiago had emailed him to say they’ll have an update about his contract once everyone comes back from their well-earned break. Armand can’t tell if this is good or bad news. Surely if Santiago wants him gone, he would have just gone ahead and said it?

Daniel leans in. “Shit luck, but I’m not here to discuss employment precarity in the underfunded and overcrowded arts industry,” he says. “I’m here because I have a job for you.”

“Are you a friend of Santiago’s?” Armand asks.

“Who? Nevermind. I want to commission you to paint a portrait for an acquaintance of mine. Big canvas. Oil paints. Really classic stuff. You’ll be painting a family portrait of my acquaintance. Him, his partner, and their daughter who passed away. Reunite the happy family for me. I’ll pay you an amount that’ll have you biting through your paintbrush. A few terms and conditions, of course, but I think you’ll find it an interesting endeavor.”

Armand knows that he is not the most savvy of people when it comes to business. He’s not good with money. Doesn’t have the capacity to read people and figure out what’s their angle. Trusts too much and thinks too little. Whatever scam Daniel is running, he can’t tell. But his brain is giving him warning bells anyway.

“I don’t do this kind of work,” he says. “I suggest you try Etsy.”

Daniel laughs, white teeth flashing in the pub’s low light. “Still such a smartass. Your English is much better though.”

Armand rubs his temple with his fingertips. There’s an insistent pressure behind his eyes, a tightening around his skull like the beginning of a migraine.

“Why not consider it?” Daniel says. “You have the free time.”

Armand darts a glance up at Daniel’s face. He knows (how does he know this?) with cold glacial certainty that if Daniel were to remove the sunglasses, the eyes behind them would be gold and orange. The colour palette of a nuclear explosion.

“Very poetic,” Daniel says.

Armand blinks away the bolt of pain that stabs through his left temple. “Do we know each other?”

Tap, tap,goes the weirdly pointy nails on the beermat. “Does anyone truly know anyone? Daniel says, sing-song. “So, are you interested? I’ll repeat myself: you’ll be very well-paid for you time.”

The pub is too warm from the press of too many bodies crammed together. Someone is setting up their guitar in the corner for live music night. They tap the mic and the soundsystem lets out a screeching wave of feedback. Is there feedback? The noise feels like it’s in Armand head. Too many people are talking right now in this pub.

Daniel’s nuclear explosion eyes are still fixed on Armand.

Armand feels cold. Early spring mist on his skin; the roar of traffic. A splinter in his left palm that itches. Excuse-moi, sais-tu où se trouve le gare? And Armand turns, and his grip loosens on the railing, and—and then—and then he—

Daniel slides off the bar stool. Such a smooth, youthful gesture. Not quite right for a man with his deep crow’s feet and silver hair. “I’ll send you the details by email. I assume the one on your website is still good? Yes? Make sure to sign all the paperwork my assistant sends over, it’s part of the whole deal.” He reaches into his leather jacket—fishes around the packet of cigarettes he always keeps in the left-hand pocket (cigarettes? how does Armand know this?)—and he pulls a piece of folded paper. “Call if you have questions. Bonne soirée, Armand.”

When Armand unfolds the paper, a business card slips out. No job title or company name. It reads, simply, Daniel Molloy with a phone number embossed in tiny gold numbers.

The piece of paper is something torn out of a schoolboy’s exercise book. Someone had left a sketch in pencil: Daniel’s face rendered in chiaroscuro. No sunglasses on his face. He’s looking off to the side, a nascent smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. Not the ironic and mocking smile he wore tonight, but something softer, genuinely unguarded amusement. The shading is wobbly but the lines are confident and well-formed.

In the corner the artist has left his signature. Amadeo. le 4 mars 2012

Armand looks up. “When did I—” he begins, but the chair next to him is already empty.

**

No Name <dm@sanguineinc.com>

01 September 2023 at 12:01

To: Armand Breteau <admin@abreteauart.com>

To Mr. A. Breteau,

I hope this email finds you well, or as well as any email can find anyone. I’ve been following your artistic career with some interest over the past years. If you have the time and capacity, I wish to engage your services and commission one (1) painting to be completed. The subject matter is very dear to me.

This is no ordinary project. I value, above all else, privacy and discretion.

My assistant will shortly send over a contract and a non-disclosure agreement. I will highlight a few key stipulations in the contract: first, you must complete the painting at a location of my choosing.

Second, all materials related to the painting must stay on the premises. You may not take home any sketches or references. You may not recreate any part of the painting in private.

Third, and most important, you will not meet the subjects of the painting. I will supply you everything you need to portray them in the most perfect of detail.

Yours,

D.M.

PS. If this all sounds like a crock of horseshit to you, then tough luck! Take a close look at the amount of pounds sterling I’m putting on the table. And no, I didn’t accidentally add an extra zero. It’s all above board and legally watertight. Show it to your lawyer roomie if you want.

Think about it, and then let me know if it still smells like shit or roses.

The arrogance of the email rubs Armand the wrong way, but then he clicks open the PDF attachment and nearly drops the iPad. It’s a lot of money. Not quite a ludicrous amount, but not far off. A truly life-changing amount of money. Enough money that he could stop worrying about rent for the next ten years. Enough money to soften the anxiety around his contract with the Théâtre des Vampires expiring in February and not knowing if they’ll want him around for another year.

**

Armand Breteau<admin@abreteauart.com>

01 September 2023 at 02:29

To: No Name <dm@sanguineinc.com>

Ok. when do i start? can you tell me more details about the subject of the painting?

thanks,

Armand

He hears the notification sound almost immediately after he hits send.

No Name <dm@sanguineinc.com>

01 September 2023 at 02:30

To: Armand Breteau <hello@abreteauart.com>

Tomorrow.

**

The next afternoon, there’s a car waiting for him outside on the street where he lives.

“Mate, don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging you for your life choices, but are you sure this isn’t like, a serial killer posing as a millionaire art appreciator?” Rashid gets up from watching the football match replay to peer out from between the curtains.

“He contacted me on my website’s public email,” Armand says, a defense that sounds pathetic when spoken out loud. “And you said to me that the contract looks alright.”

Rashid shrugs. “I also told you I don’t deal with contract law.”

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Depends,” Rashid says. “Is he going to pay you the money before or after he traps you in a pit and skins you make a suit?” There’s a tinny roar from the TV. “Oh shit, Arsenal just scored.”

Armand fidgets with the duffle bag holding his sketchpad and paintbrushes. “Should I not go?”

“No, you should. Go get that bread, or whatever it is kids say these days. Get that baguette, mon ami.”

“Will you call the police if I don’t text you at midnight? I’ll share my location with you.”

“Sure.” Rashid’s attention is entirely absorbed by Sky Sports instant replay.

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll send the cops after you if you text me he’s feeding you into his gay boy meat grinder.”

“Okay.”

“Look, Armand,” Rashid says. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s driving a Tesla, mate. No serial killer would be driving a car with a built-in tracking system. If it’s a mid-aughts unmarked transit van I’d be worried, but a Tesla? Nah.”

“Okay.”

“Just remember to ask for the money on the nightstand before you take your clothes off. Use your big puppy eyes if you have to.”

Armand can’t tell if Rashid is serious or not. They’ve been flatmates for three years now, and he can’t tell if Rashid genuinely likes him or not. He often wonders if Rashid is making fun of him most of the time, but keeps him around anyways because if he likes having a flatmate who voluntarily does all the cleaning and whose work has even worse hours than Big Law. But he’s a good guy, Rashid. He would probably alert the authorities if Armand goes missing. At least, Armand hopes he will. He takes his time lacing up his sneakers.

“See you,” Armand says, finally.

Rashid grunts, but only because one of the Man United players got another yellow card. Armand shoulders his bag and slips out.

[gen0c1de]

Requested by @callmecaspurr

I appreciate the compliment! I've been having a rough few months and this brightened my day! You look stunning yourself! This screen shot is from when you asked this on my other account @weirdwizardofoz so that’s why it’s here! I’m sorry it took so long, I have a lot going on in my personal life right now but I decided today I would do it since it’s been in my drafts for a few months! It also helped me take my mind off my life! Sorry it’s so short! I hope you like it!

Vincent Sinclair Fluffy/Regular Headcanons

TW: fluff, mentions dead body (not his or yours), Bo being an ass once, mentions of killing, please tell me if I missed anything!

Not proof-read

Requests are open!

His love language is gift giving and quality time.

I feel like his work with wax and his drawing abilities mean he also dabbled a bit in woodworking too.

If you are a jewelry person, he will make you jewelry boxes and holders of all kinds depending on what your style is.

He will make a stand for your rings after making a perfect replica of your hand but with the knuckles a bit smaller so the rings don’t get stuck on the mold.

At times when you’re in his workshop with him and you take a nap he will pull out his sketch book and he will make a sketch of you.

Hell, if he doesn’t have a victim or if he’s waiting for a victim to cool off he will sketch you out without you being in the room.

How much time he has determines how detailed it is.

He’s also pretty cuddly in a way.

If he’s sitting down in his workshop he will happily allow you to sit on his lap facing him.

If you fall asleep sitting like that it will melt him like the hot wax he has.

If Bo is yelling at you for any reason, Vinny will silently appear behind you like your damn shadow and he will stare Bo down.

Bo: “Damn it Y/N! Can’t you d-“

Vinny appears behind you staring at Bo with rage in his eye.

Bo, terrified but too “manly” to admit it: “Never fuckin’ mind…”

Que you turning around to see Vinny looking innocent and his arms open awaiting your embrace.

He stays up late at night working on his wax figure.

It melts his heart completely when he finally is ready for bed and he gets in and you wake up a little and mumble for him.

Your arms out stretched still mostly asleep: “Vivi… want cuddles…”

He’s done for.

If you get hurt he will become mama Vin, patching you up calmly and planting a kiss to wherever got hurt.

If you’re crying he will be there with your favorite snacks and some tissues, be prepared cause y’all will be cuddling and watching your favorite movies/show.

If you also enjoy art you’re definitely more than welcome to help him with his wax figures as long as you don’t mind the dead body.

Would rather you not go out and help Bo with the tourists, but if you really want to and you know what you’re doing then he won’t stop you.

If you like to do hair and wanna play or style his hair, let him know first so he doesn’t get startled by you.

Will happily walk around the house with his hair done up all pretty.

He also has tons of masks that he made, but the one he wears all the time is his favorite because it looks the closest to him.

So if you take a mask and put on some nice makeup, he won’t mind.

Just ask if you can first.

He can nearly never say “No” to you.

Y/N: “Vinny…? Can I paint your nails?”

Vin nods.

Y/N: “Can I draw in your sketchbook? I’ll draw something small in the last page so I don’t take up your sketchbook.”

Vin nods and makes a mental note to get you sketchbooks.

The only time he will say “No” but without actually saying it:

Y/N: “Vivi? Can we get a pet? Please?”

Vin using sign language or writing in his notepad: “We have a dog.”

He will probably get you a small pet in secret.

Will happily make you matching bracelets or something like that, so you have something of his and he has something of yours.

If he’s been gone all day and it’s late when he gets back and you’re holding his pillow or in his shirt?

Gone.

He is GONE.

Gets flustered and giddy when you pepper his mask in kisses.

When he finally allows you to see his actual face, please pepper his face in kisses.

If you’re making dinner and he is done with work he will come up to see you and wrap his arms around you and plant his face in your neck.

He misses you when he hasn’t seen you all day, he has messed up a few things because he was thinking about you and not paying any attention.

Has a few drawings and paintings of your eyes and your eye color, he loves the color.

Doesn’t matter what color your eyes are, he loves them.

Loves holding your hand!

Seeing your hand in his and seeing the sizes between them!