#overdone sketch

[weirdozjunkary]

This was supposed to be a simple redraw of a comic series I recently came across called ‘Mech Cadet Yu’ (go read it it’s very nice), but I got carried away…

AIW Sonic- @kittydoremi

Original image under the cut

[kidovna]

ineffable smooches for the soul <3

[buggbuzz]

i started reading this fic called "the lemonade leak" by @turtleinsoup on ao3 a week or so ago and HOLY SHIT. y'all HAVE to go read it the writing is absolutely phenomenal. im lowkey obsessed with the worldbuilding and leo's characterization too and i tried to capture his mental state in this drawing

[mademoisellekalopsia]

Day 9: In The Garden of Royals

|| CONTENT WARNING || Exposed bear belly

Their highnesses hurried their way to their palace garden. There were two settled in their property, they went for their garden designed for them near their private quarters.

"Mmk!" A soft hiccup escaped from Ernest's lips, unbothered and unamused, taking another sip of his late night coffee.

His highness sighed after taking a heavy, hearty gulp.

"Oh, You have them…?" Lorelei, his beloved and majesty, was concerned, catching her breath a bit.

They made their way further into the garden, getting away from everything else, not literally. It was a long day, meeting with vassals, honoring knights, and meeting royals from neighboring kingdoms who have ventured far across continents.

"They are calmer ones." Another soft, muffled "Hmrk!" came out, a sigh and a hand on his chest.

They looked at Lorelei who had their arms crossed, and their face was painted in a flushed hue. Not because of the hitches, but also the way Ernest is just displaying his middle torso out, his robe untied, and his midriff presented with dignity, without fear of judgment.

The king noticed Lorelei's gazes, her eyes darting somewhere else as she spoke.

"Oh, good. I suppose you got them because we ran here. I'm sorry." She said in an apologetic, feigned shy tone in her voice.

She lifted a finger scratching her temple out of habit and slight feeling of fondness for their beloved.

Ernest let out a deep chuckle, his belly popping in and out a few times from the hiccups, shaking a wee bit whilst he chuckled. "No need to-hmpk! apologize, darling. Ha-ha. HUCK!-uh!, pardon me."

Lorelie offered a back rub, almost tending to his exposed belly, but she figured he must be full from the feast held earlier, so she didn't bother doing so.

In Ernest's perspective, he hoped for a belly rub instead, but he is not one to complain and he can settle for any rubs when he allows it, only for Lorelie.

"Still…and you'll get cold with your loose robe like that, dear." The queen replied and reasoned, her head down, thinking that they both might've ran too quick to get here to have their private moments and such.

Ernest, looked at her, a warm, soft smile pulled by his lips and evident under his majestic beard and haggard look on his face. He reassured her with a hand wrapped on her waist, holding her free hand. They were against each other's sides, he spasmed which Lorelei felt, letting an airy sigh of arousal, but she simmered it down to, in a trice, enjoy his company out in their nighttime garden walk. She did reason for his robe to be tied instead because she's feeling warm inside now, she will be confessing this later. For now, some quiet in the garden first.

The two royals settled by the pavement near a bush with flowers, Lorelei's favorite are the ones blossoming under the moonlit night. They stood with weariness and ease from each other's presence, looking afar to gaze at the loomed, celestial moon, the stars upon them, and the starlights down on earth that brought them peace.

[zialinart]

The end of my sketchbook,a lil depressive but y'know i'll make another one

[feketeribizli]

I FINISHED IT BTW!!!! 7K WORDS 35K CHARACTERS WEEEEE

need to hold myself to something so we will be keeping up with the word count for my thesis here. minimum of 12k characters and eight pages of text lets go

[octavodecimo]

Sketch of Robespierre and something about a mirror I bought. I’ll have a picture of it posted on my side blog. I was almost tempted to colour this but I need to learn how to appreciate art that isn’t overdone.

[jerusalemstraycat]

Guess what?! Miku's birthday on the Gregorian calendar was weeks ago, but her Hebrew birthday (17 Elul) was only a few days ago! I'm not actually late for this trend!

(I really was going to finish it and upload it back in August, but then I...got a little preoccupied LOL)

Anyway! I've seen several lovely Jewish Mikus, but I wanted to make one of my own. So here's Hatsune Miku as this very specific variety of frum Jewish woman who may or may not live in NYC.

Notes under cut:

I erred on the side of faithfulness to the original outfit and color scheme rather than cultural accuracy, so she looks like she's going to shul rather than just hanging out. Shabbos Miku, why not.

I guess I could have given her one of those tichels with the long tails? but like. She's a teenager.

Her hair is slightly darker blue to make it look more similar to traditional תכלת color.

Hoodies. Why are we so obsessed with our hoodies? We have them from schools and organizations and fundraisers. At least it's a better swag idea than t-shirts.

I spent WAY too long on that מיקו logo for it to be barely visible :(

I felt like a Magen David necklace might be too overdone, so I gave her a hamsa instead.

The only difference between Middle School Miku's uniform and my own middle school uniform is that my jumpers were navy, not gray.

I sketched the one in the middle singing היא רק רוצה לרקוד, then saw an old post on Israeblr suggesting that Miku should sing Omer Adam. Neat coincidence.

[jammed-out]

Hypnovember Day 4 - Drawing

(CW: magical body transformation)

The shopkeeper said the pad was magic. Whatever Elsie drew on it, would happen. She laughed at first, but now sitting at home, her favorite lamp now knotted up and twisted, she had to believe it. It was just a practice test though, that was what Elsie kept telling herself as she sat down in front of her mirror, pad on the floor in front of her, pencil in her hand.

She started first with a basic sketch. She didn't know how liberal the pad would take her drawing, so she began with just a basic silhouette of herself, slowly ironing in the details. She didn't notice anything changing, so far.

Elsie bit her lip. She had always wanted bigger breasts. She had been envious in school of all of the girls who flaunted their bigger chests about while hers was nearly flat. Slowly she took the pencil, extending the lines around her shirt. Not too much, just modest C cups, with perky little indents for her nipples, poking through the fabric. Suddenly she felt it, like a tingling spreading through her chest. She looked at her reflection to see her breasts expanding, bulging outward, stretching her shirt which seemed to expand with them. The once loose fabric, straining against her chest. She reached up slowly, touching one of her nipples through the fabric, the sensitivity causing her to gasp and bite her lip. The pad really worked.

Without hesitation she dove back in. Longer hair, less frizzy, more streamlined around her face. Change the hair part while at it. Her hips, wider. With thicker thighs, that was what guys liked. Bring in her waistline though, like a cartoon mom. She always wanted that kind of body. Her lips, plumper, perfect for wrapping around a cock. She was so horny all of a sudden. What if she....

She quickly added a dildo on the floor pushing past her underwear, deep inside her. Elsie gasped as she could feel the cold member slip inside of her, filling her up. That felt much better. Now she could focus. Bigger tits, even bigger, falling out of her top. Her hand moved like a blur, adding details, a piercing to each nipple, perfectly manicured nails, removing freckles, adding tattoos, beauty marks, makeup.

Elsie came with a shudder falling back away from her pad. She took heavy breaths, her now massive chest pressing down on her tightly. Perhaps she had overdone it, just a bit. She went to reach down to remove the dildo from inside of her but found it wouldn't budge, trapped inside. With a start she sat up quickly looking for the pencil to fix the mistake she had made. Unfortunately, she had soaked the pad in all her fun, ruining the image. Elsie looked in the mirror, terrified of what that meant for her.

[siythn]

SPILL YOUR GUTS! - SATORU GOJO

SYNPOSIS: as you and gojo grow closer by the seasons, it seems the two of you notice the underlying tension ready to burst. but, it's better to ignore it. . .right? pretending to be just friends when carving pumpkins is nothing short of a hangout—yeah.

WARNINGS! mentions of carving with sharp tools, fluff

WC. 1.5k

THE AUTUMN BREEZE carried a hint of chill, but the sunlight kept you warm as you sat next to Gojo on the porch, pumpkins scattered around the two of you like blank canvases waiting for a masterpiece. You picked up a carving knife, rolling it between your fingers as Gojo leaned back, arms stretched lazily behind him.

“So,” you started, eyeing the pile of pumpkins, “you ready to actually carve these, or are you just going to sit there and supervise?”

He smirked, his sunglasses glinting in the light. “I’m thinking about it. Pumpkin carving is serious business, after all.”

“Serious?” you raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You? Serious?”

He chuckled, the angle he sat at pushing his glasses down slightly to meet your eyes. “Hey, I can be serious when I want to be. I’m just considering my options.” He turned his back to you and picked up the biggest pumpkin of the bunch, turning it over as if to judge its worth. “This one looks promising. Classic shape, good color.”

You snorted. “It’s a pumpkin, Gojo. They all look the same.”

He grinned in response, setting the pumpkin down in front of him. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. A true artist appreciates the subtle differences.”

“Oh, so you’re an artist now?”

He flashed you a playful look, grabbing a carving tool. “I have many talents. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered under your breath, focusing on your own pumpkin as you began sketching out a design. “But I’m willing to bet my pumpkin turns out better than yours.”

Gojo shakes his head, a hint of a laugh meets the brief silence. “Oh, you want to make this a competition?”

“Isn’t everything with you a competition?” you teased, drawing the first line into the orange skin.

He didn’t deny it. “Alright then. Let’s see who can make the most impressive pumpkin.”

You both got to work, the sound of scraping and cutting filling the comfortable silence between you. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Gojo, his brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully cut into the pumpkin. He was taking it seriously, which only made you smile.

“What are you going for?” you asked after a few minutes.

“Something classic,” he replied, still focused on his pumpkin. “But with a twist.”

“You always have to add some dramatic flair, don’t you?”

He shrugged, not looking up. “It’s who I am.”

You shook your head, turning back to your own work. “I’m going for simple but cute. Something that actually looks like a pumpkin—“, you pause to glance at Gojos art. “unlike whatever you’re doing.”

“Oh, this is going to look like a pumpkin,” he said, his voice teasing. “Just. . .a better one than yours.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. “We’ll see about that.”

Quiet minutes passed, and the pile of pumpkin guts between you grew. You were almost finished with your design when Gojo let out a dramatic sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead as if to prove his point.

“I’m pretty sure I’m a genius,” he said, leaning back to admire his work.

“Modest as always,” you muttered, setting your carving tool down and wiping your hands on a towel nearby. “Let’s see it then.”

Gojo grinned, turning his pumpkin around for you to see. It was surprisingly good, compared to other works he’s done. The lines were clean, the design intricate but not overdone. He’d carved a sharp, fierce face into the pumpkin, with jagged eyes and a mischievous grin.

“Okay,” you pause, tilting your head as you inspected it. “That’s actually not bad.”

“Not bad?” he repeated, his voice full of mock offense. “Come on, you can give me more credit than that.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the smile that creeps up on your lips. “It’s alright. But mine’s still better.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Alright, let’s see it then.”

You turned your pumpkin around, revealing the cute, simple face you had carved. It was a classic jack-o-lantern design—nothing too fancy, but clean and neat. Gojo stared at it for a second before letting out a low whistle.

“Cute,” he said, leaning in to get a closer look. “But safe.”

“Safe?” you repeated, your eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, still smiling. “Just saying, you could’ve taken a few more risks. Gone for something a bit more—,” he stops for quick second to look up at your eyes. “exciting.”

“I don’t need to overdo it to make something good,” you shot back. “Sometimes, simple is better.”

Gojo chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. “You really think that’s going to win against my masterpiece?”

“I’m not trying to win,” you said, tossing a piece of pumpkin guts at him. “I’m just trying to make something that doesn’t look like it’s about to eat someone.”

He caught the pumpkin piece, tossing it aside with ease. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t hide your smile that toned your voice. “Fine, Mr. Genius. Let’s call it a tie.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think it over as he sat still for a moment. “A tie, huh? I don’t know. I feel like I came out on top here.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You just want to win everything.”

“I mean,” he said, flashing you a grin, “can you blame me? Winning is fun.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still hang out with me,” he pointed out, leaning a little closer.

You bumped his shoulder with yours, smiling softly. “Yeah, well, somebody has to keep your ego in check.”

Gojo chuckled, his voice softening just a bit. “You’re probably the only one who could.”

The air between you shifted slightly, the playful banter fading into something a little more comfortable—more personal. His arm brushed against yours as you both sat back, looking out at the sunset. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, a little closer than usual, but neither of you made any effort to move apart. Seemingly a silent mutual agreement to soak it in while it lasts.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, “as sappy as it is, we do make a good team.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like he was seeing more than just the pumpkins in front of you. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “We do.”

Gojo’s hand brushed yours, the contact lingering for just a second too long, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more; not if your heart beating out of your chest did it for him first. But instead, he smiled that same playful grin, breaking the tension with a wink.

“You’re not gonna get all sentimental on me now, are you?” he teased.

You shoved him lightly, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “As if. I just didn’t want to crush your spirit too much after beating you in pumpkin carving.”

Gojo laughed, the sound light and easy, but there was something in his expression that stayed soft, even as he joked with you. “You really think you won, huh?”

“I know I did,” you said confidently, standing up and stretching. “But you can have your little victory if it makes you feel better.”

Gojo stood up as well, his height towering over you in a way that made your heart skip again. He reached out, ruffling your hair before you could stop him. “You’re cute when you’re competitive, you know that?”

You swatted his hand away, glaring up at him. “I’m always cute.”

He chuckled, leaning in just a bit closer; making his features more vibrant. He grinned at your flushed face and stepped back, picking up a couple of candles to place inside the pumpkins.

It was a known thing for Gojo to be a flirt. But as time passed between the two of you, it got more personal. He seemed to love to take advantage of the fact.

As the two of you lit the pumpkins, the soft glow of the candles flickering through the carved designs, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Gojo. The way the warm light played off his features, the subtle smirk that never seemed to leave his face—it made your heart race in a way you weren’t quite ready to admit.

“Alright,” Gojo said, breaking your trance as he stepped back to admire the glowing pumpkins. “I’ll give you this—you did a good job.”

You smiled, leaning into his side as you both looked at your creations. “You too, Gojo.”

He glanced down at you, that familiar playful glint in his eyes. “First compliment of the evening, could get used to this.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened. “Don’t expect much.”

“Too late,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in closer. “You’re stuck with me now.”

And even though you playfully pushed him away, you didn’t move too far. Because maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind being stuck with him after all.

© All Rights Reserved, owned by SIYTHN

finally back for spooky season—sorry for the long break but ready to be back!!! make sure to take care of yourselves, lots of love ᡣ𐭩 Ѽ

[serpenlupus]

I really needed to watercolor something this weekend and I remembered that one illustration from @/kalidels of their Regency AU ,and I caved

“Captain Ravengard at your service”

It was really weird to draw him without horns so I had to sneak in at least one sketch of him being charming and elegant with his horns xD (and also one of him looking like he is saying “provoke the blade and suffer its sting”, because, GOOD reasons)

The idea consumed me this weekend and I may have overdone it xD but you’ll have to wait a bit for me to post them because I have to make the sketches presentable

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (3)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, trauma, mention of sexual harassment, violence, swearing, self-destructive behavior ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

What she had done echoed hugely throughout the university. Some looked at her in awe, some in horror wondering why she had done it, whether she really thought he was so good to put up with his awful behaviour.

"What if he keeps humiliating you? Or if he hits you?" Lysa asked as they walked together to their joint Renaissance art history class. She shrugged her shoulders, feeling light and happy.

"I'm only there for a trial, for a month. If I find I don't like it there, I'll go to another workshop. And if he does something to me, I'll report it to the police straight away." She replied briefly, taking it for granted.

If he violated her personal space in such a way she wasn't going to stand idly by, but for some reason she felt that if she respected his boundaries he wouldn't do anything to her.

She hopped up on her bed with joy when she saw an email on her inbox from Cregan informing her of a task for everyone to complete, covered by the competition Professor Targaryen had mentioned at their first meeting.

Good morning, congratulations to you once again and I am sending below the details of the project you need to complete. The first overview sketches are to be made at a scale of 1:5, only the one selected will be made at a scale of 1:1. The project includes 3 windows, each with 8 rectangular quarters. The dimension of the entire window is 10x2 m, the gaps between the quarters are 10 cm on each side. The Bishop would like these three quarters to include a representation of the Mother of God with the Child with a white dove above her, surrounded by the Twelve Aspotols. If you have any questions, I remain at your disposal Cregan

She immediately got to work, calculating the size of each of the quarters on A3 sheets of paper, thinking about how she would like to arrange it, how to show it.

She first thought of a baroque representation, with figures in motion, Our Lady in the centre, the apostles surrounding her as if they were floating towards the sky in clouds together with her.

When she had refined this design sufficiently she decided to take the opportunity that her professor was working on the other side of the room, standing, as always, with his back to her.

She approached him, stopping at an appropriate distance, and grunted quietly, wanting to let him know of her presence.

He glanced at her coolly out of the corner of his eye without ceasing his work, cutting a piece of glass in a confident, fluid motion with the loud swish of a diamond blade.

He picked it up and tapped the back of the handle with the special rounded end against the part of the glass he didn't need, and it broke at the point of cut to form exactly the shape he wanted.

"Lay it down here." He said indifferently, pointing with his chin to an empty spot on the illuminated table next to the glass he was working on.

She placed the piece of paper in front of him and stepped back, waiting anxiously for his opinion, feeling her heart pounding fast as she saw her year mate glance in their direction.

Professor Targaryen cast a quick look at what she had been preparing for the past two days, his face expressing absolutely nothing.

"Overdone and tacky. This is not a competition for the most pompous baroque stained glass. Don't show me things like that again." He said briefly, turning back to his work, and she nodded, tightening her lips and returned to her table, trying to swallow his words and not cry.

She looked at her project again and thought with regret that he was probably right.

It was contrived, as if she wanted to prove to everyone that she could create the most surprising and complicated design.

And after all, it was supposed to be simply the best.

She started to look through more classical stained glass representations from France, Germany, Spain and the UK at home. She noticed with interest that static figures depicted with just the right cuts of glass were suddenly gaining a lot of expression and she thought this was the way out.

She took inspiration for her pose of the Mother of God with the Child from Raphael's Sistine Madonna, but gave her face and hands a softer, more slender expression, her robes arranged in a Gothic manner, with strong creases and folds.

Our Lady stood in the rays of the colour of the setting sun, as if emerging from among the clouds, from the left, through the bottom of the composition, to the right the apostles emerged from behind the window frames, looking at her in silent awe, the whole thing seemed to her calm and solemn, warm.

She made another attempt to approach him. She settled on the opposite side of his table, looking at him expectantly, and he lifted his impatient gaze to her, his lips tightening.

"Are you sure you want to show me this?" He asked warningly, as if he wanted to make sure that if he saw something similar to what he had seen last time again, he would lose patience with her.

She nodded, swallowing quietly.

She really liked this project.

She laid it in front of him − the lead outline and the linear layer were painted with a pen using black ink, the colours of the glass painted with watercolours.

He stopped in mid-motion, looking at what she had drawn − she could see that he was thinking strenuously, his gaze roaming over the entire composition.

"Were you inspired by someone?" He asked coolly, and she nodded quickly.

"Yes, Raphael's Sistine Madonna." She said quickly, and he hummed under his breath, his hand involuntarily escaping to his mouth and chin, looking intensely at her drawing.

"On the left and right the composition is too filled in. You need to leave those four apostles lower, give more space to the background. Let them form an arc under the figure of Our Lady, not half a circle." He began to speak quickly, pointing his finger at the areas of the work he had in mind, and she nodded, visualising his changes, recognising with joy that, indeed, with his corrections it would look much better.

"Yes. You're right, Professor, I will." She said excitedly, looking at him with her eyes wide open, she had the feeling that happiness was literally beaming from her.

He liked it.

He looked at her for a moment, biting his bottom lip, and then lowered his gaze, returning to his work.

"That's all." He said dryly, and she nodded quickly, took her sheet of paper and applied all the corrections he had mentioned, painting and drawing the whole thing again.

Thus approved and prepared, she handed her design to Cregan, who smiled warmly at her.

"Congratulations." He said calmly, and she reciprocated his smile.

Seeing the impatient gaze of their professor looking at them from across the table she moved away from him, picked up her things and left, saying a polite goodbye, wanting to go get something to eat.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she changed into her usual clothes in the toilet − it was getting warmer outside and she was sitting in her workshop in a black t-shirt tucked into long black trousers and dying of heat.

Being already in her summer dress and trainers, she left putting her backpack on her back, heading to the canteen to buy something warm to eat and go to her wall painting class in a completely different building.

She stopped in mid-step and started to take a step back when she saw her professor standing by the coffee machine right in front of her, but she didn't make it − he took his coffee cup and bumped into her, his gaze quickly going from her top to bottom, as if he didn't recognise her for a moment.

She swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze, wanting to disappear, to hide, though she didn't actually know why.

There was something awkward about the situation, as if he had caught her in the act.

He merely hummed under his breath, taking a sip from his cup, and walked past her without a word. She looked back over her shoulder at him, swallowing loudly, wondering if he was frustrated by what he had seen, or if he would be more judgmental and unpleasant to her than usual.

He, however, remained just as indifferent to her presence, acting exactly the same as before. She figured he wasn't cruel enough to expect her to dress that way all the time in case she ran into him.

When it was time for the results of the competition to be announced, everyone gathered in the room he read out the attendance list for the first time. She took her seat at the very end, just as she had done then, waiting impatiently to hear what their professor would say.

"I presented the bishop with the projects which, in my opinion, were the best of those you gave me. He made his choice, announcing that he wanted our workshop to prepare Miss Wright's design for him. I made no objection to that decision." He said dryly, standing in front of them with his hands folded behind him, looking to the side, his voice expressing some kind of weariness, as did his gaze.

They were all silent for a moment and then her colleagues began to congratulate her loudly, Royce sitting next to her embraced her and said that she deserved it.

She looked into her professor's eyes and somehow saw a kind of discomfort and frustration at the sight of such familiarity, so she pulled away politely, covering her mouth in disbelief, unable to believe that he hadn't objected, that he had allowed her to win.

She heard him grunt loudly, shifting from foot to foot, everyone turned their gazes towards him again.

"As I mentioned, the whole workshop will split the work on this big project. Myself and Cregan will take care of the faces and hands, the third year and fourth year students will take care of the robes. The second year students will take care of the backgrounds." He said coolly and she felt a squeeze in her heart, even the other students looked at him surprised, though no one dared to speak up.

Despite the fact that her project had won, she was only supposed to deal with the background?

She lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her throat, Cregan moved restlessly.

"I think if Miss Wright won, let her stay more involved and help cut the robes." He said lightly, intending to sound casual, but Professor Targaryen did not even look at him.

"No. Everyone will perform the work according to their skills. Miss Wright will prepare a 1:1 design in colour and line within a week, numbering each of the templates, and then cut them out herself. That's all, get back to work." He said lowly and left, leaving them alone.

Although she tried to keep a smile, she felt tear after tear run down her face, wiping them away quickly with her hands as her colleagues approached her, trying to comfort her.

"Don't worry. The fact that the professor wants to paint faces for your project means that he really likes it. He doesn't get involved in work that doesn't interest him." Said one of the fourth year boys.

"It's true, be happy that you won and will have an input. It will be our collective success, of the whole workshop, but remember it's your composition and your idea." Said Ned, her yearmate, and she smiled with gratitude.

Despite how their professor behaved, her colleagues showed her great support and understanding, for which she was grateful.

She decided to go along with her professor's decision and spent the next week creating a huge design, cutting a template for each piece of glass with special double-blade scissors that reduced the volume of the card by the thickness of the lead surrounds into which the glass would be embedded.

One day they were even visited by Professor Lannister himself, and hearing of her success and taking advantage of the fact that she was alone in the room, he approached her, smiling in a way she didn't know what to think of.

He was a tall man, with light hair pulled back and an elegantly trimmed beard in a pressed light-coloured shirt and smart trousers − he looked at her large project hanging on the wall behind her with a form of admiration, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know what you did to Professor Targaryen, but apparently it works. You certainly must have made a great effort." He said and looked at her curiously − she blinked, swallowing loudly, feeling subconsciously uncomfortable at the thought that he was trying to imply something.

"Please don't measure everyone by your standards, Professor." She said lightly so that for a moment he didn't understand what she meant. He glanced at her frowning his eyebrows as soon as the meaning of her words reached him, outraged.

"Are you insinuating something?" He asked roughly and she glared at him, cutting out the template with two intense, firm cuts of her scissors.

"And you, Professor?" She asked, raising her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, seeing that he swallowed loudly, embarrassed.

She looked away and saw her professor standing in the entrance, measuring Lannister with an anxious, watchful gaze. When the man saw him he became tense, as if caught in the act, and grunted.

"In any case, congratulations again and I wish you well in your future work." He said, forcing a smile, and she reciprocated his gesture, beaming with satisfaction and contentment.

When Professor Lannister left she immediately returned to her work.

She looked up surprised when she saw that for the first time her professor had approached her of his own free will, standing on the opposite side of her table, looking at the templates she had cut so far.

"What did he want?" He asked drily, and she sighed quietly, cutting open the next sheets of paper, numbering them one by one.

"To learn the secret of my success." She replied softly and glanced up at him, his intense gaze fixed on her. She swallowed loudly, feeling shivers from the way he looked at her.

"What did you tell him?" He asked expectantly, coolly, menacingly, clasping his hands on the edge of the table.

She grabbed another piece of paper, unimpressed.

"That he shouldn't measure everyone by his standards. His attitude towards his female students was one of the reasons I didn't want him to teach me." She said quietly, truthfully, wondering if she was crossing the line by saying such things about one professor to another.

She felt that he was still looking at her, although he had always avoided any eye contact, now she felt that his gaze was burning her.

"And you came to ask for a place with a professor who hit his student?" He asked seriously, lowly, and she lifted her gaze to him, feeling her heart pounding hard, sensing that this was her chance to find out what had happened.

"And did you hit her, Professor?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling that her hands were shaking and she had to concentrate very hard to cut straight.

He was silent for a long moment.

"Yes." He said emotionlessly, indifferently, with a kind of weariness.

She pressed her lips together and swallowed loudly, for some reason afraid to look at him.

"Why did you do that?" She asked quietly, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Does it matter?" He asked, as if the answer was obvious.

"It matters if you did it for no reason or if you were trying to defend yourself against her, sir." She replied wearily, still not looking at him, feeling the atmosphere between them becoming increasingly tense. She heard him snort at her words, surprised.

"In what way could she harm me? Hit me?" He asked mockingly, but there was something in his voice that troubled her, some kind of frustration through which she knew she had hit the target, that something more had really happened there.

"Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways. It's just that they are hardly believed." She whispered and heard him swallow loudly, his chest rising and falling in anxious breaths. She looked at him uncertainly, his healthy eye was wide open.

He was silent for a long moment, she could feel that something was happening to him, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"You prefer to defend the abuser instead of the victim?" He asked in disbelief at last, the corner of his mouth twitching in what she might have called a smile if not for the look in his eyes.

"No. I just know her version of events. I wanted to hear yours before I decided what I thought of you, Professor. I thought it was only fair." She said in a trembling voice, feeling that at that moment she was truly afraid of him.

He did not answer anything for a while, looking at her with a clenched jaw and licked his lips.

"There is no excuse for me. But I don't regret what I did. What do you think about it, Miss Wright?" He asked tauntingly and she looked at him in pain, tightening her lips.

"That I feel sorry for you, Professor. Just like I feel sorry for that girl. I hope you find the decency to apologise to her one day. Excuse me, but I would like to focus on my work." She said quietly, swallowing loudly, feeling regret and disappointment.

She wanted to believe that he wasn't such a bad person, that something had happened that would give him a reason to behave like that.

However, she now knew that she could only count on him in artistic matters, and that in others he could be no authority for her.

She lowered her gaze, returning to her cutting, her hands trembling, feeling that he was still standing in the same place, that he was looking at her, she could hear his accelerated breathing.

After a moment he was gone, she heard him take his leather jacket from the back of his chair and just leave.

From then on it was she who didn't look at him and avoided him even though she saw that he glanced at her occasionally. She knew he was working on detailed sketches for the figure's faces; he was sitting at one of the desks with a sketchbook and pencil, absorbed in his thoughts.

Their gazes met suddenly and she turned away quickly, swallowing loudly.

She knew there was only one day left until the end of the month, after which he was to decide what to do next, whether he would let her stay or kick her out.

She had lost any remnants of a good opinion of him privately, however, he organised their work well and was very dedicated to it − she felt that with him and her colleagues she had learnt more about the subject of stained glass in these few weeks than she had in her entire life so far.

When the day came, however, he was sitting locked in the second room, reserved for him to paint his already-cut glass. This required a lot of concentration and it was easy to make a mistake, so no one disturbed him.

She reasoned that if he had wanted to tell her he was throwing her out, he would have done so immediately.

On her way out of class and walking down the corridor, she saw that the door to the room he was working in was ajar and she looked inside uncertainly. Whatever she thought of him, he was an outstanding painter and she was dying of curiosity as to how he depicted her figures.

Noticing that he had to leave for a moment and that the room was empty, she walked slowly inside, leaning over the illuminated table on which lay the cut, painted and patinated faces of various saints.

Looking at the faces of the apostles, she involuntarily marvelled, noticing the incredible accuracy in the proportions and the lightness with which he had given their faces expression; they seemed both emotional and calm, their faces showing excited anticipation.

Around the glasses were sketches made with pencil that he had prepared beforehand, which accurately represented what he wanted to portray.

She moved on to the face of the Virgin Mary and froze, feeling her heart pounding hard. She looked at the sketch next to it to be sure and swallowed loudly.

Mother of God had her facial features.

Then, when their gazes met, he didn't glance at her casually.

He was portraying her.

She didn't know what to make of it, at once horrified, excited, concerned, shocked. She shuddered when she heard someone's voice behind her.

"Get out." He said lowly, coldly, his gaze menacing, dark, warning. He stood in the entrance with his hands clenched into fists and she wondered how long he had been watching her.

"I'm sorry. I −"

"Get. Out." He repeated in a tone that suggested he wasn't going to say it a third time.

She lowered her head, swallowing loudly, and moved to leave on trembling legs, he, however, caught her firmly by her shoulder as she passed him and stopped her without looking at her.

"Don't ever come in here again without permission. Your painting room is next door. This is my private studio. Do you understand?" He asked in a razor-sharp tone, and she nodded quickly, unable to get anything out.

He let her go and she almost ran out, only drawing in a loud breath in the corridor, she felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest.

His Virgin Mary, the central figure of the whole composition, would have her face.

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[talitheghost-dolly]

""I love rock 'n roll So put another dime in the jukebox, baby I love rock 'n roll So come and take your time and dance with me" Ow!"

A quick, overdone sketch before I hit the hay.

Gavril belong to Partulla

[bogleech]

The funniest part of "I think you should leave" is how it's not always one outrageous wacky character thrust into a normal situation like almost every single SNL skit. They'll set you up for the most painful secondhand embarrassment a comedy has ever attempted as what seems to be the designated "eccentric" character gets into a raging political debate with a two year old at their birthday party or something (not a real example it's just what the show is like) and halfway through they blindside you like a bat to the head with whichever other characters it turns out completely agree or just don't see the problem that we're seeing. Like in my hypothetical one maybe everyone present reacts like they would to two grown adults actually having a debate. Maybe they react like it's the little kid who needs to ease up on the poor middle aged man. Maybe the kid's own mom gets upset as if her two year old is politically corrupt and she's terribly sorry for what a douche he's being. You can never tell where it's going to go and it really makes the standard sketch comedy format look even more overdone.

[shootingstarrfish]

Hello, I saw your post asking for art prompts/ideas? I don't know if you're still looking for HCs, but I have one for you just in case ☆

Satan and Solomon have regular, weekly study sessions. Sometimes it's in the library at the HoL, or it's in Solomon's room at Purgatory Hall, or sometimes it's at a café downtown because Satan knows the owner and they get complimentary coffee. These study sessions happen at LEAST once a week, because they're the only time that Satan feels like he can get actual work done (without the constant chaos of his brothers always disturbing him) and he feels like he can actually have an intelligent conversation, because Solomon is one of the very few people who's actually on Satan's level.

I just love that those two are actually good friends? And that there's a mutual respect there? Like, nerdy catboy solidarity lmao

OMG OKAY HI i loved this so much i actually sketched this right after i saw it and ive been sitting on this sketch ever since, but the lineart was not linearting for the longest time BUT HERE WE ARE AT LAST <33 this is such a lovely headcanon thank you so much for sharing it!!!

satan solo friendship is such a fun concept, no idea why i hadnt considered it before it's funny to imagine satan initially befriending solomon to spite lucifer but realising how well they both get along. im sure satan still tries to piss lucifer off by making a big deal out of hanging out with the shady sorcerer he so despises, but they totally make a habit of meeting up to study or have lengthy conversations about who knows what

also i know putting Satan in a cat cafe is overdone as hell (ha) but sometimes things are overdone for a good reason :)

[i-am-a-living-god]

OH! Could you maybe draw.... hmmm Frisk laying in some buttercups? That would be really cute! (though probably overdone- I just think it would look really cool in your style!!)

Here ya' go :3

I decided to experiment a bit with this one. Cause when I drew the sketch, I was like, this would look so much better without line art. And BAM 10 hour's later, one of my best pieces of this year.

Thank you for the request, I had fun with this one.