#these were the other painting practices! wanted to try out a different style | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rrrrinmaru · 3 months

Text

picasso (marius x fem!reader) (nsfw)

wc: 5.7k rating: E warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, handjob, squirting, they're both freaks for each other

“I think it’s pretty,” you say plainly. “I like the look of it. I’ve always had a soft spot for ink wash works.”

The exhibit is held in a famous glass museum in downtown Stellis. There had been a controversy about the full glass walls and privacy issues a few years ago (you had read this case once, out of curiosity, and never again), but that was eventually resolved and now the first floor of the museum was regularly used for art exhibits.

Before you knew Marius’ secret identity, you had invited him to visit one of Z’s exhibits. And Marius, the most shameless man to ever walk this Earth, had agreed.

Fortunately, you learnt about this secret before you bought tickets for the exhibit. Not that you wouldn’t want to see his works displayed in the gallery, but the thought of you gushing over Z’s artwork in front of Marius without knowing the truth…

It’s embarrassing.

Today, however, it’s a different artist’s work on display. Thomas Mikeden, a foreign painter who’s been going on an exhibit world tour. Stellis is his latest stop, and everything just lined up. Both of you had the day off and tickets were on sale. You had invited Marius to the exhibit, excited to hear his artistic insight about the paintings, but Marius has been… a little petulant.

“I can’t believe we’re looking at a Mikeden painting,” he mutters, arms folded across his chest. “The first time you invite me to an art exhibit and it isn’t even mine; I can overlook that, but Mikeden?”

“What do you have against him?”

“We’re friends,” Marius says solemnly, looking like he doesn’t even believe the words coming out his mouth, “but we suffer from creative differences. Severe creative differences. If I ever have to see the way he mixes his oil paints again, I’d end up on the news for criminal activity. And he said if he ever had to see me try to sculpt a pot again, he’d wring my neck himself. He said my clay pots were an abomination against God.”

You blink at him. “You know how to do pottery?”

“According to him, I don’t.”

And suddenly, you get it. Creative differences, more like a bunch of children arguing over who does something right, or who does something better. Like kindergarteners fighting over whose parent made them the better lunchbox.

“What are your thoughts on his ink wash painting?”

Marius gives you an appraising look. “Not his worst work. He’s alright with ink wash. I've personally dabbled in ink wash before. It’s not my preferred medium, but we learnt it as part of our curriculum.”

You turn to look at him, eyes bright. “Really? Do you still have those ink wash paintings hidden away somewhere?”

“Of course. I never throw my works away. I’ll bring you to one of my storage warehouses one day.”

One of his storage warehouses? It never occurred to you that painters would need a lot of space to store their paintings, even more so if they were particularly diligent and practiced different painting techniques often. With how many easels and canvases were strewn about Marius’ house, you suppose you should have made the connection.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

The next few works are insightful, to say the least. Marius gets up close and personal with one of them to sneakily point out to you a place where Mikeden allegedly made a mistake and had spent hours trying to cover it up.

“This is from when he tried to lean into the Baroque style,” Marius says, using his thumb to frame certain parts of the painting to draw your eye to them. “The colors here, see, the stark contrast between the light and the dark? That’s the use of tenebrism, popularised by Caravaggio.”

“Hm,” you note, eyes wandering around the painting. It’s a stunning piece of work, and Mikeden captured the likeness of the male form well. The extreme contrast almost seems to frame the figures with a halo, a light that blooms from their very center to strike at the viewer’s attention. “They’re quite handsome.”

Marius makes a sound at the back of his throat. “You’re more into modern men, jiejie.”

You hide your laugh behind a cough. He’s like a needy kitten pawing at you for attention, and you’re helpless against someone this cute.

“Yes, yes, look at how handsome you are,” you say, turning around to face him head-on. You reach out, smoothing the non-existent creases away from his button-down.

Without really thinking too deeply, your fingers linger on the stretch of the fabric across his chest—the thought that you can see them if you squint hard enough comes unbidden to your mind. The small bumps under the fabric, stiff from the slight chill of the room.

It’s the kind of thought that grips you by the throat, sitting in your mind and taking up space, holding you captive until you do something about it.

You brush your thumb against one of them, just because they’re right there, because you can, because Marius’ hands are on your hips and you’re feeling a little… playful.

Immediately, a hand catches your wrist. It doesn’t stop you from pressing the pad of your thumb lightly against that raised bump, and Marius’ breath hitches. His fingers flex against your wrist, hard enough that you can’t help but smile.

He’s usually the one making you flush in public, so you mark this as a victory. The sight of him, red-faced and pouting, heart pounding so desperately you can feel it through his chest—you pull your hand back, and he lets you go. That hand drops back to your waist as you bring your thumb to your lips, and you hold Marius’ gaze as the tip of your tongue darts out to lick your thumb.

Marius goes still. It’s as if he’s nothing more than one of the paintings hung up on the gallery walls, with how still he is; his pupils are blown wide and he gives you this shaken look, as if you’ve completely disarmed him. Swept him off his feet and left him grasping at straws to find the words to say.

Eventually, you go back to smoothing out his shirt. Properly, this time. No messing around.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Marius murmurs, his breath puffing against the curve of your throat as he leans down. His voice is soft, barely louder than a whisper, but it somehow feels deafening in the quiet of the room.

Your hands tighten around the front of his shirt. “Marius?”

“Be quiet for a moment,” he says. His fingers rest on your hips and you swear you can feel the heat radiating off his palms. It makes you want to shuffle away, pull back and put some space between the both of you—he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t tighten his grip, but his hands somehow get heavier. Like a weighted blanket resting around your waist, shackles holding you in place without really holding you at all.

Your heart kicks in your chest. It isn’t often that Marius gets this way, so quiet and possessive, like he has to cage you in a small corner and watch you to make sure you don’t get away. His forehead rests against your clavicle—it’s not a comfortable position, not when he’s so much taller and he’s pressed up so closely against you that you can feel the way his chest shivers when he drags in a long breath.

“Jiejie,” Marius whispers, voice quiet. “Sometimes, I wish I could wrap you up like a piece of art and hang you on my wall.”

He’s crazy, you think, and you realise even your subconscious thoughts have taken on this air of fondness when thinking of him.

“Is that so?” You reply, voice just as hushed. From the corner of your eye, you can see another patron glance at the both of you—they glance away, then look back, as if doubting their gaze. Yes, you think weakly to yourself, Marius is indeed clinging to you in the middle of a public gallery for expensive artworks that easily go for three times the price of your apartment. “Which wall will you put me up on?”

This time, Marius’ grip tightens imperceptibly on your hips. “Any wall that jiejie wants to be put up on,” he says huskily. His voice has dropped an octave, and the tone he takes is one that you’ve become very familiar with when you tease each other. Never enough to really commit to anything, not yet, but enough that Marius gets that look in his eyes like he’d very much want to stop being a gentleman about things.

Abruptly, you notice the double entendre. “Marius!”

“You asked,” he says smugly, lifting his head so you come face to face with the smirk pulling at his lips. He tugs you in to press your body fully up against his, hip to shoulder. “Is jiejie shy now? I can tell you about which walls I’ve thought about you up on—my bedroom, naturally, but the living room is a strong contender.”

You gape at him, too shocked to say something smart in return. “You—! Not so loud, we’re in public!”

“No one’s listening.” Marius tilts his head, giving the surroundings a cursory once over before catching your gaze. “They’re busy looking at the art on display. I’m looking at a different kind of art on display.”

He’s so shameless that it makes you want to burst out in laughter. A different kind of art on display? Who does he think he is, a host from a host club? Where did he learn these phrases from? The Internet? His brother? Worse, Vyn?

The thought of Marius asking the one and only Vyn Richter for advice on how to pick girls up makes you laugh.

“You think you’re so smooth,” you say helplessly, lips curving up of their own accord as you reach up to loop your arms around Marius’ neck. “You think I’m going to fall for that?”

“I’m not a gambling man,” Marius tells you, a confident glint in his eye, “but I’ve always been lucky.”

He puts up a strong front, but you know better. The back of his neck is hot from embarrassment. The tips of his ears are flushed red. You brush a stray strand of hair past the shell of his ear and pinch the crimson tip along the way.

“Jiejie,” Marius whines, caught in the act. “Come on, let me pretend for a bit. Don’t you want to come home with me and have a better time?”

He gives you this beseeching look, brows furrowed and lips turned down. You’re weak to that look—it’s suckered you into agreeing to far more things than you normally would have agreed to. But how can you say no to a face like that? To a man built like that, shoulders so broad they could dwarf you in a hug, fingers so long they could encircle your wrist, a face like God himself came down to carve it from marble—when Marius looks at you with that pleading gaze, millimeters away from begging, how can you say no to anything he asks for?

Perhaps a stronger man would be able to resist the power of Marius’ visual attack. But you never proclaimed to have a strong willpower, and you fold like a castle of cards in a stiff breeze.

“Let’s finish looking at all the works first. And no, just because you know who the artist is and insist that you could bring me over to his studio to see his other works—that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see the works exhibited here.”

“His art isn’t even that good,” Marius says, just to be contrary. “If you really wanted to see something from him, you should see his sculptures. I’ll admit those are impressive.”

“Finish the gallery, and then we can go home. You get to pick dinner.”

He perks up. “Italian or Chinese?”

“Later,” you insist. “I want to see this painting—” you glance at the title, raising an eyebrow when you catch sight of it, “—Lotus III.”

“Inspired by the same lotus garden that was featured in Lotus 0, Lotus I and Lotus II,” Marius grumbles as he takes one hand off your waist. You slide your hands down his shoulders, his chest, and furtively pat him on the ass before letting him go.

He jumps, eyes wide as he swivels his head around to look at you. You give him an innocent look in return.

“If you insist on being naughty, jiejie, don’t be surprised if I snatch you away and kidnap you back home.” The hand still on your waist squeezes in warning, and heat slithers down your back at the tone in his voice.

You put a hand over the one on your waist, sliding your fingers in between his. “Be good.”

“Good boys get rewards. Is there a reward waiting for me later, jiejie?”

Naughty, you think to yourself, side-eying him. There’s a charming smile on his face, not even bothering to hide the playfulness lurking beneath his eyes. He’s testing you, pushing and pulling at your limits to see how far you can bend over backwards.

“Maybe,” you reply. It’s never a good thing to reveal all your cards too early when dealing with a von Hagen in a playful mood.

Marius laughs, leaning in to press his lips against the side of your head. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

The way he practically attaches himself to your hip, thumb rubbing possessively over your waist—you can’t help the flush crawling up to your cheeks, or the heat that flares between your legs. His hold on you isn’t tight, but it isn’t loose either. It reeks of a promise, and you can’t help but look forward to what that will happen once the two of you get back to his house. Or what will happen once you get into his car, when Marius has you right where he wants you to be and there’s enough privacy for something to happen.

You shift, thighs rubbing together involuntarily at the stray thought. Desire slips through your body like a snake coiling in your veins; if you cling a little tighter to Marius in return, your mind only half-focused on the works displayed on the walls, well, no one will know.

You think Marius might suspect something, though, going by the way his smirk grows larger with every glance he shoots you from the corner of his eye.

Like he’s found something he can’t take his eyes off. Like he’s found something he likes.

You fail to give Mikeden the attention his works deserve for the rest of the time you spend in the gallery, but he’s truly friends with Marius then you think the man won’t mind too much.

To your surprise, Marius doesn’t immediately scoop you into his lap when you get into the car.

He leans over to help you pull the seatbelt, and very conveniently buries his face in your neck for half a second before he pulls back. Long enough for him to press his lips against your collarbone, the tip of his tongue swiping wetly against your skin; short enough for you to wonder if you hallucinated it.

But the smug look in his eyes as he pulls the seatbelt over your chest to click it into place tells you that you most definitely did not hallucinate it.

“Home first,” Marius tells you, pretending to be casual as he leans back in his seat and does his own seatbelt. “If you keep looking at me with those eyes, jiejie, I can’t promise I’ll keep my hands to myself while we’re on the road back.”

Right, you think dazedly. You’d forgotten Marius had decided to drive the both of you here—it wasn’t far from his place, and the both of you typically take a chauffeured car, but Marius wanted to do something special today. You haven’t been on a date in a while due to your unfortunate work schedule, and it definitely surprised you when Marius pulled up to your apartment in the driver’s seat, the window wound down, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he grinned at you.

“What a shame,” you murmur under your breath, watching as he does his own seatbelt before pulling out of the parking lot.

Your words make Marius stiffen. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel as the other finds its way to your knee.

Again with that loose grip that feels like a shackle holding you in place. Marius isn’t doing anything more than just placing his hand over your knee—there’s not even any real pressure behind, no force or flexing or tightening of his grip, but you feel weighed down. You feel held down.

You wonder, a little stupidly, if Marius would do something if you spread your legs apart.

But you’re on the road. Despite the heat flaring insistently in your gut, you’re not actually ready to risk it all while Marius is behind the wheel. It would have been a different story if the both of you were in the back seat with the partition drawn up. The ride back is what, ten, fifteen minutes? There’s a lot you can get done in that period of time.

Right as you resign yourself to a normal, quick ride back home, Marius’ hand slips a little.

Just a little. It’s so subtle that if it weren’t for the heat practically bleeding through his palms, you think you wouldn’t have noticed.

His hand goes from right above your knee to cupping the inside of your knee.

You eye him speculatively. Was it inertia? The car made a turn and his hand simply slipped with the centrifugal force?

His lips quirk up. “I’ll get shy if you keep looking at me, jiejie. I need to focus on the road.”

“Hm,” you say, feeling your cunt clench involuntarily when Marius’ hand moves further up your thigh. It’s not in direct contact with your skin, not when there’s your silk dress in between, but the material is thin and you swear you can feel the calluses from Marius’ fingers rubbing gently against the sensitive inside of your thigh.

Fifteen minutes, you think. Surely you can’t die from a little fun on the road.

“Your hand’s on the wrong place,” you murmur, gently placing your hand over his.

Marius hums at the back of his throat. “Ah? Sorry, I—jiejie.”

You lift his hand off your thigh for a quick moment, draw apart the slit of your dress, and slide his hand under the fabric.

Directly on your thigh. You even curve his fingers back down so he can maintain that grip on you.

You can see his fingers flex. They’re stiff, knuckles tense as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. When you peek at him, his ears are flushed a bright red and his Adam’s Apple bobs furiously, like he’s swallowing desperately.

And right between his thighs, you can see a tent in his trousers. You kind of want to reach out to touch it, but you hold yourself back.

“Jiejie,” he whines, and chances a glance at you before reluctantly dragging his eyes back to the road. “I was joking—you can’t distract me while I’m driving.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you say mildly, burying the laugh that threatens to escape when his fingers squeeze pointedly around your thigh. The grave you dug is for both of you; his hand is higher now, on your thigh, so close to your core that one road bump would probably be reason enough for his fingers to slide right home.

You almost want to pretend to jerk forward. But you have enough of your wits about you to recognise that if Marius felt the heat of your pussy through your panties press up against his fingertips at this moment, he would probably drive the car into the nearest building.

“I’m trying to be good,” Marius complains. His fingers keep twitching against your skin, as if he’s really, physically holding himself back from doing something.

“Good boys get rewards,” you echo, patting the back of his palm. “We’re almost home, see the gates up in front?”

He clicks his tongue. “As if I can focus on anything right now.” To prove his point, he speeds up, leg bouncing impatiently as he turns into the driveway. “Park, I have to park…”

The whole time, his hand doesn’t leave your thigh. And there’s something really sexy about it, you can’t help but realise—the slant of his jaw from the side, the way driving comes so easily to him, where he only needs one hand to maneuver the wheel. Even the way he looks over his shoulder as he eases into his parking spot makes you want to press your thighs together in a useless attempt to stave off the heat building in your core.

“Good enough,” Marius declares, switching the engine off. “Out, out, come on—”

He snaps the seatbelt off and practically flies out the car. You’re so taken aback that you’re still in your seat when he comes to your side and yanks the door open, petulance written all over his face when he finds you still strapped in.

“C’mon,” he whines, reaching over to unbuckle your seatbelt. “Jiejie, come on, come on—”

“Impatient,” you chide, even as you reach out to steady yourself while you exit the car. “Hold on, my heels—”

“Jiejie,” Marius says, and he seriously sounds like he’s about to burst.

In that split second, you make a decision. Your panties are ruined as is, and you really, really want to be filled right now. You’re not sure if you can make the distance from the car to the lift, especially when the garage is so fucking huge—

“Backseat,” you murmur, and Marius reacts much faster than you expect. He pulls you up and into his chest, making you let out a sound of surprise at how aggressive he is, but he’s surprisingly gentle when he cups your jaw and slants his lips over yours.

It’s a desperate kiss. Marius licks into your mouth, hands tight around your waist as he pulls you in close. The bulge in his slacks feels like it’s burning a brand into your hip—you want to skate your hands down, cup that swollen cock and rub your thumb over the tip. You’ve never seen it, not yet, but the two of you have fooled around every now and then so you’re somewhat familiar with the curve of his cock through his pants.

It’s a hefty weight in your fingers, and Marius always makes the most delicious sounds when you rock your hips against him, squeezing around his thigh between your legs as you trace over the outline of his cock.

“Fuck,” Marius curses. His fingers dig greedily into the sides of your body—the grip now is entirely different from the one at the museum. The positions are roughly the same, but this time he holds you like he’s trying to burn his brand into you, leave an imprint of bruises around your waist so you ache every time you move tomorrow morning. “Fuck, jiejie, your mouth—”

“Mmhmm,” you hum into his mouth, shoving one thigh between his legs so you can get a good seat on Marius’ thigh. It’s as if Marius has a direct line of sight into your mind—he hikes you up on his thigh so the hard line of his muscle presses right into the swell of your clit, and you groan out loud as you start rocking against his thigh.

Fuck, you think you could cum like this. Marius’ hands have dropped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and every squeeze he makes goes straight to your cunt like there’s a livewire connection. He pulls you so high up that you’re struggling to keep your toes on the ground, and Marius is practically pulling you back and forth on his leg, helping you rut against him.

His breath is hot. His kisses are searing, and it feels like there’s a nonstop feedback loop where your arousal pours into each other over and over again. It’s a fire in your gut, threatening to eat you alive, and when he pulls back to catch his breath, he immediately bows down to lick against your jaw.

Marius sucks at your skin, bullying a bruise into the underside of your jaw. He isn’t satisfied with just one, and he just keeps going down the expanse of your neck, biting at any patch of unblemished skin.

“Baby,” you whisper, one hand trailing down to press your palm over the tight bulge begging for attention. The lightest touch is enough to make Marius groan, hips stuttering as he chases your touch. “Can I—can I touch?”

Marius freezes for a heartbeat. Before you can second guess yourself, he moans into your neck, hips jerking as he pushes his clothed cock into your palm. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, nodding while avoiding eye contact with you.

His ears are crimson. So cute, you can’t help but think through the fever in your mind. It’s almost too easy to find your way around the button in his pants, and there’s some trouble with getting the zipper down from how hard he is. His briefs get caught for a moment, long enough to make Marius groan from frustration, but you shush him with another slide of your hips, cunt wet enough to drench his slacks, and Marius shuts up.

“Good boy,” you murmur breathlessly, arching your back so you get a better angle to grind your clit against his thigh. “Be good, come on, let me—”

Unfortunately, there are no flaps in briefs for you to pull his cock out from. You reach in instead, shivering at the proper weight of it in your palm—skin on skin, you think deliriously to yourself, cunt clenching at the feeling of Marius’ cock in your hand. His cock, so thick that you can’t even really wrap your fingers around it properly, and the head is dripping.

Marius sucks in a tight breath, cursing as he cants his hips up, almost bouncing you on his lap from the force.

“Jiejie,” he begs, plaintive and desperate. “Nngh, please, the tip, you need to—fuck, I’m not going to—I’m going to cum, jiejie…”

And you stop thinking. You grab one of his hands and drag it to your front, so commandingly that Marius’ head flies up. His eyes are red, lips parted as he sucks in a shaky breath every time you swipe your thumb across the sensitive slit at the head of his cock.

“In, inside,” you whine, rising as high as you can go on your toes. It’s not very high, given how far up Marius has pulled you onto his thigh, but it’s enough for your to drag his long fingers under your skirt and press them up against your cunt.

Marius’ eyes are blown wide. “In-inside?” He stammers, fingers crooking automatically to press against the throbbing bud of your clit. Such clever fucking fingers, already familiar with the shape of your cunt to know where your clit is.

Without needing much direction, he uses two fingers to drag your soaked panties to the side and rubs the knuckle of his index finger against your pussy.

“A-ah,” you cry out, hips jerking. Fuck, you understand now why Marius reacted like that when you got your hand on his cock—there’s something about the texture of his skin, the calluses on his fingers that’s stroking the sides of your pussy, the sheer heat radiating off him—and the knowledge, the knowledge that it’s his hands on your cunt. After months of frotting, the most you’ve done being Marius’s palm flat against your cunt while you held eye contact and grinded against his shaking palm until you cummed—

“Inside, baby, come on,” you plead, rocking your hips insistently against his curious fingers.

Again, it’s like Marius gets you. He sinks his index finger in; you think he wanted to go slow, because he tentatively pressed up into your cunt, but you’re greedy and you’ve been thinking of being filled since Marius made that joke about putting you up against a wall and you whine, rocking forward until you sink down, down, all the way down to the base and Marius’ breath is hitching in his throat.

“You’re—” his finger bends, the tip brushing against this spot inside you that makes your entire body shiver, threatening to bend in half from the electricity that surges through you. “Shit, you’re—fuck, jiejie, you feel fucking incredible.”

“One more,” you beg, holding his wrist in place while you clench around his finger. Christ, you didn’t think it could feel this good. It’s so foreign, so much longer and thicker than your fingers—and again, the knowledge that it’s Marius’ hand, Marius’ finger is enough to make your gut tighten and sparks burst at the very end of your fingertips. “One more and my—”

You break off, thighs trembling when he swipes against your swollen clit with his thumb.

Marius groans at the sight of you, leaning in to bite at your lips. “One more and my thumb on your clit? Is that what you want, jiejie? Is that what you need?”

“Mmhmm—ahhhhhn, fuck, Marius—please, please, I’m so fucking close—!”

You’re not even sure if you’re still stroking the length of his cock. All your senses have narrowed down to your cunt, the pressure on your clit and the way his fingers have gained confidence with every stroke—he fucks up into you with such surety, so certain that he knows exactly where to hit to get that same, body shivering reaction from you.

The worst part is, he does. It barely takes one, two, three strokes while he whispers filthy things about how hot and wet and slick your cunt is, about how it’s soaked through just for him, about how he wants to bury his face in it, please jiejie, please let him put your thighs around his ears and eat you out, and you’re gone.

It hits you so hard you think you almost pass out. The ascent comes too quickly; it almost feels like the orgasm is ripped from you from clever hands that know you better than you know yourself. It leaves you breathless, your entire body jerking uncontrollably as you whine, pussy clenching around those two thick fingers buried in your cunt. You’re mumbling nonsense, not even sure what you’re saying as your cunt gushes around Marius’ ruined pants and when you resurface, Marius looks at you like you’re the second coming of Christ.

It takes you both a while to get your breathing under control. Marius recovers first, gently sliding his fingers out of your cunt. You’re a little embarrassed at the absolute mess you’ve made, but Marius eyes the wetness dripping over his palm, down his wrist, and decides to drag his tongue along his skin to lick it all up.

He even looks right as you as he does it. The sight is enough to make your clit throb, as if gearing up for a second round. Oh, you could definitely do a second round, but you think you’d prefer for it to be in a room with a bed and not a garage.

Almost absentmindedly, you start to rub your thumb against the cockhead in your grip.

“F-fuck,” Marius groans lowly, free hand reaching out to grab your wrist. “Wait, wait—nnngh, sensitive. Give me a moment.”

You pause. You look down.

His briefs are stained. There’s a massive wet spot at the front, and when you drag your fingers out, they’re coated in a sticky, white fluid.

You look Marius in the eye as you, too, lift your fingers to your lips. You stick your tongue out, wiping the threads of cum on your tongue so Marius can see how white looks in your mouth—and he flushes even redder than he already is, eyes darting away before darting back, as if he can’t decide whether he wants to look or not—and then you swallow.

Marius is speechless for a while.

“That was really hot,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “I—fuck, jiejie, I can go again. I’m serious, just give me a minute.”

You suck on your fingertips for a moment. You’re clearly ready for a second round, but you know he gets more desperate when you keep him hanging. And a desperate Marius is always a delight to work with.

“Bedroom?” You suggest, and your cunt tightens at the way his eyes immediately go dark with desire.

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ghostlysleuth · 10 months

Note

Do you have any tips for when designing poc characters?? Like what not or to do, etc.

this is massively edited down to just keep the essentials. this isn't going to be as explicit as you were maybe wanting but saying "don't draw black characters this way, don't draw asian characters that way" isn't something i wanna do because it's not a good feeling to review a list of offensive design practices from a trauma standpoint and likely wouldn't be for any other people of color reading.

study from real photos.

really, any set of photos of people of color work but if you want a resource where people are not models nor actors that have been plucked up for their marketableness, here's a good site: Humanae — Angélica Dass (angelicadass.com) it's a photography collection associated with pantone to showcase diversity in shades of skin.

study faces within a group.

no two ppl look the same and character design is about showcasing this through certain features.

from these, study how much differently color works for melanated/non-white skin.

again, it's different for everyone even within groups. admittedly this is only something you'd need if you have a more in-depth or painterly style, but still. avoid grayish base skin tones. the aforementioned site is actually great for this.

LOOK INTO RACIST CARICATURES.

literally, people wouldn't find themselves "accidentally" slipping into racist designs if they just KNEW, explicitly knew, and internally acknowledged what people of color find offensive or what has been used against them in depictions of themselves.

yes, this includes looking at the old offensive cartoons, illustrations, etc. it's painful and uncomfortable and rough but it must be understood how these caricatures were a means of dehumanization and are mistakes to be learned from.

again, i'm not gonna list out exactly how not to depict a black person, an asian person, jewish person, latine, middle eastern, etc. etc. etc., because i feel these things should just be known, but if it's not, literally just be aware (or get aware) of the racial stigma faced by the group of people you are attempting to represent. put care into how you are depicting them.

BUT ALSO KEEP IN MIND: you shouldn't jump to default to white eurocentric features simply to "avoid" the any sort of backlash or offense that may be taken. because if you do so, a) in attempting to not be offensive, you're still perpetuating the upholding and favoring of white eurocentric features, and b) well, you're just stifling yourself.

designing characters of color REQUIRES acknowledgement of non-eurocentric features; hell, in the best cases, it's a celebration of these features.

as you would in replicating a style of architecture, a technique of painting, a depiction of a culture, you have to observe and become knowledgeable.

addendum: obviously, i'm not white, so i don't know the depths of how pervasive racism and white supremacy can be in a white person's personal life and upbringing; but i do know that racism and white supremacy are pervasive even (ESPECIALLY) in art, a much more tangible and permanent thing than a state of being, and knowing this, i do reserve a small margin of patience for white folks that are wanting to try to be in the know on this topic, especially younger people who have yet to unlearn certain things. if anyone reads this and thinks "well, it's not their responsibility or any person of color's to teach you these things," you're correct, but yknow. the effort's there, and trying's all we can do.

#asks #talkies #i removed this example so this is out of context but fuck robert crumb #anyway lol

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skeletons-and-roses · 2 months

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Can we get more general Sawyer headcanons? Like how they are with each other behind closed doors, quirks about them? Maybe explain how you think their identities developed outside of Grandpa's influence

This is my first ever writing ask so I hope it turns out alright!

Chop Top

Helps Bubba with the makeup on his mask and suggests trying different looks and styles

Would LOVE to dress his siblings up to make them match him but if they didn’t agree *ahem* Drayton *ahem* then he would try to dress them in anything that matches their aesthetic. Example of what he would like to think Drayton would wear (businesslike but classy think I’ll draw him in his later)

If the radio is all static or the batteries die out then he would gladly love to sing all requested tunes at the top of his lungs, filling up the entire house with song!

Now for outside of grandpas influence he likely developed a love for singing from his mom (I’ve seen this headcanon around and it’s really sweet) and he likely would also sing to his comrades when he was in Nam as well whenever they got bored and there was nothing to do

When he was little he stole his family members clothes and tried them on for himself mismatching everything and sometimes making them a bit more “interesting” (painting on them or sewing random bits to them)

Is practically attached at the hip to his twin Nubbins and likely always goes with him wherever he goes but when he can’t come along he’ll get all jittery and pick at himself (such as his head, nails, or scabs)

Gives really strong hugs and loves touching people to show affection since his mom and grandma did the same with him

Wrestled a lot with Nubbins when they were kids and still does it now if Nubs touches his stuff or flicks his plate with his fingers

Drayton taught him how to drive but he would drive recklessly and would practically give Drayton a heart attack and even now refuses to drive with him (bro literally drove backwards on the highway in tcm2 who wouldn’t be scared smh)

Nubbins

His mom taught him and his brothers how to sew and encouraged his strange habits of collecting roadkill and making accessories out of them since it made him happy and allowed him to focus all that extra energy on something productive

However he probably collects other little things he finds on the road such as coins, trinkets, or rocks that he finds interesting and will proudly show them off to the family but Drayton is only ever interested if it’s coins smh while Chop and Bubba are always ecstatic when he finds something

Chop probably tries taking his things and a fist fight would ensue causing whatever object they were fighting over to be taken away by Drayton and he retaliates by taking Drayton and Chops stuff leading to a broom beating

Bugs Drayton all the time and pokes at him during the worst times such as when he’s cleaning or cooking and makes fun of him whenever he gets the chance

Chews on animal or human bones when he gets bored

Has gotten almost hit or actually hit by cars multiple times since he would just jump out in front of them smh

Tries to get Bubba to be more outgoing and is always saying how there’s more to life outside of the house

Has gotten sunburned multiple times (Chop will slap the burned parts and then they fight)

Drayton

Feels under appreciated most of the time by the twins and openly complains about it but they just make fun of him for it (mainly Nubbins) but Bubba is grateful for him which makes him feel just slightly better about it

Only responsible one in the family besides maybe Bubba and is in charge of the finances since he is the only one with an actual job causing him to be constantly worried about their finances which is a habit that he picked up from his dad

Since he was the only child for so long he was very spoiled and likely got used to getting whatever he wanted which is why he gets so upset when nobody listens to him or does their job right

Doesn’t take pleasure in killing animals which is why he chose not to work at the slaughterhouse (he doesn’t like killing and clearly states it in tcm 1974)

Taps his fingers when he’s bored and makes the tapping match along with a song he’s thinking about

Sings when he’s alone but if the twins catch him Chop will pester him to sing along with him and Nubbins will tease him about it to no end

When he was WAY younger he would play and wrestle with the twins and Bubba but he can’t anymore since he’s much older than them and has joint pain and gets frustrated by it easily

Didn’t and still doesn’t have many friends going back to when he was young and prefers to be by himself or with his family members since their the only ones he truly knows and cares about

Just wants what’s best for his family which is why he worries about them when he’s not around and why he’s so hard on them

Accidentally burned himself cooking a couple of times but refuses to admit it out of pride

Bubba

Helps Drayton with his bow ties since he has trouble and his fingers hurt sometimes

Helps Nubbins with his little projects such as stringing bones together or sewing pieces of victims together

Helps Chop sew parts of his clothes and will hum along when Chop is singing one of his usual songs

Whenever he accidentally cuts himself when working Drayton will mainly be the one to help patch him up since he’s older and more experienced

When people would mock him when he was little his twins brothers would beat them up even if it was only a minor insult

I like to think that someone else in his family (probably grandpa) also can’t really form sentences and only grunts or hums which is why his family accepts him and doesn’t admonish him for not being able to talk and why he has such a close relationship with grandpa

When he was born the twins were a bit jealous of him but over time came to accept and love their little brother after Drayton explained to them that their little brother would need them when he was older

His grandmother taught him about makeup when he got into his moms when she was away and although his mom was at first concerned she realized he was quite good with makeup and would often have him help her put it on her face when she was going out or just wanting to look pretty

Wears a mask since it helps him to feel less shy and even though his family thinks he looks fine as long as he’s happy then they won’t bother him about it

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littleplantfreak · 4 months

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Bofurin Paintball headcanons 1

I wanted to do everyone but I have work tomorrow and have been staying up waaay to late so here's Sakura, Nirei, Suo, and Sugishita! Loosely based on the paintball pic from the manga.

---

Sakura Haruka

- Has never played before but gets into it almost immediately. Also makes someone shoot him before the game begins so he isn't thrown off by being hit.

-He tries to be a solo player on his own team at first until he realizes he's a crappy shot if only due to inexperience. His communication gets a bit better when he learns to let others make up for his shortcomings.

- Accidentally almost shoots his own teammates about 5 times - 3 out of 5 instances were because Sugishita startled him while he was zero'd in on another opponent. The other two were collateral damage ig //shrugs

- Overall a fun guy to play with and he'd take hits for his partner if they're afraid of getting hit. Will likely tell them to take cover in one of the safer places on base while he runs around.

Nirei Akihiko

-Best on defense and making strategies but will follow Sakura into heavy fire depending on the situation.

-His best bet alone (at least his first couple times playing) is to hide until they forget he's even there and shoots when they least expect it. He's waited half an hour to get one hit in but he definitely makes it worth it.

- He seriously considers coming more often just to practice at the firing range.

-When he's being chased, everyone in the field can tell where he is from how loud his voice is. You'd think they've got real guns with how afraid of being shot he is. He gets super bummed if someone (usually Sakura) takes a hit for him :(

-Switches up when he brings his partner with him and toughs it out despite him sweating buckets trying to keep them from getting hit. Nirei's so proud when they shoot someone that while he's praising them he gets shot himself.

Suo Hayato

- Super solid shot which leads everyone to believe he's played before but he's redirected every time someone's asked.

-Big team player and will give advice to people without it coming out like a command which works well if he is stuck with more prickly players.

-Prefers having the high ground even at the price of being more visible. Despite this, he comes out cleanest of everyone.

-If he takes his partner he won't leave their side unless they insist on it. Pulls that super smooth move where he shows them how to hold the gun properly from behind them all while making sure he's touching as much as possible.

Sugishita Kyotaro

-He's a little heavy with how much paint he ends up using so when he gets someone he gets them.

- Great at giving chase and the intensity in which he's hunting the other players is pretty wild to watch. If left to his own devices he ends up in the middle of the other team's base before the rest of his team has a chance to fan out.

-Once his adrenaline gets pumping he doesn't even know he's been hit until someone points it out which depending on the game style being played sucks for his team.

-Most likely to run out of ammo in enemy territory RIP

-Sugishita plays differently if his partner is with him mostly curbing his recklessness to have his partner follow him while he lets them try for easy shots and taking out any actual threats to their safety. He thinks its cute when they get excited that they've hit someone so he'll just keep pointing weak people out till everyone else is down.

#wind breaker #wind breaker headcanons #sakura haruka #nirei akihiko #suo hayato #sugishita kyotaro #I wanna do the rest of bofurin tomorrow :/// and maybe shishitoren because i wanna write about choji #i just think that little dude is neat #I wasn't gonna do headcanons where they brought their partners but i changed it last minute #i hope the post isnt too long hhh i should just keep putting ym stuff under readmores methinks

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babyrdie · 7 months

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Achilles if he was the Champion on Olympus instead of Theseus and Asterius, inspired by a fic (by @baejax-the-great) I read recently.

I ended up drawing Achilles because I wanted to train more metal and Patroclus in this fic doesn't have much metal in his design. Maybe I'll try to do Patroclus too, but I can't promise anything because trying to imitate Hades has already taken me a long time for a train.

I tried to use Hades' style as a kind of observation study. Honestly, I already knew it was going to be difficult all along because I don't have stylization as my strong point, and also the style of this game seemed so unique that it gave me the impression that it would be difficult to replicate. All said and done, it really is. Even if I cheated by establishing a firmer pose on Achilles to avoid the need to draw a good gesture, it doesn't change that the rest is still outside my comfort area.

My conclusion was: the head is the hardest part for me, which I didn't expect. My facial style is very different from Hades' style, so it complicates my life. Plus, using just one brush for the whole thing is surprisingly good. I should practice gesturing instead of avoiding it.

And here I'm going to put some notes about Hades' style that helped me try to replicate it, but that's it: in Jen Zee's case, perceiving characteristic X is more complicated than doing characteristic X! I still think I need to train a lot to really be able to replicate it, especially in the head area. I don't know if this counts as a tutorial of sorts? But that's it, expect lots of images and explanations from here on in this post.

SHAPES

You can easily see "geometric" aspects of the drawing. It's easy to "disassemble" characters into shapes, which is a kind of basic concept often used in drawings.

I think that trying to be "sharp" is a good thing, as most of the shapes I saw on the characters were more sharp than rounded.

I got the impression that Jen Zee focuses on the macro and then goes to the micro, not micro for macro. In other words, she first establishes a visible and well-made shape and then cares about details.

This is very good in terms of anatomy, because a common mistake artists make, for example, is to care too much about detailing things like the face and muscles instead of creating a well-done silhouette. It turns out that the detailed parts are realistic, but the character as a whole has questionable anatomy. Typical case of a perfect face, but too big or small for the body.

I think the most obvious example of Hades' style is its hair. There is no separation of hair strand by strand, but rather making a large, recognizable shape that will later be further molded.

LINEART

The line is always black. Don't paint!

Lineweight: the outer line is thick but the inner lines are thin. There isn't much more line weight variation other than that.

It's mostly consistent but, in some parts, it's purposely interrupted or less polished. It's nothing so noticeable that if you do it completely polished it will greatly affect the result, but if you intend to get as close as possible I would advise you to purposefully "fail" in some parts.

Even with these "flaws", it's a CONFIDENT lineart. This means that you will have more luck copying the style of making your drawings in firm, quick strokes at once rather than slowly retouching stroke by stroke. Draw a line and if it looks bad, just do it again. I don't recommend drawing over it to fix it.

I don't know if this fits in line, but I'll put it here. There are some random lines of striking colors here and there. At first glance, you don't even notice them, although they actually help the drawing stand out, but they are there.

COLORING

Color blocking is your friend.

Don't use blending tools, and use a hard brush and hard eraser. I used one of CSP's default brushes for the entire drawing. It's a style that doesn't require fancy brushes.

From what I saw, Jen Zee doesn't paint this style in grayscale but directly in color. If your fear is getting the color wrong, using layers is a faithful companion because it's easy to change a specific part.

It's IMPOSSIBLE to do the Hades style without inking, which is that part where in the traditional drawing you would apply the ink. In Hades, this is visible in the parts that are shaded black.

Inking is MAINLY used in areas where there is less light, such as the neck, but it's also widely used on metal surfaces.

Don't insist on gradients and blurring the drawing! The shadows here are more solid, quite easy to point out where they start and where they end. In some parts, the transition is made by putting an "edge" on the shadow in a tone that is between the shadow tone and the base tone, not by blending. In others, there is no transition at all. Faces, in particular, seemingly have no transitions.

In the illuminated parts, I particularly found it easier to use rubber to shape them. First paint straight and then start erasing and making the shapes.

Highlights are very important in this style, and they are generally in a more saturated tone.

It seemed easier to follow the order of base color > lighting than base color > shading. That is, first paint in the darkest tone and then add lighter tones instead of painting light and then making it dark.

-Use of complementary colors and analogous colors in certain palettes.

Color picking can make you a little insecure about the base colors, but trust the process because color theory is crazy. The base skin tone of Achilles in Hades is a yellow that is strange at first glance, but together with the other added tones it simply looks like a normal tan. Believe me, I was surprised at first! But, sure, it doesn't all have to be color-picking.

SOME EXAMPLES IN IMAGES

And now trying to explain what I already said, but visually. If you look at the images, I recommend zooming in. Very simple images because some of them were actually loose studies and not something made with the intention of posting so don't expect anything beautiful lol

#IK #Hades Game #Supergiant #Achilles #Digital Art #Artists on Tumblr #Fic Art #Greek Mythology

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dyushas · 10 months

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I return two months later with another people standing image but this time it's Younger Character Designs for the Wayfinder Trio, because I don't think they should look exactly the same for four years straight of their adolescence. So this is how I imagine them when Ven had only just arrived in the Land of Departure

Thought-process notes under the cut (mild spoilers ig):

Terra:

-I think Terra is a creature of habit and has been dressing mostly the same since at least puberty, especially since his style is the most like Eraqus' (in my opinion) and I think most people would copy their parents less as they get closer to adulthood instead of more, but what do I know? Idk what I'm even talking about half the time. It's ultimately vibes, I just think that's his brand of autism. But I had to do it at least a little differently to justify the drawing

-Obviously he is like four years younger or something here so he's not as good at things yet or he would've just taken the Mark of Mastery then, so he's got a wrist brace to show he has fucked up his wrist. To show he's still not good at things. I am very intelligent

-I didn't want to draw the full arm piece but I pretend it's because he hasn't worked his way up to handling that much extra weight on one side yet

-I think the red shirt and the patterns look nice so I also did that

-Aqua cut his hair and she isn't that good at it

-I think he's meant to have brown eyes

Aqua:

-She's got so many flowy bits in her canon outfit and I think it probably took her awhile to achieve the kind of control needed for those to not just be a hazard, so at this point she's a younger teen and she isn't there yet, but she can still afford to add a bit of flair

-I was looking at ballet warm-up clothes like those trash bag shorts cause she's got this dancer thing going on

-She and Terra have the same style of shirt because I thought it would be cute and emphasize their closeness as well as the fact that Ven is somewhat of an outsider here at this point

-She has a knee thing. She hurt her knee. She probably fell trying to figure out that fuckass twirl she does sometimes or something

-She cut her own hair but had Terra help with the back. Mistakes were made

-Terra's nails are painted, too, I just drew him with the wrong hand position to show it. The two of them have been the only other kids around for a good while so they hang out when they're supposed to be asleep sometimes to study their keyblade stuff and then get distracted with something silly and joke back and forth, and they paint each other's nails and share clothes sometimes, although this is getting harder cause they're less and less the same size. And then the next day, Eraqus has to tell them off because Aqua is mad Terra's hogging the bathroom and now they're at each other's throats. Just the way it is

Ventus:

-I can write off everyone looking the same in the flashbacks in BBS cause it was a PSP game and they'd already made a lot of new character models so like. I can think "it was just a practicality thing, they probably didn't actually look the same back then" but Ventus also has the same outfit in UX and I pretend I do not see it. There's no way. He needs something else, his skin is sticking to his clothes. It's just not right, it's not ethical, he's only a boy

-I let him keep the waistcoat though cause it feels SO UX era, everyone in that damn game has a little waistcoat and then no one (?) in the console games does. So my thought process is that this one thing is for SURE from tha past and he just keeps wearing it. He's a little vintage

-He has shorts because ummm :P

-Sora had shorts both as a little baby in BBS and a larger baby in KH1, and then as he's been depicted as less kiddish and more teenaged they have him in those cropped pants now. So it's a Sora parallel. Shorts are just the little boys garment

-"But what if his legs get cold?" Well clearly I thought of that

-He has no armor bits because at this point in time he's just been through a lot of trauma and has only just woken up from a mild coma (for him), so he's all kinds of unwell and I don't think he's really doing any proper training yet. Eraqus already kind of babied him in the main story, so he was probably truly swaddled back then. He's dressed for COMFORT

-This meant he also needed different shoes so I drew some. They're not very remarkable

-I gave him a little jacket because I tried drawing him just without one and I didn't like it, he didn't look enough like he spends his days skulking around and looking sad and not getting to hit things with his keyblade, so I gave him something haori-adjacent like it's maybe something Eraqus had lying around and let him wear like how my mom starts putting her jackets on me when she thinks I'm acting sick. But it has black and white checks on the sleeves because I had to put them SOMEWHERE or else it wouldn't be right and every other option I could think of sounded ugly

-I CAN'T EXPLAIN THE LEGWARMERS, I just wanted him to have a unique silhouette that makes him look like he's been sitting the fuck around

-He just has the same hair as he had in UX, which is his original hair but shorter

That's it unless I forgot something in which case you can ask and I may or may not have an answer.

I might also draw Vanitas in this time period even though I'd just give him the same outfit he always has since it's a magic outfit or whatever, but like for the sake of imagining him Small. Vote now on your phones if I should or not so I can disregard it and do whatever I feel like anyway

#kingdom hearts #kh terra #kh aqua #kh ventus #wayfinder trio #birth by sleep

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firefly--bright · 8 months

Text

strangers.

✩‧₊˚☾

masquerade chapter one.

jean kirstein x fem!reader, regency a.u.

chapter summary ; how it all began.

chapter warning ; familial issues/abandonment, running away.

a/n ; im trying out a different writing style to match the theme of this au!! :') I don't think it's going that well, so constructive criticisms are always welcome. also lmk if I should continue in this style or just go back to my normal one!! :)

taglist ; @mrsnobodynobody @jeanscremebrulee @holding-infinity-and-a-book @happxme

☾ series masterlist ☾ main masterlist ☾ enter my taglist ☾

✩‧₊˚☾

the ackermans, despite their precedence, were kind to you. as much as they could find it in themselves to be.

their name was attached to authority and harshness; something you hadn't been a stranger to since birth, despite not being one of them yourself - a reality nobody let you forget. but then again, you wouldn't want to forget.

the late january nights were cooling on your cheeks, even as you were stationary, sat on a bench that was illuminated solely by one lantern. it would've been dangerous if you weren't cloaked, hiding your figure from the eyes of the rare strangers that crossed your view from time to time, no doubt for a smoke break, trying to escape their realities.

you didn't blame them. you were doing the same thing as well, sketching out the picture in front of you - a sleeping ginger cat. peacefully, it's belly heaved upwards, then down as it dreamt. your pencil glided across the page, trying to capture its fur. you were, by no means, exceptional. not as great as the artists you would see when you'd sneak out to go to galleries with artists that were recognized, unlike your own pieces. marked off as "anonyomous", without a home but with a creator that painted like it did have one. a home, a place to go back to.

you rub the eraser dust away with your fingers, sinking into your seat, looking back up at your subject who was peacefully unaware of your observation.

"you're here again." a voice remarks.

you know this voice. you look to your right, where it's coming from. his own figure was hiding with a thick long coat, buttoned up till the top. a brown hat covered the top of his head, furling up and away from his forehead. the apples of his cheeks were tinted pink with the cold and his ash-brown hair peeked out from under his hat. his eyes were a halo of gold with the light of the lamp above you. you smile up at him.

"interesting subject tonight." you say, looking back at the cat. he turns to look at it too, humming. he takes a seat right beside you, keeping his own sketchbook in his lap, methodically, neatly. he looks into your sketchbook.

"you've made progress without me," he says. complains, really. it's endearing and you find yourself smiling.

"it's just practice, don't worry."

he scoffs. "I'm not worried." he says, lying straight through his teeth, flipping his sketchbook open to an untouched page.

his first mark is just like him - precise and calculated. you've noticed it, through the weeks you've known him, that his first line always remains. he may go back and erase other strokes, adjust some others, but the first one remained the same, unchanging. he hesitates before drawing it, however, twisting his pencil between the fingers of his left hand before his decision, like he's marking off a territory.

it's routine. you pretend to be asleep in clothes that you're still not quite used to, watch as Mikasa lights a candle, helping Eren up from her balcony windows, making sure that she is distracted with whispered, secret conversations with the man before sneaking out, heading to have your own whispered and secret life at night. most nights it's this - meeting this stranger with honeyed eyes and cleched jaw. he spoke only when prompted to, but it was worthwhile. if you were brave enough, you'd ask for his name. but you werent, and it seemed neither was he. he must be too recognizable in this place, too hard to ignore.

he's too hard to ignore right now as well, when you sit in silence and the only sounds you hear are the gentle scrapings of hard and soft led - the stranger liked more feathery charcoal - against rough parchment paper. your shoulders keep brushing with every stroke, as they did every time. it sends warmth through your body against the cold night, but you don't mention it in words. you're not sure you can, even if you were allowed to, you couldn't dare put it into words and let it be known and tangible.

the stranger sighs. "how did you do it?" he asks. his voice fogs up the air around his mouth.

you look at him. maybe the mystery around his being is why you feel the way you do around him. maybe if you know him, you'd feel less. but how much power can a name even posses? you know everything he'd allow you to, and for now it was enough. you knew that his favourite scent was that of the lavender oil that he'd dot on his collarbone on special occasions only because his best friend had told him to. you know that he did not care much for sweets, except those that his mother rarely made for him and his company, you knew that he had a scar on his ankle after having it be broken running away from a horse as a child, too scared to brave the act of riding one. everything he'd tell you, you'd hang on to like it was your purpose.

he's your friend. the first one you had made that you did not owe anything to.

"do what?" you ask him, tilting your head to one side. his eyes trail down to your unfinished sketch.

"make it feel alive." he asks, again, as his left hand sets his lead down on his lap in favour of feeling your page. you hum in thought as he touches your drawing's fur.

"do not think over it too much. layer, keep adding until it feels right." you say. you don't have much advice to give after doing art for so long. it feels like a muscle memory and not like the power that people would try to convince you it is. it doesn't feel like something you wield to create but something that you had known since you were born.

maybe you were born with it.

he shifts in his seat and his left hand rests on the back of the bench, behind your arms. not touching you, but enough for you to know that he is persistently there, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his obvious attempt at being a flirt - another thing you had noticed. "it never works the way you make it work."

"blind flattery will not get you far," you tell him, looking at him in his eyes, and he stares back, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"i do not need to go far."

"clearly," you mutter.

he scoffs, falsely offended.

the night continues and so does the light banter and shared smiles.

he feels light. despite your surroundings being dark and clouded, despite there being several thousand things you should have been worrying about, he makes you feel like you are floating in the gently blowing wind.

you were a thing meant to be kept this gently. you were satisfied, greatly so, to be in his presence while doing the one thing you had truly enjoyed. a space that could not be destroyed, understanding without any transaction being made.

if only you could spend more time with him, like this, without his name, without your name, only the small differences that set you aside from everyone else. the two of you existed as mere symbols of each other, mere faces that knew and saw each other despite your last names, the people you were supposed to stand for.

you might've regretted spending all these late nights with the nameless stranger, considering the ungodly hour at which you had to wake up. just before the sun rises, you were required to do the same tasks that concerned your scarce colleagues. helping dry the clothes, helping make sure that everything was set for when Mikasa would eventually wake up to her own morning regrets, setting the soaps for her bath and ironing her dresses, laying out the jewellery she was to wear.

it suited her. you smoothed over her deep wine coloured dress, ridding it of any of its wrinkles, admiring how the colour would bring out her eyes that looked at you kindly under the guise of being indifferent. you'd been glad the day she found you - you were a teen, looking desperately for somewhere to belong to and you found her. crashed into her, really, because she was running away too. you still hadn't asked her what she'd been running away from, but one thing was for certain - taking a single look at her that day told you everything you needed to know - she was just like you. in the sense that she had the same, undeterred resolve of removing herself, finding escape in whatever obscurity she could find it in.

you had crashed into her, dropping the measly amount of bread in your hands on the ground on impact. it became dirtied with the heavy raindrops and mud almost immediately, and you would've berated her. you would've yelled and let out all your pent-up anger if it wasn't for the clothes she was wearing. they were wet but you could tell they were made from heavy material - a material that you had seen only important people wear. even if she tried covering the bottom half of her face with a washed-out red scarf, she looked like how she was supposed to look; the look you had decided to grow out of after running away. like a child.

scared and shivering, you led her to your meagre shelter with an arm around her shoulder, lighting up a small fire to keep her warm for the time being. you spent three days with her there. she left on the fourth day, and even though she hadn't told you about her decision to leave, you knew it would be inevitable.

what you didn't know was that she'd lead her cousin there, too. in your shelter - into the basement of an abandoned shop - the floors of which were scattered with paintbrushes and charcoals and empty tubes of paint. her family took you in and provided you of a newer, better shelter.

but you could not call it a home. it was not home. you never had one, you were sure of it.

the only drawback of this temporary... settlement, you should call it, was that you'd have to work for them. yes, the Ackermans weren't as harsh and cold as their reputation claimed, but that did not mean they were the kindest. surely a stranger could not be of the same rank as their own daughter, a fact you very well understood.

and Mikasa's spirit was as you had expected them to be after you had found her that day. she was stubborn over her softness, and made it abundantly clear that she did not wish for anyone else but you to be her handmaiden.

she is your best friend. but she is also your employer, a line you have to remember to tread lightly and carefully every day.

her drowsy voice calls you into her room from the bathing chambers.

wiping your hands on the skirt of your dress, you make your familiar way to her large room. you greet her squinting eyes with a smile, opening up the curtains to let the morning light in. the sun had made its way up into the sky as you finished your chores with its rays boring into the morning as it did every winter day. Mikasa didn't seem to appreciate it as much as you did, however, her hair unruly and unkept after tossing and turning all night.

"you'll feel less tired once you warm up a bit. i've already ran a bath for you," you tell her, and like clockwork, she lets her feet down on the ground from the bed, rubbing her wrist against her eye. she nods while doing it, letting you know that you are heard.

you strike a smile at her tired state, one that you relate to a little too well. you make your way towards her.

"here," you say, plucking up the hot cup of tea into your hands from her bedside. "this'll help you wake up. it's something new. Sir Arlert brought it for you. something about Doctor Yeager's remedy?" you say, knowing exactly what words to speak to bring her out of her dreamy state.

"Yeager?" she asks, her voice raspy. she takes the cup from your hand.

you know too well about her relations with the two boys. even if his post dubbed him to be "Sir", Armin Arlert was a man who could convince even the stoniest Ackerman to let Mikasa talk to him. even after the Yeager family was left desolate, the two boys never lost their nature, especially with Mikasa herself.

you hum at her question. "i think he called it...coffee? something along those lines. if it's bitter, I'll bring the sugar."

she takes a tentative sip and nods. "it's alright." she says. "thank you." there's a slight grimace on her face and you know what it says even if she doesn't say it; it's bitter, but it's tolerable.

Levi Ackerman wasn't as prude as people made him out to be. yes, he did have the look of a scoundrel who might've had daggers strapped into the inside of his coat, but you had wormed your way into his heart. you knew that for a fact because you had spilled milk on his cotton shirt and had, somehow, gotten away with it. all he did was mumble something under his breath, shaking his head before dabbing it away with a rag.

if it were anyone else, he would've led them to unemployment, but he didn't do so with you. he could have, it was within his right, but he didn't.

of course, you did make up for it. you went out into the darker parts of the town and purchased a small pouch of tea that helped with sleeplessness to help him ease his dark circles out. you knew of his issues with sleep, how he stayed awake into the wee hours of the night, roaming around like a ghost in his robes, reading a book that no-one knew the name of. you didn't know about what nightmares plagued him, but the tea you gave him seemed to help with that. instead of hearing his footsteps creaking on the wooden floors, you heard his sound snoring when you passed his room in the morning.

maybe it was because it was him that found you in that dingy basement along with Mikasa, helped coax you out of there, crouched infront of you and told you that you'd have a house to live in and a bed to sleep on if you follow him and Mikasa. maybe it was because he saw you grow up just like he saw his cousin grow up, from where you came to where you've reached. from wearing clothes that barely fit you, paint marks all over your face from pigment that wasn't safe for skin as sensitive as yours, to here. to clothes that you kept clean and ironed, pigments that you didnt let come near your face to prevent the rashes that you'd eventually get due to them.

you prepared his morning tea just the way he liked it, which was to say, only a dash of milk and no sugar. he wanted to taste as much tea as he could without diluting it, placing the cup on the tray along with all the other assortments.

you snuck a taste of the batter that the cook - Mr Berner - had prepared in advance as he frets over the cook of the eggs. Lord Ackerman, mikasa's stern father, deeply disliked uncooked yolks whereas Lady Ackerman disliked yolks that were solid throughout. thankfully, Kenny Ackerman bad gone hunting, and with any luck, would not be back until later in the evening. his hunting expeditions always extended to something else entirely, sometimes he'd return a little intoxicated. again, thankfully, he somehow managed not to raise any suspicions from anyone else.

"can you help with the juice if you can spare some time? Mrs Ackerman seems to be preferring it now-a-days." Mr Berner asks, turning his head to glance at you. you hum in agreement, helping the poor man by getting started on the orange juice. he has too much to do every day, with the kitchen being short staffed and new hires being dismissed due to silly mistakes that anyone in their shoes would make in their first week. Lord Ackerman had to be the cause of the hushed rumors that surrounded his family because of his last minute decisions made due to mild rage. if it weren't for his only child being on your side, you also would have met the same fate as the maid that left after not being able to remove the clothes from the rack fast enough before a thunderstorm.

in some ways, he reminded you of your own grandfather.

you finished up squeezing the juice our of the fruit as fast as you could before hurrying over to mikasa's bath, getting ready for her to get out.

luckily, she seemed more awake now as she accepted the towel being wrapped around her figure, heading to the closet.

"is there any more of that coffee?" she asks as you brush her hair.

"yes. it's kept aside just for you. was your talk with Mr. Yeager to your satisfaction last night?" you ask her, smiling at her through the mirror as she evades your eyes.

"it was. er- Mister Yeager is... nice." she says, small smile gracing her face that anyone else would've missed but you latch on to quickly.

"you might want to sleep earlier for a little while. so as to avoid suspicion," you say as she hums, playing with a string of her silky black hair. "i just miss him sometimes. after living next door to him for so long...." she reminisces.

"you got used to him?" you ask. in truth, you did not know much about the Yeager boy. all you knew was creditted to what you had gathered from over-hearing. something about his father running away, something about the legitimacy of his birth or lack thereof, something else about his brother forcing him and his mother to move to a more rural part of Paradis. what ever it may be, his life and his secrets and his stories, you hope he could find it in himself to be content. even if everything you heard was false, you knew all too well how a teen felt after being removed from their home with or against their will.

all you knew was that he made Mikasa happy. it didn't matter much to you about where he came from or how much wealth he possessed, all that mattered was that after the day was done, Mikasa could sleep with a smile on her face because of him.

Mikasa nods as an answer.

"his mother was kind to us. she'd make our favourite meals when we were tired after playing." she says, her smile more visible now. you smile back as you apply pigment to her cheeks, blending it out to be more natural, holding her cheeks in your hands after you were done. "beautiful."

she smiles and averts her eyes. "all thanks to you," she says, whispering.

you shake your head. "Lord Ackerman wants to see you." you tell her, remembering what he had asked. "seemed to be important." you say.

she sighs, getting up from her seat at the vanity. "sometimes I wish we could...live in a cottage." she says, smoothing out her dress with her hands, dusting off any stray hair or pigment. Lord Ackerman much preferred it when his family was well presented, even in the confines of their own home.

you smiled wider, indulging in her thoughts. this wasn't something new.

when you were only just getting accomadated to your living situation as a mere fifeteen year old, she'd find you, restless and preparing hot milk to rest better, trying to do the same for herself. you'd look at her with understanding, carrying two cups of milk and some cut up fruit up to her room, hiding under her covers, talking about an ideal life and why you'd like to lead it.

"I could steal some books for you from Smith's library," you tell her, and she breathes out a laugh. "and I'd steal you some good paints from Armin's parents." she says. a compelling case.

"and we'd have a cat. with a ginger coat."

"you know we can't possibly handle it,"

"two cats."

she laughs, a proper giggle this time, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with a fist. "alright. two cats."

"we'd grow catnip in our backyard."

"...I do not think that would work. as long as I get to read, I'll be alright."

Mikasa asked you to stay near the doorway of her father's study. you obliged, knowing that these 'talks' Lord Ackerman requested were more of a lecturing than anything. he prides himself in not being aggressive, but the passiveness of his voice and the looks he shoots his family over dinner for stepping out of an invisible, imaginary line prove otherwise. regardless, he doesn't raise his voice in spite of his anger or lack of it, and his presence in the house made you stand with your back pin-straight and chin bowed down. not because of the respect he so clearly demanded, but because of fear.

even now, standing right outside of his dark wooden door, his voice was nothing but a low hum, interrupted by mikasa's higher pitched voice. you could not eavesdrop even if you wanted to with the thick doors and his voice barely penetrating through them. sometimes you think that this house was built keeping in mind of this fact only - that the Ackerman family needed to keep any and all of their secrets locked up behind doors.

you played with the hem of the waistband on your skirt, digging it under your thumbnail and removing it before doing it again - a trait you had habituated since childhood. you used to do it with a silver necklace chained across the base of your neck, but now that necklace sat in a closed closet along with your other, more valuable belongings.

Mikasa steps out, opening the doors with ease, sighing after they're finally closed. you don't crowd her immediately; you know better than that. you know she needs space, so you keep your distance at a safe arm's length. but today was not like the other days this occured. no, because today, you felt it. the tension in the air, more so than usual, the back of your neck covered in light swear not due to working in the kitchen but due to being here, in this wide, cold corridor that held no windows, the air stiff.

and because, instead of asking for space, Mikasa opens her mouth to speak, as if it's a death sentence. you're sure it is.

"he has decided to marry me off."

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #aot #jean kirstein x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #jean kirschtein #mikasa ackerman #eren yeager #armin arlert #levi ackerman

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fairyniceyeah · 5 months

Text

10 writing tips

for new and old writers from somebody who has been writing since she could hold a pen and needs these reminders herself sometimes

(they will have sickfic and K-Pop examples but generally can work for anybody)

Some days will suck! You may have writer’s block or you may not be able to concentrate or for some other reason things don’t work out. Happens to the best of us. Honestly. And it’s okay. One sentence is more than no sentence. And no sentences are okay too. There is no pressure to perform here, the community is happy to wait for you!

2. Stuck with a scene? Go take a walk. Do sports. Sing karaoke to your favorite songs. Dance. Whatever takes your mind of the matter. Inspiration strikes at odd times and maybe you will find yourself back writing in no time. Still stuck? Do you know where you want to end up with the story? Write a flow chart of possible events and then SKIP the beginning/middle/whatever part you are struggling with. You can puzzle it back together later and when you have the ending the scene you hate can be turned into a nice transition to where you actually want to go.

3. Music! Believe me, the music you listen to will influence your mood and the story you write. Personally, I’ll end up with a totally different writing style depending on the kind of music I listen to. That’s why my The Rose fics end up more heavy and dark than other fics. She’s in the Rain and See-Saw have a totally different vibe than ARRIBA or, I don’t know, God of Light Music. It will reflect in the story.

4. Details! Add details. All of them. Tiny things that your character does or thinks about. What they see and hear. Tell us! Don’t be afraid to overindulge us. Paint the scene. Is there a couch? Is it red? Are the blankets comfy or scratchy? There is a totally different feeling to the story depending on what you add.

Example:

Jongho hated the long drive, stuck between Yunho and Mingi.

OR:

Jongho was stuck in the backseat of the car, much to his annoyance. Yunho and Mingi, tall as they were, both had their freakishly long legs in his footwell which left less space for him. He didn’t blame them but it didn’t help his mood in the slightest. And while he was slowly getting used to regularly indulging in human touch, he didn’t enjoy how their warm upper bodies intruded on him, especially since they all were sweaty from dance practice. And, holy hell, he loved them but they were loud. The maknae just wanted some peace and quiet, listen to some music and get ready to sleep once home. But he had another twenty minutes left where he had to deal with their fake arguing crashing over his head and trying not to elbow them into the side.

5. Unnecessary details! Also add them! You don’t always have to stay strictly to the red line or go from A to Z. Explore T and E as well (sorry, that joke had to be included). They can talk about other stuff than what the story is about. Add jokes, add other dialogue, add things that might not make the story linear.

If you take my Wooyoung sickfic e.g., the first part is just bickering between MATZ and has nothing to do with the story. But it’s still nice to have and I enjoyed writing it.

6. Consider the theme of the story. A story of a hungover character can’t be written in the same light-hearted style as a mental health issue story. Take the characters into the setting. In my Hajoon centric series I mostly write very detailed and explain a lot but also there is so much emotion. That wouldn't work for a chase scene or a stupid injury story. These can be and should be fast paced! So think of the emotions you want the reader to feel!

7. Characters! Your story will be different depending on the character you write about. Who are they?

Are they serious? Write more seriously! Are they funny and happy-go-lucky? Then the story should be more lighthearted.

This also goes for the next point, but different characters note different things.

Are they tall? They will see more than short characters and you can reflect that in writing. But also do they have habits you can include? Disabilities? Fears?

Minho won’t be the one consoling Felix on top of a tower because he will be scared of the heights. Wonwoo might not be the person to see everything because of his bad vision and Seungcheol might not be able to sprint 200 meters to help somebody with his knee injury. Yunho might not be able to see the expression on San’s face when San looks down, but Hongjoong might, since he still looks up to San height-wise. Hajoon likely won’t be the one to talk to strangers to ask for something, so have Dojoon do the talking.

8. Whose perspective are you writing from? Look at the point above but also consider what they actually can know.

Woosung won’t be able to tell that Jaehyeong’s pain is getting worse if he isn’t showing obvious signs.

Here goes the details advice again: Use them to your advantage.

Yunho can’t know that Seonghwa is feeling dizzy … unless he starts to sway on his feet, holds onto something or says anything about it. So write about that.

Or if we look at a character getting sick:

If Seungmin is throwing up he can tell the reader that the taste in his mouth is bad and that his throat burns. Hyunjin might see the color or the tears on his face or hear the sounds while Seungmin is oblivious.

9. Everything seems repetitive and the same? Your words don’t flow?

Honestly, a thesaurus is your best friend. Have one on hand when writing, just google it. Or even better, if possible for you, use a voice activated one: Alexa, give me a synonym for “x”! I get help without even having to turn away from the document.

If you’re not sure if the synonym still fits into the sentence, put the whole sentence into google translate and translate it to your native language or from English to something else and back to english. If a whole new word comes out or the sentence doesn’t make sense it probably doesn’t work. Or, honestly, ask: There are so many people on here who will help you without a second thought. We all root for you!

Speaking of non-natives (hello 👋🏽): A dictionary on standby also helps. It gives different words and sometimes you just won’t remember or don’t know a word in your goal language. Happens. Again, Alexa works most of the time and gives you different options!

10. Lastly and most important: Hate what you wrote? Stop! You’re doing great. Maybe it won’t fit the story this time but maybe a different story of a different part? Don’t delete it. Move it to the bottom of the document or maybe a whole new document. But don’t delete your precious words.

Ignore the tiny voice in your head that tells you that everything you do sucks and it doesn’t matter what you write. People won’t die if a story is less than 100%. Don’t compare yourself to others! Even if we were given exactly the same detailed prompt we will end up with two totally different stories. And my normal is not your normal. Somebody's writing style may be different than yours but that doesn’t mean yours is bad. Take it one day at a time and remember to love yourself and do what makes you happy!

#writing #writers on tumblr #writing advice #advice #writing tips #on writing #kpop blog #sickfic #🧚🏻‍♀️

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mistchievous · 6 months

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Hey! I saw your post about pururing's account, and that your post has been reblogged by lots of people who I pretty much always agree with (including you). So I went to the account's posts and scrolled down, expecting to roll my eyes, shake my head, etc.

But as I read the artist's and others' most recent responses, I started thinking about art forms like Kathakali (I'm South Indian) where face paint of different colours is used as narrative devices and to represent characteristics. If I were to represent a 9-1-1 scene in Kathakali style, I'd need to depict faces of certain characters with colours like white, yellow, black, red, etc depending on the character and their role in a particular arc. So an actor who is portraying someone of Asian descent might be shown with yellow paint on their face to depict not their race, but their gender.

The Western-gaze would see this as "yellowface" and offensive. But shifting perspectives and taking into account the background of the artform and the artist would clarify that this is a difference in context.

I don't know if there is a right or wrong here. If a show began in a Western context and depicts the Western context, does that mean Western audiences can demand that it never be depicted in contexts they're unfamiliar with? Do artists have to stay true to the context of the artform, or do they stay true to the context of the subject being portrayed? Even if this question doesn't have a binary answer, what's the difference between acceptable and unacceptable practices, and who gets to have a say in deciding that?

I just think that these are the more pertinent questions that need to be asked and discussed in this situation. By narrowing things down just to whether that artist was right or wrong without considering such nuances, I feel like we're all risking being smugly superior without realising that we're actually in a bit of an echo chamber.

Hi, anon! I want to thank you for this message. Truly. I do think we sometimes find ourselves in an echo chamber. It’s for that reason that I try to be careful when I make posts like that. I rarely reblog callout posts, and I rarely make them. This is the third one I think I’ve ever made, and I can’t think of any I’ve reblogged off the top of my head.

Callout posts to me only become necessary when you’ve exhausted all other options. And in this case, I only made it myself because it seemed as though those speaking out were being ignored – including people of color. I know that a lot of that has to do with how heavily some of those blogs block and how much they’ve been blocked in the past. So, I chose to make a post under my own name because I knew more people would see it. From what I understand, while a few people do have me blocked, I’m not widely blocked in this fandom. All that being said though, posts like this can still be incendiary and dangerous, and I don’t make them lightly. It’s why I tried to keep my explanation and language as mild as possible while explaining the issue at hand.

That being said, because I approached it in that manner, there’s a lot that the general public isn’t privy to just by scrolling that person’s account.

I’ll start with what you are privy to and how I think it’s different from the Kathakali style you refer to in your message. The defenses this person gave to their coloring choices have little to do with culture and more to do with style and perception. They pulled stills from the show in an attempt to explain the color palette they used, but as an example, in this picture here, Jee is clearly lighter than Maddie, her white mother. And you can see in real reference photos using these actors that this is not the case. That is just a fact.

They didn’t explain away this issue with cultural artistic differences. They explained this issue using pictures and color picking and defending their perception with some alarming messages in DM.

That brings me to some information you were not privy to. This is an example of one of the messages I was shown in private by someone who was trying to talk to this person one on one about everything going on here.

They state that they drew Jee that way because she’s lighter than her parents, which is just a bizarre and untrue statement to make - particularly in reference to Maddie. But then they went on to say she’s going to get lighter as she grows older. Even if that is true (which I don’t see why it would be because what?), it has nothing to do with her skin color now.

A lot of this artist’s work is limited to black and white sketches. But if they’re going to choose to add color to their work, it should accurately represent the people of color they're choosing to portray regardless of the artist’s own skin color.

I understand this is a different style of art than the art we normally see, but I don’t see how that would change the fact that twins that play Jee should not be portrayed as whiter than Oliver Stark and Jennifer Love Hewitt who are both white actors. It’s kind of a manga style from what I gather, but from everything I know about that, it shouldn’t have an effect on coloring choices.

And again, the artist themselves says they colored Jee lighter because they perceive her to be lighter and think she will become lighter. That is… problematic to say the least.

It is still complicated though because I think you’re right about Western vs. Eastern art forms and gazes. I really do. I’m a white woman from the West, and that skews my perceptions immensely. I try to understand things as best I can, but I’m not perfect, and I know I’ll make mistakes. But I do not see how the art form here makes the work immune to criticism.

What I know and what I knew before making that post was that there were enough people who were upset by it that it deserved being looked into. And then so many of those voices were being lost in the void that I wanted to do what I could to help. That may not have been my place. What I knew was that my voice would have a greater impact though, and so I used it.

I personally believe this artist to be in the wrong, especially after being shown some of the messages they sent in DM, but the question of what’s acceptable and unacceptable and who gets to have a say in deciding that is a complicated one. I normally wouldn’t feel I personally should have shared an opinion here at all because I’m white and from America, but when other voices are getting lost, what do you do? Do you stay quiet? Maybe I should have, but that’s not the choice I chose to make.

I do encourage everyone to look into the situation for themselves and make determinations for themselves, even if I put a bit of a spotlight on that person’s blog and voiced my own personal opinion. But everyone should definitely realize that what you’re seeing on the public blog isn’t all there is. Not by a long shot.

I really hope I answered some of your questions and that this made some amount of sense.

Please feel free to message me again on or off anon if you want to discuss it further or if you think I've made a mistake. That goes for anyone. My DMs are open.

#911 discourse #for the filters #anonymous #mist answers

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start-your-art · 19 days

Text

Art is NOT a talent. It's a skill.

Absolutely nobody picks up a pencil or paintbrush for the first time and creates a masterpiece.* Nobody is born automatically "talented."

*If you're trying out a new medium like say acrylic painting and have previously built up skill drawing with pencils there ARE transferable skills and some people can still make amazing artworks their first time but there is still a learning curve! Your mileage will just vary.

But so much of what we see online and in galleries and in textbooks is finished artwork from artists that have spent years or even decades developing their craft and their skills. It's not fair to compare beginner artwork to that but we do. It's easy to feel like some people are talented and some people aren't.

Image ID: A photo of The Starry Night painting by Vincent Van Gogh. The lower 1/3 of the painting depicts a small village. To the left is a large dark mass that stretches from the bottom of the canvas to the top. The sky is built out of thick black, blue and white brushstrokes that form swirling shapes. As well as yellow stars encircled by lighter brushstrokes and a big yellow crescent moon in the top right corner. End ID.

So how do we stay motivated to learn a skill when we don't feel talented?

Practice 1: Don't compare your work to anything else. This is ideal but really hard to do! Especially when the internet makes it so easy to access art from anywhere, anyone, and any time! And it's pretty impossible to go your whole life without interacting with art whether it's film, music, paintings, sculpture, posters, books, etc.

In practice this might mean going offline when you feel bad about your art or your work. It might mean avoiding engaging in art an hour or so before you begin work on something. Or avoiding the internet while you're working.

Practice 2: Compare your newer work to your older work. It can be really helpful to see how far you have come. But it can also still be frustrating if it's not at the level you want it to be. It can also be frustrating to see older work that's "better."

In practice this might mean keeping a folder or portfolio of work you are proud of that's easy to access whenever you need a boost of inspiration. You can also try sharing your work with friends and family if you can rely on them to express joy at seeing your work and lift your spirits when something doesn't turn out exactly as you wanted it to.

Side note: I have run into many cases on Tumblr where people say it's IMPOSSIBLE to get worse at your chosen craft. It's not. Skills aren't linear. If for any reason you have to take a break from your craft you will probably be rusty when you return to it. Sometimes trying something new with your craft won't have the results you want. And even if you practice every day and get really good at your craft, you're still human. Humans have bad days. It happens. But this is why even comparing yourself to your own art isn't perfect. (And if you are losing skills because of mental or physical health problems that can be uniquely frustrating but know that even if you can't create at the supposed "higher level" you were at before, any art you make is still wonderful and worth making and sharing!)

Practice 3: Seek out and enjoy different kinds of art! Seek out beginner art. Seek out different kinds of art!

In practice you can try following so-called amateur artists online with small follower counts and uplift each other in the comments. You can seek out new art forms and styles that don't meet the "perfect" or "highly talented" standards you set for yourself. (Hint: Linda Berry's art is great for this. She intentionally creates art the way a child might and has done small workshops at art schools demonstrating how freeing it can be to let go of notions of perfect anatomy, perfect proportion, etc).

I have one final thought:

Image ID: A sketch on what looks like a yellowed piece of paper. On the left is a building constructed out of simple rectangles. Extending from the right of it is a simple line for the horizon with a couple tiny triangles and half circles representing boats in water. There is a flat railing made of two horizontal lines and many small vertical lines in-between that divides the water and the land. Roughly sketched plants in a gated area beside it. And a simple lamp post extending from the bottom right of the page towards the top. End ID.

If this were hanging in a museum across from The Starry Night would you think it belongs there? Do you think the artist that made this drawing is less talented than the one that made The Starry Night? What if this artist kept drawing landscapes? What if this artist took up painting? What if this artist tried experimenting with colour? What if this artist experimented with brushstrokes? What if I told you that Van Gogh was the artist that made this sketch called View of Royal Road, Ramsgate in 1876, thirteen years before he painted The Starry Night?

You can visit this page to see hundreds of his early works if you don't believe me: https://www.wikiart.org/en/vincent-van-gogh/all-works#!#filterName:all-paintings-chronologically,resultType:masonry

Practice 4: Look up old works from your favourite artists if you can. What they created when they started will likely be much different from what they're known for. And it might be something easier for you to aim for if you wish to practice to create like them.

Everyone starts somewhere.

TLDR:

Art is NOT a talent. It’s a skill.

Nobody is born automatically “talented.”

It’s not fair to yourself to compare your work to finished artwork made by artists that have spent years developing your craft.

So instead:

Try hard not to compare yourself to others. Minimize how much or when you engage with other art if needed.

Remind yourself of work you’ve done that you love and how much you have learned and accomplished. Work to enjoy the process of creating more than the finished product.

Seek out different kinds of art that’s made by beginner artists or that doesn’t look “perfect”. You'll be less hard on yourself for not meeting unrealistic standards.

Take inspiration from your favourite artists but not just the work they’re known for. If you can, seek out their beginner, rougher work. Their work that you admire will seem much more possible when you can understand how they got there.

Everyone starts somewhere.

My hope is that my new blog @start-your-art will be a good resource for anyone looking to start or continue their art journey.

#art tips #artists on tumblr #art #art motivation #artblr #art resources #art tools #art inspiration #art resource #art journey #learning art #beginner artist #art guide #art help #art advice

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