#they didn't take any pictures of the results before taping me up so i've had to be sooo patient

[amphibianaday]

day 1765

[synnamon-hearts]

Do you think Josh likes to take pictures/record during sex?

Ohhhh, do I ever! I think this guy has a camera in his hands every chance he gets when you're naked. That is, if you are okay with it, of course. He will respect your wishes if you want to keep your nude form from being recorded in any way. But still, he loves the idea of being able to have that control, to direct you while capturing you in your most vulnerable moments. It secretly gets him so hard to even think about it. And if you are in a long distance situation (which I headcanon because I'm Canadian lol) it is so beneficial. Sure, porn is great and fun. But it is so much better when it's his girl on the screen, all fuck-drunk and panting for him. It has him cumming in minutes. This reminds me of a fic I've been working on for literally almost a year and a half now. 😂 I'll give you a sneak peak down below... 👀

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

The lighting in the room is dim, a warm yellow hue igniting from the lamp on the bedside table. The room is warm, only getting hotter as the seconds tick by. I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying how the silk sheets felt under my bare thighs. The cool touch of the fabric helped to soothe the burning heat radiating off my flesh. I opened my eyes again to place my gaze upon my boyfriend, who was quite occupied by his filming equipment at the time.

He pressed the button on the camera and the light flicked on, making me feel much more exposed. I had never been in front of a camera in just my bra and panties before. Hell, I had never done anything like this before. It was so scary, but also exciting. I tapped my foot against the carpet patiently, waiting for Josh to pick the best angle and lighting. Josh was a perfectionist, so I knew it would take quite some time, which was fine. I needed a little bit of extra time to mentally prepare myself for what was to come.

"There!" Josh exclaimed as his pursed lips transformed into a smile, while he brought his hands away from the camera. I had never seen him so excited before.

Every couple of months, Josh would leave Canada to go back to live in his other home in America with his family, resulting in us having a short-term long distance relationship until he came back for vacations. During this time, Josh would either call me for phone sex or—if I wasn't available—watch porn to satisfy his needs. It didn't bother me too much. Just as long as he knew where his home was, I didn't mind.

But eventually he came up with the idea to make a sex tape together, so he could watch it instead. Though I was extremely flattered that he would rather watch me than some cheap skank on the internet, I was nervous as all hell. I was always very camera shy and the thought of one being on me while I was stripped of my layers made me feel anxious as fuck. Josh had been asking me for this for months and when I finally gave in, he was more excited than a kid on Christmas. It was rather sweet in a way. After many long talks and new set boundaries, I began to feel a lot more comfortable with the idea. After all, I always knew I was safe with Josh.

"Shit— wait." He grumbled out and started messing around with the camera again, before a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Then he turned away from it to face me.

I noticed that the lense was now a lot more zoomed in than before, sending a shiver down my spine. Though it would only ever be me and him watching this tape, I felt as if a thousand eyes were watching me, completely exposed and out on display for their guilty pleasures. The thought made my mind cloud with humiliation and arousal.

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

[yukidragon]

Hello!! I'm sorry if this has been asked before, but there's so many of the asks that you've answered (in such great detail too I loved reading it all), but maybe my eyes gave out on me- have you made an answer of a theory of who exactly murdered Jack/Joseph? We know that he was possibly shot at the incident, and I've been making a theory myself on who/what happened, but I was wondering if you had any insight/theories yourself! Sorry again if you've already answered this question!

Thank you for such kind praise! I'm really glad you enjoy reading my posts so much.💖

At the current moment we don't have any clues as to who is responsible for Jack's death. While I have theorized in the past that he was shot, it's just a theory at this point and not confirmed definitively. It was mentioned along with early development art that Jack was murdered, but unless it's stated in the game or on an official page like the twitter, tumblr, or patreon, it can't be counted as canon. The game is still in development, which means that plot points can and do change. Nick didn't used to be an actual character after all, let alone a love interest.

That said, I do personally think that Jack was a murdered. A popular headcanon in the fandom is that the culprit is Jean Laurent, Jack(tor)'s co-star who we can see had the role of Rory Rainberry in this picture. As you can see in the comments, the theory appeared practically as soon as the character did. Personally, I'm not convinced, as there's too little evidence to actually pin the crime on him... or anyone in particular really.

As of right now, Jack's death is intentionally vague, as I'm sure it's going to be one of the biggest plot points of the game. The first name of the actor behind Jack has been redacted, even though we've gotten teasers that his birth name was Joseph Cullman. We don't know who he interacted with besides his co-stars in his daily life. For all we know the murderer is someone he knew who hasn't been introduced yet.

Hell, the murder could even be someone not even Jack knew. For all we know, his death was the result of other peoples' machinations at play and he was an unfortunate casualty... It's this idea plus the name of the studio producing the show - Lambswork Productions - that led me to come up with the theory that Jack was murdered as part of a ritual. Cults have been known to be involved in the entertainment industry after all, and we are talking about a haunted VHS tape that attaches a ghost(?) to the person who watched it...

Another theory I had was that the murder was the result of a toxic lover's jealous ex deciding that Jack was the reason why they were no longer together.

One of the earliest theories I had was that Jack was murdered by someone from his past, a person who wanted to take revenge on Joseph for something that happened in Haberdae High. After all, there was a reason why Joseph ran away in the middle of a school day and abandoned his entire life, taking only the name of the high school as his new surname... I even reference this theory and combine it with the ritual theory in this AU what if where MC goes back into the past to save Jack's life.

As you can see from all these wildly different theories, we don't have enough clues to point us in the direction of the person responsible for Jack's death. We don't have a motive, or even know if more than one person was involved.

Hell, for all we know, the gunshot might not even have been meant for Jack. This happened in Texas after all, the state of lax gun laws where everyone is packing firearms, possibly multiple ones. He could've been shot by a misfired firearm, maybe when security was trying to get a parent to leave the studio while filming was going on. Maybe he was accidentally shot when the bullet was meant for another person working on the set higher up in the chain of command with more power and sway than any of the overworked actors.

Honestly, even when it comes to my own personal telling of the story, Sunshine in Hell, I haven't decided for sure what the truth behind Jack's death will be. I'm still playing around with different ideas, and I've come up with a lot of them, as you can tell from this post and the past headcanons.

I'm sorry I can't narrow down the suspects for you, but hopefully I've at least given you some possibilities to consider. Perhaps we'll get some more clues with the upcoming character teaser trailer that SnaccPop is going to release on the 20th.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

[tortilla-of-courage]

Yeah, kind of insane that the Adoption AU started with a 3am Taco Bell run.

I do actually have a few one shots already written for this AU! There's the Taco Bell story, the time Sky got arrested, the time Twilight got shot, a funny story I wrote based on real events with Twi, Wars and Wind trying to cook, and something based on that one picture of the boys playing the floor is lava by cherypaii(? I think that's the url?). And I have a half finished fic about Lullaby reacting to Time's increase in kids I call "Lullaby reacts to Time's Batman-Level Adoption Bullshit", and a half finished fic introducing Wild's twin. So if anyone is interested in reading some of the fun bits for the AU, since I'm still writing for the plot part (although this conversation has given me inspiration and motivation to write the bit where they find Twi after he was kidnapped, so,) then I'd be happy to post them.

And since you mentioned hoping more info would magically appear, consider this magic.

Midna is a mafia princess, and her family immigrated to get away from it. Zant is her cousin, and his parents followed to make sure Midna's parents didn't embarrass the family. She briefly had to move away after the incident where Twi got shot, but she's back before the plot happens.

Twi and Time both have their face markings in this AU. Time had his tattooed on after the FD incident as a reminder of what he's capable of and what he's lost (considering this plot beat's connection to his family and the Order), for better or worse. Twilight was gifted his by Midna after he fought Zant to try and protect her and Dusk from Zant. The markings are traditional Twili tattoos, painted on with some kind of something that acts as a mix of tattoing and henna, and have to be earned. Twilight's represent courage, boldness and sacrifice.

Warriors has a whole plot I've done nothing with involving Cia being, well, creepy as all get out. Basically I read somewhere that a victim of abuse is more likely to end up in other abusive relationships when looking at how Warriors' bio parents being abusive would effect him and then I remembered Cia and decided to be mean to him.

The underground hospital that took care of Wild after the wreck is called the Shrine of Resurrection because I thought that was a cool way to connect that.

I had this stupid idea once that Midna writes purposefully terrible fanfic and a few people suspected she wrote 'My Immortal' for a while, and when she comes back everyone is like "The Chaos Corner guy's brother is dating the lady who wrote My Immortal???" and Midna decides to set the record straight by doing a small livestream on like, Instagram or something where she explains she's actually dating Dusk. She's reapplying Twi's markings as she says this, and is basically in his lap. Twilight spends the whole thing looking like he wants the floor to swallow him.

Rottla is informed by a therapist that she should try and do something since her kids don't feel safe (which, considering Time got stabbed in their living room, not feeling safe is understandable), and decides the best way to fix this is to teach them how to fight. Time and Lullaby are both black belts in several martial arts and can use most weapons well as a result. To Rottla's credit, this does actually work.

The sorority Warriors befriends is made up of the fairies I saved in his game. Because I love those fairies. They're my favorite part of his game. Also, Proxi is here.

Navi lives! She's rescued by the Order, like how the rest of Deku's kids were. She plays the role of a Great Fairy for the order. Her fairies are actually Warriors' sorority. And Tatl, actually.

Saria is a strong contender to become leader of the Order eventually.

Majora is here and I can't tell based on my outline if I have Time kill Majora or not. So, Time potentially kills a man.

Wind has a boat with an old radio connected to a lighthouse where an old man lives. This old man is Daphnese Nohanssen, but Wind always calls him Red. They talk a lot, and Daphnese is glad he has someone who will talk to him because he is very lonely.

Wild has a motorbike (Master Cycle) that it is honestly a miracle he hasn't wrecked yet. He breaks himself but never the bike. Wars has an older car that he's put some elbow grease in and you'd never know it wasn't new. Twilight has a beat up old pickup truck everyone is just waiting to die, but it hasn't yet. This is impressive, considering Twi does drag racing.

Also, Warriors has a tendency to get in fist fights, and between them and Legend (who is never arrested for the same thing twice), Time happens to be on a first name basis with most of the police in the city. The chief has his number on speed dial for when he needs to go pick up a kid.

Wild's friends are all alive and they love him. Flora is laser focused on helping him with his memory issues. And feeding him weird things. For science.

Wild's twin, Knight, is mute. He speaks in sign. He's also a bit blindsided by how chaotic the house is, but he fits in very well. They buy a roomba that Knight tapes a knife to and blames Wild.

At some point I'll write the fic where someone modifies a nerf gun and things escalate until Time shows up with one of those machine gun nerf guns hooked up to a car battery (a modification he did with help from Sheik and Ruto). Who needs depth perception who you can shoot 60 darts per second? It's chaos and when Malon gets back from a trip she takes this week she finds the house in disarray and a hockey puck in the wall. Clean up takes three days, and they are still finding nerf darts in weird places.

This is off the top of my head. I am certain I am missing something.

Forgive the weird formatting, I don't know what happened there.

-Attllhak

honestly i’d love if you ever posted any of the one shots you have already - and i think i saw one or two other people say they wanted to read the story too in the post where you explained most of the plot, so i’m not alone on this aha

Can i say i love how you somehow connected a lot of their games’ original details and made them make sense in a modern setting???? like it can be a hard thing to accomplish but with wat you just told us here it sounds like you did it amazingly and it makes me all the more excited to see what other connections there are!!! 

[fleckcmscott]

To Have and To Hold

Summary: Y/N makes an oversight at work. The resulting extra hours with Arthur delight them both.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

Words: 4,272

A/N: This story had been kicking around in my head for about two months, but I hadn’t been sure if I was going to write it. Then I read @sweet-nothings04‘s amazing Hand-in-Hand (which you all need to check out, if you haven’t), and knew I had to put it on paper. Thanks to her for the inspiration to finally develop this, and for the title, too!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! 

Perhaps it was the sunshine that stirred her. Or the horns of traffic on congested streets. The hammering of a distant construction site. The chatter and occasional yelling of passersby.  The hum of Gotham awakening.

Y/N blinked in confusion - how could it be so bright this early? - and squinted at the clock at Arthur's side of the bed. No numbers greeted her, just its blank, plastic display. Stretching, she reached to her left for her watch, in its spot by the beige rotary phone on the nightstand.

"Shit!"

Nearly knocking over her glass of water, she clambered off the mattress. Arthur had warned her the lights could go off in his apartment. Not often and not for long. But enough to annoy. Naturally, his building's shoddy electricity had to mess with the alarm today. When she'd stayed up too late. When he'd had to leave ahead of her to commute to the other end of the city for a rare winter gig. When her body had chosen to oversleep in the coziness of his blankets.

Her nylons had never been yanked on with such haste. Arthur had made coffee but she skipped it in favor of brushing her teeth. Pausing on her way out, she took a calcium supplement and grabbed a note from the counter. She read it while riding the wood-paneled, graffiti covered elevator: "Your presentashin will be great. You snored a lot. Good thing your cute. - Arthur." He always signed his name. As though she wouldn't recognize his scrawl. As if anyone else wrote her sweet, sassy missives. She grinned until she hopped on the for-once punctual subway.

The presentation he'd referred to was set for that afternoon. She was expected to discuss the evidence and court file for this week's contested hearing. Last night, she'd sat at Arthur's breakfast bar to compile the case's final details and finish prep sheets. Gently, she'd rebuffed his subtle advances. His attempts to draw her attention from work to him.

Excitement had been palpable as he'd hovered near her. She was fairly certain she knew the cause because it enthused her as well. In three and a half short weeks, he'd be moving in with her. They'd officially begin traversing whatever the future held for them together. Hesitation had been clear in his posture, his drawn shoulders when (after plenty of convincing on her part that yes, she really, really, wanted him) he'd finally accepted the key to her place. But since he'd added it to his own keyring, he'd brightened. Strode a little taller. Walked a little prouder. Touched a little bolder. As though the weight he carried had lessened, at least by a couple cinder blocks' worth.

At his slight pout, she'd decided to find a way to involve him. He'd perched on the stool next to her, rested his cigarette in the pink ashtray to the left, and taken the proffered exhibit stickers with a quirked brow. Y/N had handed him papers, which he'd added labels to for her to write on. Then she'd stacked them in four different piles according to type. It had taken longer than usual - she was faster alone. But the intimacy of sharing the professional elements of her life with Arthur (besides the office wear he liked, claiming it showed how "smart" and "pretty" she was) had tightened her chest. And the curved-up corner of his thin lips had reflected how pleased he was, too.

They hadn't been able to collaborate on everything, however. It was past midnight by the time she'd joined Arthur, who had retreated to the bedroom an hour or so earlier. He'd been sitting against the headboard, half under the cover. The harsh blue light emanating from the old black and white TV at the foot of the bed had sharpened his features. Deepened the set of his eyes. He'd stubbed out his smoke as she closed the door. "I taped The Honeymoon Game. We can watch it when you're here again." A beat. "If you're not busy."

"This is supposed to be my last big project for a month or so." Sighing, she'd gotten her nightgown from her overnight bag. "I didn't mean for it to take all evening." She climbed in next to him and threw her arm across his lap. "I'm sorry."

He'd been stiff. Unyielding. The telltale signs he was miffed or upset. But he'd twined her hair around his finger, let his touch fall to her brow bone. "It's okay," he'd said lowly, adjusting to lie alongside her. "I don't want to be... I'm not being fair."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Arthur. It's all right to be annoyed." Tiredness had pulled at her as she'd fought to watch the rest of Gotham Tomorrow Tonight. The contact of his socked toes to her bare ones had made her smile, though, and she'd nuzzled his bicep. "I missed you," she'd mumbled, then promptly passed out.

The squeal of wheels on metal tracks prompted her to sling her canvas tote onto her shoulder. Shaw & Associates was a short sprint from the nearest station. She was certain she looked ridiculous, running down the street in her high heels. But she managed to slip into the office with two minutes to spare. Once she poured herself a cup of joe and straightened her blazer, she settled in her cushioned chair to get started.

It was only when Matt told her he wanted to meet before lunch that she'd rummaged in her bag. And realized she'd neglected to bring the file. Recalled it was sitting on Arthur's kitchen counter.

Fuck.

Her nails tapped the wood surface of her desk. Excusing herself to the bathroom so she could go retrieve it wouldn't fly. Matt would send a search party. She could try to discuss everything from memory, tell him documents were still being gathered. But he wasn't that oblivious. She settled on owning her error. "It's at home." Her delivery was nonchalant.

He waited until she'd loaded her typewriter with paper, then responded wryly. "You're not supposed to take files home anymore. Remember what happened last time?"

She leaned back as he stepped in front of her. "There was the slew of family cases that came in. With Patricia on leave, I'm handling all our calls and mail. Not to mention paperwork on her filings. It wouldn't have gotten finished if I hadn't taken it." Snorting, she shook her head at herself. Heat bloomed in her neck. "Not that it matters when I don't have it."

Expression softening, Matt stuck his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin at her. "How long did you work on it?"

It was hard to discern if he actually cared about the hours she put in. Or if he merely wanted to gauge the possibility of her doing investigations off the books again, something he'd explicitly prohibited. "I don't know." She waved dismissively. "Three or four hours?"

He let out a huff. "You put in enough time already. Go home at noon. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow."

"I have a lot to do." Her eyes widened at the myriad piles of folders laying around. "And I can't imagine you playing operator."

"I've managed when you've both been in court or at appointments. Besides," he continued as he headed back to his office. "You never take days off."

Straightening, she wheeled her chair to watch him plop down on his leather seat. "I'm taking three days next month," she countered.

His glare contained an unequal mix of mirth and consternation. "Y/N?"

The phone started ringing. She succeeded in making one ear ignore it. "Yes?"

"I know you haven't forgiven me for that whole Renew Corp. thing." She flinched at the casual mention of the company she loathed. Of her failure. But she forced herself to listen. Matt picked up a pen and started writing. “Rather than being stubborn, try saying, 'You're right.'"

~~~~~

Y/N stood in front of the narrow, white stove, stirring the soup she'd thrown together using bouillon, carrots, onions, and pasta. Ingredients she'd found in Arthur's kitchen. Music poured, at a respectable volume, from the radio on the windowsill. Swaying out-of-time, she added a sprinkling of black pepper, one of the only three spices he had (along with powdered garlic and salt). Wearing a content smirk, she sampled the steaming broth.

When she'd left the office, she'd been frustrated at herself. Yes, she was human. Everyone made mistakes. But she wasn't the forgetful type. Particularly if someone was depending on her. However, as she'd stopped in Burnley for another change of clothes, hopped on the train to Otisburg, and pictured Arthur's reaction to finding her in his home instead of having to call to wish her sweet dreams, her disposition had improved. Not only would he have her for an extra night. He'd get a late lunch, too.

The click of the deadbolt and clank of his keys on the entrance table came the second she turned off the stove. She listened to his heavy exhale as his bag dropped to the floor and shut the door. In her peripheral vision he froze, then approached tentatively. She reveled in his delicate hold on the dip of her waist, the peck he planted on her cheek. The smell of greasepaint wafted to her nose. "I hoped I hadn't made this up," he sighed with what sounded like relief. "But your meeting."

She angled herself towards him, gaze roving over his red and blue plaid blazer. The painted-on smile. His irresistible brown curls, mostly flattened by the wig he'd worn. Fidgeting with the petals of the squirting flower on his lapel, she scrunched up her face. "This morning went to shit." She explained the power outage, the clock, her own stupidity at leaving the file in his apartment. "I've packed it. Don't worry."

His posture grew pensive. "Sorry. Maybe- Maybe we should have stayed at your place. Your building's better."

Him thinking her error was somehow his fault had to be nipped in the bud. "No," she said. "You asked to make more memories here before we move in together. I'm happy to do that."

He paused, long enough she could have sworn she'd heard the gears in his head grinding. "Are you in trouble?"

Not unexpectedly, he had put together her mistake and her early dismissal from work and assumed the worst. "If I wasn't fired for trying to stop the Waynes, it's going to take more than an oversight to get me thrown out on my ass." Her brow furrowed. She sneaked a hand under his jacket and placed her palm on his chest. "I just hate that I wasted last night for nothing."

Soft lips, slightly sticky with red paint, grazed her temple. "It's okay," he said. "You're here now. And I got to help you."

The balm of his kindness loosened her rigid stance. His zeal to assist her, to ask questions, to learn about every aspect of her branded her heart completely. She leaned into him, kissed the squishy fold of skin under his chin, and nudged his ribs. "Food's ready. Go change. I want to hear all about your day."

Arthur emerged from the bathroom within minutes, clad in his worn, blue house pants and toweling his hair. Dimples were on constant display while they ate. The glint in his eyes was the one he usually had if his act or a job had gone particularly well, if he was pleased with himself. Was the one starting to be an almost weekly occurrence. Was the one that made his green eyes sparkle and caused her stomach to flip. He inched closer to her with every sentence.

The kids at the new children’s medical center had liked Carnival, he said. They hadn’t minded that he’d "filled in" for Gary. The magic tricks had all gone without a hitch, and the clinic had provided the balloons, which was a savings. The nurses and doctors had been nice; they’d even asked for his card. He’d had to provide a slip of paper with his address and telephone number instead. But he was sure he’d be invited to perform again. And he asked Y/N for help writing Gary a thank you note for the referral, claiming, “You’re better at that than me.”

“You’re the one who journals every day.” Her bowl and spoon clattered in the sink. “And your letter to me was beautiful. Just let me proofread it.”

Soon they were reclined on the sofa, sharing the flat pillow he’d used when he’d had no choice but to sleep there. The tape he’d recorded yesterday was playing. The Honeymoon Game had been a casual watch before, he’d explained. Not a nightly ritual like Murray. Given that he had a girlfriend and was a boyfriend himself, it had become fun to view.

She was only half-focused on the TV’s talking heads. Her mind was drifting to moving day, which filled her with gladness. She examined the plaid walls, the white cream color ceiling, the knick-knacks strewn about in the glow of the setting sun. The lantern with an owl hanging in the corner; the green, plastic drawers by the television; the curio cabinet... They were all a part of 8J, but assuredly not a part of him. How much would he be bringing with him, she wondered. And what would he be leaving behind?

“With one sugar and a shot of milk.” Arthur’s lively voice broke through her contemplation. Ah. He was reacting to the questions posed to the contestants, and making the answers about her, as he was wont to do.

She nestled back into the pleasant warmth of his firm frame. “Three sugars,” she replied, confirming she knew how he took his coffee. They continued to play along, with him showing off everything he’d memorized about her, and her replying with what she’d gathered about him.

Eventually, he shifted behind her. Raised himself on his elbow. “How did you know you loved me?”

Her hum was soft. Short. Possible responses were multitude. She’d suspected she could fall for him early on. When he’d wanted to repay her for doing what anyone should have done on the subway. And the first time he’d had the courage to call her after they’d split a slice of pie, his slight stammer revealing his nervousness. Maybe she’d say it was how slowly he’d drunken his wine during dinner, initially squinting as he sipped, his inexperience with alcohol obvious.

But she chose to go with what she believed was truest. What she assumed he’d hear most keenly. “Before we slept together, I hadn’t been with anyone for four years. And even then, it was different.” His hand splayed on her abdomen, thumb dragging along the waistband of her green leggings. A delightful ache flared in her center. “When I woke up, I felt perfect.”

“You felt like you were perfect?”

“No, silly,” she laughed, batting his forearm. “I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I reached out to your side, first thing - I’d thought of it that way, even then.” At the sensation of his hardening shaft against her rear, she giggled. “You’d made me so happy. You always do. I wanted to you to bed me again.”

The round tip of his nose skimmed her cheek, and she shivered at the dip of his fingers into her panties. “I want to again,” he rasped, paraphrasing her. The grind of his length was making her light-headed, and she twisted her torso to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Cheekbones glowing, he averted his eyes. “Ever since I woke up.”

“My monthly started,” she said regretfully. His descent halted, and a groan of frustration left him as he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. She mused. While he was becoming more apt to say what he desired, it happened rarely. But she loved it and didn’t want to discourage him from letting himself be assertive. Would he be offended by her suggestion? “I freshened up before we laid down. I have a tampon in. There are other things we can do.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous. “If you’re comforta-“

“I’m comfortable.” His mouth quickly claimed hers, opening on a sigh. The tip of his tongue laved at the seam of her lips, and his messy enthusiasm made her whimper. Leaving a scorching trail in its wake, his hand traversed to her upper leg, gliding over the crease where her thigh and vulva met.

Shallow breaths caressed the nape of her neck, stoking the heat threatening to consume her. But the studio audience blaring from the television’s mono-speaker kept wresting her out of her haze. She snatched the VCR remote from the coffee table and hit the pause button.

The tease of his fingertips at her dark curls caused the peaks of her breasts to stiffen. She gasped as the rough fabric of her sweater dragged along them. His fore- and ring fingers spread her outer lips and she shuddered. The leisureliness of his fondling didn’t detract from its intoxicating effect.

Though it was a tad rough. “You’re kinda dry. Hold on.” Swiftly, he brought his hand to his mouth and wet his fingertips. Y/N blinked at him. It was clear he thought nothing of it, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he’d confided he liked going down on her. Still. Seeing this normally reserved man improvise so he could pleasure her made her center throb with need.

Y/N was doing her damnedest to get her leggings and underwear down. Arthur snorted at her spirited, failed attempt at kicking them away. “It’s okay,” he chuckled, pushing them off her ankles with his foot. Then his touch fluttered at her swollen folds. She arched into him, already feeling as though she would burst. Bent at the knee, her leg lifted until her foot was flat on the couch cushion, allowing him easier access. He took advantage, sweeping forward and back along the rigid line of her engorged clitoral hood. She rolled towards him subtly, her moans getting louder with each tap to her sensitive nub.

Still holding himself up, he cradled her head. "Your sounds make me crazy," he said lowly. Once his hips started following hers, faintly rutting against the flesh of her backside, she closed her eyes. Hurriedly, she reached behind her to yank at his pajamas. "What?" he asked.

"I want to feel you," she whispered. There was a huff and some fumbling. And moments later his cock was settled at the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lip, savoring the weight of him. God, he felt wonderful.

His fingertips whispered over her clit, daring to follow the edge of her inner labia. She heard him gulp. "How does it feel when we're together? When- When I'm in you?"

"Warm. Full. Like you belong there," she replied with a smile. That last part of her response must have been unexpected, given that his grazes ceased and he trembled. "Don't stop," she whined, placing her hand on his. "Please, Arthur. You know just how to touch me."

Groaning, he started anew, deftly swiping quicker and quicker. The undulations of her pelvis hastened unevenly, begging both for release and for their coupling to last forever. She ran her palm up her torso, kneading her breast and plucking at her nipple. He nuzzled at her ear, grunting low in the back of his throat. Winding her fingers into his loose waves, she tugged lightly. Her belly twitched. Her whole frame tingled.

His skillful touch. The love they had for one another. The noises he was making in the crook of her shoulder. They all combined to throw her over the edge, and a wave of pleasure crashed through her. She cried his name brokenly, feeling empty without him inside her. But he kept holding her, guiding her through the crests of her climax. She was gasping, struggling to suck in air. Surely, she thought, he could detect the thundering of her heart against her ribs.

Gradually, the quivering grip she had on his locks eased. The kisses he planted on her neck were open-mouthed, desperate. And he hadn't halted the ardent movements of his hips. Y/N turned onto her other side. Gazing at him, she raked his curls out of his face, caressed his cheekbone with her knuckles. His look was hungry, darkened with need. The creases between his brows deepened as her hand trailed through the sparse dusting of hair on his chest.

There was a youthful charm to this situation, she considered. To them craving each other but not completely joining. It reminded her of being a teenager. When she'd been curious and horny, but nervous and not quite ready to go "all the way" with her ex. Being with Arthur allowed her to do all that again. To relive those experiences, to explore and make discoveries with him. To fall further in love with him daily.

She tenderly pecked the freckles at the top of his sternum, nestled against the notch above his clavicle. "I'm lucky to have you."

He didn't miss a beat, even as she trailed past the ticklish spots on his flank. "I'm luckier."

"I disagree." She outlined the slender muscles of his stomach, the v-lines leading to his cock. Played with the springy, brown curls at the base of him. "Without you, I'd only have my work. Which was enough before. But not now." After a moment, she concluded she was being sappy. She had to change it up. "And I wouldn't be having the best sex of my life."

Clearly flustered, he muffled his laugh. "Really?" His blush was prominent, his grin ecstatic.

"Really." Groans short and sudden, he rocked into her touch when she encircled his ample girth. Her fingers danced along his shaft, marveling at the contrast of his velvety skin with how hard he was. Pumping up and down, she tugged at him, trying to match the speed of his thrusts. He nudged his nose to hers, gazing at her before his hooded eyes flitted to watch what she was doing. Then she looked, too.

The sight of him fucking into her hand made her dizzy with want, even though he'd just gotten her off. The crimson, swollen head glistened, slick beading generously at the tip. Y/N licked her lips and spread it around him with the pad of her thumb. Moaning sharply, he bucked harder. Her motions quickened, flicking repeatedly at the notch on the underside.

Demand was implicit in the grasp he had on her upper arm. And it strengthened as his hips' stuttered, becoming unpredictable. Ragged pants hit her face. "I'm- I'm gonna make a mess.”

"It's all right," she soothed. Keeping ahold of him, she lay on her back. He followed and settled on top of her. Whimpering her name, he rubbed himself against her labia. But she gently pushed him onto his knees and continued palming him, her fingers teasing the ridge on his erection. It wouldn't take long to make him come. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightening cords in his neck, his abrupt, needy cries...

Plunging forward, he held himself in place, grunting, clutching her urgently. His release hit her abdomen, warm and wet, and she gasped, her body curving up towards him. The feel of him spilling onto her couldn't completely distract her, though. Not from the beauty of his parted lips. Not from the relief that gradually spread across his features. Not from the slackening of his muscles as tension ebbed.

Sweat had gathered on his forehead. A droplet ran from the end of a dark brow to his jawline. Then he kissed her, his mouth groping at hers. "I love you," he said. He gave her one last peck and sat up on his knees. Holding onto the arm of the sofa, he retrieved her underwear from the floor and wiped her belly off. "That was fun." He tucked his chin bashfully.

"I concur." She entwined their hands and sat, then stretched as she pushed herself to stand and walk to the bathroom. The washcloth he'd designated as hers hung on the hook by the towels. She cleaned herself, listening as Arthur started the show again.

A new round of questions was just beginning. "When you and your spouse first met," the host started, "what was your first impression?"

Arthur's answer was instant. "Nice."

Y/N said the first thing that came to mind. "Handsome."

She popped her head out of the room to find him leaning on the entrance of the short corridor, beaming at her with hitched giggles. He was probably waiting for his turn to clean up. Like he normally did. But she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Loving eyes met hers and his brows lifted expectantly. "Yes?"

Smiling, she wrung out the washcloth and put it back in its place. She stepped to him with a smile and smoothed his hair back. The rush of happiness in her soul, one she wasn't even sure she had, enamored her. Not only at what they'd shared on his old, scratchy sofa. But at Arthur being Arthur. At knowing soon she'd get to sleep next to him every night. Build a life with him, one she hadn't dreamed of even six months ago. Nothing she could say seemed adequate. So she went with a kind gesture, one she knew he'd appreciate. "I'll make us some decaf. And I love you, too."

~~~~~

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[papermonkeyism]

Art Blockage

I got this in my ask box, and I thought it could use a post of its own.

"My question is, how do you keep on creating wonderful art and content without burning out? Do you have any tips for fighting Art Block?"

So, this is a super hard question, and will likely result in a rambly wall of text (apologies in advance), but let's see if I can be of any help.

For me, personally, the two most important things to fend off art block are 1: fail organically, and 2: sketchbooks.

Let's start with the magic word that is sketchbooks.

Look at these babies!

I've kept sketchbooks since sometime around 2009-2010, started out as tiny pocket sized art diaries, which then turned into actual sketchbooks, as I stopped using them primarily to mark down events in my life (I have a blog for that now) and more for, well, sketchbookery.

But the thing is, that sketchbooks are a license to fail. It's a sketchbook, it's supposed to be doodled in, they aren't FOR great art. Like sketchbooks are supposed to finish with coffee stains and covers held together by duct tape and stubborn will. Their point is NOT to be pretty for other people to admire, their point is to look like the paper equivalent of that childhood teddy bear you dragged everywhere untill it lost half its limbs and an eye and you can't really tell its original colors anymore, but dangit, it's YOUR teddy bear, and you love it dearly! Your "proper" art is those fancy porcelain statue on your windowsill that are pretty to look at, but if you ever allow yourself to have design porcelain in your house and nothing soft to hug aaaaand this metaphor just got off tracks. Apologies.

If you start a "real" drawing with the intention it needs to be pretty, you're piling a lot of pressure on yourself, and if you fail to achieve the level of pretty your brain sees, the art will feel like a failure.* With sketchbooks, if you don't feel like finishing a drawing because it didn't come out perfect, it's okay. Just turn a page and do something else. Or maybe draw a dumb face on the failed part. Or a dinosaur sitting on the image. Make the flub funny instead. If you get frustrated by not being able to think of anything, ruin a page!

Here's a collection of dirt pages from my past four sketchbooks (top left: random squiggles with traditional Finnish xmas drink "glögi"; top right: random watercolor mess; bottom left: coffee stains; bottom right: tea splatter).

Like, just... Fill a page somehow. Anyhow. Have ink on your fingers? Smear it on a page. Find a pretty autumn leaf? Dry it and tape it to a page. That's an autumn page now. Need to take notes for a class? This page here is very conveniently at hand, how about write in the sketchbook and fill the empty spaces with doodles of dumb faces. See a pretty dog sitting outside a caffe? Why not draw that. Saw a picture of a bird with a pretty marking that you'd like to maybe use somewhere yourself? Quickly doodle that so you can remember it later. Tear a page to shreds with your teeth if you feel like. A new pen you've never tried before? Time to test it out!

Pen tests with some DnD notes.

Have no filter. Whenever you get an idea, draw it down if you feel like it. Don't force yourself, but if you feel like drawing a chicken riding a sword, guess what

(Bonus comic notes because this is a sketchbook, and there was space to do comic notes on.)

Here's another page of random, including thoughts on elf clothing, how the fudge would an ahuizotl look like, and a collection of ancient mammals with fancy headgear I found one day on a google spree.

Here's a detail of a page, as I saw couple photos of a dog who had interesting face markings, so I did a marker study of them. I might later use similar, simplified markings for a character in Wurr.

Here's one drawing where I accidentally overfilled a Copic marker and spilled ink on, and then made the ink spill into a ghost cat.

And sometimes I do make finished, prettied up art in my sketchbooks too, but there's no pressure to do so

(do note the me wiping my paint brush on the page's edges instead of a napkin like smart people. But hey, sketchbook! Photoshopping the paint wipes off once I scanned it on the other hand... But we're not talking about that here)

Like, stop quality controlling your ideas before you ever even draw them, it's the worst thing you can do to yourself. Get yourself a sketchbook and try to fill up at least one page every day. It could be drawing your OCs in funny clothing, or a flower you saw while walking, or fan art of your favourite characters smooching, "accidentally" spilling coffee when you don't feel like drawing, filling one page with stickers, glitter gel pens... Carry the sketchbook with you, and use whatever you have at hand, be it fancy watercolor pencils or a ballpoint pen you once found on the floor of a cafe. Number and date your sketchbooks, so if you make notes on them you'll find them easier later, and also to see how you improve in time. Try life drawing, or what we call croquis drawing in here ("kroki"), which is life drawing but with time limit. Once you've drawn naked people in less than a minute for twenty times in a row, it loosens up your drawing nicely.

Or if your art block is more of the "I don't have any ideas"-kind, then maybe look for art challenges online. (Or be like me and beg people to throw you ideas and prompts because I just can't brain always.)

Also, for me, art is mostly just an extension of my storytelling. I have tons of headworlds, each with their own sets of characters and species and cultures, and just thinking about the characters and the world they live in, and them interacting with each other is what I love the most, and just draw that out when I feel like it. I often use drawing as an excuse to babble about thoughts I have about the characters on my blog here.

Just... Don't make your art dependant on success. You'll only make yourself afraid of even trying.

Failing is organic part of art, and there's no need to let it be horrible. Or BobRossing the same message: "we don't make mistakes, we just have happy accidents".

* Also highly important to note that people don't see your thoughts, and can't know what your drawings were SUPPOSED to look like. They can't see your struggles, and they certainly don't know how much effort you put into your drawing before they got to see it. If your art fails to match the image you had in your brain, your audience/followers will have no clue.

(Do note that I come from three different art schools as my background, so I've been encouraged to try out all the things a lot. Lybecker Institute for Craft and Design, animation for 3 years; Liminka Shool of Arts, a boarding school for a year, comics; Lahti University Institute of Design, 4 and half years, Bachelor's degree in arts and communication. My country has free education, can you tell.)

[samtheflamingomain]

a deep defense of tracing

I'm a lover of art. I'm technically an artist, but my specialty has always lied in recreation. I like to take one medium and translate it to another. One of my favorite art projects is a 15-panel recreation of The Simpsons opening in the format of a very tall and narrow canvas styled as a film reel. Not to brag, but it's good - and I did it before paint pens became the most oversaturated market on Amazon.

Another of my favorites, however, is a direct tracing. I was given less than 12h notice that my previously-cancelled France exchange program was back on, and had to leave school at noon to get the plane at 6.

I ran from teacher to teacher to inform them and receive the projects etc before I left. (Just 2-3y behind any online-ness of classes in high school.) I had a particularly odd art teacher who assigned me a unique project of making an art journal about my trip which I believe sparked my love for mixed media. She also gave me the last project: a graphite realistic portrait.

I got the same assignment sheets as everyone else. And everyone else, back home, had easy access to an Overhead. Not sure if they're outdated or have different names elsewhere but for weeks in France I searched my lycee high and low for a 2000's version of a projector.

They didn't have one. Emailed the teacher. She advised me to print out a portrait of Zachary Quinto, my subject. Household didn't own a printer. School had me pay 4E to print 9 8x11" pieces of the portrait I was to draw.

I'm not an idiot. I've been tracing by taping the picture to the window for decades. It's why I struggle to admit I'm an artist. Sure, I can masterfully command pencil crayons to create lifelike portraits in minutes. But I start by lightly tracing them with a pencil! I should be hanged!

Or so says the mainstream.

I learned a lot from that one portrait. I learned that I had 2h of light after school to trace. And a big area to cover. It took me a solid 2 weeks. I did end up drawing the entire thing on my bedroom window, but only because my bed was perfectly positioned for me not to get a sore arm.

Despite it not reaching photorealistic, it was realistic, and one of the best in the class. I got a 100 because I got the same results without an Overhead.

Now, I still trace. I don't trace others' art, because that's been done. Despite being a recreationist, I don't trace 1:1. If I'm drawing a tattoo, I may trace elements but never a whole piece. If I'm doing a portrait I usually trace outlines and shadow lines, but after 20 minutes it's my own art piece; I'm using new media and making it my own while still trying for realism.

Tracing isn't inherently bad or good. It's a method of transfer. Carbon paper, tattoo paper, fuckin Camera Lucida, which I eagerly await the perfection of before throwing hundreds at one. But I do believe the technology will eventually reach the point where looking into a lucida will bring true 1:1s. Tracing isn't going away.

Let's be clear: tracing the work of another artist to pass off as your own is not okay. Tracing the work of another artist for: your own enjoyment, testing a medium, learning a specific style or skill, changing it, even just bringing it to a new medium can be transformative enough to be justified.

Nobody is losing money or fame or anything because I saw a super tall and skinny canvas and said "film strip" and then said "Simpsons opening" and then added my own chalkboard and couch gags, chose which exact moments got a slot, and did it all in acrylic with brush. My only regret is not waiting literally 2 months before paint pens blew up.

Unless you're selling it or calling it yours, trace all day. Doesn't matter. You wouldn't pirate a drawing? Fuck, I will.

Stay Greater, Flamingos