#unfortunately I'm not very good at eyes?? Like the eyes I draw aren't shaped quite so much like human eyes

[fisshontoast]

ID: a digital drawing of marcellus pye. He is a young man with brown skin and dark brown hair, and is wearing a red tunic with gold embroidery and a black, high collared cloak. He has 3 gold rings on his left hand, one on his middle finger and two on his index finger. His hair is held in a ponytail by a gold band. In one hand he is holding a cup of bright green liquid, and with the other he is adding glowing blue drops to it with a pipette. He is holding the cup over the end of a table, and the background is a bookshelf with diamond patterned glass doors. /end ID

Marcellus <3 what's he doing?? Idk <33 but it looks cool

[dear-kumari]

Hiiiii! 4, 16, and 21 for the art ask?

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

ngl, I always have some trouble translating an existing character into "my style," whatever that happens to be at the time; I think my toughest battles were with VLD Lotor (so much random crap on his armor … why …) and Anubis from Niehime to Kemono no Ou (I'm sure I could get good at anthro/furry art if I tried, but animal faces just aren't intuitive to me). I've tried to do "realistic" character portraits a few times as well and they rarely turn out quite right. Re: fav subject, I really love unique and complex buildings and interiors, but perspective also isn't very intuitive to me and I tend to give up on them partway through.

pictured: Pain and Suffering (I couldn't bear to put the chibi Lotor there without cropping his horribly proportioned face with the drifting eyes lmao. We've come a long way, I hope)

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

I've made some nice-looking traditional media projects based on photographs, but I don't usually enjoy the process. There's definitely creativity and skill involved in translating a photo into a drawing, but to me it tends to feel like tedious copying, especially if I'm working with a grid or a scale tool. Definitely prefer using photos as loose references or drawing from life.

pictured: Pain and Suffering 2: High School Bites. Left is pen on paper and right is black scratchboard, both made in high school art class and both still taped up in my teenhood bedroom. I love vultures so much

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

This is a tough one, since I don't think of myself as having a signature style! I think I'd normally point to some hyper-realistic or highly rendered/ornate illustration styles, since I've never had the patience to tackle that sort of thing, but the recent glut of AI-generated schlock in that family of styles has greatly reduced my appreciation for them. My eyes can't distinguish the real thing from a machine imitation at a glance, so it's unfortunately all been reduced to cheap kitsch in my eyes. Which leaves … well, a lot of styles that I probably do have the patience to tackle, as well as certain styles that I just don't like much. I think I'll fudge the popular definition of "style" a bit and say that some artists have a sense for design and composition very unlike my own — like, it's one thing to imitate J. C. Leyendecker's slick rendering and shape language, but his signature intuitions re: posing and layouts and symmetry don't align with my own instincts. I also love weird, off-putting compositions, even though I don't have the confidence to make truly radical compositional choices for fear that they'll just look like mistakes.

pictured: socks ad by J. C. Leyendecker and The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit by John Singer Sargent (not cropped, it just looks like that)

[wasabito]

"It’s Raining Milk!” Collab — Hosted by my darling @karasunosimp 💞 Check out the masterlist for more delicious goodies! minors DNI please!

WORD(S): 1.1k

PAIRING: Suguru Geto x milf!Reader

CW/TAGS: Alt. Universe (no curses), Public sex, Titty fucking, Age gap, Oral (male recieving), Slight femdom, Nipple play, Infidelity

You look so tasty, but I won't bite. Really, I'm such a good kitty, don't put up fights

Sweltering summer heat, flirty rich cougars, hour long beach volleyball, and copious amounts of sunscreen have been the crux of Suguru Geto's summers since turning eighteen.

Working as a cabana boy for a resort off the coast wasn't exactly what he saw himself doing post-graduation. Sure, he'd always wanted to live somewhere warm under sunny skies but had anyone told him a year ago, he'd spend his days cleaning jacuzzis and serving rum punch at all hours of the day and night, he certainly wouldn't have believed it. But even so, there was no denying said job--that occasionally required he wax his ass every few weeks and keep in decent shape--came with some perks here and there.

Case in point, when Geto quite literally bumps into you at the bar one afternoon, drowning yourself in bottomless mimosas, he knew for sure he was in for an interesting week.

You were witty, sexy, intelligent, experienced, a total catch to say the least. It was rather unfortunate your workaholic spouse couldn't appreciate what he was on the cusp of losing. He'd shipped you off to an island far from Tokyo with your twin boys, while he remained in the city catering to business affairs, according to your inebriated complaints.

And while your children enjoyed all the little activities the beach resort had to offer, you spent the first few days of your trip either asleep in your hotel room, running up your husband's credit cards at the spa or laid out, topless, on the warm, white-sand beaches.

Despite being on vacation, you seemed miserable. That is until you met him.

"Suguru!" You wave him over with a smile, your empty champagne glass raised for a refill which he is happy to take care of.

It takes him but a second to top off your glass with the bubbling liquid, careful not spill any, and more than enough time for you to find something else for him to do--if only to get him to spend a bit more time with you here in your cabana before he'd be called back to his station.

"Is there any thing you would like me to do in particular?" He asks, ever the charming gentleman.

You reach for the bottle of sunscreen. "Lend me a hand?" The sheer cover up you’re wearing is cast aside next as you roll over on your stomach.

Geto feels a lump form in his throat, the heat in his cheeks burning heavy as he takes in the sight of your soft, supple skin. He chews his bottom lip, unsure. The swimsuit you have on leaves little to imagination. With a single tug, you untie the string behind your back and let your bikini top slide right off your body.

You're utterly stunning, and you know as much. His reaction is nothing but natural. It takes Suguru more than a moment to gather his wits and settle close to you, close enough for him to warm up the cold sunscreen between his hands and press into your skin.

"Like this?" whispers Suguru.

You smile, though he can’t see it. "Yup, just like that."

Geto's large hands slide up and down your back, kneading in a way that's enough to put you straight to sleep. When his hand slides down the bend of your waist, it feels like butterflies have been set free in your stomach.

"Take your time," you moan lightly. "No need to rush."

But your words fall on partially deaf ears.

Your body is mesmerizing and he can't help the reaction it draws from him, proven by the tent in his swim trunks. His hands move to your ass, massaging it tenderly. And you have a hard time believing he hasn’t done something like this before.

"Busy later?" You find yourself asking him.

Suguru hums in thought. "I'm afraid I don't get off until evening."

There aren't rules against fraternizing with guests, so long as the guest is asking for your time. But he can't very well shirk his duties to spend time with you.

You place a hand on his bicep, smooth fingers ghosting along the veins on his bare arm. "That's perfect actually, I wanna spend time with you, Suguru, what do you say?"

Of course he agrees in the moment, but Suguru soon discovers that you are trouble for him in the best and worst way possible.

He realizes this when you corner him on his way to the laundry chute. The pile of wet beach towels long forgotten the second you sink to your knees with his cock in your hand. He wants to ask about dinner plans but it seems you have other things in mind.

You make a game of testing just how much of him you could take in your mouth.

Hollow cheek and choked moans, you look up at him with soft, red-rimmed eyes, and let him fuck your throat with nothing more than a sultry smile and smeared lipstick stains left behind. And when he comes, you don’t stop sucking him till he's gone lightheaded and utterly boneless.

Persuasive. That's what you are, though it really doesn’t take much convincing if he were truthful.

That's how he ends up in your bed later that night.

He's so far gone. Gone beyond any form of morality or reason. With your tits rubbing against his cock, there really isn't anything else on his mind but sweet, sweet release. And he's so close, yet so far away, he can taste it.

"You like fucking my tits, Suguru, hmm? Be a good boy and tell me how much you enjoy it?"

"F-Fuck--I--" He flushes red, sweat licking at his nape. His hair tossed in bun haphazardly at the start is now falling apart, with tendrils framing his face and sticking to his skin. He looks so divine, like an angel cast from grace, taken apart with every snap of his hips.

With the way his mouth has fallen open, finally allowing himself to sing your praises, you could tell he was close to coming. You decid to give him a little push. Reaching under him, you give his balls a gentle squeeze, making him choke on his own breath.

"Shit, fuck, fuck." He jerks once, then twice, before coating your chest in with his warm cum.

"I hope you're not tired yet, my love." You rise to your feet, tits bouncy as you move to push him back against the mattress. "The night is still young, and I am far from satisfied."

Without sparing another second, you clamber onto his lap and sink down his him. Suguru feels like he’s lip-locked with death. You kiss him slowly in contrast with how you ride him. And squeeze down around his dick, hands braced against his bare chest, and his own jizz dripping onto his stomach. Every roll of your hips has him seeing stars, ruining him as your cunt spasms again.

[jungnoir]

hello!! truth be told, i am not entirely certain if your requests are open and stuff, if they aren't, please forgive me, it's honestly my first time requesting so i'm really worried that i am gonna mess up, please don't hate me :((( do you think there's a chance that you'll write some youngk or wonpil fluff (or rival!au,,, or anything would be great,,, honestly) any time soon? if not, that's totally okay, i hope i didn't bother you, thank you regardless and have a great day!!

anatomically correct heart-shaped pretzel;

kim wonpil | food service is way more competitive and romantic than you’d think, believe it or not. rival!au. mall!au. | 1.6k words. | fluff, humor.

a/n: ahhh you’re okay!!! thank you for being so polite. I’m not officially accepting requests as I’m sort of just writing whenever I want to and dropping in. usually, I will announce that I’m writing requests on my blog and leave it open for a certain amount of time. however, I’m being pretty casual with things so I totally don’t mind this request at all! here’s rival kiosk workers at the mall with wonpil

“He’s at it again. Look at him; he’s got an evil look in those puppy dog eyes, that dead customer service smile, that high-pitched “have a good day!” pep in his step. I want to wring his neck like a Shake Weight.”

Your coworker, Dowoon, pauses in the middle of refilling the fruity pebbles toppings to give you a disturbed look, “Okay, Jesus. What is wrong with you?”

You glare right back, “It’s fucking pretzel boy Wonpil showing off again.”

“You mean doing his job?”

Grumbling a “showing off” under your breath, you turn around again to continue your angry brooding when you happen to catch Wonpil’s eyes between serving customers. His friendly smile quickly turns malicious, the boy having the audacity to drop his eyelid down in a wink before going about his business again, annoyingly unbothered by your seething not 20 feet away.

Dowoon was convinced that you were paranoid. Ever since that new pretzel kiosk popped up next to your once very thriving frozen yogurt shop, you’d been noticing business trailing elsewhere. People were trading gummy bears for salty bread and Wonpil’s “personable” attitude, something that you couldn’t quite get over. He wasn’t personable at all. You knew the real truth and yet no one believed you.

It had all started two months back when they’d first opened. You had thought Wonpil to look actually pleasant to talk to, deciding to befriend your new competition to be friendly which, unfortunately, massively backfired. Perhaps you were too bubbly, too optimistic on the first go, because Wonpil seemed to immediately bristle upon greeting. That was your first sign that things were going steadily downhill.

Your next sign was how aware you were that you were dominating the conversation. It seemed like no matter how much you tried to fish out of Wonpil, he wouldn’t budge. His answers were short, blunt, and disconcerting to say the least. After a few failed attempts, you’d promptly agreed with yourself that perhaps Wonpil was just one of those people who went to work, did their job, and left it at that. But then the customers came rolling in.

He was a totally different guy, the bastard.

Everything. From the way he lit up to the way his voice rose several octaves to the way he laughed out loud at every terrible customer joke. It was a pang to your admittedly offended heart. Was there something wrong with you? Did you smell? Was he just having a bad day earlier? It had thrown you pretty off for the rest of your shift, even catching the attention of one of your other usually aloof co-workers: Sungjin.

You just couldn’t place it. You obviously didn’t want to think he simply disliked you and only you, but it was all you had to go on. Why was he so averse to you when you’d done nothing to him? ...as far as you knew, anyway.

He was even nice to Dowoon! What did Dowoon have that you didn’t?!

And then, then, Wonpil started to notice you, but for all the wrong reasons.

It was through knowing smirks and condescending winks that you began to kindle your delicate hatred-baby for Wonpil. He knew he was peeving you off. He knew that when you’d watch him with that barely veiled look of yearning in your eyes for acceptance that he could simply look your way and you’d fluster. He wasn’t kind. He was a jerk. Wonpil was an absolute asshole and no one seemed to think so except you.

Your co-workers called it a friendly rivalry. You called it war.

He was super keen on stealing your customers too, drawing them in from your shop to get them to buy those damn pretzels, just to see you squirm and fumble to turn their attention back. When he’d win, he’d get this smug look on his face and gnaw his bottom lip with a hooded gaze cast your way, practically relishing in your anger and humiliation. You’d dreamt of all the ways you could make that little pipsqueak sing for mercy-

“Hey! Can you do your job or do I need to stand you on the other side of the counter as a cardboard cutout?” Dowoon’s annoyance is not easy to ignore even in the midst of your daydream, and unfortunately, that meant that you would have to come back to your reality. Your cold, Wonpilly reality.

With a lack of vigor that could rival a pubescent boy in band practice, you continue your shift in a disgruntled haze. You don’t want to think you’re being childish about it, but you can often feel Wonpil’s eyes on you while you work, and it’s enough to make you rightfully paranoid. You know the minute you look up that he’s going to have some patronizing expression on his face and, honestly, you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back from punching it clean off. Only fifteen more minutes, you think to yourself, counting down til the end of your shift. Fifteen more minutes and then I’m out of here.

Dowoon eventually leaves early, mentioning he has a date tonight and that he doesn’t want to be late, and you mumble an affirmative to clean and lock up for him. You’ve got no such plans for the evening, instead planning to relax and enjoy the weekend Wonpil-free. As customers slow to almost nothing, you decide it’s a good time to start closing up.

As you’re sweeping away the debris on the floor, you hear the sound of a fist knocking against glass and decide to look up, ready to shoo away a customer who came too late. Instead of a customer, it’s something much worse.

“Hey,” Wonpil says, one hand in his puffy jacket pocket, the other holding a small take-away bag from the pretzel place, “heading out tonight?”

You’re so stunned by his attempt at casual conversation that you forget to be mean, staring at him in confusion, “Uh... no. Why?”

Wonpil looks both relieved and surprised, clutching the bag a little closer to himself, “Oh... uh, well it’s just that... you know, it’s Valentine’s day. I assumed you had a date.”

Your brain is a Windows blue screen right now. Was it... oh, fuck, how could you have missed it? Today was February the 14th. You flush soon after. No, you had no date. “Nope... but I bet you do. If you came here to gloat about it, don’t even bother. I’m too tired to deal with you right now.”

A look of hurt flashes across Wonpil’s visage, “I didn’t... that’s not why I came over.”

“Then why?” You can’t hide the tired exasperation in your voice, “You closed up already, didn’t you? Just go home. I’m not in the mood.”

That same hurt flashes again and part of you almost wants to feel bad about it. 

Wonpil reaches into the bag with a trembly bottom lip, “I-I came over to apologize. And to give you this.”

In his hand now is a heart shaped pretzel, but not just the traditional heart shape. No, it was anatomically correct. Scarily so. It was also piping hot and looked rather tasty after a long day of work. You rarely indulged yourself in the enemy’s goods, but... “What do you mean, apologize?”

“I uh... I kinda totally screwed up. The thing is, I don’t hate you like you think I do. I actually really like you. I know that I don’t show it and it’s not much of an excuse, but it’s just... when I first met you, I was really, really nervous. You were so kind and funny and attractive... I froze up,” your eyes begin to bulge as he holds the pretzel out to you, “and I couldn’t act normally around you. Then people started saying we were rivals so I ran with it. Anything to get you to look at me.”

You check Wonpil’s face to see if he’s lying. He’s not, as far as you can tell, but you’d been a bad judge of his character before, “That’s really stupid, Wonpil.”

Instead of looking upset however, he laughs lightheartedly... like you’d kinda hoped he would laugh around you all along. It’s a sweet sound. You don’t even want to wring his neck right now. “I know. I don’t expect that to fix anything, but I still wanted to give you something. You can stomp it or throw it in the trash or feed it to the raccoon couple near Macy’s, I don’t mind. I just wanted you to know that I’m a really stupid guy who has a kind of embarrassingly huge crush on you. Happy Valentine’s day, (Name). I hope... I hope that we can at least be friends. Or enemies with a truce.”

Sincere. He was actually being sincere right now.

You drop the dustpan and push the swinging half-door open to leave your little kiosk, watching Wonpil as he turns to face you, pretzel still outstretched. You take it form his hands and watch his shoulders deflate in relief. A little overwhelmed with the fact that he’d just confessed to you, you test the waters, “So uh... you busy, Wonpil?”

The boy blinks rapidly, “N-No. Why?”

You take a bite from the warm pretzel and almost let out a humiliating moan in content. Goddamn, this boy made some mean pretzels. How could you ever turn that down? “There’s a movie playing in the theater upstairs in an hour. You know, that really bad remake? You wanna catch it together?”

Wonpil lets out an immediate “Yes. But... what do you wanna do until then?”

For the first time in two months, you allow Wonpil one real, warm smile once more, “You can start by finally answering all those questions I asked about you two months ago, for a start. I’d like to get to know my rival a little better.”