#uni is kicking my ass

[6esiree]

𝐈𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 (𝐖𝐈𝐏)

Who would have thought that Alastor, the older gentleman who sauntered into the speakeasy you worked at with a character that was so sickeningly suave, so overtly conscientious with everything he did that after many months, he finally managed to convince you to take him home even amidst a storm at an ungodly hour… was inexperienced? Sure, he begrudgingly admitted that he was a virgin as he slipped out of his soaked clothes alongside you, but you’d been with plenty who had dexterous fingers and tongues before.

But apparently, Alastor did not fall into that category. His brilliant mind barely held an inkling of knowledge of what it took to elicit the sinful noises he caught patrons and workers exchanging in the shadows whenever he went outside to relieve his bladder. And after he had unceremoniously clambered into your room from your window, almost knocking down your bedside lamp and alerting your slumbering parents of what their seemingly innocent daughter was up to, he made that painfully obvious to you.

“Alastor Hartfelt, are you teasing me?” You inquired in a hushed tone as your hands wandered down the expanse of his nude back, feeling his warm, damp skin beneath your palms.

He had you pinned to your bed, one hand squeezing the softness of your hip as the other kneaded the inside of your thigh. But that was it. He wouldn’t dare touch you where you needed him the most, even when the tips of his fingers had accidentally grazed your core just a few moments earlier, the thin fabric of your underwear utterly drenched in your anticipation. The sight of your nipples peeking through your slip didn’t tempt him, either—and he always admired your cleavage during your shifts.

“Teasing you?” Alastor eventually mustered as his lips lathered your collarbone with affection, the flesh there bruised from the unforgiving nature of his teeth. “Why would you think so, my darling?”

At first, you thought he was still somewhat drunk, but the kisses you had shared just earlier testified to his sobriety, the taste of rye only but a memory on your tastebuds. However, Alastor was being so unbelievably careful with his hands that you couldn’t quite tell whether he was teasing you or simply unsure… though you had no reason to believe that someone of his caliber didn’t know what to do. He was older, attractive, and got along with the ladies quite well—surely you couldn’t be the first person he’d ever been with, right?

“Because you keep touching me everywhere but there, you know?” You huffed as you hooked a leg around his waist, urging his hips to meet yours. “Come on, Al, my pa’ will be up in a few hours.”

Your clothed core grazed the tent in his briefs, and if you hadn’t let out a moan at the feeling of his cock nudging your clit through your underwear, or if the sky outside hadn’t rumbled with thunder, you would have noticed the breathy gasp that seeped past his lips. But ever the prideful man, he quickly composed himself and moved the hand on your hip down to affectionately grip the leg around his waist, his nails digging into your flesh. Still, you were made aware of his gratification as his cock stirred against your warmth.

“Did I not inform you that I’ve never done this before?” Alastor told you as he withdrew from your collarbone to look at you, the skin between his brows creasing in confusion.

“Yes, you did. Yes,” You blinked as you caught what appeared to be a flicker of nervousness in his gaze. Strange. “Do you not know how to… uh, you know, use your hands?”

It’s not that Alastor didn’t know how to use his hands, no. In fact, he always knew where to touch you, what had you squeaking or gasping in delight when he caught you alone and unaware during your shift, but right now? With… other parts of your body on display underneath him, with you finally at his complete and utter submission, well, he found himself overwhelmed with a lack of confidence due to his inexperience. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you, but he had managed to do that anyway, he realized.

“No,” Alastor shook his head in amusement, but you knew it was feigned due to the strained nature of the smile on his face. “Why, here I thought you would guide me,” He added.

“And here I thought you knew how to…” You started, but your words drifted off to a whisper as your skin flared up in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I should have figured that you needed my help.”

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

Every time I try to do headcanons, I end up writing a little story instead. I’m sorry, y’all. I have no idea why I’m like this </3

[liph-zip]

absolutely criminal that he doesn’t have a froggy plushie so have this

[syixxion]

Visit julai Today! It won't be obliterated in the near future I promise

Did this for school and it turned out nice soo here ya go

[answer2jeff]

SHARING SPACE — Carmen Berzatto.

synopsis: just a blurb, how you ended up moving in with Carmen :)

warnings: established relationship, reader is implied female (but little use of specific pronouns), fluffy headcanons, some smutty implications, some smutty implications but still fluff, mentions of alcohol and smoking, blurb is set once they're rebranding The Beef into The Bear.

i need more Carmen fluff this man is my whole life. btw this is super short but i'm sooooo burnt out :'(

It started with you "accidentally" falling asleep in his bed from the night before, panicking and hurrying to put your clothes in the morning before he had to rush to work. You weren't technically dating, but you were too close for comfort to be considered something as shallow as "friends with benefits." It was more than that.

But then things seemed to slow down. It turned into spending an extra ten minutes enveloped in each others arms. You shared, "good mornings" between sickly sweet kisses, his hands feeling up and down your torso while your fingers entangled in his hair. Carmen whispered about how much he didn't want to leave—as much as both of you knew he had to.

"You're gonna be late, Carmy." You'd groan, cupping his clean-shaven face and planting small kisses on his cheeks. Carmen let out a sigh of disappointment, realizing his short moment of bliss would be over the second he thought about leaving.

"I'm gonna clean up, 'kay?" He'd mumble, kissing your sweet lips one last time. His pupils dilated at the sight of you in his sheets, something he wish he didn't have to cherish from how little free time he seemed to have.

"Mhm."

Once he'd hop in the shower, you'd get yourself dressed before pouring him a warm cup of coffee, occasionally placing any dirty dishes stranded in the kitchen in the sink as an act of courtesy. You'd check the time, 7:00am,

As much as it pained you to leave without a proper goodbye, you worried that Carmen needed space- that he didn't have time to pepper kisses along your cheeks before he left.

"Bye Carmy!" You'd call out, but not quite loud enough for him to hear from the bathroom.

He wished you would've stayed just a little longer.

Eventually, you caught on. At one point, you swore you saw Carmen popping his head back into his bedroom to see if you were still there as you were already halfway out the door. From that point on, you started leaving little notes next to his coffee, littered with "I'm so proud of you," and sweet comments like, "break a leg Bear," and sometimes even an "I'll see you soon."

Then it turned into spending all weekend, every weekend, in his apartment—even though you'd been stopping by the restaurant between closing hours, and spending a good hour or two with him every other day of the week.

It just wasn't enough.

You started bringing a share-sized blanket and bottles of your favorite drinks whenever you came over, which was practically 4-5 times a week by that point.That blanket ended up rotating between your apartment and his, until it finally resided on the couch.

Wrapping himself in that blanket whenever you weren't around, reminded him that there was something else to think about; that there was someone else who needed him just as much as he did them.

You started leaving little things like your hoop earrings on the kitchen counter, or your puffer jacket on his coatrack, wondering if they'd still be there by next weekend; wondering if Carmen would ever have the heart to give them back to you. (Spoiler alert, he kept everything you ever "forgot"' in the exact same spot. Having a piece of you in his home at all times seemed to make up for your absence during the week, even if it just made him miss you more.)

Then you started packing extra clothes with you that you'd stuff into an empty drawer in Carmen's dresser. You brought your travel-sized, makeup bag with you, which you just ended up leaving in his bathroom. Along with your meds, and your skin care, and practically everything else you couldn't live without.

...

"You should just move in at this point." Carmen let out a breathy laugh as he watched you do your makeup, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Not even 20 minutes ago, he saw you pick out an entire outfit from the spare clothes you brought, not even realizing that you left a pair of black shoes that went with everything, right in his shoe rack.

"I practically live here now," you paused to put on some mascara, your mouth gaping open as you tried to concentrate, "but my lease is up on the 23rd." You joked, twisting the cap on your mascara back on and tossing it into your makeup bag.

"I mean—would you want to? Live here? With—with me?" He physically turned to look at you, your reflection not giving him enough clarity. He needed to see you, whether you said yes or no. You felt your stomach turn, and the question seemed unreal.

"I— yeah, I guess. Only if you want me to, but that'd be pretty... cool." You turned your head to face him, gazing into his desperate eyes. He needed to be able to call this apartment "ours," not just "his."

This apartment felt more like a home than you than anywhere else you resided in Chicago. You made your commute to work from this apartment, you ate and showered and slept in this apartment, bits and pieces of you were tossed all around this apartment, you brought home every new piece of clothing and jewelry back to this apartment.

Carmen literally made you keep a spare key in your wallet, advising you to come over whenever you needed something—even if he wasn't home. He trusted you with his space,

He took it upon himself to buy you a toothbrush, the shampoo and conditioner you raved about after he complimented your hair, and extra pads/tampons/menstrual cups (since he wasn't sure what you used,) just for when his bathroom would be occupied by you. He cleaned out the hidden cabinet behind the mirror above the sink, making sure you had a place for all of your things. He moved all of his cologne, deodorant, lotion, etc in the cabinet underneath it.

All he ever wanted was to make sure you felt safe.

[limmysky]

Yay I can only offer old stuff because I don’t have something new

So here you go a judge angels

Remainder, you can use my art as pfp, edits, etc, just give credits, thank u

[kiyoramen]

note: suggestive, part 2 of this

he doesn't contact you for a while and it makes you wonder if he's finally sick of your antics, of your avoidance.

not until you find him on the way from home to work, sitting down the steps to your apartment, looking down his feet while he fiddles with his phone in his hand. "satoru?"

it takes a while for him to look back up, "hey."

"hi" your voice suddenly feels small, "what brings you here?"

he stands up and puts his hands in his pockets, "you texted me and... well it might've been an accident but... i was worried"

"really?" you immediately check your phone and sure enough you did accidentally send him the the letter h when you meant to delete everything you typed, "oh."

he shrugs, "yeah well i should get going."

you move pass him, unlocking your door, he stands there watching you, waiting for you to get in.

you bite your lip and press your forehead against your door before turning to face him, "wanna come in?"

-

you both lie in bed, exhausted, he traces the acne scars on your back while you turn away.

you feel his hands linger on the small of your back before he continues to trail his fingers along the expanse of your back.

then he finally wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, his breath fanning your neck. he presses a kiss against your skin, three times. he intertwines your fingers and locks your leg in place with his, he traps you in his embrace.

"i'm going to stay," he whispers, "right here."

and you let him

[gomzdrawfr]

cat!Ghost and birb!Soap

a request by my friend on twt

[dollster]

[noramsblog]

🆘️

[elizaarts04]

i’ve being doing digital art for officially 4 years !!!!

my first proper digital art piece vs my most recent uni project 🤭🤭🤭

i’ve been in a fuck off an art block recently so haven’t really posted, mainly focused on defining my style some more last year at uni blah blah all that boring stuff

so my bad lol

[msdestructo-rtrns]

Day 15- cre

I wasn't bothered to render it lol

@drewtober

[jxruyi]

a little sneak peek of my piece for an upcoming signalis zine!!!

[answer2jeff]

Life Imitates Art —Carmen Berzatto.

PART 1/2.

warnings: fluff. painter!reader x roommate!carmen. unestablished relationships. clunky overly detailed writing. carmy being concerned. angsty. mutual pinning. (reader is lowkey mentally unstable like Carmen. i can't write 100% healthy relationships i'm sorry!!!)

a/n: sorry i disappeared and didn't write for weeks and decided to randomly drop this!

You needed inspiration.

With your last three pieces bought out from the French art gallery, L'art de L'amour, you hadn't touched your easel in days. Your brushes had gone dry, the paint clumping and staining every bristle. The lack of desire to make art felt like you hadn't seen the sun in 10 years.

You'd been ignoring this dreadful feeling with sleep.

Long day at the studio, the space filled with no one but younger, starving artists who wanted to admire your work for creative flow—but never wanting to know the real meaning behind every brush stroke, or why you used oil paints for specific pieces? Sleep.

The days fell shorter, the nights falling longer.

Even your roommate, a micromanager of his career, noticed.

It surprised you, possibly more than it should've. When you first moved into this apartment, you had every doubt in the world sharing a space would be enjoyable. For a while, you weren't sure if you could call yourselves "friends." Then again, living with a complete stranger—a man, no less, seemed impractical. But after a month or two, it was refreshing in a way. Carmen always cleaned up after himself, and was never opposed to splitting chores. There was no need to set specific boundaries. You felt respected, cared for. Every minute not overpowered by either of your desires to create were mostly spent with each other. It kept you sane.

You woke up to the sound of Carmen walking into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he struggled to shut the door of your apartment behind him. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, only to find that your bedroom door was wide open. You must've gone straight to bed after spending the entire evening trying and expectedly failing at "cleaning" up the apartment so Carmen wouldn't come home to a mess.

Bare feet pattered against the floorboards, the palm of your hand pressing into your tired eyes. You stretched your arms out, your t-shirt, who you weren't sure if it was yours or Carmen's, lifting up and showing just a sliver of your stomach over your grey sweatpants. The sunlight leaking through the windows blinded you.

"Oh, hey. You're up." A warm, welcoming voice greeted you, followed by the fridge being closed shut after restocking it with the necessities he picked up from Whole Foods.

You blinked to see Carmen hovered over the kitchen counter, clad in a navy-blue crewneck and gold chain dangling from his pale neck. His hands pried at a familiar brown wrapper. Blueberry muffins.

"Hey, yourself," you slurred, barely able to keep your eyes open as you hoisted yourself up onto the marble surface. You gazed down at him, grinning at his messy blonde curls.

Carmen smiled back, blue eyes admiring the sight of you: half asleep, your voice raspy while still having that airy cadence, your hair messier than it was the last time he willingly saw you—which he couldn't totally remember. He came home to the sight of your bedroom dimly lit by your bedside lamp.

"It's noon," he muttered, glancing from his phone on the counter, and back to you.

"Shit. Really?"

"Yeah. You've been sleeping a lot lately," he kept his stare on you as he opened the cabinet beside you, reminding you to 'watch your head' as he grabbed a ceramic plate.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Your mind wandered to your exhibit. The thought of never having the ability to create such extraordinary work terrified you. So much that you hadn't even tried. It was almost embarrassing: Carmen seeing you like this. Rid of the one thing you convinced yourself you knew how to do.

"Not really."

You wanted to laugh. Maybe he just didn't get it.

If you could make even the painfully mundane into something more, than maybe you were more than just existing. Carmen was actually astounded by you and your work, even with the lack of knowledge in other art forms. Culinary was his calling, but for you? Oh, how he tried to grasp every concept you conveyed in your creative works. All in attempt to comprehend every thought in that pretty little head of yours.

Maybe he didn't understand as much as he wished, but maybe he didn't have to totally 'get it' to get you. Carmen found it hard to read people, their feelings, their true intentions, his whole life. But for once, he had confidence in his intoxicating marvel for everything you did. Even the way you covered your mouth when you laughed around everyone except him, or the way you styled your hair

"Well, it was for the sake of art," you smiled, extending your hand out to accept the plate that held the beautifully baked blueberry muffin. "Thanks for these, by the way."

"Pleasure. And I was actually gonna ask you about that. The—the art. Your art." Carmen joined you on the counter, his feet dangling beside yours. Your shoulders bumped past each other, a laugh coming from the both of you.

"Yeah? What about it?" You bit into your muffin, your gaze never leaving his.

"Well, I uh—I kinda wanted to visit your exhibit, y'know? Get to see it in its full form. I would've asked sooner but—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay. I know. Um—that'd be great. That's really nice of you, Carm."

A part of you wondered why he wanted to see it. But it wasn't all too surprising. Carmen took every chance he got to see your studio—even taking the initiative to drive you home from it on late nights, where you'd be endlessly analyzing your works even hours after Carmen would leave what was now, The Bear.

"Nah, I mean, I've just seen all that y'do and it's—" Carmen shrugged, struggling to find the right words to express his admiration without changing the atmosphere, "really cool. It's you, y'know?" His bottom lip was barred by his teeth and he looked into you for an answer.

You wished you could understand how the complexities of a kitchen; how it could clutch Carmen's attention to the point of no return, but you were happy for him. He was making something more of "mom and dads piece of shit," as he called it.

You never thought it was anything short of fucking awesome. He had all of this experience, drive, passion. Carmen felt more real, more rawly human to you than anything. Or anyone you'd met before.

He changed you. You were softer, calmer.

And still, you worried for him, dragging him out of the ever all consuming anxiety. Sometimes this was through watching X-file reruns on the couch. And every night, you'd move a little closer. By now, he'd keep an arm around you as your eyes became heavy and the room stirred with darkness and comfortable silence. He prayed to whatever ruled above him that you wouldn't notice, simultaneously wishing you'd want him to hold you gently like this. Even grocery store trips, something so simple, felt this way—which you missed out on this morning. You'd stand on the edge of the cart, your hands supporting your weight as Carmen pushed the handle with both hands, eyes scanning the isle for whatever obscure ingredient he needed for the dinner he planned on making you that night.

Every time he looked away, you stared. His beautifully carved nose, the way he bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his blonde eyebrows when he tried to focus on making a decision. You were afraid, in a weird, animalistic way. You hadn't stopped yourself from relying on him. What if loving him this way made him pull away–or worse, you? You had to admit, having something this painfully simple in your life that made up for the chaos, was a little hard to accept.

It took everything in you to pretend you didn't notice him cleaning up the bathroom you shared whenever either of you left your belongings lying around. You wanted to convince yourself it was because he didn't want to come off as a slob, or influence you to be one yourself. But it always felt more like he was looking after you. Nothing that belonged to you would ever be misplaced again. Not with Carmen around.

You took pride in the little things. Your shoes placed next to each other near the front door, your toothbrushes leaning against each other with corresponding colored clips to cover their bristles. This was good. Change was good.

[bottledcarneasada]

Sketch that had orginally intended to transfer to wood be a traditional carving (for a woodcut print) , but it seems i wont have time anytime soon

[thefablefoxart]

Somehow found time between uni work to actually finish these :D

This is only about half of my red dead OCs but i really don’t have time to draw the others rn 😭😭 If you have questions be sure to ask me about them,,,i could talk forever about these silly lil guys

[ro-is-struggling]

*emerging from mid terms week covered in blood*

I'M BACK