#unless the sharpie ink decides to be mean

[little-paper-ghost-child]

Me when I forget that some of the things I do and think are genuinely concerning and problematic instead of silly and quirky

[wreckedandpolemic]

mine - matty healy

(mdni) in which your husband feels the need to remind you exactly to whom you belong. a white and gold future fic. 2713 words.

warnings: problematic age gap, daddy kink, branding, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, degradation, mild cumplay, dirty sleazy possessive man

You really, truly didn’t mean to find yourself in this situation. Sometimes, you’ll admit, it’s on purpose, playing up the brattiness until Matty snaps, doling out whatever punishment he wants as you cry and promise to be good next time. This time, though, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t. You can’t help it if your husband’s business partners see his young, hot wife and decide they want you for themselves. Besides, Matty’s always telling you to be polite, so you were. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, leaning forward as you listen with interest.

It’s not your fault if some (old, stupid) man takes that as the wrong kind of interest. Matty watches as he stumbles through attempts to flirt with you, pet names tripping clumsily off his tongue. Steam practically curls off your husband, his face hardening in fury as you smile blithely, accepting the affections without encouraging anything; he doesn't take the hint. When he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, trailing his hand down in a garish attempt to touch your tit, Matty catches his wrist in a punishing grip. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife, yeah? Unless you wanna get knocked the fuck out.” His usually-subtle accent bleeds over his words, roughens their edges. Everyone suddenly becomes very interested in the silverware and heat prickles under your skin as Matty’s grip tightens on your waist, possessive.

He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep and an obvious performance, a public message: mine. Matty stays tight with anger the whole evening, the tension in his shoulders not loosening until you’re spread out on the bed, your dress crumpled somewhere on your living room floor and your hair haloed out on the pillow as he stares down at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say cautiously, and his face softens.

“Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you,” he promises, climbing over you to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You accept it eagerly, the bitter taste of red wine lingering on his lips. “Just need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah? So pretty, baby. Drives me fuckin’ crazy. You know, every single one of those men wanted to take you home. Can see it in the way they look at you.”

You flush, a note of pride creeping under your skin. “But they can’t,” you say, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s girl, yeah? I’m the only one who gets to take you home, gets to see you all pretty and pleading and spread out for me, yeah? Bet they go home and dream about seeing you like this.” His nails dig into your skin as he grips your hips, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.

“Only you, Daddy,” you promise, and Matty presses a kiss between your tits, just over your heart. It thuds faster, calling out for his touch, a wave of love crashing over you as you sigh happily. “All yours,” you say, pouting as he climbs off you and goes to root in a dresser drawer for something.

He comes back to you with an uncapped Sharpie, grinning as you shudder. “Need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah?” You nod shakily, Matty kneeling over you and leaning down. The scrape of the pen against your decolletage sends a shiver up your spine, something close to pain but not quite it blooming where the ink stains your skin. Concentration is evident on his face as he writes, the letters bold and clear as he moves down your body. Sitting up to admire his handiwork, Matty plucks at the strap of your bra. “Can you take this off for me, princess? Wanna see your pretty tits.” You obey thoughtlessly, arching your back to slip a hand behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Naked but for your panties with Matty fully clothed on top of you, you shiver, exposed. There’s something that feels right about it, though, handing Matty all the power like this, and trusting that you’ll only love what he does with it.

“What did you write, Daddy?” you ask, craning your neck to try to read, but the letters are upside down and your skin bends in a way that makes the letters illegible.

Matty pushes you back down gently. “Here, darling. Let me show you.” He slides his phone out from his back pocket and takes a couple of photos before handing it to you. Eagerly, you drink in the sight of yourself, heat in your cheeks and your lips red and kiss-bitten. Then, your eyes track across the words scrawled on your skin. Property of M. Healy. A pulse of heat throbs in your belly so thickly it almost hurts, liquid desire dripping between your legs and pooling in your underwear.

Property. You turn the word over in your mind, savouring the way it traces deliciously up your spine. Matty’s property, his kept girl, his pretty toy, his to do with whatever he wants. The thought makes your head go fuzzy, the idea of being his whenever and wherever he wants melting your insides to goo. “You own me, Daddy,” you murmur, his eyes so wide with lust that they look black.

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he breathes, stripping out of his suit and boxers, his cock thudding against his belly. Eagerly, you slide your panties down your legs and kick them to the floor, watching Matty’s eyes fall to your soaked cunt. “So wet for me, princess. Does it get you off, knowing you’re all mine?” You nod, drool pooling in your mouth  as he strokes his cock slowly. “Such a good girl. My good girl. Can see how bad you want it. Bein’ so patient, princess.”

Trembling, it’s a fight to keep still, keep your hands to yourself. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, Matty still just watching. “Please, Daddy,” you whine desperately. “Can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe, and the words finally snare him, his eyes darkening as he falls on top of you.

“Whatever I want, yeah?” he murmurs, a gush of heat flooding between your legs at his words. “C’mon, sweet girl. Legs up for me. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he promises, thumbing over the bold, stark letters on your skin. He dips his head, biting a harsh bruise into your neck, one you know will be luridly purple by the next time he takes you out. You giggle as he takes a greedy handful of one of your tits, grasping possessively. “These pretty tits are mine, yeah?”

“Yours,” you whimper, the heat between your legs unbearable as Matty works his way down your body, repeating it like a litany as he grasps possessively at your skin.

“These hips.” His. “This ass.” His. “These pretty thighs.” His. “This sweet, needy little cunt.”

A strangled moan escapes you as he brushes his fingers featherlight over your clit, teasing. Desperation wells under your skin, your cunt aching with need. “S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M your property,” you moan, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“That’s right,” he grins. “Bein’ such a good girl for Daddy, princess.” A moan of pure lust spills from your lips as Matty licks a broad, flat stripe over your cunt, your hands fisting in the sheets at the wave of pleasure that cascades over you. He laps at you insistently, setting a dizzying rhythm over your swollen clit. You tremble with the effort of keeping still, letting Matty do what he wants while you take it like a good girl. “S’okay, baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make, feel that sweet little cunt grinding on my face,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through your core.

Matty wraps his lips around your clit, the sensation making your body jolt as he sucks on your swollen bundle of nerves. Heat blooms under your skin as Matty tongues at you and moans into your cunt, the vibration rolling gloriously through you. He digs his fingers into your thighs, so hard that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, further proof he owns you. Mind-melting pleasure winds deliciously through you, Matty plunging his tongue deep inside you, devouring you from the inside out.

He refuses to fall into a rhythm, refuses to let you get complacent, switching between sucking on your clit, licking at your hole and tonguefucking you at a dizzying pace. Whining incoherently, you fist a hand in his curls and grind your hips up against his mouth. Matty’s nose bumps your clit as you writhe, legs kicking in the air. Molten pleasure melts your brain, dripping sticky from your ears and puddling on the mattress. “Are you close, sweet girl?” Matty asks, pulling away to kiss wetly at your thighs. Your hazy, addled mind struggles to latch onto his words, and you gasp as he blows cold air over your clit. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whimper reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m close,” you whine, tugging on his hair to pull him back to your cunt. Matty’s fingers join his tongue, a bolt of ecstasy striking between your legs at the scrape of his calloused fingers. He works skilfully at your clit, your legs turning to jelly as waves of pleasure pin you to the mattress. “F-fuck, Daddy, m’gonna cum, want it s’bad, please, please, please!” you cry out, babbling incoherent pleas into the air above you.

“Go on, darling. Cum for Daddy.” He pairs the words with a harsh pinch to your clit, your body wracking with shudders as you pitch over the edge. Pleasure drips stickily down your spine, your vision blurring as your orgasm crashes through you. Matty doesn’t let up, sucking insistently on your clit, your cunt still pulsing with the aftershocks.

Pleasure tinged with pain kicks under your skin, overstimulation burning between your thighs. “S’too much, Daddy, I can’t–” you whimper, his free hand pinning your hips down when you try to squirm away.

“‘Whatever you want,’ you said,” Matty reminds you, running a finger through your sensitive folds. “What I want is for you to take it like a good girl, okay?” You nod shakily, swallowing thickly around a whine. “There’s my sweet girl. Colour?”

“‘M green,” you promise, shifting your hips and moaning when Matty’s tongue finds your clit again. You choke on a gasp as he sinks two fingers into you, meeting no resistance at your soaked hole.

“Such a good girl,” Matty murmurs, kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs, marking you as his, the undercurrent of pain glorious weaved through the pleasure licking up your spine. He finger-fucks you hard, your cunt clenching and legs kicking in the air, a second orgasm already building at the base of your spine. “My fucking girl, yeah?” Your hand drifts unconsciously down to where his name is written just below your tits. “All those men today wanted you, princess. Wanted you so badly,” he coos, your mind staticky as his fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that sends you reeling. “Wanted my gorgeous, sexy, irresistible, perfect fucking wife,” he groans, punctuating every adulation with a quick, deep thrust, moans spilling endlessly from your lips. 

“Can’t have me,” you slur out, your mind off-balance against Matty’s unfaltering pace.

“That’s right, princess,” he says, pride colouring his tone. “You’re mine. All mine. That’s my  ring on your finger, my name next to yours.” he growls. Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I should take you out like this, show the whole fuckin’ world how much you love bein’ all fucked-out for me, wearin’ my name, bein’ my property.” You give a helpless, strangled moan, turned on beyond words. “God, you love that, don’t you, baby? Such a good little slut for Daddy. Do you wanna cum, angel?”

“God, yes, please, please, please!” you scream out, writhing and squirming uncontrollably as the tide of pleasure wells up inside of you, threatening to overwhelm.

Matty kisses your clit softly, your cunt fluttering around his fingers at the sensation. “God, you beg so pretty, baby. Go on, darling, cum,” he orders, and your body obeys. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the first, pure pleasure washing over you and wiping your mind clean. Your vision whites out, a scream you’re only dimly aware comes from your own throat ringing out. Euphoria burns from your core, flooding your limbs, hot and intense.

You come back to Earth to Matty’s tongue working insistent and sure over your clit, your body going boneless against the fervid pleasure winding up your spine. “Again?” you whimper.

Matty pinches your hip with his free hand. “Don’t be a brat. How many times have I told you I wanna spend all day with my tongue buried in this sweet cunt? ‘S what I want, princess, like you said. SHould be thankin’ me. Colour?”

“‘M still green, Daddy. Thank you,” you say dopily, letting your eyes slip closed as pure electricity washes over you. 

You lose count of how many times Matty makes you cum, skilled fingers and tongue sending you spiralling over and over and over again. Your body feels barely a body; ecstasy in place of organs, pleasure in place of bones. When he’s finally satisfied, pulling away with his lips and chin fucking dripping with your arousal, your cunt feels sore and swollen, and you know you won’t be walking right for weeks. He climbs over you, pulling your jaw open like you’re a fucking doll and spitting the taste of you into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, smiling up at him and showing off your clean tongue.

“Good girl,” Matty coos. “Got you trained up so good, hm? God, I fucking love you, my girl,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you so that the taste of you smears further across your tongue.

“Love you too,” you say, gazing up into his eyes, lust-darkened but still liquid with adoration. “Yours forever,” you promise, lifting your left hand so your wedding ring catches the light.

Matty kneels up to take in the sight of you, fucking wrecked for him, his eyes blowing wide at his name in stark ink on your skin. He unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock, flushed red and drooling. Two fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, and you whimper at the prospect of cumming again. “S’okay, darling, m’not gonna make you go again,” Matty promises, wrapping his wet hand around his cock. “See how hard you make me, angel?” He tips his head back with a groan, slowly pumping his cock. “All for you. M’yours.”

“Made for each other,” you say breathily, eyes glued to the point where his cock disappears into his fist.

Moaning low in his throat, Matty nods. “Made for each other,” he agrees, fucking his fist wildly. You can tell from his face, the way his motions get more erratic with every passing second, that he’s close. With a gasp of your name, he’s cumming, white ropes splashing on your belly and over your tits. His jaw goes slack as he gazes down at you, his cum splattered over the brand of his name driving him wild. “Fuck. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous, darling. God, I wanna keep you like this forever.”

You giggle. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Can I?” he murmurs, awed.

“As many as you like, Daddy,” you smile. “I’m your property, remember? Your little slut. Your pretty cumdump.”

Matty gives a shuddering moan. “For such a princess, you’ve got a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” he chuckles, retrieving his phone from his discarded jacket. He takes at least a dozen pictures, pausing in between each to stare at you, unabashed arousal in his face.

“I learned it from you,” you smirk; you both know that isn’t true, but he likes hearing it. You drag two fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them clean, grinning proudly up at him.

“Fuck,” Matty groans, cock twitching valiantly as he watches you. “God, drives me fuckin’ crazy when you do that. Makin’ me wanna fuck you properly, baby.”

A thrill skitters up your slime. “Please?”

[qocsuing]

How to Pick the Right Drawing Software

How to Pick the Right Drawing Software

Parallel rules, circle templates, vellum, drafting dots, erasing shields … you may still have some of these implements on your desk for sentimental or nostalgic reasons, or your projects may begin there, but it’s probably been a long time since you’ve actually inked a set of construction documents on Mylar to run through a blueprint machine.To get more news about 2d construction drawing software, you can visit shine news official website.

Drawings remain the primary means by which architects convey ideas to the craftspeople who will manifest them into tangible structures, just as they have been doing for a very long time. The way we create those drawings has evolved over time and will continue to. But no matter what, the way you put a set of drawings together — the line weights, shading, notation, what you choose to draw and what you leave out, the unspoken gestures of delineation and representation — are by extension a part of your brand. And that means you’ll need the right tools for the job. To select the software that’s right for you, I recommend starting by answering this question: “What’s the best way for me to channel my creative energies into a representation that someone can build from?” The answer will be different for all of us, but let’s briefly review a few of your options. It’s important to remember that drafting and design software, like anything else, is just a tool. And unless you’re willing to dust off the drafting board and break out the pounce (remember that stuff?), you’ll need a drawing tool in the form of CAD (computer-aided design) software to create your drawings in an efficient manner.

CAD software can incite great passion among architects and designers. I understand just how personal a decision this is, because it’s used almost every single day. So my goal isn’t to endorse one tool over another. That would be the equivalent of my telling you to sketch using only an ultrafine-point black Sharpie when you prefer Sign Pens or crayons. This is really more of an overview or guide for navigating the choices. It’s up to you to decide which one best fits your work habits and your brand’s message. 2D Digital Drafting vs. 3D Model Making

Up front you’ll need to decide whether to invest in two-dimensional CAD or a three-dimensional BIM (building information modeling) system. Two-dimensional CAD is purely representational drawing, or digital drafting. Lines represent three-dimensional objects using standard drawing conventions.

While the drawings correlate to each other, they never coalesce into an actual model of the structure. You create drawings based on architectural standards (plans, elevations, sections) to represent that building three-dimensionally. It’s completely up to you to create the appropriate drawings needed to illustrate the characteristics of the building coherently to those responsible for constructing it. By contrast, with BIM, you’re drawing the actual walls, roofs, columns and other building components that contribute to the creation of a model and a true three-dimensional representation of the structure you’re designing. The model is imbued with all of the real-world characteristics of a physical building, such as windows, doors, hardware and wall construction. BIM allows you to create a single, “intelligent” model, in which each of the components drawn exist as parametric, information-rich objects.

When you insert a window into a wall in the plan view of your model, it comes with a definable subset of information (type, size, color, glazing etc.) automatically associated with it.

Your drawing set is essentially extracted from the model by viewing it from different vantage points (a plan view, section or elevation). The real power is evidenced when you make changes. For example, when you move a window in the model, any of the drawing sheets (views) you’ve created that reference that particular window will reflect this change automatically. So too will the plans and sections, which can reduce your coordination and drawing time significantly.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Okay I’m currently moving and going through old trinkets and stuff to see what to get rid of and I just now really would love a Ben Hargreeves x reader fic super fluffy going through old things of yours or his and just generally being super cute 😭 ily!

A/N: So this is a Ben didn’t die AU because that was the only way I could think of for “cute” not “sad.” Also, as someone who just moved herself, good luck on your move darling, may it be as smooth and frustration free as possible. I hope you enjoy it! :) Word Count: 1702 Content Warnings: Major cheese-factor? But other than that nothing

“I’m glad we decided to get a place together,” you said, leaning against Ben’s shoulder, looking around your empty apartment.

Yours, the two of you. When you had started discussing moving in with one another, maybe a year into your relationship, you considered just adding him onto your lease, which still had several months left on it (he did not consider asking you to move in with him, because he’d been living with Vanya, and Klaus when he showed up and couldn’t wait to get out). But eventually, you two had settled on starting fresh, somewhere you had picked out together, a place for both of you to build your lives together. It had been a challenge at first, but in the end, you knew it would be worth the effort to create a home together instead of merely adopting one of you into the other’s preexistent reality.

“Me too,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smiling. “And I’ll be even more glad once we get some stuff in here.”

~

“Y/N, what about these?” Ben called to you, pulling out a battered black shoebox from the back of your closet. “You didn’t put this pair with the rest of your shoes?”

Confused what he was talking about, you set aside the plates you had been wrapping in newspaper and made your way to the bedroom.

“What are you talking ab—oh…” your eyes fell on the box in question and you felt a hot blush creep across your face and down your neck. “That’s um…”

Ben’s confusion at your discomfort only grew when the box rattled slightly, producing sounds of rustling paper rather than shoes.

“You can just ignore that. It’s just some old…I don’t even know why I kept…” you sighed in defeat as his curiosity got the better of him and he opened the box.

The box, which had laid buried in your closet for long that you’d nearly forgotten about it, was full of old newspaper and magazine clippings about the Umbrella Academy in their hay-day.

“I, uh, I can explain that?”

Ben laughed, grin wide and surprisingly nonjudgmental as he picked up the faded pages in gentle fingers, particularly when he came across one of a teen magazine quiz which said your soulmate was Diego and you had drawn frowning faces around it and marked it ‘WRONG’ in blue sharpie.

“Aw, babe, I had no idea you were such a fan,” he teased. “My brother will be so sad I stole his soulmate.”

“Yeah, I mean I guess I was into the whole Umbrella Academy thing as a kid…lots of people were…” you shrugged, hoping that your nonchalance would keep him from pressing further. “It’s nothing to make a big deal of.”

“Aw, hey, Y/N, I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he said, setting the box aside to come over and rest his hands on your shoulders. “I think it’s cute.”

You shoved his chest lightly, hearing the laughter in his voice. “Shut up.”

~

All of your things finally packed, you and Ben made your way to the apartment he shared with his siblings, which they had cleared out of for the day so you could have more space to work.

“Hey Ben,” you said, gesturing to an old-fashioned hatbox on one of his shelves. “I didn’t know you were a hat guy?”

You wished you could reach the box yourself so you could take him down and tease him properly for the contents the way he had had for your shoebox. Instead, you had to wait for him to come and be tall for you.

“Oh that. I took the box from the Academy. Although I think the hat was as likely to have been Pogo’s as it was Dad’s,” he explained.

“So if it’s not a hat, what’s in there?” you asked, practically vibrating with curiosity.

The box tucked under one arm, he pulled you closer with the other into a hug and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, before moving to sit in on the corner of his bed (piled high with the books which had been hiding this mystery box and which you were supposed to be packing at the moment), motioning for you to join him. Eagerly, you bounced across the small room to flop next to him on the floor, making him laugh as you nearly collapsed into his lap and he had to quickly lift the box above his head to keep you from crushing it.

“Well, it’s not quite the same as yours, but it turns out we were both hanging onto some things,” he explained almost shyly, carefully wiggling off the snug lid of the box.

“Oh really?” you couldn’t help the smirk that crept across your face.

The first thing he pulled out was a photobooth filmstrip. In the four little boxes were your smiling faces, your silly faces, and one where you had leaned over and kissed him, his eyes wide with shock, all in sepia, perfect moments frozen in time.

“That was our first date,” you said with surprise. “Our first official one anyway, unless you count you refusing to let go of my hand until you had escorted me safely out of the building when those lunatics decided a coffee shop was the best place to hold up for quick cash.”

“Well I couldn’t let them catch wind of priceless treasure that slipped through their fingers, and my siblings had everything under control.”

You rolled your eyes at his corniness, leaning your chin on his knee to see what else was in the box. It was full to the brim, practically overflowing with little bits of memorabilia from your time together: a newspaper clipping about the day you met, ticket stubs for concerts and movies, pictures you had taken together or of each other with his polaroid camera, love letters you’d sent each other and notes you’d left when one of you had to leave before the other woke or had something important coming up that you might need a little extra encouragement for. It was like your whole lives together so far were in that hat box and you felt your eyes welling up at the thought. It was so much better than your embarrassing childhood crush.

“You know, I thought you had only agreed to go to that carnival with me because you felt like you owed me for saving you or something,” he added softly as he leafed through.

You rolled your head to one side, cheek against his leg, so you could look up at him, sensing the insecurity in his voice.

“Ben, baby…” you sighed.

Even now, after all of this time, he still seemed to think that part of you was only there out of pity, seemed to expect you to flinch away in horror at his abilities. You knew that it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the way he and his siblings were raised and exploited by Reginald Hargreeves, but still your heart ached every time you sensed him withdrawing into those dark places.

“I know, Y/N, you don’t have to say it,” he said, guessing at how your sentence was going to finish based on your repeated past conversations about it.

“I don’t think you do,” you lifted your head up, sitting back to better look him in the eye. “I was stunned that you even noticed me let alone asked me out, because you are incredible. And I don’t just mean the superhero thing, although that is pretty sweet,” you face scrunched up and you grinned at him before sobering. “If I was only in it for pity or for fame or because I owed you, I would have bailed a long time ago, not be getting an apartment with you. You’re stuck with me. Because I love you Ben Hargreeves.”

He set the box in his hands aside, pulling you close so that he could kiss you, tender and sweet and so rawly, desperately full of love that it threatened to overwhelm you. You folded your arms over his shoulders drawing him in even more. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, gently carding your fingers through his hair as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“We should really get back to packing,” you said after sitting like that for a moment, more than a little regretful that you had to break the moment and return you both to reality.

“Wait, there’s one more thing I wanted to show you from the box,” he said sheepishly, pulling out a generic looking crumpled piece of lined paper.

“What’s this?” you asked, reaching for it.

Nervously, he handed it to you and you began to read. Almost immediately, your hand came up to cover your mouth as tears welled up in them. This wasn’t a letter, so much as the draft of a speech with words and lines and entire paragraphs crossed out, some scribbled over completely and others with a single mark through them and new words squeezed into the cramped space above them. Finally, at the bottom, circled in blue ink: Y/N, you’re incredible. Will you go out with me?

“Oh Ben,” you murmured, clutching the paper carefully to your chest, trying your hardest not to cry.

“I was so nervous to ask you out,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “And Diego kept giving me shit about how you were way out of my league, which definitely didn’t help. But for some reason you said yes, and I thought I might die, I was so happy.”

~

“So I was thinking…” you said one night, wrapping your arms around Ben as he stood in the doorway of your new living room.

“Uh-oh,” he laughed, mirroring your hold.

“We have that big open wall-space over the sofa, right?”

He nodded, looking at you, eyebrows knit together in curiosity and confusion.

“We also have two boxes of stuff that would make a really nice collage…we could maybe put them there? Sort of a wall of memories?”

His eyes sparkled as he turned to you fully. “I love it.”

[starkeristheendgame]

Peter tattooed Tony's name on his ass after a drunken night on his 18th birthday. And then Tony found out.

I had so many ideas for this and I fucking loved this prompt. Honestly Anon, thank you so much for the burst of inspiration! I absolutely love this concept and spent like two-hours just staring into space and internally fic-writing 😂

Its not exactly a ‘drunken night tattoo’ AU, but that’s because any respectable tattoo shop will not tattoo you if you’re drunk, or if you’ve consumed alcohol within the last 12 hours. So in respect of the professionals and in the interest of promoting safety, this is a slightly different base!

TW: Very light D/s Dynamic | Slight possessive behaviour | Under-negotiated (but consensual)

Peter couldn’t even blame being drunk. He wished he could; really. People did stupid things when drunk. It seemed to be an immediate write-off excuse for anything, instantly accepted as a valid reason for any stupid decisions.

Peter had been completely and utterly, stone-cold sober at every point in this process. He’d been sober when he’d scanned one of Tony’s signatures onto his phone. Sober when he’d booked the consultation with InkSpren Tattoo. Sober when he’d walked into the studio a week later in a pair of MJ’s velvet shorts.

He wasn’t entirely nervous. Pain didn’t really scare him as much as he supposed it used to. Especially not pain from a set of tiny, teeny needles. He’d gone with MJ for her first tattoo, and she’d taken it pretty well. Well enough that somewhere around the first hour, she’d begun to snore.

His tattoo artist was named Dave. That was comforting. Dave sounded like a nice name. Normal. Friendly. Guy-Next-Door-Dave.

Peter faltered in the doorway.

Dave was a 6″1 male with a beard and more tattoos than Peter thought possible to fit on one man. He was in the process of sapping on a pair of gloves, and eyed Peter critically when he noticed him lingering in the doorway, before motioning for Peter to join him.

“Lay down on your front. Arch your spine a little. You’re gonna have to pull those down under the cheek,” he instructed, reaching into a small tub to pull out some sanitary wipes. Peter tried not to feel embarrassed as he did as told, crawling up onto the bed and settling comfortably, before he squirmed, tugging down his shorts and his boxers both.

The wipe was cold and Peter huffed out a breath in surprise, nose scrunching as he forced himself to relax again. It was fine. It was a wipe. “I’m going to apply the stencil now. You wanted it dead-centre on the right cheek, yeah, mate?” Dave asked after a pause, and Peter nodded.

It would be more accurate to say that MJ wanted it there. Or at the least… That was the spot she’d chosen, when he’d lost the bet. Or… The pseudo bet. It was better to say that MJ had simply said she didn’t believe Peter would ever do something like this, and.

Here he was.

The stencil felt a little like rice paper. A little wet, and having some strange, scary dude palming his asscheek was definitely an experience, but Peter lay quietly through it, glancing nervously at his phone. 

God. He hoped Mr. Stark was too busy to call him today. Or worse, face-time him. Was Mr. Stark watching him through the camera? Had he hacked the microphone?

“Alright. Get up and have a look. We can wipe it off and re-place if its not right,” Dave instructed, and Peter moved gingerly, keeping hold of the waistband as he shuffled awkwardly over to the mirror and twisted.

There, emblazoned in dark purple on his asscheek, was Tony Stark. In a perfect replica of Tony’s elegant, eccentric scrawl. “He’s gonna kill me,” Peter breathed, staring at the stencil with growing horror. He caught Dave’s quizzical, raised eyebrow, and forced a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Its perfect. Right in the middle there. Great. Thanks.”

He lay back down, and after a brief warning, Dave begun.

“You lost a bet or something, kid? Or are you just…Really into the whole Iron Daddy thing?”

Peter wheezed.

Iron Daddy?!

“Lost a bet,” he managed to hiss out, burying his face into his arms. Oh, god. Thank whatever Deity was lurking up there that MJ wasn’t here to witness that. She’d immediately demand that the stencil was changed. Dave gave an affirmative sound from behind him.

“Why this guy? You a big fan or something? Or is it the opposite?”

“Uh… I guess a fan? I Intern. At SI,” Peter replied, wincing at a particularly harsh nip from the needles. It wasn’t so bad, all things considered. It stung, but it wasn’t the raging fire of pain that some people mentioned when they spoke about getting tattooed.

“Mmph. Must come with a nice paycheque. You gonna show him?”

“Absolutely not” Peter responded instantly, to Dave’s amused chuckle. Christ. Mr. Stark would fire him on the spot. He’d take back the suit. He’d get a restraining order. What mentor wanted their name on their eighteen year old mentee’s asscheek?

Then again.

Tony was egotistical enough that he’d probably love it, and think it was the most hilarious thing in the world, and Peter really wasn’t sure which one was worse. Not to mention that both involved him dropping his pants in front of his boss.

It was quiet for a little while after that, just the buzz of the needle and the odd puff of breath at the occasional sting from the gun.

“You know anything about knitting?” Dave asked after a pause, and Peter frowned, considering. He knew a little about sewing. He’d made his own suit, before Mr. Stark had showed up. Aunt May had taught him back when he’d thrown a tantrum over ripping his favourite shirt as an eight year old.

“Uh… Not really? I mean, I can sew a little. But I’ve never knit anything,” he remarked back, pondering it. Knitting was soft sweaters and thick scarves. It made him think of little old Russian ladies on their porches.

“My Ma wants to knit. Says she’s at that age. Told me to get her some wool and those special needles. I dunno the first thing about knitting.”

And that was how Peter learned that Dave’s Ma was what Peter imagined Ms. Romanoff would be when she was eighty, and that Dave’s main job was actually as a Doggy Daycare assistant at Paws ‘R Us.

“All done,” Dave announced, squirting a weird, green froth over Peter’s asscheek before wiping it lightly with a series of cloths. “Go take a look.” 

Peter obliging, sliding off the bench and twisting to see his butt in the mirror.

“Aw, man. This is gonna be on my mind literally every time I see him,” Peter complained, clapping a hand over his face. There, in what looked like thick Sharpie across his ass, was Tony’s signature. Forever. If he ever died, it would be with this stamped across his butt.

“He ain’t gonna know none, unless you drop your kick in front of him,” Dave shrugged, peeling off the gloves. Peter had to concede that he had a point. He had zero intentions of ever telling Mr. Stark what he’d done, and in the three years they’d known each other, Mr. Stark had never seen Peter in less than a shirt and bottoms.

MJ looked moderately impressed when she pulled the hem of his shorts down, peering at the taped-up tattoo with her phone flashlight. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” she shrugged, flopping back onto her bed and resuming the video she’d been watching on her phone.

Peter shuffled around to lay on his stomach on the bottom of the bed, slapping at her ankle. “Never tell a Peter Parker he can’t do something,” he announced, and MJ rolled her eyes.

“I never said you couldn’t do it. I said it was a stupid thing to do, and you argued it, and then decided it was your new personal challenge.”

Peter paused, then tipped his head. “Fair.”

Hiding it was both predictably and surprisingly easy. Peter spent the next few days sitting very gingerly and working himself up into a lather about meeting Mr. Stark on the weekend. Would Tony somehow know? What if MJ had emailed him to spill the secret?

What if Peter and his big mouth spilled it for him?

Except… It went fine. Tony picked him up in a sleek, red sportscar and they went straight to the Tower. Peter was taking a gap year in order to process what he wanted to do with his future. 

Spiderman suddenly changing locations would be suspicious, and sooner or later, someone would think to check on new students at local facilities. People moving for jobs, that sort of thing.

Mj was just… Refusing to comply with the Government agenda or something like that. Honestly, Peter was thankful. With Ned moving to San Francisco for college, things could get a little lonely.

Bar the odd self-conscious squirm, it went as any other meet-up went. They stuffed themselves silly with food in the penthouse and messed around with tech and prank-called Steve and by the end of the night, Peter had almost forgotten about his tattoo.

The twitchy, nervous fear that Tony would somehow turn around and demand to know why he had his name tattooed on his ass eventually faded, and life resumed as it had before he’d gotten the ink.

Which, of course, is exactly when things had to go wrong.

Really, Peter should have expected it. His luck ran in a pattern, and he should have walked on egg-shells the moment he realised things were relaxed and easy and his tattoo was still a secret.

It had been about a month since the tattoo. When he was alone, Peter couldn’t help but stare at it, running his finger over the shiny, black skin. Tony’s name, emblazoned like a brand across his ass. 

It became the focal point of more fantasies than his ass could keep up with, lazing floppy and exhausted and lube-covered on his bed, his mind reeling.

He imagined Tony tracing the letters with his tongue. Imagined Tony pinning him down and tattooing it himself. Imagined a different world where the branding was deliberate. A mark of ownership. Or a surprise. The look on Tony’s face when Peter would bend over, revealing his name.

And, as predicted, hiding it was no trouble at all. Peter had his own room in Tony’s penthouse, so if he needed to shower or sleep there, he had complete privacy. It helped that the Iron Spider and that Tony’s Mark II for the fabric Spiderman suit fit over his regular clothing now, so he didn’t even have to strip to do his thing.

The one thing he didn’t factor in, was a disastrous inventory day combined with the decision to wear white boxers. There’d been a raid on a medical facility kidnapping people to experiment on and most of the equipment and tech had been turned over to Tony for examination, classification and destruction. Peter was there to help, sleepy-eyed and not quite as focused as he ought to be.

He didn’t check the lid on the canister was tight before picking it up.

He didn’t see the drop of oil on the floor where Dum-E had been trundling around, moving things.

He slipped with a whelp, still clutching the container as he slid and twisted, bumping canister first into the edge of the table. He was vaguely aware of Tony shouting as his vision filled with pink dust that stung his eyes and seemed to cling to his clothes.

“Peter! Jesus H - Get in the med-shower, now! I turned away for five seconds kiddo, how did you -” Tony’s frantic muttering stops and starts as he grabbed onto Peter’s arm, dragging him across the workshop to the tiny little emergency shower stall in the corner. 

Peter could do nothing but stagger along, blinking frantically to clear his eyes of dust and pink.

It doesn’t even fully register he’s inside the stall until the first blast of water rained down on him, cold like ice before immediately coming something akin to tepid. He spluttered, trying to flatten himself back against the wall as his hair fell down into his eyes and the water streamed down his mouth, his hair, his back.

He gasped as the water trickled down his thighs, soaking through the cotton of his sweatpants and making them heavy. His shirt clung to his torso like plastic wrap and stuck-peeled uncomfortably with each heaving, shuddering breath.

“Yeah, sorry. This thing acts for burns too, so. Gotta keep it cool,” Tony murmured from outside the stall, head tilting sympathetically even as Peter scowled at him from under the battering stream. “Take your clothes off,” Tony instructed, turning to look over his shoulder.

“What?” Peter squeaked, eyes widening as he wrapped his arms around himself protectively. Tony glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Relax, munchkin. My moves are smoother than that. It was a powder. Its likely it got inside your clothes, too,” he pointed out. Peter wanted to argue. Wanted to say if he just stood here long enough the risk was over, but.

“Turn around,” he huffed adamantly, scowling harder at Tony’s snort. But the genius complied, turning away and folding his arms as he observed the settling dust cloud. Peter counted to ten slowly, teeth chattering under the cold spray before he peeled off his shirt. 

The water on his skin was even more unbearable and he gave a whine of protest as he begun to work at the strings of his sweats, letting them fall with a disgusting, heavy slop.

“I was naked in front of you before,” Tony pointed out conversationally and Peter spat out water, shaking his head before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“That doesn’t count. The armour ripped your clothing off in beta deployment,” he pointed out, though he couldn’t help softening at the memory, snickering as he turned his back to Tony, scrubbing at his body. 

It had been hilarious. The actual deployment had gone fine, it was just when Tony had deactivated it that the armour had shrunk in on itself, taking his beaten old tank top and ratty workshop jeans with it.

“Both were an accident. Both involved one of us witnessing the other in a state of undress. Although my back has been dutifully turned since you commanded it, by the way. And both were equally hilarious in that my own armour undressed me, and you essentially became a - What is that?”

Peter jolted, having sunk into a daydream state of listening to Tony talk as he wiped himself down. He looked over his shoulder to find Tony staring straight at him, expression delighted and curious. Or, rather, straight at his ass.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Nothing!” he yelped, twisting to flatten his back against the wall. He’d left his boxers on for the sake of not trusting that Tony wouldn’t forget his vow of not looking, and had completely forgotten they were white. 

Which also meant that his dick was now flat out bared to his mentor. With a howl of frustration he twisted so he was side-on to Tony, curling up and glowering with all the muted rage he could muster.

“Its a logo. On my boxers,” he ground out.

“I think not,” Tony shot back gleefully, leaning on the protective railing with an absolutely manic glint to his eye. Peter almost groaned aloud, head falling back under the spray. It was too late. He was doomed. His heart begun to pound and the air he was sucking in felt like it wasn’t enough.

“You have a tattoo. On your ass. Right there,” Tony pointed out, as though Peter didn’t know it. Peter tried to glare but it came out feeble, weak. Fuck. He was screwed. So screwed! 

“What is it? Who’s name is it? Its clearly a name,” Tony continued, pestering for the information.

“Go away!” Peter barked lightly, shifting restlessly under the cool stream. Tony just shrugged easily at him and leaned through the gap, hitting the OFF button for the water. He seemed unfazed at Peter’s shuffling or his attempted aggression, smiling at him sweetly.

“You can tell me, or I can ask JARVIS. JARVIS is nice, he’ll tell me.”

And Peter’s blood runs cold, because there’s no doubt that JARVIS will. Peter never swore him to secrecy, and Mr. Stark’s name on his ass isn’t anything concerning to the AI.

“Its nothing! Oh my god, its just a tattoo!” he complained, making a shooing motion at his mentor as he side-stepped his sodden clothing. “Go get me a towel. And clean clothes. Please,” he huffed, fingers digging into his sides where he’d wrapped his arms around himself. Tony gave him a devilish grin, then gestured upwards.

“J?”

“It appears to be your name in your own handwriting, Sir,” JARVIS dutifully responded, his voice ringing like church bells through the room. The silence that followed was deafening and panic seeped like ice through Peter’s veins as Tony’s childish, gleeful look faded into complete, lax shock.

This is it. Everything he’s done, the last two years, the friendships and the Internship and Spiderman being Iron Man’s little tagalong… All gone. He’ll never eat day-old pizza with Clint again. He’ll never have Dum-E running over his foot again. The terror and panic bubbled up before he could stop it.

“Oh my god. Mr. Stark - You can’t - I’m so sorry. I swear, I wouldn’t have gotten it and especially not there but I just - I never thought you’d see it and -”

“Turn around,” Tony cut him off mildly, but his tone was firm. It was enough to snap Peter’s jaw shut as he stared, nails digging into his ribs as he blinked under the droplets that fell from his lashes. He sucked in a breath, staring in confusion.

“…What?” he breathed, pressing back against the shower wall as Tony advanced, unlocking the cubicle door to lean against the frame, eyeing him like a prime cut of steak.

“I said turn around,” Tony repeated patiently, raising one hand to make a little spinning gesture with his finger, as if Peter was a trick dog. Peter shook his head, horror quickly dawning as he realised not only what Tony was asking, but also the fact that if his boxers were that see-through…Facing the man directly was probably not the best idea.

He shuffled to the side as much as he could without baring either delicate matter. Tony’s lips quirked in amusement at this and he hummed softly as Peter shook his head. 

“Mr. Stark, its not - Its just your name, I swear. You sign it like every day, you don’t need to look,” he pleaded, shivering in the cool temperature of the workshop as the water begun to dry on his skin, running down in rivulets.

“I don’t sign it on your ass every day,” Tony pointed out, stepping closer. Peter wanted to stall, to argue that technically Tony hadn’t actually signed his ass, except his mentor was moving closer, reaching out slowly as though he might spook if he moved too fast. 

He was so close Peter could see the flakes of gold in his eyes, could smell the minty-motor-oil combination.

The first brush of Tony’s fingertips had his skin jumping like a colts, the touch so gentle it almost tickled. It was on the arch of his hips, skating the waistband of his sodden boxers before pressing just slightly to encourage him to turn. Tony’s gaze was tipped down, dark on his own.

“You can say no,” Tony reminded him softy, the hungry look in his eyes fading for a brief moment, replaced by something tender and careful. Peter sucked in a breath but didn’t resist as he was spun slowly on the spot, hands coming up to brace on the tiles. 

“How long?” Tony asked after a moment, thumbs pressing into the backs of his hips, breath hot across his shoulder.

“A month,” he managed to whisper, pressing his forehead to the wall as Tony’s thumbs slid along the waistband teasingly, catching and pulling but never dipping it more than an inch. 

Peter shuddered under the gentle touches, lips parting when Tony finally begun to slide the sodden material down his hips, over the large swell of his ass.

“You should have told me,” Tony rumbled, head ducking to mouth a lazy, open kiss to his bare shoulder, his stubble scratching just slightly. Peter shuddered as he felt the fabric slip to under his asscheeks, tight in the groove where it met his thigh but not overly uncomfortable. “Should have shown me sooner” Tony murmured into his skin.

And then the warmth of his breath was gone as he leaned back, and Peter could hear the gravelly, husked fuck that he uttered as he looked down, palm sliding around Peter’s flank so he could swipe his thumb across the dark sheen of the ink. 

Peter held his breath, tensing at the touch, though it didn’t hurt. Tony’s hand left his side to slide down between his shoulders soothingly.

“My name. On that perfect, juicy ass. Branded on there forever,” Tony was murmured, voice lethal and rasped as he stroked over it slowly, reverently. “Does that make you feel good, sweetheart? Knowing my claim is on you? In such an intimate place, too? Did you choose this?” Tony hummed, breath ghosting down Peter’s spine as he sank slowly to his knees.

Peter wasn’t about to let Tony know that actually, stamping it on his ass had been MJ’s idea. Especially not when Tony pressed a gentle, scratchy kiss over the tattoo. 

Especially not when he licked over the letters slowly, palms falling down to cup Peter’s asscheeks firmly. It was all he could do to whine, high and pathetic as he trembled under Tony’s hold.

Tony continued to mouth at the tattoo, lavishing it with nips and sloppy kisses as he kneaded at Peter’s asscheeks, almost distracting him enough to spread them with his thumbs, the kisses slowly travelling right until hot air right over there made Peter jolt, eyes snapping open.

“Mr. Star - Ahhhh-Ohhh,” his yelp faded into a gasp, which trickled into a breathless moan as Tony planted a firm kiss to the swirl of muscle between his thighs, sucking ever so slightly before promptly laving his tongue in a fat, wet stripe upwards.

“No idea what it does to me, kiddo. Seeing my name there. Marked on you forever. Marking you as mine,” Tony spoke against him, licking and kissing thoroughly between his words as Peter scrabbled at the tiles, desperately trying to keep himself from rocking back against Tony’s tongue.

One of Tony’s hands left his ass to stroke across his flank, delicate in its search before wrapping around his cock with a surprising firmness. Peter’s hips immediately jumping forwards into the grip and his moan was staggered as Tony paired it with a thrust of his tongue.

He mewled, embarrassingly high and and desperate as he threw one hand back, sliding his fingers gently into Tony’s hair. It was soft, far more silken than he had expected for something that stuck up in odd places when not professionally attacked by a stylist. 

Tony gave a soft sound of encouragement, nipping at him and sliding his hand up to stroke at the tip of his flushed cock.

“Mr. Stark, please,” he gasped, fingers twisting lightly in the soft, dark locks and hips stuttering minutely between Tony’s hot, wet tongue and his firm, slow grip. He wasn’t going to last; not with Tony Stark finally touching him. Not with the scrape of his stubble and the husk of his voice.

Tony chuckled against him, the vibrations making Peter shudder before he rose slowly, kissing a wet path from the small of Peter’s back to his shoulders, never stopping in stroking him slowly, firmly. 

“So eager, sweetheart. So precious,” Tony breathed against his skin, his hand leaving Peter’s hip to fumbled between them, knuckles brushing the round meat of his ass as he tugged his belt free of its buckle.

The slap of cold metal made Peter jolt, hips bucking in Tony’s grip and wrenching a whine from his throat as Tony squeezed him lightly, dipping his thumb into the tip and pushing at the bead of pre-cum that oozed there. 

“Steady, darling,” Tony huffed into his ear, the smirk audible in his voice. Peter opened his mouth to reply, but then there was the sudden feel of a thick, long cock resting in the line of his asscheeks, heavy and hot and he could do nothing but groan weakly.

“Hush, sweetheart. I’m not gonna take you apart yet. Not here. When I do that, you’ll be on my bed, spread out and sloppy for me,” Tony soothed, jerking him off in steady, tight strokes as he rocked his hips, dragging his cock between Peter’s asscheeks with a soft hiss of pleasure.

Tony flattened against his back, careless of the fact that Peter was still dripping water as he nuzzled into his neck, one hand roaming from Peter’s asscheek to his own cock and back, petting and stroking.

 Peter could feel the slow, hot build of an orgasm coiling in his gut, could feel his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping still as he let his head fall back onto Tony’s shoulder with a feeble  gasp.

Tony pressed open-mouthed kisses to his temple, training down to his neck where he nipped softly as he thrust against him, a seemingly never-ending, thick drag of heavy cock that Peter instantly wished was buried deep within him. 

Tony’s moans were deep, slow things, soft in his ear as he pushed his hips back, arching his spine to give Tony a better, tighter angle.

“Fuck, sweetheart. So good for me. That’s it,” Tony purred, one hand dropping to briefly pinch over his tattoo, speeding up his hand and his thrusts as they moved together. It was Tony’s cock catching on his rim that did it, pressing there briefly as though he was slide right in, paired with the ragged gasp the older man gave at the sensation.

Peter’s hips stuttered forwards and his high moan pitched into a yelp as Tony gave him a rough down-stroke, his cock jumping in his grip before painting the tiles in milky splashes. Peter shook in Tony’s hold, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving as Tony worked him through it, continued to chase his own pleasure.

“My sweet boy. All branded as mine, coming on my cock and my touch. Look at you, baby. So good. So good, Peter. Fuck. Seeing my name, my writing on your ass… I’m gonna ruin you later,” Tony promised, voice ragged, hand falling from Peter’s cock to squeeze his ass, thumb sliding over the signature as he chased his own orgasm. Peter fell breathless against the cool tile, rocking back against the firm, heavy slide of Tony’s cock.

“Please, Tony. Fuck me. Mark me. Take me,” he rambled, breath hitching as Tony pulled back with a groan, nails digging into his ass. 

The older man looked down, managing to pull his hips back and angle his cock in just enough time to paint thick ropes of cum right over his tattoo, the thick, creamy liquid sliding over the ink wetly. Peter let out another mewl, his cock twitching feebly at the thought as Tony panted behind him.

There was a fumble, the rustle of fabric, and Peter opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder in time to see Tony snap a photo of it. His cheeks burned with arousal and humiliation, but Tony dived forwards, capturing his mouth in a firm, wet kiss. 

Peter was breathless by the time Tony pulled back, the corners of his mouth tingling with stubble burn.

“Marked as mine. Twice,” Tony murmured into his cheek, pressing another soft kiss there.

[ouidamforeman]

Your ink october art is stunning! I love all the vibrant colours you use and that Narvin/Pandora/Romana Picture in purple too is beautiful. I'm sorry to bother but I'm looking to get back into drawing and my own ink pens are running out. I'm wondering what do you use for ink pens or is there any that you could recommend? Thank you :)

Thank you so much, people actually thinking my art looks good enough to emulate really means a lot to me ahhh

So I’m very poor so a lot of my art supplies are either kind of crap or not really what I want to be using all the time, however here’s what I’ve been using for Inktober and what I recommend:

This is my actual nice pen set, and I usually use these to do lineart. Only a couple of mine still have juice left so I’ve been mostly using the .08 and .03 ones, but if you have a set like this that actually works you’ll have a variety of line weights available in dark ink that doesn’t bleed through paper or bleed if you wet it with watercolor. Since my set needs to be replaced I’ve been using sharpies and a couple alcohol ink brush markers to color in larger swaths of darkness though. That Narvin/Pandora picture has a lot of thick alcohol ink marker areas, namely the black and gray. Sharpies and other alcohol based inks are way more likely to bleed through your paper as well if your paper choices are limited, so beware of that.

For coloring: I can’t really afford nice markers so I’ve been using this cheap Crayola set that works most of the time, however it does limit my palette somewhat and they don’t blend very well unless you use water or sly visual tricks.

Aside from that, they do lay down much nicer than a lot of other water based ink markers I’ve used before and they also do pretty well when you blend them with water as long as the paper you’re using will hold up to it. I usually prefer alcohol based markers because of how well they blend and how high quality the color is, but those tend to be really expensive (I’ve only ever been able to afford a limited number of colors) and all the ones I’ve used have bled through my sketchbook pages so for now I’ve been settling for these middling quality Crayola water based ones, and they’re what I’ve been using in my Inktober drawings this year.

My process for doing most of the Inktober things, as simply as I can put it:

1. pencil sketch, I attempt to make these relatively light so I can erase construction lines later

2. black ink pen lineart over top, usually starting with a fine line and working my way up to thicker lines if I want that

3. I decide if I want color or just black and white, and start coloring in the darkest black areas, darkest colors, or darkest gray shadows. I usually have to use a separate thick marker to color in large areas because mine don’t all work lol

4. I add in more colors, mid tones, or textures

5. Sometimes I adjust colors on the computer after I scan in the page, so I can have more control over how bright and saturated they are

I hope that helps!

[femkinkharry]

hey hi um so once again i’m humbled and flattered and so, so thankful for all the new follows! y’all are amazing. <3 so here’s a few lil things i wrote back in 2012 [i think; there’s no date]! i started a 100 prompt thing and never finished it [shock, i know]. (: some are canon compliant, some are au. pairings and word count follow the prompt. nothing has been beta’d. enjoy! o1. moonlight - OT5  134 He burst like moonlight between them, one hand clutching hard into curls, the other leaving shallow cuts along an inked arm. The room dissolves into sighs, impressed and exhausted. Lips are caught, fumbled mutters shared, vague hints at "I love you." Niall barely hears his boys wind down for the blood pounding in his ears, but he can feel them. Feel Liam's soft fingers brush his fringe back. Feel Louis' snuggles, already half-asleep by the sound of his mumbles. Feel Harry's lips curl back as he slicks one last possessive stripe on Niall's jawline. Feel Zayn drape his arm around as many bodies as he can before letting out one last tired yawn. They're content inside their cocoon, bound together by blood, sweat, tears, and love. This is more than they could've dreamt of.

-- o2. beauty - Louis/Harry  201 Beauty is silence.

At least, that's what they've been taught. They aren't allowed to speak unless spoken to; unless they're answering diplomatic questions with tight lips and subtle glares. Jokes aren't taken kindly. Which is why, alone in their room, they let their hands do the talking. With a trail of a finger blossoms a garden; reaching toward the sunlight, their flowers grow, their vines intertwine. With the trail of lips come promises; one day, you and I won't have to build our garden behind stone walls without gates.

They provide signals, wordless "are you okay?"s. Gestures of kindness that commonplace people look over or simply forget. It makes them beautiful.

As they get older, simple touches and kisses aren't enough.

Harry is the first to get a tattoo. The delicate ink makes Louis grin, close to tears as he takes in the overwhelming masterpiece. It's not much, script under the star that Harry's had since the day they met, but what gets Louis is what it says. 'won't stop 'till we surrender'

Beauty is silence. They know that for sure. However, you can say a lot more in silence than you ever can in whispers.

That, they've learned themselves. -- 03. cake - Liam/Niall  137 "Happy birthday, Nialler!" Liam is a right cunt, Niall decides as he looks down at his birthday cake- and quite frankly, he is no artist, either. But it seems as if he's poured all of his artistic talents into decorating the aforementioned birthday cake. Niall actually blushes as he sees the black-icing stick figures and registers exactly what they're doing. They're fucking. On his cake. "Did Louis put you up to this?" Niall asks, side-eyeing his boyfriend. He knows better than to assume that sensible, sweet, caring Liam would do this [actually, that's a lie]. Liam grins back proudly, but his answer comes in dipping his finger into the icing, allowing Niall to clean it. The burn in Liam's eyes makes Niall forget that he was ever anything but chuffed with his birthday cake. And he chuckles. -- o4. art - Zayn/Louis  140 Zayn takes his art completely serious. He's always bent low over his sketchpad, one hand scribbling lines, the other pushing his upper lip between his teeth. Occasionally, he'll snap up, both hands gripping the pad, eyebrows disappearing into his fringe like he's just had a revelation; and he'll produce a stunning work- all stippled lines and smooth, thick brushstrokes. Zayn is an artist, without a doubt. Louis loves watching him, loves being fascinated by the criss-crossing lines and pencil-darkened fingertips. When Zayn gets too into his art, however, Louis becomes distraught. Enough so that he takes a Sharpie that he nicked from the set lads and draws his infamous stick man over Zayn's ZAP! tattoo. It does the job [soon, he and Zayn are breathless, giggling between the sheets in their hotel room], but really, Louis is not an artist. -- o5. action: character takes a drink - Louis/Niall 212 Their eyes are locked across the table, and Louis makes a conscious effort not to pull a face. Niall's hands grasp the shot glass, lips trembling as he tries to hide a laugh. They're far too aware of the other- know each other too well to have to pull faces or encourage through chuckles. "Three..." Louis trails, arm tensing as he pushes himself to wait, head swimming from the first four [or six, or eight] other shots they've downed. "Two," Niall is ready. Maybe his stomach is protesting [he's not used to liquor, let alone the Tequila that seems to be Louis' favourite], but his head is screaming for more and more and more. He's not drunk enough yet, and by the look in Louis' eyes, he's not the only one. "One!" Louis practically yells, glass halfway to his mouth ["Cheater!" Niall screams as the bartender glares at them], downing his shot as if his life depends on it. He clanks the glass back down in front of him in triumph. The liquor burns, but in such a good way that he doesn't really mind the sting of rejection when he leans in to kiss the blonde across the table. They're just two friends out drinking and shit like this happens... ... Right? -- o7. pet - Zayn/Harry  352 "Are you a good boy, Harry?" Zayn asks, fingers lacing into sweet curls. Some days, he still can't believe how amazing he and Harry worked out. But as he watches Harry, on his knees, mewling in a filthy, degrading way, he knows he's the luckiest lad alive. Through a mess of curls, Harry peeks up at Zayn, ass in the air, presenting himself. He meows again, doing his best impression of a real cat. And Zayn almost loses it right then and there, one hand slipping around that sleek, strong neck to scratch at the back of the lovely collar his pet wears. It was a gift from none other than Zayn himself, picked out to perfectly fit against Harry's skin, with a little gold jingle bell. He can still vividly remember the day he gifted it to his sub; the way Harry's eyes lit up as he unwrapped the tissue paper and the tears that fell as he put it on. "Not yet," Zayn breathes, hand tightening around the back of Harry's neck. "Not done- don't wanna..." Harry purrs [actually fucking purrs] in response, nuzzling against the crown of his Master's dick. Zayn feels as if he's going to jump out of his skin as he tries to get a mental grasp on himself. Harry is too gorgeous for words, stretching pliantly and scratching himself behind the ears. The jingle bell jumps to life. "Fuuuck." Zayn knows it's too late, feels himself coil like a spring as Harry disobediently takes another lick at him. There will be punishment later, but all either of them care about at the moment is Zayn's wrecked moan as he comes all over his pet's face. A tentative mewl pushes its way out of Harry as Zayn's thumb smears the thick ropes to where Harry can get a lick. Harry can't help but grin and Zayn thinks that maybe he's going to punch his sub straight in his stupid, perfect face. But he's too tired at the moment, so he pulls his wordlessly animalistic boy up to him and they rest. "Good boy, kit. Good boy." -- o8. action: character must drive a car - Harry/Niall 196 Harry almost [playfully] smacks Niall's hand as the blond reaches for the dial in his Range Rover. The number one rule in Harry's cars is and always has been: do not fucking touch the radio. Niall sees the flick of emerald and grins like the prat he is, "You know I hate your hipster, bourgeois music, Haz." "D'you even know what that means?" "Wha'-?" "Bourgeois." "It's fancy and French for 'you can suck a fuck because your music taste is bollocks,'" Niall answers matter-of-factly, nose wrinkling as he flips the dial over to his iPhone. He scans through his music selection, the annoying clicks all but making Harry drive clear off a bridge, grinning when he apparently finds the perfect song. A heavy bass beat fills the cab and Niall's shit-eating grin gets directed to Harry. And Harry really can't help but laugh, deep and throaty, because this is the exact reason that he loves Niall and proposed they take a road trip. "I love you," Harry murmurs between choruses, reaching over to take Niall's hand on the centre console. "You and your fancy French vocabulary." "Love you, too, Harry. You and your hipster music." -- 1o. music - Liam/Louis  212 There was something to be said about a couple who could be content sharing one another's presence. Louis and Liam didn't know any different, however. The first time they met, they fought over who got to play the piano first. [Liam won, but Louis insisted he let him.] Really, Louis was constantly in awe of Liam's limitless talent. He was ecstatic when Liam made mention of breaking out their keyboard. Quite like a devoted pup, he would perch on the edge of their bed, as close to the speakers as he could get. Occasionally, Liam played something he knew so he could sing along. Harmonising never failed to result in a mess of clothes and a tangle of limbs and the happiest Louis alive. Liam mostly played swing or big band tunes, ones suited to his quiet, tired vocals. He'd have the decency to blush as Louis encouraged him with shining eyes and kisses along his neck. On the very rarest of nights, they sang a duet. Liam always reserved those for long weekends away from the other lads so he could sing to Louis' hipbones and nuzzle into the vibrations in Louis' throat. Louis never complained, though. He was always so, so happy that music never failed to bring them together.

[death-trap-exodus]

any art tips?

Oh. Well, I can try to give tips? I’ve never really done that before honestly. My level of arting is nowhere near professional and I haven’t tried a ton of stuff to have opinions on them, but I can try. 

This kinda turned into a supply list, but for my own drawing process look at the bottom of the post! 

Paper 

Since I am a traditional artist over a digital artist, paper is kinda a big deal. My current personal favorite is the Strathmore 400 Series Sketch 9 x 12″ fine tooth surface sketchbook. The thickness of the pages keeps it from getting ripply as you work with it, hard coloring in with pencil does not cause bubbles, and pens/markers do not bleed onto the next page. However, it will leave an indent on the next page if you press too hard.

I highly advise against standard 70 page spiral notebooks for anything more than little doodles. The pages are much thinner than they used to be, and will ripple, bubble, fall apart under heavy marker use, and indent many pages. Heavier paper is honestly just the way to go, plus no annoying blue lines.

Price-wise, I know the standard spirals are usually extremely cheap and easy to buy in bulk, but I can’t remember the price of my Strathmore. It’s not too terribly expensive though.

Pencils

Honestly? Pencils aren’t a big deal to me. I use a variety ofcheap, basic mechanical pencil brands. My current preference however, seems to be Bic. Any brand should work fine, but if the lead constantly breaks, I’d suggest moving up to a larger lead size, or buying a different, stronger brand of pencil. 

Personally, I never use 0.5mm lead. It is far too delicate, and I have never found myself needing such a small point to draw with. I find 0.7mm to be the best, as you can achieve both thick and thin lines easily, and press fairly hard with it. I mainly use 0.9mm, as I can press veryhard for dark lines, sketch large and clearly visible soft lines, and it compliments the exaggerated features of my casual art style. 

Pens/Markers

So this one is a doozy. I use a very large range of pen products with varying standards of quality. For black pens, the Pilot Precise V5 was my trusty pen for many years before the ink ran out. Now, I currently use a 3 pack of Sakura Pigma Micron pens (specifically 01 (0.25mm), 03 (0.35mm), and 05 (0.45mm)) and previously also had a 005 (0.20mm) Micron as well. The clarity and ease of lines with Microns in my experience is excellent, but the ink quality itself, not so much. It is quite pale compared to other inks, and can be worn away by an eraser even after fully drying. Overall though, it’s quite nice.

My general rule of thumb with pens is that the point shouldn’t indent the page, and if the ink is black,it should shine black under a light and not purple. (Lower quality inks will shine purple when tilted to face a light).

With colored pens my use isn’t as narrow. My favorite is my Uni-ball Vision red pen (I also have a green one), but I also use Bic intensity pens, Inc R-2 Blast pens (careful with these, they release a ton of ink), and even Sharpie pens.

For markers, I can’t really suggest what to stay away fromand what’s good, but I can tell you what I use. On the higher quality end, I have a trio of Prismacolor Premier markers which I’ve found have excellent color, and cover space quickly, but can spread and bleed easily. But what do I mostly use? Sharpies. You have to be careful with these. Sharpies bleed very easily, and will darken very clearly when you overlap it, so coloring has to be very neat and a one-time thing unless a darker color is desired. The color range of Sharpies from what I’ve seen, also isn’t very diverse if you don’t go hunting for the stranger colors, so if you use them, have something to color over them to adjust to the color you desire. In my case, I often use a mixture of Sharpies as a base color, and colored pencils over it to adjust.

I won’t make it’s own section about it, but the brand I use of colored pencils is also Prismacolor, as they work really well with the Sharpies, and can even solidly color over the marker. The larger the set the better, as it gives you more colors to adjust with. However, they’re not cheap.

Technique?

So this is less tips I guess and more my own personal routine with drawing. Feel free to draw your own way, or if you think the way I do it may help you improve your own art, go ahead and try some of the stuff I do! This by no means is any standard of a good art practice, it’s just personally how I draw.

I always start with a sketch, as many artists do. I make sure it’s very light that I can erase it, but clear and visible even after erasing it. Which is the odd thing I do? I erase a sketch immediately after I finish it. My sketches are less posing and positioning than they are quick, sloppy, simplistic versions of my final product. I do not usually draw basic shapes and lines for anatomy and poses, but I do sometimes. If you struggle with anatomy, I suggest still using basic shapes, as they help a lot.

Here this can go one of two ways. If I decide to ink the piece, I do not erase the sketch, and simply clean it up while doing the new lineart. This can be risky, and can result is messy lines or concave shapes that weren’t intended, so redrawing in pencil first can always be helpful. If I decide to not ink the piece, I erase the sketch, leave it visible, and draw a much darker and more visible clean version.

When it comes to colored pens, I usually only use them to supplement the drawing, blood being the most often example. Coloring large areaswith pens is messy, and a waste of ink, and I advise against it. Coloring in a pencil piece with colored pencils is also a big no-no to me personally, as it will cause the colors to blend with the gray lead, can smudge said lead, and they will pop much less against the lead as opposed to ink.  

I hope this means something/helps I guess? I’m not very good at the whole tip thing, sorry!

[waterbasedmedia]

Notes on Ink - Methods and Materials:

As with any artistic medium, an entire course could be dedicated to “ink” and still cover only the basics. Likewise with water-based media use in non-Western traditions. In this course we are dedicating less than two weeks to these subjects. With that in mind, I am providing you with these notes as a very brief introduction and reference should you want to return to the medium later on.

On the Eastern History of Water-based media:

From Japanese Ink Paintings: Early Zen Masterpieces, Hiroshi Kanazawa -

The art of ink painting, arising in China and spreading to Korea and Japan where it flourished anew, is one of the most remarkable legacies of the Far East to world art. More than a display of technical skill, it is a record of the artist’s poetic and philosophic outlook, a view of man and nature. Ink painting is tangible evidence of a specific spiritual attitude, and this attitude is intimately connected to Zen Buddhism.

Introduction:

Ink painting, suibokuga, is the quintessential art form of the Far East. The flexible Chinese brush, impregnated with a carefully controlled mixture of water (sui) and ink (boku), has been used by countless generations of painters---Chinese, Korean, and Japanese, both amateur and professional, and by Confucian, Taoist, and Buddhist alike. More than simply a technique, monochrome painting in ink is a distillation of a spiritual viewpoint, a condensation of the artist’s poetic and philosophic perceptions. In Japan, this approach to the art of ink paintings was introduced and fostered by priests of the meditative sect of Buddhism best known as Zen. Unlike Chinese ink painting, in which the relationship with Zen (or Ch’an in Chinese) was only one of many influences on its development, Japanese suibokuga is founded almost exclusively on the life and thought of medieval Zen.

The strength of the ink painting tradition in the Far Eastern culture is satisfactorily understood only in the light of the peculiar technical characteristics that make it an ideal medium for spontaneous intellectual and spiritual expression. Harshly transparent, ink painting inevitably reveals the painter’s character, while giving immediate expression to his ideas and emotions. An inked brush must be applied without hesitation, with total concentration of mind and body. No correction is possible on the absorbant paper or smoothly sized silk that receives the ink, irrevocably recording the strength or weakness of the painter’s training and resolve. A painter must have thorough mastery of the many possibilities of his brush, as well as of the various properties of different surfaces and dilutions of ink. Not only just his hand be arduously trained, but his mind finely concentrated; only then can he realize the image he has culled from accumulated experience of both the natural world and its transformations in art. Further, because an ink painting is unified in a monochrome of ink tones, both execution and perception are unimpeded by the multiplicity and sensual distractions of color. Subtly affirmed both in the act of painting and in the finished work, then, is the underlying identity of artist and subject, of the brush and its indelible traces, and, ultimately, of man, nature, and art. It is this philosophical approach that distinguishes suibokuga from other types of painting.

From Oriental Watercolor Techniques: How to Use Classic Chinese and Japanese Techniques for Contemporary Painting - Frederick Wong:

Painting in the Orient is a time-honored skill developed through an understanding of calligraphy and its attendant tools and materials. Even today, Oriental watercolors relate more closely to calligraphic -- drawing -- skills than to the more familiar Western approach, which calls for the manipulation of larger color forms. Accurate representation of nature is not critical in Oriental painting, but the successful realization of the emotional impression of natural forms in their environment is paramount.

On Ink Methods and Materials:

From Color Mixing Bible, by Ian Sidaway - Inks:

The physical attributes of ink are very similar to those of watercolor, and the materials can be deployed with similar techniques. Ink is mixed physically. However, a certain degree of optical mixing occurs when ink washes are laid one over the other, wet on dry.

From Cowan’s Art Knowledge & Know-How - Karen Bullaro

Artist’s Inks - Pigment vs. Dye:

Inks are a very diverse family of art materials. There is an ink for every purpose it seems, so how does one determine which is the right ink for the job? We intend to answer some of the more common ink-related questions:

1.) What is the difference between pigments and dyes?

2.) What actually is a pigment/dye?

3.) How does it work?

4.) Which ink is waterproof?

5.) Can I use this ink in my fountain/technical pen?

Question 1: What is the difference between pigments and dyes?

Mud vs. Kool-Aid

The easiest way to explain the basic difference between pigmented inks and dye based inks is take you back to high school chemistry class:  Solutions vs. Suspensions.

Think of a mud puddle;  There is silt and dirt and organic matter suspended in the water.  If the puddle is left undisturbed, in time the particles will settle out of the water and collect in a layer on the bottom.  Chemically, this is called a suspension.  Pigmented inks are a suspension.

Now think of Kool-Aid;  If you mix a spoon full of Kool-Aid into a cup of water, the Kool-Aid sugar crystals will completely dissolve into the water.  If you place an airtight lid on the mixture (to avoid evaporation) and let the cup of sugar-water sit on the shelf (indefinitely) you will never, ever see a layer of sugar particles settle on the bottom of the container.  Chemically, this is called a solution.  The sugar (solute) is dissolved in the water (solvent) to form a solution. Dye-Based inks are a solution.  (And you thought you’d never need to use high school chemistry again!)

Question 2: What actually is a pigment/dye?

a.) What is a Pigment?

Dry pigments are used to create all artist quality paints. Pigments are generally composed of solid matter (rocks, minerals, metals, charcoal, etc ) that have been ground to a powdery talc-like texture.  Pigment powder is then mixed with a specific vehicle (or carrier) to create paint or ink (oil for oil paints, acrylic polymer emulsion for acrylic paints, gum arabic for watercolours, etc...).  Relative to dye particles, pigment particles are much, much larger.  

b.) What is a Dye?

Dyes, are colored chemicals that are either a liquid themselves or in the form of powder that is easily dissolved in a liquid (be aware that not every dye is water-soluble).  Our ancestors made dyes from many natural materials such as bark, nutshells, berries, roots and even insects.  Many modern dyes are synthetic and offer brighter, deeper and longer lasting colours. The primary issue with dye is that most colours are not considered to be lightfast.  This means that many dye colours are not stable under direct exposure to light (especially sunlight) and will fade, sometimes quite rapidly!   While this is also true for some pigmented colours, with pigments it's the exception rather than the rule.

Question 3: How does it work?

Pigmented Ink:

Laying Down Colour:  When a pigmented ink is applied to a substrate (meaning your paper, canvas, board, or whatever) the ink will will lay on top, forming a film on the surface.  Pigment particles can sometimes get trapped in the texture of the paper, creating something like a staining effect, in much the same way that dirt will get ground into the knees of your jeans.  The pigment particles become physically trapped in the fibers, which is not the same as being chemically bonded to the paper.  With pigmented ink it's the binder or vehicle that is responsible for making the pigment stick to the substrate.

Pigment Opacity/Transparency:  Most pigment based inks and paints are somewhat opaque in nature. The way the pigment particles stick on the surface of the paper (as opposed to soaking-in) provides more opaque coverage than a dye.

Dye-Based Ink:

Being a solution, dyes will readily soak-in and attempt to chemically bond to the paper, becoming one with the paper.  Some dyes may include another ingredient called a mordant which gives the dye a permanent chemical bond with the paper.  If you’ve ever dyed fabric you'll know that certain types of dyes only bond chemically to certain types of fibers;  Keeping this in mind, if you want to have more control over the permanence of your dye (either more or less permanent) try changing the substrate you're using (ie: changing to a cotton rag paper like Stonehenge for more permanence, or a synthetic paper like YUPO for total impermanence).

Dye Opacity/Transparency:  Most dyes are inherently transparent or translucent.  (A transparent film is so clear you can see through it to lower layers without losing detail.  A translucent film allows one to see through to lower layers somewhat but with significant diffusion, distortion, and the loss of detail.)

Question 4: Which inks are water-resistant?

Pigmented Inks:

Pigmented inks range from water-resistant to waterproof

Dye-Based Inks:

As far as dye-based inks go, most water-based dye solutions are not water-resistant; they will run and smudge with the application of more water unless a mordant is added.  Alcohol and solvent-based dye inks (such as Sharpies) will not run or smudge with the application of water.  

Question 5: Can I use this ink in my fountain pen or technical pen?

The short answer is "probably not".  Most pigmented inks will permanently ruin a fountain or technical pen in just a single use, so filling your pen with the correct ink is pretty important. The best decider is to read the product label.  If the label doesn't specifically say that it's intended for use in pens, then don't risk it.

Cross Fountain Pen Ink, Pen & Ink No-Shellac India Ink, and surprisingly several colours in the Daler Rowney FW Acrylic Inks indicate that they're safe for use in pens.

A Final Note of Caution:

When in doubt about a specific ink, or how it responds on a specific substrate, do yourself a favor and DO A TEST first.... Before you learn the hard way that Pigma Micron pens wipe off Yupo paper like a whiteboard!

Source: https://cowansart.ca/blogs/cowans-art-knowledge-know-how/artists-inks-pigemnt-vs-dye

From Artist’s Manual: A Complete Guide to Painting and Drawing Materials and Techniques - edited by Angela Gair:

Drawing Inks:

For monochrome drawings, Indian ink is the favorite choice of many artists, as it is both permanent and waterproof. Sepia and blue-black inks also have their own appeal, and all can be diluted with water to produce a range of light-to-dark tones in one drawing.

Waterproof colored inks:

Waterproof colored inks, also called artists’ drawing inks, come in a range of about 20 colors. Waterproof inks are essential if you intent to apply a wash or tint on top of a line drawing, otherwise the linework will run. These inks are denser than non-waterproof varieties, drying to a slightly glossy finish that gives the work a precise, painter quality. Unfortunately, the shellac that is added to the ink to make it waterproof also makes it clog up easily, so be sure to clean brushes and pens thoroughly after use. Never use waterproof ink in fountain pens or technical pens.

Non-waterproof colored inks:

These contain no shellac, and are primarily used for laying washes over waterproof-ink drawings. They are fine for line drawings, too, as long as you don't overlay them with washes. Non-waterproof inks sink into the paper more than waterproof types, and they dry to a matte finish.

Soluble inks:

If you want the flexibility to be able to dissolve and blend lines, choose a soluble ink such as Chinese ink, which is also more delicate than Indian ink.

Asian Inks:

Chinese and Japanese inks come in solid-stick form and are usually supplied with an ink stone. The ink stick is rubbed down on the stone, with a little water being added until it reaches the desired consistency.

Restoring flow:

If ink evaporates slightly while uncorked during a day’s work, the color becomes deeper and the ink thicker. Adding a little water will thin it again and restore an even flow.

Permanence of inks:

Only black and white inks are permanent. Colored inks consist of soluble dyes rather than pigments and are not lightfast. To minimize fading, protect finished drawings from prolonged exposure to light.

Diluting colored inks:

Colored inks may be diluted with distilled water, not only to improve their flow, but also to produce a range of lighter tones. The inks can also be mixed with each other, but it is advisable to stick to the range of a single manufacturer, because brands of ink vary in consistency and in the surface of finish they produce when dry. Pigment in ink settles at the bottom of a jar if left unused for some time, so the jar should be shaken before use.

Linework:

Pen-and-ink drawings are usually composed of lines; hatching, cross hatching, stippling, dots and dashes, spattering, and scribbling are just some of the techniques which can be employed to convey form and volume, texture, light and shade.

First strokes:

Do not begin pen-and-ink work until you have tried drawing and practicing movement and line with a pen or a brush. Work on a smooth paper, and learn to use a minimum of pressure to get an even flow of ink from the nib on to the paper. If you are practicing with a dip pen, learn to judge when the ink will run out, so that you are not in the middle of a long unbroken line when it happens.

Spontaneity:

It is a great advantage to make a very light preliminary design with a soft pencil if you want an accurate pen-and-ink drawing, rather than a quick sketch. But once the technique of pen-and-ink drawing becomes more familiar, spontaneous free-flowing lines and observations translated instantly onto paper often make a far more exciting ink drawing than one which is premeditated. An ink drawing must be completely dry before preliminary pencil lines are erased or any washes added. Drying time is at least 12 hours, and even longer for a thick layer of ink.

Pen-and-ink work must be positive to look successful: once an ink mark has been made on paper, it is difficult (and sometimes impossible) to erase, so there is no room for hesitation. Ideally, you need to have had enough drawing practice to know exactly what you want to put down before you start.

Line and wash:

Line-and-wash drawings are highly expressive, suggesting more than is actually revealed. The secret is to work rapidly and intuitively, allowing washes to flow over the “boundaries” of the drawn lines and not be constricted by them. The combination of crisp, finely drawn lines and fluid washes has great visual appeal, capturing the essence of the subject with economy and restraint. Line and wash also helps improve your drawing skills because it forces you to be selective and to develop a direct, fluid approach.

Pen Drawing:

Using the techniques mentioned earlier, you can create areas of tone, volume, texture and the illusion of light and shade with just pen and ink. Increase your options by adding washes of ink or watercolor - an exciting fusion of drawing and painting which allows you to build up experience of both disciplines.

Line-and-wash methods:

The traditional method is to start with a pen drawing, leave it to dry and then lay in light, fluid washes of ink or watercolor on top. Alternatively, washes can be applied first to establish the main tones, with the ink lines drawn on top when the washes have dried. The most integrated method is to develop both line and tone together, so that they emerge as an organic whole. You might begin with a skeleton of lines, add some light tones, then some bolder line and stronger tones, and so on until the drawing is complete.

Brush Drawing:

Brushes tend to be overlooked as instruments for drawing, as they are usually associated with painting techniques. Yet many great artists of the past - Rembrandt, Goya and Lorraine among them - produced some of their finest drawings with brush and ink.

Soft brushes:

The brush is a very flexible drawing tool. A sable brush with a good point can, in a single stroke, convey line, rhythm, and even the play of light on a subject. It can change direction easily, twisting and rounding corners where a pen or pencil might falter. Sable and other soft-hair brushes are suitable for ink drawing; experiment with various types of brush on both smooth and textured papers, and compare the different marks they make.

Chinese brushes:

Chinese bamboo-handle brushes, originally designed as a writing tool, are inexpensive, versatile and very expressive. The belly holds a lot of ink, and comes to a fine point or drawing rhythmic, flowing lines.