#But I'm not good enough artistically to join one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fayes-fics · 10 months

Text

Canvas

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An art lesson with a different kind of canvas

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, body painting, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, edging.

Word Count: 5.0k

Authors note: Sequel to Inspiration, but not necessary to have read before this. Unbetaed. This is a double request fill for @oureternalbond HERE and anon HERE. I decided to combine these requests as they were so similar (in essence, Benedict uses his wife as his canvas then smut ensues). I hope you enjoy <3

You find him in his studio, a glass conservatory he has co-opted for his artistic endeavours. He is barefoot and dressed only in black trousers and a white shirt, his braces hanging loosely around his hips, looking handsomely casual as he paints by candlelight, dusk settling in. It's then you spy his subject, the lovely arrangement of flowers you received from his family for your birthday last week. You wondered where the bouquet had disappeared to just now as you had wandered through your home—they previously had pride of place in your hallway.

“Stealing my birthday presents, husband?” you jest airily, leaning on the doorframe with crossed arms.

Benedict twists around and shoots you an apologetic smile. “Only the artistically meritorious ones, my love,” he responds, amusement laced into his tone. “Join me?” he suggests, waving his brush towards the empty easel beside him.

“I'm not certain I have anything close to the requisite skills,” you hedge. You have only ever attended his painting sessions as his subject or simply as a companion, mostly reading quietly nearby as he works—one memorable time, sitting naked upon his cock to provide the requisite inspiration. Your blood runs a little warm just at the mere memory of it.

“Art does not always need to be about skill. Enjoyment of the process is just as important, perhaps more so. Besides, I can teach you,” he smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling beguilingly. He never fails to convince you with that look.

“Alright,” you sigh fondly, straightening up and uncrossing your arms, “but you are not allowed to ridicule my attempt,” you argue, waggling a finger as you walk over.

He laughs and leans in to drop a kiss on your cheek as you draw up next to him. “I would never!” he promises in a bemused tone. “Everything you need is right there,” he nods to the supplies, “you have watched me paint enough times to know how to set up.”

His confidence in your ability seemed a little unwarranted, but you’ll give it a try.

___

“I cannot do this,” you lament about ten minutes later, looking forlornly between the canvas and the spray of flowers, disappointed in your less-than-accurate rendering. All you have managed is some stems and a vague version of the vase, which looks uneven.

“Nonsense,” he dismisses, “you are doing wonderfully for your first time, my love,” he adds patiently.

You twist around with a knitted brow to look at him. “Benedict, please… your flattery is obsequious. This is… not good,” you sigh, scratching your chin with the wooden end of your brush.

“Perhaps I can assist your efforts?” he offers, putting down his brush into a jar of water and placing his palette aside.

“Please…” you request gratefully.

A smile ghosts your lips as he rounds behind you, pushing you closer to the canvas, a hand landing on your hip under the arm you balance the palette upon, and the other curling around yours, holding the brush. His fingers are warm and soft.

“Now then,” his voice is rich and rumbles right next to your ear, “the first thing is to start with the colour there is the most of on the object, and then you can start to add in light and shade… are you quite alright?” he interrupts himself as you fidget slightly.

“All is well,” you reassure.

But it's a lie. The moment he stands close behind you, your traitorous body decides this is not an art lesson at all. No, it’s something quite different. Readying itself for him with quite remarkable speed and absolutely no effort on his part. Quite astonishing, really. You attempt to listen as he sonorously explains the method involved and makes your selection on the palette and brushstrokes over the canvas. But you are half-listening and half-participating at best.

His breath tickles the wisps of hair around your ears as he seems to lean in closer until he surrounds you with his long arms and body heat. He smells of his woodsy soap, and you have to tamp down the urge to twist your nose into his strong neck and inhale deeply. For a few minutes, he guides your hand, and you relax into the motion, enjoying the sensation of being so utterly engulfed by him much more than the act.

“Now, how about you try?” he voices, gently removing his hand from yours.

You stutter, realising you were not taking on board what he was saying, distracted by the striking mental image of him painting a glistening line across your collarbone, a bright golden streak over your bare flesh. You try to remember what he said and make a hesitant dab on the canvas, but there is a disapproving noise against your temple.

“That is not what I told you to do, now, is it?” he teases lowly.

“I do not know how to do it…” you confess in a breathy whisper. “Please guide me for a little longer, Benedict,” you implore.

“Were you listening to a word I said?” he asks, but it's not a disapproving tone. Not remotely. It’s a liting rumble, his face turning into yours so the tip of his nose nuzzles your earlobe, his breath hot on your jaw.

You suspect your lack of attention to his instruction may have been found out.

“People pay good money for me to teach them how to paint,” he breathes into your ear, both hands now on your hips, fingers circling over the diaphanous layers of your thin, silk gown. “And yet here is my wife, not even listening to her expert teacher.”

“I am… I…” you give up, knowing it's a pointless lie. You try a different tack. “I should hope you do not treat your other students in this manner?” you throw back, rocking onto your heels so the press of your bodies is greater.

“Indeed I do not,” he murmurs, and you inhale sharply as his teeth graze the shell of your ear.

“So perhaps this is somewhat unfair to me,” you posit, pouting your lips, knowing his eyes are watching you side on.

He chuckles richly. “Perhaps,” and he gently slides the paintbrush from between your fingers. “There is another method by which I can teach you all about the pleasures of painting.”

“Oh, and what is that?” you breathe, closing your eyes as warm lips land on your neck, that weak spot which makes you completely pliant.

“It requires a different canvas,” he whispers, his lips catching on your skin.

For a fleeting moment, you consider if he could read where your thoughts had skated only minutes earlier; again, you think of golden paint on your flesh. There is a faint ting as he drops the brush into a glass jar of water and eases the palette from where it is hooked around your thumb, and you do not fight it; just stand still and attempt to regulate your breathing, eagerly awaiting what he will do next.

Your heart rate spikes as deft fingers undo the buttons between your shoulder blades.

“You have such beautiful skin,” he sighs, his lips dropping warm onto the top of your shoulder as your dress relents and falls in a pool around you. “I want to paint you.”

Your breath hitches as he runs a knuckle down the notches of your spine; glad you didn’t bother with a chemise. Your eyes fall closed as he kisses your skin again and plucks open the laces of your stays. When the material slackens, he pulls the structured fabric away from your body and tosses it aside, his hands instantly cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

Your moan is wanton as you writhe, his fingers snagging your nipples as they pebble against his palm. One hand sweeps down to the little buttons on your silk underwear and deftly flicks them open as his other hand is busy, making your nipple into a stiff peak.

“Lay down, darling wife,” he murmurs, the tone laden, as your underwear slips around your ankles.

He gestures to the oversized double chaise conveniently covered in a heavy canvas drop cloth. It’s almost as if he planned for this. You hold his hand delicately as he assists you into a reclined position.

“Will you not be getting naked too, husband?” you coo, watching as he returns for a palette and brush.

“It would certainly make clean-up easier,” he smirks and rips off his shirt, tossing it aside.

Then he walks back to you, a slight swagger in his gait, knowing he has your undivided, breathy attention as your eyes covetously drink in his torso.

“Gold…” escapes your lips unbidden and stops him in his tracks as he towers above you.

“Gold, what?” his query warm, but puzzled as he places the art supplies on the floor next to the chaise.

“When I dream of you painting me, my body,” you confess, “it’s always gold.”

He leans over, his face etched with desire. “You dream of me doing this?”

“Yes,” you murmur, “Your cool, wet brush swirling over my heated skin….” you close your eyes and bite your lip, lost in the reverie of it.

“Tell me more,” he implores, his breath hot on your cheek, the chaise squeezing as he sits beside you. “Keep your eyes closed if it helps,” he adds, moving back; it sounds like he is fiddling with the supplies.

“You start at my neck….” you sigh, inhaling sharply when a wet ticklish brush lands right on the left side of your neck, then holds still.

“And then?” he prompts gently.

“Then… you do a swooping line over my chin to my other ear,” you breathe, gasping as he does exactly as you describe, the smell of fresh paint filling your nostrils, the feel of it wet and heavy.

“What is next?” his voice is dark and sweet now, goading you into more detail.

“Then you paint a line down the side of my neck, over here…” you gesture at your collarbone, “...then lower,” you end in a whisper, almost reluctant to admit how erotic your fantasies of him can be.

Nothing, however, can prepare you for those errant thoughts becoming a reality—the drag of cold buttery substance, each bristle a damp tickle as he smears a line to the swell of your breast, your eyes flying open to see his gaze heavy and intense on the task in hand. Your nipple pebbles almost painfully, even though he does not stray close to it, surrounding your breast with a golden loop, his pupils dilating, his breath hot on your skin, leaning close.

“Does that feel good?” he practically purrs.

You nod, feeling the wetness blotting across your neck at your movement.

Without asking you what happens next in your dream, he takes the initiative and traces a line around your other breast, the brush dipping into the valley of your breastbone before continuing. When you tip your head to see his handiwork, the metallic hue shines bright in the candlelight.

“May I use other colours on you too, my love?” his question is almost reverential in tone.

“I am yours, Benedict,” you sigh honestly, “do with me as you wish.”

Those words light an artistic and sensual fire in his eyes; he pushes up to kiss you, plundering your mouth with a possessive kiss. When he pulls away, you feel dazed, desperate for more, but you watch patiently as he reaches for another clean brush on the floor by his feet and selects a new choice from the palette.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

You do as he asks, aching to know what hue it is. You gasp as a broader brush runs across your skin, starting at your neck and sweeping down, shadowing the path of the other line already drying on your skin.

“What colour?” your curiosity getting the better of you.

“What is your favourite on me?” he teases gently, his strokes seeming to concentrate most on the sensitive skin under your breast, making your thoughts fuzzy, distracted—you know it's intentional.

“You look good in so many colours,” you offer; it's the truth. “I love your light gold cravat,” you add with a sigh, knowing he has already used that shade at your request.

“You are stalling, my love,” he points out with a bemused tone, teasingly flicking the ends of his brush in the spot closest to your underarm.

“Blue? You always look so handsome in every shade of blue, from navy to sky,” you guess.

“Oh, then that shall have to be next,” he lilts, telling you that you have guessed incorrectly.

You mentally flick through some of your favourite of his outfits, squirming slightly at the images you see, his brush still teasing. Then there is a lightbulb moment.

“Burgundy red!” you exclaim, remembering the waistcoat he wore on the day you met, the one that made you lose the power of speech, temporarily tongue-tied, never having seen a man wear such fine silks before.

“Well done, darling,” he compliments.

You open your eyes to see he has interwoven the harmonious shades in an exquisite arching design, truly using your skin as a canvas.

“Now lay still; there is much work still to do,” he instructs softly.

You settle into the chaise, your belly fluttering as he slips lower, daubing your diaphragm in intricate loops, trying to keep your breaths shallow for a still surface. He swaps brush again, back to gold, holding the other in his knuckle, the rich red loaded tip contrasting his pale skin.

When he sinks below your ribs onto your belly, you bite your lip, the light touch tickling you to the point of giggling. You try your best not to move, but when he glides over a sensitive patch, it bubbles out of you on reflex.

His gaze pings up to your face, a lopsided grin claiming his features. “Does that tickle?” he mocks gently. You can only giggle more in reply as he teases even lighter over that weak spot.

“Stop it,” you whisper, knowing how much he enjoys the tease.

“Never,” he responds lightly, lowering his face; you jolt as he lightly bites your bare nipple, and you cry out. “I veritably exist to tease you; you are so beautiful like this,” he whispers, pausing in his artistry, pressing you into the chaise with his body weight.

“Look at you,” you giggle as he pulls away again, seeing smears of pain across his chest.

“That is nothing. I expect both of our bodies will be a riot of colours by the time I am done with you, wife.” His tone is simultaneously light with mirth and dark with promise.

“Perhaps you should speed up,” you answer playfully; it may dry before you have the opportunity.” He laughs, teething your other nipple before refreshing the line.

“Not a chance.”

Just as your stomach clenches at the idea he will move lower, he grabs your right arm and concentrates his efforts there as if to elongate the burn of anticipation you feel. It's less ticklish until he swipes the crook of your elbow over your veins, making you giggle again, meeting his hazy blue eyes with an intense stare. Wordlessly he kisses your hand before swapping to your left arm, creating free-hand a mirror image of the pattern on your right. It's striking, and somewhat ironically, you wish there was a portrait of you looking like this, covered in his design.

As you are lost in your reverie of that thought, he slips lower on the chaise, and you gasp as he restarts the line at your middle and swirls down all over your belly. He employs a heavier stroke so as not to tickle as much, alternating the two, holding both brushes with ease between his long artistic fingers. You have to bite back a moan when one swoop goes lower, skating along the top of your pubic hair.

“Open your legs,” his voice low and decadent. Feeling a burning low in your gut, you draw up your knees a few inches and part your legs a fraction, keeping your feet together. “I said…” he grabs your ankle and plants it at the edge of the chaise, out wide, “...open your legs,” his voice dark, making you flush hot.

You meekly move your other foot to match the stance, now lewdly spread before him.

“Much better,” his voice rough as his gaze is heavy on your core. “Do not move,” he commands.

You pant lightly as he resumes, leaning in so close you can feel his breath on your inner thighs. He paints a line from your belly down over your hip and up your thigh. It's the longest he has done, ending with a flourish at your kneecap. Then he swaps the brushes and traces along the same path in the dark red.

“What of the navy blue husband?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice even, even though you feel a slight tremble in your body at the contrast of the cool liquid and the warm flush of arousal.

“All in good time. You should not rush an artist at work, darling,” he replies playfully.

“What if your canvas is in need?” you inquire quietly.

“Where does my darling canvas have a need, hmm?” he asks duskily, intentionally acting obtuse even as his breath puffs close to the place you want him the most.

He runs a line achingly slow down your inner thigh, looping under into the crease where your buttock meets your thigh, the odd feeling making goose bumps break out across your surrounding skin, the tilt of his face right above where you burn so hot.

“Here, perhaps?” he whispers, and you cry out as his warm wet mouth opens wide on your folds.

One of your hands shoots down to grasp his hair as he unfurls his tongue, swiping deep into your folds, lapping the overflowing well of moisture there. You stare down the plane of your body, watching the colour on your inner thigh streak across his clavicle and shoulder as he drinks from your body, pulling your pearl between his lips and sucking so hard you see stars. His eyes fly open and hold yours; his gaze is fiery as he swipes under your clitoral hood. His tongue dabs the most sensitive spot, the one that makes your leg want to kick out and go rigid from the intense sensation. Just as you start to writhe and moan, he pulls back. You pout in disbelief as he calmly returns to painting.

“How can you tease me so?!” you lament, chest heaving, hand falling from its grip on his chestnut locks.

He laughs and continues with his art, your concentration barely registering it, your heartbeat throbbing in your abandoned, swollen clit.

“Please, Benedict,” you appeal, absentmindedly watching him switch to the other shade.

It seems he is ignoring you as his brow knits in concentration, glancing at your other leg to ensure, as with your arms, it is an exact mirror. It's undoubtedly stunning, but somehow your interest in it has waned, all of your thoughts of needing his mouth back where it was.

You plead again and almost want to cry in relief as he seems to huff sympathetically and move so his face is again a fraction from where you want him. After one long, indulgent swipe through your soaked folds that has you gasping loudly, he stops, rears up and quickly climbs over your body, his lips landing on yours, damp and tangy with your desire. Shaking with unsated need, you whimper against his musky tongue as he kisses you deeply.

“Please,” your voice has a tremulant quality betraying your need, he has taken you to the edge, and the denial makes you prickle hot all over.

“Soon,” it’s a whispered promise, “your skin is too arresting of a sight flushed like this. I need to paint more upon this gorgeous canvas,” he sighs, leaning over to scoop up his brushes again.

“Benedict, please,” you writhe, letting your legs fall closed, hoping to rub against your clit, eager for stimulation.

“Open your legs,” he tuts as he returns his attention to you, parting your knees carefully with his hands, avoiding his handiwork. “If you keep misbehaving, darling, I shall not let you come,” he warns with an arched brow.

“Then I shall have to touch myself,” you sass, squaring your jaw in defiant playfulness.

“We shall see about that,” he challenges. “Give me your fingers.” Hazy, you allow him to encircle your wrist, only startling when large beads of wetness daub your fingertips. “There we go, navy blue,” he smirks, grabbing your other hand and repeating the action.

You stare at him dumbfounded, realising you cannot touch yourself now without a mess. That smug crooked smile is still there as you watch him crawl slowly between your legs before diving facefirst into you again, making you scream. You want to grip his hair, but with your fingers now dripping with navy, you feel you should refrain. However, when he loops his arms around your hips, you grab his wrists instead as they frame your thighs. Slathering streaks of dark blue on his pale forearms as he lashes you with his tongue, you calling his name.

He is ravenous, using his whole face to arouse your senses, the stubble of his chin abraiding your labia as he once again teases you, suckling your clit into his mouth, circling his tongue in firm strokes, undulating and spearing it just where you need, as if intuiting what you need at any moment, The tip of his nose is burrowed into your patch of hair, inhaling your scent as if he cannot get enough of your taste and smell, his primal behaviour just making your more wanton for him.

He moans, muffled encouragements into your cunt, the cadence vibrating up into your pubic bone. You stare transfixed at him, decadent, delicious, filthy, a debauched and erotic tableau, the skin pulling taunt over his high cheekbones as he consumes you. Just as your pussy starts to flutter, he pulls up and teases you, pursing his lips and blowing a slow puff of air over your overheated pearl. It's not enough and too much all at once, such a different sensation from his lathing tongue. He chuckles as you groan in frustration and grasp his wrists tightly, fingernails digging blue crescents into his flesh, hoping to incite him back into action.

Instead, he shakes off your grip and swiftly stands up and roughly tugs at the buttons on his trousers, smirking down at you as you turn breathless again with desire, holding your painted fingers on either side of your head as he drops the fabric. As ever, he is without underwear, and even though his straining cock is a familiar sight, every time, it steals your breath and makes you pulse deep inside, just for him.

He prowls over your prone body, almost cat-like, admiring his handiwork. “You are my masterpiece,” the awed but somehow still achingly seductive tone he employs makes your hips cant up towards him, a reflex, your body seeking his.

Uncaring of the mess it will leave, you run your navy fingertips from his chest to his pelvis, curling a little to scrape your nails into the paint trails. It looks like animal claws—as if you are marking him, possessive. His response is a growl at you, hoisting your legs into the crook of his elbow and with a flash of something primal in his eyes, he surges into your weeping body with one swift thrust.

It makes you call his name. So loudly that you know the staff will hear it throughout the house. You don’t care—don’t care if they come running to check on your welfare and find you naked and decorated, pinned under your husband as he begins to fuck into you, so roughly the whole chaise squeaks and moves across the tiled floor. His body curled over yours, his large hand above your head gripping the raised chaise end for leverage.

Lost in the carnality of how he is taking you, your walls clinging to his plunging cock, you band your arms around him, smearing long finger trails down the contours of his back until you reach his buttocks and squeeze them covetously, encouraging him to push deeper, go harder, and make it hurt. The glorious, intricate pattern on your skin still tacky, causing your flesh to cling to his and smudge together, the blue on him with the gold and burgundy from you. Blotches and smears that look so vibrant on his pale skin.

“Are you close again, my love?” his question, a touch breathless as he thrusts into you.

You hiss your confirmation, eyes rolling as you grasp his cheeks again and force your legs wider, greedy for him, for more. For him to push so far into your body, it will feel like he’s always there, even when he’s not, like some internal tattoo of him carved into your being.

“More Benedict… please,” urgent now. It feels like all you’ve done for hours is plead with him, needing to release so badly your mind feels akin to madness, an itch in your brain that needs to be scratched.

But he slows, and you want to scream in frustration, his movements shallow, delicate, not the onslaught you need to take you over the precipice he has dangled you over what feels like countless times.

“I love to see this,” his voice husky, breath puffing hot on your face, “when you are so unbridled with need, darling. I cannot resist taking you so close and denying you: the wild look, your untamed desire. All for me.”

You move your hands from his behind and grab his jaw, uncaring that you plaster his face with blue fingermarks. “It's always for you, just you, Benedict, my love, my life,” you affirm, hoping that is what he needs to hear to finally release you from this heightened state of near delirium.

His responding grin is breathtaking, and he begins to plough into you in earnest, his gaze never leaving yours, eyes burning to witness the moment you break for him. The chaise protests loudly, the wooden feet scraping hard on the floor under his unforgiving pace.

You bite your lip and plead with your eyes, wanting his expert touch to push you over.

“Your fingers, please,” you implore, and suddenly three are shoved between your lips, traces of the bitter taste of paint there, along with the tang of sweat and the flavour that is all him.

“Get them nice and wet, darling,” he lectures, not slowing his pace. You greedily wrap your tongue around his invading digits and slather them in your saliva, drooling around him as his thrusts jolt your entire body. “Yes darling, that's it,” he encourages, and he snarls as you run an edge of teeth over his cuticles, goading him, loving to see him as lost in the potency of the moment as you.

Then with a look that always makes you breathless, he slides the fingers out of your mouth, and they snake between your bodies, finding your engorged clit with ease. You scream his name, and a few harsh flicks are all you need to tip over, clenching so hard around his cock that his hips stutter and he roars into your ear as you fracture around him. Waves of pleasure ripple across your body, almost violent, your muscles spasming, your limbs shaking uncontrollably after being denied.

Distantly, as if through cotton wool, you hear him cursing and growling your name, teeth pressing into the cord of your neck as he curls around you with one final jerk and a loud, guttural groan, he stills, his body stiff, a vein pulsing heavily in his neck and forehead as he empties into you, warmth blooming deep inside you as he spills. Shortly after, he collapses onto his forearms, bracketing your body, mindful not to squash you under his weight as he pants, heaving breaths, his chest bumping yours with each ragged inhale.

You don't say words; just trail the remaining blue paint on your fingers across the skin of his shoulders, connecting the collage of freckles there into a slanted star-like shape. Below a certain point, your bodies resemble a rainbow; the detail he built so carefully now merely a smudge of lively streaks.

“Did you enjoy your painting lesson, my love?” his tone whimsical as his breathing returns to normal.

You giggle and push up to plant a kiss on his smiling lips. “You know I did, Mr Bridgerton; you are a wonderful teacher,” you wink; his responding laugh makes your whole body jiggle under him.

“Now to get clean,” he hums drolly, his grin lopsided and winsome. “I believe we may need to share a bath.”

“Or swim in the lake,” you posit jokingly, rolling your head to look out of the large glass panes, down across the moonlit grass to the water beyond. When you tilt your head back, his look is priceless. His eyebrows shoot up, and that grin grows wider.

“I love how you think,” he gusts, and you squeal as he scoops you in his arms bridal style, and before you know it, he has elbowed open the French doors and is carrying you to the water’s edge.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

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desceros · 3 months

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me: [looks at calendar, gets a wicked idea, looks into the camera] happy springtime, turtle fam! who's ready to celebrate the season?

...mating season, that is. hehe. [dodges the tomatoes]

so! i had the idea that it would be super fun to have a community-wide event where we all have a prompt and then everyone fills it in their own way.

...i then decided all the prompts i came up with were too good not to use, but also none of them were Good Enough to use exclusively, so i changed my mind and the prompt is now just MATING SEASON. with a few suggestions at the bottom of this post if you're looking for some.

since spring is coming upon us, i hereby invite everyone to join in the vernal festivities... which in turtle parlance, of course, means only one thing: write, draw, whatever your version of "mating season", then join me on march 1 to post it with the tag #TMNTSpringShellebration. we then shall browse the fine selection of our mutual artistic efforts, and basically just have a good time as a community.

here are the prompts i came up with as starters-slash-things-to-include if you're looking for a place to get started. feel free to use these at will, or use them to come up with something of your own:

“Please don’t make me explain this. It’s humiliating as is.”

Oops, Looks Like Mating Season Came A Week Early This Year

“…In all of my mating seasons, this has never happened before.”

“I told you not to come by! It’s mating season!”

Probably should have expected it to be different now that he’s not going through it alone.

Because of Shenanigans, you have to wait. Wait… Wait… ok now.

They’re not the right person for mating season… but they’re the one who’s here, so…

“Show me where it hurts."

so yeah! see you all on march 1 for the, uh, spring shellebration. party popper emoji

questions i imagine will be popping up and i hope will clear up here before my askbox swells beyond capacity under the cut to keep this post from being Way Too Long. also it's really not that serious it's just an excuse to write slash draw for everyone Please Don't Take This Thing Too Seriously It's Not That Serious:

"can i participate?" yes! it's literally just an invitation to do something. nothing fancier than that. no need to be following me or in my friend group or whatever.

"can i write (insert fic idea here)?" yep! so long as it's related to the idea of mating seasons, it flies. reader insert? hell yea. oc? hell yeah. solo turtle and his favorite pillow? go for it.

"can i draw (insert art idea here)?" yep! uh. i know tumblr has the cops watching for sin bin material, but you art people know how to deal with that. and if you don't, uh, ask the other art people. im just a feral cat in a trench coat

"how do i participate?" write/draw/collect songs for/whatever. then, on march 1, post it and tag it #TMNTSpringShellebration. also, for funsies, keep it hush hush what you're working on so we can all be super shocked when the day comes! except, y'know, that you're planning on joining in. totally do that.

"when do i post it?" march 1. whenever on that day. waves hands around in a vague gesture at time zones not mattering. seriously don't take this so seriously it's just me wanting to create cool shit with my friends with a little more structure to it

"does it have to be horny?" i mean. it's an event about mating season. so by definition it's going to be at least a little horny. but however you interpret it is cool. even if it's just. idk. leo sitting sweatily in a chair looking longingly at a glass of water bc he's thirstier than usual. be smart about things, people. i'm not your dad.

"which tmnt verse is this for?" whichever one you want it to be for!! rise! bayverse! 2007! your fan iteration! your friend's fan iteration! your mortal enemy's fan iteration! yes!

"will you be reblogging everything?" absolutely not, but this isn't an event About Me. i am incidental to the thing. it's about Us. coming together as a community. for horny turtles. puts my hands on your shoulders. do it for you. for your friends. for the community.

#text tag #feel free to reblog this around. it started out as a thing for turtle fam but we all agreed that it would be fun for The Community #anyway yeehaw let's spend all of february thinking about what to do and then the night of feb 29 doing it RAH #tmntspringshellebration

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vex91 · 4 months

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(G)I-DLE - Overprotective unnies

Pairing: (G)I-DLE x Female Reader (Platonic)

Fandom: (G)I-DLE

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: idk if ur still in the mood to write for g-idle n idk if you want smut but, what if you made any concept (smut, fluff , angst , etc) w/ the members n reader being 6th member 😻? -

(coming frm a person who knows nothing ab g-idle except queencard n yuqi , soon n minnie 😞)

Summary: It was obvious that you were (G)I-DLE's precious baby that they cared about a lot so it wasn't a surprise when they always had an eye on you, especially to keep you away from guys.

A/N: I wanted to write something platonic so I hope it's alright😄

3rd's POV

The award shows were always an interesting experience for you. Not only you were able to watch your other fellow artists perform on stage, you had a chance to win some awards and thank your fans but also you could talk and make new friends there. The more stressful side of them were definitely stares from your older members, especially when you interacted with male idols.

In their eyes no one was deserving of you, every idol who approached you was always not good enough in their eyes and the fact that they thought you were too young to date didn't helped. You never understood that, being only one year younger that Shuhua you thought that you were old enough to make your own decisions about dating but not in your members eyes.

"Guys where is Y/N?" Soyeon looked around not being able to find you until Minnie pointed at in the direction of Stray Kids table that was close to theirs. Somehow you managed to sneak from them and to Stray Kids's table and now you were having fun singing with them. Soyeon also noticed how close Hyunjin seemed to be to you and she didn't liked that but unfortunately she couldn't do much from her position so she signaled to Yuqi to join you and the guys and keep an eye on you.

Yuqi did as she was told and soon she was next to you also singing to cover up the way she pulled you a little away from Hyunjin who seemed a little disappointed. After some time Hyunjin tried to hold your hand under the table but Yuqi did it before him causing you to give her a look that she pretended not to notice. You looked between her and your other members who kept glancing your way and it annoyed you. You loved them but it annoyed you how overprotective they were. You were an adult after all, you could handle yourself.

Soon your group won one of the main awards causing you to walk up to the stage to make a speech. When you were speaking camera showed Hyunjin watching you with a lovestruck expression on his face, noticing the camera he looked down embarrassed as his members laughed, patting his back. You smiled but from the corner of your eye you noticed the glares he got from your members.

After the show you made your members sit down as you glared at them "What was all that about?" You asked them, your voice clearly showing how serious you were. None of them looked you in the eye because no matter how much they denied it, you scared them sometimes. Taking initiative of talking for them Soyeon spoke up "We tried to save you from all the dating rumors but it's probably too late now" You looked at her with an expression that screamed that's a bullshit "We all know it wasn't that. You guys just wanted to prevent me from getting his number. Listen I love you guys but I'm an adult, I know what I'm doing. You need to trust me more when it came to dating" They all looked down as the guilt sank in, they knew you were right but they couldn't help it sometimes. You were always their baby and it was hard getting used to you being an adult.

With a smirk you turned around "Fortunately I did got his number" And with that sentence a hell broke loose as the members started groaning and complaining still not fond of the idea of you dating but they had no choice but to trust you.

Doesn't change the fact that if you get hurt, someone else will get hurt even more.

#vex writes #(g)i-dle x reader #gidle x reader #(g)i-dle reactions #gidle reactions #cho miyeon x reader #nicha yontararak x reader #minnie x reader #seo soojin x reader #jeon soyeon x reader #song yuqi x reader #yeh shuhua x reader #cho miyeon #nicha yontararak #minnie #seo soojin #jeon soyeon #song yuqi #yeh shuhua

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hellishattempt · 4 months

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𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 - false positive

cr 101strk on twitter, src from pin

🢥 summary : celebrity!au jjk men and rumours swirling around your established relationship, wc 2.4k 🢥 series includes : choso, fushiguro toji, geto suguru, gojo satoru and nanami kento, part two of five 🢥 content : celebrity!au, female reader, mostly angst, some fluff, married, body dysphoria, pregnancy, photoshopping / body editing, miscarriage, sickness, blood, fake newspaper used, paps being an ass, lying, use of pet names, suggestive content if you squint so hard your eyes are almost closed, i hate winter so this is set in like summer, jasper simping for nanami the entire time, the ending is what it is, not proofread we die like robins /ref

. . . BEING MARRIED TO AN AUTHOR has its perks, especially when you're a reader yourself. you always got to read the first drafts, and the second, and the final drafts before anyone else, including your husband's editors. nanami claimed that if it wasn't good enough for his wife, then it wasn't good enough to be published. you always thought that was a bit extreme, but you loved his writings either way. however, sometimes it was hard to find the time to read the latest chapter he sent you, because your job drained you. you were an influencer, and had currently signed a promotional deal with koh gen do, a popular japanese makeup brand. recently, you were barely home, busy with photoshoots and videos for koh gen do, on top of the content you had to make yourself.

neither of you really liked the limelight, nanami especially. you were young and naive when you joined social media, rising quickly to popularity. it was something you enjoyed, and you still do enjoy it, but it felt more like a tiring obligation than an aspiring career. you blame the paparazzi, nanami blames societal expectations, although he's not the paparazzi's biggest fan either. throughout your dating, and going on six year marriage, you and nanami have had your fair share of scandals. this one had to take the cake, however.

you were out, doing one of the last rounds of photoshoots for your endorsement deal. nanami was home, trying to churn out the latest chapter on his to-do list. he wasn't very successful. the mostly blank document had two words on it: CHAPTER THIRTY in the fancy font you had selected to be chapter headers. any attempt to write after that failed. every paragraph had been written, rewritten and deleted. so the buzz of his phone was a welcomed distraction.

it was an article post from red sun times, a relatively newer newspaper company in japan. nanami preferred them because they were quieter, at least compared to japan newsline or tokyoto sistership news. but the article title cause a deep frown to wrinkle nanami's sculpted face.

. . . "IS NANAMI KENTO'S WIFE PREGNANT?" was in big bold print on your phone screen. you didn't see it right away, but your makeup artist did. she got your hairstylist's attention, who read it just before your phone shut off. they both began to pepper you with compliments.

"congratulations, nanami okaa-san!" aki, your makeup artist beamed. your eyes widened at the term. 'okaa-san' literally translated to 'mother' of which, you were not. she should've used 'oka-san', which meant wife literally, and ma'am respectfully. "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!"

"yes, congratulations! how did nanami-san respond?" your hairstylist added, smile wide on his face. "better yet, how did your families react? oh, i bet they were overjoyed."

you sat there confused, racking your brain over what the two were referring to. "wh-what? what are you talking about?"

they stared at you with blank faces, their excitement slowly fading into a confused expression that matched yours.

"y-your pregnancy," aki stuttered out, as though it was obvious.

"pregnancy? i'm... i'm not pregnant," you stated, getting out of your chair. "who told you i was pregnant?"

"we just saw the news flash on your phone," your hairstylist defended, gesturing to your phone. "there was an article from red sun times and the title read: is nanami kento's wife pregnant?"

"i'm not pregnant," you repeated, growing in frustration. the fucking nerve. "do i look pregnant?" you snapped, causing the pair to furiously shake their heads and protest the article. you scoffed, grabbing your phone and your bag, storming out of the dressing room. the directory of photography called after you as you exited the studio, but you paid no attention to him.

safe inside your car, you opened the article. you also had a slew of texts and missed calls from your husband, but you didn't have the patience for him right now. the article was crudely written, at best. red sun times had been losing subscribers and readers lately, and this seemed like a last ditch effort to get their subscriptions up again. it didn't make sense to you, however. neither you nor nanami were a-lister names in the celebrity world. nanami didn't even consider himself a celebrity. sure, you both had a hefty fan base, but it was nothing compared to some of the other celebrities of japan, like the model gojo satoru or the mma fighter fushiguro toji.

it didn't matter, anyways. it wasn't the words of the article that hurt. it was the pictures. all them were of you with nanami on your latest outing. your anniversary was coming up, and nanami always got really sweet around that time, taking you out on dates on the days leading up to your anniversary. your anniversary was in three days, and a couple of days ago, nanami had taken you to a strawberry farm where you each filled a bucket's worth of strawberries, that were then all eaten on the picnic following the farm. the picnic spot was the riverside where he had proposed about seven years ago. you had an amazing time, and fell a little bit more in love with your caring husband. his sensible attention to detail, his doting words, his thoughtful actions, all of it made the date, and your relationship, perfect. now this article and its malicious pictures tainted that saccharine memory.

. . . THE IMAGES HAD CLEARLY BEEN EDITED. that's what your logical brain was trying to scream at you, but your emotions weren't listening. a small bump had been added to your stomach in each photo, your hips had been wider, and in a couple, your breasts had even been adjusted, as though they were full with milk. you felt sick. it was so hard to tell the difference between what was edited and what wasn't. did you really look like that? did red sun times even have to adjust these photos? "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!" the words of your makeup artist bounced around your pounding head. if you were so skinny, why did she still assume you were pregnant?

you had tried so hard that day to look pretty for your husband, wearing his favorite yellow sundress of yours, with the sweetheart neckline and puffy sleeves. nanami always said he preferred your natural look, but you had still glossed your lips, tinted your cheeks a faint pink and dusted your nose with highlighter. you had tied your hair up with a soft yellow ribbon, curling the loose strands. you had checked your reflection at least fifteen times before deeming yourself fit for the day. you had looked good in the mirror, so why didn't you look like that in these photos?

tears threatened at your eyes, but you swallowed them with the lump in your throat. you were almost home now, and you were sure that nanami had seen the article. he loved the red sun times because they didn't do stupid stuff like this. guess they just lost another reader.

"darling?" nanami's voice rang out as you entered your home. he walked into your vision, looking worried. you hadn't answered your phone at all, hadn't even read any of his texts. "oh, koibito..." his voice softened as you raised your head to meet his gaze.

you look so despondent with your watery eyes, and sullen posture. you hadn't even removed your shoes before he had scooped you into his arms and you were sobbing into his shoulder. you don't know how long you stood there in the foyer of your home, everything silent except for your choked breathing. there was a dark blemish on his wool sweater now, but nanami waved it off when you tried to apologize.

he guided you to the living room, helping you sit on the grey sofa that you had bought together six years ago. nanami worked wordlessly as he removed your shoes and coat; he took your phone and bag, placing them on the stand by the front door. a high pitched whistle echoed from the kitchen, and moments later he returned with a cup of steaming sencha, your favorite kind of tea. you felt so pathetic, sitting there sniffling while your husband tended to you.

when he returned for the final time, nanami had changed into a black t-shirt, and sat on the leather ottoman opposite from you. his elbows rested on his knees as nanami watched you sip the tea he had made you. he didn't speak, but only because he couldn't find the right words.

nanami prided himself on his syntax and vocabulary. he was the type of person who always said the right thing at the right time, it's why being an author was the only career option he cared for. but here, you sat in a stifled silence. he knew he should say something, but what? what were you were supposed to say in a situation like this? you were clearly distressed, and it was nanami's role as your husband to offer you words of encouragement, but his tongue was dry.

if nanami was honest, he almost wanted there to be some truth to the article. you hadn't exactly been trying for kids, but you hadn't not been trying. kids was something you both knew you wanted, but you hadn't discussed it in further detail. reading further into the article and viewing the photos made it clear that it wasn't true, at all. nanami knew almost immediately that when you saw this, you were going to breakdown, and he would be there to pick you up. so he ordered your favorite ramen, made your favorite tea and held you in his arms until you had calmed down.

nanami knew that you would believe the edits, that you would see yourself like that. despite how much he praised your body, you hated it, and he hated that. anytime you made some side comment about your stomach or thighs, it almost started a fight. he loathed the way you saw yourself, and nothing he argued stuck with you.

in the last few months, however, nanami was starting to see some progress. you stared less in the mirror with your meticulous eyes, pinching flaps of your skin between your fingers. you began to buy less healthier foods, and stopped mentioning the stupid diet you had placed yourself on. you wore clothes that you specifically avoided unless you had nothing else to wear, because of the way they displayed your figure. he knew that this article had erased all of that progress.

"i'm sorry, nani" you croaked, curling your knees into your chest.

"shh, no, koibito," nanami disregarded your apology. "you don't ever have to apologize about your emotions, especially not to me." he moved from the ottoman to take the spot next to you, pulling your small frame into his. one hand held yours while the other stroked your hair amorously. "the article was cruel, and any person with a heart would be reacting the same as you. don't worry, i've already called their editor and he said he doesn't know why the piece was published when it wasn't supposed to. it's being removed as we speak."

your heart welled at his words. he was so patient and understanding. moments like these made you love nanami more. and it gave you the confidence to tell him the truth.

"kento," you began, pulling away from him slowly. you used his given name over your nickname, nani, for him. you only used it during fights or confessions. he immediately perked up. "i..." you sighed. words were always nanami's thing, not yours. "i'm not upset about the photos."

"oh?"

"okay, well, i am, but for a different reason than you think."

"and what reason is that, koibito?" his tone was emotionless, as if he hadn't decided how to respond yet.

"i know you think it's because i'm always stressing about my body and the way it looks, and you're worried because i haven't been fretting over how i look as much, right? well, that's because i was pregnant, and i decided i couldn't care about that when i had bigger concerns, like the tiny life in my stomach." it became harder to speak, your sentences broken by tears and sobs.

"...was?" nanami's voice cracked, and his misty eyes matched yours.

you nodded, "was. i... i had a miscarriage."

"w-when?"

"about a week ago. i was about a month and a half along."

"you mean that time you canceled girl's night because you were sick? you told me that it was just your period, and you sent me out to get you stuff from the store." nanami's brows furrowed.

"yeah, that's.. that's right." you took a breath to steady yourself. "there was just blood everywhere, and i was a wreck and i didn't have the courage to tell you. i know how badly you want kids of our own, and i just didn't want to hurt you."

"hurt me? baby, you were the one hurting, and i just played it off like it was normal. i feel terrible."

"you couldn't have known," you reassured him. "but that article, and those photos, it just tore me apart all over again. that's how i should look, that's how i want to look, but i lost that part of me, that part of us."

nanami didn't respond at first, just reached back out for you. you both sat there, quiet sniffles and crying the only sound in your home. he continued to comfort you, even though you felt like you should be offering him comfort. after all, nanami is learning that you were pregnant and now no longer pregnant all at once.

"koibito," he murmured after a while. "i want you to know that i love you no matter what. i don't care how you look or how you don't look. you're my wife, and i didn't marry you because of your body and figure. i married you because i fell in love with your laugh, your smile, your unpredictable personality, and all the other beautiful things about you. i'm always going to support you and love you. and if you want to be pregnant, then i'm happy to oblige."

you laughed despite your sadness, swatting at him playfully, which elicited a "what? i'm serious!" from nanami.

"shut up," you muttered, still chuckling. he smiled, happy to see that you were laughing along with him. nanami pressed a kiss to your temple, humming an "i love you" against your skin.

you snuggled deeper into him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. "i wanna be a mom, nani."

he wrapped both arms around you, meeting your gaze. "then a mom you shall be, my koibito."

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fuctacles · 6 months

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Making moves the nerd way

"Halloween" for @steddieholidaydrabbles Part II of the previous warm-up but can be read alone

G | 1k | no cw | almost getting together, slightly oblivious Eddie

next up

Eddie was sitting on the kitchen floor, painting empty pizza boxes while Steve was trying to focus on making dinner. Despite the newspapers spread around him, he managed to stain his surroundings with grey paint.

“How much do you have left?”

"I'm making a graveyard, Steve, not a random burial site with three corpses. It would go faster if you helped me, you know?”

“Well, do you want to eat? Because I can’t cook pasta and paint tombstones at the same time.”

Eddie grumbles something under his breath.

“Point taken.”

So they resume their activities, a weird mixtape of Metallica, Queen and Tears for Fears playing in the background.

“Okay, little Picasso, time to eat," Steve announces eventually.

"Don't call me like I'm a toddler," Eddie scolds him, but the fact that he's peeking over the table while on his knees, eyeing the plate put there, does nothing to help his statement.

Steve smirks at him, at the half-tied mop of hair surrounding his eyes over the counter.

"Wash your hands before eating. Kiddo."

"I'm older than you!" he protests but hops up anyway to do as he was told. It's good Steve reminded him though, he'd probably just throw himself at the spaghetti like a savage, paint stains or not.

They eat and discuss the acceptable damage to Harrington's lawn to prop up the gravestones. Eddie's devastated to hear he can't just put holes in the ground.

"We can prop them up with sticks. Or weigh them down with rocks. We'll figure something out," Steve shrugs and that placates him for the time being. He helps with the dishes but is quickly shooed back to his art station. Steve joins him later, with a hand in his hair.

"How is it going, baby?"

Eddie grumbles, not looking up.

"I know you mean it in like, a kid way, but maybe don't call me that?" he says, double-focusing on the cardboard in front of him.

"Okay, kid, sorry," Steve amends, petting his hair, and scratching his scalp gently. Pretends not to see Eddie fold under the treatment. "Does my little artist need help?"

"Your little artist has been asking for help for the past two days."

Steve snorts, detangling his fingers from the long hair.

"That's fair, sorry. I guess you wore me down," he says, sitting down. "What do I do?"

Eddie finally turns away from his work, considering him.

"You can paint them over," he decides, handing him the grave he's been working on. "I'll cut them up." He grabs a new pizza box for himself, the needed shape already drawn on it with a Sharpie. His scissors follow the outline slowly and jaggedly, struggling with the thick cardboard.

“How many do we need?” Steve asks, dipping the brush in paint.

“At least ten. I don’t have stuff for more anyway, figures I can just make extra later when I have time and supplies.”

Steve looks around.

“We have like, three,” he observes.

“Well, chop chop then, my little helper.”

Steve sighs and gets to work.

While he’s happy to indulge Eddie and help him out, he’s been imagining their evening together differently. Getting one-on-one time in their little traumatized family was a rare thing unless you're already an established couple. Or him and Robin, but that's because they work together. Needless to say, it was hard to make a move on someone. Even with something already brewing between them.

“So, are we putting our enemies’ names on them?” he settles on learning more about Eddie instead. Hopes he doesn’t mind treating his graveyard project like a shared effort, that Steve says ‘we’ instead of ‘you’.

“Oh, I’m totally absolutely putting Vecna on one. Other than that I think I’ll keep them fantasy-themed. Maybe use all the NPCs my Party killed throughout the campaign. I think we’ve seen enough of that in real life.”

“You said it.” Steve mentally kicks himself in the ass. Just his luck to start a topic that goes straight into the trauma of their Upside Down past. How is he supposed to make a move now?

He shuts up and starts painting the cardboard more angrily while Freddie Mercury screams his lungs out in the background. He doesn’t notice when the cardboard cutting ceases.

Not until their hands brush when they both reach for the paint. He looks up to see most of the boxes cut up and shaped, waiting for paint.

“My hand started to cramp from the scissors. And you looked so peaceful, I wanted to join you,” Eddie explains. Steve watches him bite at his bottom lip, mulling something over. “I’ve always liked working with someone on projects like that. Help out with school play scenography, make Halloween costumes with Wayne…” He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but the soft, genuine smile tells Steve otherwise. “So uh, thank you, for letting me do this here. For joining me, too.”

And Steve realizes this could be a date, too. He could make a move like this, on his kitchen floor, fingers stained with paint.

“Of course. I have this weekend off, we could work together some more,” he offers. Then frowns at Eddie’s stunned expression. “What?”

“You want to spend your time off with me, playing with paint?”

“Well, I was hoping you have something more planned. We could work on our costumes, maybe?”

He’s alarmed when Eddie makes a pained noise.

“You’ll take Aragorn from me!”

“What?”

“We’ve been fighting over Lord of the Rings characters for Halloween costumes and if you join us there’s no way Henderson will let me keep him.”

“I don’t need to join in, I’d rather just help you with your costume.”

To this, Eddie turns suspicious.

“Why?” he squints.

“Eddie,” he sighs, staring fondly into his eyes, and grabs his wrist for good measure.

Eddie’s eyes go big like saucers when it hits him.

"Holy shit. Do you want to have a nerd date with me?”

Steve chuckles.

“I guess I do.”

#steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #steve harrington #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #steddieholidaydrabbles #i like nerd dates #i dont get them #but i like working on stuff with friends

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elmhat · 4 months

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Dreblr Survey Results!

First of all, thanks to everyone who took part in this survey. There were 152 responses in total! This post just covers the statistical side of things; there will be more posts later for the long response questions.

Most popular places

Arctic Commune (64.9% of voters)

Pandora's Vault (63.6% of voters)

Community House (58.3% of voters)

Listen, you don't have to tell me, I already know I forgot to put Church Prime. I'm very aware of my stupidity. But these results—do you even know how strong you have to be to overpower Pandora's Vault? In dreblr? Damn. That was also a last-minute thing, Pandora's Vault was winning.

Fandom behaviors

I'll admit, I didn't give the best options for this question, so thanks to everyone who wrote their own response. Apparently we're all big readers, so that's nice for us! We're also more likely to be a writer than an artist, but far fewer of us are writing meta. All in all, this looks like a pretty good spread!

Joining the fandom

The most popular time to start watching the dsmp was between New L'Manberg and the Disc War Finale, but honestly, it's split into fairly even quarters between the main "seasons" the server was active. To those who joined after the finale streams, hi! I hope you're enjoying your stay!

Thoughts on the finale streams

I'm actually a little blown away that no one rated the finale streams a 1. Not a single person. There's nothing more I can say other than this response is overwhelmingly positive.

Is the fandom dying?

It looks like the answer is no! 82.9% of us are still moderately interested in the dsmp or more, and for almost a third of us, it's consuming every part of our brain. I don't know about you, but for me, this is actually something I really needed to see.

That's all for this post, but there will be more results soon for the questions with longer responses. I'd strongly recommend sticking around for that, some of them are hilarious. Well done for making it through the stats!

As an aside, well done to the 35 people brave enough to put their name to what they said in this survey. Because some of what they said was *ahem* very interesting.

#long post #dreblr #random elm thoughts #elm polls

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dollya-robinprotector · 6 months

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FINALLY! DOLLYA CONCEPT

I'll have a little look back and remember how I came up with this current Sona design. The me of 2021 definitely would look at this and go "WTF???". When I search and place old drawings side by side for comparison, It's really been a process of changing my perspective on myself and constantly finding what I want.

It'll be very random and full of my old drawings, so if you don't mind a little rambling, welcome to go under the cut and go back in time with me!

Let's start with this design. As you can clearly see it was based on how I actually look irl, from the outfit, hairstyle to make-up.

Tbf this was not my first attempt to create a Sona, but it was a huge milestone because it's 2018, the year I got into my dream Art university and left home. My style completely changed, and this Sona showed it perfectly.

I drew this with my fingers, on my broken phone, to enter a Vietnamese clothes design competition, where we modernized some traditional clothes. What I did here is a modernized Nhật Bình. I won and got my design made into real clothes and sent to me. I'm still proud of it to this day XD

It was fun! I draw her almost daily, like how I do with Lya and Lyah in this blog. I used her to make friends with other artists. I even created a gender-bent version for her : D

But the uni life was stressful, especially when I entered my third year and tried to escape my parents' grasp. They were furious and threatened me, I started working extra and do commission to pay for my own living and rent, lessons were hard, and homework and projects were pilling,... As a result, I often use my sona to stress draw.

It didn't help much, my anxieties and insecurities kept adding to the molten fire inside me, and my overthinking got worse day by day.

But then at some point, I decided to separate myself from that sona. She turned into one of my many OCs, maybe more special but I no longer see my entire self in her anymore.

I have to thank my two besties for that. They pulled me out of my darkest moments and stayed with me. They remain to be my only two most important people in this whole world.

I started to "reuse" the sona appearance into creating many other OCs for many other fandoms I joined (Cookierun, HnK, FGO, KnY, Genshin,...). I had fun jumping between different styles lol.

The idea for the current design started to take shape when one day I drew her wearing a white delicate dress (I usually just do red) and a see-through sleep dress I just bought.

Something started clicking.

Then I became an assistant for an Ero Artist. Yup. I started to be exposed to more "sexy" character designs and tbh I just love those. I love drawing female characters already, but there's something something about cute and sexy girls in lingerie... If you know what I mean.

The design slowly became clearer. Cute and pristine-white, see-through lingerie, with little four petals flowers, and little bows, perfect.

The details still varied. They depended on the style I was using or my mood, whether I wanted to go into details or not. That's the fun of drawing your own design, let's keep it.

And here we are~ Maybe it's still not final, but I'm happy with it, and that's enough for me now!

If you've been reading this far, thank you and congratulations! I will send you a kiss and wish you a good day~~ Hope you're having fun scrolling on my blog~

#Dollya concept #dollya art #Just Dollya herself #cw self destruction #cw self doubt #cw self loathing #cw self deprecation #concept art #character concept #all in all this is a fun journey

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the-curse-of-neoclones · 6 months

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Moderneopets Artist Mistreatment

Edit as of 11/16/23 10:40 AM NST:

Removed names where I failed to do so before. I'm very sorry to the affected parties, this snowballed so far out of my intended scope.

Edit as of 11/16/23 5:30 PM NST

Please see this post for a small update.

As of 11/16/23 10:10 PM NST, Hazer the site owner has formally and publicly apologized to myself and Velu, the other affected artist. As far as I'm concerned he has officially handled the situation as best as he could, and I hold no further qualms with Moderneopets. I hope to hear of its management continuing in this direction.

The following post is left up for archival purposes only.

*****

Hello, I’m wren. I'm an artist responsible for some of the pet assets on the neoclone, Moderneopets. I'm just going to get into it.

Hazer was extremely lucky to somehow cultivate a dense group of largely professional artists to work together to make assets for his site. When it comes to his own management as a site runner, he’s largely hands-off of the art department, which is a good thing! If he can’t be active in the art panel enough to know what goes on in there, he shouldn’t be running it— we have many strong, capable artists on the team who are passionate about recreating the neopets style, who work together on every pet that has been released ever since critique became a requirement.

It makes sense that, with a project this large, Hazer should have to designate moderators to enforce rules when he is absent. Choosing to bring on moderators was also a good decision. Unfortunately, he chose poorly.

Art panel issues should have separate Art panel moderators to take care of them. People who are not overburdened with generic moderation duties from the many other channels of the server, for example. In the same vein, artists should not be moderators. When an artist has an issue with another artist, who happens to be a moderator (which has happened many times, with many people— If the mods actually open threads for all complaints they receive, they should have evidence of this & if they don’t they are not being truthful), the artist would likely not feel comfortable approaching that same artist-slash-moderator to complain about what happened. It breeds an aura of fear and discomfort any time there is an issue with an artist/mod, and that is why the two moderators on the team should have to choose one or the other if hazer wants to cultivate a healthy atmosphere in his panel.

I’ve created many pets for this website. Neopets has been a passion of mine since the third grade. I’m also one of those professional artists I mentioned— my work is also art, industry or otherwise. I care about breaking neopets down into their core, recognizable shapes. I care about keeping them on-model and in the spirit of the original TNT art team, with improvements made where I and the other panelists think they make sense. I have redlined for other artists to an even greater degree, just as other artists have redlined for me and helped me finalize each pet into something simply good: something that made sense to get put on a little passion project website for other people with a similar passion to enjoy. I found the panel to be a community of likeminded artists with which to discuss our favorite childhood petsite while we made art for a clone, as if we could pretend we were making art for neopets-dot-com. It was nice.

It wasn’t perfect, though. In fact, shortly after I joined in 2021 I took a hiatus because the art panel was fairly dead. I came back a little while later to see we had several new species, as well as an art director, and lots of activity! That was very exciting. Over the next year I would reach out to the panel or, if nobody was sure of how to proceed, I would reach out to the art director to propose ideas for how to make the panel a little more functional; quality of life updates, if you will. I don’t take credit for all of these alone, there were other artists with similar ideas all communicating to the director in private, but some examples:

A designated “collab” zone where artists could seek out other artists to complete pets with.

“The Purge,” in which the team was whittled down to ~25 current, active artists to refresh the team and allow for new artists to join.

“The Approval System,” which I first sat down with in my workshop (public to all artists) to hammer out the details with as many other artists as wanted to give their input— a method for pitching new ideas to eventually break through the “new species/color freeze” that had been plaguing us.

Speaking on the approval system: like most things that required Hazer’s direct input in the art team, it was left without response for a very long time. Artists with ideas for custom species or colors would occasionally murmur about their excitement for the system to get a look-over by hazer, to see if our approval system pitch would be approved. But hazer is busy, as we all know, and the pitch sat for a while. We had new & returning artists on the team to keep everyone busy.

What I would expect from a years-old panel of artists, when new additions arrive, would be some manner of tutorial. New artists would need to know the pipeline (here’s your workshop, you can post WIPs and anything else in there; here’s how you ping for critique, here are the spaces in which to ask for it; make sure you always ping before your work is submitted on-site), and there would likely be some acclimating on both sides. What I did not expect (but should have), was pushback from new artists on things that hadn’t had pushback in a long time. Why can’t [x] color be a posechange? Well, we’ve created many already and none of them were posechanges. Why can’t I use colored lineart? Well, that isn’t in line with the style standards set by this color; see, nobody else is coloring their lineart.

Suddenly there was a divide between veteran artists, the director, and the new blood. The divide felt greater when Hazer came to his new artist’s aid to say, approximately: “Eh, if someone wants to go above and beyond and make better art, they shouldn’t have to adhere to the guidelines.” Then he threw the art director under the bus for not somehow knowing that his intentions were always to keep the panel loose and unstructured. But don’t worry, that isn’t the first bus and won’t be the last.

My personal investment in the panel waned around that time. I think a structured “work” environment with easily accessible rules and deadlines is necessary to any project of this size. If we didn’t want to enforce color standards, nor prioritize certain colors for release, and anyone could just submit whatever Nice Art they wanted, why not open it up so any user could submit pet art? Why have a panel at all? Isn’t Hazer taking any opportunity to dunk on Leopets because he wants his site to be better? How is this different?

But I stuck around. This was a hobby I really enjoyed, after all, and I really believed it could get better. It had a good core, and despite my grievances with individual artists, none of them were bad people.

But I noticed some trends. New artists would receive feedback that they didn’t agree with and retaliate by bringing in their emotions or personal preferences. Any disagreement where multiple veteran artists stepped in to say their piece would escalate to the point of very long messages on both sides, and would need to be left to hazer to give a final input. Often he didn’t come around to it, because he’s busy, as we know. I didn’t step in to every argument; they became cyclical after a while, and I didn’t have the time or energy to spend simply tapping the proverbial sign (or style sheet). I would try to give positive suggestions when I could, for example: I don’t think this color needs another alt for just one single design, but we did talk about eventually making this color that your design would fit into really well.

I’ve done my time having arguments on the internet. I really just want an art environment where the rules are set and people actually enjoy following them, because I do— I see art rules as helpful guidelines at best and obstacles to cleverly navigate at worst, which is still fun. But of course not everyone is going to feel the same way, that’s normal; that’s life.

On 11/9 I was given this message by Hazer:

It reads:

Hello wren,

I am reaching out to you today to inform you that effective immediately you are being dismissed from the Artist and Consultant Panels. This decision has been reached through discussions and based on repeated offences in the form of user harassment and subjecting the panels to a toxic atmosphere, after multiple reports and concerns brought up to us by other users.

While we understand concerns regarding panel management, there is a distinct difference between criticising and condeming the way the panel does things and criticising and condeming users that are on the panel, and we believe this line has been crossed one too many times, further supported by concerns brought to us.

We appreciate the passion and drive of our team—all of them—and we understand you have been very passionate about the panel. Given some of the messages we see, we have also concluded that due to things in the panel not working out as you have wished, it has caused you much stress and upset as well, which we do not want. All in all, we've decided that the atmosphere of the panel and your own enjoyment of the website are hampered by your presence on it. Because of this, we have decided it is best to have you part ways with the staff sections of the website.

Effective immediately after this message, we will be permanently removing you from the panels. While normally we do a temporary removal, in this case we've seen that your compatability with our management and handling of the panel will not improve, and it will just bring stress to both sides.

We understand you have put a lot of passion into the projects you have been working on for release in Moderneopets, and in lieu of that, we offer you the option of having the project(s) still be released even after dismissal. Rewards will still be granted for releases per usual, and credit will still be given. If you decide, due to dismissal, you do not want your unreleased work to be released on Moderneopets, simply state it as such, and we will discard all progress on projects you have been working on to respect those wishes.

This decision is final and will not be revoked.

Best wishes to you,

The Moderneopets Team

[end caption]

My response:

It reads:

No warnings huh?

[end caption]

Hazer didn’t have an answer for me. I was already removed from the panel.

This came as a shock. I’d been there for over two years, I felt I had a good rapport with the other artists, I felt I’d been a helpful and active addition to the team. Like I said, I’ve done my time having arguments on the internet… what toxic behavior? Discussions over style guides? Giving redlines to people with permission? Working with the whole team to bolster several new color releases? I had an entire species that Hazer wanted ready to go since March— I just pushed through the Swamp Gas release, I just created the Mystical alt?

No warnings?

Let me reiterate: I have never been spoken to by any staff about my behavior. Hazer, his then-four moderators— none of them have ever been in my DMs to issue a warning. I have spoken TO the mods about others’ behaviors, and nothing ever came of it. The one time (and I mention this for full transparency only) the art director came to talk to me about something I said, it was stated clearly that it was not a warning, and even so I adjusted my behavior around said issue accordingly. And that was well before the purge.

But, don’t take my word for it. Here it is from hazer himself, speaking over his mods who were busy telling the rest of the panel that they always issue warnings:

It reads:

No in this case I do agree that this has been an abrupt situation and I understand the blind-sided-ness of it. No official warnings were given out regarding the actions that resulted in the removal of artists today and that’s on fault of myself and deebs not working things out properly despite the moderation team bringing issues to a us a few times – also due to our lack of availability recently. [end caption]

So… What happened? Well… here it is from Hazer, in longform:

For those who use screen readers, above are several enormous discord screenshots; I've placed it in a paste bin here: https://pastebin.com/dHLiBRTF

Two other artists immediately stepped down. Hazer admits here in his message that he and the mods had multiple tickets opened about my behavior, that they had known they wanted to remove me. They never gave a warning, never talked to me until the moment of my dismissal, but they had known it was coming for months?

Why did Hazer and his gang of mods let me continue working on art for their panel? Why did they let me work so hard to pull Swamp Gas together for an official release? Why did they let me put together a whole custom Alt and workshop it for so long? I’ve been active this whole time. Why did you let me keep working if you knew you wanted me gone?

I am a professional artist. My work is art. Hazer made the knowing decision to exploit my time and effort for his website. He’s not paying me, he’s not paying any of us. It’s volunteer work. But I did not volunteer to be mistreated like this. To not even be given a chance to defend myself. To him, artists are disposable. To him, if someone has worked on your team for years but speaks up when your friend tries to overturn the system, even civil discussion is cause for disposal. Civil discussion negates years of effort, passion, time and care.

I didn’t have to make art for you, Hazer. And you don’t deserve the team you have. How many artists have voiced their discomfort with your actions? How many artists are taking a break from the panel because of how you handled this? Ah, wait, you wouldn’t know… you’re busy.

Hazer and his mod team are just another corrupt group of individuals unfortunately heading what could have been a fun and promising petsite. Everyone who speaks praise of modneo does it by and large because of the new and unique art. Hazer was extremely lucky to cultivate a dense group of largely professional artists to work together to make assets for his site.

If Hazer wants to show any sign of his potential to be a better person, I believe he needs to formally apologize to his site for the misuse of his power and the mistreatment and exploitation of artists on his team. He needs to apologize to you, the players of his game, the subscribers to his patreon, for allowing this to happen under his watch and under his word. You know you fucked up, hazer. You shouldn’t have sided with your friend without any actual evidence of misconduct. You shouldn’t have spoken about me like I was a toxic, subhuman hindrance to your art team. You shouldn’t have treated me like that. I didn’t deserve it. None of us did. You can apologize to me and the other lost artists publicly.

#moderneopets #virtu.pet #grundos cafe #neopets #neotag #modneo #moderneo

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kiachiako · 1 year

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april nct recs

my library of favorites from APR <3 all creds to authors

[ sorted by word count ]

series

JAEMIN | better than your next (i'm the next) | @ddeonuism 11.9k [ part one ]

RENJUN | messenger | @dojunie — smau | You find a phone number written on the mirror of the Sulim Library's second floor bathroom. It’s scrawled messily across the glass in erasable expo marker, the handwriting underneath almost closer to hieroglyphics than lettering— and what you thought it read, was ‘SEND DUCK PICS FOR A GOOD TIME.’ (You suppose, in hindsight, it was a good thing this person’s penmanship was so shit— because if you knew what it really said, you might have never stumbled across the oddly intriguing inbox of one Huang Renjun.)

oneshots

[m] JAEHYUN | seeds of pomegranates | @anashins 29.5k — The day the god of the underworld steals you away, he expects to have found a timid wife to make his isolated life more bearable. Little does he know that the rose he picked from the garden called earth bears knives instead of thorns, and he might not have found a timid wife, but a queen with a heart as dark as his.

[m] JAEHYUN | hearts are won at practice | @angelwonie 21.2k — jung jaehyun is an obnoxious, way too handsome footballer whom you have no intention of getting to know. at least until a series of coincidences forces you to spend time with him, and you realize there might be more to him than what meets the eye.

CHENLE | potential | @rrxnjun 20k — rich kids au, childhood friends au, friends with benefits au. angst, fluff, suggestive | You saw his potential without seeing credentials. And maybe that's the issue.

[m] HAECHAN | monochrome | @sundaysundaes — Lee Donghyuck once believed in the concept of soulmates—how fate would connect a red thread from one lover to another, in a form of dreams and memories. That was how his parents met, that was how they claimed their happiness, and he wanted nothing more but to live his life the way they lived theirs. Until one day, as he sees her slipping away from his hands, he has no choice but to stop believing entirely.

CHENLE | i still love you | @xiaodejunletsact 17.4k — high school can be complicated. thats why when your crush of three years, zhong chenle, approaches you out of nowhere offering to drive you home you are right to question his intentions.

HAECHAN | free trial wedding style | @liliansun 10.6k — when a random, cute, guy comes up to you and practically asks for you to follow along, you do so without much thought. that is until you get home and see he’s your new neighbor who just might need your help a little more than you expected.

[m] HAECHAN + MARK | the girl is mine | @luvrkives 10.5k — mark and hyuck can't stop fighting over you. who fucks you better, who makes you laugh more, who you like most, who fucks you better, yada yada yada. but honestly, why argue when you would happily take them both?

JAEHYUN | love you goodbye | @serendipityseulgi 10.3k — the one with the story of dysfunctional love between you and jaehyun. aka, you both want different things and your love isn’t always enough.

[m] JOHNNY | color evasion | @ncteez 8.7k — or the one where you join a kink website and a specific dom’s profile catches your attention enough to actually meet him at a hotel and practically ignore your safe words bc man, he’s good.

[m] HAECHAN + JAEHYUN | mine too | @waithyuck 7.5k — donghyuck x jaehyun x reader (f), smut, basically pwp

JAEHYUN | eye of affection | @aitarose 6.6k — for as long as he can remember, jaehyun’s world has been in black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide.

HAECHAN | full of love (and stars) | @httplastic 6k — friends/roommates to lovers, light angst

[m] HAECHAN | unavoidable | @sunpopz 5.8k — after swearing to yourself you're done catching feelings for people; you meet someone who makes that incredibly difficult. you think you can avoid him... then you're assigned a final together.

RENJUN | hard to let go | @cinnajun 4.3k — your high school friend group had an ambiguous and messy end, and you never got any closure for anything. two years later, and lee donghyuck’s girlfriend lives on the same floor as you, and you’re forced to face huang renjun, whose abandonment hurt you the most.

HAECHAN | she's quiet | @ijuliet 3.4k — although you were not looking to make new friends, the ones you had tried their hardest to push you out of your comfort zone to find something abnormal for you. which is why you’re at a frat party on a thursday night, watching as lee donghyuck observes you from afar.

[m] HAECHAN | all bark no bite | @jjsneo 2.5k — lee haechan is the most annoying man you’ve ever encountered. but that doesn’t mean you don’t find him hot; and maybe that’s why he has you flat on his mattress one night at a random frat party.

JAEHYUN | in the rain | @sehunniepotwrites 1.9k — All this time, you were looking for love in the wrong places and in the wrong people. As a serial dater, you never thought you would find it in the pouring rain and in the person you trusted the most.

. . .

ur fav recs n fics blog is back hehe | happy reading <3

xoxo

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