#confections of an artist

[cutechan555]

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More info on Confection castle Noah (Sasha) Because in every PT/SS AU Noah should have a name starting with the same letter as Noisette 💀💀💀

Confection castle by @/sirtotallynotatimetraveler

Suzy's younger brother, works as a medical massage therapist in a pretty large hospital, he dreams of opening up his own spa.

He visits Suzy's shop from time to time, he even encourages his colleagues to give her pastries a try, he's happy for her, tho one thing he doesn't like when he meets up with her.

Theodore, he despises him, he hates how childish he is and questions why someone as his sister would like a guy like HIM she deserves better.

And he heard about her adventure to the castle even though he's not a big fan of adventures...his sister's work is being threatened so he reluctantly joins her and much to his dismay he has to deal with Theodore...

#pizza tower #art #pizza tower fanart #pizza tower au #pt noah #digital art #artists on tumblr #ibispaintx #confection castle #pizza tower oc

[browniboxx]

A little late but is midnight so I think I'm good.

Kirbtober day 6: Royalty

#art #fandom #digital art #kirby #artists on tumblr #fanart #ocs #original character #kirby oc #king dedede #fairy queen #taranza #prince fluff #The Confection King #Kirby Kandyland #kirbtober #kirbtober 2023

[cathartitea]

[image id: an orc woman with green skin, tusks, and thick hair, similar to dreadlocks. She is wearing a bronze-colored piece that appears to be rings around her neck down to her shoulders, with white balls attached to it. She wears a loose tanktop with a skeletal design, and a flowy skirt. She has tattoos on her arms which are obscured by scarring. End image id]

Drew one of my dnd characters; here's Nuk the Stonecrusher. She's called that because she chomped a rock in half. She's an orc wild magic barbarian in a party full of wild magic, and she is trying to overthrow the company colonizing her tribe for the magical ore deposits on their ground

#dnd character #dndart #artists on tumblr #popisart #the company is named the nest btw. named after a very specific confections company

[sheltiechicago]

Japanese Food Artist Makes Crystal Clear Desserts With Delicious Treats You Can See Inside

For some dessert lovers, the appearance of the treat is just as important as the taste. Well, food artist Tomei—whose name means clear or transparent in Japanese—specializes in stunning crystal clear confections. She crafts jelly cakes with a translucent appearance, suspending ingredients like strawberries and flowers in the form of the sweet.

#tomei #artist #art #food artist #japanese artist #desserts #treats #clear or transparent #confections #jelly cakes #illusion

[groovyruckus]

French Pastries Clip Art Set Digital Art Scrapbooking Watercolor Style Personal Printable Commercial French Desserts Clipart Water Color

A delectable collection that brings the elegance and indulgence of French pastries to life through exquisite watercolor artistry. This set captures the essence of the renowned French culinary tradition, presenting a diverse array of pastries that are both visually stunning and irresistibly mouthwatering. With a total of 20 high quality images with transparent background, this clip art set is the perfect addition to infuse your designs with a touch of Parisian charm.

#digital watercolor clip art #French pastries #watercolor painting #sweet treats #artistic design #digital art #dessert illustrations #digital download #printable art #instant download #culinary delights #watercolor illustration #food art #artistic interpretation #pastry lovers #delectable creations #digital artwork #delicious confections #dessert-themed decor #bakery delights #mouthwatering art #etsy #etsy shop #home decor #wall art #digital wall art #etsy finds #printable #etsy store #digital prints

[malenalopezmaggi]

Confections, 2023

Malena Lopez-Maggi

Gouache on canvas board

8 x 8 inches each

#art #contemporary art #artists on tumblr #painting #malena #candy #sweets #jello #confections

[hey-august]

It's not always a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake (Buggy x GN!reader)

Gif from monikanarnia

Description: Late one night you find Buggy in the kitchen growing increasingly distressed over dessert.

Word count: ~1.2k

A/N: One shot fluff with an established relationship. Gender neutral reader, no use of Y/N, pronouns, or physical descriptions. Based on OPLA buggy. Not beta read. Hope you like this! Let me know if you see any errors or typos. ♡

Warnings: Some light profanity, but that's about it!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Lured by the sounds of activity at a time when most of the ship was asleep, you peered into the kitchen and finally found the person you were looking for. Buggy was hunched over the center island, deeply focused on the cake in front of him. He finished spreading the frosting and stepped back to observe his work. The scowl on his face and annoyed muttering were clear signals that he wasn’t satisfied. Despite being an artist, cake decorating was not his usual medium and it showed. Based on the amount of flour on his vest, pants, bandana, and in his hair, baking was also not his forte. 

Buggy ran a knife along the top of the cake, attempting to smooth out the white frosting. Instead the sweet coating stuck to the knife and lifted up to expose the bare cake underneath, as if he had wounded the confection. Trying to hold in the anger that wanted to burst from his mouth, Buggy’s fists flew to his head and he turned in place, stomping on the floor. Shouting was guaranteed to wake someone up and Buggy did not need anyone to see the absolute failure in front of him.

His glare flitted between the marred cake and the knife still in his hand before he flung the offending utensil towards the other side of the kitchen. The resounding clang caused him to flinch. He hoped it wasn’t loud enough to attract attention. A few heavy moments later, Buggy sighed and leaned over the cake. From where you were, you couldn’t tell if the weight in his rounded shoulders was from anger or disappointment. But you knew Buggy well enough that he wouldn’t give up yet. And you were right. 

With a cautious hand, Buggy began tapping at the lumpy frosting, nudging it into place. His gentle, feather-light touches showed a level of restraint and artistry that could only rival Michaelangelo chipping away marble, intent at bringing out the beauty only his fingertips could find. Finally satisfied with the coverage, Buggy assessed his work again. Despite being slightly worse than it was before the frosting incident, he was afraid of making an irreparable mistake. There wasn’t any more flour or sugar left in the kitchen. This wasn’t the first cake he baked. Or the second. But this was the first one that was fluffy and edible. Maybe if he decorated the cake with other things, the streaky, lumpy, crumby coating wouldn’t stand out as much.

Buggy stalked around the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinets and digging through drawers, looking for ingredients that were worthy of garnishing his confection composition. His frustration grew with each cabinet and drawer he opened and slammed shut. When he finally ripped open the fridge door he was greeted with the perfect gems, signaling the end of his kitchen treasure hunt. His greedy pirate hands pulled out some ruby red cherries. Buggy gave them a quick rinse in the sink and popped one in his mouth, finding satisfaction in the sharp snap and sweet juice from the ripe fruit. 

Moments later, the fruit adorned the top perimeter of the cake, each one nested carefully into the frosting. Buggy stared thoughtfully at the cake as he fiddled with the last cherry, lightly rolling it on the table with his finger. With an air of hesitation, he placed the red orb in the center of the cake. No one else would second guess the placement, but the pirate clown was overly sensitive about anything that could be mocking the one feature he had trouble accepting about himself. A feature that you never shied away from. If anything, you adored it. And while he couldn’t love his own nose, knowing you did filled him with warmth. You always brought brightness and sunshine to his dark and twisted world.

As you watched Buggy stare at the finished product with an expression you couldn’t see clearly, your interest got the better of you. The kitchen door released a tattling creak when you tried to gain a better view of the kitchen show. Thankfully Buggy did not have his knives on hand, but the glare he threw at the entrance was sharp enough to sting. His face softened when he realized it was you, before hardening back into a scowl that was equal parts annoyed at being interrupted and embarrassed that you found him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he chided, sending his hands over to push you out and close the door. Anticipating that he would do that, you ducked the flying appendages and slipped inside.

“I could say the same about you.” Buggy knew your comment was true. Despite being the captain, the kitchen was not his usual scene. “What are you up to anyways?”

Despite the innocent tone behind your question, the twinkling in your eyes told Buggy that you already knew the answer. You walked closer and looked at the cake, missing the wince that flashed on Buggy’s face. It looked alright, but it was not at all like he envisioned.

“It looks good. The cherries were a great idea,” you said in earnest.

“Don’t lie,” Buggy snipped. Agitation bristled in his body, feeling scratchy and uncomfortable. Every muscle was fighting the impulse to throw out the cake and act like he hadn’t wasted hours creating something so far below his usual standards. 

“It’s awful! A disgrace! The shitty frosting isn’t smooth and it’s full of crumbs. It’s too sweet and I used all the sugar so I can’t make more.” The tirade increased in pitch as he continued, the tension in his body constricting his throat. The frown on your face slowed his monologue.

“Are you serious? This looks like one of those cakes you buy at a high end patisserie in the fancy part of town. People pay a lot of money for rustic cakes and fresh fruit.” Flattery was always guaranteed to uplift Buggy when he was in a bad mood, but these were genuine compliments that you shared with such conviction and admiration. A flush crept across Buggy’s face and tickled his ears at the intensity and sincerity of your praise.

“O-of course! I knew that, I just wasn’t sure if it was your style.” Yeah, sure, that’s what he actually meant.

“So it’s for me?”

“Who else would I do this for?” He responded quickly, since you already knew the cake was yours.

“I was going to give it to you later, but you ruined the surprise,” Buggy continued, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. He slid the cake towards you and finished with a surprisingly gentle, “happy birthday.”

Although he was supposed to be showering you with gifts on your birthday, the radiant smile you gave was definitely a gift to him. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to look away from the brightness or continue staring into the sun, in awe of the radiance.

“Thank you, I love it,” you said, the words heavy with appreciation. Buggy watched as you plucked the cherry from the center of the cake and popped it into your mouth with a wink, feeling as though his heart was replaced with a bumbling moth, fluttering everywhere and bumping into everything. It was probably drawn to your brilliance, just as he was.

#buggy x reader #buggy x y/n #buggy x you #buggy op #buggy x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #buggy fluff #opla buggy #one piece #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece buggy #x reader

[ultimate-spiderman-stuff]

Web-Warriors x gn!reader headcanons please? How would they react when they'd befriend reader and then realize they have a crush on them?

Peter

Peter met you in school

He got assigned to sit next to you in history

You were drawing,not really paying attention to the class

He kinda was just tapping his pen awkwardly trying to think of a good conversation starter

Ends up blurting out something really randome like:

'Hey, did you know that barnacals have the largest dicks relative to their size?'

He practically dies inside

He hurriedly tries to back track,stumbling over his words

Then you just look up from your drawing,raising an eyebrow at him, nodding slowly

Peter just stays quiet for half the period then he decides to ask what your drawing

You turn the sketch book around to show him Darth Vader

Cue to both of you fangirling over Star Wars

After a while you guys started hanging out at breaks with Harry and MJ

The both of you have the kind of friendship where you'll say randome facts about stuff completely out of then blue

Finally the team gets so annoyed with the constant yapping that they don't bother asking Peter if he likes you, they tell him

You already knew you like him but was just waiting for the right time to ask him out

The next day after class you both confess at the same time

It was really awkward but wholsome

So you start dating

Flash

He met you at the gym

You were doing weights and he offered to spot for you

You gladly accepted his offer and you guys clicked instantly

At first he thought it would be a one time thing, but the next time he was there he saw you and instantly came over

Soon you both were sharing opinions of different artists to listen to,and walking home together

Soon he asked you out

You went out for smoothies

Miles

You were from the Red Room and was recently taken into SHIELD

SHIELD had given you some Red Dust so you were free from the Red Room

Miles had come over to hangout with you in the cafeteria and was currently talking your ear off about Ghostbusters

As annoying as his constant banter was the plot was quite interesting

You were always getting into fights with everyone but you found him just that little bit more tolerable

Miles also liked hanging out with you even though you frightened him a bit

But after awhile he began to not really be bothered by you

Soon he decided to ask Peter for some advice on what he was feeling

Peter wasn't quite his best decision to go to cos Peter is practically clueless in that category

But after a lot of researching and Google saying he was going to die of a heart condition, both of them found the answer

Ge was in love with you

Ot was a very sweet confection, the poor boy was so nervous

You had no idea about dating

But everything eventually worked out

Amadeus

He met you at SHIELD

And yes you were 13 the same age as Amadeus

You were a botanist like your parents so you were able to work in the labs

Amadeus might be the 7th smartest person in the world but plants were just not his thing

So when he found some new plant based material on patrol he asked you for help

It turns out he wasn't as much as a prick as everyone else said he was

But he was still annoying

After a couple of days he was becoming a bit less of a dick then before

After a couple of weeks the prodject was finished

He kept on finding reasons to go back to your lab and the relationship began

None of you guys actually said it, it kinda just happened

So like who knows you could just be really good friends who shares a lab and custody of a goldfish

Ben

Scarlet was on patrol when he saw a creepy dude with a gun go into the cafe you were working at

By the time he got there he saw you judo flip the guy

So he just sat back and watched the show

Once you were done with him, he webbed the guy up, staring at you suspiciously

'What? Did ya think I couldn't protect myself just because I have no powers?' You asked

'Did I say that, punk?' He muttered, glaring harder

You rolled your eyes at his attitude, giving him a hot chocolate

Once he left he had to say you peeked his interest

So when aunt May was having a bit of trouble finding where to go to for lunch he suggested the cafe you worked at

May noticed that he was staring at you more than he did at other people so made sure to go there more often

Sometimes he even goes there without May

He begins to go there almost every day so that he can see you

He starts to talk to you and and become somewhat friends

After awhile he confide in May

She was so excited that he was interested in someone

So when he decided to confess he was a blushing mess

You got what he was getting at and said yes

#peter parker #miles morales #amadeus cho #flash tompson #ben reilly #spiderman #kid arachnid #iron spider #agent venom #scarlet spider #ultimate spiderman #usm #Ultimate spiderman x reader #x reader #headcanons #Peter parker x reader #miles morales x reader #flash thompson x reader #amadeus cho x reader #ben reilly x reader #scarlet spider x reader

[radiorumble]

I'm always so inspired by so many artists in this fandom, one of them is @corpsebridalshower. I really admire the way they do poses and expressions and it got me wanting to try my hand at the show's style again after giving up a few times. I got pretty close at it tonight so I'm gonna keep trying! Really wanna work on that hard, clean line look. My oc has a meat-based confections shop in Cannibal Town and she uses her Dr. Frankenstein vibe to essentially make her treats seem like they're still alive. Like eating someone alive who's made out of pastries, and the gooey center's flesh and blood! I really like this artist's witchy oc Bonnie, I hope she likes savory sweets!

#Every day I'm inspired by fanart and every night I can't help but draw #it's great #Freyja #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin fandom #my art

[tokimeki167]

Mlp next-gen bc yes‼️‼️

Name: Meadow Dawn (Mia)

Age: 23 years

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Personality: intelligent, optimistic, amiablee, analytical, socially awkward and passionate.

Parents: Twilight Sparkle x Fluttershy

Name: Miss AppleKnit

Ages: 22 years

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Personality: truthful, hardworking, patient, caring and creative.

Parents: Apple Jack x Rarity

Name: Sunny Confection

Ages: 21 years

Gender: Female (She/her)

Personality: Hyperactive, cheerful, caring, playful, bubbly, sweet and whimsical.

Parents: Rainbow Dash x Pinkie Pie

Name: Magical Swift (Magiswift)

Ages: 25 years

Gender: Trans femme (She/They)

Personality: generous, adaptable to magic, bright, charming and can get emotional on small things.

Parents: Trixies Lulamoon x Starlight Glimmer

Name: Chaotic Aiden (Aiden)

Ages: 24 years

Gender: male (He/Him)

Personality: cowardly, impatient, sassy, and prankster, but he can be empathic, helpful, caring, and gentle heart.

Parents: Discord x Fluttershy

Name: Inkies Scribble Dash (Inky Dash)

Ages: 24 years

Gender: Non-Binary (He/They)

Personality: stoic, aloof, introverted, calm, reserved, not much of a talker, serious, fearless, protective, artistic, dept of through and creative.

Parents: Rainbow Dash x Pinkie Pie

#my artwork #my art #digital art #original character #Oc #Mlp oc #mlp original character #mlp next gen #mlp fanchild #mlp fim #my little pony #twishy #rarijack #startrix #fluttercord #pinkiedash #Fan children #Next gen #artist on tumblr #ibispaintx

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 6

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

All of my love to @climbthemountain2020 for reading through this chapter and convincing me not to delete everything 😂💕

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

The terms of a bargain must always be clear.

In Prythian, ambiguity was a weapon, and by the docks of Velaris, the lesser fae knew how to wield it expertly. There, where saltwater seeped through the cracks in the wood, rotting everything from the inside out, gamblers only kept on their feet through careful, precise wording.

At a minimum, each deal should state plainly when it begins and ends. If the terms of a bargain weren’t finite… it could be damning. It could mean a lifetime in service of its terms.

Raised as a merchant’s daughter, Feyre learned at an early age how to word a deal in her favor. But it was the years that came later, when evenings in taverns became routine, where she witnessed the true consequences of ill-worded bargains. Swaggering males who walked through the doors with everything and found themselves indebted beyond coin.

The lacework of ink decorating Feyre’s hand, fingertip to elbow, laid testimony to each wager she’d ever made, the countless times she’d risked her life on a gamble. And won. But perhaps, caught in the arrogance of her triumphs, she’d forgotten her first tavern-goer lesson.

The terms of a bargain must always be clear.

Twenty-four hours of her company, during which the High Lord could do whatever he liked to her, in exchange for ten thousand marks.

A simple enough bargain. Straightforward, finite, measurable. The twenty-four hours had passed, and the ten thousand marks had been conferred. The terms were fulfilled, and hypothetically, Feyre and the High Lord would now be able to go their separate ways.

But—that had not been part of the bargain. If Feyre could go back to amend the terms, she would have added: Twenty-four hours, after which the High Lord was never allowed to see or contact her again.

They’d made no such agreement. Which meant that after the funds had been withdrawn from the account Rhysand created in Feyre’s name, of which he’d doubtlessly been notified, there was nothing stopping the High Lord from waiting outside the modest apartment they rented above a confectioner’s shop in the Palace of Bone and Salt. She’d hoped for somewhere on the Rainbow, but ten thousand marks would only stretch so far, and the two-bedroom apartment that perpetually smelled of burnt sugar was a far improvement from the moldy attic in the tavern.

“He’s back,” Elain said, appearing at her door frame with wide eyes.

Of course he was. This had become his daily routine.

Feyre pried the hatch of her second-story window open, exposing her bedroom—one she no longer needed to share with her sisters—to the dewy morning air, crisp and sweetened by the cooked sugar within the shop below. The High Lord of the Night Court was opposite its storefront, propped against the wall with his hands leisurely tucked into his pockets.

He’d been staring at her window before she’d pushed it open, and when she leaned over the windowsill, his smile stretched wide enough to see his perfectly white teeth.

“Surely a High Lord has more important things to do than stand outside my window?”

“Someone thinks highly of herself,” he said, nodding towards the Cauldron’s Confections sign hanging over the door. “I could be here to provide valuable patronage to my people.”

“Patronage usually occurs inside the shop.”

Rhysand shrugged. “Some find my presence… distracting.”

Feyre snorted under her breath. Distracting didn’t even begin to describe how it felt to be pinned beneath his assessment. Even across the cobblestone pavement and a story below, his power radiated from him, pulsing like an invading heartbeat, threatening to spear beneath her veins and take control. His talons of darkness were nowhere to be seen, but Feyre still double-checked her mental shields just to be sure nothing crawled into her mind while her guard was down.

“I’m waiting out here until the shop quiets down,” he continued.

A moment of silence was all she needed to confirm his lie. The shop did sometimes get busy, particularly at midday, when an influx of voices swept in from the streets and drowned out the movements of the kitchen in the back. Now, the voices in the shop were a low murmur—and if she listened carefully, she could still pick out the crackling flame beneath the oven, the soft sputter of melted chocolate.

“In other words, you’re loitering,” she said.

Outside of his line of vision, she could feel moisture collecting in the hollow between her palm and her death grip on the window ledge. It was a concentrated effort not to fidget, particularly as Rhysand cocked his head like he was weighing the audacity in her tone.

Then he smirked. “And if I am, who’s going to hold me accountable for it?”

There was a challenge in the way he said it—in his eyes, as he studied her, turning over every inch of her expression for all the pieces of information she was unknowingly betraying. His smile was taunting, like that penetrating gaze saw past the veneer she painted over her uncertainty, through the defiance of her tipped chin and narrowed brows, right to the pit of apprehension yawning open in her stomach.

This was a mask she’d worn a thousand times over, night after night in that cramped tavern. She’d faced the scrutiny of males with fewer reservations towards violence, and yet none had ever made her feel so unsteady as the High Lord. But none had ever been as powerful, as capable of killing her with half a thought.

“The press,” she decided, after a moment’s consideration. “I bet I could sell this story for a pretty copper. The High Lord neglects his duties to laze around a sweet shop. Better yet—to stalk a harmless female.”

Stalk. She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud, and to his face no less. Her boldness was going to get her killed one of these days, but this was the third day in a row that he’d shown up outside her apartment. She didn’t see how else to label it.

Rhys laughed, but with a razor-sharpness that straightened her spine. Shadow unspooled around him, rippling from his form like someone had smeared charcoal along the outline of his portrait.

His voice dragged over her skin, delicate as a lover’s blade. “That sounds a bit sensationalized to my ears.”

The velvet promise in his voice, its underlying violence, raised every hair on her arm. Despite her better judgment, she said, “The best stories usually are.”

He was drifting closer. No longer propped against the wall, but standing in the middle of the street. Citygoers passed by, moving out of their way to avoid him, but he continued staring up at Feyre’s window like he didn’t notice. A great stone parting a river’s current.

“Would you allow me to buy your silence? With dinner, tonight?”

Feyre shook her head and pushed up to her full height. “I’m afraid our bargain gave you the wrong impression, High Lord. I can’t be bought.”

His mouth opened, but she shut the window with exaggerated force before she could hear his response. She hurried into the kitchen, where Nesta and Elain were both sitting at the table with raised brows that said they’d been listening to every word.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Nesta said. “If you think you have any agency with him, you’re deluding yourself.”

Elain took a long sip of her tea, not meeting Feyre’s eyes. Her silent way of saying she agreed.

They didn’t know the full truth. She let them think the same as everyone else in that tavern—that the High Lord had seen a pretty, half-human novelty and wanted to have his fun for an evening. Feyre hadn’t told them how she met the High Lord in the alleyway, how he’d saved her life and slaughtered his captain. They didn’t know that he’d discovered her daemati ability and that he hadn’t touched her, at least not the way they assumed, during those twenty-four hours she’d been subject to his will.

I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron.

Yes, she was playing a dangerous game, but one she had stumbled into unknowingly. She was in its trenches now, fumbling blindly, and she already knew she was far too deep in shit to find a way out now.

“What was I supposed to do?” Feyre demanded, relying on her temper to disguise the helplessness clawing at her. She wished Nesta could give her an answer. “Let him buy me dinner? I’m sure that would have gone over splendidly.”

Nesta set her teacup on its saucer with enough force to send the porcelain ringing. The sound speared through the room, so sharp it made Feyre’s teeth ache. “You could have kept the window shut and ignored him. You’re only indulging his game by acknowledging him.”

“He’s our High Lord, Nesta.” Feyre flung her arms out in exasperation. “I can’t just ignore him. We’re required by law to pay him our respect.”

“Oh, because that conversation was brimming with respect.”

Feyre’s temper reared. “If you know so much better than me, what would you do?”

Nesta took a moment to respond, paying the question more consideration than Feyre expected. Once she came to her decision, Nesta tipped her chin and said with quiet steel, “I would have taken his money and bought a ship that would carry us as far away from Velaris as we could get.”

And maybe… maybe that was precisely what Feyre should have done.

-

That night, Feyre dreamt of the sea, churning beneath a low sun that cast its rippling surface into a deep, honey gold. It swirled and swirled until it crashed against a wall of crystal glass and emptied down into her open mouth.

Her throat burned against its invading strength, but it warmed her chest, and she sighed, setting the crystal down on a table.

“I heard your plan for our little recruit epically crashed and burned.”

“Shut up.”

Neither of those voices belonged to her. They were deep and smooth like the golden sea refilling her glass, churning again as a broad, umber hand lifted the cup and swirled its contents.

“Cheer up. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

“Leave me to drink in peace, you bastard.”

If more was said, it was lost to the bottom of the glass and the torrent of golden liquid that washed over her, its current warm as it carried her out to sea, then back to shore. The sun’s touch prickled over her skin, and she thought she heard a soft voice whisper—

Sweet dreams, Feyre.

-

Feyre was being followed.

The unsettling awareness of it skittered down her spine. She stood in line for a bakery on the corner of the Palace of Bone and Salt. It was a busy day at the market, and a glance over her shoulder betrayed only the passerby flitting between stalls.

Eyes of varying jewel and earthen tones swam past, many straying towards the palace’s largest attractions of smoked meats and spun confections. If any attention snagged on Feyre as she scanned the crowd, it was brief and largely accidental—apart from one ash-haired lesser fae, who met her stare and offered an inviting smile. That was a strange, new thing she’d become accustomed to. People treated her differently now that she was wearing handwoven clothes from the Palace of Thread and Jewels and not an oversized tunic she’d won off a sailor’s back.

With her fine sleeves covering the bargains inked onto her skin and her hair down to cover the smooth curve of her ears, Feyre looked just like any other citygoer. No one in the market was paying her any mind, but she couldn’t shake the unease coiling a knot in her gut. With a huff of air, Feyre stepped reluctantly out of line to see if anyone else abandoned their place to follow her. She earned her a few curious glances, but there was little movement aside from the few who shuffled forward to claim her spot.

That was fine. There was more than one place to get bread in the Palace of Bone and Salt, and she ambled in the direction of another stall as though she’d merely caught its scent and found its offer more tantalizing. The line was shorter, which promised the quality of the bread was less appealing, but maybe that meant it was cheaper, too.

“Good morning,” the baker chirped, standing beside her proud display of fresh bread, each wrapped lovingly in twine and wax paper.

There were other delicacies, too. The morning sun glinted off a row of glazed pastries generously dollaped with berries as vibrant as a freshly cut ruby—and nearly as expensive. Between the cost of their new apartment and the clothes they’d purchased last week, there wasn’t enough coin left over from Feyre’s bargain to afford her sweet tooth.

Just as Feyre opened her mouth to order, someone reached over her shoulder, pointing an elegant finger towards the pastries she’d been eying.

“Two of those, please,” said a male voice, deep and churning as a honeyed sea. Feyre stiffened. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d last heard that voice. “And what else were you after, darling? A loaf of bread, I presume.”

She whirled to find a familiar pair of violet eyes, half-lidded with delight. He was standing so close he needed to stare down his nose to meet her eyes.

Feyre bared her teeth at him. “Have you been following me?”

“Good morning to you, too,” he purred, slipping his coin to the baker without even counting how much he was overpaying her.

No wonder all the shopkeepers in Velaris thought so highly of him. Not that she’d been asking, of course. But in the weeks since their bargain, she had been listening more intently. Checking the tabloids if only to ensure her name didn’t end up among them. For all the gossip traded in this city like its own currency, she noticed there had been remarkably little chatter about the High Lord’s bargain with the witch of Velaris. Though if he was aiming for discretion, cornering her in the busy marketplace seemed counterintuitive to that goal.

Feyre crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

“You can be so grouchy in the morning,” he said, clicking his tongue.

The baker handed him a pastry, which he immediately offered to Feyre.

“Here, have something to eat.” When she only stared, he raised a brow. “Do I need to take a bite to prove that I haven’t poisoned it?”

The baker looked affronted by the question, which was the only reason Feyre took the damn thing from him.

“Thanks,” she said, ice dripping from her voice.

Rhys was satisfied enough by her response that he didn’t push further. With a charming smile towards the baker—the kind he flashed like he intended its recipient to begin fawning over him—he accepted the second pastry and handed Feyre a loaf of bread.

Once they were out of earshot, Feyre pushed her uneaten pastry back in his direction. “I don’t want it.”

“No?” Rhys swiped his finger through the jam in the center. It collected at his fingertip, gleaming like a pinprick of blood, and he held it an inch from her lips with a taunting smile. “Not even a taste?”

Taste, something whispered in the back of her mind, urging her to move forward, to dart her tongue across his skin. Perhaps it was a leftover cry from the child who could still remember how sugar melted on the tongue, from a time when her father used to return from his voyages with treats from faraway lands. Feyre leaned back, less from the threat of the High Lord’s fingers and more because she didn’t trust herself not to give into that wild and inexplicable impulse.

“And what will it cost me?” She demanded, stoking her anger to smother that strange ache. “Another day in your service?”

Rhys pulled his hand away. “Just your company,” he said, holding her gaze while he licked his finger clean with a long, exaggerated swipe of his tongue.

She tried not to think of the dream he’d given her on the night of their bargain, how she’d hovered over his mouth, close enough to feel his breath, and what that tongue might have done if she’d let him continue. Tried—and failed miserably.

His eyes sparked like he could see the direction of Feyre’s thoughts, despite how she triple-checked that her shields were still up.

Feyre narrowed her eyes. “My company for how long?”

“Only the time that it takes you to eat the pastry.”

Oh? It was roughly the size of her palm, but Feyre wagered she could still eat it in a single bite if she needed to.

“Fine.” She took a pointedly large bite and said around it, “But you might consider talking fast.”

If he was offended by her bad manners, he did a good job disguising it behind a laugh. “Have you considered that I simply enjoy your company, Feyre?”

She swallowed around the thick bite. “I think you like to check in on your loose ends.”

That prompted a raised brow. “Is that what you think you are?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve left my life of gambling and mind reading behind.”

“And what are you doing now?”

Feyre raised the loaf of bread in her hand. “Shopping.”

“I mean to make money.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said with an innocent hum. “But hey, worse comes to worse, I could always get a job at one of the pleasure halls. Do you think you could give me your personal recommendation?”

Rhysand’s pupils flared, and Feyre’s heart jumped into an uneven beat at the darkness she saw flickering there, accompanied by a sideways smile. “I could write you a glowing recommendation, Feyre, but I personally think that’d be a waste of your talents.”

“Oh?” She took another bite of her pastry, meeting his eyes as if to say, your window’s closing. “And what would you have me do instead?”

“You could come work for me.”

There it was.

Pushing him, she crooned, “In your bedroom?”

Rhysand gripped her chin, turning her face towards his. “Is that where you’d like to serve?”

A challenge. An offer. A threat, maybe.

Her nerve was crumbling beneath the full force of his gaze. Those eyes seared straight through her, and though she knew her mental shields were in place, she somehow felt like he could read every thought she’d ever had. Her soul laid bare to him.

She wanted to make him feel equally riled. To waver the control he so carefully laid in place. Maybe that was why she whispered to him, poisonous and sweet, “Maybe I want to sit on your throne instead.”

His fingers tightened. She’d just threatened to steal his crown, and yet he was grinning like a fiend. “That could be arranged.”

Claws raked against her mental shields, and with it, an image flashed: Feyre, with her legs spread over the arms of a dark throne, Rhysand crouched before her, his head buried in her thighs. She flinched, struggling against his hold to escape the vision. His grip was iron-tight, and he only yanked her closer, leaning in until his lips grazed the curve of her ear.

“I have been exceptionally generous with you, Feyre Archeron, and your behavior has been atrocious in return. Is it a bid for my attention, or has someone never bothered to teach you any manners?”

Feyre gritted her teeth. “Some might say it’s part of my charm.”

The back of his throat rumbled. Rhys pulled away just enough to examine her face. His eyes narrowed in on her lips and he swiped his thumb upwards, brushing away a bit of leftover jam, which he then held in front of her mouth. Waiting.

Their eyes met, and he said, “Even I am a man of limited patience, Feyre.”

She parted her lips and he pressed his thumb between them, his remaining fingers holding her firm so she couldn’t pull away. With her cheeks burning, and her eyes boring into his, she pressed her tongue to the pad of his finger and licked away the jam.

“Good girl,” he said, releasing her.

Feyre wiped at her lips like she could erase the humiliation of what she’d just been made to do. With a glare in his direction, she shoved the rest of the pastry in her mouth. Rhysand’s chest was heaving, eyes simmering at her defiance.

All she said was, “Thank you for the food, High Lord.”

Then she stalked off, trying to put as much distance between them as physically possible. Rhysand didn’t pursue—at least not from what she could see glancing over her shoulder. But the oily, uneasy feeling of being followed didn’t relent, no matter how many crowds she weaved through.

Feyre veered another corner before she decided that even if Rhys was following her, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know where she lived. It wasn’t as if she could escape him in his own damn city. With a sigh, she cut across an alley that she knew would take her back to the Palace of Bone and Salt.

She dodged a shopkeeper loading barrels into the back of her store and kitchen staff filling up buckets of water from the outdoor spigots. Their curious stares trailed her as she passed, but it loosened some of her tension to know she wasn’t alone.

Not alone, indeed. Soon, that creeping sensation cracked over her spine with the urgency of a snapping whip. She noticed the shadows lurking in her periphery before she picked up the footsteps, and Feyre whirled, prepared to give him another piece of her mind.

Except it was not Rhysand standing behind her.

Feyre barely registered this information before her body was sent barrelling into the brick wall at her back. The air knocked out of her, and she’d only had a moment to gasp when her assailant grabbed her by the throat, trapping that precious breath beneath his palms.

Black cloth covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were exposed. Hazel eyes, wild and burning as they narrowed on her, as his gloved fingers tightened against her throat. She clawed and thrashed at his grip, but he met each of her pathetic blows with unflinching strength.

“Please,” she choked.

She speared her magic towards him, only to slam into a mighty wall of cruel, vicious steel.

“You’re close with the High Lord,” he said.

Feyre shook her head.

The cloth over his cheeks shifted, and if she had to guess he was baring his teeth as he snarled, “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” she rasped.

His voice was the violent thunder rolling over a midnight sky. “You looked pretty close to me when he had his fingers in your mouth.”

Feyre kicked her legs out, shrieking her exasperation that nothing she was doing had any impact on this cold, ruthless male. She flashed her teeth at him. “And I would have bitten his fingers off for it, if he wasn’t High Lord.”

Something flickered in the male’s eyes, a certain understanding, and his fingers loosened on her throat. Feyre drew in a sharp breath, greedily sucking air back into her lungs.

“You resent him?”

Feyre held her tongue. She didn’t know who this male was, who he might be reporting back to. But her silence said enough.

He let go of her throat entirely. “Well then, how’d you like to make some coin and even your score with the High lord?”

Her interest was piqued. But so was her suspicion.

“Doing what?”

“He has something that belongs to me. Steal it back, and I’ll pay you what it’s worth.”

Feyre cocked her head. “Tell me what I’d need to steal, and I’ll consider it.”

-

Two mornings later, Feyre woke to the sound of fluttering paper, and peeled her eyes open to find a letter resting atop her bedside table.

She knew where it was from, even before she lifted the parchment to her face and found the Night Court insignia stamped at its signature—the same one she found inside Rhysand’s desk drawer. The letter was penned in elegant scrawl, though its content was meaningless to her.

Feyre D-

Feyre Dar-

Feyre Darling,

Im… Ima.. g—

The letter crumpled in her fist. With the Night Court insignia, it looked like an official letter, perhaps even a direct order from the High Lord. Elain would read it for her if she asked, but Feyre didn’t trust Rhysand not to have added something incriminating or absurd.

When she knocked on his door hours later, the letter folded and shoved into her pocket, he opened it with a smile that said he knew she’d be paying him a visit today.

“Feyre,” he purred. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She crossed her arms. “What does your letter say?”

“That’s for you to find out.”

Feyre tossed him a flat look. “Rhysand.”

“My, what a pleasant sound.” He stepped back into his entryway, gesturing to the hallway beyond. “Would you like to come in? I’d love to tempt my name from your lips a second time.” He craned his head. “Unless there’s another reason why you’ve come?”

She took a deep breath.

“I want to renew our twenty-four hour bargain.”

#Feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x feyre

[thebardisabird]

Kinda curious on how the boys would be with a baker s/o......asking for a friend (or if not all, how about with blue boi?)

For you babe, you know I had to give you our blue beloved (hope it’s okay if I crank this out in x reader fashion 💙):

When Karamatsu first discovers that you’re a baker, he is immediately fascinated. He considers himself a halfway decent chef, but baking was never his strong suit, and he feels as though he can learn so much from you. He’ll watch you kitchenside, enthralled by how well you need the dough for your sour bread loaf or how you meticulously whip your egg whites into stiff peaks for your meringue. The confections you create every time you bake leaves his mouth watering - and he’s always eager to tell you such! He considers himself spoiled by you being that he gets to taste test everything you make.

There’s a habit of yours he loves, a soft humming you sing to yourself when you think he can’t hear you - and it warms him to the soul every time. He remembers fondly one morning when you’d made a strawberry shortcake for a picnic, he quietly observed you from the doorway as you piped fresh whipped frosting on the top. Your look of glowing pride for your passion shot straight to his heart, and as best as he tried to reel in his loving gaze, his efforts failed him. It didn’t take long before you’d notice though - and that’s how the tip of his nose ended up frosted, accompanied by your playful giggling.

From then on he offered to help you whenever you’d step foot into the kitchen with an agenda. You teach him about different bread starters, how the ends of piping bags require different strokes of the wrist, and that to take a real tiramisu above, one will use freshly brewed espresso and not instant coffee. He absorbs most things, but he finds it difficult when he sees how animated you become when you bake. The artist in you is palpable, and while you’ve denied it whenever he makes the comparison, he can’t help but feel like your love for the craft calls for the title. Even moreso when he realizes that kneading dough is hard work! And vanilla extract? Forget it! He’d made the mistake of adding a teaspoon too much and it ended up throwing off the whole recipe.

All the more reason he respects your affinity for baking.

…You catch him one day in the kitchen, up at an hour you would never, ever expect him to be. He’s got his dazzling blue apron on (a gift from you for his birthday last year), and he’s hunched over, muttering to himself.

“Karamatsu…are you okay?” you question, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

The man freezes, “H-Hunny! I wasn’t expecting you to be up so…early!”

His hands are behind his back, vehemently trying to place his body in the way of whatever is behind him to block your view. And whatever blue substance is on his apron has somehow made it to his cheek and forehead. You lean over, trying to catch a glimpse but to no avail.

“What’s behind you?…” you asked, your voice hinting at suspicion. He opened his mouth slowly, only to close it with a soft sigh. Stepping aside, Karamatsu presents a small cake: the coating of frosting is rough at best and you can now see that he attempted to pipe your initials and a heart under it in what you could only assume was lemon buttercream icing, but it’s fairly dilapidated and obvious that he was rather shaky from nervousness as he was doing it. Nevertheless, you swipe at a bit of frosting the cake. The lemon from the buttercream and rich vanilla bursts on your tongue and you squeal in delight.

“It’s delicious!” and you light up in a bright smile.

Karamatsu swears he could die right there. But instead he chooses to kiss you, the remnants of vanilla and lemon on your lips causing him to lick his own when he leaves you. The genuine look of sheer adoration that swims in his eyes leaves you near breathless, but that soon turns to an overwhelming blush when he says:

“I learned from the absolute best, my love.”

#And with that I’m outta here for the night #God I love him so…can you tell #ososan #osomatsu san #karamatsu #karamatsu matsuno #karamatsu x reader #baker!reader #x reader #ososan imagines #osomatsu san imagines #ososan fanfiction #osomatsu san fanfiction #fluff

[browniboxx]

Dumping a few character designs I did and forgot to post

Character design I did for @protocrybaby 's upcoming kirby series, Cosmic Frontiers. (She's also the Confection King's canonical wife!)

A couple of characters I made for the Meta Kight fic I keep teasing. Sparrk goes by any Pronouns but I mostly use They/Them in the fic for simplicity. And Jenni goes by She/Her.

Jenni also has a son that I designed WAY before her. Her being his mom was a joke me and Proto made and then it became canon. (Same for Cass and Will)

#art #fandom #kirby #artists on tumblr #digital art #ocs #original character #kirby oc #kirby kandyland #traditional art #yes the Confection King's canon first name is William #Sugaree named him when she was a little girl #i should post the Kandyland lore i wrote after i finish the series.

[artdecoandmodernist]

George Barbier, L'Eau (Water) for Falbalas & Fanfreluches Almanach des Modes Prsentes Passes et Futures. 1924.

Hand-coloured, plate-signed pochoir from Falbalas & Fanfreluches: "Water", part of the "Four Elements" quatrain from Barbier's 1924 Almanac. "How far we have come" could be an apt subtitle with the revealing new bathing suits (or lack thereof), not to mention the streamlined turban, shown here midway in its evolution from Poiret's elaborate 1910-12 confection to the iconic flapper headband. The background reflection, so very stylized Art Nouveau in line, is a subtle reminder of the vast societal changes which transformed into the new permissive era over the span of a mere 20 years or so (reaching back to when the turn-of-the-century bathing costume was of serviceable and stout wool jersey, right down to the full-stockinged knees). This famous illustrated almanac series was produced from 1922 to 1926 only and depicted high-society life in Paris - the fashion, social and artistic capital of the early inter-war years. Each issue contained a small diary and notation section, an introduction by one of the leading social/cultural doyens of the day, a decorative cover and twelve fashion plates (one for each month of the year). (x)

#1924 #illustration #water #george barbier #barbier #art deco #jazz age #20s paris #paris #paris fashion #l'eau #four elements #elements #high-society #high-society life #high-society life in paris #20s lifestyle #20s parisians #my edits #art #1924 illustrations

[groovyruckus]

Macarons Clip Art Watercolor Style Scrapbook Art Printable Decoration Watercolor Art DIY Journal Decoration Foodie Art Print Macaron Delight

Introducing our delectable collection of digital watercolor clip art featuring macarons! These mouthwatering illustrations capture the essence of these delicate French treats, adding a touch of sweetness and sophistication to your creative projects.

#digital watercolor clip art #macarons #sweet treats #watercolor painting #artistic design #digital art #dessert illustrations #digital download #printable art #instant download #delicate pastries #delicious confections #watercolor illustration #food art #artistic interpretation #macaron lovers #vibrant colors #delectable delights #digital artwork #culinary creations #dessert-themed decor #etsy #etsy shop #printable #wall art #home decor #digital prints #etsy store #etsy finds #digital wall art

[emilykaldwen]

Kiss prompt for Abrogan (my compensation for the Yoreen drabble): cupping your lover's cheek. staring into their eyes with a grin before the kiss, their hands curling around your neck, anticipating it.

I DID THE THING! And it's short and sweet.

He watched her from the shadowed doorway and Abby ignored him, lower lip caught between her teeth as she scrapes charcoal across the parchment tacked to the easel before her. Wylla had gotten her colored chalks and charcoal as a wedding gift, insisting that she pursue the hobbies she once had. Abby dove in headfirst, fingers stained black and getting smudges over her gowns and on her skin. 

Aegon didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her husband seemed to delight in every new streak he found from when she couldn’t resist reaching for him. Now, she listened as he approached, and the warmth of him curling heat through her belly as he came behind her.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked lightly, and Abby shivered as he stroked his fingers through her hair. The motion was something that could be mistaken for idle affection but she knew her husband better. When she didn’t answer, his fingertips stroked the back of her neck and her fingers gripped the charcoal stick tighter.

“I am,” she replied with a clearing of her throat and she set the charcoal down before she broke it. Aegon leaned over her shoulder, his cheek brushing along her hair as he took a better look. His hand, warm and encompassing, rested against the back of her neck and began to gently work the muscles that had tensed while she sat. A sound escaped her, a strangled kind of sigh as she relaxed into his touch and she could feel him smile but no kiss against her temple was forthcoming.

She pouted. 

Aegon laughed.

“You’re the one that denied us the lazy lie in this morning,” he murmured against her ear. There was the barest grazing of teeth and then he pulled away to drop in the seat across from her. “I’m no longer in the mood,” he declared dramatically before his attention shifted to the apple tarts on the table. “Oh, these are fresh too,” he murmured, pushing a whole tart in his mouth so his cheeks stuck out. Amidst her pouting arousal, she giggled at the sight with a shake of her head and took a much smaller bite of her own tart, uncaring of the charcoal smudges along the confection.

“You had the meeting with the weaver's guild this morning. No amount of harlotry that you could showcase would let you miss that meeting.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, not that the mouthful of apple would stop him if he was so inclined. “Did it go well?”

“It did,” he forced through a spray of crumbs and took her goblet for the remains of her cherry mead to wash it down. “The Lady of Harrenhal was quite clever in the plans for the guild hall plans for the old tower,” he mused, locks of hair falling into his lilac eyes in the careless way that always made Abby squirm and seek to dive her fingers into his hair. She stood, compelled by the need for it despite his denial and he watched her, a lazy dragon in his chair, legs splayed as he held his hand out to her. He took hers, pressing her palm up to examine her dark stained fingers. “I don’t think she’d like it very much were she to catch me with a filthy artist on our balcony.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling and climbed into his lap. “Well, I suppose what the lady of Harrenhal doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” she murmured and Aegon gasped in exaggerated horror.

“Keep secrets from my little rabbit?” he asked and she cupped his cheek, smearing charcoal across the flushed round of it. “I would never,” he swore, voice low, his pupils blown so wide the lilac was a thin rim.

That got a grin out of her and Aegon’s hands slid to cup the back of her neck as she pressed her lips to his to make up for the lack of lie in from that morning.

#aegon x abby #aegon x oc #aegon targaryen x oc #I was trying to aim for around 500 words #high level #married cuteness! #my fics