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f1daydreamers · 9 months

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏]

gif credits: @u-u-piastri81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oscar is a visitor at your first art exhibition – not exactly his scene – but it's one that he contributed to financially to help you out, an upcoming artist he's taken a bit of a liking to.

Warnings: criticism but not always constructive, fluff, Reader and Oscar being cute, this man in a suit (audience may faint from the gifs), angst, maybe Oscar is a little out of character but I just upped his rizz by a solid 20% because I love him but he's way too shy to do any of this methinks :)

A/N: I know nothing about this profession icl but I got major black tie and exclusive event vibes from the gifs so this is what came out of it. I did a ton of research to make sure it wasn't too unrealistic but experience beats knowledge so if you guys read any things that need some correction, lmk!

Yeah, I never expected this to be so long but once I got to writing, I couldn't stop so hey, enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k words (17 mins reading time avg)

…

Safe to say, this wasn’t Oscar’s scene.

Standing among collectors, art enthusiasts, curators, and industry professionals meant feeling a little out of place was a tad understated.

But he wanted to be here tonight. Of course, being invited is one thing but accepting the invitation comes with a whole new world of formalities he hadn’t prepared for.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, busy greeting and socialising with what looked like a few critics and journalists.

The notebooks in their hands were a dead giveaway but your hand drumming on your leg was another. You were anxious.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, the one he was offered when he received an entry pass coming through the venues' doors. He knew how much this evening meant to you, both in the months of planning and the dreams that preceded it.

Initially, the idea seemed farfetched, but as you dove straight into creating the collection, photographing it, staying up late to create statements that wholly captured the essence of your creative process, the once exciting prospect of submitting it to a gallery felt somewhat dissatisfying.

In a few conversations with Oscar, you’d shared your aspirations of seeing your portfolio bask in the limelight. However, the reality of organising a self-funded exhibition in a rented space would blow your budget out of the water.

You don’t know at what point but he’d made the decision to donate a significant sum of money to your artist fund, covering a major portion of the exhibition's expenses.

It helped you realise all those curious questions about possible venues, dates, and basic costs weren’t just to fuel his enthusiasm, but to sincerely offer his support.

You were grateful beyond what words could describe, and the least you could do was ask him to be here today.

You were nervous partially because you had critics and community leaders alike wandering around the space, conversing about your work you’d spent years dedicating blood, sweat and tears to.

But you were also nervous because he was here tonight.

Even if you’d drawn a squiggly line on a blank canvas, Oscar would marvel at it like it was the most beautiful thing on this planet, but tonight was when he was finally seeing your work in all its completion.

He brought your vision to life and the last thing you wanted to do was make him think his investment was a waste.

Last you’d checked, you hadn’t seen his brown wavy hair anywhere around the venue, his innocent smile playing on your mind even when you were entranced in conversation with fellow artists.

You stepped in front of a painting no one else currently seemed to be trained on, focusing on inhaling and exhaling your breaths, fidgeting with your fingers by your sides.

Tonight, was the most important day of your career by a mile.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke up behind you and you inhaled a deep breath before whisking around to greet them. But your eyes grew soft, and your smile grew amicably at the man glancing downwards back at you.

“Do you know where I could find the host of the evening?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Oscar," you breathed out, and the F1 driver had to force himself to disregard the palpable sense of relief that accompanied the utterance of his name.

The way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue, it left him wanting to hear you say it repeatedly.

“You made it.” He nodded his head, “I did.” Initially, he had doubts about attending, but considering the venue was conveniently located close to his hotel near Silverstone and his flight to Budapest wasn't until Monday evening, he managed to find the time to come.

You drew in a breath, "you look good." Your compliment was genuine, whenever you'd met up with Oscar or came across photos on Instagram, he was either in racing gear or in casual outfits. To see him in a suit was different. A good different.

"Thanks. Pretty sure I should be counting my breaths though." You chuckle as he looks down at himself, the shirt was a little smaller than he would've liked.

A testament to how life in Formula 1 was like and that his neck size had grown exponentially.

"Each one could be your last," you joked, adding on and he nodded.

"Exactly." His laugh culminated into a final chuckle, melting into a warm smile.

When you looked away, seeing the waiters you'd hired tonight refilling cups as people wandered around, Oscar took the opportunity to let his eyes drag over your figure.

"You look beautiful," his compliment drew a smile from you.

You briefly cast your gaze downward before lifting it to his chest then finally up to his eyes. "Thank you, Oscar."

He responded only with a curt nod; his eyes trained on your face before he tore them away to have a look around him.

"How's it going?"

You hummed, thinking about your answer. "It's okay. There's a few paintings that are getting lots of attention, others a little less."

"Did you expect that?" He asked and you reasoned, you knew when you began this collection that people would naturally gravitate more towards some pieces anyway, that's the advice you were given everywhere you went.

"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I didn't." Oscar took a sip of some liquid courage before pointing at the painting you'd just been standing in front of with the rim of his glass.

"I like this one." You turned as he took steps towards it, his shoulder grazing yours. "This is the last one." You mentioned as he skimmed over the statements planted on the wall next to the artwork.

"I think it's an elderly couple, and the mirrors all around them are portals into a specific memory of their relationship." He said undisputedly. You look up at him, your mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you figure that out so quickly?"

"It's almost like you were brainstorming ideas to me on call a few months ago." You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately impressed by his memory.

He hadn't spoken much during that phone call, so you'd assumed he wasn't paying much attention to your endless rambles.

"I never realised you were actually listening." You softly said and Oscar turned his head to look at you.

"Every word." He reassured, and a warm feeling encompassed your chest at his affirmation.

His gaze traced over the painting once more. While he had never hesitated to express his belief in your talent, seeing your artwork displayed in such a way stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside of him.

He was proud of you and excited for you, knowing that you had undertaken this journey for your own sake, garnering an array of artistic admirers. It's no mean feat to organise an event like this, take a risk so early on in your career.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." You snap him out of his thoughts, turning your body towards him, standing a few feet away.

Oscar mimicked your movements, turning so he was facing you, and placed his now empty glass on a bar tray that a waiter had extended to him, refusing a refill.

"Why do you think you need to repay me? Remember, it was a donation." He said matter-of-factly. You let out a sigh.

Despite his repeated assurances that he expected nothing in return, you couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness that lingered in your thoughts.

You found yourself dwelling on the late-night conversations, wondering if your eagerness to discuss your plans had inadvertently conveyed desperation.

Your gaze drops and without hesitation, he reaches his hand out and gently slots it into yours, his thumb caressing over your skin in a soothing gesture. Your heart skips a beat or two, the warmth of his hand was relieving.

"This is the best way you can repay me. Living the dream." He smiles and you nod, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. His voice was a calming anchor amid your thoughts.

"I'll never forget how you made it possible though," a small smile graced your lips, and he let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you never miss a chance to mention it," he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement. You playfully rolled your eyes, a good-natured sigh escaping you as you did.

Oscar's hand retreated to his side, and a subtle longing for his touch flickered within you. Nevertheless, you mask it with a smile that grew as you exchanged a couple more jokes.

...

He courteously held the door ajar, giving a nod to a man entering the bathroom who appeared to appreciate the gesture. Letting the door close behind him, Oscar took out his phone to check the time.

Absentmindedly, he began scrolling through his notifications: a mix of sports updates, a message from his mum, one from Mark. Yet, none seemed particularly urgent.

Just as he was about to tap on one of the notifications, his attention was drawn upward to the sound of your voice.

You were engaged in conversation with a man, his journal held in his hands, and sunglasses perched atop his head. Oscar's gaze briefly went back to his phone screen; he made no overt effort to eavesdrop.

Despite this, fragments of your conversation found their way to his ears anyway.

"I must say, your work is quite disappointing. The lack of technical skill is evident in every piece." Oscar's eyebrows furrow as he observes openly, a marked departure from his earlier disinterested demeanour.

You clear your throat as you try to collect yourself, bringing your fingers up to your mouth to hide your quivering lip.

You had previously cautioned yourself that not everyone will like your work, but experiencing such candid criticism directly was far more destructive than you could have expected.

"Um, okay. What sort of things did you not like about it?" You asked, trying to find some sort of valuable insight from such a respected critic in your community.

"The colours are garish and clash horribly. It's clear that you have no understanding of colour theory or composition." You nod, gathering some form of strength to just take his words on the chin but you were failing rather miserably. Your stomach was sinking, and your eyes were watering slowly.

"It's a shame that your efforts have resulted in such subpar creations." Your jaw tightens and as you scramble for the right words to respond with in your mind, a hand presses into your lower back from behind.

"Excuse me. I want to purchase a piece, but I can't seem to find your sales assistant." The accent is unmistakable, and you muster a smile as you turn to face him.

"I'll help you." Your voice is unsteady, your emotions deflated.

"Thank you," Oscar responds, though his gaze carries a hint of concern. He moves to follow you but before he can do so, the critic extends his hand to grasp his arm, waiting until he's certain you're out of earshot.

"Coming from a collector, don't bother." He smirks, his conviction clear. Yet, the F1 driver's face remains impassive.

"Sorry, I don't remember asking you. Now, if you don't mind." He looks down at the grip on his arm, his fist clenching by his side. The critic seems taken aback at the blank expression looking back at him, devoid of any gratefulness.

He swallows before loosening his grip.

Oscar rounds the pillar just as you press down on the handle to the fire door exit at the distant end.

He contemplates whether he should grant you some space, but he wonders if doing so will only make matters worse.

Pausing briefly, he contemplates his choices before deciding to make his way toward the fire exit anyway. His hand firmly grasps the handle, and he proceeds to push open the door.

With your back turned towards him, you're unaware of his presence. Your palms are pressed against your face as a means of stifling your sniffles hence the closing of the door registers faintly, the sound hardly penetrating your thoughts.

It's only when the crunching of gravel beneath someone's shoes reaches your ears that you realise you're no longer alone. But oddly, you know there's only one person who it could be.

The combination of embarrassment, distress, and sheer exhaustion was what left you feeling so overwhelmingly emotional.

Aware that you don't want Oscar to witness you in this state, you quickly swipe at your cheeks, hastily erasing any traces of tears from your face.

You whisk around, smiling up at him and nodding your head. "I'm good Os. It's not always going to be a perfect score, right?" His heart swells at the nickname you called him, very few people did so, but hearing it from you felt special in a way.

"He's a dick," the F1 driver bluntly responds, his tone carrying a hint of anger.

You chuckle softly, but the sigh that follows is slightly shaky. A wave of heaviness crashes over you again as the critic's hurtful words echo in your mind, your stomach sinking in response.

Oscar picks up on the shift of emotion and his eyes soften at your teary and lowering expression.

Without a word, he opens his arms and pulls you into an embrace. You don't resist; instead, you bury your face in his shoulder, your shoulders trembling as silent tears escape your eyes.

His arms encircle you tightly, offering a comforting refuge as your emotions spill over again.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm providing you with some comfort despite how irritated you're getting at yourself for letting one conversation bother you this much.

As he holds you, his chest aches both for your vulnerability and the anger he feels towards the critic who provoked it. You reluctantly pull away after a minute or so, a mixture of gratitude and sadness in your eyes.

But in the moment, you can't help but feel that the money he donated for the exhibition might have gone to waste, that your efforts fell short.

Disappointing your clients is business but disappointing him felt personal, he was the reason you even had a chance to do this, and it'd turned out horribly.

"I let you down," you say quietly, and Oscar's eyebrows knit together as he studies your expression.

"How? Every piece I love, Y/N." He responds, placing his hand on your forearm, his touch warm. It sends a flurry of goosebumps over your skin which you're sure he would've picked up on considering his attention to detail.

He positions his index finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which you do. Your legs suddenly feel like they're incapable of keeping you upright, your face warming under his gaze.

"You didn't let me down." He whispers.

Oscar's concern remains palpable as his hand doesn't fall back to his side. His eyes hold a depth of emotion, the colours in his eyes becoming more distinct.

The connection that you can sense increases, and it's as if the unspoken understanding between you becomes more profound in that moment.

His cologne surrounds you but it's his gaze that flickers to your lips, a fleeting but unmistakable gesture. You realise that he's leaning in closer and there's a fraction of a second when it feels like the world around you fades.

The possibility of his lips meeting yours feels tantalisingly close.

But just as the moment deepens, you're both interrupted by one of the assistants, their voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

"Sorry," the assistant interjects, sounding somewhat hurried. "There're a few clients waiting to speak with you Y/N."

Oscar slowly pulls back; he tucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and his expression shifts from one of intimacy to one of polite neutrality.

He offers you a subtle smile, the connection lingering between you even as the assistant's words redirect your attention.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady despite quite the hurricane of emotions storming inside of you. You look to the assistant, ready to face the responsibilities of the exhibition once again. As you move away, you steal a glance at him, his gaze locked onto you for a moment longer before he nods.

That damned connection between you and Oscar remains, but now only punctuated by unspoken possibilities.

...

"Thank you, ma'am." you say with a warm smile as the elderly woman clasps your hand, offering kind words about your artwork while draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Once she'd left, you looked around to see if there was anyone else remaining in the space. Oscar had left a while ago considering he was on a flight tomorrow to Budapest.

Though a tinge of disappointment lingered within you, you understood and bid him goodnight.

You wrapped up a little later than you would've liked, a couple of your pieces had sold so you had to coordinate transport for them.

For the remaining few, you'd wrapped them up, gathered the papers for each one before loading them into the van to have them delivered back to your studio.

Oscar eventually made it back to the space he'd rented on Airbnb, staying in a hotel for a week definitely wasn't something he was fond of doing, a neatly packaged box of takeout planted on the small table.

He threw the crumpled paper bag into the bin and settled onto the couch, his phone in hand. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his feed to pass the time it'd take for him to get sleepy.

As he tapped through the stories, your profile picture caught his eye. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched it whole. The familiar scenes of the exhibition unfolded before him – videos capturing the venue, the artwork.

His gaze lingered on the art as if he hadn't been there tonight, his mind wandering into the world you had created. It wasn't just the work itself that interested him; it was the glimpse they offered into your mind, your perspective, and the emotions you poured into your work.

The admiration he felt for your creativity was intertwined with the growing fondness he was developing for you as a person.

Once you'd reached home, you dropped on to the couch with a sigh of relief that the day was done.

So, when your phone started vibrating besides you, you groaned and brought it up to your ear, not bothering to take a look at the caller ID.

"Y/N," you closed your eyes and waited for the other person to respond. They stuttered first before speaking up, "should I - should I reply with my name, or do we just get into the conversation?"

You lightly gasped, chuckling and straightening up on the couch. "Oscar, sorry. I'm still in work mode I think." You rubbed your forehead and the F1 driver poked through his food with a fork on the other end.

"No harm done. You back from the venue?" He asked and you stretched your legs out in front of you, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Yeah, only just. Perfect timing, Piastri." He smiled at your response, "I pride myself in that."

"I'm sure you do." You joked teasingly and fell back on the couch again. The similar onset of warmth and goosebumps from earlier bubbled up again inside of you.

"I thought you would've knocked out by now." Oscar hums, swallowing his food as he traps his phone between his ear and shoulder, throwing the now empty box on to the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah well, I needed to eat. Luckily for me, there was a long queue at every takeaway place tonight." He retorted sarcastically and you scoffed, "typical London."

He agreed wordlessly before shifting his body horizontally, propping his head up on the armrest, his legs splaying over the leather sofa.

"What did you end up getting?" He made a humming sound as he reached for the receipt he'd tossed carelessly aside, bringing it up to eye level.

"Caribbean chicken curry." He said slowly, squinting to read the half-printed letters. Your stomach rumbling beneath you helped you remember that you too hadn't eaten for majority of the day. Your last meal was breakfast with a few snacks you always have on hand.

"Sounds good. I'd kill for some chicken curry right now." You mumble and Oscar's head turns to look up at the clock hung on the wall above the television.

"How 'bout I bring some?" He asks nonchalantly and your heart skips, you stutter in your response, glancing at the digital clock blinking at you from the corner table.

"You'd do that?" You say, a little more high-pitched than you would've preferred.

He smiles, refraining to say something corny. "Yeah, well I mean it's not my bedtime for another hour so..." He trails off thus leaving you to make the decision.

You don't even care about the food anymore, your stomach is doing somersaults from the mere thought of seeing him twice in one day.

"Only if it's alright with you. If you need to sleep, please sleep." You insist and there's a pause, you could swear you hear keys jangling on the other end of the phone before Oscar confirms.

"I'll be there in a bit."

...

You're changed into some slightly more flattering pyjamas than your regular animated giraffe ones when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk the length of the hallway and reach for the doorknob.

Giving it a couple of moments, you open the door to find Oscar standing there, a warm smile on his face that mirrors your own feelings.

He's holding a paper bag up and you smile, "my saviour. Come in."

He slides past you, toeing his trainers off and pushing them up to the wall so they weren't in the direct pathway, allowing you to lead him into the living room.

He places the bag on to your wooden dining table and you sigh in delight, the smell of the food faintly wafting out of it.

"How much do I owe you?" He shakes his head, letting you take the box out of the bag.

"Only your eternal gratitude," he replies, his lips curving into a smile as he takes in the sight of your light expression, your eyes lit with appreciation.

"You already have that." You chuckle.

Eventually, you begin eating, all the while holding a conversation. With each passing minute, a subtle worry creeps in - that he might decide to leave soon. Not that you're against him getting his rest, but your own enjoyment of his company is growing stronger by the second.

The idea of the evening ending prematurely becomes less and less appealing. The warmth of his presence, the humour in his words, the hesitance you initially felt about him leaving transformed into a silent plea for him to stay, at least a little longer.

"I'm going to go up and use the bathroom, head over to the couch, make yourself comfortable." You insist and Oscar nods. His feelings he was aware of when he reached back to his place had tripled since he'd got here.

His leg had been bouncing the entire duration he'd been talking, he was nervous but albeit not understandably. He'd visited your place a few times now, he'd known you for nearly a year.

Nothing about the fluttery sensation in his belly, the excitement prior to seeing you, the attraction, the thoughtfulness, made any sense to him.

But at the same time, they made perfect sense. He likes you. A whole lot.

Realising he was getting a bit warm, he pulled the hoodie over his neck to reveal just a plain white tee underneath.

Tossing it on to the dining room chair he was previously sat on, he plops on to the couch, bringing the calf of his right leg up to rest on the knee of his left, his arm outstretching on the back of the couch.

You eventually return, having brushed your teeth since the aftertaste of the curry wasn’t a very pleasant one in your mouth.

“Do you piss for that long?" Oscar asks curiously, locking his phone and sliding it on to the table.

You scoff and feign offence as you sit next to him just a few inches away. "I don't actually, even if I did, what's it to you?" You tease and he shrugs, his lower arm draping off the couch casually, his fingertips brushing close to your shoulder.

"I was bored," he admits, his explanation falling a bit flat.

You raise an eyebrow, a mockingly sympathetic expression on your face. "Poor Oscar, suffering from boredom in my humble abode. My heart aches for you." He smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at your antics.

His eyes sparkle with amusement, "Well, I must say your empathy is truly heartwarming."

"That's just me, a paragon of compassion," you quip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. His proximity has your heart racing, and you're acutely aware of the playful tension that's building between you.

He tilts his head, his gaze holding yours as he leans in slightly. "You know, I was half expecting you to beg for my forgiveness."

You roll your eyes, your gaze locked on to his, you didn't mean for them to glance down to his lips, but it didn't skip past his notice either.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and the silence that followed afterwards definitely gave Oscar enough time to be able to pick up on it.

"Please forgive me Oscar, please?" You reduce your words to a whisper and he smiles, refusing to waste another second and he instantly ducks his head to catch your lips in a fervent kiss.

His actions catch you off guard, the sensation electrifying and sending a jolt of surprise through your system.

Your thoughts scatter as the world seems to narrow down to the point of contact between your lips. The kiss is eager and filled with a mixture of longing and curiosity, as if both of you have been dancing around this moment for far too long.

Your heart continues racing, and time feels suspended as his touch sends shivers up and down your spine.

The sudden intimacy of it all is exhilarating, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his arm, your body moving a fraction closer to his.

A soft moan escapes you, and Oscar slides his hand beneath your top, pressing his palm against your waist. A squeeze of your skin hints at you to move back slightly, creating the room needed for him to push you down on to your back.

Your lips detach for a moment as he positions himself over you, lowering his head seconds later to press them together again.

His face was level with yours when he eventually pulled away to catch his breath, and let you catch yours, his arm propping him up besides your head.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" He chuckles softly, his fingers toying with a few strands of your hair.

"I'll just have to use the plane's naptime feature." You laugh, bringing your hand up to push his hair out of his eyes.

His gaze flickers across your face, capturing the traces of your faint smile lines and the tiny beauty mark adorning your skin.

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on the mole. Meanwhile, your fingertips journey to the nape of his neck, exploring the contours of his hair.

He grins boyishly when he picks his head up again. "I think I could stay here forever," he admits, his voice a soft confession.

You playfully raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? What if the plane's naptime feature gets jealous?"

He chuckles, a low, melodious sound. "Well, I guess it'll just have to deal with a bit of competition," he remarks before his lips find yours once again.

...

Masterlist

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #mclaren #formula 1 #f1 2023 #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri imagine #formula one imagine

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jinxs-gf · 26 days

Text

beauty is in the eye of the beholder

pairings: jinx x reader

summary: You’re an artist, giddy at the thought of creating a portrait of Jinx, your lover. Except she can’t understand why you’d want a portrait of her.

content, warnings: jinx has cute aggression & insecurities, fluff! reader calls jinx ‘angel’ and jinx calls r her toots, too much description and it’s all barely edited D: pretty cringe but it’s okay

w.c. 2.2k

a.n. based off this request <3 again tysm anon ILY :)

You walk into the little corner of Jinx's room (the abandoned, giant space full of nothingness—that goes down...who knows how far) exclusively reserved for you. There's easels with and without canvases. Some covered in abandoned art, some finished, and some blank. The corner screamed you all over it. Especially the mess of unnecessary amounts of paint brushes, buckets, pencils, tore up paper...

Paint splotches and spills were scattered across your little desk and the floor (the work of you and Jinx).

There's particular squabbles of paint that you don’t mind. A happy face with a squiggly smile that's been there long enough to start chipping away. An uneven mess of hearts scattered in attempt to make the perfect one. Big words that read "I love you" in blue and smaller words next to it, "jinx waz here" in pink. The newest stain is on one of the many cans of your desk, a mark of her kiss. She'd quite literally painted her lips with bright purple and kissed the can, insisting it was there so her toots would never miss her.

Even though there's no time to miss her. Even though she resorts to bringing her work over to your tiny desk instead of keeping it to her very spacious one. You don't mind, the closer to your girlfriend the better. You pretend to be bothered though, only so she'd persist and annoy and squish into your space further.

You tie the apron, generously gifted by Silco, around yourself, excited to (hopefully) start a new, special project. It was gifted reluctantly of course. He tried to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal, but it was a very big deal. The eye of Zaun gift giving? Unheard of. You must be special. And you were, according to your blue haired menace that reminded you everyday. The very menace you affectionately named Angel.

"Toots!"

Jinx's gloved hands wrap around your body and suddenly, your back is crunched to her front. Her hands squeeze your tummy while nuzzling her face into you. Clearly she had missed you...for the whole minute you were separated.

It's like she can tell you were thinking it, "What? You didn't miss me while you were gone? You don't seem so excited I'm here." She's teasing like she always does. The edge and rasp in her voice so close to your neck doing wonders to the butterflies in your stomach.

But of course Jinx missed you. Could you really blame her? She hates every second you're apart, and she loves that you do too. So she's open about it, maybe more dramatic and a bit of a show off, but only to make you laugh and see you turn bashful. She loves getting you shy with her affections and teasing, unable to fathom the way you're wrapped around her finger the way she's wrapped around yours.

Your hands delicately grab her small, rough ones, turning yourself around to face her. "Don't even start with me, I'll tickle you to death if you keep up the accusations."

"Is that supposed the be a threat?" And oh, the pout is more real than sarcastic than she wants it to be. Like she genuinely doesn't like the idea of being threatened...by tickles (you know the idea is scary to Jinx, it's the truest form of torture she said once).

"Kind of." Your hands swing in the gap between the two of you. "Hey I actually had an idea. Care to hear?" It's something you've been wanting to do for a while now, giddy at the thought of it. Yet suddenly you find yourself a bit reluctant, still undoubtedly shy around your lover. You hope she'll say yes and that her teasing from this won't be too harsh.

"Hit me with it!"

"Will you let me draw you? Like a full portrait? I promise I'll do you justice!"

Jinx is sorry for it, but she stopped listening immediately, too enraptured by your connected hands, heart beating a little faster at the contact. You'll never know the effect you have on her (or so she thinks), she refuses to get teased even though she loves to tease you. She adores how flustered you get. Teasing is her love language, Jinx's way of showing her love for her toots. And when you decide it's unbearable enough, you'll shut her up with a kiss. Jinx will drag it out and annoy you for that reason alone. She counts on a messy kiss every time.

Unknowing of what to do with the sudden adoration creeping up on her, she pinches your hands hard.

Unfazed, you call her "Angel?"

"Hm?" She looks up and at you with so much affection. So much it stops you for a moment. Your giddiness to do this increases tenfold, her expression killing you in the best way possible. You can be extremely honest about this to soften her up, make her want to say yes.

"I'd like to draw you. Like really, really badly. I have for the longest time. You're just...stupidly pretty and it makes me feel so stupid and I want to scribble your face all over my canvases all the time. So...can I? You'll have to sit for me as reference." You say it as if you don’t have every bit of her memorized, which you completely do.

And for whatever reason, your menace (angel) is stunned. You notice it’s a bad kind of stunned, you realize quickly.

“…Me?”

“Yes?”

“But why?” Jinx asks quiet and unsure of herself. Her eyes look everywhere but you, she tries pulling back but you squeeze her hands. There’s a hint of anxiety around her, something she hasn’t experienced since she met you.

The mood switch and uncharacteristic behavior causes worry to stir in your chest. “Uhh, why wouldn’t I? You’re my girlfriend, you’re the prettiest girl in the Undercity and in Piltover! Trust me, none of those snotty ladies are as pretty-”

“You haven’t even been to Piltover.”

“I don’t need to go over there to know they don’t compare to you.”

She heaves a big sigh, your worry growing.

“I just- I'm not pretty or beautiful or any of the things you say I am. You call me angel when I'm far from that! You love art, it’s your thing, toots. Your passion and escape. How can you let someone like me ruin something you love so much? I don’t want to…I don’t know.”

When you don’t answer, she continues.

“I’m not worthy of so much time being spent on something so precious you know?” She says it like she hopes you’ll agree. You won’t.

“Angel,” you let go of her hands to cup her face, needing her to hear you. “Of course you’re worth spending time on. I love you. Do I not say it enough? I know I can be-”

“No, you say it lots and lots!”

“I’ll say it more. I need to make sure you believe it. And guess what? I meant what I said Angel. You’re the prettiest girl. The prettiest to exist. And you’re mine, do you know how lucky I am? You clearly don’t understand how much I feel for you. You’re worth every second I’m gonna spend on your portrait, you understand?”

And finally, her smile is back, gone is the unsure frown.

Jinx nods and you nod while smiling with her, going in for a kiss…multiple kisses. Kisses all over her precious face, because she deserves to feel loved. To know that she’s loved.

You can be put your timidness to the side for the hour. She needs your confidence in your feelings right now. Your confidence in her.

"Now get in my lap, I need a better look at your pretty face." Your teasing demand flusters her. She immediately settles in your lap so your chests touch. It wasn't everyday (really ever) that you spoke to her like that, always too shy to do so. But Jinx finds that she kind of likes it, she wants you to demand contact with her, especially in a position like this. It makes her feel gooey inside. Butterflies uncontainable.

It's not exactly ideal, you're not used to having your girlfriend in your lap while sketching. But you wanted this, and it's not making it impossible. All you have to do is wrap your arms around her pretty waist and rest your chin on her shoulder. It's perfect.

"For science huh? To 'get a better look' at me was it? Toots, if you wanted me in your lap you coulda just said that!" She teases, assuming you just wanted her there to have a more accurate picture.

You quietly confess, "jus' wanted you in my lap." Giving her waist a squeeze while you sketch her jaw.

You can tell you've stumped her (but this time in a good way). She's gone impossibly quiet and still. Warm too, just like she always does when you attempt to flirt. The two of you were truly unable to get over and deal with the timidness of being affectionate. Of being together.

And just like always, she melts. Like how ice cream does in the sun (a sugary delight you've been able to share with Jinx once). Her stiff back let's loose and she squeezes in return. She holds on like you'll disappear. You wouldn't. Not ever, because how could you? When you love her and when she loves you to death?

It’s quiet for the rest of the time you’re drawing, Jinx resorting to drawing patterns on your back, seemingly drifting off at some point. She internally scolded herself for it, not wanting you to think she was bored but it was taking a while. She wanted to have this moment with you though, it was so delicate, something that’s not occurred before. Especially with the earlier conversation. It was special.

You dot the last bit of her freckles on the white sheet. "All done," a kiss to the side of her head that makes her impossibly warm and dig her face deeper. "Needa color it in now." Color it with the paint the two of you always make a mess out of, there's no doubt in your mind it'll happen again.

She turns to finally look at it, her eyes wider than you've ever seen. "Holy shit toots, there's no way you did that!"

"Are you accusing me of cheating?"

"Maybe." She always knew you were the best artist of the Undercity (definitely not biased), you were just that good. But this was different. Was it because it was a drawing of her? Well...it was also the fact that it was so accurate. From her eyes, nose, mouth, jaw...even the way her hair curled in front of her face. And the scars, scars even she herself had forgotten about. But you remembered, you hadn't looked at Jinx once the whole time. You really did have her memorized huh? You didn’t have to say it, the way you insisted she sat in your lap instead of on a different chair for reference and the drawing in front of her is enough proof.

Jinx needed to go look in whatever was left of her shattered mirror to see this. She couldn't believe how pretty she looked on a piece of paper. She couldn't believe you took the time to do this. That you even wanted to in the first place. Jinx has been flustered and felt her heart beating awfully fast just from your gaze alone. But she thinks her heart might be about ready to explode, much like her countless monkey bombs or firelights.

She's unsure how to contain or show this rush of deep, deep affection, so she pushes your face from where it's searching her reaction and jumps out your lap, rushing for your paint cans.

You're kind of confused, but also accepting of her reaction. You're used to it, not that she always runs away due to avoiding feelings. Definitely not. Jinx was one to have so much affection for something or someone that you just...want to pinch, squeeze or...bite it. Luckily she hasn't got you (yet). It was a little shove, probably to prevent herself from sinking her teeth into your cheek. (You truly wouldn't have minded) (you kind of would have, it hurts).

She's back in front of you holding up a bucket half full of bright blue paint. At her feet she's set down small cans of various blues, pinks, and purples. Her favorite colors, obviously.

"Here ya go toots!” There’s no doubt in your mind you’ll be making a mess with the paint when you’re done.

Except, you haven’t even picked out a paint brush before you feel her hands grab your waist from behind, the familiar feeling of paint transferring from her touch to your body.

You look back at her, squinting. “Excuse me?”

“What? Can’t grab my toots’ love handles?”

You turn around, grabbing her hands and pulling her closer to you. You take a peak at her handy work, the blue on your waist making you feel things. You won’t let her know that though.

“Two can play at that game.”

“Try me then toots.”

You release your hands from hers and cup her face with them, leaving blue prints of your palms on her cheeks.

#oh my GOD guess who finally posted #kind of not how I wanted it to come out but it’ll do!#been working on it on and off for a bit #jinx x reader #jinx x you #arcane jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx x female reader #jinx x gender neutral reader #jinx x male reader

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slasherstories123 · 1 year

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hi hi!! can i pls have vincent sinclair, jason voorhees, and brahms heelshire headcanons where their gender neutral s/o likes to draw? and also asks to draw them without their masks? thanks!!

Vincent, Jason, and Brahms with a S/O who loves to draw

Tagslist: @dootys @callmemeelah @fluffy-little-demon @mehidktbh @slash3rl0v3r @the-anxious-youth @beanbagbitch @mrs-heelshire @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @smenny @oneofvincentscandles @sleepypersonblog @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @pink-apollo @charliedawn @emychan @bunnysenpai31 @sadskies @slasherscrybaby @bl-rrryface @l0sercat @cherry-lovr

Vincent Sinclair

Congratulations, you two are now drawing buddies!

Vincent always wanted someone to share his art with, he was always glad that you came to Ambrose so that you both can express your art skills

He’d definitely give you drawing suggestions if you’re stuck in art block or can’t think of anything to draw in general

Even though he have his mask on you can tell that he’s smiling each time you show him a new drawing that you’re proud off

Vincent loves to look through your sketch books (with your permission of course) just to see the type of art style you have or the stuff you’re interested in

If you ever ask him could you draw him with his mask off he’d be skeptical but after a while he did.

Once he saw the drawing he nearly cried at how well you drew him and hung it up in his art gallery for him to cherish

Jason Voorhees

Jason loves your art! It’s better than seeing nature everyday and random victims

He will literally sit there and watch you draw from start to finish, he’d only leave if he has to deal with trespassers.

He’d get happy each time you finish your drawing so he can take a look at the finished product

If you tried to teach Jason how to draw the best thing you’re gonna get is a stick figure of you two together with a horribly drawn lake in the background and will give it to you like a little kid.

At least give him an A for effort 😭

When you ask to draw him with his mask off he wouldn’t want to do it, which was okay with you since you didn’t want to push his boundaries

When he warmed up to the idea, he’d grab your sketchbook and pencil while holding it out to you. Once you drew him he’ll put it up somewhere in the cabin so that he can always remember it.

Brahms Heelshire

He’d be the most energetic about it unlike the other two.

Just like Jason, he’d watch you draw until you finish it, sometimes he’d sit with you and color with you while you draw.

If there’s a drawing you’re not proud with you’d just give it to Brahms for him to color

You definitely drew the painting of him and his parents, when he saw it he kept it and put it up in his room.

He’d try to draw but it would just end up in weird squiggly lines and would get upset and would give up trying which would sometimes make you laugh.

Brahms would love for you to draw him, but with the mask off it would take a lot for him to do it since he dosen’t like his face. Even though he’s scared to do it, just you reassuring him will make him open up at some point

He’d stay still while you draw him and would sometimes get nervous thinking that he’d be too “ugly” to draw, and to that you’d gently hit him on the head with the pencil each time he’d call himself that. Once he saw the drawing he’d thank you over and over again.

#Vincent Sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair fluff #vincent sinclair headcanons #Jason Voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees fluff #jason voorhees headcannons #Brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire fluff #brahms heelshire headcanons #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher fluff #slasher headcanons #slasher writing

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sully-s · 28 days

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I don’t know if you’ve answered this already but how do you draw your poses so fluidly?? A lot of my drawings seem stiff

First off your art most likely isn't as stiff as you think. Sadely you have taken interest in the art of making art therefore you've been cursed like all those before you with stiff-ism. I swear all artists think their art is too stiff. I think my art is stiff. Artists who do those paintings that are all abstract and just squiggly lines you ask them "How do you feel about this piece" They say "Hmm little stiff." Lol. But to answer your question it really just takes time. Fuildy in your art comes from confidence in your art. Confidence comes from doing something a lot so often you do it well. Some of that is pure muscle memory. Training your arm (or wrist though you should discourage leading with your wrist because the range of movement is lacking so you can crutch yourself) to make smooth sweeping lines is like working out any muscle it just takes practice. Some of that is honing your "Eye" which is mainly having the mindfulness to notice how weight flows, pools, and moves in the world, other's art, and in your own art. When I say in the world you study real life when you walk about you see how a dead fall dry leaf curls in on itself having only a tiny section of its being in contact with the sidewalk. While a wet freshly plucked leaf is face plastered almost stamped on the same sidewalk. When I say other's art you can see and understand the choices and placement of movement. And can reverse engineer the same choices with various results (because it's one thing to understand but to do is whole another thing mainly because you' don't have the same muscle memory) When I say your own art you are mindful enough to locate the problem points. We've all times when we look at a piece and are like it's stiff but can't qauifty why. Eventually, you'll notice patterns and weak points in your work that you can choose to work on if you want. Lastly you think it out. Just think about the cause and effects of forces on your piece. The jacket on your subject is stuff with all manner of things that one would keep in a bag so it's weighed down so you'd make a long narrowing U where the pockets are. Thinking it out also will help dictate your line weight which is a lot of how fuild lines feel Tho it will become second nature as you mature as an artist. All of these get better with time and experience now you can do line drills to help with your muscle memory, you can do life studies to help your world eye, you can take tutorials to hone your other's art eye and you can have other's criquite your work to help expose problem points. Or you could just draw it will come in time slower but you will improve. I hope that was some what useful and I wish you the best with your fluidity in your future pieces :)

#Shop Talk #Q&A #Art Talk

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dukeoftheblackstar · 1 month

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[4] 'Retirement' || Castis Vakarian

[ 1 ], [ 2 ], [ 3 ] by scent.2002 || Meta

With & without glasses because I can't decide which I like best.

Another Castis Vakarian study as the small number of art made for him is appalling considering we like daddies in this binch. I'm also considering adding Avitus Rix in the mix or start on that Saren vs Castis vibe @eyecandyeoz and I went over some weeks ago. Also tagging @yuku78 on here because.. daddy! Might tag the series under : NotQuiteTiredYetTizzy

Here we have:

Retired dad and his new, equally no-nonsense, mid-life existential-crises bought pet bird — a beautifully unimpressed, Gatling-shrieking shoebill to double down on that #TiredDad disappointed look that makes you want to do your best! Right on, Dad!

The 'Well, shit. I guess I'm really retired now" dad coping by actually allowing himself to get shit-faced in his own home because there is no chance in absolute hell that he's going to make a fool of himself in public. Have a slightly drunk-flustered #feelingcutemightdeletelaterforsure daddy on the couch.

Dad and new son pet bonding.

And because I have no self-control, that squiggly, curly-haired bubble person is my OC who I have written in wips as his assistant during his last years before retirement and ya boy shootin' his shot because you know, shipping blorbos with our oc is therapy.

Dad takes to online dating — only because he's a little bit drunk and will definitely deny this the morning after.

Barbeque dad and his special barbeque sauce giving you the "what do you mean you already ate?" — look of disapproval + three seconds before you take that back and sit tf down and eat.

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calilk · 4 months

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mermaid boat boys, ft a boat

my gift for @theslyvoid9 for @mcytblrholidayexchange

ramblings, process and doodles under the cut

this was sosososos fun to do. i got the prompt and was immediately SO exited and motivated. however i had a large art piece to finish for school so didn’t manage to start properly for a good few weeks. however i DID do initial doodle ideas and composition plans, mostly during class, that are pictured below

by the time i could start in earnest, i’d lost quite a bit of motivation and was struggling a LOT with the sketch and proper proportions, so i didn’t start properly until a week or so before the deadline. oops, sorry this is so late.

this was my first quick colour draft, i was originally going to do the effect with squiggly lines that light creates under water but every time i tried it it just looked terrible so i didn’t. i also changed the positions of etho and joel.

the sketches. i struggled wayyyy to much. i think i spent like 4 hours trying to get it right. BUT i did in the end!

lineart, flats and detailing. i lost etho’s lil floaty side fins here due to my scatterbran and i mourn for them but not enough to draw another set of fins. the detailing took sooooo long and i don’t really like the boat, but don’t have the motivation nor time to change it. i also imagined some kelp winding around them to make the background more interesting but never got around to it in the end. during the detailing i spent 3 hours drawing on a laptop with the mousepad and it was the worst 3 hours of my life. never again. etho’s fins were inspired by those beta fish with the pretty fins. i love them but they were beyond horrible to draw.

shading and lighting. i played around with the opacity of the light streaming through the water but i can’t attach any more images so whelp. yippeeee it’s done. it took be 23 hours in the end and i’m proud of it!!! my giftee also suggested some cannibalism stuff and i REALLY love that idea but didn’t know how to portray it without being graphic so i didn’t go for it. HOWEVER i really want to do an autocanibalism dl pearl piece in the future so yayyy. theslyvoid if you want me to tag you in that if i do it lmk since it was one of your requests :)

#cal original #cal doodles #ITS DONEEEEEEEEEEE #boat boys #boat boys fanart #ethoslab #etho fanart #smallishbeans #smallishbeans fanart #trafficblr #double life #double life fanart #life series #traffic series #mcytblr

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badjoy-17 · 9 months

Text

The Playfellow Crew

Chapter 1, Part 1

1969, December.

"Where is it?" Ritzy was busy looking for the apple she grabbed to work. She woke up late that day and had no time to prepare her meal. "Anyone? Does anyone seen my apple?" She yells at the studio filled with busy studio crews dragging and moving props around the set. She was frustrated, it was the umpteenth time this happens to her for last three months.

She went to Fionn Finnigan in the Art department, slamming the door open and walk near him."Piyon! Can you help me..." (She had hard time seeing the difference of F and P pronunciation) Rambling about how she was late at work and didn't made herself a lunch box and was opt to grab an apple that is now missing.

"Is that about an apple again?" Fionn was a man in 20's yet still younger than Ritzy and yes he has seen this scene before.

"Yes?" Still sobbing. "I'm already tired and I'm hungry and ...."

"Why don't just buy your meal here, Ritzy?"

"I'm still your senior so address me Mrs. Ritzy?"

"Why the hell will I do that? You're the only one addressing people like that!" He glared at her annoyed and taking a deep breath to listen.

Her eyes grew bigger and looking up to this tall figure. "No, I'm not! And they like it even so I'm the only one..." she pulls him down as she notice herself getting a bit louder. "Also I'm saving my money for my family, remember? I can't be just spending money here and there!" She slumped to the side of his desk and lowers her head.

Fionn stood up to his drawing desk with a straight face and drags Ritzy away from the Art department. He takes a deep breath and spoke "Ms.... Er... No. Mrs. Santos, here have this cash and buy something in that vending machine." He hands her a few dollar and points out to the vending in the corner.

She looks at him with hesitation and mutters, "But its your money!"

"No buts, You can have that!" He still pointing to the vending machine and waiting for her to move.

She looked at him, embarrassed with the cash she received. She nods and thanks him, she felt humbled and went to vending machine. She took two energy bar, glances at him and suddenly runs to him. "Here, take this, Piyon."

Fionn wants to correct Ritzy but he didn't, she might be older but for him he should the bigger man in this situation.

"I know I've been making a big fuzz about this apple thing, but this job is too frustrating... Imagine, for the past 3 months since I started this video technician-ing thing, things are getting weirder and weirder in set. Apples starts disappearing, few staff getting injured, and sometimes the whole footage of the show just kept on doing those weird glitches. Like, that's my job to look after the final footage, it was all running smooth until all of a sudden that freaking thing happened."

Fionn turned his head to Ritzy, alarmed hearing about that incident. "You know what? I have the same experience like you..."

She turns her head to Fionn after hearing those word. "Really?"

"Yeah, You know me, right? I'm a part of the animation and art direction of the this show, right?"

"Uh huh.." she got herself invested and leans in his side.

"Yet everytime i check our panels and plate, there's this weird scribbles on the each animation panels... Wait." He then stood up and drags Ritzy to the archive, took an envelope and pulls out a several animation board panels. "...here look at this. I don't get it ... I swear, look! Those are not there before... Those are evaluated and inspected before getting approved and I... I received it spotless but...."

Ritzy examined each panels and laid them to the light table. "You're saying you don't understand these scribbles? was it from anyone in your department?"

"Yeah, they seems to be drawn by a kid, based on the handwriting strokes, it has difficulty to grasp with pen, here" he points into a pressed squiggly line in the panel "The line got no control on... The strokes are shaking and heavy, it ruins the whole panel."

"Yeah, you're right... But why they are sabotaging our works?" In her peripheral vision, there was someone's watching them from the door. More like a shadow. "D'you see that, Piyon?" Ritzy glued her eyes to him like telling him not to move and act like nothing happened.

"The what?" He looked at her puzzled.

"There was someone watching us from afar... I don't know why but it might be a ghost or something." Her trembling hand reached into her pocket, wrapped her pearl rosary in her hand and hold on it tightly. "Piyon, stay observant, okay?" This gesture confuses Fionn yet he nods obediently. "Oh, about this ..." She shook the wrapper of energy bar, "I owe you." Then she left looking around for something in the Art department

#welcome home puppet show #Playfellow Co. Au fanfic #Feat. Fionn Finnigan of Real World Au by @Chez/Chezzy on tiktok #welcome home #WelcomeHome

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brother-emperors · 4 months

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how long do you typically spend drawing a comic page? I'm a perfectionist and I have a hard time keeping a reasonable working pace for comics

so I’m actually going to not answer this one (the answer is both less and more time than people think, and it depends) but instead I’m going to give you some advice on how to deal with perfectionism when it comes to making comics

the first thing is to see if you can kill your inner perfectionist, which basically means, can you get comfortable with imperfections? this is something that can be difficult to do, but it can also really take some weight off your shoulders if you can look at a line that’s a little squiggly instead of perfectly smooth and move on from it. there’s a whole page, a single wonky line, is like. fine, especially if you’re doing more than one page.

if not, that’s okay! we’re moving on to the 75%-80% rule, which is: figure out what giving 100% in art looks like for you, then find out what giving 70%-80% looks like. As a person, you can probably consistently give 80% to any given illustration, but doing 100% all the time is going to fuck you up in the long run. If you can get comfortable consistently giving a 80%, you can then decide when you want to crank it up for dramatic effect, or you can save going all in on something fun or a big project. if perfectionism is a hard habit to break, instead try it reframe it as giving a ‘perfect’ 80% instead of 100. it’s all about that overall visual consistency, baby!

comics can feel like doing seven or eight individual illustrations on a page (panels) and some people definitely tackle them this way, and that makes learning what you can consistently give without wanting to shove your hands into cement very important. If every panel is a solid 80%, the entire page looks Good (which means the entire page is working at 100% because you have visual consistency/coherency and that’s what matters)

ideally, you reach a point where you can gauge what a good 80% of what you can give looks like across an entire sequence. for me, Trikaranos is operating at 80% while Ex Voto is 70% (part of it is that Trikaranos is more demanding, while Ex Voto is more casual and vibes based, but for both I put a lot more work into formatting and lettering)

part of what can help with all of this is figuring out a good work pipeline that encourages finishing up a sequence to keep you from getting stuck agonizing on small details

a decent one is this

thumbnails > rough pencils > do tight pencils where you think you’ll need it (I do tight pencils on facial expressions, furniture if there are bodies on it, and perspective shots) > inks > colors > lettering

adjust it based on whatever your own needs are, etc.

what’s imperative to this is that you don’t do the pencils > inks > coloring stages in sequential order, but instead jump around so that you don’t burn your energy through it (in that there’s a drop in quality as you either get tired or start to rush). Jumping around lets you spread out your high energy points and it picks up the slack for when you want to just get it done, but also it forcibly keeps you from spending too much time on one specific thing. (which is why breaking it up into stages is important, instead something like finishing one whole page from pencils to colors and then doing the next one)

when I do single page comics, I usually alternate every other panel, when I do multi page comics, I’ll either alternate entire pages or I’ll do the first and last pages at the start, and then jump around the middle in whatever order I feel like.

whenever I find myself spending too much time on something, I will set a playlist that has either a 15 minute or half hour run time, and when I reach the last song, if I’m still fucking around focusing on one thing, I’ll make myself move in and return to it later. I do this the most with the inking stage so that I don’t over ink something (I find crosshatching relaxing, but it doesn’t often look good because I do too much in one place and it looks bad because it doesn’t work with the rest of the panels and then I have to start over), and then I can go back to a panel with fresh eyes later and decide whether or not more detail is necessary for the whole page to look good, or if it’s fine as is.

and ofc, the most important guideline of all: the Fuck It, We’re Done rule, which is at some point, you may look at a page and go ‘I don’t want to work on this any more, I’m tired, it’s not fun, I’ll be stuck here forever, etc’ and that’s when you put your pencil down, physically move back from the page, and figure out what the bare minimum amount of work you need to do in order for the whole page to be coherent is, do JUST THAT, and post it.

at the end of the day, it’s the whole page that’s important, not all the individual details, so try not to focus on too many small details early on, but instead go back and add them in closer to the end. You can clean up any line art mistakes that are bothering you here at this stage too.

finally, don’t zoom in too close on a digital canvas, especially if you’re doing pencils. there’s no reason for a reader to zoom in close like that unless you specifically want them too, spare your hands the agony of tiny details that won’t be seen when you upload it at viewer resolutions. I know artists who won’t go past 150% because those details won’t show up at print resolutions.

HEUGHGHHH this is so so long, but hopefully there is some helpful advice in there for you, anon

#ask tag #long post #art supply tag #like technically #it’s more like art advice but the same kind of deal #ymmv this is a very professional ‘I have deadlines to meet’ type of thing. because I had deadlines to meet lmao #this is also close to how the American industry pros go about doing it. so. spare yourself the student loan debt #and modify it away to suit your needs

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spooksier · 2 months

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would you ever consider making a black variant of your ‘everybody loves the archivist’ shirt?

for you baby, absolutely

(the little black squigglies in the art aren’t visible against the black fabric but other than that it should still be good!!)

#ask!

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shmaptainwrites · 1 month

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Can I claim 💋

(Hopefully, this emoji isn't already claimed)

Anyways do you have any thoughts on how Wilson might react to/comfort you when it comes to really bad stretch marks.

(I may or may not be self projecting)

Totally understand if you feel uncomfortable answering! Love your work!

okay nonnie i feel like this would be best in a blurb soooo (and yes of course you can claim that emoji!)

Pairings: James Wilson x GN!Reader

Warnings: insecurity, stretch marks, body image issues

Lightning

“Hey, honey.”

“You’re back home late,” you yawned, “Something come up at work?”

“No, sorry I meant to call, it was something with House,” he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“I always sleep better when you’re around,” you shrugged. “Come to bed, Jamie.”

James smiled, and quickly changed so he could come join you, slipping in next to you, his head resting against your chest while his hand rested on your stomach.

With all the movement, you looked down and noticed your shirt had rode up a bit, exposing a part of your stomach and if you hadn’t noticed James staring you wouldn’t have realized that he could see the marks that danced along your skin, coming up from your hips, near your waist. There were more, ones he couldn’t see on the inside of your arms, on your back, behind your legs, on your thighs. Seeing him stare made you want to shrink into a little ball and so you hoped he didn’t notice the correlation when you gently pulled your shirt back down.

Clearly that was a lot to ask of him, seeing as he could feel you tense underneath him, and without asking or saying so much of a word he lifted your shirt again and began tracing the lines that marked the side of your torso.

“Jamie, I-,”

“It looks like lightning,” he interrupted you and you paused. “It’s like art.”

“Art?” you chuckled a little, you’d never once thought of it that way. To you it always felt like your body was too much, that even your skin couldn’t handle it.

“Yeah,” James pushed himself up on his side, pressing delicate kisses along the lines of your stretch marks, and maybe it was like lightning because you felt electricity with his every touch. And that spark was comfort because it felt better than feeling nothing, feeling numb or worried. “But it’s better than art because it’s you. Art is beautiful, but you’re so much more than just that.”

“Jamie,” you whispered, holding his face in your hands, encouraging him to look at you. “You don’t have to say all that.”

“Why shouldn’t I say it if I mean it?”

“It’s just…they’re so big. I-I just don’t think it looks nice. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” he said gently, “I’ve always loved how you look, it doesn’t make a difference if you’ve got a few extra marks. It just means there’s more of you for me to become familiar with.”

“So it doesn’t matter that it’s not perfect?”

“Perfect is overrated,” he leaned back into your side, pulling you closer into him. “Plus, I like lightning and there’s a 1 in 10 000 chance you’ll get struck over your lifetime. So I guess I’m pretty lucky.”

“Are you saying I’m your lightning strike?”

“Falling in love with you was,” James kissed you. “And I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

You pulled James in close to share another kiss, still holding his face near after your lips parted, feeling yourself relax at the feeling of his forehead pressed against your own.

His hand easily found its way back across your stomach, again, tracing the jagged and squiggly lines that littered your sides. And as much as your head was telling you this brought discomfort, in your heart you knew it was a sign of love and maybe if you could let him love you like this, you’d learn, over time, to love yourself a little more too.

#💋 anon #james wilson #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #dr wilson #dr wilson x reader #dr wilson x you #house md fanfiction #house md #james wilson blurb #james wilson fanfiction

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princesachicana · 2 years

Text

𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

description: a little cute family reunion after chris was away for a little.

“Buenos dias baby” You exclaimed with a wide smile. Your 4 month old baby boy Roman squealing in happiness at the sight of your face. “Did you sleep so good?” You laughed running a hand through his bed head. Roman kicked his legs excitedly mumbling his baby talk. Picking him up from his crib you ticked his side. “Are you excited? guess who’s coming home today!” You carried him over to his changing table.

“We have lots to do today before daddy gets home.” You listed off all the plans for the day. And even though you knew your 4 month old couldn’t understand you still enjoyed speaking to him. After changing his diaper and wiping him down with a damp washcloth. You dress him in a new onesie you bought the week before online.

It was a fuzzy one that had Nemo’s face on the hood. Your favorite movie to watch as a family was Finding Nemo so it was fitting. “You look so cute bebe” You squished his cheeks making him giggle and fiddle with his hands. “He’s going to freak when he sees you!” You laughed taking a few pictures of Roman sending them to Chris.

“It’s so yummy right?” Roman’s face was covered in his breakfast. Oatmeal Peach Apple was one of his favorites.

After feeding Roman and cleaning up his face you started on your own breakfast.

You hadn’t worked up a big appetite for anything in particular so you went with something quick. Eggs and buttered toast with a side of chopped fruit from the day before.

“Okay ready to make a pretty picture for daddy!” You brought up a stool next to Roman’s high chair. “We’re gotta make a welcome home card okay?” You wiped his baby drool from his face. setting down a baby blue construction sheet of paper in front of him.

You started it off writing down the words ‘Welcome home!’ adding a little heart at the end with a marker. Roman couldn’t do much with a marker so you set out washable paint on another paper.

“Look at all these pretty colors!” You softly grabbed one of his hands showing him all the bright paints. His finger immediately dipped into the color purple. Roman was about to bring his finger towards his mouth before you quickly stopped him. “No look you paint here!” You drew a squiggly line with his finger. The color on the paper making him smile. His mouth formed an “ouuu” as if his art was the most impressive thing he’s done yet.

To distracted by the four month old beauty ,the sound of keys jingling and a door opening became background noise. Roman’s eyes widened, his chubby face forming a wide gummy smile. His eyes set dead behind you “what are you looking at mi amor?!”

Just as you were about to turn seeking out what your baby was so happy about, a set of strong arms engulfed you from behind.

Along with kisses to the side of your neck, immediately identifying it as your husband. “You aren’t supposed to be back until later que paso?!” You squealed excited and surprised all at the same time.

“I might have lied about what time I landed …the whole time I was planning on surprising you” After giving you one sentimental kiss, he pulled away moving towards his extremely impatient son. “WOAH mommy I think we got to distracted with our reunion!” you furrowed your eyebrows confused on what Chris was talking about. “Looks like little man…gave himself face paint.”

You looked towards where your baby and husband shared a warm embrace, and sure enough Roman’s face and brand new onesie covered in bright colors, looked like he really went to town with the paint. “BABY! not on your face” you laughed, moving towards the both of them, squeezing his chubby cheeks “we’re gonna have to put you in the bath.”

Chris sniffed his baby boys head like he was relishing in the baby scent he loves. “I’ll take him a bath, I’ve been craving my wife’s tostadas” You smirked “Oh really? Then I’ll just have to make some” You stood up on tip toes lightly scratching his beard, he relaxed into the touch, sighing when Roman’s hand followed yours now to playing with Chris’s beard. “I missed y’all so much.”

An hour later, you managed to whip up some Tostadas per your husbands request. You slowly balanced both plates on your hand, making way into the spacious living room.

You smiled when you noticed that all to familiar movie intro. “He was supposed to wear his outfit while we watched the movie!” You fake pouted as your sons eyes followed the fishes that swam on the screen. “It’s alright he’s got on his socks see!” Chris laughed picking up Roman, his little legs kicked begging to be let down again so he could watch his favorite movie.

You nodded, handing Chris his plate he moaned in delight “Baby I haven’t had anything like this in what feels like forever.” He quickly thanked you with a chaste kiss, immediately digging into his food. “Maybe we could come with you next time?” You whispered, not knowing how he would react.

“I do want to travel with him.” Chris looked to Roman who babbled off at the screen. “I can’t stay away from you both any longer…it feels like he’s grown so much since the two months I’ve been gone.” You sighed “He has, but you’re here now and that’s all that matters” You smiled, heart warming when Chris took his hand in yours lightly squeezing.

“Can we make some more little ones?” He whispered.

You giggled quietly “oh yeah, once this little one goes down for a nap.” you mumbled against his lips not exactly knowing if he was serious or not.

SPOILER ALERT: he was serious.

#chris evans x female reader #chris evans x wife!reader #chris evans fluff #Chris evans #chris evans x reader #Chris evans smut #chris evans headcanon #Chris evans x Mexican!reader #Chris evans x hispanic!reader #cevans #x reader #dad!chris evans

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