Always keep a dish of sand handy for those accidental fire mishaps! You never know when a charcoal disc will spark too much or your lit candle will get knocked over. Sand can be thrown on a small fire to extinguish it or you can stick incense & charcoal discs in it to stop their burning
Black and white was always something daunting to you, the blurring between the tones all you could rely on to bring the canvas to life. Maybe it was because charcoal was almost too forgiving compared to the paints you preferred. Maybe it was because you could so easily go too far with shadows or light and cast your subject into pedestrian level importance. You were almost positive, however, that you hated the simple tones because life was so much more than shades of grey. Life was every color of a rainbow, sometimes too loud, being thrown at you and splattering like a prism had been decimated against your skin. Nothing was ever just black and white in life.
I am restless today, he tries to draw me, watercolor fingers that mean business busy on the white sheet, I look away distracted by their meticulous intensity, worried that he could get some of my mood onto the paper, who wants to feel that vulnerable? I heave a sigh, my mind plummets down thoughts, I am caught entangled in a mesh and I cannot come up for air, I dissolve slowly, painfully until I am only water that will stain his canvas, or maybe, I will pour like rain over every last line, and, my soulful black eyes will be charcoal shaded blurs that reveal (too) much too little of what I feel.
I'm considering making my room Hufflepuff themed and yellow stuff is easy but do you think it would still look good to have charcoal/light grey instead of black? Black decorations and furniture are a bit too grim and sometimes look bad. What do you guys think? I love your blog :)
Black looks classy if you get the right things (leather chairs for example) but charcoal would look nice too.
It couldn’t be too light gray or it would clash with the yellow a bit.
Anyway there’s my inner interior designer. 😂
-Mel (the Slytherin)
I…I want to do Inktober so bad but I have no time ;; is it a drawing daily or weekly? and would anyone be interested in me recording some of these? as in somehow finding a way to point a camera to my easel? also can I use black and white acrylics or charcoals too?
here’s the next part in the best friend!saga, by @permanentguitar and myself. catch up on previous chapters here.
I’m obsessed with you, I’m obsessed with you, I’m obsessed with you.
The words ring in her ears as he disappears into the bathroom, leaving her on her knees on the floor, alone. She replays the last few seconds in her head, thinks about the way he cupped her face so tenderly then licked himself from her lips, told her “I’m obsessed with you” and that he’s gonna tell her how good her fucking mouth on his cock was after he takes a post-orgasm piss.
She wants to die.
She can feel her cunt between her thighs, slick and fucking aching with need. Her clit is hard, twitching against the fabric of her panties, and all she wants to do right now (besides die) is stick her hand between her legs and get off. She doesn’t do that, though, can’t do it, not here, not when he’s going to come back and try to do it himself while he waxes poetic about her lips on his dick.
This isn’t how she pictured it, is all. This is filthy. This is fucking. This is hooking up during a wedding because they’re both lonely and young and still always so horny. This isn’t– It’s not what she wants with him. She can’t believe she ruined it so easily.
She’s up and walking out of the suite, stumbling back to her own across the hall before she realizes she didn’t call out to him, didn’t leave a note, nothing. It doesn’t matter– she wouldn’t have risked him catching her anyway.
She drops her cotton shorts the minute she’s behind her locked hotel door and hurries to the bed, climbing in and rolling onto her back. She calms, finally, for a moment, and just stares at the ceiling. Her pussy pulses between her thighs, her lips and skin soaked from arousal, from the memory of his touch, his kiss, his cock. She’s heartbroken, but so, so turned on, and the latter ends up winning as she pushes her hands under her (his) shirt and starts stroking her own belly.
He’ll never take her seriously, she’s thinking, because she’s branded herself as the Sex Friend, now. The good-time girl who’s down for some dirty throat fucking on a wild weekend away. She’s blowing it out of proportion and knows Shawn would never think of her that way, but she also can’t read his mind, so she worries. Guys love blowjobs - some seriously good head won’t make him fall in love with her.
She wants him to want her for all the things only she can give him. For the bits of her that make her special, that leave her mark on the world. Anyone can give a stellar blowjob. Anyone can be a sex friend. She doesn’t want to be just anyone. Not to him.
I’m obsessed with you.
She takes a breath and lets the memory of his words wash over her, then closes her eyes as she slowly trails one of her hands down her stomach to the apex of her thighs. She starts slowly, teasingly, likes she thinks maybe Shawn would, if he were there or she had stayed instead of running away like a brat.
Her fingers slides over the slick-soaked fabric of her panties that clings to her folds, spreads her legs and hisses, pressing down a little harder. She can almost hear it, his voice ringing so purely in her mind as she thinks of him laughing, saying, “Jesus, baby, you got wet like this from sucking me off?” and she whines, nodding her head to the empty space beside her and pressing two fingers tightly against her swollen clit.
She imagines Shawn’s groan, his growl, any one of the various noises she heard back in his room with his cock in her mouth, and starts slipping her fingers against her clit harder, faster, her breath hitching in her throat when the fabric catches against her skin in a way that makes her toes curl.
Soon it’s not enough with her underwear in the way. Quickly, she wiggles free of the thin, soaked fabric and pushes her fingers back between her slick folds. She works the tips of her fingers slowly over the bump of her clit before pushes further back to tease her pussy. She sinks two fingers into herself, just to the first knuckle, and moans. She rocks her hips up a little, but knows she won’t be able to find her g-spot– she never has been, not on her own.
She stretches herself a bit, teasing her pussy gently as she avoids her clit, just to drive herself crazy. She thinks about Shawn’s perfectly long fingers and how she knows he’d be able to find her spot, to stroke it so well, to bring her over the edge so easily. The idea makes her feel hazy with want and she has to pull her fingers from her tight heat so she can rub them messily against her clit instead.
She pictures him between her legs, sucking at the insides of her thighs as he works his slender fingers inside of her, curling them in a steady ‘come hither’ motion against her g-spot while the thumb of his other hand swirls around her clit tightly. In reality, it’s her own middle finger that’s working her clit in circles, not bothering to tease any longer, letting the feeling overwhelm her.
She fucks her hips up in an erratic rhythm to get extra friction against her clit as her orgasm builds in her gut. One moment she’s teetering on the edge, and then her finger slips against her clit at just the right angle and she’s sent careening over, coming as her hips move with a life of their own.
Eventually she collapses onto the bed as she takes a few gasping breaths and tries not to think too hard about what she’s done. She hates that she thought about him, and hates that she doesn’t want to figure out how to start thinking about someone else, instead. She’s thought about him before, so many times. She rarely thinks about someone else, and when she does, it usually ends up being some faceless man she just wishes were Shawn, instead.
She has to shower, then sleep. She has to wake up and see him and not run away from him with her tail between her legs. She can’t. She’ll feign confidence, like she always does. She prides herself on being the picture of perfection in even the most stressful of situations, and this wedding shouldn’t be any different. She doesn’t want to give him any reason to think she’s interested in being his casual Fuck Buddy, but she also doesn’t want to act so terribly ashamed that he’ll think she hates him or something. She could never hate him.
If she’s cool, confident, collected, then maybe. Maybe she can get through it without saying anything too embarrassing like, “I’m not a slut, I just love you.” Not that any woman is a slut, but she’s been socialized to feel ashamed for liking the heft of a cock between her lips, so having that insecurity isn’t exactly her fault.
She has to relax. Tomorrow is a new day. She’s worried now, anyway, that she ruined more by running away than she did by sucking him off. Another reason why she needs to be totally cool tomorrow. So she can pretend she definitely didn’t run away, that she was tired and just wanted to… give him a gift, or something. It sounds totally cheesy, but if she uses the right lilt in her voice and gives him the perfect smirk, it could sound kind of hot.
She still wants to flirt with him after all, she just wants to do it as if this night never happened. She’s seriously hoping it’s possible.
She wakes up to the sun spilling in through the curtains she forgot to close, and two texts from last night that she’d been too embarrassed to even attempt to answer.
Mendes: are you okay?
Mendes: don’t forget i’m sending breakfast in the morning, short stop.
She’d gone to sleep with butterflies trying to claw their way out of her stomach.
Now the alarm he’d set for her before the– the incident is going off as she’s brushing her teeth. She gargles, spits, and rinses her toothbrush, then pulls off the stupid shirt that smells like him and changes into the fluffy white hotel robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
Thirty minutes later, she eats the breakfast he ordered perfectly for her (she hates how fucking bougie that sounds, but he is a rock star), and tries not to think about how romantic it is. She’ll puke it all up if she worries too much about it, and then it definitely won’t be romantic.
She’d texted him sorry, yes, she’s was great, just tipsy and tired and needed her sleep because “a face like this doesn’t happen without some beauty rest, Mendes,” because she’s said it to him before and it feels normal, to text him like that, and it’s the beginning of her Cool Girl act she’s spent 10 years cultivating.
She smooths her red dress down her hips as she waits for the elevator to land in the lobby. She’d perfected her glossy red lips, so she’s trying desperately now not to gnaw on them or mash them together like every synapse in her body is telling her to do. Her fingers curl into her palms at her sides as she clicks her way into the lobby, looking around for the boy– the man– that has her so devastatingly flustered this weekend (and always).
Then she spots him. And boy, does she want to run away again. And not necessarily for any reason that differs from before.
He looks so fucking good, is all. His charcoal suit fits almost too well as it clings to his muscles. She feels wholly inadequate, no matter how many times she’s reminded he’s still just another guy, just another kid, really. It doesn’t matter that they can both vote and drink, now. She knows she’s still a child, too, because she can’t admit to her best friend that she doesn’t think she’ll ever love anyone more than she does him.
Finally, he sees her, and now she can’t run. She’s stuck, trapped in this hotel with the love of her life and the dread that fills her chest and threatens to swallow her alive.
Then he smiles.
Her pace picks up and she can’t help but smile back, lifting her hand in a delicate wave which she realizes she doesn’t drop until she’s walking right up to him. She’s such a moron.
Now that she’s closer she can see the way his smile makes his eyes crinkle, but looks labored, like he’s worried about something and maybe shouldn’t be smiling. She wets her lips and tilts her, before letting her gaze rake over him, obvious enough so he can see.
“I believe this is the part when I tell you that you clean up nice, Mendes,” she says, lifting her eyes back to his face, but never reaching his gaze. She can’t– not yet.
He can probably tell– she always makes eye contact, so he can probably tell she’s not now. Her suspicion is confirmed by the strangled laugh that sounds like he has to force from his lungs.
“My, um, my mom– she made me wear this thing,” he mutters, looking down at himself as he rocks back on his heels. Yeah, they’re definitely still kids.
She laughs, a genuine one because he’s so fucking cute, and she immediately wishes she could swallow it. Why does he deserve her real laughter when she gets his imitation? But still, she says, “Well, you’re mom knows what she’s talking about,” instead of sticking her tail between her legs like she desperately wants to.
She tries to sound relaxed, tries to emulate the easy way she used to tease and flirt with him like this, but it’s difficult when he’s looking at her like she’s a butterfly he doesn’t want to scare away. She really hopes he doesn’t ask her if she’s–
“Are you okay?” His big, brown eyes plead with her.
–okay. She’s totally not okay.
“Absolutely, Mendes,” she replies anyway, then smiles, her apple red lips stretching across her face as she tries in vain to look genuine. “But we’re going to be late if you keep standing there like a scarecrow,” she continues and slips her hand into his before pulling him down the corridor towards the banquet hall for the ceremony.
She ignores the way his thumb glides along hers, making her skin prickle with the heat of her need for him, and drops his hand as soon as they find seats on the bride’s side of the aisle.
She ignores Shawn’s hand on the small of her back when they stand as the bride enters and walks down the aisle, then has to ignore his arm around the back of her chair for the rest of the ceremony.
She has to ignore his concerned eyes studying her the entire walk across the grounds to the reception that’s being held under the stars. She has to ignore the way his suit jacket, now wrapped around her shoulders, smothers her in his intoxicating scent and makes her pussy ache.
She ignores it all because it makes the hope-filled balloon nestled in her chest swell and threaten to burst. If it pops, she won’t make it through the rest of the weekend without winding up at home utterly disappointed. She wants to have fun at the reception, so she can’t let herself get bogged down in what could’ve been with Shawn.
Shawn gets caught up in a throng of friends that were never really her friends before they can find a table to claim as their own, so drops his jacket on a random chair and goes to find the bar instead. She’ll need champagne to do this. She won’t go as far down the rabbit hole as she did last night, but she definitely can’t be dead sober for this thing either.
She knows Shawn. She knows he’ll ask her to dance, because he’s a fucking sucker for dancing to cheesy songs at weddings. Reason number 103 why she’s in love with him.
She’s waiting for the bartender to open a fresh bottle of champagne when she feels him behind her, that damn hand of his once more on the small of her back, those damn eyes again looking down at her like she’s bleeding out and he can’t do anything about it.
God. She fucked up so bad with him. That’s not the look she wants from him. She wants him in awe, delighted, infatuated, if he can’t be in love. She doesn’t want this concerned best friend thing. She’s ready for more.
But he must’ve learned his lesson, because when he decides to speak, it’s not to ask her if she’s okay for the third time in twelve hours.
Instead, he musters up a smiles and asks, “Did you order me one?” then reaches over her shoulder to snag the glass of champagne the bartender poured for her while she was distracted by Shawn’s looming presence.
“My answer clearly doesn’t matter since you’re a thief either way, hm?” She arches a manicured eyebrow at him, lips pursed as she waits for his reply…
After the light passed through
the windows of my soul
After the moon shine so bright
on that lonely autumn night
After the talks, the sharing,
the small moments of truths
and smiles so genuine
You and I, even if we hide
Even if the world put a
great distance between us
for so many times,
You and I, We are possible.
And this is not the end,
Because every moment that
seemed too charcoal to see
The sun rises for new beginnings
No to goodbyes, I’ll see you again,
My long lost soul friend.
A new chapter to begin with you,
for us to start again.
“Don’t waste my fucking time,” Sakura growled, looking down at the appointments booked for her morning.
No one was coming in, but she had noticed the trend of people booking appointments anonymously and then never showing up, getting her ready for an appointment and making her waste her time making the clinic clean and ready for patients.
She was sick of it.
In a moment of thankfulness she remembered to be glad that she was alone so no one could see her fall into a fit of frustration. She was becoming more and more irritated every time something like this happened. She was afraid what it would look like in another week or two. The whole town felt like it had turned on her. It had been weeks and nothing seemed to be getting better.
Sakura swore once more, falling into a seat and clicking on her computer screen to the lock screen. Her password loaded the homepages and she went to her email, reading the notices of her pending loan payments. She had enough in her savings for a few more, but soon she would have to start defaulting because the income wasn’t coming in.
Before December, she needed to turn things around before December.
Pushing away from the computer Sakura felt her body crave waffles and sugar. She bit back the craving and reminded herself that going out wasn’t a good idea anymore. She didn’t even go visit Sai anymore, even though she was proud of his work and his job. He was doing so well but she couldn’t go to where he was and make herself into a spectacle that could end up harming his reputation. He was doing so well. She couldn’t ruin it now.
Across the way under the paper there was the shadow of the red spray paint on her waiting room wall. Sakura swallowed, hating how she could still read it through the paper. She was ready for the attacks and the vandalism to stop.
Didn’t people have better things to do?
Sakura turned the radio on and listened with her heels propped up on the edge of her desk. Her flats were discarded off to the side and she didn’t care what she looked like in her office.
There was a small breeze and then she smelled moisture. She opened her eyes and then promptly narrowed them.
Hey Nip. I am an aspiring artist and I adoooore the quality of your work. I see you got into art school, but how else did you learn to draw? I'm self-taught, can't afford school and so on, and really want to develop my skills. Your anatomy and your lines of movement are sooo good. Do you have any tips?
AHHH thank you so much!! ;; I am self taught as well, I’ve finished the first semester at art school this week and I’m very disappointed, college is subsidized by the government here but art gets little to no funding and that has a very negative impact on the quality of the education as well as a long list of other problems, I’m debating whether I will go back or not 😩
I am not sure how I learned to be honest, I’ve always loved art and I would make tons of fan art of every series and game I ever liked, I made drawings, sculptures, sewn dolls, animations, silly games. It is a chaotic and ongoing learning process fueled by a lot of passion and no direction whatsoever haha just observing and trying new things!!
For anatomy and movement my advice would be to do timed gesture drawing practice, start with three/two minutes each, then one, then half. long strokes! use this as warm up before you paint (also try these with different tools too, charcoal ,crayons, ink, just something that behaves differently from a pencil)
I also made a tutorial about my way of stylizing and simplifying bodies on my patreon for this month if you are interested!
How to save a rootless orchid
Put it in a container with some water, but don’t submerge it. After a few days-weeks, new roots will start growing and you can mount/pot in another medium (if you like). It’s best not to change the medium (air/water/spaghum/charcoal/potting mix) too drastically as once roots adapt to one medium, they won’t be happy with a change.
This lovely lucky Romeo has escaped rootless death 🍀
After a week of being in a glass jar, new roots started growing and I mounted it on a piece of wood. There are actually two halves to it (cos the plant broke into two when I took it out of its pot), one is mounted a little higher than the other. Both are showing healthy growing roots and a new baby shoot 🌱
(also it’s the first time I’m mounting orchids upside down. it’s kinda growing on me)