Look At This Masterpiece - Tumblr Posts

One late Christmas gift coming in under the wire here - for @aloraundomiel, who asked ever so nicely for more Winnix + 1.

Don't say I didn't warn you. NSFW under the cut.

They were at the ballet when the subject of gifts came up.

It was a special Christmas eve performance, a production of Swan Lake before Washington society skated off to cabins in Vermont and lodges in Switzerland for two weeks of skiing to ring in the new year. And, a rarer treat still, Dick and Joan and Lewis’s family obligations had all been dispensed with early this year, and the three of them were enjoying a rare holiday together, not the catch-as-catch-can carousel of gift-giving in train stations and via air mail packages they usually enjoyed. There was a tree, a real tree, in Joan’s apartment, festively decorated and all, and gifts underneath it to be opened tomorrow, if they felt like it.

It wasn’t really part of his world, this gilded and velvet palace, nor the people in it his people, but he went along, for Lewis and Joan’s sake, muddling through the forms and functions because…that was what you did for people you loved, wasn’t it?

“Do you think I’d just forget you?” Lewis asked, offended when Dick suggested he hadn’t seen a box with his name on it under the tree from him. Below them the orchestra was tuning up “Of course I got you something.”

Joan smiled and settled into her chair, arranging the long, dark folds of her dress so the fabric wouldn’t crease too badly. It seemed an odd dress, for an evening out, when every other woman there was wearing wide bright taffeta skirts and showing off her shoulders - but then, there were some days she did not like to show her scars. "I think you'll like it,” she said, her voice sotte voce under the tuning of the orchestra.

It was Dick’s turn to look a little put out. "What, has he shown it to you already?"

"A little more than that," Joan said with one of her private smiles, leaning over towards his chair. "I'm wearing it."

Dick felt his mouth go dry, the implication plain - his present was under her dress, and of an intimate nature. "And maybe if you're good," she added, still quiet, "I'll let you unwrap it early."

The way she said that word, unwrap, sent another shiver down his spine. Joan leaned away, still smiling, and suddenly her dress and its long sleeves and slinking layers was hindrance rather than elegance, and in the moment he was an impatient child of ten contemplating boxes under the tree, and what he wanted, more than anything, was to rip off the wrapping paper to know what was underneath.

If he'd paid attention, he'd have seen that Lewis, too, was grinning like a cat, but the orchestra was starting and everyone made a show of turning towards the stage as the lights dimmed and the show began.

The niceties of women's undergarments had long eluded Dick, something he had never paid attention to until Lewis brought to his attention the feel of silk on skin, the exquisite pleasure of removing something pretty to get at something beautiful underneath. And Joan often erred on the side of simple and well-made, never one for the frills and flounces and champagne lace of the high street boudoir. But the gift was for him - and he wasn't sure himself what Lewis would have imagined he'd like to see Joan in. He suddenly found it difficult to pay attention to the first act of the play, his fingers suddenly consumed with the velvet of the arm of his chair, the satin stripe of his tuxedo, his eyes filled with the colors of the gowns in the crowd below. What color would it be? Would it be gossamer, or lace?

At the interval he allowed himself a question. "Are you sure I don't get any hints?"

Joan looked for a moment at Lewis, looking imperious as they made their way downstairs to mingle. "Impatient boys don't get to open presents early," he said, mildly threatening, and he felt Lewis' voice go straight to his cock, stirring a little underneath his evening clothes.

He could have done without a lot of things in that moment, but the quirk in his lover's smile knowing that was how he'd been heard was almost the end.

He hardly noticed the second act of the show, too focused on not checking his watch or his program or any of a thousand little tells for impatience to pay any real attention to the dancers on stage, and it was a blessed relief when the crowd stood for the applause and the dress circle began to empty, porters coming with coats and hats as a long line of taxicabs and hired cars whisked everyone away. They lingered for a moment in the lobby of the theater, discussing holiday plans and corporate mergers with the rest of the see-and-be-seens until they were at the front of the queue and he was helping her into the taxi, the fur of her mink brushing the back of his hand with seductive softness.

Joan and Lewis were always better at pretending than he was - they'd kept up a steady stream of small talk with the people around them ever since the play had ended, as if nothing were the matter, and they continued it now in the taxi back to Joan's building.

"What do we say," Lewis said, the golden lights of the lobby beckoning from the dark of the cab. "One gift tonight, before the party tomorrow?"

"I think we could manage that," Joan replied.

But - " Lewis's hand was heavy on the handle of the door. "No opening anything until I've gotten myself a drink."

The elevator ride to the fifth floor was agony, and still more painful waiting in the hallway for Joan and her keys, especially with Lew beaming at him and adjusting his tie.

"Why don't you help the lady with her coat, Dick?" He suggested subtly, the door finally opening onto Joan's tastefully appointed front room. It had never given him more pleasure to help his lover out of her coat, and the mink and the silk of its lining, again, taunted him as he removed it from Joan's shoulders, her dress still wildly impossible, hiding everything and revealing nothing.

"Not until I've settled," Lewis reminded, as Joan strolled casually to her bedroom and Dick, trying to give the appearance of nonchalance, remained for a moment in the front room with Lewis before stalking after her.

She had turned the lights on and closed the curtains, doing a bit of casual rearranging of the bottles on her vanity, and he met her there, in front of the large mirror, and kissed the back of her ear, his hands heavy on her shoulders, the beads of her dress like a kind of armor.

"Are we being mean to you?" she asked, kittenish, turning around and pulling one of the tails on his tie so she could remove it and start unbuttoning his shirt and removing his suit jacket.

"Just a little," Dick admitted, allowing himself a little noise of pleasure for the feeling of her fingers on his shirt, the bare promise of relief that she was so close and yet still so far. "And on Christmas Eve, too."

"Now, now, who's getting ahead of themselves?" Lew asked, standing in the doorway with his rocks glass working his tie off with one hand and undoing several of his shirt studs, coat already doubtless left in the front room.

"You didn't say anything about undressing him," Joan said, just as bold as she pleased, and Lew only smiled a little.

"I suppose I didn't," he acknowledged. "You break a single stitch on that dress and I think Joanie will murder you," he threatened, sitting down on the end of the bed to watch. And that, Dick supposed, was his permission.

The urge to rip the dress from her shoulders was very real, his imagination eclipsing all else. But that was part of the game now, wasn't it, the making him wait, and he needed to play by the rules. The closure on the back was buttons, because of course it was, and he couldn't help thinking of that hour before they left for the theater, when Lewis was helping her dress. They were planning it, then, this whole production, working around to gifts and setting him up to wonder and then to wait. But slowly and surely, the back opened and fell away, and he could see the band of a brassiere, a waistband in a matching color. He helped the dress away from her shoulders, inching the sleeves down her arms, the heavy fabric eventually going, of its own accord, and falling, gracefully, down the front of her body to pool in gorgeous dark folds at her feet so Dick could observe her in the mirror.

He'd never seen such a red. Deep, sensual, ruby red, standing out in stark contrast against Joan's fair skin and dark hair, the color of sirens and danger signs and come hither looks. It was both shockingly there and amazingly absent - a breathtakingly low brassiere only just hinted at holding in Joan's breasts, the sides of the tap pants paneled in lace, a suspender belt holding up her stockings. And looking at her, in the mirror, looking at himself, he had the sudden sensation of thirst.

“Well?” Lewis’s voice was casual and pleased from the end of the bed. “How’d I do?”

"Are you really asking?" Dick asked, picking up Joan's robe from the back of her dressing chair and draping it, gently, around her shoulders, the promise of a pause. Their eyes met for a moment in the mirror, and his hands remained on her shoulders, the two of them having an entire conversation with just their eyes.

"No," Lewis admitted, playing with the whiskey at the bottom of his glass. "I'm really not. The color's good, though, isn't it?"

"Color's great," Dick said lightly. "Where'd you find it?"

"Little shop in New York. Custom ordered. You sure you don't want to keep unwrapping? She's still got at least two stockings on and a little bird tells me you like legs."

"I think I'd like to move on to the next present," Dick said, lightly threatening, and then turned and pounced, crossing the room in three steps to straddle his lover where he sat on the bed, undoing the button of Lewis's tuxedo trousers and unzippering them. Lewis laughed for a bare moment, but he lost his breath as Dick's hand wrapped around him and moved with practiced slowness, his lips finally letting out a groan after the first few strokes. "I thought you'd be further gone than this," he accused, pressing the lightest of kisses to the corner of Lew's mouth, his lover's lips parted in pleasure, his hand still teasing and tortuously slow on Lew's cock. “I thought for sure you’d already have a hard on from making me wait.”

"But you didn't get to the best part," Lewis replied, his voice a hiss.

“The stockings?” Dick asked, his hand moving a little faster, payback for three hours of sitting in the dark of the theatre with only his thoughts for company. It was just the two of them here, him and Lewis, in the same little world they’d been in so many times for those two years in Europe. He wanted to press his head against Lew’s face, kiss him, consume him, but there was something, too, to watching him come undone in a way that was not from fatigue or strain, become soft and pliant and wordless. “You want to help me with those stockings, Lew?”

Lewis responded with a groan, his hands too busy holding himself up to respond in kind, eyes closed against the onslaught, letting Dick carry on without resistance until he came, hot and insistent, over Dick’s hand and his shirt and trousers. “Rude,” Lew said, finally, when he could speak again a little breathless, looking very well fucked indeed. “Just leaving the lady.”

“I can enjoy a show,” Joan said, quite on her own in front of the mirror and looking very much like she had enjoyed watching. “But it’s not the stockings; it’s really not. ” She stepped into their orbit with her silk dressing gown swishing seductively, and drew one side of the robe back. “Can you see what it says?”

His mind wandered a little bit alongside his fingers, tracing the pattern in the lace that was only loops and curls until his mind resolved it into WNW, intertwined and interlaced like one of those rarified East Coast names that wanted to lose none of its cachet, all of them equalized and embroidered in like they’d always been written that way, a monogram for all of them at once. And it…stopped him, for a moment, to think about where one put monograms, about how it was a way to declare who you were and to whom you belonged. And they three belonged…together.

“Romantic.” It was accusation and observation both, and he let Joan run her hand through his hair fondly, her other hand loose in Lew’s curls, refusing to say more in case it incriminated him somehow into admitting how much he liked it, liked all of it, the teasing and the undressing and the whole world of feelings summed up seeing their names.

“I have been known,” Lew said, offhanded but also somehow still a little boneless. “Now, where were we? Stockings? Or have we moved on to something else?”

jesus in the hades art style

HAHAHHHHHHHHH IT IS VERY COOL!!Damn, I would also like to draw emotions and generally draw as beautifully as you do.THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS COMIC!🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Did a small series of sketches with @afanofthegiantxd ‘s oc Robert (he’s a fun lad). After I saw the post about Robert’s height I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head. It was quite fun! (Hopefully I got Robert’s characterization right, I’m not the best at these types of things lmao, but I try!)

no thoughts head empty only gay pirates

LOOK AT THIS AMAZING ART HOLY DUCK IT’S INCREDIBLE!!!!!!!!!!

For context— it’s a mural made by some of the students of Ninjago High School (in the movie!verse) commemorating, from top-to-bottom and left-to-right:

- The Time Twins (who are good)

- The Storm General (Lady Irondragon’s Mentor, also known as Edna Walker)

- The Sacramento & Fuchsia Ninja (aka Morro and Odoroki) — RIP to Dove/Fugidove that didn’t make it on despite being part of that vigilante group

- Snowstorm (aka Whint Julien, Dr. J’s husband and previous EM of Ice)

- Ivory Onyx (aka Lilly Brookstone, Lou’s wife and previous EM of Earth)

- Lady Irondragon (aka Koko and previous EM of Greeeen)

- The Green Ninja (aka Lloyd/Green)

- The Blue Ninja (aka Jay/Blue)

- Maelstrom & Fire Forge (aka Maya & Ray Smith, the previous EMs of Water and Fire)

- The Fearless Flyer (Cargo plane flyer, aka Ed Walker) / The Tinker (Dr. Julien)

- The White Ninja (aka Zane/White)

- The Black Ninja (aka Cole/Black)

- Frostbyte (aka show!Zane)

- Shogun (aka show!Kai)

- The Red Ninja (aka Kai/Red)

- The Grey/Cyan Ninja (aka Nya/Cyan)

IT'S DONE

THIS TOOK ME +25 HOURS, BUT IT'S DONE

Anyway! This is for @angeldrawsstuffs and @impulsivefanwriter hot potato (that's how it's called right -) in the Spbnr Discord Server! This was both fun and a nightmare to draw.