it's circumstantial, do the twist

[OPEN]

Thu, 11 Aug 2016 01:37:30 GMT

HELLO FOLKS! MY NAME IS JO AND I WOULD LOVE TO DRAW YOU THINGS.
BELOW ARE THE TYPES OF COMMISSIONS I ACCEPT AND THEIR PRICES (IN USD).
thank you so much for considering me!

SKETCH: (one or two colors, no shading)
BUST: $8
WAIST-UP: $10
FULL-BODY: $12

SIMPLE SHADED: B+W / COLOR
BUST: $15 / $20
WAIST-UP: $17 / $22
FULL BODY: $20 / $25

COMPLEX SHADED: B+W / COLOR
BUST: $20 / $25
WAIST-UP: $22 / $27
FULL BODY: $25 / $30

ADD-ONS:
ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS: $10/EA
ICON EDITS: $2/EA

Please direct all inquiries to 'Joree.Wuollet@Gmail.com'. Payment is accepted via Paypal or Squarecash, i will give you instructions once we have discussed your commission and agreed on your final price. I will be accepting 5 slots at a time to begin with; if slots are full, i will gladly e-mail you when one frees up.

Please include a brief description of what you would like me to draw, including references, in your email. I will provide you with one preview sketch, and once that is approved, i will proceed with the final drawing. After the final is submitted, you may request one round of small changes if there is something you want changed.

I prefer not to draw the following: heavy gore, mecha, architecture, inflation/excessive bodily fluids/animal porn. General NSFW is fine!

AVAILABLE SLOTS:
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after the dust settles | for megan

Tue, 28 Jun 2016 17:32:51 GMT

Rebuilding a life in the aftermath of everything is difficult in thought, and even more so in practice. Porrim learns this the hard way when, after the downfall of the Capitol, the economy ceases to exist. All her Assi, millions of numbers stored away in a digital account in the ether of the Capitol’s networks, gone, or rather obsolete. For the first time in her life, Porrim Maryam is penniless, familyless. Her father was shot by rebel forces, her mother and sister killed in a bombing.

For the first time, she’s alone. Even among the other survivors, she doesn’t fit. She never struggled in her life before this war, and most of her fellow soldiers still mistrust her. Still stare, still whisper behind her back.

The only one who doesn’t, it seems like, is Nick.

She’d never really considered that maybe he was serious about sticking around, sticking together after the war. She figured maybe he would fuck off somewhere else. Not his home; that place is even more fucked than Panem, from what she understands. But that he’d go off and do his own thing.

Not this. She didn’t expect this.

Her apartment was spared in all the bombing and shooting, somehow; she stays there for now out of a lack of anything better to do, and Nick stays, she supposes out of the same reason. They love each other; it’s not a question of that. It’s a question of whether or not they’re good for each other.

She’s a smart woman; she’s never needed to rely on her looks or her body to get by. She’s the daughter of a scientist; she had plenty of education. She finds work, just for now, helping the new government build up its tech, and that pays her enough to get by. Nick…he does what he does. She’s learned it’s better not to ask, if she doesn’t want to hear the dirty truth.

Porrim comes home late from the lab, exhausted, her hair pulled back, lab coat still hanging from her shoulders. She didn’t bother taking it off before she left, and doesn’t bother until she’s standing in the middle of her sitting room; she lets it drop to the floor, toes off her shoes, drops her bag on a chair. It’s late; her hours seem to grow longer by the day, and often she doesn’t finish until well after midnight. When she crawls into bed next to Nick, teeth hastily brushed and her clothes stripped off, she doesn’t bother trying to sneak. He’s already awake, eyes sleepy but watchful from where he’s curled up in her big king-sized bed.

“Hey,” she breathes, sliding in next to him, brushing lips against his forehead.

“Hey yourself,” he says, voice a little thick with sleep, and wraps a big arm around her. She’s thinner than she used to be, but harder too—less lush curves and more lean muscle, something she’s had time to make peace with. Porrim curls into his side, letting herself be pulled close into his warmth, and hums into his shoulder. “Have a nice day?” It’s more of a pleasantry than a real question, but she’s glad when he nods into the side of her head anyway.

She doesn’t mean to start a conversation, really; it’s been at the back of her mind for days, and she’d be content to keep it that way, except his fingers brush over the scars on her stomach, the ones where Thirteen’s doctors had removed sacred parts of her to save her life. It makes her think for the thousandth time how much differently her life has gone from the way she’d always imagined it, and her hand moves to cover his hand, not to pull it away but to keep it there.

“You still okay with what we talked about before?” she asks, before she can hold herself back. “With maybe—staying together? Marrying me?”

He’s silent for just a moment, before he makes a sound that Porrim is startled to realize is laughter; she pulls back her head in confusion. “Sweetheart,” he chuckles, “for one of the most gorgeous-looking girls I’ve seen, you sure have low self-esteem.”

Porrim purses her lips, shoving at his shoulder. “Shut up. I don’t want to make assumptions, alright? People change…maybe you were just talking out of your ass.” Maybe he was just saying what she wanted to hear. It happens. She’s prepared herself for that possibility.

He surprises her by flipping her back onto the pillow, framing her shoulders with his arms, smirking down at her. “Give me some credit,” he says. “I might be a piece of shit, but I don’t mince words. I wouldn’t have said all that shit if I hadn’t meant it.”

She stares up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You know I can’t ever give you smug little kids, right?”

Nick snorts, leaning on one arm so he can trace a thumb across the scar on her stomach again. “Yeah, I’m well aware. I don’t want anyone but you calling me ‘daddy’ anyway, sugar.”

Porrim makes an indignant noise, trying and failing to squirm out from underneath him. She might be strong, but he’s got her in size. “You’re disgusting.”

“Love you too, cupcake,” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss her again. “And yeah. Let’s do it right.”

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you're the stars in my eyes [muselist]

Sat, 20 Jun 2015 02:02:57 GMT

( i'm the hands on your t h i g h s )

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Let me send you cookies

Sat, 01 Feb 2014 21:41:46 GMT

i'm going to make a whole bunch of shortbread cookies and
i want to send them to you lovely people.
leave me your address below and prepare to receive some earl-grey flavored bites of heaven in the mail! ♡

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is it clever? why is it clever?

Sun, 26 Jan 2014 16:31:52 GMT

it's been almost two years since i've updated, and that's kind of crazy.

i'm definitely happier than i was two years ago. but for right now, i feel a bit...useless. i'm trying to get a promotion at target but i'm scared i've screwed it all up, and then that has me wondering if maybe it's a sign i should be trying to find a better job. i shouldn't be settling. i should try harder to get something out of my degree.

my plan was to be a tattoo artist, but i'm such a chickenshit that i don't even know where to begin. i feel like i'd be laughed out of every studio i went into looking for an apprenticeship. i can barely afford my rent and bills as is, i don' know how i'd function when an unpaid apprenticeship would be taking up most of my time.

i could always go to grad school, but that would just be stalling for time and racking up more debt.

i dunno. i have a headache.

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another fucking muselist

Sun, 22 Sep 2013 02:07:25 GMT

( fuckthisshit )

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muselist ⇨

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 00:02:48 GMT

( rainy days and mondays always get me down; )

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fic: raspberry

Fri, 20 Jan 2012 01:16:28 GMT

It starts off innocently enough. They're having a companionable tea together, enjoying each others' presence over hot tea and fresh toast. Shoshanna reaches for the jar of raspberry jam the servants included on the tea tray, intending to spread it over her already buttered toast, dipping the butter knife in and pulling it back out covered in a gob of deep red preserves.

It's when the knife is on its way to the toast when it happens: a gob of jam slides off and lands on the side of her hand, in the expanse of skin between her thumb and forefinger. Scoffing, annoyed, Shoshanna wipes some of it away onto the bread, but there's still a stark red smear against her skin.

And before she can do anything about it, Kurama's reached out and snatched her wrist, bringing her hand to his mouth and cleaning away the jam with one quick swipe of his tongue. She stares at him, unable to stop the parting of her lips or the quick, quiet exhale of breath. And for a long moment they remain that way, looking at each other. Really, it's more that they're sizing each other up, like they're going to have a fight, but they both know better than that.

"I see."

"Mm."

Kurama nods. And tugs on her wrist, pulling her until she comes around to his side of the little table, perches in his lap. She's in a dress reminiscent of her own time, low, square-cut neckline with pearl buttons all down the front. It's the work of a few seconds for his long fingers to undo the top four buttons, opening her dress to expose the steady rise and fall of her chest. He falls upon her, lips hungry against her shoulder, clavicle, between her breasts. Gasping, she's gasping for air, and it's mostly because this is so unexpected. They were just having tea, and now he's swiping a thumb below the lace of her bra, inciting shivers all down her spine.

What's really unexpected, though, is that he reaches out, dips his index finger into the jam jar, and then smears it across her collarbone. The cold is a shock, but it's nothing to the warm tongue licking it away with utmost care. Shoshanna's chin tilts upward, allowing herself to relax into the sensation.

He kisses down her chest, pulling the flimsy lace of her bra completely down and away from her breast, doing such delicious things to it that she thinks she might forget how to breathe. This time she's ready for it, the long finger smearing sticky sweet jam across the stiff nipple and goosefleshed skin. She whimpers when he wraps his lips around it, suckling away every last bit; her fingers have long since wound into strands of red hair, and they don't loosen until he surfaces, giving her a wolfish grin that leaves her squirming in his lap.

"Your tea is getting cold."

"Yes, of-of course."

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oh yeah

Thu, 12 Jan 2012 08:46:52 GMT

I forgot to, you know, make an entry.

So this is me. I am Jo. My LJ was joisaverage but this is a far better username so there.

Aaaand updates will be sporadic but I think that's pretty much the norm nowadays.

SO YEAH stuff.

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Some Christmas fic.

Sun, 25 Dec 2011 08:18:51 GMT

Not Christmas-themed, but a present all the same for lady_flamewing. ♥

( She may have been a little over her head this time. )

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