#(but only if you squint lol)

[wishfulsketching]

Some not so serious doodles about the idea where Silco survived and Warwrick!Vander found him. I did these as fanservice for ME! Especially the clothes thing

(have fun trying to figure out the reading order of the third sketch dump)

[mai-komagata]

so here is my melkor hot take of the day. i dont think melkor is more evil than sauron.

like yes, tolkien said sauron is less evil than melkor bc he is devoted and obedient to him, i.e. catholic theological legalese, since love and obedience are the catholic virtue things that dont originate from evil. cool. ASIDE FROM THAT.

and like, melkor is totally MORE POWERFUL than sauron by like orders of magnitude. sure. melkor is the evil soup that suffuses the world like original sin and the fall do in catholic theology.

but like if in looking at intent and what they do, i dont think you can say that for sauron's relative power, i hesitate to say he is more evil, but he is evil in a more insidious and dangerous way common to our age.

like i see melkor very much representing the evil of the natural world (and to some degree part of the universal plan of eru iluvatar). he is volcanoes. he is the blight of winter. he is disease and pestilence and decay. he is the coming of darkness, the destruction of creation. the entropy of the universe. he desires the spark or life but can only subdivide endlessly like bacteria.

but that is part of the fallen world in theological terms even if it shouldn't be part of a healed world of immortal quasi spiritual (or actually spiritual) beings. it is imperfection if the goal is deathlessness. but it is part of the world.

and to a degree i see valar as having this sort of impersonal force of nature quality about them. not just melkor. they all do. tolkien describes them like heavenly bureaucrats. they arent tied to the world and dont understand the world in a tangible personal way that even the maiar do.

sauron is different and i think there is a reason sauron is the villain in the books in the second and third age and specifically in the main book he published. he is the evil of our modern world.

because most mythologies dont have two dark lords. one representing chaos and destruction and one representing order and coercion and industry.

it represents a fundamental swing in how cultures started to conceptualize evil. we mastered science and thus a lot of the things that were a curse from the gods were being solved. and yet. the world wasn't becoming less evil. we still want to control each other, to subjugate others. we want to tame nature so much it kills her and makes her barren. we covet power because we are afraid of the lack of it.

so yeah. sauron and melkor are both evil. but sauron was subject to melkor (or natural evils) until we subdued and chained him. and then sauron's evils were dominant.

(is this character analysis or fictional theology? idk.)

i love these characters because they are symbolic of how we conceptualize evil in the world, as well as being stand-ins for a certain character archetype. i dont have to write them just as them being evil. but they are great for writing about difficult subjects because of their symbolic nature.

(and maybe like sauron i too love volcanoes and snow and mushrooms and thus am a bit enchanted with the force of nature that is melkor. i used to study a LOT of catholic theology, and now as an outsider looking in im like, maybe i can play with these myths and tropes. at the same time, the ultimate plan of eru iluvatar is meant to be a mystery.)

[clumsypuppy]

littlest furth shop

@laikascomet

[spaceouttatime]

I just want something to go right.

[astroreoreoreoreoreoreoreo]

was joking to my girlfriend about a very elaborate scenario in which fugo would wear a shirt that reads "I taste as good as I look". The exact text is as follows

"A concept: fugo wearing a crop top that reads "I taste as good as I look" but it's laundry day (that's the only reason he's wearing it, it was a gag gift from Trish) and he looks like shit so it just looks like cannibalism deterrent" -Astro

I drew this to destress . Maybe I'll fix it up and make it into a proper drawing sometime. Not tonight tho

[shallowseeker]

I was thinking about Cas's little sarcastic dig in Family Matters here ("Of course. Your problems always come first.")

Sam, and especially Dean, don’t want to be treated like they’re being babysat by Cas, yet in the early days, they often hope Cas will be endlessly available, invincible, and strong.

(And it's complicated because... compared to them, Cas kinda IS!!!)

Cas, for his part, occupies a complicated space for them. While he is given room to be vulnerable at times, he’s also relied on to be everything at once: Dean's partner in times of trouble, someone who will "be there when Sam calls" and "tear the attic up for Sam," all while shouldering cosmic battles.

The irony is even deeper when Cas gets referred to as "a child" or "a baby in a trench coat"—yet his strength, sacrifice, and loyalty are counted on without question.

(Cas is often goaded into being stronger, of course, because Dean is scared and needs that strength from Cas more than Dean needs it from anyone else, even if Dean doesn't understand why that is. And even if Cas doesn't catch everything in those references, Cas can't help but FEEL that expectation.)

///

BY ANYWAY, BOBBY. In Weekend at Bobby's, Bobby is SOOooooo parent-coded in this episode in a way that kinda parallels Cas in s6.

It's an off-key parallel, but both Bobby and Cas are expected to be there. Bobby without "selfish" complaint, Cas without visible weakness.

Their struggles often go unnoticed unless voiced outright—something Bobby, in true crusty Bobby fashion, has no prob doing in Weekend at Bobby’s:

INT. BOBBY’S HOUSE �� NIGHT BOBBY: I – I hear you, son. I – it just ain’t a good time. DEAN (over the phone): Yeah, okay. You know what – Forget it. I mean I'm baring my soul like a freaking girl here and, uh –And you've got stuff to do. So that is – that's fine. That's fine but, seriously, a little selfish. Not all about you. [Bobby gets angry and leans forward.]

///

Dean is going through a LOT, but it's funny how like a child he comes off here. He's spinning out, and he has "no one to talk to," and Bobby's his DAD!

Dean invokes his own emotions like "baring his soul," and is clearly taken aback when Bobby isn't immediately receptive. It shows how Dean expects Bobby to always be there, without question, no matter what Bobby might be dealing with.

That’s classic "invincible parent" territory: the idea that their needs are secondary, or even non-existent.

(Aside// This is sometimes a bit how Sam can treat Dean throughout the run of the series, and how both boys occasionally treat Cas in s6).

///

And then Bobby tears them a new one!!! :D Yay!!! It's a real family moment and I LOVE IT:

DEAN (putting Bobby on speaker after Bobby tells him to go get Sam): You're on speaker, Bobby. BOBBY: Sam. Dean. love you like my own. I do. But sometimes [Bobby pauses and takes a long drink.] Sometimes… You two are the whiniest, most self-absorbed sons of bitches I ever met! I'm selfish? Me? I do everything for you! Everything! You need some lores scrounged up – You need your asses pulled out of the fire –You need someone to bitch to about each other – [Sam looks at Dean, puzzled.] BOBBY (over the phone): You call me and I come through – Every damn time! And what do I get for it?Jack with a side of squat! DEAN: Bobby – BOBBY: Do I sound like I'm done? Now look. I know you've got issues. God knows I know. But I got a news flash for you. You ain't the center of the universe! Now, it may have slipped your mind …that Crowley owns my soul! And the meter is running! And I will be damned if I'm going to sit around –And – and be damned! So how about you two sack up and help me for once? Dean looks very humble and Sam calm. SAM: Bobby, all – all you got to do is ask. DEAN: Anything you need... we're there.

Hits like a tired, overlooked parent.

He reminds them he gets nothing in return from them, which is a HUGE call out to how invisible and thankless his role as caretaker has become.

Bobby’s "sack up and help me for once" is both a plea and a challenge, demanding they grow up and recognize that he, too, is vulnerable and needs support.

It's the parent figure finally voicing the toll of always being strong—for once, asking to be seen.

Dean especially is humbled here. He's been the caretaker for his family, so he gets it immediately.

How hard he was leaning on Bobby.

///

Aside/// This season, Dean's actual support group is small, maybe even consists of just Bobby and Cas. Dean is short on "Dean understanders" this season; that is, he's short on people who see his core experience as not merely a brother, but an actual *pseudo-parent. Dean is a parent of Sam Winchester: and Sam is a complicated, apocalyptic-torn person who's often saddled with shouldering waaaay too much cosmic responsibility...

...which in turn has Dean shouldering too much responsibility too!

So when it comes to Bobby and Cas, Dean puts what he can't take on them! His family!

///

But unlike Bobby, Cas doesn't ask for help.

Which... it's complicated. (And very human.)

For starters, thanks to his upbringing, Cas WANTS to be strong. He thrives and is comfortable being that. Second, there are definitely little ways Cas gets the not-so-coded message that it's bad to be weak, even if those weren't the messages Dean intended to send. (Dean is desperate for everyone to be okay, and he needs someone to want to shoulder the real, complete Dean, with all his duties and complications. And for some reason, subconsciously, Dean wants that someone... to be Cas.)

Regardless, lines like "Babies whine" and "Without your powers" dig a lot deeper than intended for Cas, because Dean didn't have the full scope of the angelic war or Cas's fears about Raphael. And even when Dean DID get glimpses of that, it didn't yield the full story.

///

For his part, Cas is keeping Sam and Dean at arm's length, trying to place them in a "these are my charges to protect" role.

Bu unlike with Bobby, who Dean firmly places in a parental role, something is trying to FUNDAMENTALLY shift between Cas and Dean.

They often find themselves eye-to-eye in the kitchen, making decisions together in a way that feels imho very spousal, creating a dynamic where Dean doesn’t quite know how to navigate this growing sense of wanting to be an equal partner with Cas.

So you get their weird push-pull power struggle between them, sniping and bitching, mirroring what happens in real-life couples early in the relationship when responsibilities are heavy and scary. It's this swirling mix of "Oh shit, I don't know what to do! And YOU don't know what to do! What do WE DO?!" And "You are such a baby / be careful you idiot / be stronger plz for the love of god"

But yeah.

So... Cas holds himself in the role of an ANGEL, remaining largely invisible throughout the season and trying his best to keep his struggles INVISIBLE too, including the war he's fighting on humanity's behalf. Cas prefers that. From a distance. Emotions are scary af; he even calls them CRIPPLING in Mommy Dearest.

(Aside///Call-forward to Mary’s: "I was trying to make things right. Just from a distance, because... being here with you was too hard. Seeing what I'd done to you and to Sam, I..." /// Mary was ashamed of her deal; And Cas was ashamed of his brothers, of angelicity itself, of what they KEEP doing to humanity.)

Anyway, Dean doesn’t quite know how to handle their strange bond, that longing, that closeness, especially as Cas insists on remaining emotionally and physically distant, trying to handle a war they can't even see.

//

As for Bobby and Cas...

While they have their moments of pushback (Bobby’s explosion in Weekend at Bobby’s, Cas’s barbed sarcasm in Family Matters), and it definitely reveals the strain they’re under...

...it often also works to underscore just how invisible their labor has become to the very people they love.

But while Dean begins to grow up enough to see and name Bobby's sacrifices, his understanding of Cas's struggle is murkier, tangled up in pride, love, and the deep, unspoken hope that Cas will always be strong enough for both of them. (Save-me-save-US-but-let-me-help-you.)

I think the thing I love about it all… is the dualistic (subconscious) desire for Cas to make everything okay versus the worry for Cas not to shoulder these burdens alone. It's SOOOOO! HNNNNNnNNnngg. It's very real.

///

EDIT DISCLAIMER: This wasn't exactly the point of this post (Bobby and Cas feeling misunderstood/underappreciated), but for completionist's sake:

Dean's grief is attenuated by the experience of being a "pseudo-parent," and definitely a caretaker in the context of "cosmic-inflicted illness," and that's a riptide that runs through season 6 in a big way. Dean needs the people he loves to SEE this aspect of his life in order to feel understood.

That's what 12x22 is all about. The thread from season 6 to season 12 is surprisingly thick! That's why this:

prefaces this: BEING SEEN

It's not a question of how fair or unfair it is, or if he "should be" or "shouldn't be" "a parent." It's about those very real efforts being seen and understood by those around him, including the grief and continued sense of responsibility this has wrought under worsening and frankly, incredibly unfair cosmic circumstances.

[clockwork-ashes]

Unbowed (one-shot)

Summary: The Lady of Autumn decides it’s time to murder her husband. Read also on Ao3.

Note: this was inspired by one of my favourite plays <3 i LOVED reading agamemnon, and could not help writing this one shot using clytemnestra as a base for the lady of autumn!!! thank you for reading :)

The Lady of Autumn stood by the window, watching as the leaves drifted lazily towards the ground. The gentle breeze had them dancing in pretty swirls, like an elegant script, as they fell from the almost bare branches of the trees. 

The moon was bright, its scarlet hue casting everything in an eerie glow. When she squinted, the pale stones leading to the garden resembled a river of blood, frozen in place. 

If she ignored the winding path, the world outside seemed to be entirely at peace, a striking contrast to the constantly shifting pattern of her thoughts. She fought to maintain her composure, shoulders back as if she were a puppet with the strings pulled taut. She clutched at the emerald fabric of her skirts when the door creaked open, the temperature in the large space shifting as her husband entered. 

"You're back so late," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging beneath her calm exterior. 

Beron’s boots echoed against the stone floor, each step deliberate as he made his way towards her. She could feel his presence, a looming shadow behind her. It was nearly instinct to turn and face him, to watch him with a careful eye in case he moved without warning. 

“And yet, Callista, I knew you’d be awake.” Her name rolled off his tongue, familiar to her ears. When he spoke softly, voice low and lovely, she could nearly forget how much she hated him. 

Callista kept her gaze fixed on the scene outside, although her attention remained on the sounds her husband made as he removed his jacket. She caught the elegant clatter his dagger made as he placed it on one of the low tables, and she wondered if he was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. 

When she had been younger, Callista had always liked the careful way he would untie the laces at his throat, each movement sharp as broken glass. It was an effort not to turn and look, to be reminded of a time when things between them had not been good, but had at least been better. 

Beron remained silent for a long moment, and she knew he was studying her. She could practically feel the burn of his dark stare, like the most gentle press of fingers around her throat. The world continued to spin, and Callista remained unmoving, unbowed. 

The feeling of his large hand on the small of her back made her heart skip a beat, a response born of uncertainty. She felt the way he bent down towards her, his chest pressed against her as he wrapped an arm around her thin waist. His breath fanned along her neck, sending shivers up her spine. She leaned into him, the action involuntary, expected. 

Callista twisted her neck, tilting her chin up so that she could meet his lips with her own. The kiss was rough, Beron’s hand tightening around her waist in a possessive claim. With her eyes closed, the scent of him was overwhelming, raging fires and the wind before a storm broke. She wanted to bite down on the full lower lip so close to her teeth, to taste the copper of his blood inside her mouth. 

When Beron pulled away first, she kept her eyes shut a moment longer, letting the darkness wash over her. 

“You won’t ask me about your son?” He murmured, the words an angry catch in his throat.  

Eris. 

Cruelty brought forth cruelty, she thought bitterly, and Eris had never truly been hers. She had been too young, had not known how to raise a child, and had been too angry at the world to try. Even in her memories, she could not picture a boy who smiled. 

Callista would still have burned the whole of Prythian to ash if something had happened to him. 

She took a sharp breath, looking up at her husband. “Does he live?” 

The question hung between them like an axe. Eris had moved against his father in an unexpected turn of fate’s wheel. He had betrayed them all, and had run to the Night Court, to fight alongside Lucien in a battle that had been brewing for months. 

Callista had never been more proud. 

Beron frowned, his lips tugging downwards in a convincing display of concern. If she had not known him better, she would have assumed he was grieving. “Who could say? The emerald fields of Spring are stained ruby dark.” 

Callista grabbed the High Lord’s hand, feeling the cool metal of his rings beneath her fingers. She shrugged out of his embrace, and he let her. Leaning against the window sill, she looked at the stars that cut through the darkness of the night sky. 

“You’re not afraid the others will follow him?” She whispered, biting her lip. 

Their home was an echoing womb of guilt, and had in turn raised sons with warring hearts. They fought amongst themselves like rabid wolves, but had only ever been loyal to one another, an inseparable pack. 

Beron growled deep within his chest, his footsteps thunderous as he created a well of distance from her. “No,” he spat, and Callista whirled around to watch him. 

He grabbed the bottle of cognac she had left on the ancient dresser by their shared bed. The crystal glass she had set next to it sparkled like ice as he took it in his hands, pouring with a flourish before drinking deeply. Callista kept her gaze on him, tracking each of his movements. 

“Don't drink so much,” she said softly, a loving wife’s quiet warning. 

“Speak less, Callista, I prefer your silence.” Beron poured another glass for himself, the amber liquid nearly spilling over the edge. He ignored her, draining the contents of the glass. His throat worked, the pale column of his neck white as bone. “I’m going to run a bath.” 

Callista looked at the broad width of his back, noticing the way his muscles pulled at the expensive fabric of his shirt. She could barely hold back her smile, a vicious promise as the balance scales of justice turned in her favour. Callista straightened her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles. 

The water swirls red.  

A caged bird sings. 

Roses bloom in winter. 

Elain Archeron’s prophecy echoed in the Lady of Autumn’s mind, the never ending toll of a bell. She liked having a daughter who could see what others could not. 

Callista waited until she was certain that her husband’s heart was beating slowly in his chest, and then she waited even longer just to be sure. She had been afraid, had thought despite her understanding of hemlock that it would not have been enough. She nearly laughed at how easily she had gotten him to drink another glass of cognac. 

Her slippers made no sound as she walked towards the bath, her fingers shaking as she pushed the oak door open. Callista felt a cruel sort of delight grip her by the throat at seeing the High Lord so powerless, chained like a hound by her hands. 

The only torch that he had lit flickered sharply, and she paused, holding her breath. The fire’s glow lit her face as she approached the bath more carefully, her gaze falling on Beron’s sleeping form. His chest, peaking just above the water, rose and fell with a steady rhythm. His eyes were shut, but even then, he looked annoyed, on the breaking edge of a scowl. 

Callista could not help but run her fingers through the chestnut coloured strands of Beron’s hair, a gesture she had done countless times over the centuries they had been married. It was soft as silk against her skin, nearly gold, she knew, when he sat in the sun. 

She brooded on this trial, this ancient blood feud year by year. At last, her hour came.

Callista felt the rage build within her like a wave, waiting for the right moment to crash against the shore. The knife in her hand was weightless, silver and ancient. She wondered if it hungered for blood like she did. 

Lioness. 

The thought filled her with strength, and was all the push she needed to strike. Callista reared on her hind legs, the instinct primal and sharp. Her claws were out, her fangs bared, the flickering fire her only witness. 

The Lady of Autumn did not allow herself a moment’s worth of doubt as she dragged the dagger’s sharpened blade across her husband’s throat. 

[miscellaneous-a]

made an xb and keralis edit :)

[ylge]

NIGHT

Inspired by this scene in ToG S2's new opening song

[sleepyicon]

shipping cobra kai captain kwon with the miyagi do captains that hate him is fun tbh, you should try it sometime

[lesbian-rook]

could you draw ragatha comforting an abstracting pomni? like ragatha calms her down enough to make the abstraction go away! thanks :3

🎶When darkness is all you see This is our Sweet Blasphemy🎵

[ivorydice]

Deeply appreciate that this outfit mod gives Noctis black, mismatched earrings like he deserves <333

[thatonebipotato]

a somewhat swap au of Scarab and Prismo. i say somewhat because its not just swapping them, i changed a lot of stuff other than just like their jobs. heehoo ok enjoy :]

text descriptions and more information under cut ^^!

Prismo -

his [physical] body is "frozen" in time

a bit more calloused over his years of working, but still considered very chill

he usually talks people down so he doesn't have the fight them

the crystal weapon is around his neck

it shoots out like a flashlight

the auras/souls of his victims get trapped in jars

pupils go starry when he does this

So here, Prismo is a god auditor! He's still very down to earth, but after years of fighting and monitoring and capturing, he's a bit worn down. That being said, he's still generally considered to be everybody's pal! The crystal he uses can't store the people he gets, so he has to carry around the jars. Because of this, he can usually only detain like two people at once, maybe three if he pushes it.

Prismo has some resentment about not being Wishmaster, but not the way that Scarab would! He just thinks he could do a better job, but he respects Wishmaster Scarab and just kinda lets it slide. He and Scarab are actually pretty close, and if he's injured or just very bored he'll go bother the cosmic bug.

Things he can do that aren't mentioned are that he can walk on walls/defy gravity, make duplicates of himself, and teleport. Duplicating himself and teleporting takes a looot of energy out of him, and considering that he is perpetually tired, he really doesn't use those abilities a lot.

Scarab -

this form resembles his physical body, but is still just a projection

he can touch stuff, but can't feel anything and can't be hurt/damaged

he's a bit more relaxed, but is still quite strict/rule oriented

the wings of his mask can open up, but usually don't

he is very big :)

the time room is less of a room and more like a never-ending labyrinth of paths

only the truly determined will obtain a wish

Scarab as the Wishmaster is a lot more relaxed than in canon, but due to his nature he is still a bit strict about rules and such. He will explain how exactly a wish will work to those who reach their goal, and if they choose to ignore that, they don't get a second chance. He usually won't go further into detail about the rules, either. This is where Prismo's slight distaste comes from, because he thinks that if he were in Scarab's place he would be nicer about it. That's about as far as that goes, though.

The main entrance that everyone is allowed through(the labyrinth) is infinite, but there is space around it(like a pocket dimension inside of a pocket dimension). Getting into the outside space will lead to the rest of the Time Room, but only Scarab has access to that. He spends most of his time floating in the abyss of the main area. There is no set path to find him, and he will instead come to whoever enters, if they're determined enough.

Scarab does not let people wander freely through the Time Room, so most of the other cosmic entities tend to avoid him because he isn't very fun. Prismo doesn't, though. Unlike anyone else who may enter, if Prismo simply calls out for Scarab, he will arrive almost immediately. Though Scarab has a 3D form, he is still confined to the Time Room, and does not find joy in watching the universes(he only does it if he's reeeallly bored, or if it's necessary). And since he blocks off the rest of the room to anyone else, he never gets any visitors, only mortals looking for his favor.

He doesn't mind the isolation at all, but he does enjoy the company that Prismo offers him. He doesn't mind being secluded, but he gets lonely sometimes. Prismo has many tales of his adventures being an auditor, and Scarab has begun keeping notes on all of them. He looks forward to Prismo's next visit always.

That's about all I have to say about them and their lore, at least as a base to build off of later, so uhhh here's they're color pallets :]

On the left is just how they both look, and the right is just missing the gradient for Scarab so it's easier to see(they don't look super great, but im just laying out the colors)

[cyanocophrenic]

Sweets (1/?)

The snugness was barely tolerable. She had overestimated herself. She looked surreptitiously over her shoulder and ducked around a corner. The only thing following her were her bad decisions, but she felt chased all the same.

Okay. Calm down. Breathe (but not too deep). Evaluate the situation. What are your options? Can you loosen anything?

She looked down at herself. Past her swollen breasts, past a fluffy roll of upper belly, she examined her waistline. Nope. The button was the only thing keeping the zipper together, and vice versa. For the millionth time, she lamented her morning. What a bright idea, interviewing for a job with a snack company. She was very well aware of how sweets affected her.

Could she find somewhere discrete to wait out her... little metabolic mishap? She looked around for a discrete nook to accommodate her fresh bulk.

The little atrium she had found had a series of plush benches around the walls. She sighed and headed for the one in the corner. She sucked in as best she could and sat down. Some horny little corner of her mind made note of how it felt as her tight belly shifted against her puffy thighs.

Sitting like this, only barely upright lest bending too far compromise her jeans, she couldn't ignore how her waistband was trying to cut her in half. She thought back to how she had done this to herself. The lovely HR manager had very explicitly pointed out the basket of the company's sugary offerings there in the middle of interview table. The woman had been insistent that she try at least one of each, gushing like any good salesperson about their rich flavors and subtle textures, occasionally even peeling one out of its wrapper and handing it to her.

How could she have done anything but eat what was offered to her? And by a beautiful woman, no less. She knew how her body reacted to food like this, but she had been desperate to make a good impression, to look good and eager and employable. A good girl. She ignored that last thought, and the accompanying shiver through her frazzled tummy.

She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth (but not too deeply). All she had to do was calm down, and give her body a chance to do the same. Then she could find a back door to sneak out of, go home and hope that somehow that she hadn't blown the interview.

She opened her eyes again and caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room. Holy crap, she was huge. She had been her normal, narrow self, and her outfit had fit very very normally, when she had arrived. But now? Now it looked positively painted onto her. Her breasts were trying to spill out of her tastefully exposed bra and over the lapel of her blouse. She was more balloon than woman at this point. She ignored another tingle.

As she watched herself in the mirror, she noticed something change. Slowly but surely, the last wrinkle in her blouse smoothed out. Uh oh. That meant... she was still filling out. Panic. She tingled again.

No. No. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). She closed her eyes again, and could feel her plump body quietly grow. Crap.

Panic. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). Calm.

Maybe if she didn't look, it would go away. That had never worked before, sure, but there's a first time for everything, right?

As she rationalized to herself, she noticed the sound of heels clacking towards her hiding spot. Panic!

Maybe their owner would pass and not notice her?

No such luck.

The woman who had interviewed her rounded the corner.

"There you are!"

She struggled to stand. So tight.

"You left your purse upstairs. I get it, though. Interviews can be pretty stressful, huh?"

Like nothing had changed. Did this woman not notice that she was currently three times the size she was when she had shown up? Could this woman not hear every seam in her clothes creaking in harmony? Could the woman not see how wide and deep and round she was becoming?

"It's such a beautiful handbag, I almost wanted to keep it for myself!" The woman laughed. "Oh well."

She took the bag from the woman. "O-oh! Thank you!" Leapt out of her.

"Listen," said the woman, "technically I have to review a few other candidates, but I think you're a shoo-in for the position." The woman moved closer. "No one else has shown so much... enthusiasm." Closer still. She basked in the smell of the woman's musky perfume.

"Oh... that's great!" she managed to squeak out.

"In fact," the woman continued, "if you'd like to come back upstairs, we can have you fill out the onboarding paperwork now, so you don't have to come back just to fill out some forms if... when we give you the job." So close now.

"Um! Okay!" What.

The woman placed a gentle hand on the side of her massive, tight, growing belly. "Listen, between you and me, that passion you showed today will take you far with us. Do you feel like the offer is fair? We can negotiate further if you need." The woman's eyes were so sincere.

What was going on here? She could barely think.

The woman placed her other hand on top of her belly, well hidden by her burgeoning breasts. "I do hope you'll say yes."

"Um..."

There was a pop. Her button pinged away across the room from her overburdened jeans. It made a little thwack sound as it hit the far wall. Her zipper flew down, zizzing audibly. Her belly erupted through the breach. Her blouse retreated upwards. The tingling became a roar. All the while, the woman, as though no tectonic shifts were happening right there and then, continued to implore with borderline puppydog eyes.

The world held its breath with her. How had this woman not reacted to any of that?! What? Was the woman still waiting for an answer?

"...okay?" She tried. She wasn't sure if her brain was still working. "Sure?" Best to stick to small sentences.

"Yay!" cheered the woman, "I really think you'll love it here!" The woman launched in for a quick hug around her exposed belly. The woman's arms didn't go even halfway around her. And still the woman didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

"Well! If you'll follow me back to the elevators, we can at least get the formalities out of the way."

The woman took her by the hand and pulled, still gentle. She followed, mutely. Even the horniest, shamiest corners of her mind were silent, waiting with bated breath.

As they reached the elevators, the woman pushed the up button and stood to the side. "Please," said the woman, "after you!"

On autopilot now, she stepped into the elevator and... wedged into the door. Stuck. What. Panic? Calm? The elevator dinged again as if to say "I'm waiting!"

The cold of the elevator doors brought her back to reality. She put a hand on either side of herself and tried to pull herself in. As though this were somehow normal, the woman chirped "Oh, here, let me help!"

She felt a gentle pair of hands press into her oceanic bottom. Her horny brain thrilled again. She clamped down on those thoughts. No time to be a pervert.

Between the two of them, they muscled her into the elevator. She turned to face the doors in time to watch the woman press into her in order to let the doors close. Normally equipped for eight full-sized human adults, due to her immensity, it very barely fit two.

"We need floor thirty," said the woman into her barely contained cleavage. She tried to reach for the panel of buttons, but by now there was simply too much of her in the way.

"I've got it," said the woman, reaching behind her without looking.

They rode the thirty floors quietly. She could feel herself still widening, pressing towards the walls of the elevator car. Her embarrassment had burnt out, leaving only a kind of stunned peace in her mind. She tried to will her body away from the woman, but where else could it really go?

By the time they reached their destination, the woman was firmly pressed against the doors, still showing no indication of the extra-ordinariness of the situation.

As the doors opened, the woman stepped back, grabbed her hands, and pulled as she tried to wiggle through the door. Eventually she floomped through, and they set off toward the HR suite.

Full-on waddling now, she felt an inner tension release. She had stopped growing. Relief. If nothing else, at least things had stopped getting worse. Sure, she was almost round enough to roll. Tingle. Sure, her clothing had been reduced to barely covering her... rude areas. Tingle. Sure, a beautiful woman was acting as though this was all perfectly normal. Tingle tingle tingle. But hey, at least it finally wasn't getting worse.

The woman pushed open the double doors to the HR suite and welcomed her in with another glittering smile. They seemed to be the only ones there. The woman led her, patiently, to the front desk area. The woman ducked behind the desk, looking for something.

"Hmm, it looks like I'll need to go print off more some more copies of the forms. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two." Finally she'd have a moment to collect herself.

Then the woman produced a basket, laden with various goodies, from underneath the desk. "Here! Help yourself, sorry to make you wait." Uh.

"Oh, here, allow me," said the woman, picking out a chocolate confection, peeling it, and pressing it into her mouth. "I'll be right back!"

She chewed and swallowed the treat.

Uh oh.

[dragonsdendoodles]

every time i see your horace his hair is bigger, its long enough to be braided now, good for him

Did I ever tell y’all I made older designs for them like. A year ago

[greyfalter]

Pick your feet up, you're so funky Using words like "missy", "baby", "play me funky" You're way up high, and boy, don't you know it? You'd think that dance floor was your name Dance floor was his name - Funky (Royal Treatment Plant)

I just wanted a Mabel design in the same vein as Studio Bad Egg's Bill in Another Life figure... it wouldn't happen for a variety of reasons but I can always dream/draw it instead XD

(Missed opportunity to draw her possessed, I know, but she's just casual/closet cosplaying here)

⚠concept sketch below⚠

the initial sketch is too cute to not show imo (the reason i didn't draw the final more anime was bc i wanted to try out the canon stylization)

...yeah the five fingered hand is a carry over from the stylization of the concept sketch, whoopsies

she was originally wearing an axolotl scarf but i tossed it in favor of her usual fare (sweaters) (also wanted to draw a Mabel sweater design) (the axolotl reference got recycled into the axolitl keychain. i have one irl & i cry from cuteness every time i look at it)

i drew the bag in the wrong orientation... don't look at me... lmaooo (i just fixed the strap in the end bc i didn't want to redraw the entire thing. looks a lil funky lol)

i included those lyrics bc i listened to the song a few times while working on this. not sure it fits Mabel but the title does fit whatever's going on in the background lol