#100 theme drawing or writing challenge

[instaquarius]

100 DBZ OC ART CHALLENGE

1.) Introduction.  2.) Flight.  3.) Hero.  4.) Full Moon.  5.) Transformation.  6.) Rage. 7.) Fusion (potara, Namekian, or finger fusion) 8.) Great Ape. 9.) Master and Student. 10.) Tournament. (Worlds Strongest Under the Heavens, the afterlife one from that one filler episode/arc, universes 6 v. 7 tournament, or the Tournament of Power) 11.) Fighting. 12.) Destruction. 13.) Ki control 14.) Aura. 15.) Blasts. 16.) Rivals. 17.) Quest. 18.) Family. 19.) Danger Zone. 20.) As a baby. 21.) With the Z sword (or training with the Z Sword) 22.) Victory. 23.) Death. 24.) Loss. 25.) Crisis. 26.) In other world. 27.) Snake way. 28.) Playing Baseball. 29.) At Kaio Samas' place. (In heaven?) 30.) In hell with HFIL ogres. 31.) Kaioshins' planet. 32.) Lovers. 33.) Doing Ginyu Force poses (or actually IN the Ginyu Force if you want XD) 34.) Saiyaman/Saiyagirl poses. 35.) 1st form, 2nd,3rd, 4th, (Golden or 5th form) 36.) Training in Gravity room 37.) Weighted Gi 38.) Wearing Earth clothes; casual 39.) in Dragonball art style (Like, before Z, Super etc.) 40.) Protection. 41.) Powering up. 42.) Fighting Frieza, Cell or Buu (or a movie villain) 43.) Universal Tournament. 44.) In the future. 45.) Immortality. 46.) Clones 47.) Finding the Dragonballs 48.) Meditating 49.) Fighting a God of Destruction 50.) Ritual 51.) Fighting the Legendary Super Saiyan 52.) Fighting in the Tuffle War 53.) Mind Control (by baby, Babidi, Towa/Mira etc.) 54.) As a Time Breaker 55.) As a Time Patroller 56.) Fighting the Z warriors.  57.) On Planet Vegeta. 58.) Getting absorbed (by a Majin?) 59.) False SSJ 60.) Getting turned into candy 61.) Inside the healing tank (like on Friezas spaceship) 62.) In the Hyperbolic Time Chamber (or Room of Spirit and Time) 63.) Eating. 64.) Revenge. 65.) Pride 66.) Sacrifice. 67.) Bloodied.  68.) Fear. 69.) Heart Virus. 70.) Meeting Arale (from Dr. Slump) 71.) Using the Kaioken. 72.) Climbing Korin Tower (like in original dragonball before flight was a thing) 73.) Wearing a Turtle Shell. 74.) Determined. 75.) Getting Married. 76.) Best Friends. 77.) Screams. 78.) Rescued. 79.) Mafuba. 80.) Killing. 81.) Defeat. 82.) Sadness. 83.) Happiness. 84.) In a Saiyan spacepod. 85.) Hatred. 86.) Crushed. 87.) Beam Struggle. 88.) Genki Dama (Spirit Bomb) 89.) Showering 90.) Wearing the pink Badman shirt 91.) Scheming. 92.) Fighting Merged Zamasu (or Regular Zamasu) 93.) Fighting a Black version of your OC (hint: Goku Black) 94.) Unlocked Potential.  95.) Confused. 96.) In highschool. 97.) Tears. 98.) Act of kindness 99.) Tag team 100.) With you (The creator of OC/artist) saying they survived the Challenge

Rules~~~~ 1.) Can go from any order you wish. It doesn't matter the order you do these in. 2.) Be creative. 3.) All writings/drawings must be related to DBZ in some way/the theme you choose to do. 4.) Link if you do do this? I'd love to see :3 5.) Also please leave a mention to this in your submissions~ 6.) You can use both OCs and cannon characters as long as its related to the series. 7.) Can be done whenever you feel like~ (No deadline or each theme has to be done once a day or anything) 8.) (Your also free to copy paste to a journal or something the themes to keep track of them as long as credits back to me)  9.) Have fun~

[simplestudentplanning]

100 Things To Do Instead Of Doom-Scrolling Through Social Media

Read a book.

Write in a journal.

Learn to cook a new recipe.

Practice a musical instrument.

Start a DIY project.

Draw or paint.

Learn a new language.

Do a puzzle.

Exercise or do yoga.

Listen to a podcast.

Watch a documentary.

Play a board game.

Try a new workout routine.

Meditate.

Start a garden.

Plan a future trip.

Volunteer online.

Write a letter to a friend or family member.

Learn to knit or crochet.

Take online courses.

Practice photography.

Organize your closet.

Play video games.

Learn a magic trick.

Write a short story.

Create a vision board.

Make a playlist of your favorite songs.

Try a new hairstyle.

Experiment with makeup.

Learn to juggle.

Play a card game.

Do a home workout challenge.

Explore virtual museums or art galleries.

Do a digital detox day.

Learn calligraphy.

Rearrange your furniture.

Create a scrapbook.

Learn to play chess.

Write and perform a song.

Practice mindfulness.

Learn origami.

Plan a themed dinner night.

Do a home spa day.

Learn to code.

Play a musical instrument.

Build a blanket fort.

Take online dance lessons.

Research and try a new type of tea.

Learn about astronomy and stargaze.

Try a new board game.

Create a podcast.

Learn to solve a Rubik's Cube.

Start a blog.

Make homemade candles.

Research your family tree.

Practice a new type of art (e.g., watercolor, sculpture).

Learn to speed-read.

Write a poem.

Make a list of personal goals.

Learn to play a new card game.

Create a budget.

Build a puzzle or Lego set.

Learn to identify constellations.

Try a new fitness class online.

Make homemade pizza.

Experiment with DIY face masks.

Learn about a historical event.

Create a bucket list.

Learn to tie different knots.

Try a new type of workout (e.g., Pilates, kickboxing).

Create digital art.

Plan a themed movie marathon.

Learn to juggle.

Explore a new genre of music.

Write a letter to your future self.

Take up a new hobby (e.g., birdwatching, geocaching).

Research and try a new type of cuisine.

Make homemade ice cream.

Practice deep breathing exercises.

Create a photo album.

Try a new type of dance.

Write and perform a short play.

Learn to play a new board game.

Take a virtual tour of a historical site.

Make a time capsule.

Learn about different types of architecture.

Plan a virtual game night with friends.

Write and illustrate a children's book.

Try a new form of exercise (e.g., HIIT, Zumba).

Learn about different types of plants.

Create a DIY home decor project.

Plan a themed picnic at home.

Research and try a new type of dessert.

Practice positive affirmations.

Try a new type of puzzle (e.g., crosswords, Sudoku).

Learn about different types of birds.

Experiment with DIY skincare products.

Take up a new form of art (e.g., pottery, glassblowing).

Create a list of things you're grateful for.

Learn about a new culture.

[bweirdart]

nearly oc-tober time again - time for some prompts for 2024

F.A.Q

do i have to draw? not at all! you are free to participate with any medium that suits you... writing, artwork, free bases and templates, simple text posts, in-character-as-your-oc roleplay, whatever! (just no stealing or AI)

do i have to make new content? nope! re-uploading old stuff that fits the prompts is allowed (and encouraged) ... old art that didn't get the appreciation it needed always deserves a chance to be shared again, it's a fun throwback!

do i have to post every day? nope! only 10 days are mandatory (the ones in red with a star symbol) and everything else (yellow) is 100% optional! if you're busy or tired, please skip as many as you want

can i start early? you can prep your posts in advance if you need to ... but please wait until the right day in october to share them!

can i re-upload your prompt list to another site? i would prefer if you dont - i have accounts on most sites, so just reblog/retweet/share from me!

event tag? #bweirdOCtober

have fun!

image desc/text version ↓under the cut↓ or on bweird.art/october

prompts:

WEEK 1: OC INTRODUCTIONS

⭐ 1: FAV OC what makes them your fav? 2: NEW OC how recently did you make them? 3: OLD OC how long ago did you make them? ⭐ 4: UNDER-APPRECIATED OC an oc you feel like you don't talk about enough, or you haven't fleshed out as much as you would like 5: RE-DESIGNED OC an oc who has changed a lot (what changed about them?) or, if you haven't redesigned an oc: is there anything you might want to change about an existing oc?

WEEK 2: BUILDING BACKSTORY

⭐ 6: PAST where is your oc from? what did they look like as a child? 7: LIKES what do they like (and why?) 8: DISLIKES what don't they like (and why?) ⭐ 9: RELATIONSHIPS doesn't have to be romantic! can any kind of relationship (frienship, family, rivalry etc) 10: PERSONALITY what are your oc's main personality traits 11: SYMBOLISM/THEMES what represents your oc? is there a specific colour you associate them with, or a specific animal? 12: FUTURE what will your oc look like in the future? do they have any plans or goals?

WEEK 3: FUN + GAMES

⭐13: MEMES do any memes remind you of your oc? are there memes your oc would find funny? maybe you want to redraw your oc as one? 14: WHO/WHAT INSPIRED YOUR OC are there existing characters that your oc looks like? was your oc based on yourself? is your oc originally from a specific fandom? 15: MUSIC share a character playlist, write a songfic, post lyrics that remind you of them, etc ⭐16: EYES CLOSED or NON DOMINANT HAND draw a picture of your oc with your eyes closed or with your non domminant hand, write or type a paragraph about them without your eyes closed, etc ... have fun, and don't worry about it looking "bad" -it's meant to!! 17: DnD ALIGNMENT CHART put all your ocs into a DnD alignment chart, or any other similar chart if you prefer i've compiled a few templates on my site, but you can find more easily if you google "oc alignment chart" ⭐18: SWAP swap something between your ocs - their role in the story, hairstyles, personalities, fashion taste, species ... whatever you want! how would this difference change them? 19: PALETTE CHALLENGES draw your ocs with as many of these colour palettes as you want (or just skip if you don't draw/don't like doing these!)

hex codes for the colours: palette 1 - #3C1E81 #6D1EA2 #B059E8 #FE0876 #FE5284 #FE7C96 #E0CFE3 #FFD5C3 palette 2 - #352823 #673F28 #AB541C #BA8233 #897128 #A68B2F #F7BF6A #DAC3A4 palette 3 - #A42E25 #D7412B #E47C29 #F7A233 #FCC02D #FCE4A6 #486548 #FEFDE8 palette 4 - #2F4769 #39597E #53779C #94D1E7 #AADDE7 #D48DB7 #D498B5 #D2BABA

WEEK 4: COMMUNITY

20-26: A WHOLE WEEK OF SOCIAL STUFF if you don't have the time/energy to do every day this week, ⭐ day 23 is the only one marked as mandatory! you can skip the rest!

some ideas for what you could do: talk about a friend's oc you like, make gift art/writing of them, collabs, trades, reblog/appreciate ocs in the event tag, make interactions between your ocs and other people's

WEEK 5: HALLOWEEN

⭐27: FEARS is your oc scared of anything? do they have any phobias? are they startled easily? would any of your ocs try to scare ppl on purpose? 28: MONSTER what would your oc be if they were a monster (eg: werewolf, vampire, eldritch beast.. whatever) or, do you have an oc who is already a monster? 29: PUMPKIN CARVING your ocs carving pumpkins, a drawing of a pumpkin carved to look like your oc ... or even carve it in real life! 30: GHOST this can be literally a ghost, or a concept that haunts your oc! up to you! ⭐ 31: COSTUMES what are your ocs wearing for halloween?

[the-californicationist]

Let's get you to 100, new gif addition and prompt ask!

Reader likes being controlled, even as she chafes against it, but there's only 1 person she wants to have that privilege.

You decide who, have fun writing lovely 😏

heyyy!! im backkkkkkk 😘 sorry for the wait! had to go on a bit of a hiatus, so thanks for being patient. and thank you so much for the ask!! sexy as hell babes omg. hope you like it. i went a little overboard on the word count sorry 🫣

TW: light bdsm and contol themes, rough sex

Soft Reins

His voice followed you down the wet sidewalk as you made your escape, striding in long reaching steps to put more distance between yourself and your apartment. 

“C’mon, bonnie! Ye cannae walk in this shite. It’s pissin’ down. Bonnie!”

You waved and smiled up at Soap as he hung over the balcony of your shared space, a deep frown pasted across his mouth as he tried to dodge the raindrops. 

Living with the boys, as you lovingly called them, was full of challenges. For one, they seemed to be oblivious to deep cleaning of any kind, and if you didn’t have the primary school style chore chart hanging on the fridge, your whole house would descend into chaos. The only exception was their captain, and his standards were thankfully on par with your own. 

But, even worse, they were nosey. They seemed to love to be in your business, always making excuses to join you on nights out, standing in an all-too-intimidating pack when you brought home dates from said outings. Even Price was not above casually bullying an unsuspecting potential someone. It was enough to drive a girl mad.

You never got a call back. Any bloke brave enough to follow you back to your place, flanked by your surly entourage, was only as courageous as he needed to be to get his dick wet. After that, he’d ghost you. There were plenty of eligible partners who had much less intimidating roommates. 

In the past year, the longest relationship you had was with a man who didn’t make it over to your house for nearly four months. You had gone through all sorts of trouble to keep the boys from finding out about him, and you guarded his address like it was the nuclear launch codes. You thought you were in the clear when the team had to leave for another deployment, but one morning — when you were wearing only your boyfriend’s tee shirt — they decided to come tromping back in, totally unannounced. 

It was all over, then. Back to the drawing board. 

Gaz was the worst offender by far. Once, when you had planned a spa date for yourself, you’d been treated to all sorts of services that you didn’t order. The staff kept insisting that it was complimentary, but you knew in your heart that it wasn’t. By the end of the visit, you were left fretting about the bill. But, when you walked up to the counter, you discovered that it had already been paid. 

 “Oh! Your mister called it in. Already paid.” The clerk’s smile was blinding in only the way a clerk’s smile could be.

“And who is the mister?” You smiled to yourself, not with much joy, shoving your credit card back into your wallet.

“Well, he said he was your mister. A Mr. Garrick?”

Of course. 

You had only to turn around to see his shining red Beamer revved and waiting to take you to lunch. Gaz’s sunglasses gleamed in the daylight as he grinned down at you, standing over his car, his elbows resting on the roof, smug as could be.

You met him in the parking lot, bags and bags of essential oils and spa creams, heavy in your hands.

“Kyle,” you said curtly, “What did you do?”

“Nothin’, babes. Get in. We’ve got a table at that sushi joint you like.”

You complained that Gaz was overstepping. You moaned about Soap being heavy-handed. You lost your temper when you found the fourteenth Air Tag that Ghost had sewn into the bottom of your trainers. It was too much. You hated feeling trapped, and you thrived in your independence. But, living with these men meant that your desire for freedom was directly at odds with their desire for control. 

It wasn’t their fault, really. That was who they were. They were good at their high-profile special operation world-saving careers because they were good at control. It was what made them great soldiers. 

But, one of them was far better at it than the others. 

Captain John Price didn’t follow you down the street. He didn’t chase you in his shadowy, blacked-out Evija. And he certainly didn’t need to hide trackers in your clothes. No; his control was insidious. It made your blood boil, and it had you questioning your every move. He had a way of making you think that what he wanted was what you wanted, and when you ultimately discovered his plans, you could only blame yourself. Price was the king of control, but that wasn’t the worst part. 

The worst part was that you liked it. 

You hadn’t been home for the holidays in years. Ever since lockdown, and your huge workload at your office, you just couldn’t find the time to make it back. International flights were hard to plan, expensive, and it seemed like something always came up. When you mentioned it off-handedly to Price, he’d comforted you, 

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll find the time this year.”

That was in June. By December, your boss had mysteriously found out that you had a full week of extra paid time off that you needed to take, and your credit card called you to let you know that your airline mileage points had doubled. It was as if everything in the universe had aligned so that you could make it back to your family. 

You’d told the boys over dinner one night, and they celebrated with you, happy for you to be able to finally live your dream. Then, Price had grabbed your phone, reading the email and going over the fine print. 

It grated on you, but you needed to learn how to pick your battles in this house. So, you waited for his approval, tight-lipped. 

“Double miles… ah, there’s a catch,” his voice rumbled in his chest, low and even. 

“What catch?” You panicked. Nothing could upset this perfect balance you’d achieved.

He pointed down to the conditions, and you read it for yourself as he told you,

“Says here they granted double miles for two tickets purchased.”

“Two? Who the fuck am I going to get to come to Saskatoon in December?” You sighed, head in your hands, trying to figure out how you were going to make it work.

“Well, the boys are heading up to check on MacTavish’s mum, but Kate’s got me on a leash. I can ask her to make me remote on this project, if you want.”

His tone wasn’t sly. It didn’t sound like he was hiding something. If anything, he sounded earnest, and it was such a kind gesture of friendship that he would be willing to join you in order to help you see your folks. 

But, that’s what wormed its way under your skin. You knew it was him. You just couldn’t prove it. Months of God knows what kind of backdoor, black-market dealing and manipulation, all orchestrated just to…

Just to what? Make you happy?

Inwardly, you struggled against your bindings, the invisible ropes he’d so carefully weaved just to have you come to him of your own free will, bent on your hands and knees, obedient and eager for your reward.

“Jonathan…” You started to resist, to rebel. Every time you started your sentence, you were stopped in your tracks by the cold, hard truth: He didn’t force you to do anything. You’d done it all of your own free will. 

That was how it had started. But, holy fuck had it escalated. 

Price was the perfect gentleman on your flight over, mysteriously charming his way into business class seats. He downloaded some of your favorite movies onto his iPad, even though you didn’t remember ever telling him that they were your favorites. He even snuck his way back to the flight attendants’ galley, laughing and joking with them, procuring you two extra desserts from the carts since you were such a fan. 

Then, he met your family, and he fit in perfectly. It was as if he was the missing member, a long lost kin, just waiting to be reunited into the fold. Your mother couldn’t figure out what had you so bothered. 

“About time you brought a good one home. Even your Uncle Billy likes him, and Billy —”

You rolled your eyes, 

“And Billy doesn’t like anyone, I know. I know.”

“Honey,” your mother looked at you with a sternness that she didn’t often muster, peering at you over her rose-rimmed glasses, “Why can’t you just let someone take care of you for a change? He’s a good man.”

A good man. 

John Price was a killer. No, he was worse. He was a CIA-funded, black ops, government-overthrowing war machine, capable of literal atrocities. You hadn’t heard much, but you’d heard enough. If any of these people knew how quickly he could turn a crowded room into an empty one, none of them would be looking so fondly at the way he snuggled with the dog or complimented your dad’s knife collection. 

But, that wasn’t why you protested, was it? If you were really being honest with yourself, the reason why you were so against letting Jonathan War Machine Price run your life was that it was yours to run. You didn’t need anyone’s help.

You didn’t need it.  

You could handle things on your own. 

You liked being able to spread your wings, fly your own path…

You were nobody’s puppet.

But, you were starting to like the way he was pulling your strings. When he would take the pressure of choice away from you, after you’d already been making a million other decisions at the end of a long day, it eased something inside of you in a way that nothing else could. It was like he was using those huge, rough palms to massage the hurt out of your head, to show you that it didn’t need to be such a battle, you didn’t need to keep fighting. He would do the fighting for you, and he was determined to show you that he was good at it. 

Even now, as you stomped through the rain, you knew what you were running from. You told yourself you were avoiding John, that you wouldn’t let him see you struggling to hold yourself together. After a much needed switch into a different position at work, the stress of your own expectations weighed heavy on you. But, you wanted them to. You wanted to know that you could still make it alone. You didn’t need John Price. 

But, you’re wearing the slicker he bought for you when yours got left in a cab.

So?

But, you smell like oud, saffron, and bergamot; the perfume oils he found for you at that local boutique you love. The same one he always compliments when he smells you wearing it. 

So?

But, you’re tired and wet and cold, and all you want is for him to tell you what you want.

So?! 

The soft, amber glow of a cigar stopped you in your tracks. A man was sitting on your bus stop bench, his arm slung over the back of the seat, his legs spread wide, taking up as much space as he liked. He was smoking slowly, enjoying every breath, savoring the flavors. Flavors you knew all too well: vanilla, licorice, sweet cedar, and whiskey. 

His sharp, blue eyes only met yours when you let out a labored sigh.

“What are you doing here, John?”

He took another drag, letting the ashes smolder, their warm glow making him look more and more like the Devil, a fallen man bathed in the light of a fire he lit all by himself. And damn proud of the blaze, too. 

“Just waitin’ for my ride,” he smiled in the way that a cat must smile at a mouse under its paw, “Do you wanna sit down, sweetheart?”

“No! I don’t wanna sit down,” you threw up your hands, “I want you to stop meddling in my life. You’re not allowed to keep making me feel like… like I need someone… some — Like I need someone’s fucking help. I don’t need anyone but me.”

His tone shifted in a sudden heat, like a flash in the pan, unexpected,

“Do you think I have any bloody help?”

Price let the question sink in before standing in front of you, his gaze never leaving your eyes. His voice was soft and gravelly, thick with smoke, and yet each and every word cut into you as sharp as a blade,

“Do you think anyone comes to help me when I’m deep in some bullshit, fuckin’ around in Rammaza? Just me, is it? By myself?”

“I don’t… no, I don’t know…” You hated how small your voice sounded in this tiny bus stop hut, the pounding rain drowning out your words. 

John looked at you as if he was waiting on you to find another answer, and then his face softened. He flung the cigar onto the pavement and crushed it out under his boot, smashing the tobacco into the cement without mercy. The object of his affection, once consumed, now snuffed out under his own power. 

His hands wrapped around your shoulders, caging you in, warm and safe from the wind blocked by his broad back. He sighed, his mouth drawing a tight line across his face, 

“Of course I need fuckin’ help. I have my men, and they have me. And I keep you here,” he jammed a finger hard into his chest, “Deep inside me, remindin’ me what I need to come home to. I’m not… meddling in your life, love. I’m trying to put you in mine. I thought…” 

He pulled away, sitting back down, looking up at you with a unique look on his face, 

“I thought that’s what you wanted. If I’m wrong,” he let out a dark, bitter chuff, “You need to tell me right now. ‘Cause all my plans have you in them.”

The rain made the plexiglass roof sound like it was shattering, over and over, the concussive slam of the storm created an oppressive din. He was waiting there, looking at you, asking for your next move. What was your plan?

“Am I wrong, sweetheart?”

You waited, trying to see how many steps ahead he was in front of you. If you said yes, if you said no; what decisions had already been made for you? Did he know what you were going to say before you did? And the real question: Why were you fighting so hard against something you wanted so badly?

You shook your head back and forth, just enough for him to see. HIs eyes lit up with hope and energy, a renewed flame.

“Then, come home with me. Quit bein’ so bloody hard on yourself. Let’s get you dry, love. C’mon.”

So, you obeyed. 

Nothing was more humbling than climbing into a squat little sports car when you were drenched to the bone. You curled yourself right into his cage, feeling silly for ever wanting to escape from it. Why were you pulling so hard against such soft reins? Couldn’t you see that he wanted to take care of you? To remove all of your barriers, to clear your path? You would be more powerful under his wing, soaring far beyond what you were capable of on your own. Why deny yourself a bite of the apple? It was ripe, the snake had promised, and sweet. 

He helped you up the stairs to your flat, walking you past his men as they gathered together in the kitchen, speechless, for once. None of them dared question their captain’s choices, and he had chosen you. More than that, it was clear that you had chosen him. 

Once you were in his room, behind a locked door, he held up a hand and stopped you in the entryway, shivering and dripping by the door. 

“Wait here.”

You waited. 

You waited some more. 

Just when you thought you would turn around and take yourself to bed, he returned dressed in a dry tee and a pair of running shorts. He carried two large, fluffy towels, and his face was set into a serious mask. All business. 

“Take off your clothes.”

You hesitated, looking at him to make sure you heard him correctly. 

He met your gaze, standing so close to you that you could feel his breath against your cheek. His chest was inches from your face, and you had to look up in order to meet his eyes.

“Take.”

He grabbed your phone out of your hand and dropped it on his entry table.

“Off.”

He rucked the jacket off of your back, peeling it down your arms and letting it fall to the ground with a wet slap.

“Your.” 

His fingers pulled the tie out of your ruined braid, letting the elastic roll onto his wrist. 

“Clothes.”

His hands went back to his side. It was up to you to do the rest. He wasn’t here to do everything for you. You were not his plaything. You had to choose to obey him. He wanted to watch you choose to follow his orders, not because you needed to, but because you wanted to.

Slowly, and a bit unsure, you began to shed your layers. You started with your shirt, almost knocking into him with your elbows since he was towering over you, standing in your space. Then, you writhed out of your jeans, peeling them off of your legs, kicking away your shoes in the process, stepping gingerly out of your socks, needing to hold onto his thick trunk for balance. 

Now, in just your bra and panties, you waited, hoping he’d hand you a towel. 

“What did I say?” He asked in a hushed tone, the timbre containing just enough warning to make your cheeks hot. 

“No, John. The boys are here in the kitchen!” You protested, whispering in a low hiss. 

This was beyond what you expected from him. You’d been keeping him at arm’s length, despite his constant pressure to be in your life. Sure, there had been moments of weakness. You’d shared a kiss, and you had let his hands wander when you watched a movie together on the sofa last weekend, but that was as far as things had gone. Stripping naked in the bright light of his apartment suite was something else entirely. Not to mention what sort of noises would seep out under his doorway if things got out of hand. 

“Stop,” he grabbed you by your face with both hands, making you look at him, “Stop fighting me. I am in this. All the way. The only time I wanna hear you tell me no is when you really mean it. If you say stop, I will immediately stop. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded. He released you and put his hands on his hips, impatient. 

So, you slid out of your bra, slowly letting the cups pull away from your breasts, the lace cold and damp on your skin as it joined your outfit on the floor. As you rolled your panties off of your hips, stepping out of them and shoving them under your jacket with your toe, you felt more than just naked. You felt vulnerable and a little scared. 

What would he say? What did he plan to do? You realized, with a chilly shudder, that you didn’t even know his personal preferences. He’d never even given you a cursory glance into his mind, and reading his thoughts was impossible with that serious poker face. Most men wore their thoughts right across their eyes, or some (like Soap) even muttered them aloud, unconcerned about any judgment or scrutiny. If a man wanted you, you’d know. They were an open book. 

But the captain was very hard to read. 

Suddenly, as you stood back up, warring with your own mind, you were surrounded in fuzzy, comforting warmth. He was drying you off, wiping your arms and legs with reverent care, squeezing the rain out of your hair, using the corner of the cloth to wipe your face, holding you in his arms when you felt weak, off-balance, exhausted. 

It seemed as if the more you relaxed into him, the more power you gave up, the more it began to stoke his fire. While you became soft and pliant, he shifted into a fierce protector, covering you with his hands, bracing you with his heavy bones.

Price wrapped your hair into a high bun with an unexpected level of skill, and he carefully stretched your hair tie around it. When he turned to face you, you caught him staring at your body, raking his eyes over your breasts and studying the curve of your mons. It was as if he was groping you with his eyes, and each swipe of his gaze felt like a lick from his warm tongue. It was enough of an invasion that you wanted to put your hands in front of yourself, to hide out of some sort of shame.  

But when you made a move to cover yourself, the look in his eyes was enough to make you stand with your hands at your sides, allowing yourself to be on full display for him and that ravenous glare. He hadn’t even needed to chastise you. His mere desire was enough of a correction. 

Then, almost like a reward, he wrapped the towel around you, letting you hold it tight to your chest. 

“Tell me what’s goin’ on inside that pretty head,” he commanded you, his voice quiet but firm. It was just a simple question, but you knew it was loaded. So, you brushed him off, tossing out cheap bait, wrapping the towel a little tighter around yourself, hoping he’d drop it. You shrugged,

“Just cold.”

His jaw set with a click, and that soft purr became a warning growl,

“That’s one,” he held up his finger, “The next lie will cost you that towel, pretty girl.”

You stared at him blankly, trying to find a way through this labyrinth he had — apparently — custom built for you, sending you down twists and turns and dead ends as if he knew exactly how you’d try to steal back some control. But every way out seemed like a worse fate than simply allowing yourself to trust him. Nevertheless, you tried again. 

“I am cold, and I’m tired. It’s been a long day, John,” you sighed, shifting towards him, trying your best to take back the lead to his strange dance, “C’mon, don’t you wanna take me to bed?”

You reached out a hand and snaked it under the hem of his shirt, exploring untouched skin, letting your nails scrape through a dark patch of thick hair, right above his waistband. Your fingers got as far as his navel before he snapped. 

The cold absence of him ripping the towel away from you felt worse than you expected it to. In fact, you hadn’t actually taken him seriously. You protested, indignant,

“Hey! What —-“

“You think this is the same game you’ve always played,” he snarled, throwing the towel away and shoving you to your knees, his hold crushing and cruel on the nape of your neck, “You think, because those lads will eat any scraps you throw to them,” he nodded behind you, gesturing toward his men only a thin wall away, “That I’ll be satisfied with a taste, hm?”

His tone was mocking, and there was an undercurrent of darkness that lingered between each word like a warning, like the red of a poisonous berry that shouldn’t be picked and yet sagged ripe and ready on its stem. 

“You always get your way with them, don’cha? You know that a bit of skin and a little attention will keep them on you for days. And they reward you for it. They text you at all hours of the fuckin’ night, beggin’ you for just one more look, one more bite,” his mouth was right next to your ear, bending over you, casting his shadows across your face, and all you could do was kneel there, fully under his control, unable to move against his immense strength, “But, that’s not what I want.”

Your eyes dared to slant over to the growing monster that pressed its warm body against his shorts, hanging heavy and stretching the fabric, and you dared to hiss at him, even in your compromised position, using his title like a knife, aiming to scrape him with it,

“Seems like you do, Captain.”

He smirked, you could feel his smile against the sensitive skin of your earlobe, and you could see his almost infernal expression out of the corner of your eye. Even though you were trying to get under his skin, it made you feel like you were playing right into his hand yet again, helpless to his will. 

He stood up, never letting go of his grip on your neck, pinching the muscle like you were a caught rabbit, his writhing prey. Then, with a force that made your stomach drop, Price shoved your cheek into the crotch of his shorts, bringing you face to face with the outline his swelling shaft. Your nose was buried in the fabric, and you could smell the soap of his detergent as well as the musk of his sex that throbbed underneath. 

Then, he rucked down his waistband to show himself to you, pressing his length along your cheek, the softness of his skin surprising you just as much as the size of his thick, hefty prick. 

He held your neck in one hand and his cock in the other as he began to stroke himself up and down, letting your temple  and cheekbone feel the slip of his velvet foreskin. You could hear soft, wet clicking sounds as he coated himself in his own fluid, using the clear, dripping pearls as lube. 

You tried to move your jaw to taste him, eager to know if the heady, intoxicating smell of his skin matched his precome, hungry for his reaction to your mouth. But he stopped you, tightening his grip and scolding you like a naughty pet,

“My body wants your body, love. I’ll admit that,” he chuckled, not halting his lurid, jerking pulls, using your cheek for friction, “But I want more. I don’t want a taste. Or a bite. I won’t be satisfied.”

He frowned a bit, shrugging off his confession before he continued, 

“I want you to trust me. Trust that I’ll be here for you, that I’ll always be here. So,” he tugged on your flesh, forcing you to meet his fiery gaze, “Tell me what you thought.”

What were you supposed to say? That you were insecure about your looks? That you weren’t sure if he’d approve? That you were either too much or not enough and you weren’t sure which?

You turned your mouth as much as you could, trying to at least lick along the warm underbelly of his rod, aching to taste him, but he jerked you back into place, laughing at the disappointment on your face,

“Lips to yourself, love. Only good girls get fed.”

You rolled your eyes up to him, and you knew you had to make a choice. He was joking, but it was a façade. He was using it like a shield, waiting to see if you would actually relinquish your control or if you’d cut and run like you did with everyone else. 

So, you decided to trust him, giving him what he wanted, a full confessional on burning, bent knees, eyes cast up at your new master, praying for his communion, your tongue eager for his body and his blood and his love.

You made sure his eyes were locked on yours as you spoke softly, unflinching in your resolve,

“I was worried you wouldn’t like what you saw. I needed you to want me. I was afraid.”

The relief that washed over him was nearly palpable. His whole body responded to your admission, all of that tightly-wound uncertainty melting away in the heat of your submission to him. 

“That’s it. Good,” his voice was heavy with his relief, and he almost seemed like he was slipping into a trance, rubbing himself in steady, long strokes, shuddering against your cheek, “And what now, hm? You want me to let you go? Let you free? Or are you gonna let me in?”

You didn’t break your eye contact with him, but you wavered, sure of your decision but overwhelmed when you had to say it out loud. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the slick mess he was forging between them, trying to find some comfort. You took a breath and told him,

“I’ll let you in, John.”

His throat held back a long, low groan, the pleasure of your surrender or the pleasure of his hand forcing it from his chest. You weren’t sure which. 

His grip loosened on your neck, but he didn’t let go. His voice was barely above a whisper as he told you his rules in hushed, broken phrases, holding himself back from the edge,

“You belong to me, now, sweetheart. You might be in charge at your bloody job, but everything else is mine. Do you hear me?”

You were going to answer him, you’d even planned to tack on a cheeky little yes, sir, just to show him you were playing along, but he had other plans. Always a step ahead. Before you could even breathe to speak, he pressed the tender head of his cock between your lips and deep into the warm hollow of your mouth, his wide form forcing your jaw to fall open to let him inside of you. It shocked you to be taken that way, not roughly but so certainly, with such surety, as if there was no other choice but for him to take you. You shifted, but with his knuckles tight against the base of your skull, you couldn’t retreat. Other than lolling your tongue along the body of his shaft, or swallowing against its drooling tip, you were powerless. 

His face twisted into a hungry sort of smear full of teeth and lips, grimacing at the feeling of being surrounded by you. Every inch that he drove himself deeper, his breathing would halt until at last, as he buried himself into your clenching throat, his lungs had emptied, and he was sighing with a ragged, guttural cry. 

“When you’re with me…” He continued his dark promises to you, the words choppy and broken, only threaded loosely together between panting gasps, “Even when I’m a fuckin’ world away, I promise that I will take care of you,” he pet your cheek with the softest affection, admiring you like a work of art, “All of you. You will sleep when I say. You will eat when I say. You will come when I say,” he smiled a little more cruelly at that, watching your eyes widen. And, as you began to wish for air, planting your palms against his firm, muscular thighs, ready to push away, he looked down at you with a lurid satisfaction, “You will breathe when I say.”

You were choking. You could hear yourself in the quiet of his room, your throat gurgling, full of your own viscous drool, escaping where it could along the stretched line of your mouth, running down your chin and neck. You felt the flare of panic rise up within you, and you tried to pull away in earnest, writhing against his grip, trying to escape from him and failing, turning your body in shameful futility. 

Price bent his face toward you, folding himself to whisper his lustful words, making sure your eyes met his, pressing your nose into his soft pubic hair,

“You. Breathe. When. I. Say.”

He kept himself contorted like that, keeping his face low to watch your eyes, to witness your struggle, and you felt hot tears burn down your face, the effort overcoming you. But, you wanted to show him that you could obey. You wanted to trust him, to show him that you were willing to give him your freedom, knowing that only he was worthy of such a gift. So, you swallowed deeply, watching as it made his eyes flutter, and again, and again. Over and over, you closed your throat around his steel-hard length, choking when it became too much. 

Still, he kept you there. As brave as you’d been with partners in the past, even those moments were fully eclipsed by this one. You had never even thought that you might be capable of holding your breath for so long. 

You were sobbing wholeheartedly now, your eyes reflecting your desperation, tears pooling and spilling across your face. He was watching you cry, whispering breathless nothings, soft words of encouragement,

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ good. My good girl.”

Just as purple and blue spots began to obscure your vision, he pulled himself out of you in a terrible, wet departure, leaving you clutching his hips, sobbing into his belly, watching his hard cock pounding, swaying at full height, swollen with blood and eager for its finish. You could feel those same soft, dark hairs matting down as your tears soaked into them. He ran his fingers through your hair, keeping the fallen strands out of your face, still holding you at your nape, but just to comfort you. 

You imagined him letting go, and you felt… sad, somehow. He would have to release you at some point, but you were in such a submissive state, just the idea of him leaving you without his guiding hand was too much to bear. 

Your cries turned to a twisted kind of grief, and when he heard your tone change, he dropped to the floor with you, holding you to his chest, rocking you back and forth, shushing you and talking to you in a hushed voice,

“Shh, baby. Tell me to stop. Tell me…”

You grasped at him wildly, uncontrolled, holding onto whatever part of him you could, shaking your head,

“No, no. Don’t — don’t let me go. Please, I can’t… I need… I need you to touch me.”

You planted one of your hands across his, covering the one that gripped your neck, pressing it like a plaster, like it was keeping a wound healed, like it was a dam in front of your frothing, vengeful river; it was a lifeline and you were adrift. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, “I’m not gonna let you go. I’m right here. Shh. Shh. It’s alright. I’m here. C’mon. Come with me.”

He lifted you, helping you walk on sore, shaking legs, your nerves sparking across your skin. Then, with his hand still firmly planted against your neck, he led you like a shepherd with his lamb, marching you to his bedroom. As you approached the bedframe, your thighs hit the mattress, and Price guided you forward until your body lay flat against it. The duvet was cool and smooth against your belly and breasts, and you tucked your arms into yourself, looking for warmth. 

You felt John plant gentle kisses across your back, trailing them down your spine, and after the overstimulation you had just gone through, even his lightest touch was electric. 

Your tears had stopped, but still you panted, sniffling, trembling from the shock of his careful kisses, waiting for whatever would come next. 

You felt his hips press against your exposed ass cheeks, his shorts now missing, and all you could sense was his warm, furry skin. You sighed into it, happy for the connection. 

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

You complied immediately, all of your tortured resistance gone from you now, ready to trust him to take care of you. 

The unknown was what made your belly swarm with butterflies, and as you waited for his next move, your mind raced with possibilities. 

Would he be cruel? Would he punish you for your lying when he had first taken you in? His hand might strike your tender flesh, slapping your ass and leaving red, angry marks. 

Would he be lustful? Your mind fed you imaginary moments where he would press his cock into your pussy, skipping any foreplay, simply using you like his warm, wet toy. You thought that he wanted more, something more intimate, but if not, you would let him. You were his to use. At this point, you were so pliant, so open to his will, he could use you over and over and you would take him. It was a dark confidence you had never known until now. 

Perhaps he would simply stop. Maybe he perceived you as weak, as if you couldn’t take what he wanted to give you. He would simply comfort you, pitying you for your wrecked state. It was this thought that turned your stomach. Surely, he knew you better than that. John Price was not the pitying type. 

As the base of his cock lay nestled in the cleft of your ass, still as hard as a stone, his long shaft was shoved up against his lower abdomen, pulsing with unslaked desire. Then, as he settled himself, pleased with your spread display, John began to slip the very tips of his fingers into your pussy. He was just feeling your softness, plucking at your petals, laying them open with his hand, using your own wetness to paint your lips and the tight muscle of your hole, preparing you for more. 

His voice broke the trance that his touch had put you in, 

“It kills me when I have watch you putting yourself through hell. You are so strong, but you deserve to have everything you want. Everything you need, I’ll make sure you have it. I promise.”

He was so sincere, and his voice sounded so sure. It was like he was sharing an old memory, something he knew by heart. 

“John, please…” You whispered, feeling yourself slipping, slowly becoming untangled by his touch. You needed more, but you had no words. You could barely concentrate, and your mind was swimming in a liminal space, trapped in a loop of mounting bliss. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” you felt your tears return, and although you were desperate for something, you couldn’t find the answer. 

“Shh, shh, shh. You’re alright,” John rubbed your back with his free hand, smoothing your skin with his warm touch, “Does my pretty girl need to come?”

You nodded, daring to glance over your shoulder at him as he worked on you, his finger now sinking deeper into you, gently prodding your walls in long, aching circles. His other fingers were cradling your folds, slipping between them with each undulating thrust, brushing beside the swelling body of your clit and making you throb with need. 

He felt it, and you saw a warm smile spread across his face,

“I can feel you needin’ me. So wet for me. Fightin’ me so bloody hard. Thought I’d be wantin’ you forever. Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of havin’ you under me like this? Fuck, I need you so badly, baby.”

You felt his grip tighten on your neck again as he pressed you deeper into the soft mattress, his prying hand picking up the pace. His thick finger finally slipped down to the knuckle of his fist. As he fucked you on his hand, you could hear your body’s slick as it softened for him, submitting to his power just as you had done, your body at peace with your mind. 

He pressed a second finger beside his first, twisting them together, curling the tips to rub you from the inside, making you feel the deep ache of your orgasm building within your belly. 

You tried to find more friction, rocking your hips against the bed, squeezing your legs together, needing more but completely helpless to his pace and pressure. 

Price stopped, pushing his fingers right into the tender flesh of your neck as a warning,

“Open,” he shoved your foot away, spreading them for you, “You keep fighting and fighting… fine. I’ll give you something to fight for, hm?”

You tried to twist your knees together again, but his legs stood apart, holding you open. Then, you felt his threat. He put the head of his heavy prick against your greedy hole, dipping it into your wetness like a seal into warm, melting wax.

“C’mon,” he squeezed your nape hard, once, just enough to get your attention, “You wanna drive? Fuckin’ drive, love. You think you can fuck yourself better than I can fuck you? Prove it.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him, watching the muscles ripple and pop in his forearm that held you down, unwilling to give you full control, and yet allowing you to set the pace. You saw his other hand rub the curve of your hip, dropping lower to grope your ass, egging you on. 

Unwilling to beg, you thrust yourself down onto his shaft, gasping from his girth, only managing to fit half of him inside of you, physically unable to go any deeper on your own. But, you tried again, lifting away, sinking back, repeating your movements and reaching between your legs to rub your clit as you fucked him.

But, it wasn’t enough. You felt so close to the edge, and yet you couldn’t tumble over it, losing your rhythm, chasing it down, too weak to reach the peak you knew was right within your grasp. 

You grunted in frustration, and his cruel laugh made you turn back towards him again. 

He shrugged,

“I thought you wanted to be in charge. Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You gasped, trying to catch your pleasure and feeling it slip from you yet again, humping your hips against the bed shameless and desperate. 

“Tch,” Price gripped the inside of your ass cheek, shaking it and rolling your soft flesh in his hand, “Too bad, love. I wanted to give it to you. Shame, really.”

“John! Please,” you caved, sobbing out a short moan, begging him impatiently. 

“Please, what?” His question came just as he decided to press himself deeper into your body than you had been able to go, sinking into you like a hand into a glove, a tight, all-encompassing fit. 

You whined, rolling your fingers over your clit faster, feverish, ready for relief, 

“Please make me come.”

“You will come…” He stretched you, giving you no warning, the sharp feeling of his invasion making you catch your breath, “When I bloody tell you to.”

Then, as if to prove it to you, he stuffed his length into your pussy, never pulling back very far, choosing instead to massage you with his cock, using his base to stretch you wide before rolling away. The sensation overwhelmed you, and his size made your mind go blank. Any words that formed in your mind turned to whining cries of pleasure on your tongue.

There were no sounds of lewd pounding of flesh on flesh. All of Price’s work was deep and wet, churning inside of you like a volcanic sea, hot and untamed. He, however, made plenty of noise, praising you in every way he knew how, speaking in half-clipped phrases, losing his sentence to a groan of relief as he fed himself to you, filling your pussy like a hungry mouth. 

You felt yourself getting closer by the moment. Each grinding thrust was pushing you ever nearer to that gleaming, crackling fuse. He had lifted you, unintentionally, unable to understand the effect of his strength, and your toes could barely scrape the floor. You could feel your sacral core clenching around him like a delicate vice, grabbing for his cock, trying to hold him within your belly, some twisting grip of nature used to ensure that his creamy come ended up where it belonged, soaking into your womb.

Your clenching made him pause, which, in turn, caused you to cry out to him, wordlessly babbling, begging for him to return, to keep his pace. 

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart. Don’t you dare come,” his voice was like rattling brimstone, smoky and burning within his throat. 

“Please…” You whispered, unable to lift your raspy, keening voice. 

With shallow, teasing thrusts, Price used his cockhead to softly pop in and out of your soaked hole, swollen from being well-fucked. Just hearing a vibrator would have sent you over the edge at that point, and you fought him, trying to get any sort of power at all, rolling your body like a caught snake. 

“Stop,” he said curtly, “Stop fighting. Be still.”

You quieted yourself down, breathing heavy, sweating into his sheets, shivering like you had a fever, burning up from the inside out. 

For the first time, you felt his hand leave your neck, and his fingers twisted themselves into your hair at the base of your skull. Slowly, carefully, he lifted you by your head, forcing your back into a vicious arch, letting your breasts hang freely, your arms trying to balance you, mostly worthless since Price had full control of your torso in this position. 

His free hand slid around your front, groping you wildly, plucking your nipples and filling his palms with the meat of your breast. Then, he replaced your fingers with his own, pressing beside your sensitive clit, rolling it softly in long, firm strokes. 

You heard yourself make a new sound, one you’d never made, an animal’s grunting, something reckless and feral. 

Then, Price took up his stretching rhythm again, fully in charge of everything you were sensing. To you, he may as well have been in control of your mind. It was no use to you; you were at his mercy and it was everything you’d ever wanted. 

“Do you trust me?”

Your thoughts swam, unable to even consider anything but the truth, and amongst all of your vocalized ecstasy, you managed to reply,

“Yes.”

“Don’t come. Keep it. Just like that.”

“J-John!”

“Wait, wait, wait… good girl. Good.”

“Ohhh, fuck…”

His next words seemed barely human, snarled at you through bared teeth,

“Now. Come for me. Come f— fuck! Holy fuck.”

When you felt him spill into you, you had almost no control left over your own orgasm. Your heart felt like it had leapt into your throat, and all you could experience was your shining, explosive finish. You heard no sound, and your eyes went white, rolling back into your head. You couldn’t breathe, or scream, and if it wasn’t for John’s immense body holding you tight, you would have crashed into his bed, all used up.

His orgasm was as long as yours was, and he finished in slow, fearsome thrusts, burying his head into you as deep as he could reach, smearing your lips with your mixed fluids, caring nothing for the mess. 

“C’mere, love. Come to me,” Price held you to his chest, finally pulling himself from you, holding you as close as he could, laying beside you in a sweaty, spent tangle of arms and legs. 

You lay your head on his chest, catching your breath, only to tumble into a dreamless sleep with him, your body exhausted from your effort. 

When you woke up the next day, you could feel him all over you. He had left you alone in the bed, and yet your skin and bones kept his imprints. You could feel the ghost of his fingertips on your neck, and you were sore in places you weren’t sure how you could be. Everything was a wet mess, and just when you worried about how you’d cross the apartment without yesterday’s outfit, you saw that John had left you a note. 

Training day on base. I'll be back tonight. Dinner on me. Wear this. xx

Under the note, Price had laid out his favorite dress of yours, a blue satin slip of a thing, and (with the tags still on) you found a matching lace set of bra and panties in the same pretty color, just your size. You couldn’t see the price, but when you searched for the brand online, you couldn’t help but blush. He'd spent more than just a pretty penny on this outfit. You couldn't help but notice that the delicate lace would show through the thin fabric of the dress, making little raised ridges where your nipples would be.

Whatever you’d just agreed to when you said you’d let John Price into your life was about to get very, very interesting. 

AO3 Link

[purpurkatart]

Hello! After having some time to get over my loss for the Pokemon TCG Illustration contest, I decided to write up a small blog entry about the process and include some WIP pictures. Feel free to look below if you want to read my ramblings on the process.

Idea Generarion-

So coming into this contest, I knew I wanted to make a mixed media piece. In terms of theming I chose something that not only reflected a “magical moment” for a Pokemon (in this case meeting a legendary Pokemon), but also a moment when playing the games myself. In fact this piece was inspired by my awe when I first encountered a box legendary in game, as before I thought my teacher was lying to me when he said you can catch the legendary on the box!

This is the concept sketch that started it all! At the time my main concern was getting ideas down and seeing how they looked. Thinking about things like how would the composition would look, how would the colours look. So on and so forth.

I didn’t want to focus too much on the sketch and wanted to start making the physical object, so out of some cheap paper I started making a set up testing out size, scale, composition. I didn’t want to get too attached to the original sketches only to realise I couldn’t make it in real life… I went though a few drafts trying to get things right, slowly adding in aspects such as background objects and higher quality drawings.

After completing the draft I bought the images back into procreate to experiment with colours. This is the point where I made the mistake of thinking I had plenty of colours to choose from, not realising I would be limited by what I could buy from various yarn shops. That or hope I could find the right colour online, but that was always a gamble. If I don’t stop talking about this now I’ll get sidetracked talking about how much I miss yarn shops…

Anyways, I cut out the individual pieces that I would make within the background and used them as a guide for crochet assets. For this part I wanted to use different stitches to create textures such as the ripple stitch, bobble stich and some cable stitches, I feel bad as I never took any work in progress photo so of them. Let’s pretend you’re looking at a photo of a half finished crochet abstract shape.

Finally onto the main event, the Pikachu (and Suicune). The decision to make Pikachu a plush was based on what I would have liked to make for the 2022 illustration contest (if I wasn’t geographically challenged!!) Despite being British I decided it would be fun to make anyways, so I could experiment. I never got around to that but decided it would be fun to try for this edition.

Making the pattern was HARD! As I wanted Pikachu to have a unique pose, I had to work out different methods to plush i’ve made in the past which have been somewhat relaxed in their posing. I ultimately ended up making each part individually, pinning it together and then making adjustments as needed. It didn’t start out great however I ended up with this weird Pikachu shaped thing that did the job. Throughout this process I would regularly photograph it in the background to try and catch any issues early on. For example if the ground needed to be a different shape.

Photographing the final price was interesting. I felt bad for my partner as I essentially turned my dining table into a mini photography studio! I spent several days waiting for different lighting opportunities and experimenting with different light. Marking down different camera angles to ensure I have all of my bases covered. I easily took over 100 photos to get the perfect shot! In the below photo you can see washi tape being used to rest out different positions for the sculptures.

And that leads me to the peice! Even though i’m sad I didn’t make the top 300, I am pleased with the work I did for this piece (and my flygon entry too!). I’m glad I decided to experiment with ts peice and look forward to refining my methods in the near future!

[musetember]

Questies! Welcome to Musetember, a prompt challenge based on the Ancient Greek muses and the ways their stories and themes can inspire fanfiction and art. 

Writing challenges for September include:

The Fragment Challenge Write a drabble of 100 words, or write multiple drabbles as if they were glimpses into the same story with missing pieces in between. For artists, share a fragment of a work in progress - anything unfinished!

The Epistolary Challenge Write in the form of letters, a diary, newspaper clippings, social media posts… Or how about Nockmaar’s trip advisor?

The Lost Scene Challenge Write or draw a scene we missed out on in canon, or a scene that gives the impression it is part of a longer, unwritten fic.

Find the complete list of prompts here on our tumblr, including a guide to the nine muses/themes you can play with.

Stay tuned to meet your muses!

[strawwritesfic]

(Don't) Hold Your Breath Master List

Summary: You've made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn't even at the top of the list. Now you're about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian--and they're not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Reader & Ellie; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Notes: I've received a few asks regarding this fic. I'd deleted it a few years ago for various reasons, but I got into my old laptop recently and decided that, well, if people have cared enough to track me down and ask about it, maybe I should put it back online.

My feelings about this story are…complicated, which is why I'm hoping people read this before they jump in. The Last of Us is a dark story, and so this story has a lot of dark themes. They're not always executed very well. That might lessen the impact. Maybe it makes it worse. I don't know. But this is a very different sort of work for me. I feel, in retrospect, that I went a little overboard in some aspects. And I don't know how to really even begin putting in warning tags for some of the stuff that's just brushed off like nothing because, to the point of view character, it isn't worth dwelling on. If there's something you see that you feel needs a warning, tell me. I'll add it.

I think the most important thing for me to get out there is that the reader character is an amputee. I had people claiming to be amputees telling me I did a lovely job, but more crucially, I had someone claiming to be an amputee that told me that they didn't like that even 18 chapters in, I was having the reader character struggle with using only one arm in various ways and keep complaining about her situation. I respect that. My thought process during writing was that, in a world without physical therapy or prosthetic limbs, it would be much more difficult to adjust to suddenly having only one arm (and the nondominant arm, at that). And the character whining was because she's got a lot of self-pity that she has to work to get over. That being said, I really took that criticism to heart. I had every intention of drawing back on both aspects…I just never actually wrote another chapter. But, you know, if this gets enough attention for me to justify finishing the story, that's 100% on the to-do list.

I'm not changing anything. It's going up as-is. I'm going to do a quick proofread, of course, and catch a few more typos (I hope), but the excessive swearing and the weird coffee and the thing with Ellie using bang snaps inappropriately are staying in. I'm not doing a line-by-line rewrite like I have with my KHR stuff.

This is not intended to be canon to the television show. I've never seen it, and I don't plan to watch it. This is not intended to be canon to The Last of Us Part II. I've never played it or watched anyone else play it, and I never will. The only thing that this work might have in common with those is that Ellie is a lesbian, because I always intended to give her a girlfriend in this even way before the second game came out.

Anyway, I hope the handful of people that were (mysteriously, miraculously) searching for this story don't find themselves too disappointed now that they can read it again. Thanks for reaching out. It means a lot to me.

Posting Status: Incomplete

Story Status: Incomplete

Rule #1: Shut up. The enemy might hear you.

Rule #2: Try not to get yourself hurt.

Rule #3: Try not to get yourself killed. God, are you that stupid?

Rule #4: Quit stealing shit.

Rule #5: Don't touch anything.

Rule #6: Don't piss off the locals.

Rule #7: First impressions are important, so don't be yourself.

Rule #8: The villagers are always a little stupid. Try not to contract that.

Rule #9: If you fall off a roof, don't let go. Nothing will catch you.

Rule #10: Again, the enemy can hear you, so shut up.

[skellebonez]

So, just in case anyone needs a quick refresher.

Things that actually do 100% count as plagiarism despite anyone's claims to the contrary because if you did this in a school paper and got caught? You would get in a lot of trouble:

Taking someone else's work entirely without changing it at all and claiming it is your own.

Taking someone else's work entirely and adding on top of it and claiming you made all of it.

Taking someone else's work entirely or in part and changing it a little in a "sure bro, you can copy my homework but don't make it obvious" kind of way.

Frankensteining together a work, be it an essay or I dunno... a fanfiction, by copy and pasting multiple paragraphs from someone else's work and only changing names and a couple descriptors.

Things that are not plagiarism:

Being inspired by someone else's work and writing your own work with similar themes and ideas.

Doing a "draw this in your style" challenge.

Seeing a cool thing someone does in their writing or art style and being inspired to do something similar, like eye shines or the way someone describes food.

Things that are also not plagiarism but you shouldn't do anyway because they're still bad:

Taking someone's artwork without asking them to use as your fanfiction cover art. This is called Art Theft and is frowned upon.

[queenofbaws]

! Pride Month Challenge 2024 !

Well hi there, everyone! With May winding down to a close and June just around the corner, it's about that time again...the time where @jadedsunshine, @unicornaffair, and I host our yearly create-a-thon! 🥳

What's the Pride Month Challenge, you might find yourself asking? Well, this year it's a little bingo game we've put together, featuring some classic tropes. The aim of this particular game? Make something!!! Anything! Just get those creative juices a-flowin' and see if you can snag a B-I-N-G-O along the way!

This challenge is open to everyone and anyone who wants to take part, whether you know the three of us or not! We're going to be using the tag #pridemonthchallenge2024 for the stuff we create, so if you decide to join in on the fun and games, feel free to stick that tag on whatever you make, too! If you're interested in more details, you can check below the cut or reach out and ask ;)c

Either way, happy almost-pride, and happy creating!!!

I don't write fic - can I still participate?

Ab. So. Lutely!!! We've done this challenge for a few years now (we've missed a year or two for weddings and other life stuff, whoops!), but in the past we've had people doodle, sketch, draw, make edits, create props or other physical art, and even curate playlists! The three of us are writers, so you're very likely to see fic or ficlets from us...but you? Oh. Oh, you can do whatever your heart desires!!!

Are there word limits/expectations for a finished product?

NO!!! :D Zero. Literally zero expectations. We aren't putting together an exchange, we aren't holding a competition, we're just trying to get the spirit of creation in the air. That's it! So whether you're writing 50 words or 5,000, whether you've made a rough sketch on a notebook page or fully lined/colored a scene, you're good! You're so good. As long as you've made something, you've earned a stamp on that bingo card, baby!!!

What if I don't want to do something fandom-y? Can it be OCs/original work?

OF COURSE!!! 100%. You don't even have to ask!!! Show the world your OCs! Tell the world about your story's worldbuilding! It's all fair game :)

What if I don't want to post what I made?

Don't sweat it! Again, this is...the farthest thing from official. This is for fun, and this is for the sake of making something. Sharing your work can be nerve-wracking - don't feel like you have to! We'd love to see you playing along with us, of course, but as long as you've made something that you're proud of, you've earned that stamp! No ifs, ands, or buts!

Is it cool if my creations aren't necessarily pride-themed?

Totally! We host this challenge during pride month because (1) it traditionally works better for the three of us than NaNoWriMo because of our schedules, and (2) we're queer creators ourselves! But if you're feeling a prompt and can't find a way to make it relevant to pride, PLEASE don't sweat it! As I've been known to say (and then get laughed at for saying), this challenge is no rules, just right, Outback Steakhouse :P

Let's say I get a bingo...what do I win?

:) Nothing. <3

Wait, really?

:) Really <3 Hehehe, in all seriousness, this challenge has been a fun way for us to sit down, take our minds off of life and our bigger projects and just...make some fun stuff! In our humble opinion(s), being able to point at a finished piece and say "I did that! I made that!" is its own kind of reward. The bingo board itself is really more for bragging rights ;)c Which, of course, we encourage wholeheartedly. Nothing wrong with a little bragging!!!

We hope to have you along for our month-long adventure! Again, we're going to be using the tag #pridemonthchallenge2024 for our own stuff, so if you'd like to use that tag - or tag any of us!!! - in whatever you end up creating, feel free!!! We love seeing what everyone comes up with, and this challenge is always so much more fun, knowing other people are taking part! <3 Hope to see you along for the ride!

*The bingo board was made by the lovely @jadedsunshine 🥰

[uraichievents]

Welcome to this year's UraIchi Prompt Challenge! For our 8th PC, we will be focusing on crossovers!

Like we did for a previous mini-event, this year will also have a spin-the-wheel component. For PC8, you will be spinning for at least one random fandom and creating a crossover fanwork with it. A total of 300 different fandoms were nominated in the space of a week, so you'll have plenty to choose from. For most of them, I tried to copy the fandom names straight from the AO3 tags. The only exceptions are if they're not on AO3, or if I thought a catch-all name suited it better (ie. Marvel Comics (Any) because there are just too many of them, and this way you can pick whichever Marvel comic/movie/etc. you want). But overall, all fandoms that were nominated have been included in one of the wheels.

Before we get into that though, here are the rules for PC8:

1) Fanworks must be UraIchi-centric and complete. Obviously, this year, they must also be crossovers in some shape or form. UraIchi can be romantic or platonic (lovers, friends, family, enemies, etc.), so long as you can stick a / or an & between them, and they and their interactions are the main focus. 2) Any kind of fanwork is allowed if you can pull it off (fic, art, vid, gifset, etc.). There is no word limit for fics. 3) Poly ships are fine so long as UraIchi is in there somewhere. 4) The general definition of a crossover is a fanwork where two or more fandoms are combined in some way. For the purpose of this event, dimension travel, fusions, isekai, reincarnation, and resurrection would all count so long as your work includes at least one other fandom outside of Bleach. Likewise, Bleach must obviously be one of the fandoms. Basically, so long as Bleach and 1+ Other Fandom(s) are combined in some way, starring UraIchi as the main characters, then you should be good. If you are unsure whether your idea of a crossover counts, you can always send in an ask to check.

Post Date:

The due date for this event is December 31st, 2023, and the AO3 Collection will open at 12am (PST). I’ll reblog this post with a link to the collection closer to the date.

Tags:

If you’re posting your work (or a link to your work) as a post on Tumblr, you can tag it #uraichi prompt challenge 8 in the first five tags so I can reblog it here.

And finally, what you've all been waiting for:

As I mentioned before, I used Wheel Decide to make the wheels, but each wheel has a limit of 100 items, so since we ended up with 300 fandoms, I've had to split it into 3 wheels.

There's no specific theme or category for each wheel. I threw everything into a random choice generator, and then threw the results onto each wheel in batches of 100, so it's all random, and you can play this in a number of ways. You could just pick one wheel, spin, and get your fandom that way. You could also spin two or three wheels, and then pick your favourite out of the fandoms you get. Or you could spin all three wheels and write a four-fandom crossover like a crazy person. The point is, there's pretty much no wrong way to go about cobbling together your crossover.

If you want to submit more than one fanwork, feel free to spin for as many as you want to write/draw/etc. (of course, they should all be complete). And yes, you can spin more than once if you're really stuck on the fandom you get, or you just don't know the fandom at all.

I think that's about it, if anybody has any questions, please don't hesitate to send in an ask. Then, without further ado, here are the wheels:

WHEEL 1

WHEEL 2

WHEEL 3

Have fun!

[zigraves]

Wyllstarion Mini Challenges!

(Crossposted from the Wyllstarion Community on here, originally via the Wyllstarion discord server)

Writers: Write a Wyllstarion drabble! We're using the original definition of drabble: a short story of exactly 100 words, no more and no less. The structure offers a real challenge, especially to those of us who like to get purple with our prose, and can be great for helping you develop very intentional writing.

Artists: Draw a colouring page! We're putting together some Wyllstarion colouring pages - this is just a casual fun project, not a sign up artbook zine situation, but join on in by drawing a clean black & white illustration for other Wyllstarion fans to have fun colouring in.

These can be SFW or NSFW, so please have fun with your themes!

Feel free to share these challenges outside tumblr, too.

[dipcifica-bingo-month]

Here are the prompts for the dipcifica bingo 2024!

Sorry for the delayed response, but with university starting and everything, I haven't had time to invest fully into this. Also, there was a glitch so I did not see some of the submissions until recently.

So these prompts are based from what were submitted in the asks. I apologize for not running a poll, but given the lack of time, I decided to head straight into announcing the themes for this year.

For this event, try to fulfill any four prompts in the bingo card above. Each work can only fulfil one of the prompts. It doesn't have to be a line (though it will be a fun added challenge!)

The list of prompts are:

Party

Gaming session

Meet the parents

Letter/Postcard

Beach

Stargazing

Ghost

Hot chocolate

Reflection

Camera

Journal

Mystery

"I miss you"

Costumes

Rescue

Hugs

Any form of content is encouraged: art, fics, graphics, crafts, etc. Don’t forget to ping this blog so I can reblog and people can see and reblog them too!

You can contribute as much or as little as you want for a certain prompt! If you only have enough time or energy to draw a doodle on a sticky note or write a 100-word fic drabble, that’s perfectly fine! If you can’t or don’t plan on participating, I’d really appreciate you reblogging this post to spread the word anyway!

Please feel free to drop any questions that aren't covered in this post. I'm fairly new to running a fandom event, so feel free to drop suggestions and so on.

Once again, have fun!

[eternalbrood]

The Brood (WWF) Holiday Challenge 2023

Celebrating The Brood (WWF) this holiday season!

Details below!

WHAT IS IT? A challenge encouraging fan works for The Brood (WWF).

HOW DO I PARTICIPATE? Create a work of fan fiction, fan art, mood board, or fan vid featuring The Brood.

WHAT KIND? Any/all pairings are allowed! Or NO pairing! Any rating! Can be holiday themed or not! You can write/draw/create whatever you want, as long as it's about The Brood.

CAN I CONTRIBUTE MORE THAN ONE WORK? Absolutely!

WHEN??? Post your contribution(s) from now until December 31!

WHERE??? Post on Tumblr with the tag #broodholiday2023 and/or to the AO3 collection the_brood_holiday_2023. Written works posted to Tumblr should be behind a "READ MORE" cut if they are over 100 words!!!

WHAT IF I CAN'T WRITE OR DRAW??? Try anyway! Skill level does not matter! At the very least, if you would like to participate without creating something, you can REBLOG fan works on Tumblr and LEAVE COMMENTS here and on AO3!

WHAT IF I HAVE MORE QUESTIONS? contact @eternalbrood

BONUS: here are 20 holiday themed prompts and 20 vampire themed prompts. THEY ARE OPTIONAL! You don't have to use them, they are only here for inspiration.

wish list

it’s better to give than receive

wrapping paper

ribbon

snow

bah! Humbug!

candles

mulled wine

Solstice (longest night of the year)

mistletoe

silver and gold

warmth

naughty

nice

he knows when you’re awake

stocking stuffer

candy cane

jingle bells

fireplace

home for Christmas

bite

blood

coffin

thirst

immortal

fangs

night

companion

throat

shadows

ankh

crucifix

heart

sunlight

cold

forever

undead

midnight

thrall

reflection

[asmilethatshines]

Seriously I don't know how this Tumblr thingy works =))) how to reply? Why do people writing in tags? @@ I will try to figure it out on Sunday. As for now here we go another picture.

100 Theme Challenge - Variation 1 - 51. Sports

Description: I kinda cheat with this theme. Of course you can't expect me to draw masculine men running round doing the heavy sports *sweat drop* (dang it if I could I would *cries*) so I kind of googled: Is chess a sport? Is dart a sport? And it said yesssss xDDD So here we have Mello and Near playing chess and darts (as sports) 

Author's notes:  - Here I want to introduce to you the other side of the sofa in Near's apartment's living room (in my imaginary fanfic that I have told you in previous picture). Near does a lot of activities in this area: playing with his puzzles, laying around, drawing (yayy he picks up a new hobby - there will be a picture), sleeping on his bean bag (this will appear in another picture later - yeah he seldom uses his bedroom, just sleeping around at random spots) - This happens around some time after Mello comes back from death (around some of his first visits). The idea of Near lying around and is not really focus on the game is inspired by a very short fic that I read from AO3 in which Near let Mello win on purpose 5 times and because he didn't use a chair he didn't really see the chess pieces. I incorporated it in my picture. - The idea of Near playing darts is changed a bit from my original imaginary fanfic. My initial though was that Near asked his staff for a light snack during the game and they fricking brought a pack of Pocky xD I think the snack itself brought up at that moment is not appropriate so Near used it as a game instead: he threw the sticks to the cup like that (and failed mostly). But I changed the Pocky to darts to fit the Sports theme. I know he uses a certain hand to throw darts but I am too lazy to read the manga again to know which hand. I hope I drew it correctly by chance :3 - The result of the game? Near wins of course. I don't let him lose on purpose. It will be an insult to Mello >"< but Mello can win with the dart game *hehe* - I enjoyed every moment when drawing this picture, from the pencil sketching to lineart and coloring with SAI. I realized that I don't need a lot of layers to color it, just adding blocks of different colors to the same layers and it will become shading/highlighting. The details on Mello's jacket is horrifying but again I enjoy every moment drawing it. It's like drawing Roxas' clothes (from Kingdom Hearts) but to a new level. I even added his rosary necklace. It's being extra of me though because I am sure you cannot see all the details on the small picture :3 I don't appreciate his sense of fashion (especially his black leather) but I do love all of his jackets: this red coat, the black leather vest when he rides his motorbike and the black coat with fur. If there is a chance I will draw them :3 - It took me more time than expected. I tried to finish it last night but stopped during midnight. My eyes hurt badly. And I will be away until midnight today so I try to finish this in the morning. But I think I have improved a bit from last picture yeah? *give Smile a pat on the head*

Characters: Mello Near from Death Note (I don't own Death Note)

See my other art challenges here: https://www.deviantart.com/o0asmilethatshines0o/gallery/31059579/100-theme-challenge

[yourfriendlyshapeshiftermonsters]

III NEW EPISODE SPOILER ALERT.

It's honesty just me rambling about the show,you may kept on scrolling.

Honesty? The episode was 7 or 8 ish outta ten.

It was fine and nice one,i don't have strong opinions on me especially when my brain tuning out two times from heing overwhelmed but it was a fine episode. But here's what i thought:

sorry,i know it's balloon imagination. but cheesy voice act hurts my ear. And the fact that bro literally said that balloon already done so much and sacrifice himself even tho by logic,he definitely would only exist for an episode feels funny. And don't let me start talking about the simp superman fantasy novel hehe... This 'writing challenge' draws each character perspective pretty nicely tho

Feels like some of the challenge was a reverence from the other show

this whole innerflame things was getting pretty.. Something. Sorry i don't know how to word it out. But am i the only one who feels this was just. Idk,i'm feeling like those feelings that i felt on most of the iii episode but a bit less ig. at least i can make my candle au innerflame a pretty destructive one as shown on the episode hehe

Cabby protecting the sea pup was definitely on character.

Throw the thingy in - ppt2

Balancing - hfjone

Imma update soon once i find others

Theory:

springy and walkie talkie are cobs worker/creation to distract me phone from getting back into season 2 problem he caused. But honesty? knowing the man, He wouldn't go through that such leght. He gave me energy that he would rather copy other company idea and pass it as his own or create his own bot/use an ai to create the whole season and only hire people to make the quality good at puking a fuck ton of rainbow and random action for the kids to not get distracted but got confused when people said it's the worst thing ever because he thought that good animation style=your series was automatically awesome even tho if it was a me phone,it would explode at the second it was finished. How i get that idea you may ask? Well i'm definitely not putting cob as springy on my au.. Heh.

Wait what i was talking again? Oh yeah

since this season feels like it was more into focusing at one theme at a time. springy would give out some sort of symbolism too,like. walkie and springy definitely represent those companies that buy another company/cartoons and milks the fuck out of it.making them soulless as hell. Walkie talkie definitely show the manager who pushed it worker the most... Ehem ehem- disney..

Orr they draw how the fans wanted to kept the show on and on. Society pressure and stuff. But i honesty didn't see that one

the walkie talkie person real identity would 100% be showed next episode. Like cmon,i wouldn't believe a non faced objects to be alive. No,we don't talk about season 1.

[faggot-friday]

So I’m late as shit for appreciation day but I figured the term ‘‘better late than never’’ can come in handy once again. Also now surprise! Unexpected compliments! I think that’s better than slightly-suspected ones tbh. The only good surprises.

First off, we’re going with @gay-otlc. Bro. Your writing. It slaps. It’s fucking awesome. Shoutout to all your tierden shit btw it lives in my head rent-free. All your writing’s funny as shit and also it makes me want to slam my fist into a wall in an affectionate sort of a way. If you like endless tears and angst that feels like a knife to the gut, totally recommend. There is also occasional fluff if you’re more into that sorta shit. This guy’s the full package honestly

And now @xanadaus. The organiser of this entire shabang. Your art makes me feel things and while brain won’t let me know what those things are I’m pretty sure they’re good things. Also, your writing is amazing as well. The best of both things. No I will not shut up about scar tissue it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read, comfort fic level 100. Yes i am rereading it now what are y’all gonna do about it

@bookwyrminspiration you’re on here as well. Hii. I haven’t read your writing but I’ve been meaning to i swear. I WILL read the wings au. Eventually. Also, your art is >>>. I literally cannot put into words how much I love your art so I’m just using math symbols instead. Those Linh drawings got made for the art challenge, godDAMN. Also you put up with my bullshit which is always appreciated so thanks for that :)

@when-wax-wings-melt your!!!!!!!!!!! fucking!!!!!!!!!!! fics!!!!!!!!!! Holy mcshitshow I love your fics so much. Like! All the repeating themes! And how lines are the same sometimes but have different meaning through context! Gagahevhagudgaugduagsus! I could get really into symbolism and shit but I’m not because it’s late and I’m tired and I probably wouldn’t understand half the shit I’m saying anyways. But! I would do a dissection under sterile conditions of all of your fics purely because they’re so fucking good and I want every piece of them in my brain cavities

@constant-sapphic-breakdown bestie!!! Your shit is fucking lit bro, and also <3 fren!!! Ik that birthday fic you wrote me isn’t kotlc but that doesn’t stop it from being good as shit, like bro, I am jealous of your talents. Literally everything you make is so fucking good, and you also put up with my bullshit which is amazing

I can’t word too great right now so these may seem kinda half-baked. As this post gets older you may wish to check the reblogs in case I add anyone who I only just thought of. Happy ten years of keeper everyone <3