#BEAKS ARE SO HARD TO DRAW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angeart · 4 months ago

Note

:o are we allowed to ask about Mr Beak?? Because I have been dying to but I figured it was for Future Rambles so I've been holding back.

Especially because both you and Link drew Grian with his wings out, no cloak, and Grian actually using his wings for a smol hug in your bit.

-🎀

yes you're allowed! it is for future rambles, but we made a concession if you promise you'll still read the rambles as well when they come out! :D

mr beak gets acquired in vex arc, part titled "a night for living". let me take you through Never Before Seen basics! just a quick little rundown :3

grian and scar get accepted adopted into a vex commune! which is a pretty safe place considering that it's full of vexes who are seen as warriors. it's settled in the forest, in what used to be a hunting village. (it was taken over.)

now i won't say exactly how things go, but- there's definitely an adjustment period! especially since grian is an avian in a place filled with only vexes, and scar is... well, not a typical vex!

but they settle in. and they start to tentatively have some security. their own walls, and a bed! there's a LOT to say about the whole vex arc, and i can very easily be swayed, but i'll skip to mr beak. (under the cut because this is getting rambly <3 expect RP snippets too)

there's a big night at the vex commune, one they meticulously prepare for. make sure there's no hunters anywhere nearby, brew homemade alcohol, etc. they make a huge bonfire, set up various games (prizes are mostly more alcohol, lol. special bottles of types from rare fruits and stuff, with a strip of fabric/ribbon tied to them to mark them as the victory bottles) and just... go wild!

it's during this night when scar and grian challenge two other vexes (frens???? 👀) to a game of (drunk) archery. scar pretends he can barely hold a bow. it's very funny when he shoots a bulls eye, trust me.

scar kind of jokingly asks if there are other prizes - like big stuffed bears, for example. and once he wins, the best out of three shots, he again jokingly says he'll take the bear as his prize. and grian joins in, asking for the bear!

(mini rp bit!!)

Excitedly and triumphantly, Scar loops his arms around Grian as well, lower and more securely wound, and lifts, spinning him around like a loon just because he wants to and he can. “The man wants a bear!!” he announces to the world, boisterous and goofy.

anywayyy... yeah, no, the vexes don't have a stuffed bear. but there's an idea. and someone digs out a discarded plush from somewhere.

it's a chicken.

kane is meant to hand it over, but... he's very hesitant. and he wouldn't be if it was a couple of weeks ago, but! he's been learning! about avians and things that upset grian. about how sensitive he is about other birds or bird-like things.

uncharacteristically hesitant, he calls scar over first, trusting scar's judgement on these things much more than himself.

aaand. what if i throw more rp snippets at u? 👀👀👀👀 (1,7k words because my hand slipped— enjoy :D)

SCAR

Kane waits until he's sure Scar's body and wings block Grian's view, and then he tentatively unfurls his own wing, showing the worn plush toy in his arms: a pale brown chicken, a little clumpy, but soft-looking. Squishable. "We have... this," he presents, a bit flatly, waiting for reaction.

It’s unfortunate, really, because in any other circumstance Scar would not hesitate to give the awkward little chicken to Grian. It’s so adorably lumpy, and he wants to squeeze it immediately.

But…

“Let me see,” Scar says, taking it from Kane. He appreciates the hesitance now. Despite claiming victory during their previous dispute over insensitivity, Kane clearly cares to get this right, and it warms Scar’s heart to no end.

Kane keeps the doll hidden as he passes it over to Scar, who analyzes it carefully, squeezing at the center and feeling the material. It’s soft, not at all feathered, and the insides seem to be cotton, possibly with beads interspersed for weightiness.

But it’s still a bird.

Scar looks to meet Kane’s gaze, both of them uncertain, but Scar sighs and offers a weak smile. “You’re a good man, Kane,” Scar declares, nodding appreciatively at him.

Ultimately, it should be up to Grian if he wants this. Scar can look out for potential triggers, but it’s not his place to decide for him.

Scar can’t protect him from everything. Shouldn’t either.

(Plus, it is cute. Scar hopes that fact overwrites any potential anxieties.)

Scar turns around, offering the plushie over to Grian with that same timid smile. “What do you think, G?”

GRIAN

nico's murmuring things to grian, praising his and scar's aim, wanting to know where they've learned to shoot like that. it distracts grian sufficiently, thrown off and glancing at the targets where someone was collecting their arrows now so they could keep playing.

"we... had a lot of practice," grian replies, unsure how to phrase it any better. to say that they didn't need to worry about running out of arrows—or lives—ever was something too bewildering to put out there. "it's just been a while," he adds, grimacing at where a vex was trying to climb a tree to reach the arrow grian shot first.

nico laughs, amused but bright and kind. "well, you know. as long as you don't lose the arrows, you guys can come here and shoot at the targets anytime."

grian perks up at that, but before he can answer, scar's turning to him and offering something to him.

grian's gaze lands on the bird-like heap in scar's hands, and his head short-circuits.

bird.

it's a bird.

memories of [REDACTED] slam into him, and he swallows thickly, rebooting.

a bird.

this world doesn't have birds. but here one is, silly-looking and soft, offered to grian to hold. (to cherish. to protect. to keep.)

with gaze solidly focused on the toy, grian hears himself try to joke. "i think that's not a bear."

kane huffs, although there's something tentatively relieved in the sound, possibly at the lack of a more outward freak out on grian's part. "i told you we don't have bears."

grian's only half-listening. his chest feels askew and tingly, wings semi flared out, but he's taking a step forward and reaching out his hands for the plushie.

SCAR

Scar is about to say they don’t have to take it. They could easily accept one of the prize bottles. He could even make a show of tying the decorative ribbon on one of Grian’s fingers as a silly romantic callback.

But Grian is reaching out and Scar doesn’t have it in his heart to deny him. He offers the toy to him gingerly, still nervous, but willing.

“Not a bear, but… look at its little beard!” Scar tries, letting his index finger fiddle with the red tufts of fabric as he pulls away. “…do you like it?”

GRIAN

wordlessly, grian takes it, holds it out, feels its weight settle in his hands. his fingers squeeze lightly, testing it out, feeling its softness. (it's not made of feathers. not feathers.)

some tightly held knot in grian's chest unspools, and he finds himself laughing a little unsteadily at scar's silly gesture.

his hands flap the chicken's wings, and unthinkingly, grian's own wings mirror the motion. there's a part of grian's brain that's happy at this, already growing attached, and it's probably weird, for a toy to trigger instincts that whisper flock against the nape of his neck, but the affection and protectiveness rise up in him anyway.

he pulls the chicken tightly to his chest, his gaze flicking up, meeting first scar's eyes and then swivelling to kane's. "... i can keep this?" he asks, a bit shyly, even as his hold signals that he would not let go even if he was told no.

SCAR

Scar’s heart swells again at the sight of Grian flapping the doll’s little wings, and gosh it’s unfairly adorable when he does the same with his own wings. Scar grins, leaning back into Grian’s space as he turns to regard Kane.

“We’re taking this,” Scar declares.

Kane scoffs, cheeks heating up as he takes mostly fake offense. “As if I’d take it back, come on!” And then he’s grinning as well, clearly satisfied that the prize went over well, all sourness from the competition completely faded away. “You won it fair and square, mister liar.”

“Sober liar,” Nico tacks on, earning a bark of laughter from his mate.

“Hey, I’m getting there, I’m getting there!” Scar insists, leaning down to reclaim his and Grian’s bottles. He hands Grian’s back to him with a bright smile. “…It’s precious.”

GRIAN

grian instantly slots himself next to scar as he returns to his side, still clutching the bird tightly.

"mister sober liar," he repeats teasingly at scar, nudging him a little and giving him a big, bright grin.

no matter how the others want to spin it, the fact is that they did win, and scar did insist on a prize for grian. (and man, the way his hands were capable with the bow is hot. although it's not something grian'd admit out loud.) he's grateful for it, a bit of playful games and a reward at the end of it, presented with such care.

with boundless affection, grian leans against him and presses his wing against scar's lower back, under his vex wings, in a little squeeze. hoping his thanks translates.

he untangles one hand from the chicken only to reach for the bottle, and he lets it clink against scar's. "cheers, to our victory."

nico's ushering them a little bit to the side, to make space for new contestants, while kane lifts his own drink, cheerfully joining in with drinking.

"there's more games to play, if you want," nico remarks with a chuckle, then adds: "but no more non-bears to win."

grian glances at him. "what about yes-bears?"

kane sputters a laugh, almost choking on his drink.

nico offers a grin instead, with a small chuckle. "none of those either, i'm afraid."

"bottles, mostly," kane says all too happily. "but some games have donation piles and if you win, you can pick something someone else left behind." he shrugs a little, clearly much more interested in the drinks the vexes worked so hard to make. "mostly useless stuff. wood carvings, dull daggers, scraps of clothes, chipped mugs. things people found and don't have use for, or that they don't want anymore."

SCAR

“What you’re saying is we get to thrift shop for prizes?” Scar asks excitedly, wings fluttering before one slots over Grian’s head in a purposely goofy manner. “Whatcha say, G-man? More games? Want to see how red in the face Kane can get if he keeps losing?”

“Hey!” Kane shouts, grabbing at Scar to try to dig his fist into the top of his head playfully. Scar unfortunately allows it, not willing to give up his spot next to Grian and how his wing is tucked under him so tenderly. But he laughs at the abuse, clearly unbothered.

GRIAN

grian ducks a little at the wing over him, but then he straightens up, chirping and meeting it. he has his prize chicken in one hand, still pressed to his chest, and a bottle in the other, wing still slung across scar's lower back in a casual, if a little clingy way.

"more games!" he cheers, toothily looking over kane and nico. "so what's next, fellas? what do you want to be beaten at this time?"

nico's chuckling, lips curved in a smile, taking this for friendly jest, but kane's getting riled up. his tail swishes aggressively. "you can't thrift prizes if you don't win first," he accuses.

"what game?" grian presses. "what do you think you have a chance at?"

it's a cheeky jab, and grian's delighted as he sees it work.

"sparring!" kane huffs out, clearly ready to tackle them until he can prove his dominance or something.

"or obstacle course," nico offers as a counter argument.

"sparring!" kane repeats, insistent, shooting his mate a glare. "we win at this one!"

SCAR

Scar yawns exaggeratedly. “Drunk sparring? Sounds like a vex slapping fest to me.” He waves his hand with the bottle dismissively at that, eyeing Grian as he does. Then he takes a large sip of his drink and flares out his free wing. “What kind of obstacle course we talkin’?”

Both sound less fun than archery to Scar, but he has a feeling the obstacle course would be preferable to Grian. Sparring just sounds like an invitation to get hurt.

GRIAN

grian is honestly glad scar is steering this away from a fight competition, but kane deflates, looking like he was just betrayed. "you don't want to spar?" his ears flick, then he crosses his arms, upset. "it's 'coz you know you'd lose. you're just picking what you're secretly good at!"

"i dunno, you could've been better at it," grian brushes him off, referencing kane's archery skill in a way that makes kane sputter.

"the obstacle course," nico takes charge, starting to walk in a more solid direction, "has many things. some you get under, some you get over. gliding is allowed." he eyes grian. "outright flying might be considered as cheating."

grian gasps dramatically, his wing losing connection to scar only to flap in playful offense. "i'd never!" and honestly, it's hard to think of himself actively flying, so it's not exactly wrong. it's not just theatrics, but they make it easier to bear, to hide behind.

---

i was gonna stop earlier but figured maybe you'd like to see the banter :3 maybe you'd like to see the new characters and these dynamics. (they're all tipsy at this point and scar and grian have been living here for a while, just to be clear.)

other big things happen that night besides winning mr beak :3 just sayin'

vex arc is fun <33

#ange answers #ribbon anon #hhau #hhau vex arc #we'll still keep the Big Plot Points to ourselves #and i won't talk about [REDACTED] until we reach mimic arc part V #(although it's SO HARD)#but you can have this!!#and maybe we can even introduce the characters :3 #you can see kane and nico in the background of link's drawing #the one with mr beak and the bonfire and dancing :3 #alcohol mention #in case that needs to be tagged #i swear if tumblr messes up the formatting here i'll be so upset #you can ask us more about the vex arc pls we love them #keep in mind there will be a comprehensive ramble about this whole night at some point down the line :3 #but you can ask about stuff <3 #from any point of hhau including the vex arc (but we will not talk about the death. not yet :3c)

24 notes · View notes

faith-forgxtten-land · 9 months ago

Note

You haven't written anything NSFW for TMNT so its okay if its not something you're comfortable writing but do you think you could write something for Bay Donnie? I don't really have any preferences of requests other than squirting

Soaked | Donatello

okay, fair warning, i haven't written anything explicitly nsfw for like two years so be nice; i was hesitant in posting this because i have no faith in my writing, especially nsfw, but i hope you like it! bayverse!!

warnings: NSFW, squirting? swearing, mentions of cunt etc., not much else i don't think. everyone is 18+!! awful titles, never proofread

summary: donatello likes it when you soak his sheets

word count: 1691

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The world is bathed in darkness when you finally manage to open your eyes. The lair is quiet, and your head feels heavy as you squint. A hand is trailing your torso softly despite innumerable callouses, fingers sweeping delicately along the length of your spine in some silent rhythm. Your skin is warm, the cool touch of his palms soothing the heated flesh, and you giggle quietly as you imagine puffs of mist rising from where your bodies and their contrasting temperatures meet.

“You awake?”

With a humming reply and languid grace, you raise your head and try to make out his face in the dim light. You can’t see much, just a pair of soft eyes that make you feel more embraced than the blankets piled on top of you, as his other hand cups your cheek and you melt into him. He makes you feel like that a lot; like molten gold, pliant under his assured touches, burning and boneless and so, so precious.

“You fell asleep in the middle of movie night,” he says softly, lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it makes your heart clench. He traces his mouth down the swell of your cheek, caressing the lines of your face until he reaches your jaw. His kisses are indulgent and full, and you feel gluttonous as your hands seek his plastron eagerly. Even half-asleep, you want him wholly and desperately and you feel him huff a fond laugh, smiling knowingly against your throat.

“So needy,” he teases affectionately, the hand that had been mapping your back now beginning to move further downwards until the flesh of your thigh is in his grip. He squeezes it once, twice, and parts your legs. His beak presses harder into the delicate skin of your neck, and he inhales deeply before biting sharply. The contrast of his gentle hands and the sudden sting of his teeth causes your hips to stutter, and you can’t hold back a whine.

“I can smell you.” His voice is low and you shudder at the rasp in his tone. He pulls back to look into your eyes, and you swallow thickly; his irises have disappeared into blackness, as if they’re drowning in ink with pupils blown wide, and you feel yourself grow wetter at the wild look. You still can’t make out his face, but you know he looks wrecked, and a smug satisfaction settles deep within you.

The thought that your scent alone can ruin him, make primal need overwhelm him, make him look wanton, causes your toes to curl. His large hand, so huge on your body, grasps your thigh tightly again and you gasp as he squeezes hard enough to bruise this time. “You’re soaking already,” he groans, and you buck your hips, silently begging him to pull your sleep shorts down and feel it for himself.

Despite his teasing, he must feel as desperate as you because he’s quick to do exactly that and rub his finger against your folds. He curses loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet, and you spread your legs wider. “So fucking wet,” he chokes out, rubbing your swollen clit as he pushes his first finger inside of you. You’re so warm and tight and you feel yourself flutter around him.

“Donnie,” you gasp as he curls his finger just right. It’s the first word you’ve uttered, and he groans darkly at the desperation that coats the sound. He fucks you faster, his finger stretching you, drawing the most obscene sounds, wet slaps reverberating so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear them. You’re panting and flushed, hips grinding as he pumps in and out, and you moan loudly as he slips another digit inside.

He’s back to pressing open-mouthed kisses against your throat, lapping up the sweat that trickles down. “That’s it,” he murmurs reverently, sucking purple marks into your sensitive flesh and scissoring his fingers faster and harder, forceful pumps bordering on brutal. Your name is a growl on his tongue as he hits that perfect spot over and over, and you can’t stop yourself from mewling as he presses harshly against your sensitive nub, pleasure and pain blending in a way that makes you dizzy.

His pace is unrelenting and unforgiving, and you can feel the thrumming of your pulse, a delirious concoction of sensual agony shooting through your veins as you babble senselessly. “Donnie, please, please—”

He fixes his teeth over an especially delicate part of your throat and bites so hard you see stars, chest heaving and unable catch your breath as your walls clamp around his fingers. There’s going to be an outrageous mark, dark violet bruises and blatant indents of teeth in a place you have no hope of covering up, and the thought only makes you cry louder.

You think you might pass out for a minute or two as Donnie continues to finger-fuck you through your orgasm. You’re shaking and sensitive and sore, but he doesn’t let up even as you shiver and whine. “You can take it,” he tells you simply, and you nod quickly because you can, you’ll take whatever he gives you.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge again, little gasps and whimpers slipping through your lips with every pump. He’s toying with you, a teasing grin pressed against the column of your throat that turns into a low laugh as you curse him for slowing whenever your thighs begin to tremble. Just as you think he’s about to slow again, he pinches your clit harshly and you can’t stop the wail that wrenches itself from your burning lungs.

His fingers fuck you through this orgasm too, spreading your legs wider as they spasm and weakly attempt to shut without his permission. Only when you fall still does he pull out, and you whimper more at the aching emptiness. He makes sure you’re watching as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes them; his tongue is playful, thick and flicking, and you feel the muscles of your stomach contract.

“Tease,” you croak, and his eyes somehow darken even further at just how wrecked you sound, your voice rasping and slurred.

“You’re right,” he agrees, brushing your folds again, digits stroking your puffy slit. You gasp as he pushes two fingers back in, squirming at the satisfying and sensitive discomfort shooting along your spine. “You’ve been so good.” He’s making those perfect curling motions inside of you and your back arches, tears gathering on your lashes as that agonising pleasure sparks, lighting up your blood and forcing your eyes to roll back.

“Donnie—”

There’s a pressure building, somehow more intense than before, and your thighs quiver as his fingers continue to fuck you without faltering, even as your legs threaten to snap closed at the unbearable sensitivity when he finds your clit once more.

You’re not sure if the sounds coming out of your mouth are words and you’re pretty sure you’re drooling, tongue lolling, but whatever noises escape your parted lips have Donnie pressing that spot inside you harder and harder, churring darkly. It's a sound that clatters through you as he returns his teeth to your throat like they belong there, like your neck is meant to be a canvas for his marks. “You can do it,” he groans. "You’re always so good for me.”

His fingers curl even more, and you choke on a moan as you realise what he’s asking for, what he’s building towards with every pump. Your own hand desperately grasps his forearm, not sure if you’re begging him to stop or urging him to keep going as you pant and whine, body writhing as he tears a sob from you that rattles your bones. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He’s tense, the muscles of his arm flexed and hard under your touch, and you can feel his sweat on your damp skin as he presses impossibly closer, almost lovingly nuzzling your neck now even as his fingers fuck you stupid.

You feel like you’re about to explode, the pressure agonising and tipping over into pain, blood boiling under your skin, and you can do nothing but cry wildly, screaming loud enough for everyone to hear, when you feel that tension inside you shatter like glass.

Donnie holds you as you convulse, shudders racking every inch of you, soft praises rushing from his lips as he presses gentle kisses along your jaw. He groans feeling your wetness gushing against him, soaking his plastron and his bedding, knowing your scent will cling to him and his bed for hours even after he showers and changes his sheets.

It's his favourite part, he thinks privately. It soothes something primal and animal within him, something he didn't even recognise until he had you writhing and coming undone under him for the first time. Making you lose control, satisfying you so good you can't help but squirt… He swallows the thought and scissors his fingers in you, watching the way you whimper with your eyes closed as he glides in and out of your pretty cunt with ease, your body always so responsive for him no matter what state you're in.

You’re certain you passed out this time, and when you come-to, Donnie still has his fingers inside of you, still pressing those feather-light kisses to your skin. You feel heavy and weightless all at once, eyelids fluttering, unsure whether to whine in relief or displeasure when his fingers retreat slowly and he brings them to his mouth again.

It takes you another minute to realise just how wet you are, your thighs glistening even in the low light, and the bed beneath you is completely drenched. You can’t muster any shame, only satisfaction coiling deep in your gut when you see just how soaked Donnie is too.

“Next time,” he breathes, voice guttural and promising, still sucking his fingers clean, “I want you on my face so I can drink every drop.”

You clench your thighs together, sore and aching and still so needy, and lick your lips. “That can be arranged.”

2K notes · View notes