#I just thought of and sketched this on a whim

[bluebeads-art]

2024 November 21st

INTO THE LAKE WITH YOU, MUD CHILD

My part of a retroactive art trade with @anxiousapplepie ! "Retroactive" because I was already drawing this before we agreed to make it part of a trade, heheh.

I read this post about their Role!Swap AU, and, like, multiverse shenanigans? Check. Characters goofing off and having fun? Check. Several opportunities for slapstick humor? Check. Conclusion: I really wanted to draw it. Physical comedy is my specialty. :p

This thing is kinda all over the place composition wise (looking at you, relative sizes of speech bubbles) because there is Too Much going on in these panels and I Did Not plan ahead of time, lmao. This was supposed to be doodlier than it ended up being, so as a growing pain it's a funny jumble of consistency. One of these days I'll be able to doodle without getting carried away. 😂

More rambling and close-ups under the cut

This interaction in particular is what nudged me over the edge to draw this whole thing. I don't know what Fighter Mirabelle's malfunction is when it comes to the Siffrins, but it lets me make Sif the butt of a joke again, so yeehaw! His hat being catapulted out of frame made me laugh when I was thinking of what to do with the composition-complicating hat in question.

Also my personal take is Siffrin is 100% having the time of their life here. Making new(?) friends? Being involved in a fun group activity? Well worth inhaling some puddle water and having to go jump in The Lake to wash the mud off later.

Bonnie being so furious they changed art styles wasn't in my original plan, but I'm so glad I thought of it on a whim because it made me laugh Every Time I looked at their face. 😂

Time taken on this whole thing was 42 hours and 50 minutes. AND. I KNOW THAT SOUNDS BAD. IF YOU KNOW I'M TRYING TO SPEED UP MY ART PROCESS. But this project gets a special pass. This was the farthest out of my art comfort zone I've been in a while! 13 (mostly) full-body characters at various complicated angles, 2 backgrounds, learning to use CSP's perspective rulers, effects I'm not used to like water splashes, etc etc. I made progress on speeding up sketching & line art as well! Some of the lines you see are just extremely cleaned up sketch. I was able to let myself fudge things more too. For example, Mira's dress is a very "dude just trust me" simplification because I don't know how the clothes folds would work at that angle. ^^;;

So while there's still a handful of things I'm not happy with, it's worth it for the learning experience and perfectionism-busting progress! Also for the sake of drawing silliness, of course.

Oh, lastly; the KO sprite is the one from in-game, so it was made by insertdisc5 and not me.

[quibbs126]

…Okay, you may end up seeing these drawings yet again on a later date

I finished the page, which was small at 500x500 px, but I wanted to make the page bigger. I did that, and I drew one new thing, but now I don’t know what else to draw on there. So for now, I figured I might as well post the original full page right now

Yeah, sorry for the laziness

This is the other sketch I finished on there, for those curious

Anyways, so yeah, this new style practice I’m trying

The original page I tried these out on is this, which also isn’t full, but I thought trying it out with actual characters instead of just random poses and shapes would be better, so I switched over to Cookie Run characters

The method is still a work in progress when it comes to all the shapes and the red sketch layer

I suppose what I should do now is try drawing a bunch of different Cookies that have different body shapes, so that I have practice with that. As well as maybe attempt some full body ones

I suppose you can suggest some if you want, considering I don’t know who to draw other than like, Hollyberry or Avocado, since I should try drawing large but not buff characters here. But I should also probably draw more skinny, and also chubby

But on to what I actually drew

So I already talked about Peach Blossom and the top Dark Choco drawing prior, so no real need to elaborate

The Dark Choco and Dark Cacao one was me drawing them in their younger forms to see how they compare. Not for any sort of study thing, but just in a symbolic sort of way. Since they’re so similar looking

I think I had a lot more fun with Choco, especially his hair. I remember Cacao being mostly annoying for his weird cloak thing that I don’t understand

The hand pose was ass though. I knew the general idea of what I wanted, that being them with their hands over their swords, but I was struggling to figure out how to draw the hands. Not to mention I had to change the pose from the red sketch because the swords were further down than I put them. I still don’t think I did the pose exactly correct, but screw it, it’s good enough

I’m also noticing that Choco looks way lighter in skin tone compared to Cacao. Like yeah, I know he’s normally slightly lighter, but it’s far more noticeable here. I’m pretty sure it’s because I used Dark Choco’s ToA colors here (bc they work better with my black lineart), which are slightly lighter, as well as just that Dark Choco is wearing much lighter colors while Dark Cacao’s are relatively darker. So maybe it just makes them contrast more

I liked drawing them, but I also did basically do the same body type 3 in a row, so I should probably draw different characters

Anyways, let’s talk about that extra sketch

So for those who likely don’t remember, that there is an OC of mine called Prickly Pear Cookie

I made her entirely on a whim one day, and she doesn’t really have any character or story, just vibes, but I really like her design and wanted to draw it again

I probably should give her some sort of bra though. The shirtless chest looks cool but in my opinion sounds really uncomfortable without at least that

I did originally draw her with the green skin, but it looked weird so I shifted it to more of a yellow so it looks more human

Honestly I really like how she turned out

But yeah, I think that’s about it for now. Just wanted to show this

[myokk]

fast sketch of my one-shot with Ominis💓

legilimency

Word count: 1.700

Rating: M (language)

Ominis Gaunt is a lost case - lost to the whims of one very determined Gryffindor sitting at his side.

They sit in the back of the History of Magic classroom, the only two students not lulled to somnolence by their professor. He: trying his hardest to focus on Professor Binns’ droning (easier said than done). She: trying her hardest to distract Ominis while not being entirely sure of being successful or not (easier attempted than understood).

Professor Binns is completely insufferable, of course. Ominis wonders if the ghost is as blind as he is: Binns willfully ignores the fact that all of his students use his class as an excuse to get a nap in (maybe he simply doesn’t see them sleeping - only one of many reasons why Ominis has decided he could never be a professor), rambling on and on in the most boring way possible. As if he were trying to be as dull as possible (maybe he does it to avoid interacting with the students which…can’t be to blame). In a different life, Ominis could see himself quite liking the subject, but as things stand he despises it.

Especially now.

Ominis fervently wishes that he could fall asleep.

Then, he might avoid hearing her thoughts - they’re consuming him and he can’t ignore them as much as he would like to.

Normally, he loves this class - not the subject, obviously - but the class itself, for the sheer fact that it is the only time where he gets some peace and quiet. Everyone’s minds nice and quiet and shut off for the time being while they sleep. Although he has gotten used to ignoring the thoughts of everyone around him, their various voices mixing and mingling with each other into a dull thrum in the back of his mind, it is nice to have some quiet once in a while.

But right now, with everyone asleep except for the Gryffindor at his side, her thoughts are so loud it’s like she’s screaming at him.

So here he is, wishing he could fall asleep, leave the class, maybe turn off the infernal legilimency that has haunted him his whole life.

(His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

He is stuck listening to her.

It doesn’t help that she seems to have caught on to him - something he had managed to avoid until now. Nobody else, not even Sebastian or Anne, has ever suspected a thing. But, in all fairness, those two are extremely loud and say every single thought that passes through their minds out loud even when they should remain quiet, and nobody else has had the opportunity to spend enough time with Ominis to begin to suspect anything.

Until her.

He had to go and let that blasted girl worm her way into his life, not leaving him alone ever, always looking for excuses to talk and ask his opinion, and being so intelligent that he wanted to invite her to study with him and talk with him and…

Since it happened a few nights ago, he hasn’t stopped cursing himself for that stupid offhand comment he made. They had been studying in silence in the library together, by the history books where nobody else ever ventures (thank you, Professor Binns), and he could have sworn that she asked him if he was finally going to walk her back to her common room (he blames a lack of sleep and wishful thinking for this mishap). His traitorous face had flushed and he had jumped at the chance to escort her - maybe she would let him carry her bag, or… - only to feel his whole body go cold and his stomach drop when her response wasn’t what he’d expected.

A pause: then: a confused voice: ‘Ominis, I didn’t say anything.’

His Gryffindor wasn’t stupid like Gryffindors were normally wont to be. He knew her, and he knew that after his monumental mistake, the gears in her brain were turning and he was terrified that somehow she had figured it out.

(His Gryffindor?)

She had been unusually quiet around him since then, although he bitterly noticed that she was still acting normally with everyone else. Still finding every opportunity to punch Sebastian in the shoulder and laugh with Anne, still whispering with Natsai about Merlin knows what, still…

But she had been avoiding Ominis. He couldn’t stand it.

Well, avoiding him right until this stupid class, when she had to go and sit right next to him (ignoring the fact that she always sits next to him in History of Magic, that everyone already has and adheres to their unofficial seats), and he can’t ignore her.

She’s pretending to take studious notes, but he knows better. The scratching of her quill blending with the droning of Professor Binns’ voice but not drowning out her thoughts. They float above the other noises, her voice sweet and piercing. Ominis wonders vaguely what she’s actually writing, because he’s positive it isn’t notes.

Professor Binns looks so sexy right now with his medieval hat, talking about…whatever it is he’s passionate about. I wonder if he would let me talk to him after class without floating through me like he normally does…

Ominis is determined not to react. She’s obviously trying to bait him. But…what if she is attracted to Professor Binns? Is he an attractive man? At the thought, the fist that’s resting on top of his desk clenches, but he works to make sure his face remains impassive. Apart from a twitch of his lips, he thinks he’s been quite successful.

She: huffing and shifting in her chair, her robes rustling as she crosses her legs. He: keeping his head facing forward, steadfastly ignoring her.

She changes tactics.

Maybe she’s just as insufferable as the other Gryffindors, after all.

I wonder what Ominis would say if he knew I woke up moaning today after a dream about him -

He shifts slightly in his seat, hoping that she’s so busy taking notes (who’s he kidding) that she won’t notice his discomfort as his trousers tighten -

…the girls in my dorm have been bothering me nonstop about who I’ve been mooning over but I don’t want them to…

His hand is in such a tight fist it’s a wonder he’s not breaking any fingers as he tries to remain as still as possible, but his traitorous arousal is making her thoughts harder and harder to ignore. Had he ever been able to ignore her?

…his tongue was deep inside me as I screamed his name…

He feels his face heat up at the thought - where had she learned such vulgar language? - and his whole body stiffens. He’s sure that she can feel the tension and warmth radiating off of him in waves but that…she…his insane little lion keeps shouting at him in the silence of the classroom. She’s now stopped all pretense of taking notes and is sitting stock still.

…his cock deep inside of me as…wait…what else did I hear Garreth say to Leander that night?…um… She shifts uncomfortably, her knee grazing Ominis’s as she moves to squeeze her legs together. It’s all he can do to not groan and remain impassive. Oh god…I…what’s that feeling? This was just supposed to get back at him for probably - maybe - reading my thoughts and I’m officially insane because how would he even be able to do that?…his ears turning red from embarrassment are so adorable and I can’t stand this anymore and…

Ominis tries his hardest not to move his head in her direction. His jaw flexes. Maybe he can drown her out if he starts reciting potions ingredients, or if he focuses on what Professor Binns is saying, but even he knows its futile. He’s hanging on to her every word - thought? - and his head slowly turns in her direction as she keeps going.

…does he know how much I think about him? Oh god, what if he dreams of me the same way I…

He slams the open book in front of him shut, the loud noise causing Sebastian to jerk awake and babble incoherently for a moment before slumping back over his desk, drooling and snoring lightly. Nobody else in the class seems to notice except her of course. Blissfully, she has stopped talking - thinking - and he can finally -

It’s no use. He needs to get out of there. She has invaded his mind and…What if she starts up again with her filthy thoughts that are bleeding into his own and -

Did he hear me? I didn’t actually think…oh god, can he hear me now? What have I done?

Ominis very slowly brings his hand over to where he knows hers is. The quill falls out of her hand and he hears a sharp intake of breath at their contact. His fingers trace her knuckles and then he slowly trails them up her arm. His fingertips are so sensitive that he could swear that he feels every thread that he passes, her skin warm and alive underneath the fabric. Then to her neck, her throat bobs and he feels her erratic heartbeat. Finally, he reaches her face. She remains very, very still as his fingers brush over her features for the first time.

He has never touched someone like this before.

Her skin is like velvet, soft everywhere he touches. Now that he knows what it feels like he’s not sure he can go back to before. His fingers trace the curve of her eyebrows - he finds that her nose is straight before it flares up a tiny bit at the tip - his fingers ghost over her impossibly soft lips. He drags his thumb across her bottom lip as her tongue darts out to wet them. It’s impossibly intimate and the world has melted away and it’s just the two of them in that moment.

He leans forward.

“Ominis, I…” she whispers, stricken.

His hand moves to tuck some of her loose hair away from her face - does she always wear it like this? - and his lips brush against her ear. He inhales deeply, her sweet smell invading his senses. She shivers under his touch and he breathes, “I heard everything.”

[avocadorablepirate]

Quiet Appreciation

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x gn!reader

Summary: headcanon - just exploring what Law would be like with an artistic S/O (I've only mentioned a few art forms).

Word Count: 725

Warnings: none (at least none that I can think of)

A/N: I had no clue what to title this so I went with something that's relatively close to the contents of this post ._.

Firstly, whether you're together or not, if he sees a bunch of art supplies that he knows you'll love, you can be sure that he's going to buy them for you. Especially if it's something he's heard you mention from time to time.

Then he'll casually give it to you like he just picked it up on a whim and didn't spend a good half an hour deliberating what type of paint, yarn, pencils, or other supplies you like. Or, he'll leave it in your room for you to find later on.

Does not want to make it seem like he put a lot of effort into it.

But when you find it and thank him in front of everyone, he can't stop the blush that creeps onto his cheeks. He'll try playing it cool like it's not a big deal, but he's definitely trying to stop himself from smiling.

If you're someone who crochets or knits, you'll sit in a corner of his room quietly working on your latest project while he works at his desk, and when he looks up to check up on you he finds it so endearing how your brows are furrowed in concentration. Sometimes, if he's tired of working he'll just come sit across from you and simply watch.

Definitely would discreetly ask you whether you could do the whole amigurumi thing, and then would go on to hint that a Bepo plushie would be pretty cute.

Also, he'd be a complete hypocrite and tell you to fix your posture while you work (like I just know Law sits/sleeps at his desk in the most uncomfortable positions). But it's only because he cares.

If you're someone who draws or paints though, he'll ask for your artistic opinion when he wants to get a new tattoo. He might just even ask you to design it for him.

Would probably keep any artwork that you give him safely in a file or somewhere on his desk where he can look at it every day.

Law would get flustered if you ask him whether you could sketch him, but he would agree since you're asking. Suddenly, he feels very shy under your focused gaze, and even though you told him he can continue doing whatever it is he's doing, he'll try his best to stay still.

If you're someone who writes (stories, poetry, etc.) the two of you would sit across from each other at his table, focused on your own work. If it gets really late he'll be sure to make you a cup of tea, and quietly place it beside you because he doesn't want to disrupt your creative flow.

Again, if he's tired he'd just sit next to you and watch you work while also trying to take a peek at what you're writing. You biting at the tip of your pen lost in thought, brings a small smile to his face.

Law would be more than happy when you ask him to read through your work. He would give you genuine feedback while also showing his appreciation for your talent.

If by any chance you're facing writer's block, he'll suggest that the crew take a day off in a nearby town, and despite being packed with work, he'll take you around in hopes of helping you find something that inspires you.

So I don't know a lot about pottery, but I think Law would be fascinated by the way you mold the clay with such ease and skill, transforming it into something incredible. I think watching you work would relax him.

When you ask him whether he would like to make something himself, he hesitates but agrees with a casual shrug, trying to hide the fact that he's been wanting to try it ever since he saw you do it. Though once he starts he's nervous because he's afraid he'll make a mess, but then your soft laugh and gentle guidance help him relax.

He secretly loves the way your hands rest over his as you direct his movements.

Overall, Law might not always show it, but he loves seeing you express yourself through art. And, though he may not explicitly say it, he's genuinely curious about what inspires you. It helps him see things from a different perspective and also gives him a glimpse into your world.

I was kinda just fantasizing about this, and thought it would be pretty cute. Like can you imagine...oof

[it-happened-one-fic]

Twisted Weddings: - Introduction

Author Notes: This is the first part of my 800 Followers celebration event for the Twisted Wonderland fandom. This is just going to be the introduction section for the story itself (which is going to be 9 sections in total). I chose the wedding theme on a whim based on a fic I read a long time ago on AO3 that has long sense gone missing, but no one is actually going to be getting married. Reader is going to be female for the sake of my own ease for this series. I hope everyone enjoys!

Type: Female reader/ sfw/ fluff/ featuring Crewel (Note for sake of avoiding confusion: This is not x Crewel)

Word count: 775

I frowned slightly at Crewel as he sat down across from me, a stack of papers in his hands that he slowly laid out. One sheet at a time.

“I’ve recently finished designing a line of wedding dresses and suits,” He spoke as he fanned the sheets out across the table. Each page had a sketched-out design of a wedding gown that had me blinking slightly in surprise.

Of course I’d known that Crewel was a designer. As if his fashionable nature wasn’t enough to tip me off, then Vil talking about his clothing line would have been. I hadn’t realized that he designed bridal clothes, though. And I certainly didn’t know what these clothes had to do with me or why he’d called me in to look at them.

I slowly glanced back up at my instructor as he continued, utterly calm despite my wary confusion, “I’m wanting to market each of these dresses differently than I usually would though. You see, this is my first line of bridal designs.”

I nodded, shifting slightly in my seat as Crewel eyed me, “I’ve decided that, along with the runaway models, I would do an advertising campaign where I have just one woman model all the gowns with varying different grooms.”

I blinked, already seeing where this was heading but not quite able to keep myself from staring at him in surprise in a way that had him smiling at me, “Of course I’ll pay you for modeling all eight gowns.”

I glanced down at the page in front of me, a picture of a classic wedding dress. Pristine white with a veil and looking like it was directly out of a fairytale. But as I glanced back up at Crewel, I shook my head slightly in blatant disbelief, “But I’m not a model…..”

“That’s what will make these ads more unique. You aren’t a model of any sort, and yet you will be the bride for this marketing campaign and will be far more relatable to prospective brides looking for a dress.”

I had to hand it to him; he’d come prepared. And I couldn’t deny that earning some money was attractive when I considered the state Ramshackle dorm was in.

There was no telling how many repairs I’d be able to manage with whatever Crewel was willing to pay me.

“The campaign will consist of seven pictures for magazines and billboards and one video for television advertising. For each dress, you will be paired with a different groom,” He continued calmly. Clearly explaining his plan for the marketing campaign even as I weigh my options.

“Are the models of the groom’s suits going to be professional?” I tilted my head when I spoke, and he hummed in response before shaking his head. 

How he avoided sending any of his black hair into the white half of his head or vice versa was beyond me, but I didn’t question it as he responded, “Only one. As I said, there’s going to be a different model for the grooms in each image. I thought it would be more interesting to use other fresh faces for this campaign for the grooms.”

I felt my eyebrows arch, “But wouldn't it make more sense to just use one model for the suits since you’re just going to be using one for the gowns?”

Crewel frowned, a flicker of annoyance going through his gaze as his eyes met mine, and I tilted my head slightly, “That was the plan, but the candidates for modeling being how they were made things difficult.”

“And who are the candidates?” I couldn’t help the wariness that slipped into my tone, and Crewel sighed slightly before handing me a stack of pictures that was filled with familiar faces.

“They ended up being the winners. Whether they entered themselves or were entered by someone else,” As he spoke, I sifted through the pictures.

Trey, Ruggie, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Sebek, and Leona.

“Winners?” I echoed him amusedly, and Crewel shook his head. 

There was a perfectly annoyed expression on his face as he frowned down at the pictures in my hands, “Suffice to say they all turned it into a competition.”

I almost wanted to ask exactly how this supposed ‘competition’ went down, but thought better of it as I took a secondary glance at Crewel’s expression.

I shrugged lightly, laying the pictures down on top of the wedding sketches, “Well, I can’t really think of any reason to say no to modeling for you…”

I trailed off and Crewel nodded, back to business as usual as he collected all the papers, “Then we’ll start tomorrow.”

If you would like to read more

Next: Coming Soon!

[rainforestakiie]

Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer part 03

The Imp

hi everyone! i am back with the third instalment of @inubaki’s request! ahhh i really love this haha thank you for all the artwork you and your friend made inubaki! I truly hope you will like the new part!

‘A Priest observing that one of fathers in his charge seems to be heavily distracted by something no one else can see. Father Adam had come to them young, an unwanted fourth child to a Nobel family hoping to gain the church’s favor. Life is hard for Adam whim continues to wait for his family to return for him, growing into despair until one day he suddenly improves. He claims he’s spoken to an angel. And, to his credit, does give information far beyond what any child should know. But the older Adam gets, the more distracted he becomes. More happy, but conflicted. Till one day he disappears.'

The Imp (Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03.

Steve was so pretty.

At the age of fifthteen, Adam’s thoughts still swirled endlessly, drawing him deeper into an almost hypnotic trance. His apple-green eyes gleamed like rare gems, their light reflected in the dim room as he watched the older boy from his shadowed perch. He knew he shouldn’t be this close to the window—shouldn’t let the sun’s deadly rays creep too near—but he couldn’t help himself. Kneeling just beyond the reach of the light, shrouded by heavy, dark curtains, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Steve was... exquisite. The sun kissed his skin in a way that made him glow, the soft light rendering his freckles as constellations across his cheeks. Adam wanted so badly to trace them all, to memorise their patterns like secret codes only he could decipher.

A breathy, wistful sigh escaped Adam’s lips, his heart all but melting as he watched Steve helping a younger child to their feet after a clumsy tumble. The older boy’s kindness was as radiant as the sun that bathed him, bending to the child's level, his voice low and gentle, like a lullaby meant to soothe all fears. Adam’s chest fluttered, warm and tender.

"Steve would make a wonderful father," Adam murmured dreamily, his cheeks flushing as the thought wrapped itself around his mind like a delicate vine.

It was a bit childish, Adam thought, a flicker of embarrassment settling in his chest. After all, he was nearly sixteen—too old, perhaps, for such whims of fancy. And yet, here he was, allowing himself to drift into a world of impossible dreams. He let out a quiet sigh, tearing his gaze from the fogged window and curling himself tighter behind the heavy drapes, as if their shadowy folds could cloak him from the outside world.

In his lap, a few worn sheets of paper rested, supported by the weight of an old textbook. Though Adam had never been particularly skilled at drawing, he found comfort in it. Sister Emily had once taught him how, before her sight had been stolen by the creeping darkness that now clouded her eyes. It was one of the few things they had shared before the world dimmed for her.

His fingers brushed softly over the rough paper as he sketched, his strokes delicate, almost reverent. Tonight, his heart betrayed him, and he found himself sketching an image that lived only in the recesses of his mind—a portrait of him and Steve, their faces softened by affection, surrounded by the ghostly outlines of two, maybe three children.

Steve was beautiful in a way that made Adam’s heart ache. The way he smiled, so effortlessly sweet, like a secret whispered in the dead of night. Adam couldn’t help but give in to the tender pull of his imagination. He let it wrap around him like a blanket, warm and bittersweet.

Oh, how he would love for that dream to be real. To be a family. To belong somewhere, with Steve by his side, and the laughter of children filling the empty spaces around them.

He shifted slightly, leaning against the wall where it curved into the window, and returned his eyes to Steve. His thoughts began to wander, drawing up images and possibilities that made his body tense with a peculiar mix of yearning and nervous excitement. A dreamy smile tugged at his lips, a deep sigh spilling from his chest like a whisper meant only for the shadows.

Would Steve ever even consider...with him?

“To get married and have children…” he whispered shyly, a touch of a dreamer smile lighting up his lips. “With Ste-”

The sudden, jarring crash of a door slamming behind him made Adam jolt, his heart leaping into his throat. He whirled around, eyes narrowing as they tried to pierce through the dim room. Has someone crept in behind him? Was this another prank from the church kids, trying to frighten him with their mischievous tricks? His pulse raced, but the room appeared empty, still cloaked in its usual shadowy stillness.

Adam pouted, shrugging off the unease as he let the thick curtain slip from his fingers. He turned back to the window, his heart instantly skipping a beat as his gaze locked, wide-eyed, with Steve’s. Heat flooded his face, a small, startled sound—almost a squeak—escaping his lips as Steve grinned and waved at him. Adam’s first instinct was to return the gesture, to raise his hand in a shy, almost desperate wave. But when he tried, he couldn’t.

Something was holding his hand down.

His breath hitched as his brow furrowed in confusion. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his hand. There was nothing there, no visible force pinning him in place, yet he could feel it—the unmistakable pressure of fingers intertwined with his own. Cold. Unseen. His pulse quickened as he bit down on his bottom lip, his skin crawling with a mixture of fear and something darker, something strangely sweet.

But the invisible hand did not let go.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat as his wide eyes darted back to Steve. He wanted to scream, to beg the older boy to come to his rescue, to tear him away from the unseen force that gripped him in its cold, spectral hold. But his voice refused to come. He could only watch as Steve smiled at him through the glass, so warm and gentle, blissfully unaware of the creeping dread filling the air. The older boy waved again, the gesture as sweet and kind as ever, a picture of innocence framed by the sun.

But then the window shuddered, an unnatural tremor that sent a chill racing down Adam’s spine. Before he could process it, a sharp, echoing crack erupted across the glass. The sound was so loud, so sudden, it tore a startled cry from Adam’s lips. He shot backward in a blind panic, his legs slipping out from under him as he scrambled away from the window, heart thudding wildly in his chest.

The cracks multiplied with terrifying speed, crawling outward like the limbs of a great spider, their jagged lines stretching not just across the window, but creeping up the walls around it, spreading like a dark web of shattered reality. The light from the outside seemed to warp, bending unnaturally as the fractures claimed more of the wall, pulling shadows into their depths.

Adam’s pulse raced, every fibre of his being screaming for him to run, to hide, to escape the sinister web that seemed to tighten around him. Yet, amidst the chaos, his gaze flickered back to Steve, still standing there, still smiling, still so impossibly unaware of the nightmare unravelling before them.

It was as if the world had splintered around Adam, yet Steve remained untouched, suspended in a moment of sunlit perfection while Adam was dragged himself deeper into the darkness.

Powerful rumbles coursed through the room, the sound reverberating like the growl of a hidden beast. The cracks clawed their way further, creeping up the walls and spreading like dark veins overhead. Adam’s body trembled, his muscles locking in place as dread settled deep in his gut. He hunched over, pulling his knees tightly to his chest, his arms folding protectively over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable—the ceiling giving way, burying him beneath a rain of jagged debris.

But instead of the crushing weight of collapse, he felt something else—a hand. Solid. Firm. Resting on his shoulder.

Adam’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest as a sharp yelp escaped his lips. His mind spun with confusion, his stomach twisted into painful knots. He jerked around, expecting to see the worst. Yet, there crouched beside him was... Steve.

The older boy’s soft, warm gaze met Adam’s wide, frantic eyes, his concern palpable as his hand rested gently on Adam’s trembling shoulder. Steve’s voice was as soothing as a breeze in the summer sun.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his tone filled with care, like he was coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding.

Adam’s breath came in shallow, wheezing gasps as he blinked away the confusion clouding his vision. His gaze darted around the room, expecting the cracks to still be there, the walls to be crumbling, the chaos to remain. But everything was as it had been before. The window was whole, the air calm, the floor solid beneath him. No cracks. No dust. No falling ceiling. Just the quiet, dimly lit room and Steve's comforting presence.

A soft whimper escaped Adam’s throat, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as his bottom lip trembled. It had all felt so real—so terrifyingly real. He could still feel the echo of the rumbling in his bones, still see the image of the fractured walls crawling across his mind.

“Adam?” Steve’s voice was more urgent now, filled with worry as he rubbed comforting circles on Adam’s back.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to... You looked so frightened. I got worried and came to find you."

Steve’s words washed over him like a balm, but Adam’s mind couldn’t fully grasp them, not yet. The confusion, the fear—it still lingered, lurking in the shadows of his mind. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, wasn’t sure if it had been a trick of his mind or something darker, something otherworldly that had toyed with him. All he knew was that Steve was here now, real and solid, grounding him in this strange and eerie moment.

Adam's eyes flickered nervously toward the window, the remnants of terror still coursing through him. His throat tightened as he swallowed, his whole body trembling as if it could collapse at any moment. The crack remained etched into the glass, jagged and unnatural, exactly where Steve had been standing just moments ago. It hadn’t vanished like the others. It was real.

"Come on, Adam," Steve’s voice was a gentle murmur in his ear, steady and warm. Adam felt Steve’s arms slip beneath his own, lifting him up with ease. Under any other circumstance, Adam might have grumbled, his pride wounded by needing to be held like this. But now, he didn’t resist. Not with the lingering fear still clutching at his chest. Steve held him close, his presence as comforting as it was grounding.

"I think you need to lay down," Steve continued softly, his voice a soft tether pulling Adam back from the edge of panic. "Sister Sera told me about your condition with the sun. You weren't standing in the sunlight too long, were you?"

Adam’s mind raced as Steve’s words cut through the haze. No... there were no burns. His skin wasn’t blistered, his flesh wasn’t melting under the relentless burn of the sun’s touch. But... had he been in the sun’s light longer than he thought? His condition made him sick, left his skin raw and ruined if he was exposed too long... but this wasn’t that. Or was it? The crack in the window... could he have caused it?

No. No, that wasn’t possible. His hand still tingled from something else, from the cold, inhuman touch that had bound him. The pressure, the weight of those unseen fingers—he hadn’t imagined that. Had he?

"It’ll be alright, Adam," Steve chirped, his tone almost too bright, a beacon in the darkness of Adam’s confusion. Steve led him out of the classroom, the halls of the old building feeling even darker now, colder. "It’ll be alright."

Adam continued to stare back over his shoulder as they left the room, his gaze fixed on the spot where the crack had shattered his world. Even when the window disappeared from sight, his eyes remained glued to the void behind him, waiting—hoping—to catch a glimpse of something. He always saw something, didn’t he? The strange, the inexplicable, the things that lurked just beyond the edges of reality.

But this time... there was nothing.

The silence in his mind was louder than any crackling glass, more oppressive than any shadow. He felt safer with Steve’s hand holding his…

His drawings had mysteriously disappeared…

~#~

“There,” Steve exhaled with satisfaction, stepping back from the wardrobe with his hands on his hips. “Now nothing can get out during the night.”

Adam’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles as he lay curled on his side, tightly cocooned within his blankets. His gaze lingered on the old pink skipping rope Steve had used to tie the wardrobe doors shut, a flimsy but sweet attempt at protection.

“Don’t tell Eve I swiped her skipping rope,” Steve added with a playful grin, spinning on his toes with a lightness that made Adam’s heart flutter. He practically skipped to his bed, his clear blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “But seriously, if you can’t sleep or have another nightmare, just crawl into my bed. You don’t have to wake me up.”

Adam gave a meek nod, feeling a strange warmth bloom in his chest. His heart did a tiny, giddy dance at Steve’s words. The kindness made his face burn with embarrassment, and he quickly pulled the quilt up over his head, hiding from the older boy’s clear gaze. His cheeks were flaming, and he was sure his blush was as obvious as the daylight he dreaded.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Steve asked softly, his tone growing quieter, laced with concern. “You’ve been shaky ever since this morning.”

Adam hesitated before poking a hand out from beneath the covers, offering a weak thumbs up. He couldn’t help but smile when he heard Steve chuckle in response. That sound—so light and free—was like a balm for his anxious soul. He peeked out from his blanket fortress, watching Steve’s blue eyes sparkle with amusement. The grin that tugged at Steve’s cherry-red lips only deepened, his dimples carving into his cheeks in the most charming way.

Ah, Steve was just so... cute.

“Well, if you say so~” Steve whistled cheerfully, tossing himself onto his bed with a dramatic flop.

Adam bit his lip, holding back the laugh that bubbled up inside him. He wasn’t sure how to let it out, how to release that strange mix of joy and unease swirling inside him. Instead, his gaze drifted back to the wardrobe. His heart quickened as his eyes locked onto the pink skipping rope, tightly wrapped around the handles. Would it really hold? Could something as fragile as a skipping rope keep that... thing... inside?

His stomach twisted in fear as he recalled the black silhouette that always lurked within the wardrobe’s depths, emerging only at night. It was there every time the room fell into shadow, a dark figure that terrified him to his core. It growled and writhed behind the doors, furious when Adam would crawl into Steve’s bed for safety, as if it resented the comfort he found there. Steve had never seen it. Steve never heard the growling, never felt the cold presence hovering just beyond the threshold of that fragile pink rope.

Adam’s heart trembled with fear, even as he lay curled beneath the safety of his blankets. He hoped, desperately, that tonight would be different—that the rope would hold, that the silhouette would remain locked away, where it couldn’t reach him. But in the silence that followed Steve’s soft breathing, Adam’s gaze lingered on the wardrobe, waiting, fearing, knowing deep down that it was only a matter of time before the thing inside stirred once more.

Adam couldn’t recall when he drifted into sleep, but as swiftly as a rubber band snaps, his eyes jerked open. His vision was a foggy swirl of shadows, distorting reality and sending an aching pulse through the bridge of his nose. Slowly, cautiously, he sat up, pressing his palms hard into his eyes as if to wipe away the heaviness lingering in them.

Everything felt...off again. Uncanny. Wrong. An uneasy whine rose from his throat, and he forced his tired gaze to the cross above his bed. It was upside down, mocking him in its eerie defiance, because of course it was. He groaned softly as his sore legs protested when he stood, reaching up to set the cross right again.

His body sagged against the wall, feeling the coolness seeping into him like a whispered warning. His head lolled slightly as he glanced toward the wardrobe—it was still tied shut, securely bound, as if whatever lurked within hadn't stirred. Relief washed over him, and he let his forehead rest against the cold plaster, the contrast to his own feverish warmth almost comforting.

He stood there, unmoving, the chill of the wall seeping deeper into his skin. His eyelids began to grow heavy again, dragging him toward that perilous edge of sleep. But no, he wouldn’t let himself succumb. Not standing like this, not in this place. He was about to surrender to the blankets, retreat into their cocoon, when something caught his attention—a slight draft or perhaps just a shift in the darkness.

He blinked. The bedroom door was open.

Had Steve left it ajar? Adam turned his head, eyes searching for the older boy who slept soundly in the bed across the room, blissfully unaware of the creeping darkness that surrounded them. The church felt hollow, its silence heavier than it should be. Adam’s gaze returned to the doorway, his throat tightening as a sharp taste of fear swirled in his mouth. He bit his bottom lip until it stung.

There, directly in the centre of the threshold, sat a candle. A solitary, ominous candle that sent an icy tremor skittering down his spine. He inhaled sharply, his lips thinning as a shiver locked his muscles in place. He knew that candle. He had seen it before—years ago, in a memory that clawed at the corners of his mind like something too dark to fully remember.

A black candle with a flame that flickers white and purple. The sight of it tightened his chest, dredging up old, buried nightmares. His fingers curled into the blankets, knuckles white with tension, his nose twitching as fear gripped him. He could hardly tear his eyes from the flame, watching it dance inside its ancient silver holder. If he looked closer, he could make out delicate carvings—small apple-like shapes etched into the tarnished metal, winding around the base where the handle twisted upward in an elegant curve.

But Adam didn't dare step closer. The past was too close now, breathing down his neck, reminding him of that time...the time he was placed on that altar...

Adam’s breath hitched, a jagged edge catching in his throat. He pulled his knees tightly to his chest, curling inward as his eyes darted around the room. Everything seemed the same, yet an invisible tension lingered in the air, whispering of something unseen but waiting. Nothing appeared out of place... but that feeling of wrongness clung to him like a shadow, refusing to be shaken off.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pushed the heavy quilts away, their warmth slipping from his skin as he moved to stand. His knees buckled beneath him, nearly sending him to the floor. He steadied himself with a shaky hand, the tremors in his body growing more pronounced as he crept toward the candle. It sat there so innocently, yet the flickering of the white and purple flame was anything but comforting. It seemed to beckon him, to draw him closer with its strange and hypnotic glow.

Adam poked his head out into the hallway, his heart racing as his eyes scanned the shadows that stretched out on either side. There was nothing. Just the emptiness of the night and the eerie quiet of the old church. His lips pressed into a thin line, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulled his head back inside and returned his gaze to the candle.

Its flame flickered softly, casting strange, dancing shadows against the walls. Adam hesitated, a cold sweat gathering at the nape of his neck as he bent down toward the strange light. His hands shook violently, but he forced them forward, fingers curling around the handle of the silver holder. The metal was cool to the touch, the carvings beneath his fingertips smooth and strange. As he straightened up, lifting the candle from the floor, his eyes remained locked on the flame—unable to look away, as though something deeper than fear compelled him to keep watching it.

The flame danced as if it knew something he didn’t. Something dark and ancient.

Adam inhaled deeply, his breath shaky, his hand trembling as he gripped the cool handle of the candle holder. His eyes were locked on the flickering flame, its white and purple light swirling hypnotically, refusing to release him from its spell. It danced with an almost mischievous life of its own, teasing the edges of his thoughts.

What should he do? Where had this candle even come from? A cold unease twisted inside him. Maybe… maybe he should wake Steve. Steve would know what to do; Steve always knew what to do. Over the past year, Steve had been endlessly patient with him, a constant source of warmth in Adam’s otherwise haunted nights. That thought sent a flutter through his chest—sweet and soft, a rare comfort in this place of shadows. Steve had stayed by his side, soothing him through the long, sleepless nights, even allowing him to slip into his bed when the thing in the wardrobe refused to let Adam rest. Those moments meant more than Adam could ever express.

But then, out of nowhere, a sound—a faint, childish giggle—broke through the silence from somewhere to his left. Adam’s breath hitched sharply. His body stiffened, and he whipped around, just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of something small and fast darting past the end of the corridor. His eyes widened in alarm. The figure was too quick, too blurry to make out which child it was. But his heart raced at the thought—if Sister Sera caught them, they’d be sent to the Bobo Box.

Adam’s face scrunched in worry, torn between waking Steve and following the mysterious figure. He cast one last glance toward Steve’s sleeping form, then, with his heart pounding in his chest, cautiously started down the corridor.

The air inside the church clung with an unnatural chill, far colder than it should have been. Adam shivered violently, his lips tinged a deep blue. He hunched his small frame, clutching at the oversized sweater draped over him. It was Steve’s, a gift surrendered when Adam had been caught admiring it. Though it hung baggy and awkward on him, it offered a peculiar comfort. He slowed to a halt, lifting his gaze to the towering grandfather clock looming above. Its hands jittered and spun as though they were caught in some unseen frenzy, their movements unsettlingly erratic. Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion. He had never seen the clock behave like this before. Sister Sera had mentioned Father Michael had crafted it many years ago. It was a relic, ancient and cherished by the church.

A lump formed in Adam’s throat as he squinted at the clock's glass, straining to focus on the reflection staring back at him. A shadowy figure loomed there, silently watching from the doorway that led into the parlor. Adam’s heart thundered, freezing for a beat before surging into a frantic rhythm. He spun around, his breath catching as the dim light flickered unnervingly. A soft, eerie giggle echoed through the still air—a sound that sent a shiver racing down Adam’s spine.

The figure was small and childlike, but there was something wrong about it. Another eerie laugh escaped its lips before it turned abruptly and bolted deeper into the church, its form darting far too fast for Adam to truly make out its features. Despite the icy dread coiling in his chest, Adam’s feet betrayed him, propelling him forward in pursuit of the mysterious child.

His lips twitched as if trying to call out, but no sound came. His voice was trapped in his throat, silenced by fear. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat so strong it echoed in his ears. Adam gasped for breath, a stifled sob escaping him as he pressed on. His legs trembled, heavy with exhaustion, yet he couldn't stop running. He had never raced through the church like this before, knowing full well that such disobedience would earn him sharp strikes to the hands.

The ancient floorboards groaned beneath his feet as if whispering secrets long forgotten. Above him, the ceiling creaked with the sound of countless tiny footsteps, as though an army of unseen children scampered about. The flickering light bulbs overhead swayed back and forth, casting ominous shadows that danced mockingly around him.

Adam turned in a frantic circle, his eyes locked on the trembling ceiling above him, where the sound of countless small feet scurried in a maddening loop. It was as if unseen children were racing overhead, encircling him in an eerie dance. His breath caught in his throat, a sharp, panicked whimper escaping his lips as he twisted on his bare feet. He stumbled, nearly collapsing to the ground but managed to catch himself just in time.

He bolted into the dining room, the largest and most foreboding space in the church. The walls loomed with cold, grey stone bricks, their rough surfaces jagged and unkind. Adam hated the floor, sharp-edged stone that had cut more than one careless child’s foot. The arched windows, small and narrow, were lined with black, prison-like bars of iron. They cast dark shadows on the room’s interior, making the space feel more like a dungeon than a place for gathering.

The room was ancient, older than anything else in the church, and its age seemed to seep into the very air, thick and heavy with forgotten time. A single long, weathered wooden table stretched across the centre, rarely filled despite the church being crammed with orphans, nuns, and priests. When Adam stepped inside, his skin crawled with a sudden, visceral dread.

He froze, his bare feet pressing painfully into the unforgiving stone. A sharp sting radiated from his left foot, but he barely noticed. His wide, apple-green eyes stretched in shock as the breath caught in his chest, his heart squeezing so tightly it felt like his ribs might snap under the pressure.

The dining room had transformed into something out of a nightmare. Red candles covered every surface, their twisted wax forms flickering with strange black flames that burned coldly against the darkness. The table was draped in a deep crimson cloth, rich and velvety. But what made Adam's blood run cold were the children. Every stool at the table was occupied by pale, porcelain-faced children, their eyes impossibly large and glossy, black as endless voids. They weren’t human eyes. They gleamed with a soulless, alien shine. Their skin was smooth and polished like fine china, unnervingly perfect, and Adam felt a shiver skitter down his spine as he heard soft clicks and whirs when they tilted their heads in unison, just like fragile, wind-up dolls.

They were pristine, flawless in every detail. Their hair, ranging from golden blonde to deep brown, was meticulously groomed, and they wore clothing of finely tailored black, white, and red. Every movement was deliberate, too precise, as if they were posed, waiting for something. The air hung thick with tension as Adam took a hesitant step forward, and in that instant, the doors behind him slammed shut with a thunderous bang.

Adam let out a scream, spinning on his heel to face the doors. He lunged for the handles, yanking with all his strength, but they refused to budge, as though sealed by some invisible force. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as he turned back to the room, sweat beading on his forehead.

The sound of laughter—a chorus of eerie, high-pitched giggles—filled the air, but it was far from playful. It was ghostly, distorted, as if thousands of children were laughing in some dark, twisted harmony. Adam’s stomach churned violently. His eyes darted back to the children, their painted lips now curled into sweet, yet sinister smiles.

His gaze drifted to the chair at the head of the table, the one closest to him. It was newer than the rest, the wood a deep, blood-red hue with plush black cushions sewn into it. It didn’t belong here—certainly not where Sister Sera usually sat. As Adam stared at it, he felt an icy tingle creep across his skin, a dark shadow pooling in the farthest corner of the room where the light refused to reach.

The porcelain children never broke their gaze, their smiles never faltering. Suddenly, a little china girl sitting at the far end of the table rose to her feet with a soft clink of her joints, bowing deeply, her red-tinted cheeks gleaming like polished glass. Across from her, a china boy stood up with a sharp, mechanical movement, his bow so deep his head nearly brushed the floor. They moved with a strange fluidity, their limbs clicking like clockwork dolls, each motion accompanied by that unnerving sound.

Together, they tugged the chair out from the table, their eyes never leaving Adam as they gestured for him to sit. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two doll-like figures. Their painted smiles stretched wider as they gestured again, more insistent this time, urging him closer.

With a racing heart and no other choice, Adam inched toward the chair. His foot throbbed from the cut, but the pain felt distant, swallowed by the suffocating fear that gripped him. His wide eyes darted between the children, unable to comprehend how they moved so fluidly, as if alive. He lowered himself into the chair, the cushion soft beneath him.

The moment he sat, the two doll-children pressed their small hands to the back of the chair, pushing him in closer to the table before silently returning to their seats. Adam’s heart raced, his breath shallow and quick, as the room seemed to close in around him. And still, those wide, black eyes watched him, unblinking, waiting.

Nervously, Adam gnawed at his bottom lip until the sting of pain shot through him. His shoulders hunched in tight, a small tremor running through his fingers as he crossed them protectively over his stomach. His gaze flickered meekly over the children seated around the table. They appeared no older than four or five, but there was something deeply unsettling in the way their glassy eyes tracked his every movement.

Without warning, the silence shattered. The children erupted into joyful cheers, their voices shrill and almost too sweet. Party poppers exploded in their tiny hands, sending colourful streams of confetti spiralling through the air. Adam's eyes widened in shock, watching as the dining room was suddenly bathed in a warm, golden glow. It seemed almost festive now, but despite the change, Adam instinctively shrank back, his mind swirling with confusion and unease.

Across the table, a pair of red and golden eyes gleamed through the shifting light, pinning him in place. Adam gasped, his breath catching in his throat as he straightened, startled. There, seated casually at the far end of the table, was Luci, his sharp grin cutting through the room like a blade. Its arrow-tipped tail swished lazily behind it, the movement almost hypnotic. A crisp white top hat perched atop its head, casting shadows over its face, but leaving those unnaturally beautiful eyes to glow vividly in the dimness.

"Mama’s home!" the china children chorused in unison, their mechanical voices high-pitched and eerie as they bounced excitedly on their stools. Their arms flailed in a strange imitation of joy, and above the Imp, a banner unfurled with a soft flutter.

It was stained a deep, rusty red, the words scrawled across it reading, "Mummy’s come home!"

Adam’s breath hitched painfully in his chest, each inhale trembling as his lungs struggled to keep pace with his panic.

"M-Mummy?" he stammered, the word barely escaping his lips, as if his voice had been trapped somewhere deep inside.

The Imp’s grin widened—impossibly wide—its cheeks flushed a deep crimson that seemed to glow against the pale skin. Its gleaming eyes never left Adam, staring straight into him, through him, as if the creature could read every desperate thought racing through his mind. But Adam’s attention was abruptly diverted by movement at his side.

One of the china children had waddled up to him, its porcelain limbs clicking softly as it carried a large, rolled-up piece of paper. It released the scroll with a careful flick, allowing it to unfurl in front of Adam. His heart nearly stopped as the image was revealed. It was a sketch, eerily familiar, but larger and far more detailed than the one Adam had once drawn in secret. Only now, Steve was gone, completely erased, and in his place stood Luci, looming proudly. They were surrounded by children—each one smiling with wide, jagged grins that mirrored the Imp’s sinister expression.

Adam swallowed hard, his throat tightening painfully as his gaze lingered on the twisted smiles. They stared back at him from the paper, their sharp teeth gleaming like tiny, hungry blades. A sickening chill crawled up his spine, making his stomach churn. His pulse raced, pounding in his ears as he fought to tear his eyes away from the unnerving scene.

Luci’s voice echoed softly in the back of his mind, almost a whisper, but it carried a weight that made Adam’s blood run cold.

"Y-Y-You..." Adam stammered, licking his dry lips as his gaze flickered nervously to the Imp’s piercing eyes. He swallowed hard, barely able to form the words as they trembled on the edge of his tongue. "You... built... me a family?"

The Imp, Luci, responded with a slow, prideful nod, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. His lips curled into a sharp, knowing grin as Adam hesitantly pointed a trembling finger toward himself.

"And..." Adam’s voice shook, barely audible as he struggled to comprehend the nightmare unfolding around him. "...I’m the M-M... Mama?"

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of eerie giggles, the china children kicking their feet with uncontainable glee. Their glassy eyes never wavered from Adam, their joy unsettling in its falseness. Luci tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes gleaming brighter as he gave a deliberate, luring nod, his grin widening as if this revelation was a game he had long been waiting for Adam to understand.

Adam inhaled deeply, his lips twitching involuntarily as his mind wrestled with the horror before him. He looked back at Luci, his fingers twitching uncontrollably. A family. A make-believe family, created from some twisted fantasy. It was terrifying—every child seated around the table had an unsettling, doll-like quality that sent shivers down his spine. Yet... there was something else. A strange, warped sense of being touched. Luci, his Imp, had pieced together a family for him. A grotesque, chilling gesture, but a gesture nonetheless.

"And... and..." Adam struggled to find his voice, his thoughts spiralling as he grasped for clarity.

Before he could finish, Luci leaned forward, his movements fluid and predatory. He propped his elbows on the table, his long claws threading together like pieces of a delicate puzzle. His sharp teeth glittered in the dim light, and his eyes... they swirled with an enchanting, dangerous allure that made Adam’s pulse quicken. He couldn't tear his gaze away, as if Luci’s eyes had woven some dark spell around his mind.

"I’m the Mama... and you’re the Papa?" Adam finally whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, trembling with both fear and an unsettling sense of acceptance.

The china doll children erupted into another round of gleeful squeals, their delicate bodies shaking with excitement as they bounced on their stools. The sound was unnerving, yet Adam couldn't look away from Luci’s intense gaze, his heart pounding faster in his chest with each passing second.

Suddenly, Luci rose to his feet, his movements swift and effortless. He climbed onto the table with an unsettling grace, his clawed feet clicking against the wood as he revealed a lavish red and gold throne behind him. It had been there all along, hidden in plain sight, and Adam felt a chill run down his spine as he realised the throne had been the Imp’s rightful seat.

His eyes fell to Luci’s goat-like hooves as the Imp began to walk slowly down the centre of the table, the candles flickering in his wake. Luci's figure loomed larger and larger until he stood directly over Adam, casting a dark shadow that enveloped him entirely. Adam’s heart raced wildly, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts as Luci’s glowing eyes bore into his very soul.

This was no ordinary family. It was a nightmare wrapped in velvet, a macabre creation crafted from the darkest parts of his imagination. And yet, Luci stood before him, offering it all with a grin that promised so much more than Adam could ever understand.

….but…Adam smiled.

Luci held out a black claw and Adam took it.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rook Hunt - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: This museum is teeming with histoire... Très bien! What a wonderful place.

Summon Line: Today, I intend to soak in these art pieces with every fiber of my being. I wish for you to have a lovely time gazing at the beauty as well.

Groooovy!!: A singing voice so lovely that even animals are drawn closer... Aah, how I wish I could also listen to the princess's beautiful voice.

Home: We will celebrate this 100th Anniversary together!

Home Idle 1: It seems Jack-kun is quite taken in by the art depicting wolves. His tail was wagging 5 cm further than usual.

Home Idle 2: If I were brought before the Fairest Queen and was told to paint her portrait, I would fall prostate before her beauty that I would not even be capable of lifting my paint brush.

Home Idle 3: It's astounding how the paint blends and shows intricate color and lighting theory... This delicate and beautiful sight can only be properly experienced in person.

Home Idle - Login: It is amazing that I am able to come visit the Land of Dawning National Art Museum alongside my peers. I am more than ecstatic to be able to witness these spectacular works of art with everyone.

Home Idle - Groovy: While Ortho and I were appreciating the art together, it stirred up some memories of my most hard-working moments. I truly do love talking about art.

Home Tap 1: A key that leads to treasure... The golden scarab itself is as beautiful as a work of art. Ruggie-kun was quite taken by the painting.

Home Tap 2: Urgh... I was so absorbed in admiring the painting that I completely forgot to blink. I should take a moment to use some eye drops now.

Home Tap 3: Sometimes I sketch animals that I see. I find the way to truly bring them to life is to capture their breathing and muscle movements as well.

Home Tap 4: The moray eels that served the Sea Witch had heterochromia... I thought it seemed familiar, and then I remembered that it's just like Floyd and his brother.

Home Tap 5: Are you fascinated by my bowtie? The color changes depending on the angle you view it at. Isn't it fantastic?

Home Tap - Groovy: If it pleases you, I'd love for you to tell me which art piece was your favorite. I wish to know which work of art warmed your heart most.

Duo: [ROOK]: Ortho-kun, go forth with splendor! [ORTHO]: Let's get it started, Rook-san!

Birthday Login Message: What would I like for a birthday present? Fufu, I'm elated enough just knowing you want to celebrate my birthday with me. Well, if you'll indulge my selfish little whim, could I steal a moment of your time, then? I have been hoping to have a chat with you about beauty for some time now. I would love to hear all about what you find beautiful.

Requested by @butterflyremix.

[freemilkshakesposts]

Draw Me Like One Of Your French Girls

⚠️Warning⚠️: Sexual content (18+ MDNI) + mention of cheating!!

a/n: This is pure filth so be warned!!

Levi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: It's strange enough that you never discovered Captain Levi's secret talent for drawing, but even stranger is how readily you accepted his request to sketch your bare form every night. As your captain, you've clearly crossed professional boundaries. Yet, the most significant boundary you've breached is sacrificing a relationship you had built with your supposed partner, all for Levi.

"Would you kindly shift to the left? (Y/N)," he commanded, gesturing with his pencil towards the spot where he envisioned you, a perfect tableau for his gaze to devour.

I complied, leisurely strolling to the designated spot, assuming the familiar pose: sprawled across his crimson red sofa, its plushness teasing my bare skin, while my gaze, heavy-lidded and drowsy, locked onto his tempestuous eyes.

"Perfect, my pretty girl," he drawled, a smirk curling his lips as he glanced at me, his gaze lingering on my form before returning to his sketchpad, now fixated on capturing my essence. Now that was all left in the confined space of the room, the only sound was the scrape of his pencil against the paper, etching the contours of your body with meticulous precision.

It was a routine as consistent as the ticking of a clock. He'd clutch my hand as practice concluded, not asking, but demanding my presence in his quarters, shrouded in secrecy. There, he'd command me to disrobe, offering my form for his meticulous sketches, each stroke etching my essence onto the pages of his coveted notebook, preserving me solely for his consumption.

So strange, I never once dared to challenge his whims. Why? A rational mind would have, but mine, swayed by an irrational devotion, always ceded to my emotions. In those fragile moments with my captain, I entertained the unsettling certainty that I wasn't just an ally, but a possession—undeniably, unequivocally, his.

His gaze lingered on me once more, a smirk etching onto his cold facade. And then, a transformation: his once piercing ocean-blue eyes dissolved into inky blackness.

"You know what, I'm feeling experimental," he declared, setting aside his sketchbook with a casual flick. "I'll give you a choice, but remember, refusing ends it all."

His words, laced with venom, seeped into my consciousness. The thought of it ending was unbearable. I craved his attention, his affection, his validation. I longed to be his muse, his 'pretty girl'.

"I'll do whatever you desire, sir," my voice whispered in the confined space that enveloped us. The walls closed in, suffocating any semblance of resistance. I couldn't bear for it to end. I'd forsaken everything to join the Corps, leaving behind family and a partner in pursuit of the hero's mantle I once coveted. And now, I'd sacrificed even more to be by his side—my principles, my integrity.

"Sit up and spread your legs for me solider."

My eyes stretched wide, almost popping out, tethered only by the veins snaking within my sockets. What in the hell did he just say? Did Captain Levi, my corporal, just order me to-

"You promised to fulfill my every whim, didn't you?" His words sliced through the silence like a gleaming knife through silk.

"I did but-"

"Come on darling, stretch those beautiful legs out for me. I want to draw that prized pussy of yours," his voice oozed with a yearning I'd never witnessed. He craved a peek into that sanctified domain, the territory you safeguard solely for your lover.

Fuck it. I've already relinquished too many sacrifices. I've bared my body entirely for my captain. I've shattered all trust with the man back home, who within these walls, thought I'd be the hero. I'm already damned.

I peeled myself off the crimson-red hairs that clung to my naked limbs, their touch like a devoted lover's, tenderly stroking and caressing my flesh. Then, I positioned myself upright, and once more, scrutinized Levi, attempting to dissect the thoughts behind his eyes. His gaze remained impassive, unflinching. Did he really want this? Or was I merely fabricating the utterances that spilled from his mouth?

Then, the signal I awaited emerged: he slid his chair deliberately closer, his face encroaching on my space, the intoxicating scent of him saturating the air around me. "Atta girl, show me it. Show me your cunt."

His words ignited an unbearable heat, a searing intensity capable of liquefying flesh. This was his method, I deduced-a calculated attempt to break any woman, and goddamn, it worked.

I spread my legs apart, exposing the fortress that shields my most precious possession, a coveted treasure glimpsed by few and touched by even fewer.

This is a grotesque twist, a descent into madness.

What would he think, seeing me in such a compromising position before another man—my captain, no less? The very thought is unbearable, a macabre revelation I can scarcely fathom.

A shiver ran through me as I caught Levi’s eyes fixated on my secret grove , his gaze consuming it with an unsettling intensity. Fascination, allure—these weren't the emotions I'd expect from the cold, stoic captain or the quiet artist who sketched my naked form with detached precision. This was a different Levi, a stranger hidden behind the familiar façade, captivated in a way that felt disturbingly alien.

"Is this what you wanted, captain?" I murmured, each word tumbling out in a fractured whisper, my voice betraying the turmoil within. I'm committing a grave, obscene error—a descent into sin, a plunge into wickedness beyond redemption.

He smirked, a fleeting kiss brushing my temple, before shifting his chair away, carving a chasm of space between us. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, an unconscious gasp escaping into the sudden, cold distance.

"You look fucking divine," he exclaimed with palpable fervor.

Rising abruptly from his chair, he was irresistibly drawn to his desk. With eager hands, he yanked open one of the drawers, revealing a long and slender object: a ruler.

What the hell does he need a ruler for? He never used it when he sketched me. Why does he-

"You know," he interrupted, swiveling his body to face me directly. "As an artist, perfection is paramount." He advanced towards me, tapping the wooden tool against his palm. "You don't mind if I measure some dimensions, do you?" His face loomed closer to mine, that damn smirk never leaving his lips.

He's orchestrated this from the start. I should put an end to it now. Any person with a shred of decency would.

"N-no I don't mind," I muttered, my voice barely holding up against his suffocating presence. Damn it, why am I always such a pushover with him?

"That's why you're my muse. Mine." He swiftly knelt beside me, commencing to press the icy ruler against my inner thigh, his gaze unyielding as he meticulously gauged his indispensable dimensions.

This is so twisted. So goddamn twisted. Having my captain-my superior-between my legs, and another man, not my supposed lover, not my partner, but him. Fuck, I'm so sorry. But then again, no, I'm not sorry. I'm assisting with his masterpiece, after all. He only seeks to refine his artistry. I'll do whatever it takes to make it the most beautiful piece ever created.

"Hmm." Levi purred, his vibrations resonating within the claustrophobic confines that isolated us from the outside world. He snapped his head up, locking eyes with me once more. Another glint in those obsidian orbs, and thus, another scheme was born.

He frantically inched the long object closer and closer to that sacred land, his breath ragged with desperation. His face was almost touching it now. I watched his every move, his expression shifting with raw, insatiable hunger. He was ravenous, desperate to devour you until there was nothing left. He was starving for you.

"It smells so good, I wonder if it tastes even better," he muttered, groaning at the thought of his own words.

Levi was desperate-so fucking desperate for a quick taste-his eyes pleading with a vulnerability I had never seen before. Over the years, I had sensed his desire for me, just as mine had simmered for him. It all made sense now: his nightly ritual of drawing my portrait was a prelude to finally claiming me. He wanted to mark me as his own. And I wanted it too. That's why I never questioned his intentions, why I always entered his room with such a skip in my step. I took pride in being part of this filthy act, my captain sketching my naked form. And now, here he was, between my legs.

But then there was him-the man I had woven an entire romantic narrative around, the one I had promised to marry once the world was free of Titans. Had I ever truly loved him?

Reflecting on it now, I realise I never did. The raw, intense yearning I felt for him never surpassed that feeling that I held for my captain. I desired Levi with an all-consuming passion. In those drawing sessions, as he completed each work, all I could think about was him taking me, praising me as his ideal muse, his perfect muse. And now, the opportunity lies before me. I won't waste it. This is what I've yearned for, what I've sought to possess. Finally, I can attain it.

With a sudden, deliberate motion, I brought my mouth to his ear, my breath hot and intense, like the scorch of a furnace. "Go on, Captain," I whispered, my voice laced with a predatory calm. "Taste it. Eat me out until I'm fucking dry and empty."

Those words were the final snap of his restraint, the fragile mask of his role as captain, as a superior. He gripped my thighs, forcing them apart further with a controlled violence, his lips descending to my exposed core, sucking on my swollen clit with a ravenous precision.

"Shit!" I snarled, my fingers entangling in his dark hair, yanking his face closer to my dripping pussy. It was so wrong, so exquisitely perverse, but the pleasure was undeniable, intoxicating. I was pressed against the red walls of the sofa, driven to an internal rapture. His mouth was a relentless, burning brand on my pussy, as if it had been welded there, his lips consuming my swollen clit with a fervor.

It took all my restraint not to scream again, as his tongue traced intricate patterns over the sensitive peak, each flick igniting jolts of electricity through my system. His guttural groans reverberated against me, primal and urgent. He added a finger, then another, both digits curling expertly into that sweet spot, massaging my soft inner walls with ravenous hunger. His tongue and lips moved relentlessly over my clit, each motion pushing me further into an otherworldly abyss. I couldn't believe how close I was.

"Oh shit, oh god Levi-" I gasped, signaling to him, and he groaned against me again, sending electric pulses through my trembling pussy. The pleasure built quickly, the tightly coiled rope in my abdomen unraveling and propelling me over the edge. My thighs quaked, sparks of ecstasy shooting through them, splattering onto Levi's face like paint on a canvas.

I reclined my head against the back of the sofa, allowing the high to wash over me. His tongue, as I had anticipated, was nothing short of phenomenal.

"You did so well, darling." Levi's voice cut through the haze, emerging from between my thighs, his lips glistening with the evidence of my surrender. His movements were calculated, each step deliberate as he settled beside me on the crimson sofa. He grasped my face with a firm hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. The darkness that once swallowed his eyes had receded, unveiling the ocean-blue beneath. "You did so fucking well, (Y/N)," he murmured, pulling me into a ravenous kiss, his tongue invading my mouth, dominating mine. The taste of myself on his lips sent a shudder through my body, prompting me to reach for his belt, only for my hand to be slapped away with a swift motion.

"What the fuck, Levi," I whined. I pressed my lips against his neck, the kisses sloppy and frantic, each one a plea for more. I was the one so fucking desperate now, a mess of need. I wanted him to utterly destroy me, to push me to my limits until I was spent and empty, yet filled with his cum.

Levi rose from the seat beside me, forcefully removing my lips from his neck. "Not tonight. It's late," he asserted, his voice cold and unyielding, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce intensity that brooked no argument. A flicker of panic coursed through me—had I done something wrong?

"Right, my apologies, captain," I stammered, springing up from the sofa. My heart raced as I scrambled to collect my clothes, a frenzied urgency driving my actions. First, I yanked my knickers up over my thighs, the fabric snapping into place with a sharp tug. My shirt came next—I thrust my arms into the sleeves, fingers fumbling as I hastily buttoned it, each button slipping through the holes with a sense of escalating dread. Finally, I ripped my trousers up my legs, the zip screeching in protest as I forced it to close, the metal teeth barely holding together.

"Thank you, Captain Levi, once again," I murmured with a practised smile, watching the back of his head as he returned his sketchpad and art tools to their designated drawer.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge my presence with an indifferent "Goodnight, Y/N." The same flat tone.

It seemed impossible that just moments ago, this man had been between my legs, his mouth working me over with such intense hunger. Had it been a mistake? Had I jeopardised my relationship for a fleeting moment of desperation, craving the warm touch of Levi? Now, he was back to being Captain Levi, as distant and detached as ever.

I moved towards his door, my hand poised to break the seal and release me back into the sterile, indifferent corridors, but there was an unsettled matter—something that should have been addressed at the outset of these nocturnal encounters. Pausing, I turned and fixed Levi with a steady gaze. "Levi," I said, my voice a controlled monotone, "why is it that you insist on depicting me in such an unprofessional manner?"

At my question, he smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. He advanced towards me, each step calculated, until my back was pressed against the cool surface of the door, trapped by the oppressive heat of his body. "Because someone once told me in order to relax before or after a mission is by drawing things I find beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. Then, without warning, he claimed my lips in a swift, possessive kiss before pulling away just as abruptly.

"Now, goodnight, (Y/N)," he insisted once more, a playful flick of his wrist gesturing towards the door. I hurried to comply, grasping the doorknob and casting him one last, gleaming smile before the door closed, sealing off the view of his serene countenance.

It wasn't a mistake. I made the right decision.

[comicaurora]

Out of curiosity, how far ahead are you on the comic? I mean, you must have it all planned and written out, but I imagine that you are drawing the future of Aurora even while we're reading it.

So is Arc 2 already illustrated and ready for upload while you're on like Arc 5 or something? I'm by no means undermining your need for a break; I'm shocked that you've been uploading continuously for over 4 years at this point. I'm just interested to know how long it takes a person to make something this great. And also if you change any details in the final edit?

Basically: what's the workflow like?

Also I think you low-key inspired me to pick up painting as a hobby. I'm ready to pour so much money into creating things that I know I'll hate. :)

God, arc 5? That's a very generous assessment of how fast I can draw!

Typically, when the comic is updating regularly, I keep a buffer of 10 to 20 completed pages. Right now, in the interest of taking a break, the buffer is 0 completed pages.

Chapter 1 of Arc 2 is completely storyboarded, meaning it's sketched out, the dialog is all mostly finalized barring last-minute rephrasements, etc. It can be read in its current form, it just looks unpretty. In fact, just for fun, here's a sneak peek!

In the next month I'll go through and finalize as many pages from this chapter as possible - which means locking down the panel borders, fleshing out the backgrounds, lining, shading, coloring, polish, etc. - which will be the process of building up a new buffer for when the comic starts back up again in January. During that time, I'll also be storyboarding Chapter 2 and as much of the following parts as I can manage.

I have the next several chapters and sub-arcs planned out in loose timelines - event A happens at location B leading to consequences C and D, stuff like that. Chapter 2, being the closest, is a little more fleshed-out, with a more detailed bullet-pointed timeline and various character ideas I've had that might or might not make it into the final version.

What exactly the chapter breakdown is going to look like is a little more complicated. Initially I'd planned for Chapter 1 to be low-stakes downtime and Chapter 2 to quickly kick off the high-octane adventure again, but when I started bullet-pointing out the stuff I wanted to do in Chapter 2, I ended up with a big pile of slower-paced character moments I thought were well worth exploring, so the runtimes might stretch a little.

Translating those brainstormed notes into storyboards and dialog is what I would classify as the "writing" part of this process. It happens at an erratic pace largely determined by the whims of whatever muse decides to get me in a headlock that day; sometimes I go weeks with no storyboarding progress, sometimes I hammer out fifteen pages in one day.

It's kinda like weaving, to me. The soon-to-be-arriving parts of the story are the most finalized, the most densely woven. A little ways beyond that, things get looser - some patterns may be locked down, but the actual work that'll hold it together hasn't been done yet. And in the far-flung future arcs, it's just the basic bones of the story and a pile of the threads I've planned to use. I know the shape of it, but in order for it to be fun and engaging for me to make it, I need to give myself room to be creative when I'm putting the whole thing together.

I actually have a file called the "Toolbox" that contains every random character or subplot idea I've had, and sometimes when I'm debating where to go with a chunk of story, I'll crack it open and scan through to see if anything jumps out begging to be used. Lotta fun stuff in there that may or may not ever see the light of day. Dropping stuff in the Toolbox is one of the most fun and freeing parts of the process for me!

[jamieedlund]

Thesis wip Legends and fairytales

and June's sketchdump! 🤗

lots of young Aaravos stuffs on my mind amongst other things and one of the brainrot I find fun is instead of being afraid or embracing his ""darkness"" the first time he used dark magic, baby Aaravos just...intimidated it into submission. Because I guess dark magic has a different affect on gods I mean startouched elves??? I also think what makes a person insanely strong is not the fact that they give in to their darkness (like all dark mages) or completely reject their own selfishness and view the world as only black and white (the philosophy the show trying to pedal, which I extremelyyy despise) but someone who acknowledged that they have their inner demons; is willing to face them and accept that it is part of them without giving into its every whims. Which they won't do for Aaravos ever I'm sure but isn't that a neat fun thing to think about. Like man rolled a nat 20 on intimidation and proceeded to devoured his own darkness like hah you're part of me now lol I'm a god.

Aaravos reading his TOS, which I stole from that one bit from brennan's genie rules (make some noise episode 4) I wish I had time to draw this as an animation-

Devastation is when the both of them hit you with the 'we're finishing each other sentences because the answer was so painfully obvious' bit. I just thought it would give everyone chills if animated.

things I constantly think about part 103927 and wish was being said in ss4 if they had just let Callum actually squared up and went after Soren so he can have an epic mage duel with Claudia and Terri in which he actually managed to outwitted all of them and got Soren back.

More brainrot about the adventures they could have had together, this one in particular in which they're going into a king's harem to investigate the death of the women there. It's inspire by the plot for the latest mononoke anime about the "Ooku" - aka it's just a - place where women are gathered to breed with the shogun...the real history of it is- very fascinating and cruel. In the blank dialogue pages I couldn't find the right word to express Callum's worries. Basically he already knew humanity can be ugly, he grew up with that ugliness for most of his life and he's worried that he won't like what he finds here. I think it's a perfect plotline to explore both of their characters on so many personal levels.

aand that's all I got! I've been participating in a fundraising event called Artists for Gaza this month so I barely have a lot of brainrot sketches that looks decent enough to post. I'll leave a link to their carrd below if you're interested in checking them out. I wanted to do my part to help Palestine despite dying on my thesis and trust me I am dying-

As always, thank you so much for sharing and supporting my work. I will get to all of my asks when my thesis is over. Check out Artists for Gaza >>here<<

[little-star-bun]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙥𝙩｡ 𝟮 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

because you all liked the first one so much, i have more for you &lt;;33

warnings: 18+ Lesbian fanfiction!! Men and Minors DNI!! masturbation, low-key stalking, Ellie is a bottom, mentions of drug use;;

enjoy angels ♡♡

I do not own Ellie or anything associated with TLOU.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✎ ;;

Loser! Ellie is a stoner. She has joint butts littering her car and her room. She smokes after school, before work, after work. Pray for her lungs please.

She wants to smoke with you. She low key fantasizes about getting you high for the first time, to watch your eyes turn red and your lips form around the blunt.

She made a playlist and fills it with songs that remind her of you. She's so stereotypically lesbian it hurts.

She has at least a dozen drawings of you in her journal. Sometimes she'll sit in her car, watching you talk with your friends while she doodles you. Sometimes using your social media as references. But it's so sweet the way she adored every feature of yours :((

Like I mentioned last time, she definitely whimpers and begs. I love top! Ellie, but let's be honest, she's a total bottom. She loves to think of you touching her, eating her wet cunt. She genuinely has so many perverted thoughts of you. She wants you to take control of her, make her do anything to give yourself pleasure. Use her face to masturbate, please.

Not just that, but she watches porn thinking about you. She can't help it, she's just so in love. Loves to rub her needy cunt to videos of girls scissoring and cumming, thinking of how she could try it with you.

One day you had asked her if she finished the homework. You were out and hadn't had time to do it. Poor girl could hardly speak, handing you the answers before you could even finish asking.

Your words had played in her head for three days straight. "You're a life saver, Ellie!"

Later that night you even texted her.

[Thanks again! Seriously, I owe you one.]

She stared at the message, heart racing. Come on Ellie, say something clever!!

[No problem, I'll take you up on that one day!]

Nice.

[You're cute. Goodnight, Ellie.]

She had stared at the conversation for hours. She couldn't believe you had been so grateful to her that you texted.

She was so flustered that of course she had gotten hot and bothered, touching herself through her boxers at the way you called her cute.

Shes a gamer, duh, preferring open world rpg shooters. She's tried every cringe game at least once. Fortnight, World of Warcraft, Valorant. She loves GTA and RDD. Her perfect night is just sitting in her room, smoking a joint, playing on her XBOX. (XBOX is superior idc)

She did get the Sims, making a sim of you and then a sim of her. She made you two have a dog (she didn't even know if you liked dogs). And she makes them woohoo. Alot.

Definitely plays with mods and cc. She has wicked whims and basemental. Loves looking at your Sims tits and making them get high together.

And the drawings I've mentioned before? Half of them, you're half or fully naked. She loves to sketch your boobs, your curves. Makes her mouth water. She has no shame, she masturbates to them when she's done.

Her major is defined the arts. She loves to paint and draw and sculpt. She may not seem like it, but she's such an artistic person. Sometimes you'll see her walking around with clay or paint on her hands. It's honestly adorable :(( Thinks of your body as a work of art fs.

Def shops at Spencer's and Hot Topic. She's so fucking emo and cringe. Reddit user vibes.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

My requests and asks are open!! I'm so bored, please send some!!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

© 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎-𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛-𝚋𝚞𝚗 — 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚢, 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔!

[the-himawari-otome]

B’s-LOG June 2021 - Shuuen no Virche Special Feature Translation [Illustrator Comments]

Comments from the illustrator, Yomi, on the boys' designs.

Yves

I received a request for an “orthodox knight”, so I was careful not to lose his sense of knightliness not only in his main outfit, but also in his alternate outfits.  His image changed several times along the way as I was drawing, but I think he always had the appearance of a young man with a smile that looks like he’s on the verge of crying.

Lucas

I designed him with the template image of how Japanese people imagine beautiful Western Europeans (platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, etc.).  At first, his outfit was baggy and didn’t show off his body line. But in the final draft, it ended up fitting him perfectly. How strange. I tried to make his hair hide his eyebrows to make it harder to read his expressions and make him feel less human. But he’s definitely a contender for possessing the most masculine eyebrows.

Mathis

I kind of had an idea of how he should look when I sketched him out on the very first piece of copy paper. But as I reviewed the setting several times and began to draw it out digitally, I thought, "somehow, this doesn't feel like Mathis.” So I flipped the table over, handed over most of Mathis’s initial draft from the neck down to Yves, and I reworked it from scratch to create the current Mathis.

Scien

He seems like someone who’s hard to approach due to his position and setting. But I didn’t want him to be invulnerable. I wanted him to have openings. So I made his clothes disorderly in various spots. I decided to place the crest on his neck on a whim, but the more I got to know him, the more I felt like “unbeknownst to himself, he was constantly being strangled by his own creation.” And I thought his neck was the perfect place after all... (this is just my personal opinion).

Adolphe

I had a vague image of a "man who lets sunlight pass through him.” I don't really understand it myself, but I often think that way when our eyes meet while I'm doing my colouring work. I aimed for his appearance to be the most manly together with Hugo, a mutual friend of Yves’s, but what do you think…?

Ankou

I hope I was able to create the feeling of someone who can be seen but not touched even if you reach out to them. Someone who is frightening but also captivating. When I received the proposal, I was contemplating a pure white costume, like an elf king’s. However, it turned out the complete opposite in the end.

---

[DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WORK W/O PERMISSION, THANK YOU]

[starrysharks]

which one of ur reassassinstoj chhsracters did u origainally draw first that spiraled into this sily madness?!!?? (i love ur ocs sm vivica and needles are my favs 🥰)

it all started with krankenstein actually! i drew him on a whim, i hardly even remember why, but it was at a time where i was just drawing characters and then abandoning them two weeks later. this drawing is the first piece of reassassination art ever made by me, i didn't even sketch him out on paper.

there wasn't much of a story behind his character, he was just a mad scientist with a big wrench. i don't really know why he had horns either. after some months i felt i should give him a companion in the form of octavia. and then i thought of a world to put octavia in, and it just grew from there...

but the original reassass was totally different from the reassassination you know today. originally, octavia was enrolled to a boarding school called bloodbelle academy for girls, and had a group of friends rather than just onion and occasionally jaundice. the plot revolved around octavia assassinating all of kranken (then savory)'s enemies who worked at the school, which is where the name reassassination came from! back then there was no CCO, it was a lot more silly, planned to be more episodic and very low stakes, and onion was a girl for a short while. however the idea of a rival seven deadly assassins (originally to be a group of authoritarian school council girls) eventually turned into the CCO, and now the story is more serious and will be/is intended to be a slight commentary on the way fringe denominations of christianity use the actual religion to harm others, as well has containing lots of other themes, mainly identity and other stuff... but it's still a horror comedy.

[squishi-bunni]

Could you possibly write some hcs for sean diaz with a s/o that's very into fashion design and sewing? I like the idea of someone sketching designs with him in mind and surprising him with a jacket or something :3

Ofc! This sounds super fun and cute :3

-You and Sean would spend days sketching together. You would sketch patterns or concepts for garments and Sean would draw the landscape around him, characters he’s made up on a whim, or you

Let’s be real, this man is a cheeseball and will have sketches of you littering every piece of paper he can get his hands on

But I digress!

-Even though Sean can be very guarded about his sketchbook, he will most definitely be sneaking a peak at yours

And by sneaking a peak I mean leaning over, nose in your face, not discreet at all, looking at your drawings

You push him away and smile. “Your big ass nose is blocking my view!”

He’d pout afterward. “Wow, rude.”

You’d just stick your tongue out at him

-He always thought your designs were cool

-Sometimes when you’re not looking, he’d take your unattended sketchbook and flip through the pages

-He’d be so enamored with your designs

Even if a design isn’t within his personal style, he still loves it

But, when something is his taste, he wishes so desperately that maybe, just maybe, you’d make it for him

-Sometimes you’d sketch specifically designed fabrics or materials you needed but couldn’t find for a project, so Sean would take pictures of the page you drew them on

-For your birthday, Sean would surprise you with the exact fabric you needed

“How did you—did you snoop in my sketchbook?”

He looks do the ground, but there’s not an ounce of guilt in his smile. “Maybeee”

“You’d get so mad if I ever did that you, but” you kiss his cheek “Thank you, you’re sweet

He’d be blushing and all giddy after that

But obviously, in all his teenage boy glory, he’d try to play it cool,

And fail miserably

-In return, you designed and made a jacket for him.

-You’d noticed that he was super into the grunge and skater styles, so you wanted to make him a zip-up hoodie 

-You made it a baggier fit, since that’s in style, and the fabric was black. You made the cuffs and zipper-lining orange and the hem and hoodie trim blue (copying the colors from his well-loved “Squad” hoodie). You also added white hoodie strings

-You also embroidered a huge wolf on the right arm

-When you gave the gift to him on his birthday, his jaw was on the floor

“Woah! Y/n! This is so cool… and did you design the wolf by hand? Wow…”

You just smile.

He hugs you. “Thank you so much! This is so cool…”

He immediately puts it on and drags you with him to the skatepark

“Look at what Y/N just made me!” he shouts at his friends

You blush, but you feel a sense of pride that he’s so happy with something you made

-Sean starts wearing your jacket every day instead of his hoodie, but now you get his formerly favorite hoodie, so it’s a win-win.

Sorry that this request took so long! You probably forgot that you even submitted this lol. Still, I hope you enjoyed <3

[acidsplashes]

new fandom new fandom!! i may have only played about half an hour of a kirby game total, but i've started reading the fanfic and i am hooked 💕

this is fanart for @galapathy 's fic As the Stars Fell!

The fic has Galacta Knight landing on an island, but I put him in a more foresty area instead. My bad for forgetting that detail, but I hope this feels just as lovely as the fic 💗💕

progress shots + more commentary below the break!

The fic first inspired me to do all of these color and composition studies, but I liked them all so much that I wanted to try my hand at finalizing at least one 🙏 in total, these sketches took about an hour. The final piece took me 5!

I started reading kirby fanfic on a whim, and now I've been swept up by some new favorite fics of all time 💗 I'm really inspired to create fanart because of the simple character designs - I really want to use this opportunity to better my sense of composition, color, and emotional expression 🙏

Alternative Versions:

*if you're wondering why the Waddle Dee's faces are heart-shaped, i uh

artistic liberties

i thought it'd be cute :]

[tikvin]

While y'all waiting on your sketches and Eshra's "in game" dialogues lemme talk about Vice for a sec, because I love them with my whole being and unhealthily obsessed.

BG3 SPOILERS AHEAD

VICE (he/they/it)

Mechanically, spore druid, flavouring him as just some disgusting necromancing swamp devil, not actually tying him to any circles or balance obsessed folk.

Vice is quite emotionless and blunt, some would say even cruel. "When you out of my sight — you don't exist" type of person. So far, the only durge who flat out made conscious decision to kill Karlach, as he couldn't care less that she's just a tiefling, if that what Wyll's mission is, then he better do it and quit whining (tbf if Vice met Karlach first then Wyll would be the one dying, I just forgot that was a possibility lol.) Vice just doesn't care much for negotiations in these confrontations. They have a passive attitude when it comes to confrontations with his companions, he's more amused than anything, when he's being threatened, suddenly feeling strangely confident and patronizing, as if intentionally provoking to bigger conflict. It probably would get better in act 3, but right now he's quite an asshole.

I wouldn't say he isn't capable of understanding emotions and moral dilemmas, but he's driven mostly by his own whims and wants. He recognizes when he killed without any good reason, but he doesn't necessarily feel bad about his kills. He might do or not do something just because he feels like it, even if he knows it might hurt someone, he doesn't care, unless it's someone deeply close to him or someone he is very curious about, which is hard to achieve.

He haven't got there yet with him, but considering how his relationships with Shadowheart look rn — she's in quite dangerous area with the whole nightsong deal, as Vice couldn't give two shits about her (or anyone else's) secrets and just doesn't ask companions about their lives until they speak about it themselves. So Shadowheart haven't got a chance to tell him anything about her worship or herself. That makes her distant to him, which makes him not give much of a shit, considering nightsong is not only the key for Thorm's immortality but also a potential strong ally. The attempt to kill Lae'Zel also doesn't do Shadowheart any favours in Vice's eyes, as he enjoys company of those who are more straightforward like Lae'Zel, because if you want something from him — you better tell as it is, and not dance around the subject. That is why he's most close to Minthara and Lae'Zel, while being more prickly to Gale, Shadowheart and Jaheira.

Vice is yet another durge who doesn't care much about their lust for blood, nor concerned by their own actions. The only thing he strongly doesn't like about it is losing control, but he is curious about his past.

Concept of romantic relationship is a bit alien to him, as is any sexual relationships. Yet again, it's not like he's not capable, considering how it is with Bhaal, I'd say Vice probably was a huge horndog before amnesia, but after the incident he just didn't give much of a thought to it, since there are bigger problems at hand. His level of understanding the romance will actually depend on if he kills Isobel or not. If Vice won't do it, and my favourite durge camp scene happens — Vice will be kinda pushed to think about it for a moment, when Skeletaris make comments on whatever companion that will be. That would make him dig deeper into his everyday time with that companion and consider what his feelings are and does he even have them.

If Vice kills Isobel and gets power — he gets more emotionless and aloof, mindless killing will be much easier, just like it would be easier to betray close friends for power or just for his own fun. (And the latter even Minthara won't approve of, considering her opinion on killing without purpose).

Would've probably went with the whole Bhaal biz if it wasn't for losing control over his body (After Karessa, he unconsciously grown to absolutely despise any sort of helplessness and lack of control over his own body). So he most likely will be the most questionable "redeemed" dark urge.