#Uhh hey

[raticalshoez]

I miss Team BEST and their dysfunctional swag

[cariciapadre]

i also drew this out of pure bliss of the new sf episode ..... cant wai t for moore ... 🎉

[anthonyzoxide]

NameMC spoilers

[azuries]

say goodbye as we dance with the devil tonight, dont you dare look at him in the eye

[welcometogrouchland]

ANOTHER SKETCH DUMP! Featuring more of me playing with lineless art. Batman reborn era trio (dick, damian and steph) I miss you...when will you return from war. Also featuring Steph designs bc I've seen ppl dissatisfied w/ her current look, some good mom Talia, and Jason Todd poetry club. Duke is confused not that Jason would start a poetry club but that he'd have such mid poetry opinions. (ID in Alt)

[doctorsiren]

Day 26 of Sirentober / Doctober

Brother / Spoon

I’m sure it’ll work

Available as a print on my Etsy Shop

[beeqisch]

cuz my insides are red and urs are too or whatever that song was

[vodoriga-art]

Commission of Strahd for @crowholtz 🧛‍♂️🌕

[simpledragonlover]

I hate amatonormativity I just want to tell my friends I love them without having to worry or feel weird :(

[rystiel]

welcome back jack—i mean um. rogue

[wolfythewitch]

mental note to stop doing anything math/shipping related at 3am clearly you are not awake enough for this

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Ratchet looks so snug in Ops trailer, very cute heheh

[vibingandsimping]

Literally NOBODY asked me this in my inbox. Got tired of waiting, smh… So I wrote it. Consider this my community service. Halsin teaching an inexperienced reader how to give a handjob. That’s it.

EDIT: Getting back into posting and this is a wip I’ve been working on. I added a little more to it for some length but this will likely be all. Unless you all want to see this finished.

———————————-

Admittedly, you hadn’t expected to get this far. Nor did you have any clue what to do at this point. Things between you and Halsin had intensified in a short period of time. His passion as a whole was almost infectious. He gave you a sense of comfortability in your self. Always putting you at ease whenever he was in your company. Short pecks turned into long kisses. Fleeting touches into longer embraces… more intense touches. What was a make-out session now Halsin laying under you hard. The feeling of his hard length against the inner of your thigh enriched the pre-existing butterflies fluttering inside you. He trailed a hand down your side before kissing along your neck, earning a whine of pleasure. The intensity of flame between your thighs gradually increased with each touch. You needed to do something to alleviate this itch inside you. With a shaking breath- you spoke.

“Can I touch you, Halsin?” The words were timid. Nerves shook your voice and made you tense. The man-bear chuckled and slid his arms down your back to your waist. Sitting you upwards before he spoke himself.

“Of course, my dove. Let me teach you.” His large hands shifted his pants down his hips til his engorged erection bounced as it escaped it’s confines. It was intimidating, frankly. The tip red and swollen, along with the shaft reflecting a similar pink. He stared at you affectionately as you took in the sight of him. He understood- he was a large man. His fingers interlocked with yours and he raised your hand towards the head. With precarious movements, and a reaffirming look (which you mutually shared), he wrapped your fingers around it. It throbbed at your touch and felt impossibly hot. Like his groins were truly aflame. You did this all to him by yourself?

“Slide your hand down. Slowly, and work around the tip each time you go back up.” You nodded attentively and promptly followed his instructions. Te precum drizzled from his cock as you gently pulled the foreskin down. Of course he was uncut, as Astarion would say, this man is all about nature. Each jerk slowly worked it down slower before you had his full length exposed and reddened. His stomach tensed and released from the stimulating friction. Drawing his lip into his teeth.

“Good. Keep doing that…” He uttered firmly. His dominance enraged the fire inside you and you returned to stroking him with newfound vigor. ‘Shlicking’ up his length and back down. His precum dribbled onto your palm and aided your journey to helping him achieve orgasm. You studied his face and watched as each feature changed with your movements. His lip remained in his teeth- seemingly drawn tight. He reached a hand down to your hip and held you in place. Confidence bubbled to the surface with his motion. In turn, you began rubbing your thumb over his slit with each jerk.

“Holy. Gods, you’re such a minx. Mm, just like that.” He laughs out loud as he speaks. You can’t help but smile cheekily at his response. Even when being jerked off he was still Halsin. His stomach and thighs began to shake and his head tilted to the side. If you had to guess he seemed close. Already? You pondered mid-stroke. Hand working harder on his hard cock as the wet shlicks filled your ears. He began to softly moan in response to the rapid increase in pressure and pace. It was only a few minutes before he began to spurt his seed across your chest and hand. Growling out primally as he reached his climax. Hands holding your hips so firmly you were sure you’d bruise after. Halsin’s face squished in a look of ecstasy. Tinged with embarrassment. He flopped down after and released his harsh grasp.

“Apologies. I just find you so captivating that I couldn’t hold myself back. How about I return the favor, honey?” Yeah, that sounded nice.

[proxycrit]

Part 1 / Part 2

Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.

“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”

“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.

Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.

Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.

“Elesa? What do you think?”

Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”

Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.

Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.

Like right now.

The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.

“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”

“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.

“Elesa, help!”

Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.

Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.

The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.

“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“

“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.

“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”

Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)

“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.

“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”

And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.

And here’s the thing—

— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.

The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.

He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.

But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.

—-

So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-

-the sound of laughter-

-EMMET! Elesa cried-

-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.

(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)

—

Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.

Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)

Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:

“Are you real?”

Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.

“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet’s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-

“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“

Elesa reaches. Hesitates.

Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.

She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming

You came back

You’re here

I’m not alone anymore.

Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.

The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.

You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.

“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.

AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.

YOU LEFT!

Emmet winces.

You- You left us, you left me-

Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.

Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.

And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.

(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)

“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.

Hope, he thinks. So he says this:

“I know how to get Ingo home.”

NOTES:

AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)

Thanks for reading this monster of a post!

[canisalbus]

In this hypothetical AU of minmaxing the assassination attempt he then somehow makes it to Vasco an utter mess because he has no where else to go...hmmm

.

[bixels]

Hey, I’m a big fan of your work. I was just wondering, What’s your favourite part about art?

No favorite part. The whole process sucks from start to end. It just sucks more if I don’t do it at all.