#been in a creative rut lately

[bastardlybonkers]

i dont actually think hes blond

[mel-0n-earth]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Fallout (TV 2024), Fallout (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cooper Howard | The Ghoul/Lucy MacLean Additional Tags: post-season one, Spoilers, major season one spoilers, Drama & Romance, Sex Pollen, (sort of), Pheromones, typical Vault-Tec bullshit, Idiots in Love, Pining, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, graphic depictions of yearning, Porn with Feelings Summary:

While pursuing her dad's trail across the Mojave, Lucy and Cooper come across an abandoned hotel connected to a vault that was never used. Hoping to scavenge some much-needed food and water, they venture inside only to find themselves subjects of one of Vault-Tec's experiments--one involving a luxury suite, a locked door, and a steady supply of pheromones meant to encourage...well, you know.

In their search for an escape, the wall between them begins to crack, and they find much more than what they were looking for. After all, with so much tension mounting between them, something's gotta give.

[junkboxcorner]

[WIP] Did y'all think I was done with this series?

[My Carrd | My Ko-Fi | Commissions OPEN]

[nevarran-hahren]

only took me 80 hours into DA:I but I've started coming up with a backstory for my Lavellan that I really like :)

at the beginning I wasn't going off much besides "dalish elf, warrior, want to romance Solas" lol but my brain is starting to knit together all the decisions made into a cohesive backstory for my Inquisitor.

basically, we've got Janne (pronounced "yahn-a"), a bisexual dalish elf woman. her mother was the clan's First mage, having been sent from another dalish clan that had too many mages. Janne herself was fascinated by magic but didn't have any magical talent manifest early in life, so she became a warrior/hunter. she wasn't the strongest or bravest or best fighter, but she did a lot of hunting and foraging to support the clan and was a talented leatherworker. Janne is compassionate and loyal to her loved ones nearly to a fault, with a deep openness and willingness to learn, though she can be headstrong and unable to let something go once she sets herself on a certain course.

in Janne's late 20s (she's 34 now) she fell deeply in love with her mother's mage apprentice—the clan's Second—another female elf named Maraya. Maraya was ambitious and erudite and in secret she studied ethical applications of blood magic. Janne eventually learned about this, and she tried to remain open-minded about what she was doing but still she worried about Maraya. still, she helped keep her secret from the clan—until Maraya became possessed by a demon, endangering the entire clan. heartbreakingly, Janne was forced to kill her lover, but always deeply regretted the way things turned out, thinking that there must have been some other way that she could have saved her.

when the clan (and especially her mother) later learned that Janne knew about Maraya's studies prior to the possession and had kept it secret from them, she was disgraced. clan elders had suggested exile, and while she did live away from the clan for a little while, eventually they allowed her to return to the clan on the condition that she prove herself to be trustworthy again, which was going to be a long road.

this is what leads her to unofficially attend the meeting at the Conclave as a spy. she sees it as her best opportunity to start making things right with her clan and get valuable information for them. but we all know how things went at the Conclave...

as for her later relationship with Solas, I think her experiences with her mother and with Maraya make her very open-minded to magic, even despite the tragedy that befell her lost love. his quiet intensity and level-headedness catches her attention from the beginning, and he sees her for her curiosity and openness.

[pixies--dust]

I need a new art style I don’t like mine anymore

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It was close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega a little over a mile away from your apartment for about, three? five minutes– no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets were any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even was this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they were in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what were they here for? The dangers you were more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now– the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All held significant power, all held ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp–then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I guess that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response–but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man–no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors were aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck–this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic–

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly– 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You–”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool – lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him – as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for – and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you– half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[leoxxii]

been thinking of dusting off and restarting my wc design blog,,,, its been over a year since i last posted anything on it 😔

[the-ria]

I've been in a bit of a creative rut lately and one of the things that always helps me to get out of it, is studying and trying to imitate different art styles! I still haven't watched the new show that came out recently, but I HAVE seen the screencaps and fan art of it and they are just 🤌 *chef's kiss*. The old school anime look and the overall creative direction are so cool

[doeidawn]

18+ MDNI — sort of a pt. 2 to my soapgaz x f!reader post

god help you when gaz comes up to you telling you he has an idea. soap's been so needy lately, he tell you, we should give him some attention, yeah?

well, you weren’t gonna turn that down. but kyle was nothing if not…creative, to say the least. there was no way of knowing what idea he could’ve come up with.

cut to johnny sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands tied behind his back (because kyle insisted on it, of course). you were directed to kneel in front of him, between his legs. you’re quick to realize that gaz was right—soap was needy; the poor guy was so desperate he was practically leaking while he begged you “please, lass, jus’ touch me.”

you felt so bad for him you would’ve done it. but kyle tells him to wait while he sits himself behind you, snuggling up close until his front is flush against your back. his hard cock presses against your backside, nuzzled against your curves and leaving a sticky mess of precum on your skin.

after a healthy smear of lube on your chest (a sight that he draws out a little too long just to make soap suffer a bit longer), gaz would guide you forward. he’s pressed so close, so tight against you while his hands grope your chest. kissing and nipping at your neck while he cups your tits around soap’s cock.

the sound johnny makes when your soft tits hug his aching dick nearly makes you moan. his head thrown back, cock twitching and leaking precum that mixes with the lube. he can barely buck his hips enough to properly fuck your tits, too overwhelmed already to slide his thick cock between the soft mounds.

“y’too shy, mate? you couldn’t stop talkin’ about her tits earlier.” you’d almost feel bad about the way gaz teases him…if the choked sounds johnny made in reply weren’t so hot. he can barely catch his breath, let alone talk. “c'mon, MacTavish. if you paint her tits, i'll let you watch me fuck her."

that seems to be enough encouragement. johnny tries his best to rut his cock against your chest, straining in those bindings that you know gaz made tight on purpose. he's babbling nonsensically, telling you how good you feel and how much he loves your tits, and please make me cum, make me cum on your tits, please bonnie, i need it so bad. and, god, do you want to, but kyle would rather keep you still so he can grind his own aching cock against your backside.

"you just sit there n' look pretty, love." he coos in your ear. "i'll give you want you need after he's spent."

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Struggling Yandere Musician finding His Muse

He’s a musician, through and through, taking inspiration from everything. His past life experiences, past lovers, art, other music, nature, you name it. And he’s a good musician too, maybe not the best at piano but certainly a god on the acoustic guitar.

For some reason, he’s been having trouble making music as of late. Nothing comes to mind and he feels screaming into the void every time he picks up a pencil and paper. No lyrics come about, no melodies, nothing.

He falls into frustration and self loathing. Why can’t he come up with anything? Why won’t the notes come to him anymore?

It all changes when he meets you.

You attend one of your local cafe’s open mic nights where you hear him perform for the first time. He’s playing a  usual, perhaps even lackluster routine, and as much as he wants to enjoy it, he can’t. He finishes without a flourish, and is welcomed by claps from listeners. 

Being as forward as you are, you cheer the loudest, which catches his eye. He’s surprised by your enthusiasm, it’s much welcomed after going through a rut of self doubt and no creativity. The two of you shake hands after his performance and he gives you an autograph, as thanks for the pick-me-up. 

A little routine builds between the two of you. He performs, you listen. After every open mic night, the two of you chat with drink in hand, savoring one another’s company. 

It’s safe to say that you’ve been hooked ever since. You listen to his music on your favorite streaming service, and attend every open mic night you can now. 

What you don’t realize is he’s been hooked too. On you, that is. 

You’ve become his muse without you even realizing it. Have you noticed his songs have become sappier? More romantic? That’s all because of you. 

He can finally play with a refreshing state of mind. The thought of you has him wanting to sing his heart out, play for hours on end just to see your smile. 

When you happen to bring a male friend along to the next open mic night, he feels crushed. How could you do this to him? Didn’t you realize you two had something special? What was he supposed to do? How could he change your mind?

His performance is angry, passionate. It doesn’t ruin his music, rather it fuels his creativity and he probably would consider this the best performance he’s ever given. 

In his head, he thinks he’s losing you, his only source of inspiration and light in his bleak, creative-less world. He has to do something.

When it’s over, he catches you at an opportune time, your friend having gone to the bathroom. 

He asks that the two of you talk outside, and naively you say yes. 

Before you know it, your body is pressed flush against him and a wall, in the back of the cafe. 

“You’re not going anywhere, my muse.”

[hd-junglebook]

The Art & The Muse

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Artist!Reader

a:n currently spiraling at the moment so don't be shocked if I release five more fanfictions that I wrote 30 minutes before posting with no proof reading. lol.

Masterlist Link

Summary: A struggling artist finds inspiration in the most unexpected place - a painting class which the famous Luke Hughes has joined. y/n is in awe at his beauty, finding herself fascinated by his masculine beauty.

Prologue

word count - 1568

Luke let out a deep sigh as he sank back into the worn leather of his favorite chair, relishing the rare luxury of a day off. No early morning practices, no media obligations, no road trips - just him, his apartment in New Jersey, and the peace and quiet he craved.

Well, almost quiet. Luke could hear the muffled sounds of his older brother Jack clattering around in the kitchen, no doubt raiding the fridge for a snack. Luke rolled his eyes and tried to tune it out, savoring the silence. He loved his brother, but sometimes Jack's boundless energy and enthusiasm could be a bit much, especially on a lazy Sunday like today.

As if on cue, Luke heard Jack's familiar voice echoing down the hallway. "Hey, Lukey! Get your butt out here!"

Luke groaned, resigning himself to the inevitable interruption. "What is it, Jack?" he called back, not bothering to move from his comfortable spot.

Jack appeared in the doorway, mouth half-full of what looked like leftover pizza. "Dude, you need to find a hobby or something. All you do is sit around and talk to girls all day."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Jack gestured emphatically, spraying crumbs. "Go out and find a girlfriend or something. Do something productive for once!"

"Close the door," Luke said tiredly, waving a hand.

Jack just laughed and turned to leave, still chewing noisily. "Whatever, man. Your life is boring."

Luke waited until he heard the click of the door, then let his head fall back with a groan. Sometimes he wondered how he and Jack could be brothers, let alone teammates. While Luke treasured his rare days off to recharge, Jack always seemed to have boundless energy, constantly looking for the next adventure or party.

A girlfriend, huh? Luke mulled over Jack's words. It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea, exactly. He just hadn't felt that spark with anyone lately. Between his grueling hockey schedule and the demands of his public persona, it was hard enough to find the time and energy for a social life, let alone a serious relationship.

Still, maybe Jack had a point. Luke had been feeling a little...stagnant lately. Perhaps it was time to try something new, step outside his comfort zone a bit. With a decisive nod, Luke reached for his phone.

Luke drummed his fingers against his thigh as he scrolled through the endless list of activities and classes, feeling increasingly discouraged.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he skimmed through the options, mentally crossing each one off as it failed to pique his interest.  Maybe Jack was right - he really was in a rut, stuck in the same old routine day after day.

Just as he was about to give up with a heavy sigh, a flash of inspiration caught his eye. An ad for painting classes at a local art studio.

Luke felt a faint tug of nostalgia as he remembered the hours he used to spend painting with his mom back home in Michigan, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as the memories surfaced. It had been years since he'd picked up a brush, but the idea of reconnecting with that creative outlet was strangely appealing.

Intrigued, Luke clicked on the website and started browsing through the class schedules, his blue eyes scanning the page intently. The next session was in just two days - perfect.

Without overthinking it, he quickly signed himself up, a spark of determination lighting in his chest. With a decisive nod, he shut off his phone, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

With a newfound spring in his step, Luke headed out to the living room where he could hear Jack clattering around. "Hey, Jack?" he called out, drawing his younger brother's attention.

Jack poked his head out from the kitchen, mouth full of what looked like leftover pizza. He quirked an eyebrow curiously, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.

Luke wrinkled his nose in mild disgust at the display, but pressed on. "I, uh, took your advice. I signed up for a painting class that starts in a couple days."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise, a spark of amusement flashing across his features. He let out a bark of laughter, pizza crumbs flying. "Painting? Seriously?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

Luke shrugged, feeling a slight twinge of self-consciousness creep up his spine. "Well, I figured it was worth a shot. Gotta try something new, right?"

"Hey, that's great!" Jack grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, his infectious enthusiasm cutting through Luke's lingering doubts. "Who knows, maybe you'll meet some cute girls there or something."

Luke rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That's not really why I'm doing it, Jack."

"Sure, sure." Jack winked and grabbed another slice of pizza, seemingly satisfied with the conversation. "Whatever you say, bro."

Luke shook his head fondly and turned to head back to his room, a newfound spring in his step. Maybe this whole "trying new things" thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

…

Luke pulled his beanie down lower over his sandy blond curls as he stepped out onto the street, trying his best to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

He had thrown on his most unassuming outfit - a simple t-shirt, jeans, and a well-worn pair of sneakers - before hesitantly heading out the door, Jack's cheerful "Good luck!" ringing in his ears.

As Luke made his way down the sidewalk, the nerves started to kick in. What was he doing, really? Signing up for an art class on a whim - it was so unlike him.

The old Luke would have scoffed at the very idea, content to spend his rare days off lounging at home or chatting up pretty girls at the local bars. But that Luke felt stale, stuck in a rut. Maybe it was time to try something new.

Still, Luke couldn't help the self-conscious twinge that made him want to turn right back around and high-tail it home. He could already hear Jack's teasing laughter, the endless ribbing he'd have to endure. But Luke steeled his resolve, forcing his feet to keep moving forward. He'd come this far, might as well see it through.

Luke rounded the corner, nearly colliding with an elderly couple out for an afternoon stroll. "Sorry, excuse me," he murmured, deftly sidestepping them.

The last few minutes of his journey passed in a blur, and before he knew it, Luke found himself standing in front of the art studio, its glass door beckoning him inside.

Taking a deep breath, Luke pushed open the door, immediately greeted by the soothing scent of lavender. His eyes swept over the space, taking in the rows of easels and the vibrant paintings adorning the walls. A petite woman with a thick accent approached him, a warm smile on her face.

"Hello, welcome! Can I help you?"

Luke cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. "Uh, yeah, hi. I'm Luke - I signed up for the painting class?"

"Ah, yes, of course!" The woman's eyes lit up with recognition. "It's so wonderful to have you join us. I'm Helena, the instructor. Let me show you where you can set up."

As Helena led him over to an open easel, Luke felt a flicker of genuine interest. He followed Helena through the halls of the art studio, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of intimidation.

The walls were practically bursting with vibrant, expertly-crafted paintings - from sweeping landscapes to intricate still lifes. He found himself glancing around in awe, suddenly self-conscious about his own artistic abilities.

Helena continued to speak animatedly, her hands gesturing as she explained the layout of the classroom and the materials available. Luke nodded along, trying his best to appear engaged, but his attention was diverted the moment they passed by a particularly striking piece.

The painting was dark, with soft whites and deep blues creating a moody, almost mystical atmosphere. But what truly captivated Luke was the subject - a male figure, rendered with such realism and attention to detail that it almost looked like a photograph.

The sculpted planes of his muscular torso, the veins in his hands, the play of light and shadow across his skin - every element was meticulously crafted, drawing the viewer in with its hypnotic allure.

Luke found himself stopping in his tracks, unable to tear his gaze away. It was as if the man in the painting had somehow come to life, his masculine beauty radiating off the canvas.

Helena let out a light laugh, drawing Luke's attention back to her. "I see you've noticed one of our more...popular pieces," she said, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

Luke felt a faint heat creep up the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious about his obvious fascination. "Uh, yeah, it's...it's really well done," he stammered, clearing his throat.

"Indeed." Helena gestured towards the open doorway of the classroom. "Shall we? The class is about to begin."

Luke nodded, stealing one last glance at the captivating painting before following Helena into the studio. As he took his seat at the easel, he couldn't help but wonder who the artist was behind such a stunning work. And more importantly, would he have the chance to meet them?

…

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[nerdanel01]

No. 10 - Tipsy

Still holding his hand, grinning playfully, she bent her knees and bowed her head in mannered, practiced curtsy. Emmrich matched her smile and bowed his head in kind, before wrapping his free arm around her waist—and then, they were off, Agnes keeping time with her humming, Emmrich wheeling them around in the grass to match the pace she set: one, two, three; one, two, three; taking extra precautions to make sure he did not trample her bare toes beneath his dress shoes. 

…Strange, wasn’t it? Emmrich had done all of this for her, for Agnes. And yet somehow through his vicarious experience of her joy, through the dizzy, fizzy freedom of the champagne swimming in his blood, he found himself feeling so present, so whole, so much fuller than he had in a very long time. 

The melody of the song shifted—driving, mounting, a crescendo towards its conclusion. Emmrich lifted their hands once more, spun Agnes once, twice, three times in a row, her skirt rising with her momentum to twirl like a black wave around her knees as she laughed again in delight. Then Emmrich drew her back to him, and—hands tight about her waist to secure her (they were both, after all, a little tipsy)—dipped her body low over his bent knee. 

Cricketsong and river-breeze. Time had not stopped, but it felt like it had: like Emmrich’s heart had stopped beating, like he could not draw a breath. In a flash their dance had transformed from a fancy into… he did not know what. All he knew was that he could not pull his eyes away from the silver moonlight caught in her hair, the nervous smile on her face… the cold, then warm, then cold again shock of the world-tilting look of breathless anticipation, of hope in her eyes. 

The intrusive, wholly inappropriate urge to draw her warm, slender body against his and kiss her deeply. [read full fic]

-----------------

I've been in a little bit of a creative rut lately, but I really want to end the year on a positive note—I'm really proud of all the writing I did this year! So for the last ten days of 2024 I'm going to be reblogging my 10 favorite pieces that I wrote.

This chapter from for no mere mortal can resist is one of my favorites. I'm pretty sure it's the first time I wrote Emmrich's POV, and I loved the way shifting to his perspective at that point in the fic really shifted the dynamics of the story. It's also the first time I sent them to the opera. <3 And also, of course, I love Emmrich's little "oh, shit" moment here, which sort of kicks off the final action and climax of the fic.

[ssolnyshka]

it's so late and i am about to pass out-🧍‍♀️

But have this WS! Donnie, i drew because he plagues my brain in the best way. 🙇‍♀️ @afreakingdork mwah xx

I know he doesn't have his ninpo yet, but i couldn't resist just making him look all cool 😔🙏🏻

Anywhizzle, i was feeling shitty for not doing any art today. Uni has been giving me mad burnout... But i suddenly got the random desire to draw him like the fallen angel painting i see literally everywhere, so yeahhhhh!!! WS! Getting me out of my art blocks and creative ruts as always 💪🏻🙏🏻 LETSGOOO‼️‼️🗣

I just KNOW im missing sm of his character design details and took random unintentional creative liberty... again </3

I am but a sleep deprived zombie both now and when i was drawing this, so im sorry i forgor </3

Ok im going to bed, to get on my 'honk shoo, mi mi mi' agenda bcs my brain has melted into goo and is just sloshing around up there.

Night!! or morning... or afternoon?

Stella-roo is signing off to catch Z's at this late hour dyeown undah‼️🗣🦘🇦🇺

-

Close up 'n ref:

[sol-consort]

Say more about alien fucker jaal

🫡

It revolves around the beauty of the unkown, the mysteries of the vast universe. Bodies so unfamiliar to his own, so different in DNA and yet brimming with lust and love for him and him alone.

It's addicting, discovering something new, someone new... all the experiments he wants to try, lay the person on a bed and have his way, spending all night testing their reactions, focused sharp eyes studying their every move. Jaal gets a kick from watching an anomaly unravel under him.

Sure, he is attracted to other angara, he's been propositioned and hit on by rather tasty individuals from his own kind many times, only to play dumb and deliberately miss hints as to easily let them down.

It took him some years to articulate a thought on why he is the way he is, to place a finger in the deep yearning inside his chest he was seemingly born with. Longing for more, something different and new.

With his own people, it feels too safe, too predictable, and too convenient. His body slots perfectly into another angara like him, like it was designed to. Predestined for him, before he could even get a say in the matter.

Boring.

But with a human? Oh, it was exhilarating. The way absolutely nothing fits right, forcing him to get creative in order to properly feel the human's body pressed against his own.

Jaal's much larger frame easily envelopes a human whole. Those mammals are unimaginably tiny and soft, bodies so full of squeezable areas. Even the tallest of them could never reach his height.

A whole human could easily fit on his lap, Jaal's hand being wide enough to cover their stomach, pawing at the side of their waist.

Looking down at the human who's clearly out of their element when it comes to being seated on his thigh, and yet the longer he stares, the more right it feels, as right as the sunrays feel seeping into his skin.

Humans are simply too fun to toy with, to watch the overconfident egotistical being crumble into a flustered mess as he pressed them down by the stomach to sink deeper into his lap. Small back against his chest, head directly in front of where his heart drums in excitement amidst his ribcage.

The urge to grind himself into the human's plump ass is overwhelming, their neck exposed without any protective structures around it. How did they ever survive their early days in the jungle? Jaal can't help but wonder. With their fragile thin neck so easily accessible to any being. His fingers twitch as he imagines wrapping a fist around it.

And they just walk around like that all day. Even their leaders have their necks completely exposed, basically begging him to lean down and take a bite, to send a pulse of electricity down their spine, and to feel them squirm around his lap. With no sensors to feel electricity, humans can only take whatever Jaal gives them while being none the wiser to why their buddy is sudden so tingly and restless.

It's not confined to just humans, Jaal would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about how a turian's hard plates would feel under the soft pad of his paw, thumb tracing over the rought texture, dipping under crevices and watching their mandibles franticly open and close as he teases their vulnerable sensitive skin.

Or how a krogan's large tongue would taste jammed down his throat in a feverish kiss. Jaal's knee rising up to press between the krogan's legs, subtle electricity buzzing just below his skin, sending small vibrations that are just enough to get a krogan in heat rutting against his knee. A deep rumbling roar forced from the back of the krogan's throat with every thrust against the angara's leg.

Maybe he theorised late at night at how the quarians must look like under the environmental suits. If their beauty truly stands to meet all the praise that the other species seem to sing their way. How would he make one feel safe enough in his arms to risk an infection just to touch his bare skin.

Did Jaal wonder how a drell's inside must have felt, if it was just as reddish as their exposed flesh beneath their cheeks or would it be a smooth gliding scales alongside their tender parts. Would he be able to trigger their perfect memory into replaying the events of their intimate night the day after by a mere word or a suggestive glance.

The asari's telepathic abilities always intrigued him, as much as their ways of reproduction creeped him out. He still found himself looking up videos and witness accounts to how it feels to get properly mindfucked by another being, to surrender your consciousness to them completely. Let them peer inside and carress your deepest desires into a makeshift reality. While Jaal still feels apprehensive about sleeping with an asari, the idea of watching one of them bring another alien into climax through nothing but their mind alone is more than thrilling.

And lastly...humans.

That introductory human VI in the Nexus museum couldn't have been more useless. How did simple snowdrops—or as their species called it "ice cream'—take priority over the fact humans easily take the crown when it comes to interspecies relationships.

The sheer number alone is astounding, the eagerness to mate with another species.

Jaal isn't stupid. He knows his taste is an anomaly amongst his kind. Yet for humanity, it seems the norm. As if it was their purpose to string many hearts along for the ride. Mate with any conscious being that pays them attention, just for the sake of doing something different. It's hard-wired into their brains to desperately attempt to stand out from the rest, to take risks, to seek the unkown... just like him.

For a lack of a better word, a species of sluts, it seems. Although that private thought will be kept to himself, tucked into his mind, and taken to the grave. There is no need to cause a diplomatic incident.

He checked the numbers over and over. In all the Milky Way alien species, humans are the most popular partners when it comes to interspecies dating. The data speaks for itself.

And the most... sexually creative, if all of those billions of terabytes containing nothing but pornographic vids had something to prove.

Just why did the Andromeda humans deem it so important to bring all of those sexually stimulating vids with them while crossing galaxies? the data even says its only a small fraction of what they had back home.

Not that he's complaining. If anything, these human sites has been his major source of...research. Yes. That's what he's been officially calling it in his reports to Evfra.

The asari sites were too educational and focused on reproduction, listing the various benfits of each fathering species and comparing them.

The turian sites were too redundant and repetitive. If you've seen one video, then you've seen them all. they seem to have 5 whole scripts they cycle between videos, and 4 of them involve the military.

Humans offered the most variety by a huge magin. Jaal was surprised when he found a whole category dedicated to their first contact roleplay. Wouldn't the war between them and turians be a traumatic memory? Yet the abundance views and positive feedback to these vids say otherwise.

When he stumbled upon the electric stimulation category, it took every grain of self will in his body not to lock himself in his bedroom for days after sending in a request for emergency time-off.

At every waking moment, when he isn't busying himself, his mind wanders back into dangerous territory. His senses are sharp. He can't help but pick up on the little hints and details that the rest of the Tempest crew continue to obliviously drop around.

There was this one time in the middle of a meeting, where he was the only one to notice how Vetra's hand lingered on Ryder's back, the human cranking their neck to look up at her, the turian's mandibles spread wide as if to make space for the other's soft lips.

A quick thought passing by in a flash, a vision of razor-sharp teeth digging into the inside of plush soft human thighs, a hand with five fleshy fingers holding the crown of the turian's head.

Or the other time when he was getting ready for a mission, watching Liam from the corner of his eyes as he trailed behind Drack like an overexcited puppy. Shooting question after question about what Jaal assumed to be Krogan culture. The human undeterred by the dangerous growl leaving the krogan's throat, one that would've shortly spelt death in any other circumstance.

And again his mind is plagued by various ideas of how easily a krogan could lift a human in the air, with one hand even. Humans' legs were so flexible courtesy of their straight build, made to wrap around the krogan's waist, anchor themselves as a shape formed on their stomach, the much larger krogan cock easily bulging out as the huma—

"Jaal, you coming? Ryder wants us on the dock asap."

Without a pause, the angara nods.

Jaal's imagination fills the rest of the blanks in between.

[lynnsartsworld]

I’m jealous (hehe)

Hello, my lovely witches and wizards! How are we all doing? I’m just popping on here to share a few thoughts—nothing too serious, but I wanted to vent a little.

I have to admit, I feel a bit jealous of everyone’s art styles. You all have such amazing styles, and I genuinely love seeing your work. Mine? Well, I feel like it’s not as great. Sometimes, I think my art sucks a little. Maybe it’s because I’m still figuring out my style, or because I’m a traditional artist while digital art is so prominent now.

Please don’t feel bad for me! This is just me sharing what’s on my mind. I know I need to practice more and stop being so hard on myself. My style is kind of a mix of Japanese influence and Western cartoons, but I think I try too hard sometimes. I need to relax and enjoy the process more.

I really admire all of your drawings—they’re amazing! Keep going and have fun, because you inspire me so much. Honestly, though, I haven’t been having fun drawing lately. That creative spark I used to have feels like it’s fading, and I hate that.

I’ve been drawing for a long time, and I do love it deep down. I just need to find my way back to it. I’ve even thought about trying digital art, but my old iPad probably wouldn’t hold up, so I stick with traditional.

I also love seeing everyone’s MCs drawn in different styles—it’s so inspiring. I’ve drawn a few MCs myself, but only about five. I was planning to do more, but I’ve just been stuck in this rut. Hopefully, when I return, I’ll be in a better headspace and ready to dive back into art.

To those whose MCs I’ve drawn, I hope you enjoyed them! I’m so grateful for the love and support I’ve received, and I’m trying to focus on the positives.

Thank you all for being such a wonderful, creative community. I’m planning to post something on January 1st to explain things further, but for now, I just don’t have much to share. I’m sorry, and I hope to be back with a better mindset soon.

Take care, and keep creating beautiful art—I’ll see you again soon!

[katlyntheartist]

I worry that Hollywood won't learn anything from how bad the Minecraft movie looks/will be. People with kids will go see it (which is fine I'm not judging) and it will make enough money to justify it's existence.

I'm worried this formula may become the norm with such franchises. What do you think?

Anon, this has been happening since forever. Illumination helped pioneer this mindset, for sure, but studios like Disney, Dreamworks, and Sony have already been making kids films with nothing but money in mind.

But the difference between them and Illumination is that they've also crafted some of the most well known and beloved movies that both kids and adults can enjoy. Disney lately has hit a creative rut (among other things), Dreamworks is hit or miss in terms of what quality movie your getting (that's nothing new this is same the studio that gave us Puss in Boots 2 and the Boss Baby), and Sony seems to be focusing on more Spiderverse quality films but that can always change, they have made more garbage films than gems.

I also blame Baby Shark, Cocomellon, and other Youtube Kids properties for this mindset because when you look at the numbers for those videos, it's easy to see why big studios would encourage that kind of mentality, especially since those videos are made to keep children quiet. I babysit for my neighbors kids and they watch some of the most mind-numbing garbage I've ever scene. Makes me sad that they never got to watch the movies and shows I grew up with. Then again the parents just do not care about what goes into their kids' minds but that's another story for another day.

So yeah, I doubt this mentality is ever truly going to go away. And if you're someone who likes the Boss Baby, or the Emoji Movie, or most Illumination movies then ok. I'm not going to hate you if you like them. I just don't. I don't mind a movie being simple fun but it has to have substance and can't just essentially be crack for kids. Kids are smarter than we give them credit for and they are getting dumber because studios keep making them dumber. (Also with how parents are raising their kids but again another story for another day)

Anyway, while I have no plans to see the Minecraft movie, I'll wait for an official trailer to come out just to see what the story is going to be like. I wanna see if they had an actual story for this movie or if is just going to be a "things happen but we through in bright colors, fart/poop jokes, and nostalgia bait to keep the kiddos engaged".