#but I'm trying! and slowly working!

[fly-sky-high-arts]

Current WIP~

[avistellart]

Twisted Wonderland Masquerade-inspired dresses (R Cards) You're free to draw/ use these for your OC(s)! I only ask that you provide credit if you do.

[a2zillustration]

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[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[megueggu]

fullbody for @onesecretperson ! ✨

[iam-57311]

art block? no problem, just draw your faves kissing for the hundredth time. boom, problem solved

[violent138]

Thinking of that first Father's Day that Dick and Bruce and Alfred must have spent together, the most solemn kind one could imagine with the early morning visit to a graveyard. Bruce slowly trying to use Alfred’s advice about imagining if he'd been sent to live with the Kanes after his parents' death, but really nothing works. So they all just sort of sit around the table, occasionally sharing stories. Alfred and Bruce let Dick do most of the talking, while Alfred’s phone burns a hole in his pocket that he ignores.

[turning-monday-blue]

Sweets (1/?)

The snugness was barely tolerable. She had overestimated herself. She looked surreptitiously over her shoulder and ducked around a corner. The only thing following her were her bad decisions, but she felt chased all the same.

Okay. Calm down. Breathe (but not too deep). Evaluate the situation. What are your options? Can you loosen anything?

She looked down at herself. Past her swollen breasts, past a fluffy roll of upper belly, she examined her waistline. Nope. The button was the only thing keeping the zipper together, and vice versa. For the millionth time, she lamented her morning. What a bright idea, interviewing for a job with a snack company. She was very well aware of how sweets affected her.

Could she find somewhere discrete to wait out her... little metabolic mishap? She looked around for a discrete nook to accommodate her fresh bulk.

The little atrium she had found had a series of plush benches around the walls. She sighed and headed for the one in the corner. She sucked in as best she could and sat down. Some horny little corner of her mind made note of how it felt as her tight belly shifted against her puffy thighs.

Sitting like this, only barely upright lest bending too far compromise her jeans, she couldn't ignore how her waistband was trying to cut her in half. She thought back to how she had done this to herself. The lovely HR manager had very explicitly pointed out the basket of the company's sugary offerings there in the middle of interview table. The woman had been insistent that she try at least one of each, gushing like any good salesperson about their rich flavors and subtle textures, occasionally even peeling one out of its wrapper and handing it to her.

How could she have done anything but eat what was offered to her? And by a beautiful woman, no less. She knew how her body reacted to food like this, but she had been desperate to make a good impression, to look good and eager and employable. A good girl. She ignored that last thought, and the accompanying shiver through her frazzled tummy.

She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth (but not too deeply). All she had to do was calm down, and give her body a chance to do the same. Then she could find a back door to sneak out of, go home and hope that somehow that she hadn't blown the interview.

She opened her eyes again and caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room. Holy crap, she was huge. She had been her normal, narrow self, and her outfit had fit very very normally, when she had arrived. But now? Now it looked positively painted onto her. Her breasts were trying to spill out of her tastefully exposed bra and over the lapel of her blouse. She was more balloon than woman at this point. She ignored another tingle.

As she watched herself in the mirror, she noticed something change. Slowly but surely, the last wrinkle in her blouse smoothed out. Uh oh. That meant... she was still filling out. Panic. She tingled again.

No. No. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). She closed her eyes again, and could feel her plump body quietly grow. Crap.

Panic. Calm. Breathe (but not too deep). Calm.

Maybe if she didn't look, it would go away. That had never worked before, sure, but there's a first time for everything, right?

As she rationalized to herself, she noticed the sound of heels clacking towards her hiding spot. Panic!

Maybe their owner would pass and not notice her?

No such luck.

The woman who had interviewed her rounded the corner.

"There you are!"

She struggled to stand. So tight.

"You left your purse upstairs. I get it, though. Interviews can be pretty stressful, huh?"

Like nothing had changed. Did this woman not notice that she was currently three times the size she was when she had shown up? Could this woman not hear every seam in her clothes creaking in harmony? Could the woman not see how wide and deep and round she was becoming?

"It's such a beautiful handbag, I almost wanted to keep it for myself!" The woman laughed. "Oh well."

She took the bag from the woman. "O-oh! Thank you!" Leapt out of her.

"Listen," said the woman, "technically I have to review a few other candidates, but I think you're a shoo-in for the position." The woman moved closer. "No one else has shown so much... enthusiasm." Closer still. She basked in the smell of the woman's musky perfume.

"Oh... that's great!" she managed to squeak out.

"In fact," the woman continued, "if you'd like to come back upstairs, we can have you fill out the onboarding paperwork now, so you don't have to come back just to fill out some forms if... when we give you the job." So close now.

"Um! Okay!" What.

The woman placed a gentle hand on the side of her massive, tight, growing belly. "Listen, between you and me, that passion you showed today will take you far with us. Do you feel like the offer is fair? We can negotiate further if you need." The woman's eyes were so sincere.

What was going on here? She could barely think.

The woman placed her other hand on top of her belly, well hidden by her burgeoning breasts. "I do hope you'll say yes."

"Um..."

There was a pop. Her button pinged away across the room from her overburdened jeans. It made a little thwack sound as it hit the far wall. Her zipper flew down, zizzing audibly. Her belly erupted through the breach. Her blouse retreated upwards. The tingling became a roar. All the while, the woman, as though no tectonic shifts were happening right there and then, continued to implore with borderline puppydog eyes.

The world held its breath with her. How had this woman not reacted to any of that?! What? Was the woman still waiting for an answer?

"...okay?" She tried. She wasn't sure if her brain was still working. "Sure?" Best to stick to small sentences.

"Yay!" cheered the woman, "I really think you'll love it here!" The woman launched in for a quick hug around her exposed belly. The woman's arms didn't go even halfway around her. And still the woman didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

"Well! If you'll follow me back to the elevators, we can at least get the formalities out of the way."

The woman took her by the hand and pulled, still gentle. She followed, mutely. Even the horniest, shamiest corners of her mind were silent, waiting with bated breath.

As they reached the elevators, the woman pushed the up button and stood to the side. "Please," said the woman, "after you!"

On autopilot now, she stepped into the elevator and... wedged into the door. Stuck. What. Panic? Calm? The elevator dinged again as if to say "I'm waiting!"

The cold of the elevator doors brought her back to reality. She put a hand on either side of herself and tried to pull herself in. As though this were somehow normal, the woman chirped "Oh, here, let me help!"

She felt a gentle pair of hands press into her oceanic bottom. Her horny brain thrilled again. She clamped down on those thoughts. No time to be a pervert.

Between the two of them, they muscled her into the elevator. She turned to face the doors in time to watch the woman press into her in order to let the doors close. Normally equipped for eight full-sized human adults, due to her immensity, it very barely fit two.

"We need floor thirty," said the woman into her barely contained cleavage. She tried to reach for the panel of buttons, but by now there was simply too much of her in the way.

"I've got it," said the woman, reaching behind her without looking.

They rode the thirty floors quietly. She could feel herself still widening, pressing towards the walls of the elevator car. Her embarrassment had burnt out, leaving only a kind of stunned peace in her mind. She tried to will her body away from the woman, but where else could it really go?

By the time they reached their destination, the woman was firmly pressed against the doors, still showing no indication of the extra-ordinariness of the situation.

As the doors opened, the woman stepped back, grabbed her hands, and pulled as she tried to wiggle through the door. Eventually she floomped through, and they set off toward the HR suite.

Full-on waddling now, she felt an inner tension release. She had stopped growing. Relief. If nothing else, at least things had stopped getting worse. Sure, she was almost round enough to roll. Tingle. Sure, her clothing had been reduced to barely covering her... rude areas. Tingle. Sure, a beautiful woman was acting as though this was all perfectly normal. Tingle tingle tingle. But hey, at least it finally wasn't getting worse.

The woman pushed open the double doors to the HR suite and welcomed her in with another glittering smile. They seemed to be the only ones there. The woman led her, patiently, to the front desk area. The woman ducked behind the desk, looking for something.

"Hmm, it looks like I'll need to go print off more some more copies of the forms. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two." Finally she'd have a moment to collect herself.

Then the woman produced a basket, laden with various goodies, from underneath the desk. "Here! Help yourself, sorry to make you wait." Uh.

"Oh, here, allow me," said the woman, picking out a chocolate confection, peeling it, and pressing it into her mouth. "I'll be right back!"

She chewed and swallowed the treat.

Uh oh.

[ceo-mochee]

Hppy 9th anniversary to MCSM!!! I don't rlly got much rn so uhhhh

GO MY TNT MANIAC THAT I'M SO UNHEALTHYLY OBSESSED WITH 💥💥💥💥💥💥

(Made him for an art collab hehe)

Plus some other old (Lukxel) sketches I've been hiding too, all from a fanfic I'm currently fighting myself to finish LOOLLL

[wildflowercryptid]

Ooohh for the warmup doodles, maybe Tale of Teo Towns? :] Or Island of Happiness/Sunshine Islands!

thank you so much for the suggestion, reese!!

georgia and mikhail are definitely my favorite marriage candidates from tott. and i actually haven't played ioh or si yet, but basing off their events, i think denny and sabrina would be right up my alley!

[herssian]

song

[satans-knitwear]

Nude fishnet tights with sparkles ✨

Treat me ~ Tip Me ~ More of me

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

I'm so sorry to hear you were in an accident im glad you are alive and feeling okay again <3<3

I'd love to send you a lotura prompt, hopefully it lifts your spirits to be back on that sweet ship.

How about Lotor and Allura talking about weapons? (i.e. Like how Allura prefers a staff and Lotors sword designs (like the one he was first shown with) )

Hey, good to hear from you and thanks for your super kind note!! I'm doing a little better each day and am excited to get back to regular routines! While I was on hold over the phone about paperwork today, I managed to exercise my brain with the prompt you gave me! <3

Staff vs. Sword

Emperor Lotor leans against a wall, crossing his arms and quirking a slim, white eyebrow at the princess before him. “Surely, you jest with me,” he murmurs. “A staff again?”

Princess Allura beams, and she grabs her favorite staff from the blunted practice weapons with a solid grip, fingers tight. With a quick flick of her wrist, she spins it and sets the end solidly on the ground. “My bayard for Blue Lion also turns into a whip,” she says nonchalantly, “but that seems entirely unfair to use against you, as it produces an electric shock.”

“Ah, yes.” His eyes crinkle, his slit pupils dilating with softness. He adds dryly, “Because we do not already create enough sparks on the courts.”

She brushes back her long, thick braid and waggles her eyebrows. “You said it, not me.” And then she pokes his chest plate with the end of her staff. “Do tell me you’re not afraid of a second round after I defeated you.”

“And nearly caused an intergalactic incident,” he says, voice halted. “The training grounds are intended for practicing the art of combat—not the art of catching one’s opponent off-guard with a kiss.”  

With a giggle, Allura pulls the staff back, her Altean markings glowing a bright pink. “Yes, well, we Alteans have a saying that all’s fair in love and war. Now, pick your weapon, dear emperor, so that I may defeat you once more. And do choose something other than a sword this time—at least mix it up for me?”

Lotor eyes her before grabbing a blunted sword from the wall, inspecting its balance. His long fingers grip the hilt tightly. “A sword is the best extension of a warrior’s will,” he declares, raising his chin with a petulant chin. “It is simple. It is efficient. It is my favorite weapon.”

Allura sighs dramatically at him. “It does not have quite the—” she waves her hand—“the impact of a staff, though.”

He raises the silver sword to her. “The staff is an impact weapon,” he says dryly. “You simply seek to showcase your Altean strength to the Galra who prowl these courts, and that is why you prefer it as of late."

“Tish tosh,” she says, planting her feet properly on the training mat and eyeing him with an increased wariness. She knows Lotor likes to strike unexpectedly. “I also happen to like the way training robots crumple to bits beneath a staff. It relieves the stress I feel after a large conference with intergalactic leaders.”

A tick of silence stretches between them.

And then in a blur, Lotor races toward her, slashing down.

She blocks with the staff and swings, and he ducks smoothly before stepping back, flipping the sword in his hand.

He paces the mat, the overhead lights capturing the glow of his eyes like a predator in the dark wilderness. “Poor Princess Allura,” he teases. “All the power in the universe, and yet you fear the peace we have wrought together, instead longing for means of violence. Are you certain you are not of Galran blood somewhere in that long ancestry of yours?”

Alura’s voice strains as she circles him as well, resetting her staff. “I can’t think of a single species that doesn’t enjoy a rough tumble now and again, in a safe, non-war environment. Why, the humans even have something called, um—” Her concentration breaks as she pauses, snapping her fingers. “Um, wrestling. And something called rugby. And then they have a very large, worldwide competition for their various violent sports, called the Olympics.”

Lotor pauses.

His slit pupils widen in curiosity of other cultures. “Olympics? Is that similar to a Kral Zera?”

“Somewhat,” she nods, “but instead of choosing a world leader by, um, killing everyone, these tournaments are for medals that they wear around their necks and then bite in front of cameras. And no one dies generally.”

He lunges again, and in a blur, wrenches the staff away from her hands and presses her up against a wall.

Allura squeaks, eyes wide.

His nose is inches from her own, his breath a hot puff against her face. “How very curious.”  

Her breath stalls as her cheeks heat hard enough to radiate to him. “Um, y-yes.”

Lotor’s wide mouth splits as he whispers against her mouth, “Fortunately for you, princess, I’ve no intent to fight you truly, or you would already be dead with your silly staff. And if it were these Olympics, you would have no medal to bite.”

Face flushed, her eyes narrow to slits, and before Lotor can avoid it, she hooks her ankle against his and unbalances him. Surprised claws protract from his hands, gripping into her practice armor and his eyes widen.

And the two royals fall in a pile of limbs upon the mat, with Allura sprawled on top of a stunned Lotor, his sword clattering to the mat beside them.  

“Oh, no,” she says with a triumphant giggle, hands planted over his chest plate. Her curly flyaways are an angelic halo around her face. “You lowered your weapon but did not fully secure me, so I still win.”

Lotor grumps beneath her, his lavender cheeks flushing as he grips her forearms.

And despite Galra leadership watching the courts and murmuring with gossip in the far distance, Lotor softens. His rough, calloused thumbs stroke a pink marking along her bare forearm. “Best two out of three, then? I promise to secure you fully next time and cause another scandal for it.”

Allura leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Very well, Emperor Lotor. You’re on.”

[johnslittlespoon]

Last Line Tag

just realized i haven't caught up on tag games for 2+ weeks aghhh and i've been tagged too many times to @ lol but!

It feels like a light John hadn’t known was missing comes on when he’s around Gale, a steady glow right in the center of his chest, seeping into his bones like liquid gold, like he’s been flayed open so the sun can shine where he’s never felt it before.

tagging @air-exec, @counting0nit, @hauntingcontradiction, @alienoresimagines, @c-goldthorn, whoever else wants to <33

[zylphiacrowley]

tent — for the single-word drive!

Only 14 summers old, X'vahl had ran as far away from home as his legs could take him. He ran until his lungs burned and his feet bled from the straps of his sandals digging into his skin, stopping only when his body wouldn't allow him to go any further. Gathering a small amount of reserve strength, he put the survival skills his father had taught him to use in their first real world application and set up a small camp. It wasn't much, just a meager campfire and a tent to sleep under. It wouldn't protect him from any wild animals, but it would at least shield him from the elements. As he sat in front of the fire, he desperately pleaded with his mind to stop replaying the images of his dad's brutal death. Was it not enough to have witnessed it first hand? When his eyes could no longer keep themselves open, he curled up in his small tent and fell asleep. Perhaps as a mercy, he did not dream that night.

This one had me stumped for a while, and I almost requested a new prompt. I'm glad I didn't though because this set allowed me to learn some new things, or at least test some things I've been wondering about for a while. Learning how to make a male miqo'te child/young teen in-game was certainly a challenge but I'm overall pretty satisfied with how this turned out.

Also forgive my weird writing. I haven't written anything like this in ages and honestly I'm mildly self-conscious about it but I felt that I wanted to include at least some context for this set. I also wanted to at least try to write something again and see where I'm at with my writing again since it's something that I've been wanting to start doing again.

[improbable-implosions]

This one's kinda funny, I went into affixing that patch SO sure that the design of that sword of mine, Arma, would be plenty for that patch, but the longer I stared at it doing other mends for these pants, the longer I felt it needed _something_ else, you know?

First up, we've got to stitch on the patch itself! I did some nice even straight stitches, because initially, I was planning on a little area of sashiko mending.

But, in looking at the size of the chunk of dissolvable backing I had cut, there wasn't really any patterns immediately springing to mind that'd work at a scale that small, or, so I thought after seeing how that basketweave pattern came together on an earlier piece. For context, the whole patch is roughly the size of the palm of my hand, at 3.5 inches square.

So, instead, I decided to try something a bit more complex to render than I'd really tried out before, this art of Arma! (Despite the sword's design being my work, the art in question is by @razzmatazic, who I did ask if I tried to trace, and she had no problems!) And so trace I did, tracing the outlines of the major features of the piece, namely, the outer lines, and the shapes of the gemstones.

Unfortunately, in my haste (and, admittedly, my focus, since this was much higher detail than I normally tackle around here), I didn't grab any in-progress shots of this. Still, I actually really enjoy how this came out looking, even if it doesn't perfectly evoke the design or detail of the original piece, it certainly emulates the look of Arma well enough I recognize it, and very visibly reads Cool Sword, y'know?

Next up were a few colorful rims around the edges of the front pockets! They were fraying pretty significantly, so not only does this add a fun splash of color, but it keeps me from picking the edges of these seams apart while I'm not thinking about my hands. Initially, I was going to pick a different set of colors than that turquoise and purple, based on a fun fact about my hometown, but that color scheme was just calling out to me! I decided to lean into the somewhat royal vibes and went for a different, lighter purple, with two little bits of yellow thread, which, fun fact, I actually dyed with some yellow flowers I foraged back in the boston area!

As for these two little spot-mends, they were really more an exercise in frustration. Really, I'm mostly miffed the thread broke on the original patch in the one place the hole kept trying to expand through, but hopefully that little bit of randa stitching (which looks MUCH more like randa stitching should than my previous efforts, namely on my wallet and that previous pair of pants that we detailed, the ones with the segaihana sashiko) alongside some additional reinforcement along the edge of that original yellow patch, made from some thread I scavenged from a fraying bit of denim, should keep this particular pair of shorts from getting any more fixes right on the edge of the patch that has misbehaved TWICE now!

Last but not least, while I was wrangling those pocket rims and the spot mends, I really just had the feeling that Arma would look kinda... lonely, I suppose? Centered in the framing straight stitches like that, so I improvised a little open book next to her! (She's not a sword-girl, promise, it's she/her like you'd she/her a boat) There's actually some really nice dimensionality to the book, too, with some looser stitches to emulate ruffle-able pages, and those two knots along the spine make for a pleasant, crinkled texture to the cover lines! Can you tell I'm pleased with myself for getting that just so, without any guides?

All that said, hopefully that's all the mends my poor poor jean shorts need, I swear, just as I get one set fixed, the other winds up with another hole! Don't get me wrong, I'm starting to enjoy the whole almost boro-like vibe they're developing, with all these overlapping mends, but I'd like them to develop it slower, thanks! (And yes, I do plan to wear these at LEAST until they look like I've quilted them back together, they're comfy!)

[semisentient-entity]

Details

One of the many, many, discussions between Astarion and my Tav (Tavir (wow, two more letters, how creative)) regarding how thoroughly one needs to plan for the future.

WARNING: Minor spoilers.

~~~

Tavir planned for everything. They always considered every possible outcome and made sure to be prepared for all of them. Their pack was always heavy with scrolls and potions and extra weapons, many of which Tav was not proficient in. Their map was covered in various markings and notes of places they planned to return to and what they’d need beforehand.

Astarion on the other hand…

“Look, I’m not a ‘details’ person, all right? But turning up and causing chaos has worked for us so far.”

“That’s not going to work forever,” Tav said, swishing their tail in annoyance. “We can’t always run in blindly, bash a few skulls in, and hope it’s enough.”

“Ah,” Astarion smirked, “but that’s the beauty in improvising, darling.”

“If we’re going to improvise, darling, we still need some sort of plan to go by.”

“We do have a plan. We find whatever device is controlling our wriggling friends, murder some people, and…”

“And, that is not a proper plan.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Consider it a rough draft. We can work out the finer details as we go.”

Of all the people he needed to seduce, why did this one have to be so detail-oriented?

“I’m just saying there’s an opportunity here. If we can control the tadpoles, we can keep ourselves safe and liberate the world from this evil.”

“Or we could just enjoy having all that power,” Tav conceded, realizing this conversation would only end up going in circles. But they couldn’t resist the urge to add on: “If we even survive long enough to do so.”

This answer seemed to be satisfactory enough for the vampire spawn. “I’m feeling optimistic,” he said. Then a mischievous grin spread across his lips. “I knew I was right about you. It’s so good to find a kindred spirit.”

Tav left with a polite smile and disappeared into their tent. After closing their flap, they immediately pulled out their journal and started jotting down notes on Astarion’s “rough draft.”