#fat owl fashion

[fatowlfashion]

GUESS WHO'S BACK

Actually, I never left! I just stopped using Tumblr regularly. But now I'm back. And the Fat Owl Shop is bigger and gayer than ever!

We've got SO MANY NEW THINGS!

We carry sizes XS-6XL!

We do custom printing!!!

You support a queer owned small business with every purchase (I'm behind on my car payments! Please buy a shirt!)

CONSUME CONSUME CONSUME

[thepioden]

Plugging my sibling's store here! They're working on raising some funds.

If you want to buy some cool, weird, queer apparel, please consider Fat Owl! Two new design collections just dropped and they are awesome. Most products come in sizes up to 6X and I can personally attest they are comfy as hell.

[quart-of-hyenabeanz]

me and @hsavinien pulled together our Owl House cosplays. Wearing dresses gives my fat, butch ass hives, so instead I did the ten-seconds-on-screen latest fashions from the human realm gag.

I didn't sew anything but the skirt and I guess technically sewing the two wigs together (HEAVY, BTW. And yeah we just FOUND those pants!), but I'm DEEPLY proud of how the props came out, particularly the violin for @hsavinien's Raine cosplay.

it was a real, cheap/busted violin. Cut the head off, crafted a palisman shaped head out of cedar. Sav wanted glowy light up strings so I figured out how to string it up by crafting a tail piece that could hold the strings and hide the battery box hole, and suggesting Sav design a simple 3D printed peice to route the LED strand thru since she has printer access. Which she did an amazing job of, and she did the painted embellishments.

Also fairly proud of how Owlbert came out. I love making props out of the actual materials, so instead of 3d printing it or whatever I carved him out of basswood with a Dremel. Which I've never done before.

I was frustrated with the stain job at first, but after some fiddly buffing realized he has a antiqued, lived-in look that seems perfect for a palisman of a wild witch that was carved when she was a teenager. He's also removable so he can be displayed a little easier.

We also handed these out, and some people got misty about it, which was fun.

Felt good to cosplay and art this way after not doing it since like... 2017. Must do again sooner.

[derangedanomaly]

Songs that I listen to while drawing the boys

(super random post- but I just thought I'd share this with ya lol. All of these songs fit them btw)

CHAOS:

Lana Del Rey: Diet Mountain Dew, Trash Magic, I want it all

Asteria: EYES ON ME, WHAT YOU WANT

Melanie Martinez: The Contortionist

6arelyhuman: Faster N Harder

DPR IAN: Don't Go Insane

Laurie Anderson: O Superman (ISTFG THIS FITS HIM SO MUCH)

Slowdive: When The Sun Hits

Lady Gaga: Heavy Metal Lover

Grimes: Genesis

Billie Eilish: What Was I Made For? (THIS ALSO FITS HIM SO MUCH)

Rihanna: Breaking Dishes, Disturbia

T-Pain: Take your shirt off

Chart: HEAVEN SAYS

Adele: Skyfall

Madonna: 4 Minutes

Bambee: Bumblebee

Elvis Presley: Can't help falling in love with you

NIGHTMARE:

Isabel LaRosa: Older

Mitski: Me and My Husband, Your best American Girl

Black Gryph0n: INSANE

Axie: I'M SANE, TERRIBLE THINGS

Insane Clown Posse: Halls Of Illusions

Beetlejuice musical: That Beautiful Sound

Namika: je ne parle pas français

Lana Del Rey: Once Upon A Dream

Dev: Monster

Slipknot: People = Shit

Lydia the Bard: Cover of TOXIC (Sadder and darker)

Heathers, the musical: Meant To Be Yours

Ayesha Erotica: Shitzu, Where you at, Hands Up!

Adele: Million Years Ago

Lady Gaga: Bad Romance

Theory of a Deadman: Bitch came back

ACE:

MCCAFFERTY: BeachBoy

Cigarettes After Sex: Cry, Sunsetz, Crush, Sweet, Apocalypse, K

Mitski: Lonesome Love, First Love / Late Spring

Mindless Self Indulgence: Lights Out

JT Music: Anytime You Smile

Miike Snow: Genghis Khan

Charlie XCX: Speed Drive

Tom Cardy: Red Flags

Connie Francis: Stupid Cupid

Arctic Monkeys: I wanna be yours

Jamie Foxx: Fly Love

Måneskin: GOSSIP

Melanie Martinez: Evil

Beyoncé: Beautiful Liar

Wheatus: Teenage Dirtbag

Queen: Bohemian Rhapsody

J. Cole: She knows

TV Girl: Lovers Rock

BLADE:

Lustra: Scotty Doesn't Know

Rammstein: Sonne

Tally Hall: Two Wuv

Mother Mother: Problems

6arelyhuman: Hands Up!, GMFU

Elvis Presley: Jailhouse Rock

Kreayshawn: Go Hard (La.La.La)

Toy-Box: E.T.

Boygenius: Not Strong Enough

4 Door Theater: Porcelain Face

Britney Manson: FASHION

Psychosticks: I can only count to four

Ryan Gosling: I'm just Ken (he's a fan 😔✋)

Tom Cardy: H.Y.C.Y.BH, Best Friends

Owl City: Good time

Dazey and the Scouts: Wet

TED:

Melanie Martinez: EVIL, Cake

Cavetown: Boys Will Be Bugs, Devil Town

Faouzia: Born Without a Heart

Maddie Zahm: Fat Funny Friend

Soddiken: Hansel

Mitsuki: Abbey

The Dresden Dolls: My Alcoholic Friends

Radiohead: Creep

Sarah Cothran: As The World Caves In

Skillet: Monster

TOOPOOR: Crazy Girls

Lady Gaga: Government Hooker (I just can't help but imagine the man's voice as Ted's- 😭)

6arelyhuman: XOXO

Insane Clown Posse: Halls of Illusion

Why did I actually spend my time doing this? 💀

[lazulisocinfodump]

I think I accidentally started a homestuck resurgence among the moots oops XD

Tbh, I do tend to enjoy writing Pale Romance, or stuff that fits that vibe. Almost of my Kinitopet rp ocs have Pale relationship drama as a big part of their stories.

-Adminverse Sec has had a bit fat pale crush on Adminverse Kinito since pretty much the beginning. Though... perhaps that was kind of obvious, lol. Might be low-key Jelous of Owl (Sec bears Owl no ill will, she just. Wishes she could be doted on.)

But Sec has now come to the conclusion that she sucks at actually helping Kinito and being the friend he needs. Or helping anyone, really. She ain't doing so hot tbh, dealing with feeling like a failure and a type of platonic broken heart.

-Abandonware Sec *had* similar feelings for Abandonware Kinito but they were less intense. Plus while she didn't have the terminology for it she could see that Morail or Best Friend 'role' was filled by Shrimp already. But she was still happy to help both of them best she could.

...Then Kinito killed her sister.

-Sea Angel and Nito were basically in a codepedant pale type relationship. They did love each other very much, and they learned a lot from each other. But Sea Angel had isolated herself from everyone else over the course of their friendship, and Nito was perfectly happy to have Sea Angel to himself so he never tried to encourage her to reconnect with others.

Even after finally letting herself to properly feel the emotions tied to his death, Sea Angel is still pretty messed up from Nito's Death (and is subconsciously starting to cling to Amie to help fill the void)

-And finally, Firecracker. Sec was her Morail, straight up. Sec acted as Firecracker's emotional support, cheerleader, moral anchor and encouraged her to be less impulsive and reckless. And Firecracker considered herself her younger sister's protector.

But, Firecracker took the relationship for granted, stopped really giving Sec's words consideration, and didn't respect her despite loving her a great deal. Probably because she didn't really consider that Sec grew up, always seeing her as her cute but naive baby sister.

And the domino effect of that was the relationship quietly falling apart without Firecracker noticing until it all broke apart in spectacular fashion.

[bulldog-geckorahhhhh]

Okiii, I was sorta curious about what other OC interactions we could do besides of Herman and Al (I love em tho <3). This is also a mini excuse for me to infodump about my OCs but still XD (Also I've already shown Sis and Herman to you so I thought I'd share the others)

ALRIGHTY FIRST ONE UP ISSSS: Sister Vanessa

Unlike Sister Sis, Vanessa's more of the energetic and sassy one in the church. She loves roses (As seen where she accessories with them), as well as fashion and messing around with Father gregor (He often disapproves of her). Sis has a HUGE crush on her

Some Facts:

Her HC voice actress is Kathleen Delaney, the voice of Rouge the Bat in Sonic X

A HUGE fanfic writer, she's trying to recreate the bible in her version

She just screams y2k energy, idk XD

Now we have Dylan! One of the first SM OCs I ever had plans for. (His ref sheet's being redesigned, so that's why it's incomplete).

Upbeat and cheerful, this chubby donut-loving cop always tries his best to help others. While he may be clumsy, forgetful, and maybe not the most skilled cop in the police force, he's a good friend who's always trying his best!

Some bonus facts:

As the ref sheet shows, he's Patty's older brother! His :3 face was made to contrast with his sister's owl lip

Also his HC voice actor his Jack Mcbrayer (HIS ENERGY AND ACCENT FITS HIM SO WELL THOOOO)

He's known Jack since high school! They're good friends <:)

Somewhat aware of the cult... (Let's just say his aunt nearly sacrificed him when he was a kid-)

Actually shipped with Ignacio sometimes! (They're shipname is BurntDonuts)

And lastly, we have the Cat Burglar!

A sleek, sly, and elusive criminal with a love for stealing jewels, gems, basically anything shiny, as well as cats! Like Fat Thief and Thin Thief, they work for the cult, although they're more involved with it due to a certain ritual...

Facts!!

HC voice actor is Jacob Tobia (Double Trouble from She-Ra)

Developed "Cat-Like quirks" after the ritual occurred. Such as hissing/meowing as a vocal stim, having seafood cravings, being lazy like a cat, hating the rain, etc

Rather dramatic sometimes, they love watching musicals XD (They're actually inspired by Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer from the Cats Musical!)

Either ways that's all, I have a couple more SM OCs, but these are considered my main ones (Along with Sis and Herman) XD

OOOOH OOOH OHHHH I LOVE THEM ALL! Throwing a character of mine at each of them

Throwing Livia at Sister Vanessa. Liv has a history of bothering nuns! I can imagine Vanessa met a struggling pigeon caught in something outside the church. And getting nearly jumped by Liv who thought she was hurting the bird- they fight but after that Liv won’t stop showing up. (they’re a member of the cult. So maybe they’re watching the church too)

For Dylan, I of course first think of August! Where there’s a cop there’s an August! They probably love hanging around him, cause he’s nicer and easier to yap to than John (and even Jack some times).

And the Cat burglar, I’m throwing Tori! She probably LOVES watching them and narrating their acts. She prob annoys the shit out of them- she floats behind them while they steal something. They swat at her but she disappears like the Cheshire Cat and laughs.

[joz-yyh]

Rust - Ch. 10

SUMMARY: *Flashback Chapter!* Damian returns from the cove to find his teacher waiting for him. Will this reunion see their relationship deepen? No Beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: T (groping / first kiss)

PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant

WORD COUNT: 4,632

READ ON Ao3: Here!!

A/N: Sorry, it's taken me forever to get back into this. Hopefully, ya’ll are still interested in it. ^^; Think this might be the last of the flashback chapters? Next one will be focusing on the present. (Heck, even I get turned around in a nonlinear story) XD

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Tardif wouldn't admit that he's waiting, loitering maybe, arms crossed, hiding in the alleyway, keeping an eye on any and all who pass through the promenade.

He sees the usual faces, tired residents going about their miserable existence with their wagons and livestock, stamping away at dead earth, no one noteworthy.

Time passes, a good hour maybe and now he has to wonder if the tip about the expedition party returning today was given on poor authority. If so, his informant will pay dearly for the con of bad intel and just as he thinks of an appropriate punishment, the grave robber in her trademark hat and boots saunters into town.

It's not long before Audrey spots him, offering a smirk in his direction, a clue that she knew more about why he was here than he would give her credit for.

He's hoping the obtrusive blonde will go away if he ignores her, but no such luck, the woman changing her trajectory, headed straight toward him.

“And just what are you doing here, all alone in the corner? Waiting for me,” she teases, bowing forward in a wide stance, sporting a haversack of loot on her shoulder, “You're gonna give a girl the wrong idea.”

“Ye got nothin, I want,” he snorts at her, avoiding her eyes.

“Oh, I am sure that's not entirely true,” she taunts, taking out a coin purse, dangling it at him, “Penny for your thoughts?”

The brute snatches her bribe before she can redact her offer and Audrey, the blasted girl, makes herself comfortable, occupying the other side of the alley, reposed as a mirror image of him.

“I am waitin’.”

“Is that all my money gets me,” she frowns, having surmised that on her own, “a droll observation? I want my purse back.”

Cut off gloves sway her beckoning nails, but Tardif turns his nose away, not giving her payment back, seeking to count it instead.

“Fine, waitin’ fer him.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

“And what do you plan to do when this ‘him’ arrives,” the thief giggles, the frills of her ascot accentuating it, arms crossed in classy debonair fashion.

“That’ll cost more,” he growls, noting how few gold pieces there were inside. Usually, he could tell the quantity by sound alone, but the overabundance of silver shillings threw him off.

“I think I've lightened my purse enough for one evening. You'll have to bear my company for another minute.”

The haggard brim of her hat swivels, Audrey turning her sharp eyes to Josie and Amani, the next heroines to arrive back home.

If the serpent dancer was still in possession of both hands, one would certainly be holding the antiquarian’s, the two women walking so close together, brushing shoulders at every step, batting convivial eyelashes at each other.

“Just look at them. Thick as thieves. Headed to the caravan to drink with the trinket girl, I imagine.”

“Ain't no business of mine,” Tardif grunts, trying to kill any attempt at conversation.

“You're not as fun as a certain flagellant I know,” Audrey sighs, Tardif's standoffish behavior wearing her down quicker than a pair of primadonna heels, “I think I like him better.”

“Don't be gettin’ any ideas.”

“Oh please, my tastes strictly lie in girls, specifically brunettes. Besides, he seems entirely fixated on this fat owl bear who gave him some stupid rope as a courtship ritual.”

Tardif feels the heat of embarrassment rise in his cheeks, fists clenching around the fabric of his biceps. He refuses to acknowledge his female tormentor, keeping his attention on the road ahead, where the cursed regions lie, their dark hills a much better view.

The flagellant must be lagging behind as usual; otherwise, he wouldn't be stuck in this situation. The fool better not have died on him. He's tempted to ask Audrey, but she gave him no cause to assume the worst had happened, only that he's late.

“Don't worry bounty hunter, he'll be along,” the lady says, getting up to take her leave, their cavorting at its end, “Could try being nice to him for a change. Might work out better for you.”

Tardif has never been good at taking advice, especially hers and at these, her parting words, his quarry's somber hood finally lobs into view.

His head is cast down, limbs heavy with weariness, rope strewn crossbody so it swoops against his waist and damn if isn't one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen leading off into the horizon.

Cloaked in stealth, Audrey hides herself amongst the districts, sticking around to witness how the two look at each other from across the square, getting her money's worth.

Damian seems truly surprised to notice his mentor there, waiting for his return, and suddenly all his weariness is expelled, scampering the rest of the distance with a crooked smile.

He gathers the rope, throws the band of loops around the bounty hunter’s neck in blissful celebration, using the tether to pull him in, knocking their heads together.

“What stories I have to tell you,” Damian beams, eyes sparkling with excitement.

The brute wasn't expecting such a showy reception, a poor man's coronation, weary of an audience, namely Audrey.

“Then tell me,” Tardif says, grabbing a bloody hand, dragging the miscreant along to some place more private, away from the public eye.

—-

They're at Tardif's special practice field, this becoming their usual meeting spot, occupying one of the benches inside a spectator's box while Damian talks up a storm.

Tardif has since passed the rope onto the flagellant's collar, letting the loops dangle from a spiked hook, wearing the morbid gallows favor for long enough.

Damian is all too happy to inherit it again, this helping him to reenact his story, hands molding into a broad arch.

“The creature was gargantuan,” the priest turned bard says, “pincers like you wouldn't believe.”

“Heh, that right,” Tardif laughs, enjoying the epic tale. Junia had said Damian had a knack for telling stories if only he'd chosen to listen back then. “So, wot did ye do?”

“The shaman cast spell after spell, strengthening their defense, summoning another foe. Our party bled from their claws, but I took their wounds, made them my own.”

A fist curled in triumph, Damian flexing his muscles, to which the axeman can only goad him on.

“Did ye?”

“Yes, you should have seen it, such bright red spilling around my feet. They lunged for a final strike, thinking they had me, but I bound their weapons in a snare, just as you taught me.”

“Wot ‘bout Audrey? She pull her weight?”

He's hoping for some blackmail, a token of payback, but the flagellant only has great remarks to honor her with.

“Her pickaxe was most helpful in dismantling the coral,” Damian nods, “Her darts struck one of the fish people, took out it's eye. Popped like a bubble.”

The cove didn't bother Tardif nearly as much as the warrens, but Damian paints a very vivid picture, whinging at the comparison, especially sensitive about eyes.

“And Josephine?”

“Her vapors reached far into their ranks, but the king crab nearly cut through its binds, you can see here where it's frayed.”

He pauses in his recounting to find it, showing off the inanimate object's injury. Tardif will have to remember to patch it with tar even if Damian will most likely want to keep it as a wound to match his own, but nothing worse than snapped rope when your life was on the line.

“Thankfully, Amani was able to pierce its carapace with her spear. After that, it was only a matter of time until the battle was won.”

He knew the snake charmer would be a valuable asset to the team, and with the way Damian illustrated their adventure, it felt like Tardif had witnessed every blow for himself.

“If only you had seen the whale carcass,” his companion says more solemnly, a missed opportunity, “Such vast pools of blood, large enough to drown the entire town in its weight.”

By that account, perhaps its best the rotting beast stayed right where it was.

“Could make a trip sometime,” the huntsman jests, an impulse of flippant sarcasm.

Damian lights up, invigorated, skin prickling with energy.

“Truly, you’d let me take you?”

The mercenary meant it unwittingly, a rhetorical suggestion, but now that he’s seen how exhilarated Damian’s become, how can he possibly say, ‘no?’

“If it means that much to ye.”

“It does! Josephine taught me a shortcut. We only need be mindful of the tentacles.”

Tardif would rather avoid the slimy charms of wild calamari, preferring to keep his distance lest he become seafood himself and before he can wrap himself up in any more impending occult nonsense, he swerves the conversation onto much tamer topics.

“Anyway, sounds like ye earned this.”

Tardif was waiting for the right moment to share his gift, this as good a time as any, pulling something off the leather jungle of his belt.

“What is it,” the masochist asks, staring at the pouch intently.

“Jerky. Made it myself.”

The holy man seems completely fixated, salivating at the mouth as the burlap sack is opened, his stomach growling, forgetting how hungry he was until this moment.

“C'mon n’ try it,” he teases, “It's rough like yer crustaceans so you’ll hafta wear it down with yer teeth.”

The priest procures a strip of salted beef, a miniscule corner disappearing past his lips. It's true he can't bite through it, the fibers are too thick, but the flavors of hickory and salt have him lapping over it with his tongue, a feast for his taste buds.

“Must you always give me things that tempt my resolve,” the flagellant quips, tearing off a piece with his teeth.

There's some hedonism to be found within the phrase, knowing that the flagellant liked it as much as he did, that Tardif was a constant vice of temptation for him.

“Fear not the holy path, for the difficulties that lie ahead are blessings in disguise,” Tardif quotes, reciting the words in the same manner he heard them spoken.

“Have you been reading up on your scriptures,” the flagellant beams, delighted at the thought, his ears ringing.

“Heh, just somethin’ that's stuck wit’ me. Remembered it from a long time ago.”

The shrug he gives doesn't hide the painful look, the bounty hunter turning his attention toward the ground, the flagellant offering this to console him.

“Often it is the things that resonate with us that prove we are all guided, disciples of the Light.”

“Hn, life has no coincidences.”

The bounty hunter takes a piece of jerky, joining in, sampling his spoils, shutting himself up before they carry on any more religious talk.

The two fall into silence, looking out onto the practice field, more blades of green grass popping up from matted compost.

“The rest is yours,” Tardif says, nodding towards the preserved meat, “It keeps a while so it's good on a journey.”

“Thank you, but I can't accept this.” The smell alone was too heavenly. He would likely eat it all if left to his own devices. “It's too much. Surely, you must take half for yourself.”

“If I did, then ye couldn't share it with the hound and those poor folk outside the church.”

Realization spreads over scared lips, this Tardif's subtle hint at an apology to the ones he hurt.

“I see, an anonymous donation. Who knew a bounty hunter could be so charitable?”

“Don't get used to it,” he snorts, smirking at him.

“Ah, perhaps a reward would persuade you?”

“A reward, huh,” he muses, rubbing his scruff in contemplation, “Think I got somethin’.”

He beckons, provoking his companion closer, knowing this was to be a decisive moment between them.

Damian seems to feel it too, the gravity, the imbalance, too curious not to obey as Tardif drifts closer, lips hovering near a shrouded ear as if to whisper a secret, but they press against his cheek, giving a chaste kiss against his bloody hood.

He's deposed, abuzz with static. Only one thought cuts through the haze.

“But … aren't I supposed to give you something?”

Tardif laughs at such innocence.

“Could give me one too,” the bounty hunter teases, pointing to his own reserved cheek, “right 'ere.”

Damian takes a sharp inhale, preparing himself to choose which illustrious patch of savage flesh he wishes to christen.

There, a summit right below his metal helm, he recreates the bounty hunter’s actions, intending for a swift deliverance, but oh, one taste of him is his undoing, a genesis for more.

Lips meet bronze, another kiss granted beneath the previous one, leading a winding trail down to the gruff corner of his mouth.

Scarred fingers touch over his chin, molding over the other half of an unshaven face, wanting to kiss that side too, but he's afraid of taking things too far even if Tardif hasn't made a move to stop him yet.

Instead, he brushes his cheek against the brute’s stubble, maybe to take back the advance he made, maybe to coat himself in his scent.

“I want to kiss you so badly,” Damian moans, unable to keep the agony of his desire held within, breath short, gasping for it.

“Then, do it,” the bounty hunter teases with a smirk, having much the same desire.

The flagellant reels with explicit permission, coveting this moment for so long he can hardly believe what he heard was real and truly spoken. Tardif could make this easy for him, take control and separate the distance, but he wants to wait, see how a self-proclaimed holy man would kiss.

It happens in increments, the flagellant moving forward, then amending his choice, pulling back, titling his head, as if he wants this to be the most perfect kiss any one man has given another.

He’s terrified of breaking the illusion, of crossing a line he's only dreamed of crossing, gentle lips stopping at the barest traces of contact, but it’s close enough to be felt, Damian grounding himself with a brush of bloody fingertips against the bounty hunter’s jaw.

The flagellant holds him like he’s something precious, delicate and Tardif can’t stand how such sweetness threatens to seize his heart within a tourniquet grip. He wants to give Damian more of a chance, but this floundering anticipation is killing him, the way the flagellant can’t stop shaking, hardly sure of turning a dazed feather-light peck into a proper kiss.

Tardif needs more roughness, fleshed pressed so tightly that it bruises, the flagellant gasping as the bounty hunter shows him just how much pressure to add.

Reflex and shock have the priest pulling back, but a firm grip on his neck won’t let him go far, yanking him in, joining them together again much more confidently.

Their hands are touching all over each other, some unspoken rule about keeping it above the waist, but it doesn’t stop them from getting more and more flushed. He swears there will be an early spring just from the heat they’re generating alone.

“We can go no farther than this,” is Damian’s ragged testament, breaking them apart.

“Heh, and why’s that,” the brute teases, breathing just as heavily, licking away the string of saliva from his lips.

“This is … overwhelming for me. I ... I need time ... I need to be ready, need to be sure.”

“To wot? Sort out that ye have the hots fer me?”

“... Yes,” Damian admits, blushing furiously, touching their foreheads together, tangling his hands inside the bounty hunter’s cowl.

“Thought ye already figured that out,” he snorts.

“I did, I have, but I never knew just how much I … this would affect me.”

“Yer the one that kept jonesin’ fer more, remember?”

Damian gives him a helpless look, knowing he had no right to ask, but he does so anyway.

“Please, just give me time, a week, just one.”

“Hn … one week,” the bounty hunter muses, teasing his lips against the other’s, breath blowing hot, “s’pose I could do that. Given the right incentive.”

The mercenary is in control now, taking from his partner’s mouth, dipping his tongue in, Damian groaning into it, the bounty hunter sucking on his tongue to keep him quiet because if he’s going to be forced to wait, then he'll need this to hold onto.

It burns, it burns so much between his legs. It’s terrifying, being so consumed, Damian never feeling such an unmeasurable ache before, fearing this heat will never cool, even when gone from the very source.

“Enough, please,” the flagellant says, prying himself away, driving Tardif back, “I … I can barely stand it.”

“Could take care of it fer ye,” the mercenary teases, a jerk of insinuation, “Won't take long.”

Damian is positive it wouldn't, but he's not interested in frivolous groping, degenerate sin that will be over just as soon as it starts. The flagellant wants something more than that, a long, tender meeting that he can look back on and devour for the rest of his days; he just has no idea how to express it.

The holy man hasn't moved, hasn't spoken, teetering between action and inaction while Tardif continues his seduction, leaning closer, voice a treble of enticing gravel.

“I want it too, ye know,” he coos, boldly taking his partner’s hand, guiding it to the hardness in his trousers, “See?”

Damian is frozen, too shocked by this discovery to pull away, so overwhelmed by how quickly their relationship has changed, to know the bounty hunter like this when it was just a fever dream mere moments ago.

Curious with excitement, a bloody palm molds itself over his shape, no more wishful imaginings, but swollen truth.

“Not here,” he pleads, shaking his head, resting his touch on the bounty hunter’s thigh.

“Why not,” his partner grunts, growling with opposition, seeing no difference any other place would make.

His mind is fuzzy, discombobulated and blank with noise, fumbling through an explanation as best he can.

“Let it be somewhere all our own,” he begins, hand now raising to trace the coral rouge of the bounty hunter’s lips, “Make it last so we both remember.”

Ah, he could see the appeal of having their own private room, not at the brothel nor the tavern, but the space of a secluded cabin tucked away in the woods.

“Aye, could take ye as many times as I wanted, make ye scream as loud as I wanted.”

Damian's trembling, his imagination full of what could happen with just one passionate twisting of their bodies and now he has to deal with the possibility of another, maybe more.

The mercenary smirks, prideful, gratified to have a holy man lusting over him, probably toiling with an arousal more painful than his own.

“Think I know a place. Could have it ready in 'bout a week.”

Damian is flooded with relief, glad they could finally come to an agreement, sighing as he is met with yet another obstacle.

“Then, what shall we do now?”

“I'll show ye.”

Tardif untangles them, getting up to grab a raggedy blanket from one of the practice dummies, history repeating itself.

“Ain't it funny,” the bounty hunter remarks, sitting back down beside him, “the dummies losin’ their clothes before we do.”

The flagellant gags with embarrassment, once again reminded of his neglected erection, “No one said to strip them.”

Tardif holds one end of the blanket close around his shoulder, the other end pulled around his back, holding it open for his partner to fill.

“C'mon, it's cold,” he motions, flapping the drape in invitation.

It’s an excuse, Damian knows it; the weather too mild for any snow to keep, the seasons well on their way to changing.

“Are you not warm enough under all those layers,” the priest teases, letting his offer hang in the balance.

“Freezin’,” he taunts, hoping to persuade the masochist back into the intimacy they shared.

Slowly, Damian is convinced, shifting back until their thighs are touching, trying to garner some distance lest they sink into the same cycle they faced not so long ago.

“Can lean on me if ye want.”

It takes a minute, but slowly Damian abides, sinking against him a little more, careful not to give too much.

Such frigidness is too prudent for Tardif, the axeman looking for more contact, taking the flagellant’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“This alright,” he asks, watching him through eyelets of metal.

Damian nods, incapable of words, a knot in his throat.

“Go on then, show me yer grip.”

A chuckle, the priest exasperated, resting his head on an argyle clad shoulder, the coolness of his armor helping to cool the heat of his brow.

“Are we to turn this into a lesson too,” he says, finally finding his voice, squeezing Tardif’s fingers just for a second, a pulse.

“If ye want.”

“And what is it you mean to teach me this time?”

The brute turns this over in his mind, having nothing prepared for the occasion, but finding some scrap of knowledge to share.

“Some say it's the eyes, but it's really our hands that give us away.”

“Do they,” Damian asks, touch slipping further down, toying with the hem of his partner's glove, lured by the warmth that resides within.

“Look at wot they reach for,” the brute continues, conscious of his partner’s every move, curious of how far he'll push, “if they shake or twitch.”

The flagellant strokes at the liminal space, where the fabric of his sleeve meets his skin, seeking more allowance, but unable to pursue it, hindered by form fitting leather.

Tardif slips it off for him, bearing the fullness of his hand and Damian gasps at it, tracing over the black and red of his tattoos, idols he's only witnessed from afar.

He can feel where the ink lines are heaviest, the color thicker there, how the roughness of his skin brushes against his own, the scruff of hair that fills the gaps between.

“What do yours say?”

“Why don't ye tell me,” Tardif challenges, letting the man explore, figure it out for himself.

“You're stubborn,” he assesses, tracing over the numerous callouses embedded unto his palm, “but strong,” now over the wide berth of knuckles, broken and worn, “and cunning,” ending with the spaces between his fingers, tracing over the dips and waves.

“Not bad. Ye forgot well-endowed.”

“Tardif,” the flagellant scolds, pinching the skin on the back of his hand in recompense.

“Heh, it's true.”

“Besides the point.”

“Proves my point. Never heard a woman gossip about a man's hands and feet?”

Perhaps, but he never gave much credit to such crude gossip.

“Just, tell me about mine.”

“Did bandage yer feet that one time and judgin’ by what I saw –”

“Speak one more word and I'll–”

“– Alright, alright; just wanted to tease ye a bit.”

Damian huffs, stewing with frustration, so focused on it that he doesn't pick up on Tardif tracing over the patchwork of scars etched into the expanse of his own hand, not until he's speaking aloud.

“Yer overbearin’, reckless, stickin’ yer damn hand in a cage no matter how hard it bites back.”

He's starting to think Tardif is using this exercise as a means to insult him, that is until he hears the next bit, digits streaking down the dried blood on his nails, “ye cling to pain because ye think it makes ye better, but yer brave ‘nough wit’out it.”

“So,” the priest drawls, “more endowed than you.”

“Heh, hey,” the gruff warrior cackles, elbowing him in the side.

The flagellant is smirking, possessing the bigger wit when the bounty hunter takes him by the chin, his shrine of cracked teeth faltering, Tardif claiming the last word as they press against his lips.

“Guess we'll have to wait and see.”

The flagellant is getting better, now that the jitters of their first kiss have passed. He's pressing back, their lips connecting harder, longer, but there's still softness in it, ephemeral wings that brush sweetly over his.

Tardif's wayward fingers graze over jagged serrations, making his partner gasp and shudder, the flagellant breaking away to breathe heavily into the crook of his neck, trying not to moan and yet it heralds a pathetic whimper.

They keep gearing each other up and then letting it cool, the spike of passion reduced to a more manageable smolder, taking intermittent breaks in between to snuggle or gab about whatever comes to mind.

This pattern continues on well into the night, the bounty hunter careful not to overstep his bounds and drive the flagellant away, but they've grown too attached, lenient, about to fall asleep out here.

“Should head back,” Tardif suggests and Damian simply nods, following the other's lead.

The blanket is returned to its proper place, the two making the trip back to town under a blackened sky and twinkling diamond dust.

Tardif had kept his glove off, putting it away in his pocket because he intends to reclaim the flagellant's hand, chasing after the feeling of it in his.

The other man is startled, fire when they touch, gripping back shyly, their joined hands swinging jovially between them.

At this, their pace slows, dragging the time out, spending more of it together.

When they stop, it's just below the abbey, the chipped granite of it's stairway calling Damian to it.

Tardif takes another scrappy hand in his, coupling two for two, rubbing over bruised knuckles in sober repetitions.

“It's gonna be a long week,” he sighs, wondering how he'll survive nearly two hundred hours of longing.

“It will be worth the wait,” assures the other.

“Better be,” Tardif barks, but it's playful, jaunty.

“You have my word.”

It should be dark enough to conceal what he's about to do, free from any wandering eyes that might protest his next move.

Raw instinct has Damian leaning into that broad chest, giving his partner a farewell kiss on the cheek, adding another light peck afterwards because it's becoming a signature of his, to give back twice as much as he receives.

The bounty hunter plants a big fat one on him to match, parting them with a wet smack, tasting copper and salt, making the flagellant chuckle.

“Six more days,” the brute drawls, the wait already proving to be a painful one.

“Seven,” Damian corrects, prolonging his torture, “The week doesn't begin until tomorrow.”

He swears, the flagellant is doing everything in his power to turn him into a masochist too.

“Can ye blame me, for wantin’ to shorten it?”

“No, not at all.”

Thready whispers of yearning as the priest bestows one last caress of pious lips, Tardif closing arms around the splintered cuts of a narrow waist, hoping to keep him there for as long as he can.

As the holy man pulls away, the two share a potent, lasting gaze, hoping it will sustain the cruel passage of time.

“Goodnight, Tardif.”

“Hn, night.”

One final squeeze of a destitute hand before the reverent flagellant leaves him, watching bandaged legs ascend the church steps in all his shaggy robed glory, burning the ascetic sight into his eyes.

He waits until he sees the baroque doors open, the warm glow emanating from within, knowing Damian will be safe for the night and dammit doesn't the holy man look back to find Tardif still standing there at the bottom of the landing like a lovestruck fool.

They're too far apart to see the expression on the other’s face, but it doesn't matter, they both feel it welling in their hearts, the last brush of their fingers a constant looping thought inside his mind.

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 a lill drabble about furcalor bc she needs some background.

Furcalor huffed as she stood to the side, a glass of wine in her hand that she snuck from the table.

Barely 18 and already she needs to marry someone. Unbelievable.

She had never met the man, but her cousin had. In fact, her cousin was betrothed to the male's sister.

This party was for furcalor, however. A nice little reminder from Paimon that she had to marry someone against her own will. Damn her uncle. Damn him to a place worse than hell.

Furcalor groaned and sneered before catching a glimpse of the door leading outside.

.........

Furcalor let out a breath as she walked down the cobblestone steps, her golden heels clicking on the pavement.

That's when she caught a glimpse of her cousin. Stolas. The prince himself. She walked over.

"What, you didn't want to stand and watch your father mingle with the other nobility?" She asked, causing stolas to flinch and look up.

"Oh! Lor! No, I'm afraid. Ive.. regrettably met my soon-to-be bride..... shes..... quite intense if I must say so myself," Stolas replied.

Furcalor hummed in understanding. "And what of her brother?" She asked as she took a seat next to the owl she practically grew up with.

"I've met him as well. He seems.... eccentric... although I didn't have much time to get to know him before father pulled me a million different ways to meet other nobility," Dtolas explained.

Furcalor sighed and handed her glass of wine to him. "You look like you need it," she stated.

Stolas hesitated before taking the glass and sipping it. "... not bad.... not the best I've tasted either," Stolas muttered.

"At least your father let's you drink. Mine is all about 'proper ladies don't drink. They get fat that way' bullshit. Frankly I can't wait until the old parakeet kicks the bucket," furcalor ranted.

"Yes.... we were both doomed from the moment we were born, weren't we, old friend?" Stolas replied, a sorrowful look on his face.

"Well.... I should get back in there. I'm sure my father is practically dying to introduce me to this 'eccentric' peacock. See you later Stolas," Furcalor stated as she took the last sip of her wine and walked away without another word.

...........

"Ah! There's the duchess to be!" Her father exclaimed. "Just in time. There is someone I'd like you to meet!"

"Andrealphus," the peacock muttered as he gave a small bow.

"Furcalor," she replied as she gave a curtsey.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted!" Furcalor's father exclaimed as he walked away.

"I see being a duchess does nothing for one's fashion sense," Andrealphus muttered.

"Oh don't start up with me. You're the one marrying ME for status," Furcalor challenged.

"Oh, the birdy has a bite I see. I can tell we're going to hate one another," andrealphus scowled.

"Don't call me 'birdy'," Furcalor grimaced.

"Why not, Birdy?" Andrealphus teased.

Furcalor growled.

No way in hell heaven or earth, would this marriage be happening.

[punk-aziraphale]

Tagged by @thecrackshiplollipop

1. are you named after anyone?

Nope. Neither my dead name or my real name are named after anyone else. Unless you count one of my chosen middle names which is Dandelion because I'm a Witcher nerd and also a flower fairy.

2. when was the last time you cried?

Uhhhh...hmm....last week? Whenever was my last watchthrough of The Owl House. Which I think was last week. I have a bad memory.

3. do you have kids?

Nope! I have a nephew who I babysit a lot but no kids of my own.

4. do you use sarcasm a lot?

Despite being autistic and bad at telling sarcasm when I hear it, I do use it quite a bit, yes.

5. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

This is gonna sound petty but it's not for petty reasons. Their clothes.

I am FASCINATED with fashion and textiles and it's my special interest and I also think you can learn a lot about someone based on how they dress.

6. what’s your eye color?

Blue

7. scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings every time. I'm not really a scary movies person 🤷

8. any special talents?

Knitting! Sewing! Fiber arts babey~

9. where were you born?

Stanford, CA

10. what are your hobbies?

Knitting again, sewing again, mending, art, poetry, music. Basically I like to make stuff.

11. have you any pets?

Yes!!! By big fat ginger boy, Charlie. And by that I mean he's a REALLY large cat. Like tall and long and very muscular. He's just a huge breed. I love him.

12. what sport do you play/have played?

Competitively? None.

But I have done tennis and Olympic style power swimming.

Currently nothing cause POTS is evil 😩

13. how tall are you?

5'2". Very slightly under that but y'know...tiny.

14. favorite subject in school?

Sculpture/ceramics. I probably wouldn't have said that back then but looking back on it, I felt the most free with my creativity in that class. I could make weird abstract stuff and did some really interesting pieces. Possibly tied with printmaking though. I also got weird with that too.

15. dream job?

I'm honestly also gonna say "I don't dream of labor" but I'd really like to be either a potter or a textile artist or a shepherd

tagging @teddybards and @positivityjediprince (and anyone else if y'all feel like it)

[ladydragonkiller]

Good evening, Liz! For monikers, I've been thinking between pirate or dragon. Pirate fits the person-archetype theme, but I would be remiss to ignore your URL. Perhaps you can choose between the two, or even pick both?

I've had cornbread muffins, which might count, but no good plain bread freshly homemade. Comes with living poor and disabled in a city, I suppose. The custard is frozen, yes, the ice cream type. I find I prefer custard ice creams over the regular kind, for some reason. There's little discernible difference, but the places I get my frozen custard must have better options, I suppose. I enjoy sorbets quite a bit as well.

Thank you for the hoorahs in return! I'll save them for a rainy day, perhaps once I've gotten some sewing done, or if I need motivation to get started on it.

Eclectic fashion is my favorite, honestly. Though, less eclectic where nothing fits together, and more the kind where you get one really loud piece and build something around it. I've a few choice items I've found at thrift shops that are just delightfully horrid, and I love the challenge of making them presentable. I especially enjoy "owning" the tackiness and being proud in it.

For scents... Perhaps a compromise between your two poles of options? A fresh apple, perhaps. Food-based but light, and it brings to mind images of late spring to early autumn, where everything's green and loud. Makes me think, also, of noisy, shameless laughs with your close friends. It seems to fit you quite well.

My favorite baked good... I'm quite partial to danishes, usually with cream cheese. I've been meaning to try the varieties with fruit topping, though. You also can't go wrong with cake, though.

For your question: if you could have any animal as a magical familiar, which animal would it be?

- With love, the Knight

Jereliz the pirate-dragon certainly has an air of whimsy about it, and let it never be said that I don't appreciate a good portmanteau (even if neither of those is technically a portmanteau. shhhh)

Cornbread muffins are good! But yeah, a nice loaf of fresh baked bread with chewy and soft insides and a crispy crust, still steaming from the oven, is irreplaceable. I hope you get to experience it someday!

Custard ice creams are often a bit richer than their egg-free counterparts, as they're made with egg yolks (which have a fair amount of fat) along with the usual cream/milk mixture. You might be detecting that difference without realizing, or it might just be a matter of flavor choices like you'd said. Maybe it's the subtle egginess! In which case I imagine you would really like eclairs, souffles, and popovers.

here's a few more for you to stockpile: Hooray! Yippee! Wahoo!

That's an excellent way to go about fashion, I think. I tend to not invest a lot of energy in my outfits, so I go more for pieces that bring me joy individually and that aren't super off the wall, so I can mix and match fairly easily.

I like that! Or maybe some ripe strawberries, fitting the same categories (i have had strawberry based nicknames in the past because of how much i like them <3) I'm honored to be compared to the boisterous laughter of friends, that's one of my favorite things to both hear and do.

Danishes of all sorts are lovely. In specific, are you referring to the breadier/cakier type, like you usually find in stores, or the flakier, almost croissant-like type? I've made both, and they're both delicious, but notably different.

Oooh, that's a tricky one. Believe it or not, I'm not going to immediately go for an owl (though it's tempting). Though I love them dearly and admire them aesthetically, they're maybe not the best match for my personal vibe. they're also dumb as rocks

Maybe a prairie dog. They're unassuming at first sight, relatively small, and very cute. I definitely wouldn't want to go for an extremely large predator-type animal, as I'd be a cottage-core type of magic user. Prairie dogs are also quite social (and though i do appreciate my quiet time irl, I also very much enjoy talking with friends, both irl and digitally)

also, they love to hug and kiss, and i'd love to snuggle them

If you don't mind, I'd like to borrow the same question for you! What would your magical familiar be?

[fatowlfashion]

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[violent-butches]

they just hate me for my fat ass and my winning smile and my fashion taste and my chants and my sleepwalking and my glowing eyes and my large owl that follows me around everywhere and my

[fatowlfashion]

What a remarkably organic marketing opportunity.

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Show the Frope (Frog Pope) your support by proudly declaring yourself as one of his faithful frogiaccane!

how do you feel about the pope saying homophobic slurs in the news ?

Remember when I cursed the Pope? All according to plan.

[sadgaywerewolf]

The hot fall look is swords and capes pass it on

[pidraws]

I did a whole bunch of button designs for @fatowlnetwork! These debuted at Sioux Falls Pride this last weekend. They’re also available on Fat Owl Fashion’s Storenvy if you want to get your hands on this sweet loot.

[victoriaannedarling]

When the sun is out the flowers will glow on the ruffles she wears always always always on the go. 

As night drops onto her pale skin, it's the lace she flows around her home for it is the comfort that she's in.