#five request only

[carouselunique]

Decided to go through with this after all! Post proof of donation of at minimum 10$USD and a simple request and you can get a colored sketch! (Honey kindly modeled for the example like a good filly!)

[vaggieslefteye]

HAZBIN HOTEL (2024): 1x04 - "Masquerade"

[doctorsiren]

here’s the combined pages of all the doodle requests i did at the end of the summer!

[balloonboyismyson]

nice to meet you!first,thank you for your passion to this community!second,can we have rockstar fronnie pls😭i am not asking but begging

i just love all fronnies🥹

THE LOVEBUGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[pinep-ne]

Req: How do you think Charles and Arthur's first romantic dance went out? It can be a drabble or one shot, whichever you'd like! Go ham-

Ohh I love this.. I have an answer and a little one-shot for you. I got really carried away with this one,,

I think in a modern au, which is what I am assuming, for the sake of *romantic* and their *first*, it'd have to be the classic dinner date.

I like to think they knew each other beforehand from work or similar, and after some painfully obvious pining, Abby and Hosea were practically begging Arthur to just ask the dude.

I've never really thought of Charles being the type to initiate too much in relationships, being alone for so much of his life, and Arthur's probably had more experience being a ladies' man if Mary says anything, so I thought the trope fit. And with Charles being a closed book, Arthur probably didn't have any other promising ideas such as this one.

So he pops the question, to which he receives a sheepish yes. Panics a little because he was fully expecting to be friend-zoned, or a secret open-ended thing in between, and also had nothing else planned except for a place, a budget, and the time.

Of course the cherry on top is that the 'table-for-two at a warmly lit and hushed restaurant that pours champagne for hundreds' scene isn't really something familiar to either of them, so the dinner itself ends up pretty abysmal. I mean the evening is nice, and they're clicking, and it's not necessarily awkward, but they'd really just rather be anywhere but here.

Anywho. In truth, as their relationship unfurls I think Charles and Arthur would kind of stray to the more unconventional dates— hiking, camping, volunteer work, roadtrips, etc etc. It's safe to say a rich and lavish night of romance isn't really something they're super inclined to. Plus, there's just something a little impersonal about sitting across from the table from your potential lover, and these idiots have always seemed like the 'parallel play' type to me.

I hope I've embodied a lot of this in the fic well enough... sorry if it's all a bit of a spoiler!

Anywho. I hope you enjoy!!!!!!!!! It gets a little introspective like most of my works... so apologies in advance. And for reference, this is probably set in the early 2000s.

(i have this fic and more posted on ao3!)

----------

Arthur leans across the center console, trying to catch a glimpse of the apartment numbers once more. Re-checks his watch. Flips the visor down, and re-checks himself. He gives the reflection a once-over, kneading at his face, flicking back a particular chunk of hair, only for it to bounce back over his forehead. Curses, mulling over for the umpteenth time this whole affair, and steps out of the truck.

He thinks, immediately, that he should've asked earlier. In April, or something. Not December, when the sun's always further than it should be, and the truck only starts up on a prayer. It's too cold to wear something nice without it looking unfitting, but he supposes he's done okay. He wonders if Charles is any better, as if the man's ever looked bad a day in his life.

The quick jaunt to the door has his stomach flipping inside itself. He buzzes once, and twice, and considers a third time before it squeals open. Straightens. Crosses his arms before letting them down again at his sides. Thinks it better to just push them both into his pockets.

Charles is there, like he should be.

He's wearing about the same thing Arthur is, about the same thing they both wear normally, only more polished. Boots and jeans and a simple flannel, covered by a thickly lined denim jacket.

He gives Arthur a look. Something akin to amusement, maybe. Holds his gaze to Arthur's and gifts him an earnest little smile, like it's a secret just for the two of them.

Usually, he's got an inch or two on Charles, but with the man on the doorstep, Arthur's looking up a good bit. He's got one hand on the door, the other occupied with necessities, rested in the air with idle anticipation. Gaze following Arthur's every move, every frantic bout of shuffling, and fidgeting.

Arthur's chest stirs at the sight, at the tilt he keeps his neck to. He lingers on the feeling, and breaks the contact, looking over his shoulder while it settles.

It takes a second or three for him to even process that he's supposed to do something. He shifts on his heels and lets out a chuckle himself, smiling ear to ear.

"Hey," he huffs, and gazes up once more.

"Hey," Charles mimics. It makes them both laugh, the whole situation. Arthur can't seem to wipe the smile off his own face at that. He shoves fists further into his pockets, glances back to the truck, then down at his feet. Face feeling like ice, burning at the core. He's sure it's screaming quite a shade of red.

He steps back, letting Charles step onto the porch beside him. "You ready?" He asks, to which Charles hums.

They both settle in the truck. Arthur quickly fumbles for the keys before he can bear any drawn silence. His shoulders drop as the engine sputters to life, just ready to start the damned night.

He doesn't remember ever being this anxious for anyone. With Mary, there was almost a standard, or rubric for him. He knew her type well, what she fawned over in their early days. Could mold himself into it easily enough and be loved by a woman how he ought to be loved, and in turn love her the way he ought to love her.

With Charles, it seems it's flipped itself around. Some way or another Arthur'd bared himself enough for Charles to wrench that mask from him. And he supposes that is the issue, that there may in fact be nothing behind it, or at the very least, an entirely lesser man. One that would be realized, and discarded for what it's worth.

But, hell if he doesn't want it. Hell if Hosea didn't plead him for it either.

Arthur never told him about this excursion, but he plans to. Regardless if it goes well or not. The man deserves that much and more after putting up with his stubborn self. He just worries like a parent should. Arthur doesn't blame him, with how his past two relationships went. He supposes he worries too. Wonders many more chances he can take, before his heart is disciplined into something less malleable, less childish.

If anything, he is grateful that it'd have to happen now. He's felt freer, softer than he has in years. By instinct he wants to hate that, wants to beat it down before it gets a chance to blossom, but as a stronger nature, he finds that mere notion impossible the moment Charles finds him again, and shows him how easy it all is.

And Christ, it makes him sick.

They haven't even made it a minute down the road before Charles nudges Arthur, supposedly thrilled if the look on his face says anything, but with something unreadable behind it.

Arthur figures his nerves must be afire, too.

Charles turns to him, speaking low, an odd tilt of his tone, "Surprised you didn't bring me flowers or nothin'," he rests his elbow on the center console, pausing. "The girls told me about your... 'charms', as they called it."

Arthur balks, "Oh— pff. You're kiddin' me," he groans, rubbing a palm over his face.

Charles makes an amused noise through closed lips. "Maybe Ms. Gaskill just told it a little rosier than you did."

Arthur tilts his head around, shrugging. "Well... I mean, it was all puppy love back then. I ain't blamin' her none."

"Lucky I'd known before. Woulda second-guessed this whole thing."

Arthur leans back in his seat, one arm outstretched to steer, like those big rig drivers. Trying to loosen up, even if it seems unnatural. He looks at Charles, brows furrowed. "You ain't already?" Still trying to ride on the teasing, but there is genuine surprise there. He wonders if Charles wants it just as bad.

Arthur watches him open a pack of Marlboros, offering one. Watches him light both and take a drag. Voice a little more genuine, a little lower, "Can't say I'd ever," he says.

Arthur nods to that, and they fall back into silence.

The last bit of blue hour has fallen beneath the horizon, a void swallowing the road. The restaurant is further into the city. Not like neither of them really live in the city to begin with. The reviews were good enough, a little too distinguished for his taste, but he hopes there's at least some bit of casual-ness, with it being downtown.

They make it to the place, parking a block or two down. Before Charles can even think, Arthur's rushed out of the car and rounded to the passenger side. He whips open the door with a flourish and bends down with a hand out, grinning coyly.

Charles barks a laugh, turning his face away, as if he could flee the scene. "You bastard."

But Arthur persists, cheeks round with an actual smile now, still holding a palm out for Charles to take. "You ain't an exception to my romantic charms, Mr. Smith."

Charles steps out, shoving past the hand. "Sure," he breathes, face to face with Arthur on the curb, who's stood like a deer in headlights, performance quickly smothered. Charles gives him a perplexed look.

"Could use a little work, though. Face gives it away." He starts down the sidewalk.

"My— What about my face?" Arthur's pitch raises, catching up to Charles. He merely laughs in response, and throws another look Arthur can't quite put his finger on.

They reach the restaurant. A glistening tower of brick, about three stories, crammed between its larger neighbors. Arthur quickly settles in. Strides past Charles and makes a bee-line to the host, leaning across the stand. Mumbles where Charles can only hear the drawn vowels of his accent, low and grumbly.

They both follow the host like a family of ducklings. It's a lot more crowded than Arthur anticipated, or wanted frankly. He immediately begins to recognize his own askew presence, but decides not to bother.

Their seats are snug against the wall, on the second floor, with a little square table that hardly fits both their forearms, and a large window that reaches past their heads and down to their heels.

They each order a beer, in quiet agreement that they've already painted an odd portrait of themselves by wearing jeans to what is quite the esteemed establishment. There's a second of consideration before just picking the cheapest meal the place has, and deciding they'll share it.

Charles shifts in his seat. He clears his throat and takes a few sips of beer. Clearly the dread in the air has become palpable.

"Arthur, how've you been?" He says. It's blunt, and uncomfortably shallow. Arthur thinks like second nature, though with some amount of disappointment that it's where they must tread now before hitting any deep-end.

He tries his best to salvage it, anyway.

He takes a few sips himself before opening... whatever this conversation should be... and scrunches his face at the taste. Right. Cheapest options.

"Well y'know," his confidence tapers as soon as it had been mustered. "Pretty static right now. Dutch ain't sending me on any jobs lately, 'cause of the ice. Good time to—"

Charles, honest to god, giggles, though faint, waving his hand in a subtle gesture to Arthur. "We're not here to talk about work, Arthur," he sets both his elbows on the table, shifting again, like it's some interrogation. "How are you?"

Arthur sits, lips parted. He looks out from the window, then back at Charles, who stares expectantly. Then, his body suddenly rights itself, reanimating with an odd ferocity.

"Right— sorry... I ain't really connected like this, with you. Just not used to it." he pauses, "Long way from coworkers now..." he winces. "But I'm good. Not just in a shallow way, I mean. I'm real happy about this. Happy, in general. At least Hosea thinks so." he looks back out to the window, humming. "How're you holding up yourself? I know you... ain't really open up much 'round work and all."

Charles also falters, it seems, spotlight suddenly upon him. Arthur thinks the same epiphany's occurred to the both of them simultaneously. That a date does, in fact, take two.

Charles opens his mouth with a brief noise, much like a string of vowels that've been severed. He settles a little dejectedly, posture slightly shrunken.

"I don't really know what I'm doing, to be honest," he says. Avoids looking for Arthur's reaction, he barrels on. "It's just been a while since I've really... pursued anything? But I'm glad— y'know, that you are, but I'm also glad myself. Content, I think. Maybe a little anxious," he huffs and hides behind his beer again.

Arthur balks, "You?" He watches Charles perk up, smile growing, even if a little reluctant. "And here's me wakin' up 'fore dawn and starin' off half the day, I was so worried."

"We're in the same boat then," Charles says in stifled laughter. Arthur bites his cheek, stirred by the sight of it. He keeps the yarn spinning, coaxing more, slowly peeling back the layers eagerly.

The food comes, and he takes it as an opening. They share it together as planned, which could be a little tastier with the damn price of it. Not that Arthur is really paying attention.

They trade throughout the night. Little details, and Arthur learns more than he'd expected to. About Charles' mother, with sparse mention of his father. That this is both their first serious date with another man. That Charles has a sweet tooth, shyly confirmed after the pursed lips he'd given when Arthur declined a dessert. Little quirks about him that Arthur's already begun nailing into his own heart, forgetting entirely to share anything about himself until prompted to.

By the end of it, the creaky stools and odd stares all around hardly really mattered anymore. He supposes he's grateful for the experience as they walk out, and only knows for sure when they're both shoulder to shoulder on the street again. His heart stutters despite it. He feels he owes something.

"Charles. Hey, I'm uh," he stops them when they reach the truck. "Sorry if this was all kind of a bust."

Charles faces him, remnants of a smile still lingering. "What do you mean?"

"Not that I didn't enjoy it! I mean you're— it was really amazing. I loved it, I'm just kinda realizin' maybe the fancy night-outs ain't fit for us, or me for that matter," his hands stay at his middle, fidgeting with the keys, averting his gaze.

Charles looks at him even more confused. Taking a second to process that, then, his features relax in what seems to be understanding. He lends another smile, "Your company was wonderful Mr. Morgan," his voice falls back into that same timbre from earlier in the evening. "But I think you're right," he says, to which Arthur only huffs.

They settle back into the truck, silence looming over once again. Arthur can hear the rustle of fabric as Charles shifts in his seat; he doesn't feel any urgency to turn the keys.

"What about lights?" Charles asks.

"Lights?" He mimics.

"Christmas lights. Whole festival for them, next weekend. Should be near your area." He does the same move he'd done on the drive here— elbow on the console, except his head rests in his hand, and he's leant closer a great deal, wholly confident in his proposal, although Arthur can't imagine how he's already figured out the answer.

He clicks his tongue, turning the keys. "Sure," he says. "I'd love that," voice pitched and quieter, like an admission to himself.

The drive back is in contentment. Arthur feels like a wad of knots that've been untied and strewn limp on the floor. Part of him longs for more, more of Charles, more of his voice, for some odd reason. Part of him wants to just crash at his place and wake like it's been the two of them all along, but he knows he can't rush it. For both their sakes.

Dutch has always prodded him for having a pliable heart. He's never found it in him to disagree. He's starting to think he wouldn't have it any other way, though.

They reach the screen door, mirroring the position they were in just hours earlier, Charles on the doorstep, Arthur tilting his head to meet his eyes.

He sways around, air a lot colder, trying to keep his nerves about, before stilling a moment, and turning to Charles with as much coolness as he can. "What was it about my face? Said it didn't help my 'charm'?" He asks, voice breathy.

Charles squints, confused, before his eyebrows raise with recognition, a faint laugh bursting out— a small 'oh' buried somewhere between it.

He takes a breath, "You blush a lot, Arthur."

Arthur's face scrunches, "What?" He exclaims. "That ain't fair, 's just cold, Charles,"

"Mm. I noticed it that first ranch job in August," Charles offers, snuffing out Arthur's poor excuse.

Arthur turns his head to where the truck sits, trying to save the embarrassment for later, if at the cost of Charles' amusement. "Pfft. Bastard. It can't be that bad?"

"How do you think Hosea picked up on it before either of us did?" Charles supplies, still grinning.

Arthur grumbles out a string of empty curses, letting the topic go, for now at least.

A pause. The truck rumbles behind them.

Arthur inhales sharply, "Well I suppose I should get going."

"Yeah," Charles says. He rests his hand on the door handle.

"Thank you, for y'know. See you next weekend?"

Charles searches his face, eyes like palms tracing the shadowed features. "Yeah. Take care."

Arthur lends a smile in response and finds another shot back at him with a fervent sincerity. Turns around before it gets the best of him, and walks down to the truck.

[lynx-doodles-indie-games]

FINALLY got the designs of the canon iterators nailed down. credit to @/poppy-purpura for the inspo with purple sig! it has nestled itself into my brain and will not leave. please. someone send help. it's tearing up the blankets.

i've also been playing with features of medibang and using ancient digital coloring tutorials so the colors i initially used got warped. below the cut are my colors and the sketchbook sketch that inspired this!

[starrydaycare]

hii, could i please request an agere moodboard (and headcanons if ur feeling up to it!) for regressor gregory, from fnaf? maybe with glamrock freddy as his cg? as for the aesthetic u can go for anything you want but for some idea maybe somethin cozy with warmer colors/vibe to it ^w^ ty!

Yeah!! Ahhhh I really liked making this one (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

🍕CG!Glamrock Freddy and Regressor!Gregory Headcanons!

🧸Gregory is a trauma regressor! Has been regressor since around seven, but never knew the correct term for it. All he knew was that sometimes he felt a little younger. He just lived with it, usually regressing somewhere between 2-6. After really bad days, he sometimes regresses to 0-1.

🍕Whenever he was around Freddy he would feel that feeling again, like he was a little kid again. Of course, he hid it from the animatronic. He didn't want to look like a baby in front of the Glamrock Freddy! Now, Freddy knew that something was up. Obviously he wasn't going to just force the kid to tell him, but if Gregory was hurt or something, he had to know!

🧸So he sat him down one day, asking him what was up, making sure to assure the kid that he wasn't mad or upset, just worried. Gregory suddenly felt that fuzzy feeling crashing down on him once more, and before he knew it Freddy was holding him close as he cried.

🍕So yeah, Freddy found out about Gregory's regression pretty quick. Of course he was accepting! Age regression was a valid coping mechanism, Gregory deserved to be able to be a kid again. And Freddy was determined to help him as much as he could! ... Just so long as the kid was okay with that.

🧸Gregory was, indeed, okay with that! More than okay with it, actually. Freddy became his primary caregiver, and being an animatronic built and programmed to be good with children of all ages, he was a great caregiver! He could take care of children between 0-12, though he was best with kids between 4-12. So Gregory was pretty happy with it all!

🍕Freddy wasn't very good with punishments. He had rules for Gregory, but they were pretty lenient. Now, he wasn't neglectful nor was he overly lenient, but he also wasn't too strict. He spoiled Gregory a bit, sure, but in his defense Gregory has really good puppy dog eyes! And when he gets those crocodile tears going... Can you really blame the animatronic?? ... Gregory totally didn't take advantage of that

🧸Freddy doesn't like punishing Gregory, but understands that sometimes, it's what's needed. He'll make Gregory sit in the corner for fifteen minutes or he'll ground the kid if he breaks a rule enough, or a more important rule. Though he'd rather explain to Gregory why it's bad and why he can't do that. Of course, he expects and apology.

🍕Gregory's a very hyper kiddo, always running around and doing this and that. He often times is getting into trouble, sometimes on purpose sometimes on accident.

🧸Gregory enjoys a lot of things when he's small! He likes playing video games, though Freddy makes sure that they're all age appropriate. His favorites are Breath of the Wild, Mario Kart, and any of the Pokemon games! Speaking of Pokemon, he collects Pokemon cards! He loves finding all of them, he just really likes Pokemon. A lot. He gets so much Pokemon merch from Freddy, as he knows how much the kid likes them.

🧸Long story short, Gregory's a pretty good kid, despite being energetic and a rule breaker at times. Freddy makes for a good caregiver, too! (Apologies if this was more Freddy-focused than Gregory!)

🍕🧸🧮

[leftmysoulbythesideoftheroad]

god fucking damnit. i woke up from a nightmare this morning and just immediately broke down sobbing. sometimes i cry after a nightmare (because they’re literally all about the people i love suddenly being indifferent/cruel to me), but i still feel like i could start crying again any second

[hold-him-down]

"He won't tell me what's wrong." - for the dialogue prompt thingy

“He won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Lincoln grumbles into his hands. A volunteer sits on the opposite side of the large metal desk, once occupied by Director Jones, who now sits behind bars awaiting trial. Link has gutted the office, save for all the files, which live in the safe, and this desk, mostly because sitting on the floor day after day felt like he was asking too much of his body. This desk, though, and everything else about this place, is covered in the blood of hundreds and hundreds of workers, and Link longs for the day that it can be burned to the ground. For now, though, he’s at its mercy.

“He won’t tell anyone much of anything,” the volunteer responds. “I tried last night, every time I got within five feet of him I feared for my life.”

Hyperbolic as it is, Lincoln can relate to the frustration.

“He hasn’t eaten,” Link says. The volunteer nods. “He didn’t sleep at all last night?” 

“Not that I noticed.”

He nods again. The options with River are incredibly limited. He is extremely resistant to any sort of help, and each time Lincoln has tried, he’s been met with open hostility that has, in some cases, led to physical altercations. He’s tired, and he’s scared, and he has to be fucking hungry. And, moreover, he’s in pain, although so far he has refused to offer any insight as to why.

Lincoln pulls out his file, printed only for the benefit of having something tangible to look at when he’s at a loss, and opens to the first page. A picture of River, several years earlier, greets him. He looked angry then, too, Lincoln thinks.

“Do you think he’d talk to any of the other residents?” Lincoln asks then. “Has he shown any interest in any of them?”

It’s a dark horse suggestion, but he’s low on ideas. Short of forcing River into an x-ray machine or into an ambulance or drugging him again, he doesn’t see a way around this. 

“No,” the volunteer replies. “He spent all night in his room, refused breakfast, and hasn’t spoken to a soul.”

[snail-studios]

Ooh! I don't know if this will help, but will you please draw AT Mipha putting a flower crown on Link's head? :3

Of course~~~

I love this prompt

[spoonmoment119]

can you draw scatt (scar and schlatt) for the sexyman polls?

oh is that what were calling them

[scatterbrainedart]

Could you do a sketch of the goddess Alke please?

I’ve never heard of her before, and I couldn’t find much to go off of, so I think I got a bit lost in the sauce pulling from the one reference: Greek goddess of courage and battle strength.

My mind simply went “Greek solider”. And that was pretty much it. But that was boring, so I started over and now I love her actually. Here are both versions!

I just loosely sketched over my previous sketch and changed the things I felt like changing. I originally wanted to give her knightly vibes, but for my second version I decided to give her an animal to draw some inspiration from, because that always helps. And naturally, my mind went to bears. So then immediately I wanted to try to make her look more like a courageous hunter. I also made her a bit stockier, because I liked the idea of her being quite small but hunting larger prey, because you gotta be quite courageous for that I’d imagine. So yeah, the hide is really the biggest change. And the hair. I so badly wanted to give her big flowing hair (whether I subconsciously started drawing inspiration from Brave and Merida is unimportant)

I hope you like her!! She was fun

[un-pearable]

requests!! part one of the bunch i got this weekend, ft. my newfound favorite terror show!chen courtesy of chen anon <3 and skybound skylor and her ladder. i am a skylor’s ladder appreciator first and a person second top ten baffling ninjago decisions of all time

[bloo-the-dragon]

sketch request for @ineedtoschleepnow​ ~

Bonus:

[balloonboyismyson]

Okay but you make Classic Chica so friend shaped and I love it

I am but a poor starving Victorian child

May I please have some more?

They are playing a game to see if they can hear each other through the wall :o)c

[theyre-gay-because-i-say-so]

Today's LGBT+ Headcanon is;

Vanessa from Five Nights At Freddy's Security Breach-Lesbian

Requested by Anon

Status; Alive