#fur better or fur worse

[princescar]

Raccoon Matsuda!! Considering how much Male Raccoons are little pricks, I feel like this is very fitting for him. Also his tendency to hide under his bed and raccoons' love for tight spaces (as pictured above).

[almost-nostalgic]

Marcille let me know that my usual style wasn't going to cut it, and instead I resorted to colour pencils.

A rough sketch, but I enjoyed it. I don't think of myself as good with colour, but it's definitely fun to use. I have a bad habit of making colours look muddy and gross... I have banned myself from using my usual black pen on this, because I know I'll go overboard. I'm very bad at making things look soft with black ink.

Personal life below the cut.

I have a job interview on Tuesday for a receptionist role. Turns out some place kept my resume from 3 months ago, so I guess it's good to know that the hundreds of job applications I sent out aren't just going in the bin. I haven't had a single call or email back for a job since Feb, so it's exciting, but nerve-wracking. After I quit after 3 days at my freight forwarding job, I feel a bit useless. I had a commission from a friend, but obviously that doesn't mean a shiny new career as an artist has begun lol.

I'm not sure that a receptionist job will be the right fit, but I really should give it a shot. People always tell me I'm great at customer service and that I'm charismatic, but it really drains me. Hopefully, a receptionist job will be more emails and waiting around rather than constant face to face customer service. I'm really good at interviewing, but I just can't stop myself from promising too much of myself. I have a bad habit of giving 100% of my energy to a job, which is a great way of being sucked dry and burning out.

I also can't say I'd be good at just sitting around either because I always feel the need to do something if I'm working. I remember working in the bakery and my boss literally volunteering to have me for as many hours as I want and to pretend to look busy because she had an excess of hours to give to employees and refusing because I couldn't handle busywork. I'm sure I can find a balance somehow...

[antisocialxconstruct]

hrrrhgfhfd bad news about the clownlets.....

the puppy heads are made of a much cheaper plastic than the 90s version or the bigger faces, which means 1) they don't clean very well and the darker colors leave really nasty stains behind, and 2) they're too hard and inflexible to sew the bodies onto (the original bodies were just ziptied around the neck, which is why they look so goofy compared to the older ones).

So I think maybe...... if I want clownlets, I'll have to accelerate my plans on learning how to make molds and poured vinyl heads, and make that part of this project instead of some nebulous future one 🤔

[vampiricsheep]

the way astarion wants freedom but sees power as the truest form of it vs the way ram is so sick of powerful entities toying with him and others that he'll do anything to help astarion gain whatever he considers freedom...

And so instead of escaping the struggles that have defined them they simply repeat them. Cazador isn't completely gone, because astarion steps into his place. And ram cedes himself body and soul to a man who will become everything he always thought he hated.

Astarion said once that he never understood how long eternity could be until he was under cazador's boot. I think ram may have the same realization when he finally realizes what he's become.

[pawthko]

?!?!:?! Cozy wolf fur…?!?!??

[placesaspeople]

do you ever have something obvious in hindsight about your ocs and their relationship to each other that just kind of smacks you in the face

[fingertipsmp3]

I’m not sure if the seasonal depression is hitting especially hard this year or if I’m just grieving for Mabel or if I’m finally going irreparably insane or if life/people is being unfair towards me or all of the above

[nyxitycatboy]

a nonverbal girlboy is kidnapped by a cult to hermaphroditus and trained into a good little priestess who takes the girl's cocks whenever they want ;w;

[here-there-were-dragons]

that’s just a tundra fae veilspun

[anachronistic-falsehood]

got someone to cover my closing shift at the store and thank FUCK for that bc i would be a mess there otherwise. my right lower back hurts so i am having a bath ouuoghoghh warmb water

[adler-obsessed]

god. Vivienne really is just. that character. She is taken to the circle so young she does not remember what her parents even looked like and someone had to tell her. She wouldn’t even know if they were telling the truth. She is ruthless, the terror and nightmare of the Orlesian court. She almost weeps when you find the Tranquil skulls in Redcliffe. She hates drop waists. She is harrowed younger than any other mage in living memory. She teaches Bull the steps to the dance of the six candles. He likens her to a Qunari dreadnought that has half the enemies on the ground before he’s even reached the front line. Her accent’s not Orlesian. No Free Marcher can tell where she is from either. Is her original voice another part of herself she cut off? She enchanted a duke within one meeting and they scandalised even Orlesian society. She was good friends with his wife. They possibly fucked too. No can control her. She’s been owned since the moment she was first brought to the Circle. She belongs to no people. There are a dozen leashes around her neck claiming otherwise. She makes fun of an elven god for setting his coattails on fire.  She is on the verge of banishing Cole back to the Fade all the time. She can’t help but grow to care for him at the end despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise. She hates herself for it. She thinks caring makes you weak. During the first conversation you have with her unmasked as a Trevelyan, she begs to know if you also cared about her childhood friend, Lydia. She tries to import illegal fur into Skyhold. Did she kill everything soft within her soul herself or did the Chantry sisters do it for her? She is impossible to prank. Some might say she’s even better than Sera at pranking. She was pulled into the game by the time she was nineteen. She’d faced worse things since she could first remember her dreams. Life has never been fair. One merely needs to be hard enough to survive. The blade at her neck when she lay on the floor of the harrowing chamber was no different from the hunger in her belly as child, a necessary pain that only drove her forward. Maker, was there ever any chance that she did not see cruelty as simply another word for life? Is there any version of her that does not end up surrounded by moral filth? 

[samswinchesters]

I'm sorry to put this oj your ask but I slipped and fell into a d*h hell hole again today when I stumbled upon one of your post and then the rest is history. You said that the game did an irreparable damage to ones psyche and i agree. All my heartache (and longing tbh i miss them writers) are resurfacing when im supposed to use my time to study today. Send help pls. Also i kinda miss your dbh stuff like the neighbour nines with the cat.

anyone else remember The Beast (dbh)….shivers down my spine zomg you brought out a skeleton in my closet i haven’t thought about in soooo long (<- is lying). but REALLLL it did do irreparable psychological damage to not only me but all my mutuals who are now former dbh stans everyone in oomfworld can attest to this.

do u need a therapy session I can squeeze you in on my busy schedule of thinking about the living world around me. glad I could distract you from your academics 👍🏽 a tumblr blog on the internet should ALWAYS be ur top priority ☝🏽 omgggg you remember one of my works?? you are SOOOO sweet 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😽😽 haven’t thought about my fanfiction in a loooong time (the last time I wrote something was back in 2019….ermmm) but sadly I don’t think I could ever create something for that media ever again, not after everything I’ve been through + the game in general. have I ever had random plots for that universe in the past few years? yes, but mannnn if I ever wrote them down, it would just be shared between me and God…fuck those pigs

[strifetime]

.

[bunnyreaper]

simon is your most precious bear, but he won't settle for just that.

(18+/MDNI, plushophilia, mild moment of dubcon?)

you'd found him in a charity shop one day and couldn't walk away without him in your arms--the most darling little bear you've ever seen. 

the stitching on his button eyes was barely present, the threads on his body were also loose, and his fur was a little more than worse for wear. usually a sign of a bear well-loved, but you got the feeling looking at him and his missing smile that his state wasn't from something entirely different. 

you'd taken him home and treasured him ever since. restitched his eyes and his precariously hanging limbs, polished his little plastic nose and tied a ribbon around his neck.

you'd tried sewing in a smile underneath his cute little nose, but found the expression didn't quite suit him. when you tried again, arching the stiches downward, you found you much preferred him as your grumpy bear anyway.

once he was pampered and restored, you sat him pride of place on your pillow, having him guard you and keep watch over your bed whenever you weren't in it. at night you held him close, squeezed him tight until you drifted off to sleep--dreams that are always so sweet and peaceful, and you swear it's because he keeps the nightmares at bay. 

little did you know of the soul trapped inside--simon.

he'd fallen in love just as you had, obsessed with the way you'd looked at him and never stopped looking--obsessed with the way you cared for him and held him. he'd never liked being trapped as a bear until you took him home, where he belonged. 

now he took his role as your stuffie very seriously. and clearly, it paid off, as he quickly became the favourite of all your plushies--the one you treasured above all others.

fair to say simon had captured your heart, and in turn, he was always doted on and adored by you. never was he allowed to slide off the bed to be forgotten, never was there a day that went by where he wasn't kissed or cuddled by you.

but sometimes he had to be moved from his place, his spot. when you had visitors over, he'd be replaced in the bed by strange figures, stuck on the nightstand as a spectator to it all.

the comforts they provided were different, bringing bitten lower lips and breathy moans rather than sweet smiles and gentle whispers. and all the while simon was trapped, doomed to watch other men in the bed the two of you shared--knowing deep down in his stuffing that if he were just human again, he could do a much better job. 

late one night, after another visitor, you return to the comfort of your bed with simon clutched between your arms. you squeeze him as tight as you can--a sweet, satisfied smile leaving you as you hold him close and embrace the comfort and safety he provides.

"one of these days, they won't be disappointing." you sigh, releasing your disappointment and unknowingly unleashing wishful magic

it's then simon feels it, something inside him he hasn't felt in so long, as his body shifts from bear to man. 

he should do something about the way you scream, soothe you as he usually does, but right now, there is nothing calming or comforting in the way he feels right now--just pure posessive lust. codependant, ugly love. 

simon takes advantage of his newfound form, using muscular arms to crush you into the bed, determined to make up for lost time no matter what it takes. his dick hardens instantly, so used to the feel of your body against him and yet intoxicated by all the new sensations.

he expects you to keep struggling, to fight back in disbelief, but when the shock wears off he delights in the way you look at him--just as enamoured as you had the first time you ever laid eyes on him.

[yanderenightmare]

ooooh what kinda mythic creatures are the jjk boys?

Gojo, Sukuna, Toji

TW: implied noncon, yandere, the supernatural?

gn reader

Gojo Satoru Hybrid between angel and human

His hair is pearlescent and so are his wings—soft feathers, sharper than blades when he wants them to be. His halo can only be spotted when the sun shines extra bright—like a ring of stardust slowly orbiting his crown.

He doesn’t know his parents, nor which one of them was the angel. But it’s not something he cares much about. People call him Icarus, and he tries to live up to it the way he drowns himself in another’s embrace every new night—never the same one.

Never the same one until you. Another hybrid. No part of Angel, though…

He falls in love with it—all of it—the points of your teeth, the tiny horns that protrude from your hairline, the slim tail adorned with that pretty arrowhead, and the equally sharp look in your eyes as you glare at him with disgust.

He wants to know more. Do have markings in unseen places? How far does your tongue stretch, and is it split down the middle like with a snake? Is it venomous? Is it sweet? Does your skin burn to the touch like the sun does when he flies too close? Or will it be warm and soft and pliable?

He and his angel eyes freak you out. You advise him to leave you alone, the point of your tail threatening to slice his throat open. You’ve been shunned enough by humans—you don’t need to add a snooty angel boy to the fray. 

But then he calls you beautiful. And no one’s called you beautiful before.

Ryomen Sukuna Hellhound

The few times humans have dared try to tame him have all been devasting days of fire and death. Silly humans, thinking they can make him do his bidding like another mutt on a leash—he’ll make them all burn.

But then there’s you. You’re not like the other humans. You don’t come to him with any intention of collaring him. Instead, you have your hands folded together in prayer—sweet scripture leaves your lips, soothing his singed skin until it stops burning.

You wear holy robes and a kind smile on your face, you don’t avert your eyes even as he glares at you with the embers in his own, even as he growls and bares teeth. You don’t ignore him when he speaks, either, even when his tongue comes out split through the middle and all his words reek of smoke. You bathe him in holy water and rinse the soot out of his fur—telling him he’s a good boy.

He feels no desire to bite your hand as you pet his head and stroke his ears—he just ends up wagging his tail. But then again… he is still a hellhound. And you should know better than to feed monsters in the dark…

He leaves his room in the chapel and sniffs yours out—nothing, not even so much as a seal on your door to keep him out. You have too much faith. Your door creaks open, but you remain peacefully asleep—all soft snores as he mounts you with drool dripping down his canines…

Fushiguro Toji Hunter

Rumor has it that something far worse than ogres and trolls travel the forest. Beware of the hunter—all you little nymphs, fauns, and fairies. Some say he’ll stuff you in a bag and sell you, while others argue it’s his appetite that makes him hunt—some even mean it’s just for sport, that he’ll kill and stuff you and mount your head on the wall.

You, a poor forest nymph, are unfortunate enough to get yourself caught in one of his nets. You’re a crying little mess by the time he comes around—begging him not to sell or eat or skin or harvest your wings, barely breathing between the words.

He chuckles and promises you he won’t do any of that stuff, but the smile on his face is enough to convince you he’s possessed by some sort of demon. And as he hauls you up on his shoulder and starts carrying you further into those places you’ve never dared venture, into the thicker parts of the forest where the trees all seem riddled with some type of disease—you can’t help but believe all those rumors you’d heard.

He tells you that his snares and nets are meant for rodents and that he didn’t think fae-folk were dumb enough to get themselves caught by them as he starts cutting into the net to free you—only, he doesn’t stop at the net—but goes for your slik garb next. Whistling as he bares your pretty skin while pinning your small wrists above you in one meaty hand.

His grin is sharper than his knife when he advises you not to struggle, saying he would feel awful if he were to accidentally cut you.

♡ Nanami, Fushiguro, Naoya ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[gildui]

"All right, love?"

"Simon, the fuck is this?"

"Wanted a pet, yeah?"

"A pet, yeah. This?" A pathetic thing. A bundle of fur covered in dirt and grime and stunk up the flat worse than the dead mouse from a month ago. "This is no bloody pet!"

He'd come home from a deployment with a shit-eating grin across his unmasked face — a rarity, truly — his away bag slung over one of his broad (lovely) shoulders, and a bundle of something wrapped up in an old shirt in his arms.

You should have known better. Should have known because when the pile yowled a sound akin to an eldritch horror and Simon had the audacity to laugh—a deep, low sound that would have you on your knees if it weren't at your expense— you nearly socked the man in the face.

It uncurled itself from the sopping ball that Simon had lain across the floor between your socked feet and Simon's steel-toe boots. Shiny boots too, aye? He could keep his boots clean yet couldn't remember to rinse the sink of his little pokey blonde hairs after a shave?!

God, it was insufferable. Man disappears for weeks to months, then reappears like nothing just happened? No 'hi' or 'hello' or 'how are you?'—

The thing yowls again, sending you skyrocketing across your living room to use the sofa as a buffer between you and the thing whilst Simon's antagonizing laugh rings through.

You're gonna kill him, you determine.

"When I said a bloody pet, Simon," your voice is biting, reminding the bloke in front of you of all times his mother had whelped at him for his own little spin on directions. "I meant a dog, or- or- a cat. Fucking 'ell, a fish would do!"

"What's wrong with it?" Simon deadpans with a raised eyebrow, those dark brown eyes filled with mirth as one of his booted foot slides the few inches in front of him and prods at the bundle of wet material and fur. The action causes another horror-like screech to erupt from it and the situation repeats itself once more.

Though, this time, you perhaps scream alongside it because the nudge from Simon's boot causes the thing to propel its tiny body forward, spearing towards the couch.

And unfortunately, you.

A few hours later, after multiple baths—yours unwillingly, his as payback, and the thing required at least two before your eyes stopped watering—the two of you determine that it was indeed a cat.

To which, Simon promptly named the thing “cat.” And you scowled whilst renaming it “satan.”

Congratulations on your new pet:

Cuppa Cat Satan Kentucky Bourbon the III, Destroyer of Sanities and Ankles.