#he has his fur trimmed short in the first one

[canisalbus]

Young Machete, a sickly little Fiat Balilla, prone to engine knocking, surprisingly grew into a fast and powerful Alfa Romeo 6C 2300.

.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Sexy Dilf Suit For Sale!

Check him out, Internet! I'm selling meat-suits again, and this one is a stud!

I caught him at the park a few years back. The guy casually passed me like he wasn't the sexiest motherfucker I'd ever seen. He was shirtless of course, jogging in a tight pair of running shorts that really showed off his strong legs. He was a lot less hairy back then, when he used to keep all that fur trimmed neatly. I followed him to the park's restroom and converted him there. He had earbuds in, so it was ridiculously easy to sneak up behind him at the urinal. I dragged him into a stall and spent the next few hours hollowing him out. I wore him home that night, and my boyfriend was ecstatic to see me in such a hot dad. The first thing I did was use that guy's low voice to order my partner to, "Pull out daddy's penis."

We spent the night breaking the suit in. It was fairly obvious that the man was a virgin to gay sex. He felt sensitive and tight in all the right areas, and he hid a girthy python between his legs...

This suit was a favorite for public dates. I loved the way men and women stared at me while I was in him! He's honestly one of my favorites, but unfortunately, it has to go. Last week I wore him out to dinner with my boyfriend. Inside his skin, I donned a form-fitting suit and gelled his hair back handsomely. We were cozied up in an expensive restaurant when she came in. "Sam!" she yelled, "You-you're my Samuel!" Obviously, the poor woman was this guy's wife or something. She burst into tears in the middle of the restaurant, wailing about kids that I supposedly shared with her. I tried to convince her that I wasn't this Sam guy. I even made out with my boyfriend in front of her as proof, but she insisted I was him.

Ultimately, we left our date early, and now there's some lady running around looking for the person this meat-suit used to be.

So that's what brings me here! Part of me can't bear to get rid of him. I loved being inside that guy, but I can't keep him around here! I'd like around $5,000 for him, and I'd like to know that whoever's buying will wear him far away from here. That poor lady doesn't need to see him walking around town, completely unaware of his wife or kids.

Like I said, you can expect a lot of attention, strutting around with his handsome body and face. I've never worn him to a club and not had somebody offer to buy my drink. He's just too darn handsome, especially if you show off the goods! The old Samuel was probably too timid to highlight his juicy bubble butt or bulging crotch, but they are very popular with other gay men! Expect a lot of wandering hands!

Anyway, hit me up if you're interested. It'll be laying outside while I wait for an offer. His skin tans beautifully, so I figured I might as well bronze him up for ya!

[steddie-island]

@steddiemas day 7 - mall and/or workplace WC: 952 | Rating: M (for language) No content warnings, full tags on ao3

Update: @doomcheese made lovely lovely art of them and you should go look at it and show it and her all the love!!! 🥰

Jingle Boy Rock

Wearing the usual Scoops Ahoy uniform was bad enough 11 months out of the year. Wearing it in December was fucking miserable. 

Gone were their usual hats, and in their place were elf hats– the kind that were red with green trim, with a bell on the end and giant felt elf ears on the sides. They were given bright red shorts, with a green and red striped shirt that had bells hanging from the spikes around the collar. 

Steve would have preferred to wear the regular uniform everywhere every day for the rest of his life than wear the goddamned elf outfit all month long. 

Especially when Eddie fucking Munson, the goddamn bane of his existence, worked right across the mall, at the record store. Eddie had taken one look at the Scoops uniform and decided that he was going to be the biggest nuisance in Steve’s life. Every lunch break, every time he was bored, every time he just felt like it, he was there. Leaning against the freezer and smiling that crooked smile. Steve really didn’t want to know how much worse the wheedling was going to get when Eddie saw their holiday uniforms. 

“Jingle boy!” 

Steve groaned– he hadn’t been at work for five fucking minutes, and already Eddie was calling across the mall to him. He pushed both hands over his face and grabbed the hat to pull it off. “He only does that because he always gets a reaction out of you,” Robin pointed out. At least her outfit– a red dress with a green shirt underneath it and matching white and green striped tights— was cute. 

“He does that because he’s a pain in the ass,” Steve said. He dropped the elf ears onto the counter and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t deal with this today.” “Right. Like you don’t love it.” Robin shook her head. “Just kiss him already, dingus.” Steve had heard this at least five times already, and just like he had every other time he waved it away. “Do you say that shit to him, too?”

“No, just to you.” She pushed away from the counter. “Hey, Eddie.” “Hey Buck!” Eddie sauntered over to the counter. Surprisingly he was wearing a hat, too, but it was black velvet with white fur trim. 

“Santa’s goth now?” Steve asked. “Metal, actually. I have to shake things up somehow, right?” Eddie leaned against the freezer. “I like the new getup. It’s very… ‘Hallmark threw up on me.’”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Do you need something, Munson? Some of us actually have work to do.”

“No one’s here,” Robin pointed out. She just grinned when Steve glared at her. 

“I’m actually here ‘cause I have something for you,” Eddie said. For the first time that Steve could recall, Eddie actually looked… nervous. 

“You have something… for me?” he asked. 

“Yeah.” Eddie pulled a box out of his pocket. “It’s not a big thing, just… something that made me think of you.” He slid the box across the counter and tapped the lid with his fingers. “Go ahead, open it.”

“It’s only the 7th,” Steve said. 

“I know, but I want you to open it early.” Eddie tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Please?”

“You said ‘please.’ Does that mean something’s gonna jump out of the box at me?” Steve joked. He untied the pretty red ribbon and took the lid off. Inside was the cutting of a plant, just a stem with a few little shoots that ended in green leaves and little white berries. There was a matching red ribbon tied around it. 

“Is this…” Steve looked at Eddie. He wondered vaguely if his cheeks were as pink as Eddie’s were. “...mistletoe?”

“Yeah.” Eddie ducked his head so his hair fell into his face. “I, um… I realized that I don’t think my flirting has been working? And I figured, before I turned you off of me forever…”

“Wait– wait, you’ve been flirting with me?” Steve asked. “Since when?”

Eddie looked at him with those big, deep eyes. “Since I walked in and said ‘hey, big boy’? What did you think I was doing?”

“Trying to get under my skin!” Steve said. “Are you– really?”

“I wasn’t trying to get under your skin. Maybe in your pan–” “Hey! Maybe you two should go to the breakroom to finish this conversation!” Robin said. “Quickly, though, Santa’s almost here and that means we’re gonna be packed.”

Steve caught Eddie’s hand and tugged him towards the back room that had a couch, two folding chairs, and a wobbly card table. “You’ve really been flirting with me?” he asked. 

It made sense, when he thought back to all the time Eddie spent tugging at his scarf or flicking his hat, talking about his shorts and–

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot.” Steve shook his head and lightly hit himself in the forehead with his fist– a move he wanted to repeat when the bells around his neck jingled with the movement. “Oh my god!”

Eddie giggled and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s hand to stop him from doing that. “Be nice to yourself,” he said, and Steve was shocked when Eddie leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Anyway, Stevie… my gift. What’d you think?”

“I think… that it’s bad luck, if we let it go to waste.” Steve lifted it out of the box by the stem and leaned in with a smile. 

He wasn’t sure what the mistletoe was supposed to mean exactly, but as their lips met, and as his fingers curled into Eddie’s soft hair, Steve found that he was more than willing to find out. 

[readychilledwine]

What Dreams May Come

Part One - Asher

Summary - 50 years after sending his pregnant mate and children into hiding, Tamlin wants nothing more than to reconnect with his family.

Warnings - Rhys Slander is HEAVY in this series, references to smut, references to abuse, death, schmurder, fated mates and hidden family trope, kind of angst, tension, if you see an error, no you didn't 👀

A/N - I was going to wait to post this mini series, but I can't. I've been rereading it over and over and judging it harshly (as I do all my writing), so I'm putting it out there before I abandon it. Ps- each child has their own powers. You will learn each child in depth during Araceli's chapter. These are just little previews. Bonus points if you can figure out what Asher’s might be.

🥀What Dreams May Come Masterlist🥀Tamlin Masterlist🥀Master Masterlist🥀

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears (seriously peep the blog. Adorable season court Dividers)

Asher was thoroughly unimpressed with the horned beast staring him down as he flirted with the twin river nymphs he had been chasing for a few days now. Feral eyes were locked on his chocolate brown ones before the body of the beast because to slowly approaching. Asher sighed as the nymphs dove back into the water of the river, whispered melodically in their native tongue. “And what manner of beast are you,” He motioned up and down. “I believe parents should write stories about you. Ugly thing, you are.” 

He froze as the beast shifted, long blonde hair and sun kissed skin replacing the fur. Strong arms went across a wide chest, “Be careful with your words, son. You look just like me.” 

Asher, in fact, did not look like Tamlin. Tamlin screamed of sun, golden blonde hair and green eyes, Asher sang for the moon, dark short hair styled to one side, deep chocolate eyes he must have gotten from his mother's side, tanned skin. It was in their facial structure, the sharp jawline, the nose. That is where the signs of Tamlin rested in his son.

He had grown into a tall male, strong from what Tamlin could tell, but definitely with the same soft heart he had. Tamlin could see it in those eyes. Eyes that currently swan with confusion. The Lord of Sping simply opened his arms smiling as his first son dropped the act and came to him. 

“Dad,” the word was foreign on Asher’s tongue. They had been in hiding for so very long, not even mentioning the word out of fear. Asher had not been held by his father since he was 4, but it felt like he remembered. 

Hugging Tamlin, hugging his dad, it reminded him of the first warm rain in a season. Of getting a blanket warmed near the fire on cold nights from his mother. Asher melted into it, savored it as he took in the vaguely familiar scent of petrichor and freshly trimmed grass.

“I missed you,” Tamlin's deep voice made his eyes close as he rested his head on his shoulder. “Tell me everything. Tell me every happy moment, every ache, tell me you hate me. Anything, Asher. Anything.”

His mother was not home when Asher brought him back to the cave she had turned into a true home. The rumors that she could move mountains were, possibly, not rumors in her son's eyes, because, behind the waterfall the cave was hidden by, she had created a home. Everything he and his siblings had needed was magically summoned and made by his mother. They never wanted anything during the 50 years they had been isolated. 

Asher knew now his mom's magic ensured they had beds, blankets, comfort, through technically stealing. To be conjured, it had to come from somewhere. He had written a poem once about being a shopkeeper in the Night Court and coming into an emptied out shop, but Asher would put money on his mother somehow leaving a note to bill the High Lord of Night. 

Asher had also written a poem about his Uncle finding said bill. His mother told him it was inappropriate while smiling and folding it into her back pocket. 

He and Tamlin stayed quiet as he let the blonde male look around, “They say you can take the female out of the Night Court, but never the Night Court out of the female.”

Asher scoffed at that, “I believe she picked our furniture and goods on where she wanted to take from. Can't feel bad stealing from a rich asshole,” he quoted her exact words. 

Tamlin gave him a look, his lips clearly trying to remain in a stern position. “Your uncle is a-”

“Pompous asshole who feels that he is the change the world needs by just existing and not acting,” Asher was raising a dark brow at him as he poured them some tea. “Mom told me.”

“Asher,” Tamlin continued to try to be firm, “We do not speak of family that way.”

Asher blinked at him, unphased. This child, his oldest son, his mind was unwavering. Not even the Gods themselves could convince them of his Uncle Rhysand's good had they tried. It was his mom's fault, she was blunt and cut throat with her honesty, even when she knew lying would have been best.

Asher had found the history. He'd read the story of how his grandfather had threatened the life of his grandmother, forcing his father's hand to tell him where Rhysand would be meeting his mother and youngest sister. He read how his grandfather forced his father to watch as he mutilated them. 

He then read how Rhysand and his maternal grandfather got their revenge. Minds being melted, an innocent female, a victim in her own right, slaughtered mercilessly. Asher’s mother had still chosen his father, though. She was the only one who saw both sides and felt both heavy hands. Asher knew from the sadness in her eyes she would pick Tamlin again and again, though he had not met his own mate to know why yet.

“Do you always chase females,” Tamlin finally sat, relaxing enough to truly appreciate how handsome his son was.

A wide grin appeared on Asher’s face, “I can't help but to chase them. I've never met an ugly female,  father.”

Tamlin internally cringed at the word father, so informal to the earlier plea of “Dad”. “So no type?”

“Pretty, and they all are. Has to enjoy my poetry, and they all do. I have a, uh, certain way with words."

“So you seduce them with just words?”

Asher glanced up, “Why try something else when I am so good at it.” His face was filled with pride as he went to the book shelf and grabbed a leather book worn with love. He handed the heavy collection of paper to him, “Go ahead. Tell me how fantastic I am.”

Tamlin chuckled as he opened the book. It was definitely made in the Night Court, a sign of where his wife had been technically stealing from outside the obvious furniture and leathers Asher was wearing.  The pages were thick, stained slightly from ink transferring from paper to hand and back. His son's handwriting was influenced by his wife. Soft scrolls flowing together like a melody. The poetry was good, very good. “You haven't decided if you like Quatrain or Villanelle, have you?”

“No,” Asher shifted. “Should I have?”

Tamlin shook his head, “I'm over 500 years old and still bounce from around with different formats and stanza structures.” He continued reading an odd feeling setting into him before he closed the book and saw the shocked look on his son's face.

"You write poetry?!" He watched deep eyes light up and the conversation flew from there, father and son, bonding over poetry, over literature. 

The topics grew, varying from serious, to funny, to gossip. Tea constantly poured between them as they discussed being forced to train, of their mutual love of chocolate, of their favorite writers. Tamlin learned so much as the hours past before Asher asked if he wanted some fresh air.

Asher was strong, mentally, emotionally, and physically. It comforted Tamlin as they moved outside using a back magical gate made by Araceli. It took them to a vegetable garden that thrived, insects flying all around, fruit hanging from heavy trees. “Where is this place,” Tamlin looked around.

“We're still in The Middle,” Asher laid out the blanket before gently tossing his bag down. “I'm sure you secretly do recognize the cottage we're near.” The High Lord did, nodding as he studied the place he'd been told his whole life to avoid. The Weaver’s home was deadly, dangerous, and forbidden. Yet his son sat outside of it like it wasn't even phasing him. “Mom made her a deal. The Weaver likes her hair. Mom likes the protect she gives us. Once a year, mom let's The Weave cut her hair for threads in exchange for protection and us being allowed to grow this garden.”

The horrified expression on his father's face wasn't missed by Asher. A bargain with a being like The Weaver was not taken lightly. His mom worked hair to ensure her hair stayed healthy, long, and ready. The Weaver claimed her hair had some magical properties, but all Asher envisioned when he was young was the ancient being using them as some sort of enchanted tie to his mom, ready to rip her from them and eat them at any given notice. 

“Is she insane?!”

Eyes narrowed at him, “She was alone,” Asher emphasized the word making it a dagger. “She did a lot of dangerous things to protect us. You should be worshiping the very ground she walks upon.” 

Momma’s boy. 

Asher was still momma’s boy. 

Tamlin shook his head, “I love her. More than you know and understand. I love you more than you understand.”

“Loved them so much you hid them away in one of the most dangerous places in the realm?” The soft female voice had Asher smirking. Tamlin turned to face a young blonde, her hair falling in soft waves with braids placed strategically to help prevent the locks from falling into soft green eyes. 

This. This was him. Had Tamlin been born a female, this is what he'd look like. One cheek dimpled as she smiled, the asymmetry flattered her, complimenting soft cheek bones, a gently sloped nose, full blush lips. Along every inch of her face, freckles danced, marking her skin like soft kisses. 

“Sister,” a pen met paper as Asher spoke. “You are busy little bee I see.” 

Her hands were both filled with baskets almost overflowing with herbs, vegetables, edible flowers. Her nails had dirt under the nails and staining the skin. She carrying a look of pride and accomplishment Tamlin knew well. This was her garden and it was fruitful. “Your squash was ready,” she was speaking to Asher but her eyes were on Tamlin. “Momma said she could turn it into soup?” Asher nodded, but he was deep into capturing Something on page, a grunt was his only other response. She continued to stare at Tamlin, “Do you know which of your children I am?”

Tamlin wanted to roll his eyes at her, say of course, but he refrained, watching as she moved, sitting next to Asher but slightly behind him. “I know my own baby girl, Taryn,” the High Lord said. “Your dimple gives you away.” He couldn't help but reach for her cheek, but a firm hand stopped him from touching her.

“I don't believe my sister gave you permission to put your hands on her face.” A smirk of pride grew on Tamlin's face as Asher now fully looked at his father and little sister. “You may touch her when, and if, Taryn allows. Until then, no.”

Taryn leaned her head onto Asher’s shoulder as Tamlin lowered his hand. “You two are close?”

“Very,” they answered in unison.

“How were Darya and Amaya?”

“Who?”

“The river nymphs twins,” Taryn glared at Asher. “The two you've been trying to bed for a week now?”

Asher sighed and laid back, “They're impossible!”

Taryn and Tamlin glanced at him, “How so,” the high lord asked.

“They're identical! They said they only sleep with males who can tell them apart! Their hair is the same length. Their eyes both sparkle like a clear lake. They both have the perfect little nymph figure. Hair black as coal. They're gorgeous, fun, witty.” Asher covered his eyes by dramatically laying his arm across his face, “One of them I am most interested in. I believe it is Darya.”

“Does she have a shell braided Into her hair?”

Asher nodded at his sister's question, “She's.. she's just stunning. Inside and out. I may be in love."

Tamlin hid a smile as he reached into Taryn's woven basket filled with fruit and stole an apple. Asher continued telling Taryn his woes before sighing. "I wrote a new poem for her," he whispered with an air of insecurity. "I just.. wish she would respond some way, any way really.

He stood and then reached down to grab each basket, “I'll take these home. I.. I'm going to try just her. Maybe that will help?" He looked to his sister and father for some reassurance.

Taryn nodded, “I like that idea.”

“I think she's special.”

“Then she is,” Tamlin answered simply. “Go. I'll take care of Taryn.” Asher nodded, disappearing in the same gate his mother had opened.

Silence fell between the two on the blanket. The air was thick and heavy, a contrast to the brightness of his daughter's garden, to the smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes.

“You may hold me.”

4 words. 4 soft words. Spoken with hesitation, anger, grief, fear. 

Yet they opened a floodgate as a father pulled his daughter to him, the process beginning again as the sunset behind them. 

Tamlin knew his goal as he took him the scent of strawberries lingering in her blonde hair.

Board by board. Brick by brick. Nail by nail. He was going to rebuild his family. Even if doing so hurt him in the process.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

And my fellow Tamlin girlies:

@nocasdatsgay @pit-and-the-pen

[angermango]

"I'm not cooking or anything, this is just a silly idea- (looks down at canvas) ffffuuuu--"

...

so, first I only wanted to draw Professor Layton with a Reiterpallasch from Bloodborne because haha funny hat man with gun-sword, but then i ended up drafting concept art for "Laytonborne", apparently.

"Puzzles all over the shop... You'll be stuck on one of them, sooner or later."

extra artist commentary:

Layton

yes, this really did just start with me wanting to give Layton a Reiterpallasch because he's a canonical fencer and Bloodborne trick weapons absolutely slap. The Reiterpallasch is literally a rapier with a pistol attached that can mechanically switch to prime either the blade first or the gun first so you can stab and shoot someone at the same time.

Giving Hershel the Bloodborne makeover was kind of funny because he wears such a simple look in canon it was hard striking the right balance between his recognisable look and BB aestheic since Bloodborne loves embellishment especially via lots of belts/buckles and those weird shoulder-cape things. I tried to keep it simple enough though because as much as i think he could pull off a hunter ensemble i don't want to have to keep track of all the funky bits. the Top Hat Stays, of course.

Aurora

Aurora is eerily good a fit in a Soulsborne-esque setting considering she fits the criteria for a "Soulsborne maiden" classic archetype sort of character: After all she's a mysterious pale-haired young woman with mystical origins/powers and a foreign-sounding accent and may or may not have some connection to the wider lore and powers that be of the setting. hell even her whole thing being a golem works in a way as even Bloodborne has artificial humans existing as a concept.

i got a little lazy with changing up her dress for both time and lack of inspiration. I thought maybe i'd really do her up but then I chickened out that her costume wouldn't be recognisable any more so just slapped a belt and some patterns on the shawl bit and called it a night :P (if i'd been braver/more motivated she'd probably look good in an approximation of the White Church set, something like that)

and yeah so as the sketches off to the side are like, no real clue how/why it might be triggered but imagine her having the potential to be an optional boss or something (and she'd whoop your ass)

Flora

idk tho Flora also seems like she could be a good contender for the "Soulsborne maiden" position too in a way, or even if not her whole character and story fits into the world quite well. especially with Bloodborne having the Plain Doll who is a sentient doll made in the image of someone her creator loved/was obsessed with and Flora living in a village of human-like robots which started after her father tried to build a replacement for her dead mother.

Her dress is a combination of all her canon costumes across the games. The fur-trim shoulder cape is from one official art of her, the short shawl and white sleeves and bit around her waist is based on her first dress, and the rest of the dress design is based on her second and third game appearance.

The 'Doll Flora' concept there at the end is just some idea of a false/clone Flora running around as well. She's got some little differences including elements of other parts of Flora's designs over the years that aren't on OG Flora, such as the sash and shoes.

Anton

Anton fits in scarily well to the Bloodborne-y setting, perhaps not too surprisingly given the whole 'vampire' thingy. I sort of envision Folsense and Herzen Castle being a bit like the Castle Cainhurst area of Bloodborne which leans more into the classic gothic horror of a remote and looming haunted castle occupied by a sinister enigmatic character.

And yes, that is a reference to the infamous "LAYTOOON" scream from his canon 'boss fight' in the second game - imagine the whole steaming up and screaming thing being like his boss phase transition animation.

The whole 'withers to an old man/husk' concept seems so very Soulsborne-y it really just fits yknow. like if you defeat him he shrivels up/ages to dust or whatever. RIP gassed-up grandpa.

I partly rizzed up his suit using inspiration of the Cainhurst Knight set because like. come on. it's too good to pass up the chance to pretty up with and looks a lot like his canon suit in parts.

Did I trace the foyer background art for Herzen Castle for the mockup just for laffs, only to realise partway that 1) Layton and Anton actually fought in the ballroom, and 2) the ballroom would actually make a much better boss arena setting because it's wide open and the arch from the front room leading into the ballroom could totally be the 'boss fog door' part better than the front room?

...so yeah I then drew the ballroom background without tracing this time like a true madman and had a hell of a time with perspective but the plus side is we also get the sword collection from the game there as a cameo because in Laytonborne the good professor brought his own already.

The Masked Gentleman / Randall

Had a bit of a time deciding how to Bloodborne-ify this guy because his suit in canon is actually really. really boring. it's just a white suit like cmon. so to give it that Bloodborne makeover I fell back on the classic shoulder-cape thing that almost all Bloodborne characters have, added some patterns and accessories based on the Mask of Chaos' patterns and the Decorative Old Hunter's set from the Old Hunters DLC (in the leg brace, forearm guard and the hints of gold chains around the upper arms).

He also gets a Threaded Cane, another trick weapon of Bloodborne fame which is as it suggests: A cane weapon that works a bit like a baton/sword combo but in its alternate form it's a whip covered in serrated metal blades which form the cane itself when locked together.

It seems very appropriate for Randall to be like a boss who starts out as the Masked Gentleman and then at half-or-less health you break his mask, reveal Randall and then wings burst out of his back as he enters his second phase rage mode. This concept part felt more DSouls-y than Bloodborne-y to me i think since Bloodborne is less fantastical and leans more into the body horror/monstrous kind of boss transitions? But at the same time it was too good an opportunity to pass on at least sketching out, plus get you some sick fallen angel imagery out of it.

Also the hanging arm pose miiight be a bit inspired by Artorias of the Abyss. just a bit.

Descole

i recall seeing a post somewhere once with this very low-res rare art of Descole sitting in a throne from somewhere i have no idea what it was for. and I remember it kinda reminded me of Lady Maria's promotional art for the Old Hunters DLC so that's why the last picture of Descole exists.

mf already dresses so extra i legit could think of nothing to add to make him more Bloodborne-y unlike the others. I also used his canon sword's design from the games with a custom sheath because again couldn't really think of anything more to do to make him fit more when he's already got a cool signature weapon to show off.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Sketchbook Tour part 1

Masterpost

So if it isn't obvious, Alastor is my favorite. If any sketches are left uninked, it's most likely because I didn't like it enough to take a pen to it. The paper wasn't good enough quality to even do shades of grey without it bleeding through, so I had to stick with black and white.

Commentary under the cut.

When I started this, I wanted to redesign Alastor. First order of business: get rid of his weird Karen bob cut. I have this headcanon that his hair is actually more like the fur from a deer's coat rather than actual hair. Which (if it's at all similar to the goats, horses, and elk I've felt) is NOT soft and fluffy like fans like to theorize. It's rather rough and bristly. Like a wire-haired dog. He can't exactly style it like normal hair, but he likes to keep it trimmed short on the lower portions, closer to the styles he would have preferred in life.

Next, the bowtie had to go. Too many of the characters have them, so I made it my mission to get rid of as many as possible. There are only a couple that I let keep theirs. Regular ties were far more common in his lifetime.

I don't actually like his monocle either. For one, they are not meant to be worn all the time. They are meant for short periods of time when spectacles were inconvenient to carry around. It's like reading glasses, but pocket-sized. He wouldn't be wearing it very often. Plus, they would have been starting to go out of fashion in his time, in part due to an association with Germans(whose military officers were particularly fond of them. Then Germany was blamed for WW1). Not that he'd really care about that though.

Alastor has a lot of themes and motifs in his design, and I didn't find the cross shaped design on his shirt to be iconic enough to keep. Overall, I wanted to tone down and balance his design. The most important elements to his design are: deer, smile, and radio.

I eventually come back to tweak his hair and antlers, but that isn't for a while.

For Niffty, I wasn't yet at a stage where I was redesigning her at all. I just drew her, then would eventually find aspects I want to alter. But I'll explain when I get there.

[evita-shelby]

12 Days of Smuffmas:

December 16th – fireplace and face fucking

(Tommy Shelby x Eva Smith)

cw: married sex, cold weather, dom/sub dynamics(m dom/f sub), rough blow job/face fucking, come swallowing

sequel to Sharing a drink and Sex Toys from last year

She hates cold weather.

Eva’s ideal temperature is warm enough to stop shivering in this godforsaken country.

After the fuse blew out the electricity in the entire house, Tommy is at least gallant enough to get the fireplaces going to warm up the house for her and the children who’d come home from school soon enough.

The witch is bundled in her fur trimmed robe and Tommy’s scarf ---which he only put on her to tease her about her inability to get used to the weather after a decade living here--- by the fire as Tommy joined her there.

“Reminds me of our first winter together.” He throws his arms around her as they reminisce about December 1920.

They had been married for six months, and still learning so much about each other. He learned she hated the cold and no matter how warm the fire was in their room; the witch would still shiver under the covers with him. Tommy was supposed to go downstairs to work on something or the other, but instead stayed in bed with her all morning.

She hadn’t been cold then, not with him to keep her warm like that. And just like then the witch won’t feel the bite of the cold tonight either.

“It does. Can you believe it’s been nine years since then?” To think it all began one December afternoon when Tommy Shelby gave into the curiosity of speaking to the witch who’d bewitched him before they ever even spoke a single word to each other.

“Gave you pink camellias so you’d know I wanted you. Had to go to a florist all the way in Coventry to find them.” The gangster looks at her lovingly as he admitted to something he’d never actually told her.

Almost a decade and still they learn a bit more of who they were before and are now.

“I had my suspicion that you knew they meant longing, took you long enough to admit it.” The dark-haired woman kissed him tenderly, struggling as she smiles having waited so long for him to admit to the flowers having been to woo her just as the hand painted cards had been.

There was no better matchmaker than Polly Gray. Same Polly who had gotten the cards done from the moment she saw Tommy and Eva share a look as the witch passed underneath his bedroom window, and the gangster forgot about everything else just to see her walk by.

Ten years since the first time since their eyes met that first time and both felt the thread of fate pulling them to each other in spite of the universe conspiring against them that entire year.

“And now that you’ve caught me, what will you do about it, eh?” he teases her, she’s still aching for him to finish what the toy started having been him the one to deny her that orgasm earlier by tripping over the fucking wire.

“I am owed an orgasm, Tommy.” She points out with a change in her tone, going from the loving wife to the demanding goddess. Despite the façade he has, Thomas Shelby quite enjoys letting his wife take him in hand and be the dominant one half the time.

“You short-circuited the entire house with that thing, love.” Tommy pulls back leaving her wanting, the hands holding her face keep her firmly where he wants telling her tonight he is the one in charge. “Gotta punish you for that.”

“You better will.” The witch stays on the ground as he rises to his feet and becomes Mr. Shelby who puts the fear of God into those who displease him.

He bids her to kneel for him and undo the trouser buttons to receive her punishment.

“Go on, love, open up.” This was not to be just a blow job, Tommy would be merciless, fuck her face until her eyes tear up and feels like she might suffocate on his cock.

He pulls her hair harshly and groans when Eva adjusts her position to take him all the way in. Tommy loves her wicked mouth, ever since that first morning together when she sucked him so good he woke up crying out her name.

Shelby is relentless as he sets a dangerous pace that almost has her reaching to squeeze his thigh thinking she won’t be able to handle it.

But she does, Eva services him as good as the best paid whore in England and grows impossibly wet at how good Tommy fucks her face. Moans around his cock and whines when her husband stops her from reaching between her legs to seek her own release.

The witch can taste his cum and, taking advantage of the empty family wing, Tommy cannot speak more than her name as his pleasure takes his ability to speak coherently as he gets closer and closer to his little death.

“Fuck, Evie!” the gangster turned politician rams his cock all the way in and forces her to swallow every drop of his seed as he comes with a crass shout.

The man could recite beautiful poetry and yet nothing sounded better in her ears like a spent Tommy catching his breath and regaining his ability to speak after they’ve fucked.

“If this is the only punishment I get for short-circuiting the house, what will I get if I do the same to 10 Downing Street?” Eva Shelby stays on her knees on the ground with Tommy’s hands still tangled in her dark hair as he laughs breathlessly.

“Who said it was over, woman?”

[bambiraptorx]

Okay, since I finally finished my fantasy au fic, I can post some of the concept art I've been working on for it! It's mostly related to the adults lol

[I.D. Three sketches of Fantasy AU Draxum, with various designs. For the first, he has slight frown and is missing a nose, with horns sweeping backwards over his head. For the second, he snarls, large fangs protruding from his mouth. and horns curling forward around his ears. For the third, he has a more goat-like nose than in canon and stares curiously at a small caterpillar on his finger, with horns that point upward and are slightly curved. In each of them he has wild, messy hair. End I.D.]

I'm still workshopping Draxum's design in this AU, but I want it to come across as more creature-y and faelike. I might go with him appearing younger than he does in canon? I'm not decided on that yet. I also have no idea what to do for an outfit besides 'hand wavey plant matter outfit don't worry about how it stays on' lol.

[I.D. 2. Colored drawing of Big Mama as a sort of spider centaur, with the upper body of a woman and the thorax of a spider, with six legs instead of eight. She has two sets of arms, the lower, thinner ones crossed in front of her midsection, one of the upper ones on her 'hip', and the other dangling a silver necklace. She has six eyes, each with blue eyeshadow and eyeliner, and red lipstick, with two large fangs sticking out next to her mouth. Her outfit is deep purple with light blue cuffs of fur around her wrists and neck, as well as a red broach at her neck. Her hair is pale blueish white and very fluffy, surrounding her head sort of like a halo. She has a silver belt, and silver bands around her legs. End I.D. 2.]

Here's Big Mama! I thought it would be fun to combine the two forms she has in canon (in this AU humans are fully aware of yokai and live alongside them in a lot of cases), so she's a sort of spider centaur thing. In the story, she's sort of a regional ruler, so not the most powerful person around technically, but extremely important in her own region. I think it would be funny if she was a Baroness but I'm still deciding on her title.

[I.D. 3. Two pictures of Splinter as a human, wearing a yukata that's colored differently in both images. In both, he slouches forward slightly, a gauntness to his face. In the first image he wears a light greyish brown yukata with darker trim, and a blue emblem with a red six-petaled flower over his heart. In the second image, the yukata is purple with dark purple trim, and the emblem is red. End I.D. 3.]

And finally, Splinter. I might call him Yoshi in this AU, I'm not sure yet. While he manages to get away from Big Mama after the first time she kidnaps him, she discovers him again after he has the turtles and basically forces him to get back together with her. She's not letting him go anytime soon, and I wanted his design to reflect that if only slightly. In the case of the purple one, not so slightly. That one's more for if she ends up being very outwardly possessive and feels the need to mark him as hers. It's not a healthy relationship.

Bonus: quick height comparison between Big Mama and Splinter. It's not that he's short, it's that she's tall.

[I.D. 4. Picture of the above drawings of Splinter and Big Mama next to each other. Big Mama is about a head and a half taller. End I.D. 4.]

Any questions about this AU are welcome!

[swagtastic-bougie-pompadour]

Since I’m in the middle of brushing out Mr. Cuddles’s fur right now because he just had to investigate the honey I brought back… (and yes, I rinsed it out first!!)

I’m rating Veevees on how easy their coats are to brush out! (Minus the ones I’ve never brushed.)

1.) Umbreon — Dusk is, by far, the easiest of my Veevees. His coat’s super short, so it never gets matted, and he’s never really running around in puddles either. I pretty much just brush him because he wants the scritchies, and to stop the shed.

2.) Vaporeon — Yes, Vaporeon have fine coats still! Not on their fins and webbing, but they do have coats. The main challenge is that Finn likes to jump in mud… and that he has a habit of Acid Armoring into the tub whenever I wash him off. Otherwise, not too bad.

3.) Leafeon — You’ve gotta be careful with their ears, tail and joints; you really don’t want to injure those photosynthesizers! They also get… sappy sometimes. Literally. Which can be a bit of a pain.

4.) Sylveon — Mahou Shoujo would be higher if she wasn’t so picky about how I do her fur… and she’s incredibly picky about how I do her fur. There’s at least an hour of investment every time I pick up the brush with her… plus treats, plus the perfect nail trim, plus ribbon fluffing…

5.) Eevee itself — Eevee are babey. That means they are very wiggly. Also, those collars are a real pain! They mat so easily, and if you’ve got the wrong Veevee, they might just straight-up hate water too. They’re lucky they’re cute. And small.

6.) Jolteon — Mostly because I need to wear rubber gloves every time I try to brush Zeus… and ruin my own hair in the process. I look like I worked at a balloon emporium all day, every time I brush him out… plus, water’s not a great safety idea a lot of the time. Plus, working around the spikes sucks!

7.) Flareon — Hate hate hate. Mr. Cuddles is fluffy at such a HUGE cost. First off, I have to comb the equivalent of a baby sweater’s worth of fur off of him weekly. Second off, the fur mats like crazy and he hates water. And conditioner. And anything that keeps him from yowling like a pathetic beast. And don’t even get me started on the honey in his arc damn fur, I HAVE SPENT THREE HOURS CHASING THIS BASTARD WITH A WET CLOTH AND HE NEARLY BURNED MY GOOD HOODIE OFF—

Thanks for reading my Veevee rankings!

[softagenda]

skin deep (leander)

leander x reader(f)

au - mc/reader ties up leander

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

“You can tie me up first if it makes you feel better.” 

After a moment’s contemplation, you slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Leander’s grinning face went slack, his jaw dropping. His hands paused in the middle of removing the leather gloves from his fingers. “I - wait, what?”

“Let’s tie you up first. I think that would be safest, for both of us.” You glanced back at the Wet Wick. “Would they have a room we could use for a short while?”

His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, his cheeks flushed, before he asked, “You… want to tie me up?”

“Mm.” 

“Oh. Uh. Hold on, let’s - ”

You led the way back into the Wick.

A dozen heads seemed to turn around as you stepped through the doorway. Hesitating, you glanced through the crowd but when no one met your gaze again you approached the bar. The din of the crowd pressed against you, laughter and the clinking of glasses ringing in your ears. Somewhere in the middle of the room, Leander caught up to you and trailed behind.

The barkeeper refilled a glass and looked up, her dark eyes flickering over you first, then Leander with something akin to boredom. “What can I get ya?”

“Do you have a room we could borrow?” you asked, mentally counting what little coin you had left in your purse. “We’d only need it for a short time.”

“Oh?” Her gaze swept you from head to toe, taking the measure of you, before she shot a narrow-eyed look at Leander. “A short time? I’d have thought this one would warrant more than that.”

Leander flushed and cleared his throat, his expression sheepish, but you cut in before he could speak.

“He’s been more than generous with his time,” you said, not wanting the barkeeper to think less of Leander on your behalf. “It’s at my humble request. I’d be happy to pay a fair wage.”

A thin, polished brow arched high. She seemed to digest that for a moment, then shrugged. “To each their own.” She reached under the bar and slid a key across the counter. “Your usual room’s open.”

You turned to Leander. “Oh, do you live here?”

The barkeeper snorted. 

With a quick, strained laugh, Leander placed his hand on your back and guided you toward the stairs. “Not quite, but you know how it is. Late nights, plenty of drinks, good friends. I’m a regular.” His face was turned back toward the counter, exchanging a look with the barkeeper you couldn’t quite see except for the grin on her face. 

“I see.”

Old, beautiful oak wood and iron finishings molded the second floor of the Wet Wick. A long hallway stretched into the back of the building, a new door fixed every few paces and labeled with their own knocker. As you walked, you took note of the emblem’s etched into the surface: a hissing badger, a sleeping squirrel, a dog with its nose and tail poised in the air. They’re well-made and charming, in a strange way.

“Animal motifs?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’m curious to see what lies on your usual door.” 

Leander’s boot caught on the floor, and he stumbled. His hand swept through his hair, a grin spreading on his lips. “Ah ha ha, don’t read too much into it. Barkeep’s got a twisted sense of humor.”

By then, they’d reached the end of the hall. One door took up the corner, its front and trim cast from a dark, glossy rosewood and decorated with more delicate filigree. This one too had a crest on the front, though much larger and finer than the rest. Initially, you mistook the shape for a large rat with a long tail - then you recognized it.

“A mongoose?” you asked, leaning closer. A narrow head grew out from the furred body, with gleaming gold eyes and a protruding fang, its tail curling high as though warding off predators. You considered that for a moment before glancing at his neck, where the golden earring of the sword and the snake, eating itself, rested. “Because of…”

He unlocked the door with a flare of his wrist. “Like I said. Twisted sense of humor.” He held the door open and gestured you in. “After you.”

You paused before the threshold, instinct rising like a wary wolf and baring its teeth in the back of your mind at the thought of entering a closed room with a stranger. A powerful stranger at that. A mage with abilities similar if not greater than her former teacher. A man nestled in the heart of his territory, surrounded by his pack. 

That mental beast of vigilance had hunted you - dogged your footsteps through the journey to Eridia. Always wary. Always watching, waiting for the knife to swing on your back.

Forever you would look at every shadow with fear, every person with suspicion. After all, Mericka had been your teacher and companion, your guide in this volatile world - if even she could plunge the knife and turn it, why not a stranger?

Still, you had to try. Otherwise, how could you move forward?

Several people seemed prepared to vouch for Leander. The mysterious doctor, Kuras. The barkeeper. The unknown dozens of people who worked as part of the Bloodhounds. This - trusting him - was a calculated risk.

“Is this the room reserved for the rich and famous?” you asked, surveying the spacious room with a table, chairs, dresser, and a large bed in the center of the wall. Two bedside tables were draped in a green velvet cloth and topped with antique feylamps that cast the room in a golden, slightly greenish glow. A tapestry was draped over the wall and undulated under a breeze invading from the window opposite the door. Its many threads and colors depicted a map of the city itself.

“I’m about as famous as it gets for the Wet Wick,” Leander said, amused, as he closed the door and crouched down to untie his boots.

You hastened to follow. It’d be rude to dirty the floor for this, when there might be guests using the room later. 

With boots and jackets hung by the door, you lingered just by the foot of the bed. “So… ropes?”

When you turned to look at him, your breath caught in your chest. Beneath the coat, the layers of shirt were skin tight and sleeveless. Taut muscles bunched beneath the black fabric but bared his arms, leagues of smooth skin threaded with the occasional vein. The scar that peeked over his jaw spread down his left arm, the edges jagged but faded, like ink across the thick bicep and forearm.

You blinked and forced yourself to look away. It’d be rude to stare.

At your question, Leander’s brows arched, but he clapped and said, gamely, “Jumping right in! Brave one, I see. Well, I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants.” He headed for the bedside table and began rummaging through the top drawer. 

You’re the brave one . Your hands twisted together, your gut tightening. 

“Luckily, I’ve always got the essentials on hand.”

“Rope counts as an essential for your nightstand?” 

Leander’s shoulder twitched, and when he glanced over to you, his face was slightly rosy. “Well, you never know where the night will turn.”

You mused over that before nodding. In a sprawling city like Eridia, full of monsters and magic, you supposed the likelihood of getting ambushed while asleep was high. It’d be useful to have rope nearby to subdue your attackers for interrogation.

“Here we go!” Leander turned. In his hands was a pile of silk.

You stared at the fabric. “You’re… quite kind to your prisoners.”

Leander’s lips parted, his eyes searching for something in your face, before a single, awkward laugh escaped. “Not into that?” 

“No. I mean,” you hastened to explain as his eyes widened, “It’s not that,  just… It’s a good thing, I suppose. Just surprising. Will that truly be able to subdue a fully grown man?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned as he looked down at the silk, the slippery material almost dripping from his wrists. “It’ll hold.” 

He spoke with such confidence that you assumed he must know from experience. You stepped closer and inspected the bundle. “Is there an enchantment on it? To make it binding?”

Leander met your gaze. The soft fringe of his hair fell across his brow, the ends caught in the fan of his lashes. “There could be. Do you want that?”

The quiet held between you for a moment. “That might be for the best,” you murmured, though you would understand his caution. After all, you were just as much stranger to him, as he to you. That he would even allow you to tie him up spoke volumes on his courage.

He leaned closer, and his next words brushed across your face. “So sure your touch will drive me to madness?” His eyes held you to the spot, the clear, emerald depths gleaming, identical to the magic that had conjured lilies from thin air in the pub below.

Your throat felt exceptionally dry. You swallowed, your gaze trailing across the strong nose and olive skin, his gold earring swaying from his ear, before lingering on the edge of the scar that cut up his jaw. “Yes,” you whispered.

A hum rose from within him, rumbling like the early boiling of dragon’s roar. “More and more,” he said, almost in your ear. “I’m starting to believe it.”

A shudder slipped down your spine. 

With a quick breath, you stepped back. You cleared your throat and said, fighting the tremble that threatened to slip into your voice, “You should.” 

Leander rolled his shoulders, the bones cracking, before his winsome grin returned, if a bit more subdued. “We’ll see. So,” he gestured to the bed, “how do you want me?”

You walked around the bed, grabbing the headboard and the frame to test the give of the wood. Luckily, the headboard seemed to have been nailed to the wall. Likely to prevent thieves from stealing such high quality pieces. There was even a decorative window of wooden spokes embedded across the length of it. “We can improvise with these.” You grabbed one and tugged hard, but luckily the wood held fast.

Leander’s lips pressed together as though fighting the urge to say something.

“Or not - think they’ll break?”

“Oh, no, they’ll be fine. They were,” he paused, his cheek hollowing, “practically made for that purpose.”

For tying rope ? You pondered that for a second before setting that aside to consider later. Perhaps weavers used the spokes to create custom throws and bed sheets.

Leander sat on the end of the bed before laying down and sliding over, his head nestled on the feather pillows. His arms stretched out to the corners of the bed, his muscles shifting beneath the shadow of his shirt. He somehow seemed even broader spread across the bed like this, the thick duvet holding him snug. 

“How’s this?” He reached back and hooked his fingers through the spokes, tugging until his back lifted an inch from the bed, the muscles of his arms and abs flexing, straining. 

Your heart was beating strangely fast as you considered him. Must be nerves.

“Hmm. It’d be a more effective hold if your arms were tied together. Less flexibility or leverage to maneuver.” 

“Like this?” He lifted his arms above the crown of his head, his elbows loose by his ears. 

“Yes. Same with your legs.”

As he shuffled into place, you picked up the bundle of silk from the bed and rubbed the fabric. There’s more to the texture than the silk you’d felt in the past - the old but well-cared for square that your teacher had spread on the altar - a sort of roughness that sparked beneath your fingertips. The strengthening charm, you’d bet.

You tied first his legs before moving up to his arms, Leander docile beneath you. As you leaned over his face, working the silk around his wrists and spokes into a double-looped mooring knot you’d learned from fishermen in your childhood, he shifted slightly. You glanced down. 

He was watching you from below, his chin tipped back. His dark hair had fallen back onto the sheets, exposing his face to the warm glow of the feylights, their flickering embers dancing in the corner of his eyes. His lips were parted, his skin flushed once more.

You froze, realizing your position. “Sorry, almost finished.”

“Take your time,” he replied, sounding a little breathless. 

You glanced down again with concern, looking at his chest. Could the position be restricting his ability to breathe? The shirt had seemed flexible, if rather tight. You’d better pick up the pace.

With a tug, you secured his arms and sat back to give him space. “How does that feel? Too tight? Not tight enough?”

Leander licked his lips and peered up at you from heavy-lidded eyes, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Just right.”

You stared back, bemused by his attitude. “You’re being awfully gracious about all this. Most people would balk at the idea of a stranger with a dangerous curse tying them to a bed.”

“I’m not most people,” he said, “and it’s not the first time I’ve been tied up by a beautiful stranger.” Leander rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck while you attempted to digest that statement before he continued. “Well, I’m ready for you. Shall we?”

You hesitated. “...are you sure?”

“That I want your hands on me?” He grinned. “Never been more sure of anything.”

“This isn’t a joke, Leander.”

He released a long, heavy sigh before shifting his hip to nudge your thigh. “All of this,” he began, gesturing to his tied up body with a flutter of his fingers, “is for your sake, not mine. Well, maybe a little for mine, but not how you’d think,” he conceded with a quick grin but held your gaze.“Listen to me. I’m confident in my abilities. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

A film of luminescent magic swept over his body, as thin and glossy as a spider’s web. He tilted his head to the side, his cheek brushing his arm.

“So,” he continued, his voice dropping deep and soft. “Touch me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, anxious, racing. His eyes were as calm and bright as the surface of a pond, without a trace of fear. 

With a sinking feeling, you looked down. If you ignored the bandages, your hands could almost look normal. The size. The shape of them. You hadn’t been born with tentacles or massive talons or nails as sharp as knives. Maybe that would have been easier. 

What made them grotesque far transcended their appearance.

With trembling fingers, you pulled the end from the bandage around your wrist and began unwinding. Each new layer revealed more of the skin beneath, dark and stormy like a bruise, threaded with strange cracks of hardened gold, until you’d dropped the last of the bandages from your black fingernails. 

You flexed your fingers idly, dread sitting like a stone in the pit of your stomach. When you glanced over, Leander was watching eagerly.

“Interesting…” Then, with another warm smile, he gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the golden pin on the front of his shirt. “We match.”

You huffed before swallowing around the weight in your throat. “Where should I…” you trailed off, avoiding his gaze. 

He hummed thoughtfully, sounding far more at ease than he should be. “Since I can’t hold your hand properly like this, how about my arm?” 

You paused, wondering if you should do this on your feet for a faster escape, but in the end you simply twisted your hips until your leg pressed against the side of the bed. 

Leander laid perfectly still and relaxed, as though he were out on the grass tracing shapes from clouds on a summer afternoon, rather than subjecting himself to potential insanity. The arm closest to you eased further into the bed as he settled in. His right one, where the edges of that scar reached around to the more tender flesh of his inner arm. 

You checked his eyes again, searching for any hint - however tiny or hidden or cowed - of fear, concern, anything. He only smiled back. 

You took a long, steadying breath, your heart in your throat. Then you reached out with a shaking hand until a point just beside his elbow. Retreating for a moment’s panicked indecision, you repositioned closer to the middle of his forearm. 

You stared at your own fingertips, enduring that familiar loathing and fear down to your marrow. Please. Please, don’t hurt him . You prayed whatever powers that Leander believed in were steadfast and watching.

Then, you let your fingertips drop to his skin for a single moment, before immediately yanking them back to your chest.

His body twitched, the bed creaking at the sudden movement. That luminescent web of magic flared, rippling across his skin for a brief, bright wave, before vanishing. His eyes were closed, his face blank.

“...Leander?” Pulse pounding, barely daring to breathe, you waited.

Then as his mouth slowly twisted into a smile, one eye peaked open. “Is that all?”

You watched with bated breath, still on the edge, still waiting. 

Leander tossed his hair back from his face and stretched his arm out toward you, encouragingly. “Come on, you’ve got me all wrapped up like this - it’d be a shame if you stopped there.” His voice lowered, rich and sweet as honey: “Keep going.”

Inch by inch, your shoulders began to sink. The tension in your body ebbing away with every word - every confusing, vaguely ridiculous word. You suddenly felt your body again, as though you’d been adrift as a spirit before getting sucked back into your mortal flesh: the sweat sticking to your back, the ringing fading from your ears, your heart beating against your ribs.

Your lungs pinched, forcing you to suck in a quick breath, and the relief seemed to burst over you. 

“Leander, you’re - “

“Just fine.” His eyes softened, more of that genuine warmth seeping through the cracks of his charismatic facade. “That’s one hell of a curse. Nothing I can’t handle, though.” Leander gestured once more with his chin. “C’mon. Try again?”

Inexplicably but hopelessly tempted, you reached for him again, still wary, your eyes darting from your hand to his face. You let your hand fall until your whole palm was pressed against him, skin to skin, checking his expression all the while.

He’s flushed around the cheeks and collar, but there’s warmth and humor and life in his face. 

You could hardly believe it, but it’s there. 

You smoothed your hand up his arm carefully, in awe at the feeling of his body heat against your bare skin. Fingertips pressing in here and there, tracing the curvature of muscle and bone, your thumb lingering on the pulse just beneath his glove, his heart thumping beneath your touch.

You’d touched people before - even been intimate and embraced others - but always through the veil of the bandages. You’ve spent the past few years on the cusp of giving up all hope that you could ever have this. 

Now, at the threshold of your final desperate chance, the very day after you’d made your peace with death as you laid bleeding out in a swamp, at the claws of a vicious monster - you’ve found it.

You traced your hand back down his arm, following along the path of a vein, your other hand gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles strained white. The feeling was unlike anything you’d ever known.

Leander’s hushed voice broke through the dream-like trance you’d fallen into. “Am I the first person you’ve been able to touch like this?” 

Caught between embarrassment and abject longing, you admitted, “So far.” Idly, your fingers continued to delicately trace his scars, the raised edges contrasting vividly against his smooth skin.

His lips parted, the look in his eyes inscrutable, before he said, his voice slightly rough, “Anything you want.”

You froze.“What?” 

“Touch anything you want,” Leander said again, his cheek nestled against his arm. “I’m all yours.”

Your hand stilled as the bold, frankly outlandish offer sunk in. 

For having only known you for a few hours at best, Leander was proving to be very generous with his time, his skills, his magic, and - apparently his body too. You’re even a little concerned at the prospect - as he himself had said about the Senobium, things that seemed too good to be true usually were. But was the truth here that Leander was creating a trap, or that he was by nature generous to the point of endangering himself?

Still. You licked dry lips as you fought with yourself. No one had ever offered a second touch before. No one else had survived the first.

Feeling your morals losing the battle against utter temptation, you asked, “... you wouldn’t mind?” You knew you shouldn’t - truly he’d been generous enough, you shouldn’t take any more than that. But you wanted to, more than a little desperately.

“Not a wick.”

Treading with caution, you braced one knee on the bed and rose over him. You reached forward until both hands stopped, poised above his wrists. Being able to touch another person with one hand - that had been barely more than a dream. Both seemed like utter fantasy. With a small breath for fortitude, you gingerly laid both hands on his skin.

A breathless laugh escaped you as you stroked gently down, the sensation electric for all it was a barely-there touch. Once you’d reached just above his armpit, you trailed them back up again, this time with the lightest scratch of your nails.

Goosebumps chased your fingers up his arms. Leander seemed to shudder under you.

His eyes narrowed on your face for a long moment before he clenched them shut. “You’re really not doing this on purpose, are you,” he said, the words more like a pained truth than a true question.

You frowned, unsure what he meant. You started to pull away, but the moment your hands left him, his head whipped up.

“Wait, that’s not - Ignore me.” When still you hesitated, Leander attempted to shuffled closer, his back lifting from the bed as though intending to close the distance himself. The bedframe creaked ominously, something wood letting out a hissing wheeze. “Keep touching! Do with me as you will. Don’t stop on my account, please.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t move so much - your wrists - “ When you glanced up, his hands were turning purple from the tight pull of the silk rope. 

Without thinking, you leaned forward and tried to unravel the knot as quickly as possible amidst the shaking of the bed, only for Leander to grow suddenly still underneath you. You paused in your struggle to unravel the mooring knot and looked down.

His face was just inches from yours. You froze, staring into his shocked green eyes, the thick fan of his lashes, his flushed skin and full, parted lips. He held your gaze for a moment before glancing down at your mouth, then back, and something about the way he looked at you snapped a curl of fire through you, like a lit match sparking on a line of gunpowder.

Purely on instinct, you grabbed the headboard and pushed yourself back, almost tumbling off the bed in your haste. “Sorry, sorry,” you hastened to apologize, burning from head to toe. “That was - an accident.”

On the bed, Leander was silent for a moment, still angled toward the ceiling. Then he sighed. “...I know.”

You turned away to hide your face, working furiously to get yourself under control. You couldn’t believe how thoughtless you’d just been. Here Leander was, sacrificing his time and safety and comfort to help you, and you just - smothered him in the process? And to almost - 

The sight of his lush, parted mouth flashed through your mind.

Immediately you began silently reciting the Register of Alchemical Ingredients , fighting for distraction. By the time you’d reached spirit of nitre, your once teacher’s voice echoing in your head, you turned around and cleared your throat.

“I apologize again if I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

Leander’s brows rose, but he shook his head. “Not at all. Well - “ He glanced down his body before avoiding your gaze. “No harm, no foul. Want to continue?” He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling, but soon frowned when you shook your head.

“It’s probably for the best that we stop here.” Clearly, you’d need to prepare for the next opportunity. If there was one, either with Leander or someone else. You felt dizzy with this new opportunity, this freedom you’d been searching for all your life. Even so, you couldn’t lose all sense of respect like that. 

You untied him, from the side of the bed and well out of his personal space. As Leander slowly sat up and rubbed his wrists, the skin now bright red and raw, you felt a pinch of irony well bittersweet in your chest. You took a seat next to him and pulled a small vial of salve out of your pocket. He’d already begun tugging his gloves off and offering his hands at the sight, an eager smile on his face.

It’s enough to make you genuinely fond of him already.

“It’s funny. We restrained you in case you lost control, and then I…well,” you trailed off, delicately holding his wrist and smoothing the salve across the angry marks. To have bruises this dark, even with silk…. “I should have been more considerate of you.”

“I disagree. If anything,” he said in a low voice, just above a whisper, “you could’ve been greedier.” 

For what felt like the thousandth time that afternoon, you glanced at his mouth again, your blood heating at the sight of that whiskey sweet smile spreading across his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Still could be, if you want,” he continued, leaning in, his shoulder bumping into yours. The swing of his earring caught the glint of the feylamps, the light flickering down the length of the sword.

You got to your feet and tucked the salve back into your pocket, along with your other meager belongings. “I couldn’t impose.” He looked a second from arguing the point, until you met his gaze solemnly over your shoulder. “Thank you, Leander. I can’t express how much this meant to me.” 

Then, you smiled. 

It was undoubtedly an awkward, cracking thing - you couldn’t remember the last time you’d attempted more than a half-smile or a short laugh. This one seemed to fill your cheeks up.

You had a moment to witness Leander’s jaw drop, before you hurriedly turned and began gathering your things. It’d be rude to overstay your welcome, after all. 

Your eagerness to get back out into the city had nothing at all to do with the way his mouth kept popping up in your mind or the way your hands ached with the desire to touch him again.

________________________

“How about you, sparrow? I did say I’d buy you a drink earlier.” 

“No, no, no, my treat. ”

“If anything, I should treat you, Leander.”

“Oh? ” 

“As an apology for the rope burns.”

“..."

“...”

“...”

“It’s, uh. Both exactly what you’re thinking and not.” 

_________________________

a/n: thank you for reading!

[elvisabutler]

come and trim my christmas tree

summary: it's christmas time at graceland and mrs. claus deserves a reward in front of the fireplace after being such a gracious hostess while santa was busy. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy variation ) x female reader word count: 1739 warnings: elvis as santa. reader as mrs. claus. pregnant sex. talk about elvis's health. basically the reader kind of taking the place of ginger alden if you're curious the time frame my mind went to. fingering. p in v sex ( unprotected ). public ish sex ( they're at home, but there is a possibility of someone catching them ). sex in front of a fireplace. author’s note: merry christmas to those who celebrate and happy holidays to those who don't and happy sunday to those who neither of those apply to. also happy hanukkah. anyway! so. this was originally supposed to be a tame piece but then some people ( @aconflagrationofmyown, @butlersxbirdy, and @ab4eva, cough cough ) were like tame elvis, that's silly, write him railing the reader. so. i did. i am however still finishing up the tame piece that should be up soon-ish, possibly tomorrow morning that has the same beginning as this only to be far more family friendly. so thankful to anyone who reads this and enjoys! you know the drill, imagine austin or real elvis, i'm not picky because i know who i imagined. also if you want a tag for my later fics, or any of my fics in general just give me a heads up, i'm actually gonna try and start using one.

Christmastime at Graceland is always a bit of a packed house and one that is a- in your own opinion, bit of organized chaos. Between Priscilla bringing Lisa Marie, between every member of the Memphis Mafia- former and current- bringing their basic families and Elvis's own family it was a bit much to handle. Not for the first time you are so deliriously thankful for your fiance still having a relatively cordial at least nowadays relationship with Priscilla. You're pretty sure you would have been lost for the first two Christmases you had hosted and even for this one had you not had her to fall back on.

You're able to handle it though, flitting through rooms like a hummingbird, the swell of your stomach rounding out the red dress lined with white fur causing you to bump once or twice into the children running around and twice into Santa himself, causing him to run his hand across it, murmuring apologies to you and to your little one who gives him an answering kick that has him grinning even more than he already was under his fake beard. Your pregnancy, while giving you more energy than you thought was possible, sometimes also drains you more than you'd like during social engagements. Elvis warns all the adults ahead of time, tells them that things might be cut short if you're looking like you need to relax. You manage to make it a respectable three hours, even if by the end you find yourself sitting on one of the couches, rubbing at your belly enough that despite you moving to stand up shakily in your heels he's showing everyone out in record time.

Lisa and Priscilla are sound asleep upstairs as you find yourself curled up under a blanket on the rug in front of the fireplace with Elvis behind you supporting your back. One of his hands is rubbing small circles against your skin, watching as your child occasionally reacts with a kick that has him huffing a laugh against your neck and has you rolling your eyes. This is all you've really wanted today, for honestly the entire week as preparation for this soiree truly went into overdrive. Elvis might be taking a break from touring and from everything else to focus on his health a little and to focus on you and the child growing in you but he's a bit of a workhorse who doesn't know proper sleeping hours even on his best behavior. You're used to it and it makes times like this, makes these simple moments special. 

The thing about the two of you not having much time for each other this week is now that you do, Elvis can't help the way he had asked if you could keep his cock warm. "Don't gotta do anythin', just wanna feel ya 'round me like a vice grip." He had said, shifting a little as he did. He was soft, but it didn't matter, you had his cock in you like this before and for right now it’s less about having sex and more about being near each other, being close in a way that you haven’t been able to enjoy lately. 

The two of you would normally be talking to each other, normally just enjoying each other’s company but there’s something to be said about how blissful the silence feels after the chaos of the day. Elvis and you decide it’s not the worst idea to just enjoy the silence and read your respective books. Elvis is something spiritual that you find a bit dense and yours is just a classic novel, one you’ve read a million times but it still delights you every time you do. The only noise that breaks the silence is Elvis’s or your occasional hums and his body shifts under you, his thighs tightening just a bit as he does every so often. You think you’ll be fine, that you’re so tired after today that there’s no worry about either one of you becoming aroused but the more you hear Elvis’s hums and feel his cock slowly starting to harden the more you can’t ignore the slowly growing ache between your legs. The more you can’t ignore how you feel your arousal pooling in between your legs, how it’s likely starting to cover your fiance's cock as you inadvertently clench around it. You try to resist the urge to react to what’s happening but you find that the tiredness you feel lends itself well to you falling prey to your own base desires.

"Daddy." You whine, grinding your ass back against him. His cock is already in you but he isn't moving and it isn't as hard as you'd like. Normally you're not like this, not nearly as needy, something about how for some reason your hormones haven't affected you the way he swears other women are. You've still got several months left but this is the most aroused you've been in a while. 

A hand moves to grasp at your hip while the other moves between your legs, that hand moving to cup your mound, a finger moving to brush against your clit in a way that has you hissing softly. 

"Christ, Mama, all that just from keeping jolly ole Saint Elvis warm?" He pulls his hand up and moves to taste the juices you've left on his finger. "Tastes like you need me pretty bad. Tastes like my Missus needs her present early from lil Elvis."

A short keen escapes your lips as you nod quickly, embarrassingly eager for him to move, for you to get more than just warming his cock. You need it, you want it, your cunt clenches around him, trying to be greedy and already get more of him despite his now fully hard cock already being in you. 

“Goddamn.” He whispers against your neck, kissing at it and moving the hand that had already been playing with your clit back to its rightful place, sliding in so easily to rub a tight pattern against it, pressing just so in a way that had you biting your lips to try and avoid making noise. “Should have waited ‘till we got to the room, make it so you could make all those pretty little noises for me. You gonna be able to stay quiet, Mrs. Claus?”

Focusing on words long enough to answer is a feat as you rock against him, meeting his small thrusts into you with as much fervor as you can which isn’t much all things considered but truthfully tonight wasn’t about how quick or how hard the two of you could have sex, no it was just about being together as one entity. “I’ll stay quiet, Elvis. Might be the night of Christmas, but not a creature should be stirring.”

He huffs out a laugh against your neck, nipping at it softly as he thrusts particularly hard and deep into you. “Not even an us?”

Your own laugh comes out a little stilted as you feel his fingers rub in time with that thrust, the sensation causing your toes to curl just a bit. “Only an us. God, Elvis, right-” You grind a little harder in his lap, chasing after the feeling of the thrust he just did. “Right there, just keep touching right there.” 

His answering hum is punctuated with another thrust, this time angled a little more to the front, using his hand that still hasn’t left your hip to move you back just a hair. That same hand moves to your breasts, cupping one of them in his hand as his thumb plays with your nipple. He can feel you fluttering, feel that you’re starting to reach the edge. Your whole body always tightens in a certain way when you’re almost there, and he can feel it, can feel how you want to let go. Your breath quickens as your chest starts to heave a little under his ministrations. His movements quicken as he thrusts up into you, body trying to give you exactly what you need. 

Normally you can warn him, tell him you’re about to cum but right now your eyes are shut as your body focuses on the roughness of the calluses of his fingers on your nipple and on your clit. Everything narrows in on you and Elvis and the fireplace. The warmth of your love and of the heat of the blanket and of the fire coming together to have you clenching around him, cumming with a choked off moan as you feel him following suit for once cumming just a bit after you, the warmth of his cum adding to the overwhelming feeling of toastiness you feel.

It takes longer than either of you would like to admit to catch your breath, you because of the baby and him because he wasn’t necessarily prepared to be fucking you like that. When you do though, you slip out of him, both of you whining just a little before looking at each other and grinning. You turn to face him, noting how both of your robes are in a state of disarray and if his face is anything to go by you both look fucked out and exhausted, sweat sticking to both of you. As if he reads your mind, Elvis moves to get up, grunting a bit with the effort and making a face at how his body makes some cracking noise somewhere before holding out his hand to pull you up. Once you’re up, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and starts to lead you out of the room, the blanket forgotten but far far away from the fire that’s starting to burn itself out. He places a kiss to your temple as he walks with you up the stairs.”We’re gonna be married by next Christmas, gonna have this baby bouncin’ around everywhere and gonna have you be my wife, Mama. Promise, second you wanna have that wedding, I’ll be right there.”

A smile crosses your lips as you nuzzle into his chest. “Careful and I’ll ask for a courthouse wedding when they’re open next.” 

He just laughs softly pulling you even tighter against him. “I’ll get to callin’ tomorrow mornin’ and makin’ the arrangements. After we sleep.”

There’s a retort on your lips that you swallow in favor of nodding. “After we sleep.”

He wasn’t kidding about calling that next morning.

[rennsdeaddoves]

sneek peek at the fic for theweirdhybrids wukongverse

@theweirdhybrid has given me permission to write a fic for their wonderful au where five different Wukong's end up in lmk. here is a sneak peek of said fic!! (hope you like it btw hybrid)

When Wukong awoke the next morning surrounded by many of his little monkeys in a cuddle pile he almost missed the sensations, opting instead to try and catch some more sleep before Mk would come and they would talk a lot of things out. However, in those moments when the sleep he was enjoying so much evaded him that the sensation of power really hit him causing his eyes to shoot open. Panicked he went straight for the relic room where the source of so much power was coming from. 

For a moment Wukong thought it was the relic, that it had somehow activated and now the inhabitants of the mountain would be in trouble. But when the monkey king actually saw what was causing such a spike his train of thought stopped completely, body frozen in place, and mouth agape with something akin to shock and horror painted on his face. Honestly, Wukong had to slap himself just to see if he was still dreaming because on the floor of his relic room were nine figures, five of which were monkeys… 

The first one his eyes scanned over was small, 4’ if that, brown fur covered him, and instantly he noticed that the same clothing that he was given by Guianyin and his master at the beginning of his journey were on him, the yellow tunic, blue tippet, tiger skin wrap that was around his waist, blue pants, and worst of all the fillet around his head. Seeing that thing practically made him sick to his stomach. 

The second was just as short, fur a much lighter almost yellowish colour, he seemed to have on a more armour-oriented garb with the phoenix plums on his head, red-yellow shoulder and thigh guards, an orange tunic, brown pangs, black boots and a green tippet. His appearance greatly reminded him of when he had just received his new wardrobe from the dragon kings after getting his staff. 

The third was tall, like really tall, his fur was a dark reddish-brown and he also wore journey clothing but much fancier, he had on a red kuapao that ended just before his knees it had gold trim and jade green shoulder embroidery, keeping the kuapao closed was the tiger skin wrap and a piece of black fabric tied as a sort of guodu belt, he had a black tunic, black pants and red wrappings around his shins as well as a fillet of his own. Again it made him sick, the memories trying to claw their way up from the depths of his head. 

The fourth one looked Lanky, with long arms, shortish legs, and red fur, honestly his proportions kinda through wukong for a loop. His clothing was ragged at best with a yellow tunic untucked and ripped at the bottom and sleeves, a grey sash keeping it shut, light blue pants, and leather shin guards. The chains around his wrists didn’t escape Wukongs eyes or the bags under his eyes. 

The fifth and final one looked the wildest out of them all, he was likely as tall as the third if not taller, with wild white fur on his head which kinda reminded wukong of a main, and the rest of the fur on his body was a light brown. Though it was kinda hard to see under his hot pink fitted suit, brown dress shoes, bangles, chains, and mask. Honestly, Wukong was kinda doubting this one was even a monkey until he sturred slightly (scaring the shit out of him) and his mask fell from his face revealing it slightly. 

Looking the five over both with and without the golden eyes Wukong was faced with an impossible situation… they were all him. Well definitely different versions of him if it wasn’t apartment by clothing (why would any version of him wear pink??), fur colour, and size. Trying not to have a crisis he turned his attention to the other four bodies in the room. 

One was definitely Liuer Minhuo, from the silver-white fur to the bloody SIX EARS! It was plain as day to see that this one was Mac. it unnerved him slightly, made his heart race and mind cloud with guilt some but he shoved those feelings off as he examined the child next to the lanky him. 

Instantly he could see that the kid was mortal and not that old so he made sure to check for injuries without waking the boy and when he made sure that he had none then Wukong allowed himself to take in his appearance. He had a shaved head, dull, dirty clothing, and seemed to be grasping for lanky him… Wukong moved him closer and watched as the kid curled into the lanky him sighing comfortably and the monkey visibly relaxed as soon as the child felt on him. 

Knowing the boy was taken care of Wukong turned to the young man in red. He could distinctly feel the presence of Nezha on him, he had spiky black hair, a dark red leather jacket, black jeans, brown shin-high boots, and he could even make out the sky ribbon around his arm underneath the jacket sleeve. Clearly, this was a version of Nezha from another world who came with a version of him. That would be interesting… 

Finally, there was the-

“Monkey!!” 

“HOLY FUC-” 

Appearing right in front of his face was the last one, it seemed to be some kind of spirit with immense power. It took the form of what almost seemed to be a peach (yes like the fruit) kinda humanoid being. It had a leaf cape and was actually really cute with its high-pitched voice and wide brown eyes.

Raising his hands he let the little one land on them, “you gave me a real good scare there!” that caused them to laugh at him, once they were calmed down again Wukong asked them; “what's your name?” 

Surprisingly they gave him an answer, “Fruity!” 

(this is a part of chapter one! please feel free to comment and interact! )

[corvus--coraxx]

ＱＵＯＴＨ ＴＨＥ ＲＡＶＥＮ． ． ．

❛❛ Oh dear... Aren't you in a rather pitiful state ? ❜❜ Springtime had brought with it a slew of showers, and London had been plagued with a spell of nasty weather as of late due to the changing of the seasons. Much of the Phantomhive grounds had become a miniature lake, and what solid earth remained was little more than a viscous mud that Sebastian had to continually chastise the staff for trekking inside of the Manor. Today had been the first time all week where the sun had enough strength to peek from behind overcast clouds, leaving the weather decent enough to resume outside chores, be it trimming back the overgrown lawn or hanging up laundry. The butler had been in the midst of the latter when he felt eyes on his back. Intruders and those curious enough to come wandering onto the grounds were often told, politely, to return once they had set up a meeting with his young master... But not all guests were unwelcome ones.  Nevermind that the bending of his knees had the tailcoats of his uniform resting against the damp ground, or that the position he had now put himself into was unbecoming for a butler: hand outstretched towards the shrubbery behind him with his eyebrows pulled together at the inner corners in an expression of desire, tongue clicking gently against the roof of his mouth in a noise meant to be enticing. There was even a slight wiggle to his digits. ❛❛ Come now, I promise not to hurt you, dear one. Surely the wet leaves are uncomfortable ? ❜❜ A butler was to never set tasks aside for something as small as...

Ah, how precious ! How gorgeous and round those amber eyes were, how pink that nose and long those whiskers ! Even with fur matted from mud and the recent rains, the feline that poked its head from the shrubbery was utterly sublime. A common breed, likely a domestic short haired cat with a tabby coat. It could have been seen as uninteresting to the majority of humans, but oh... oh how the butler adored them. They were often shooed away from the Manor due to his young master's allergy, but perhaps this meeting could be kept a secret. After all, he had been stuck inside with the rest of the staff during this dreadful stretch of weather... Did he not deserve a reward for his patience? His efforts were not fruitless, as the feline eased itself from its hiding spot and stretched its long body in a motion that was meant to come off as nonchalant -- but the eager way it rushed forward to his offered hand said otherwise. A breathless exhale of delight left the butler's lungs, muted crimson eyes wide with his joy. Its wet fur and unkempt state would soil his gloves and uniform but it was the price he was willing to pay, and he would pay it tenfold if the cat continued to purr the way that it did.  ❛❛ Ah, like star-crossed lovers meeting in secret, ❜❜ the merow ! the creature made as it was easily scooped up warmed his insides, ❛❛ just this once, dear one. Our union can last only a moment before I will be forced to shoo you away, so grant me a second of indulgence. ❜❜ Sighing once more, the butler pressed his lips to the feline's cheek before placing her back on the ground. It wove between his legs and stared up at him with another vocalization, tiny paws resting against the polished material of his shoes. She was hungry, no doubt, and while he would have loved to sneak her something from the kitchen, there was still much to do.  ❛❛ Later, ❜❜ Sebastian promised on a whisper, ❛❛ I will find you again after evening has settled over the land. Go now, and move cautiously to avoid our heavy handed gardener. ❜❜ With that, a gentle pat was given to the cat's rump to send her on her way.  The rest of the afternoon would go pleasantly now that he had something to look forward to.

[interstellarr-void]

Day 1 of @mogai-headcanons event! Prompt was lesbian | veldian/gay man | gay. (I hope its ok I joined late oops). The first flag is a recolor of the 2017 Gilbert Baker flag by arokill and I just eyeballed a slightly desaturated version of the lesbian and veldian flag bc I looks better to me.

Gay Marcus from Daybreak on Webtoon | Gay Cog from Daybreak

Lesbian Amy Rose | Gay man/Veldian Commander Peepers from WOY

[ID: four square pride icons. The first one is Marcus from Daybreak, from the chest up, blushing shyly with an edited version of the 2017 Gilbert Baker pride flag behind him. Marcus is a human with brown skin and pointed ears. His hair is made up of medium-sized reddish chestnut locs. Marcus' eyes are also a deep brown and both of his eyebrows have slits in them. He’s wearing a teal bandanna with a confetti pattern across his hair, silver ring earrings and a white and yellow collared shirt. The flag is a nine horizontal striped rainbow flag, with lavender and pink stripes at the top, and a cyan stripe between the green and blue. The colors are deepened, but still rich and vibrant. The outline outside Marcus has the same colors from the flag but turned upside down.

The second is Cog from Daybreak, from the chest up, looking slightly surprised with an edited version of the 2017 Gilbert Baker pride flag behind him. Cog is a human with brown skin and eyes. Their hair is a short black afro. He’s wearing a teal bandanna with a confetti pattern across their forehead and a white sleeveless hoodie. The flag and outline is the same as the first one.

The third is Amy Rose from Sonic, from the thigh up, smiling and forming a heart with her hands with a slightly desaturated lesbian flag behind her. Amy is a pink-furred anthropomorphic hedgehog with light green eyes and peach skin covering her muzzle, inner ears, and arms. Her hair is made up of five short head quills that point downwards, somewhat resembling a bob cut. She also has three spikes for bangs on her head. She wears a red sleeveless and backless dress with a white trim on the bottom, a red hairband, and white wrist-length gloves with gold bracelets for cuffs. The flag has five horizontal stripes, the colors are dark orange, light orange, white, muted pink and dark pink. The outline outside Amy has the same colors from the flag but turned upside down.

The fourth is Commander Peepers from Wander over Yonder pointing his right hand upwards confidently with a slightly desaturated gay man/veldian flag behind him. He’s a small vaguely humanoid creature with an eyeball, with a red iris, in place of a head, a short body and bean shaped feet. He’s wearing a black bodysuit with a red lightning bolt symbol on his chest, red shoes and wrist sized gloves and a black helmet with a yellow lightning bolt in the middle pointing up vertically. The flag has five horizontal stripes, the colors are dark blue green, light blue green, white, light blue and dark blue purple. The outline outside Peepers has the same colors from the flag but turned upside down. End id.]

[zukos-tiny-burnt-ear]

Here we are! My version of the older gaang!

I'm gonna detail some of my thought processes below the cut

(Original for reference)

So for Aang, I had several gripes about his older version. The first and biggest one was that he looked wayyy to angular, so I softened up his feautures. Additionally, he's supposed to be about 23 in that drawing, and I mean, I thought he looked much much older than that (being 22 I think I have a little insight), so I tried to keep him a little uounger looking as well. Next problem was his clothes. To be perfectly fair I hated just about everything about them lol. Weird long-sleeve shirt under a vest/cape under a sash? It looked. Silly. I opted to keep his clothing similar to his Book 3 outfit, as I really liked it, and added his prayer beads(?), as well as a betrothal necklace! I feel by this point he and Katara would likely be married, and I liked the idea of Katara carving a necklace for Aang

For Katara, at first glance I didn't dislike her design, but then I looked at it closer. The short-sleeved shirt with the fur, implying that its made of quite a heavy and thick fabric sounds like a sensory nightmare. She appears to be wearing a shirt underneath, but the sleeves are clearly no longer than the topshirt, which seems. Weird and unnecessary. Skirt was okay, just a little boring, and she also is wearing pants underneath? So what I did was keep the general vibe, but made the top robe longer, and keep the bottom layer as just pants, trying to be more reminiscent of her old outfits. Gave the belt a little more ✨️pizazz✨️, and also gave her back her water pouch. I liked it, wanted her to have it. The last big change I did was I read up on Inuit tattoos, and decided to give her tattoos as well (Sokka was also originally going to get tattoos, but as it turns out the practice is almost done exclusively by woken and for women, so I decided against it)

Toph. I completely hated and have always hated the notion of her being a cop. It just. Doesn't really sit in line with her as a character imo. My other big gripe is they did nothing different to her hair! Anywho. So my biggest challenge was what would Toph actually do in the future? And I landed on pro-bending! I think she would have really enjoyed it, she'd get to Earthbend for a living (one of her favorite things), kick people's asses (another favorite thing), and make hella money (another favorite thing!) So I decided to put her in a pro-bending uniform, and try to imagine what early ones would look like (I figure she'd probably be one of the first pro-benders). Not much changed to be perfectly honest, aside from some coloring differences, more green trim denoting her as an Earthbender, rather than the neutral yellow/ reddish trim on the modern ones (also I realized only now that i covered her feet. Woops lol). I also chopped her hair short. I think she deserves it (eventually I'll get around to drawing a more up close version of her face/hair)

Zuko. Umm. His outfit baffles me. I cannot make any sense of it tbh. The shirt under the shoulder armor under the outer robe. The motorcycle-esque saddle bags. The skirt over the longer skirt. It all had to go lolol. I get that they were going for him being more like, adventure-ready/battle-ready, but he has a country to run! And is also trying to move away from the heavy militaristic/imperialistic image of said country. So I gave him a more relaxed, diplomatic looking outfit. Also. Where did his crown go? I put that back. He's the oldest of the groip, but still not quite 30. He's the only one that recieved any age lines, and it's just between his eyebrows (I imagine doing paperwork and sitting in meetings would make him furrow his brow a lot). Gave him the teeniest bit of facial hair, tbh I truly think the only one to grow reliable facial hair at this age range is Sokka lol

In my personal opinion, Sokka's original design is the best one. My least favorite part is probably the compression sleeve under the arm wraps, which seems redundant somehow. But overall not too bad! Still, I said I was gonna redesign them all, and I knew I could add a lil more sparkle to it. I wanted to take inspiration from Hakoda's outfits. Sokka really looks up to his dad, so I feel like modeling some of his clothing after him isn't a stretch at all. I also just personally believe that Sokka would wesr Uggs. So I've given him shoes similar to them lolol. Also gave him some facial hair starting to become similar to his dad's as well

[genderbinaryisforlosers]

everybody scream and clap for them or im blowing this whole website up

mine and @michaelburnnham's beloved OCs, Somnus and Lemnos, from our dnd campaign. they're a warped bodyguard/bodyguarded dynamic. they are a queerplatonic t4t couple but one of them isn't out and doesn't plan to be. they are codependent disasters. they are causing extreme concern to everybody around them. <3

their three big eras: pre-exile (Dell and Mavis), separation arc (nameless), and present day (Somnus and Lemnos).

after Mavis' life was put in danger by corrupt city officials, Dell faked his death and they fled Silverymoon. the strain of losing their identities caused them to have a fight a few months into exile, resulting in a three-month separation that sent Somnus spiraling into depression and paranoid delusion and Lemnos spiraling up into mania and psychosis. they reunited by chance when Somnus' paranoia-induced fugue state led him to stab Lemnos, with delusions of invincibility, through the chest. they have been inseparable ever since, and four years later still travel together weirding out strangers with their somewhat incomprehensible dynamic.

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ID (copied from alt text): Three side-by-side full body drawings of Somnus and Lemnos in different eras. The first, on the right, shows them pre-exile, as Sir Dell and Lord Mavis Fulmine. Dell is a tall, well-built young human with medium brown skin and long dark brown hair tied up in a bun. He has brown-black eyes and is clean shaven. He is wearing silver plate and chain mail, decorated with the Silverymoon unicorn. His cape is light blue with a silver trim at the hem, and he is wearing a silver shield on his back. He has his right hand resting on the ornate scabbard of his longsword. He has an open expression with a slight smile.

Mavis, standing slightly in front of him on the right, is a short, thin half-elf with light brown freckled skin and long black wavy hair, fastened up. His eyes are medium-brown, and his earlobes pierced. He is wearing an all white suit; a sheer button-up shirt with a floral lace pattern, showing his bra underneath, a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, slacks, and white dress shoes. He has his right hand (viewer's left) in his trouser pocket, and his other resting on his leg, showing a couple of rings. He has a French manicure on his nails and some delicate white eye makeup. He is smirking with one eyebrow raised.

The second image shows Somnus and Lemnos in their separation arc. They look dramatically different, are standing slightly further apart, and have contrasting backgrounds; Somnus stands backlit on a dark grey background, while Lemnos is surrounded by a bubbly multi-coloured backdrop. Where the two people meet, the dark grey background cuts into the rainbow bubbles with forks of lightning.

Somnus is wearing the same armour as he did as Dell, but with Silverymoon's unicorn sigil covered up and a darker, plain cape with equally plain scabbard. He is much thinner, his armour and face are covered in dirt and streaks of blood. His hair is loose and tangled, partially covering his face, and he has a short scruffy beard. His right hand (viewer's left) crackles with electricity, and he holds his bloody sword drawn in his left. There is a spark of light in his visible eye, and he scowls out at the viewer with his shoulders drawn up and head tilted down.

Lemnos' hair has been cut dramatically shorter to a messy bob, and he has numerous new piercings in his face and ears, as well as a huge snake tattoo that starts at his clavicle, curls up to his neck and down his arm, and then finishes with the tail at the base of his sternum. He is scantily dressed in a black bra, black leather shorts, spaghetti-strapped high-heeled shoes, and a long flowing red robe with fur trim, which shows off the stretch marks on his belly. He has various jewellery, notably a sun and moon pendant around his neck. He has messy black nail polish and tear-streaks of black makeup down his face. He is smiling, dreamily, looking off to the right, while his hands rest near his waist and hips.

In the third drawing, Somnus and Lemnos are back to the positions they started in, overlapping slightly more. Somnus' hair is cut shorter to a bob that has grown out slightly, hanging loose at his shoulders. He has well-kept stubble and tired lines under his eyes, with a neutral expression. He is only wearing the breastplate of the Knight in Silver armour, over a plain black doublet. He is wearing a dark blue-grey cloak, holding a wooden shield with dark steel spars in his right hand and his sword in his left, crossed over pointing towards his right foot. The sword is engraved with the word "SOMNUS" on the blade.

Lemnos' hair has grown out to reach about his collarbone, now worn loose. He has all the same piercings, including one in his septum, with more understated eyeliner and less visible jewellery. He is wearing a dark blue taffeta shirt with long ribbed sleeves, accessorised with a bolo-type tie that resembles a spine and thin gold chains that resemble ribs. He is wearing black leather pants and heeled leather boots. His nails are painted gold. A curve of the snake tattoo is poking up from the collar of his shirt. He is smiling.

The other three images are the same drawings separated out into individual files.