#him and lamb deserve each other

[dzvagabond]

Mr. Ryan's just pissy he doesn't have anyone to love his sorry ass, but the broke jester helping run his amusement park does >:3

<Jules (left) goes by any pronoun>

[spoopyandtired]

Listen to me. Buddy Dawn becoming a cleric of the goddess of Justice and Conviction as a kid who put the most trust in his faith, and in his friends- and lost both of them at the hands of the people he cared about the most. Buddy Dawn becoming a weapon against anyone who harms kids like himself, who are a little too naive for their own good. Buddy Dawn dealing with his own faith and learning what can happen outside of his upbringing. Buddy Dawn getting better and becoming the thing he needed the most- Buddy Dawn mirroring Kristen- because she’s who he needed, but who couldn’t be there for him when he needed it most.

[metranart]

pairing. arranged marriage clanhead! satoru x fem! reader

Summary. Since you were children, Gojo Satoru bothered you, pulled your hair and took your candy, he licked it and then gave it back to you- you HATED him… and now fifteen years later your Clans have decided that you should get married?! The only thing left for you is to run away, but how far can you go when the owner of the six eyes has them all on you?

tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, teaser, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, slight canon divergence, arranged marriage, satoru is a spoiled brat, breeding, breeding kink, praise kink, loss of virginity, Geto never left and is still Gojo's best friend, mentions of Naoya Zenin (most of these tags are for the full version)»

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Under the watchful eye of all the guests, you began your walk down the aisle in slow, almost lazy steps, as if you didn’t want to get there. Your every move watched, measured, and judged by the dozens of expectant faces surrounding you.

You could see Satoru’s back standing at the end of the aisle, wrapped in robes of the finest silk. Could glimpse his snow-white hair. He'd grow even taller than he already was, thick and broad. He was no longer a slender spike. Swallowing hard, you felt your fingertips tingle, your stomach knot, anticipation slowly consuming you, each step bringing you closer to sharing the same last name.

You won't lie, you were a little curious... Suguru Geto was, admittedly, painfully attractive, which made you wonder: what would Satoru be like? You remember him as being standard, nothing extraordinary, except for his eyes, which never failed to make you sigh, although didn't make him any less of a jerk-

A shaky breath dried your lips; the corridor you walked grew shorter with each fateful step.

All the great clans present for this event: Zenin, Kamo, Gojo, and yours. Dignified elders with upright postures whose eyes peered out with studied cordiality, but with strong hints of arrogance. Scrutinizing you like a sacrificial lamb. You still didn't understand why Satoru had specifically chosen you. You were sure he had many suitable women to choose from. The looks of the Gojo clan elders screamed that you hadn't been his first choice, nor his second, nor his tenth; you could see the deep resignation behind their prejudiced eyes. Making you wonder even more: Why you?

During these fifteen years of pleasant separation, you had heard about Satoru Gojo's exploits, always shirking his responsibilities and duties by participating in one mission or another, fighting dozens of curses, and always winning. He had become a teacher at Jujutsu High, and his life was the freewheeling allegory of a globetrotter with too much money. The rules of this world bent only to him. As always. You envied him, you envied his free will as much as you envied his audacity to always get his way.

Since you were children, it was always like this: he'd do something, and everyone would look the other way. Nothing he did deserved punishment. But when you did, they didn't hesitate to apply the full force of the law to you. Satoru always waiting outside the room where you were grounded or brazenly barging in to 'keep you company.' He never left you alone, and now he never will again.

Once you occupied the space allotted to you: at his side, your stubbornness prevented you from even looking at him; you simply stared straight ahead. Even when you felt his gaze boring into you, piercing you, a bright, impossibly blue flash, devouring every expression with avid eyes.

The ceremony began and you both sat down. You could handle this. You were strong. You just had to avoid him-

Your whole body froze. 

His knuckles had just brushed against your hand as if seeking closeness, trying to taste you before having you for the rest of his life. Satoru had always been impatient. First, his fingers explored, gently caressing your knuckles and tracing each finger with the pads before shamelessly intertwining his hand with yours. How brazen! It was the final straw; you had just the right glare to put him in his place-

Oh.

Oh.

A ragged breath caught in your lungs. You hadn't seen each other in fifteen years. The last time you saw him, he'd been an incorrigible teenager, but this man, this divine man looking at you with those stunning ice-blue eyes couldn't be the same, could it?

You prayed that your cheeks wouldn't give you away, that his keen hearing wouldn't distinguish the erratic beats of your racing heart, that your kidnapped hand wouldn't start sweating. God! Satoru Gojo had become unfairly handsome. If your life were a joke, this would be the punch line.

A subtle tension seeped between you, and a deliberate, involuntary smile lifted the corner of his lips in the ghost of a mischievous grin, a smile you knew by heart because it spread across his face whenever he knew he'd done something wrong and that you would pay for it. That's when you realized the boy who always got his way was still there.

"I know it's not ideal, (Y/N)-"

Suddenly, Satoru murmured in a deep, masculine voice, carefree and almost lighthearted, as if you weren't making one of the most important decisions of your lives. All spoke quietly enough for only you to hear. “But I assure you we'll have a fun marriage,” you had to restrain every muscle on your face, suppressing frustration beneath feigned indifference, “…like when we were young, remember?”

You snorted softly, and Satoru interpreted it as something positive. The corners of his lips lifted in an attempt at a victorious smile, but it was cut short when you glared at him with a look that could annihilate special-grade curses. The snow-white-haired sorcerer tilted his head slightly, and in a gesture, you couldn't decipher, he licked his lips before giving you a lascivious wink.

You were seething inside. The bastard was as handsome as he was shameless.

This man's audacity almost made you pounce on him, but your mother had spent too many years taming your explosive personality, years that weren't in vain, as they were now coming in handy.

The ceremony ended up being exactly what Satoru expected: long, tedious, and filled with unnecessary rituals, but he had to accept that there was one ritual he was more than eager to get to.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the monk spoke in a solemn voice, “you may kiss the bride.”

You both stood up, and Satoru leaned unbearably close. His minty breath caressed your upper lip, and his bright gaze locked on yours for a fleeting moment. You could have sworn you saw the hint of an apology, but you must have been hallucinating because when his lips met yours, you only tasted the selfish desire to mark you as his.

You didn't even blink, nothing, you just let his lips rest on yours like when you were children. He had stolen your first kiss—stolen was the right word because you never meant to give it to him. It was fleeting and impersonal, but just like that day, a bright smile was tattooed on his face after the mischievous theft that made your blood boil. That same smile was staring back at you now.

"You remembered my favorite flavor is cherry," he moaned excitedly, darting his tongue out to lick the remnants of your lipstick from his lips. You didn't remember, but your mother did.

All the guests began to move to the party, and you rolled your eyes, ready to leave too, but he stopped you by taking your hand, his grip soft and gentle, but firm as iron. You were itching to pull away, but your mother's hawk-like gaze was watching you. You knew she'd kill you if you disgraced him in public. So instead...

“I hate cherries.”

Satoru’s head cocked just a tad, inquisitively.

“You do?”

You were lying, he knew it. Your irritated gaze collided with Satoru's, who, already feeling far too comfortable with his new title of husband and wife, leaned down from his privileged height and pressed his forehead to yours.

"May I have another kiss, my dear wife?"

Your cheeks blasted in color, a tingling sensation running through your body at his blatant strategy to unnerve you.

"T-they're waiting for us," you could barely contain your stutter, separating your forehead from his. His long hands almost instantly wrapped around your forearms in a possessive embrace that indicated he wasn't ready to let go. "T-the leader of the G-Clan Gojo must be an example to follow, Satoru."

He tipped his head, piercing blue eyes studying you intently. “Say it again.”

“The head of-”

“No.” He corrected, “Say my name again.”

The uncertainty in your eyes drew a stifled chuckle from him.

“Fifteen years, (Y/N)." His voice held a note of desperation well hidden beneath playfulness, "...I'm already on the brink." His grip tightened slightly, making you stand on your tiptoes. "Can't you see I missed you?"

You could see it and it was a disturbing sight. Confusing to the core. Why was your heart beating so damn fast? Why was he continuing this charade? Why had he returned after fifteen years of pleasant absence? WHY?!

“… Why me, Satoru?!” 

You needed to know. He stared at you, unblinking. All smugness melting from his features. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

He seemed genuinely taken back by your question. You shook your head, and a slow grin spread across his lips.

“Because I want you.” He confessed so easily, "It's always been you-”

"-You're still a spoiled brat."

"I'm still spoiled, maybe," he admitted matter-of-factly, "but I’m not a brat, not anymore.” His gaze oozed seriousness. His hands loosened slightly around your arms, but he still didn't let go. "You were always quick to label me an idiot, no matter how much I apologized,” he'd undoubtedly spoken to Suguru earlier, “or how repentant I seemed-”

"Your apologies were never sincere."

His eyes narrowed, something sharp lurking behind the blue of his orbs.

"I was a boy who craved your attention."

Luckily, you swallowed your exclamation in time, but your eyes gave you away. It didn't even cross your mind. Was Satoru one of those clumsy boys who showed his affection with jokes and hair-pulling?

His humorless chuckle brought you out of your thoughts.

"Besides, your mother was going to marry you off to Naoya Zenin." 

This time you were speechless, clueless.

"He's known for being a misogynistic swine, so I guess you're welcome."

"Satoru-...I…"

His eyes lit up. Damn, he reaaaaaaally liked the way his name rolled down your tongue. 

"I think I finally have your attention, don't I, dear?"

You blatantly ignored his last comment, and he could have thrown a fucking tantrum then and there but instead summoned all the patience that he had and waited for you to recover, you were too shocked, too dismayed. Too many revelations in such a short time. 

After what felt like five minutes, Satoru pursed his lips and suddenly had a naughty idea.

“Come on, (Y/N). The sooner the party's over, the sooner the honeymoon can begin.”

You whipped your head at him so fast, he heard your neck crack, and slowly, very slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched in repressed amusement, and you suddenly realized he was teasing you.

“Brat.”

*READ THE COMPLETE 10,000 WORD COMMISSION IN MY PATREON (Includes heavy/possessive/husband-wife smut and NSFW artwork from scenes of the fic. Plus, lot of JJK NSFW content in general)

[joffyworld]

The Wall of Mutual Appreciation - Part I

@machetelettuce

You officially have the cutest Narinder boba eyes I've ever seen. They utterly confound me in the most captivating way. Perfect Nari Boba, 10/10! Not to even mention your lamb, that motherfucker is the cutest lil lamby ever made. So fluffy, so cuddly, so smiles. I need them in my life, thank you for making that possible.

@caffeinecramp

Sozo. Such an underrated and underutilized character is most au's but by God did you nail the design. He's so fluffy and neat, he looks so friendly and pure. But behind that fluffy exterior is the mad eyes of a scientist turned delusional zombie, and you portray it beautifully.

@halftoastedwaffle

Expressions! I'll admit I don't really know how to phrase this perfectly, but your expression work is flawless. Each face conveys such a beautiful range of emotions, even with characters that are super hard to use for facial expressions like Shamura. Such a powerful skill to have when telling a story through visual media, and you've got it down to an art form unto itself.

@thetireddoktor

Ugh Shamura. Shamura Shamura Shamura. Don't get me wrong Dok, your bishop designs are all absolutely stunning, I admire them constantly. But my God, you sure know how to draw that damn spider. I am deeply, deeply in love with that damn spider, and you've only made that feeling so much worse in the best way possible. You've got a real knack for drawing that evil bastard, I adore it.

@flowersgoldandgraphite

I love your Leshy to death and back. He's so smiley, so fluffy and so smug. Not to mention, he absolutely killed that dress you put him in. He looked beautiful, like he's always deserved to. The Leshy stan community thanks you dearly, your contributions will never be forgotten!

@z00lea

Undisputably the King of Cannibalism and Gore in the fandom. I don't know anyone that quite matches your crazy sense of detail when it comes to guts and violence, but somehow keeps it intimate and sensual at the same time.

@fanofthelambalt

I cannot overstate how much I adored when you went around with Vitas and interacted with so many other lambs. It was such a beautiful moment of community and made my heart so much warmer, I'll never forget those posts. So wholesome, so fun and so cute. It was perfect, and it reflects your kind and fun heart so well. Also your Helob drawing? Still the most beautiful piece of art I've seen of him, and it deserves the due credit. Such an under-drawn character, but man did you COOK with that. So so cool, so cool

@midia666

Horror! Few have mastered horror in all its subtleties quite the way you have. Your designs are dripping in horror and unease even before the gore and limbs begin to fly or dismantle, and it's such a treat to see. Not to mention, your Narinder and Shamura tear my fucking heart out. They're so tragic and pained, it's incredible really. You have a real knack for unnerving me in all the best ways, it's incredible to behold.

@wolsalwastaken

RATIL!!!!!!!!! RATILLLLLLLL!!!!!!! I fucking adore Ratil you don't understand, they're possibly my favourite main character OC and they're such an adorable lil fella. So so perfect in every way, I love the lil rat so much. Also when you put them in a dress I screamed, so bonus points for that! Your art style in general is just so fucking adorable and flexible to different tones, it's so good.

@yourtaquitos

Siliiness and seriousness, you always know the balance. You're so beautifully capable of shitposting one minute, then blowing my mind with a masterpiece the next. Your anatomy is delicious, your silliness is divine, and your art is deeply appreciated.

@lime202

Comfort. That's what I think of when I see your art. It's so perfectly comforting in every way. It's detailed, but simple, with beautiful intricacies threaded without being overwhelming. Your art reminds me of Spring and blooming flowers, it's so warming to the sight. Also your Leshy? So beautifully fluffy and cuddly, I will always love him.

@stitchesofsoulsart

There's so much love in every single post you make. It's so beautiful, the way you draw such wholesome loving fun and comfort the masses with your beautiful designs and creativity. You're equally capable of angst and drama, but goddamn the comforting fluff is what drags me in personally the most. That Nari design too? To die for. No other way to put it exists, it's peak Narinder alternate design. So fucking cool and pretty ugh.

@blueaceart

Okay this is super specific but the way you draw Shamura just intrigues me. The tired eyes and sunken sockets, like the weight of knowledge and the burdens of war have weighed upon them for eons. It's so beautifully harsh and real, and I never see anyone else take up the challenge of it in such a subtle way. So cool.

@shrimpsketchy

Pirates! I am utterly obsessed with your piracy au idea, it's so embedded in my brain and I genuinely screamed when I saw it. It's beautiful, such a unique concept I've not see anyone else attempt and WOW was the art that accompanied it just stunning on a whole other level. Genuinely art gallery tier art, I'm in awe at it every single time.

@jomo-is-here

Where the fuck to even start with you Jomo. Jomo, formerly known as Fwick, is the subject of my largest conspiracy yet. I am fucking CONVINCED that Jomo is the dev of the game that does the official artworks for special events and DLC, because holy SHIT is Jomo's art in a tier of its own. Jomo is the fucking Michael Jordan of Cult of the Lamb art, rivaled by very VERY few. The environments are splendid, the characters are adorable and it's all done in such a beautifully similar style to the official artwork of the game. You could easily tell me Jomo IS the person doing the official art, but if I'm being honest? Jomo is better (in my opinion). But don't get it twisted, you can tell the difference with a mere glance and Jomo's uniquely recognisable style is a unique and adorable edition that wouldn't go awry in a museum or an award show. This shit is top tier lemme tell you, I can't glaze it enough.

@scared-lantern

Lantern approaches art with a beautiful style and flair that few can match. Your lamb is one of the most adorable designs around and by God do you know how to maximise that cuteness in every way. Not to mention, your painted art style is just a real marvel for the eyes. I can't eat it enough, I'm always going up for seconds.

@jellyseafish

I absolutely adore the silly fun you upload with your art. Your lamb is so big eyed and fun to stare at as they get up to hijinks, even if the hijinks are just them staring back with big ol' peepers. Cutest patootest around, and boy do they love a good shenanigan. I adore them, I can't help it.

@shadbells

GOLD. Shad has a flair for the decorative and beautiful when it comes to art, and boy does it shine through in such a unique and beautiful way. The designs you make, especially for your lambs and Nari, has really quickly become some of my favourites Shad. The gold accents of the clothes and jewellery really highlight their beauty so well, and let me say personally they are BEAUTIFUL. Absolutely stunning designs with a delightfully devilish side when they want, I adore them in every way. 10/10, would marry and smooch, then get stabbed probably.

@ccarmody101

Your lamb design is beautiful as hell and your Nari and Goat bring me some seriously needed joy when I stumble on them again. You were actually one of the first COTL artists I stumbled on when I got Tumblr, and I'll always appreciate how you fed my addiction just as I took my first steps.

@shind91

Uniqueness. That's the first word that pops up when I think of Shin's art. The way you translate these furry fellas into humanised and more realistic designs is just bafflingly cool to me, it's such a brilliant translation that few people can so perfectly pull off. It's a genre of art I didn't know I needed, but by God do I love to see it now that I've seen your art more than ever before in my life. It's such a unique talent, and I cherish it every time I see it.

@spilycoris

Armour! I love the armour you've given your lamb, it's so beautiful while still being believable that they'd wear it. It's like a beautiful but functional jewellery, and really pulls the outfit together! Absolutely adorable, 10/10!

@angry-ursidae

Ursidae art, some of the most fulfilling silliness there is on Tumblr. Your Narilamb fuels my life, and your Shamura makes me die laughing. I don't know why, I just love that design it's so silly to me for some reason and I can't help but adore it. I love Ursidae art, this is known.

@frecktheheck

When I think of COTL character designs, Freck is one of the first names that pops into my mind. Between the anatomy, the charisma and character that blossoms in the characters designs and the historically-designed outfits, there's not a single thing you do badly, or even mediocre for that matter. Every single piece is a gift woven from the threads of love and passion, and the art style reflects your beautiful heart in a way that's so pure and comforting to all who see it. I cannot, and will never, have enough Freck art in my life. I can't stop devouring it and begging for more like a camel in the Sahara, and I wouldn't ever want that to change.

@haggz-is-here

If I had to give someone an award for "Person most likely to be a time travelling renaissance artist" it would be you Haggz. Your work, simply put, is INSANE in it's quality and baffling in its detail. I cannot, no matter how long I stare at it, understand how you do it. On a damn iPad no less. Da Vinci's legacy lives on in you, and by God do you do it proud. I can't praise it enough, it's just stunning every time. Stunning, there's no other word for it. Other than shocking, maybe?

@cultistic-ann-aka-sannaliel

Sanna is, quite frankly, a fucking genius at detail. There is nobody better for the minutae of an art piece than Sannaliel, and I will die on that hill. I have yet to be anything other than shocked and awe-inspired at a Sanna art piece, and I doubt that will ever change.

@hotchocolatedemon

A writer and a drawer, a rare double-talent! Not only that, but both are done to a wonderful degree! Never let it be said that hotchocolatedemon isn't a demon in the creative fields! I guess a deal with the devil would explain that 🤔

@tidalfoam

I fucking love your little gremlin ratsona. They're such a little thing, I adore them. I don't think there's a better meet the artist than your one if I'm being honest. It's perfect, sometimes less truly is more.

@loloelia

Lolo! The way your art has improved, even in the tiny amount of time I've sort of known you, has been tremendous, and it beautifully reflects your bubbly personality. Your positivity is a force for good in a negative world, and your art reflects that with every doodle and drawing! Don't ever change or doubt yourself, you're an amazingly joyful person to see around the place!

@cj-the-random-artist

This motherfucker manages to do two things at the same time. One: Draw the cutest lil fellas I've ever seen. They go to tea parties, they hug and slow dance, they go to TEA PARTIES. Two: educate the fuck out of me. I will always mention how CJ's QPR au was the first time I'd ever even heard of a QPR, l t alone been shown how it functions. It's so beautiful and passionately crafted, and reminds me how important representation is in art. There's nobody that does it better, and warms my heart in such uniquely beloved ways.

@twooftheluckyones

Gem and Cake!

To Gem: Your art heals a child in me I didn't know was wounded and in need of a bandage. It's so cute and pure, but so versatile in that too. Una is an utter delight, and Narinder is dripping with edge but without sacrificing the clear goopy interior that lies in his heart.

To Cake: You are, simply put, a writer in a tier purely of your own. The way you weave a tale with a myriad of writing tricks is just stunning to behold. If Gem is the heart, then you're the soul. There is nobody I take pride in learning from more than you, and you set a new standard with every piece you write. Never let it go said that Cake the Lucky can't write a bonafide masterstroke whenever he pleases, and in any genre he pleases. Smut? Action? Romance? Melancholy? Call this guy, he's the one to do it. Don't even get me started on how these two work together to make this shit sparkle, I'll be here all day.

@bogor-o

Have you ever seen an art piece so beautifully cuddly that you just wept because you can't actually hug the characters on your screen? Well, lemme tell you something. Bogor is the fucking expert of that. If you've ever wanted to see a character that looks like they could kill you with a stare and hug you back to life in the same breath, then go take a gander at Bogor's art, you will NOT be disappointed.

@greedykrab

Your skill in taking the abstract and turning it into the deeply developed is outstanding and profound. I will never quite "understand" your art style, and I think that's what draws me to it. It's like a beautiful puzzle you could stare at for days and never fully replicate, so uniquely yours in a world of already unique artists and styles. So so good.

@the-artist-grimm

The art? Spectacular, 10/10 on the cuteness and the violence when necessary. But the writing? Oh my God you crank that up to 11! Crimson Angel has torn my heart out every single step of the way and I'll never stop singing its praises. Your writing of parenting and the relationship between two firey but pained loves? Immaculate. Utterly perfect in every way.

@ro-bee

KIRAN. The beautiful baby boy I had the absolute honour of helping name. I will forever fawn over Pupigoat and your beautiful art style that brings them to life. Their pain is wholesome but brutal, and your skill at drawing it brings it to life so wholly and passionately. Not to even mention the rest of your art, it's all so unique and wonderful.

@losing-catharsis

A fellow poet amidst a sea of visual artists! The way you weave words into song without a rhyme scheme utterly fascinates me, and was a huge part of what inspired me to try free verse poetry in a few of my own works, to very little succes xD. Your a wonderful writer, never stop Cath <3

@zynical-forg

You draw, without any competition or contest, the CUTIEST PATOOTIEST Patooties ever. They're so small, so round and so lovable. Perfectly drawn blorbos every time, ready for some cute adventures together. Beautiful, 10/10 would fawn over again.

@yellowflowrs

Carillonneur. Need I say more? Okay but seriously now, you crafted the absolute BEST swap au I've ever seen in my life design-wise. The character traits? Hilarious and intriguing. The clothing? Beautifully horror themed. The actual character's designs and anatomy? Oh my God. Next level insane. The Carillonneur? The Rinder? So so good. I just devour them every time I see them. I've had to limit myself to my favourite of your au's or I'll be here till I die of old age, but I love them all so so so so sooooo much ugh. I can't wait to see what you get up to next, be it COTL or something else entirely!

@eliza-forget

You. You are the absolute most powerful MACHINE of creativity I have ever born witness to. I don't understand how you never seen to run out of ideas, motivation or passion, it's such a beautiful display of the human spirit at its finest. To top that off, the detail on every piece is just BAFFLING to point my eyeballs at. Every. Single. Post is just dripping with detail, whether that be clothing, design, anatomy, lighting, perspective or dialogue. It's insane how you produce artwork so fast, so efficiently and compromise nothing when it comes to vision, detail or passion. I genuinely feel inspired when I see your newest work almost every single day, I can only aspire to be like you and your bountiful spirit the same way someone aspires to a myth of the ancients and their acts of heroic bravery.

@loullipopx

Versatility. Lou does it all and goddamn do they do it well. Cuteness galore? Look no further than the Pokémon au and their designs. You'll cry they're so cute, and then you'll cry because you know you'll never see something as cute ever again in your life. Beautiful and sensual art? Go look at the pinups she did for the Lamb and Nari during the bunny suit trend. They have scarred my mind in such a beautiful way, I'll never forget it. Loulli makes that shit pop, and by God does it pop good as hell. Don't even get me started on the music she makes. Yeah that's right I'll say it publicly, this fucker makes music. Good music. GREAT music! The skillset goes above and beyond, and boy does it astound me every time I learn something new.

@lotus-duckies

Cannibalism? Check. Cuteness? Check. Religious themes? Check! The way you weave religion into your pieces is utterly fascinating to me, and I still remember our little theological talks super fondly. Every single piece is utterly soaked in symbolism, metaphor and a diabolical amount of love and passion, even when the love involved leads to a cannibalistic eating of a spouse or two. I cannot praise the detail put into these pieces enough, and the art style just emboldens those details tenfold. Never before have I seen an art style take me by the hand and plunge me into a sea of joy so quickly and vividly, and I'll always love it dearly.

@mudtrash

Two words. Anatomy. Ears. Your anatomy work on your lil sillies is utterly fantastic, especially your rare naked Nari. But the real prize in my eyes? The way you draw ears. I don't know why, but you give those motherfuckers the most beautiful flop I've ever seen. Nari? Big dorito ears. Lamb? Lil gloppy floppas. Goat? Middle ground flopperoos. They're all just so perfect. Your style is so cute and fun without sacrificing detail, it's to die for. For me though, the ears are the cherry on top of an already perfect cake. 10/10 dude, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

@streetchicken

Streetchicken cookin in the kitchen like it's KFC. Make no mistake, this motherfucker can COOK. Gay soldiers? Absolutely. Gay furry gods? Not a problem. Just a dude? Light work. Frog is an artiste behind the brush, but lemme tell you the real secret. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, can draw a bear or a hunk quite like Streetchicken. Not a soul. This motherfucker can COOK when it comes to big huggable bears and rough-and-tumble fellas, and the competition never truly stood a chance. Whether it be Captain Price, Soap or Leshy, there are hunks abound. I thank you for your contributions to the bear community Frogo, never stop cooking 🫡

@faebunnyleap

Smiles! That's my immediate thought when I think of Fae. There's not a single piece of yours that doesn't have me smiling at the hilarity, the domestic bliss or the calming of it. Every single post is crafted with such a refined and calm hand, and 9 times out of 10 your characters are always so smiley and free. Your art style helps that so much too, it's so diverse. Your sketches are so silly and fun, but when you turn it up to 11 and get serious it's such a fantastic result. Also, I think about that fuckass pagliaci twins post so often it hurts. It's so good, top 3 shitposts ever. I love it, thank you so much.

@neon-virus

Size! I absolutely adore how you use your characters and their size differences, with such a crazy array of heights and builds. Goat is absolutely HUGE, a real unit, while Lamb is like the tiniest lil cutie patootie ever made. Nari acts as this weird middle ground where he's still super tall, but Goat's such a monster that he looks kinda normal? I love it so much. Also wow, your shading and rendering on your more detailed full pieces? Utterly splendid, I cannot ever be sated from my greed for more. So so beautiful.

@paintpaintpaintman

Trad art central over here. Your paintings are honestly stunning and it's so refreshing to see some trad art standing out amongst the digital age. Your designs are awesome too, and seeing them painted to life is so wholesomely warming. I get a shot of giddiness in my veins whenever you post, and I don't see that feeling ever fading in the slightest!

@cconfusedkat

The cuddliest designs in the whole world, so full of joy and whimsy. Every design bursts with a huggable energy that just sucks you in. It's beautiful, I adore it. There's not a single character that I wouldn't snuggle, pat on the head and feed a cookie for being such a delightful lil fella, I love them. I can only hope that they would love me.

@teruuu-main

Teru, Teru, Teru. Your brilliance knows no bounds. Every au just drips with personality and beauty, each so unique in the ways they shine. Old Faith Academy? Beautifully tropey, so comforting and warm. Compulsion of Flesh? Ohhh BOY lemme tell you about Compulsion of Flesh. Never have I seen someone write two characters that are so fucking VILE that I cannot help but love them. They're insane, they literally eat each other, and I eat it up like a starved hyena. I can't help it, they've devoured my brain since day one, and the saying is true, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." This au will always be one of my favourites, and one of the first fan projects I ever got obsessed with. Words don't quite match my love for it, so just take some sounds. SNOOB. GLOOB. GLEEB. HAPAP! And so on.

@kikorikoiko

Your improvement in the time I've known you has been absolutely immense, and I adore the way you draw Astaroth and Kallamar. You've brought the Astaroth character to life in a way few have, and it's beautiful every time. Devs hire Kiko please, we need tragic polygamous gays to be canon (as if they aren't already).

@junoberrii

Cuteness. Pure and simple cuteness. There is not a single un-cute bone in Juno's wrist I swear to God. Every single post is just the cutest shit imaginable. So cute, in fact, that I constantly forget that the lamb is canonically a mass murderer, and that Nari is an asshole. If you want fluff, and you want it FLUFFY, go to Juno and just stare at the art on display. It heals your soul man, it really does.

@spiderin-space

Talk about versatility! Spider writes, and writes a damn fine story too! Not only that, but such a passionate and dedicatedly written story, with such a beautifully paced yet long winding story that leaves you always waiting for an update. The art though? Oh man the art. Cuddly, cute and joyful but with a perfectly conveyed sense of fear whenever Spider needs to put the brakes on the fun zone. Spider knows their shit, and does it perfectly to a T. Don't sleep on spider, that spider knows how to write a story that bites in the night, or soothes in the daytime. Take your pick, you won't be disappointed.

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Seven: shopping spree

tw: alcohol, peer pressure, background ghoap, non-con kissing

It takes two more days of travel before you reach Little Wood. 

The weather stays sensible throughout your travels, offering fluffy clouds overhead to block the sun, yet nothing dark enough to spit and bite at you like the storm from the other day did. Jester—the large beast that he is—has grown accustomed to your presence, almost annoyingly so. The capricious horse will often seek you out during meal times, or even during your sleep if you don’t hitch him to a tree or some dilapidated fence. You’ve been stirred awake by a wet nose more often than you’d care to admit. 

Yet, you find your mind occupied by something else. Something more troublesome. As you sway along on Jester while the two of you mosey behind the group, you find your eyes flickering to John’s back. There’s not much to see except for his simple white shirt and leather vest, but your gaze pierces through the fabric. 

You can still see it—his scars. It’s all you’ve been able to think about since you caught him crouched over the fire in the morning. The memory of it is strong enough to even rid you of the sullied sensation that lingered on your skin after he ripped your corset and dress off of your body. Though the idea is macabre, a part of you wonders what could have caused scars like that. Those long, skinny strikes and those small, circular wounds. 

What could he have done to deserve such a punishment? 

The caravan comes up on Little Wood two hours after lunch time, and you are taken aback by how akin it is to your sleepy little Penmosa. Large pins for goats and cattle leave blemishes along the land as John has everyone wander through the wilderness, and eventually he stops at the foot of a small hill. Bushes and skinny trees offer enough cover for a small camp, but you can still make out the quaint buildings in the distance. 

“Boys, you three stay here to set up camp. You can head into town afterwards, but we need this up before dark,” John orders once all the horses are unloaded. It isn’t long before his eyes find you after the men all nod in understanding. “Lamb, you’ll be coming into town with me.” 

Ears perking, your hand rubs along Jester’s flank. “Alright.” 

Water moistens the earth and makes it plenty pliant underneath the horse’s hooves as the two of you trot off towards town. Adjusting your hips on the saddle, you breathe in the scent of animal feed and some far off bakery as fresh yeast wafts in the distance. You’re excited to be here—to have an evening that’s not full of late night riding. The insides of your thighs burn from the countless days you’ve spent on Jester’s back, and the chafing on your skin is less than kind. 

While most of the buildings in Little Wood are simple, two story structures, there is one that towers over the rest of them. A church—you’d recognize a steeple anywhere. Painted pristine, pure white, it looms over the town, casting a shadow over the winding streets as it bares its cross high in the sky as if attempting to return the sign of Christ to God Himself. The bell at the top glistens as the sun moves lower along the horizon, and your stomach twists at the sight. 

Unable to bear facing your sins, you look down at your nearly healed hands. “What are we doing?” you ask instead, excited for a distraction. 

“Buying you a hat,” John hums. He leans back comfortably in his saddle as his eyes scan each of the shops you pass by. Townsfolk flitter from place to place to buy their daily items, while others sweep the never-ending dirt that seems to accumulate on the porches. “Between the sun and the rain, I’m surprised you even lasted this long riding without one.” 

Blinking, the reins suddenly feel too moist in your grasp. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine with just my scarf, really.” 

John looks over his shoulder at you with a raised brow. “I said I’d buy you one. I don’t go back on my word, little lamb,” he reminds you. 

It doesn’t take long to find the general store. Several horses line up hitched outside of the establishment as small flocks of patrons wander in and out with baskets of food and clothes in hand. You keep Jester close to John’s horse as you dismount, shoes digging into the muddy streets. Humming, John shoves his thumbs behind his belt buckle as he hops up the steps onto the porch. 

“C’mon, Lamb,” he urges. 

There’s an array of items that greet you the moment you step foot through the door, and it has your head spinning. Candies lie in a colorful assortment on trays, small bandages sit on shelves next to hunting and cooking knives, there’s even coffee grounds packed tight in a can (something John makes sure to swipe off the shelf the moment he eyes it). A mother argues with her two children in the back of the store about the toys that she doesn’t want to buy while an inebriated gentleman bickers with the storekeeper about the price of canned corn. 

“Goodness,” you murmur as the door swings shut behind you. “There’s loads more here than there is in Penmosa…”

“It’s a deceiving name. Little Wood isn’t so little,” John chuckles. “Hats are over here, love.” 

Leading you to the leftmost wall, you and John approach a wall adorned with racks of various types of hats. Sun hats, derby hats, cowboy hats—you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a large selection before in your life. You hum to yourself as your fingers ghost over the brim of a wide sun hat. Thatched fibers weave together seamlessly into an item that’s surprisingly soft. A bright yellow ribbon wraps around the bowl as if it attempts to hold the piece of the sun itself. 

“This one’s pretty,” you coo. 

John picks it up and swipes it out of your grasp as he turns it over in his hands. “Pretty, but not practical.” 

You raise a brow at him. “How is it not practical? Wouldn’t a sun hat do plenty fine against… the sun?” 

“Well sure, but it won’t do you much good for riding,” he says as he returns it to the rack. “It’s too floppy. Wouldn’t last a second in any strong wind without bending the brim, and without a string, if it blows off you’re stuck dismounting every ten minutes to pick the damn thing up. It wouldn’t last you to Grand Hollow.” 

Nodding your head in understanding, you turn your attention back to the hats as you think for a moment. Grand Hollow. The ride. 

Freedom. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, John,” you admit. “What exactly is the plan for me when we reach Grand Hollow?” 

He hooks his thumbs behind his belt buckle again as he stares at you from underneath the brim of his hat. His eyes are always intense this way—when he tilts his chin down and looks at you through thick brows. It’s severe enough to make you want to look away, but you keep steady as your fingers tap against the side of your thigh. 

“I have a friend of sorts who owns a hotel there,” he explains quietly. His eyes wander, wary of eavesdroppers, but his guard lowers when he realizes no one in this store seems to care about him or his plans. “She dabbles a bit in the organized crime rings there, but her hotel, The Twin Rose, acts as a safe haven of sorts.” 

“A safe haven?” you repeat. “From criminals?” 

“That, and the authorities,” John shrugs. 

Scoffing, you turn your attention back to the endless supply of hats. “I don’t believe it.” 

“Law men are no more morally right than the rest of us, Lamb,” he chuckles lowly. “The only difference between them and anyone else is that they’ve got a shiny badge that inflates their head to twice the size of Texas. Turns out, if you make a sizable donation to them every now and then, they don’t care too much about what goes on behind closed doors.” 

“Alright,” you huff. “So, I just… stay there, then?” 

“If you want. I’m sure Laswell wouldn’t mind the extra help with housekeeping. I hope you’re good at cleaning up blood.” 

John says those words as if they’re meant to be a joke, but you find your teeth biting into your lip. “I’m better than most at it.” 

If your father could hear you now, you’re certain he would berate you for your sinful pride, but you know you’re only speaking the truth. Years of scrubbing your own blood from wooden floors has given you a keen eye for unsightly stains. At this point, you’re just as good at covering violence as you are at detesting it. 

“Well, then you can either stay there, or Laswell can find you a job elsewhere,” John continues, making no comment on your mumbling. “There’s lots of things to do in Grand Hollow, little lamb. More opportunity than you can even dream of.” 

The moment you brave another glance up at John, you find him leaning toward you with his arm reaching over your head. His presence is scorching—so crowding that you feel infinitesimal next to him—yet that feeling fades the moment he retrieves a hat from behind you. It’s a beautifully crafted item made of firm fibers with a dark brown tan finish. The crease is deep and even with the dips, and the crown is plenty wide enough for your head. 

Smirking, John puts it on your head before crossing his arms over his chest. “There we are. You’re one step closer to becoming a real cowboy,” he teases. 

Self conscious fingers reach up to adjust the hat as you fit it over your head. It sits plenty well enough, though you suddenly feel as if your head is much too wide. 

“Do I look okay?” you question timidly. 

John hums as he motions for you to follow him up to the counter. “No worse than usual, sweetheart.” 

The storekeeper beams when he sees you and John approach his counter, and he’s much too eager to wave off the drunkard who’s been quarreling with him for the better part of the last twenty minutes. John pays for your hat—along with his copious amount of coffee—before the two of you return to your horses to stow away your items. Afternoon slowly wanders into evening as the sun dances on top of the horizon, and Little Wood blooms to life as oil lamps flicker on to bleed through windows into the otherwise tenebrous streets. 

Jester huffs as you place your new hat onto your saddlehorn, and you lovingly rub your hand along the bridge of his nose as you wait for John to finish packing up. His breath fans warm and moist across the palm of your hand, forcing a smile to pull at the corner of your mouth. 

“Should we head back to camp, then?” you muse as Jester nuzzles into your hand. 

“Afraid we won’t find much back at camp,” John sighs once all his items are put away. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, I reckon the boys are at the saloon right about now.” 

You wish John wasn’t right, but as usual, he is. The two of you leave your horses in front of the general store as you wander through the streets to follow the sound of a legato piano performance paired with slurred chatting. You stand outside of a large building with wide eyes and sweating palms as John marches up the creaking stairs onto the porch. When you don’t follow, he turns around with his hand gesturing toward the swinging doors. 

“Fancy a drink, Lamb?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “I don’t drink.” 

Smirking, John raises an eyebrow while tilting his head. “Didn’t you buy a couple bottles of wine back in Penmosa? Right before you ripped your apron up and lost all your change?” 

“That’s different,” you murmur. Flames of embarrassment lick the back of your neck as you defensively cross your arms. “That was for communion.” 

“Well, we can toast to god then, if it makes you feel any better.” 

You have half a mind to scoff and scorn John for his impiety, but the moment your father’s words bubble in the back of your throat, you bite them back before they see the light of day. Instead, you huff and follow him into the saloon. 

A part of you expects to find Mr. Beckett behind the bar serving up drinks and smiles, but you’re met with an unfamiliar scene as the building buzzes with music and chatter. A man with a tilted hat sits at the piano where he plucks away at the keys while humming some tune you don’t recognize, and a lady with a low cut dress slings herself over his shoulder as he performs. Several men line up at the bar where they chat with the keeper as they sip on whiskey and ale while tossing coins his way, and someone in the corner is ruining a table playing five finger fillet. Your throat closes up at the noisome aroma of hops and liquor—it’s not nearly as sweet as the wine you’re used to. 

It’s easy enough to find the boys. They’ve made themselves cozy in the far corner of the saloon, just like they did back in Penmosa. Soap already looks as if he’s had a few drinks too many with rosy cheeks and mussed hair, and Kyle beams as he eyes his hand of cards with a confident grin. 

“He’s got an ace up his fucking sleeve, I just know it,” Soap rambles, pointing an accusing finger at Kyle. 

“He’s not cheatin’ you’re just pissed outta your mind. A child could play cards better than you, Johnny,” Riley barks. He manages to sneak a not-so-gracious drink of his whiskey from underneath his bandana before his eyes find you and John. “Come to join the party?” 

“Oh, I know better than to gamble against Garrick,” John chuckles as he takes his seat. 

“You might not, but no one else here does,” Kyle grins. As you take the seat between him and John, he makes sure to flash you a small wad of cash—something he was able to easily score off of the drunkards who were too far in over their heads. “Who needs to live the life of an outlaw when you can just take advantage of the poor sods who can hardly tell a six from a nine?” 

Their bickering pulls a laugh from your throat as you stiffly settle into the wooden chair. Soap mocks Kyle’s words—seemingly a poor loser—before he slaps his hands down on the table and stands from his seat. 

“I’m dry,” he announces. “What’re we drinking?” 

Everyone rattles off their answers, words overlapping with one another. Soap nods as if he’s understood before his gaze lands on you. “Oh, nothing for me.” 

He smirks. “Sure thing, Lamb.” 

He comes back with five drinks, one for each of you. You stare down at the amber liquid in front of you with your lips curling in on themselves. Someone bumps into the back of your seat and you feel a petulant ache gnaw at the base of your skull. Their eyes bore into you as they await for your first ever run in with—as Soap puts it—true alcohol. 

“Just do it quickly,” Kyle coaches. “Just one quick swig and then a gulp.” 

“You shouldn’t have started her out on whiskey,” Riley mumbles. 

Giving in to their pressure, you raise the glass to your lips where you attempt to do as Kyle instructed. A swift swig coats your tongue and your face contorts as the burn settles into your teeth. The men chuckle as you choke the liquid down and slam your mostly-full glass back onto the table. 

“You drink this for fun?” you question as you push the glass away from you. 

“Usually,” John chuckles. “We’ll make a cowboy of you yet, sweetheart.” 

Evening wanes into night, and things only get more nauseating. Kyle attempts to teach you how to play poker, but Soap keeps interjecting to debate on the rules. The clamor of the saloon only grows more cacophonous by the minute, and a dull throb begins to pulse behind your eyes. Somehow, more people continue to crowd the building and the combined heat forces your body to produce more sweat than you think you’ve ever made in your entire life. 

Eventually, the crew begins to break apart. Riley leaves to relieve himself—or, as he puts it, he leaves to take a piss where he hopefully wouldn’t happen across any other wandering lambs—and Soap follows behind not too long after mumbling something about helping him hold it. Having run out of partners to play cards with, Kyle offers to check up on camp before he vanishes off into the night, leaving you and John alone together. 

“You gonna finish your drink?” he prompts, pointing to your glass. 

You shake your head. “I feel bad about wasting it but I… I can’t stomach it.” 

John chuckles as he slides his hand across the table. Thick fingers wrap around the glass before he gestures in your direction with it. “Don’t worry, there’s never a drop of liquor that goes to waste around here.” 

Without another word, he knocks back the rest of your drink and you try not to pay attention to the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he gulps. Glass rings out as he slams the cup back on the table with a sharp exhale. He gives you a tight lipped smile.

“Tired, Lamb?” he asks. 

“It’s been a long day,” you say, side stepping your answer. 

Nodding, John pushes himself back away from the table, causing the legs of his chair to squeak against the wood floor. “Will you be alright here if I leave to wrangle Soap and Riley up?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good.” He stands to his feet and squeezes your shoulder as he walks by. “Stay put.” 

And you do, like any obedient lamb does. There’s not much else prey can do when given a direct order from a predator, and when someone with sharp teeth tells you to freeze, then you listen. 

Much like when you’re told to kneel in the pews—you obey before you raise your hands up ripe for the picking of your father’s favorite form of punishment. 

It’s been quite a while since you’ve been able to think about your father—to truly think about him. More than just the disconnected thoughts that wander through your mind as you try to fall asleep at night. He would often lock himself in his office for an hour after supper before retiring to bed. The stars are out to play, twinkling brightly above Little Wood as if blessing it—you wonder if he’s asleep now, or if he’s up thinking about you. 

You’re not sure if you would feel better or worse if he was worried about you. 

“Howdy.” 

An unfamiliar voice yanks you out of your thoughts, forcing your gaze away from the table and up at one of the countless patrons that flood the saloon. He looks to be a few years older than you with an unkempt mustache and bloodshot eyes. Florid cheeks illuminate his face more than the lamps on the walls do, and the scent of beer rolls off of him thicker than manure in a cow lot. 

“Oh, hello,” you respond stiffly. 

Swaying, the stranger points a finger at you. “Are you a workin’ girl?” 

“A working girl?” you repeat with drawn brows. You swallow. “Well, I work but I’m not sure what you-” 

Before you can continue, the man nods and steals the seat that used to belong to Kyle. He leans so far back in the chair you swear he’ll topple over like the Tower of Babel. “You’re awfully pretty.” 

“I-I… thank you?” 

“Usually the workin’ girls we get ‘round here aren’t like you, all pretty-like,” he drones. Then, he sits forward in his chair, suddenly crowding your space. You’d lean away from him if the back of your chair wasn’t pressing into your spine. “I’d pay real well for you. Enough to pay all your expenses for the week. What’dya say?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I don’t understand what you’re-” 

Alcohol coats your tongue, silencing your confusion before the words can fully manifest. Then, there’s something sour. Rancid and sickening, your stomach protests and contorts as your eyes screw shut at the flavor. 

It isn’t until dull teeth bite into your bottom lip that you realize this stranger is kissing you.

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[d3cay1ngst4tic]

contents. suguru geto x gn!reader. obsessive themes. grotesque imagery (<- as always). dark undertones to worship. they’re both equally sick in the head LMFAO.

★ jiah’s notes. so i’m very normal about this. NAE. kisses your knuckles you are soooo smart. i hope you don’t mind me adding my own brainvomit to this well.

deity!suguru, who only ever lets you worship him. treats others like dirt under his feet who deserve nothing but to be scrapped off completely for being utterly, unbearably foolish. you, on the other hand? he’d let you braid flowers in his hair if you asked.

deity!suguru, who finds it amusing how eager you are to take care of him. you can barely keep track of your own meals, yet here you are, tasting each and every fruit to check if they’re sweet or not, only then handing it to him. (<- he doesn't mind how your marks fill the sickly sweetness like some sort of careless claim over him.)

deity!suguru, who revels in your devotion. you’re like a dog who always comes back with a wagging tail, teeth closed ’round shattered bones, with devout eyes which glaze over when a praise or two slips from his cooing lips. oh how he loves the fact that even though his hands reek of blood, you nuzzle into them like something too rapturous to touch— how his divinity is all you see, leaving out the sharp, cracked edges for the other commons to gape and run away from.

deity!suguru, who says nothing but gaze down at you with a sardonic smile when you kiss his knees with bloody lips and hushed prayers on your tongue. he’d said the earlier words with a careless lisp, that even though you’re his most beloved worshipper, you wouldn’t dare kill for him. but here you are, dropping the one he’d wanted dead like some sort of twisted prize at his feet, tilting your head up to look at him with wobbly lips and a burning fidelity in your touch that didn’t flicker once.

deity!suguru, who only ever gives you his blessings— placing his hand on your hair and smoothening out the tangles that’ve built over in your utterly devoted haze, murmuring sweet little nothings into your ears and filling your head with soft, condescending promises. he finds it amusing how your eyes never light up when he blesses you, almost as if you’re hurt by the faintest possibility of wanting something in return— as if the greatest gift that you could ever attain is his holy presence, and nothing else. (he blesses you because you’re the only one who doesn’t crave it.)

deity!suguru, who only sleeps with his head on your lap. your frail fingers run through his hair— he’d never let anyone else touch them— eyes wide in awe, betraying the exhaustion that clings to your bones. he adores it, he really does— the way you look at him as though he’s this unspeakable, unattainable treasure— like a mere whisper of his purity will give you all the salvation you need. (he loves the crippled reverence that stains your hands red.)

deity!suguru, who loves that you always have some sort of excuse for his actions. like he could never do wrong in your eyes. such a naïve little lamb you are, licking the blood off his teeth even though you cough and splutter from the burn in your chest, (choosing to be blind to the fact that it’s not his but someone else’s.)

deity!suguru, who alters your fate without you knowing, so you’d have to worship him in every lifetime. who said gods couldn’t be corrupted? and he’s a little greedy like that— greedy for the reverence you bring that’s a tad bit rough ’round the edges, greedy for your hands on his face when you praise him for the tales of nobility that’d never existed in the first place, greedy for how you tuck your head under his chin and shiver from the overwhelming serenity of his being. he thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t get to be your god all over again.

deity!suguru, who loves, loves being the ache between your bones and the fatal light-headedness of your innocence. <3

original idea by @sugurusladyknightt . added on by @d3cay1ngst4tic. do not copy or post any of my works.

[pearlescentparade]

IM REQUESTING AZURE X TWO TIME X READER FLUFF where azure and two time learn to love eachother again through their relationship with reader. I suggested this to another author but im also greedy and impatient and i think you would do this MASTERFULLY honestly

also of course some attention to reader as well....polycule ever

(Yes I sent this at exactly 9:30pm. 🩷)

- 🎉

sometimes it takes the third who you and your ex both love to help you get back together

you and me and them🪻azure x 🔄 two time x reader fluff drabble 💝

"make sure we aren't forgetting anything before we leave!" you pull the back of your boot up to slot your heel inside, hand propped on the wall next to your front door for support.

you had managed to convince both of your partners to go out on a little date today! despite the initial hesitance from them both, they agreed if only to make you happy.

even if they flinch when they accidentally brush against the other while you're all cuddling, even if the room never fails to fall into a deafening silence the moment you leave them alone together, you didn't deserve to be burdened with the aftermath of their failure. and that's a sentiment they shared.

"bundle up, nightshade. it's cold." azure drapes another jacket over your shoulders. it's thick, fuzzy, and quite honestly a bit overkill. but azure refuses to give you anything less, lest he wants you to get sick.

meticulously, they begin to button up the coat for you. as they slide each button through its designated slits on the other half, the jacket feels progressively tighter, hugging your previous layers closer to your body.

nice, snug, and warm.

"i can do it myself, you know.." weakly, you peep out a protest from underneath the oversized jacket. though it's a bit late to do so, considering azure's already done with buttoning you up.

"your hands," azure takes up your hands in his for emphasis, "are completely frozen over. it'd be faster to do it for you."

you attempt to move your fingers, either to prove him wrong or to confirm if they're right. lo and behold, they're sluggish in their movement, as if the message transmission from your brain to your fingers was lagging.

azure gently rubs his thumb over your frigid digits and encases them fully in their own fingers. a futile attempt at warming them up, but no less thoughtful.

"if you wanted to hold my hands, you could've just said so." you look up into azure's narrow purple eyes, teasing in the lilt of your voice and the gaze in your eyes.

they squint back with a clever glint and a comeback on the tip of their tongue, "i-"

"oh lamb, don't you know the skin of the neck is incredibly sensitive?? you must take this scarf!"

a large piece of fabric suddenly covers about 75% of your vision when two time slips it over your head, sloppily wrapping it around your neck.

azure scoffs, "you didn't even put it on them correctly." they pull the scarf off, drape it around your neck again, bring both ends through the loop, then tie it into a neat knot. "you can be stupid in every other aspect, but i refuse to let you be careless about them."

two time frowns, "...sorry." their entire demeanor seems to droop, clearly disheartened.

"don't be harsh, azure.. they're only excited to help. thank you, timey!" their reward is a sweet peck on their forehead from you, which they receive with much enthusiasm, perking back up.

"we should head out now, let's go!" you slip out of the door, leaving your two partners still inside the house.

azure starts to follow, but stops in their tracks when he feels a hand on their wrist. he doesn't spare a glance back.

"what. what is it now? is it that even now you can't stop bringing me down?"

"..take these mittens, babe. it's cold."

azure looks back.

two time stares back.

a pair of black mittens are clasped in their other hand, now outstretched to azure.

"so you can be a good partner." azure's words are sharp as he slides the mitts onto his hands.

two time awkwardly chuckles, "a second chance does wonders! you can't say that trying love again with them hasn't done you any good either."

azure struggles with putting on the other mitten, the thickness of the already gloved hand making it a bit difficult.

"maybe. maybe we just needed to see new people."

two time takes the remaining mitten from azure, sliding it onto his other hand easily.

"maybe we just needed to be new people." they barely whisper, letting their hand hold azure's for a moment. the latter doesn't pull away, and they stand there in silence. not the usual tense ones, but a 'relishing the moment', comfortable sort.

"are you guys coming? that coffee shop i wanted to check out has a long line, so we should get going!" your voice rings out from outside, a sense of urgency evident in your chattering.

"ah, we've left them out in the cold for a while now." azure looks up at the sound of you.

"and you were scolding me about being careless? for shame!"

"oh, shut up."

firmly but not roughly, azure snatches two time by their wrist and leads them outside into the white winter snow, where you're waiting for them to catch up.

(parade postscript: i actually think i might throw up this evil ass polycule making me sick!!! /lh /silly

also the name is a reference to the visual novel you and me and her atgargargarg even tho the drabble is nothing like the vn 😨 i liked the sound of the name i think it fits ALSO IM BAVK ON MY PARALLELISM AND REPETITION SHIT AHAHHHGAGAGAG)

[muqingslover]

[ my guilty pleasure is toxic overly complex dynamics so today I chose cannibalism for Rafayel because it's so full of flavor *drum sound* Also is it really cannibalism when he's a fish?

I did it for fun so don't take it too seriously. Rafayel lovers, this is my first offering to you all. Reader's discretion is advised. ]

— Cannibalism: "is the act of consuming another individual of the same species."

— Love: "often defined as a profound affection towards someone, encompassing a range of feelings, from deep emotional attachment to romantic desire."

"Lemurians live for love and they die for love. Their entire lives will be devoted to someone, all in the name of love."

Love in its truest, rawest form is nothing if not consuming and how cruel it is for someone to be bound to it. They love so deeply they're willing to give their chosen one a piece of themselves that will reside in their bodies, merging into one, forever and always. A eternal promise, a shackle, that won't disappear.

You are his dear bride that carries in your chest a part of his heart. How romantic, if only you knew how heavily it weighted. The one person he would spill his own blood and others for is someone who will never understand the sacrifices he's made, won't ever feel the hollowness left in his chest where he never received his own piece to fill the gaping hole. How laughable, it is to crave someone he is not even sure he truly loves as a whole. But, how could he ever know what it means to be whole when he's made of missing pieces? He continues to crave, to love in hopes it'll, some day, fill in the gaps of his own broken mold. He will rearrange his organs, twist each of his bones into knots and tear his muscles just for you to find a home inside of him comfortably. So, won't you please become one with him?

Cannibalism, a violent act that is shamed by others but it is nothing if not the most beautiful, purest form of affection. Yet, every time your hands tore him apart it wasn't for love. It ached, ached and ached and it made him want to curse at you for everything that loving you had cost him— But he couldn't. Not when you held his poor, bleeding soul by the chain that connected to the shackle his foolish heart was.

Rafayel doesn't want his heart back, no, he has no use for something that doesn't belong to him anymore. What he longs for is yours, it would surely fit perfectly into his and he deserves it more than anyone. He's someone who loves so deeply that he needs more than just your presence— The man silently prays to make you part of himself, to hold and cradle you from within where you won't forsake him again. To have you show as much devotion, as much love, to him as he did for you.

What is a kiss if not the very beginning of cannibalism? The all consuming urge to taste another, to let yourself be tasted. Rafayel is more cruel than he will ever show you. His eyes gaze at you as if you're something to be devoured and he wants nothing more than to have you the same way a wolf would a sacrificial lamb. Each time his arms wrap around your bare middle he can almost feel how your ribs intertwine into his own and it's bliss. When his sharp teeth sink into your flesh the blood you spill is his to savor and welcome into his body, relishing the satisfaction of the iron taste on his tongue that to him couldn't be any sweeter. It flows through him and calms the raging waves inside of him momentarily only to then fill his mind with desperation.

"I want to feel you."

"I want to keep you."

"I want to taste you."

"I need to tear you apart and drink."

"I need you to see me."

"I need, I need, I need—"

Perhaps this is the closest he'll ever be to merging with you and it causes the hole inside of his chest to bleed, weeping about its own perpetual emptiness. How long can one suppress such intense hunger? How long can one ignore their sorrows? And what is left to be done when all those feelings come pouring out except to consume or be consumed by them.

[whochromatic]

Have you heard of him? Have you heard of him? Have you heard of his name? You have, haven't you? You've heard of him, right? Have you heard of him? You have.

Worship the Almighty Kim Soleum, for he is all what's good and gracious. Carve his name into your soul and integrate his presence into your life.

Worship the Great Kim Soleum and strive to be like him. Repent for your sins and wash them away with his holy spirit. Bathe in his glory as you accept the humbleness towards us who deserves to burn in death.

Worship the Lord Kim Soleum; our messiah who leads with a silver heart. Embody his beauty and bask in his unending generosity. Praise him with all your heart.

Worship the Graceful Kim Soleum, who's kindness extends to the pits of hell. A being bestowed upon the undeserving you, you who shall continue to serve unto nothingness.

Understand that it takes a lifetime of suffering to be even a quarter of what makes up the greatness of our Lord Kim Soleum. To embody Kim Soleum is to repent for your sins. Burn and suffer as you watch as your sins melt away. Only then can you stand by the Great Kim Soleum.

Understand that you are nothing compared to the tip of his heel. Understand that the mercy granted to you by the Almighty Kim Soleum is something that you do not deserve. You are not to taint him with your dirty self, but to bask in his blinding light and rot your filth away.

Worship the Great Kim Soleum, for you are nothing. Pray to the Almighty Lord, for you are all that is rotten and sick. What is your reason for following him? The Generous Kim Soleum will accept your presence, so obey and repent for your sins.

Worship the Graceful Kim Soleum, for he will save you from your misery and suffering. Bow to thee, our saviour since then and will be forever. Embrace his eternal light and follow him with your life in his hands.

Trust in him, our Lord Almighty Kim Soleum. He is who knows what's best for the greater good. Believe in him, for he will pave the way to true enlightenment; the redemption for us filthy sinners!

You—filthy sinner, burn under his touch. Burn away your benightedness and ignite under the beloved touch of our True God. We shall rise and become one with each other under the influence of our Almighty Kim Soleum. We are to become the epitome of good. Only then can we truly call ourselves a being worthy of Kim Soleum's presence. But as we are who we are; humans of empathy yet full of innate selfishness, we will never reach the peak of humanity's potential, therefore we can never be equals to our Lord Kim Soleum. Remember that he is a disaster that can annihilate the world, destroy everything and leave it as if it has never existed, yet chooses to spare us poor, infinitesimal lambs as if it is natural. Not only that, but he saved us. We are undeserving of this overwhelming kindness. He is the embodiment of altruism and compassion, and we are nothing. Our enitre being is absolutely shameful. How can we selfish, rabid dogs with zero unity associate ourselves with the name of God? It is the only way to repent for the sins we have committed. It is disgusting for humans to follow this man, but it is the best thing you can do to become even slightly better for this sickening world, where no one deserves the salvation of death. Liberate yourself from your blindness. Free yourself from ignorance. Repent. Repent for your sins. Repent for your sins under the name of the Great and Almighty Soleum!! Burn. burn burn burn burn burnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentIreumnimaintnoshitrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentIreumnimaintnoshitrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepentrepent

𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗧.

BE ENLIGHTENED. THERE IS no HOPE FOR YOU. THERE IS ONLY GOD. THERE IS ONLY KIM SOLEUM. WORSHIP HIM BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE. WORSHIPHIMWORSHIPWORSHIPBEFORE you can no longer be saved. Listen to the words of our God, Kim Soleum. To his noble name, I pray.

[ann4zw]

" ele perde a postura porque eu tenho um bucetão . . " - slippmami

!! Smut. !!

You sit on top of Stephen, feeling his hardness against your skin. With a smile, you move slowly, making your ass move against his erection. He groans, and you love the feeling of being able to cause such an event in him. Without waiting any longer, you guide that firm, warm member to your vulva, and then, you begin to move, to ride it, feeling the friction and the heat.

Stephen's breathing hitched as you mounted him, feeling your body against his throbbing erection. The sensation was pure torture, making him writhe beneath it. Your movements made him moan, unable to hold back the sound. When you finally guided him to your entrance, he couldn't help but clench his fists, preparing himself for the pleasure that was about to overwhelm him. He watched as you began to move, taking him inside, the friction and heat driving him crazy.

"Baby," he moaned, his voice husky. “Please let me take control,” he begged, needing to feel you beneath him. He wanted nothing more than to give you the time you deserved.

Your lungs burned and the words escaped you in moans. Your mouth almost opened, but only to mutter, “fuck… shut up.” Your less than gentle words drew a guttural groan from Stephen. He couldn’t help but twist, craning his neck to look at your face as your frantic riding took him over the edge.

Stephen’s body tensed, feeling the heat and tension around him. His eyes rolled back, barely able to focus as you continued to ride him. “Please, baby,” he panted, his voice barely audible. “Don’t stop, don’t stop… fuck, just keep going like this.”

Your legs thrashed hard, moving up and down Stephen, each movement even more intense than the last. Your body shook, and cries of pleasure escaped your lips. The sound of him inside you and your bodies colliding whispers around you. Your breathing is now heavy, and you feel the party coming, almost within your reach. You want to fall with him, you want to experience that veil of sensation that will envelop us. Don't stop, don't stop.

Stephen's body stiffened, his grip on the sheets tightened. The sensation was overwhelming, and he could feel himself approaching the limit. Ana's movements were desperate, her cries of pleasure filled the room. Unable to resist any longer, Stephen let out a loud moan, his release exploding inside you. Your body shuddered, a wave of ecstasy invaded you. Feeling his thick, hot sperm inside you, you moan loudly, letting yourself be carried away by the wave of pleasure. His orgasm merges with yours in an explosion of sensations. Your bodies move together, entwined in a single act of extreme climax.

You lie down next to him, and in one natural movement, you move closer to Stephen again. Your faces meet, and you capture his lips in a passionate, loving kiss. It’s as if time has stopped, and nothing but him and you exist. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, and on each other’s arms.

With a glimpse of a quick movement, he flips her onto her back, pinning her arms above her head. He looks into her eyes, “Now it’s my turn, little lamb.” He whispers, his voice thick with desire, his eyes a gleam of lust.

div credit: @roseraris

[destinationtrekk]

Does Wesker have any unconventional kinks? If so, what are they? (List ALL of them if possible) 🥺

i'm going to be 100% this is not a kinky man we're talking about. he's spent his entire life buried in logistics and moral and legal qualms and death and misery.

that being said, we live in a land of delusion. 18+ mdni

cock warming - loves to have his partner squirming in his lap and whining for mercy

not necessarily BDSM as a whole, but he's definitely a dominant partner. he gives orders and punishments very well.

cum. anywhere. he likes it wet and messy

i think pet play but mild - he's not going to ask you to lay in a cage or eat out of a bowl (unless...?) but he does like to put collars on you and use sweet names like pet, lamb, pup, etc. wouldn't be surprised if he gave you a day collar too

marks and hickies and bruises. he knows his own strength and controls it very well. he wants you to know what he did to you and that you belong to him

exhibitionism! he'll bang you in his office or lab or car - he doesn't actually want people watching, he just likes the thrill

if it was arranged beforehand, he would absolutely blindfold you and tie you up and let someone watch him use you though

a touch of somno: waking each other up with oral or when he's had a really tough day outright fucking you until you wake up. this isn't happening often, but it's happened enough in the past to definitely be something he's into

'sir' 'captain' 'doctor' - he earned these titles, you'll treat him with the respect he deserves

overstim: both giving and receiving. he wants you to beg him for mercy and he likes to be taken out of his head every once n a while

toys: not very often, but occasionally one of you just needs a little something extra. maybe plugs or dildos if he doesn't have uroboros yet, probably vibrators too

uroboros: he's insanely strong and definitely has a bigger build after re5. this is something both of you have to get used to

tentacles: obviously duh

size kink: he's taller and wider and more heavily endowed. he likes how you look under him and he LOVES his bulge poking from your tummy when he's balls deep :3

i'm sure there's more we'll come up with

[sunlight-s0ngbird]

Fritz is consuming my mind!! Can I request a story or headcanon of if another solider had happened to stumble upon the readers house, searching for a safe haven within our home just for a short while.

How would Fritz react? Would he think he’s a threat? Would he get jealous of having to share your attention?

The Icarus to your certainty.

Yandere Soldier x Gender neutral jealous headcanons Summary: One thunderous night and a new visitor turns Fritz's life upside down. Content warnings: Talk of violence, sex, yandere content, bullying(?) from Fritz to the soldier, Word count:840 (so short :() AI was not used to make this. Do not use to make or for ai. A/N: Fritz is a WW1 German soldier btw. Welcome board Request rules Yandere soldier masterlist

♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

It was one thunderous night, the rain coming down on the barn violently with occasionally claps and flashes of lightning. Fritz slept in the far-off corner of the barn, far from the lambs that bleeped loudly and made him nervous. His sleep was shaken when the large doors opened to... two figures...? He knew one was you, but the other wasn’t familiar. 

You hushed the figure as he shakily sat down by the lambs, holding onto the fabric of his coat. He kept mumbling to himself with each crack of thunder, falling to lay on his side as the baby animals hovered around his head with the soft tears. 

“Hello,” Fritz called to the man, watching his faceless form stiffen and sit up, the lambs leaving his face. 

“Hello,” the man hesitated with a shaky breath. Fritz could not see much but saw his trembling hands that drew closely to his chest with each crack of thunder. 

“You are a soldier?” 

“Yes.” 

Fritz nodded, fixing his blanket over himself. “Which side?” 

“Germany,” the man answered, “You?” 

“Germany,” Fritz answered blankly, going quiet when the barn doors opened again and you came back in, a blanket and water in your hands. 

It started small, you helped the soldier named Gregor wash his hair, clean his clothes, feed himself. Fritz had a neutral stance on the man at the start, not believing that there was anything wrong with the man living there with you. 

Fritz didn’t think another soldier would come to your home, of all places! He hates it with his entire being. Like, yeah Fritz himself suffers from war-based trauma’s but it’s not fun knowing he can’t always get your attention all the time. Now he must share. And it’s a safety thing too! Two German soldier’s going missing and possibly being seen finding shelter in your home? That could get you arrested! But Fritz won’t leave, he got here first. 

He will never not be jealous of the other soldier. If you give the other man food, blankets, comfort, anything, he’ll be so annoyed. If you give it out equally, it’ll be worse. Fritz doesn’t see Gregor as an equal, he got here first! 

Gregor sat with the cotton blanket wrapped around his shoulders, looking down at the hand stitched patchwork on it. Fritz kept his head low, but his eyes trained to the soldier. They did look similar; their fingers were both stained with gunpowder, their clothes bland with lifeless tones, and their hair a short deep brown color. 

“You’re not special, you know,” Fritz piped up, fixing the blanket over his lap. “They gave us both blankets, so it’s equal.” 

“I know that. I see it clear and well,” Gregor nodded and fixed the bowl of soup in his lap. “You don’t like me?” 

“No, you’re the most...,” Fritz scoffed at the soldier’s words. Was he that stupid or was the question a joke? “... Amazing guy I’ve met in a long while.” 

Fritz is cruel in the way a schoolboy is: nitpicking. He’ll make comments about how dirty Gregor’s dog tags are, call him names, or say things about how he isn’t deserving of love. 

He’ll turn to your comfort more, expecting you to hold him and be there for him more often than Gregor. He’d become desperate and want your care. Part of it is because he genuinely wanting your love, but another wants to prove to Gregor that you like him more. 

Fritz’s want for any form of sex becomes worse. He’ll try encouraging you to do things with him or suggest he helps you. Something he will refuse to admit is how it’s done to prove he’s better than Gregor, to show he’s superior physically and can “perform”. The need to prove himself will follow with the want to commit the scene in the barn, in Fritz’s far corner, just out of sight so Gregor couldn’t see your face but seeing enough to know he was doing well. 

Fritz will encourage you to kick Gregor out, saying he’s a danger and that he can’t stay forever. 

“I know it sounds mean, my love, but he can’t stay forever,” Fritz said softly, his harsh expression contrasting his tone. He stood awkwardly behind you, playing with his suspender band. “If he stays here forever, it will be known you are hiding soldiers.” 

“Then that means you will have to leave too,” you state, filling the bucket of water for the lambs. 

“I got here first!” He exclaims, pausing at his childish he truly sounded and fixed himself. “I mean... I got here first and am still hurting.” 

You smiled at his childishness and set the metal bucket down. “He plans on leaving soon. He knows he can’t stay forever. He says he will leave for his home back in northern Germany.” 

Fritz hastily stopped himself from grinning ear-to-ear. It was the right kind of info he needed. He nodded, leaned in to kiss your cheek, and took the bucket to set back on the shelves. 

♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

[the-artist-grimm]

one thing im very complexed about is what were baal and ayms rection to narinder after getting resurected. surely they would feel a lot of anger towards him because of what he did.

When Aym and Baal are revived they’re more concerned for Narinder than anything else. Like how can their master, their father go from agonizing for MONTHS over ways to spare the lamb, to in the span of a single week telling them he’s found a way but not elaborating, looking completely heartbroken the next few days after, then when the day of reckoning finally comes telling the lamb in this muted, emotionless tone to sacrifice themselves out of the blue? It didn’t make sense. 

While Aym and Baal are 11 year old kids but they’re not stupid-they know this isn’t how their father usually acts, and something’s wrong. It's why they intentionally get hurt (and accidentally) die fighting Anthea, they're trying to snap him out of it since they didn't know what else to do since he didn't want to talk.

From there it takes 4 months to revive the twins-during that time their souls are trapped inside the gateway by the remains of Narinder's metaphysical chain. Not quite awake, but not quite asleep either-only able to tell they were alone until the voices of their parents wake them up before being yanked into the mortal realm. They’re scared, they’re shaken, they put brave faces on while dying yeah but they can feel the phantom of blade and mana caught in their flesh all over again, but their twin is beside them, and before they know it their Baba has them in their embrace wailing, yet their father is nowhere to be seen. 

Cue them being seemingly ok-ish (read: in shock) while being fussed over by Anthea for the rest of the day (given warm meals, constant hugs and kisses to the head, warm bubbly baths then a long brushing, soft nightgowns that smell like lanolin, all while their comfort kitten plushies they'd given the lamb a day prior to the betrayal in preparation for the 'move' have been returned to their arms), and while they keep asking what happened, the Lamb doesn’t know how to answer them anymore. A month before they would've said Narinder betrayed them all, but they're no longer sure anymore.

(Narinder betrayed them. He betrayed them, but then why did he help them with the resurrection? Why did he stabilize them as they struggled to break the chain, why did he lose sleep the whole week leading up just to help? Following their every word, their every order perfectly, never getting upset when they got snappy?  Why did he the leave the chapel without greeting the boys he mourned over. Why hasn't he tried to take back the crown since his arrival? Why isn’t he fighting them, angry, bitter, anything? Why is he making it so hard to hate and ignore him?)

Anthea eventually has to take the twins over to Narinder later that night since the nightmares are setting in now that the shock's worn off and they both wake up crying for him (they can’t remember the 4 months but that isolation left both with intense separation anxiety from both each other and their parents, and not having seen Narinder was really messing with them), and while that first reunion is them just launching themselves at him to cling to his nightshirt crying, followed by them then refusing to let Anthea leave either and thus both parents are stuck trying to get the boys to fall asleep in Narinder’s room, come morning they’ve calmed down enough that Anthea can leave to do cult things and they can question their father.

They just want to know what happened, and is he ok-he scared them by acting so strange and they're worried. Which kinda breaks Narinder a little because he left the chapel expecting that they hated him. That they wouldn’t want to see him since he betrayed Anthea, is the reason they died, and that their Baba deserved them more than him but here they are worried for him, and it’s the first time in months someone’s said they’re worried about him and he actually believes it. So he tells them everything.

He heard something he wasn't meant to hear, took it out of context, and in his fear over being betrayed again made a mistake. A mistake he thinks he can NEVER fix, and was a mistake he thinks he should NEVER be forgiven for. 

(He didn't trust them. Why didn't he trust them? The Lamb was his friend why would they ever betray him he's terrible Shamura was right to 'hate' him why can't everyone just abandon him already he doesn't understand-)

He thinks that’ll do it, but rather than the twins getting mad, it just clears up what they had already assumed-that something went wrong, and their dad thought he had no choice. They're not angry because he made a mistake since why should they? That just means he has to apologize.

It's that childishly innocent idea that all mistakes can be fixed by talking things out, and while it's more complicated than that, it does hold weight. Aym and Baal are the breaking of the cycle of hiding your emotions, hiding your pain, assuming the worst and self-loathing and destroying yourself as a result. The cycle of not talking to the people in your life and just letting things boil over. Narinder may have held back in some ways when raising them by not telling them to call him ‘dad’, but he raised them as he wished he’d been-teaching the twins that it’s ok to be hurt, scared, to make mistakes, and that they can go to him for anything and he won’t get mad. Anthea’s presence reinforced that-that you gotta talk to people when something’s wrong or else they can’t help. 

The boys are very empathetic and emotionally aware, and thus if they can make mistakes and fix things, why can’t the adults? So no they're not mad at Narinder, they just don't understand why he thinks it's not worth trying to make amends.

[aychama]

I was out of internet for a few days now I can check my fav blog. Yippie!!!!

I got some more questions for ya as I can not get enough of this royal au.

Will we see Sozo in the main story? What about other characters like the ducks?

How often will the goat appear? Do they have any real affect to the story?

Whats Shamura’s reaction to Lambert and Narinder falling in love with each other?

If you have time, can we get some art of Narinder and lamb having some nice hugs??

:D

Awww thank you! That means a lot ❤️

1- Yup! Sozo is important to Heket and Kallamar's kingdoms! And the duck siblings will get their little moments as well.

2- Goat will appear here and there, nothing is set in stone about him yet. Since I started making the story before goat was intruduced to the game, they wont have a big impact to the story.

3- Shamura won't know for a long time but when they do

" Khahaha... to be betrayed by the one you love..." they think those two deserve eachother.

4- I might make this one digital :3

[laserbobcat]

Their love language is insane (positive.) Leshy being like "He didn't kick the crap out of me so I know he's MAD mad and I need to fix that asap." Is wholesome in a deranged way and that absolutely fits someone like him.

I'm gonna add this comment by @inspector-finebeak here because it's relevant, and try to explain myself Ok so I grew up in the 90s with this kind of shit:

And that is self explanatory. Millennial jumpscare y'all. I didn't like it that much tho, like, please talk. Normal people don't throw tables at each other for basic misunderstandings. And what bothered me the most is that the boundaries are never respected. There's a "Haha funny the girl is angry because the guy was an asshole again" and then they get married. You deserved better Akane.

Now, with the way I draw Leshycat I think it passes because: -It's a funny cartoon cult game that already has the funny violence -One of them is a literal god of chaos -The other is a former heretic cat with a few lifetimes of repressed anger issues -They almost have equal fighting abilities -They both enjoy (with or without admitting it) the exercise -They both have the means to make it stop if they want -They both have boundaries (lost somewhere) that the other will respect once expressed (in stupid ways probably) because they actually care Morgan will never aim for Leshy's eyes, will feel bad if he makes a faux pas about his blindness, and Leshy now knows that you don't mess with the cat's sewing work and you don't trick him into feeling guilty. The list grows as they continuously push each other because men will do anything except go to therapy. That's what I want in a fighty-rowdy type of dynamic that I'm supposed to enjoy, not one where I think the writer is either consciously writing unbalanced power dynamics, or needs therapy to learn what a red flag is. So that's what I'm doing!

And this kind of casual violence is also just from the game tbh. The Lamb is a freaky murder machine and his favorite people have to be fucked up imo. To relate. ALSO. Writing and drawing serious tone angst is tricky and I leave that to other artists.

[bunniemoth]

[fic] The mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb (Shane x f!Farmer)

Title: The mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb Pairing: Shane x f!Farmer Rating: Explicit 🌶️🌶️🌶️ Words: 2,137 Warnings: pwp, p in v, Farmer's a bit of a brat, sooooper light d/s because Shane deserves a treat (and frankly that's how I roll, my dear), slight spoilers for the Immersive Shane Mod by tenthousandcats, references to addiction, references to alcohol, married life looks good from here (i.e. established relationship), barebacking, no beta we die like men Summary:

When the Farmer suggests that her husband take off that annoying Mermaid pendant if he's going to complain about it, Shane demonstrates just how bothersome the f*cking thing is.

In bed.

OR:

Farmer sets herself up to get smacked in the chin with the token of her husband's affection.

OR!!

They're stupid for each other and I love that for them. Also body fluids.

Notes: Inspired by this set of screens from the Immersive Shane mod by tenthousandcats. So many blessings on their house. Holy shit. The title's a lyric from Rain by Sleep Token.

Read it on Ao3 or below. 😊

“...Yeah, sunshine, I get that’s the practical thing to do but the only way you’re going to get this pendant off me is by prying it off my cold, dead body.”

Shane pauses, the mermaid pendant clutched in his fist. His cheek twitches, but while he controls the smile, he can’t hide the way his gaze glitters just a little bit.

He smoothes his hand down his chest, and standing a little straighter, he uses the three inches in height he has over you to the best effect, making it a challenge:

“I’m not taking it off for shit.”

As if you’d make him do anything of the sort. It looks good on him — that little ‘property of the farmer’ that glints blue and opalescent. You’ve woken up with it an inch from your cheek for three weeks, and maybe this is still the honeymoon phase, but you think he stands a little taller when he hangs it on the outside of his shirt like a declaration:

He’s yours and you’re his.

“Not for anything?” you tease.

He wags his head, gaze dipping to your mouth and back.

“Nope. Although I maybe I have a suggestion for demonstrating just how irritating it actually is.”

“Maybe you’re just sensitive,” you hedge, shrugging one shoulder in a mockery of innocence.

He flashes teeth. It’s your only warning.

“We’ll see.”

The part of you that sometimes wishes you knew your husband in his gridball days doesn’t need to wonder at it for too long.

Your shriek as he lunges for you rings around the first floor of the farmhouse, the world upending as Shane goes low and you go… upside down and over his shoulder, laughing as he charges you top the stairs and into the bedroom.

You swat at the seat of his jeans to no avail, because he braces the backs of your thighs to his chest and all the blood is rushing to your head and you know he’s wearing that diabolical grin he sometimes gets when you’ve made extra Pepper Poppers fresh for him and he’s thinking about eating them all in one sitting.

“Still got it,” he says, flipping you onto the bed.

You land with a whump of feathers and dust, shocked at the show of strength, but not for long because he asks, a little out of breath and a little flushed as he shucks off his hoodie. “Want a demonstration?”

The shirt comes off next, and between the tee-shirt tan and the patch of purple fluff that covers his chest and stomach, you notice that he never fumbles when the belt buckle comes undone.

When he gets like this, he’s hard to contain: the strength in that trunk under a layer of love of your cooking and too many days and nights at the the bottom of a pint, but he’s not shy and Shane doesn’t hide, not when your body on offer makes him that hard.

You love every inch of him — every dip and roll and scar. All of it. No exceptions.

So you stare at each other in amazement for a second, because it’s good being this stupid over each other. It’s fucking perfect even when it isn’t.

“Yoba, yes,” you manage, but the callouses on his hands rasp along your cheek, tilting you upwards to catch a flash of warmth in his grin; that golden glimmer of a man on a winning streak.

“Good answer.”

Shane doesn’t think he’s good at a lot of things, but one thing he’s an expert in is unfastening the snaps on your overalls. In two seconds, you’re half-undressed already, and his kiss slows the world on its axis.

Wet and warm, Shane’s affection is sweet and slow as maple syrup, his tongue thick and lazy when he tastes your mouth, and every breath that puffs against your cheek is as decadent as the heat of his hands on your body —

Skin to skin beneath your shirt to pull top and bra off in a heartbeat, your trousers tugged down your legs, the gusset of your panties tested with the press and rub of two fingers tugging them to the side as he leans over you on the bed.

“You ready?”

One finger slides through your folds.

“You’re going to ruin another pair of my panties.”

“Good.” He nips at your jaw, closing his mouth around a softest patch of flesh below your ear and giving you an experimental suck that makes you moan out loud. The shiver that follows pebbles your nipples when Shane growls, “I want this pussy accessible at all times when you’re wearing coveralls.”

He pushes in with two fingers, spreading them a little bit to test your resistance, and you practically climb up his shoulders as he pulls you onto the bed beside him.

The pendant is warm from his body, sliding off to the side in a way that must be uncomfortable, but Shane gives exactly no fucks the way he’s left you half-undone in the effort to make you come first — to make you come hard.

He curls his fingers, and sinking your fingers into his hair as if you think you’ve got control over the situation, he chuckles into your throat. “You’re already squirming.”

“Whose fault is that?” you groan as he taps into the spot that wakes up so easily to his touch. It’s not going to take long.

His grin is infectious. “I love that I’m the one that gets you this worked up.”

“Don’t let it get to your — to your — oh fuck.”

Shane’s laughter is the best thing when you come — better even than the flex of tendons and the slight protrusions of veins in his arms when you try to grip at him as he keeps pumping into you with his fingers; better even than his thigh between yours pinning you to the bed; better even than the sloppy, dishevelled grin he wears after you’ve given him head —

Granted, while you like seeing him fucked stupid, sometimes you have to make exceptions.

Now, though, his hard-on is poking you in the hip, and you know that this is just the warm up to him proving a point about the fancy bit of jewelry he’s holding between his teeth as you ride out the ebb and flush of pleasure. The heel of his hand presses into your clit, and you know he’s enjoying the aftershocks in your body, spasming around his fingers.

He’s got that small, smug grin again.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” you breathe.

He spits out the pendant, crawling over you and in-between your legs, trapped by your boots and denims, and the weight of his torso pinning you to the comforter — his hands do the rest, finding your wrists and tacking them to the mattress.

“Wasn’t done yet,” he murmurs.

Shane nudges your chin, capturing your bottom lip, all innocence, but the pendant swings free to bump into your chest. As if you didn’t know where this was going.

“Got a problem, farmer — I’ve got you dripping on my cock right now, but I’m a little concerned that if I let go of your wrists, you’re gonna get unruly,” he says.

“Sounds like a problem. What are you going to do about it?”

He grunts, his stubble rasping over your cheek as he kisses you again, rocking your hips against his length like you can soak him before he even arrives at a decision. The movement is limited, but he flexes in a way that gets him groaning into your throat a moment later.

“How ‘bout you be good for one second.”

You grind your hips, and he swears.

“There’s truffle oil in the bedside table, Shane.”

“Fuck me.” He laughs, the sound reverberating through your chest. You pull your boots up the back of his legs, clinging to his lower back, your overalls trailing.

“Trying to but you keep teasing.”

Shane growls. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were winding me up.”

His cock drags slow through your juices, and back again slicking himself with your spend, letting you get a good feel for how hard he is, and how thick. 

“Or suggesting that I put it in your —”

“What’s mine is yours, love.”

He freezes, breathing hard.

You kiss his jaw, arching your back to press your breasts into his chest, the tiny movements of your hips excruciating because he won’t bully his cock into the spot you want without begging for it.

He presses his lips together, breathing heavily, getting just irritated enough to make it a thing, but —

The tip of his cockhead notches into right place — just on the edge of easing past the point of entry. You clench. It’s involuntary. You need him. You want it. You’re not above begging, and he knows it.

“Shane.”

He looks like he’s barely holding it together.

Nothing’s more rewarding than that flustered, fighty look slanted in your direction.

In the sweetest, most adoring voice that doesn’t falter when he gives your wrists a squeeze, you ask him from between your teeth, “Will you fuck me raw, please?”

“I love it when you whine like that for —” the rest is lost under his groan as he buries himself inside you, pushing past the brief resistance of tension because you’re still just a little too tight for his girth, and when he bottoms out, you choke out a cry that makes him shudder.

“S’fucking —” he slurs into your neck. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

His balls clench upward, the flex against your ass delicate and warm, but the burn is brief and he flexes once, twice and pulls out in a sure stroke that earns a groan before pushing back in to the hilt.

You catch your breath, blinking back the sting.

This good kind of discomfort reduces you to monosyllables. He’s fighting giving into it, just a little longer.

“— Hurt?” He asks.

You shake your head, the air caught in your throat. It comes out an airy sob: “More.”

“Yoba.” Shane crumbles, and then he frees your wrists to rise to a pushup where that pendant falls free of the spot it had been pressed between your hearts to slap you in the chin. It tickles, and you shrink away as it dances over your skin.

“Fucking annoying, isn’t it?” Shane breathes, but he’s grinning.

“You’re annoying and I still like you,” you manage. You grip the cord, pulling him into you as he chuckles, surprised, and kisses you back.

“I see how it is,” he murmurs, but he gives in, gathering you into him.

It takes three strokes of his thick cock before your arching off the bed, your heels digging into his hips to bring him closer, your hands groping up his shoulders as the only sounds are the squeaking bed and the slap of his hips against your ass. It’s bright and fiery for a second, the stretch too decadent to feel anything but the ripple of friction, and then the strike of pressure against the exact spot that makes you gasp.

He grins against your mouth, knowing he’s in the right vicinity. “I can feel you clenching.”

Your vision spots.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he says.

You grip the cord a little tighter, and he keeps going, “And you’re gonna thank me afterward.”

A half-garbled curse slips out as your fingers loosen, your death grip loosening as you start losing focus. The feeling crests into that liminal edge that teeters on darkness — a shadow behind the vision — and all the world narrows to your point of connection and the slick sounds of Shane’s cock gliding in and out of your body the wetter you get. It’s just friction. It’s just pressure. It’s just the feeling of fitting together in an assembly of discordant pieces that seem to make sense, and doesn’t that make you the lucky one in this arrangement?

You’re dripping, and he’s indulgent, his murmur in your ear making you whimper, “I’ll take being mushy over a bit of jewelry if it means I get to feel you coming on me like this for the rest of my life.”

Release breaks with a sob, your body going rigid in Shane’s arms as the mermaid pendant rocks into you again, its smooth edges knocking into your chin.

He shudders, his hips lurching as his resistance breaks, and with a warm gush, Shane comes.

Sagging, his arms shudder as he sinks his weight onto you, but you wrap your arms around his sweaty shoulders as he mutters, “Like I said. This thing is going exactly nowhere.”

Laughing, you kiss his shoulder, his neck, his cheek.

He glowers, struggling not to smile about it.

“You made your point,” you tell him, giving the string one last tug. “It has its uses.”