#i drew it all with pen 😇

[macchi57]

[rou-luxe]

Ikevil OC: Elsie Juniper

The Juniper Tree fairytale is very violent. If you search it up, do so with caution.

I drew this a while ago but I forgot about it 💀

more under the cut

Elsie Juniper. Quiet and deadly. If she snaps, no one is making it out alive.

Birthday: May 14th (Taurus)* Height: 160 cm Affiliation: Theater, Crown (temporary) Curse: The Juniper Tree: Marlinchen *not intended to be recently, that's just a coincidence

"My mother she killed me, My father he ate me, My sister, little Marlinchen, Gathered together all my bones, Tied them in a silken handkerchief, Laid them beneath the juniper-tree, Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

In "The Juniper Tree", Marlinchen's tears assist in bringing her brother back to life. Following the tale, her tears provide physical comfort to someone for a set amount of time, but like numbing rather than anesthesia. She tends to use it more on people suffering a fatal wound, to let them pass in peace. Elsie is rather sensitive and prone to crying... in conjunction with her ability, her ability tends to be rather inconvenient for herself...

She hates the stench of blood and flesh. However, her ability does come in handy when helping out Roger (he tends to accidentally cause more damage to the person when this happens because he doesn't know when he's going too far) Roger sometimes uses the tears as numbing.  Then the members have to drag her away from Roger lest he get turned-

She works as a costume designer for the theater where Liam works at. Occasionally she writes her own plays. Sometimes she'll go to the bar and write with quill and pen for hours on end...

Relationships (read: delusion / headcanons)

oh lovely sylvatica... yk how Alfons loves watching Liam at plays? Elsie likes to watch front row seat to see all her hard work and Liam usually has them sitting next to each other* Elsie can't take much more flirting. Save her. Please. + their relationship is a complicated one. might write sometime.

Ah, yes. Coworkers and great friends. Elsie loves designing new outfits for Liam ❤️ He's really good at comforting her and Elsie repays him any way she can. Always the small things. She probably loves messing with his hair.

Elsie is painfully honest. Harrison teases her a lot about how obvious it is whenever she lies. He doesn't even need to use his ability. They both love sweets, though, and Harrison loves treating Elsie to the bakery. (BIG BROTHER FIGURE SPOTTED!!)

William and her are on okay terms. Elsie respects him a lot. wtf what else do I say (<- just finished William route but is still confused)

Elsie feels really comfortable around Elbert. They can have silent moments in peace, and she likes taking care of him, whether it's making sure his hair is brushed or making him tea. He is ADORABLE.

Victor has too much energy for her, but she sometimes helps him take care of Crown. She loves messing with Victor's hair also...

Other than to study her ability, Elsie and Roger don't interact often...

She's constantly under the impression that Jude is really scary. She once bumped into him and wouldn't stop apologizing

*I CAN SEE LIAM BEING A MATCHMAKER SO BADDD THIS HEADCANON LIVES IN MY BRAIN I NEED TO SEE MORE LIAM AND ALFONS RELATIONSHIP PLEASE CYBIRD

In the Victorian era, if a woman was single, it was commonplace for a woman to be escorted by an older male servant (like a butler) or an older family member. If she was NOT single, the woman would typically be escorted by her lover. Alfons takes advantage of this fact

Of course, Liam wants Elsie to be safe, so he asks Alfons to sit next to her. Alfons is already there, anyway. He can trust his coworker enough in case anything goes wrong... right? 😇

(she has her own backstory with explanations of certain likes / dislikes, but I'm not revealing it. maybe in a separate post. I don't want to traumatize anyone just looking at this)

watch me forget she exists

"...What do you want from me?"

[oogaboogasphincter]

Kinktober Day 4

💜my kinktober masterlist

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

prompt: spanking🖤role reversal🖤knife play (prompt list by @the-purity-pen)

rating: E (explicit) 18+ only!

word count: 740+

warnings: dom(ish)!reader+sub(ish)!tovar, unprotected p in v sex (use protection irl!), lil bit of choking and hair-pulling bc i'm feral, two instances of “mi amor” bc that’s the extent of the spanish i know 😇💀, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns

author’s note: the way i would drop almost everything to be this man’s wife during his time period..... the feminism would leave my body instantaneously like sir yes i do the cooking yes i do the cleaning please wife me tf up 😀 also i wrote this w reader usually being submissive and tovar usually being dominant so that’s where we ✨reverse the roles✨ +also i'm catching up on kinktober today! day 5 will be coming later tonight and day 6 will honestly probably be posted in the very early hours of tomorrow so ✨

gif by @manny-jacinto​

Pero’s dominance on the battlefield doesn’t dwindle when the setting changes to the bedroom. He’s ever the sweetest and most tender, taking note of your every reaction to his sultry maneuvers, but the doting man often loves it rough. He likes spanking your ass until it is red with his handprint and you squirm under the delectable sting, he loves catching your jaw between his thumb and forefinger to force you to look at him as tears of overstimulated pleasure spill from your eyes. He does all of this in the name of passion, unable to find any other way that he deems suitable to show you just how much he loves you.

Although you obey his every sexual command like it’s your life’s purpose, this isn’t the only reason why he loves you. You drew him in initially with your spunkiness. The first time you slept together, he was surprised at how quickly the teasing brat turned into the whimpering, begging girl on her knees.

Sometimes, when he returns from missions that were particularly grueling, he doesn’t have the energy to be as rough as he’d like. Don't get it twisted; this softer type of sex is equally mind-blowing as the rough stuff. Orgasms may not be unexpected explosions of fire - ripping through your veins at an inconceivable speed - but are instead slow burns of chameleonic passion that - slowly but surely - overtake all your senses with a numbing lust. 

Sometimes, he appreciates it when you take more control in the bedroom. Even when he has the energy to flip you onto your back and fuck into you with abandon, it’s undeniably sexy to him when he gets to sit back and watch you ride him. There’s something about you directly taking what you want that has his bones melting and his heart hammering with infatuation. When all you allow him to do is watch as you fuck yourself on his throbbing cock at a pace you’ve set, Pero can see a smidge of that spunkiness he originally fell in love with come through.

This is the predicament you find yourselves in now. Sheets pulsing underneath his sturdy body, Pero winces in delight with every one of your thrusts. One hand on his chest, his heartbeat tingling on your palm, and the other cupping the side of his jaw, you slowly lift and lower your hips on the length of his cock. It’s all just sluggish movements and sedated exhales now, but in a few minutes you won’t be able to contain your greed to ride him hard.

His hands are curious, like always. His left goes from grasping your hip tight, following it in all its movements, to skimming up your side to knead your shoulder, to circle the side of your neck delicately. The right starts out intertwined with your left on his chest, but grows restless and travels up your middle to palm your breast, his rough fingertips scratching over your nipple. 

Your patience has worn thin. Your bouncing stops and turns into horizontal grinds, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth across his groin. Your sounds of indulgence transform from gasps to moans, pants to growls. He encourages you, “That’s it, show me how you like it, mi amor.” 

To gain stability to fuck yourself on him even harder, the hand on his chest skates up to his neck and grasps the flushed column. The hand on his jaw slips to his hair and pulls, exposing his excited jugular veins to you. The feeling in your hand is almost lost with how passionately you’re holding him, how hard his blood beats underneath his skin, the numbing vibrations projected from his vocal cords.

The height of your climax is reached with a groan of his name; it chokes you out and halts your spasms. Pero won’t have any of this stoppage, so, with his dominance returning, he pulls your torso down flush against his own. 

“Let me make you feel good, mi amor.”

He plants his feet firmly on the weak bed and pistons his hips into yours, just in time to prolong your orgasm. You swear he’s burying his cock in your stomach with how deep he’s fucking you. 

Taking the reins is fun once in a while, but nothing will ever be as intoxicating as dominant Pero. 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​

[thevulcanbobdylan]

Kink of your choice, is it your choice or my choice? Assuming that I'm choosing then how about roleplay 😇 and/or (alternate option or extra treat) 2-3

This was from our smut workout prompts and I let it slide for waaay too long; sorry bout that 😅 Smut below the fold

Role Play

"Bill Adama! You, of all people?"

"What? I'm sure it happens to every boy at one time or another."

Laura rolled her eyes, reaching up with both hands to gather her hair into a bun at the back of her head. He watched her almost hungrily as she donned her glasses and planted herself on his desk, legs crossed to reveal a little more thigh than was strictly Presidential.

She leaned back with one hand on the desk, toying with the top button of her blouse. "Tell me about her."

"Ms. Kerry. Ninth grade, Colonial history. Great legs." He averted his eyes sheepishly. "Red hair."

Her fingers that had just pushed the button through its hole stopped short.

"Bill. Please don't tell me I'm just some frakked-up fetish thing for you."

He shook his head, and his eyes were so boyishly earnest that she had to stifle a laugh. His gaze raked her long expanse of bare leg.

"Of course not," he said. And then, "although the great legs and hair don't hurt."

She bounced one foot pensively, shoe dangling from her toes. It seemed like every man she'd been with had brought this up sooner or later. That "sexy teacher vibe", they'd say. She didn't really mind indulging them - it wasn't as though she had any trouble compartmentalizing.

Her fingers went back to toying with the neckline of her blouse. It was far from her favorite pastime, but the open desire in Bill's eyes made her feel more amenable. Maybe she could work this to her own advantage.

She uncrossed her legs and planted one foot on the seat of his chair, rolling it back slightly to force him to look up at her.

"I'm very disappointed in your performance, Adama," she said, making her voice huskier than usual. "What am I going to do with you? Detention? Cleaning white boards?" She chewed her pen and examined him, frowning.

He swallowed hard. "I'm sure there's something I can do."

She shoved his chair back a bit further and positioned herself on the desk directly in front of him. Then she placed her feet on either side of his thighs, effectively straddling him.

"I'm listening," she said, voice dripping with skepticism.

He hesitated, then raised his hands and placed his palms very lightly on her ankles. "Well, for starters -" He slid his hands up her legs until they were pushing the hem of her skirt out of the way.

She tried for a smirk but only managed an affectionate smile. For the others, this had almost invariably been about conquest, but the look on Bill's face was closer to awe.

She undid her bun, shaking her hair loose. "You'd better get to work," she said, tossing her head back to run a hand through her waves. "Consider this your final exam."

"Yes ma'am." He lifted her slightly, palms cupping her ass as he shoved her skirt up around her hips. Then, with a very youthful diligence, he buried his face in her, inhaling deeply.

"Prove to me that you've learned something here, Adama," she said in a low voice. He mumbled something unintelligible against her black panties before tugging them aside and applying the tip of his tongue to her bare skin.

She fingered the lace of her bra under her half-open blouse. Playing teacher didn't usually get her this keyed up.

"I expect you to apply yourself," she moaned when his tongue began lazy circles around her clit. He moaned along with her and increased the pressure.

"This isn't freshman year anymore," she added breathlessly. Something about his "yes ma'am" - or was it the finger teasing her entrance? - drew a gasp from her. She arched her back, pressing herself into him, yearning for more.

His fingers plunged inside. "Teach me how to make you come," he said between long laps of his tongue.

But his curled fingers and swirling tongue rendered the lesson moot; she was already there.

[theravenmuse]

So my GO group started talking about knights and princes and naturally this happened. As always, cross your fingers that I’ll actually finish something for once in my life.

😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇

Aziraphale triple checked that all of the appropriate books and notes were in their proper places in his satchel as well as his pens and inks. He smoothed down the front of his tunic and fiddled with its edges. Right. No time like the present. He decended the stairs to the dungeons.

The guard on duty met him at the door. “Prince Aziraphale, it’s an honor. May I be of assistance?”

“Yes, I’ve come to see the knight that was captured at (battle).”

“My prince, I would advise against that. He’s an unsightly thing.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “I am a scholar. It is my decision to seek out knowledge of that which is unknown to me, even if such things are unsightly.”

“Of course, my prince. His cell is all the way at the end and on the left.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale nodded primly and the guard bowed to let him pass.

Aziraphale’s boots thunked loudly against the rough stone at every step. This place stank of all manner of bodily fluids. He would have to have his manservant draw him a warm bath and burn the clothes that he was wearing. Still, it was well worth it just to lay eyes on this creature.

Aziraphale had prepared himself for an ugly face. He was ready for horns and hooves and scales, perhaps even a tail. He had not prepared himself for a pale skinned boy, no older than he was, with bright red hair and fine features. The eyes alone were inhuman, but beautiful in their own way. Irises of a deep amber gold were split by the slits of reptilian pupils. Even with their unusual appearance, Aziraphale could see that they were tired eyes, pained eyes. The boy blinked a few times and finally placed his focus on Aziraphale. He drew back his lips in a hiss that showed off long, black stained fangs and the flick of a forked tongue. A few drops of a black liquid dribbled from his lips and joined the swath of dried blackness coating his chin and neck. He winced, eyes flashing with pain once more, and shifted an arm where it was held across his body, putting pressure on a wound that leaked the same black substance. Blood, Aziraphale realized. The wound was a long gash from the bottom of the boys sternum to his left hip. Aziraphale couldn’t see how deep it was.

“He’s injured?”

“Yes. Shame. Should’ve finished him off on the battlefield. Easier to say he died out there than here in our dungeons.”

“He’s- he’s not going to make it?”

“‘Fraid not, young prince. I did warn you. It’s an unsightly thing, watching a creature die, even if it is one of them.”

“Wha? Hasn’t he been seen to by a physician?”

“And then tell his Kingdom that we tried to save him but failed? He’s hardly important enough to worry about keeping alive if he weren’t on deaths door.”

“But? You can’t just let him die? That can’t be allowed?”

“It’s war, your highness. It’s God that makes the rules, not us. Now, I wouldn’t be against slipping him something to help the process along quicker, but no ones yet made the request.”

“And I very much hope they don’t, for your sake as well as theirs,” Aziraphale stuttered in disgust. The audacity of this guard! Not only to deny this man treatment, but also to suggest killing one who was in his custody.

The boy in the cell had been gradually coming to full wakefulness and he observed Aziraphale curiously. Aziraphale offered him a soft smile. The boy shrunk back, eyes flashing in fear. Aziraphale sighed and pushed the guard aside to make his retreat. No, not a retreat, only a respite. This was not over.

——-

The boy appeared to be asleep as Aziraphale approached. He was sitting in the corner half curled up with his shoulder and head leaned against the wall. His eyes were closed but the opened halfway as Aziraphale stopped in front of him. His breathing was frighteningly shallow and uneven besides.

“Hi,” Aziraphale said. “It’s just us here. I sent the guard away so it’s safe for you to talk. “Right, anyway, I brought something for you.” Aziraphale pulled the magicked apple out of his satchel and held it out through the bars.

The boy lifted his head and opened his eyes a bit more.

“It’s not just an apple, it has healing magic in it. It will kill the fever and help the wound to close.”

“Why?” The boy’s voice was rough with sickness and his eyes were wide and fearful.

Aziraphale blushed. Why was he blushing? “I- uh.” He cleared his throat. “I’m a scholar. That means I study things.”

“And you want to study me?”

“I- yes. At least until your family strikes a deal to have you back. I’m sure it won’t be long once they hear that you’re alive and well.”

To Aziraphale’s surprise, the boy turned sad at this. “Yeah right. Toss it here.”

Aziraphale smiled and tossed the apple. The boy caught it easily with the hand that wasn’t holding the side of his body together. He winced at the movement but smiled in thanks.

The boy took a bite and began talking rudely around his mouthful. “So, scholar, should I call you scholar? Oh, I feel better already. Bloody hell you’re an angel. Yep that’s it. Angel.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You may call me prince or your highness or you may refer to me by my name, Prince Aziraphale.”

“Aziraphale? Yep, definitely sounds like an angel.”

“Prince, Aziraphale,” Aziraphale corrected tersely.

“Well, you’re not my prince, are you? Not use getting tied up over that one. Definitely not happening.”

Aziraphale huffed at his blatant disrespect.

“Anyway, you can call me Crowley.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley is your surname.”

“Yes, well, it’s what I go by. Suppose you can call me Anthony if you like. I don’t really mind either way, angel.” This was going to be infuriating.

Crowley finished his apple, core and all, and sat up straight to face Aziraphale. “Wow! Did that do the trick?”

“That’s only the fever breaking. The wound will still take many days to heal so I wouldn’t go jumping about.”

“Right, yeah, sure,” Crowley pouted. He eased himself back down to a pouty slouch as if that was exactly what he had intended to do.

“And you’ll need more of those apples until the wound heals, so I suggest you treat me with as much respect as your fiendish mind can manage.”

Crowley shrunk down further with a new look of terror in his eyes. “Y-yes, Prince Aziraphale,” he managed.

Oh. Aziraphale hadn’t meant it like that. He bit down on the apology at the end of his tongue. Let Crowley think that way for now. It would make everything go much smoother and it wasn’t like it was going to hurt him to have a proper respectful attitude.