#look at him! all angular and stuff!

[sashimew-the-cat]

I have’s been able to make anything in two weeks, so I re-drew my Twitter profile, after almost a year since I drew it! (Jun 4 2024 vs aug 3 2023)

(click for better quality)

[clegfly]

Who are THESE weirdos???????? Looking into MY floating mirror????????????

[stervrucht]

“Just a second,” Eddie calls from halfway beneath his bed.

Steve taps his foot as he looks around Eddie’s room. It’s messy and there’s a lot of stuff. His eyes drift around, taking it in. There is a poster with ‘Corroded Coffin’ on it in scrawled graffiti and from what Steve can see, Eddie has at least two guitars. 

On Eddie’s desk, he spots a skull — some sort of animal, but Steve has no idea what.

Steve hears Eddie groan as he tries to move back from under the bed.   

“You need any help there, Munson?”

“Nah, I got it.” Eddie turns with some difficulty and then he’s out from under the bed, sprawled halfway across the floor. He sticks up his hand and holds out a book to Steve.

“There you go.”

“Eh, thanks.” Steve flips the book over in his hand and it’s just stupid D&D stuff. “Dustin better be grateful.”

“Is he ever?” Eddie responds while he works himself in a sitting position. There is dust in his hair and his shirt is risen to expose half his chest. 

“You got a point there.” Steve lets out an unamused laugh.

When Eddie finally stands, he readjusts his shirt and quickly combs his hair. Dust still clings to his dark curls.

Steve’s eyes fall on the skull again and from his periphery he sees Eddie follow his gaze.

“You looking at the skull?”

Steve hums in response.

“It’s a fox. Pretty sick, huh? I found it myself.” Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks oddly proud.

“Pretty cool,” Steve echoes. “How do you know it’s a fox anyway?”

“Oh, just you wait.” Eddie leans over, reaching for the skull and holding it up to Steve.

“Skull size, teeth, and see these babies—” Eddie points at the eyesockets. “They’re huge.”

“Aren’t fox heads larger?” 

“All muscle and fur.”

Muscles and fur. 

Suddenly Steve comes to the horrifying existential realization that humans are also just bone and muscle and skin. He looks over at Eddie, studies his face, and suddenly it’s like he has never seen him before.

The way skin pulls over muscle, the lines around his mouth as he smiles. And how smiling pulls Eddie’s jaw taut, appearing more angular than when it’s relaxed.

“You okay, Harrington? Guess skulls are a bit morbid, huh? I sometimes forget how normal people think.” Eddie laughs sheepishly and puts the skull away again. 

When Eddie looks back, Steve is still staring. 

The skin over collarbones is thin with little muscle. 

He looks down at Eddie’s hands which have grown nervous under Steve’s eyes. 

Silver rings, skin, muscle, bone. 

Without thinking, Steve reaches out. He holds Eddie’s hand, runs his fingers over Eddie’s. 

Soft warm skin. 

“Eh…Steve?”

Steve looks up and the urge to touch is overwhelming. He raises his hands and touches Eddie’s cheeks with curious fingers.

The skin is more coarse here — marked by a five-o-clock shadow — but it’s also warmer.

“What are you—”  

Eddie stops talking when Steve runs a finger over his lips, pulling them open, just a little. 

They’re different from regular skin; warmer and wetter. 

And then Steve has no idea what he’s doing, but he moves forward and brushes his own lips over Eddie’s. Under his fingers, Steve can feel the muscles in Eddie’s jaw grow taut. 

That piques his interest. 

He slides his hand from Eddie’s jaw to his nape. From there he can feel the muscles in the jaw, thin over bone; those in his neck, thick and strong. 

He runs his tongue across Eddie’s lower lip and he feels Eddie’s lips part, his body growing soft under his actions. Eddie’s lips are moving, tentative and testing against Steve’s. 

There is no bone there.

He licks into Eddie’s mouth, feels the smooth skin under his tongue; runs his tongue over Eddie’s teeth and takes in the contrast.

Steve pulls back, his hand growing slack against Eddie’s neck as he realises he just let himself go.

Eddie stares at him with dazed eyes.

“I didn’t know skulls did it for you, Harrington.”

[motthe]

hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,

i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]

my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️

warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!

The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.

They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.

“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”

Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.

The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.

Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.

Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.

“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”

You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.

Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.

You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.

Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.

Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.

On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.

Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.

It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.

Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.

When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.

“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.

Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.

You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.

It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.

“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”

“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.

“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”

“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”

“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”

“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”

“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.

“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”

Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.

As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.

“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.

“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.

“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”

His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“I know what you’re about to ask—”

“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”

“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.

“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”

You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.

“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.

“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.

“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”

Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”

“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”

The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.

“Those are just warmups, so…”

“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”

“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”

“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.

“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”

“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.

“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”

“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”

“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”

“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.

“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”

“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”

He blinked at you. “I do?”

Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.

“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”

You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.

“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”

“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.

[choas232]

G/N Chatty reader x Steb 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Summary: In which you grapple with feelings you don’t yet understand by talking a certain enforcer’s ears off. Forced proximity makes everything worse, as it tends to.

CWs: Profanity. Canon typical violence. Reader has some bias about Zaunites they probably need to work on. I wrote most of this at 10pm at night, so be warned.

No use of Y/N, neutral terms and they/them are used to refer the reader. Set in episode three, season 2.

Word count: 2.9

Part two

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

“God. I’m starving. And tired. I barely slept at allllll last night. Do you think the Grey’s keeping us awake? Our glorious leader Kiramman sure wants it to, dragging us along at this cracking speed. It’s been a whole week, too. I’m gonna drop dead, at this rate.” You lament. Your fellow enforcer does not comment from his place behind you, his footsteps echoing around the pipe.

Graffiti crowds the metal surface, amateur artworks, declarations of love, violence, and scripts you don’t recognise cramming themselves over one another, space sparse and sought after. It’s not Jinx’s work. Still, there’s a chill on your back you choose to attribute to the profanities.

The people of the underground sure know how to decorate, that’s for sure.

You two have been chosen to scout out a fairly low-danger area in search of a Zuanite’s sighting of Jinx. He did say it after a hefty heaping of Grey was funnelled into his lungs and a gun was held to his head, but Caitlyn is paranoid enough to bark at shadows, and you will oblige, if only to keep her happy.

It’s not like any of you are much better. Loris is quieter than ever, Maddie jumps at the smallest sounds and of your companion… you have no idea. You never have. Steb’s inner workings remain a mystery to you.

You turn. “Are we there yet? We should be there soon, right?” Steb nods distantly, more focused on the setting around you.

This part of the pipes is yet to be flooded with grey, so you can see him clearly without the obscuring mask.

His light teal skin, thin lips, nose, sharp, angular features. His neat uniform. His polished posture. He is distinctly and utterly out of place amongst the chaos that surrounds you. His eyes are so blue. So opalescent, shining like pearls in his eye sockets. Is that weird to notice? How much detail is it normal to notice about someone? You should probably stop looking.

His ribbed ears flick back, ever so slightly, eyes flicking to meet yours for a brief moment.

You look away. “Uh.” His eyes. His blue eyes. Blue. “God. I’m sooo hungry. Hah. I haven’t eaten since this morning. The rations are running out, and all the Zaunite stuff Vi is bringing in is uhm, questionable.”

You don’t look behind you again, your mouth moving quicker. Your breath is tight, probably because of the steady stream of words flowing from your mouth. You think. “I would kill for a good sandwich. Or two. I might have to resort to cannibalism—”

Hands enclose around your collar and yank you back with force.

Below you, a human sized-hole lined with rusted, broken metal grating, a slowly, ever spinning fan—

Your heart staggers in your chest like a drunkard. Images of your empaled, scraped, body twisted and pressed beyond recognition cram into your skull, rattle and scream.

“Fuck.” You mumble, quietly. Steb’s hand releases your collar. “C-close one. Thanks. Fish-sticks. How didn’t I see that?” You laugh. He doesn’t. It isn’t funny.

He brushes the shoulder pads of your uniform off, carefully but hastily looking you up and down. He keeps a respectable distance between you, but you can still see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. You mimic him. Your mouth feels dry.

He fixes you with a look as his hands drop to his sides, and although his face usually retains some semblance of ambiguity on it, you know exactly what he’s thinking. Watch where you’re going.

“Sorry doc. I…” You trail off. You should stop talking. You probably talk so much around him because he makes you nervous. Why does he make you nervous? Your usual slamming of thoughts trickles dry. You have no idea.

Carefully, you two traverse over the great gaping hole in the pipework. How did you miss it? You don’t sure don’t miss how Steb watches you hawk-like though, and the following guilt is low and prickling in your gut. He goes first, and every small unprompted movement of yours has him stiffening, arm moving to steady you.

“Jeez. Don’t mother hen me, I’m all grown-up, I assure you.” You bat him away, landing with a clang! of the metal against your boots as you leap across the last segment. His frown is resounding.

A corner stretches before you, now. You let him go first with a swing of your arm just in case the metal of the pipe opens up to attempt to swallow you yet again. “All yours,” He obliges.

It’s an open space. Milky green light filters through the roofing, painting the graffiti stained flooring monochromatic and hazy. Two other pipes adjoin to the room, and a mural of Janna clad in white laced with metallic armour bounds over the walls. It looks exactly like what was described, which is worrying, because hey, Jinx!

The sniffling child is even more worrying, though. Looking up, she brushes away dark locks  from her face and bursts into prompt tears. “Please, m-my-my… my leg. it really hurts.” She wails.

Sure enough, one of her legs is crushed under a slab of tin, making itself known as the cause of the light filtering through the roof. “Please. Please.” Snot dribbles down onto her ragged shirt, her big brown eyes blown wide.

Steb is already gone before you can access the situation, bounding over.

Poor kid. You wince, tapping your fingers against your lips. Probably just playing with the ball you see perched nearby when shoddy craftmanship led to tragedy. Still… “Jeez. Think to consider a trap? No? Just me.” You mutter.

“Just you.” The voice from behind you amusedly whispers, and then you feel the cool rim of the gun pressed against your skull.

Fear makes a mockery out of you. Your thoughts accelerate, snapping at each others heels, but you cannot think. You aren’t really the brawlers of the team. He’s the field medic, for fuck’s sake, and while you can handle yourself in a fight this is more of a Vi job. You regret mocking her cuisine choices. This is probably some kind of sick karma. Sick? You feel sick. God, your stomach is writhing, your insides eating each other up.

Steb, still blinded by his tunnel vision, hauls the tin off of the girl. His ears flick down as he peers down at the clean space beneath, clean of blood and gore. Her leg, unblemished and by all means healthy looking, curls back into her body, and then she bursts outwards like a spring, down the nearest tunnel.

Too late, he looks back at you.

“I’m sure they require you topsiders to rattle a few braincells together to wear that fancy uniform. They don’t need allll of them, do they?” The man holding the gun to your head calls out to him. Flesh drips from his arms, lanky and lean, pressing against your neck as he holds you into him. You smell the shimmer on his breath before you see his blood lined eyes.

Steb jerks forwards. Bruisingly, the gun slams into your skull. “Move and their brains go BOOM! Hands in the air. Now.” He snarls, and Steb freezes in place, slowly raising his hands. You can see him breathing, hard, heaving breaths.

More people clamour their way out of vents, behind slabs of wood. You count at least four. Shit.

Shit.

This is bad.

“Woah! Talk about dramatics, huh?” You start, and almost in shock, the man holding you to himself grip loosens. From Steb’s place, you can see the wrinkle that lines his mouth when he gets stressed creep into existence. (That’s normal to remember. You should know when your coworkers get stressed. Part of the job, and all.) He slowly shakes his head. You mouth, trust me. He shakes his head harder. “Maybe we should talk this out? Civilly, tea and biscuits? …No?”

“It stopped being civil when you went for one of mine.”

Of course that guy you beat the shit out of gave you the location of an ambush. He was all too eager to speak, and when you go poking your hand down foxholes, it’s going to get bitten off. You feel both incredibly stupid and incredibly self-satisfied, you knew it, and you went here anyways.

“One of yours? I mean, we probably didn’t mean to? It was probably a mistake—” he shoves the gun down your throat. Spittle drips down the barrel. You taste dirt and gunpowder. You taste the blood leaking from your tongue.

You taste fear.

“Well? Your bag.” He gestures loosely to Steb.

Steb locks eyes with you as he gently tugs the straps off of his back, letting the hefty bag land to the floor with a thump. Carefully, he steps back, raising his hands in the air once again.

One of the hovering goons quickly snatches it, tugging it open. Medical supplies, bottles, all-the-like clatter the ground, but she continues shifting through hastily, eyes slowly narrowing. The last of our food supplies…, you mournfully think, quickly followed by Caitlyn is going to kill us, and she’s probably right to.

“You told us there would be hex tech, you fucking liar.” She drops the bag carelessly, starting towards the man holding you. “Well, do you think I’m some sort of prophet? You knew that it was an estimate.” He snaps back, grip on you loosening, the gun shifting out of your mouth to point towards the soft flesh of your cheek, spreading out your blood clouded spit as it does.

“I think you set us the hell up. You promised we’d split the money, but where’s the money now, huh? I gotta family to feed, hired work is dropping like flies with the chem barons at each other’s throats, which means I missed on any number of begging clients for this shit.”

You get an idea.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

It’s a terrible idea.

Steb tears his gaze from the arguing pair to meet your eyes, perhaps on some precognition of the mistake you are about to make.

You wink, grab the gun pressed to your cheek and then you yank.

It comes as cleanly as expected, the man’s adrenaline rattled, drug loosened reflexes nothing for the shock you give him when you take the gun from his hands, and than run. Surprise gives you the upper hand, yells clouding your soundscape. You still manage to pick out Steb’s footsteps, clean and even behind you as you barrel down the nearest pipe.

You run harder than you’ve ever run, past graffiti, with only your breath, the calls behind you, your heartbeat and the echoes of his and your boots slamming against metal to guide you.

You turn the corner so hard you slam your side against it, feeling your already bruised cheek cry out in pain in time with your yelp, and you stumble. Steb catches your shirt and yanks you right back up, and then you’re in another wide-open space.

Your head swings around, fear hammering around your ribcage like a desperate songbird.

Steb grabs your shoulder, gesturing with his head. You follow his gaze. There’s a smaller pipe in the wall, covered by a draping of torn fabric, and you rush towards it before you have any time to think, the fabric draping over your hair, the surface cool under your fingers.

He follows, your pursuer yells barrelling into your ears as the curtain draws shut.

The space is tight, circular, not even big enough for you to stretch out an arm and not brush the opposite end. Your back is pressed flush against the concrete and plaster. Your legs cage Steb, as do his, looping over one each other, his knee bent at an angle that’s for sure going to hurt later. His arms clutch the walls of the tube, yours resting bent in your lap.

He leans down, and his fingers gently grasp that stupid beret of his and tug it down onto his lap, before he pulls his head back up, his head scraping the roof. He’s a least a head taller than Maddie, and although you’d like to think of yourself as average, you are now grateful for the height you lack.

“OVER HERE!” Did they see you? Is this it? What can you do, two against at least five or so. You mean, counting has never really been your strong suit under pressure, and who’s to tell? Are you going to die? Are you going to die, your legs pressed into his midriff?

The gold smattering across Steb’s undereyes and nose adjoins with the darker turquoise scales lining the cavities his eyeballs are strung into, carving out little gold, blue, orange stripes, like the ones on the fish you and your parents used to gawk at the aquariums had.

Are they going to cart out your body to your parents, after your fellow enforcers find you, crammed into a hole in the underground? What would you had died for?

His eyes are so blue.

He blinks, smooth, deep lapis overtaking the gleaming surface of his eyes before his eyelids do. He has a second eyelid. How did you never notice?

His lips, perpetually downturned as they are, his steady line his eyebrows carve themselves into, his perfect posture, even as you are cramped within the pipe, the smooth, angular frame of his cheekbones all of it make him look like one of those forever uninconvenienced paintings the councillors hang from their mansion walls. He looks calm. His stupid snooty resting face cannot fool you. You know he isn’t.

His lips are parted, the gap between his front teeth visible as he stares down the opening of the tunnel like a loyal family dog. His little giveaway.

Maybe his inner workings aren’t such a mystery, after all.

He makes you nervous. He makes you so nervous. He makes you into a wreck.

You think you might be in love with him.

—and your pursuers are rushing past you, all until you can’t hear their voices and you’re alive. You’re alive and you’ve never been so happy to tomorrow eat shitty Zaunite food and have Caitlyn yell at you for loosing supplies and talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw.

You don’t. Talk. You don’t talk.

He’s looking at you.

You feel like a fool.

You sit there, just looking at him too. His eyelids slip halfway, letting you count the short lashes that frame them. His expression relaxes, loosens, ever so slightly, his arms moving from the wall of the tunnel to his lap.

You could sit here with him for hours, death inches from you both, and you could be happy. You could be suspended in disbelief and plausible deniability; you could allow yourself to lie. Your heart is pounding from the adrenaline, of course. Your face is pink because of overexertion, and you kind of want to kiss him because you’ve never kissed anybody and you may as well as get it over with before you die, right?

He points to his face. You blink, and then he points to yours. You brush your finger cheeks against the flesh and feel the sting of injury, spittle and blood on your fingers. Right.

Right. He’s looking at you because you’re injured right?

Of course he is. (Disappoint is still food, and you swallow it.)

Gently, he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Instead of sparring you and handing it to you, he merely carefully holds your head, one hand on your jaw and the other gently patting down the mess on your cheek. His head is tilted. You feel your heart slam up your throat, a throbbing, horrible pain that lets you part your lips to let the breath escape you before it can choke you.

The hand cradling your jaw moves a careful finger up to brush your lower lip.

Accident, of course. He’s not even looking at them, rather, the mess, taking his sweet time as he does, so very gentle.

You think he might be the danger, not the hell that is the pipework, nor the Grey, nor not the man with the gun

He pulls back, tucking the handkerchief back into the pocket and shallowly inclining his head towards the opening.

With a long look back at you, he crawls out of the hole first. You follow, dizzily. Ever the gentlemen, he offers you a hand as you push your way out of the hell that made you. You take it and feel incredibly guilty for doing so, stumbling to your feet.

He fastens his beret, usually a sign from you to inwardly (or outwardly) mock his silly hat, still watching you. You do not, in fact, mock him. You might be shaking, in fact, and that thought makes you hate yourself more than you could ever despise that ugly navy piece of fabric.

He frowns, and then he gestures to your mouth. You flinch without meaning too. “Huh?”

He mimes speaking, shallowly opening and then hastily closing his mouth

He's right to be concerned.

You haven’t spoken since you two trapped yourselves in the tunnel, after all.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

Notes: Thank you for reading!! :)))) STUPID. IDIOTS IN LOVE. Him under the guise of medical assistance letting himself touch you... bro isn't slick whatsoever. If you have any ideas, be sure to drop them in my ask box, there is lack of fic on him holy hell. As a side note, we all need the comfort after season two part two holy cow…

[latenightdaydreams]

Thinking about them stealing Königs shirt from the bases laundry room. Sneaking it back to their room and sleeping in it ♡

If he catches them would he be embarrassed? Mad? Horny as hell? Punish them?

I think ALL of the above🤭

Little Thief (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, theft, domination, p in v, unprotected

1.0k word count

👕

.

.

For the last two months, König has noticed that he’s been missing shirts from his laundry. He is a very meticulous man; he remembers exactly how many shirts he has. What the fuck? He whispers as he folds his laundry and realizes he has only eight shirts and not nine.

Little does he know, there is a little shirt thief. You. In your defense, you’ve only taken three shirts. Since you joined KorTac two months ago, you’ve become somewhat infatuated with König. His eyes are like a clear spring sky. Tall and strong, like an Olympian. As rough as he appears to be, he’s always kind. It’s hard to not fall for him.

It all happened one day when you were on your period and very horny. König had his dirty laundry in a basket, but was called away for a quick minute. You took the opportunity to steal a shirt. Taking a deep breath in, a powerful wave of König’s musk took over your senses.

Tonight was like any night. You did your beauty routine before bed and slipped into one of König’s shirts. Lights off in the room, you pull back your covers to get into bed. Exhausted after a long day, your eyes close quickly once your head hits the pillow.

Only a few moments later, you're woken up from your deep sleep by a banging on your door. You jump out of bed and rush to the door. Seeing Colonel König, you stand up straight.

“Yes, sir?”

“Y/n, have you seen—” his voice cuts off as he looks up from the tablet in his hands. You’re wearing his shirt.

He pushes you back, but not hard, and closes your door behind him. His eyes travel up and down your body, his shirt fitting you like a night down.

“That’s my shirt.” König points at you.

You can feel heat rise to your cheeks as you just gaze at him, totally speechless. “I…I.” It's hopeless. You’ve been caught.

“WHY ARE YOU TAKING MY STUFF?!” His Austrian accent makes his yelling seem harsher. He’s pissed. Why is this random recruit just stealing from him? Is she crazy?

“I’m sorry. I just like…you.” Your stomach drops, waiting for König to yell again and reject you.

“Give me back my shirts.” He says in a softer tone, feeling a blush form under his mask. Women like you don’t like men like him. He felt as if you were teasing him.

You quickly turn to go to your dresser and pull out two of his shirts. You hand them to him, trying to hide the embarrassment written all over your face.

“And that one.” He points to the one that you’re wearing currently.

Without a second thought, you obey. Grasping the hem of the shirt, you pull it off in one fluid motion. König’s jaw drops as he sees that you aren’t wearing a bra and only a tiny pink pair of panties. His eyes shamelessly trail up and down your body.

“You…” Now König is the one lost for words. He’s only ever seen you in your gear or in baggy clothing, he has no idea you were shaped so…perfectly. A beautiful face and the body of a goddess. His mind cycles through different options on how he can handle this situation.

A few seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity until König snaps out of it. He drops the shirts in his hands and moves forward to you. His gloved hands grasp the sides of your face and kisses you passionately, mask in the way. To your surprise he just pulls it off and tosses it to the side. His lips passionately coming back down to kiss you again.

His hands grab your thighs and lift your body effortlessly, rushing you both towards your bed. He lays your body near the edge of your bed before pulling away. You gaze up at him and take in his messy blonde hair, angular face, and a deep gash on his chin.

König pulls his gloves off and tosses them with his mask. He leans back in to continue to kiss you, hands caressing your delicate flesh. A low groan escapes his lips as his hands cup both of your breasts, his mouth leaves your lips and trails down your neck. His lips attach to your neck and suck, marking you with a hickey.

“You want to be mine?” He whispers as one of his hands trails down to the smooth fabric of your panties.

“Yes, I want to be yours.” You beg him.

“Fuck you’re so wet already.” His fingers feel the wet patch forming.

Leaning back, he fumbles with his belt buckle, trying his quickest to undress. His pants fall to his knees. Next, he turns to your panties, grabbing them near your hips and pulling down. His movements are frantic, as if he can’t control the lust that has taken over his body. He holds your panties to his face and takes a deep inhale.

“These are mine. You take my shirts; I take your underwear.” He teases before tossing them aside and grabbing your hips.

Once he sees your wet pussy he freezes, slapping his heavy cock on it. “Are you ready for me?”

“I have condoms—”

“Nein, you want to be mine?”

“Yes.” You look into his eyes as you speak.

“Then you’ll let me fill you with my cum.”

“Okay.” You don’t argue, you just want him.

He grabs one of your legs and holds it out to the side, his other lining his cock up with your pussy. “Beg.”

“Please give me your- oh fuck…” Your begging is interrupted by the feeling of his enormous cock stretching your tiny little cunny. A loud moan is followed as he looks down between your legs to see his fat cock being hugged by your lips.

“Fuck you’ve got a tight pussy.” He growls before rolling his hips and slamming into your roughly. “You think you can just take my things and get away with it?” His free hand reaches out and slaps your breast before grasping it tightly in his palm.

“I- I’m sorry.”

“You’re mine now, Schatzi.”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours.” Your eyes flutter as you drop your head back.

That’s all you’ve ever wanted, to be König’s. Now he’s here gapping your cunt with his monster cock and claiming you. This must be a dream.

[gold-onthe-inside]

corrective maintenance

a reactive maintenance strategy employed to restore a system, machine, or software to its optimal working condition after a failure or malfunction has occurred.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader what? the much demanded sequel to greylist; your complicated and suppressed feelings for spencer result in an argument, the blowback of which leads to a fight with penelope. content warnings: a little more background to reader given (neglected childhood, not many friends) word count: 2.1k a/n: finally put this thing together, reader and i will both have eye strain by the time we're 60

It’s just past a quarter to 11 when you trudge back to the apartment, the painkiller Spencer had given you just barely dulling the ache in your head. You close the door with your back, slipping out of your heels, the keys clattering in the clay bowl, pink with white cat-eyes. “How was your night?” came Penelope’s voice, floating over with a cup of coffee, wearing a red silk robe.

“Don’t get me fucking started,” you muttered, finding the energy to peel your coat off and Penelope hid a giddy grin as she sipped her coffee.

“You stayed at his place, huh?” she asked and you glared at her.

“Yeah, because you didn’t have the decency to go to your boyfriend’s place. We have rules about this stuff, Penelope,” you said, exhausted. You didn’t want to get into another fight, not when it felt like a construction crew was working in your frontal lobe.

“Did you at least have fun?” Penelope asked, her voice hopeful, and you scoffed, remembering the last half of your argument with Spencer.

"Just cause I don't have the same weird co-dependency that you lot seem to have with each other doesn't make me lonely," you said, your head still hurting from the hangover, rummaging through your purse for a painkiller but all you found was a couple Altoids, and you hear the pop of a tablet beside you, Spencer standing there, holding out a Tylenol for you.

“Then explain why I was the only one you had to drink with last night,” he said, not unkindly, but he’s probing into areas you’re uncomfortable with. You barely talk about it with Penelope, and you live with the woman.

“Only because Penelope was busy,” you retorted, almost not taking the pill out of sheer spite, but your head hurt too much for you go through with it. You popped the tablet, fully aware that Spencer’s still watching you as you chase it with water.

“And if you didn’t have Penelope?” he asked softly and you look at him angrily. God, why was it so easy for him to get under your skin? “Face it, you’d have been drinking alone, because Penelope’s the only friend you have.”

“And what were you doing, Mr Friendly?” you snapped back. “Since we’re all about facing facts, you had nothing better to do on a Friday night than answer Penelope’s call?”

His face blanched, and if you’d been in a better state of mind, you’d have played it off with a joke, lightened the tension. You wouldn’t have pushed him so far. “Because I’m willing to bet the only reason Penelope called you is because you reliably wouldn’t have plans,” you continued, a sharp edge to your voice. “Derek, who’s always got a date, and Emily who’s always doing something new, and Hotch who’s got a kid at home, and JJ who has her family. So don’t tell me about how lonely I am, Dr Reid, before you take a long, hard look in the mirror.” You let out a breath, running out of steam, looking at Spencer’s hurt expression, his angular face all drooping. You almost apologise. Almost.

“At least I’m not a coward about it,” he said quietly. “At least I keep trying. You’d rather make people not like you than realise they wouldn’t like you after getting to know you. Because what happens when Penelope wakes up one day and leaves you?” When. Not if. The sting is too much, the lump in your throat choking you.

“I have to go home,” you said instead, and he doesn’t stop you this time, in your black dress with the cut-out waist, wrapped up in a coat.

“What?” Penelope demanded, almost a shriek as you finished telling her the story. “That’s… Oh my God, you two are cruel, why would you say that to him? Why did he say that to you?”

You rub your face, tired and sad, your eyes half-closing of their own volition. “I was just… My head hurt and he was trying to be nice, but it just… it was too much, Pen, and then he started reading into it, because fucking profilers and—”

“So you shut him down,” Penelope groaned, sinking her head into her hand, saying your name with such disappointment. “So much for hoping you two would finally get along.”

“I don’t understand your insistence on making us get along,” you said, pouring yourself a cup of coffee and Penelope scoffed.

“Because you’re both perfect for each other,” she cried, as if it was obvious. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t see it—”

“When have you ever been right in saying I can’t do something?” you ask, but she steamrolled over you.

“You’re both insanely smart, you have the same sense of humour, you both devour books, you banter, it’s a made-for-Christmas rom-com,” Penelope insisted, watching you look at her skeptically. “You’ve never even given him a shot,” she said softly. “He… He’s not like every other guy, you know that.”

“He hasn’t even asked for a shot—”

“He dropped everything on a Friday night—”

“Because you demanded it of him—”

“Because he likes you!” Penelope cried hotly, standing up from her seat at the kitchen table. “This whole argument, where you were so mean to him, was all because he was trying to take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of—” you cried out only for Penelope to interrupt with, “Bullshit!” You stared at her outburst, uncharacteristic of the cheery woman.

“Everyone wants to be taken care of,” she told you. “You wanna act like you’re so above it all because deep down, Spencer’s right. You’re scared. And I wish you weren’t because you’re so wonderful and smart and kind and one day you’re gonna push everyone who cares away because it’s exhausting. It’s exhausting to have to keep peeling layers away.” Penelope paused, catching her breath, looking at you, waiting for it to sink in. And it doesn’t.

“Then stop trying,” you said, as if it was that simple. The coffee was too bitter for you, and you leave your half-full mug to go shower, leaving Penelope stunned in the kitchen.

You stay in your cubicle all day, resigning yourself to your code, your pride keeping you from Penelope’s lair. You’d even left early, rather than your usual lazy commute to work in her car. Spencer’s not like Morgan, he doesn’t stick out from the rest of your co-workers, all computer nerds working on other projects, so you don’t see him approach you.

“For the last time, Jerry, I’m not reviewing your code for—” You looked up, pausing at Spencer’s hopeful face sticking up over your walls. “Oh. You.”

“Not the worst reaction I’ve had,” Spencer admitted and you let out a dry huff.

“I’ll break out into a rash for you next time,” you replied and he pursed his lips.

“How’s Penelope doing?” he asked, rather than playing along with your inane game.

“What do you mean?”

“Morgan said she took a sick day, which she hasn’t done since 2009, and I tried calling her but she wouldn’t pick up,” Spencer said and you frowned. “Is she okay?”

“I— She was fine last night,” you said lamely, your stomach bottoming out, and Spencer could read your expression of guilt far too easily for your comfort. “Don’t do that. Don’t profile me,” you snapped at him, standing up and grabbing your coat.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” you retorted, starting to head out and dialling Penelope’s number while Spencer chased you.

“Can I at least know what happened?” he asked, hazel eyes on you with as much concern as they had last night. You tutted, hitting her voicemail and enter the elevator to head out, Spencer following you inside.

“You happened,” you muttered, pocketing your cell.

“What?”

“You happened,” you repeat, heated and angry, mostly at yourself. “You just had to pick a fight with me—”

“Hey, I was being nice to you—”

“And so I was pissed off when I got home—”

“And you unloaded it on her,” he filled in before putting on the receiving end of your glare. “You keep doing that, you’re gonna desensitise me to that look,” he pointed out and you sighed.

“Fine, yeah, I did, happy?” you asked bitterly and Spencer looked at you slumped back against the elevator, and he pushed the stop button, essentially trapping you both inside.

“No, and neither are you, and you never will be if you keep acting like this,” Spencer told her.

“I’m getting a little sick of being lectured to, Professor,” you snap at him and he frowns at you.

“And I’m sick of walking on eggshells around you,” he replied. “I don’t know what I did, but for some reason, you’re acting like a killer T-cell. So intent on protecting yourself that you’re destroying every relationship you have.”

“Oh please, the last thing I want is pity from you,” you scoff, stepping away from him.

“There it is, see?” he insisted. “It’s like a reflexive response, to push everyone away if they get too close. If you’re always alone, then no one can hurt you, right?”

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" you demanded.

“No, not when you’re just waiting for me to give up so you can be right,” he replied. “It’s classic avoidant attachment—”

“God, just stop!” you yelled at him. “Stop, stop trying to worm your way into my head!”

“That’s the thing, I’m not!” he insisted loudly, stepping closer to you and you back up against the wall. “You act like all I want from you is some intellectual spar, some— But I’m trying here! I’m standing in front of you right now, with nowhere to go, asking you to talk to me, actually talk to me.”

"About what?" you asked.

"Anything!" Spencer replied, his voice echoing. "You always have some smart-ass remark to throw at me, to just shut me up. So tell me what's going on, tell me why that's easier than just talking."

You look at him, speechless. His hand comes to his face, pushing his hair off his face as he looks away. “God, I sound like a crazy person,” he said, as though the realisation took him back. His hand fell to his side, and he turned to leave. “Just… Just go see Penelope before I make it worse, okay? I’m sorry,” he said, looking at you. “You’re just so confusing, and you have this way of pushing my buttons, and— God, I’m gonna shut up now.” He stepped forward to turn the elevator back on, pressing the buttons that kept him facing away from you.

You stayed by the wall, looking at him. "I'm not used to it," you said softly. "I don't... have people like you guys do."

Spencer paused, before turning back to you. "Penelope said you never talk about your childhood."

"There's not much to talk about," you said, scuffing the floor with your sneakers as the elevator went to the lobby. "My parents both worked long hours. Weren't really around. Didn't have a lot of friends growing up. And I got into tech, but when you're the only woman in the class..."

"It's not very welcoming is it?" he filled in the blanks, and when the door chimed, you found yourself not wanting to go. He stepped out, holding the lift open for you. "So how did you end up an FBI agent?"

"Get to do a lot more interesting work here than at Apple," you replied.

He lets out a sigh of recognition. “I felt the same way when I joined.” He smiles at you softly, gesturing for you to keep talking.

"I just... I dunno, I'm not wired for this stuff," you continued, stepping out of the elevator. "Friends, relationships... Coding's a lot easier."

“I can get that,” he nodded. “It’s easier, less complicated.” He let out a sigh, taking a step closer to you and you looked up. “I’m not gonna let you push me around anymore,” he added and you blinked at him.

“I figured.”

When he moved away, the relief you felt confused you. “Go talk to Penelope,” he told you. “I’m sorry I’m not great at this stuff, and that we fight a lot, and I’m always in the way but— but I want to get better.” He turned quickly, leaving you standing in the lobby, unsure of what just happened.

[chettyspagetti]

Camp Race Show Down (CRSD)

Lore at bottom

(Red?) Racekid is illegal racer and has been racing for a long time. Not the best but definitely not the worst. Keeps his cool most the time and pulls off a lot of stuns. He will either win by a smidge or be ran off by the cops and have incomplete race / loose. Always finds a way out of whatever pickle he’s in and has funny quip about it. He’s willing to do anything for thrill of the ride, and frequently doesn’t think before he does something. Mainly just doing it because he belives in himself.

Neeancy is flag girl / with Racekid as not a racer but as more of moral support / love interest (??) She is in the car when he races and is back seat driver but she sits in the front. Shes the brains of the operation and keeps him from killing himself. She doesn’t race at all but is there to help with plans and strategy since she’s still really smart and can calculate like the air and shit and how it drags. She can get kinda crazy but Racekid likes crazy so it’s okay , she tells him off when he looses or does something stupid in the race and he just nods because he knows she’s right

Mad Max , sponsor/manager for Nikki . Schemes their way into races and does shit under the table. Wears a nice outfit and tells Nikki to “do what she does best”. Is a Bookie, makes bets on races but will make it in his favor . Has a watch and a bunch of different ids on him.

(Panther) Nikki is a reckless driver , hitting cars with hers and grinding them on walls. Has no fear with racing and having a fun time doing it. Gets hurt and acts like a wounded dog when hurt . Car frequently has to be repaired and it’s a pain in Maxs ass to fix

( Erode )Ered is cool racer who has a low rider with lots of mods. Purplely/pink with yellow accents. It can glow with led lights and shit. Very chill with her riding and doesn’t try to hurt the racers, not out of kindness it just doesn’t benefit her like Nikki. Top dawg with racing and wins against Racekid but there’s no bad blood between them. More of “you did good, maybe you’ll be a good as me one day :p” and she drives off. Plays music while she races .

Sasha races and is sponsor of Erin and Tabii. Will pay people to ruin the race for others and purposely sabotaged people. Has very nice car , not fully made for racing but it’s still really good. Does similar things to max but both don’t like each other because they are “different “ with the way they do it. She wears a helmet and it has a visor on it to keep her safe. Bought all the tokens and has a lot more then everyone else.

Erin is a slower driver then Tabii is, being more calculated and less or a risk taker. She has a dark blue car and focus more on accuracy and consistency then speed. Tabii can get bad road rage and if she looses she’ll be extra nasty next race or even after . Tabiis car is more angular and has white stripes. Sasha is hard on both of them if they loose and are lowkey scared of her.

Dolph is sketch artist and makes posters for the event. You can see them in dark parts of town with the list of racers on them. Anyone can sign up. Hes also been asked by the police to sketch who he though did it but just fucks with them cus snitches get stiches (sketched max as Barack Obama) (Rouge Racer) (Rou)

Harrison owns a “bar” that many kids reside/hang out in to drink juice / caprimoons/ whatever like a normal dingy bar. He looks like a normal bar tender and does this instead of racing. He helped his brother get into illegal racing but got caught by Gwen and David, and got sent home. (And to a boarding school) he doesn’t mess with that kind of stuff anymore but still needed to make a living.

Everyone else bets on the races , they also bet with Max cus he has higher risk/ higher reward . It isn’t legal but none of this is

Instead of getting money for winning races they get arcade tokens to “Charles Pizza Family diner” A family owned restaurant with Charles the Hamster and his gang as the mascots. They like it and that’s all it matters.

[elsannej]

He got dragged into a wedding dress butique at the girls' night out.

As much as i like putting robots in dresses, i hc that Omega honestly kinda dislikes/doesn't care for women's/fem apparel. In his eyes they emphasize all the wrong things (looking soft/dainty/sweet). Not to mention how impractical e.g. dresses are.

It took a lot of convincing get him to try the stuff on:

Rouge (currently rocking a party dress herself): “Do i give off [any of the words on Omega's list] vibes? How about Blaze (in a light summer dress) over here?"

Omega (who hasn't & doesn't associate either of them with "softness" etc.,): "mmmmmmmmmmm" (If he answers truthfully he's gonna get roped into "Say Yes to The Dress")

And Omega finds out that he doesn't mind some of the dresses. That a select few actually... look quite good on him:

They either clash nicely (depicted dress) in a way that accentuates his form by putting something soft & light against his angular & heavyset build, or bring up other positive aspects - things Omega only now learned to look for/analyse in fashion - e.g. boldness/grandness/fierceness. He doesn't mind that at all.

@generic-sonic-fan

[wittymumbledon]

With how much gravity falls stuff I’ve been working on lately it’s taken me a while to get around to finishing this (long enough for me to nearly finish reading over the first “season” for the third time in a row) but here it is!! A double-page spread dedicated to @ckret2’s golden-haired menace, because I wanted NEEDED to show my appreciation for this fucking amazing AU ✨

Figuring out how to translate Goldie into my style was really fun--I tried to stay true to the original, but kinda subconsciously also added elements from my own Bill which I think is neat (namely the angular smile and triangular brows). I dunno why I gave him That One Curl (TM) but once I noticed it I tried to carry it through all the pics--the hair as a whole was really fun, especially messing around with the textures when it was--well, say, messy.

I redrew some of my fav frames/story moments (plus a couple extras: the cleaning one is inspired by when i was cleaning irl, and realized that Goldie made me feel a lot less dysphoric about wearing leggings and tank tops 'round the house. Thus - in tribute to the irony - Bill gets my leggings fdfhjdfhdf)

but that barely even scratches the surface of just the pure, gloriously hilarious chaos that this beast has to offer-- not to mention the simple fact that it is just. REALLY well written: the attention to details from the books, the comics, and the show itself; the way each character is visibly flawed in some way, be it with their morals, or their actions, or the soundness of their morals; the way each chapter healthily mixes random show-like chaos with genuinely useful info that later BEAUTIFULLY Chekov Gun's itself right back into the culmination of each saga -- it all feels so aware and true to canon and so, so, SO beautifully ALIVE. Dare I say it is one of my absolute favourite fanworks that I've ever read.

Speaking of which - if you’ll excuse me - I have some chapters to catch up on. Like I said - I’ve specifically held off reading the latest ones so that i’d finish the fanart faster and so that i’d have an excuse to make more. looking at you - bill’s abomikini /hj

If you've made it through my lil essay there I appreciate it so much <3

Bonus: I wove a lil bracelet inspired by the one Mabel made for Bill✨

Didn’t have the right colours of embroidery thread on hand so I used yarn instead, but that actually ended up working perfectly with the beads I had (just plain ol' blue ones, cause I wasn’t sure if using nazar beads would have been culturally insensitive or not - nor did I have any nazar beads that I could have used in the first place - but hey! these ones are nice and shiny and the colour works well imo)

[sweetimpurity]

❀꫶᳜᳝ᰭ✿⃨ day 28! woohoo!! only three more days to go!! wc: 1083 <<masterlist>> ❙❘❙ ❤︎

“One second baby…” He hums, looking down at a holo-tablet he’s holding and typing into the screen. Holographic glowing forms take shape in the air and he’s looking at them. Working. He’s supposed to leave that stuff at HQ. Especially when it's bedtime. You’ve talked about this before. You huff, rolling back on your bed and into the pillows. Your husband’s been so busy lately, working and working some more. All you want is a night in with him with no distractions, just the two of you. You need it, he needs it too. But there’s always someone else trying to get his time, trying to take him from you. You’re sick of it. 

Pouting and staring at the side of his handsome face, lit up in a soft yellow-orange glow, his strong angular nose and plush lips jutted out a bit as he thinks. It’s almost criminal. You lean up, fingers going to his hair, dipping your face into his neck, ghosting your lips up over his cheek and leaving soft pecks. His hand absentmindedly pats your thigh. Not paying attention, just to pacify you while his mind is elsewhere. 

You reach around to kiss his lips, pecking the corner and he only barely kisses back. You’re annoyed. So you pull away with a huff, taking your hands off him to see if he even notices. He doesn’t. Just studying the screens and seemingly trying to finish up something. That’s what he always says. Just five more minutes to finish up a report or to write up team debriefs. It’s running him ragged and you know it. 

You huff, pouting and sitting behind him on your knees. Before getting the idea. You’re quick to take off your shirt, lifting it over your head and throwing it past him to see if he even notices. But he doesn’t even look up. Rolling back against the bed you work your pants off, your panties soon to follow. Sitting behind him completely naked and he has no idea. For a moment you just look at him. His broad back stretches his work shirt in all the right places. You just want to sink your teeth into him. Maybe that will earn you a reaction. 

Your hands go to his shoulders again, gripping gently and pulling him down. He’s a gentle giant if anything. He could resist your pull easily and it wouldn’t take up much of his strength. But when he feels your hands on him, no matter what, he always seems to bend at the will of them. Of you. So as if his body disconnects from his mind, he’s letting you pull him to lay back on the bed. His legs still hung over the edge. The tablet dropping to his lap and finally looking up at you. 

“Baby are you-”

“Pay attention to me.” You hum, crawling over him, your knees planted on the bed at both sides of his head. His crimson eyes widening and locking on your perfect pussy right above his face. Instantly burying his nose in you. The holographs and reports long forgotten, letting the tablet fall off his lap and onto the floor, his big warm hands coming to your ass and pulling you down on him. Sitting you right on his face and nuzzling into you. Making you moan and gasp, thighs wanting to close around his head, trembling.

“Mmmmm…” He groans into your cunt, lapping at your folds and tasting you. Teasing your entrance with his tongue. Sticking the tip in and swirling around, listening to the sounds you make. Your hands planted on his abdomen as you start rolling your hips on his face. Grinding down on him and feeling his lips, his tongue, his chin pressing to your clit, stimulating your nerves, making you quiver. 

“Miguel!” You moan. So erotic and needy. His fingers digging into the plush of your ass and encouraging you to keep going. To keep using him, using him to get off. Using him to come. He’s hard as anything right now and pleasuring you in this way, gasping for breath against your pussy, it just brings him right to the edge. 

“Oh baby…” He gasps, pulling away for only a moment while still keeping his hands around your thighs. He’s nowhere near done but he also needs to breathe at some point. You take this time to untuck his work shirt, the metal of his belt clinking as you pull it out, throwing it on the floor. Unzipping his dress pants and burying your hand in his tented boxers. Finding him hard and hot for you. Pulling him out of the fabric and rubbing your thumb along his tip. He groans, talons threatening to come out and pierce your pretty thighs. “Nmghhh…” 

“Please Mig, I wanna come…” You whine, arching your back and feeling the tip of his nose brush against your core. He’s quick to soothe you, pulling you back down and pushing his tongue right into you. Pulling a rasping growl from your throat. Instantly coming on his tongue, contracting around the muscle still lapping at you. Squealing high and desperate and he just ravages you. Pushing his face up into your cunt and helping you ride out the high. 

“Ah!hah-” You gasp, rolled over by his strong hands, your back hitting the blankets. He sits up, face covered in your release, licking his lips. Working his tie off. Giving you a wolfish grin and standing up to rid himself of anything that would keep his skin from being on yours. Looking down at you with a face that says you’re in for it. He grabs your ankles, swinging you around and down to the edge of the bed, hearing your giggles as he pulls you around the blankets. 

“Such a naughty girl…” He huffs, leaning down over you and pinning your hands over your head with one big hand. Guiding his cock to your messy pussy with the other hand, slipping in with a gasp, your back arching off the mattress. He keels over, pounding deep, all the way in with one thrust. At least if you’re up all night, you might have an easier time convincing him into a lazy morning... 

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[theogonize]

morning sex! with nanami! it's all i fucking think about!!!!!!!

(arranged marriage au? slight somnophilia?)

he was usually up before you. like wayyy earlier. he's learnt not to bother you even though you can feel his massive weight be lifted of the bed. you know his routine by now. he goes to the gym early, showers and makes himself a cup of coffee by the time you start cooking breakfast. that's the routine, that's one you're aware of. what you don't know is that he's been watching you sleep... for like... everyday you both have lived together.

and it's !!not!! creepy, of course, you are his wife. it's not creepy, the fact that if he looks at you too long he starts to feel his pants getting tighter, a siege of blood flowing south.

it isn't wrong, when he pulls your covers down from your face. of course he just wants you to breathe easier. it's not lust. just an added bonus that he can now see your pretty lips parted, begging for a kiss and your pretty tits squished by your arms as you lay on your side.

if it's not wrong then why does he... why does he feel this way? this guilt? and why does it make him hornier?

so one of these weekends, as he told himself, he'd try his luck. it was all too unbearable for him at this point. you were fogging up his brain with these lewd images. and worst part was... you were oblivious to the effect you had on him.

it's a sunday. his body wakes up at the usual time. wee hours of the morning. you're by his side this time. it's all up to him now.

he tries to be discreet, at first. try lovey-dovey stuff first, as the internet has told him. you feel him shift in the bed and suddenly your husband's massive arms hug you from behind. the muscles tense as he pulls you to his chest. his heart is pounding. and its barely like 5 am.

"you're sleeping in?"

"yeah, weekend."

"no gym?" you ask. you both sleep face opposite sides, this is one of the few times you've had to adjust your body to his frame. you squiggle as you talk, trying to fit the soft curvature of your body with his flatter, harder frame.

"no.. it's uh... closed for maintenance today." he too has a hard time adjusting to you. to your curves, to your proximity, to how you slept in his arms like a fawn. to how he would conceal his erection to spend time like this with you. too much, too unbearable.

"oh, ok." you smiled. "wake me up if you need anything hm?"

you close your eyes once more. now something else woke you up. nanami's face nuzzled in your neck. his hands, this time, toying with your waist. his bulge apparent. it made sense now. you couldn't help but smile to yourself.

nanami kento is the beautiful man you are married to. gorgeous blonde hair. piercing brown eyes, shaped so angular that it's intimidating. perfect jaw structure. and god... that dick. he was caring and responsible too. how could a man this perfect ever love you? you were convinced he didn't. he always looked stoic, removed, disconnected from you an your relationship. he fucked you with care and gentleness and diabetic sweetness. you couldn't feel him want you. but you'd grown to want him. who the fuck has a one sided crush on their own husband?

but this... this felt different. this felt like all those fantasies were gonna come true. those moments you spent doting on him, creating the nastiest scenarios.

oh god, his soft blonde hair, unkempt and messy in bed. his eyes barely open, his body warm. he smelled like himself and not his expensive cologne. it was all so domestic. all so comfortable. how could you miss this side of nanami?

but you continued to be merry with the domesticity of it all to foresee how your perfect husband was about to perfectly split you open with his perfect dick.

[piratefishmama]

Angel | Steddie Oneshot

Eddie Munson never believed that he’d go to Heaven. Sure he’d been raised in a catholic household, his uncle was religious, he’d been raised to give thanks for the food they ate, to pray before bed that should he not wake, his soul the lord take an all that jazz.

Wouldn’t believe it to look at him, to hear the songs he sang, the music he played. Wouldn’t believe how he’d been raised if one were to go by covers instead of contents.

But despite his upbringing in the very catholic Munson Trailer of Forest Hills Trailer Park, he never believed he’d go to heaven. Something about queers and submitting to sin and blah blah blah it’d been a long-ass time since his last confession, but Uncle Wayne stopped reminding him a few years back, so he had an excuse to keep ‘forgetting’ to do it.

Turns out, one did not need to go to confession to make it to heaven!

Angels would just. Turn up, apparently.

Maybe he’d done something good that he wasn’t aware of, he did go to that Make A Wish thing a few weeks back, DM’d a whole one shot for the kids, he’d spent hours there, a whole dang day just… hanging out with sick kids.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what brought this heavenly creature to his side.

To cut a long story short, he was on stage one minute, belting out the lyrics from the final verse of the last song in their set ‘Into the Underdark’, Jeff was slipping into the ending guitar solo, Eddie was gearing up for an end of gig crowd surf and the next.

The next he was looking into a bright, blinding light that kept moving between his eyes.

He’d always been told not to go to the light. If you see it? Don’t go to it, going to it would make whatever trip you were going on a one way ticket, there was no going back when you reached that light. Just hang back, wait for the resuscitation, it’d happen, someone would breathe life back into you, or whack you with enough voltage to get that heart kickin again, just don’t go into that light.

That light was way too close to his eyes, and he couldn’t swat it away. His arms felt tied down. Rude.

And then the light was gone, had he reached it? Was that it? One way ticket stub punched, sorry Earth, Munson out. “Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” Oh what heavenly chorus, the light had momentarily blinded him but shit… when his sight came back, at least enough to make out the vague shape of a very square jaw, of angular features, of warm hazel eyes, and a luscious head of hair surrounded by a halo of brilliant white light.

Angel. He had an audience with an Angel. It could only be an Angel. Neat.

He’d enjoy the ‘I Told You So’ he got from his uncle whenever the old goat made it up there he hoped it wouldn’t be soon though, he’d prefer a longer wait than a short one, thanks.

“Mnn… I hear you big boy, are you sure I’m in the right place though? I’ve been told Heaven wouldn’t want me” it sounded smooth in his head, but he was pretty sure he slurred half the words.

How could he have a slurred voice in Heaven? That didn’t seem fair.

Oh he’d forgive the slurred speech bit if the angel kept making that wonderful music with his vocal chords, that little giggle of a laugh, so bubbly and sweet, yep. Somehow he’d weaselled his way into Heaven. Suck it soccer moms. “Well, at least you can summon the strength to be charming.”

He was charming? An angel thought he was charming? Hell yeah, he’d rock this heaven shit, he already had an in with the big, winged boys!

“I can summon the strength for other stuff too, worship ain’t ever really been my thing but, baby I think I can learn for a literal Angel” he’d subject himself to an afterlife on his knees gladly if it meant he’d have his hands curled around this creature’s thighs, his mouth on—

“Oh wow…” Eddie couldn’t really see it properly thanks to the lovely blinding spots in his eyes that was no doubt his eyes adjusting to heavenly light, but he was sure his angel was blushing, he sounded a little breathless. Good. “You’re uh… wow”

Eddie hadn’t had much charm before becoming world famous but, he’d gained a little experience. Women and men alike throwing themselves at him, knowing he wasn’t all that fussed, babes were babes. All genders welcome to hop on and take a ride. He knew it was mostly the fame, he was still the same nerd he’d been back in high school, but… if fame got him laid then fame got him laid.

At the very least it gave him the experience to flirt with one of Gods pretty little birds. Maybe even score if the reaction he got was any indication.

So much for lust being a punishable sin, huzzah.

Steve was having a day. Okay no, Steve was having a whole week. The only upside to his overtime riddled ass, was that Robin had been on the majority of his shifts with him, so they could at least talk in the ambulance while they roamed the streets waiting for chaos to drop.

Monday, it’d been a seven car pileup on the highway, a few lost limbs, no fatalities but one hell of a close call on two accounts.

Tuesday, it’d been a tumble at a care home resulting in a popped hip and some heavy flirting from a few old ladies. Poor Robin suffering it from a few old men trying to shoot a shot they didn’t have.

Wednesday it’d been crisis after crisis resulting in him not finishing his shift until six hours after he was meant to finish his shift.

Thursday he had one blessed night off, thankfully his on-call status hadn’t dragged him in, and he got a decent six hour nap in.

Friday, another car wreck, he didn’t want to think about that one.

And now Saturday.

Dispatch sent them to the sold out arena, some idiot had leapt off the stage likely for a crowd surf, his foot tangled in an amp chord, it reduced his air time dramatically and he brained himself on one of the guard rails.

Excellent. At least he wasn’t dead.

Which given how easily one could wind up six feet under from such a whack to the head, he was lucky.

They parked by the side exit, shuffled in by security, and right through into the arena. The patient hadn’t been moved as per dispatchers instructions to the person who’d called. No moving the idiot until the professionals arrived and determined it safe.

Cameras, flashing lights, big beefy security guards standing in front of them blocking the majority of what was happening from view, there was… quite a bit of blood there. It didn’t look pretty in that lighting. “The crowd’s too much, let’s get him to the ambulance.” Robin’s patience didn’t exist when it came to large crowds.

Too many people. Plus she’d been on shift five hours longer than he had.

“Alright, you two, c’mere” Steve singled out two of the big security guys “we’re gonna need you to help us get him onto the gurney, we’ll look him over in the back of the ambulance.” There were no broken bones, nothing stopping them from moving him just enough to get him to the ambulance unscathed.

And then, somewhere between writing out paperwork, checking vitals, and Robin googling who this guy was, said guy… woke up.

Steve, being closer, was quick to check responsiveness, pupils reacted well to light although a concussion did look likely, they’d cleaned up the blood and found the cause to be a cut just above his left eyebrow that’d probably make a kickass scar and oh.

Without the blood. Oh. Oh he was pretty. Pretty plump lips, long lashes, deep brown eyes, faint freckles across his nose. All that hair. He was pretty.

“Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” He’d asked, while shining that little torch into those pretty brown eyes, left to right to check the responsiveness. And then he spoke and Steve— well. Robin was eyeballing him judgementally pretty damn hard given how fast his face flamed red.

Her head in her hands, her fingers plugged into her ears as Munson rattled off promises of worship and good lord— Steve didn’t know what to say, what to do, what does one do when a hot yet slightly delirious rockstar offers to worship your ‘angelic body’?

What does one do with that?

One awkwardly stutters through thanks while bright red and toasty until they can part with the guy at the ER wishing he’d met him under better circumstances cause it’d been a long ass time since anyone even touched him let alone worshipped him but accepting that he’d probably never see the guy again, so it didn’t really matter.

Until a few days later when the official Corroded Coffin account slid into his DM’s on Instagram, apologised profusely, and requested very sweetly to make it up to him with dinner the next time he was free.

Signed Eddie. With a little angel emoji. How on earth could he say no to that?

[babextoken]

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

mirror talk fake love

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

adventures in skincare routines with your soft boyfriend, praisekink!vessel.

nswf • mdni • fem!reader • allusions to self-loathing and body dysmorphia • praise • vessel x you

vessel doesn’t know anything about skincare but he knows it makes you happy. well…buying skincare products makes you happy, but he’s been encouraging you to finally use them.

as your bend down to rinse your face, you hear him stalk into the bathroom, humming contentedly. you dry your face and smile at him as he considers your little collection of products. your eyes aimlessly wander over his naked torso and long legs clad in jogger style sweats.

he lifts a small bottle with orange liquid in it. “what does this do, love?”

“it’s a chemical exfoliant,” you say shrugging. “Gets all dead skin cells off without scratching me up.”

“I see, I see. And this?” he lifts a small jar of cream that clearly boasts overnight under eye miracles on the label, but honestly he’s playing dumb just to show interest and be near you.

“oh, that’s just under eye cream. For fine lines. Dark circles. Whatever.”

“But you don’t have those.”

“Exactly.”

Your quick answer elicits a smirk and a little closed mouth laugh. As you apply your moisturizer you, see him take in your form…head to every precious toe…but not without letting his eyes linger on your soft, beloved midsection. His arms snake around your waist as his toned chest and abs press against your back.

You lean back, feeling his smooth skin share its delicious warmth with you.

“does it bother you, Ves, that I feel like I need all this stuff?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to your assortment of products.

He lets out a soft huff; it’s almost like you’ve insulted him.

“tsk. why ever would that bother me? Darling…don’t you see? This shows me…”

his hands begin to trail up your waist…

“that you know how to take care of yourself. You have all the tools…”

his right hand gently caresses your chest, near your heart…

“you simply require the encouragement to use them. To show yourself love.”

He nuzzles against the shell of your ear and whispers huskily, “just look at you…look in the mirror.”

You look and instinctively your eyes meet his. You take in his features. His pouty lips. His short but angular jaw. He shakes his head softly and hisses gently…

“I said look at yourself, darling.”

And finally, you do. You consider yourself in your bralette, which does nothing but look pretty, offering no real support (Vessel approves of this wholeheartedly btw), and your old pj bottoms with some cute character on them. Your hair pulled back haphazardly with a fluffy headband.

“ok, I’m looking.” As if you’re expecting a lightning strike of inspiration and self-acceptance. You don’t look bad, but you don’t look your best. But somehow…that doesn’t matter. You feel an overwhelmingly pleasant sense of…neutrality.

“are you not glowing right now?” Vessel asks as his fingers delicately caress the column of your throat. You let out a soft gasp as his left hand gently grabs at the flesh of your waist and lower tummy. It is the very same flesh you prod at and attempt to hide…and the one that drives him to near insanity when he can only look but not touch. The same that has been marked with teasing bites and gentle bruises from his thumbs…holding you in place as he coaxes out the single prettiest sounds he’s had the pleasure of hearing…of producing.

“is this not the skin of someone who cares for themselves?” He continues, letting his lightly parted lips drag across your neck.

“Is this not the skin…of a good girl?”

[gattnk]

Working with Irene is a dream come true! Now Igor on the other hand... talk about a nightmare...!

This is it folks, the last of the Golden School teachers! We still have some other Eternals left to go, as well as the humans, but I feel like this is a good milestone to start the year with. Now, Irene and Igor are very particular: they only show up in what the fandom refers to as the "Russian saga", a self-contained story based on the show where Raf, Sulfus and friends briefly go to Russia for some lessons under these two. This context informed my design choices a lot, and they go as follows:

I chose Irene and Igor to be in charge of the Oneiric Compositing faculty, that is, dream-crafting. The concept came from Uriè's digi-dream camera: I thought it would be interesting if angels and devils also influenced humans in their sleep by either inspiring goodness or tormenting with fear respectively.

Irene's canon dress threw me off a bit: I could tell it was a Russian noblewoman's dress thanks to all the gold embroidery and red fabric, but I couldn't pinpoint its exact influence other than it was not a common sarafan. I scrapped the nobility aspect in favor of something more homely, inspired by traditional Eastern European clothes and the Matrioska doll (sorry, no detailed embroidery, I have to respect the design philosophy I've kept so far).

I chose the Matrioska doll as my key inspiration to homage the Russian saga, but also because of its ample symbolism. Some believe these dolls grant wishes and bring good omens; others find them to represent the layers of the mind and the self; they can also be seen as a mother figure, a symbol that embraces and protects generations to come. There's so many ways to look at Matrioska dolls and interpret them, just like dreams!

Igor also had to depart from his canon counterpart: I could tell the original design was inspired by Rasputin, and I see how his infamous reputation could enrich a devil character, but that same infamy could be brought into the picture in other ways. I kept the body complexion, the beard and the long coat as key elements so he would still be recognizable, but I fully departed from the real historical figure and instead focused on making him look like a nightmare that instilled fear and terror.

When I think "nightmare", I think boogeyman, bugbear, Krampus. A spindly, crooked old man that uses his walking cane to punish more than he does for walking, who will stuff you in a sack and take you away if you misbehave, his glowing eyes being the last thing you see before everything goes dark... His only mercy comes from his victims shuffling in the bag, thus ringing the bells tied on top, so now the other children know to beware! >:D

Irene's colors are the traditional primary colors: red, yellow and blue; red and yellow are warm colors and are naturally very eye-catching, so for contrast I used more shades of desaturated blue in her design. Her design is very curvy and full of semicircles, which inspired her halo's shape.

Igor instead has the traditional secondary colors: green, purple and orange; since green is very versatile in terms of warmth and coldness, I used it to highlight certain elements while keeping the rest of the palette more muted and dark (thus the orange became brown). His ram horns are very angular like the rest of his design, and they're the biggest devil horns yet, signifying his age.

If math serves me right I'm only missing three more Eternal designs for the central cast of characters (if you guess correctly which ones, you earn a cookie), but then again I was never great with numbers so I might surprise even myself down the line, hehe. We're done with the Golden School staff! Huzzah! :D

I'll Fly With You (rewrite fic) Art Masterpost

[cringefaecompilation]

okay since i have felt i've been really negative i am going to be positive and talk about something near and dear to my heart. fanart redesigns!

this design of braius by @phi-guy is delightful, including the mustache variant. i'm not a big fan of him as a character, but this is a great compromise with the holstein patterns on his humanoid face that previously left a few furries disappointed.

fcg is a very tough character to stylize, given the whole... aeormaton of it all and that they're so intricately designed that any attempts to move any part of their body around tend to make things they do in-game not make sense. the blades of grass emblem being revealed as bloody fingerstreaks, for one. but this design by hugo cardenas strikes a good balance between canon and fanon where you don't have to sacrifice accuracy for imagination or vice versa

imogen sadly doesn't receive a lot of redesigns in fandom and even got hate (?!) for people putting glasses on her. but for the people that do a little more than that, i would have to give my favorite design to @rokiie! it's subtle, but i love that she's musclechubby and mixed, and her curly hair and ponytail is adorable. @jadequarze also has a nice looking mog, though theirs is more angular than bulky.

ashton is another character hard to redesign... because his original design is so damned complex it feels like a downgrade to change it. so not a lot of people do and focus more on his outfit and body type. so that's why these two, by @magscherer and @ladysantos are so great! little tweaks that make him fat or simplify him are so nice

@lyadrielle has the most complex chet redesign i've ever seen. i love how in-depth it is, and even if full head of hair chet isn't canon, i still adore the fluffiness of it. also quick shout out to @colealexart giving chetney a mustache because i love it.

conversely from her girlfriend, people love to redesign laudna, if not just to pump up her creepy factor over her "bizzarely beautiful" factor. @astoriacolumnstaircase and @paragonraptors do this in a fun-scary way! i love how spindly they make her, like a praying mantis. for a more scary-scary way, @cpprcoyote's laudnas are stunningly creepy and lovely. @galacticjonah's take on her is also very cute with her billowing fabrics surrounding her like a security blanket. good stuff!

being the mixed orym truther guy, naturally i love art that makes him a man of color, and this art by @therosecleric hits the mark for how i see him in my head. i love his curls, his jaw, and his strong nose, and it's always good to give him muscles in a way that don't make him look like a tween who powerlifts. the previously mentioned @magscherer's art of him is a bit more hobbit-y but still scratches the same itch. love me a brown eyed orym. @jennydolfen also gets points for her terrific hobbit/halfling proportions

@jam-etc's critical role redesigns might not be for everyone, but i love 'em all. dorian here looks so friendly and seeing his native culture depicted so overtly in his outfit is awesome! no whitewashed dorians allowed. on the same token, here's a repeat of @therosecleric's dorian art because it also is great to see him with curly hair and a wide nose. this design by @caitmayart with dark cloudy speckles on his body is incredibly nice as well.

and of goddamn course fearne gets the most art. it's fearne! there are so many good pieces of her i could not choose one. i love ones that play up her goat-y nature, like @willowbirds, @rainbow-roll-art, and @phi-guy again. and i love fat fearnes, like these two by @marmadelin and @countslimeula. this one by @maluspumilaa is so beautiful, making her a little more fey and extremely animalistic. all fearnes is good fearnes