#my baby’s lore!!!!!

[small-world-au]

Sora Aguilar Yuuki

———INCOMING BIG ASS POST———

Age: Same as the main trio

Personality type: ISFP

Ethnicity: Asian (Japanese) & Hispanic (Mexican) <- updated

Hair color/type: Dark purple (tho it looks like dark brown.) straight-curly

Eye color: light blue (beta) brown (officially/currently)

Skin color: super light tan/dark pink

Gender: Male

Family: Natalia Aguilar (maternal grandmother)

Gabriela Aguilar (Mother +)

Shino Yuuki (Father +)

Dante (Stepfather)

Noelia Aguilar (Maternal aunt)

Unknown (Maternal uncle)

Rowan Pagonis (Older half sibling)

Kip (therapy dog/furry baby)

Stone (childhood sweetheart/fiancé),

Friends: Bailey, Jasper, Finn, Skipp, Zaria, Vinnie, pebble, maggot, Bailey’s kittens, Finn’s rat babies, old man Howard, Maroon, Olive, Ray, Rui, Maple, Chris, Zaria, Charlie, and Allay

Neutral: Tre, Rigel & cen, karma, Doña Mari, and Ivan Franzwick

Enemies: Fritz (the butler), ditch, Nadia (personal reasons), arrogant lootbags, street gangs, and AVRILLE!!!!

LIKES

Books

Sewing

Baking

Poetry

Cute animals (Kip and Fern)

Stone

Spending time with friends/family

Exploring

Springtime

Food!!!

DISLIKES

Rude/whiny scraps & loot-bag

Leaving kip behind

Being treated as a 🏆

Discrimination

Art/writing block

Not being good enough

Disappointing his family

Leaving Stone and friends

Obsessive creeps

His dad and avrille

His beloved ones getting hurt

Being unable to help/being useless

Thunderstorms

Arguments

Street fights

Being cooped inside for too long

Sora Aguilar is one of the main character of my au. A sweet, gentle, and kindhearted young boy filled with curiosity, who would do anything for the sake of his friends and family, even if it means sacrificing his own needs and wants.

He is Rowan’s younger half-brother, Gabriela’s and Shino’s only son, Natalia’s grandson, and Noelia’s nephew.

He’s a close friend to the scraps and a mom-friend who cherishes his own group dearly. He is also Stone’s childhood best friend/sweetheart.

He and his puppy (Kip) lived happily (???) in their mansion, until they wake up one night inside a big bag that was left on the streets of ramshackle.

Edit: ABOUT DAMN TIME I DID THIS SHIT!!!!!!!

Update 2: Sora’s now half Mexican!

Why? Cuz am Mexican.

Update 3: references and other ocs from “small world” au!

More facts below!!!!

[ditzybat]

tim drake is the type of guy to drop random lore then walk away.

tim: ugh i hate baseball, it’s like, when you have to play it in order to save a whole planet once, every game after seem boring

dick: that’s not…

tim: only downside to that was how we almost totaled barts brand new spaceship

dick: what spaceship??

—

tim: oh, hi mom

shiva: hello timothy, how are you? still keeping up with your training i take it?

bruce: mother? she’s not your —

shiva: let’s spar then timothy, let’s leave it strictly non lasting injuries, i don’t rather feel like dying by your hand again today

tim: of course!! ^-^

bruce: again?

—

tim: man i forgot to take my meds again

duke: your meds for what?

tim: i have no spleen, so i have to take probiotics, it really is manageable but i dont know where those pills went

duke: i’m almost scared to ask, tim, how did you lose your spleen?

tim: weird spider dude, it was a whole thing

—

tim: you talk a lot of shit for someone who got replaced as heir to your immortal grandfathers empire by me

damian: you what!?

tim: i regularly beat his ass at online chess every week too, and i don’t think you’ve seen him since he stole your corpse

—

tim: here

jason: what’s this?

tim: a box of all the photos i took when i obsessively stalked you for your entire tenure as robin

jason: thanks?

tim: you’re welcome, bye!

jason: … creepy ass kid…

—

steph: so how did you to get together?

bernard: well —

tim: i saved him from a getting cut open by chaos monster cult members

bernard: yep, i was rescued from being a vessel for a greek god, and we just really clicked afterwards

steph: well, it’s better than the brick

[beybuniki]

team up mission in the mountains

[ruubesz-draws]

Yeah, he don't bite. Instead, he'll atomic breath you

He's still a lil baby :)

This image just immediately made me think of them:

[artsymeeshee]

I saw some extra backstory on Stan from the website and uh… I’m an emotional wreck TwT So I needed to draw at least something to let him know how loved and important he is

He deserves it.

[zorangezest]

to those left behind

portrait commissions open!

[squipedmew]

so help me god i will learn to draw different body types if it kills me

had to do it

[shirecorn]

Dragons are one of the most variable creatures in the world. Individuals are shaped not by genetics, but by their environment and what they want out of life.

Baby dragons can remain in their young form for decades, if the environment isn't right for them to mature. Intense competition, lack of resources, or uncertain emotional development are all reasons for a baby dragon to delay their adult molt.

Once circumstances are right, an intense period of growth begins, and a dragon can multiply its size and sprout new features such as wings in just a few short years.

Pubescent dragons need a huge amount of food (including gem minerals) to sustain their growth. In the dragon lands, this can lead to competition, toughening up a young dragon to face a world of challenges.

Not everything is about fighting tooth and nail. Dragons raised in more cooperative societies are often softer, with less need to develop armor and weaponry. However, if their society faces constant threats, even the softest, kindest dragons will bulk up into formidable creatures in order to defend the ones they love. These individuals are difficult to provoke, easy to make peace with, but impossible to beat once you've threatened their family.

[mekha-draws]

"you were a handful dear, not even a day after hatch and you were wriggling like a worm! the downy feathers of your coat were surprisingly difficult to get a grab on and you made every effort to take that as an advantage, little one"

"You made them both so happy, all of us... we're sorry. We let him do this to you"

"the last egg on that nest, small, wingless, and weak. With how little you moved, They didn't expect you to survive the night but your siblings surprised me"

"They stood by your side, pushing and playing around with you, no malice in their little bodies, just curiosity, invitation even..."

[suntails]

do you deserve to be loved?

[anotherfandomtrash]

It' been so long...too long...

[kenchann]

dunmeshi~

[beybuniki]

romantic bakudeku for a kofi request ^-^

[rayveneyed]

cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

[lepusrufus]

You know the brainrot is serious when I draw an art nouveau piece for it

[mewniemoon]

Sorry for not posting in a while, Ive been sick for over a week which has hindered all my wips. So have some bishop baby doodles as compensation <3