#not my characthers

[sacasone]

drew these goobers angela by @p34ch-irl fake hazel by @thatweirdanchpvy pizzetto by @simplefanatic

[rokudaimeplease]

he's been through a lot

[azurecoffin]

so i saw deadpool & wolverine

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty. Ch. 1

A Homelander X F!Reader fanfic

A/N: I am writing this alongside another fic so sorry for the publishing schedule altho I got 2 chapters done, this is my dadlander fic and hyperfixation explorations

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you again, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you, and the lie that tore you two apart, but now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago? That it was his.

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter One

Blue

It had been by pure chance, whether it had been a combination of forced reminiscing and exhaustion that Homelander had thought of you after all these years; These meetings had been proven wasteful of his time, nothing the PR and Digital Marketing departments could come up that was good enough, and somehow he had gone from irritated to just defeated.

He sulked in his chair listening to their meandering voices brainstorming potential ideas as to how Ryan’s new origin story had to be developed and handled, whether it was too squeaky clean or absurd, how much could they risk offending the child, how much of his mother should be kept from the public (not that they were very aware of the fine details, as Homelander had been more than just vague about it, he had simply no intent to divulge about his son’s conception, upbringing or his mother’s fate) Homelander would never allowed the public to look with pity or fear at his son, he would not allow them to brand him as a murdered over an accident– he could still hear his son weeping and shaking in his sleep, waking up in a fright, seeing invisible blood in his hands.

Homelander had grown overprotective of the boy, he was made indestructible but his mind and heart were glass, still pure and uncorrupted by the awful world they inhabited, he would never allow anything else to taint it and bring him nightmares– so this had to be perfect.  

To make it worse, the kid was growing impatient and depressed, forced to stay in the tower until this story was concocted, he couldn’t attend school or interact with other children until he was trained and learned his lines, making his father increasingly more paranoid that his son was slowly growing resentful. 

“Mister Homelander… what if we base Ryan’s mom off one of your other ex-girlfriends?” A rather tired intern had muttered– preferably somebody dead…”

The room shot daggers at the nameless intern but Homelander simply sat in silence and gave it a thought, he had plenty of unsuited mates disposed and handled in the past, the amount of NDA issued made for a small but noticeable stack alone, he looked at the table and the box of cannolis that the group had been munching on, looking at the small printed italian flag on the box’s side.

That he thought of you for the first time in years.

You had been his new personal chef, your interactions minimal as you brought him his meals, he hadn’t known at first how heartbroken you’d look as he returned half touched dishes over and over, it had become a competition against yourself to make him eat, every leftover morself a cause of grief, as if your honor and ego had been beaten mercilessly with every dirty plate.

One evening, Homelander sat on his couch watching a documentary by Orson Wells, he hadn’t noticed you there as you brought him dinner, the way you looked at him with spite waiting to throw the most likely untouched plate of pasta back at his face, it would get you fired and possibly killed but you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a chef, a professional, you had turned down a dream job and left the restaurant you loved for the honor of being Homelander’s personal chef, the job that would open you a thousand doors but it was without reward now it felt like your biggest mistake, no matter what you made he fucking hate it but offered no feedback, you had no clue what he wanted, what he disliked and liked, what he craved, or how he liked his meals– he simply left your food untouched.

Diverting his gaze from the film, he noted your food and that you were still there with a block of pecorino and a grater in your hands.

He stood up with a groan, lifting the silver cover to reveal boring pasta and bolognese sauce, it wasn’t styled exceptionally, it didn’t even look too appetizing, it was just some fresh linguine covered in meat sauce, he stared at you as if this was some sort of joke but your dead eyed expression was off-putting.

“Would you like some fresh cheese, sir?” Your voice might as well have been automated.

Frankly he didn’t want any cheese but pasta had to be eaten with cheese, he gestured for you to grate watching an off-white pile form on top of his pasta with no intention of stopping.

“That’s enough” he said sharply, he took the plate looking at the mound and then back at you who was still in the room, he wrapped his fork with the pasta doing his best not to stain his suit.

You just wanted to save the time with coming back to pick up the insults, but there he took the first bite of this homely dish heis eyes opened up, there hadn’t been anything special, you simply had taken some left over pasta and brought a jar of your grandma’s sauce, a recipe she had guarded fiercely ever since she stole it from some italian friend’s mom many many years ago, you adored this recipe, it had been the reason why you fell in love with food, you loved visiting your grandmother when it was time to jar the sauce, and when she served you a humbled serving of bolognese– he gave it a second bite letting the tangy and fresh sauce wash over him.

And that’s when he finally noticed you for real, how closely you watched him eat, smiling as he took another mouthful and mixed more of the fresh pecorino, there had been something warm about this meal, it lack pretense, it was something that no high end 5-star restaurant would serve but it tasted… warm.

From that point on, he looked forward to his meals, wanting to see what the fuck had you done to make food taste worthy of his body, noting you would personally deliver the meals after he failed to clean the plate on the previous one, he hadn’t even known your name but he noticed you.

You were cute, your voice had gained some warmth since that awkward first impression, he could tell it was these homemade meals that tasted the best, as if you put everything you had to make them taste delicious, there were no frills with these, just good homemade fair, made with love, he had began asking for things he had been curious but never served as if they were above his status like meatloaf, carbonara, shepherd's pie, etcetera. These were the kinds of meals the families he’d seen growing up behind the screen would eat, he had been the first to strike a conversation.

You listened, you talked, and before he knew it, he had found himself asking for your company at the dinner table. You were hesitant at first but he was handsome and charming, but above all he was the Homelander! While apprehensive you still took to his offer just to smugly enjoy seeing him enjoy your food, proud that you had triumph in this battle where so many had been defeated, you’d cracked the code and god it felt good.

It became part of your weekly schedule, having dinner at his penthouse and chatting about anything, he loved talking and eventually it became apparent that it wasn’t because he was in loved with his voice but simply… he hadn’t got anybody who enjoyed listening to him, you were attentive, you responded well and even if you weren’t sure about something you weren’t going to let him feel as if you weren’t approachable anymore, you were more than happy to hear him explain to you a topic because his eyes gleam like those of a small kid telling you about something new they learned at school– in truth you loved how happy he became when he could rambled about things, as if nobody in the world had ever given five seconds of their time to let him talk about strange events from history and his theories, tonite he wanted to talk about the Dyatlov Pass incident and star formations that he was sad that he couldn’t see from New York, wishing you could see how the sky looked like from his cabin.

You’d spend more and more time in his home as the conversations grew more frequent, as he wanted to hear more about your interests and hobbies.

Thinking of how cute you looked while baking, how cute your laugh was, of the way you always held him after long days, that first real date, that first time you held hands, the first shy kiss after dinner.

As he took a long whiff to catch some of that gentle sweetness, he thought of the last day you were together.

That sound.

The thing that’s the size of a bean.

The anger, his heart shattered, all the colors of the world had dissipated when he saw that tumor growing in your stomach, he wanted to hurt you as much as you did, to shut you up as you threw excuses, begging him to believe you.

But that thing wasn’t his.

It couldn’t be his.

You said it was his, that the baby you didn’t even know was inside you was his, but he couldn’t be the father.

His eyes widened, he stood up and left the room, his mind focused on your name. They had tried getting his attention but could only give up as nobody would dare to chase after him, Homelander found himself entering the analytics offices towards the first chump he spotted.

“Can you find me information on a former employee?” He said firmly, the junior staff jumped at his seat nodding frantically– their name was Y/N L/N.” he said quietly.

The staffer didn’t have to do much work, you were easy to find, your name attached to Brooklyn’s most loved pizzeria for the last couple years, your face on their socials, and even a video from some food channel following what it was like working in Brooklyn’s hottest pizzeria had you in it, your shop had been listed as the best two years in a row, Homelander couldn’t bare looking at your face, but he asked for an address.

That night after spending time with Ryan who seemed to be sulking more and more, as he watched him eat his dinner, he thought of you, the kid was meandering whatever was on his plate didn’t feel appetizing, his meal was no different from what it was served in a high-end restaurant and the kid had no desire to eat it, he wanted Ryan to have the finest things when all he wanted was to have his mom’s tacos– his son opted to head for bed early skipping dinner all together, it was almost 10 pm, a heavy feeling had been boiling in his stomach since that meeting.

Taking flight all the way to some red brick Brooklyn projects, hovering about until he encountered you.

Time had been kind to you but you looked tired, the glow in your skin now dulled, your appearance unkempt, your clothes worn and old, your shoes the nicest thing you worn but they still creased and dirty, you looked beyond exhausted, your eyes half closed and your arms dangling on your sides as you carried a couple grocery bags, he looked around at the constructions and rubbish, at the hooligans and wannabe gangbangers, and the rancid smell. Hundred buildings all the same, he wanted to get closer as he watched you walk alone in those sticky white painted brick walls, you stopped suddenly by one of the brown doors, there were only four other doors in that floor, waiting patiently, an old lady opens the door, you two exchanging pleasantries as you handed the lady two of your grocery bags, a small dog came to say hello and then… there she was.

She was small for her age, she didn’t jump with excitement or say much to you, just a slight bow to the old lady and she walked in front of you as you said goodbye, only stopping two doors down.

Your apartment was small, two small bedrooms, small kitchen and barely sparsely decorated, but it was clean and tidy, your daughter dropped her school bag, and headed for the bedroom while you moved to the kitchen, never really talking to each other, he found himself flying closer just to get a perfect vision of that child.

She was a mini-you, taken so much from you, whoever the father was it didn’t seem to have mattered in the end for the kid got nothing from him, she changed to her pajamas as you sat on the couch after throwing away your uniform to the floor.

You two talked briefly, you didn’t read her any stories before bed or kissed her good night, you simply stared at each other and talked while you stretched your feet.

The little girl entered her room, a tidy space, books piled up on the floor in sharp stacks against the wall, a desk containing some electronics and a couple stuffed animals.

She was a cute thing, just like you had been once, her hair short and her straight bangs covering most of her face, too long for it too be safe, she had your complexion and jet black hair, she sat on her desk turning the desk lamp and picked her Kindle up, looking at her clock then back at her Kindle, she sat there for a couple minutes digesting some pages until it was almost midnight, before heading to the living room– you’d passed out on the couch, she took your phone and put it to charge fidgeting with something before leaving it, turning the TV off, and finally turning around to slip a quilt on top of her mother.

Homelander almost felt sorry for the kid, after all you had done to him only to neglect your child, you were just as much of a scumbag as he had imagined, he had had enough wanting to fly away until he saw the little girl staring back at him.

The lights were off on the home, and it was dark with the streets below shaded piss yellow, he looked around wondering if there was something nearby that caught your daughter’s attention but she was staring straight at Homelander, she forced the window open peeking her small frame slightly out the window, in the dark starless night while strangers made a ruckus a couple streets from here, a bright twinkling of pale blue illuminated your home.

He got closer, something caught in his throat as he came only a meter away from your daughter.

She looked so much like you but her eyes even as they lost their unnatural light were so blue, as if the entire ocean lived in her eyes.

The curtains slid shut, his chin flicked in surprise as he caught the small figure plainly ignoring him, he was loved by all, especially children! Even those whose favorites were Noir, A-Train or Maeve loved him! Yet this little girl had just shrugged him off and ignored him, simply returning to her bedroom to shut the second set of blinds and jump straight to bed.

Homelander was left dumbfounded, not once had he seen such disinterest and callousness from a member of his safest demographic, so he stood in mid-air pondering about killing both of you briefly, just as the heat from his cheeks cooled down, he stared at the now sleeping brat, wondering about that inhuman blue light that glossed her big round eyes.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

People are always making horror versions of Peter Pan but as a transmasc who was obcessed with Peter growing up he will forever br my first trans alegory. I wanted to be Peter Pan so badly and at the time I had no idea why I was so afraid of growing up. Because as a kid I was a "girl" but being percieved as a girl was not that different from being a boy.

I could walk around shirtless depending on the place cause I had no boobs, I could sit whoever I wanted and my parents would frown but not care as much if I played with all types of toys and watched all cartoons. I could wear any type of clothes and it wouldn't matter. Gender doesn't matter as much until you are an adult and deep down you know that.

I was terrifield of growing up. I wanted to be Peter Pan. Forever a lost boy. Never having to deal with the pressures of a womanhood I mostly couldn't see myself in.

And so if I ever wrote a Peter Pan story it would be about transmasc Peter and transfem Wendy and the fear of growing up and losing this place where their gender identity and expression mattered a little less. And the positive note was that while we have to grow up we don't have to became what people expect and that is hard but we have our place in this earth and we have joy and is worth it. I'll likely never do that. But Peter Pan will always mean that to me.

[addlepater]

he used a cactus as a dildo when he was 23 years old and hasn't recovered since, he kisses rat men on the lips, he has the fattest ass on the smp what isn't there to love

[lemoonbasement]

ando caminando con un flow

V I O L E N T O

[nolanstoolbox]

"Maybe in another universe I wouldn't need to work as a spy in a camp."

The other universe:

[bgsdraws]

another year woah, i need to start playing stardew valley again nice to see more of my ocs here. i want to draw thwm more and develop their stories next year Now, me being angsty and mentally unwell (vent) under the cut :

Honestly? Looking at this makes me feel a little bit sad and tired. It's just that I've always had this ''cycle'' I go through. I go from loving my art and being on the top of the world, the greatest artist who has ever lived, holy light comes out of my wacom drawing tablet, to hating and believing I've lost all the skill I once had and will never be able to do something like it again; I switch between these 2 mindsets every few months. And it's just so annoying. (I want to make it clear that I know these thoughts aren't true and I don't really think like this about myself. It's just how I feel when I'm in that part of the cycle.) I just feel like a failure who has never learned how to do anything good, even with years of practice, that I've stagnated, regressed, that anything good I ever did was just pure luck, and I will never be able to create something I like and that brings me joy ever again. It just hurts so much because I don't think I can do that; I don't think I can go back to being someone who just observes other people's art. I would honestly rather die; I probably would die. I need to be there, to create it; I need to feel happy and look at what I'm creating with pride. I want to feel good about the stuff I do. And I do When the other half of the cycle begins When that happens, it always feels like some of the best moments in my life, and I'm so happy with my art, and being happy with my art makes me even happier; it's euphoric. Why can't it always be like that? Because I do love my art, I recognize my skill, and I'm happy to create what I create. So why does my brain do this to me? Why does it decide to cast some sort of spell every other 3 months that makes me hate it and see no future in myself? There's no trigger, no inciting incident; it just happens, every time with no failure. Always the same ''routine.'' And noticing its coming doesn't make me able to stop it. I've tried, but I discovered I just need to ride it out. And even though I know what's happening, I know it's just another half of that damned cycle; it doesn't make all those thoughts and feelings feel less true or correct at that moment. Knowing better doesn't make me feel better. And after it is done, after I've finally started being able to feel and think ''normally,'' there's always this wave of shame and embarrassment for how much I overreacted to certain things. I feel guilty and embarrassed about being aware of what was happening and still believing those thoughts. ''You should know better; it's always like this, you know it.'' Right at the end of the most recent ''my art sucks and will always suck and I should die'' phase (that just ended, by the way; I've been feeling like that since October, I think), I sketched a thing for a friend. In the middle of drawing it, I was feeling horrible; I was so happy to start something that would make someone I love happy. But everything just looked awful, gross, the ugliest thing that has ever graced this earth. And I just kept thinking, "Where have all the years I've dedicated to learning anatomy and rendering gone?" Was I always this bad? Were all my good grades and compliments a lie? Was all of it in vain?'' I ended up just crying and going to bed. And then, the next day, I opened that file again, preparing myself to see that monstrosity on my screen again. And it was fine; the drawing was nice. I have no idea what my eyes were seeing that last night, how distorted they had to be seeing it to think that it looked ''awful and gross.'' It makes me feel so stupid, so overdramatic. All of that for this? Really? For something that really didn't have any problems at all I just wish I could always see my art as I can see it now. I love it; why can't I love it all the time? It's just not fair.

[excitedoflife]

Here is the finished F.P.E 🍁 drawing.

Me (Lun☆) the one grabbed by Kyle (French and history teacher) and St★r (the little kid).

(Siblings picture!)

I still have to separate the body parts and animate 🥲

(How many hours it took. 😭)

[sacasone]

drew @tv-peppino out of boredom

[alicianicoly]

@fairy-verse @aoi-kanna @galacii-gallery

Since you said we could make fairys to live in the Fairy-Verse, i made this little fairy

Name: Valentine

Valentine is a hibrid of autumn and and winter, his father was a autumn fairy and his mother was a winter fairy. His parents died due to a cat attack, he lives alone in a tree near to the big folk villager

Valentine doesn't like to Interact with the other season fairys due to feel not like a fairy, he feels like that because his parents were diferent from each other, sometimes he feels like the domains of the winter fairys is his home, sometimes he feels like the domains of the autumn fairys is his home, it's so confusing to him.

Sometimes Valentine feels very alone, but his days at the big folk villager are full of joy when the children comes to his tree to play, of course just the little ones know about his existence and sometimes they come to him with gifts such as fresh fruits and confy clothes.

Valentine visits each season domains, he just watch the other fairys and doesn't Interact much

Please tell me If something's add so i can change what's wrong, k? I Hope you like it <3

[kyokutsu-sama]

*Long haired characters simply appearing on screen*

Me :

[just-an-enby-lemon]

[magm4kyy]

Temari's Fanart (Semi-realism test)

ref imagem

This meat it's so shit💥💢

[drunktayloratthevmas]

The mmarauders if they were from other expensive countries and cities

<3

Mary: San Pablo, Brazil, Sao Paulo

Lily : Innere Stadt, Austria, Vienna

Pandora : Manhattan, USA, new York

Marlene : Prati , Italy, Rome

Dorcas : MBR Al Maktoum, United arab emirates, Dubai

Emmeline : Toorak suburb, Australia, Melbourne

Emma: Los ángeles, USA, California

Alice: Bridle Path, Canadá, Toronto

James : Miami, USA, California

Peter : Minato Ward, Japan, Tokyo

Remus : Kensington, United kingdom, London

Sirius and regulus : 16th arrondissements, France, París

Barty : Las vegas, USA, nevada

Evan : Beverly hills, USA, California

Frank : Montecarlo, Mónaco

Xenophilius : Kastri, Greece, Athens

Benjy : Porta Nuova, italy, Milan