#oc doyle

[geuretea]

100 followers... Wow

That's a lot of followers! 😭😭💜💜💜💜

I'm impressed to know so many of you are interested on my posts, thanks you so much, really!

I'll try my best to keep growing and improving my art

I drew some of my characters celebrating this milestone with fireworks

Thanks to all my moots and followers

<3

[yuco-the-alien116]

*GASPS* Sketchbook pics?

SKETCH BOOK?!

Yes

Lost of drawings that will never change shajjsjsjs

Second piece is my friend character @agent-the-shifter

7 is my friend @voided-noms being nommed

8 is my two characters who are brothers fighting over @cardnompfs and 9 is his ocs

[niccoguedes]

<3

INPRNT

[xyroni]

It's Jade's turn for the spotlight

[antiquatedsimmer]

Doyle Legacy 1890s - 1900s LOOKBOOK

Helena Doyle Harrington 1890s - 1900s

Babies first Lookbook!😀

Helena's upbringing was marked by poverty, stemming from the loss of her mother. This hardship led her to turn to prostitution for survival. However, her future husband Eddy, rescued her from a dangerous encounter with a violent client, allowing her to leave that life behind.

Together, they transformed an abandoned hunting shed into a functioning farm for their family.

Known affectionately as "Dove," Which is a pet name given to her since she worked as a painted lady. The color red became symbol for Helena since she adopted it as her signature, using the color to accentuate her vibrant hair and attract clientele during her time in the sex work industry.

Even after transitioning from a sex worker to a devoted wife I kept that color in mind each time she got an updated wardrobe.

The Harringtons lived poorly which is also why some of Helena's outfits seem out of date for time, she utilized her knowledge of previous decades sewing patterns to make clothes for herself.

I used up every outfit slot in CAS and I'd rather not overwhelm myself so instead I chose my favorites to share!

CC LISTED BELOW THE CUT

Thank you creators who put a lot of time and effort into making content then allowing all of us to enjoy it in our games as well! :)

If anything turns out to be credited incorrectly don't be afraid to contact me and I will correct it!

Helena Details: Teeth | Lipstick | Eyelashes | Eyeshadow | Non-Default Eyes | Eyebrows | Skintone ( Soft Rose Skin ) | Lip Preset ( N3 ) | Eye Preset ( 3 ) | Body Preset ( 4 )

The Painted Lady: Dress | Dress Fringe Acc | Hair | Boots | Torn Stockings

Soiled Dove Work Uniform: Hair | Bodice | Skirt | Boots | Torn Stockings

Everyday: Hair | Top | Wool Socks | Boots

Housework: Apron | Hair | Top | Skirt | Hair | Dirt Overlay | Wool Socks

Going Out: Dress | Hair | Hat | Gloves ( Basegame )

Wedding: Gloves | Hair | Veil | Dress | Heels

Formal: Dress | Hair | Heels | Hat

Party: Dress (The Eloise Dress)| Heels | Hat

Underwear: Outfit is BelleBoudoirSet by GildedGhosts(orig link is broken) | Stockings are Basegame

Sleepwear: Nightgown | Hair

Swimming: Bathing Dress | Shoes | Hair | Tights

Hot Weather: Lace Shawl | Boater Hat | Bodice & Skirt | Boots | Hair | Dirt Overlay

Hot Weather: Hair | Dress & Apron | Boots

Fall Everyday: Hair | Boots | Hair | Wool Socks | Fingerless gloves | Blouse | Skirt

Chilly Weather: Hair | Sweater Dress | Boots | Wool Socks

Winter: Headscarf | Boots | Wool Socks | Shawl & Apron | Scarf | Gloves | Hair

CC Creators:

@dzifasims @magic-bot @vintagesimstress @the-melancholy-maiden @kedluu @twisted-cat @remussirion @sentate @northernsiberiawinds @evoxyr @obscurus-sims @chere-indolente @linzlu @saurussims @uxji @simlotus @stamsim @gilded-ghosts @simstomaggie @dancemachinetrait @twentiethcenturysims @waxesnostalgic @peebsplays @rustys-cc @eirflower @dallasgirl79 @acanthus-sims @happylifesims @satterlly @dissiasims @historicalsimslife @zurkdesign @clumsyalienn @mlyssimblr

[mxchere25]

various traditional pen doodles from work, baki and some ocs

[dood1e-bug]

Oh boy

Original image:

[vamp1r1cjuggalo]

Muck N Round

And his wife

He’s a claymation jester who sold his soul to the devil

[baratiddyappreciator]

I was so upset that your NSFW cuddling scenarios got flagged 😭

But I have to ask, what would spicy cuddling with musashi, spec, and Doyle be like?

you’ve reawoken my old man thirst

omg wait it did?! SKskks I didn't even notice- But yes, if the beloved moot asks, they shall receive! Spec was the hardest to write for by far because I couldn't figure out if this man would actually cuddle but fuck it we ball(s deep in this bitch someone please throw me a rope to climb out it's wet in here) Kids: get bent lmfao

Musashi: His stare was intense enough to make you feel naked normally, but now that you were actually naked, his eyes locking on yours in the mirror only made you feel hot, his hips meeting yours from behind, slow and methodical, but not gentle. No, anything but gentle as he grabbed your throat, leaving you to make choked noises as his hips met yours over and over again in a slow, powerful grind that had your eyes rolling back into your skull with little to no effort on his part. Mean? Oh absolutely, he was so cruel, driving you insane by moving so slowly, and god you regretted asking him to cuddle you within view of a mirror, because you really should have known that he was going to make you watch him watching you taking him. And you could see him perfectly, each forward thrust of his hips making his shaft disappear deep within you, before it would be slowly dragged out only to slam back into you with dizzying force. Trying to turn your head to the side to nuzzle into the blankets only had him snatching your face to turn you to face the mirror again.

"Don't look away, I want to watch you come undone."

Spec: He didn't really cuddle, no, he was too tough for that. But him lounging around the place only to have you plop down on top of him to join him? Yeah, that was about as close as you'd get. Though if you were hoping for a peaceful nap with him, then you were sorely mistaken, since most of the time you did this there was a 50/50 split that he would wind up fucking you right then and there, and this was a gamble you'd lost (or won) as he bounced you up and down on his thick shaft, smugly chuckling as you were winded time and time again as his thick head kissed your insides, making room for itself so he could nestle deep inside of you. It was like he was trying to stab you to death with his dick, but instead of killing you, all he manged to do was succeeding in having you shaking and crying on top of him as an orgasm was forced out of you, one so powerful almost all your upper body strength vanished, leaving you slumped against his chest as he kept fucking you through it, pressing a sloppy kiss to your forehead with a breathy chuckle.

"That's right darlin', just like the perfect fuck toy fer me."

Doyle: It had been perfectly peaceful until you'd moved your hips an inch. A singular inch, not even, and he'd pounced on you. No more peace and quiet for you, the couch repeatedly slamming into your wall (god your neighbours would hate you if they didn't already) to the rhythm of Doyle's harsh thrusts. Fast but deep, there was no mercy as he left your head spinning from the pleasure and slight sting that it brought along, his hand sealed around your throat teasingly as he loomed over you smugly. He didn't need to say anything to get his point across, he knew how turned on you already were from him using you like a pliant and obedient doll, and honestly, for him? That's what you would be. Each snap of his hips was driving you closer and closer to your climax, and almost like he could taste it, he grinned, licking his teeth, and leaned over you, staring right into your eyes.

"So needy, you're behaving so well for me. Let's see if you can keep it up for just a bit longer, hm?"

[whumpsoda]

how’d hiro react when their intellect slowly started draining out of them

cw: brainwashing, pet whump, dehumanization

He swallowed, hard and difficult around the suffocating lump in his throat. Fingers tangled through clumps of his grease and blood stained hair, wrists clanking around the bulky, metal, power suppressing cuffs. Biting his dry, fraying lip, he stifled a whimper.

He was losing-

He couldn’t remember-

What?

Shutting his eyes tight, Hiro choked out a strangled sob, shrieky and grating against his raw run vocal chords. His mind was turning fast with his pounding heart, yet still so horrifyingly slow. He couldn’t catch onto any of his blaring thoughts of fear, couldn’t digest them enough to understand. His mind was becoming foreign to him, the realization being the only thing sticking with him.

It was almost as if he could feel the very stitches of his mind failing and falling apart right before him, washing him right down the drain with each session of brainwashing. Hiro could sense the breaking of his mind, how it gummed up and would continue to melt until nothing was left.

He squealed this time, piercing and hoarse as he pounded his feet to the floor and fists to his head, as if his fight would do anything with his brain already beginning it’s steady decline.

Through his cries he made out the faint clicking of his cell door, shying away from the nearing, fearfully familiar footsteps. 

“Y- yuh, you…! G- go! Go aw-… ay!” Hiro slurred, forcing the heavy, babbled words out from his lips. Curling only further in on himself, Hiro plastered himself to the wall.

Doyle tisked in his reverberating, dizzying voice, only sending Hiro’s brain further spinning. “Well that’s no way to talk to your owner now, is it?” 

Stumbling around his lolling tongue and mushy mind, Hiro spat between snivels. “F- f- fuh…! Fuck- ck- you!”

Crouching down to his captive’s level, Doyle closed in on his prey. “Now now, Hiro, those are naughty words not meant for good puppies, right?” 

Hiro merely gagged in his own misery and humiliation, spilling out only more mindless sobs of desperation.

“C’mon Hiro, we’ve got some more progress to make today.” Slumping to the floor, Hiro cried out a piercing wail, tear filled eyes catching Doyle’s upturned grin. “If you’re a good boy, maybe you’ll even be rewarded with a nice treat and some belly rubs. Doesn’t that sound nice?” 

The villain grabbed his hollering captive by his metal chained leash, yanking him toward what could only be a mind melting downfall.

Taglist -

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[tortillaspecter]

BLACKWELL #5 The White Scorpion

"What's the deal with this guy? It's like he can read my mind..."

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me"

Blackwell: We catch up with Doyle after the events of the original series. It has been a few years, and despite having defeated evil and being mostly a happy ending, things are hardly ever that way.

[geuretea]

DOYLE DOYLE DOYLE!!!

Consider this a real portrait inside Agatha and Doyle's Universe.

Here he is way younger than he is in the story. Probably taken about the time he started working as a literature teacher on the local school

[cila-17]

Some more students for the Elsie Clone High AU!

Margery

Arthur

Wolfgang

[juliaswickcrs]

LAURA HARTLEY + STRIKE TEAM BETA

"While I was placed in charge of STRIKE team Alpha, Pierce put together a team of his own with the approval of the World Council. STRIKE team Beta. Six of our best agents, top of their class, despite the name. Their job was to find any and all artifacts and/or persons related to HYDRA. Last I heard, they were chasing your ghost, Cap." - Nick Fury

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @thatmagickjuju

MARVEL TAGLIST: @notxjustxstories @themaradwrites

[xyroni]

Head sketches

I have been inactive for a week now since I was recovering from a fever and I can't even use my pc without having my eyes feel like they're burning. Anyways I'm feeling better now and I can resume drawing again!

[sentientcave]

Sparrow

Chapter 1 - Two Birds, One Stone

Read on AO3

Contains: Canon typical violence and death

Next Chapter >

~1.1k - MDNI - 18+

It begins, as it so often does, with a deal gone wrong.

Morgan hears it, rather than sees it. The crack of gunfire, her mother’s shout. She doesn’t do as she was told to do, which is start the engine and run. She takes the big scoped rifle and loads it, and jumps out of the plane. There’s a snow drift nearby. She runs across and sets up the rifle. Five shots. Six men.

They’re laughing, jostling each other, pleased as punch that they have their weapons, and the North Wind, and kept their money. Morgan understands enough Russian to hear that her mother isn’t dead, not yet, but what else they’re saying, the way they’re saying it, makes her feel sick with anger.

She lines up her first shot. Two ugly birds, one bullet. She’s done this a thousand times, but never with a human target. A deep breath. Hold. Squeeze the trigger.

Their heads explode into a fine red mist.

She pulls back the bolt, and the spent case pops out into the snow with a sizzle. Another breath, another squeeze, before they have time to figure out where the shot comes from. Another man down. They’re panicking now. Shouting. She pulls back the bolt, and another spent case pops free. The next shot blows through a man’s shoulder. He falls, but Morgan doesn’t think he’s dead. Two men start coming her way. Another shot, this one through the gut of the first man.

The second one sees her. Morgan hugs the rifle and rolls down the snowbank in time to avoid the spray of bullets from his machine gun. She rolls to her feet and runs, circling around towards where the others fell. They have vehicles that can give her some cover. She rolls underneath one truck and pulls back the bolt.

He drops down to look under the first vehicle. Morgan fires. He doesn’t get back up.

A hand grabs her ankle and pulls her out while she kicks wildly. She manages to connect, but it’s a glancing blow, not enough to make the man let go. He’s dripping blood from the hole in his shoulder, and snarling like a wild animal. His expression doesn’t soften when he sees how young she is, he just rips the rifle from her hands and tosses it to the side. Points his own gun at her chest.

Morgan closes her eyes, waiting for him to pull the trigger. Four shots. One line of fire through her arm. She opens her eyes.

The man keels to the side, his head a mess of blood and bone and brain. She looks over, and her mother, Helena, is leaning heavily on the crates, her pistol in her hands. “Good job, baby,” she says. “Lets get this cleaned up.”

They patch themselves up first, and collect the bags of cash. They leave the guns, so that whenever someone higher up comes along to check on the dead men, they’ll see that they had kept up their end of the bargain.

Helena hands Morgan the pistol. She’s panting, pale, trembling from the effort of holding herself together. “Go check the bodies. Make sure they’re dead, Morgan. You can’t leave a live enemy behind.”

Morgan shakes too, gripping the gun with both hands. Three of them are clearly dead, just a mess of brain and fragmented skull where they used to have faces. One dead in a pool of stark red blood, his head barely attached to his body. The one by the trucks isn’t moving either, the bullet ripped through his whole chest on an angle and lodged itself in the tire of the heavy truck. She loses the war with her stomach, and throws up in the snow. She’s trembling even harder when she walks up to the last body, the one she shot in the gut. He’s still breathing, shallow and weak. He’s sweating, despite the cold weather.

His eyes fly open when she approaches. He looks young, not all that much older than she is, only in his early twenties, if that. Close to her brother’s age. His brown eyes lock on hers. She raises the gun.

“P—Please,” he says weakly.

Morgan’s hands shake.

“You’re no killer,” he spits out. “Not like this.” He says something else, but there’s not enough breath in his lungs to give the words form. It’s shaped like a prayer. His eyes don’t leave hers.

She fires twice, into the snow bank behind him. He exhales, closes his eyes.

“Don’t make me regret it,” she hisses at him. She doesn’t know if he understands her. Doesn’t know if he can hear her, if he’s dead anyway.

She runs for the plane.

They don’t have enough time to get to their usual stopover, with Helena in the shape she’s in, so she directs Morgan to fly somewhere closer. They fly low over the countryside to avoid radar. Morgan has never flown the plane like this before, so close to the beckoning ground, but her mother is in no shape to pilot, and only getting worse. There can be no mistakes, so she makes none, even though it’s hard to think over the pain in her arm and the worry that wraps itself around her heart and squeezes tight. They make it to a rural property, and a familiar man comes out to greet them carrying a gun, an automatic rifle just like the other men had. As soon as he sees who they are, the shape that they’re in, he tosses the gun away and runs to them, worry creasing new lines into his face. He carries Helena inside, makes a worried phone call in rapid Russian.

A doctor comes, or maybe a vet. But it’s already too late.

They bury Helena in Nikolai’s backyard, many miles away from home, in a place that’s so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, just pine forests and empty fields and ice. Snow falls, and Morgan stays outside, sitting by her mother’s grave, watching white, powdery snow smooth over the bumpy, disturbed earth, burying Helena for a second time that day. There is no grave marker, just a stone, and soon that’s buried too.

Morgan wonders if this is for her. She’s not sure if it could be worth such a heavy cost, the risk, the violence. But it seems set. She’s only fourteen, and she’s killed four men, and left a fifth to bleed out in the snow. What other life could she have now? She thinks she’ll never find freedom anywhere but aboard the North Wind, and it doesn’t matter if she’s wrong. She can choose this, the wind whistling through the thin aluminum beneath her feet, the rifle in her hands, the risk, the reward. Step into the role that her mother had been training her for since she was just a child. She can’t think of herself as a child any longer, not with blood on her hands that will never fully wash away.

The North Wind carries her home through calm skies, a different girl than she was when she left.