#painter is so gay for him

[unknowntalesbymiles]

“you are my light”

[whatkindofnameisella]

me when the biography's got john singer sargent in it

[aria0fgold]

I don't know what I'm doing with this fic's story anymore at this point, I'm just doing feck all but somehow it's also so fun to just... make it a lil wacky.

[themidnightcrimson]

palette ࿏ wm

summary: in which your mother commissions a renowned painter to paint your portrait.

words: 6.0K

warnings: top!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), lots of tense gay ogling, so much sexual tension, minor use of paint in sex, very victorian era girlie themed, mentions of men (scary!)

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

Your mother was being incredulous about the situation. Time and time again, you tried to convince her that you were not the marrying type, that she need not go to her extreme ends to find you a husband. Whether it was showing you off like show cattle at parties, offering to pay men to marry you with money or titles, or throwing you at the nearest man around, which one time ended up being the innocent post boy, she was relentless in marrying you off.

Any time a man did take an interest in you, which was not unreasonable due to your fair beauty and youth, you hated and despised him and dwindled down his integrity until he ran away like a dog clutching the remnants of his masculinity between his legs. Relief was momentary, for once you ran one off, she only brought around another.

Her new tactic that she invented in that stubborn little head of hers was to commission a renowned painter to paint your portrait to be hung in the halls of your wealthy home. With all the parties and dinners she hosted so desperately often to cling to her respected name in society, she thought that surely a young man would see the portrait of her jeweled and beautiful daughter and demand to own her. Of course, your mother demanded the best, so she hired the infamous Maximoff artist to paint your portrait.

“He will be here any minute,” she whispered behind you as she violently tightened the strings of your corset until you felt your stomach was tucked inside your ribcage.

Taking a shallow breath, the deepest one you could breathe, you looked down at the emerald green dress. It was a beautiful dress, sure. Gold lace crawled over the green corset at your waist, and the green parted at a low point in your bosom, opening wide to reveal your entire chest, metal wires ensuring that your breasts were pushed up and on full display. One thing about your mother was that she hid no tricks. You were her trick, and you were sure she would have you painted naked like a whore if it meant having a son-in-law and grandchildren.

“Mother,” you gasped when she tightened the corset even further, struggling to breathe. “Do you not expect a common man to want a wife who breathes?”

“Hush,” she snapped as she tied off the strings at your back. The dress’s intricate under-weavings made sure that your hips looked wider than your own intellect. Most of the time, you liked to prance around in delicate underdresses in which you could breathe and move freely. This dress, with its constricting corset and heavy hips and layers upon layers of white underskirts, made you feel like you were standing with your head in a noose.

“If he’s such an excellent painter, can’t he just use his own imagination about what I’m wearing? That’s what most men do in their heads, anyway.”

“Mr. Maximoff is the most respected artist in the country,” she breathed, circling you to look you once over. Her hands went to the breast of the corset, trying to lower it down even more.

“Mother!” you shrieked, widening your eyes at her and tugging the fabric back up. “Why are you trying to make me look like a whore in front of who you say is the most respected artist in the country?!”

“He’s Sokovian,” she argued. “They’re exotic.”

You rolled your eyes at her bitter distaste for foreigners, and if you could breathe, you would have let the venomous words roll off your tongue.

“Besides, even if he doesn’t paint you as a doable wife, perhaps he would graciously take you himself.” Her eyes flickered up to your hair which was swooped high up on your head, a few curls of your hair hanging over your cheeks. The earrings on your ears were heavy, and the jewels on your neck were even heavier. You felt like your outer bearings weighed a thousand pounds and were crushing your frail body with every passing second. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to die in that moment, you certainly did, but you would be damned if it was in such a ridiculous outfit.

A housemaid rushed into the room suddenly and declared, “The painter has arrived.”

Your mother nearly slapped you across the face with how fast her hands went to fixing your hair. “Send him in!”

There was a hesitant look on the maid’s face, but she left with her hands fumbling together. Your mother turned your shoulders towards the door, harshly slapping your lower back to make your back straighten. You sighed, feeling anxious at how little you could breathe. You grabbed at your neck as if that would help you breathe, but your mother slapped your hand away. “Don’t fidget.”

She stood next to you, her hands posed at her front, a wide smile on her face. You were pretty sure that she wanted her men to desire herself as much as they desired you, and sometimes you wondered if you might marry a man just so he could fuck your mother and get her out of your own ass.

“Smile,” she whispered, but that was one thing she would have to slap across your face before you ever would.

The door to the library opened slowly, and you could feel your mother’s excited breaths beside you. A booted foot stepped into the room first, your eyes following the body that stepped through. A leg clothed in wide grey trousers, a frilly cream blouse tucked into the pants. You were offput by a mane of long, wavy brunette hair, though your first instinct was maybe Sokovian men donned long hair as a cultural preference. But when you saw the face that glowed into the room, those viridescent eyes, sharp cheekbones with a feminine curve, supple pink lips, your own lips fell open as you realized that Mr. Maximoff was, in fact, a woman.

You thought your mother was going to spontaneously combust in a theatrical display of steaming, rageful sparks. You looked over at her—her eyes were glancing down the woman over and over again, trying to figure out how in the world this person could possibly be a woman, this person who she had built up to the be the key to breeding her own daughter.

You couldn’t help but gleam at the impossibly devastated look on her face. This painter was a woman standing here in pants, holding an easel with a canvas under one strong arm and a bag full of paints in the other.

“Mr. Maximoff?” your mother gasped stupidly.

By the look on the woman’s face, you could tell this wasn’t the first time. “Ms. Maximoff. Wanda.” She stepped forward, setting her supplies down on the floor. “It is a pleasure to meet you and have the honor of being commissioned by your name.” Her Sokovian accent was thick and velvety. She came closer, holding out a hand to your mother. She eyed it like it was a snake, but took it, and Wanda shook her hand like a man.

Her snakelike eyes flickered to you. “I presume this is your daughter—my subject?”

“Uh…” Your mother began, her eyes focused on the shape of Wanda’s breasts under her shirt as if in disbelief. “Yes, this is my daughter, y/n.”

Your eyes were trained on Wanda’s. They were looking at you pointedly, a little wide, soaking up every inch of your presence as if you were the only source of light in the room. Her lips curved into a coy smirk. “Pleasure,” she gently spoke, reaching for your hand. You gave it to her, expecting her to shake it, but she gently turned your palm over, her thumb tracing the soft skin on the back of your hand, before she lowered down and pressed her lips there.

It became even harder to breathe as the woman rose back up, the feeling of her lips still tingling on the skin of your hand. “You are as beautiful as your mother spoke of you.”

For once, you actually smiled without your mother forcing you to. Wanda stepped away, looking between you and your mother expectantly. “Well, shall I get to work? I do charge by the hour.”

Your mother was in some sort of trance. “Oh, um… Sure—well, you see Mr.—Ms. Maximoff—”

“Wanda.”

“… Wanda. I was, admittedly, under the impression that the painter I commissioned to paint my daughter’s portrait would be a man. Are you sure that you do not have a father or brother by the same name, or even a husband, who can come instead? You see, this portrait is going to be very important to me. I intend to show my daughter’s beauty and wealth so that I can find her a proper husband, and given that is such an important cause, I need a painter with the highest skill and artistry to do it properly.”

Wanda only blinked. “There is no other Maximoff but myself. I understand your concern about this portrait, but I ensure you that my skill and artistry will serve the best purpose for your daughter, though her beauty so obvious that even a street painter could convey it.” Her eyes flickered to you again, drawing up another smile on your face. It was funny how she was painting your face without even holding a brush.

Your mother’s eyes danced around uncomfortably. “Well…” She paused, looking over Wanda once again. “Alright.”

“Shall we do it here?” Wanda asked, pointing towards a sofa that sat in the corner of the library against a beautifully wallpapered wall.

“Alright,” your mother said reluctantly. Wanda instantly went to work, setting up her easel and canvas in front of the sofa. She then turned to you, holding out her hand with that sort of smirk on her face. “Come.”

Hesitating, you stepped forward, sliding your hand into her soft, gentle one. She led you over to the sofa, gesturing you to sit, holding your hand until you were fully seated. You squirmed a little as she looked down at you, her eyes appearing darker now that she was turned away from your mother who stood watching with nervous eyes and fidgeting hands. Wanda was staring down at you with an unreadable expression, and when your mother cleared her throat in the silence, it seemed she almost forgot she was there.

Wanda turned to look at your mother, clasping her hands behind her back and taking a few steps towards her.

“My lady, I do find my creative focus more intent when in the presence of only my muse and myself,” Wanda spoke confidently. Your mother was obviously taken aback by this, as if she had expected to watch the entire process, her hand of control over every little thing. She liked to think she was God, or at least God of your world and everything that had to do with you.

“Oh—are you sure?”

Wanda smiled graciously and nodded.

Your mother looked between Wanda and you reluctantly before finally nodding and stepping away. “Well, if you need me, you can ring the bell for the maid.” She paused again, waiting to be told to stay, but Wanda only stared at her, so finally she left, closing the door gently behind her.

You could breathe a little easier now that your mother wasn’t in the room. Wanda sighed and turned on her heel to face you. Your back straightened instinctively under her prolonged stare, your eyebrows creasing to try and figure out why she was staring at you with her head tilted as if you were already a painting hung in a gallery.

“Confusion doesn’t look good on you, darling, and it surprises me so that anything could not look good on you,” she smoothly murmured, taking slow steps parallel from you. She disappeared behind the easel before reappearing on the other side of it, her eyes still trained on you.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “You’re staring at me.”

She blinked, a smile widening on her face. “I’m supposed to paint you. How can I do that without ever looking at you?”

Your face warmed a little, eyes darting down to the floor. She made a noise with her tongue before she went over to the large window of the grand library, pulling on a chain to close the thick, heavy curtains until the room was blanketed in darkness. You could hardly see anything now—you heard the fumbling of things and the striking of a match before a golden light emanated from the table nearby. Wanda had lit a candle, bringing the match near her lips and blowing on it to put it out.

“What are you doing?”

She walked to the other side of the sofa where another smaller table was and lit a candle there too, so that now you were blanketed in a soft, orange huge.

“This painting is to attract men to you for the purpose of marriage, correct?” she asked as she blew the second match out. “What’s more attractive than dim lighting under the intimate glow of candles?” Her eyes, darker now, flickered to you as she walked back to her easel, dragging a nearby stool to the easel and lighting one last candle there so that she could see her work.

“How sensual,” you remarked, to which a hidden smile curled on her lips, shadowed by her hair.

Wanda reached into her bag and brought out a palette, a tin can of brushes, a jug of water, and several bottles of paint, placing them all on the stool beside the easel. You expected her to just be quiet and start painting, but she walked towards you. Your chin rose to keep your eyes on hers as she neared you, looking down at you analytically.

“Sit back a little,” she said softly, “So your back is against the cushion.” You did as she said, scooting back until you could sit up straight with the support of the cushion. “Good. Now, your hands…” She looked at where you had placed them, lying mindlessly on either side of your lap. “What are we going to about those?” She smirked again.

“What do you mean?”

“Hands are as integral part of a portrait as is the face,” she tilted her head and leaned back, imagining your visage as a whole. “Cross them over your lap.”

You plopped them over each other on your knees, expecting that to be good enough, but when you glanced back at her, she was trying not to laugh. “What?” you asked defensively.

“Nothing,” she said, her Sokovian accent edged with amusement. “Here.” She knelt down in front of you, gently taking your wrists into her hands. You held your breath as she positioned them very particularly over your lap, trying to ignore the way her fingertips grazed the fabric of your skirt and left wrinkles in the fabric there, indentions of her touch. Her hands touching yours so delicately was sending jolts of electricity up your spine. You blasphemed yourself for being so shy of a simple touch, from a girl, nonetheless.

Once she had your hands positioned the way she wanted, she stood back up and assessed your top half. You caught the way her eyes fed upon your chest for a brief, startling moment before she looked up to your face. “Sit up a little straighter.” She put her hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you to sit up, her fingertips sliding to your upper back. You grew bothered at how handsy she was being. Her hands moved to your face, adjusting the curls of hair that were left out of your updo. Her face was close to yours now, her cool breath fanning across your mouth and leaving you no room to breathe, a heat forming under the skin of your face.

You recoiled suddenly, and she looked at you with unnerved eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

Her sudden change of confidence at the thought of somehow paining you by moving your hair eased your discomfort a little. “You’re reminding me of my mother. Always picking at me, fixing me.”

Her lips pursed together. “Your mother fixes you to her liking. I’m fixing you to yours.”

You eyed her suspiciously. “I haven’t said a word to you about any of my likings.” You noticed how quiet you were speaking, how quiet the room was, how close you were together in the corner of the large room.

“You don’t have to. I can tell,” she whispered with a crawling smile, adjusting your hair one last time before finally moving away from you. “Now, just sit.”

“Seems simple enough,” you breathed once she was finally behind her easel, trying your best to stay still.

She picked up her palette and started mixing paints and water, tussling through some brushes before finding one she wanted, and you finally heard the scraping of her brush on the canvas. You would have much rather been behind the easel with her, watching with as much curiosity and intrigue as you had then as she worked, than be sitting still like a lifeless doll as her eyes stared at you.

After several minutes of having her look between you and the easel, you started to get uncomfortable. The corset was still restricting your breath, and it felt impossible to keep your hands completely still. The dress was making your back hurt, and the painful silence and the feeling of Wanda’s eyes constantly on yours was enough to make you go mad. You hadn’t even realized that you were starting to squirm, accidentally moving your hands and your position.

You heard a sigh which led you to look back up at Wanda. She set the palette down, along with her brush, and stepped out from behind the easel, pacing back and forth with her eyes set upon you in a sort of disappointed and confused stare.

“What?” you blurted, feeling offended that somehow she thought you couldn’t even just sit to her liking. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re fidgeting,” she said with more seriousness, her artistic focus shining through.

You looked down and realized that somehow over the course of a few minutes you had completely lost the original position she had you in. You sighed, deflating as sharp pains ran up your torso. “I’ve never been painted before.”

“Well, it’s an honor to take your portrait virginity,” she countered with a little smirk, ceasing her pacing to stand staring at you with a tilted head.

A searing hot blush fled to your cheeks. “You speak like a man.”

“You’re sitting like one.”

You realized you were lounging disgracefully on the sofa with your back hunched and legs open. Snapping your legs shut, you groaned and laid back on the sofa dramatically. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t want to be painted?”

“No! And I don’t want to be married off to some bastard and bred like swine until I die. I cannot breathe without her trying to stuff me into a man’s side like an armpiece. I cannot breathe with her constantly in my ear speaking to me how I should talk better, walk better, sit better, stand better, look better. I cannot breathe—I just cannot breathe!” You leaned forward suddenly, feeling faint and gasping for air, clawing helplessly at the front of your corset whose fabric was stuck to your skin.

Wanda neared you calmly, holding out a hand in front of your face. Still gasping, you looked up at her, eyes falling to her hand. Feeling helpless, you slid your hand into yours and stood to face her. You realized then suddenly just how beautiful she was, with her full mouth and sharp eyes that were always piercing into you. Without speaking, her hands slid over your shoulders and smoothly turned you around. You froze, confused about what she was doing until you felt her fingers at your back and the sound of strings being undone.

“What are you doing?!” you exclaimed, knowing how long it took your mother to zip you up in that dreadful thing and how, if she knew you had undone it, she would tie it up even tighter.

“I cannot paint you like this,” her husky voice spoke close behind you. “You look dead in this dress.”

“God,” you breathed as she tugged at the strings, causing your body to move with her force. “That’s an interesting way to call someone ugly.”

“You are not alive like this,” she explained, “I can tell that this is not you. This is only a shell, a makeup of your mother. I am not here to paint your mother—I am here to paint you. My muse has to be completely herself, with no facades or lies. I need to see you as you are, truly and honestly. And also, you do look two heartbeats away from death by asphyxiation in this damned thing.” With a forceful tug, she ripped the back of the corset open so forcefully that your body was yanked backwards towards her, but she caught you, hands firmly on your waist.

You gasped in a full breath of air, and although it was a dusty library, it was the freshest breath of air you had ever taken. You were leaning back against her chest now, strands of her brown hair over your chest. Her hands holding your waist slid upwards a little, your body shivering at the feeling.

Her mouth was close to your ear as she whispered, “I’m going to undress you as gently as I can…” As her breath fanned against your ear, alighting all kinds of nerves in your spine that you’d never felt before, her hands slid around the front of your abdomen. “But forgive me if my creative expressions make me a little…forceful.”

She punctuated her words with an aggressive tug on your corset, which made you gasp sharply. She peeled it off your upper body, grabbing at the hips of the dress and tugging it down, also, bending and pulling all the green off your body until it was pooled at your ankles in a pathetic lump of fabric. You turned your head, looking down at Wanda who was crouched at your calves and staring up at you with parted lips and seductive eyes.

Wanda’s hand snaked around your smooth ankle first, cupping your shin as she started to rise, moving back around to behind your knees, lifting up your layers of underskirts as she went. She rose up behind you now, dragging her hand all the way up your leg under your skirt until it was on your hip, centimeters away from your bum.

Your heart was beating fast in your body that was growing warmer even without the top layer of clothing now. All that was left was the white slip that covered your body and the second underskirt.

“I need to see the real you, detka,” she spoke, Sokovian accent think and sensual in your ear.

You could smell her strong perfume of fig, her soft hair tickling your shoulders. You couldn’t believe that this woman had just ripped your dress from you and had you standing in barely any clothing that you wouldn’t even let your mother see you in.

“How can I convey you on canvas if I don’t know you?” She whispered, and the slightest graze of her lips against your ear sent a jolt down your body.

Her fingertips went to your shoulders, tickling your skin as she guided the thin strap of your slip down your shoulders, bringing you to shiver.

“Wanda,” you breathed, unsure of what you wanted to say. Sliding her hands over your skin, keeping her touch on you, she circled you, coming in front of you to look into your eyes.

“Trust me, detka,” she whispered, “I’m a master of the arts. I know what I am doing.”

That she did, with a smirk as she slowly pulled your slip down. You tried to stand confidently under her gaze and touch, but when you felt the silky fabric catch over your breasts and then fall below to reveal them, you gasped desperately for air. Her eyes flickered down, feasting upon the sight of you with utter desire and sensuality. Her mouth was open, lip nearly trembling as she pulled the slip down over your intimate stomach, and then pushed it along with the second skirt off your hips so that you were standing bare and entirely naked in front of her.

“Beautiful,” she breathed with ragged voice. “So… fucking beautiful.”

The vulgar word pierced your spine and made your body heat even more. Your skin was flush and pink under the close, golden hue of the flickering candles, that same unsteady light revealing Wanda’s bulging pupils and darkened irises. She was devouring you with her eyes, and through the lust you saw the creative plates molding perfectly together in her mind.

“Lay down,” she said with faltering voice, clearing her throat as she guided you to the sofa.

No one had ever seen you naked before, and you kept that thought in mind as you carefully climbed onto the sofa, her hand on your lower back leading the way. “On your back,” she demanded, but suddenly she caught you before you laid down, reaching into your hair and undoing it with one pull of a pin. Your hair flooded down your shoulders messily, and you gasped, knowing just how undone you looked. Was she going to paint you like this? In the nude? You knew that was far from what your mother wanted in the portrait, but your mother was even farther away from your thoughts as the Sokovian artist’s hands guided you to lay on the sofa.

“Move on your side slightly,” she instructed, voice taught with many different emotions you couldn’t completely discern. You were halfway on your back and halfway on your side, some of your hair over your chest and some of it cascading down the arm of the sofa above your head.

Finally, she stepped away from you, and you thought you would feel cold without her touch, but her eyes were enough to keep the fire broiling in your stomach alive.

You were sprawled out on the couch like a whore. One leg reaching over the other end of the sofa, the other one halfway off the edge of the cushion. One arm laying on the cushion lifeless, the other one reaching across the top of the sofa. You were wearing nothing but the thick jewels on your upper chest and the earrings hidden behind your hair except for a few twinkles where the light shone through the strands. The golden light of the candles sparkled on the erected rosy peaks of your breasts, flickered off the skin of your stomach.

“Perfect,” Wanda said, grabbing a towel that she had laid on the stool and casting it over her shoulder, her ravenous eyes not leaving yours as she picked up the palette and brush, beginning to scratch across the canvas madly, hardly tearing her eyes from yours.

Your chest rose up and down with the tension in your lungs. Something within you was throbbing at being laid out like this, having this sensual woman tear you apart with her eyes as she painted your likeness on the canvas.

The tension did not die with the silent minutes. It grew and built with every stroke of Wanda’s brush, with her every darting, overfilling look, with your every weak breath and throb of the multiple heartbeats throughout your body. It grew to a head until you felt like you were going to burn right through the cushions of the sofa like a soaring comet.

Every time her hand left the canvas to roll her brush into the pools of paint on the palette, her rings sparkled under the candlelight. There was a gleam on her skin, a craze in her eyes, a moistness to her lips that she repeatedly licked and bit. She was driving you mad without even touching you, and you could tell that you were doing the same to her with the way she painted the canvas so hard that it trembled on the easel.

Finally, without you having to even say anything, she dropped the palette and brush on the stool and dragged the towel away from her shoulder, eyes trained on your body. She had painted so wildly that there were smudges of color on the white sleeves of her blouse and covering her hands. She came to you so quickly that you didn’t even know she was there until she was knelt beside the sofa, placing a hand on your lower stomach.

Her hand sent a streak of color up your skin as she slowly slid it up your abdomen. Red, yellow, green, blue, all streaked together from her hands as she touched the smooth expanse of your skin.

“When I first came in,” she began in a tremulous whisper, “I knew it would be impossible to hold my focus while I painted your portrait.” Her hand swiftly curved around your breast and cupped it, relishing in the supple feeling of your flesh. Your eyes fluttered closed, legs mindlessly moving as she touched you shamelessly, and you let her. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I don’t even have to paint you to make you a walking piece of art.”

You didn’t know what to say as her compliments landed on your skin like warm raindrops and evaporated into your pores, seeping into you and imbuing you with warmth. She bit her lip as she looked down to your breasts which she fondled, rolling her thumb over your hardened nipples. Your skin there was covered in her paint now, colors mixing and melting on the warmth of your skin.

“Is this your creative expressions speaking?” you whispered to her, and she smirked and tilted her head.

“No, it’s just me.” Her eyes flickered to your lips, and without hesitance she leaned forward and kissed you hungrily. You moaned, and with your lips parted she dove her tongue into your mouth. Her other hand found your delicate neck and squeezed it, the cold paint smearing on your skin as her tongue explored your mouth with utter force and desperation, like she needed to know every single corner and texture of your mouth and tongue.

She clambered on top of you, pinning you down on the sofa beneath. Her hands went mad across your body, squeezing and rubbing you everywhere she could, memorizing every single curve and sweet spot that made you arch up against her. Her kisses trailed down your skin, sucking and biting harshly until she made bright red and purple spots that blended in with the paint she had already left there. She made a painted mess of you right there on those cushions, mercilessly sucking on your nipples and pinching them until you were squirming beneath you with desperate need, grabbing at her soft hair and shoulders.

“Wanda,” you moaned as she lowered down your body, leaving wet kisses down your painted stomach until she was at your hips. She growled, glancing up at your bare, marked body before her, lowering herself down between your legs.

“You’re the sort of art that needs to be worshipped,” she grunted as she ran her hand over your thigh, swiveling around it to yank it up over her shoulder. Crouched down, she parted your legs open, moaning at the sight between your legs. She had dwindled you down into a wet mess, and the feeling of her warm breaths fanning against you there did no good for how much you wanted her to touch you.

Most of the paint that was on her hands had been transferred to your body, so she brought her fingers to your slippery folds, groaning at how soft and wet you were. “No one has touched you before?”

“No one,” you whispered, looking down at the lewd sight of this woman between your legs, even her slight touch on your folds making you jolt.

“Let me be the first.”

“Please.”

She wasted no time in lowering her head down and placing her mouth over your slit, running her tongue up your folds and to your clit, circling it with exact pressure. The moan that escaped your mouth was foul, and you bucked your hips towards her face as she started to lap at your clit, pausing every now and then to purse her lips and suckle at it.

“Oh, Wanda!” you exclaimed, forgetting that your mother could be right outside.

Reaching her hand up your belly, she clasped it over your mouth to silence your moans. You held her wrist, nails sinking into her skin as you trembled beneath her.

“You must be quiet, detka. What happens between an artist and her muse, stays there,” she whispered thickly, her mouth glistening with your own juices. She brought her fingers to your clit, pushing into it before lowering them down to your slick entrance. She watched your every expression and movement of your body as she slid two of her fingers inside you slowly, stretching your virgin hole around their length and width.

Your muffled moans were under her hand as she pumped her fingers deep inside you, curling them to graze the inner sweet spots inside you. Your hips jerked as she lowered her mouth again to suckle at your clit while her fingers thrusted into you.

“You’re just as perfect inside as you are on the outside,” she moaned into your clit as she spread her fingers inside you, moving them more to just feel you than to pleasure you, but it certainly pleasured you all the same.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you cursed under her hand, feeling a coil spring tight in your lower belly. She trailed her kisses over that part of your belly, as if she could feel the tension there.

“You’re being such a good muse, such a good girl for me,” she whispered, rubbing your clit with her thumb as she squeezed a third finger inside you. “I’m inclined to take you away with me and make you the muse for all my work. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Living with me, a slave to my touch and my kiss, a wet little hole for me to fuck when I’m creatively and sexually frustrated. Wouldn’t you?”

Her thrusts were hard now, her voice snaky and thick. You whined and moaned pathetically under her hands, bucking your hips wildly off the sofa. You nodded to her question, burning at the way she laughed. “My little whore, letting me fuck her right here on the sofa, all naked and covered in paint.”

Wanda’s words twisted in your ears and wound you up even tighter, your inner walls squeezing around her fingers that pushed through them. She bit the skin of your belly hard, and with a few more pumps of her fingers, she wound you so tight that you snapped, the coil in your stomach breaking and unleashing screams and shivers of climactic pleasure and euphoria that blinded you. She talked you through it, praising you for being such a good muse, kissing your stomach and rocking her fingers more gently inside you.

You finally came down from your orgasmic high, knees trembling around her shoulders as she crawled up you, giving you a multitude of calming kisses all over your face. You sighed and looked at her with a shy smile, still struggling to catch your breath.

Grinning, she stepped back and looked at you. Your face was bright red with pleasure, a gleam shining off your skin, your body looking even more relaxed with the post-fuck glow that she had been craving to carve out of you from the very beginning. Grabbing her palette and brush, she eyed you from behind the easel, smirking under the candlelight that remarked her viridescent eyes.

“Stay just like that.”

[sebpaint]

✎ File contents - Sebastian Solace x Painter (1.4k)

⎙ Examination Results - how is he supposed to go on like this? how is he supposed to live day after day when he can't even bring himself to do such a simple task?

⌕ Research Gathered - angst, sebastian has an eating disorder, painter tries to help him through it, I got demotivated and cut off the ending sorry, probably super bad I usually write x readers. tribute to a good friend whos crazy over these gays i guess. ( art by @feligayzed who this is also a tribute to )

sebastian solace struggled with food.

he struggled with eating, with chewing, the scent of it through his nose. his oh so sensitive nose. he struggled with bringing himself to prepare it - shaking hands over an open flame with claws that yearned to rip everything apart and eat it raw. the human nerves that begged him not to.

it wasn't that he wasn't hungry, it wasn't that he didnt feel any genre of hunger. the ache in his stomach was too much to bare most days, biting his tongue and tearing at the walls of his stomach, telling himself to suck it up. because he couldn't bare the sight, bare the thought.

had he taught himself water would be enough? he'd wished that to be the case. ever the agony of fluids that couldn't quite fill the void, that couldn't quite reach the peak of where he wanted - needed , of where the pain would finally, just for a moment, cease to exist.

that's how sebastian awoke. that's how he arose most days, most nights, most endless cycles of nothing but an inky blur and misted lense. he had to wipe the tears that threatened to fall. crying over pain was a humane thing, he hadn't recalled calling himself that in a long time.

he didn't say a word, glancing to the blank screen that laid in the center of his coil. the hand crafted body of wires and metals from broken pipes and vent systems, from turrets he'd found torn and broken from age. the body he'd created - the cure to a loneliness he'd remembered so fond. it was somebody to talk to in this hellscape, after all. and he'd grown to call it love, if brave enough.

but, sometimes that word even seemed too strong. to trusting. would sebastian solace ever be allowed to learn to feel love? had he ever even tried?

he tried to lift painter, moving him gently to the side without bothering him in the nest they'd both created through the days of residing together. with a gentle sigh, he covered the other with a blanket - sebastian knew the computer wouldn't feel cold - he didn't have that ability. but the domesticity of the act made him feel more at home.

it didn't take a moment for him to move to the far side of the shop, tugging his esca to switch it on as dim as he could manage. he knew painter would be used to the lights of this place, having originally been locked in a constantly lit room. but again, would a wife wake their husband with the reading lamp? she'd try not to. surely.

curling around himself, sebastian found himself clutching his stomach once more. subconsciously his claws dug into his own flesh - his scales. the sting hadn't registered in his mind until he pulled back to see the crimson fluid that dripped to the ground.

eyes a blur, hands unfeeling. he didn't feel like he was in the room - like he was on a far away plain. maybe it was at home, maybe it was with his mother. maybe it was back where the sun shone down onto his skin, ans he could laugh and pick at the grass whilst joking with friends.

he closed his eyes tightly. maybe if he imagined hard enough, he could force his body back into that time. what he was now wasn't sebastian solace. it never would be.

moments of silence ticked by, had there been a clock anywhere maybe he would've been more aware. but there was no method to tell how many hours had passed. he felt so alone, so lost. this place wasn't for him.

another light filled the room, brighter then his. even through thick eyelids, he could see it.

"..Sebastian?"

the voice called. slightly grainy, of course it would be. nothing was human down here. he looked up, even through misted vision he could make out the vague concerned screen of his lover.

sebastian shook his head, moving a hand up to wipe the tears that had filled his eyes. he still felt far, like everything was distant. but, running a hand through his hair, he replied anyway.

"Yeah. Yeah- fuck. 'm sorry. did I wake you? I tried to have it on a low light-"

"You're bleeding?"

he was cut off. the small clinking of footsteps as the other stepped over to him. he felt the gentle hand rest on the midsection of his tail. it was cold. but something about how warmhearted the action was felt like a placebo effect. maybe this was how he slept so well.

"..Yeah. I-.. don't know how that happened." Sebastian laughed bitterly, but it was met with only silence. Only the distant sound of movement around the facility outside. Painter wasn't amused.

"It's claw marks, you know how that happened." He began, walking over and raising his hands up. to which sebastian lifted him, placing him into his lap, where his tail folded to make a makeshift seat. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

he didn't speak. neither of them spoke, it wasn't a moment that needed any words to display. only a quiet nod, his ear fins had flattened against his head. the tears that ran down his cheeks had shone in the light of the others monitor.

Painter's shoulders sagged, if he could let out a sigh, sebastian was sure he would've. such a war between lovers. was the relationship healthy if the biggest arguments they'd had were over self care?

"You can't go on like this." Painter spoke softly, a hand coming to cup the others cheek, wiping the tears away from under his eyes. "It's hurting you. And seeing you hurt is hurting me."

"I know. fuck- I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologise for."

"..I know."

Another moment of silence. Was it that sebastian adored the others voice so much? It seemed lonelier the more it went on. He found himself leaning into the hand that stilled against his cheek.

they both knew they had food. they had supplies, mountains of fish they'd caught, so many recipes painter had saved and recreated enough to hold for stock. why was it so difficult? why was it difficult to know? to bite down, to chew, to smell, to swallow.

"..Do you think you can try?" painter whispered, it was met with an almost silent whine. under the breath, surely unintentional. but he'd picked up on it anyway. Responding with a soft reassuring hushing sound. He needed him to try.

"It's killing you." He continued, "It's killing you to keep going like this. you can't survive off starving yourself. you know that, sebs.. you're the smartest guy i know, of course you know that.."

a shudder, a sigh. he did know that. sebastian did know that. and the agony that followed his attempts to forget always seemed to remind him.

"..I hate it." He didn't mean for his voice to come across as a hiss, but the detest overruled his will to be kind. "I hate eating. useless bodily function. I never needed to eat this much back when i was human-"

sebastian cut himself off, letting out an almost sob like hiccup. painter's eyes seemed to widen, as much as a drawing could express. leaning into gently hug him, monitor against his shoulder and arms wrapped around his neck. the fish responded the same, hands around his waist.

"..I know, my pearl. I know.."

nobody spoke a while. fuck, he hated the silence. he hated everything about it. if he'd grit himself and force himself to speak to avoid it, so be it.

"..I'll try. please- just.." he couldn't choke the words out, but he hoped the other would understand him anyway. of course he did, painter always knew what he was trying to say to him.

like two souls in seperate bodies, like a heart split among two that only beat in a rhythm the other would know how to decode. had they been meant for each other? had they been made for each other?

"..that's okay." Painter smiled softly, nudging his monitor against sebastians snout, almost in a mock kiss. It had him blush lightly, almost forgetting about the unbearable agony for just a moment.

"..As long as you're trying for me, then it's okay. I love you, and I won't be upset with you if we don't manage today, I promise. but .. it'd be nice, okay?"

sebastian nods, a fond smile to his face. his tail had instinctively curled around the other in the duration of the other speaking, and his shoulders had visibly relaxed.

"..Yeah. yeah- okay.. I'll try. love you too.."

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned who is the most accidentally famous person ever

Imagine you're a regular 70 year old Hungarian guy, who, after a satisfactory career as an electrical engineer, has finally retired and is spending his days in peace. I know I'm asking you to get bored even in your imagination but bear with me. It's about to get fun…

So this one day, some photographer, who happened to see a picture of you vacationing, on a social media site, approaches you for a photo shoot and you comply, because there's nothing much to do.

You then proceed to upload some of your photos on Google, to see how stock photos work…

..and who uses it. (Uh oh) Because now, things start escalating…

While you're sitting in your home, punctually maintaining your routine of getting bored, there's some random guy on some random part of the world, who looks at your stock photo and finds immense potential in it, in your face, in your smile. (And no, he's not gay)

The potential for the next revolutionary meme. He posts it on Facepunch.

And fortunately for him (unfortunately for you), the meme clicks. So much so, that a Facebook page called “Maurice”, springs up, which gets 10k likes in no time.

When you first see your meme, you find it offensive, but there's nothing you can do about it, so you let it go (thinking that it'll die soon). But you duly warn your acquaintances to be more wary the next time they upload their photos on the internet.

But alas, you're already on your way to the list the most famous memes of all time. There are people on 4chan, who, in a thread dedicated just for you, start theorising that you must be some sad old man who has to work as a stock photography model. Then, an Imgur user goes on to compile notable quotes from the above 4chan thread into a gallery post titled “Hide-the-pain-Harold”, which garners more than 8,80,000 views in just three weeks.

You are now a classic meme template.

Eventually, you decide to publicly recognise yourself on a Russian social media site called “VK”.

You transcend from being bits on the Internet, to actual prints on a coffee mug, on a skirt! Documentaries are made, and articles are published about you. There's a random Quora user who nominates you as one of the most accidentally famous person from Hungary.

People start recognising you on streets. Some of them now want to get a picture taken with you. You're a celebrity for wrong reasons. After having lived 70 peaceful years as a harmless guy, you've become world famous - as a painter, as a singer, as whatever the next notorious meme maker wants you to be.

You are Arató András, the meme guy. Every single time a stranger recognises you, you acknowledge it with a smile, but there's an inevitable pain which just cannot be hidden.

So you smile like this,

I feel your pain Harold.

Hide your pain, Harold.

[katy-133]

I think something that has been left out of discussion that should be kept in mind if you ever wonder how James Somerton had managed to grift so much Patreon money and had been fooling so many people is that there was a point in history where, if you searched for queer readings of different works of fiction on YouTube, his videos would appear at the top. Every time. I remember this. Before the Plagiarism and You(Tube) video was released, if you keyword searched things like "video essay lgbt [insert fictional media you like]," a video from James Somerton's channel would appear first. If you were looking for queer readings, you had to scroll down to find Alexander Avila talking about queer intersectionality, or Kaz Rowe talking about gay painter JC Leyendecker, who influenced Team Fortress 2's art style.

This was because YouTube will push videos from prolific channels (read as: posts more long-ish videos) in search results in the hopes you will click on it (since YouTube gains money from ads in videos). James Somerton was able to post essay-length videos at a rate faster than the other queer media video essayists because he was stealing from them. None of the legitimate essayists could compete with him on that front because a well-researched essay takes time to fact-check and ruminate on. So every time another essayist tried to call him out on plagiarism, he'd sick his fans on the person because they were "smaller". It took Hbomberguy and Todd in the Shadows to cause a dent because their channels were larger (note that Todd in the Shadows is a music review channel and Hbomberguy covers immersive sim video games--a YouTube channel covering queer essays is more "niche" than on other websites such as Tumblr or Nebula).

James Somerton didn't just weaponise his fans. He weaponised the algorithm. He weaponised queerness being considered "niche" on YouTube to silence queer writers.

[sharp-silver4795]

Hii! I was wondering if you did Bloody painter? If you do and you’re okay with it, can I have BP x reader nsfw (if you’re okay with it ofc!) headcannons? c:

Bloody Painter 🔞 HCs

If you’re under 16, GET OUTTA HERE!!!

Yes I write for bloody painter lol

TLDR: I think he would be terrible in bed.

So, let’s start with this: he thinks he straight, but he is bi in denial.

God, he is vanilla- but not in a good way. Ya gotta force this man to try something new.

He acts like he’s great in bed, but someone will call him out *cough cough* Liu *cough cough*

I’m sorry not sorry I think I’m he would be shit in bed!!!

He’s so internally homophobic that he things actually pleasuring a woman makes him “kinda gay”

But! If you coax him enough, he’ll do something different.

But it can’t be anything actually kinky, or that will make him gay 🙄

I would feel terrible for whoever decides to have sex with this man-

Probably now what ppl were expecting….

[olderthannetfic]

I'm IWTV-wank-avoidance-asking Anon and it kinda missed me that it would be a wanky topic lol I was trying to see if the show is worth watching. A lot of my mutuals are posting IWTV gifs so I assume it's good, but I was curious if anyone who read the novel would think "Better read the novel". I don't realize an asking-for-rec ask would be wanky, but now that I think about who the writer is, it kinda makes sense. My bad lol

--

Ahahahaha.

Around here, I don't think anyone is precious enough about Anne Rice to start the genuine version of this wank, but Rice fandom can be... uh... very intense even on top of Rice herself having been the queen of drama.

You know about Red Beans Anne Rice, right?

Many years ago, Anne got all butthurt about a tacky-ass restaurant taking over an abandoned building that she'd had Lestat being emo in in one of the books. Instead of gothic atmosphere, it was now very PINK and LOUD. So she wasted money taking out ads in the local paper as Lestat trying to shame the restaurant owner... at which point a bunch of other restaurant owners also wasted money to respond in newspaper ads saying that they welcomed fellow businesspeople. It all ended in the restaurant's grand opening and people with plates of "Red beans Anne Rice" (i.e. red beans and rice).

--

Anyway, I read the first book back in the 90s when I was like 15. It's decent from what I remember. The thing that made it iconic when it came out in 1976 was that it was pretty heavily pushing the vampire=drug addict metaphor. This is everywhere in sexy goth sadboi vampire media now, but it wasn't as much of a thing at the time.

It was also very, very gay but in that way where (at least in the first book), nobody really says the word. That meant something in the 70s. Even by the 90s, it wasn't such a big deal, and it's a big nothingburger in the 2020s.

Book 1 is Rice dealing with the death of her child. It's all about suicidal feelings and Catholic weirdness. The main character is Louis, a.k.a. Rice's self-insert (which she confirmed herself).

Books 2 onward are about Lestat's dick.

He becomes a rockstar, vampire-bones the ur vampire, which causes him to mega level up, thus enabling him to thwart her plot to kill all men on earth aside form a few for breeding purposes, bodyswaps so he has a working penis again, fucks a nun, swaps back, gets Louis back by trying to commit suicide and accidentally getting a tan, etc... Much, much later books are about the other bonkers vampires, most of them more in the horny rockstar mold than the sad mommy of dead baby one.

In book 1, Louis is a depressed plantation owner who eats a bunch of his slaves among other fucked up shit. Claudia, their vampire daughter, is a small child who is upset about being stuck as a kid forever. One of the more disturbing parts is when Louis finds out she's fucking adult men. Lestat turns out to be a French nobleman with mommy issues despite Louis thinking he was only pretending to be upper class.

-- The TV series moved the entire plot much later in history, made Louis black, and gave him a spine. Some racists cried about this and some of tumblr cried about how it was offensive to take the plantation owner and make him black instead of doing that with the other one.

The show also made it more overt that Lestat is an abusive jackass boyfriend. This apparently came as a surprise to people with poor reading comprehension. Others have wanked about fans still liking Louis/Lestat instead of Louis/less terrible boyfriends. But... like... It's IWTV. What did they expect?

(So yes, some book fans will be immensely wanky about the show. Ignore them.)

Also, I hear they fuck on the show? Rice's vampires don't have working junk, which we know because Lestat stands in front of an entire wall of mirrors in the most bougie bathroom ever in Akasha's evil lair and discusses how his penis—I mean "The Organ"—no longer does anything.

Also, Armand in the books is the 14-year-old kept boy of a Renaissance painter with a harem of boys or something like that. (It's been a very long time since I read these.) Shit like this never makes it into the adaptations.

--

If you're curious about the history of vampire media or about a certain kind of Southern gothic shit, sure, read the books, particularly the first one with its radically different tone and much greater historical importance.

The old movie is a decent adaptation of book 1, though it makes it less gay (or at least removes Louis' weird boner for his dead brother) and messes with the ending in a way that would have made sequels veer off from the books. I haven't seen that other old movie with Aaliyah, but it looks like a campy time capsule of baaaad movies of that era.

Anyway, no, you don't need to read the book before watching the show. They changed a massive amount of stuff.

I'm in more of a Chinese media phase right now, but a bunch of friends have watched and said the show is genuinely good.

[highly-important]

Little Art things I'm obsessed with pt 1

Portraits of absent figures:

David Hockney - A Bigger Splash, 1967

Hockney originally visited California in 1963 and was won over by the sunlight and laid-back lifestyle, especially the luxury and ubiquity of the swimming pool. He described it as his "promised land" The splash is about freezing a moment in time, but it is also empty of human presence but implying a human. The male figure is present in some of David's other works from this time period, especially his muse and then-partner Peter Schlesinger. These paintings are about a hedonistic gay lifestyle, and the swimmers, the divers, are often the subject of voyeurism and desire. But in this painting, we just missed the diver, which makes the object of desire more private and personal. Who was the painter looking at, lusting after, etc. I like the contrast of the incredibly sharp and graphic suburban neighborhood, and the chaotic, organic splash. So again, if the divers represent this homosexual desire, we have this contrast of an orderly heterosexual world, and the queerness that joyfully disrupts it.

And then of course, with the absent figure, there is this massive sense of loss and loneliness. And so much of loneliness is about concealment, hiding in shame. This is a private space, but its also an exposed space, enhancing the loneliness. The figure is isolated, alone, invisible. Its a sadness that contrasts with the setting, the activity, and saturated lighting.

Felix Gonzalez-Torres - Untitled (billboard of an empty bed), 1991

These billboards were exhibited in the streets of Manhattan during the AIDS crisis. This piece was created the same year Felix Gonzalez-Torres's boyfriend Ross died. This portrait is a celebration of love and a memorization of loss and the emotions between intimacy and publicity. In the artist's own words:

“What I’m trying to say is that we cannot give the powers that be what they want, what they are expecting from us. Some homophobic senator is going to have a very hard time trying to explain to his constituency that my work is homoerotic or pornographic, but if I were to do a performance with HIV blood — that’s what he wants, that’s what the rags expect because they can sensationalize that, and that’s what’s disappointing. Some of the work I make is more effective because it’s more dangerous. We both make work that looks like something else but it’s not that. We’re infiltrating that look.“

The work intentionally uses the matching, identical depressions to imply a same-sex couple. The image itself is extremely intimate, but its being displayed in public spaces.

Felix Gonzales-Torres became known for his absent bodies.

And then, a little different, this painting by Jacques Guillaume Lucien Amans (1837) commissioned by Frederick and and Coralie Frey, depicts the three Frey children, with the faint shadow of a figure. There was a legend that there was a fourth figure in this painting. In 2005 a private collector, Jeremy K Simien, purchased the painting and it underwent conservation.

The painting revealed Bélizaire, a fifteen year-old enslaved domestic owned by the children's father. The picture captures the complex relationship between the boy and the children, the family that was keeping him captive. For one thing, the way he is set back from the others. There is this sort of intimacy between them along side the psychological trauma of forced bondage.

Here is a great Tiktok about the painting, to quote "What I'm struck by is what a sensitive portrait this is of this young man who was living in an inhumane society where he, despite being a human being, was bought and sold."

A few years after this painting was created, the three Frey children died, and Bélizaire was the only one who survived into adulthood.

The painting stayed in the Frey family. At some point, likely in the late 19th or 20th century, Bélizaire was intentionally painted over. In 1972, the great-granddaughter of Coralie Frey donated the painting to a Louisiana museum, informing them that a figure was painted over. During the course of the painting's life at the museum, no effort was put into restoring the figure.

Jeremy Simien's, who bought and restored this painting, said on his instagram "Bélizaire, they know your name now. Tell the ancestors to let me sleep for a minute."

And shout out to the picture that make me want to write this, Hyde Park Flowers, London by Tumblr user @kimironside I won't re-post it so check out the link.

[askthekoopsandjr]

Ludwig von Koopa (Head)canons

Cunning, conniving, and classy; this is the surface level of the pompous prodigy we all know and love... or hate. Here's everything you need to know about him to familiarize yourself with my story.

G͟e͟n͟e͟r͟a͟l͟ I͟n͟f͟o͟r͟m͟a͟t͟i͟o͟n͟

18 years old.

- Very important to note: Dragon Koopas do not age the same as humans. It is unknown how they age in equivalence to humans, but the adult age for dragon koopas is their early 30's. Dragon koopas can live for several centuries. The maximum years of life is unknown.

Transgender man, he/him. Gay, asexual, and amicusromantic.

-Transitioned after his 13th birthday. Chose the name Ludwig, loving the high end and fancy sound of it.

Is autistic and completely deaf. Uses hearing aids designed by Iggy to hear.

Ludwig has always been attracted to men, but after transitioning he went through a short period of "now being attracted to girls", because everyone has to be straight, right? Lmao it took a conversation with Kamek to clear that up.

- (P.S. Everyone in my story is asexual because "it"™ doesn't exist haha)

Eldest of the 7 koopalings

- All are biological siblings, born to the late Morton Koopa Sr. and Adaeh Koopa

Self proclaimed leader of the Koopalings. His siblings do not agree with this notion, reminding him that they're a team.

Adopted by Bowser, along with his siblings, at 12 years old

It is unkown exactly how his parents died, but he vividly remembers that fateful day.

- He has uncomplicated PTSD formed from this event. He doesn't currently receive therapy (yet)

Here's the whole story about that:

All creatures in the Mario world... the Underground whatever it's called have all the races/ethnicities of humans. Ludwig and his siblings are German and British from their father, and South African from their Mother.

C͟h͟a͟r͟a͟c͟t͟e͟r͟

Of course, Ludwig is a lil bitch at heart. He's snooty, snarky, sarcastic, stubborn, bossy and arrogant... You get it. Buuuuut! He's not completely terrible and unpleasant. He has a certain persona he puts on when in the face of the general public. He's the GREAT and POWERFUL Ludwig von Koopa, he has a reputation to uphold! However; those who get the rare chance to know him outside of work and royalties will notice he's actually much more lively. He's witty, likes to make bad puns, and LOOOOVES to gossip for hours (whether good or bad) on end.

He usually favors the sound of his own voice, but he's a good listener at times, too!

As you might already know, Ludwig is a total drama queen and lives for theatrics. This means he will show off at any given chance, and act super extra. Think of Rarity from MLP having one of her "moments".

As he stated in Bowser Jr.'s Journey, he never backs down from a fight or challenge. This is driven by his insatiable need to prove himself and pride.

He used to beat himself up pretty bad when losing a fight or challenge, but has gotten a lot better at accepting defeat or trying not to be too upset about it. Take his loss to Mario in Color Splash as an example of him humbling himself and accepting defeat- but also take his loss to Waluigi in the 2020 Olympic Games as how he can still get upset.

He knows he can't be the very best at everything... but that doesn't mean he can't be in the top 5, y'know? So even if he is humbled after losing and embarassing himself, that only means he'll work twice as hard to perfect his skills for next time. I'll get you next time, He-Man...

Speaking of perfection, Ludwig is very knowledgeable and has seemingly endless talents. He can play over 200 instruments, excels in acting, is a surprisingly good singer and painter, and is very well educated in general studies. While wanting to be the very best certainly plays a part in why he's so ambitious, the main reason is because he simply loves learning and doing.

- He owns Ludwig Painting as seen in Mario Kart. His company is in charge of giving each kart their exterior paint job.

Time for a secret... Ludwig has always been an eager student, but has intensified to who is today because of the loss of his parents. Being the oldest, he believed it was his sole responsibility to care for his siblings. He would not allow the destruction and death from before to ever happen again. Once being taken in by Bowser, he quickly introduced himself to the luxurious resources around him to begin a journey of scholarship that still continues to this day.

Kamek was the one who gave the 7 of them their wands. This was not the first time Ludwig was introduced to magic, however. His mother was a sort of "earthy" witch, knowing how to mix up various potions and natural remedies, which she taught Ludwig. To hold a staff of power capable of virtually anything he could dream of, Ludwig chose magic to be his "major". Kamek would personally teach Ludwig magic beyond what he would teach his siblings, since Ludwig was the one who insisted so badly.

- Ludwig might have the strongest magic of his siblings, but don't let that trick you into thinking he's the strongest of them all. Usually, his showboating leads to his downfall.

As his siblings grew older (and with the help of Kamek to talk some sense into him), Ludwig stopped thinking it was his sole responsibility to take care of them. They didn't really want/need that kind of help from him anymore, and it was a bit frustrating to get that through his head.

Beneath those tough scales, Ludwig really does have a heart. He can be kind, and he likes to show affection. It's actually a lot easier to get along with him than it seems, so long as you have patience and don't let his self-absorption bother you too much.

Speaking of affection, he's not ashamed or afraid to let others know that he cares for them. It won't really show when he's engaged in battle, but find him in the castle on an eventless day and you'd see him acting like a normal big brother.

You'd think he'd want to be ruler of the Dark Lands, but that's not actually the case. He deeply cares for Jr. and knows he has great potential- hence why he's always trying to teach and point him in the right direction.

- Let's talk more on what Ludwig likes to do for himself: -

Ludwig takes excellent care of himself. He has an intricate routine for keeping himself radiant every single day (like scale exfoliation, etc). Every night, he puts his hair in curlers and wears a purple silk bonnet. He loves feeling physically fulfilled and looking his best.

His hair is his greatest pride. It's thick, reverently fluffy and voluminous. It's beauty brings him great happiness.

- His hair is naturally curly. It gets that shape from the curls. If you ran your fingers through it, you could feel the texture.

He is more than happy to tell you all about hair care and give you a few tips

He loves frills, hence why he wears that jabot all the time.

He loves to paint outside in the sun. He isn't too good at drawing, so he usually paints scenery and other things that require abstract shapes. He never sketches on the canvas prior to the paint.

This is so obvious, but it should be said anyway; music is his driving force and passion. He only has 5 officially published original works, but has so, so many more unpublished. He creates at a rather fast pace, so he decides to hold back on releasing them until he "feels" it's the right time. He has published many covers of existing songs, though.

- It was his dad that taught him how to play music and his mom who taught him how to sing. The first instrument he ever played was the piano, hence why it's his favorite.

Ludwig experiments with his music. Yes, classical is his favorite and what he's best at, but his passion is music as a whole. He's even dipped his feet in some alternative genres! It's death metal, heavy metal and the stuff Larry listens to (hyperpop, gabba, speedcore etc) that he can't stand.

- Since meeting Suzuka, he's been trying to be more accepting of the rock genres that he loves. He won't want to listen to it, but will support Suzie's decisions and even help him write his music sometimes (as long as it's not the "heavy" parts)

Before meeting Suzie, Ludwig didn't write much poetry, but as it turns out, he's fairly good at it! He and Suzie like to leave suprise love poems lying around for the other to find.

- He may have or may not have left ominous riddle poems lying around to mess with his siblings...

Ludwig is a pretty good cook and baker. He doesn't normally make the meals, since Bowser has employees for that; but if the chefs were ever unavailable, he wouldn't be lost. He likes to joke that he could easily replace the chefs based on his experience of making food for all his siblings. He usually says that to the head chef, because it amuses him to get under their skin.

- The head chef usually gets pissed at this joke, attempting to throw spices and utensils at Ludwig to get him out of the kitchen.

Ludwig loves the theater. He will go to every new show in any kingdom, even if it's in the Mushroom Kingdom. He knows that Mario will be breathing down his neck, but he likes to annoy him and act like he's never done any wrong and act offended at Mario's accusations that he would try to sabotage the show.

- Lemmy usually tags along, as he loves theater too.

Quality time is a must for Ludwig. He likes to hang out with his siblings individually, then all together. As much as he would like to have one-on-one time with Jr., it nearly never happens because the heir is preoccupied with his dad, Kamek, school, and learning to be a prince. He did at least get to teach him to dance once, though. (end credits of Bowser Jr.'s Journey)

- Quality time with Suzie is a whole 'nother story. The two don't spend much time apart.

R͟e͟l͟a͟t͟i͟o͟n͟s͟h͟i͟p͟s͟

Ludwig loves all of his siblings equally. The ones he loves are the most important thing in the world to him. His deepest fear is losing his loved ones.

With Iggy: Ludwig often gets annoyed by Iggy's lack of seriousness and class, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy Iggy's company. They both share the insatiable hunger for knowledge, love of science and robotics. They get along very well because guess what? They're both cuckoo insane! I honestly think Lud is crazier than Iggy! Iggy knows how to make Ludwig laugh, no matter what kind of day he's had. Iggy is also a very touch affectionate koopa, so she'll often do this thing where he'll just stand behind Ludwig and rest her head on top of Lud's hair because it's funny. Iggy also manages to steal a hug at least once a day. And often pranks Ludwig with a joke very often. Hey Ludwig wanna get up dog what's up dog not much what's up with you

With Morton: Ludwig almost never gets mad or annoyed with Morton on his own. Morton likes to talk a lot when spoken to and is a very good listener, so Ludwig enjoys having long conversations with him. Ludwig likes to bake with Morton as well, since they both share the interest. He tried to teach Morton how to cook once, but never again after his hair was almost burned off. The two also share an interest in music, so Ludwig will use Morton as a critique when writing new pieces. Ludwig is also more than glad to serve as a listener to Morton when he wants to speak, and serve as feedback for Morton's very long fictional stories.

With Roy: Ludwig is very patient with Roy's short temper and aggressive nature- maybe because he simply doesn't want to get his ass kicked, or maybe he's just used to it by now. He's not often prone to being hit by Roy, given that he would get him back with a nasty magic trick. Roy usually picks on Ludwig verbally (the usual insults you hear about him. It's pretty funny). Regardless, he does not look down on Roy. When you're not looking, he'll smile at Roy's wisecracks and silly nature. Ever since Roy has taken his studies more seriously, Ludwig listens to him more often and ask for his opinion when on missions. Roy will actually ask Ludwig for homework help more often than you'd think. Ludwig is always more than willing, as teaching others is actually something Ludwig loves to do. Ludwig wishes he could show Roy a bit of affection, but we all know Roy's not a fan of that.

With Wendy: Ludwig and Wendy are the young and cunty Statlor and Waldorf. They have mad gossip and drama to share at all times, and confide in each other with their deepest secrets. Wendy actually transitioned shortly after Ludwig, which was the start of the closeness they still share today. They love giving each other make-overs and shopping together. Ludwig enjoys asking Wendy to put on a magic ring show for him, as he doesn't know how to use magical objects very well, such as her bracelets. He loves how graceful yet powerful she is. He considers asking Kamek to teach him how to do something like that at times. Ludwig is the one who taught Wendy how to style hair, despite having none of her own, so that he could ask her to do his. He secretly enjoys when others play with his hair, but trusts very few to actually touch it.

With Lemmy: Ludwig will act like he doesn't care for Lemmy's silly theatrics and clowny behavior, but actually very much enjoys it. He loves Lemmy's individuality and how he brings it forth to the spotlight wherever he is. As I mentioned before, Ludwig brings Lemmy along whenever he goes to the theater. Both enjoy sharing artistic ideas and even collaborating, whether it be on a stage-play or a painting. Ludwig wouldn't admit to this, but he is secretly awed by Lemmy's natural emotional maturity. He often thinks about asking Lemmy for advice or just having him as someone to talk to about his anxieties and fears, but never does because Lemmy is still rather young. He imagines confiding in his younger brother about these things one day, when he's older. (Here's another secret... Ludwig actually likes the circus.)

With Larry: Larry is the one Ludwig parents the most. Outside of missions for Bowser, Ludwig keeps a careful eye on his youngest sibling. That's a lot harder said than done, though; Larry is a hyper-energetic kid who's always wanting to do his own thing. Ludwig is constantly trying to teach Larry everything he can learn- which he's done a pretty good job with!- but keeps pushing Larry to do more and more, which frustrates and confuses the youngest. Ludwig just wants to ensure the youngest has everything he could ever need in life, but he comes off as though he's not proud of him sometimes. That is 100% not the case, but Ludwig is letting his fears and anxiety get the best of him. They do get along well, though. Larry enjoys playing with Ludwig, and typically succeeds in bringing out the elder's inner child. They have that special big-bro-little-bro bond.

💜 With Suzuka: Suzuka is Ludwig's one and only. He knew there was something special about him from the first time they met. They've been going steady for almost a year, and their love for one another just keeps growing. Ludwig will spend every second of his time with Suzie if he can help it. The two often indulge and collaborate on musical works and teach each other new things. Both koopas are well associated with the other's family, and frequent activities with them (such as dinner, helping out with chores, etc). Ludwig is usually the first to initiate physical affection, but both equally enjoy cuddling with each other at any time.

- Lore time... From the second time they met, he was drawn in even further after working together to help Iggy's stupid newest invention from destroying the jungle world (it's a long story). Suzie was smart, sweet and so unintentionally charismatic that Ludwig knew he had to forge a formal friendship with him. He thought it would be smooth sailing from there... But there was actually a small bump in the road. Ludwig was horrified that Suzie's favorite genre of music was metal (More specifically j-metal but to Ludwig it's all the same)! This actually upset Ludwig for a while, and he was not shy to share his opinions with Suzie. Suzie just went :3. He respected Ludwig's opinion, and it's not like he was unfamiliar with hatred towards rock genres as it was lol. Like the drama queen he is, Ludwig tried to distance himself, but Suzie just kept coming around... And played some classical on the piano to get him to come around. Which totally worked. And wooed Luddy for the first time. So Ludwig decided he would try to grow as a person (or Koopa??) for Suzie. He was way too special to ditch over something silly. The months would pass, the feelings would grow, and we end up at Christmas. With the holiday spirit in the air, Ludwig finds he can't keep it a secret anymore and confesses to Suzie. The two have been going steady ever since!

F͟u͟n͟ F͟a͟c͟t͟s͟

Ludwig is a big foodie, with a heavy preference for sweets. He would autistically explain to you the history behind a dish and how it should be made/served

He went completely deaf at some point when he was 14. No one is sure how or why. He used typical hearing aids for a while, until Iggy devised his own pair that Ludwig could wear 24/7 without causing discomfort. They are charged by geothermal energy. If Ludwig happens upon a place where the heat from the Earth cannot easily reach up to the surface (for example somewhere very cold), the hearing aids will go into manual charge mode and have 24 hours of battery.

While Ludwig didn't had a partner before Suzuka, he did go on some dates in the past. Maybe 5 or 6? [I'm undecided lmao] They were all boys of higher class or with some title to their name from neighboring kingdoms, with the exception of one who was a Koopa troop guard in training. Ludwig doesn't really talk to them anymore, but would say hello if running into them.

His tail will wag when he's feeling affection for someone. Hugging a sibling? Little tail wags. Snuggling Suzie? Big tail wags. You get it

Is a total romantic. Will do the corniest things but look good doing it because of his talents in music and acting. He enjoys showing pda, usually through hand holding or keeping his partner close to his side at all times.

His favorite play is probably The Phantom of the Opera

He resonates with victorian goth

Claims to be ruthless, but has anyone actually ever seen him display such intense behavior that went beyond words?

- Even so, he does get a bit cuckoo at times. It may be a result of neurosis.

He actually doesn't use hairspray or gel

Of the siblings with hair, he's been able to teach Larry and Lemmy how to do theirs

He's fairly easy to annoy. It makes for fun pranks and jokes to pull on him

As stated in Bowser Jr.'s Journey, he's quite good at lying, deceiving, and negotiating. You may wanna be cautious around him.

It's really not that hard to make friends with Ludwig. It's just very dependent on the circumstances under which you meet.

[esperfruit]

Bonus facts for the characters in my TTTE Human AU Part 1

Thomas Billington:

Recently got his moped license, travels around Sodor on his moped whenever he can

British + Indian

Autism + ADHD

Asexual + Biromantic 

Edward's No. 1 hypeman

No sweets are save from him

Once got in an accident with a bike and was catapulted through a window onto a family’s breakfast table

Can't play instruments to save his life

Strong dislike for fish and gets seasick

Favorite shows are slapstick cartoons

Is surprised himself at how good he became at making friends with how bad he used to be in the past

Can get tunnel vision when too determined to get things done

Reads books about ancient civilizations, mythology and archeology to feel close to his missing parents

Stays in contact with Ashima

Edward Pettigrew:

His friend circle is so large, he always knows someone who can help out

British

Bisexual + Trans man

Classic music enthusiast 

Serious perfectionist

People pleaser but has a lot of confidence and self-respect

Often forgets basic needs when focused too hard on work (Annie, Clarabel and Thomas often have to remind him to eat)

Used to look after Henry when he was sick but over time was pushed away by Henry, who didn't want Edward's “pity”

Is called “Uncle Edward” by Thomas

Has very high expectations of himself thanks to his reputation as the ol'reliable

Was a troublemaker in his youth to the shock of everyone

Can adapt to any situation

Henry Stanier:

If you want to know anything regarding gardening, he got you covered

Puerto Rican

ADD + autism + anxiety + insomnia 

Pansexual + Bigender

Can be a massive hater when you get on his bad side

Actively participates in forest restorations 

Struggles with expressing of wanting sympathy for his condition but not to be pitied for it

Lived in New Jersey for a while and adapted the accent

Even if he mellowed out, he can still throw out some of the most rude things you've ever heard

Holds a grudge against Scott

Was Sodor's undefeated armwrestling champion for a long time until his defeat against Hiro

His orphanage didn't want to pay for his hospital bills anymore and he was given to the Staniers without them knowing about his anemia first

Uses the herbs he grows in his garden for medicine

Aside from chronic anemia, he has a weak immune system in general

Goes hiking for escapism 

Gets stressed whenever Spencer is around

Not many can tell whenever his smile is one of joy or warning

Gordon Gresley:

When he smiles his whole face changes

British

Gay

Autism + NPD + BPD

Gets very tense and nervous when confronted with sudden big change

Struggles at asking for help

It’s very difficult to get him to open up and especially to get him to talk about his feelings

Quick to judge others

Once led a strike with Henry and James, is embarrassed by it today

Gets very uncomfortable when his family is mentioned

Suffers from strong mood swings, it is hard to predict and adapt to him

Almost got ran over by Spencer’s car once (Spencer did it on purpose)

Never hides his schadenfreude

A glutton, gets flustered whenever it’s addressed

Has nightmares from the accident only he and Scott survived

His drawn out groans and “Oh, the indignity” line became famous

James Hughes:

Freaks out whenever some of his self-made outfits get dirty

British + Mexican

Gay

ADHD + NPD + anxiety 

Has a whole photo album with nothing but selfies

Becomes non-verbal when he feels humiliated 

Very observant, notices things others never would

All of his dishes look like they were made at a 5 stars restaurant

Is often seen posing over dramatically 

Good painter

Breaks out into boastful laughter whenever he’s praised

Constantly provokes Gordon to get his attention

Has a melancholic side

Percival “Percy” Avonside:

Is the local newspaper kid on his bike

British + Seychellois + Malaysian

ADHD

AroAce and non-binary

Wants to become a professional soccer player, trains with Donald

Didn't know how to swim for a long time until he got swimming lessons after almost drowning when he fell into the water at the harbor and was saved by Henry

Has some developmental delays because of the homeschooling and struggles with big words

Is often seen bantering with the helicopter pilot Harold Sikorsky

Gets very grumpy when bored

Superhero movie fan

Accident prone, is currently on his fifth bike 

Loves wearing the sweaters Henrietta made for him

Very good with animals

When he makes a promise, he does everything to keep it

Tobias “Toby” Holden:

Very strong attachment to Henrietta, is only seen without her at work

Black British

Straight ally

Neurotypical

Usually peaceful but will make you regret if you ever hurt Henrietta or Percy

Is easy to get to laugh at your jokes (except for Charlie, even Toby finds him unfunny)

Sweet tooth but not as extreme as Thomas

Henrietta can cheer him up instantly whenever he’s cross

Once stopped a burglar from robbing a museum and is now seen as a hero

Often invites Mavis for dinner with his family 

Owns many antiques 

Montague “Duck” Collett:

Amazing dancer, his favorite being waltz with Donald

British

Bisexual

Autism 

A typical old-fashioned gentleman despite his young age

Has high standards and gives harsh but honest criticism 

Does not swear at all, only when he's at his breaking point

Usually shrugs off duck jokes but will throw hands if you do that as one of his enemies (Diesel)

Habit of talking a lot when getting enthusiastic 

He and Douglas are the only ones to know how to handle Donald perfectly

Very musical, can play the piano, violin, acoustic guitar and flute 

Likes going to the coast, gets sentimental when watching the sunset there

Donald McIntosh:

Owns kilts he wears to festivities

Scottish

Gay

ADHD

Can not play the bagpipes

Fluent in Gaelic 

He and Douglas used to live in Hamilton but moved to Glasgow after being adopted by the McIntosh Family

Loves playing Scottish folk music at high volume (to the annoyance of many) 

Was the ace striker of his school’s soccer team 

Likes giving nicknames (Dougie, Ducky, Ollie, Hen-Hen, Gordo, Jamie, Ed, Thommy, Perce, Emi, Becca etc.)

Makes cute little hats for Dilly

Short-tempered and gets aggressive when someone is looking at Douglas the wrong way

Douglas McIntosh:

Owns kilts he wears to festivities

Scottish

Bisexual and non-binary

Autism + anxiety 

Can play the bagpipes

Fluent in Gaelic

Hates superstitions and anything related to the supernatural 

Learned how to cook for himself since he started to refuse to eat food from others except Donald and Oliver

Craves affection, only lets Donald and Oliver know

Proud of his heritage, both twins are but Douglas shows it more

Enjoys wearing feminine and masculine clothing equally 

Oliver Armstrong:

Best partner to go on walks with. Evening walks on the beach with Douglas are his favorite

British + Egyptian 

Pansexual

Autism + paranoia ( the latter caused by being hunted for years)

Loves learning about history and other cultures

Amazing cook, he and Douglas often exchange recipes 

Makes a lot of puns

Ego gets inflated quickly

Gives amazing hugs, Douglas can confirm

He and Toad give the best camping advice

Emily Stirling: 

Insecure in her femininity because of her headstrong personality and age

British + Vietnamese

Lesbian

Neurotypical

Sodor’s greatest mediator

When she has something to say, she will make sure you listen

Gordon and Scott’s father’s half sister, was sent to Scotland to get married off to the Stirlings after it came out she was an illegitimate child 

Her marriage was arranged, she did care for her late husband a lot and knew he was a good man but she did not love him

Only talks about her former marriage with Daisy and her closest friends

Learns baking from Henrietta

Likes teasing young people

She and Daisy often dress flashy for fun 

[affluent-havoc]

Post Game

Marriage

Before I go into my little blabbering session about my own junk, like, gosh! Doing this was so cool and I feel I've improved so much! Seeing all the other pieces done by others was really awesome too! The highlight in fact which is par for the course of this kinda stuff. But still! Everyone did so well and freaking amazing! So much pretty arts! So many differing interpretations and art styles. Golly! Should totally do something like this again cus this was such a nice experience :))

Post Game - This one's pretty simple. Put them in their Future Foundation suits which are just suits behind a beach that is vaugly Jabberwock. And, they blush cus gay. Had fun with the TV effect and making it somewhat old looking. That's about it. Though, the more I look at it, the more Byakuya looks like he could be snapped in half like spaghetti which I guess is something ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Marriage - This one is the one I did first and is a lot more refined. Decided to take this one in a bit of a different direction too. Instead of them actually getting married, they instead are just playing around with a fake certificate that they photoshopped and printed from online. At least for me, how I read them is that they don't actually get married. Like, they live together in the same place, sleep in the same bed even, but they don't get married. OR, if they do get married, it's small and just a legal document. No big wedding or anything as, the time they are probably at the age to marry, they're already tired of big stuff like that. It'd be a big event and they'd want something more small and quaint instead, either hanging out together or maybe it's Makoto's idea to invite their friends along for the occasion. This is just how I interpret them though. Also, I find it funnier if they just fake it or they never do but Byakuya SO put Makoto in his will and Makoto also secretly put Byakuya in his and they just never tell the other until one of them croaks first. Either that or Makoto says it openly that Byakuya's in his will and the heir just laughs it off, underestimating Makoto and his determination on the will. Also, speaking of them dying, if it's Byakuya first, old man Makoto's taking the gesture well though emotional cus the rich man dead. If it's Byakuya though, he's obviously sad but also sees the will and a part of him goes "CURSE YOU, MAKOTO!!". Not seriously but because Byakuya's thinking of how Makoto didn't need to give him stuff after his death cus I feel Makoto wouldn't skimp out. He's putting all his family and pals in his will as one final send off. He'd make sure that will was the best it could be! Also, I feel Byakuya would feel weird that he's in the same will as Makoto's family and, no matter how long they've been together, it's just so strange. Even when he's gone, he still has a way to make him feel. Gosh, this got kinda sad um... One other thing I wanna mention of this piece is that Makoto either stole Byakuya's tie or he got his own matching one. Also, Byakuya in pretty dress! I had to! Oh, and Makoto totally got help writing his name cus it's in English and Makoto's kinda ass at it. They are totally standing for a picture too. Maybe they got one of the gang to take the pic or they set it up with one of their phones. Or maybe Byakuya just got a really expensive photographer for this and also booked a painter to paint this photo into a painting to put on their bedroom wall. That is equally plausible. And to think that I contemplated and even teased the idea in my head of drawing these two getting fake married with an Elvis impersonator. That might have been a bit TOO goofy though O_O

[nightcolorz]

Devils minion brainrot has taken over me body and soul….. idk if armand ever went back to painting/visual art in general but I’m literally weak in the knees imagining Armand getting Daniel to pose for figure drawings RAHHHHH!!! Or like bc Daniel is a writer, writing gay ass passages/poetry in his journal !!!!!! Somebody sedate me, the Autism is autisming

OMG!!! The symbolic implications of Armand painting Daniel is making me CRAZY!!!!! Ahhhh omg anon ur mind is huge and beautiful. I love this sm u have no idea

Imagine post Canon Armand does start to paint again, for the first time since he was a child and an ikon painter, for the first time since he lost that skill due to his trauma induced memory loss, and omg he decides to paint Daniel. It would be such a powerful reclamation of his identity. Armand was a religious ikon painter. As a child his passion and skill for painting was interpreted as strictly spiritual and strictly for the benefit of the adults in his life, so he only painted ikons. And so when Armand is sold into slavery his positive connection to spirituality is ruined and lost due to his sexual trauma induced religious guilt and memory loss regarding his history. so armand looses any passion or even ability to paint, bcus it is inseparable from his connection to religion. So!!! By both choosing to paint as a hobby for his own enjoyment, and choosing to paint *Daniel* 🥹 Armand is taking back a skill of his that he was only ever exploited and interpreted as “other” for, and he’s making it about him, and what he wants, and who he is, and who he loves 🥹❤️. Also, by painting Daniel, when he’s only rlly ever painted Ikons, the implication is that Daniel is divine and godly to him which is just 🥹 so so sweet and meaningful. Idk if u had this interpretation in mind with ur head canon so I hope u don’t mind me rambling about this, but omg u gave me some huge thoughts thank u !!!

the idea of Daniel writing about Armand has symbolic value to omggg. Armand has never rlly been seen or loved for who he is in his entirety, and he has never been written about or artistically portrayed in a way that embraces who he is, and doesn’t objectify or dehumanize him. So Daniel writing about Armand the way he sees him, the monster who kills ppl to live, the young man with the sweetest, most human laugh, the predatory insect, the son of a bitch, his lover, that would be like, world shaking for Armand 😭❤️ he barely knows who he is, and seeing who he is from the perspective of someone who loves him unconditionally would be so important to him

thank u SM for this ask omggg I’m autisming right there with u

[raccoondude]

Creepypasta Sexuality/Gender HCs For Pride Month!

This is my first semi-writing post lmao, I write for a lot of creepypastas, so they'll all be listed here. I will say that this is for my main fic that I'm working on and has yet to be posted, so they can change from fic to fic or one shot to one shot. For any requests, they don't have to follow my headcanon.

Also quick note: I do write for Sally, but as she is an 8 year old child in my head, I'm not giving her a sexuality or including her here.

Slenderman (The Operator):

Gender: Technically none, but is male presenting

Pronouns: He/it (doesn’t care)

Sexuality: AroAce, he's a straight up demonic, god-like entity, he doesn't feel romantic or sexual connection

Tim Wright (Masky):

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They (Prefers he, but doesn't mind they)

Sexuality: Def Bi king

Brian Thomas (Hoodie):

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Pansexual

Tobias (Toby) Erin Rogers:

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They (Prefers he)

Sexuality: Pansexual

Jeffery Woods (Jeff The Killer):

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They (Secretly prefers they)

Sexuality: Bisexual but prefers women

Heather Marshall (Rouge):

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Demi-sexual/Demi-romantic and genderblind

Eyeless Jack (EJ):

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They interchangably (Will go feral if someone calls him it)

Sexuality: Demi-romantic, asexual, sex is just a chore for him, he doesn't have a repulsion to it, but he's not exactly pouncing on an opportunity for a bang sesh

Ann Lusen Mia (Nurse Ann):

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Lesbian, asexual, rarely has a sex drive

Laughing Jack (LJ):

Gender: Technically none, but he’s male presenting 

Pronouns: He/They/It  

Sexuality: AroAce, no interest in sex or romance, just tormenting souls forever, how sweet

Jane Tod Richardson (Jane The Killer):

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Oh definitely a full lesbian, no one can convince me otherwise

Benjamin Lawman (BEN/Ben Drowned):

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Major bisexual/demi-romantic vibes

Liu Woods (Homicidal Liu):

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Gay

Kate Milens (Kate The Chaser):

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/They (Prefers she)

Sexuality: Bisexual but a preference for women

Nina Hopkins (Nina The Killer):

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/They (Prefers she)

Sexuality: Bisexual, prefers men, specifically Jeff, but wouldn’t mind women

Cody (X-Virus): 

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They interchangeably

Sexuality: Pansexual

The Rake:

Gender: None

Pronouns: It/its

Sexuality: None, like c’mon it’s basically an immortal wild animal bro

Helen Otis (Bloody Painter): 

Gender: Genderfluid, but typically presents as male

Pronouns: He/She/They (Normally goes by he or they, indifferent to she)

Sexuality: AroAce, but wants a platonic relationship with cuddles and forehead kisses

Jason Meyer (Jason the Toymaker):

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Demisexual/demiromantic with a preference for women

Kagekao:

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Gay

CandyPop: 

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They (prefers he)

Sexuality: AroAce, no interest in sex or romance, just his evil plans to build an army

Dr. Smiley:

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Demiromantic, asexual, he’d like a romantic relationship with someone he’s close to and cares about him, but doesn’t want sex

Jonathan Blake (The Puppeteer): 

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They

Sexuality: Pansexual 

Zachary Gibson (Puppet): 

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/They 

Sexuality: Bi-curious

Quick note about this guy, he’s one of The Puppeteer’s proxies/puppets, yes I went down a massive rabbit hole when looking up creepypastas

The Seed Eater: 

Gender: None

Pronouns: it/its

Sexuality: None, again what do you guys expect, it’s a forest creature with nothing on its mind other than tormenting its prey and eating.

Anastasia Morozov (Ani the Wight): 

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Demi-romantic, straight, she’s canonically straight, but I feel like she’d be demi-romantic at least

Sadie Marie Bennett (Suicide Sadie): 

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Rodrigo Ortiz (Cat Hunter): 

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Rachel Marget Downs (Arcane): 

Gender: Female 

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual

[kenphobia]

THE APPLE OF MY EYE!

"my type of guy? it's wally's boyfriend."

summary. wally and howdy, a hilarious duo that you wouldn't expect to get together at first glance and no one expected them to bring the newest neighbor into their relationship too. (headcanons. read author's note at the end)

contents. fluff, slight hurt, mostly silly and sweet moments, reader is hinted to be a puppet. wally and howdy breaks the law kind of, these btches wanna be gay bowser so bad

✦ Howdy isn't even sure what got him attracted to Wally in the first place, not that he needed a reason in the first place. Wally was endearing, kind and truly lived up to his name— He was a darling. And god, Howdy fell hard for his charms.

✦ And it wasn't only Howdy who fell in love, Wally too but he'd rather stare at an apple pie than admit he fell first. Howdy was a good man, and Wally was far from that. The caterpillar only knew a small bit of the not-so-good things Wally had done, but he still accepted him wholly. That was enough to make the painter want him.

✦ Their dynamic didn't change much from back when they were just friends. Other than Wally aggressively flirting with Howdy and distracting the poor puppet from work (He had to bribe Wally with a bucket of apples just to let him work in peace), everything was still the same and they didn't care if it wasn't that romantic.

✦ Howdy isn't the biggest fan of PDA, but he lets Wally hold his hand. Wally understands so that's why he spoils Howdy a lot with cuddles, kisses and hugs behind closed doors. Both of them are highly affection deprived, so they'll cuddle for hours without end whilst they stare at the ceiling or talk about their favorite things.

✦ Wally has a special room in home where it's just painting after painting of Howdy. There were some unfinished ones tucked in the corner, a few were hung up in Wally's bedroom and the best ones were set up to display around the house. Whenever Howdy does come to his house, Wally would instantly hide it in the room because he's too embarrassed to show it.

✦ Howdy knows about it though, Home showed the room to him once and he didn't know whether to be concerned or be flustered about it. He doesn't tell Wally though, letting him run around and panic about hiding them is somewhat funny to watch.

✦ The painter gets discounts on most things from the bugdega, mostly it's apples and art supplies he gets from there. Although, Howdy can be a bit mischievous at times and would ask a cuddle session or a kiss in return for certain items. Wally is more than willing to comply, he'd do it in a heartbeat, no questions even asked.

Wally lounged around Howdy's little living space in the bugdega, humming as he waited for his boyfriend to finish his shift. He gripped his pencil firmly, sketching out the final details to his drawing.

The doors creaked open, catching Wally's attention as he turned his head up from his sketchbook. Howdy walked in with a tired-looking expression, his apron hung on the coat hanger while his nametag was discarded and left atop the drawer.

Though, when Howdy saw Wally sitting on the sofa, his exhaustion was immediately replaced by a relaxed joy. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Love."

Wally shook his head, closing up his sketchbook and putting it down on the coffee table. He offered Howdy an understanding smile, "It's alright, I wasn't waiting that long anyways."

As Wally was about to stand up, He felt something pulling his entire weight off the ground as two pairs of arms wrapped around him. Howdy sat down on the couch with a comfortable hum, putting Wally down on his lap as he sunk his entire back on the sofa.

Red spread across Wally's face fast like a fever, his body stiffing for a moment but sooner relaxed within his boyfriend's firm but gentle grip. He has never felt so safe and calm before in his entire life, and warm too. Are caterpillars naturally warmer than most puppets or was it just Wally?

The two of them sat there while Wally fiddled with Howdy's hands, silently comparing it to his own and loosing himself further into sleep. Truly, the many pros of getting yourself a tall lover who loves picking you up and cuddling you like a stuffed toy.

Howdy, then, got a sniff of Wally's hair, It smelled faintly of vanilla and green apples. Howdy had to take a few seconds before realizing it was the scent of his shampoo! His eyes widened at the sudden conclusion, "Wally, have you been using my shampoo?" He asked the tiny puppet in his arms.

"Why were you sniffing my hair in the first place?" Wally argued back, a chuckle vibrated from his chest.

"I— Fair point." Howdy gave up, sighing in defeat as he adjusted his position to make both of them comfortable. Seems like Wally won't be returning to Home tonight.

✦ Before getting romantically involved with each other, Howdy always found Wally's staring a bit off-putting in some situations but he later learned that Wally really loves staring and it's one of his many ways of communicating his affection towards someone. Howdy also got the staring habit so he does the same to Wally.

✦ Wally really, really loves Howdy's eyes. He loves it more when he knows it's on him.

WALLY X READER X HOWDY!

✦ Wally and Howdy found you too adorable to even able to stay single, so they pulled you in their little relationship. Both of them are strangely clingy, with Howdy being less obvious than Wally who you always have carrying your arms.

✦ Speaking of the little painter, he likes to draw you and Howdy together! He mostly draw you two in his little sketchbook when you guys are fast asleep and have no idea that Wally is just ... standing right over your bed, sketchbook in hand and taking in every and any detail.

✦ Sometimes, you'd end up finding Wally painting the very same sketch onto a canvas. He quickly shoo'ed you out because of his embarrassment, but it doesn't really help since Home legit lead them to the very same room with Howdy paintings but this timez there are also paintings of you!

✦ It's better not to tell him what you saw because he will cry ans crumble immediately at your feet. If you did tell him, I suggest having a phone nearby so you can call Howdy to calm him down. Home isn't going to do much and actually prepared popcorn for you to eat, it's not like it has a mouth to eat the snack so...

✦ Howdy does the same discount thing he does to Wally to you except that he asks for a little bit more and adds Wally into the mix. The latter doesn't mind and actually joins Howdy into luring you to another one of their 5+ hours long of cuddling.

✦ Wally gets the most forehead kisses from you and he could only do so much by kissing your jaw oe your bottom lip, it's funny whenever he tries jumping up and down just to kiss you. He's just pull you down by your shirt and smooch you hard, pushing you gently and down on a chair before walking away with an accomplished smile.

✦You can barely give Howdy forehead kisses due to how tall he is and how much a teaser he is too, but you manage to catch him off guard and plant many, many kisses on his face. He does strike back by doing the same, but he'll tear up a bit since you and Wally are the only ones by far who has spoiled him so much of affection.

✦ Dates happen usually on the weekends or holidays, so you guys set up a cute little picnic. But if the weather doesn't look good, you all stay at either Wally's or your place, cooking from a reciepe book Wally borrowed from Poppy with some levels of difficulty. (He had to make an oath that he must quit cooking if Poppy found out he injured himself, Wally never feared for his life as much as he did back then)

✦ Wally would ask you and Howdy to be his muses! Sometimes, it's just you as the muse since Howdy is drawing side by side with Wally. If it's on paper, you always put both of their drawings up on the fridge.

✦ Your mailbox is filled to the brim with love letters from the 12 apples high puppet, and he even got Howdy on board with it. Eddie has to put both of them on a mail timeout because of how his bag was filled with love letters for days.

✦ The two of them manages to give their love letters to you regardless. Howdy would slip little notes of affection into your bags after you visited his shop whilst Wally would just break into your house and scatter his letters around. You had the enjoyment of watching Wally getting scolded by Home for breaking in.

"Home, I'm sorry—"

Home creaked loudly, angrily even as Wally immediately shut his mouth. He had his head hanging low, hands clasped together in front as he had this pouting, almost puppy-like expression. It was sad, embarrassing but you couldn't care less after you had to clean your house for 5 hours. You had no idea this little shortstack of a puppet could write and draw that much.

Howdy appeared to your side, sneaking his hand into your bowl and quickly munched on a handful of popcorn. "Wow, Home's really going at it, huh?" His voice muffled a bit due to the food in his mouth.

"Howdy, don't speak with your mouth full." You scolded him, elbowing his lower left arm. "But, yeah. Home found out about Wally breaking into my house and well... You know, house rights and privacies. Something along those lines."

Your caterpillar lover nodded slowly, unsure and confused with the whole situation. He took in a hesitant breath, the popcorns falling from his mouth and onto his hands. "Wait a second— Wally broke into your house, Home found out and is lecturing Wally about ... respecting houses?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Huh." Howdy paused, staring down at his hand. "Wait, you can't even eat. Why do you have a bowl of popcorn?"

"Well, you can't eat either, but you still took a handful of popcorn." You argued back, furrowing your brows at him.

"I— Fair point, yeah."

author's notes. you ship your oc with howdy one time and now you also like howdy, smh. the duality of men does not exist unless it's for simping welcome home chharacters.

as always, requests and sugguestions are always open !! any support is appreciated, tyvm