#practically-an-x-men

[wakeofvultures]

for any oc you'd like: pencil, marker, copics, graphite, tortillon, eraser

thanks for playing my ask game!

Thanks! Your game questions are very fun!

I'll be using Myrtis from my twilight fic for all these lol.

For general background, Myrtis is a vampire (turned at 15 in 898 BCE). She's a part of the Volturi, and she's kinda Caius and Athenodora's weird daughter figure.

(Answers under the cut)

Pencil: does this character have any "sketchy" habits? Have they ever broken the law? Do they regret it?

What is the law to a Twilight vampire who is a part of the Vampire Government? It's arguable that once the Volturi are at the height of their power, she can't even break the law, because the law is what they say it is. Anything can be covered up from the vampire public.

In seriousness, she wouldn't go out of her way to do anything illegal in the vampire world. In the human one, murder and arson are on her list, and she does not care.

In terms of general bad behavior, she can't do emotional labor to save her life. She will ghost you for a century even if you're her friend to get out of an argument. She would feel bad if she actually took the time to think about it, but she is choosing to not think about it so... (Caius, Athenodora, and Marcus are potentially the only exceptions to this rule at the moment. Maybe Felix later...)

Marker: what's one thing your character would never tattoo on their body, even if they were paid a million dollars for it?

This one was hard! She wouldn't get anything that didn't mean anything to her, but deciding on something that she would emphatically detest... Probably a wolf due to Children of the Moon/werewolf trauma.

Copics: what is this character's most expensive habit or hobby? Do they ever feel guilty about the money they spend on it?

Myrtis' two main hobbies are dancing and studying language/linguistics. The latter is productive in her day-to-day life, and the former doesn't really require money as long as someone plays music for her.

In terms of habits, she does pick at her clothes a fair bit, and as a Twilight vampire with enhanced strength that can get expensive. She does feel bad about it, but more often than not, she'll wear something until its totally unusable or someone else Caius buys or makes her a new article of clothing.

Graphite: what's something decently common that your character does in a unique or different way? (like how graphite is present in all pencils, but not everyone uses pure graphite)

Again, as a Twilight vampire born in 913 or 912 BCE, there aren't a lot of normal human behaviors that she exhibits. In terms of vampire behaviors, she notably does not like to kill her own food which I imagine is strange for a vampire. She much prefers to be handed an already dead human. This is less a question of morality and more her death precognition is less likely to bother her when feeding this way.

Tortillon: does your OC "blend in" with the people around them? Physically? Metaphorically?

Physically, yes in the beginning but not after Chapter 21. Metaphorically, she blends in if you only spend time with her in passing. Any normal person (vampire?) with normal references for other people's behavior will start to worry after prolonged exposure.

Eraser: what's one way this character has changed over time? Either over the course of their story, or over the course of designing them as an author.

As Myrtis is a pretty static character by design, I will talk in terms of design, and oh boy, there is a lot to talk about.

Originally, she was supposed to be born in the Bronze Age, circa the Trojan War. This was scrapped because I didn't want to fight for my life to get to present-day.

She started off with other names: Anna, Marcella, Aemilia, Elissa, Channah (this eventually became her sister's name).

At one point, her power was not death precognition, but instead the ability to sense the probability of death and slightly manipulate it. Having visions of future deaths and being able to change them was me simplifying this.

Originally, she was actually going to be picked up by the Dacian/Romanian Coven first alongside a brother who never made it into the final story. It was a tale of resentment that ended with her killing her own brother and joining the Volturi. An inverse parallel to the Aro-Didyme scenario that got reworked into something very different. (she was notably a very different character at this point.)

In the scenario mentioned above, Caius and the character who would eventually evolve into Myrtis had a strange (and still platonic) mentor-student relationship where they took turns lowkey hating each other. We've certainly come a long way from that dynamic haha.

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[hofstadt3r]

how do i caption this uhh hi

[freshbaked-bread]

htis scene always makes me feel a bit ill.... i love these two so much i need them to kiss on the mouth NOW!!!!!!!!!!!

[duruto]

Sketches and a wip…..

[child-of-the-danube]

Can I be a lesbian for a quick moment here?

The Agatha x Rio kiss was so fucking beautiful, not only because it was desperate and passionate and heartbreaking, but because it had RHYTHM!!

Yes, passion and desperation in a kiss can often be "sloppy", but like damn, these bitches kissed in a way that's so profoundly telling of their connection, of knowing the others' rhythm and breaths and tendencies. It looked like the most natural thing to ever happen. Truly some gourmet life long lovers shit 👌🏻👌🏻

[ffverr]

This deserved a better line art version<3

Yuri duty day 4?

[superbat-love]

Batman and Superman being playful with each other.

[pacipinka]

If I have to become the only ororo/logan/kurt artist on this hellsite I will

anywho here’s some cowboy vers of them, do I love all these drawings? No, but they’ve got some charm to them

[peopleeeater]

@swarmishstrangers gave me worms

[theresstilltime]

old man logan save me old man...

[wishchip106]

thinking about how Charles had a direct phone line to the president in dark pheonix

the president would call him 🤯

“heehee late night chats with the president of the united states! 🤗😜”

and also the fact he just casually connects with nasa and they’re all used to it 😭

how much authority does this man have 🤨

i really don’t get what Raven was mad about for him doing all this press stuff

IF UR BESTIES WITH THE PRESIDENT YOU WONT BE SHOT IN THE STREETS

THE XMEN HAD FANS???? HOW IS THAT A BAD THING???

sure Charles might have a big ego but who wouldn’t when ur having tea in the white house and talking about government plans 🤨

i would honestly

step off the bald man Raven, he is risking plenty being a telepath and being trusted near government officials. i am sure as hell there are some anti-telepathy people around and about 😾

but also the president was a fake friend he immediately dropped Charles once his daughter started acting up

like BITCH??

like one incident and went “nah, public execution is back on”

Charles get urself some better friends 😿

tf are you looking so ominous for

calm down

[random-moth-art]

[ladylylla]

biblically accurate rogue for your troubles

[itsvalpenguin1]

hace rato queria hacer esto con ellos jsjsja, yo queria que terminaran juntoooos no es justoooo D"x

[hofstadt3r]

please save me from art block dofp charles 🙏🙏