#rare occasion of posting my own art

[bull-shit-suji]

awoke in the dead of night with a visceral need to redraw this panel

[sergle]

I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question. and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost. Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half." All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon

[lorelune]

(minors dni & ageless blogs dni /// inspired by this post and brainworms with @petrichorium)

"dear?" neuvillette asks. you're sprawled out on his chaise lounge, reading today's issue of the steambird. you're distracted.

"yes?"

"what exactly does it mean if you're 'wet'?"

you smile at him sweetly from across his office, "... come again?"

he looks overwhelmingly serious. though he does, occasionally, toss a joke or two into his daily conversations, it's rare. you know the look he wears when he does so. and in this moment? he looks completely sincere.

"if you are wet, the meaning, please. i believe you should know?"

"i-i mean," you laugh. "neuvillette, love, dearest— are you... being entirely serious?"

"yes."

"ah, alright." your lover is the current incarnation of the hydro draconic primordial, but regardless. "to be damp. moist. covered in liquid, probably water?"

neuvillette brow scrunches. then relaxes after a moment and he shakes his head. the soft, curved horns that curl into his hair tremble with the motion. he smiles and shakes his head, shutting the book he'd be paging through. you catch a glimpse of the cover and— oh.

everything comes together.

"A Seaman's Conquest: The River's Maiden and Jewel" is the latest erotic novel by the quietly-famed 'Épée Honnête'. you recognized the cheesy art on the novel, and the flourishing text. you've read one or two of the author's works, but in the quiet and private of your own home. stashed atop each other in your nightstand, with a seldom-used vial soft oil. their prose is a... bit over the top. but they're also a sensation.

you have to wonder how and why neuvillette, of all people, is reading the book (and by your brief look, seems to be about half-way through it.) it is not the kind of thing he'd pick up himself— you've never seen neuvillette reading anything other than case files and evidence prior. yet apparently he's been ripping into erotica. right under your nose.

which explains his question.

"o-oh!" you swallow. "you mean wet like—"

"yes."

you squeeze your thighs together.

much to your initial surprise, neuvillette had incredibly limited experience when it came to bodily pleasure. intimacy in and of itself is something that he clearly yearns for, but perhaps does not know how to convey. you're not sure if neuvillette, in all his stature, could ever truly be bumbling, but he gets close to it with physicality.

he's careful. an incredibly fast learner but bent on taking his time, being thorough— meaning that most of your physical encounters are kissing under both of your lips are bruised and slick. you know that neuvillette feels aroused in those moments; the hard press of his clothed cock nudged up to you is proof of it. and you're turned on in those moments— horribly. you've soaked through your panties on more than one occasion. he makes you so— wet.

"wet is like... female arousal." you say simply, steeling yourself. you'll jump him otherwise.

"it this makes you... wet? is this like perspiration?"

"no, no. not at all. not really." you shake your head with a laugh. "it's like. slick? f-from my insides. it's lubrication for intercourse, to be entirely clinical about it."

"... but it's indicative of arousal?"

"entirely." you nod, trying to focus on the case file in front of you. your eyes have skimmed the same line three times.

neuvillette pauses and your hear a flutter of pages before his 'A Seaman's Conquest' closes once more, "have i made you wet before?"

you swallow. get ahold of yourself.

"yes. frequently."

"hm." neuvillette hums and his chair creaks as he sits back. he picks up his silver goblet and swirls it. the gem on it's side refracts the warm glow of the office light, dragging your gaze to his.

he's looking at you— hungry. perhaps something else. something insatiable.

"i want to know more." he tells you. rises. walk toward you with the defined click of his heeled boots on the hardwood fo the floor. "i feel as if i was missing something important without this knowledge. and there's more to be understood."

"well, ask away. i'm an open book." you tell him, craning your neck to meet his eyes.

"may i make a request?"

"of course."

"i..." neuvillette swallows around his words. you drag him onto the lounge with you and lean into his shoulder. moral support and all.

"it's fine if you don't know quite what to ask. or what you want." you assure him. you'll eat up anything he gives you, really.

"i know exactly what i want, it's a matter of phrasing."

"oh, yeah?" you wonder if he's nervous about you not understanding his desires. or if he's worried about being too blunt or forward.

you tilt your head back until neuvillette coaxes you down into his lap. his hand, gloved hand, smooths down your jaw. his fingertips trail down your neck, pressing into your curves and divots. bones and flesh alike. it's exploratory.

neuvillette touch slips down your collar, to bare skin. you shudder. "i'm curious."

"y-yeah? seems like you are."

he laughs, gentle and under his breath. his palm cups your cheek, soothing and kind. with a tilt of his head:

"i'd like to make you wet with my touch, and then taste you."

he says it hushed; it's just meant for you and you alone to hear. the intention of it makes you feel crazy, out of your skin. the look he's pinning you with. the ability he wields while being entirely sincere is going to undo you.

you swallow, a little sound sticking in the back of your throat. you squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, "neuvillette, you're killing me here."

"am i?" there's a hint of a tease in his voice. you want to coax out more of it. you try and bury your face in his hip, but he doesn’t let you. he drag your chin straight and holds his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip.

"yes, y-you are." you mean to sound firm about it. but it comes out as a whine.

"so precious." he says softly, adoring. his thumb presses in into your mouth and runs along your teeth, into your gums. "would you like if i tasted you too?"

"fuck, neuvillette—" your words get muffled as his fingers press into your mouth further. he presses down on your tongue, the scent of clean leather and his gentle personal cologne almost suffocate it. you welcome it.

"is that a yes?"

you try to reply, but your words don't come out— his fault— so you only nod. perhaps too enthusiastically, but neuvillette doesn't seem to mind. his lips curl into a gentle smile, and he strokes over your cheeks. his only hand trails lower, finding home on your inner thigh.

"are you wet now?"

"'pworably—"

"cute." he says again. he still looks hungry. like he's going to eat you alive. there's an appetite in him, even if he doesn't know what it fully is or what to do with it. it seems, it really seems, like he's learning it. "may i find out—?"

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" The sharp crack of knocking on the door interrupts him as he leers over you. It's Laith, on the Seven— "the court time is within a half hour. do you require an escort?"

his grip on your thigh tightens. almost to point of hurting, but in the best way. you know you're wet now.

"no, laith, i will be alright on my own. i will be departing shortly."

"the prosecution's attorney sent over some last minute evidence files and requested i deliver them as well." the knob of the door starts to shift and you almost bolt up and away. neuvillette places his spit-covered hand on your chest to brace you down.

"i do not require the documents at this time. have them prepared for me at the opera epiclese."

the knob slips back into place, "of course, Monsieur. i'll see that they're delivered."

steps echo away from the door and you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, "awful timing."

"unfortunate." neuvillette sighs. "truly unfortunate."

his duty is paramount. you know this as he helps you to stand and as he straightens your close. he's being more dutiful about it than he could be, given his next court time is so close. you relish it.

"... are you wet?"

"right now?" you feel sticky in a way that's a bit cold now. you press your forehead to his lips in a quiet beg for a steadying kiss. he relents easily and gives it to you. "yes. you have that effect on me."

neuvillette takes a steadying breath and squeezes around your shoulders, "i apologize for the timing of things, but—"

"i know." you tell him. "it's okay. besides, i have fingers and some toys at home. you've given me new material to work with."

"... you think about me when you're pleasuring yourself?" he blinks at you, eyes wide. you can't help but smirk.

"consistently." you nod and beam at him. "often. basically every time. i haven't even seen your cock but my mind's eye has come up with some creative theories and visual concepts."

that gets him to blush, a high, pearly pink that's almost purple. it fades into his hairline.

"this is going to be a particularly difficult court session."

"i can only imagine. is it my fault?"

"only partially." neuvillette assures you with no bite. "perhaps blame wriothesley for that book he lent me. he insisted i read it and get back to him for a review."

"huh."

you could lose it. really. wriothesley is a bastard. you should punch him. or kiss him— except you've grown from those days and you haven't seen that busted-lip smile of his in years. nice to know he's still doing you favors. you should send him an edible arrangement.

"and myself, too. thoughts to entertain at home, and not at the office."

"perhaps, perhaps." you tell him. you don't mind. you brush your lips to his cheek.

"would you visit me, after court?" who knows when that will be. you don't really care. you have a key, afterall.

"of course." you'll have tea prepared. perhaps sex education flashcards. maybe. or you'll break out the lacey slip that's been seldom-touched since purchase and surprise him. who knows. the world's your oyster.

and as you walk with neuvillette out of the palais mermonia and see him off on one of the aquabuses, you catch it in him again. in the almost-longing gaze he sends you as he departs, you see it. something awakening. old and new all at once in him. directed at you. he's famished. or, perhaps—

thirsty.

[yandere-romanticaa]

art credit. // I was greatly inspired by this post by the lovely @yanderenightmare so, I'd like to add my own little take on it, but only focusing on Dabi and Hawks because I'm just in that mood.

The good and bad cop routine is something which would take ages getting used to. The sheer amount of whiplash and pressure which is being put on you on a daily basis is too much, it's too fucking much and you have no time to process any of it as you are forced into this new life without any sort warning. On the few rare occasions in which you are graced with the rare bliss of solitude, you sit at your new home and just think. Ponder. Scheme. You allow the luxury of fantasy to take over your mind - you run out of the front door, barefoot, broken and scared. Bruises, cuts, burns and plenty of other injuries litter your body like a stained canvas, old and used. You could already feel the aching of your unused muscles as they would scream at you to stop, lungs heavy with the need to just breathe you but you cannot because if you do they would find you and drag you back however they damned pleased.

In this fantasy, you managed to escape. The soft green grass touched your toes, the warm sun felt hot but incredible against your tired skin. It felt as though it was giving you a Welcome back! greeting as you would make your way towards the train station, with nothing but a few bucks and some pathetic excuse of an outfit on you. You had nothing but you could manage. Anything was better than being forced back into that Hell.

You let out a long sigh as vivid imagery engulfed you, it felt so real. There you were, out of the country and lost to civilization somewhere far, far away. Grunt and manual labor would be beyond difficult to start with but it was the best possible option as it would give you little to no attention. Besides, it would take ages for your abused body to get used to it, which would probably dock your pay a little but you didn't mind. Oh how perfect of a life that would be, with no one around to bother you ever again. Perhaps in a few years if you felt like it, perhaps you could step foot in a crowd without the paranoid fear of someone peeling your skin off with white hot flames of fury and jealousy.

Dabi's touch became like a second nature to you and you hated it. Whenever he could he would grab you and just press you close to him, not caring at all about any personal space. He was tired and bored, behave and he'll be good to you, maybe. Keigo would proceed to reprimand him for his attitude but you knew damn well that he was no better than the villain.

He too would take you if he had the chance. Frankly, you were never sure what you were more keen on - Dabi's devilish honesty or Keigo's sweet suffocation. Neither option was good but Keigo felt like a lesser evil, something you could manage with a kind word or two.

You couldn't help but to grunt as your eyes fluttered open. Looking around, the apartment was still vacant. Damn it all, you couldn't even fantasize without even thinking of the two.

Oh how happy they would be if they knew that fact.

You could already hear Dabi's satisfied grunt as he pulled you close to his chest, his touch rough and unforgiving. That's right you should be thinking about him, you should be worried about what he might do to you because mercy is not in his vocabulary. Despite his constant teasing and bullying, Dabi was in no mood for games. Sure, he was a sadist who took genuine pleasure in watching you squirm and cry, particularly if it was caused by his hand. His awful burns would take forever to heal, he sometimes wouldn't even allow them to heal. That was his own personal way of claiming you, putting his own little stamp of ownership somewhere visible. As stated, mercy is not something he is familiar with.

A kinder touch is more up to Keigo's speed.

Despite the beautiful wings on his back, the man was no angel and he was not guiltless. He was just as bad as Dabi but his own obsession simply manifested in a completely different manner. Instead of hurting you, the pro hero preferred to be doting and kind. Oh how he ached to touch you but whenever you would flinch away hurt him so badly, but he never put the blame on you. Horrible, mean Dabi was the one who messed you up, which meant that it was Keigo's job to fix you. The blonde just loved to bathe you, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as the scent of shampoo would fill his nostrils, a scent he hand picked in hope that you would like it.

They took so much from you. He had to make it up somehow.

It was during these vulnerable moments where he tried to get you to open up to him. There were times when he managed to do just that and have a proper conversation with you. He stored those precious memories deep inside his heart and he would replay them constantly in his head as he was out on patrol.

He couldn't wait to get home. Did you start to see him as desirable? A person of safety? God he hoped so.

There was no way out of this arrangement he made with Dabi, there just wasn't. It was hard to manage but it had to be done. Keigo felt bitter about the fact that Dabi was the one who spent most of the day with you. Keigo was unfortunately tied down by his hero work and public duties, which meant that he had to be extra careful about his activities with you. He couldn't risk the public knowing about you, it was too dangerous.

As for Dabi, he danced on a strange line of being allowed to do whatever he wanted while also somehow being able to do nothing. On paper that makes no sense but Dabi is just that kind of guy. He can have you for himself for the whole entire day but if you were spotted with a nefarious criminal such as him, he would be in deep shit. He was skilled enough to take care of this whole ordeal but still.

The relationship you have with these two is rocky. It's like trying to pick a rose and trying to avoid the thorns, only to end up getting pricked by an even bigger thorn. No matter where you go, run or hide, they are always there. Not even your own mind was safe.

[thirstworldproblemss]

Fic: Closer

cowritten with @astroboots

Fandom:  Moon Knight Pairing:  Jake Lockley x F reader (x Steven, x Marc) Length:  5.6k words Rating: Explicit 🔞 Warnings:  This fic contains explicit sexual content including dirty talk, spitting, anal play, and anal sex. (That's it. That's the fic.)

Summary: Jake checks an item off his bucket list, and you both thoroughly enjoy yourselves.

Notes: Many thanks to @guruan who fixed our my extremely questionable Spanish (any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault) and whose deliciously debauched art is a never-ending source of inspiration. More thanks (and uh... oh god, sorry 🙈) to the poor anon who submitted the prompt that spawned this to Cici last Kinktober and had to wait a whole year to see the damn thing. And, of course, ALL my love to my darling cowriter and 🤡💖🤡 sister, @astroboots, who always makes writing a joy, and without whom this never would have been started, finished, or posted at all.

[ twp’s Masterlist  | boots' Masterlist  ]

Jake hasn’t spent a lot of time in the driver’s seat over the years. For a long time he only fronted on rare occasions. Life or death situations mostly. Those hair-trigger moments when the body is in critical danger and a moment’s hesitation is all it’d take for all three of them to wind up dead. 

Those times when things are too much for Marc or Steven to be able to handle? That’s when it’s Jake’s turn at the wheel. 

It’s why normally the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, in command of the body, is the source of imminent danger: 

The face of the man who has a knife pressed against the collar of his military uniform in the middle of a desert. 

A panoramic view through the windshield of a truck that is seconds from veering off a winding cliff-side road. 

A long-haired Jim Jones wannabe staring down at him along a glowing walking stick protruding from his own chest. 

But things have been different lately. For one thing, he’s been spending a lot more time fronting, and not just in dangerous situations. 

For another, he’s learning that there’s so much more world out there than he’d ever imagined. There’s Ben & Jerry’s peanut popcorn flavored ice cream, Saturday karaoke nights, Derby Girls and you. 

Always you.

You were just Steven’s girl first, and then somehow against all odds Marc got involved too, and now that Jake’s been allowed a taste, he's never letting you go. You’re his guide to the wide world,  the road map keeping him on the right route, the safe resting place when he’s tired. Su alma, his soul.

And right now you look exhausted. Your thighs shaky and trembling, matted hair glued to your forehead, all of you dripping with sweat and other things. Steven must have really worn you out before he ceded the front. 

Sweet, shy little Steven—Mr. Sunshine—who just fucked you seemingly within an inch of your life before he remembered that he needs to share. 

And Marc thinks Jake is the unhinged one. 

The punch of adrenaline that always comes with fronting is still running through his veins, and he’s already hardening at the sight of you on your stomach, ass up in the air on display for him, Steven’s come just beginning to drip out of you. It doesn’t matter that the body just came, it’s Jake’s turn now. 

He slides his rapidly stiffening cock through your slippery folds, nudging the head against your clit, you and him both slick and sloppy with Steven's come and your own wetness.

“Aaah – Jake,” you gasp sharply into the pillow.

You know it’s him. He doesn’t know how. You haven’t even turned around to look at him, but somehow you just know. You always know. It’s an uncanny magic trick that impresses the hell out of him every time.

Jake grips one side of your ass in his free hand, squeezing hard. You’re all smooth skin and soft flesh under his finger, your cute little asshole peeking up at him. You’d kill him if he’d called it that out loud. So he doesn’t. He bites his tongue, swallowing down the groan that’s simmering in his throat at the sight of you.  

He can't resist sliding his thumb over that little pucker. He barely even brushes over you when you let out a pretty gasp for him. His cock is fully hard now, and it jerks against you at the sound, so he does it again, just to see if you’ll make the same noise twice. You do. 

Then you moan, sharp and keen, and he has to pull back, hand sliding over his slick length once before he leans in and replaces his thumb with the head of his cock. Taking his time, he slides it along the curve of your ass before nestling himself snugly between your cheeks. He makes an absolute mess as he goes, smearing the shiny slick left by Steven all over your bare skin until everything is a glistening sheen under the dim light as he begins to thrust forward, sliding his cock between the valley of your cheeks. 

Jake's dreamed of taking you here. He wants to take every fucking hole you have, fill you up and cover you with his come until it's dripping off of–out of every inch of your body.

Mierda. Even just the thought of it has heat climbing his spine, and his cock jerks in his fist and spitting even more precome into the mess already covering your spine and the rounded curves of your ass. 

He thrusts against you again, fucking himself between your cheeks, and you mewl quietly, pressing back against him. Maybe he won’t even fuck your pussy this time. Maybe he’ll just stay right here and rub his cock on your gorgeous ass until he comes all over it. Add to Steven’s mess with one of his own. He’ll do it. And reach around and rub your clit so you come too.

Maybe if he can get you used to the idea of his cock rubbing against your ass, maybe one day you’ll let him put it inside too. 

"You can, you know," you mumble out into the pillows, and Jake freezes, heat streaking down to his balls, and he has to grip himself hard at the base to avoid painting your ass with his come right then and there. 

Shit, did he say that out loud? He’s pretty sure he didn’t. He must have heard you wrong. Or he misunderstood. You can't possibly be offering what he thinks you are. 

"You can try putting it in. I might ask you to stop if I don't like it, but..." you your knees slightly, and the move has your ass practically wiggling at him in temptation, "It feels good right now."

Jake's brain stalls out. His body flashes hot all over. The back of his neck is tingling. He squeezes the base of his cock so hard he thinks he might be in danger of doing permanent damage, but he'll be damned if he comes on your ass right now when he’s just been told he might get to come in it. 

Gritting his teeth, Jake breathes through his body’s urge to come, pushing down the near-overwhelming need to shove his cock into your tight little asshole immediately. He knows he has to prep you if there's going to be any chance of you enjoying this, and he needs you to enjoy it because he wants to be able to do it again (and again and again and...) 

Shit. He needs to get on with it, or he's going to finish before he even makes it inside.

Jake makes himself let go of his aching cock, leaves it bobbing and dripping in midair, and turns his focus on you.

Leaning closer, he uses both hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, and just looks at you for a minute, watching your body clench around nothing.

"You want me to fuck you here, sweetheart?" he demands, sticky thumb sliding down through the mess of your slick and Steven’s come to circle your puckered hole, almost but not quite touching it, "Gonna let me put my cock inside this tight little hole and fill it up with my come?"

You whine, your whole body shivering under him, and he grins, satisfaction buzzing in his veins when your hips cant further up, trying to get him to touch you.

It’s fucking adorable is what it is. He is starting to understand why Marc likes to edge you now. How could he not? You’re always so reactive and needy when you’re denied. You make it so fun to tease. 

Sliding his thumb down, he slicks it around and around, just to watch you whine and shiver and shift, hips chasing his touch. His dick jerks with every noise you make and every time your body visibly clenches.

As fun as this is, a bright delight humming in his chest at your every little reaction, Jake doesn’t have the patience to tease you for long. 

He’s not like Marc. El Jefe seems to have infinite patience when it comes to this, but it’s only a minute or two before Jake can’t wait any longer. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin if he doesn’t get inside you one way or another. So he stops, holding his hand still to let you “catch” him.

When you do, he sucks in harsh breath, heat punching through him as he watches you rub yourself against his thumb, heart rate spiking as you lean back, the tip of his thumb pushing inside just a little.

It's barely anything, but the feeling of you parting to let his his thumb slips inside, then squeezing him back out is addictive. He presses harder, wanting more. His thumb slides a bare inch inside, and his groan barely covers the strangled sound you make, body tensing under him. 

Sweat breaks out on his forehead along with the realization that he cannot fuck this up. 

"Alright, mi alma?" he asks, trying to sound sweet and gentle, but his voice, low and eager, betrays him. A starving wolf in a sloppy sheep disguise. He’s not fooling anyone, not himself and certainly not you. 

Reigning himself in as best as he can, his fingers close into a fist with tight tension blaring in every nerve. Then he unfurls his palm to pet his hand over your back and down your side to give your ass a gentle squeeze. 

“Do you  need me to stop?" 

"N-no," comes the shaky answer, and Jake thanks any gods who might be listening, "It feels a bit odd, but..." you squeeze around his thumb, hot and unbelievably tight, and Jake swears under his breath, "It’s a good odd, I think. Just– just give me a moment."

You shift slightly, clenching again, and his cock jerks and throbs like the nerves of his thumb have somehow been reattached directly to his aching length. He really fucking doesn’t want to come before he even gets inside you, but right now he’s not sure if that’s in the cards for him.

Then you push back against him, and his thumb slides in another half inch, and both of you gasp. He pulls out slightly and risks a small thrust back inside. He's rewarded by another gasp and a small moan, so he does it again, a little further this time, and this time the moan is louder.

Fuck, you look so good like this, ass all slick and slippery. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jake leans forward, spitting onto the curve of your ass right above where his thumb is inside you. 

You jerk when it lands on your skin, and he likes that. Likes that even though he’s done it before it always seems to take you by surprise. Likes how his spit  looks on your skin too, shiny and slick as it slides down the crack of your ass to join the rest of the mess he’s smeared there. Likes that when he pushes it into your tight little asshole, it’s one more way that he can be inside you, make you a little bit more his in a way that will linger after he’s no longer with you.

You whine as he pulls his thumb all the way out, he spits again, hitting his target, directly on your pretty little asshole, then he presses in again, shoving more of his spit into you.

Like most things when it comes to how he feels about you, Jake doesn’t entirely understand why he likes this so much. It’s primal, somehow, a deep-seated need to mark you with himself–his spit, his scent, his come.

His cock is aching, throbbing in time with the way you clench every time he pushes his thumb into you. Jake can't stand it, has to wrap his free hand around himself, gripping as hard as he dares, and stroking slowly. He grits his teeth against how good it feels, red hot pleasure searing up his spine as he leans in to slide the head of his overwrought, leaking cock along your ass, right next to where his thumb is shoved inside. 

"You feel how hard you make me?" he demands, pressing himself against you, relishing the way you shift and moan again, body still squeezing around his thumb, but loosening with every passing moment as you relax. It also has the added benefit of his precome dripping down to lubricate things even more as he thrusts into you a little deeper each time. "Fuck, I can't wait to get inside this tight little hole. You gonna let me in, mi alma?"

"Yes, yes, Jake! Please!" you cry out, only partially muffled where your face is pressed into the pillows, and he damn near loses it again. Has to press his cock against you hard, almost to the point of pain as fire licks out along his nerves, threatening to send him over the edge.

"You want this cock in your ass right now?" he grits out, vaguely aware that he should probably spend more time prepping you, stretching you so you can take him easier, but he can't wait another fucking second.

He pulls back, pulls his thumb out, and you whine out his name Jake, Jake, Jake as you push your ass up and back, chasing his touch.

He looks down to see a blur of movement between your legs, and realizes that at some point you shoved a hand underneath yourself to rub at your clit.

It’s pure impulse. He doesn’t think. Before he even realizes what he's about to do, Jake’s hand flashes out, coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends your flesh jiggling in an all-too-appealing way. 

You cry out, sharp and high-pitched, but Jake knows from experience that it's a cry of shock, not of pain, and he quickly follows up on his advantage.

"Naughty naughty, sweetheart,” he scolds, “Who said you could touch yourself?" 

You freeze, obviously caught, and several seconds tick by where he watches approvingly as the mark left on your supple skin from the impact of his hand shades into a darker hue before you whine again, "Please, Jake. I need– I need–"

That's more like it. 

"Pobrecita," he croons to you, enjoying the way you relax at his gentle tone, "Do you need more?"

You nod into the pillow.

He leans in and smacks his cock against the same place his hand struck. You jolt, letting out the hottest fucking sound, so he does it again, and has to grit his teeth against the noise that wants to escape him at the sensation.

"You want this cock, mi alma?" he demands, voice harsh,  "You want me fuck your ass with it right now?"

"Yes. Yes, Jake. Fuck, please. YES!" you pant out, sounding as desperate as he feels. You’re pressing back against him, hips shifting so you can press that pretty little hole right against the tip of him, acting for all the world like you're going to fuck yourself back onto his cock if he doesn't give it to you fast enough.

It's a heady feeling, to hear you beg for him, and part of him wants to hear you do it again, and again and again. To leave you there, begging for him as you struggle to fuck yourself on him. Lucky for you, he is nothing like Marc. 

"All you had to do was ask, mi alma," he grates out as he begins a slow press forward, "All you ever have to do is ask, and I'll give you the world."

Your body yields to him, the head of his cock slipping inside, and he has no more words. Only a strangled groan to match your whine as you clamp down hot and impossibly tight around him.

A sparkling clarity descends, time dilating, stretching out the way it does when he's in the middle of a fight, and he can only be grateful because he's barely clinging to his composure by the tips of his fingers here.

One truth stands out above everything else: he can't hurt you. 

He has to go slow, keep control, make it good for you. 

Jake wraps an arm around you, fingers tangling with yours to rub desperate circles around your clit, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you relax slightly under and around him. Still he doesn't move, not sure if he can without losing it and pumping you full of his come right then and there.

It's only when your hips start to move, hitching forward against his fingers, and then back to fuck yourself a little farther onto his aching cock that he dares draw in another breath, dares to meet your movements with small thrusts of his own, fucking in a little further each time.

And you take him just like that, little by little. One slow press, one torturous inch at a time, until he's buried as deep in you as he can go. 

"Fuck. Jake," you gasp out, clenching hard around him, and he groans. 

He makes the mistake of looking down at where you’re stretched tight around the base of his cock, taking every fucking inch he has to give, and the sight hits him like a punch to the gut. His hips stutter forward involuntarily, and somehow you take him even deeper.

You make a strangled sound, clamping down so tight it borders on the painful, and he freezes, shuddering behind you.

"¡Mierda! ¿Estás bien?" he demands, has to stop and mentally scramble for the words before he can ask again in English, "You okay, mi alma? Shit, did I hurt you?" 

"N-no. I'm okay," you pants out in response, "You can– You can move, Jake. Please. Need you to mo–"

Before you even finish the sentence, he’s already pulling out and easing back in. It’s a tight fit, your body hugging him so snugly that nothing else would fit. 

Lento, he reminds himself, gently. Not too fast. Gritting his teeth against the demands of his body, he presses himself in and out of you as slowly and carefully as he can manage, and he tries to keep his fingers moving on your clit. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in until he’s sure it must be painful, but he can't make himself let go.

You whine, writhing under him as he inches back into you.

"Jake," you pant out, nearly sobbing his name, "Jake, Jake," and he slows further, worried that it's too much.

"No!" you cry out suddenly, and Jake freezes on instinct, holding still as you prop yourself up on one elbow, turning your upper body sharply to one side so you can glare at him over your shoulder, "Don't bloody stop. I want you to fuck me."

The words hit him like a blow, knocking the air out of him, and the determined look on your face stabs him right in the heart, his whole chest pulling tight. 

"You've been so patient, Jake,” you cajole him, “and it's good. Better than I thought it would be. I want you to stop holding back. Fuck my ass for real. Let go, Jake."

Fuck, he loves you so fucking much. The feeling is so big, he doesn't know how his body can contain it. He wants to move mountains, conquer the fucking world just so he can lay it at your feet. He'd give you anything. 

But the only thing you're asking for right now is his cock, and that he’s just as desperate to give you as you are to take it.

He pulls out slowly, one… last… controlled… withdrawal, then he slams into you so hard it drives you forward across the bed away from him. Digging both hands into your hips, he yanks you back to him, back onto his cock.

"Like this?" he asks as he pulls out and slams into you again,  "You want it hard? Like this, mi alma?"

"Yes– Fuck– Yes–" you gasp out between harsh thrusts, "Ja-Jake!"

His name breaking on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life, and it severs the last threads of Jake's control. He lurches forward with a roar, driving himself into your tight little ass over and over again, as hard and fast as he can go. 

The force of it knocks you off your elbows, flattening you into the bed, but Jake just yanks you back, repositioning his knees as your hands scrabble uselessly at the sheets.

Every thrust is deep and relentless, burying himself inside you as deep as your body will let him, giving you as much of him as you can take. Until his hip bones are pressed flush against your ass, until his cock is buried inside you to the root, until every inch of him is enveloped by you. 

He's so lost in the feel of you, he doesn't realize he’s fucked you all the way across the bed until you're precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

Your knee goes first, slipping sideways off the bed mid-thrust, and it's enough to pull him off balance and send you both tumbling to the floor. 

Instinct takes over, and before Jake even has a chance to consciously register what’s happening, he’s already twisting, shielding your body so that he takes the brunt of the fall. He winds up hitting the hardwood ass-first before coming to rest with his head against the nightstand and you in his lap. 

Miraculously, you’re still connected, the force of the fall shoving you down on his cock farther than ever before, the feeling of being lodged so far inside your tight ass more than enough to overwhelm the slight pain in his tailbone from the fall.

There's a moment of stunned silence, then you start shaking, trembling in his arms, shoulders vibrating against him. He has half a second to worry that he’s fucked up badly enough to make you cry before a loud, bright sound rings out in the room. 

You’re laughing. Oh thank fuck.

"Oh my god, Jake! You just fucked me off the bed, quite literally. That's definitely a first!" you exclaim, twisting around to giggle down at him, eyes crinkled with amusement, mouth curved in an open, full-toothed smile. Jake has a handful of seconds to marvel at how beautiful you are before you shift in his lap, your body clamping down around him, and any last lingering shreds of control he might have been clinging to are gone.

Jake lifts his hips, fucking up into you, and watches your eyes go wide, a gasp falling from your lips.

It's not enough.

He grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh and rolls to his knees, and your gorgeous laughter dissolves into a broken cry of surprise as he drags you with him. The sound melts into a long drawn out moan that has the tip of his ears tingling. He can’t think, all he can do is keep going as he fucks forward into you again, his chest tight against your back as he forces you down onto all fours so he can keep fucking you. 

Fuck. The wood floor is hard and uncomfortable under his knees, digging into his kneecaps. He knows it must be worse for you with his weight bearing down on you, but he can't make himself stop. 

He's been dreaming about taking you this way for so long, and now he finally gets to. He knows, he knows he should stop and check on you, should move the two of you back up onto the bed where you'll be more comfortable, but that pretty little ass is stretched around him so perfectly, tight and hot around him, and his need is riding him hard.

Heat prickles from the tip of his fingers, spreading along the nerve endings along every patch of skin, fuck. It’s everywhere, expanding across the span of his chest, pooling in his abdomen, gripping into his lungs. He can’t breathe. Can’t stop. Can’t–

"Lo siento," he stutters out. "I'm sorry, mi alma. I can't– I have to–" Words leave him, and all he can do is pant against your neck as his hips jerk into you with increasingly sloppy thrusts. 

His end is approaching fast, whether he wants it to or not, and he barely has the presence of mind to shove a hand underneath you, rubbing desperate circles over your clit with fingers gone clumsy with need.

He has to make it good for you. He has to. He has to– 

Por fortuna, it only takes a minute for you to tense underneath him, sobbing out his name and tightening around him so forcefully that he can't keep thrusting, his cock locked in place by the tight clench of your body.

The lack of movement is enough to stave off his own orgasm, but just barely, the pleasure is overwhelming, teasing at the tip of his tongue as you shudder underneath him and you flutter rhythmically around his cock. It's so similar to being inside your pussy when you come, but it's different too. The pulse of your pleasure there squeezing him so tight it's nearly painful, but its so, so fucking good.

He breathes through it, pressing open-mouthed, panting kisses against the skin of your back. Does his best to keep his fingers moving on your clit, trying to prolong the moment for you, to draw you pleasure out as long as he can. He wishes he could see your face. 

Next time, he promises himself. Face-to-face next time, so he can watch every expression you make as he fucks you full of himself and see the pleasure break across your face when you come with his cock lodged deep inside.

All too soon, you're collapsing forward onto one elbow, your other hand shoving at his where it's buried between your legs, and he lets you push his hand away, planting his palm on the ground next to your head. 

You turn weakly to look up at him, pulling partially off of his dick as your body sags like you can’t keep yourself up. 

"Are you ready, mi alma?" he grits out, dimly aware that he's shaking as he braces himself above you, "Ready for me to fuck this tight little ass full of my come?"

"Mmm," you hum, sweet and contented under him, "yes, please."

That's all Jake needs to hear.

He slams his hips forward into yours, and the force of the first thrust knocks you forward off your elbow, your chest meeting the ground as you half-collapse under him. 

Jake follows you down without stopping, fucking into you hard. You sink a little further towards the floor with each thrust until you're flat on your stomach, but Jake still doesn't stop. He can’t, though he's sure he must be flattening you. Doesn't think he could stop if his life depended on it

He's grinding into you now with increasingly sloppy thrusts, burning heat burrowing into the base of his spine as he holds back his orgasm by sheer will, slurring out endearments against the back of your shoulder.

“Mi alma. Mi vida. Reina de mi corazón.”

And you are. His soul. His life. The queen of his heart. You are all of that and more. His gorgeous, perfect love, taking him, all of him, exactly as he is.

"Do it," you say from underneath him, and reality seems to recede, his vision tunneling in on your lips as they shape the words that just might kill him.

"Fill my ass up with your come. Fuck it into me as deep as you can. I'm yours, Jake."

Jake's orgasm crashes into him like an unexpected switch. Like a bomb going off. Like a knife sliding between his ribs, sharp and sudden. Pleasure sears though every inch of the body that has never felt more like his than it does at this moment, his forehead pressing against the warm skin of your back as he empties himself inside you in pulse after pulse of aching release. 

By the time the last shuddering spasm subsides, Jake feels wrung out like a bloody rag. He barely manages to avoid collapsing on top of you, mustering just enough strength to roll the two of you to the side so that he’s no longer squishing you. Pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he carefully pulls out, then pulls you back against his chest, curving his body around yours, and the two of you lay cuddled together like that for a long moment.

Eventually, his strength returns, along with the awareness that the floor he’s holding you on is both hard and probably not all that clean given Steven’s penchant for pouring sand all over. You deserve better. He gets up first, and carefully helps you rise to standing, waiting a moment to be sure you’re steady on your feet, before guiding you gently into the bathroom. 

When he flips on the bathroom light, the shadow of his reflection in the small round mirror transforms into a flushed, wide-eyed Steven who mumbles, “That was… God, that was… ” 

He doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. Jake’s not sure he could either, but Mr Sunshine doesn’t need to know that, so he just shoots the mirror a smug smile and tips an imaginary cap in that direction before he moves to turn on the shower.

You shiver a little when he steps away from you, so once the water is running, he wraps both arms around you, encouraging you to lean against him while you wait for it to get warm. You do, wrapping one arm around his waist in return and curling into his chest like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Jake just watches you. Tilting his head back and slightly to the side to get a better angle, he lets his eyes roam over your face, taking in the soft curve of your cheek, the eyelashes feathered against the soft skin there nod that your eyes have fluttered closed, the hand you’ve settled against his chest, right over his heart, the way your lips curve up into a slight content smile. 

You’re beautiful.

You always are, but right now, something about this moment makes Jake’s chest tight. It steals his breath as surely as if there were hands wrapped tight around his neck, choking the life out of him.  But instead of stealing his life, it’s as if you’re giving him more of it, pumping him full of its essence, filling his chest until he doesn’t know how his body can contain the feelings you inspire in him. 

The bathroom is getting warmer, steam starting to form on the mirror, but Jake is loath to relinquish his hold on you. You seem equally uninterested in leaving him. You’re snuggled contentedly into his chest, but the way you slump lower and looser with each passing second tells him that he needs to get you moving fast, before you fall asleep standing up. “Water’s warm,” he tells you, and you hum sleepily against his chest. It’s so, so tempting just to carry you back to bed, but he knows you’ll be happier if you’re clean.

“C’mon, mi alma. Into the shower. Vamos.”  He herds you gently backwards until you’re standing under the spray.

You hum sleepily up at him without opening your eyes, and he’s worried for a moment that he’s lost you to sleep already, but you stay standing when he cautiously releases you.

Reaching for your soap, he quickly lathers up a washcloth. The smell of the soap—the smell of you—quickly permeates the small space, and he breathes deep, letting the familiar scent wash over him.  He runs the cloth gently over your shoulders,  taking extra care with the still-visible bite mark one of them left there, then down over your chest. The skin of your breasts is soft and warm under his fingertips, and he’s half tempted to try for another round, but he feels strangely protective of your soft sleepiness.

Instead he dutifully rinses you off, letting the water cascade over your body. 

You blink your eyes open long enough to shoot him another warm, sleepy smile, and the contentment in his chest seems to expand, taking root and spreading with every breath until it feels almost too large for the small space of the shower. 

He steps out, reaching for a towel, and drys you off gently, before doing the same to himself with much less care.

Then he carries you back to bed and tucks you in, doing his best to straighten out the wrinkly covers before pulling them up over both of you. Curling his body around yours, he holds you tightly to him. There are a lot of things in this world Jake can do without, has done without. But this– you are no longer on that list.

In the cozy warmth of the bed with your body pressed against his, his eyes feel heavy. Jake never used to fight to stay in the driver’s seat, not once the excitement was over. But he clings to consciousness now. He wants to prolong this moment when his vision is filled, not with yet another threat to body, life or limb, but with something altogether perfect: the sight of you drifting off to sleep, your head nuzzling into the pillow, a slight smile on your face… safe. 

It’s the last thing he sees as he falls into a deep, restful sleep. .

Thanks for reading!

—

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[genericpuff]

Familiarity in the Unknown - The Book Written by Tiny Paws

So there's this story you may or may not be aware of. It's about a rat who, despite being a rat, expresses a deep love for creating and cooking, often through unorthodox means and yet - throughout the unorthodox - compels us to think about the virtue of art and our own place in the world.

I know, completely absurd concept, why would a rat be cooking? It's ridiculous - but absolutely beautiful in its execution and simplicity. Our main character exists within a world that is treacherous, endlessly massive, occupied by strange creatures that could hurt him - even kill him - where good food and joy is hard to come by and living for oneself is against the tenets of his society's herd-mentality - but he is able to persevere and break through the difficulties of this world through his joy for food, for cooking, for the fire and smells, for satisfying his curiosity of the unknown, for expressing himself through the creation of art and, subsequently, for the love of the community and friendship that only grows in response to his sincerity.

Who am I kidding though, you know who I'm talking about, I don't need to keep patronizing you with wordplay and flowery descriptions. I'm obviously talking about The Book Written by Tiny Paws-

The Book Written by Tiny Paws isn't really a comic that I found so much as it found me in my daily scroll through my feed of notifications, featured in a user-submitted post to the /r/webtoons subreddit, discussing their newest update. There are a lot of comics that get promo'd in these communities and for the most part, none of them really ever compel me to read them, usually due to elements outside of the creator's control - they aren't a genre I'm interested in, the art style isn't gripping me, I'm just not in the mood to pick up anything new, etc.

But every now and then, something breaks through my own mentally enclosed barrier and reaches the innermost parts of my brain. And strangely enough, this time around, it was this little guy:

I did not know his name. I did not know what species he was supposed to be. I mean, he looks like a rat at first glance, but he also has little webbed feet like a platypus. I didn't even really pay much attention to what he was saying at first - all I could look at was his sincere little face. And once I snapped out of the cuteness hypnosis and read his dialogue, I suddenly found myself already hooked even before I read a single page. I wasn't sure what to expect, just so long as I could see more of this cute little guy.

By the end of the 9 episodes it had available at the time, not only was I more in love with this tiny creature than I was when I started, but I had the realization that this was going to be one of those rare, magical occasions when a piece of work would grab me and refuse to let go.

The Book Written by Tiny Paws is, to put it simply, a story about a creature known as "Firemaker" trying to find his way back to his herd after being separated from them during a flood so devastating that it drowns the earth beneath its waters. We are shown immediately the nature of this world - barren, bleak, cruel - but Firemaker describes it with the curiosity and wonder of a child experiencing all of it for the first time.

We're also immediately introduced to another core character - a stranger named "Vagabond" who does not seem to belong to a herd.

From its first two pages alone, The Book Written by Tiny Paws exceeds in what many comics struggle to do - it not only introduces us to its main character through his personality alone, but presents us the creator's approach to storytelling and worldbuilding: familiarity in the unknown.

Throughout each episode, alongside Firemaker, Vagabond, and the others who come and go throughout the world, we learn about how this world operates, and how they have been surviving in it. We learn that the flooding is actually a regular enough occurrence that creatures like Firemaker count their ages by how many rains they've survived. We learn that there are other creatures described only by their physical traits, and are left only with our own assumptions based on their word choice and imagination as to what they're referring to. There isn't any sign of human life, but human-like intelligence is present as creatures like Firemaker and Vagabond are able to communicate, count, multiply, use tools, and, as we see above with Firemaker, make logical connections between cause and effect (even if they're initially wrong).

Many of these concepts are familiar to us, if not absolutely mundane and outdated, but through the eyes of Firemaker and Vagabond, we get to see those same concepts re-contextualized in a world that is unlike our own. In this way, The Book Written by Tiny Paws asks us to re-explore the mundane through the eyes of creatures that rely on our privileges for their survival.

And when it's not re-contextualizing, it's introducing us to new concepts entirely that make this story and its world feel wholly unique. One such unique concept is the way in which they count - a system of multiplication through simple geometry.

It should be mentioned, before I get in any further - the creator of this work, Nolinno, proclaims themselves as "more of a physicist than an artist", and while I do believe they're not giving themselves enough credit for the art (which I will get into soon), their passion for physics shows immensely, showcasing not only their love for learning, but their affinity for teaching as well. It takes someone who really knows their stuff to be able to explain it as simply as possible for the layman such as myself to understand - and even then, not everyone who is well-trained in their field of study can necessarily teach it well - and yet Nolinno has done an extraordinary job so far of explaining their story's concepts in ways that are both simple to grasp and rewarding to master. Specifically, they reward the readers' ability to retain information and engage with it through their own conclusions, largely by creating opportunities in the text for that information to become relevant.

One of the earliest examples of this is when Vagabond initially reveals his age to be what first-time readers will assume is the number '11', and from there we can assume that '11 rains' must be significant as Firemaker seems astounded by this.

But then, we immediately find out that Firemaker himself hasn't learned to count that high, prompting Vagabond to teach him how to count higher than 3, which is when we get to learn the actual details of that aforementioned counting system built on multiplication and geometry.

It's through this explanation that we learn that Vagabond isn't 11, but the text doesn't explicitly tell us - it asks us as readers to instead follow along with Vagabond's teachings and come to our own answer.

And so, I'm not going to tell you the answer here either! There's a top comment on this particular episode that's gotten it right (as confirmed by the creator like a very proud elementary school teacher, awww), but consider that more of an answer key if you want to know if you got the correct answer. And if you feel like Vagabond's explanation here is too limited or you want more examples, nothing to fear - Nolinno has given us a study guide!

What I adore about this is that as much as I'm intimidated by mathematical concepts like this, I genuinely appreciate when a creator puts in the effort to establish ground rules like this, and in such a natural, sincere way. It challenges you just enough to compel you to try, but not so much that it's completely alienating or overwhelming.

And thanks to Firemaker's characterization, we don't feel so alone in learning these concepts, either. Firemaker's own inexperience on account of being only "three times three" years old (he's 9!) he makes a perfect surrogate for the audience to learn about the world through him. This isn't an uncommon storytelling trick, but can often come at the expense of the character's own personality - after all, if a character is constantly having to be a surrogate for the audience, it can lead to them becoming more of a blank slate without any voice - but Nolinno has accomplished that balance perfectly through Firemaker's curiosity and vulnerability. Firemaker being 9 years old and still inexperienced doesn't rob him of his own skills - more so, it's clear that he's fulfilled a specific role for his pack, and now that he's been separated from them, he's now having to learn the skills that were likely reserved for other members of his pack.

This also makes him a perfect foil to Vagabond, a creature whose past is still shrouded in mystery but is clearly experienced and can act as the parental figure or "older brother" to Firemaker - but we're always left wondering why Firemaker has left his pack, and whether or not those survival tactics were taught to him through his pack or learned the hard way after leaving. It ultimately leaves us wondering what Vagabond's true motives are, and whether or not he can be trusted as a role model to Firemaker. Fortunately, nothing so far has made me or even Firemaker doubt his capabilities or motives, even earning himself a new name-

-but in a world so unpredictable, who's to say that Vagabond's own motives are entirely pure?

After all, as we soon learn, not all creatures are kind in this world.

Again, in case it needs reminding - Firemaker is nine. Though 9 years old for a rat-platypus creature may not be equivalent to 9 years old for a human, it is still very much communicated to us through the narrative that he is a child and, as such, is going to have his safety threatened in this world the same way a child often would in our own - through the cruel actions of untrustworthy adults.

But, as I mentioned already, Firemaker is never made to be the constant ball and chain of the pair. Though he may just now be learning how to count and multiply higher than 3, he's earned his name through his own particular skills that can be used to not only save himself from starvation, but save others from ambush through the use of smoke signals.

Of course, as much as I can gush about the narrative, I also wouldn't forgive myself if I neglected to mention its art style which, despite being created by one person who claims to not be much of an artist, wonderfully complements its theme and tone. I would go so far as to argue that this is one of those stories that just simply wouldn't work as effectively as it does if it had a full color art style. The contrast of black and white between the environment and its characters, as well as the simplicity of the character designs against the more detailed designs of the architecture and props, makes for a brilliant visual presentation that - like the worldbuilding - expresses itself clearly without overcomplicating anything. Through its art - just like through its writing - it asks us to try and find familiarity in the unknown.

And best of all, when things do get complicated-

-it harshly reminds us how quickly a simple and beautiful thing can turn ugly and cruel.

Even though it was initially Firemaker's cutesy little face that suckered me in, the worldbuilding that Nolinno has expertly crafted through their own knowledge and affinity for teaching others has stolen the show. And that's a quality that I find is quite rare in fantasy works nowadays, but just like the culinary arts of that other rat who's far more well-known, it came from a completely unexpected place.

Nolinno has accomplished what I find a lot of budding fantasy writers struggle with - they have successfully created a world that is full of its own unique qualities, and communicated it clearly to their audience in a way that is both engaging and rewarding. Unlike others who often put the lore before the story - usually by dumping every bit of exposition, conlang definition, map and political chart on their readers before they've had a chance to even read the first page or know the main character's name, often out of fear that all their prep work will have been "wasted" if they don't reveal all of it immediately - Nolinno simply shows us their world and its inhabitants as they are, without the need to justify itself, and invites you to join along at your own pace, with helpful little bits of knowledge communicated through the narrative to help you find your way. It's okay if you're not entirely certain of how this world works, because you're not travelling alone - so too are Firemaker and Knower finding their way.

As someone who was raised on the works of Jeff Smith (BONE) and Bill Watterson (Calvin and Hobbes), and even found their own passion for fantasy writing through both comics and video games like The Legend of Zelda, I have a lot of appreciation for stories like this that can be appreciated by all age demographics, and I've found myself almost disillusioned by the current landscape of conveyer-belt media today that often fails to live up to even a fraction of what we remember existing 20 years ago, existing only to pad a rich executive's bottom line. This has only been further exacerbated by the advent of generative AI that's now threatening the integrity and livelihood of artists both within the industry and outside of it.

Suffice to say, just like the world that Firemaker inhabits in The Book Written by Tiny Paws, our world is very bleak right now. Even still, its characters still find their moments for joy, for rest, and for play, and the comic in and of itself reminds me through its existence that there are still wonderful works being made that are capable of making me feel as curious and excited as I did when I was reading BONE cover-to-cover at the age of 12.

Those moments and those stories feel harder to come by than ever, but I'm happy to say that The Book Written by Tiny Paws is one of them, new memories that I'm happy to have made and am eager to continue to make - familiarity in the unknown.

[fabuloustrash05]

A Character First, A Love Interest Second: RaMona Did It Right!

((A TMNT 2012 RaMona Analysis))

Something I feel we as a fandom don’t give Raph enough credit for is how he’s the only brother to NOT have a “love at first sight” trope with his love interest Mona Lisa, and I feel that says a lot about his character and relationship with her, not only that, but it saves Mona’s character.

How you may ask? A lot of people don’t seem to realize this, but I love how when Mona Lisa is first introduced she’s not immediately established to be a love interest unlike the other girls. Mona is given some time to be her own character and show off a bit of her personality. For the other girls, there introduction is through the Turtles POV, established as a love interest FIRST then her own character/personality is shown later. This is made clear just from each Turtles reaction when first meeting their love interest. We are introduced to the female character through the “love at first sight” moment!

Donnie

Leo (I hate that I’m using this as an example this but this help prove my point)

Mikey

Edit: I timed it to see how long the girls intros were before they were established as a love interest. Here’s the LINK

I wanna clarify before people start assuming, no, I’m NOT saying that the other 2012 girls have no personality. They do, it just bothers me how they were introduced. Them being the love interest seemed more important to establish to the writers then her own character first.

Meanwhile for Mona Lisa; she’s introduced to the audience NOT the Turtles. This gives her a chance to establish her character/personality first then show her as a love interest later!

We learn just from her introduction scene and even her moment when confronting the Turtles that she is: strong willed, prideful (she’s proud of being the warrior she is and takes her battle’s seriously), stubborn (fight first, ask questions NEVER, like Raph), honorable, loyal (we learn she’s a lieutenant and respects and highly looks to her Commander), and even a bit short tempered (again, like Raph).

Her and Raph even get to speak to each other and have a little banter of threats before romance between them starts to blossom. There is no love at first sight. Unlike the other Turtles who immediately fall in love with the girl just from looking at her and thinking she’s pretty. Their feelings for each other took more time.

Raph did not fall for her looks like his brothers, he fell in love with the person Mona is. Physical attraction (I believe) is very important in a relationship and Raph does show and admits he does in fact find Mona attractive (Ex: calling her a beautiful work of art) but her looks is not what caught his attention. It was her personality, her spirit and capabilities as a warrior! I saw someone mentions this in another post once, but on rare occasions do we get to hear the other Turtles explain exactly WHY they like their love interests other then that they found the girl pretty (Yes, Donnie admits he thinks April is “cool” and Leo says Karai’s “fun” but that’s not enough!), meanwhile for Raph from the very beginning he has his list of reasons ready as to WHY he likes Mona! And he has no shame to admit it proudly!

And throughout the rest of their relationship, we see more of those reasons unfold. We see Raph and even Mona show more reasons as to why they love each other so much. And unlike the others ships, we actually get to see them act and be a couple! They flirt with each other, embrace and hold hands, make out, write love letters to each other, etc. The reason they worked so well is because as I said we get to see them be a couple, but also because Mona got to established herself as a character first before being Raph’s girlfriend.

Many of us can agree that TMNT 2012 failed greatly in the romance department, but they at least did one couple right with the relationship of Raphael and Mona Lisa. So I thank them for that <3

[noirandchocolate]

I said I would do a headcanon post about Yiga Clan wedding ceremonies, so Here! I! Go! (If you're interested but missed it, here's a post about proposal headcanons.) Time for so many details and a very long post. Also, just at the outset, I wanna say that the other reason I've been thinking about this stuff recently (in addition to real world reason of me and my girlfriend getting engaged), is that my Kohga and Sooga just got married in an RP. So I'll be using examples from their wedding alongside others, in this post!

Preparation/Background

It should come as a surprise to no one that Master Kohga officiates all weddings. If a Master Kohga is getting married, their Right Hand will do it. If the Master is marrying their Right Hand (which is on the rare side but hey, Kohga's Nana also did it!), another high-ranking member of the Clan will do it. For Nana Kohga's wedding, it was the most senior historian, who had been friends with her father. For the recent nuptials, it was current Kohga's former Right Hand/sort-of-pseudo-uncle and Sooga's mentor, the very respected elder Blademaster Chisao.

Weddings are held outside, in the circular area by the chasm, like many of the Clan's festivals are. They start in the late afternoon (for whatever season they're happening in), so that afterward, a big dinner feast can be held indoors before the party commences back outside (after some of the seating is removed to allow room for dancing, etc).

The outdoor area is hung with lanterns as well as the strings of protective noisemaker talismans, and a tower is placed and hung with even more lights. This structure is reminiscent of those used for the Japanese Obon festival ("Creating a Champion" states that some design elements for Master Kohga and the Clan were inspired by Bon Odori dance!), but with Yiga flair. A similar decorative piece can be seen in the hideout in the games (see above left). It serves a couple of purposes. First, masks of the couple's ancestors are brought from the Complex's shrine and carefully hung around the sides of it. Second, that's where the band is placed!

That's an excellent segue to say that music also plays an important role in wedding ceremonies. An ensemble traditionally consisting of taiko (also seen in the above left image), shamisen, shakuhachi and shinobue plays background music throughout the ceremony, with specific cues/phrases/flourishes accompanying specific events. (It may be noted that a similar combination of instruments is used in kabuki theater; several elements of the Clan were also inspired by this art form.)

The marrying couple wears their very best clothes, of course, and polish up their masks for the big day! Formal attire is, again, similar to Japanese garments but not exactly (since the Sheikah and Yiga are Japanese-inspired but not...literally Japanese). A wedding is cause to wear long furisode-like sleeves and fancy-patterned haori, kimono, and hakama combos. Oftentimes, because these garments require fine fabrics that require a great effort for the Clan to create, parts of a person's wedding outfit are passed down through their family and re-tailored to them. The Clan does of course have a whole group of people who make clothes, and their training includes embroidery and silk-painting for just such special occasions! If you didn't think Kohga had a haori with Dinraal embroidered in gold thread on the back and phoenixes and Inverted Eyes painted in patterns all over it, you would be WRONG. He also wore his father's black wedding hakama! And Mama Hotaru's long and gorgeous wedding robe was black with a pattern of softly painted insects on it, in an homage to her family's naming tradition; it originally belonged to her own great-grandmother, who shared her name.

Ceremony

The ceremony begins with the officiant welcoming the Clan on this happy occasion and declaring that the date is "AUSPICIOUS!" I plan to do a post about Hyrule's calendar and associated "astrology"-type beliefs but for now suffice it to say that one could come up with a way that almost any day is auspicious (since nobody would want to say someone's wedding day is cursed or something), but couples do very often try to schedule their weddings for particularly positive dates (as I said in the last post, they have to wait at least six months--it doesn't have to be exact).

The couple is then called to approach from either side of the area. They are each accompanied by two family members--usually parents if possible. If not, more extended family or in the absence of any family, friends can do it. For example, Kohga's the last of his family lines aside from distant-er cousins, and Sooga wasn't born in the Clan, so Chisao's children (who both men are close with) stepped in. These four people act as assistants to the couple in various parts of the ceremony! It may be noted, that on each side, there is a group of three.

Yiga wedding ceremonies, like so much else they do, are meant to reinforce not only the joining of two individuals but the bonds that join the whole Clan together. For that reason, they involve several call-and-response-type declarations that all present participate in, and many references to the Clan's history.

The officiant recites the following: "Our Clan was born of conflict. May you weather any in your path. / Our Clan as ever weeps the blood of our fallen ancestors. May their spirits raise you up. / Our Clan has turned betrayal on its head. May you remain ever true." The last of these lines is accompanied by a gesture toward the speaker's mask, evoking the symbolism of the Inverted Eye.

There are two major sections of the ceremony that each require an exchange of three things, between the couple. The first of these sets involves three liquids: saké, water, and blood. The couple's assistants will pour them dishes of saké, which they then exchange and drink, and then the same is done with water. The saké represents the time, patience, and effort that must be put into a marriage, as preparation of the drink surely requires such care. The water represents life and replenishment--and it's not just any water, but some taken from the especially healthful spring at Satori Mountain (which I've said previously, the Clan has strong ties to)!

(NOTE: For this and one other notable part that involves eating/drinking, the partners lift their masks only enough to imbibe.)

For the blood, the couple are each handed a special knife with which they cut their palms. Carefully--it isn't meant to be a super deep cut, just enough to produce drops of blood. The couple then hold out their hands toward each other, palm down so those droplets fall to the sand. Their assistants then wrap the cuts with red bandages. The symbolism is multi-fold: to show the joining of blood/family, the willingness to endure pain and hardship for each other, and, since the blood is dropped to the ground, the Clan's connection to the land and its energy.

(NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT take this headcanon as some suggestion that I think the Clan is some kind of ~weird blood cult~. I absolutely do not think that. The Clan was born of a bloody conflict/betrayal. They have not forgotten this, nor will they forsake the blood, both in terms of family and in terms of bloodshed, that ties them together. I thus think it's reasonable to headcanon that the concept and symbolism of blood--as well as actual physical blood--are present in some of their rituals/traditions. There's nothing creepy or evil about it. It is meant to be a meaningful, loving exchange and promise. Please please do not willfully misunderstand me. Thank youuuu~ <3)

The second set of exchanges is of three gifts. This section of the ceremony begins with everyone present reciting the following together: "Our strength is in our edges. Our might in what we take. Our bond is what defines us. All three, our family make." Each of these three concepts is represented by the gifts, which are brought forward to the couple in succession by further family members or friends. (As in, someone brings the gift to the giver, who then offers it to the receiver.) For example, Sooga's helpers for this section were three of his most recent Blademaster trainees, who had all recently passed their tests!

"Strength" is represented by a weapon. The Yiga have always been willing to fight for their beliefs, and more importantly to protect themselves/one another. They have a strong culture of martial arts and weapons training. So, each member of the couple offers the other a weapon of some significance to them. The exchange is typically symbolic; if a woman gives her intended the vicious sickle she uses on missions as her Strength gift, the idea is that when she uses it going forward, it's in his honor. However, if a man gives his intended a meaningful family heirloom weapon that isn't in use anymore, the couple will continue keeping it among their belongings together. See? Kohga's father gave Hotaru his eightfold longblade, and she gave him a (carefully sheathed) poisoned dagger. Sooga gave the longblade Kohga first presented to him, at the ceremony when he became a Blademaster years before. The words of exchange for this gift are: "I give you this, my strength. / Will your strength defend my body? / I will protect you with all my strength. / Then this I accept."

"Might" is represented by, you guessed it, mighty bananas. A bunch is brought to each person, who selects one and peels and feeds it to their intended. I know we Earth gamers think the bananas are kinda funny, but to the Clan, they're quite the opposite. Food is serious business when you're a marginalized community considered wanted criminals by the outside world. For the purpose of a wedding, the exchange means the couple are promising to provide for one another as well as possible. (To clarify, the Clan is very highly communal about resources, but the thought here is that one party would go without to allow the other to eat if necessary, and that regardless both will do their part within the Clan as a whole, etc.) It's not even just about food; it symbolizes caretaking in general. The words of exchange for this gift are: "I give you this, my might. / Will your might nourish my soul? / I will care for your with all my might. / Then this I accept."

"Bond" is the most personalized of the three, and the associated gift is something that represents the individual giver! It may be an item they crafted, or something else that shows off one of their skills or interests. The idea is that the giver is offering themself to the receiver--something that makes them, them! There are so many possibilities, too, as the gift may be an object to keep, or something more abstract or ephemeral. For example, a member who makes clothing for the Clan might weave a garment or blanket for their intended. A cook might offer his partner her favorite food, prepared fresh right before the ceremony, to eat a few bites of on the spot. Hotaru's Bond was her music, in the form of a shamisen song she composed. Her son followed in her footsteps and went a step further, with a poem too! The words of exchange for this gift are: "I give you this, my bond. / Will your bond shelter my heart? / I will hold your heart in mine forevermore. / Then this I accept."

Following this exchange, the couple recites: "We grow in strength. We grow in might. Our bond is unbreakable. All three we pledge, that we will grow in love."

If the Master is a party to the ceremony, there's an additional section here. The other partner says, "I vow to serve you with my body, soul, and heart, and to follow where you lead forevermore." Then the Master says, "I vow to keep you with my body, soul, and heart, and to lead you ever with your joy in mind." And finally, they say in unison, "You are my guiding star, from now into eternity."

The final bit is a general vow recited together, as follows: I am with you through your joys and all your trials. I am with you by your side or over miles. I hold you as the sky holds sun and stars. Where my heart is, ever there you are. I pledge my life to you and to our Clan. To the future and our master plan. We join our souls together with our kin. Together may we all life's battles win!

AND THEN! As the couple JOINS HANDS for the first time as SPOUSES! The ENTIRE ASSEMBLY! Shouts with ALL THEIR MIGHT: "Glory to Master Kohga! Glory to the Yiga Clan! Long days and nights to the love of [name] and [name]!"

Post-Ceremony

Well then it's feast time!

And then it's party time! Bring on the bonfires and bananas and saké and music and chatter and dancing and--

Speaking of which, during the after-party, the newly-married couple will start off the dancing by performing one together while holding on to a red silk cord between them. Symbolizing, again, the joining of their souls and fates, and also the need to work together carefully in walking the path of life.

Additionally, as I have brought up several times in previous headcanon posts of mine, following the wedding ceremony, couples are now considered family and can see each other's true, un-magicdisguised, -masked, or -veiled faces. This is a big deal! (I do find it quite romantic, that partners court each other without knowing for sure what the other looks like. As I have said before, if both grew up in the Clan they will likely recall things like hair and eye color, but Yiga start wearing veils around everyone but their close family quite young and get their masks at the start of the year they are to turn eleven. So, what your partner's face looks like as an adult, or at all if you've truly never seen/paid attention to them before...well, it's something to anticipate!) Couples are given leave from work to go have a brief honeymoon away from the Complex if they wish, to go unmask each other and spend some good time together. A traditional place to do this is Satori Mountain, since most other people keep away from it anyway. <3 <3 Those who don't want to leave, get to stay in a sleeping room set aside just for this private purpose, instead!

Final Notes

Just wanted to point out, if it wasn't obvious, the threes in the ceremony. Three people on each side of the rituals, three liquids, three gifts. While the Yiga's particular wedding traditions have grown and changed from Ancient Sheikah customs over the millennia, to the point where Yiga marriage ceremonies have only a little in common with the older ones (and are quite different from contemporary Kakariko Sheikah ways), one small detail is the presence of threes. I headcanon that the Ancient Sheikah often utilized the number three in their various rituals and customs, to reference the Triforce, the three Golden Goddesses, the three major Springs across the land where Hylia is worshipped and their three attendant dragon spirits, etc. Some Yiga traditions also involve threes, despite that they've renounced their service to Hylia and to any deity in general. After all, even apart from that, three is an auspicious and satisfying number.

Master Kohga loves officiating weddings, it's one of his favorite parts of being Master Kohga. <3 It just delights him to his core, to see two of his fellow Clan members in love and getting together, and he really helps everyone make it a special day. (Weddings are an occasion when he's most likely to join the band for the party, twanging away on his shamisen...or two. He can make a double of himself. And use it to play duets! How fitting!) He's done the ceremony so many times over the course of his (so far) twenty-five years as Master, that he knows all the words by heart.

Which are more, for the officiant to say, than I've written out here. There's more that accompanies each exchange, for example. But this post was already six million miles long. So I'm going to end it now.

Thank you for taking the time to read! Hope you enjoyed!

[otterglimmie]

Cuphead, Mugman And Ms Chalice Headcanon (+ Interpretation)

// This will be a mix of canon information i have with my headcanons and interpretation, it will be about the three main characters of Cuphead, as you can see. This post is going to be longer than the other 3 last headcanons because I'm going to be more specific, sorry.

Cuphead

• Adventurous: He likes to go out and explore the world outside, It may involve some objective like riches or whatever, but still, he enjoys trying new experiences and exploring new places.

• Confidence: He is sure of themelve and his abilities, not in an arrogant way. He belief in their own decisions and actions

• Careless and Cheeky: He doesn't think much about the consequences of his actions, Sometimes, being quite annoying to deal with.

• Charming yet Troublemaker: He is very brawler, proactive and inpulsive, he tend to causes problems alot, but he can be assertive and charismatic. He can make friends easily due to his friendliness, jokes and social skills.

• Loyal and Kind hearted: He is loyal to his family and friends, He wouldn't think twice before helping someone (his impulsive side can be good sometimes) he is friendly and kind with anyone who is nice.

• Hot Head: he's the type to Get into fights without thinking twice, If someone messes with him or his friends, he will fight and won't stop (unless somebody make him stop), It doesn't matter who it is.

• Naive but Clever: Being a child, he is innocent and tends to quickly believe in someone. But yet, he's clever, he tends to solve problems in a creative ways of own gain.

• Extras: He likes to make jokes. Likes tuna sandwiches, honey and marmalade. His nose glows in the dark if you touch it, like Rudolph (This last one is a joke... almost)

Mugman

• Meek: He is calmer and peaceful compared to his hot head brother, He doesn't like to get involved in hand to hand fights (only if is necessary... or force to)

• Cautious: He is also more careful about not getting into trouble, contrary to his brother, He prefers to stay out of.

• Fun loving: But appearances can be deceiving, Despite being a great opposite to his brother, he loves an adventure, for the same reasons as his brother: Explore and discover new things and places.

• Observer: He is great at noticing little things, gestures and details that no one else can. (He would make a great detective)

• Dorky: There are times when he prefers to take a break from adventures and playtime to read a book or finish some schoolwork. He may be seen as a nerd for this but he doesn't care.

• Playful: He doesn't like to be bored and prefers to have fun in some creative way, he is always willing to participate in a variety of arts/sports/activities whenever he can.

• Reasonable: He has common sense and is the most sensible brother, Always trying to resolve things calmly and without discussions

• Extra: He likes mint ice cream. Likes to practice planting and botanic. His nose makes a noise, like a clown's nose.

Ms Chalice

• Friendly: She likes to be surrounded by her friends and also likes to make new ones, she much prefers to be accompanied by them than alone in an empty place.

• Curios: Having been a ghost and been trapped in the maloseum for decades, She would be dying (sorry for the pun) to know what's out there in the world. After returning to life, she didn't miss the opportunity to explore and venture outside, but she always get into trouble thanks to his curiosity.

• Extroverted: She is great at socializing and tends to make friends very easily, meeting new people is always welcoming for her.

• Plucky and confidence: she is a brave gal, who faced worse things before, she's not afraid to take risks and stand of others. She's self-assured, she's belief in their abilities and has a sense of trust in their own decisions and actions

• Headstrong but Stubborn: (On occasions) Likes to do things her way and the way she understands, She believes in what she believes and rarely changes her mind when contradicted

• Troublemaker: Just like Cuphead, she doesn't sit still and gets into trouble thanks to her challenging attitude and stubbornness, She's very vocal about what she thinks.

• Clever: She always tends to think or find solutions quickly, She is agile and ingenious to come up with an idea to solve a problem.

• Extras: She likes flowers like Daffodil and Marigold. She likes music and dancing. She has Kenophobia

[levionok]

I would love to see more of your timeskip spider team art!

I don't have anything specific in mind atm so maybe if you wanna share some headcanons if you have any? ^^

glad you asked!

would start from Pav and Hobie since i mostly think about them!

(you can also check my master-post for this AU)

so Pavs concept itself i have already started to uncover here

some bullet points:

accepted he looks naturally buffed and due spider-duty became bit more square-shaped.

cheerfull, open-minded and after 5+ years of being a Spiderman is a bit more tired

LONGER HAIR!!!!!

if Spider society exists by the time being, would be quite valuable unit due to unique combat techniques and fresh view

AGAINST MURDER (comic spoilers!!!: would remind Hobie about it every time they have a mission together while Hobie would REMIND HIM back how he killed Osborn “with those hands”)

have a weak concept of authorities but keeps things civil

Hobie Brown!

based on Evan’s Monteiro concept art (below) and take on how close punk and queer culture are i wanted to explore more of gender-queer Hobsie.

look inspired by DUCKWRTH - I’M DEAD music video

Hobie doesn’t believe is consistency and i don’t believe he is anything but a constant change.

hairstyle? it can be anything at any given time

gender? please

punk? spider-punk!

so what about him?

“it’s he/him. no. it’s he/them now. no, i don’t like it anymore. Hobie will do. for now.”

prefers his own dimension. doesn’t mind visitors.

started crocheting as a hobie and has made a full zoo for Mayday

can kill with a crochet hook tho

good with kids and has been babysitting Mayday on rare occasions teaching her guitar when she grew up a little

worked as delivery boy(canon event) for a small business but it haven’t worked out

and that’s it for now! hope you had a bit of fun reading and i would be happy to read your thoughts on time-skip spider-people :)

cheers!

[capn-atlas]

New intro (because I can't settle on one apparently) please read this before you follow

BEFORE THE INTRO: please do not ask me for donations. I am a minor and cannot donate, and I will not put your posts on my blog.

HELLOHELLOHELLOOOOO

Tis I, the great & wonderful cap'n Atlas! y'all can call us collectively Captain, Cap'n, Captain Atlas, Atlas, Cheshire, or Anna. We use any & all pronouns thou can think of, but not she/her too much, as we are a PIRATICAL SEA CAPTAIN WHO DOES IS NOT FEMME. (not like piratical sea captains cant be femme I'm just- oh my god where am I going with this what the hek)

ANYWAY

We are an endogenic system (I call us The Crew or Atlas System), I am the host, Anna, but I usually use we/us pronouns even when i'm the only one fronting. we have four or five existing alters, and when they get around to actually writing their intros like they're supposed to then i'll link them here, but their names are Anna (me, the host) Lennon, Maddelleine, Eva, Riko, Enzo and Starwork

Enzo’s intro (by Enzo) Enzo's intro 2 (by Anna)

Riko's intro (by Riko)

Eva's intro (by eva) Eva's intro 2 (by Anna)

Lennon's blog/intro (his own blog that has his intro as the pinned post) (by Lennon)

Maddeleine's intro (by Anna)

here is my pronouns.cc for more info on the mateys

I am aro/ace, and our system will, though some members are not aro/ace, will most likely never be in a romantic or sexual relationship with anyone outside of the system. I'm agender and genderfluid. our genderfluidity is somewhat due to our plurality.

we are canadian. if thou dares to insult our maple syrup, we shalt ride at dawn, armed with nothing but moose, some "eh?"s, timbits, and dreams.

we are a therian, fictionkin (maybe), objectkin, and otherkin

theriotypes:

wolf

cat

rat

moth

fox

meerkat

prairie dog

border collie

t-rex

fictionkin:

the Cheshire cat (Alice in wonderland) (questioning)

mabel (gravity falls)

objectkin:

doll

puppet

otherkin

alien

some sorta deer cryptid

ghost/angel pirate?? idk but I am definitely ghost/angel kin and I think my kintype was a pirate in their lifetime or smth idk

our current obsessions are:

only murders in the building

wednesday (the show) (and more specifically, wenclair)

wicked (the musical and book) (and more specifically, gelphie)

byf: I’m a minor!!!!! So don’t be weird. I’m serious. (I’m also aroace so double don’t be weird). No funny business. I swear very very occasionally but even so, if that makes you uncomfortable maybe don't follow. as I said it is on an extremely rare occasion I swear but you've been warned I suppose

dni: anti-therians/furries, TERFS, queerphobes (e.g. homophobes, transphobes, biphobes), p3dos, z0os, radqueers, any explicitly NSFW blogs, anti-endos, and just general assholes

our asks are open for therian line art requests!! (okay so I don't actually know what it's called but like the photo of a theriotype with white lining over it). to request, please state the 'type, what symbol (if any) you'd like me to put on the forehead, and if possible include a photo of the 'type so I don't get mixed up.

slowly turning into a hoard of userboxes: (all by @kthecritter they're awesome go check them out)

[lunalikestowriteanddraw]

Okay, I normally don’t post my art if I use a base as a starting point (which, I’ll be frank, I tend to do. Mostly just because I view them as dolls and they help me get character/outfit designs down), but yall. I had a fucking VISION. I started this yesterday at like 1 in the morning, didn’t stop until I finished the outline (at 3 in the morning), and I just finished it today (also at 1 in the morning…huh). And I am so fucking proud of everything in this and I just need to share oh my GOD

It’s he!!!! It’s human Kremy Lecroux!!!! And I know I don’t have his top hat, and that’s for a few reasons

1) the hair was already a learning experience on its own and I didn’t want to overcomplicate things and get myself frustrated because of it

2) the hairstyle I went with wouldn’t really allow for his hat

3) I can’t draw hats. Like at all. They always look like shit.

But anyway! I am so proud of the hair yall. I didn’t actually want this hairstyle, i actually wanted them to be down, but the hair just want hairing. The Timelapse doesn’t show the amount of times I hit the back arrow (which was a lot. Especially in the sketching phase. Especially for the hair), but it was A LOT. So I just kinda went with this. I think it fits Kremy though, probably moreso now than it would’ve before

Also, I used this watercolor brush when sketching out the hair, and then when it came to outlining, I traced over the individual brush strokes. I think it worked out beautifully. I then used that same brush later for the individual texturing when i started on the detail work.

Also, that tattoo on his neck was actually inspired by Kremy’s cane and Dr Facilier as a whole (I actually wanted to use the background of Dr Facilier’s shop during “Friends on the Other Side” as the background for this, but they all had Dr Facilier in the picture and I didn’t feel like copying all those details). That’s also the reason why I gave Kremy a shadow, instead of the thick white outline I have a tendency to do on my other works.

Also, notice the ring? I’m just gonna say that’s his wedding ring. Bc why not. It’s cute, it’s him, and the ruby in the middle is vaguely inspired by this fanart I saw on here that essentially had Kremy using his wedding ring as a makeshift lighter on the rare occasion his personal space heater of a husband isn’t there to light his cigarette for him. Just…ignore that it’s NOT on his left ring finger

(Btw, it’s also loosely based on my own personal headcanon—where essentially Kremy, Gideon, and the pixies all got these magical fae wedding rings that magically appeared on their fingers bc it was technically a fae pact so…)

And please ignore the hella inconsistent shading. I had intended on doing highlights as well, but I forgot. I also forgot his mustache. Ah well. I think you can still get the Kremy vibe without it lol.

Idk man I am just so fucking happy with this. I very rarely get so into a drawing that I just…draw. Like this. Most of my artworks lately are just simple shapes and flat colors.

[honeygrahambitch]

You've made quite a few posts about Hannigram having a kid, usually a daughter. So any hannigram raising their son headcanons?

Okay, fair, here's some:

Will would be ecstatic to teach him about boat engines and fishing. Kid's first word is a piece from the engine probably.

he would feel so nervous about introducing his first girlfriend to his dads.

If he was bi/gay, he would still be extremely nervous lmao

Cause what if he got those simpy, non-manipulative traits from his parents? He is intelligent, he is probably a prodigy but he doesn't have murderous hobbies. He is not against what his dads do tho but he is a sweet boy that Hannibal raised as a gentleman

Will and Hannibal would probably get a lot of "you are raising him to be gay" assumptions from people which make it hard for him to figure it out for himself

Cause baby boy is smart like both of his dads but clueless about his own feelings just like Will

And he does collect dogs

He is not the best in the kitchen but he is trying and loves helping his dad around

He plays the piano and draws and he is a nerd about art museums just like Hannibal. This kid has been in art museums before he could even walk.

He does get into trouble now and then. He once "borrows" Will's car and lightly scratches it against a wall so when he has to confess he goes "I need to tell you something but please don't be mad." And Will and Hannibal stop whatever they are doing cause this is a rare occasion. And he goes "I got my girlfriend pregnant" to which Will and Hannibal go through 14 different types of emotions.

And then he is like "Nah, I didn't do that but I might have scratched the back of your car."

To which they are relieved so yeah, he is smart like that.

He would speak many languages and Lithuanian too.

I picture him as Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds

[loboto-bear]

As promised, following from this post and this art, I present to you a little exploration of Franco/fem!Easterman, because something something Mommy Doctor - enjoy!

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Easterman’s office was a sacred place. A myth, almost. A place few had entered, and fewer had returned from. The Doctor rarely graced her subjects with her presence, save for her shadowy visage on a screen or calm, demanding voice over a speaker. As a result, actually getting to see her- to be in her presence- was a monumental event, for both patient and doctor.

The low-lit quarters had been thoroughly cleaned, top to bottom, in preparation for the Doctor’s upcoming visitor. After all, it was only polite to tidy things up before indulging a guest, especially someone so… important. Easterman loved all her patients like they were her children, but even the best, most loving caregiver has favorites. The Prime Assets were the Doctor’s pride and joy, her greatest achievements aside from the Sinyala facility itself. Three hand-selected experts in pain and torment, each with their own methods to employ and baggage to exploit; their brains, perfectly malleable. Yes, Easterman loved all of them, but even they weren’t immune to her preferences. Gooseberry and Coyle were undeniably brilliant displays of the Doctor’s prowess, and they had both had time as her golden children, but they were too far gone; too lost in the world their ward had given them. It made them thrilling to watch, but agonizing to interact with.

Then there was the baby.

Despite being the newest Prime Asset, Franco had already caught Easterman’s attention for his performance. At first, the Doctor assumed his skill, his brutality, would level out the same way the others’ did, but much to her surprise he only got better. While he wasn’t the most graceful executioner, every kill Bambino performed was more gruesome, more purposeful than the last. Initially, it was theorized that this was because of his weapon, his Lupara as he called it. The raw, psychic energy of Franco’s ‘pacifier’ was undeniable; the Doctor had spent many a night studying it intimately. However, it quickly became clear that Franco’s motivation was a little more straightforward. While the others were children in the figurative sense, Franco was literally a child, craving love and validation that Easterman was more than happy to provide- if he behaved well, of course.

It was a rare occasion, but the Doctor wanted to speak with her new favorite. She had spoken to him before, albeit indirectly through one-way glass or over the tannoy. Seeing him face-to-face would be a new experience.

She sat at her desk, legs crossed and hands folded in front of her, listening intently to the sound of chaos emanating from the hallway.

“Get the fuck offa me!” She heard her subject bark. “The fuck you tryn’a do, huh?! I swear, if I had my Lupara, your ugly mug would be paintin’ that fuckin’ wall, pal- AGH!” The sound of him getting hit by one of the guards brought the Doctor no joy, but it didn’t dissatisfy her either. As the door opened, Easterman felt herself grow excited.

“Here he is, Doctor,” the security officer grumbled. “Whiny bastard was giving us a lot of trouble.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Franco retorted. “Wouldn’ta been so difficult if you just told me what was goin’ on.”

A guard was about to hit him again, but Easterman raised a hand, prompting him to stop. “You may go,” she said.

The men exchanged glances. “Ma’am, do you really want to be alone with him? He’s-“

“I’m not repeating myself,” the Doctor affirmed. “Leave. Now.”

Begrudgingly, the security guards left the room, looking back over their shoulders a final time before closing the door behind them with a loud clunk. The office fell silent, the air growing thick with tension as Easterman and her patient stared at each other. The longer they remained quiet, the more Franco’s stature began to shrink; twiddling his thumbs and tapping his foot, unable to keep eye contact.

“Hello, Franco,” the Doctor began. “It’s nice to finally see you in-person. Well, in-person with no bulletproof glass in the way, at least.”

The young man stayed quiet, his bulging eyes twitching in their sockets, flitting from each corner of the room, analyzing every object. His new demeanor was a far cry from the volatile gangster he embodied during the journey to the office. The leather of his gloves creaked as he wrung his hands behind his back. His heavy, labored breathing was audible, creating a soundscape of anxiety. Easterman had read his file and observed his behavior enough times to understand why he was suddenly so diminutive, but she could play along. It would benefit her more that way.

“What’s all this about…?” He finally stammered. “Am I in trouble or somethin’?”

How cute.

“No, no, not at all,” Easterman continued. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve brought you here because of your exceptional performance.”

Franco’s ears pricked up. In an instant, his half-worried expression melted away into something more arrogant. A wry smirk split his unpleasant face. “Oh really?”

“Yes, so there’s no need to worry, I can assure you,” the Doctor affirmed. “Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured to the chair in front of her desk, and the small table next to it with a glass perched on top. “I’ve even taken the liberty of preparing some Wolf’s Milk for you. A little treat from me to you.”

While there was still reluctance in his movement, Franco eagerly strutted over to sit himself down, taking the glass of foul liquor into his hand. He seemed far more relaxed, satisfied even. He was always the easiest to win over.

“As I said, Franco, your performance in my trials recently has been beyond my wildest expectations,” Easterman continued, pride oozing from every word. “You really are talented.”

The young man slicked his hair back, swirling his drink. “Naturally,” he snickered. “I’m a businessman at the end of the day, Doctor. Gettin’ my clients what they want and takin’ out rats who get in the way is what I do best.”

Easterman watched as he took a long, uncomfortable swig. “You view me as just another customer then?”

“Oh, no, never,” Franco insisted, picking up the dissatisfaction in her voice. “You’re much more important than that. I promise.”

“Is that so?”

“A’course.” Franco chuckled anxiously. “I, uh, value your feedback.”

There it was. Exactly as expected. The Doctor smiled, leaning forward slightly. “Positive reinforcement is a valuable tool. Even the most hard-hearted individual can be swayed with praise and appreciation.”

She paused for a moment, observing her Asset’s body language. It was fascinating how steadfast his bravado was when he put it into action. The second the guards left he was like some trembling schoolboy being sent to the principal, but now he was his usual cocky self, downing his cocktail as if nothing had happened. Easterman had seen that switch flip so many times, but seeing it physically in front of her was a new experience. It was time to tear it down.

“I give you such positive evaluations, Franco, because-“ The Doctor tutted dreamily. “- well, because you’re my favorite.”

The young man froze, mid-sip, almost choking on his beverage. “What was that?” He spluttered, clearing his throat.

“I know, I know,” Easterman continued, raising her hands in acknowledgement. “It’s terrible to have favorites, but I simply cannot help myself. You’re a skilled killer, Franco, and you’ve adapted to my tests so beautifully.” She turned her head slightly, feigning bashfulness. “And knowing that you’re doing it all for my praise- why, it makes my heart swell.”

Shaking, Franco placed his glass on the table, swallowing heavily. “T-thank you.” His face twitched between emotions, unsure whether to settle on concern or a rare burst of appreciative humility. Either way, the mask was slipping. The Doctor gave her patient time to process her words, hanging on every slight movement he made, every expression. The only thing better than building someone up was breaking them down, only to build them back up again as something new. Better. It was practically Easterman’s speciality.

“It means a lot to hear all that. That I’m… good,” Franco uttered. “You- You know I’d do anythin’ for you, m-.” He stopped himself. “… Doctor.”

Instinctively, Easterman squeezed her thighs. That’s what she liked to hear. Franco truly was an ideal torture toy. Just enough pride to make exposing and exploiting his abysmal self esteem exceedingly satisfying. An ample vessel for love and affection, humiliation and contempt. The equally frightened and thrilled look on his ruptured little visage told her that much.

“As you can imagine, I have more patients than I can count here at Sinyala,” Easterman purred. “All of them try to gain my attention and approval, and most of them fail miserably.” She stood, tracing her fingers along the edge of her desk as she moved in front of it. “But not you. You’re special, Franco. Near perfect. That’s why I wanted you here.” The Doctor paused for a moment, basking in her Asset’s crooked, ecstatic smile and pleading, worshiping gaze. Literal child’s play. “With the others, I can say ‘jump’ and they’ll jump, but with you, I can say ‘jump’ and you’ll ask-“

“How high?!”

Franco practically leapt out of his seat to interject, only held back by his gloved fingers digging into the arms of the chair. His already loud, almost pained breathing had grown frantic. It took him a moment to realize what he had done before he settled back down.

“‘H-how high’,” he murmured. “I-I would ask ‘how high’… right?”

He scrunched up his face, almost as if he was expecting his superior to strike or shout, but she didn’t. Easterman just continued to stand there, looming over him; a smug, pleasured look on her shadowy face.

“That’s right,” the Doctor cooed. “You’re my little ‘How High’.” Gently, she reached out a hand, keeping it just inches away from Franco’s flushed face. As she expected, he took the first opportunity to lean into it, nuzzling and whimpering against her palm. She smiled wider. “Yes… Mommy’s little How High.”

Easterman stayed there for a while longer, watching her Asset squirm beneath her, all just from offering her hand. His desperate, childish murmurs were beyond pathetic, but they were valuable. A demonstration of Franco’s dependence and loyalty.

“You’re going to keep trying harder for me, aren’t you? For your mother. For your… mommy.” She moved closer, encouraging him to push his cheek against her stomach as she moved her hand to the back of his neck. “You’re going to keep doing better and better just for me, and maybe you’ll even help my patients ascend to your level-“

“Fuck that.”

Easterman scowled. “Excuse me?”

With an infantile huff, Franco wrapped his arms around the Doctor’s waist, forcing himself further against her. His grip was strong, but not crushing, suggesting some awareness of what he was doing- or rather, who he was engaging with.

“I ain’t trainin’ up your lab rats,” he snarled. “If I’m your favorite, I’m your favorite, mommy. I’ll take out as many of those stupid roaches to prove that.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but chuckle. Little did he know how much killing reagents was part of the process, but she was happy to let him live in ignorance- especially if it produced such promising results.

“I know you and your other doctors are watchin’ me when I’m out there,” Franco continued. “Just know that all my kills are for you, mommy. I’ll make sure you’ll see my effort. Th-that I’m good.” He nestled his face against her abdomen, right where her womb would be. “A-and if I’m not good, you can discipline baby as much as you want,” he whimpered. “I gotta keep bein’ mommy’s favorite.”

Easterman sighed, starting to rub at her Asset’s shoulder. It was hard to believe that Franco was like this even upon arrival. Usually, it took months of training and experimentation to get a reagent even close to this, but no. Franco was practically born for this. Reborn, even. It made the Doctor beyond proud.

“That’s right,” Easterman purred, “I have special plans for you, Franco. Very special plans. You’ll always have an opportunity to earn your mother’s love.”

[1863-project]

Were the Battle Subway trains based on any specific real-life train? Or is it just different design elements from different trains?

Hi, anon! If you've seen the posts I've written that are linked on the Submas masterpost, I've touched on this a little bit here and here.

I don't know if they were meant to be a specific model, and they're certainly not designed to look exactly like the NYC MTA's trains. Here's my screenshot from Bulbapedia with the exterior visuals:

For reference, our cars don't really have those little skylight things on top, and generally look like this:

These are R-42s on their retirement run in 2020. They're pretty exemplary of what most NYC Subway cars look like, with smooth roofs and flat faces and generally no coloring on the sides (except for when people draw graffiti, but things haven't really been as colorful as they were in the 1980s in that regard for a long time).

In NYC, we denote our lines with colors and letters/numbers, but those generally sit in the windows of the train on signs and aren't painted on the car bodies.

I've pointed this out before, but the vintage car actually looks pretty close to a lot of the older equipment that used to run out here. You can look through some photos at the New York Transit Museum's online catalogue and see what I mean.

Here's a photo I took of one of their Arnines back in December:

These bad boys date to the 1930s. I've been on them a couple of times when they're in operation and they're a delight to behold. But the car on the turntable there looks even older...perhaps a wooden one, from when the trains in NYC were elevated, or a Composite, the cars that were part-wood and part-steel and had a copper sheathing to protect them from fire, with which the NYC Subway opened in 1904. Note in this drawing that the Composite DOES have the little skylights.

In general, I believe the Battle Subway cars are based more on Japanese railcars than NYC Subway ones, and I'm not as familiar with their rolling stock, but on the rare occasions I do post my art you'll probably notice that I use the NYC Subway as a reference because I am committed to realism and am abnormally attached to my own local public transit.

[bigmfrat]

I don't think I ever posted Xarxes here, but here he is in his unfinished art, yippie! The TLDR for why he's so fuckin big is that he's a genetically engineered super soldier pumped full of chemicals to make him a massive killing machine and then sent off to do his colony's dirty work. After they were done with him they yeeted him into the wild and he became a mercenary willing to do whatever any random elderbrain wanted so long as they fed him. Hes a sort of "homebrewed" illithid Sub-Caste, here's a copy and paste from my little lore zone in my discord for the nosey:

More on Apex Illithid

When an elderbrain needs something done that requires an Illithid mind but a thrall's brawn they will select a newborn that fits a list of criteria and send them to the creatives. Here they will undergo physical alterations that will make them larger, faster, and stronger, and if necessary, psionic seals for anything they may be lacking, be it physical attributes or unquestioning loyalty. they will then be sent to the Tamers for their physical and military training. While their psionics tend to be lacking due to taking a back seat in their training, they are still capable of using the most basic of their abilities when needed though they will always prefer their physical might, They are also extremely intelligent and will always get the job done no matter what.

Due to the resources to take care of Apex Illithid, they tend to be even more rare than Ulitharids, While a Mindflayer already has a fast metabolism while living a cushy life getting tended to by thralls, an Apex will often triple or even quadruple the calorie intake of even the most physically inclined Major. The stress on the community to feed these individuals is often more than their society can handle, so after the mission they were born to complete is done, and if they survive, they are often ejected from their colony of origin or culled.

The end result of an Apex is usually a sad one, their life expectancy hardly reaches 25. After ejection they're usually killed when weakened by starvation in an attempt to feed on anything that moves, be it other Mindflayers, adventurers, villages, or beasts if they don't simply starve, as they can only survive about four days without a meal. On RARE occasions, however, an Apex can become a mercenary after expulsion and, if well known enough, will often be hired by colonies to do their dirty work while allowing them to not waste resources on raising their own Apex. The down side to this is that they will often be subjected to psionic surgeries that erase the knowledge of their past jobs that often take fragments of the individual's psyche with them. The older an Apex gets, the less stable they become.

Also sorry Asterion fans but I'm using the height that Larian posted on their twitter for scale. Also the purple shit head is my Tav/Oc, Not the Emperor