#slightly less horrible drawing later

[warmer-gaze]

During the Calamity, Quajath (spawn of the Crawling King) wreaked havoc on the landscape of Eiselcross, before being finally entombed beneath its ice 🪱

Quajath, The Undermaw, for @artists-guild-of-exandria Calamity project! Go check out everyone else's beautiful work!!

[luveline]

hey love!!!! i hope you are doing well 🫶🫶🫶 if you feel so inclined could we get another coworker frenemies james?? i loveeeee him ☹️

thank u for requesting 💌 fem, 1k

James can’t fucking stand you, but in a fun way. You feel worse about him, he’s sure. He’s sitting in his car waiting for you to get out of yours, pretending to look for something rather than have to share the elevator up to the office with you. 

He hasn’t figured out a good comeback yet for what you’d said about his rugby pictures yesterday as you left, and he hates when you win, because you smile all smug and he finds it adorable. You don’t deserve a smile like that, you’re insipid, and annoying, and you take a full day to reply to his emails. 

He digs his hand into the door handle and pushes it out. The winter cold hits him hard and immediate, makes him wish he wore his thick coat with the hood even if Remus says it makes him look like he works in the deep arctic. 

There’s less slow on the ground than there has been for the last few days, snowdrift melting in the day and turning to ice at night when the temperature drops. There’s no sun out yet to warm him. He shoves his hands into his pocket and begins a careful trek from the parking lot to the stairs leading up to the office. 

You’re taking steps slow as his further in. He’d hoped you’d be gone. He’s stupid for not looking, now you both have to do an awkward shuffle where the other can see, what if he trips? You aren’t looking his way, but he’s sure it would draw your attention. If he trips in front of you he might quit, he—

You’re about two steps away from the flat entrance to the office building when you slip. 

In honesty, it's not as bad a fall as it could’ve been, your foot slips on the step and your knee hits the stone, then the other, your hand tight on the handrail but unable to save you. Your gasp is horrible, tight and too quiet, considering the surprise. 

James pauses. 

He could pretend he didn’t see. But if you turn at any point and see him, you’ll know he’s witnessed it, and that’ll be ten times as awkward as if he were to just keep on walking. 

He can’t walk past you. He never could. You don’t get along, but James isn’t the type of guy who can leave someone kneeling on the wet ground. 

Foregoing caution, James hurries across the last stretch of slushied ground to grab you. He feels cruel at first, his hand under your armpits and yanking you up, but the ice is dead slippery and you can’t find purchase, letting out another strange gasp as he rights you.

You turn your face to identify your saviour. 

“Oh,” you say, breathing funny, “of course.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“What?” you ask.  

“Are you okay?” he frowns at your frown, though they’re of two different calibres. You look angry. James is concerned. 

“What do you think, James?” 

You yank out of his arms and turn away from him. 

He shouldn’t have grabbed you without asking. He probably hurt you a little with the force of it, but he’d thought picking you up would be best. Less humiliating, perhaps. 

You sniffle. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. He wishes he could say he spoke gently, but your annoyance churns his own, and he’s starting to sound mad too. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Listen, sit down. You have a long coat, just sit for a second.” 

Your shoulders tighten, but you sweep your coat under your thighs and struggle to sit down on one of the icy steps. He can imagine the cold of it under your bum and your palms as you begin to fold in on yourself, and it’s only then he notices the blood on your knees. “Oh,” he says. (And later, years in the future, he might admit to sounding heartbroken). “Your knees.” 

You pull at your skin. “Awesome. That’s really cool.” 

You sound upset. James finds he can’t ignore that, either. He feels like a dick standing over you and so he crouches, and that feels worse, but he stays like that, facing across from you, hand begging to touch your poor scratched knees. Your eyes widen ever so slightly in response, their waterlines heavy with tears, shimmery and waiting to fall. 

“The last time I fell up here I thought I broke my arm.” 

A tear breaks free from your lashes, streaking heavy and slow down your cheek. “What?” 

“I smashed my arm coming down. It hurt for days, and I had a bruise in a line.” He raises his arm to draw a line across his sleeve. “Right here.” 

“I thought you were better coordinated than that.” 

“That’s not what you said yesterday about my photos,” he reminds you. 

You laugh under your breath. A second tear tips down the other cheek. 

“It’s easily done. The ice is pretty bad.” 

“Don’t patronise me,” you say. Your voice is missing its usual disdain. You just sound sad. 

“I’m not patronising you! You just take everything I say the wrong way.” 

“Then don’t say it the wrong way.” 

“Maybe we should go inside and find the first aid kit. How does it feel?” 

“I slipped,” you say hotly. “I’m fine.” 

Then why are you crying? Floods of tears on your cheeks, your hot breath a cloud that kisses your nose. If it were Remus sitting here in tears, James would already be hugging him. If it were Sirius, he’d have patted him on the back by now. It is so, so odd to see you crying. So weird. It makes his chest twist. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine! Just go upstairs and tell everybody already.” 

“Tell them what?” 

“I don’t know. That I’m a baby.” 

He tilts his head, can’t help it, leaning in mildly too close. “You’re a baby?” he asks, fondness leaking into his tone. “Because you fell? Everybody falls.” 

“‘Cos I’m crying,” you mumble. 

“I’m not going to tell anyone. Then you’ll tell everybody I cried when I nearly broke my arm, it’s a lose-lose situation.” 

He’s stupid for talking to you like this. Like you’re friends, and like you can stand to be near him. You don’t look disgusted as his finger brushes your leg, just below your sore cut, and you’re not mad anymore. The ferocity drains from your face and leaves behind a sniffly, embarrassed frown. 

“Won’t tell anyone,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.” 

James didn’t fall up the stairs the last time it snowed. He didn’t hurt his arm or cry, he’s too remarkably coordinated for that. He lied, and he’ll lie to Remus when he asks why it took you both as long as it did to get upstairs. You slipped and he helped you. There were no heart-hurting tears. It’s a secret he doesn’t mind keeping for you. 

[elegantlyeva]

Can you please do shy!reader with Sirius? but she's a little more comfortable with him? and maybe something with gifts

DAY FIVE

Priceless

Summary: Finding the perfect gift for his perfect person was harder than Sirius thought.

Word Count: 1.1k 

After hours of dragging his feet through shops and flirting his way out of a scolding from two old women—because he shoved their kids trying to get to the front of the line—Sirius has decided he’s done with the holidays.

“What’s wrong with him?” Remus’s voice cut through the haze. He must’ve just gotten out of class.

“He’s being insufferable,” James replied with the kind of dramatic eye roll Sirius didn’t need to see to picture.

He groaned, sinking further into his chair.

“Is it the girl again?” Remus asks, placing his stuff on the table.

“Of course it’s the girl. It’s all he talks about anymore,” James yelps when Sirius brings his hand to smack the back of his head. “Ow.”

“You’re speaking of me like I’m not right here.”

“You’re acting like a sad lump. I told you, girls are easy. Get her flowers and write her name on them.”

“That’s impersonal,” Sirius muttered. “She’s not just any girl. She’s…” He trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words. She was perfect, but that hardly covers it.

“Why don’t you just ask her what she wants?” Remus asks, confused. James answers for Sirius.

“You’ll be alone forever, Moony. What girl wants you to ask? We’re supposed to know what they want.”

“Sounds like rubbish to me.”

“Enough. Both of you. You’re horrible friends and even less help,” Sirius groans.

Remus gives him a kind look and a pat on the shoulder. “S’alright, Padfoot. Have you gotten her anything to work with?”

Sirius sighs, nodding his head. “Practically something from every shop at Hogsmeade.”

“There’s the creepy drawing as well,” James brings up.

“Creepy drawing?”

“I’ll turn your hair green and say you did it to show your admiration toward Severus,” Sirius warns.

James puts his hands up in surrender.

Remus sighs. “Can we please stay on topic? What creepy drawing?”

“I had Roger Hughes help me paint this photograph of her and me together.”

“That’s nice,” Remus says. “What’s the problem?”

“Sirius is a horrible boyfriend,” James quips.

“I’m not her boyfriend,” he replies, rather mournfully. You had told him you wanted to move slowly, and he’s sure it’s because you think he’ll drop you for the next girl.

“I’m worried it’s too much,” he says instead.

“Why don’t you give her a label for the holidays?” James mumbles. Remus hushes him before Sirius can strangle the boy.

James gave a dramatic sigh. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Sirius let the conversation drop, gesturing for them to change the subject.

Two days later, he found you by yourself, your bag slung over your shoulder as you made your way through the corridor. He stepped up behind you, reaching for the handle of your bag to take it off your shoulder.

You flinched, and he cursed inwardly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand back, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you smiled softly, letting him take your bag. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be looking for me.”

“No? Well, clearly they’ve been poisoned. I would’ve come looking for you earlier had I thought you’d be alone.” He takes your hand in his free one.

You laughed quietly. “Most of my friends have left for break already.”

“Shame,” he said, then added, “Good thing I found you before you started pining for their company.” He laced his fingers through yours, watching as a small smile tugged at your lips.

“Actually,” he said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “I got you something.”

Your smile faltered slightly. “Why?”

Sirius blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean why? It’s the holidays, love.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I thought we agreed not to do gifts. You said it was too… relationship-y.”

“That was different!” Sirius protested, squeezing your hand again. “That was for my birthday. You shouldn’t be spending money on me.”

You frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You spent money on me.”

Sirius tsks. “Hush, woman. Let me finish.” Your glare and the urge to kiss you overtakes him, but he keeps his hands to himself.

“Before I give it to you, two things. One, if you poke fun at me, I’ll be heartbroken forever. Two, if you hate it or think it’s creepy—”

“Did you get me a voodoo doll or something?”

“Wh—no.” He frowns. “As I was saying, if you think it’s weird or whatever, I can give you some of the stuff I got you at Hogsmeade. Or if you really want, I can get you basic flowers like James suggested.”

You smile hesitantly, bringing a finger to poke him in the side. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He sighs. “Yeah, you would say that now.” He grabs something out of his bag—a poorly wrapped square... something.

He makes a move to hand it to you but takes it back. “Open it when I’m gone.”

“Sirius.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, finally giving you the package.

You pulled him over to a window ledge, sitting down as you carefully unwrapped it. Your expression softened immediately, face contorting to one of surprise, then fondness. “Oh.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, nerves creeping back in. “Oh?”

“Oh,” you repeat.

He sighs. “Darling, I’m gonna need more than that. Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?”

“Very pleased ‘oh,’” you say, smiling, cheeks feeling warm.

Relief washed over him. “Yeah?”

It’s a picture—well, a painting—of the two of you. A very pretty one at that. The two of you are outside on the lawn, and Sirius had said something that evidently made you laugh. The way his eyes are painted almost convinces you that he likes you. Like really, really likes you.

“I didn’t know you could draw, much less paint,” you add, a light tease in your words, but your eyes look so kind that he hardly cares.

“I can’t. Well, I couldn’t. I had to pay this Ravenclaw—Hughes—more than I’m willing to admit to teach me how.” 

Then, uncharacteristically nervous, “So, you like it?” You were staring rather hard.

You lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, surprising him for the first time that day.

“I love it. It’s pretty.” wrinkling your nose sweetly, “you put thought into it.”

“Don’t get sappy now.” Then, softer, “I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

He hears your breath hitch, and he’s ready to mask his hurt feelings when you respond, “I’d like to be your girlfriend.”

Sirius grinned, his confidence returning. “Yeah? Means you can’t get all cozy with other boys.”

“What other boys?” you ask, confused and a little dazed, still looking at the painting with adoration.

“Tricked you. If you agreed, I would know you’re seeing heaps of people.”

You laugh, and he can’t help himself any longer, pressing his lips to yours.

You tense at first but soon melt into him, eyes closed and lips soft.

When you pull away, matching smiles are on your faces.

[fflewddur-feanorion]

“A king is he who holds his own, or else his title is in vain."

Fingon has been staring at his boots for some time. They are coated in ash stains that refuse to fade. (Over the past few weeks, Fingon has learned that Angband lingers. Its smog made him cough for weeks. Its rocky cliffs left cuts on his skin that took far too long to heal. But Fingon was only there for a few hours. He has no right to complain.)

When Maedhros speaks, Fingon whips his head up to stare. His cousin is looking placidly down at Nolofinwë. He holds out the crown. Nolofinwë looks into his eyes, nods briefly, and accepts it. The whole ordeal is over in less than five minutes.

(There will be an official coronation later, of course. Maedhros will probably make him attend.)

Now that his task is completed, Maedhros turns to leave. Fingon dashes after him, outpacing him easily. He pivots, forcing Maedhros to stop. "How dare you say that?"

Maedhros smiles his horrible fake smile. It seems to fool almost all of their people-- all but Maglor, who is too polite or too cowardly to say anything, and Fingon, who would rather be screamed at. "I thought you supported my decision," he says. "'Reuniting the two great houses' and all that."

"Not that." Fingon fights the urge to pout. This at least is not new: Maedhros has always been clearly and unshakably reasonable, to the point where he makes everyone else in the room look like a petulant child. Fingon used to admire that about him. "You… you are not a failure, Maedhros!"

"You of all people should recognize that as a lie," says Maedhros. "Still, I appreciate the sentiment."

"Do not play games with me," Fingon snaps. "You said– a king is he who holds his own. But you were facing Morgoth. No one could have-- "

"Oh, Fingon." There. That is a far better sort of smile: sharp enough to cut. Fingon rejoices internally.  "Do you honestly think I was talking about myself?"

Fingon looks up at his cousin. Maedhros' spine is perfectly straight (and that has to hurt.) His clothes are Fëanorian red. His eyes flicker with strange light. Maitimo was intimidating sometimes, in the way that people you admire are intimidating. But Maedhros? Maedhros could be terrifying.

You look like you could burn down the world, Fingon thinks. Then: and I would probably let you.

"Are you threatening my father?" he says instead.

"I merely wish to warn him," says Maedhros. "My brothers are loyal to me. They are less inclined to follow him. He should be careful. Anyway, I have just handed him a crown, which is a threat in itself."

Fingon shakes his head. "You are unbelievable."

"I certainly hope he believes me."

"Are you threatening me, then?" Fingon asks. It seems a reasonable question. “Trying to scare me away? If so, you are failing spectacularly.”

"I do not know." Maedhros meets his eyes for the first time. (Neither of them have Treelight in their eyes anymore. It faded after Alqualondë.) "But you… you terrify me beyond all reason, Fingon. Do with this information what you will."

He walks quickly past Fingon, cloak swishing. Fingon stares after him, mouth hanging slightly open. 

Why would Maedhros fear him?

Why would he–

In that moment, Fingon feels a type of bone-deep certainty that seems to only arise when Maedhros is around. He felt it at Alqualondë. On the shores of Mithrim. In Angband, staring up at that accursed mountain. It says: I don't like this. I don't think this is a good idea. But it is the only thing that can be done.

He moves to grab Maedhros' arm, recognizes that as a terrible idea, and settles for placing his hand on Maedhros' waist. It has the desired effect: Maedhros whips around, staring at Fingon with huge, haunted eyes.

There he is.

Fingon's whole body thrums like a harp string pulled too tight. He draws Maedhros a bit closer. Maedhros goes willingly. His eyes are wide and wet. He looks suitably terrified.

"Are you afraid that I will leave you?" Fingon whispers. “No, that is not right. I think you are afraid because you know that I will not. I would follow you to the end of the world.”

"Findekáno."

Fingon laughs, high-pitched and utterly unhinged. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he pulls Maedhros into a kiss.

It is a very combative sort of kiss. When he steps away at last, he can still feel Maedhros’ lips on his.

“I think the House of Nolofinwë will hold our own just fine,” he says, trying to sound businesslike. “I will see you at the coronation, Nelyafinwë.”

[quietthoughtsandmusings]

Desperate Desires

I'm having too much fun with this so here is part 2 of Depth of Devotion from the readers POV.

Minors DO NOT INTERACT.

Mentions of female anatomy.

Art is from @k_yodaka_02 on Twitter

You were brooding on the couch. Your already horrible day was made only the better when your grocery bag ripped sending all your purchased wares scattering across the floor. You wanted to tear your hair out and break down right at that moment, you were overwhelmed and certainly overstimulated. You begin to pick up the fresh produce from the floor cursing each one when your behemoth of a neighbor, arms full of peppers and your restock of lotion approaches you. You look up at him and there is Adonis himself. The first thing you always notice is his eyes. Beautiful crystalline blue, the color of glaciers. Deep set and piercing, bordered with long blonde lashes. Aquamarine set in gold. Who gave him those eyes? He was absurdly handsome with his chiseled jawline, full lips, long romanesque nose that is slightly crooked to the left like it was broken at some point, short choppy auburn hair. Did he cut it himself? You wonder until suddenly you become aware that you were probably staring silently for a little too long and he's speaking to you. German, It's not pronounced but subtle. “Here,” he says holding out his arms towards you, “happens to me all the time.” He offers a sympathetic crooked smile. You huff and grab your things from his arms shoving them in what was left of the broken bag. Cheeks flushed from embarrassment and frustration. “Thanks' ' you reply curtly as you turn away to go to your apartment. Quickly sliding your key in and opening the door. You shove it shut with your shoulder making it slam more aggressively than you intended. What. A. Fucking. Day.

Later after having showered and changed into your comfort clothes you begin to burn with guilt. It wasn't König's fault your day was shit and you certainly didn't mean to take it out on him the way you did. The feeling was made to feel more intense by the fact you had a burning crush on him. Groaning, you rub your face with your hands when you hear him. You know it's him because only he has those heavy footsteps. Your head snaps in the direction of your front door as you listen, his footsteps are hurried. Like he doesn't want to run into you? Of course. You were an asshole to him for no reason! Then you hear the crisp shut of his door. Sighing you know you have to apologize especially were never one to shy away from your wrongdoings. Making your way to your door you open it as quietly as you can so not to draw anymore attention to yourself less the universe throws something else your way. You made your way to his door, each of your footsteps timid as your face began to burn hotter and hotter. Each encounter you've ever had with König always left you feeling frazzled in a way you weren't accustomed to. Taking a deep breath you raise your hand to knock on his door when you hear it, a moan? Curious and slightly concerned you lean your ear to the door to hear better and that's when you unmistakably hear König's voice albeit a bit more gruff “Show me how you play with it, show me” followed by a series of pants like he was in the throws of ecstasy. “That's a good girl, that's a good fucking girl” followed by a shaky moan. You pull yourself away from the door, mouth agape and breath shaky. You slowly back away before turning around and silently sprinting back to the safety of your apartment. Closing the door as quietly as possible. The walls were thin here but you never realized they were that thin. Your heart is pounding not just from the short sprint. Standing there you feel the desire burning in the pit of your belly. The desperate need for release forms quickly as your pussy begins to leak, your arousal soaking through your panties as you reflect on everything you just heard. Stripping out of your lounge shorts and panties you lay yourself down on the couch, spreading your legs.

You can feel your pussy lips parting exposing your cunt and slick to the air which makes you shiver slightly. Not just from the slight chill but the friction that causes your clit to throb. Closing your eyes you stroke your thigh softly before sliding up the side of your belly and down your public bone, slightly glazing your engorged, sensitive clit, to your wet hole. Your breath hitches as you push a finger into your warm, wet cunt. You wonder what his fingers would feel like. They were so large and his fingers thick. You imagine one of them would fill you to bursting. Slowly drawing your finger out causes you to jolt and moan lewdly. Hearing the squelching as your pussy tries to suck you back in. Taking the slick you gathered you begin to slowly rub your clit. “Show me how you play with it, show me” in that desperate lust filled tone rings through your head and you imagine König is there watching you rub yourself, chasing that blissful high. “That's a good girl, that's a good fucking girl” König's praise making you rub harder, faster. Feeling your hips buck in response, legs opening wider. You try and imagine König between your knees, his hands traveling down your outer thighs to grip your hips tightly. You work your bud in circles, the coil begins to tighten, breath shaky, muscles tensing. “Ko…. Oh God Ko. Please…” you whimper. Then there it is, the cork pops. You jolt and shake as your orgasm washes over you, bathing you in its warmth. “König!” You croak out, eyes flying open. You pant, feeling your hole spasming suddenly the fact he's not stuffed inside you makes you realize it wasn't enough. The desire is unsatisfied. You need König to fuck you senseless. You need to hear him praise you and your pussy. You need König. God, you need him. It started as a crush but now you've heard a snippet of what could be and now you need it all for yourself. All the shame you could have felt for accidentally eavesdropping on something private was gone, you don't care how lewd it makes you seem. You have needs, wants, desires. To be filed with his cum, to be utterly and totally his

[transformers-spike]

Aaa I love your take on SG Optimus. Perhaps I could ask, what would your take be on an equivalent of the Orion pax episodes (first 3 eps of s2)? I Imagine SG megatron taking Optimus’s place in that chunk of episodes. And perhaps the reader (unwittingly) gets some more insight into what happened between the two.

goshhh thank you! I'm so happy you like my SG stuff! I try to stir away from most SG interpretations of the characters (I try to keep their core intact while turning this into a "What if the choices they made turned them into horribly broken people?" situation, with the opposite for the Decepticons)

Anyway, this may get a sequel:

“What are you doing here, little one?” Megatron asks, voice rumbling with gentleness you could have never expected from the vicious leader of the Decepticons. “I…” you begin, frozen in the doorway, permafrost spreading up your legs as you struggle to keep your composure in front of the tyrant.

What comes out is an accusation. “You’re here to kill Optimus,” you say with finality.

The monster’s eyes grow wide; blue pits like glistening ocean water hiding the jaws of a bloodthirsty shark.

“What? How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” he demands, hideously scarred face twisting to reveal rows of razor sharp fangs. “Orion-” he cuts himself off, gritting his teeth. “I would rather lay my life down for Optimus than watch any harm come to him!”

Your eyes fall onto the Autobot insignia on his chest. “So what? You think you can paint their symbol on your chassis and act like you’re part of them after all the crimes you’ve committed?”

“Crimes?” he snarls, footsteps ringing in your ears like an earthquake, heart jumping out of your chest, yet unable to run from your incoming murderer.

You do not struggle or call for help when he grabs you.

Eyes squeezed shut, you hear nothing but your heartbeat as you prepare for the worst.

Yet, your bones and organs remain uncrushed.

“I’ve fought for the freedom of enslaved Cybertronians for eight-fragging-vorns before being captured and tortured by my very own supporters! Only to wake up millennia later to discover those very same traitors had decimated our planet!” He huffs, volcanic air blowing in your face. He pauses as though concentrating to regain his composure. “Now prey tell, human,” he continues, slightly less murderous, “what gives you the right to insult me for simply existing in your perimeters?”

That’s not… that’s not right. He’s lying to you, loud and clear. Pretending to be something he’s not in order to lull you into a false sense of security just as he’s done with everyone else. What Optimus is, Megatron is thousands of times worse; a vile dictator hellbent on bleeding each and every planet dry of its resources in a bid to exterminate all Autobots.

Optimus isn’t stupid, he must know what Megatron is trying to do. Or… or maybe he’s seeing through rose-tinted glasses? Maybe he wants to believe it’s Megatronus. But you know it’s not. It can’t be him. It’s a lie. It has to be.

“Go ahead, crush me!” you shout in a sudden burst of confidence. “Crush me and they’ll know all about your lies, Megatron! Your little charade doesn’t work on me! Especially after you’ve slaughtered us like cattle for your twisted little game!”

You expect aggression, you expect him to swelter with rage. Instead, confusion twists his face.

“I did no such thing. Who… who is this Megatron you speak of? 

Your throat closes up in shock. “Is… is this part of your sick game?”

Frustration draws a snarl, which quickly recedes as he seems to realize you are just as confused as he is.

“What… what do you remember before ending up here?”

He contemplates your question carefully, debating whether or not to answer you. He makes a gambit.

“Standing before the Council of Elders,” he says in a strangely wistful tone. “Then Orion with his blasters drawn. I could hardly recognize him… he’s changed… so much since his cycles as an archivist. He explained what happened… the war… the lives lost… everything.” Whatever relief the confession brings quickly dissipates, replaced with anger and pain. “Explain yourself, human – or whatever creature you may be. Why did you call me Megatron? And why do you speak as though I am your enemy?”

You brace yourself against his hand, throat dry with dread as you struggle to form an answer.

Eventually, something slips out. Something you wish had never left your mouth. “Optimus lied to you.”

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 3

Two weeks pass without much change, a habit forming of meeting back at the doctor's place after working all day, being sketched and measured, eating whatever dinner he’s prepared, and then walking home with him.

I have offered for him to use one of my spare rooms, a place for him to rest for the later nights. He's always refused, telling me it’s a horrible idea to keep a plague doctor overnight. Then he goes on to make his way back home. I’d asked before, it doesn’t bother him. “Solitude suits me, I think. The quiet of the evening is refreshing, compared to the kinds of days we have.” So then he’d go on his way, a farewell said in more and more of a cheerful manner each time, and in the morning the greeting gets warmer by mere degrees. But it’s there, I take note of it with a slight happiness each time. 

It’s no surprise, though, since we’ve danced cautiously around the idea of friendship- sizing each other up, trying to feel out unfamiliar territory. We grow closer and I hesitate less around him, he eases in his strict manner as well, and we end up sharing stories until late into the night. Tonight is no exception, trading tales and laughing as he tries to sketch me, eventually giving up in frustration. “Not working tonight?” I ask, leaning closer to try and peer at his book. He pulls it close to his chest, leaning back away from me. “No! And I don’t want you seeing. Sorry, but- especially when I’m not able to get your likeness down, no.” “Would be easier without the mask. It’s probably hard to see through those eye-holes.” This has been a subject that I’ve been refusing to drop. Apparently, to his dismay. He groans and pulls his book away enough to close it. 

“I already told you, I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s not like we’re complete strangers.” “Because… It's a bad idea. It’s just not- that’s not how this works.” “So I stand around with no shirt on for hours while you poke and prod at me and I don’t even get to see the face of the man who’s doing it? How is that fair?” “How would it be fair if I died? You’re still surrounding yourself with the death every day and that’s a risk-” “A risk you also take, you do the same thing I do.” “Donny-” “I don’t even know your name! Why can’t I know that?” “Perhaps it’s time to walk home.” “No- I just- I’ve been so patient.” “And the reward for patience is getting what you want? There is no such end for you.” “All I’m saying is you struggle to draw because you cannot see me, you struggle with the heat by the fire, you- it just seems like more trouble than it's worth.” “Let me worry about my troubles.” There’s no winning this argument with him, no matter how curious I am. I sigh, putting my hands up in surrender. “Okay, sorry, you’re right. Your struggle, not mine.” He relaxes slightly, I watch the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you. Now, should we walk?” “Well- I guess, if you’re done.” He nods at me, standing. “Did you know you can learn things about someone's condition from listening to their heart?” he asks, casually, as he makes his way over to the door. “It’s fascinating. Apparently different sounds can mean different things.” “Oh? That’s new.” “I get journals sent to me from France.” “So it’s experimental?” “It’s in the observation stage, like most of the science I’m practicing.” “So… I’m assuming you’ll be attempting that.” “Possibly. There are issues with the procedure. I can try to feel your heartbeat, but- currently the way to do such a thing would be… ah-” He clears his throat. “It’s a bit impractical.” “What do you mean?” “I’d have to put my ear up to your chest.” There's a lingering silence punctuated by our footfall. I’m thankful to be walking by dim moonlight, as to hide the way my face is flushing at the thought. “Oh. Well- with the hood and all…” “That, too. I’m still refusing to budge, don’t argue with me about it.” “I didn’t say anything.” More silence follows this. “We’ll have to figure something out. I don’t want that to stand in the way of research.” He glances over at me and then back in the direction we’re walking. “Yes, well… easier said than done.” “I could… close my eyes? Look away?”

“With how you’ve been acting about seeing me? Why would I trust you to keep your word on such a thing?” He’s half teasing, I can tell by the tone of his voice, interwoven with light laughter. “I guess… I’m sorry I’ve become untrustworthy.” He laughs, it’s own kind of warmth that cuts through the chill of the evening. “I don’t blame you for your curiosity, but I’ll be damned if I let it win.”

“We’ll see about that.” I say with a smile thrown in his direction, a chuckle trailing off into the silence of the night. I peer upward at the stars for a moment, taking in the vast blanket of them across the sky, watching the clouds of my breath float up to meet them. “I do wish, though, that you didn’t have to wear that thing. Not just for my curiosity, it’s really nice out right now. Maybe on your walk back- you should see the stars.” He looks at me for a good few paces, then to the sky. “You know what? I think I will.” ~~~

He’s decided not to tempt fate, as he put it. Instead of removing the hood and mask to listen to my heart, he’s starting by attempting to pick up irregular patterns by placing his hand over my heart. Admittedly, when he’d first suggested it I didn’t think much of it. I’d been so used to him positioning me, sliding his hands over my arms as he measured, murmuring numbers to himself. But usually he leaves his gloves on- save for taking my pulse at the wrist and neck.

This shouldn't be much different, in theory. 

But somehow it is.

He has me stand for this new procedure, slipping his gloves off and gingerly placing them aside on his desk. He steps into my space, one hand resting on the bare flesh of my shoulder, the other gently placed over my heart. I try not to think about it, the delicate pressure from the other hand that has no need to rest where it does. There’s no real reason for the extra contact, so much so that it evokes a flood of questions within me. Why? He doesn’t seem to be the kind of person where this kind of movement would be natural to him, it makes it feel purposeful, like he’s got some reasoning that I might not puzzle together. He’d not denied his preferences- that he would rather find himself amongst other men. Perhaps that is what’s making this feel different to me. Perhaps he’s not changed at all, it’s only my perception of him. I’m overly sensitive to his motives now, wondering what each movement might mean, thinking about the fact that he’s leaning ever so slightly into me…feeling strangely elated to notice it. 

Or is there really something there? The way he draws his hand away slowly, almost dragging away so his fingertips trace against my skin slightly, leaving me to shiver as the goosebumps erupt down my skin. He takes a slight step away, peering up at me. “Are you okay?” Real concern paints his voice when he asks this. He still does not remove the hand that lays over my heart.

“Yeah- why?” I sound strained, I can hear how much my words sound like effort, like awkwardness. “You’re-you’re turning red. You’re not feverish are you?” He places the back of his free hand on my forehead and I suddenly feel as if I may faint. “No- no I’m- It’s okay, I’m alright.” I fight the urge to back away, give in to the flutterings of panic in my core, the sudden sparking of nervousness. He huffs out a slight laugh, pulling his hand off my forehead and smoothing it over my shoulder, down my arm. “Don’t forget to breathe, Donald.” He says this gently, filled with amusement, and I can't stop thinking about the way his hand now gently rests wrapped around my wrist with a feather light touch. My mouth has gone dry, I nod at him and take a deep breath, feeling my face heat warmer than before and turning my gaze away from him to focus on something, anything else. 

He takes a larger step back from me, pulling both his hands away and grabbing his sketchbook. “I don’t think I’m going to get any useful information out of you like this.” I still say nothing, keeping my eyes locked on the fireplace. What does he mean like this? He’s noticed- I’m not even sure what it means, entirely- he’s noticed that I’m nervous, now that I know about his past? I hope he doesn’t hold it against me, feel slighted.

I would never hold it against him, his taste in companionship. I’ve had my fair share of struggles against my own mind, my preferences, things I’d never say outloud to another. I wouldn’t dare act upon such thoughts, no matter how tempting they seem to be- no matter how enticing the allure of a handsome man’s smile can feel. There’s part of me that suddenly views him as dangerous due to that- thanks to the fact that a simple hand on the shoulder can break my will so easily, that my heartbeat disobeys my every desire for it to remain steady.

It feels as if, though, none of this bothers him. He goes about his routine as usual, no comments other than the one he’d already made- which sticks in my mind like a briar. 

There’s no more conversation for the night, he works in silence and I hold my tongue, shocked at my own reaction to him. When it comes time to say goodnight, as we linger outside my home, he finally speaks to me again. “I apologize… if I’ve overstepped.” There’s more silence, I can’t quite pull my thoughts together to give him an appropriate response. Is it okay? Did he overstep or am I simply reacting too much? Should I tell him I forgive him, though there may be nothing to forgive? “Well- Have a goodnight then, Donald. Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.” He sounds apprehensive, turning and taking a pace before stopping again. “I mean it,” he turns to look back at me, “please be there tomorrow. I-I mean- I hope you will be.” “I will.” I murmur, trying very hard to look at him as I say it, but failing and turning my eyes to stare at the ends of his cloak instead. “I don’t think… I’m not sure there’s anything to forgive you for.”

“You’re… not sure? Hm- Well, think about it. I’m not trying to- I don’t mean to scare you away.”

I take a breath, thinking back to the interaction- would I really say no if I knew that’s what would happen? If I knew I’d feel so flustered?

No, I don’t believe so- In fact, I find the thought exhilarating, a small rush of hopeful excitement at the thought of his hand on my shoulder, of him sharing my space so casually.

“I mean- No, there’s no reason to apologize. I think I’m just- I’m just tired tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be more myself.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.”

‘Look forward to seeing you’

“Walk safely.”

“Have a good evening, Donny.”

He turns and makes his way into the night, walking quietly on his own. I watch him as far as my eyes can strain to see- ducking away when he turns suddenly to look back in my direction. When I peer back out again, I see a silhouette of him removing the mask- no details to note, except that I can tell he’s gazing up at the night sky.

[wickerwax]

5 times outtake

This is the original first part of Five times Obi-Wan defended Quinlan with his words (and one time he skipped that step) when I was mucking about with having them meet properly earlier but then I started thinking about how that might shift other things and it didn't fit right anymore so I went back and wrote the one I actually used, which is very different and I like very much.

But I also still like this very much. And maybe one day I will go back and explore those changes but if you saw the size of my WIP list you would perhaps take pity on me (and give it a month or two).

Bruck sneered. “I don't know why you follow Oafy-Wan around when he’s obviously gonna wash out - what, are you too stupid to see how the Masters avoid him?”

Obi-Wan froze, in the middle of reaching for the door-pad to the hall.

Surely Padawan Vos wouldn’t fall for that – obviously he had been humouring the initiate who had helped him hide from a Master Nu on the warpath, and then struck up an unexpectedly wide-ranging friendship. (Obi-Wan would miss him when he got sent away, he thought, imagine adding another to his little family of crèchemates with this sort of timing. Typical.) If anyone was trailing after it was Obi-Wan, not Quinlan Vos.

“Jealous, Chun?” came Quinlan’s voice a moment later. “I think you should get your eyes checked, honestly.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bruck spat, and Obi-Wan didn't need to open the door to see the sour, scrunched up face he was making. He thought it looked menacing. (Obi-Wan thought it made him look constipated. Bant had almost thrown up laughing, and Mon Calamari didn’t even have a reflex for that.)

“Force, Chun,” Quin laughed, “I’m embarrassed for you, have you tried being less of a dickhead?”

Bruck made the tea-kettle sound that usually preceded throwing a punch. Obi-Wan hit the door-pad and rushed outside. Quinlan had caught Bruck’s fist in his hand and was laughing harder. “Dude, is that it? Someone’s been skipping his hand-to-hand.”

“He’s been skiving to do more ‘sabre katas. He thinks that’s what will draw in a Master.” someone said, cool and dry.

With a faint sense of alarm, Obi-Wan realised it had been him. He managed not to add, as though I’m not living proof that’s not the case.

They both looked over, Quin still grinning and Bruck going the sort of red-faced that clashed horribly with how pale his hair was. He yanked his hand free and stormed away without another word, which made it one of the friendlier interactions he’d had with him, of late.

Probably a good thing because he had several pointed comments locked and loaded, and he’d had a few moments recently where that sharpness of tongue had gotten him in trouble, even when he was trying to be good about the fighting – but no-one got to talk to Quinlan like that.

Unfortunately, it was kind of a long hallway, so they watched him leaving for a slightly awkward span of time. Quinlan snorted and draped himself over Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the smaller boy yelping as the unexpected weight threw him off balance. “Wanna get midmeal out in the lower levels?”

“Quin, get off, you oversized tooka!” His shove was as bitter and black as it was effectual (that is, it was mostly sweetened milk and Quinlan didn't budge an inch). “I have an assignment due, I can’t sneak out.”

“You? My favourite little nerd? Left an assignment until the night before?” He shifted and then Obi-Wan’s escape attempt became more serious as Quin scruffed a hand through his hair. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“It’s - stop it, Quin! - true! I mixed up my dates!” He’d actually been trying to multi-task making plans with Quin and getting his notes cleaned up, and transposed some numbers wrong in his distraction. He just found it hard to look away when his friend was happy, and he smiled so bright, and the sun had turned his eyes all bronze-warm and layered and- and that was - it was normal to want to make your friends happy, that was all!

Suddenly overwhelmed by having Quinlan wrapped around him, he went limp, and rolled when Quin swore and dropped his dead weight. Popping back upright, he found his friend eyeing him with a worrying sort of consideration.

Obi-Wan drooped. “I heard what Bruck said.” he started, hoping to cut the whole thing short and save himself the trouble. “You don’t...you don’t have to spend time with me if you don’t want.”

Quinlan went very still. “What?” he said, sounding strangled.

Internally, he sighed, but obligingly hefted his feelings in a firm hand. “I said, it’s okay if you don’t want to spend time with me. You’re like...already a padawan. And really cool. And you know so many things, and you’re already going on missions and learning all this stuff that I’ll never – I mean, I just – IreallyadmireyoubutIdon’twanttoholdyouback-”

His friend relaxed entirely and strolled forwards to catch him back in a headlock, shaking him firmly. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Obes. And I literally just asked you to sneak out with me. ‘Fraid you’re stuck with me, my favourite little nerd.”

And if the headlock was a bit more like a really long hug, and Quin’s voice went soft at the end, and his whole self lit up gold and glowing tucked close beneath his arm – well, who was going to tell?

[tactically-cute]

too much of a good thing's still too much

Mostima x Fem!Lupo!Reader

Story Notes: A few days after too much of you is still not enough, you get the brilliant (incredibly stupid) idea to sneak into Mostima's room to find some way to get back at her. Naturally, this goes horribly right wrong.

CW: Gags, bondage, Dub-con, overstimulation, strong dom/sub dynamics, brat taming, time shenanigans, abandonment, mostima is a huge sadist

Author Note: This is the second third of my original set of Mostima ideas but its been sitting half finished for so long I had no idea how to end it. I highly doubt I'll get the last bit out unless it's a drabble, sorry about typos and whatnot. Most likely the next thing is not Mostima, probably something FE.

18+ NSFW UTC

Mostima watches you intently as you blink repeatedly, disoriented by the sudden change in scenery. Just moments ago you were snooping around in her room, looking for anything that would give you the upper hand on that devilish Sankta, only for your vision to flip without warning or explanation. It takes several seconds for you to react, glancing around nervously in a frantic attempt to get your bearings, several more to notice everything is upside down.

Perched in the corner of your vision just on the edge of the bed is Mostima casually dropping some small piece of fabric, her gaze fixed on you like a cat that's cornered the mouse. It's like she's weighing her options, deciding which of all the things she could do to you she'd enjoy the most. The moment she sees you clocking her, she breaks into a grin that sends shivers down your spine. Her eyes rake over your bare skin, glittering with something like anticipation. The tip of her tail flicks back and forth, her excitement clear as day. A second later and she steels her expression, feigning a glower that has your ears flatten in a mixture of guilt and tension.

"You shouldn't go poking around in other people's things," she hums, clicking her tongue in faux irritation. Mostima can't quite mask the satisfaction in her voice, nor the small curl of her lips into a knowing smirk. The admonishment is anything but disappointed, no, it's a formality at most. To let you know you were disobedient and now she gets to punish you. "Whatever shall I do with you, little wolf?"

The way you're positioned forces you to look up at her as she leans in, nearly close enough that her nose grazes your own. You feel small and vulnerable in such a submissive position, less by the way your legs are splayed and more the very act of lying on your back with your stomach exposed. Mostima's presence looms over you, her eyes almost seeming to glow in the shadow she casts. Your body reacts instinctively, struggling against ropes binding your wrists and ankles beneath you in a vain attempt to regain any semblance of control.

A flurry of Siracusan curses die on your tongue, swallowed by the gag Mostima slips past your lips the moment they part far enough. You're completely at her mercy, helpless to resist whatever punishment she has planned for your disobedient antics. Even still you squirm and growl in your restraints, tail puffed and thumping ominously at the bed beneath you, refusing to submit to her dominance without at least some hassle.

"No need to be frightened," she purrs, her index finger tracing up the valley of your breasts and along the contour of your jaw. "After all, I think you're going to enjoy this."

You feel her other hand in your hair, gently scratching at the base of your ears as she draws back to her full height. It's a soothing feeling, one that slightly calms your fraying nerves and gets you to relax, let your guard down. You don't notice the soft click or light hum until you feel the light buzzing pressure replacing her fingers. It feels so good, enough to make your thoughts grow fuzzy and your head tilt back as though chasing the sensation. Your thighs twitch ever so slightly like a puppy thumping their leg as they're pet, an involuntary reaction that gets caught by the ropes that keep you in place.

Mostima can't help but be amused by the sudden change, at how simply you were disarmed with just a single rotor it's utterly adorable. So is the satisfied hum she gets when she presses another one to the base of your other ear, a low rumble of contentment as a reward for her efforts. She keeps nudging them slightly, changing the pressure, yet she always seems to find just the right spots that get your tail to wag involuntarily. The constant adjustments keep you from getting used to it, from getting bored or realizing just how docile you're being. The way your eyes are gradually losing focus gives her a pretty good idea of how good you feel, it's just shy of overwhelming. She can practically see your mind go blank when she raises the intensity with the remotes, any thoughts that were running through your head turning to mush almost immediately.

"That good, hmm?" Your ears and tail twitch and flick happily as if to answer her question while you stretch as best you can, your back arching and chin tilting in a way that only leans further into the sensations bewitching you. The whine you make when she pulls the devices away is nothing short of pathetic, sending a spark of sadistic pride through Mostima. Her lips curl into a smirk as you come down from your high, your thoughts slowly reforming and yet that defiant glint starkly missing from your bleary eyes. Replacing it is something of a plaintive, bewildered look, one that doesn't understand what she did but seemingly begs her to keep going. "It's a trick I learned from watching Texas deal with Lappy, but I didn't expect it to be so effective… I'll have to keep these on hand more often."

Mostima's hands glide across your skin, lighting up your nerves with a blaze of warmth everywhere she touches. From your collarbone across your shoulders, then down to your breasts, admiring their size and shape as they mold to her hands. Her every movement coaxes out a soft moan or whimper, muffled by the gag yet able to reach her ears. She kneads and plays with your chest like she's giving you a massage as she circles around to get a better position. Her hands move like she knows your body better than you do, every squeeze of her fingers and every push of her palm sends a shiver down your spine and a pulse between your legs. You're certain she can tell just how hot you're beginning to get, like she can feel the burning arousal settling in the pit of your stomach and spreading under your skin.

You squeak in surprise when Mostima clicks one of the rotors back on, the cold and hard plastic trapped between her thumb and your nipple. It's a delightfully submissive sound, one she just adores, so sinfully enticing its almost maddening. Her eyes fill with a predatory hunger at the sight of you tied up and helpless beneath her, squirming at her every touch, so far removed from your regular difficult-to-manage confidence. She wants more. She wants to toy with you more, hear more of your debauched voice, to see you lost in mindless pleasure. She wants to make you hers so completely and thoroughly you'll come begging for her to ruin you. A light flush settles on Mostima's features as her mind runs wild, a dusting of pink painting her cheeks that only accentuates her devilish charm.

The pads of her fingers trail down your chest leaving lines of smoldering heat in their wake, burning embers of warmth just beneath the surface. They wander gracefully across the expanse of your stomach, tracing light patterns on your skin that slowly dip lower and lower yet always pulling back. They drag slowly down passed your waist before quickly sliding up across your side, feeling every flutter and twitch of your muscles from the ticklish sensations. Her fingers dance teasingly down your inner thigh, then up the outside of your hips before settling just below your navel, idling in a perpetual heart-shaped pattern as though enough repetitions would draw it onto your skin. She repeats the pattern twice, then again, slightly slower, and again and again until your hips buck with anticipation and her hand stops. You shudder as her fingers splay, her palm laying atop the heart she was tracing the tips of her fingers a hairs breath away from your core.

Her other hand gives your breast one more squeeze, applying a pressure to the vibrator that has you mewling in pleasure, only for it to be pulled away moments later. Your desperate whine of protest is cut off by your thighs trying to snap shut around Mostima's hand as she finally slides her fingers through your slick folds, only to be kept apart by the ropes around your ankles. Your legs quiver half-closed as she smugly appreciates just how wet you are, having practically fallen to pieces in anticipation. All the teasing and buildup has left you a sensitive mess, shivering in pleasure at the lightest touch. Every stroke of her fingers has your hips twitching, desperately chasing her touch.

Mostima smiles wickedly at the utterly filthy moan she gets when she pushes her middle finger inside you, a beautifully slutty sound that pulls at her baser instincts to ravage you. It's as if your trying to tempt her with the way your eyes fog over with lust and your spine curls in pleasure. She can't hide the way her pupils dilate and her tail flicks in excitement at the thought, nor the slight twitch of her fingers which only compounds the temptation with yet another moan. Despite the urge to ruin you bubbling up in her chest, Mostima slowly works her finger in to the second knuckle with deliberate motions, curling it with targeted precision to brush past your every sensitive spot.

Your breath hitches as that familiar buzz reaches your perky ears. All of her teasing ratcheted up your arousal and sensitivity, leaving you wholly unprepared for the flood of ecstasy as she presses the rotor to your clit. Pleasure courses through your veins like lightning, shifting your already frazzled senses into overdrive. Mostima's eyes flit across your body, watching every little reaction with rapt attention. Meanwhile your attention goes all fuzzy, eyes rolling back slightly leaving Mostima's lips the only thing in focus. Your thighs tremble, trying desperately to close around her hand. She can see how your muscles twitch with every movement she makes, sending spasms up your spine with a slight touch. Your toes curl and back bends as that burning heat in the pit of your stomach starts twisting itself into a knot. Her name slips your tongue in a pathetic whine, barely intelligible through the gag but dripping with arousal and adoration.

"You're much cuter like this, so needy and pliant. You want to be a good girl for me." Mostima's words are taunting, daring you to bite back or prove her wrong, to show any kind of defiance. Instead she gets a dumb little nod as your mind catches on the words cute and good girl, preening at the praise. That one small part of you that dares to still object finds itself drowned out by her voice, the sensation of her hot breath on your ears. The low rasp resonates deep in your chest, stoking the flames of arousal even further. She's so overwhelmingly dominant in a way you've never felt from anyone else, you want to be hers to hold. Hers to ruin. Hers to protect. Her good girl. "But you've been a bad girl, and your punishment is far from over."

Your heart sinks as she takes away the rotor and slowly withdraws her finger. The tension that had been building in your body begins to unwind, dissipating along with the climax you were oh so close to. The burning heat that had consumed you dwindles as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, flickering away to naught but embers under the surface. You pull at the restraints, trying so desperately to escape whatever punishment she has in store for you, the thought that it could possibly be worse that ripping away the climax she had pushed you towards for so long. All it takes is a little glare and a click of her tongue to bring you to heel, freezing up at her disapproving gaze. Your tail and ears flatten like a scolded puppy.

Mostima can't help but laugh darkly at how you whimper like you never thought for a moment she would be this cruel to you, no doubt you'd be begging her to continue if you weren't gagged. Oh the things she wants to do to you, she will do to you once you stop acting up. She trails a slender finger up your throat, watching the way your head tilts back submissively to give her better access. You let her do as she please, tilting your head this way and that with little more than implicit commands from the tip of her finger until she lets out a satisfied hum. Even that little sound is enough to get your tail wagging again.

She's got you wrapped around her finger, more figuratively than literally at the moment, though you both know it would be both had she desired it. All it takes is a tap of your inner thigh, centimeters away from where you want her most, and you obey without a second thought, spreading your legs as best you can in this awkward position. The light warmth of her fingers reignites the smouldering arousal that was slowly petering out, making you raise your hips a little higher and open your legs a little wider. You practically present yourself to her, an offering to the devil that holds your soul so callously, needy and defenseless and oh so temptingly sweet.

"Naughty little wolf, trying to tempt me like that," she scolds, watching the way you wiggle your hips as seductively as you can, as though this isn't exactly what she wanted. She's just a little short on breath, her voice tinged with lust and satisfaction. You purr with delight when she presses the vibrator to your entrance, watching with a half lidded gaze as her eyes glow dangerously, dilating like a predator finding it's prey. In that moment you realize… oh, she's going to devour you.

There's a slight pause, long enough only for a single flick of her tail. A single breath of anticipation before Mostima finally, finally pushes the little rotor into you. She gets it a knuckle deep before drawing her finger back, only to push it a little deeper with her next thrust. She gently works it further and further inside you, making sure the pads of her finger drag against that one spot with every pump, until her palm lies flat against your crotch. You squeal as the heel of her hand digs into your clit so she can press it just the slightest bit deeper, your body flexing against the restraints with they way you try and curl up from the pleasure. And then she turns it on, and your thoughts short-circuit.

There's no buildup, there's not even a scream, just a sudden, almost overwhelming wave of pleasure from deep in your core. Mostima flexes her finger as you clench and flutter around it, testing her movements only to be rewarded with your walls tightening further. You never noticed how long her fingers are, just how deeply she can reach inside you. Even as Mostima starts to pull her finger out as she helps you through that high, your body is already on its way to another orgasm. Your lupine ears can barely pick up the unyielding buzz of the vibrator buried deep in your pussy without giving you a chance to rest. You hardly have time to register it before your mind goes numb with pleasure.

"One more, little wolf," Mostima laughs, clicking on the second rotor. You're already such a quivering, overstimulated mess it's a tossup whether or not you can even handle it, but if you couldn't that wouldn't be so bad. The moment she tries to push the second one in you're already cumming again, clamping so hard around her fingers like you're trying to push the new toy out. It doesn't take long for her to try again, this time using your exhaustion and her extensive knowledge of your body to her advantage to place the rotor right against your most sensitive spot. Your hips buck weakly as she withdraws her hand, worn out from back to back orgasms but unable to stave off the unrelenting stimulation.

Your half-lidded gaze fixates hazily on her fingers, absolutely covered in your slick, dangling in front of your face as if to show off just how much of a mess you made them. She makes a show of licking them clean, savoring the way you taste as if you're her favourite snack in the world. Even with your lust-hazed mind you can't deny how erotic the sight of Mostima cleaning her fingers of your own slick is. And she can see the way it turns you on, how your thighs quiver and stomach tightens as your next orgasm builds in the background.

"Aww, does my good girl want a taste?" she teases, crawling off her bed. She's unable to stifle her laughter at how quickly you nod, finding her desperate sub so adorable. The constant vibrations keep your thoughts simple and submissive, driving away any complex thoughts like how her outfit suddenly changes or how you keep missing her movements. Her voice comes from just out of view along with a sudden jump in the rotor's speed that leaves you barely able to process her words through yet another orgasm. "Maybe when I get back, okay?"

As Mostima closes the door she watches your body tense and twitch, your hips shudder and snap forwards as far as they can move in your current restraints though whether you're chasing the pleasure or desperately trying to escape it she can't tell. Or maybe you're trying to beg her not to leave you here, tied up and subjected to endless pleasure. Your voice only comes out in broken moans and muffled whines, barely even audible from the doorway, certainly not when its closed. Her tail wraps around her own thigh while you shudder and go limp, squeezing just hard enough to stop her from turning back and pouncing on you. Just before the door clicks shut you manage to meet her gaze for a moment, the look in your eyes betraying just how utterly helpless you are. That cruel smile plays across her lips once more, only to disappear behind the door as she locks it behind her.

Mostima deftly unlocks her room a couple hours later, having finished her shopping trip and finally made it back to the Penguin Logistics dorms. It took a bit longer than she expected to find some of the places and items on her list, but it was well worth it given how uncommon they are. A couple bags dangle from her arms containing the spoils of her little excursion, each one carefully wrapped to avoid giving away what's inside. It wouldn't be nearly as fun if you knew what to expect the rest of the week.

The door to her room swings open with a light push, revealing the dark interior lit only by Lungmen's light pollution pouring in through the window and now the light spilling in behind her. Light enough to find her way, certainly, but too dark to make out any fine details. Mostima takes a few steps into the room anyway, using the limited light and her own muscle memory to easily navigate to the desk in the corner. It's practically empty, as is most of the room, save for a few knickknacks from her (and mostly Lemuel's) travels. After carefully depositing her bags, her hand flicks on the lamp beside the desk and starts sorting through the bags in search of something. It takes only a moment to find the right package, a beautifully crafted box lightly wrapped in tissue paper, by far the most expensive purchase of the day.

She finally turns around to find her room, unsurprisingly, almost exactly as she left it. Almost. She doesn't even bother glancing at anything else, instead her attention is entirely on the poor lupo tied up on the edge of her bed. Mostima can feel excitement and arousal thrum under her skin at the sight of you broken and bleary-eyed on the cusp of unconsciousness.

Her curious, predatory eyes rake over you, analyzing every detail and piecing together the past few hours. At some point you managed to roll over onto your stomach, though with how you're tied up that left you unable to generate any leverage to move. Your cheeks are marred with dried tears, being unable to escape what must have been torturous pleasure. Her sheets may as well be a lost cause, soaked through from orgasm after orgasm. You lay motionless, too exhausted from uncountable orgasms to move save for the faint movement of your eyes following her approach. You hardly even react to her freeing you from the unending torment by pulling the rotors out by the wire, only a single weak flick of your tail and the slightest, most pathetic whimper she's ever heard. She's certain that even if she freed your limbs you wouldn't be able to do much more than ragdoll into a slightly more comfortable position. It's impossible to tell if you're on the brink of passing out or if you're about to pass out again, though frankly she doubts even you know the answer to that one.

"All tuckered out I see," she comments. You can do little more than shift your gaze to her smug, blurry, annoyingly pretty face as Mostima runs a finger up your jaw and along the strap of the gag. You'd be forgiven for mistaking it as tender, the way her touch feels to your frayed nerves. It takes a little coaxing for you to let go, unable to muster the energy to spit it out without Mostima to help. Your limbs come free next, falling heavy as lead the moment they're free. An exhausted sigh slips from your lips, a mixture between pain and relief. It's endearing, she thinks, how completely willing and devoid of fight you are, letting her have full control over everything. You'll probably be embarrassed and grumpy and most undoubtedly sore tomorrow, perhaps even snippy, but right now you're completely and utterly hers. "I got something for you, for being such a good girl."

Mostima gently plucks something from the ornate box, the black leather collar she got custom ordered. It's a finely crafted thing, PROPERTY OF MOSTIMA displayed proudly all around it, perfect for her pretty little lupo trying so hard to keep their eyes open for her. Her hands are so warm as they fix it in place around your neck, you practically fall asleep then and there. You open you eyes little more than a crack at the sensation of being lifted in a princess carry, only to close them again with a soft hum, slumbering safely in her arms as she brings you both to your bed.

[pastelmusings]

Newest OC so I can start building up my repertoire. So have some really messy headcanons (or just canons—?) about both him and his species, as usual pls interact or ask questions or anything ^^

Meet Ellis! He's a young dove hybrid prince (design loosely based off a wild pied ringneck dove, and I will draw a character sheet for him later cause he's a cutie), part of a sub species of Columbidavien hybrids known as Topeliaviens

-

• For appearance he's really pale (not allowed outside), with round brown eyes, big white and light brown wings, and the same colored hair, and he's like 5'3

• His species generally stays pretty small (average male height 5'4 or so, female being closer to 5'8) and has a general lifespan of 65

• He's a complete utterly sheltered mess

• Spent most of his life kept separate from pretty much everybody, so he latches onto people quick, and is real easy to get taken advantage of...

• Doesn't actually have any political power, since he's like the third son and it's basically a matriarchal species anyway

• Lots of bird tendencies

• Nesting, preening, courting, cooing and chirping, poofing up when trying to look big and intimidating (despite really just looking like a little ball of particularly loud angry fluff)

• His species mates for life and become really depressed when separated, which does shorten their lifespan

• Excessive stress also shortens their lifespan

• They're just a really fragile species—

• Though with the dimorphism in the species the women are bigger and general stronger and less likely to just die at the first inconvenience

• The males also need less sleep, and have a natural inclination to scatter sleep for a hour or so at a time so they can be hyper alert

• They can mate with non-avien humans, but it's not recommend cause humans don't exactly mate for life, and breaking up isn't something they can really do—

• Horrible with direction, they absolutely don't have any homing ability like their pigeon counterparts and will become hopelessly lost real fast

• He, in particular, is kinda constantly sad and clingy, like a soggy piece of paper in living form

• Also an obsessive mess and prone to never letting his darling out of his sight

• Displays his discontent very loudly (the bird boy is going to constantly screech for an hour, making it everyones problem)

• Surprisingly very impulsive, in the sense that it's his natural instinct to fight tooth and nail to protect his love from any perceived threat

• Once spent twenty minutes fluffed up and chirping aggressively at a tree branch that kept tapping the window, and he wouldn't let you move from under him to show it was nothing

• He folds so easily

• People pleaser to the max and will cry if you're so much as slightly unhappy at him, I'm talking big watery eyes as he trembles like a leaf

• Actively hates being touch by literally everybody except his mate, and will cling to you like a second skin

• He gets kinda stupid when his instincts cloud his actions, like he'll try to bite at any hands that get too close to you and will probably accidentally smack you in the face with a wing a few different times, bit always fusses over you after

• He's obsessed with pretty shiny things and constantly gifts you both complete worthless little trinkets and priceless jewelry, expecting you to have the exact same reaction for both

• He will cherish every little thing you get him of course, even if it's just a little scrap of shiny wrapping paper (the kinda guy who'd be over the moon over getting a 'shiny box', like no babe, the gift is in the box—)

• Needs you to smell like him, he will whine and cry if you don't let him rub his head against your neck until you don't smell like anything else to his keen senses

• He'll usually 'nest' by just making a pile of all the soft things in the general vicinity and calling it a day, which happens more often if he is super anxious about you being gone

• If you don't sleep in it he'll cry

• Adhd as hell, he has the attention span of a leaf and the memory of a goldfish, also can never get anything done ever

• This is getting long so I'll wrap up by saying wings are sensitive and petting them will turn him into a poor cooing mess

• (Also despite how pretty they are, he can't actually fly because they're clipped ;-;)

[dearmura]

through my eyes

☆ cw. some swearing, not beta read (horrible grammar)

☆ pairings. bf! Ni-Ki × gn! reader

☆ synopsis. Riki just finds you so stunning that he can't resist drawing you to capture your beauty

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Ki! The movie is set up! I made popcoorrn!" You stretch your last word out in an attempt to convince the boy to join you

Not even a second later, you hear the sound of shuffling growing closer to you, followed by the boy's tall figure appearing, rubbing his eyes adorably

"Did you say popc-?" His lit up face shifts as his jaw drops an awe, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Do I have something on my face?" You ask in a worried tone, opening your camera app

Titling your face side to side, you check for a bug or sauce stain to no avail

At this point, Ni-Ki is practically drooling, staring at you like you're the Mona Lisa herself

"No no, nothing. It's just...you're so stunning, f*ck, angel" He whispers his last words, almost as if you knocked the air out of his lungs

You chuckle softly, hiding your face in your hands

"Stop, I just did my nightly skincare. I'm barefaced and have my strawberry jammies on, Ki, and now is the time you decide to drool over me?" You deadpan with a giggle, still hiding you blush

He slowing approaches you, gently pulling your hands away from your face, cupping your cheek

"Please don't hide your pretty face, angel. And, for your information, I love your strawberry jammies" He whispers with a soft chuckle, his gaze never faltering

Your breath hitches, your face turning impossibly redder

Just as you're about to respond, he stands up

"Hold that thought, love. I'll be right back" He says before scurrying off into his room, leaving you in confusion

A few moments later, he comes back with a sketchbook and pencil, approaching you once more

"May I?" He asks, ghosting his hand under your chin, you nod with a gulp at his proximity

He gently tilts your chin upwards, softly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before stepping back, doing that artsy thumb thing 👍🏻👎🏻

You giggle at his antics, trying your best to hold your position

He couldn't help but crack a smile after seeing yours, placing a soft kiss on your nose before sitting across from your figure

"Now, hold still for me, darling. Let me know if you're getting tired, alright?" He asks softly before starting. You nod slightly, not wanting to mess up his angles

You soon hear him scribbling softly onto the paper, finding the sound of the pencil hitting the parchment soothing

You smile in content, the blush never leaving your cheeks

"You're doing so good for me, love. That's it" He reassures, checking in with you, knowing how uncomfortable it must be for you to sit there so still

A few more minutes pass by and you hear his strokes becoming less frequent, signaling he was almost done

Your muscles started to slightly ache at this point, so you slightly tilt your head to crack your neck

"Heeyy don't move baby, I promise it'll only take a bit" He cutely whines with a chuckle, you knew he wasn't seriously upset

You can't help but giggle, trying hard to stiffle your laugh but failing when glancing at his little tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration

Before he can say anything, you quickly apologize, going back to your previous position

You see him smiling to himself like an idiot as he adds the finishing touches

"Aaand...done!" He punctuates his last word with a tap of his pencil on the page, tucking the notebook to his chest sneakily, his eyes meeting yours

You sigh in relief, he admires you with a gleam in his eyes as you get up to stretch

You mirror is position on the couch, staring right at him in curiosity

"Can I see?" You ask, crawling toward him slowly with a stupid smile on our face

He grips the sketchbook tighter to his chest, shaking his head cutely

"Only if you give me a kiss right, here" He teases, tapping at his cheek

You roll your eyes, placing a soft kiss where his finger was, hearing him hum in content

"And here" He points to the other cheek

You sigh, placing a peck on his cheek once more

"And h-" He points to his lips, about to finish but you interpret him instead

"I'll be the judge of that" You tease, trying to sneak a peak at his sketch

He sighs, "fair"

Slowly handing the sketchbook to you, he looks away, curling into himself in embarrassment

As you look down as his work, a tear can't help but roll down your cheek

Around your face were little hearts, along with arrows pointing out little details of your face, you read them one by one

An arrow pointing to your birthmark reads 'my favorite little chocolate chip <3'

An arrow pointing to your eyes read 'the most gorgeous ones on Earth, could get lost in them for hours'

Every strand of hair, scar and birthmark had little notes pointing out his love for each and every one

Another tear rolls down your cheek

He hears you sniffling and quickly cups your cheeks with a worried look

"Are you alright, angel? Did I say something mean? I didn't mean to offend you. Do you not like th-" His rambling it's quickly shushed by your lips

Gently putting his sketchbook to the side, you straddle him, sitting on his lap, never breaking the kiss

Playing with the hair on his nape, you can't help but smile into the kiss

"I'm not upset, Ki. I'm just so happy to have you. Thank you, love" you whisper before colliding your lips onto his, addicted to the feeling

His hands gently find their way to your waist, he whispers

"You mean the world to me y/n, you have no idea. When I saw you just then, it's like the world stopped for a second. You're so *kiss* so *kiss* f*cking *kiss* gorgeous, angel *kiss*"

You giggle, burying your face into the crevice of his neck, placing a gentle kiss below his ear, whispering

"I love you so much, Ki"

He softly pulls you from his neck and holds your chin, leaning his head so your foreheads meet

"I love you too, angel" placing a soft kiss on your temple, holding you close with a hum

I'm delulu pls help😓

[gaycrittercentral]

YESS WE WOULD LOVE TO SEE THE FANKIDS ‼️

Hhhhdhdgshgd I’m very shy abt them but I’m gonna be brave since a couple of y’all were curious!! :’> here they are!!

There’s four of em and their names are Maisie, Lacey (short for Shoelace), Crowbar and Junior. They were born tiny, hairless and wrinkly and developed the ability to zoom around and track smells before they managed to open their eyes so they start terrorizing Jimmy Two Teeth before they can even see him, they’re like a horrible mix of naked mole rats and piranhas lmaoooo

Also here is the first drawing I ever did of them :’)

When I was designing them I felt like there were already so many fankids out there that are a really perfect fusion of both of Sam and Max’s looks, and I wasn’t crazy about trying to do it myself so I just made an army of little maxlets. The Maxlings, if you will! But I did give them longer tails in later drawings and Crowbar has floppy ears like Sam, so they didn’t completely skip his genes jfkhsgs ^^; I have planned out how they came to be but I’ll probably put that in a different post (maybe I’ll even write a little thing for it teehee that might be fun). But I can describe them a little here!!

Maisie is the oldest (as in the first one to be found, they weren’t really born in the traditional sense so \_:p_/) and she just really loves sharp objects lmao. She is mostly non-verbal, but in kind of a Ferb way where she’ll occasionally throw out a cryptic one-liner and mostly remain silent with kind of an ominous stare. Her sisters and brother are completely unfazed by this and have absolutely no fear of her, but she loves being scary to everyone else. She constantly seems like she’s about to commit an act of incredible violence but she doesn’t like to be caught doing it, so it’s all off-screen. She feels like it’s scarier that way. Max is very proud of her.

Lacey (Shoelace, because she used one as a teething toy as a baby which is baffling because neither of her dads wear shoes where did it come from??) is one of the middle kids. She likes dressing up and bounces around between masc and femme and both and neither. She also likes chatting a mile a minute with Crowbar, and she’s less of a twig than her sisters. Later in life she might try and get a lil buff like Sam. She mostly likes to go along with her sisters’ ideas because her head is pretty empty a lot of the time, and she’s slightly less inclined to jump to violence than they are. But only slightly. She also maybe picks up Sam’s habit of grabbing random items.

Crowbar is the other middle kid and fairly precocious. She’s the first one to unlock language capabilities (I have a comic about that I can post later!), and she loves trying to imitate Sam’s vocabulary. Not that she’s, like, good at it yet, but she’s trying lmao. She’s always very cheerful and bouncy and probably the most likely to cry a little if something goes wrong, but also frequently swings back around to bouncy happy and tends to forget whatever upset her immediately. She swings violently back and forth between having zero thoughts and being head full many thoughts that she has to babble loudly all at once.

And Junior is the youngest, the smallest, the baby of the family. He’s very shy and sensitive, and his sisters are like his own personal bodyguards lmao. He has a lot of sensory issues that his dads make sure to help him with, like getting him soft clothes and a noise cancelling beanie (bc he ears not really suited to headphones) and shooting out overhead lights when they’re too bright for him hdkdhshs. He also likes napping in Sam’s pockets and under his hat and Max loves carrying him around like the baby he is. He’s also a creative little dude and he likes drawing (and also eating the crayons afterward).

All four of them are little goblins who have no concept of morality (like even Junior, he may be skittish but he still condones violence and chaos hdkdhshs) and will eat almost anything. They are truly their fathers’ children shjfjjdgdjshsh, and speaking of which Sam and Max are thrilled to have them around and completely obsessed with them hehe. They pretty much just carry on with their cases like usual except now they have a small pack of land piranhas that they can sic on difficult suspects lmaoooo

And I have some more sketches of them I can post, too!! So I’ll probably bounce back and forth between that and the virtues for a bit hehe :>

[sewer-sermon]

dnt normally post oc stuff but i suddenly remembered an old one of mine that was inspired by @bogleech's harmburger stuff (particularly the variation in awful hospital)

idk if they had a name before but its Redbert now!! (Red "40" Bert for long)

they're a cheap shitty fast food megacorp's twisted experiment to make a "meat recycling program", so that when meat went rancid you could recycle it into edible stuff again, so they could save money on outsourcing their meat products! it worked but it also became alive and really really scared

they sound like the most stereotypical awkward "visibly bullied in highschool" nerd you can picture, however that manifests in your mind (i personally think of pete spankoffski from nerdy prudes must die but it's slightly different for everyone). they're pretty timid so it was easy enough for the fast food chain to convince them to work at one of their establishments, and they're technically company property so they didn't have much of a choice anyways, their sentience was entirely unintentional but ultimately means they can learn how to work a cash register and flip patties for peanuts and scraps so naturally they were put right to it!

they are technically food grade at all times- the experiment that birthed them was a success! said experiment being that they basically just threw a metric fuckton of meat in various states of freshness (from "severed, still-bleeding appendage" to "straight roadkill") into a giant vat together and blended it, and the combined hubris of this action alone plus everything else the company had done to get to how bloated it was present-day reviled the universe so badly that the thing was Immediately stricken with life if only to have an outlet for the sheer appall it felt at that microinstant.

it created this single homogenous kind of meat that immediately absorbs anything not resembling it (besides other meats), including bacteria, flies, debris and such, and just. Turns it into more meat. so it can't technically spoil bc any time something tries to break it down it just breaks it down quicker into more meat. that also means they don't really ever get less fresh than "literally still kicking & screaming"- they might get a little nasty being made to stand out in the summer heat but it'll digest back into more, fresher meat the second they get into some air conditioning! so it's totally safe for them to be serving people food & in fact they make the place cleaner just by kind of idly standing around (however they can't leave their bucket. that much contact with the ground might have consequences for the building's infrastructure eventually)

my horrible meat chicken they just wanna scroll thru youtube shorts in the break room

one of my friends asked me if they could lose mass and i said that you could in theory scoop some out of them but if you used your bare hands, it would start taking mass from you rapidly enough to actively feel yourself losing skin cells and the sensation will almost definitely jar you into dropping it on the ground where it'll either fall back into Redbert or crawl into them. sometimes they run under the fridge and we're not really sure what happens to those ones, but sometimes employees find them a couple weeks later hiding behind the grease trap. they hiss

but funny aside they will turn anything into meat eventually but they struggle to digest metal, so they probably get scooped semi regularly with some metal implements that are changed out when they wear down too far and the excess is made into burgers or something. it's to keep them from getting too big that they inconvenience the other workers too much, but i will note that they were in fact smaller upon creation and the scoopings have become more frequent as of late

they were made with my love of drawing long serpentine things in mind and also raw meat :> and chickens! they don't really have to look like a chicken they just reuse those limbs the most consistently bc it's the least offputting way they've managed to make themselves look (as part of their customer training they were made to carefully study how people reacted to their appearance upon using various arrangements of limbs, organs and bone fragments as facial features)

don't know if ill post abt them super often, i don't do a lot of oc stuff often, but maybe ill doodle them whenever i get bored and i have some spare time so ill make them a tag :V

have the old version of them + art i did of them as an animal crossing villager(??) under a cut bc it's Old!

[justworthlessreblogs]

the evolution of cure paradise and cure lune, 2017-2025

cure justice already got her own post but i wanted to share paradise and lune as well because They Are My Blorbo OCs Your Honor. just like justice, they've gone through a lot of changes (especially lune)

i'll start with paradise first:

the very first image of cure paradise in existence, from the same day as cure justice, december 29 2017. i am SO sorry about the horrible photo quality this is a photo that was taken that same day, late at night, on a shitty iphone 5 and i don't have the sketchbook it's in with me right now to get a better one. she's had basically the same exact hairstyle since. her eyes look Like That because i was trying to copy the dokidoki style at the time (and had no idea how it worked)

the first fullbody, and in color! this one is dated december 31 2017. for some reason cherry blossoms were a huge motif originally and i don't know why. i think i just really liked cherry blossoms (i still do)

this one's from april 2018. there's a new costume variation up in the top left corner, but what's really interesting to me is that there's a baton like justice's (except with star toppers insteadof a fleur-de-lys) in this image even though i know for a fact she was planned to have a bow as her weapon from the start. maybe i thought about changing it and decided against it

also from april 2018, her in the dolldivine sailor moon oc maker. same day as justice

july 2018. this one features the most notable change to her hair, which i was trying to figure out in this image: should i keep the loops around the base of her pigtails or change them to a more star-like shape to go with her motif? i ended up going with the star shape. AND THEN CURE STAR TOOK THEM LESS THAN A YEAR LATER BUT I REFUSE TO CHANGE THEM ONCE AGAIN I WAS THERE FIRST TOEI!!!

this one also features the earliest (from what i can tell) appearance of her cropped jacket that resembles justice's except it's open. that's important too

also from july 2018, her in the glitter cure maker! this yellow/gold/brown color scheme stuck around for a long time. i honestly kind of dig it i wouldn't mind using it for a yellow cure in the future

paradise also got a design in the style of the puzzlun sprites, but i sadly never took a photo and the sketchbook with it is at home. if i remember to take a photo next time i'm there and update this i will but no promises

glitter cure maker v2, circa november 2018

since i hit a lull in precure art soon after this, there's more gaps. once again the only thing she got in 2020 was her as a funko pop

the brown has become orange

finally, in october 2022, we've reached her final design! she's got green now, since i felt that green made a lot of sense as a sub color for a cure with a very tropical name. there's actually a traditional art ref slightly older than this image but ONCE AGAIN I DIDN'T TAKE A PHOTO CURSE YOU PAST JUSTIE. anyways. i realized that now that i had a slightly more advanced program than ms paint (firealpaca) i could draw over memes now and could become unstoppable. so here she is with a bazooka because she deserves it

finally, a more recent image - her as a precoord, from july 2024. after i got my first precoord i went on a precoord kick in my sketchbook designing hypothetical precoords for my cure ocs. i love precoords so much you guys they're one of my favorite pieces of merch ever

next up, lune!

our first art of her, from december 31, 2017, and unlike the others she got color! the dress is uh. something, though i do like the boots. as you can see from the very start she was intended to be a bit of a grump

from a few weeks later (january 20, 2018) we have this one. lune i am so sorry i am not sure what is going on here

from april 2018, here she is in the sailor moon oc maker

i found this in my photo album and i'm 99% sure it was intended to be yet another attempt at figuring out at least a basis of a design for her. it's dated may 2018. why are her eyes red now? i have no idea

from july 2018, lune in glitter cure. this is the first time she's had her hair down and worn a bow, which would become a regular thing later on

lune's v2 glitter cure, november 2018. i kind of like the red, though it unfortunately it didn't last

finally. in 2020. i found a design i liked. it originated when i was drawing the modpre girls as funko pops.

i later sketched it out with normal proportions (and notes on what colors to use):

after i was done i was like. wait shit. her hair looks like cure marine's. but i was so happy to finally have a design i was satisfied with i didn't care enough to change it

digital lune! this was traced over a star twinkle precure screenshot in january 2023 (the blue cure in the background is cure borealis from my fanseason northern lights). i got really into tracing over precure screenshots my freshman year of college since i had time to kill, a computer mouse, and thought it was really fun seeing my cures in the precure art style. this is actually one half of a "cures as tumblr posts" thing, the other half was cure ghost from supernatural precure asking a question about mirror people

and here she is in july 2024 as a precoord

as some bonuses, here's the five star dressup cards i drew for them in 2022 and 2023, as well as some of my favorite group pieces!

justice's 5 star

paradise's 5 star

lune's 5 star

moderation's weezer era, november 2023. and if you never saw the original post, yes that is cure black on the left. she got a new outfit

a moderation soundtrack cover, november 2022

and finally papepipu moderation, february 2023

[garf-lover96]

alright so i was convinced that i didn't have it in me to write anything for valentine's day because i haven't had much motivation recently. but also over the past few weeks i've been paying a little less attention to Julian and that made me feel debilitating guilt so i locked in and wrote a short one..... i also projected my guilt on him so i wouldn't be alone in it. trafił swój na swego aaahaahahaaahaa happy valentine's day guys i love you❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

———

The handle of the back door rattles under Julian's jittery hands, almost making him drop the loose bundle of miscellaneous gifts in his arms as he steps into the shop. The place feels a little too quiet as he fumbles to put all the festive treats and trinkets down without making a mess, his coordination only worse in the frazzled state.

His mind has been wandering off into awful places ever since it dawned on him that the literal celebration of love takes place today. "Rowan is probably up in the apartment, heartbroken, crushed, absolutely devastated because of my ignorance..." he thinks, his hand beginning to claw at his hair anxiously.

He's instantly proven wrong by Rowan bursting through the door in an eerily similar fashion to his, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and guilt. It's almost painful to look at...

Before the doctor can get a word of his own apology out, his partner unintentionally cuts him off, taking a clearly distressed stance, trembling on his feet.

"L-look, I don't want you to think that I don't love or appreciate you— It's just that I've never really celebrated during the Heartsong Festival before and I had no idea that it was today until a client reminded me..." his eyes flit to the bag on his shoulder. It looks a lot more stuffed than usual, "...Excuses, sorry, I ran to get something for you as soon as I found out."

Julian lets out a relieved huff, as if a physical weight just got lifted off his shoulders "Darling, you do put on quite an act. You're so put together compared to me most of the time, that I just remembered I'm not the only mess in this relationship." with a shaky step forward, he wraps his arms around the other man in a tight and slightly sweaty hug.

"Don't tell me..." Rowan's eyes widen and land on the present pile occupying the shop counter. The sight makes him snort weakly.

"Yes, I forgot too, I'm so very sorry... And I have no excuse, I should've known better." Julian whines out shamefully and kisses the side of his partner's head, drawing a chuckle out of him.

"It seems like our guilty feelings should cancel each other out then. Is it working for you...?"

A moment of silence. Then the doctor speaks up again "...Er, no, not at all. I still feel horrible."

"We could just not think about it—"

"Would you really allow me some deflection as a festive treat...? You truly are the best love I could ask for."

Rowan scrunches up his face in a bashful smile and gets his hand free from the embrace to start ticking ideas off on his fingers "Hehe, so our distraction options are... Romantic leftover dinner or attempting to get a spot to eat somewhere in town, I suppose. Which is going to be hard, obviously..."

"Or we could have a spontaneous picnic at the docks. Or go for some drinks at The Raven— a little later, that is. Or we could just stay in and enjoy each other's company, that's always lovely."

Nodding thoughtfully, Rowan slowly turns his head back to the counter "Yes, right, so many brilliant options... I think we should ruminate on them while we exchange the gifts though. The suspense is killing me, you know."

Julian hops back a step, still holding onto his partner's hand "Ah, of course! You'll have to forgive me for the lack of any flowers, they only popped back into my mind when it was too late to turn back... Oh, and happy Heartsong Festival. I love you, Rowan."

"Aw..." he reaches up to guide the other's face closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "And I love you."

[callophelia]

Nix Voltaire in OMORI (˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) ✧

Wow… I think I’m in genuine awe at the fact that I not only made this drawing, but I did it in less than a week on top of all my other schoolwork… This can only mean one thing: I will be struck down by the heavens before this hubris gets out of hand lmaooo ꉂ(≧▽≦)

So, the context behind this drawing… I don’t watch livestreams often because I don’t have the attention span for anything over a few hours, but one of my fave VTubers (Nix Voltaire) was streaming one of my fave games (OMORI), so I just had to watch it, and during it, he mentioned something along the lines of how fans can make drawings that can be used as thumbnails for his stream, which made me want to draw such a drawing for the next time he plays OMORI (since the stream crashed few hours in lmaooooo ꉂ ꉂ (´ ᗜ｀)) So here I am a few days later, lol. I actually have 5o million others drawing waiting in line to be posted but doing all that before posting this drawing would take too long, so it gets to cut the line ≽^-⩊-^≼

Anyways, about the drawing itself; while brainstorming, I immediately had thought of the mirror CG where Omori stands in front of the mirror with his friends, and had the vision of making a drawing of that with Nix and the rest of Ravanis ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ You might notice how some of them look… not like how they’re supposed to look, and there’s a reason for that (that goes beyond the fact that all the ref pics on their wiki pages are horrifically blurry). The explanation, however, contains some spoilers for the story of OMORI, so I decided to write it all down after the Spoiler Warning mark

So um...

SLIGHT OMORI SPOILERS AHEAD?

Since the world of Headspace essentially functions as a giant coping mechanism for Sunny, allowing him to relive a happier time in his life, I decided I wanted to try something like that for their designs! However, this was an idea I could only apply to Malim, Altus, and Nix since they’re the only members of Ravanis whose pasts before they became what they became were shown in their lore videos, and even then, I had a slightly different idea for what I wanted for Nix ◉‿◉

For Nix, I want his design in this drawing to depict him trapped between the slightly happier time in his life when his mom was still alive, and when everything went HORRIBLY WRONG. In his lore video, he only wore a simple, plain t-shirt, pants, and shoes(?), to which my neurodivergent need to overdesign reacted badly to so I also gave him the jacket he wore after becoming a cyborg lol ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ You might also notice that he’s missing his left arm, and that’s a reference to the surgery scene in his lore video (does this also mean the Nix in this drawing is missing a leg? Who knows, lol), and I decided to also cover him in bandages to imply that he’s still human in this drawing ≽(•⩊ •マ≼

Next guy I drew was Malim, whom I don’t have much to say about, as his outfit is basically the one he wore before he became a genie, only with slight embellishments and some of the jewelry he wears in his genie design to satisfy my neurodivergent brain lol ꉂ (´ ᗜ｀)

Altus doesn’t have many notes to his name either lol, I just let him have both his horns again and changed his outfit to something simpler because only a gun to my head would be enough to convince me to sit still and draw his canon outfit lmao ꉂ(≧▽≦)

Nayuta was an absolute pain to draw because I have absolutely no freaking idea how his transparent chest-ribcage thing worked and looked <(ꐦㅍ _ㅍ)> His lore video also didn’t show his past or childhood, so I just put Nayuta in sleepwear that resembled his normal outfit. You can bet that this is the first and last time I’m ever drawing this dude ◉‿◉

And last but not least, we have everyone’s favourite dinosaur himbo, Ryzar, who just got the same treatment as Nayuta lol /ᐠ˵- ⩊ -˵マ

And that’s about it ꉂ (´∀｀)

Here's the drawing without the textbox: