#these asks are so fun omg

[hotchocolateboy]

13 17 19 for the fic ask game!!

13- favorite writing music this year

I have playlists for each fic/main character i write. so instead of like a general one i'll give an artist/ song for all my mc's

alice- renee rapp/alaska by maggie rogers

paul- noah kahan/without you i don't know by jim and the povolos

emma- coldplay/bewitched by laufey

ruth- the crane wives/amelie by gracie abrams

atticus (oc)- of monsters and men/i bet on losing dogs by mitski

15- something i learned this year

this past year i really learned that no matter if i get 1 read or 100 on something, i should write for me, and what makes me happy. i shouldn't worry about how other people will receive my characterization, because i created these stories to bring me joy. on the other hand, i learned its really fun to have people read my stuff and to get to experience the stories i care so much about. i learned writing stories in the hatchetfield universe helped me work through a lot of the issues i was facing throughout the year, and inspired me to do some really difficult things. it seems strange to the general public to say i learned that from fanfiction, but it's true. writing about paul and emma and alice and travis taught me i can actually be happy and enjoy my life no matter what.

19- any new fics to start in 2024

obvi continuing not your perfect teen and a single thread of gold, and i might revisit only you can walk it if i find the motivation to rewrite what i hate

i have several! here are the basic pitches for each of them i'm writing at this point in time (obviously i plan to make more, but we're only a week into the new year and i aleady have ideas flowing)

an unnamed fleming story- a fluffy romance fic about ruth learning to be more independent as she ventures into young adulthood by taking care of her family's lighthouse! 8 chapters, ~40k words

band candy au- a hatchetfield take on the buffy the vampire slayer episode "band candy." oneshot, n/a wordcount

oxenfree 2 au- a paulkins retelling of oxenfree 2: lost signals! this one is the least developed, so i have no idea how long it will be lol

i don't really have an order i want to write/release these in, so i'm very open to public opinion on that front.

[forgettable-au]

Give the G dude some clothes🙄 he walking 'round with all that bone showing lol smh(+it's Christmas-)

I think he looks very handsome 🖤 let the guy show some bones

But, okay, let's give him some clothes because it's Christmas

I guess he's not cold...

-

[darlingwriter]

💫🎀 with Ghost? Like he gets all tipsy and lovey. I honestly see this man as a lovesick puppy once you give him a lil bit of attention

Also if you’re keeping track of anons can I be 🧃anon?

a/n: okay first of all you're absolutely correct and you should say it. secondly, i've never had to track anons before and i'm actually so honoured! you can totally be 🧃 anon! 💗

fic: gn!reader x simon "ghost" riley tags: fluff warnings: none wordcount: under 1k

Strictly speaking, you and Simon really aren’t supposed to be sharing quarters. You’re definitely violating at least a dozen regulations by spending almost every night in his bed. Then again, not many people are willing to argue with a six-foot-three man in a skull mask, so strictly speaking has never really been an issue.

No, the only issue is that it’s almost ten and he’s not back from drinks with Soap and Gaz yet and you’re deeply regretting not going with him because, as it turns out, hanging out in this apartment all by yourself is, big surprise, actually pretty fucking boring.

It feels like a millennium passes by in the confines of the white walls before you at last hear a familiar knock at the door.

Setting down your book, you unfold yourself from the nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, already mourning the loss of warmth as you shuffle across a cold hardwood floor to let the lieutenant in, one quilt still wrapped loosely around your shoulders, trailing behind you as you reach for the latch.

Simon’s pulling you into a hug almost the second you open the door, burying a fabric-covered face against your hair.

“You’re late,” you mumble into his chest, in an unsuccessful attempt to sound scolding.

“I know, ‘m sorry, lovely, cab took fuckin’ forever.” He shoves the door shut behind him. Leans back against it. “Ended up standin’ in the rain for ‘bout an hour.” He strips off a damp jacket. Pulls off his mask, revealing stubble and scars and a smile. “Missed you th’ whole time.”

“Sappy bastard.”

“Mmph.” The scent of bourbon whiskey still lingers on his skin, warm and a little smokey. He wraps the blanket — which has been slowly slipping off over the course of the exchange — back around you. “You like it.” You scoff and roll your eyes, and he cups your face with his hands and grins. “You’re cute.”

“You’re drunk,” you protest through squished cheeks.

“M’right, though.” He chuckles. Pulls you close again. Sinks down onto the couch, and you’re pulled down with him, his thick arms wrapped around you protectively as he rests his chin atop your head.

“Simon.”

“Lovely.”

“Breathing.”

“Not important,” he murmurs.

You sigh in defeat. Melt into the embrace. “You’re warm.” The words are muffled against his neck. Simon hums in acknowledgement. Presses a soft kiss against your temple.

“You too, lovely.”

[drenched-in-sunlight]

saying this as respectfully as possible but. Do not put fandom content creators on a pedestal. We are also just fans contributing to a community just as you are. We have boundary on our own work and that’s it. What I say is not and should not be considered sth the whole fandom should listen to. I’m just a normal ass person ranting about things on my blog. If it does not have a fandom tag for others to engage in, do not make it out to be me trying to start fights or addressing the whole community. Because it’s not.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, my art, my lore talk, is biased. I’ve never tried to hide that I view Marika a certain way and will always develop my theory following that base assumption.

Aside from translation stuffs and pointing out in-game items, everything else I say you can look at it, agree or disagree, and move on to form your own opinions. Just because I draw stuffs doesn’t mean you get to saddle me with responsibilities about managing fandom expectations. What the hell? I’m a fan artist, I’m the last person who you should look at for “leaderism” (?) WHAT?

I can and will be a hater in my own space, like I know sometimes other artists will just post their stuffs and not engage too heavily with fandom, and for a while I did try to do that here (because I’m already a dramatic ass on twitter), that’s just not me though.

You will get art and you will get my opinions as well.

[wegc]

hyunjin being the most vanilla thing ever before meeting super kinky reader and being corrupted by them lives in my brain rent free- like, sure he knew SOME things, he is 23, but reader literally opened a whole new world for him-

he's super bashful and almost ashamed at first but then in the end he becomes a super big perv jus like reader <3

sorry if this isn't specific enough, js wanna hear your thoughts and what you think hyunjin would be suppppeerrrr into

YESSSS because no one talks about reverse corruption kink enough :(

it’s not that you’re too much for him!!! it’s just that he finds it fucking embarrassing when he starts shaking and blushing every time you whisper in his ears what you wanna do to him in public, how you want to use him, how you want him to use you, how you want him to slap you and make it hurt :(

all he can do is close his eyes tightly, lips quivering as he pleads you to stop driving him fucking crazy in public—in general, even. worse comes to worse when send him a nude after he confesses that he wants to sketch you. his eyes would widen when he opened the image of your pretty, puffy cunt, manicured fingers spreading your lips open to cunningly exhibit your glistening, swollen hole—clearly you had been touching yourself before sending the picture.

and he can’t say no to you!!! he tries to draw it, trying his best to ignore how unusually hard he’s becoming, trying his hardest to ignore the aching in his sore, leaking cock, but he loses himself and his self-control when his pencil begins sketching out your tiny little clit. one groan and next thing you know, he’s dialling your number!!!

the more you guys fuck and consequently, the more comfortable the two of you become with each other, hyunjin begins losing his guard and realizes it when the sight of you in a sundress for a picnic date has him begging to fuck you in some dingy, public washroom.

“please, baby—it’ll be quick, promise! i just—i don’t know—i can’t think,”

“wanna you bent over—yeah—wanna see your ass, baby, please,”

guys, i’m sorry but i fear i am very accepting of the hyunjin feet lover agenda 😔

hyunjin would never tell you!!! but his biggest fantasy is you naked before him, your glowing body spread out and pliant, posing as a model for him to paint you. something about the intensity of the scenario (perhaps a little roleplay) has him cumming into his fist late at night. he also definitely cum tributes to a painting of you out of utter desperation sometimes yeah…

[spearxwind]

Happy 10th birthday to Cercerion!

OUGHHH UR RIGHT CERCIE IS 10 YEARS OLD NOW !!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOY BELOVEDEST DID NOTHING WRONG EVER IN HIS WHOLE LIFE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[solargeist]

could you perhaps draw. lizzy ldshadowlady ? no pressure i just think her content with shelby is neat :]

i misread this and thought u asked for Both and i was still thinking abt empires so . a cat and a witch !!!

[hellsite-detective]

hellsite hall of fame reblogged it with the edit the other day, but the post where op is afraid of vampires and their brother changed the clock to confuse the vampires so they’d think it was day and leave them alone. it was edited to say danny devito instead of vampires

can you find the original version with vampires and not the danny devito edit ty

takin' a look at this request, i thought this was gonna be a real hard one. trackin' down the danny devito version is a piece of cake. but the original version with the vampires? anythin' but. or so i thought...

first thing i did was took a stroll down the Madame Curator's museum of eccentric antiquities, the Hellsite Hall of Fame itself. i went in and found the post rather quickly as it was a new edition to her gallery. but that's when i realized it wasn't an image that had been edited, it was the original post. i sent a correspondence along to the mysterious museum cryptid askin' if it were possible to track down the unedited version. while i waited for her response, i decided to take a look through the post's notes. my thought was that maybe, if i scrolled far enough, i could find reblogs from the time when this post was still about vampires. but what i found instead was incredible.

a screenshot showin' the original version of the post, with a second username included. i quickly searched that name on tumblr and found the post almost immediately. the original version about vampires had been found.

this one was one i thought was gonna be real hard, but ended up bein' quite an enjoyable ride. thanks for takin' me on this journey! have a great day!

Post Case: Closed

[seiwas]

for writing game, iwaizumi + assistance <3

hope this sparks some inspo and thank you in advancee

hi there!! thanks for sending in a prompt 🫶

contains: friends to lovers (ish), halloween parties, reader is dressed as catwoman, expletives, iwaizumi is thiiiiis 🤏 close to murdering seijoh4 (jk)

iwaizumi + assistance

this is a set-up.

iwaizumi knows he shouldn't have fucking believed anything the boys "promised" him back when they assigned him this costume.

the suit is fucking tight, spandex digging into his groins and all other crevices that definitely should be aired out after after a few hours. he's had to constantly readjust his stance almost every few minutes, the black fabric compressing his thighs and torso, significantly constricting the range of motion his shoulders and arms are typically used to. if anything else, it could double up as a back brace from how rigidly straight it's kept his posture all night.

he'll give it to makki though; he did outdo himself sourcing this year's costumes―this batman set looks pretty damn legit.

except for one tiny problem.

there's no fucking pee hole. it's a zip-up, zip-down one-piece situation. and that normally wouldn't be a problem, except that oikawa "accidentally" knocked over a cocktail straight into his pants, the sickeningly sweet liquid now seeping straight into the fabric and past his boxers―cold and sticky as it touches his skin.

and so, the problem: his pants are wet, it makes him want to fucking pee, and coincidentally, the only vacant bathroom is across the hall, at your apartment.

this is why he believes this is a set up. that, and the fact that you're dressed in an outfit strikingly similar―just with cat ears.

he's been asked five times in this party if you're in matching couple outfits.

it catches him off guard, flusters him because of how badly he wants to say yes. but, you're just friends, and he doesn't even think you like him that way (despite mattsun and oikawa practically begging him to confess. makki tells him he thinks you're going to do it first).

so he politely smiles and says no, but you look good, your costume clinging to you in all the right places. thank fucking god he has a cape because he's pretty sure he spent the first 30 minutes in the party hiding his boner.

"hajime, it's fine, i swear," you stand beside him in front of the conveniently locked bathroom in oikawa's apartment. from the other side of the door, he's pretty sure he hears mattsun and his girlfriend mumbling. maybe fucking? who knows. "you can just use the bathroom in my apartment."

he glances at you before closing his eyes, contemplating, before finally agreeing to you.

"okay."

if he's being honest with himself, friends is definitely an incomplete label to what you are. as oikawa's neighbor, you are conveniently around all the time; and oikawa being oikawa, the ever-social butterfly, he's somehow managed to carve a space for you in the friend group.

(never mind the fact that oikawa's sniffed him out from the moment he first introduced you.)

you were a crush, then a friend, and now you're someone he picks up from work and drives back home three times a week, because he "has to train oikawa." you don't question it, even when you both know he stays over for dinner way past the gym's open hours.

"you know where it is," you open your apartment and urge him in.

"sorry again," he turns to face you.

"yeah, yeah, just pee!" you laugh, shoving him towards the bathroom door.

getting out of the suit is manageable, and he's able to wipe off a bit of the cocktail that's leaked to the suit and his boxers just to make sure it isn't gross and sticky when he gets home later. peeing is a big relief once he gets it over with, but it's when he has to suit up again that things become difficult.

stretching out the spandex one body part at a time is a workout in itself―the hardest task being when he has to pull it over his shoulders, adjusting it to fit properly over his arms and chest.

but then the zipper breaks.

and he truly thinks makki has fucked him over.

iwaizumi contemplates what to do next for a good, good while. he tries calling oikawa, only to no success every time; no way in hell is he calling mattsun in the middle of having sex. and calling makki isn't even an option; he'd never hear the end of it.

then you knock on the door, your voice soft and concerned as you ask, "hajime? you good in there?" you hit it spot on, too, "do you need help with your suit?"

iwaizumi presses his palms to his eyes. he's a rational man, straightforward and logical in thinking. there is literally no other option for him right now but to ask help from you. again.

fuck.

.

it's 30 minutes later when oikawa barges in your door, and the sight that greets him is iwaizumi in nothing but a hoodie (the hoodie you borrowed some time ago) and his boxers, with his hands on your waist as you hover your hairdryer over the crotch of his batman costume―cat headpiece off and all.

"you finally got together?!"

[h0nkshroom]

got u fam

drawing prompt: hokilian meeting monch at the lighthouse >:D

They are infatuated

BONUS

Cult Leader went to go fishing and ended up witnessing moth behavior

[romanscool]

maxiel kith (kiss) prompt 27 on a place of insecurity if you want :))

#27: a kiss on a place of insecurity - maxiel: sfw

hi anon!! thanks sooo much for this prompt, I've actually giggled when seeing it cause I've been wanting to write it so bad haha

I hope this is what you had in mind when you asked for me this!

anyways, enjoy <33

->

Max had seemed down all morning. It’s not usual for him to be this way.

Actually, he’s generally pretty open about everything. Daniel likes to jokes that he literally wears his emotions on his face like his goddamn Red Pull polos and skinny jeans, to which Max always answers, in usual Max manor, ‘fuck off.’

Classy. And, open. 

But now, Max is weirdly backing up. He’s hiding and holding his own hands under said disgusting Red Pull polo merch, and his socked to ankle feet are together in a way to bend his knees and make him look like he’s those insects that roll up. Rounding up. He looks seventeen again with a little baby fat still hanging to his face, red round splotches of teenageness like constellations on his jaw. He looks young, Daniel realizes. 

Except not the right young version of Max. Young Max was brash. He was frank, and frankly blunt, and Daniel liked that about him. He doesn’t really like that weird dystopic version of young Max that has him belittling himself on his own sofa, cat on his lap burying his hidden hands under its little fur body. Daniel still can’t decipher Sassy from Jimmy, but right now it doesn’t seem like it matters. 

« Hey, Maxy what’s going on? » 

Max turns to him, chin propped on his chest. Daniel hears the familiar ‘ding!’ of the lunch that’s been cooking in the oven for the past hour signaling it’s done. He ignores it when he sees Max grimace. 

Daniel circles round the sofa and sits by Max’s feet. He takes one and puts it on his lap, silently asking Max if it’s fine with him. Max doesn’t answer. Daniel takes it as a yes, and holds Max’s other ankle just above the sock, which he accidentally pulls down a little as he sets Max’s left foot with the other one. Daniel has always liked that about Max, too. How pliable he always was. He’s a little tense, Daniel can see it in the twitch of the muscle in his shin, but he still lets Daniel in a little. 

Daniel pulls the sock back up and asks, « Wanna tell me what’s been on your mind this morning? ». He’s gentle with it, too, setting what he hopes to be a comforting hand on Max’s leg, where the peach fuzz sits so pretty and is the perfect amount of rough under Daniel’s hand scar. 

Daniel tries to find an answer in the way Max’s brows furrow, and usually he does, but apparently nothing about Max makes sense today. 

Max takes out his hand from his t-shirt in one quick motion, pulling the hem of it over his sleep-shorts over it as soon as he’s done. Daniel can’t even stop to stare at Max’s little trail of hair there. He doesn’t wonder why he’s a little disappointed at that, because he knows. He’s been with Max long enough to know he’s crazy about anything Max. Even the weird shit. 

« There’s nothing, Daniel. » Max answers, but. Daniel doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t. Not when Max gives him this awkward little smile that barely lifts the corner of his mouth, the one that doesn’t make his eye crinkle and soft, soft, soft. 

Daniel shakes his head. His hand goes up Max’s thigh on its own. « Nah, don’t believe you. » When it reaches the bottom of Max’s shorts, it stops and goes back down. Leaves little goosebumps in its trail. « Tell me what it is, » He sees Max opens his mouth, and can sense it in the air that Max is about to say one of those PR-friendly answers the team has taught him to say when he doesn’t want to comment on something but has to, so Daniel stops him, « also, yeah, no, none of that please. » He keeps his tone light, sing-song-y and all high pitched on the ‘please’ to drag the truth out of Max. It’s been a while since he’s had to do that. 

« No, it’s just-, » Max stops for a second, and Daniel relishes in the dutch accent peeking out during the ’s’s, making them sounds like little waves that never crash on Monaco’s shore. « It is stupid, really. »

« Nothing’s stupid. » Daniel says, and he sees Max kind of pouts and the expression on his face is back to very much translating ‘fuck off’ but Daniel brushes it off, though he’s glad Max is starting to open up a little. Crack like his voice used to do in the early years of his career. « No, nothing’s stupid, Maxy. ’Specially if you get all grumpy like that. » 

Max’s lips turns just the smallest turn upwards and Daniel wants to kiss them. « You always say I am grumpy in the mornings. » 

Daniel giggles, because it’s true, Max is always grumpy in the morning, and Daniel does have an habit of pointing it out. 

« Yeah, you are. » Daniel says it so fond he’s worried for a split second if maybe it’s too much, but Max doesn’t say anything about it, just has to weird downturn smile plastered on his face that makes his chin wrinkle slightly, and Daniel’s hand seems to think that’s enough of a reason to allow itself to go further up Max’s shorts. « It’s not that this morning, though. » 

Daniel hears Max take in a short breath more than he sees it, because he’s following his tattooed hand closely, gaze fixated on it, so much that he has to tear his eyes from it to see Max’s flush spreading just below this awful navy polo. 

« So, you gonna tell me what it is? » Daniel adds a small smile of his own, just for good measure, just to really relax Max. 

He sees his shoulder slump a little and Sassy-or-Jimmy stretches on his chest and claws at his collarbone slightly. Max goes to pet her-slash-him, but the cat gets frightened and runs away quickly. Jimmy, then. Daniel feels his hand bob up and down a few times as Max chuckle. Feels fucking amazing.

« It is stupid, Daniel. » Max says it like a warning, but it’s hard to find it convincing when his furrowed brows ease just slightly, and his bottom lip is a little tucked between two rows of perfect straight teeth. 

Daniel shakes his head and takes Max’s feet from his lap and sets them back on the sofa. He climbs slowly between them and sets his head on Max’s clothed thigh, just a little higher than he’s allowed his hand to roam up to. « Tell me, baby. » 

« It has been a while since the last race. » 

And, yeah, that’s true. Just a couple month ago, Abu Dhabi happened and Max got out of the car for the last time of 2024, fourth championship tucked away safely in his pocket and a big smile on his face. 

Daniel remembers it very clearly. Remembers the sweat pouring down Max’s forehead, meddling with the champagne that Lando showered him with, even though he was the one that had won the race. He remembers the white fabric of his fireproofs turned a little yellow and transparent during the podium, remembers the way he could almost do more than imagine Max’s pinkish nipple under them. Daniel wanted to lick then, and he wants to lick now, nipples under Red Bull merch that Max has been wearing for two days straight. Disgusting and sweaty, just as he had been then.

« Yeah, and? » 

Max flushes again, probably from the long time Daniel took to answer him, probably because he remembers that night too, the hotel and the morning. « It’s been a while since the last race, Daniel. » Max says, again, parrots, really, with that insisting look on his face that Max wears when he’s trying to Make Daniel understand something. 

Daniel doesn’t understand. « Yeah, I got that. Two months, it’s been Maxy. » He tries to think harder, to put the pieces together, and he suddenly gets an idea, « You miss it? Racing? » 

« No, this is not, » Max sighs, and intertwines his hand on his belly. The fabric of his t-shirt ruffles and Daniel can just see the skin above Max’s boxer’s waistband. « I mean, I have been in vacation for too long. There is, uh-, » Max closes his eyes and the back of his head hits the arm of the sofa, « Photos. On the internet. » 

What. « I don’t get it, Maxy. » Daniel picks up his hand from where it’s been staying on Max’s thigh and starts to trace that little band of skin. Pale and so so pretty. 

« Daniel, just, » Max sighs again, long and desperate. « I have been letting myself go a little. »

Daniel feels himself frowning. His cheeks smushing up against Max’s sleep-shorts. « Well, yeah. It’s winter break, Max, what the hell you gonna do? » 

« Train. » Max swallows and pulls down the t-shirt way more than it should be, « Control myself, maybe. »

And that’s such a weird thing to hear Max saying that, because he’s never been that way. Self-conscious. He’s never been the one to-, « Are you quoting the media, Max? ‘Cause if you are, and I mean it, what the fuck. » 

Max suddenly gets this strange look of impeding doom fall on his face, melting all his feature in the wrong way, « You have seen it, too, then. » 

Daniel lifts his head for Max’s lap and sits on his knees between Max’s legs. « No, no, I haven’t-, Max, you-, » He sighs and leans down to kiss him. Just a quick one, to make his brain stop screaming ‘what, when, why, who, why’, « The media all say shit. You know that, they don’t-, they don’t fucking speak the truth. Like, ever. » 

Because Daniel has seen the fucking articles, in a way. He’s seen shit talk about the way Max’s chest looks at the beach, or how his t-shirt hugs him tighter than it used to on his lower belly, on his shoulders, his arms. How there’s more of him. Daniel has seen this shit and thanked the fucking world that Max looks like this, that there is indeed more of Max, more to love, to fucking worship and touch, swallow, bite into.

He hadn’t thought for a fucking second that what those dumb reporters had said was true. He doesn’t understand how Max could, either. 

« I know, Daniel, I know that. » Max sighs, and Daniel tries to search for the smallest hint of something that isn’t shame in Max’s eyes but he can’t find it, so he has to listen to Max say, «  It is only that, I’m starting to see it. »

And Daniel wants to scream, throw middle fingers at all the fucking people who make a living on hating Max fucking Verstappen, four times F1 world champion, biggest dork on the planet, and perfect, perfect, perfect man. 

The only thing that Daniel can say is, « Maxy, » and Max doesn’t seem to understand, eyebrows together and bottom lip slightly jutting out, so Daniel makes him understand. Makes him see himself like Daniel sees him. 

Daniel climbs between Max’s legs again, and takes hold of Max’s waist. It’s such a perfect fit too, the curve of it allowing Daniel’s palm to slot just right, to hold and dig his fingertips in the flesh that has Daniel’s brain think crazy thoughts. Daniel leans down, rubbing soft circles on Max’s waist and starts to kiss over the fabric of his polo. Just soft pecks of fucking gentleness that Daniel wishes Max had for himself. He curses the world as he starts working up Max’s chest, landing on his neck. 

« Daniel, » He hears Max whisper, but Daniel acts like he didn’t hear it. He continues his way up, planting his lips on Max’s jaw, where pebbles of pimples used to sit, now replaced by awkward and unevenly shaved stubble, and Daniel is glad for it, glad for the slight itches he gets on his mouth as he kisses there and higher, on Max’s ears and cheekbones, going left to land on his eyebrows and eyes, which Max closes, bracing for Daniel’s lips on them. 

Daniel kisses there as he starts working his hands up Max’s t-shirt, whispering a small, « this okay? » centimeters away from Max’s lips, getting a silent nod and a hot breath on his own mouth that has his fingers dig on Max’s hips. He pulls away for a second and takes Max’s shirt off, Max’s back hitting the sofa again in a dull thud that has him giggling and Daniel wish he could record the sound and listen to it every fucking hour of the fucking day.

Daniel kisses Max a small kiss on the lips, one that has Max whining a little, a small sound in the back of the throat he always does to ask Daniel to do something again, whether it’s pass a hand through his hair of put toothpaste on his toothbrush, because Max is weird and has decided when he was a kid that using three times the amount of toothpaste required was a good idea. 

Daniel kisses and kisses down again, hands still rubbing soft circles on Max’s waist. He kisses between his pecs to his belly button. He finally gets to see the little trail of dark dirty blond hair that half-hides under Max’s boxers. He leaves it hidden but doesn’t forget to plant kisses on top of the weirdly smooth material of Max’s shorts. 

Max giggles, and Daniel feels it under his fingertips, feels it under his breath and in his ears, tingles all the way to his toes that are starting to cramp up. « I get it, Daniel, please I-, » 

« Ticklish? » Daniel teases, plants another kiss just under the bare skin he’s kissed countless times, just above what he doesn’t want to think about right now, because this isn’t about that.

« Kinda. » Max’s voice cracks and Daniel thinks he’s just heard the fucking world speak to him. « You’re so fucking weird, Daniel. » 

Yeah, Daniel thinks. So fucking weird. « Obsessed, too, maybe. » Daniel knows his voice is breathy, but he doesn’t really care. Max is open, bare skin all over the leather sofa, clammy hands far, far from his stomach, and Daniel’s been allowed to kiss him better. That’s like a fucking victory.

I've started to post those on ao3 so please check them out!

don't hesitate to leave a comment/ask/tag for other (kiss or non kiss) prompts! I always appreciate them a lot <33

lots of love, and see you in the next one!

[saradiation]

Part 1 of a Davekat Coffee Shop AU comic :)

[siphoklansan]

based on the results of this poll…₊˚⊹ ᰔ

the long awaited (no one was waiting) dorm reveal is here! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

BASED ON THE POLL, I was really surprised that the majority of you guys voted Pomefiore. Like- I wasn’t really expecting any dorm to win, but Pomefiore is the least expected for me idk why😭

I planned to draw her in all the uniforms but alas, I am not god’s strongest soldier😔✌️ maybe in the future tho!

As to why I drew her in Diasomnia’s uniform, it’s actually the correct (kinda) answer to which dorm Sippy’s most suitable in! I’ve done a quiz twice on which dorm I’d be in twst, and the answer was always Diasomnia. It fits!

design notes ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Of course, I had to keep the bunny shoes- I just turned them into boots!

Sippy is wearing leggings in the Pomefiore uniform because I ran out of ideas</3 i had fun with the ruffles though I think it’s super cute!

I wanted Pomefiore Sippy to have a red skirt, but decided against it because the inner fabric of the robe(?) is already red :((

I had a lot of fun drawing Diasomnia Sippy! For some reason I changed the neck-tie into a brooch but i can’t remember why🤷‍♀️I guess I wanted her to look different from other members.

Every time I think about Diasomnia I think about the military/guards/knights/soldiers (like Sebek & Silver) so I wanted to make her design realistic those two (ex.the pants, adding combat boots, no braids) . BUT it looked boring. And I don’t want boring. Who gaf about realistic designs anyway /j but yeah her stockings are kinda like Lilia’s!

Yes, I know the salute looks wonky (I used my own hands for reference) </3 but I tried my best

on siphona and floydhok… ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Pick your poison ahh template but let’s ignore that💀

It’s a fun doodle, nothing more or less. But it’s the most popular (and the only ones) ship regarding to Sippy!

I drew it in one-go so if it looks wonky I apologize

I wanted to draw each ship it’s own interaction but I ran out of ideas :(( I’ll let you guys decide if you want to see it but I’m just gonna leave them here-

totally nothing suspicious with the last photo tho :^ have a good day!

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

the ultimate babygirl /silly /goofy, even

the guy the man ever y'all<3333

[shrimparts-blog888]

Would you ever be open to drawing Duchess or Faybelle🥺

OFC!!!

Why not both 🤷‍♀️

[toxintouch]

yk how in veres likes on his character sheet it says he like cooking (badly)…… WHY HAS NO ONE DONE A FIC ABOUT THAT YET‼️⁉️⁉️ THAT SHOULD NOTTT BE A WASTED OPPORTUNITY. i’m not even joking im ab to send this to so many people because i can’t let this go to waste 😞

Here u are anon!  For the record, you are completely free to send this prompt around wherever you’d like!  It was such a fun idea, I’d love to see more takes on it. ^^

Warnings: Vere talking Innuendos? Innuendos.  So many, and I don’t guarantee that they are funny lol.  Just a general silly vibe and imo: absolutely  tooth rotting fluff.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅SOUS CHEF ‧₊˚♡₊˚

You find yourself wandering through Lowtown during the lunch hour, trying to decide what sounds like a good meal.

Your mouth waters at the scents being carried on the breeze, a plethora of pleasant aromas wafting out of the eateries nestled inside the Amaryllis District, so fragrant that you can smell them all the way down on the bustling streets of Lowtown as long as you stay downwind.

However, if there’s one nice thing about knowing Leander it's that you also know you don’t have to go that far (or spend that much) for a delicious lunch. 

Near enough to the Wet Wick, there’s a series of side streets that make up an eclectic amalgamation of Lowtown and the Amaryllis District, and in it: a small and inconspicuous eatery.  The menu changes often, though you aren’t sure if that’s out of innovation or necessity, but the food is always filling and reasonably priced.

You follow the winding streets, getting lost for a brief moment before correcting your course, traveling until you see colorful chipped girih tiles and wide, clean windows.  You let yourself into the shop, the now familiar sound of hinges in need of an oiling welcoming you.  

There’s an assortment of goods on display–jars of honey and spiced fruit and loaves of braided bread with seeds–all kept safely locked away beneath an enchanted pane of glass.

Looking around, though, you don’t see anyone selling said fantastic wares.

You call out, expecting the shop keep or her wife to come running but instead you hear…silence.

Followed by a loud metallic clatter.

You freeze, unsure what to do, what the threat is–if there’s even a threat?–but before you can make up your mind, you’re greeted by a most unexpected sight.

Vere comes out of the kitchen area, his hair swept into an artfully stunning up-do that reveals the long line of his neck and clavicle, blemished only by the heavy collar locked around his throat. 

He’s wearing a weighty linen apron over his clothing, presumably to protect his outfit, though–his long gossamer sleeves are completely discordant with the notion, making you think that maybe the apron is more of an aesthetic choice.

“What’s this–?  A mouse?  In my kitchen?” Vere asks playfully as you continue to stare, dumbfounded.  He wields a spatula in his hand like a weapon–swatching it into his off-hand like a riding crop with a decisive snap.

“Where is–?”

“–The shop keep?  Wherever she pleases–the shop’s closed on Mondays.”

(You really don’t like the way he’s watching you…  Or the way he keeps inching closer…)

You take a step backwards, your eyes never leaving his.  “Oh,” you say, bandaged hands reaching blindly behind you.  “I didn’t realize.  The door was unlocked, so…”  You trail off.

You find the doorknob at last.  You attempt to turn it only to find that it won’t budge.

“Was it?”

Vere saunters up to you, tail swaying behind him.  You manage to tear your eyes away from his predator stare to search for possible exits, though you know for a fact you won’t be fast enough.   You look back and he’s already in your space, crowding you against the entryway.

(He smells really good, actually.  Like leather and spice and the subtle cling of perfume and incense.  And beneath that, something–earthy–animalistic, but in a way that’s intoxicating as opposed to unpleasant.)

“I was just about to make myself a snack–how nice that a snack came to me.”

“Stop playing around.” You try to steel yourself and inject the perfect amount of scolding into your voice while combating his heated stare.  “I know you’re just fucking with me to try and get a reaction; you and I both know you’re not going to eat me.” 

If he was, he would have done it by now.  Sometime within the weeks you’ve known him.  …Probably. 

Unless he just likes to play with his food.

“I didn’t realize you knew me so well,”  he says, looking amused.  “Perhaps I didn’t plan to, but now I simply can’t resist.  You look so absolutely delectable, how could I possibly contain myself?”

You don’t get the chance to reply.  Vere’s countenance changes suddenly–you watch his ears flatten a second before you hear the screaming whistle of a teapot.  His ears twitch in annoyance at the sound, his perfectly sculpted face showing a sour sneer.  He gives you a sideways glance, calculating.

“Then again.  I find myself in need of a sous chef.  Congratulations on your promotion.  Come along now.”  He hooks a finger into your cloak and pulls you easily into the kitchen.  (To be fair, you don’t struggle.  Anyone would want to see where this is going, right?)

He releases you once you’ve crossed over the threshold, waving his fingers uncaringly towards a second apron affixed to a hook on the wall as he beelines to remove a glass teapot from the stove and stifle the noise.  He moves quickly as you watch, casually throwing aside the spatula in his hand in favor of an ornate silver teaspoon.  He measures a vibrantly colored tea into the inlaid steeping container of the equally ornate teapot and takes a pleased inhale as the tea’s fragrance blooms, humming as he flips over a delicate hourglass to keep track of the steeping time.

There’s silence for a moment–

Him watching the teapot and you watching him.

“Well?”  He asks, without looking up.  You’ve seen this look before, you think – this pensive, almost lonesome look that makes your heart ache against all better judgment.  “Staying or going?”

He grins when you put on the apron.  You search his face for some sincerity, but he’s all sharp teeth and tall ears, covering any glimpses of deeper emotion with a sheen of smugness.  He circles you once you have the apron on, taking in the image.

“Mm, don’t you just look adorable.  Very domesticated.”

You’re pretty sure that the word he’s looking for is domestic. But of course, he knows what he said and he meant to say it.  You decide that he’s probably betting on your correction, already armed with a witty retort.  You smooth the apron down while pointedly looking away, deciding that you won’t give him the satisfaction.  You hear him chuckle.

Since you’re avoiding looking at Vere, you look around the kitchen for the first time.

It’s a spacious workspace–moreso than the storefront, even.  There’s a large iron stove unlike anything you’ve ever seen, covered with magical runes and dials, with a large hearth built into the belly of it.  A plethora of pots and pans have been placed on the burners, left to sizzle and pop in the red hot heat.  

Oil is singing from the heated, shallow basins but you don’t see anything cooking inside.  

There’s a slab of meat diced into neat squares and a heaping bowl of lumpy batter set to the side of the stove top.

“What are you making?”  You ask, trying to make sense of the scene.

“Panko crusted fish filet.  And there’s a pasta in the oven.  For dessert, I was thinking–” he gives you a sly look, one that makes your ears feel warm, “hmm, well.  I just had a much better idea in regards to dessert.”  He makes a show of licking his fangs, the movements of his tongue slow and sensual.

You think you tied your apron too tight; your airway is feeling a little constricted.  It seems to be getting worse the longer you watch.

You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away.  More ingredients, most partially prepared, and a host of dirtied pots and pans greet you.  You turn your back to him as you explore, fully engrossed in all of the views that the mess of a kitchen has to offer.  You’re almost afraid to ask: “So, what am I here to help with?”

“Oh?”  You don’t hear Vere come up next to you, but you feel him brushing up against you.  “Does my darling sous chef require…instruction?  A guiding hand, so to speak?”  You freeze, feeling his breath against your ear, shivers running down your spine at his light and teasing chuckle.

But then he’s breezing past you, making a wide dramatic gesture toward the large tome perched surreptitiously on the counter.  “Lucky for you, I’ve a recipe.”  His tail wags swishes elegantly behind him as he beams with pride.

His tail knocks the whisk out of the mystery batter beside the fish filet but he takes no notice.

Vere hops gracefully up onto the counter, reaching for the batter.  He does an impressive twist in order to grab hold of another whisk and you take the time to appreciate that.  Then, with Vere occupied and seemingly ignoring you, you take a look at the recipe book.  

The text is old and withered with the occasional dash of sprawling spidery script painting the margins.  (Said writing is utterly illegible–you’re actually not sure if it’s in a language you can read, though if you squint you think you can see something that looks like the word ‘cake’.)  The page it’s opened to is ripped in half, rendering precious steps of the recipe lost to time.  You spot a mysterious bite mark piercing through the corner of the leather cover.

And can’t stop yourself from surreptitiously glancing over at Vere.  He’s moved on from the batter (which looks as lumpy as it did a minute ago) and is now eating skewers of raw fish with his nails.

“You’re not supposed to eat while you cook,” you say, the time worn words out of your mouth before you can examine your personal stance on them.

“Says who?  Some limp dick?  No shame in indulging, pet.”

“You’re not even gonna have anything left to cook,” you warn.

“Hum, sounds like my sous chef should get to work covering them in batter instead of just standing there before I eat them all.”

You roll your eyes, but follow through with instructions.  The space is unfamiliar and your movements are slow and unsure with Vere looming over you from his perch on high, watching.

One of the pans of oil gives an ominous pop.  “Hmm, sounds like it’s hot enough,” says Vere.  “Move over.”

“Is that safe?”

“For me,” Vere says simply.  “And it’s faster.  Now stand further back or you'll get splattered–and not in the fun way.”  Idly, he tosses a batter covered filet into the shallow pan.  The resulting hiss makes you both cringe.

As if on queue, the hourglass for the tea gives a gentle chime, lighting up with a golden glow.  (You’re beginning to wonder how this humble shop can afford all these magical items, but then again this is the city of secrets.  You’re probably better off not knowing.)  Vere’s ears perk up, pleased.  He tosses the remaining fillets in the pan without a fuss, setting lids on top of each to contain the oil, acting as if doing so is going to stop any potential disaster.

Main course forgotten, he moves on to digging something out from inside one of the many cupboards.  “Be a dear and cut this for me, will you?”  He hands you a delicate peach before heading to the tea pot, stirring the contents and adding what must be a priceless amount of honey.

The peach in your hand is overripe but still vibrant–amazing, as you haven’t seen fresh fruit at all since you came to Eridia.  Your mouth waters anew as you remember what led you here in the first place–your quest for a meal–and you’re almost tempted to take a bite, follow Vere’s advice and sink your teeth in.

“My, my.  I’m almost jealous.  I thought you only looked at me like that.”

Vere shushes the denial from your lips, bossing you around regarding how he wants the peach sliced before shooing you out of his way and finishing his remaining tea preparations,with the look of an artist at work.  The tea is a warm oolong color, made only more alluring once the infusion of peach is complete.

It’s refreshing, too, once Vere serves it to you over ice.

You can almost ignore the great plumes of smoke coming from the oven.

Vere cooks how others might enjoy a leisurely stroll. 

Which is to say, he seems to be having fun, but you’re not convinced he intends on really going anywhere.  Still, there’s a rhythm to it–a dance, though he leads you in expected loops and turns, changes the tune at a moment's notice.  He’ll get bored of the task at hand and find some new spice to peruse, demand you taste test an ingredient or give your opinion on a dizzying new flavor he’s concocted.

(He manages to convince you to sample a bit of cucumber soup from the cold box.  You retch, proclaiming it salty, downing another glass of delicious peach oolong–

“I can still taste it in the back of my throat…!”–and he cackles wildly.)

Thick locks of hair are falling out of his up-do by the time he’s satisfied, framing his face and bringing your attention, again to the inviting line of his clavicle.  He tosses his loose hair over his shoulder, preening.

The recipe book is basically ruined, and the pasta is null and void, but some of the fillets look mildly edible.  The artful garnish is beautiful, at least.  The kale and orange slices really bring out the crispy burnt bits.  Vere seems to enjoy plating the food a great deal, humming and rearranging and circling the display until he deems it arranged to perfection.

He’s elegant when he takes a bite, biting down with a crunch.  His tail goes very still for a moment, then shivers microscopically as he chews.  He swallows in a manner that you can only describe as dignified, dabbing his lips with a napkin.  You wait in anticipation, but Vere says nothing for a long time.  Then, he quietly takes the old recipe book and throws it away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t insist on you trying it too.

You end up snacking on some of the pre-made goods, drinking the remaining tea and lounging at one of the shop’s cozy little tables.  The mood is light and easy, and the view is magnificent.  Outside, there’s nothing but trash littered streets and urchins, but inside…the afternoon glow coming from the window illuminates Vere like a sunset, painting him in dazzling shades of gold and red and bronze.

Vere hums, peering at you pointedly through his sooty lashes.  “So, dessert?”

You can’t imagine the look that comes across your face–whatever it is, it makes Vere laugh.

“What are you giving me that look for?  My intentions are pure.” His voice is a masterclass in syrupy false-innocence.  “As clean as Leander’s bed sheets after–”

“Please don’t finish that sentence and give me any mental images,” you beg.  “I have to sleep there tonight, I’d rather not know.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”  Vere agrees, closing his eyes and appearing to bask in the sun for a moment.  His face does something that you don’t quite catch–some hidden expression–but then, he’s smiling easily.  He must really be relaxed if he can still smile seconds after thinking about Leander.  You’re still admiring him when the shadows against the walls flicker, and suddenly he isn’t sitting next to you any more.

Instead, he’s returning from the kitchen, a tray in hand.

He sets it down in front of you, revealing an assortment of strawberries and an ornate silver porringer of what appears to be melted chocolate.  Vere sets it down on the table, plucking the small dessert spoon from the chocolate once he’s seated across from you again.

“Occasionally, life does offer up something sweet to savor–only for those willing to go out and take it.”  His tongue darts out to lick the chocolate off the spoon in his hand.  He maintains eye contact as his tongue laves across the basin and–embarrassingly–you think you get a little lightheaded from the intensity with which your blood rushes to your face.  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you that he know exactly where your mind has gone.

Setting the spoon down, Vere instead picks up a bare strawberry, leaning in closer to press it gently to your mouth.

The chocolate is overly bitter–a little burnt, perhaps, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you’re tasting the remnants of it on Vere’s lips.

(Before leaving, you plop a few coins down on the counter as payment.  You brought enough to cover your food…but definitely not enough to cover the mess in the kitchen.  There’s really nothing you can do about that.  

You hope you don’t get blacklisted.  You’d like to come back next Monday.)

Hope you enjoyed if you made it this far! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡