#with the other amazing artworks and fics

[guy-in-a-scarf]

Gift for @tigereyes45 for the mcspirk gift exchange 2024 <3

I really liked your fic and this was a lot of fun to draw!

Everyone go read the fic on ao3 it was so good <333

[zenbofication]

Do you think gangle would comfort jax if he had a break down about corn? Or if fhe adventure of tue day was a corn maze?

Yeah i think she would! Shed probably follow that "treat others how you want to be treated" saying and hope that showing him some compassion would make him treat her better! (And also cuz shes worried about him ofc) Tho i think she would be confused as to why out of everything theyve been thru in this digital hell a corn maze is what affects him most...

[yasmeensh]

It is now time to share my piece for Legend of Link Zine! This is part of a series of other OG Link pieces that tell a story (1. artwork by @zolanort, 2.fic by @zartophski, 3. is my piece :D). Thanks to all who purchased a copy of the zine!

Here is the zine's tumblr page: @2023legendoflinkzine Please check out the amazing work that had been put into it! And very special thanks to @seekingseven for organizing this wonderful zine!

I'm immensely grateful and thankful to all my zine-mates who helped me out in the critique channel! Wouldn't have gotten it to where it is now without them 😘 THANKS!!!!! Now below are close-ups and WIP shots:

It's my usual process of drawing with pencil on paper, then scanning and colouring it digitally. After the second image, it was layering colours and smoothing out everything. I wanted to retain the pencil texture, so I did not go too overboard.

[echo-bleu]

My art for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2024 by @tolkienrsb.

The wonderful @eilinelsghost took this prompt and made it into an amazing fic about Finrod's reembodiment in Aman, which you will find here! It was so great to work together, go read her fic!

fic by @eilinelsghost; artwork by @echo-bleu

Rating: G Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Finarfin & Finrod Characters: Finarfin, Finrod Word Count: 5.5k

"I was healed, they told me. As ready as a soul could be." Bitterness laced through Finrod's words and he drew the robe close about him once more. "In what way is this readiness? Is there no longer healing in Námo’s halls?" Immediately after his reembodiment, Finrod shuts himself within his chambers and allows none but his mother to come near. When Eärwen is called away, Finarfin must navigate his grief at this new separation and both father and son wrangle together with the toll the First Age has left upon them.

[oristian]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by katie (@ktbookishclub)

I’m so excited to share this AMAZING Gwynriel artwork !!

Joining this fandom has allowed me to really explore hobbies and other interests that I just never had time for before. As this is my first fandom experience ever, I really wanted to be as engaged as possible. That being said, a few weeks ago I posted my first fanfiction ever; it can be found on both my Tumblr and AO3 — the fic is titled ‘Party Monster / High for This.’ This artwork is inspired by one of the scenes in the fic! With such amazing responses from friends and other readers, I have decided to continue writing more for the story!

Gwyn and Azriel are going to have such a special relationship and I am so excited to see where their story goes. No matter what universe, timeline, or type of depiction, they both have such an overwhelming chemistry.

I cannot thank @lyyzismess enough for such a stunning piece of work. She captured the vibe and atmosphere of the scene so well. The Queen of Gwynriel art 🤍

ART CREDIT @lyyzismess

COMMISSIONED BY — me / ktbookishclub

CHARACTERS BELONG TO — sarah j maas

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION

[ela-draws]

Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang collab

=> AMAZING FIC COMING OUT SOON =>

Two Solos - Elemmírë and Maglor playing music in Valinor

One Duet - NSFT artwork on AO3

Elemmírë and Maglor are music/theater "rivals" and they end up having sexy writing/composing sessions. They're artists and they inspire each other. Elemmírë is vanya and she's the one who composed the Aldudénië, a poem lamenting the death of the Two Trees. I headcanon that she was Maglor's partner who stayed behind in Valinor.

@tolkienrsb

[slightecho]

Goldenrod and Aster

commission by the lovely and amazing @turquoisespace35 of a very familiar scene from my Owl House fic, Ashes!!

Then, the clearing in the trees came into full view, and Willow let out a soft gasp. The sun shone through in bright rays, lighting up everything in a warm golden yellow. No leaves touched the ground here. Instead, the clearing was filled in a blanket of yellow, purples and green! The brushing she’d felt along her legs had been lush spikes of yellow flowers, strong and healthy as she passed by them. And where there were gaps amongst the fluffy-looking tufts of yellow, bunches of small, purple flowers like starbursts grew in between. “Goldenrod,” she giggled, reaching out to lightly touch a dusty branch. As she eased forward into the clearing, she was careful not to step on any big stems. Her fingertips drifted easily to the purple next, and she crouched down with a smile on her face. “And Aster…” These were often mistaken for daisies in her dad’s shop. It was getting more common to see these two plants growing together in the wild—their colors contrasted, and that meant they would attract different pollinators. Because of this, growing together would give them each benefit from the pollinators from the other. A whole new set of ones they would have never attracted on their own. They were able to grow more flowers together, than apart, that way. A wonderfully symbiotic relationship. Willow smiled up at Hunter, and snickered. “I’m guessing you probably also found all the major beehives on this side of Gravesfield, but don’t look for them now,” she remarked. The bees were likely starting to go dormant with the days growing colder. It was best not to disturb them. Hunter blanched, his eyes going wide and his proud grin falling from his face. “Wait, what?”

Working with @turquoisespace35 on this commission was an absolute pleasure! I’ve been such a fan of her work for a long time and I knew if I ever commissioned a Huntlow piece from Ashes, it would have to be from her! Thank you again, Turquoise!!

I can’t believe how perfectly she captured the vibe and the ambience of the scene without ever having read a single word of Ashes, just my own TL;DR description of the scene. 🥰

If anyone’s looking to commission Huntlow artwork, please check @turquoisespace35 out!

If you’re interested in checking out Ashes, you can do so here:

[poppedbubblgum]

Here’s my piece for the @sthbigbang!! It was a ton of fun to be a part of and all the fics and artwork are amazing!

The fic is Growing Pains (& Defunct Planes) by @genesis-quoi, give it a read!

Other artists & pieces: @dunkinbublin (x), @pimppasta (x) - Check them out!

[neo-kid-funk]

My favorite artworks of Surfer Percy and Goth Nico right next to each other, they're so perfect for each other 🤧🤧😵‍💫💖💖

Ya'll go read the Goth! Nico/ Surfer! Percy fic by the amazing @rafyki !!! 💖💖

[branded-rose]

“Right, hold tight babe. After all these years, it’s finally happening. You and me, we’re hitting the dance floor!” In one swift motion, he hoisted her up over his shoulder and strode out to the packed crowd, Lute’s protests drowned out by the thumping music.

Lute propped herself up with her arms, doing her best to wriggle off of his shoulder as she was unwillingly carried to the dance floor.

Normally, she might’ve protested more. But the alcohol, admittedly, was beginning to get to her, if not entirely overwhelm her.

Her self-restraint was reasonably inhibited at the very least. At the most? She was pleasantly numb. And for once… that was nice? 

She didn’t have to worry about the stack of paperwork or what the seraphim might say if they heard about this party in the morning.

She could just… exist and do what she wanted.

In other words, she found herself giddy, a small giggle escaping her lips as she was carried on.

“Sir. I… can’t dance.” Or at least she’d never danced before to her knowledge. Never mind whatever… dancing was being done in that moment.

She felt the world spin as she felt Adam whip her off his shoulder, nearly stumbling backwards as she landed unsteadily on her feet.

Adam caught her hand, pulling her back into him.

“What? That’s ******* ridiculous. ANYONE and their mother can dance if they want to.” He placed his other hand on her waist to steady her.

She felt her face heat up again, very aware of the close proximity of their bodies.

She didn’t pull back though.

“… I’ll follow you.”

Adam pulled a smirk, bringing his hand up to tap near her ear.

“Just listen to the music. Move with the beat!” He started sliding side to side, his movements getting gradually more overt the longer the song carried on.

She watched him, trying to copy, her brows furrowed in concentration. Every so often her eyes would flick to his face, looking for reassurance that she was doing it right.

She apparently was not, given he chuckled and shook his head. Or she assumed he chuckled at least. She could barely hear him over the music.

“Dangertits! You need to LOOSEN. UP. Here-“ He moved to stand behind her, his hands finding her hips and applying just enough pressure for her to get the hint that she needed to move.

She stiffened briefly as she felt his chin near her ear, his hot breath on her neck.

“Move WITH me, not against me. Come on you’re stiff as a board.” He moved his hand up the tiniest bit, cackling as her wings tried to flap involuntarily but were kept immobile by his proximity.

In her defense she wasn’t really listening to the music. She couldn’t really hear it over the roaring of her heart in her ears.

Was she breathing? 

Air might be good.

She took a very loud, deep breath. 

“Sorry S-IR!” She was cut off as Adam took her hand and spun her very quickly, only to immediately snap her back towards him before she had any time to process what was going on.

“There we go! Get those feet going!”

A laugh erupted from Lute’s lips as she was spun around again.

“Sir!”

Adam snickered, his arms coming around to trap her against him as her momentum carried them close once more. 

His mouth found her ear so that she could hear him. 

“Did I just hear the most bad*** ***** in the army laugh? No blood? No guts? Just laugh on the dance floor?”

----------------------------

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts~

I am overly excited to announce that the amazing @deadgirlwalking91 and I have been working on a Guitarspear fic together! It was originally supposed to be short but it turned into something WAY more expansive than we ever thought it could be initially. I am so, SO glad we started this project because it has been an ABSOLUTE joy to write.

Stay tuned for the full release of "Drunk Minds Speak Sober Thoughts" on her blog. ;D

Adam & Lute © Viziepop/A24 Artwork © Branded-Rose Writing © Branded-Rose & @deadgirlwalking91

[scoutswritingcorner]

A Little R&R

Husk x GN!Reader

TW: None. 

A/N: Once again. No one’s asking for this, I just want to write this out. Credit to @emperor-kaiser for the prompt and @aboyscriminalrecord for the amazing artwork. I love the grumpy old bartender. This is a platonic fic.

Husk growled as Alastor finally left him alone for the day, he got on his nerves. It was an hour later when you joined him at the bar as he chugged another bottle of whiskey. You didn’t say much at first, just simply enjoying the silence. After a bit he sighed, “Want a drink?” He glanced at you watching you smile and shake your head, “Want to talk?” Your question caught him off guard as he smirked and shook his head, “Ain’t nothing to talk about, Kid. Just more of the same old shit.” He put the now empty bottle down, he was going to have to throw that out properly later that night.

“What do you see in that man?” He asked leaning against the bar, “He makes me laugh~” You responded almost instantly tapping the bar with your hands glancing up to see his ears were laying flat against his head. “You’re stressed.” You called out making the old feline jump in shock, looking away as if he was embarrassed. “I’m the bartender here, I’m supposed to analyze you. Not the other way around kid.” He rubbed his face and watched you get up from the barstool and make your way towards the couch in the foyer waving him over.

He looked around to see if Alastor was anywhere near but seeing that the Overlord was nowhere to be found he walked over, allowing you to pull him to sit between your legs, his back flush against the couch. “Can I touch your ears?” You asked, watching him take off his hat and sigh, “Sure..just careful.” He grumbled. Your fingers found their way into his soft fur at the top of his head, gently scratching before they moved behind his ears to get a good scratching.

In a matter of seconds Husk’s body went limp as he leaned his head back in your hands, loud and deep purrs escaping his throat as his eyes shut. 

You smiled as you watched him lean into your touch and relax, his ears flickering every so often when you brushed against them. You’re pretty sure he could die happy here.

A/N: IM SO SORRY FOR SPAMMING YOU SO MUCH-

[voidpidgeon]

The last months I have been working in collaboration with @diggingfordragons one doing some illustration for her Space AU fic! (there was a big bang involved at some point but uuhhh) I will be posting the other artworks I made as they publish new chapters!

Please eviscerate her with kindness from me, she has been working so very hard on it, and it turned out amazing!

Summary:

“He’s our soul-mate!” George hisses. “He’s a criminal,” Sapnap hisses right back, wide eyed. “You don’t know that,” George says with a haughty sniff. That would work better if not for the looming space-raft in front of them. Sapnap flatly looks at the high obsidian walls, tall and foreboding. On its side, in tall, blocky letters carved out of glowstone, the words Pandora Vault - High Security Prison Raft stare back at him. George presses his lips tight together, but doesn’t falter. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he says.

Or When George comes into his life with visions of a divine quest, Sapnap signs up for fun and adventures. Maybe even love. And, it seems, breaking their third soulmate out of the most secure prison of the Galaxy.

Go check it out here!

[bylerween]

We are very excited about the upcoming Byler Halloween week: BYLERWEEN!!! We'll be celebrating all things Byler + Halloween from Sunday, October 27th - Saturday, November 2nd. 🎃🦇👻

We are inviting all fans to create artwork, fanfics, video edits, gifs, moodboards, memes, analysis, and more (the sky is the limit!) for the event to help us celebrate a very spooky Bylerween!

Our daily Bylerween themes are here!

Meet the Mods: Ayla @howtobecomeadragon, Lex @foodiewithdahoodie, Liv @longtallglasses, and Sam @krakoansam.

🎃🦇👻 GENERAL GUIDELINES:

In order to participate, just create a tumblr post with your fanwork based on the Bylerween themes on the appropriate day during the event, and tag us so we can reblog your work to the Bylerween tumblr. No need to sign up!

Tag your posts with which day your post is for (#Day 1, #Day 2, etc) AND which daily theme(s) your post is based on (for example, #Horror AU, #Demo Creatures, #Summon, etc).

All fanworks featured during Bylerween must be NEW.

Late entries are allowed until November 23rd, 3 weeks after Bylerween ends.

Other background ships are allowed to be featured. However, Byler must be included in all works.

All AO3 works must be added to the Bylerween 2024 Collection (link to be added soon!).

Explicit works are allowed, but only for explicit violent content. We are not accepting any works with explicit sexual content. Our AO3 Collection will be moderated and we'll be verifying each fic's content before adding it to the Collection.

No AI is allowed in the creation of fanart, fanfiction, or any other fanwork for this event.

🎃🦇👻 TRIGGER & TAG RULES FOR HORROR CONTENT:

Posts with triggering content need to be tagged with the standardized tw tags: tw jump scare, tw gore, tw blood, tw flashing, tw violence, tw cannibalism, etc. The full and comprehensive tw list will be linked here soon.

For artwork with explicit violence, gore, or body horror: add applicable trigger tags and a trigger warning at the top of the post. Artists should use their best judgement and can put art under a Read-More cut if they think that would be best, but this is not required.

For fanfic/ficlets: Utilize the AO3 tagging system when posting on AO3, using appropriate tags, warnings, and ratings. If you just post your fic on tumblr, please add any applicable trigger tags and a trigger warning at the top of the post. If the writing includes detailed gore or violence, writers can put it under a Read-More cut, but this is not required.

Feel free to ask us any questions! And please REBLOG to spread the word! We'd love to reach a lot of people so that Bylerween can be as fun and interactive for everyone as possible!

We're so excited to get spooky with you all this Halloween!

amazing art by @magentamee!!

[shadeysprings]

YOU

—Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Summary — Your unexpected meeting with the famous art collector takes a dark turn when you learn the secret of his private collection.

Warnings — oral (female receiving), dismembered bodies, disrespect to the dead, entrapment, plots of killing, serial killer vibes, Steve being a calm psycho. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 5.4K

A/N — Story #1 for my FREAKtober Fest. The fic was heavily inspired by the movie itself and House of Wax. I'm happy to finally explore Steve's character in writing and I must say, I enjoyed every bit of it. The title was taken from the song You.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

Shout out to @vellicore and @sgt-seabass for bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

They didn’t come.

It was all you could think about as almost 2 hours had passed since your grad show started. Despite your parents’ — mostly your mom’s — disapproval of pursuing an arts program, you still invited them to the show. You hoped that if they saw what you were truly doing, they would understand your passion for paints and charcoal.

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

“Soon.” He promises. “For now, I’ll keep you. I don’t mind that column being empty just a little longer.”

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

01/15/2024 Crew Recap

Hey all, today has been a very very very long day. I’m typing this with my eyeballs glazed over and half open. However, so much has happened in such a little amount of time I wanted share a few things before I pass out I know a lot of you are in different timezones, are busy with life, and taking a break, so maybe this will help with parsing through some of the crazy stuff the crew has been up to.

The petition hit 50K, and is at 52.5K at the moment

Fundraisers: I didn’t even realize there were two different fundraisers for Palestine/Gaza going on but we blew both out of the water. (Note: the second picture is from a November campaign but I think its just as important to highlight— ty for the correction anon!)

The Emmys hashtag turn out was great tonight. There was some pretty amazing and creative stuff going on across all the platforms. Some can be seen on IG, but if you wanna see the majority of it, check out twitter #SaveOFMD #75thEmmys

---We have new ways of protesting and advocating for our show, see here for the thread on tumblr (from twitter):---

And to support that @saltpepperbeard was kind enough to put together a wonderful guide on how to Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety which as someone who is socially anxious and sometimes verbally vomits on people when on the phone, is AMAZING and thank you so much for doing that to help.

-- > There is also this new thread on some new places to call into. Don't quote me on that being an official thing we should do, I'm sure @renewasacrew and others will have more in the AM, I just wanted to share it so people could follow if they wanted to.

------------------

New Articles!

Our Flag Means Death: Here’s why season three deserves to be aired

Petition to save BBC show with rare Rotten Tomatoes score gets 50,000 signatures

------------------

There's so much more that's happened today-- but I can't write it all down because my brain is couscous.

<---So instead, I'm going to use this last part to gush over you all and your amazing contributions in all your unique ways. The community support the last few days has been SO INCREDIBLY UPLIFTING.-->

I saw (and experienced) people reblogging asks where random followers, anons, and mutuals just reached out and sent love because they could tell people were struggling.

I've seen comments all over the place on Tumblr, IG, Twitter, and Facebook where each and every person is encouraging each other to speak their mind, or complimenting their artwork, encouraging them if they were feeling uncomfortable with things outside their comfort zones, coming up with new and exciting ways to fight back, people reaching out to the cast/crew just to say hi and remind them we love them.

I've seen Self-Care checkpoints all over, reminding people to drink water, take a break, block your notifications for a while, not engaging in negative behavior.

I've seen people being so nice on instagram posts that the people who were being dicks about all our comments turned around and decided to watch OFMD!

I saw so many people doing new analysis of scenes and characters, and having really deep and friendly discussions that make everyone think in new ways.

I saw people digging through old tumblrs to bring life back to old posts and artwork.

I saw so much NEW artwork, new FICS! New GIFS! So much new art and love!

I could literally go on and on, but I've just...I had to dump this out of my brain otherwise I'd explode. I've just seen so much today that continues to make me so proud of our little safe space ship and so happy to be apart of this community.

You all continue to be the best of the best of humans, and I am so very grateful to get to witness and be apart of it. Rest up lovelies and have a good day / night, wherever you may be. May you dream of sexy middle-aged gay men kissing, or hugging, or whatever else you want them to be getting into.

[levi-ackermvn]

i am screaming, crying, throwing up, over this INSANE and INCREDIBLE commission from one of my favorite artists koldangreyart on twitter ˚‧º·(′̥̥̥ o ‵̥̥̥)‧º·˚ words cannot begin to describe how amazing this artwork is and it just makes me emotional seeing my ideas executed so perfectly (T⌓T) a little bit of context: this is the first time we ever see sloane seriously injured. she’s had the occasional dislocated limbs, mild concussions, and other types of non-fatal wounds after some rough expeditions, but this is on a whole other level. her life is on the line, which causes not only the cadets to panic, but also levi. it’s one of the few moments we witness him lose all sense of calm and collectiveness as he carries the woman he unknowingly loves in his arms while she’s bleeding profusely. levi hadn’t felt this type of panic and fear since isabel and furlan, and he refused to let sloane follow their tragic fates (☍﹏⁰)｡

[ DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, OR TRACE!!! this artwork was commissioned for my fic so please do not steal it ]

[ this is an oc x canon post. if you do not like it, please kindly leave. any negative, hateful, or weird comments that has nothing to do with my post or fic will be deleted ]