#I hate drawing toes and won't unless I have to

[toiletpudding]

Garden Of Eden Shenanigans (Pt 2 of Pt???) Pt 1 here

+ some colored ref boards of the naked trio 👍

#More doodles to come #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lillith #lilith hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #eve hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #garden of eden shenanigans #I hate drawing toes and won't unless I have to #they're the bane of my existence #censored nudity

[malk1ns]

i found this picture fairly inspirational. thanks for pointing this out, @icedbatik!

Sid isn't allowed in the room when Geno gets his collar fitted.

It makes sense. For all the collar will technically be Sid's property, his to buckle around Geno's throat, the fitting is a private thing, sensitive, run by professionals who know how to handle this sort of thing without setting off a reaction or crossing boundaries.

Sid knows all of this, has known since he presented and was shunted off to special alpha classes when the betas and undifferentiated players got to go home after practice.

It doesn't make him less anxious to get in.

Kris smirks at him as he approaches the door where Sid is hovering, trying not to look like every overbearing alpha stereotype. He's managed to stop from outright pressing his face to the glass, but he can still hear Geno talking with the tailors, his booming voice as he makes them all laugh, and it's making him antsy.

"You think you'd be over this by now," Kris says, posting up next to Sid, lounging against the wall with his arms crossed. Sid scowls at him. His omega got fitted already—Tristan always slips out of practice early these days, while Kris is still absorbed with helping whatever rookie D-man has attached to his side this season, and by the time Kris is showered, he's done.

Geno always waits. Part of it is that he's Sid's co-captain, and he takes his duties towards the younger omegas very seriously, always has—but part of it, Sid knows, is that he loves driving Sid crazy like this.

"Go, Sidney is outside," Sid hears through the door. He clenches his fists. He knows the cameras won't do more than capture a few teasing shots—the Penguins are respectful, they'd never post anything too salacious, Andi would kill them if they tried—but he hates that there are other people in there this year, even if the crew are all omegas too.

"Incoming," Kris says abruptly, and Sid steps aside just in time to avoid getting smacked by the door.

"Nosy," Geno says, eyeing the two of them as he breezes out. "It's OC now, for suit." Kris nods and slips inside—OC might be an alpha, but he's still new enough that the cameras spook him sometimes, and Kris has taken to lingering during his spots, drawing some of the attention and relieving the pressure.

And then it's just Sid and Geno.

"How'd it go?" Sid asks, looking Geno over, instinctively scenting for distress.

For once, Geno doesn't comment. "It's fine," he says, shrugging a little. "You know, same every year. I think you like this one. It's weird with the cameras."

"Did anyone say anything?" Sid asks sharply, hackles rising. He knows these guys, they all love Geno, none of them would ever make him uncomfortable, but—

Geno's big hand cups around the back of his head, fingers pressing into the base of his skull, and Sid takes a breath. "No, everyone is good, it's just, like, we never do, like, never have people here. It's different. Little bit weird, but it's fine." And he smells fine too, amused and fond.

Sid reaches up and presses his fingers to the vivid scar right below Geno's chin. It's an unusual placement for a bond-bite, he knows—too visible, too public, unhideable unless Geno has on a scarf, but he'd been so proud, so excited when Geno accepted his courtship, and neither of them could imagine the mark going anywhere that couldn't be seen at all times, for anyone who's looking.

Mine.

Geno's eyes go liquid as Sid runs his finger over the scar tissue, and he tilts his head, all omega instinct, proud to show off for his alpha. If they were at home, he'd be purring.

"You do suit next?" he says, swaying towards Sid, eyelids dropping. "I want to go home."

"I'll make Tanger swap with me," Sid murmurs, going up on his toes to press a kiss to Geno's soft mouth. "I'll be done soon, I promise."

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic #a/b/o

[chronicallyonlinewriter]

🍊&🍍&🍇

🍊 - Who’s a character you don’t write for that often, but keep meaning to write for more? Tommy. Always Tommy. I sort of didn't write much for him for a while because I felt like I didn't have a great handle on his characterization, but I'm starting to dip my toe into that now and I just love him, and how he interacts with others.

🍍 - What kind of AUs do you like? Are there any AUs you hate or just generally have beef with? This is the point where I lose all my friends, because I'm really not into AUs. 😬 I've been heavily obsessed with post-apocalyptic media since I was a kid, and that's a huge part of the draw about TLoU for me. So when you take those characters and put them in high school, I'm just not very interested anymore. That said, there have been exceptions (@two-birds-alone-together has a bookshop fic called a safe place to land that I just started reading and really dig, and I liked their trial AU) and @ameerawrites has a Maria social worker AU that is on my "to read" list and looks amazing. Like, I'll read something if it's well-written, no matter what, I just don't tend to go out of my way for it unless I already know the author's other work enough to know that I'll dig it, haha.

That said, I just won't read high school / college AU fics. Just not my thing.

🍇 - Is there a particular scene/episode/book/etc that you want to just write a million fics about, over and over? Which one? I'd love to cover, in detail, the three months between Kansas City and Jackson. But man, would that be A Project.

Ty Marchy ♥️♥️♥️

#the last of us #tlou #ao3

[frecklystars]

Ok you're like the only person I know who draws self-insert stuff, like, A LOT so I just gotta ask: How do you... draw yourself??? Ok that probs doesn't make sense but like... I wanna draw self-insert of myself and a fictional character but I really don't like how I look (and I hate drawing myself) so I end up hating what I draw. How do u manage to draw urself for self-inserts without hating how u look?

U don't gotta answer if u don't wanna but u seem rlly comfortable with, well, drawing urself and I legit don't know what to do here. I hope this made sense. Sorry if it doesn't....

Anon, don't worry, I gotcha!! 💙

I'm so sorry that you don't like how you look ;n; I also struggle with accepting my appearance, let alone learning how to love it. But I promise that self insert/shipping actually helps with that kind of thing over time -- writing your favorite character giving you constant love/validation also helps you see yourself the way that they see you. It obviously doesn't happen overnight, but it helps!

I have been drawing myself since I could pick up a pencil, and my S/I design has changed a lot over the years tbh! The way I drew myself when I was 9 is a lot different than how I drew myself at 15, and very different from how I draw myself now. Nothing has to be set in stone, you can change your design whenever and however you please. No rules!!

Do I always wear glasses IRL because my vision is piss poor? Absolutely. Do I always draw my glasses? No. It's not that I dislike my glasses - I love them, in fact, I feel more confident when I wear them - but sometimes I will draw myself with them and think "ah that looks like me :)" and other times I won't draw them at all and still think "hm yeah that's still me!" it really just depends on how I'm feeling during the day, or during the scene of the drawing. I gotta be in the Mood™.

As for my body, I didn't start drawing my round tummy until I was maybe in my late teens. I used to hate my freckles, but now I draw them so often and I write my F/Os loving them so much, I cannot imagine going without them.

You don't have to draw anything you wouldn't want to, especially since this is a newer experience for you. And you can add whatever the hell you want. I draw myself with purple eyes sometimes just because I feel like it. Does my S/I actually have purple eyes? No, they're brown, like mine. Sometimes I put little blue streaks in my hair, sometimes I'll draw myself in outfits that I don't actually own, but I wish that I did. Again, there are no rules, you can do whatever makes you feel comfortable!!

Your drawing of yourself never has to be exact, not unless if you want it to be. And it's kind of impossible to make an exact replica of yourself anyways. Our art styles are very different, and that includes how we perceive ourselves in a fictional setting. I will often write myself walking on my toes (i'm a preemie-baby and it's common for us to just. walk on our toes constantly instead of flat-footed like a normal person lmao) but I won't bother to draw it. Orrrr I draw my nails all painted and blue and pretty, but IRL they're actually bitten and torn and I feel more comfortable writing that little detail instead of showing it.

Like... I hate drawing my body sometimes, I will draw it and think "goddamn I really look like this? >:(" but then I gotta snap myself out of it and remind myself that it's my body, it's human and it's just as lovable as those fake photoshopped magazine covers. Society drills into us an impossible standard for beauty and it's so easy to compare ourselves to others, and even easier to spiral downhill w/ that mindset. And honestly if I'm feeling especially insecure, I'll draw a F/O cuddling my stomach and saying "wow my girlfriend is sooo gorgeous, what a knock-out" or something similar and it will feel a little easier. Like I rly don't have to stress about how I look because my F/Os love me just the way that I am, I wouldn't have to change anything for them!

But it took me a long time to start drawing that way. It takes a lot of patience w/ yourself. But! As for my hair + facial features, I don't hate those very much, I just like to make my features "fluffier" because it's my art style and when I look at it I think "ah, that's me! :)" and that's all there is to it.

I hope my response helped at least a little, it was difficult for me to stitch together words that made sense lol. Take it easy anon, kiss your babes, they're waiting for ya!! 💙💙💙

OH WAIT one more thing -- it could possibly be more comfortable for you to start off in literally the simplest art style possible & take it slow. I always draw those little Adventure Time styled dot-eyes and round faces when I wanna simplify how my S/I looks. It's easier and quicker to scribble and I don't have to worry about my features too much:

#anonymous #asks #self insert asks #lil doodles #idk if i made much sense #like. i have the answer here in my Brain. but putting it into words is hard

[barb-aricyawp]

if you're still taking requests... post-rescue Bucky is touch starved, but HYDRA only ever touched him for HTP purposes, so that's what he knows/craves. He asks Steve to give him what he needs, and Steve hates to refuse, but he won't hurt Bucky. Cue frustrated, shame-ridden, increasingly desperate Bucky and heartbroken, guilty, angsty Steve.

My bread and butter. This didn’t end up being torture, unless you count emotional torture. I hope you like it all the same.

If you’re following The Trial of Phryne, some of this is pulled from my drafts for later on in that series.

trigger warnings: strongly implied sexual assault, self harm, cutting, knives

“It would be different if it were you,” Bucky says. 

Steve expected that Bucky might be touch repulsed. And, as usual, Steve’s assumptions were proven asinine. Bucky adored touch, expected it even. 

If Steve sat next to him on the couch, Bucky would pull his arm by the wrist, guiding it into draping over his shoulder. They not only shared a bed, but Bucky insisted on spooning Steve, one leg flung over his hip. He even insisted, quite frequently, upon sex.

And Steve always loves to lavish him with attention. Loves to cradle that familiar body against his own and make it feel safe.

But Bucky doesn’t always want safe. Sometimes he wants to hurt.

“I just don’t think I have it in me,” Steve admits. 

“It would be different if it were you,” Bucky repeats himself. “We could just try it, and if it feels wrong, we could stop.”

He seems feverish. Bleary eyed and shivery in the limbs. Steve can see how he craves it. Can see withdrawal etched all over him. As terribly as HYDRA treated him, enduring it must have come with a cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline that Steve can’t replicate with spooning.

“Please, Steve,” he says, lowering his eyes.

Steve flinches. “No, Bucky. I’m sorry.”

“Please, Steve.” Bucky drops to his knees so abruptly that it rattles the floor. He draws from his pocket a small Swiss Army knife. 

Steve startles back. “Bucky, no.”

---

In retrospect, he should have paid closer attention. Should have seen the warning signs. He catches Bucky in the bathroom, slicing thin lines across his cheek. Bucky watches himself in the mirror, brow flat and determined.

He sighs when Steve steps onto the tile behind him. 

“No need to stop me,” he says blandly. “It’s not working.”

“Can I have the knife?”

Bucky puts it into his palm on his way out, his shoulders a miserable hunch.

---

“If I do this,” Steve says late one night, when Bucky is jittery and Steve’s about ready to come out of his skin just to get away from his guilt. “Then, we have a safeword. We take it slow. And--”

Bucky tucks his face into Steve’s chest. His eyes are damp with hot tears. “Thank you. Thank you, Steve.”

---

Bucky lies on his stomach, face turned to the side so that his cheek rubs against the towel. Plastic crinkles as Steve sits at his hip. Bucky put a tarp down.

For the blood, Steve thinks unhelpfully.

“What’s the word?” he says. His grip trembles around the handle of the knife. 

His hand steadies when Bucky says, “Brooklyn.” He smiles back at Steve over his shoulder, all easy and broad. “I’ll be okay, Steve.”

He presses the tip of the blade under Bucky’s shoulder blade, lightly tracing the curve of his scapula. Bucky’s whole body shudders.

“Still with me?” Steve asks tightly. He hasn’t even broken skin yet.

“Mhmm,” Bucky murmurs, but he sounds a little shaky himself.

“Because we could just--”

Bucky arches his back suddenly, rolling his shoulders against the blade until it sinks in. He lets out a shocky gasp. His toes curl.

“Okay,” Steve says. 

He follows the triangle of his scapula again, this time drawing blood. Bucky lets out a shaky whimper when the sharp edge brushes bone. 

Steve gentles a hand flat against his lower back. “That was so good,” he says. “You took that so well.”

Bucky gasps. Steve lifts the knife. “Doing okay?”

“Doing okay,” Bucky repeats, sounding far away. 

Steve applies the same attention to the other shoulder blade, careful not to get too close to the prosthetic. Bucky settles under this touch, muscles going loose and pliant.

“Good job, that’s it. Relax. I’ve got you.”

Steve drags the blade down, parallel to his spine. Though the cut is shallow, blood wells and pools along the divots of his vertebrae. A shiver rattles through Bucky, and then a low moan.

Steve smiles a little. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, drawing the knife lower.  “So brave. Strong. I’m lucky to have you.”

The tip of the blade skims over Bucky’s hipbone. He sobs.

“Thank you, sir.”

Steve jerks the knife back, tearing it from Bucky’s skin. The blade is wet, gleaming crimson. He drops it onto the bed.

Bucky rolls over onto his side, blinking. Confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Brooklyn,” Steve says. “Brooklyn, I can’t, Bucky, I can’t.”

Bucky grimaces, but he nods. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Your back...” Steve leans over the bedside, retrieving the medical kit he prepared for this. For after. “Let me...”

“Steve, you should be focused on yourself right n--”

“Let me,” Steve insists, eyes hard. 

Chastened, Bucky nods. He sits up and turns his back to Steve. Now that he’s sitting up, the blood seeps more freely from the wound, rolling in a stream down his spine and from his shoulders. Like wings.

He dabs the cuts with antiseptic, then applies pressure to stem the bleeding. This would be easier if Bucky were on his stomach, but this works fine. It’s mostly to soothe Steve, anyway.

When he’s finished, Bucky sags back against him, leaning his battered back to Steve’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I knew it was you, and not--” Rumlow, Rollins, Pierce...a host of HYDRA abusers. “It just slipped out.”

Steve tucks his nose in Bucky’s hair, smells his own shampoo. “Did it help at all?”

Bucky nods, but doesn’t say anything more. 

#stucky #hydra trash party #poor steve rogers #whump bucky barnes #torture tuesday #no editing we die like men #warmhappycat

[panda-noosh]

Hiya! Can I request a scenario where s/o is goofing around with Keith while he's training, trying to get him to sing and dance with her? He's just like "...why" but they won't stop serenading him and getting in his space while dancing so he finally just kinda surrenders and when their guard is down he pins them to the training mat or something and kisses them to get them to stop singing (Keith kissing his s/o to quiet them is my aesthetic tbh)

What a cutescenario. I really hope I did it justice. Enjoy!

   Your energy neverfailed to baffle Keith on all capacities.

   Growing up, Keithhad hated people who wereconstantly jumpy, constantly yelling and being loud and beingover-the-top. He purposefully avoided those types of people, findingthem irritating and attention seeking.

   Sothe moment he realised that he was falling in love with one of thosevery people, he couldn't help but be beside himself in wonder. Whatmade you so special that you had managed to change such a stonepersonality trait within him? What had happened to him that had madeyou stand out beyondanybody else?

   Perhapsit was the way you smiled, or the way you laughed at every singlething anybody said. Everything amused you, and he found it oddlycute.

   Butthen there were days when you would insist on tagging along with himduring training. He never minded. In fact, he liked your company andthe little comments you added in to the session every now and then.Most of the time, all you did was sit and watch him train, yourlaptop balancing on your lap as you also got on with some work thatneeded to be caught up on. It was a peaceful time for the both ofyou.

   Butthen there were days when you had perhaps taken in too much sugarbefore the training session, and you insisted on bouncing around thetraining room with your music blasting and your feet slamming againstthe floor as you insisted on Keith dancing with you.

   Dayslike today.

   Hehad only been training for the likes of ten minutes and you werealready a bubbling mess around him. He tried his hardest to ignorethe blast of pop music ringing out from your laptops speakers, thoughthe way your screeching voice echoed over the top of it made thattask quite difficult.

    Keithinhaled deeply, slamming his fist into the punching bag for thehundredth time that day. His muscles were aching, his head waspounding, his patience was running low.

   Hehad to admit, though – you looked adorable.

   “Starships,were meant to fly-y-y-y!” you yelled, throwing your arms up in theair and doing a little twirl as you sang along to Nicki Minaj. “Comeon Keith! You know this one.”

    Keithignored you, turning his attention fully to the punching bag.

   Youwere adamant, though. For weeks, Keith had been like this – onedge. He was in the training room twenty four seven, insisting thathe 'bulk up' for when the Galra come to invade at long last. No otherPaladins had been so on edge about such a thing, and so you struggledto understand why Keith was all of a sudden.

   Youdid a small twirl, coming around fully to only wrap your hands overKeith's shoulders, tugging him away from the punching bag he hadbrutally been beating the entire session. He stumbled into your grip,grunting a little bit at the sudden movement of his body, but he wasquick to spin around, clasping his hands onto your waist.

   “Y/N,”he grumbled. “What are you doing?”

   “Dancewith me,” you replied, pulling away and doing a small bow. “It'llbe fun. I heard dance was good exercise.”

   “I'mnot exercising,” Keith insisted.

   Yourolled your eyes, having heard the very same excuse a thousand timesbefore. “Right. I forgot. You're training.”

   “Thereis a difference, you know.”

   “Well,unless you have a good balance of training and exercising, you'regonna get nowhere.” You dove forward, grabbing onto his hand andforcing him into a spin. He stumbled as he did so, barely catchinghimself on the yoga mat trolley. “You should rap the chorus. Youlook like you'd be a good rapper.”

   “Y/N,”Keith groaned, swinging his head back in protest. You giggled at hisreaction, at how easy it was to annoy him. “Do you not have work todo?”

   Younodded. You did, but it could wait. At that moment, your mainpriority was getting Keith to loosen up a little bit, and you wouldtake it to the grave if you had to.

   “Soyou should do it,” Keith said upon your nodding. He attempted towriggle from your grip, but you latch your free hand over the onealready grabbing his, dragging him backwards with more force.

   Soon,the lyrics were bursting from your mouth in obnoxious screeches.Keith winced everytime a note cracked in your voice, or every timeyou couldn't hold back your giggles at his reaction. But at the sametime of his wincing, he was also enjoying himself and you could seethat from the way he gently swayed his hips to the music of the nowsoft beat serenading the two of you through your laptop screen.

   Itwasn't much, and you knew that. He would still spring back to thesame old Keith that was anxious and worried for his Paladins, worriedfor you, but this moment would be cherished until another chance tohave a moment like this came back around. The way his face seemed tosoften a little bit, or the way he pretended to hate it when he wasclearly having a good time – he was.

   Hewas having a good time and even he knew it. He would never admit it,but he loved moments like these just as much as you did. Whenever itwas just the two of you, and you were being your usual, hyper selfand he could just admire the way you seemed so lost in your own head.Those soft glances you always gave to him, the way your lips quirkedup or the way you flung your head back to yell out the lyrics of somesong you barely even knew the lyrics to.

   Hechuckled when 'Hey There, Delilah' came on and you immediatelystarted bouncing up and down on your toes, little 'ooh's' escapingyour mouth before the lyrics overtook them, you screaming out thelyrics to the old song.

   Keithchuckled, finding it all so amusing and yet all so confusing at thesame time. If this was Lance, Keith would have packed up and left theroom. If this was anybody else, hewould have just excused himself, but here he was – looking at youas you danced around and yelled the words to some earth song that hehadn't heard in years.

   Beforehe knew what he was doing, his hands were wrapping themselves backaround your waist, tugging you into his chest. You stopped singing,surprise overtaking you at this sudden actions. He doesn't allow youto ask what he's doing before he's slammed his lips to yours.

    Heclaimed it was to shut you up. He said he just didn't want to hearyour over-exaggerated ballad any longer, but it wasn't. It was allhim. His feelings, his confusion, his love. Looking at you gettingdazed, locked in your own head as the lyrics spilled from your mouth,made his heart beat race and he just craved you.Craved to feel your lips on his, craved to feel your nimble fingerstrailing in his hair, just like they always did whenever he kissedyou in the way he was right now.

   Hisfingers gently trailed along your jaw, drawing small circles on thesensitive skin. He could hear you giggling beneath his lips, and heknew full what you were thinking: I've cracked him. Hewould dismiss that thought later on, but right now, you were right.

   Youhad cracked him. Nobody else had managed to do that – not in years.Yet here you were, the most hyper person he had ever met in his life,pressing your lips to his and enjoying his presence. You were likethe sun, and he was the moon, and you two contradicted each other somuch but he would have it no other way.