#figuring the color palette for this was a ride

[automatonknight]

id: a digital fullbody drawing of v1 from ultrakill, riding a rocket. they’re leaning back, stretching out their hands to keep balance. her wings are folded and she’s crouching. the background is black. end id

#mspaint default color palette swag i love these girls (the colors) #art #fanart #ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #ultrakill v1 #v1 #doodled this to take a break from lining walenty. thumbs up #i've been kind of tired of closely following the in-game models so i decided to have fun with this one and add as many silly shapes as i can #eyestrain #bright colors #also it took me an embarrasingly long time to figure out how rocket riding actually works. but its fun i like it

[erosuguru]

Bimbo doll

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI, Satoru gojo x reader, all characters are 18+, reader is heavily bimbo coded and loves pink, satoru's gross here, 1.3k words approx

CW: Masturbation, satoru gets horny over reader sending him pics of her dresses, satoru has fantasies of reader and she's unaware, again satoru is gross here you've been warned, some proof reading but very little

Notes: I'm so sleepy and I'm too lazy to fix any other mistakes so if you see mistake no you didnt. had to write sth for Satoru, as wit all of my creative works I hate this but I hope u like it though!!

Satoru thinks you're absolutely adorable. From the moment he was blinded by the absurd amount of pink you were wearing, he thought you were the cutest thing on this planet. The coordinated color palettes of your clothes that always had a splash of pink, that shiny layer of gloss on your lips that you regularly reapplied, he gets so happy when he hears the clack of keychains because that means you're near.

Of course he couldn't keep himself away and you both exchanged numbers at one point, you gladly gave it to him after he shot you a lame pick up line— to which you laughed and smiled, simply telling him "you're funny! Sure!"It was almost too good to be true.

You got along well with each other, you both liked sweets, complimented each other's fashion sense, shared a similar sense of humour— when satoru asked you to describe him, you told him that you love being around him because he's fun (you said something about how he 'gets it', a quote about girls.. getting it and others not getting it..? He didn't understand, but he deduced that you like him, and that's all that matters.)

Satoru notices you love sharing tidbits of your day, and most of the time, you usually share a photo related to it in some way along with multiple typos, abbreviations, and emoticons.

"(Name)💘: Toru omg look at these shoes! Super cute right :3" Attached image sent.

"(Name)💘: I went 2 that cafe u told me, the strawberry shortcake is soooo good" Attached image sent.

"(Name)💘: I have 2 go 2 a party tonite, which dress should i choose!1!!??" 4 images sent.

Being friends with you had its benefits, you were comfortable with Satoru, so comfortable that he almost dropped his phone when he opened the images you sent; all of them were minidresses, all of them different shades of pink, all of them hugging your figure so tightly and snuggly he was tempted to stalk your social media to know where this party is.

He couldn't see the details that differentiated each dress, or at least he didn't focus on them as he felt his cock throb in his sweatpants.

"Ooooohhhhhfffuuck..." he mumbled longly to no one in particular, Satoru almost choked on his spit as he sat up from his position in his bed, all the heat rushing to his face as he examined your photos closely. Your poses so cute as you stared at your phone screen in the photos with a small pout, you had the pretty sparkly gloss on this time, that's his favorite..

(Name)💘: TORU OMFG PLZ ANSWEERRRR MY RIDES ALMOST HERE >:(

he almost forgot your little dilemma.

"Sorry lol I was eating, go with this one!!" he forwarded one of the four dresses with his response and sent his text, he felt guilty about lying but what was he supposed to say? 'My bad! You were so hot I got a little hard like some Virgin!' No way in hell.

You answered back quickly, how did you type quicker than he did with nails longer than his? He has a hunch it's because you don't care about typos but the dedication is admirable.

(Name)💘: TGANK UUUUU ill text u after the party!

(Name)💘: thank* lol

He let out a small laugh at your typo, scrolling back to the photos he zoomed in on one of the four he hadn't picked, and the reason why he didn't choose this dress is that he knows no sane rational person with a sexual libido would be able to resist you in this.

You looked so cute, so perfect, Satoru let out a small sigh as he pulled his dick out of his pants hissing at the cold air, his thumb smeared the precum over his tip. He should feel bad– terrible even, but how can he resist? There's no way you have no idea what you do to him, he tried justifying in his mind as his cock throbbed desperately in his hand.

Biting his bottom lip, the image of you in his phone fueled his imagination as he envisioned arriving with you at this party you mentioned, having such a pretty thing like you on his arm would be a major ego boost too. The length of your dress could easily allow him to pull down your panties (did you even have a pair on under that dress?), bend you over the host's bathroom sink and slam his cock balls deep inside you, relentlessly filling you then demanding you to pull your panties back up and come back to the party with him as his cum would be dripping between your thighs.

As Satoru bucked his hips up into his hand, he stopped briefly to spit into his hand, deciding there's no time to look for lube, he went back to fucking his hand to the thought of you. If only you knew your new friend got off to these innocent pictures you sent him, if only you knew what he wanted to do to you– he's confident you wouldn't wanna be friends anymore. Shaking his head he pushed aside those thoughts and focused on his current pleasure, his fantasy, his goal of cumming from the pictures of you in those dresses you handpicked to show him.

He mumbled words of encouragement as if you were there with him right now bouncing on his dick instead of the reality of his hand moving up and down, mutters of 'good girl's and praises like "so good, baby" and "yeah? You like that?", desperate to convince himself of his fantasy. Satoru tossed aside his phone long ago after making sure the photos were engraved in his mind, he wasn't expecting you to update him until sometime near midnight.

his eyes closed as his other hand slid up his stomach pushing up the material of his shirt until it reached his collarbone, his fingers trying to find any weak points on his body to rub, pinch or entice as his hand rubbed his dick to the pace of his imaginary storyline; where he dreamed of driving you back home and stuffing you full of his cock until the only word that was in your vocabulary was his name.

"Yesyesyes, (Name)..! Mmmmmhffuck..!" He groaned out as he felt his end near already, his face warming up to a soft reddish pink reminiscent of the tip of his dick as he fucked his hand, soft gasps and groans escaped him as he imagined all the filthy things he could do to you, all the filthy things he wanted to know about you.

What type of panties do you always wear? What type of men make you horny? Who have you been with? Would you let him fuck you? 'Please lemme fuck you, lemme fuck you..! Wanna fuck you..!'

The vulgarity of his desperation made him blush but brought him dangerously close to the edge, squeezing the base of his cock Satoru covered his mouth instinctively, he bucked up his hips as his cum coated his abdomen, stomach and some droplets even reached his chest. He moaned behind his hand as he felt the waves of pleasure shock through his body. He slowed his hips, mumbling for the imaginary you once more. "Take it, take it all, baby.."

He didn't want to move, he knew he had to but he wanted to relish in his fantasy a little longer, he wanted to pull you close and sloppily kiss your cute glossy lips and praise you for being a good girl, taking his load like that. He imagined his cum oozing from your slit but he wouldn't let it go to waste, he'd use his finger to slide it back in where he knows it belongs.

He remembered to save those photos for.. 'next time', reaching over to get his phone, he paused as he received a notification.

(Name)💘: party was lame, coming 2 ur place!! >:3c

Sitting up, the sweat that collected at his back from his 'session' cooled him off, he cleaned himself up and couldn't help but grin at your adorable message.

You don't need to worry, he'll entertain you more than any dumb party could.

#gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo x you #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut

[peachesofteal]

First Sight

Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. 🖤

Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3

Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.

“And you are?” 

“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him. 

“Last name?” 

“Riley.”

“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter. 

“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.” 

“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago. 

“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses. 

“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.

You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.

It makes Simon nervous.

Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.

He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.

He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.

“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.

“I’m here.”

“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.

“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table. 

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers. 

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull. 

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything. 

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head. 

His girl. His. 

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass. 

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak. 

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him. 

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.” 

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know. 

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know. 

“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-

He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.

“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.

“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.

“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.

“Dying how?” He swallows.

“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.

The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-

“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”  

“With you.”

“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you gasp in surprise.

“Sass? What is it?”

“I… I think I peed myself.”  

“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.

“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open. 

“What?”

“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.” 

You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.

He has to get away. Now. 

You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him. 

“Simon.” You whisper. 

He steps back. 

Your face falls. 

He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.

Almost everything.

His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.

“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.

“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”

His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t. 

“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-

No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again. 

“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.

You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family. 

The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain. 

His family. You could have been lost, like his family.

He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.

“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.

“Who?”

“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”

“What are you on about?”

“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.

“Ghost, calm down.”

“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.

“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”

“You’re what now?”

“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”

“Simon-“

“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”

“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.

“Price…  she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.” 

“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.

“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.

“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw. 

“Fine.”  The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.

“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”

“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.

“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”

“Me?”

“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What?  You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”

“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”

“Yeah…but not mine.”

Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.” 

His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks. 

“I can’t.”

“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.

“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.

“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.

“I think I’m a little high.”

“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.

“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-

You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.

“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.

He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.

“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”

He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away. 

“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work. 

“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder. 

“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.

“Simon.” Your voice wavers.

“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-

A baby cries.

“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad. 

“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.

“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His. 

“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.

When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.

His tears.

“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?” 

“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage. 

“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously. 

“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.” 

“It’s not.” 

“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open. 

The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat. 

“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed. 

“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her. 

“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face. 

“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.” 

“Yes! Oh my god thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.” 

The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him. 

“Simon-“

“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.

“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.

“Skin to skin?”

“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”

“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.

“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.”

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad. 

He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.

“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.

The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.

“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.

It terrifies him, but he knows its name.  

He knows it’s love.

Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.

“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."

The next fic in this series is here.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #sassy series #simon riley #pregnant reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #tw pregnancy #peaches writes #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #dad Simon Riley

[david-talks-sw]

"Obi-Wan, why can't you just do your damn paperwork?"

Illustration of @smhalltheurlsaretaken's hilarious short story titled "All creatures, great and small" in which Obi-Wan releases puffer pigs into the courtyard so that the Jedi younglings can ride them, causing delicious chaos.

Thought this would be a fun thing to explore. Not sure how long after Episode III this happy ending AU takes place in, but I seem to remember mentioning of Luke and Leia being hellions somewhere and Anakin having retired and lives on Naboo, so I figured it'd be interesting to set it like 10 years later.

Color-wise, Obi-Wan's clothes reflect more Yoda's palette (as he grows older, his function in the lineage becomes more akin to Yoda's), whereas Mace has reverted to his palette in Episode I, as things were before the war.

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #Mace Windu #Star Wars #no order 66 #jedi order #jedi temple #Star Wars AU #star wars fanart #Fan-Art #puffer pig

[historiaxvanserra]

Every Exquisite Thing | A Regency AU

Summary: The first of the season brings with it so many things; new friends, new enemies, a masquerade ball, and a rakish young gentleman with eyes like burnished gold.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (Regency AU)

Word Count: 3.1k

This is the first part of a series that had been consuming my thoughs day and night for about two weeks. We don't meet Eris yet but we get glimpses and I like what I see 👀 I just wanted to give a feel for the regency vibe and see if we're feeling it or not! Next chapter well get Eris in all his regency glory and I promise you, he's worth the wait.

The townhouse that your family occupies on the main street of the Ton is unusually quiet this morning, you think. The first of the season typically brings with it an air of frivolity; the ladies in their Spring colors, gentlemen riding horse-drawn carriages through the cobblestone streets and the hum of the city beyond. A myriad of color -- lilacs and honeysuckle, dappled with the greenery that climbs along the facades of the townhouses -- a colorful oasis from the bleak gray and green of a Winter spent in the country. 

However, today, the main square, where Pryhtian’s most ancient and noble families convalesce during the fairer months, is blanketed in an oppressive palette of indigo and gray as the last of the Winter’s storms ravages the world beyond Crescent House. 

The sound of the howling wind as it rages like a great tempest through the streets rouses you from your perch on the chaise near the dying hearth. 

The street below the parlor is veiled in the shadowed hues of the storm and not a soul in town has dared brave the wrath of the elements since the dourpour began. Hail patters dismally against the window panes of your families townhouse and an ice-kissed wind crawls its way along the exposed planes of your shoulders and collarbones and in the distance you hear the distinctive draw of a carriage along the main square, near Forest House. As you near the window you observe the hail as it falls like pearls from the darkening sky onto wet, cobbled streets. 

From the oppressive darkness a carriage emerges; a considerable vehicle of polished wood, lacquered with dark emerald paint, the trim and doors are framed with delicate golden embellishments and the doors and rear bear a family crest, obscured by the gloom of the afternoon. The cart itself is drawn by four bay stallions with long, dark manes, sodden with the downpour. From the cabin steps a shadowy figure of a man, once obscured by the oppressive darkness, now illuminated by the lamplight; he’s all dressed in black, save for the white collar of a linen shirt and his long hair, curls away from his face in tousled, auburn waves. He burns most ardent against the bleak afternoon, even in the din of the oil lamps, he looks like something out of one of Feyre’s paintings. Or perhaps the formidable and brooding romantic lead of the romance novels Nesta so adores. Either way he cuts an intimidating figure in the dark streets of the main square. Tall and broad-shouldered, and rather rakish as he stalks up the steps of the townhouse opposite yours. 

From your perch overlooking the street you see him turn outward; admiring the graceful planes of his face, the aquiline nose and high-cheekbones falling to the slender cut of his waist and hips and the broad spread of his shoulders and sculpted arms. 

It occurs to you then that you have been all too obvious in your voyeurism. 

You are watching him. 

And he is watching you in return. 

The very thought elicits something in you; something dark and sentimental and terribly anxious. It is a cruel, coiling thing, in the pit of your stomach. Some ill-fated omen. A harbinger of your own downfall. The ghost at the feast, or a raven in the night that spells your undoing. Whatever it is, there is a deep sense of foreboding in you at the prospect of what this dark figure might herald in with him. 

The tolling of the city bells brings with it a flurry of movement on the street and your eyes meet his strange amber gaze across the way and he scowls. A deep furrow of a brow; the firm set of his jaw, the flex of a pale hand, before retreating into the house. 

“Come away from the window girl,” Your mother chastises in her usual cutting tone as she eyes you from her place in front of the hearth. Her gloved hand inspects the fine silk fabric of the dresses the modiste had sent to her. She holds the fabric between those fine-boned fingers and drapes each swatch over the pale skin of her slender arm with a rehearsed ease as she takes the time to scrutinize every hand-sewn seam and embroidered adornment. 

“Yes mama.” You say absentmindedly, casting one last longing glance towards the dark facade of the townhouse across the street, where the orange flicker of candlelight illuminates the window.. 

Your mother is an austere woman with a cutting sort of beauty rather unlike your own. Her eyes are cold and grey and her features, angular; feline in a way that is almost unnerving to look at. Though even in her age, she bares fine, high cheekbones, unblemished skin, and her long golden hair falls over the delicate slope of her shoulder in coiffed ringlets. She had been quite a remarkable beauty in her youth, it had been said. Now all that remains of her lost youth is an oil painting hung above the hearth-- the paint, yellowed and cracked with age-- and the legacy of her ancient and most-noble lineage. 

Her piercing gaze falls onto you again as you take a turn about the room, perching on the cushioned bench in front of the pianoforte. You run a hand over the untuned keys and in your wake dust mites filter through the stagnant air. 

That piano had once been the beating heart of this room; a symphony of high arching notes that rang through the halls of this house. 

It has not been touched since Nesta left. 

“You look drawn, my dear,” She says simply, her eyes cruel and unyielding as she looks over you and the fine silk draped over her arm, “green does so very little for your complexion.” 

She considers you for a moment longer before turning to the modiste with a quirked brow. The seamstress at least, has the good grace to look apologetically between you and your youngest sister before nodding in agreement to your mother. She murmurs that a deeper shade of green would suit you better, though your mother ignores her entirely.

“Perhaps an emerald tone would suit better” she muses to no one in particular. 

“It would make you look more…tempting” The modiste decides with a sly smile to you when your mother looses a shrill gasp. Your mother hums her disapproval once more from her spot in the armchair before turning her attention towards Feyre on the modiste’s podium as the slender woman takes her measurements for the last alterations to her gown. 

“You look beautiful Fey,” You say lightly, pulling at your own faded sage gown as you regard your youngest sister, “the silver looks exquisite on you.” Feyre smiles brightly at you from her place on the podium and pulls a few strands of her long, golden hair to frame her face. She looks as though she is wreathed in starlight in the silver gown; the high bust lays perfectly over her chest and the cuffed sleeves are trimmed with silver thread and sheer lace and accentuate the slope of her strong shoulders, the skirts fall in a swathe of silk and chiffon and the pearls and opal sewn into the skirts catch like moonglow in the blue light. She smooths the skirts with a flair of her gloved hand and admires the matching slippers that peek out from the long hem. 

“Hmm,” Your mother murmurs lowly, bringing a slender hand to her painted mouth as she assesses the garment carefully, “Yes - the silver favors you, my darling.” Your mother purses her lips once more and nods decisively at the modiste who offers a courteous bow in response. 

“I have hopes that the Lady of Autumn might name you her ‘incomparable’, afterall.” Your mother’s voice is frightfully wistful as she casts a look up to her portrait hung above the dying fire. Beside it, on the mantle Nesta’s painted face stares back impassively at you and you feel anxiety twisting within you again. Feyre laughs. A small, disbelieving thing as she thanks the modiste and exits the parlor in favor of her sketchbook. 

“She did so love Nesta when she was first presented,” You mother recalls, her eyes glassy as she sips at her cold tea with a grimace, “and your sister does so remind me of her.” 

You smile fondly at the thought of your eldest sister; painfully absent for the last few years but missed dearly. Nesta had always bore the brunt of your mother’s cruelty -- until she could bare it no more -- and then you took her place. 

“Yes mama, she will do very well at court.” You say genuinely, though your mother can’t bring herself to acknowledge you. You bite down the bitter taste of jealousy when her eyes linger on the portrait of Nesta hung along the mantel. The way her brows dip in a moment of fleeting grief for her favorite daughter. 

When she looks at you again you get the sense that looking at you now -- in the pallid light of the storm -- is like looking in a mirror. 

It is a mother’s curse you think.

A daughter’s burden. 

Breathing deeply as the modiste pins the hem of the dress you find yourself thinking of the happy recollections of your childhood; you think perhaps your mother is reminiscing on those times too. 

She had been the only daughter of an Earl somewhere on the continent once. Beautiful and graceful. Green and foolhardy. Named the incomparable of her own social season; she had dreams of an idyllic life in the countryside, summers shaded in the laughter of her many sons, and measured in the unyielding smiles of a good husband.

 Of course, as was the way of things, her girlhood ideations had been nought but that-- dreams. Dashed and divided like stardust in a vast twilight abyss. 

A series of scandals and bad investments led her to Pryhtian as the sole heir to an old name. A lamb to the slaughter by her own mother, to be the docile wife of some dull Lord, almost two decades her senior 

In time, she did the same to her own daughters.

Time is a cruel mistress; and the woman she is now is one tarnished by the years. Imposing and cynical; demanding in a way that it was impossible to please her. In your youth you recall her endless cruelty towards you all, though none more than Nesta.

Her prodigy. 

Her pride and joy. 

It was that ceaseless need for perfection that drove Nesta away in the end. 

So with the wave of her hand she gestures to you to take to the podium.

An ill-fated replacement for the daughter she lost.

Her perpetual disappointment.

The modiste is a young woman, who hails from the continent with beautiful dark hair that fell in coiled ringlets over her shoulders, she speaks to you in a low, velvet tenor and has a thick accent that distinguishes her to the natives of this land. She is favored by many of the young ladies of the Ton for her exquisite garments; each made with richly adorned and embroidered fabrics imported from her homeland. You watch impassively as she records your measurements and swatches a few scraps of fabric against your skin. The woman quickly discards the silver that Feyre had worn and opts instead for gold and offers your mother a few other options for your dresses this season; sapphire and cerulean, emerald and ruby, topaz and onyx. 

Then selects a beautiful emerald gown, trimmed with jade and adorned with matching beads and crystals that shine with the glittering darkness of some forgotten forest when the light of the storm outside refacts in their many surfaces. The modiste admires the garment as she holds it up to you; her keen eyes finding yours and smiling brightly and nodding deliberately. 

“This is the one,” She says, her accent so thick with delight that it is difficult to fully understand the words, “perhaps the Lady of Autumn might name you her favorite in your sisters place” She offers it jovially, almost in jest but your mother’s face twists nonetheless. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Your mother laughs cruelly as she regards you in the beautiful garment. You think perhaps that in you she sees all the things she hates about herself. Your mother takes a moment to scrutinize you; her eyes reap over every curve and divot of the skirts as they fall against you, every minute details to find fault where she can. 

It is a mothers’s curse, not to know a daughter’s pain. 

You imagine it is also a mercy too when she looks at you like you are her own reflection. 

Her perpetual disappointment. 

After another silent moment she nods her head to the modiste and rises to her feet. The tea cup rattles and rings viscously through icy air as she sets it down and wanders towards the doors.  

“Oh Feyre darling, you look exquisite!” Your mothers voice is shrill and dripping with pride that elicits a strange sort of jealousy and you swallow down its bitter taste. In the foyer your sister glides down the marble staircase dressed in all her finery. 

Feyre has the type of beauty reminiscent of a falling star; all pale skin, that looks like porcelain, dappled with the iridescent stardust that falls from the sky around her birthday each year. Her dress is one of flowing indigo and complemented by intricate silver embroidery along the cuffs and bust, the long line of her neck is adorned with pearls and diamonds that refract in the light of the chandelier; dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky. 

She smiles brightly and her laugh echoes like birdsong around the hall as your mother takes her hand. And almost like an afterthought, your mother regards you with thinly veiled horror at the garment that clings to you like a plate of armor. 

A deep merlot gown, inlaid with rubies and pearls; that cast a bloody halo as you step into the light of the chandelier. The skirts bleed into a train made of gossamer thin spidersilk that has a metallic quality to it that makes you feel as though you are some ancient Goddess of love and war. 

Aphrodite perhaps, as deadly as she is beautiful. 

Your hands, though they tremble, bare many gold rings, each polished to the heavens so that she sees her face distorted in their many unblemished surfaces. There is a part of you that hopes craves your mothers love more than you long to insight her ire. 

But that part of you died the day Nesta went away. 

“How do you suppose you’re going to tempt a man into marrying you dressed like that,” She chastices, pulling at the skirts of your wine red dress, “you look like a common whore.”

“At least a whore is paid to abide the insipid company of boring men.” you counter under your breath as your mother strides out into the street. You catch Feyre’s eye and she smiles at you like a feral cat. 

The rest of the carriage ride is spent in solemn silence as the facade of The town hall draws ever closer. You mother’s idle gossip about one Lord of the other hardly seems the rouse you from though as you watch the world beyond this cart pass you by. 

The storm had broken sometime around midday and the tempest gave way to sunlight; soft ochre and gold as it filtered through the open windows of your father’s library, where you had spent the afternoon. Nestled into the worn armchair favored by your father and a quiet comfort when he is away. There, in the confines of your father’s study, you allow yourself to dream; of debauched gentlemen and tortured artists. Stories painted with the vivid imaginings of Gothic heroines and vast and sweeping landscapes. Of temptation and sacrifice.

It is a hobby inherited from your sister and one much discouraged by your mother. 

But as afternoon bled into night you were called away from the pages of manuscripts written in some foreign tongue. For, the Lady of Autumn’s masquerade ball marks the true commencement of the social season each year. It is a night of mystery and secrets; of dark romance and all things fanciful. 

It is the one night a year that you allow yourself to be swept up in the excitement of the season and tonight every eligible Lord and Lady will don their finery for a night of high-arching orchestral music and sweeping dances that herald in the social season. 

It is tonight of all nights where the Lady of Autumn will name the incomparable of the season; a young woman both fair and accomplished that will inspire awe and ire in equal measure. For her troubles she might hope to tempt an eligible gentleman into marriage by summer’s end. And as your mother gives Feyre one more adoring look you know that she is hoping that your sister will insight that awe tonight. 

The carriage draws to a tumultuous halt outside the doors of the grand town hall and you hear the distant laughter of courtiers. The chatter of the ladies distracts you momentarily and you catch their idle chatter; something about the new Duke and his wicked beauty. A beauty as cruel as he is, they say. Their chatter dies when they meet your eyes and they devolve into mean-spirited whispers about the poor Archeron girls and their absent sister. 

“Quickly girls, we mustn't be late.” Your mother instructs and steps from the carriage turning expectantly as you disembark from the vehicle with all the grace you can manage. Your stomach twists in knots and the anxiety is so consuming that it addles your mind. So much so that any intelligent thought you might have had seems to abandon you. 

The gardens of the town hallare saturated in the light of the last shadowed sunbeams as they are obliterated by the rapidly falling night; veins of indigo and amethyst that streak across the black. The air is heady and thick with the smell of wildflowers and wine and every now and again you catch the scent of half-burned oak and bergamot’s on the evening breeze. 

The first of the season is in full swing and the courtiers look like a jewel toned fire in their finery; swathes of ruby and topaz, dappled with emerald and carnelian. You had felt the shift in the air when the sun had begun to set in the sky; that anticipation so palpable you could taste it. It tastes like wood and wildflowers, undercut with something darker. 

You abandon yourself to the thought of it; what he might taste like. 

Hedonism; earthy and dangerous as you swallow it back. 

In an hour or two, when the stars materialize like a million quarts against the velvet abyss, the Ladies will retreat into the mazes, in twos or threes and their Lords, like hungry wolves will begin the hunt. 

A hunt that will last the season

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris acotar #eris vandaddy

[casualsheeteater]

Carnal Desire - Part 1

Warnings: NSFW, Violence, Gore

2nd POV, Fem reader.

You'd been assigned to König, a mountain of a man, for this mission. He'd been tacked on to the 141 as part of the top brass's collaboration with the PMC group. You were told not to question it, so you mainly ignored the newer addition. Until now.

The man was quiet, speaking only when absolutely needed. It unnerved you. Though, his height didn't necessarily help, either. He was built like a brick fireplace, towering over everything, and wound with layers of thick muscle. You could feel as much whenever you were thrown into him during the bumpy ride. Along with his gear piercing into your sides.

The two of you were draped head to toe in ghillie suits in order to aid in camouflage. Not your favorite outfit, but not the worst. They were made with shady, damp forests in mind, leading to a darker color palette along the mixed leaves and mesh.

When Price had announced the mission, your mouth had run dry. You'd worked with Konig before on a few previous missions, but /not/ this close.

A sigh slipped from your lips. While you were confident you could flow well with him, it didn't ease your nerves, and the mysterious coil slithering in your stomach.

When the Jeep finally lurched to a stop, you were almost grateful. You quickly undid the strap binding you to the seat and waited for the orders to crack through your earpiece. It was only meant to be a 'drop-off', but intel had stated there were some stray /dogs/.

Soon, Price's whiskey lathered voice dripped through the speaker in your ear. "Area's clear. Disperse, and get to that safehouse," he grumbled. Immediately, as though a gun had fired a blank to announce the start of a race, you were out of the Jeep, scanning your surroundings.

Your boots firmly planted down onto the powdery dirt, the slight crunch of contact with a few loose pebbles adding to the bit of noise. Your gun was raised, aim steady, as your poured over the immediate landscape.

You wouldn't doubt that your guests hadn't heard you approaching, the Jeep wasn't exactly /stealthy/. Regardless, you stepped off the narrow dirty path, winding between the thick trunks of trees and brush.

"Good luck," the driver murmurs with a slight salute out of the corner of your eye, and as quickly as you had arrived, he was gone, turning around and going back to whence you'd came.

König, who'd gotten out opposite of you, flicked his head to you, the fabric of his long sniper hood jerking with the movement. He carefully studied your body language.

A shiver crawled down your spine as you felt the heat of his gaze on you. But you did your best to ignore it.

Your eyes carefully scanned, nitpicking the various dark greens and arrays of shadowy logs. Few rays of sunshine battered down through the treetops, hidden by the bulk of leaves above creating a blanketed atmosphere.

The two of you had been informed of a crucial safehouse being on the radar of a dangerous criminal group. Some documents had apparently been left behind, as well as several weapon stashes scattered in and around the forest, including the town surrounding it.

You and König were briefed to take a 'lookout' approach, and only engage in combat if spotted. To avoid such confrontation early in the mission, you were sent out later in the day.

Not that it mattered to you, your back was already beginning to complain about the 40 pounds of gear currently piled onto your figure. It wasn't anything you couldn't handle, you were trained for it after all, but you wouldn't mind shucking the majority of it onto the ground of the safehouse.

"Ready?" You whispered to König, you heard the rustle of fabric before you turned and caught the movement. He'd nodded, choosing to stay quiet for now. The two of you hadn't had time to really have a /conversation/, just a few polite phrases. Didn't stop him from watching you like a hawk every time you entered a room, though.

Quickly, the two of you immersed yourselves into the brush, mindful of your steps while moving fluidly through the sticks, stepping over logs, as your back slightly hunched, your silenced assault rifle aimed in front of you, scanning continuously. It was a rhythm, something you easily fell into every time you were put into this setting. Though, it was slightly different with the behemoth next to you.

Surprisingly, he was as quiet as you. Probably quieter. In that aspect, he was similar to Ghost, who glided about the compound, scaring Privates out of their minds. It was fun to watch, you will admit that.

But König? He only used his build on missions, not engaging much in larger crowds. Everything about him was a mystery. Well, except to Horangi, another operator who'd been pinned onto 141 with him. The only thing you knew about Horangi was how awful he was at poker. Again, not having much chance for conversation due to back-to-back missions, and your general avoidance of the newcomers.

Not that you minded it, you quite preferred the constant missions, kept your mind off of things, and more in your work. You supposed you were quite isolated as well, not engaging whenever Soap would attempt to drag you out for drinks.

Though, this mission seemed more like an opportunity to relax more than anything. Price would occasionally tend to send his soldiers onto missions like this. A brief reprieve from the onslaught of typical work.

/Ah./ It was probably so you could get to know König more. Price had already been discussing the possibility of future duo missions between you and the other man.

As you stepped, you could feel how the man next to you was practically brimming with adrenaline. In the corner of your eye, you saw, what you could of his eyes. All you knew was that they were /wide/, intaking any visual information he could.

You didn't blame him. By now, the two of you were deep into the forest, the powdery dirt road nowhere in sight anymore.

Suddenly, he was no longer at your side, a stride or two in front of you, which, considering the length of his legs, was hefty. He motioned for you to get down with his hand, his own slightly crouched position deepening.

Immediately understanding his intent, you did as instructed, eyes flicking about your surroundings, trying to find a form of cover. Next to you, an overturned hollow log was draped across the ground.

/Convenient/.

You ducked down, crouch-walking your way over to the log. Konig was right next to it. You peeked in. It was big enough to hold about three people. Perfect.

Resting the barrel of your gun onto the top of the log, you peered through the scope. A quick scan showed you nothing. With a quirked brow, you glanced over to Konig. You doubt he'd heard wrong, he was much more experienced than you.

Before you understood what was happening, Konig dragged you to the ground, rolling over on top of you as a shot thundered through the forest.

"/Verdammt-/," he muttered, the first word he'd spoken since you'd first met him. Besides on comms. His voice was deeper in person than you'd thought it'd be.

You stared, wide eyed, at him on top of you. His head was shifted, looking over his shoulder, before ducking down and facing you as another shot rang out, closer to your position now. His eyes met yours. The cold pupils /glinted/ with murderous intent. Not directed t you, of course. Didn't lessen the chill down your spine, regardless.

A rustle came from the brushes to your right, and both of your heads snapped to it. From his utility belt, Konig snatched a knife, and raised it. The two of you were already decently camouflaged, the ghillie suit sufficiently covering you both. Especially you, as Konig's also draped over you.

As soon as a head peeked above the brush, Konig pounced. You watched for a split second before quickly redirecting yourself. /This was a life or death situation./

Your gun, which hadn't clattered too far away from you in the commotion, was still primed and ready. You snatched it, propping yourself back up, trusting the cover of your ghillie suit gave you, and aimed as you scoured the surroundings. The slight outcropping of a face immediately tipped you off.

You exhaled, bracing your body for recoil, and steadied the reticle. A shot rang out, and the body jerked back, out of sight.

To the left of you, you heard grunting, before a sickening /SNAP/. Konig had finished off the other guy within a minute or so.

It was still a wonder to you, how the man managed to disable someone within a matter of moments. Another shiver went down your spine.

"Status?" He growled out to you, accent thick. You hadn't noticed him approaching.

"Fine," you took another look through your scope. "Two tangos approaching," you whispered. They were /just/ out of range for your rifle.

He stayed silent for a moment.

"Direct me over comms," he instructed.

You give him a quick sharp nod, readjusting your stance so you're better easily able to move your gun about. A deep breath fills your lungs, you hold it for a moment, hearing the slightly quickened thumping of your heart, before letting it out. You lean down, immediately spotting moving brush.

"Straight forward from my position, at least 70 meters," I mutter.

Konig begins creeping forward, and you flick over to get him in your sights.

He makes short work of the trek, his long stride benefitting him, as in no time, you hear the take down over comms, blood spurting out of, what you presume is a neck. "Tango down," Konig reports.

You begin to move forward as well, as soon as you lock onto the other man. "Far right, 2 o'clock, prone position." You inform, spying the other man hunkered down. It was a good spot; you'll give them that.

Several minutes pass, and Konig's disappears out of sight. Frantically, your reticle searches the area.

"(shit but in german.)" Konig suddenly growls over comms.

Grunting and tousling are heard over Konig's mic. At once, you're picking up your pace. "Konig?" You call, just above a whisper. Your rifle is resumed to it's usual spot in your grip as you book it to his location.

"Konig!" You press, as more struggling is heard. Not too far from you, you hear a shot, and wince as it's also transmitted into your ear.

It goes deathly quiet.

Your muscles begin to burn, as you dodge and duck, moving around bushes, stray rocks, and logs. You hurl yourself away from the trunk of a tree, using it to gain momentum as you hop over a lifeless body.

He speaks your name over comms, it's rough, gravely. You come to a stop, as you spot him in front of you, standing, huffing and heaving, much like you.

Konig turns to you, blood splattered across his front, several specks dripping from his ghillie suit. His eyes, piercing in that cold unmoving gaze. A knife, harshly gripped in his right hand, as several combatants lay on the floor. He'd been ambushed while going for the man who was prone, as they'd been able to hide out of sight.

"Sitrep?" You ask between breaths, your chest rising and falling.

He didn't speak, only stepped towards you as he dropped the knife. It clattered to the ground at his feet. His pupils were solely focused on you.

Another step.

You resisted the urge to retreat back.

Again. His boots quiet against the forest floor.

Finally, he was right in front of you, as you strained your neck to meet his eyes.

Your name dripped from his lips and you froze. Like prey, cornered by a predator. /Yet he was your teammate./

His hand rose, coming up to cup your cheek, staining it with the blood of the men he'd just disarmed. It was still warm, and you swallowed, your neck slightly bobbing at the motion.

"/Mein./" He spoke.

Your brows furrowed slightly. 'Mein'? You had limited vocabulary on German, but regardless, you knew that meant 'mine'. You opened your mouth to question, and he pounced.

His other hand flew up, pushing his hood under the seam of his balaclava and pulling the other up to his nose, revealing his scarred mouth. He pressed his lips to yours as he bent forward, keeping one hand on your face, the other wrapping around you like a snake in his vice grip.

Any noise you were going to make was clamped down, practically sucked out of you, similar to the breath in your lungs. He stole it, all of it, as his rough lips encased yours.

His eyes, focused on your reaction and body language, studied you, as if a flame had been lit in them.

He broke away after several moments, and you inhaled, inflating your lungs once more.

"/Konig/, not here-", You try to reason with him. The two of you were still right in the middle of enemy occupied territory.

The man bent back down, and right before stealing your lips once more murmured, "Nein, jetzt."

You closed your eyes, melting into it, as his tongue licked into your mouth. Your hands came up to grasp him, sinking into the fabric on his arms of the ghillie suit, like you were trying to scratch him out of it.

He began to push you backwards, causing you to falter, right up against a tree. Without hesitation, he begins to pull the straps of the heavy bag down, helping you slip your arms through them before tossing it aside in the bushes. Again, he broke the kiss, as his hands began to wander, making quick work of your belt and the buttons of your pants.

Anticipation and sudden arousal shot through your body, hitting you straight in the gut. Your heartbeat quickened, as you caught sight of his eyes. Pupils dilated and solely focused on you. His mouth, pressed into a thin line, slightly upticked due to an old wound slicing his lips.

König leaned in, pressing his body right up against yours, those same lips peppering promises onto your neck.

It almost felt like the calm before the storm.

His hands continued, rough pads of his fingertips dancing along your flesh, rippling goosebumps up your torso. They journeyed downwards, past the band of your underwear, before freezing.

"/Wet/," he muttered, and you felt the grin on your neck.

A small noise came out of your mouth at that, realizing just what he'd done to you despite the situation, and in a /forest/ of all things.

The man gave you no time to ponder, diving straight into your cunt.

..

.

To be Continued ❤️❤️

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod modern warfare #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig smut #to be continued #cod #cod mwii #smut #I'm slow at writing #This was sitting in my drafts for so long #I swear I'll finish

[thatoneluckybee]

Homesick Propaganda Post

Because the hyperfixation has officially returned with a vengeance. I have three (3) ongoing hyperfixations help. Also I find this whole thing hilarious and must drag more mutuals down the rabbit hole (I’ve been here since Spring 22 I think?)

Main character is canonically Bisexual and the deuteragonist is canonically Asexual

Everyone is hot (I know what y’all’re about.)

Navy Blouin. (Yeah we like him here)

You get to support women’s wrongs (she bites a man’s ear off.)

There’s a guy named Kenny that we call Kenneth in the comments because it’s funny.

The series creator is amazing and feeds us with wonderful art a lot. She drew a bunch of them as the Mean Girls Jingle Bell Rock. She also drew the Peaches scene (You know what I mean the Mario thing) with the characters.

There’s a cat and his name is Ogre!!!! And he hates you!!!

There is a canon hijabi woman and she is hilarious and we love her

The color palette is amazing (mainly pinks and purples)

Gladiolus. (He likes ladybugs and doesn’t know how to ride a bike)

There’s a guy named Oak that we call babygirl in the comments because it’s funny (and accurate)

THE SEASON ONE FINALE HAS MUSIC.

Tomoha Kobayashi. (She beats the crap out of somehow and her hair is adorable)

Local Woman Kills and Looks Good Doing It

Guy gets almost killed and gets out of it by flirting. (Not spoiling though figure it our yourself.)

There’s a bird and her name is Karen.

Greasy Man “Discourse” (You hate loving him or love hating him it’s a win-win. We all want to beat up Greasy Man)

THE AAAAAAAAAART.

Look at my PFP. Do you like her. Then read it please?? You should like her

#fhrvgjifhuvecjovhugiefjcokdwqijfhuvirejckowdjwcifhurivcijdwkoxijcehufiudijoprhufgyuhwredjohrucfyhuoijdrhucfvejid #okay #fambles #rayne liebert #samael keene #homesick webtoon #gressil homesick #navin blouin #kenny luckstar #tomoha kobayashi #just tagging the mains

[cacodaemonia]

Fan Artist Emoji Asks

Big thanks to @nottheweirdest, who created the Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask and gave me permission to use that as a template for a visual artist version! This ask game is for visual artists, and while the questions most often ask about drawing or sketching, just substitute your preferred medium.

😅 What's a sketch or finished image you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between characters that never fails to put you in your feels when you draw it?

🤡 What sketch or detail in an image have you drawn that made you laugh?

😈 Have you ever created an image or added some detail just to be playfully mean to the viewer?

👀 Do you have someone who you can go to when you need another set of eyes on an image?

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your images? Themes, feels, scenes, color palettes, etc.

🎢 Which of your images would you call your wildest ride?

✨ Give you and your art a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

💋 Drawing characters smooching—do you enjoy it or hate it?

🎶 Do you listen to music/podcasts/audiobooks/podfics while you draw? What have you been listening to lately?

🛠 What traditional media or digital programs do you use to draw?

⛔ Do you have an image you started but scrapped?

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you make fan art?

🍦 What's the sweetest image you've created so far?

🍷 Do you drink and draw?

🍆 Do you draw spicy stuff? If so, what's your favorite nsfw image?

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to draw?

💖 What made you start drawing? 

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

❌ What's something you would never draw?

💲 Would you ever open commissions? 

🧐 Do you spend much time researching and finding references for your images?

🏆 What's your most popular image? 

🎃 Do you create images for certain holidays? What is your favorite holiday-inspired image?

🎯 Has anyone ever guessed a handy trick or shortcut you used in an image? Care to share which?

📖 How do you feel about fics based on you art?

📈 How many fan art images have you created?

🤔 Do you plan out things like values, colors, and composition or fly by the seat of your pants?

🎨 Tell me about an upcoming wip, please!

🤗 What advice would you give to new fan artists who are just getting started?

🤩 Who is your favorite character to draw? 

💞 Who is your comfort character? Not necessarily your favorite to draw, but one that always makes you feel a little better.

🧠 When drawing [character name], what about them is hardest to draw? (askers, don't forget to specify the character!)

🤲 Would you please share a wip? Maybe a sketch or a small preview of an image?

😬 Which of your images would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon? 

🎉 What leads you to consider an image a success?

✅ What's something that appears in your images over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

🖼️ Would you ever want to turn making art into a career?

⌛ How long does it take you to complete a sketch versus a finished image?

🤯 What's an aspect of images with which you struggle (ex. human figures, backgrounds, hands, animals, cars, etc.)?

💔 Is there an image of yours that broke your heart?

💥 How do you feel about criticism? 

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your art?

🥰 How do you feel about viewer interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your images?

#fan artist emoji asks #emoji asks #ask game #fan art

[ashlynniis-bracketeers]

UNCHAINED SANGUINEOUS HEARTMAKER {Guilty Gear}

Riding the high of a resounding Epiphany.

...Did I pull another "Desdinova" purely out of sheer A.B.A hopium? (I kept the lines sketchy, though, because I could not be arsed to try and mimic Strive's linework style again after the pain from last time ahjsdgajhsdgadk)

Yes. Yes I did.

So, those Season 3 character survey results, huh? The A.B.A hopium is real. I really do wonder what they'd do with her if she was brought to Strive, so I decided to try my hand at a "Strive-ified" A.B.A design.

Make sure to check under the cut for the "concept art" I made + their associated information.

So, design background info:

So, she's a... weirdo homunculus, right? An artificial human, created by a mad scientist she never met, so she was alone and never really learned how to... "people". That key in her head also keeps on reminding me of the bolts lodged in the sides of pop-culture-ified Adam's (Frankenstein's monster) head. She's also desperately trying to find a human(oid) body for the demon/magical foci Paracelsus/Flament Nagel, who she is deeply in love with. Artificially-created human, medical themes, artificial human form, deeply in love...

So what if she decided that, with her attempts at finding a body for him repeatedly failing (XX endings don't count, XX's canonicity is completely FUCKED lmao), why doesn't she just... create one herself instead?

In other words, the creation becomes the creator. Lil' bit of "Bride of Frankenstein" thrown in, if the guy making the bride (or in this case, groom) was the monster itself.

So, making her into a key-axe-wielding mad scientist homunculus.

I tried to make her pose reminiscent of a dance move, specifically a "dip".

I hope you like it!

GG ABA Strive fandesign sheet 01

The first drawing I got done of my design for A.B.A (featuring a base-shapes Paracelsus for scale). Featuring her color palette (F1 is base flesh, F2 is scarring, H is hair, B is bandages, C1 is primary coat color, C2 is secondary coat color, C3 is tertiary coat color, E is "edges", M1 is one of the metal colors, A is "accents", M2 is the second metal color, and the square below that is the eye colors), weird ragged patchwork "lab-coat", boot details, "branding", and some of the text on her design.

- The phrase printed along the front edge of her coat (and the heels of her boots) is "LOCK&SEE" (the "&" stylized to look like/replaced with a keyhole symbol), a spin on the phrase "Lock and Key", fitting with her obsession with keys and tendency towards twisting sayings/phrases into mondegreens. Also implies hiding something.

- The brand on the back of her coat is meant to look like the coffin shape on the back of Paracelsus's head during Moroha Mode, with the nose hole and right eye hole visible. Text above it reads "PARACELSUS" (with the P and R stylized to have curved horns in the back like MM Para), and the text underneath reads "FLAMENT NAGEL" (with similar "horn" stylization on the F).

- The scarring is damage from her not wearing proper protective gear during her experiments (because she doesn't seem like one to wear proper PPE lmao), much of it taking up most of the left side of her upper torso/arm (meant to mirror Strive Faust's stitching).

- She's both grimy and very... "DIY", so her stitching is very hodgepodge.

- The text along the stitching on the back of her coat reads "The More The Moodier.", a play on one of her mondegreen win-quotes in XX (against I-No: "People say "the more the gloomier", but she's just too much to take...") but with the same alliteration as "the more the merrier" which it was derived from.

- The brand on the right side of her shorts is the same as on her back, but without the "FLAMENT NAGEL" and with "PARACELSUS" underneath instead of above.

- The key markings (gloves, boots) all have the same key-blade shape as Paracelsus.

- I had some trouble figuring out some of her colors, as they differed between the sprites (blue metal, glove. and trim) and official artwork (dark brown metal + glove, blue trim), so I decided to have dark brown for the keys and dark blue for the studded trim and left glove.

- The laces of her boots and the buttons on her coat are meant to resemble Para's mouth stitches

- Made her head-key/neck keys have a little skull decoration similar to some of her XX art (it's very inconsistent).

GG ABA Strive fandesign sheet 02

The second "Strive-ified" A.B.A design sheet I made.

- Both of the large gloves look the same, with the red bands and Paracelsus-blade key markings.

- The dark blue left-hand glove is (mostly) the same. I like to think that it's her "woobie", what with her tendency to get attached to inanimate objects.

- The dark blue cropped tank-top is meant to only be visible in Moroha. The text reads "MOCK&KEY" (the "&" stylized to look like/replaced with a stylized keyhole symbol, the top part of the keyhole meant to look like a coffin), another spin on "Lock and Key" like the previously-mentioned "LOCK&SEE" compounded with her believing herself to be superior to humans. Moroha is what was locked-up.

GG ABA Strive fandesign sheet 03

Third sheet I made.

- Noting specific design changes during Moroha. Coat opens + key "eyes" gain red glow.

- Design for her head + neck keys.

- Design for her bloodpacks. Text reads "FRASCO". Symbol underneath meant to look like a "flask" shape made out of an upside-down keyhole.

GG ABA Strive fandesign sheet 04 (Para)

The fourth sheet I made, featuring Paracelsus and his colors.

I honestly didn't change much lmao. His design is already weird by GG standards, mostly just tweaked some things.

- Made his eyes asymmetrical. Right has small iris and no pupil, left has beady pupil. Wanted to make him look "cartoony (western) neurotic/nervous" while hinting at his "main" glowy eye in Moroha being his right eye.

- I blurred/smudged the blood along the bottom edge to imply that A.B.A dragging him around wore away some of it.

- I added some spikes to his collar for a "punk" look, which glow red in Moroha.

- I kept his mouth stitches in Moroha. The mouth-corner stitches remain, while the middle stitches are tied around his left horn.

GG ABA Strive fandesign sheet 05

The final sheet I made, featuring mechanic ideas, "meta" stuff, and a design for repurposing an older move into a reversal super.

- Non-replenishable resources don't really fly in Strive, so I decided to make them replenishable through an alternate version of Bonding (a.k.a Keygrab). One Keygrab variant for Moroha, one Keygrab variant for a bloodpack. Starts off with no bloodpacks. Max three bloodpacks at a time. Functionality basically the same as XX.

- Turned Altercation (i.e. Enter Goku Moroha) into a Moroha-exclusive reversal super. Goku Moroha is not something that flies by modern fighting game characters, let alone Strive, so GM would definitely get axed. Still keeping Altercation as an absolute weirdo of a move, taking different resources depending on how much she has of each.

- Not sure what to actually do with Moroha's function/moveset, but having an "Install" state is the big thing that defines A.B.A's playstyle, so she'd probably keep at least base Moroha.

- Evidence: Concealment becomes a full reversal that only hits one hit as opposed to three, because most people cancel it after the first hit anyway lmao

#Guilty Gear #A.B.A #Paracelsus #GG Aba #Guilty Gear Aba #GG Paracelsus #Guilty Gear Paracelsus #Guilty Gear A.B.A #GG A.B.A #Brackets Draws #Brackets's Art #long post #fanart #fan art

[cj-the-random-artist]

I have made more designs for the medieval fantasy au thingy, the King and (most of) her court (I haven't designed Joe yet but I'll get there)

Bdubs is in charge of the cavalry (he just trains the military to ride horses), he's very fond of horses and he's part fae. I don't really have many major design notes for him, though I don't think his cloak is actually made of moss. At some point, he was cursed by some far stronger fae, but he's not cursed anymore (for reasons).

Next is the Immortal (and Undead) King Cleo (or Queen but I figure since they're the King of Hermitcraft I'm just gonna say King lol). I wanted Cleo to look kind of royal without wearing red, so I went with a purple cloak instead. She's also dressed very functionally, because when you're ruling a town where shenanagins occur on a fairly regular basis, it's important to be able to go out and be comfortable while ensuring the safety of your subjects. (Also, note of Cleo's undead status- they were necromancied back to life by her Royal Wizard, BigB, which she's very glad for, and no one seems to have noticed yet).

Ren is in charge of training the knights and leading them to battle in the event of a major diplomatic disaster. He's very good at his job. He's entirely human, but he's also a werewolf. He doesn't transform, however, again thanks to the Royal Wizard who gave him a pendant that keeps him from transforming at the full moon so long as he wears it. No major design notes other than I like how his hair turned out and I wanted his color palette to be simple.

Finally, we of course have BigB, the Royal Wizard, practiced in all major types of magic and several lesser known ones. He has quite a bit of magical power but tends to prefer not using it for things of major consequence except as a last resort. I gave him a halo of glowy bits around his head because I didn't want to give him a wizard hat but I wanted him to have something going on there.

I have one other court member to design, Joe (court jester by day, diplomatic genius by night) and then several more designs but I hope y'all like these ones and have good day :D

#cj the random artist makes an au #bdoubleo100 #zombie cleo #renthedog #rendog #bigbst4tz2 #hermitcraft au #life series au

[neganium]

Finished Large Icon Commission for @forever-a-goat-kid of their changeling OC, Pincer! I had a lot of creative freedom with regards to color palette for this one. Of course, I did consult with their owner, to figure out what would be best; this is the end result!

I'm a bit enamored of the linework in this one, tbh. I like how flowy I got the mane to look. Plus there's some good textures that I got from digging in brushes I never really use on Krita; iirc, this noisy hatch brush was from one of the old default resources bundles, that aren't really enabled by default when you download Krita- you have to enable these bundles manually, bc some of the older brushes don't work quite the same on later versions of Krita, anymore. Regardless of if this is how it is supposed to work, though, I think it looks great.

Also played with pattern fills, naturally, and gradient fills for the background, plus a couple of "speedpaint" brushes for the foreground from an old set that I like to use. All in all this came out really neat. Sorry about the watermark, tho; it's much more obnoxious than I usually like it, but as I was showing it to my mom, she insisted on making it more obvious. Which, like, I get it, but still.

Comms are gonna go on a bit of a hiatus; this was a learning experience, but I still have things I need to figure out, it seems. (Some technical difficulties from earlier in the day certainly didn't help.) I'm still feeling a teeny bit overwhelmed (it's probably bc I skipped out on lunch today...), so I'm going to post this now and ride it out. I hope you like Pincer as much as I do!

#Neg's Art #commission art #Others' OCs #changeling

[headtripped]

MUN INTRO: hey! my name's peyton [th/th, cst, 21+] & i'll be writing for sverre olsen, lee hyeon, selena palacio & dylan hwang here. you can find me on discord @ #seamonkeydefender & please feel free to add me w/o asking as well! discord is my preferred plotting method. all of my characters are on sideblogs aside from sverre, so i will be dming from @portra400s when necessary... hehe

CHARA INTRO: next up, lee hyeon. he's a 25yr old city boy, currently "visiting" yuseong bay (re: staying here indefinitely) to ride out some bad press, as he was an idol up until his group noisily disbanded in late 2023. he's always been interested in cars/had some mechanic experience so he's now the shop hand at park's garage. you can view his stats here & his pinterest here if interested!

answer the following prompts, either ooc or ic!

when did your muse first arrive in yuseong bay?: has visited a few times before, but moved to yuseong bay indefinitely in february 2024.

what does an average day look like for your muse?: wake up around 6:30 or 7:00am, skincare/brush teeth, go for a jog around town, go back home to have breakfast, go to work, go home to shower and change clothes, go out for a while (probably for a joyride, but maybe somewhere to socialize), go home to spend the rest of the evening helping out around the house or working on music, go to sleep.

where can your muse usually be found?: during the day, he's usually at park's garage. aside from that, he's known to just cruise around in his car; though it is somewhat common to see him in the recreation center's gym or at 88& bar.

how does your muse feel about hanwha resort?: indifferent. it doesn't affect him in any way, but he's currently living with his best friend's grandparents, and he feels a bit sad for them that their quiet little town is becoming a little less quiet. still, he doesn't care a whole lot as it doesn't seem to have done any real harm to the area, and is more just of a nuisance than anything from what he can see.

is there an aspiration for your muse to stay in or leave yuseong bay?: he's waiting out bad press, so he'll probably be in yuseong bay until (a) his location leaks or (b) he can search his name without the disbandment news & articles about him being sued being the first things to come up. he was young when he started training to be an idol & only 18 when he debuted, soooo he's also just now getting a chance to (kind of) relax for the first time in his life—these are his motivations to stay, but he's a city boy at heart & does want to return to being a public figure when the drama dies down, so he'll have to leave sooner or later.

answer the following, ooc!

list your muse's three favorite songs: cleanin' out my closet by eminem, shark attack by limp bizkit, humble by kendrick lamar (honorable mentions: liberation by skyminhyuk & gottasade by bewhy); a fan of hip-hop & heavy rock.

describe your muse's style: simple, straight-forward. a closet full of basics in a dark color palette, but if pay him any mind, you’ll see that most of what he wears is designer—he’ll define his taste as “quiet elegance,” but it’s mostly just his pretentiousness speaking. occasionally wears accent pieces or graphic tees, but mostly stays minimalistic with layered jewelry as the “point”.

color, word, and emoji to describe your muse?: burnt sienna, "noise", 🔥

three strong likes and dislikes for your muse: really likes reptiles, racing, fashion / really doesn't like scifi, having to share anything, being disagreed with.

three positive and negative traits for your muse: positive decisive, hard-working, supportive / negative dishonest, unloyal, volatile.

three talents and shortcomings for your muse: very musically skilled, esp with producing, great at making decisions when no one else can/wants to (he'll never make you choose where to eat), very handy / poor control on his emotions, often acts without thinking, starts shit he can't finish.

what is a book/tv series/movie/video game character that you feel your character relates to?: mostly mac, some dennis (it's always sunny).

a relevant goal or arch for your character to overcome: hyeon's a very self-focused person. he's not quite as bad as he was when he was a little younger, but he's still quite aggressive & quick to use people for personal gain, then ditch them when they have nothing left to offer—doesn't necessarily want to be like this, and he's gained some self-awareness in recent times. so, it'd be nice if he can (start to) overcome this and view people as... people... instead of tools to get himself further in life!!! which will hopefully be easier for him in a place like yuseong bay anyway, where life is a little slower and the people are more genuine than what he's used to. aside from this, he has some inner child healing he needs to do and also needs to rediscover his own personality outside of the public image he's curated.

MORE INFO!

hyeon was the main rapper/subvocalist of a boy group called twi5t. debuted in 2017, disbanded in late 2023. they were pretty popular and believed by the public to be not just coworkers, but very good friends—which amplified this positive, ideal perception the public had of them. tl;dr is that they all hated each other. the only real friendship was between hyeon and one other member, who happens to be from yuseong bay and whose family hyeon's currently staying with.

in his stint as an idol, hyeon was originally the least popular member of twi5t. had an attitude scandal not long after debut, so he was under scrutiny already and it didn't help that he had a rough sense of humor and a tendency to use banmal with people he ought to be respecting. over the years, he gained (some) public favor thru the extensive producing he did for the group and other groups within the industry, solo variety show appearances, community service he was forced into, etc etc. but even as people cut him more slack and started to like him, he was perceived as being the most problematic one in the group which was... not true...

but i digress. he was one of the first members to start releasing solo music, which he "bribed" the company into. basically said "hey i'll let u guys have more of the profits than stated in my contract if u let me do this" because he was like... 21 and stupid as hell JBSDHJVSBDF like... he really thought that if he gave them a leg up, it would prevent them from trying to fuck him over. spoiler: it didn't. ultimately his contract was amended and resulted in the profits from everything with his name as an individual on it being split 60% to the company and 40% to him, but he didn't realize this was a permanent thing until a few years down the line when people who'd featured on his songs were making more money off said songs than he was. atp he was one foot out the door, not caring too much about the company or group 'cause fuck those guys for real...

still tried to be on his best behavior and was gonna wait out the contract, but shit started going extremely south with the group in 2023 and hyeon got sued into the ground for slander & breach of contract over a drunk instagram live he did where he was talking about it. aired out not only the group, but the company's business—basically talking about how the members didn't get along, citing a few instances, bitching about management never helping and just sweeping problems under the rug, mentioning how the company trapped him in an unfair contract, etc etc. so yea... his reputation's in the dirt!

anyway... he's 25 now. his brain's finally fully developed. he's learned from his mistakes. he's a better & smarter man than he used to be, but still has a long way to go. picked up a job at park's garage not longer after moving to yuseong bay, as he doesn't like to have too much time to sit around and sulk—helps that he's extremely interested in cars & had some prior mechanic experience from pre-debut and sidework for friends throughout his career.

speaking of cars........ he has two: a 2008 mitsubishi eclipse spyder, which usually sits @ the garage and his flashy daily driver, a 2022 mclaren 765lt. who's he pissing off when he goes joyriding with the top down?

#yshqs:intro

[genericpuff]

I'm glad you're still doing Lore Rekindled, I enjoy your art style and the color palettes as it reminds me of what I originally liked about LO in the first place (except your version I think is better RN with what ive heard of the recent FP spoilers and from what I remember of the original chapters). Not to be mean to RS but I'm looking forward to your rendition of the plot too. I have a feeling from what ive seen so far that that along with the characters will be given justice.

Oh man, the color palettes have been a RIDE to figure out. Like, at this rate I could write an entire Animator's Survival Kit type dissertation on LO's S1/Pilot art and how it devolved into what it is now, and that includes the color palettes.

I have had to go through three, three!!! different versions of Hades' color palette so far because it changes SO IMMENSELY from the pilot version to S1 to S3. It's absolutely wild. At this point I'm trying to just work off my favorite panels of Hades, specifically the ones that I feel are most artistically competent and don't feel too overwhelmingly blue. There's also ensuring whatever palette I settle on compliments Persephone well because I'm already kind of icking over what I've released of Rekindled so far due to how harsh Persephone's pink looks against Hades blue.

Partial credit to /u/A_Cloud_Person on reddit for sharing their own extrapolation of LO's S1-S2 color palettes which saved me an IMMENSE amount of time tracking them all down myself:

Like, that palette only includes the S1 version and pilot version of Hades, it doesn't include the original palette I was working off of when I released the first couple episodes of Rekindled which were definitely more saturated. I'm still experimenting, it's fun but very frustrating when it feels like I'm constantly failing to get the colors just right. I know I'll find that middle ground eventually, but until then, bear with me 😅😂

#ama #ask me anything #lore rekindled #anti lore olympus #remember when the color theory worked

[karaloza]

Legend of Zelda Theme Park - Dark World

By this point, you might be thinking this version of Hyrule is a little too cheery and idyllic. Sure, there are occasional spots of monster activity, but it all seems to resolve pretty readily. Isn't this supposed to be a titanic clash of Good vs. Evil? Where's all the, y'know, Evil? Where are the bad guys? Where's Ganon?

In the very back of the park, of course! The Dark World is an area devoted entirely to the forces of evil that plague the LoZ series. It's a grim world, with ramshackle-looking structures and a grimy color palette occasionally highlighted by lurid shades of red, orange, and magenta. At one end of the rough crescent is a massive fortress of blackish stone and sharp-edged towers, while at the other end, the landscape drops away into a bottomless chasm leaking suspicious vapors. The plant life here seems to consist entirely of twisted trees and thorny briars, and evidence of the monsters' dominance is everywhere.

Attractions

Spirit Train (Shadow Station): The Hero has to make it to the final showdown somehow...or else make a quick escape! While waiting for the next train, peek through the windows of the nearby maintenance shed (marked with an asterisk) to see an imprisoned Demon Train!

Final Battle at Ganon's Lair!: What theme park would be complete without an awesome stunt show? (Well, lots of them...but not this one!) Inside the castle at the east end of the Dark World is an arena with amphitheater seating, which is the site of a half-hour stunt show that pits Link and his allies against Ganondorf and his hordes of monsters! The show features climbing, jumping (and falling), tumbling, rope swinging, archery tricks, numerous practical effects, and best of all, a prolonged climactic sword duel between the Hero and a newly transformed Ganon!

Meet the King of Evil: Between shows, Ganondorf does meet-and-greets in a wickedly impressive reception room in a wing of his Lair. It's worth seeing even when he's not present due to the sinister props available to pose with for photos.

Vaati Vortex: A spinning ride akin to the Scrambler found at many fairgrounds—choose a seat in the green, red, blue, or purple section and hold on, because that irate winged eyeball in the center is about to whip up a ferocious tornado!

The Shadow Temple: Signs outside this ride warn younger heroes that their courage will definitely be put to the test! Inspired by Ocarina of Time's infamous Shadow Temple and similarly themed dungeons and challenges from across the franchise, this is a slow to medium-paced dark ride and it is legitimately scary. Hideous undead monsters, sweeping scythe blades, living Nightmares that shroud a room in complete darkness, and a constant background cacophony of unsettling sounds are just a few of the horrors within, and it all builds toward a climactic encounter with the most horrifying mini-boss in the entire Zelda franchise: Dead Hand! But instead of springing out of the floor, here he takes a page from Bongo Bongo and drops down from the ceiling. Have fun!

Dark Link's Mirror Maze: For something a little less intense—spooky rather than terrifying—guests can try confronting their own inner darkness in this temple-like walkthrough attraction. Like the one in the Lost Woods, it is more of a classical labyrinth than a true maze, although it does have periodic mirror-lined sections for disorientation purposes. The lighting is low, some sections are misted over via fog machines, and you might sometimes approach a mirror and suddenly see a red-eyed figure within, while a spooky chuckle reverberates. You have a map, but if you stand too long in one of the well-lit corners to peruse it, a scrabbling sound approaches, followed by the appearance of a growing hand-shaped shadow on the floor around you! “Chicken exits” are available for those who lose their nerve partway through, but those who stick it out can reach the central chamber of the temple, where the Dark Mirror awaits. Stand before it, and it will show you your own Dark World form! It might be a fierce wolf, a cocky bunny rabbit, a sentient tree, a monster...or maybe the mirror will show you yourself, as you are...until the image suddenly flushes grayscale and your own eyes light up red!

Into the Depths: The Zonai Survey Team is looking for volunteers to help explore the lightless realm under Hyrule! In this long-form (15-20 minutes) trackless dark ride with motion-sim elements, guests board their vehicles at a “Sheikah research station” in the underworld and set off into the shrouded unknown to see what very little can be seen. From time to time, the vehicle “fires a Brightbloom seed” in order to illuminate things in the distance. Occasionally, monsters can be spotted far off, but they pose little threat to the guests—the focus here is on the eerie beauty of the Depths, not the danger. (Fun fact: the show building for this ride, indicated by the dot-dash outline, is actually located under the Skyward Realm!)

Shops

8. Fang & Bone Monster Market: Monsters are a defining feature of the Zelda series and a popular topic in general. Named after the wandering shop in Breath of the Wild and featuring Kilton's distinctive patchwork balloon on its roof, this shop features a wide selection of monster toys, figurines and collectibles, books, and more. Monsters from the game franchise, mythology and folklore, and contemporary urban legends all have their place here.

9. Art of Darkness: A shop for those who enjoy the sinister side of life, featuring jewelry, housewares, and decorative items with Gothic and dark fantasy aesthetic motifs.

10. Twisted Steel: If you’re in the market for a clean-lined, heroic sword or bow, check out Forged in Fire, up on Death Mountain. If on the other hand your tastes in weaponry run a little more ominous, this is the place for you! Whether you’re looking for Ganon’s signature trident, Dark Link’s blackened version of the Master Sword, or maybe just a generically evil-looking dagger, you’ll find it in this shop.

Eateries

11. The Fire Pit: The forces of evil get hungry too (and not just for conquest). This simple counter-service restaurant offers an equally simple fast-food menu of hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza slices, chicken tenders, and side dishes...all with evocative “evil” names, of course. The seating area does indeed have a central fire pit, though the actual (gas-fed) flames are small and most of the glow comes from LEDs inside artificial stones.

Miscellaneous

Guests may encounter roving bands of monsters in this area. Fortunately, they are generally willing to pose for photos rather than attack.

After dark, the hours are marked by an area-wide light show based on the periodic “Blood Moon” of Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom.

#legend of zelda #loz #legend of zelda theme park #loz theme park #dark world

[strange-creature-with-a-hat]

HELLO, WELCOME, WHY DON'T YOU TAKE A SEAT? RELAX, GET COMFORTABLE, TAKE A SECOND IF YOU NEED TO

THIS HERE IS MY TUMBLR BLOG AND I THINK I SHOULD WRITE SOME THINGS

Here's my little blog site thingy, I'd recommend using it while viewing my blog, so the posts aren't annoying white blocks

Y'all can call me Creature or Archivist, I go by it/they pronouns, as well as any neopronouns

HERE'S A LIST OF DISCLAIMERS AND STUFF ABOUT MY BLOG

One: GENERAL WARNING FOR INSECTS, ARACHNIDS, AND OTHER BUGS IN THIS BLOG I like bugs, they're really cool! but if they aren't your jam should warn you that there's A few here

I SHOULD ALSO ADD THAT IM REALLY INTERESTED IN JUST ABOUT ANY OTHER ANIMAL THAT PEOPLE FIND SCARY

Two: this is my only account, I don't have a side blog or art blog right now, if you specifically want to see my art you can use my art tag (tags listed below)

Three: I block freely so maybe don't take it too personally, I just don't want to interact with you man, although if you want a specific reason (as there usually is) just ask! (Although idk how someone who I've blocked can ask me something, uuhhmm friends or different accounts maybe?) But please be polite if you do, or I definitely won't unblock you (and likely will block whatever account you used to rudely ask for your return)

Four: WARNING FOR EYESTRAIN!!!! I LIKE BRIGHT COLORS!!!!

If I should start tagging stuff as warnings just ask <3 I might not be amazing at it but I'll try

SOME STUFF IM INTERESTED IN

Wings of fire*

Will wood*

Warrior cats*

Wander over yonder

Lemon demon*

Animaniacs

Ride the cyclone

Hamilton

The beetlejuice musical

The Jekyll and Hyde musical*

Tally hall

Miracle musical

Jack stauber

Lackadaisy

Gravity falls

Across the spider-verse

Birds (mainly birds of prey)

Sea Creatures

Bugs

animals that people find scary in general

Fossils

history

Space

Rats

My chemical romance*

The owl house

The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde*

The glass scientists*

The Magnus Archives*

A bunch of other things

*starred interests are ones I mainly post about*

MY SUPER COOL TAGS

MY ART POSTS

#creature draws : this one has my art!

#creatures neon dragons : this one has some simple brightly colored sketches of dragons on a black background (im not sure I'm continuing this, all post here are old)

#super cool art : other peoples art that I reblog

MY TEXT POSTS

#creatures ted-talks / #creatures ted talks : these have my text posts, stuff where I talk (I don't do so very often)

#creature answers : this one has my answers to asks and responses to tags

MY REBLOG STUFF

#creature rambles In someone else's post : self explanatory, I talk in someone else's post

#very important post (vip) : this one has posts I find important (mainly life tips, also has important political posts, I sometimes forget about this tag)

#creatures faves : posts I really like

#creatures saved files : this one has things I want to save for later

#creatures saved files art edition : art tips and color palettes I wanna save

INTERESTS

#wee woo : will wood related stuff

#silly music people doing silly things : other musician related stuff

#casualdejekyll and formaldehyde : Jekyll and Hyde related stuff

#Normal British archives : The Magnus Archives related stuff

(edit 2/20/24 THEY TOOK MY YELLOW TEXT AWAY WHAT THE FUCK)

(don't worry I'll figure out how to fill this empty space someday)

In The meantime here's a playlist of my favorite songs

HERE'S MY PRONOUNS PAGE, THIS HAS MY NAMES, PRONOUNS, WHAT WORDS YOU SHOULD CALL ME, AND OTHER GAY STUFF

Stay tuned, in the next update I might have My interests organized (I'm making a spacehey)

#I love acting like I'm a game that's updating #I'll update this post with stuff #also sorry if there's a random giant gap #I recommend checking in here every once in a while because I update this post every once con a while (just check to see the latest update ↓ #Update 3/19/24 added another preferred name and more pronoun info!! :::3 #gotta update pronouns page now

[sweethoneyrose83]

Title: The Enigmatic Encounter

---

The moon cast an eerie glow over the deserted carnival grounds, shadows dancing between the rusted rides. Among them stood a figure, draped in a cloak, an unsettling stillness about her. Vanny, the enigmatic follower of Glitchtrap, silently surveyed the abandoned amusement park, her gaze fixated on the dilapidated animatronics scattered around.

A faint whisper in the wind seemed to beckon her deeper into the desolation, a haunting melody that only she could decipher. With cautious steps, she moved toward the forgotten attraction, her hooded figure cloaked in mystery.

The once vibrant colors of the park had faded into a palette of desolation, matching the darkness that had consumed her soul. Her connection with Glitchtrap pulsated, guiding her every move as she ventured deeper into the heart of the decay.

Among the broken animatronics, Vanny felt a strange kinship—a connection that transcended the confines of reality. As she traced her fingers along the cold, metallic surface of a motionless animatronic, an unsettling grin crept across her lips, a silent understanding passing between her and the dormant machine.

With a sense of purpose, she muttered cryptic incantations, invoking a presence that lingered within the shadows. Unseen forces seemed to respond to her call, stirring the very air around her.

A flicker of anticipation gleamed in Vanny's eyes as she awaited the next command from Glitchtrap, ready to carry out his will and bring life to the lifeless in this forgotten realm of echoes and memories.

#video game #five nights at freddy's #spooky vibes #fnaf security breach #pizzaparty #fnaf movie #glamrock animatronics #glamrock #fnaf help wanted 2 #fnaf vanny #vanny fnaf