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remyfire · 25 days

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houlintyre + begging

(prompts now closed) I think a normal amount about them (lie)

"I don't have to stay," Margaret points out while she's still holding the door open behind her.

McIntyre looks at her over his shoulder with a crooked, toothy grin. "You sure don't."

It's not exactly what she needs to hear to knock down her final reservations. The last thing she expected to accompany her three-day pass to Seoul was a handsome, insufferable, skirt-chasing, charming, brilliant, rule-breaking, incredibly compassionate asshole. But this is how things go for her now, it seems. She'll make a plan. She'll be thrilled to bits about it. It'll be dashed into pieces on the ground. And then right when she's ready to throw in the towel and go sulk for a night, something will happen. Kind of like McIntyre letting her grit out all of her frustrations about Frank while he drove them the whole way, only interjecting from time to time to wind her up again with yet another thing Frank had done—how McIntyre knew that four months ago, Frank spilled an entire bottle of nail polish on her favorite pair of underwear, she'll never know.

Perhaps she should really be focusing on that. And not the way that McIntyre is watching her, his gaze full of the invitation that slipped off his tongue when they were only a mile out from Seoul. Just long enough to leave her stirred up, just short enough that she hasn't gotten her good sense back yet to remember why she can't have something that's left an undercurrent of hunger beneath a persistent blanket of irritation.

He stares her down for a long moment, both of them caught in the standoff, before he scoffs out a chuckle and shakes his head. While he loosens his tie, he drawls. "All right, let's lay it all out on the table, huh? You don't have to stay, that's right. And I don't need you to stay. There's a dozen gals at the bar next door who'll get in my bed for nothin' more than a wink. I ain't desperate." But as an ugly tightness locks her ribs shut in a vice, McIntyre turns to face her head on and speaks over her irritation. "Neither one of us needs you to be here. But that doesn't mean I want you to go either. Yeah, if you walk out that door, I'll have another girl flat on her back in ten minutes." He pauses. When his eyelashes flutter—a single twitch—it's the first moment that he's looked anything but unflappable. "But you're the one I'm gonna be thinkin' about when I'm inside her."

It's like she overturned a hot cup of tea. One moment, she's bristling and cold. The next, she's flushed from head to toe. Has he done that before with any of those hundreds of nurses he chases like a dog? When he's rocking against one, does he bury his face in her neck and imagine the hair tickling his cheek is blonde?

The image feeds the selfish sectors of her heart. He's an animal who'd take any scraps that a woman might offer him as long as he gets to have a taste. But as unpicky as he is about whoever ends up under him...he'll still pick her to be the one he's having all the same.

Margaret licks her lips, though she knows it might ruin their painted color. She's restless. Wanton. And as if McIntyre sees it, he saunters forward, his tie loose around his neck, his two top buttons open to expose the edge of his collarbone above his undershirt. She doesn't move a muscle. But she doesn't need to. He reaches above her without breaking the eye contact and pushes the door shut so she leans into it. After another thoughtful moment, he clicks the lock shut, then stays just like that. Looming. Watching. Starving.

"Kiss me," she commands in a throaty murmur, and he sinks his fingers into her hair as he darts downward.

As McIntyre coaxes her lips to part, to let his tongue slip between them, Margaret grabs fistfuls of his jacket, this fancy dress uniform that he has no right to wear. It's a parody of a costume on him. He's done nearly everything in the book to disgrace this outfit. And yet in some strange way, that ignites her further—that old spark of fledgling rebellion that overtook her in her first year of freedom at college. The desire for her father to be proud of her in everything she did versus the temptation to pierce her ears and flirt with twenty guys with fast cars all at the same time. Her father would despise John McIntyre, would practically revere Frank Burns in comparison. But McIntyre's the boy she would've let crawl in her dorm window and fuck her whether Lorraine, on the other side of the room, woke up or not.

His other hand finds her waist, and as it slips under her jacket, he tucks his fingers just beneath the waistband of her skirt, an act of easy possession. And all at once, she needs far, far more.

Margaret hums out a rush of frenetic sound as she pushes away from the door and McIntyre breaks the kiss with a laugh that he quickly swallows as he gets a good look at her face. She drives him backward step by step to the rhythm of her panting until she shoves him down on his futon, then shrugs off her dress uniform's jacket in one smooth motion. He follows her lead, yanking his own away so he's down to his shirtsleeves, and though Margaret intends to get a bit more comfortable, she's only toed off one high heel when she notices the thick swell down McIntyre's right pant leg. A hurricane overtakes her. One moment, she's standing tall, and the next she's straddling him, her other heel dangling helplessly from her foot before finally plummeting.

At first McIntyre goes for her shirt buttons, but Margaret grunts as she wiggles on her knees to push her tightly-fitted skirt up, and the moment he sees this, his eyes go as wide as saucers. "Touch me." Margaret intends for that to come out like an order but it's tinged with a breathy ache, and perhaps he hears this because he moves instantly into action.

She isn't sure if this is what he must have fantasized about however many times he palmed himself to thoughts of having her—maybe he thought it'd be a slow seduction, a loosening of her nervous limbs little by little—but she can't slow down, can't think twice, can't come to her senses when he's right here. No one's going to knock on the door. There aren't going to be choppers. And as McIntyre touches the back of his knuckles to her inner thigh, she feels them as potently as flames straight through her nylon stockings.

He drags them slowly upward as he locks her in place with his brown sugar gaze. She fumbles for stability. When she sinks her fingers into his shoulder, he trembles. The world's shrunk down to the two of them having the most unfathomably irresponsible encounter they could. The moment they're back in camp, this secret space will evaporate entirely, and they'll snark and bite at each other all over again. This is madness. They really shouldn't.

She is not going to stop him. Not for a second.

She holds her breath as he finds the first hint of bare skin, squeezes him tighter as he makes her wait. "McIntyre..." A gasp breaks from her when he moves inward. It comes in a one-two punch—the firm grind of his palm's heel down the length of her, then the sudden press of his thumb right against her clitoris. Even through the fabric and her swollen folds, he sparks a rush of adrenaline.

It's rare that Margaret is this clothed when a man fondles her. All of her father's old Army friends, they love when she's nude in their bed. She draws a sort of power from their smoldering lust as they take in a taut, youthful figure, softer skin than their wife's. For his part, Frank is restless once he has her undressed, his hands and body rolling over all of her curves like a summer storm. But this? It's filthy. She's soaking through her panties in a rush as McIntyre's thumb teases her.

A single barely audible whine croaks free. It charms a growl out of him in turn, and as he pulls her close so he can mouth at her neck, she shudders and slides her fingers through his tight curls.

"C'mon, honey, lemme hear it," he whispers hotly against her throat. It's already unfair that he has the most beautiful hands she's ever seen, but his drawl? That's sinful all on its own. "Give it to me, gimme those pretty sounds I know you've got, huh?"

But beneath his tone, there's something else. An edge of desperation. And that in and of itself is fascinating. She would've expected him to be far more confident, maybe even mocking her for finally breaking for him the second they're away from their colleagues. "You want it that badly?" Margaret's voice trembles as she murmurs the words.

McIntyre straightens up, and though it jostles her, he tightens his arm around her waist so she can arch her back and give his clever, rubbing thumb better access. "Oh, you know I do."

"Ask me nicely," she whispers, "and I'll consider it."

He lets out a groan that's so raw, she can feel her skin tingling in sympathy, almost pained. When he rests his lips on the swell of her breast, she begins to tighten her grip on his hair. "I need it, baby." Margaret tugs a fistful of curls and his words go raspy in its wake. "Lemme know how good I'm making it, I gotta hear."

Margaret smothers his face in her chest as she puts her mouth to his ear and releases a whisper-thin, quivering moan.

"Fuuuck..." He rocks under her, not finding any stimulation, just chasing the phantom desire to be inside of her, and it emboldens her further.

"I want you to feel how wet I am," she breathes.

He presses the edge of his teeth through her blouse, lets them dig into the top of her breast. "Uh-huh..." Though she expects him to unhook her garter belt so he can slide her panties down, he shoves them roughly aside like he can't wait another second, like he's going to fuck her right now, and Margaret throws her head back as he rubs his softly-calloused thumb along her slick labia. "Oh, fuck, honey, you're dripping for me."

She loses all sense of language for a few seconds, can only nod as he lights a chain of pleasure through her body. She's not only dripping, she's throbbing, every inch of her swollen and flush with hot blood until she thinks just a stiff breeze might make her moan.

"You're gonna tell me what you need, aincha?" he asks, a little stronger now.

"Mm—" Margaret squeezes her eyes shut. She wants everything, wants to shove him on his back and mount his face, wants him to roll her over and take her like an animal, wants to know if he could pick her up and bruise her by pounding her into the wall. "Ohh, I-I... Inside me?"

The last thing she wanted it to be is a question. It makes him chuckle—makes her want to slap his shoulder, really—but he slips two fingers close to her entrance, and when she shakes with a wave of anticipation, he appears to take note of it. There's a fine line between men who think that all she wants is to be fucked and men who understand that the nerves around and just barely inside of her hole are sometimes just as sensitive as her clitoris. And as McIntyre rubs a teasing, slow circle around her even as she's practically trying to suck him in, she knows to the depths of her that he's figuring it out much, much faster than anyone ever has.

"Please..." She shapes the word but doesn't quite say it.

"What's that, doll?" he growls.

"Please?" Again with the curve of her voice, the faint pathetic wobble.

He dips just the tip of his middle finger inside of her, then slips out again, drawing every ounce of her attention to that area as she gasps. "Say it."

"Bastard," she grits out, then whines when he takes his hand completely off of her. "No! No, I-I want... I want your fingers inside of me."

McIntyre hums as he covers her heat with his whole palm and rubs back and forth, vibrating faster than an idling jeep, torturing her with sparks through her veins like the remnants of fireworks. "Say it again. Make me sweat this time."

God, he's the most evil man alive. Sweat? Yes. Yeah, she can do that. Margaret arches her back once more as she looks down at him, watches his gaze slowly drag up from her breasts to her face. "Trapper," she murmurs, watching his pupils dilate further immediately and his cheeks flush. "Do you know what I need from you?"

"What?" he whispers.

"When you touch yourself while you think of me..." She pauses, immediately has those suspicions confirmed when his mouth falls open. "...when you think about how badly you want to fill me..." His fingers dig into her hip hard enough to bruise. "...I need to know what that feels like. I need you to fuck me with your fingers just like you're going to fuck me with your cock."

The groan that her words pull from him is filled with agony. "That I can do," he murmurs raspily just before he presses two fingers inside of her.

A shiver rolls up her spine. "Yes, yes, mmm—" Margaret squeezes her eyes shut as she rolls her hips, teases that extra sensation out around his knuckles as he works his digits deeper. He has a spooky way of picking up on the nuances of when her breath hitches, if her lips part, what makes her gasp out a shocked moan.

"Margaret, you are somethin' else." She can hear the smirk when he speaks. "Yeah, that's what you like. Nice, long strokes, huh?" She's not quite capable of speaking quite yet—is too fixated on the tiny shifts of his fingers like he's conducting the most thorough experiment of his career. "Remind me, honey, this is about how wide what Ferret Face's packing is, ain't it? A little under, maybe?"

The realization that McIntyre must have seen Frank when he's erect hits her like a lightning bolt, leaving strange bubbles in her gut and a squirming curiosity that turns her beet red as she looks down at him. "What?"

That boyish grin lights up his whole face with a particular satisfaction. "S'okay, you don't hafta say it. It's all over your face." But when he pushes a third finger inside of her with no warning, he hums at how she throws her whole body backward, only her grip on his shoulders keeping her stable. "Don't worry, doll. We'll get you up to taking my cock."

"Oh God, you're huge, aren't you?" She doesn't quite mean to say the words out loud, but even she can hear the sharp hunger that colors them.

McIntyre groans. "You'll see. You'll fuckin' see, all right. Hold tight for me, don't let go." She only gets that second of warning before he releases his hold on her waist and finds her clit with his free hand.

"Ohh!" Margaret can barely hold herself up now. How the hell are her muscles supposed to not turn into jelly? It's like he's been holding back until this very moment, compiling all his data and letting it loose to pound into her with his long, thick fingers while rubbing perfect circles over her clit. "Oh my God please don't stop—" All one quick breath.

"You're gonna come for me, Margaret," McIntyre murmurs with that cocky, sexy drawl of his. He's playing her like a fiddle. "You're gonna come so hard, you're gonna soak my fingers, 'cause you're thinking about every inch of my cock filling you up 'til you scream."

Bastard, bastard, he's right, he's put it all in her head now, a rainy midnight where he lets himself into her tent and locks the door, where he strips down and pulls the blanket off of her, where his slick body holds her down and his mouth swallows her moans and he gives it to her just like she needs, splitting her in two over and over again, "Yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes, don't stop don't stop—" She's quaking inside, melting down from a solid block of ice into a rippling puddle.

His voice comes from a great distance. "You're gonna ride my face, squeeze me with those soft thighs 'til I can't breathe anymore. Gonna leave my fingers sore from how greedy you are for me to make you come over and over again. Fuck, Margaret, I want you to wring me out. Tell me what you want. Let me give it to you."

"Just like that," she whimpers out, gasps, tries again, "just like that, McIntyre, fuck..."

"Come for me, please, sweetheart, fuck, lemme see it." His confidence twists with another taste of desperation that ignites her, and as his words turn into nothing but senseless noise, Margaret cries out and clenches around his digits, feels her whole body lurch when he growls and fucks her even harder through her release. Her mind fogs over with a blanket of tingling ecstasy that washes through her again, again, hovering right there at her peak until it burns, and only then does she shove at his shoulders.

He goes straight back like she slammed into him with the force of a car, taking her with him. He leaves her sensitive folds alone. Lets her shake it all out with another rough moan that feels as though it blooms from her very muscle fibers. When Margaret finds it within herself to open her eyes, he's gaping up at her like she's a goddess who came down from the skies to use him up until he breaks.

Oh yes. This is absolutely the worst idea she's ever had. She has set herself up for the most twisting, complicated pathway in camp—needing him to fuck her as often as possible, already knowing he's going to take full advantage of that the next time he and Pierce get a silly little notion in their skulls. But that sounds like a problem for Major Houlihan. Margaret is lushly content right now, her muscles still clenching like they're trying to milk him dry in the midst of her aftershocks.

"McIntyre?" she drawls out, husky as can be.

"Yeah?" He looks like he can barely breathe, much less speak.

Margaret tosses the hair out of her face and wiggles, getting the last of her body to relax, feeling the clothes sticking to her with sweat. She'll need to get all those off. Maybe a shower. Maybe a good fuck in the shower. "Mm...you all right?"

McIntyre nods wildly, his voice pained. "Oh, y'know."

He's probably about to burst through his trousers. Poor thing. She wonders if he has condoms in his suitcase, if she'll have to send him to buy some while he's visibly hard as nails. It gives her a little thrill to imagine that. She smirks lazily and draws a loose pattern on his chest with the tip of her finger. "I need a moment to breathe." She bites her bottom lip and watches his eyes follow the motion. "And then...I'll see what I'm going to do with you."

#pHEW that was fun #we need a million more fics about them btw my fellow warriors i am desperate #margaret houlihan #trapper john mcintyre #houlintyre #trapmarg #margtrap #my writing #ask meme replies

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catgirltoofies · 2 years

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waking up

big thanks to @neurodiversenerd for commenting and giving me the idea for this story!

trigger warning for blood and decapitation.

it was dark. very, very dark. she could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. her only stimulus was her own thought. and a million thoughts were racing through her head. so many thoughts that she couldn't parse any of them properly. so, in an attempt to drown everything else out, she made a strong thought:

"i want cheese!"

she felt a strange sensation. as though a thousand quiet minds heard her wish. she looked around, and tried to call to them, but no sound came. she also had the strange sense that she was being watched. watched by something much fewer, but much stronger. if she focused, she could start to make better sense of what was around her.

there were two of them. she could feel the sheer willpower pouring from one, and the complete lack of anything of the other. she recognized that one. the bad thoughts got louder. but then she was distracted: her thousand quiet minds spoke up, all shouting in alert. some dozens said that cheese was coming, but one by one their shouts grew quiet, and finally she sensed two more presences with her, but she didn't have much time to really see them.

she woke up.

the first thing she heard was a chorus in her mind. cheese, cheese, where is the cheese?

the second thing she felt was the sensation of falling; but she was not falling as she would expect to. she felt light, fluttering in the air and gently settling into a chair. cheese, cheese, where is the cheese?

and then the chair was gone. she fell once more, but this time she did not land: something impacted her head, launching her through the air into the wall. cheese, cheese, where is the cheese?

she felt half a dozen stabs, punching her back into the wall before she fluttered to the floor. another stabbing pain shot through her head shortly after. cheese, cheese, where is the cheese?

she was raised into the air and suspended there. she heard a distant voice call: "Tiro Finale!" and moments later, she felt her chest torn apart, and then something wrapped around her and began to squeeze. cheese, cheese, where is the cheese?

something welled up inside her as it finally clicked: she was under attack. she abandoned her shell and finally she could see. she could hear. she could feel. her wings flopped free and her eyes immediately locked on her attacker. cheese, cheese, there is the cheese!

she launched herself forward, twirling through the air and trying to get the hang of flying, but she was quick nonetheless. in one swift bite, her assailant's head was removed. blood splattered from the open wound and stuck to her face. she swallowed as the body fell to the floor, and she couldn't simply leave a meal to go bad. she dined, completely forgetting about her audience, and she was sloppy and loud. bones crunched and flesh tore, it was not pretty.

suddenly she remembered the other three that were watching her. she licked herself clean and looked up, finally getting a good look at her visitors. she gave them a welcoming smile, when suddenly another visitor appeared! this new visitor had a strange energy about her, very similar to her other attacker. she had an instinctual feel that she was in danger, so she decided to defend herself. her teeth had seemed an effective weapon before, so she threw herself into a bite at the new attacker.

she swished her tongue around, and didn't find anything in her mouth. she looked up, and the girl was standing there. she knew she had bit true, how was she that fast? the girl began jumping around, and she started biting, taking big chomps out of the furniture around. each time, she just barely missed, apparently, even though she was sure she was catching her each time. with one massive bite, she was sure she caught the girl, but as she sat back, she felt something different on her tongue. something hard. not flesh. but it wasn't quite bone, it felt more like-

BOOM!

she coughed black smoke and looked around. something was wrong.

BOOM! BOOM BOOM BOOM!

she rapidly started shedding old and broken skins as explosions went off both inside and out. this wasn't right. she only got one taste of cheese before-

BOOM!

#bebe #cheese #mami tomoe #homura akemi #pmmm #sayaka miki #madoka kaname #story #that scene #episode 3 #phew that was fun #thank you for the prompt #blood tw

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nikki-rook · 8 months

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smitten | adjective | smit·ten deeply affected with or struck by strong feelings of attraction, affection, or infatuation

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almondcroissantsandink · 2 months

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hark! it's the cringefail loser squad from on high

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #art #artists on tumblr #animation #illustration #digital art #digital illustration #csp #clip studio paint #i admire how in it to win i they were lmao #like they did NOT need to be operating at the level they were but they did it anyway #also adam's outfits were really hard to keep straight and i mixed them up a bit on accident but it's okay #ALSO their helmets really kind of scared me at first like they are quite spooky #i also thought that was...their faces? until they took them off and then it was like oh okay phew lmao #also last thing i really really like how adam's wings sort of hang low and tuck around his sides?? it looks really nice and fun

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1alchemistart · 3 months

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>:D

#demetrius desmond #spy x family #sxf #sxf manga #manga spoilers #spy x family manga spoilers #spy x family manga #chapter 93 #sxf 93 #spy x family 93 #my art #HE'S FUN TO DRAW as expected lmao #HAND IS NEARLY FULLY HEALED PHEW

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lolitafushiguro · 8 months

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Dancing in the Rain (Neuvillette x Reader)

Lolita's Note: ー in which you saw neuvillette standing by the porch in the midst of a downpour of rain ー you asked him to dance, and little did you know it soothed his aching heart.

This, again, is taken from the actual lore of the hydro dragon crying whenever it rains!

There is a common superstition passed down through the hushed whispers in Fontaine…

…that when it rains, it is said that the Hydro dragon weeps.

It is something that you have always wondered about. You always thought about the things that made the hydro dragon cry, because it happens quite often too.

With that said, you have come to a realization that the Hydro Dragon must have a tender heart.

One that is as gentle as a morning drizzle.

Yet one that is as powerful as a thunderstorm blaring through the darkest of nights.

When the latter happens, you seek the arms of the one you love, Neuvillette. And somehow, when your bodies find each other, you swear to the archons that the storm has calmed down.

Even just a little.

The thing about Neuvillette is he does not like to display his emotions.

But he is very polite and courteous. He does not like to make anyone feel excluded, despite working in an occupation where a cutthroat attitude is necessary.

One can say that his personality becomes two sides of the same coin.

There is a middle ground, though ー a blurred space that combines these said facets of his personality. One that he fails to hide every single time.

One that comes out when it rains.

"Darling? Neuvillette?" You shift on your shared bed in a half-asleep state, looking for him.

When you sense that he's not inside your bedroom, you lit up a lamp and searched for him in your shared home.

It's been raining pretty hard these days. Coincidentally in your point of view, Neuvillette has been acting odd. It's as if he's more uptight and aloof. You noticed that he also stays up pretty late ー sometimes you think he doesn't sleep at all.

Another strange thing he frequently does, is he stands by the front porch watching the downpour of rain.

So now you definitely knew where he is.

Slowly, you hesitated to reach for his hair, but you did anyway. Caressing it gently, he was taken by surprise for a moment before he turned to you and gave you a small smile.

"Oh, my dear. You should go back to bed. We still have two hours before it is morning." He curtly tells you before he holds you closer to him.

"It seems that you want me to stay, though." You chuckle, placing your hand on top of his.

He lets out a small laugh ー one that comes out as a content sigh.

The loud downpour of the rain calmed down into a somber drizzle.

"Do you still find storms scary?" He asked you, while he looked out to the distance. You nod in reply. He sighs once again, as if he's apologizing that it cannot be helped.

"As long as you're here, I'm going to be fine." You held his hand and took him with you outside, a sudden idea of dancing in the rain popped in your head.

"What are you doing?" He asked you, a bit alarmed.

"Let's dance in the rain!" You exclaim.

"You're going to catch a cold." Neuvillette tries to take you back inside.

"Then take care of me when that happens!" You retort.

Neuvillette laughs. It sounded more genuine now.

It continued raining, but unlike the violent storm before, it poured gently on your skin. The man brushes a wet strand of your hair that covered your face and smiles at you again.

"Very well. Lead the way, monsieur/mademoiselle." Neuvillette put his hand over his chest, while you held the hem of your dress shirt on both sides.

After you bowed, you took Neuvillette's hands and guided them ー one finds its way on your waist and the other holds your hand.

"We don't have music, so let's just pretend that we are dancing to the melody of the rain." You laugh, as you begin dancing to the rhythm of waltz.

You both shared tender laughs and danced in the rain like children, even if the only light that illuminated you were the lamps of your home.

"I am sorry. I should've stayed in bed. I don't want you to be the one seeking my presence every time you feel afraid, upset, or terrible in general." He sighs.

Just as you wonder if the hydro dragon has a human form, Neuvillette wonders if you already cracked the code.

"Hydro dragon, don't cry. Hydro dragon, don't cry." You started to chant softly, as if lulling a weeping child.

He softened at your expression. As he spun you around he asked,

"Where did you learn that?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought it would be nice if the Hydro dragon hears it. I mean, not that it would be of much help." You chuckle.

Neuvillette then finds himself repeating the same words.

"Yeah that's it, let's chant it together!"

Hydro Dragon, don't cry.

Neuvillette admires your gentle nature. One touch, one word, and one look ー all of his worries dissipate.

All of his woes disappear.

And of course, the heavy rainfall that he brings forth once he has a heavy heart stops.

Just like now.

"Oh? The rain stopped!" You squealed in excitement.

"Yes, it seems that the hydro dragon heard us." He replied.

The skies cleared to reveal the slight glimmer of light at the crack of dawn.

Looking up, you can still see the full moon.

"Come, let us go back inside and dry ourselves. We still have a few hours of sleep to catch." Neuvillette tells you, guiding you back to your shared home.

"I wonder if the Hydro dragon really heard us. I hope whatever troubles them is resolved soon." You say as he tucks you to bed.

To him, if it's you, then he can get used to your lullaby ー a hushed chanting of his name, one that seeks to comfort his sonder heart.

ー Lolita

#genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact imagines #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette headcanons #neuvillette fluff #lolita writes #phew what an impulsive piece #gotta go to bed now :3 #this was fun to write #originally i wanted to go for childe in this but i guess i like this one now hehe #genshin impact

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chalkrub · 1 year

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my SLOPPIEST lady muscanston, emerging from somewhere. would you give her a kiss? be honest

#my art #monster art #illustration #character design #oc #muscanston #i do NOT draw this beautiful witch hag monster lady enough.....she is very fun to draw even if she is very intricate #and it's hard to make her look coherent (i can't tell if this is at all readable but idc i spent time on it)#PHEW. i've been doing way too much personal work and not enough classwork so now i gotta suffer and work on that #also this is a rare late post from me. hiiiii it's 11:15 here

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satans-knitwear · 2 months

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I only had to start over twice 😅😘💕

Treat me ~ Tip Me ~ More of me

#Phew that was exhausting. Delicate details are fun but so much focus 😂 recreating a prev look!!!#Drawing many tiny hearts on my face is how valentines day should be 😂💕#Happy valentines!#Smooching u #Makeup progress #cheeky #uk girl #satans knitwear #alt pinup

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leulahart · 2 years

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Fashion in the world of ice and fire

One of my favorite things about A Song of Ice and Fire is the elaborate world it presents, and so I wanted to reflect these different cultures through an overview of fashion in each region!! I tried to make each place distinctive- while also showing how styles flow between regions.

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gentlebeard · 4 months

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Why don't you love who I am? What we could have been...

Show: Our Flag Means Death - Season 1 & 2 Music: What Could Have Been by Sting feat. Ray Chen YouTube

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmdedit #ofmdsource #ofmdaily #edward teach #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #ofmd s2 #ofmd video #ofmd edit #phew okay with this i have truly earned my place as part of evil gang #if it's any consolation i was in pain too when i edited this vid #i promise my next one will be fun again #but for now: enjoy the heartbreak :))))#ella’s edit

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shkika · 11 months

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Survivor on her pearl hunting journey is too scared to admit she found another family in fear of losing it again on the way back hehe

I've been pearl hunting with those rascals for so long dear god. Their names are Beach ball (round light blue pup) and Seaweed (dark green)

#rainworld #rain world #my art #rw survivor #looks to the moon #this was a lil fun fun break comic #phew #i love drawing pups so much #theyre just cute lil balls #i found beach ball first and had him for a long while #and i found seaweed in the gutter #motherhood is so scary but we ball #poor moon has witnessed me go back and ffourth with these twerps sooo many times

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teenytinyapprentice · 5 months

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NPC appreciation week - Day 7: Free day

Nils from Miracle Mask

I almost forgot about the last day!! fjdhfd SO I went with Nils, I really liked him! His design is super cute and I loved all his almost snarky commentary and smarts about the goings on in Monte d'Or... and it's lacklustre police force haha. I just thought he was a lot of fun - and maybe kind of ripping off Henry's fashion sense jdhfsjdf

@layton-npc-appreciation-week

#layton npc appreciation week #layton-npc-appreciation-week #nils #nils professor layton #professor layton #teenytinyart #PHEW ok! done! fkjdshfsd that was fun - now i gotta buckle down n work on xmas gifts fkjdfdsf #miracle mask spoilers #professor layton spoilers

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esmiara · 11 months

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They're doing some shopping! But uh-oh... looks like Lucy and Chuuya actually do get along.

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kitswag · 2 months

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A little art about a headcanon of mine for Dragon and Sabo, and a little fanfic about it under the cut

"Dragon-san," a familiar voice, Sabo's voice came knocking from the door of the cluttered office. Dragon perked up, putting down the pen he's writing with- just a follow up rough plan for the revolutionary's next strike.

The door was opened and there was Sabo with a bleeding arm. Instinctively, Dragon reached for the cabinet on his desk, pulling it open to grab for a roll of bandages and a bottle of antiseptic.

Sabo sat in front of Dragon, reaching out his roughed-up arm, his face not showing a trace of pain. (Dragon always knew the surges beneath his mask anyways.)

Dragon sighed as he saw the gnarly wound on Sabo's arm. The boy had a knack on being risky, sometimes even too keen on self sacrifice. Even though being a revolutionary always costed a price, Dragon couldn't help but worry about Sabo's knacks.

"I got a little reckless with my plans, " Sabo offered a little charming smile to Dragon (cut out the reprimands just this time?)

"I always told you to be careful. You're too good to lose, " Dragon said (again, Sabo?).

Sabo offered another cheeky smile, "Next time," he said, as if Dragon never feared for his name written on the list of fallen revolutionaries in a mission report.

When Sabo first arrived in Baltigo, still wrapped with bandages all over, not even able to move his wounded limbs freely, he would only turn to Dragon to replace his bandages, any nurses who tried to replace it would only make him flinch violently.

Dragon tapped a cotton smeared with antiseptic liquid on his arm, following it up with the roll of bandages. Soon, after falling into the familiar act of wrapping Sabo's wounds, Dragon couldn't resist the nostalgia that went flying right to his head.

But of course, they understood (despite being concerned) , that Sabo was a child, a child that had no one familiar except for Dragon in an unfamiliar, new building far far away from his home island.

When his burns healed, and when he finally got to trust the nurses, it still became a habit. He would knock on Dragon's door or tug at his coat, show his wounds, and Dragon would pull out his cabinet and fish out a bottle of antiseptic liquid and some bandages. And there it was, a repeating pattern of tapping a cotton smeared with the antiseptic against Sabo's wounds and wrapping it up with soft bandages.

Dragon always thought of it as a comforting habit.

It was not rare that he would receive reports about his fallen men, people that had died for his own cause. And being here, bandaging Sabo, feeling the warmth of his skin, reminded Dragon that his Chief of Staff, his son, was still here, still alive. Still able to go knock on Dragon's office and offer a smile and a wound.

Sabo's small hiss of pain suddenly brought Dragon abruptly out of his daze. He softened his pace and grip, finishing wrapping Sabo's arm with tying the end, cutting the excess bandage with a small pair of scissors.

"Thank you, Dragon-san, " Sabo smiled, softly.

Dragon couldn't resist reaching his hand out and ruffling Sabo's hair, "Be careful next time," he warned.

Sabo's smile turned into a grin, "This time is just a slip up. "

Dragon couldn't help but smile back. Thin, but soft with fondness for his son sitting in front of him. He pulled his hand out of Sabo's locks of blonde and hope that tomorrow, his name wouldn't be written on the list of the fallen.

#phew that's a good writing warm up #a sweet headcanon i had #anyways dragon is sabo's father figure and i refuse to believe otherwise #btw fun fact when i wrote this my body was screaming at me DRINK WATER!!! 👉💧💧❗❗but i was so engrossed in writing this #that i actively ignored myself tying to keep myself alive #revolutionary sabo #one piece #one piece fanart #one piece art #one piece fanfiction #sabo headcanons #one piece headcanons #monkey d dragon #revolutionary dragon #op fanfic

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