#this post is for molly and for molly ONLY

[epithetemporium]

reguarding the trixie mario kart post,

do you have thoughts for the other characters? like mains/ skill level/ play style that kinda thing

love ur posts sm :3

(Naww thank you <33)

Molly

she WILL hit you with that green shell

especially right before the finish line

in fact all that stored up anger makes her incredibly good at sniping people with items

Molly knows about a few shortcuts but doesn't really use them because she's too worried about ruining her race by failing them

mains Toadette (and Isabelle but technically she isn't really a Mario Kart character but I'll ignore it since she's in the game)

her favorite track is Maple Treeway

Phoenica

She's too nice to use the items

actually she doesn't even really RACE at all, because it's irresponsible to drive a vehicle at these speeds

Feenie tries to apply real world driving laws to Mario Kart

it does not go well

there are no laws in Baby Park, only chaos

She loves the Princess drivers the most and adores the Babies

Uses smart steering

ALWAYS picks Daisy Circuit because of the statues of Luigi and Daisy together (she thinks they're very adorable)

Trixie

as said, she mains Drybones

Trixie knows ALL the important game breaking things. Shortcuts, best item spots, what would theoretically be the best combo, you name it

I think they'd prefer the bikes over the karts

favorite tracks are Coconut Mall (the Mario Kart fandom will understand why), Mushroom Gorge and Boo Lake

has to intentionally play bad so people don't stop playing with her at all

if anyone has a perfect rating in all cups at all speeds it's Trixie

Rick

he's terrible

I don't think he has fully figured out how a race works, even though he was told multiple times

this man right here plays as a Mii racer, you can't change my mind

he likes playing together with Phoenica. They don't race, they just drive around the courses and look at the pretty scenery together

if he ever gets any speed item in the item roulette he will cause chaos

probably drives backwards and against walls as we're speaking

Giovanni

the way he plays makes you think he's really bad at hiding that he lets you win

.....oh wait no, he's actually worse than thought-

he's oddly competitive even though his skills aren't the best but will intentionally play even worse when he knows someone is having a bad day

mostly uses King Boo, Waluigi and Birdo

favorite tracks include: Excitebike Arena, 3DS Neo Bowser City, Waluigi Pinball and Choco Mountain

he also has terrible luck in this game

loses most of his good items to shocks or gets hit over and over again

Sylvie

oh PLEASE he's way too adult for childish games like these

if you invite him over he'll spend the entire day infront of this game, experiencing inhuman joy whenever he gets a top spot, but he'll never admit it

Lorelai

I feel like if anyone were to cheat in Mario Kart it would be her

I'm not even sure how but she probably finds a way

actually this game would be terrible for her she will get so frustrated over this

she sometimes uses tracks like the Rainbow Roads, Rosalina's Ice World and Sky-High Sundae as inspirations for her Dream Bubbles

most likely likes Rosalina and Daisy the most

Zora

she will make your life a living hell here

sometimes she doesn't even drive she just...waits at the line with items....ready to ruin your entire game

she could totally win if she wanted to but she'd have fun in just targeting some player

#epithet erased #ee #molly blyndeff #phoenica fleecity #trixie roughhouse #trixie roughouse #rick shades #giovanni potage #sylvester ashling #sylvie ashling #lorelai blyndeff #zora salazar #ask #ursiidaexviii #mario kart #ramblings #headcanons

[tropes-and-tales]

The Softest in the World

Day 15:  Fingering (Dave York x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event found here! Is it April? Yes. Am I that far behind in posting that it's April and I'm still working through Kinktober requests? Also yes.) 

CW:  Smut (Fingering; talk of masturbation; oblique talk of vague future sex acts); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4102

AN:  This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by an anon!

AN2: Never edited, never beta'ed. I live and die by my slopping typing.

The first Christmas without Carol goes far better for Dave than he ever thought it would.  Of course he misses his wife, nearly a year out from her sudden death.  Molly and Alice miss their mother too.  But the immediate grief—that sharp, cutting pain that left them breathless and stunned—has faded into a more mellow sorrow.  Ever-present, but it doesn’t take Dave out at the knees anymore.

He knows he owes much of his family’s collective healing to you, the nanny he hired months after Carol died.  You’re the one who stepped in and took charge of their lives.  You never tried to replace Carol, but you’ve managed their day-to-day moments and their larger healing.

This first Christmas was your idea too.  A month in Vermont, away from the family home where memories may have been too thick and pressing to allow for any joy.  It had proved out to be a great idea too:  long days sledding and snow-shoeing and building snow forts leave the girls exhausted by evening, too tired to ruminate about their missing mother.

And it allows Dave more time with you.

Usually you only live at the York home when he’s traveling.  You handle their lives at home—drive the girls to and from school, to and from activities.  You handle the maid who comes in twice a week to clean.  You keep the refrigerator full, get the girls bathed and put to bed with a story and a hug each night.  But Dave is never there to see it—when he returns home from his work trips, you leave for your own apartment.

This month in Vermont?  You sleep in the room just down the hallway from him.  You share a bathroom with him, leave behind the scent of your shampoo and soap after you shower.  He hears you each night when you, like clockwork, pad out into the kitchen for a glass of water that you gulp down until you’re breathless.

More than all of that, he has front row seats to how you care for his girls.  You’re tough but fair.  You cut them plenty of slack, grieving as they are, but you don’t allow them to run roughshod over you.  You play with them, you teach them, and you genuinely seem to love them…and they genuinely love you as well.

Him, though?  Dave can’t seem to get a bead on you when it comes to him.  Your ease with the girls disappears the moment the two of you are alone.  You can’t always meet his eye line.  You flinch away from him if he brushes against you.  Sometimes he wonders if you can sense his former double life—if you have some preternatural prey response to being so close to a predator.  But more than once, he’s caught you watching him on the sly.  He’s noticed your heavy-lidded eyes, the way you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

When he cornered you in the hallway a few days earlier, he definitely noticed how your breathing quickened.

Maybe you can sense his killer nature, but Dave would also guess that you are attracted to him.  And knowing what he does of your character, you probably feel conflicted about that.  Guilty.  Maybe even a cliché, the nanny falling for the widowed father of her charges.

If Dave has taken one lesson from Carol’s death, though, it’s this:  life is short, and life can end in a blink.  Why not live while you can?

-----

The day before Christmas is spent in a nearby town.  You plan it, of course, and you layer in fun stuff with all the errands you have to run and make it a family affair.  You take the girls ice skating at a nearby pond.  Dave stands along the rink’s edge and watches you take lazy circles on the ice, Molly’s and Alice’s mittened hands firmly in yours until they get comfortable on their own.  Then you skate over to him, and the two of you watch in silence.

Then there’s hot chocolate at a nearby café, last minute presents for the stockings, and the grocery store.  You return to the cabin laden with bags, and the evening flies by.  You and the girls make flat breads for dinner, and afterwards, you put on a Christmas movie while the girls put the finishing touches on the tree Dave bought earlier in the month.

Dave helps the girls with their evening baths.  He gets them tucked into bed, reads them a story.  He presses a kiss to each of their foreheads, and they are out like a light before he’s even quietly clicking their bedroom door shut behind him.

As he’s been tending to his daughters, you’ve tidied up in the kitchen and living room, and now you’re pulling the wrapped gifts from their hiding spot in the hallway closet to arrange them under the tree.

At the sound of his footfall, you glance up and offer him a smile.

“They out already?” you ask.

Dave chuckles.  “Before I even left the room.”

You smile, brush the back of your hand across your forehead, miming hard work.  “It’s exhausting work, trying to exhaust them.”

“And you manage to do it every time.”  He joins you near the tree, kneels down beside you.

“Sometimes I make them run laps at home,” you reply with a laugh, and maybe you don’t notice your casual use of the word home, but Dave notices.

Dave notices everything.

He noticed, for example, how you stood by him at the skating rink, perfect posture and a tension radiating off of you when Dave moved close enough for his coat to brush against yours.  He noticed the way you ducked your head at the café, how you pretended not to hear the women who sat nearby and remarked on the lovely little family that you, Dave, and the girls made.

He notices now how you lean away from him just a fraction, how you start when his fingers touch yours each time he hands you a wrapped gift to place.  He notices that you won’t look at him, that you keep your gaze carefully fixed on the presents or the tree.  He crowds you closer, plays dumb about it, and he notices when the pink tip of your tongue darts out and licks a wet line along your lower lip. 

Part of Dave—the dark part of him, the predator in him—wants to grip your face between his hand and force you to look at him.  He wants to hold your gaze until it’s too much for you; he wants to stare at you until you squirm and beg him to let you go.  And then he wants to not let you go, your begging futile—he wants to hold you tighter and lean in and draw his own tongue along that bitable lower lip of yours.

He keeps that part of him at bay.  He knows he has to go slow.  Slow movements.  You freeze around him, but if he comes on too strong or too fast, you’ll bolt.  He needs to quiet that prey instinct, make you feel safe.  Alleviate your guilt, if you have any, at being attracted to a widower.

So Dave decides to seduce you instead. 

When you reach for the next gift, he instead grasps your wrist lightly.  He can feel your pulse against his grip, and he hears the breath you draw in.  He holds you like that until you have the courage to look at him, and he smiles at you to put you at ease.

“I’ll finish up,” he tells you, his voice low.  “Why don’t you go get a bottle of wine and some glasses?  We can have a drink on the couch.”

You hesitate…then nod.  It shouldn’t be a turn-on, but Dave loves the hesitancy, then the obedient way you stand up and do exactly as he says.  It’s not hard for him to imagine other things he could order you to do, the same uncertainty before you obey him.

-----

The wine is Moscato-adjacent.  It’s one of those local vintages made with fruits other than grapes, and far too sweet for Dave’s taste, but you had picked it out at the grocery store, so he sips it carefully and hides his winces when the cloying sweetness burns against the back of his throat.

You?  You nearly gulp it down, and he realizes how nervous you are to be here:  alone on a couch beside him, the room dark except for the lit-up Christmas tree and the crackling fire in the fireplace.  It’s romantic, but you’re his employee, and he swears he can feel you flailing out of your depths to find yourself in this moment.

“Easy,” he says.  He stills your hand when you reach for the bottle.  You’ve bolted down the first glass so fast, and Dave doesn’t want you drunk.  He doesn’t even want you tipsy.  He wants just the barest bit of your nerves soothed, but he wants you fully in control of yourself. 

He wants you to be completely, stone sober when you beg him.

“Slow down,” he continues.  “You don’t want to overdo it.”

You laugh, a nervous giggle that spills out of your mouth, and you start to say, “I just…” but you trail off, don’t finish the sentence. 

What were you going to say, Dave wonders?

I just am nervous.

I just think this is too much.

I just think it’s wrong.  It’s too soon.  It’s too complicated.  It’s too unseemly.  What will people think, if anyone ever finds out?

“It’s okay.”  He says it soothingly.  He eases your empty glass out of your other hand, and he sets it down along with his own mostly-full glass, but he does it with one hand—his other, he keeps wrapped around your wrist, unwilling to break his hold on you.

“Mr. York…”  You start, and he hears the nerves in your voice.  He hears the wobble in your words, the faint tremor, but he also swears he can hear desire too—a huskiness to your voice, the slightest rough edge.  And you squirm in your seat, just a bit, but you don’t try to pull away from him.

“Mister York?  Since when did I become Mister?”  It shouldn’t be so hot, you calling him that, formal with the tremble in your words, but then you breathe out his first name—Dave—and you draw it out, and that’s even hotter.

His hand on your wrist, he pulls you to him, tugs your upper body towards him, and you let him.  You go willingly, but your eyes widen.  In shock?  Fear?  Lust?

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, his face inches from yours.  “If you don’t, say so now, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

The tip of your tongue darts out, licks nervously against your lower lip.  “It’s just…”  You take a breath, try again.  “It’s just complicated.”

“That’s not a yes or a no, baby.”

You huff and offer him a tremulous smile at his use of a nickname, so he adds, “it’s a simple question.”

You hesitate, and Dave wonders if you’re really conflicted about it.  If you’re weighing how your life will change depending on how you answer…

…or if you just don’t want to seem eager, because you nod, then whisper “yes, I do want this,” and when he bridges the remaining distance between you, you’re right there, ready and eager to slot your mouth over his, to part your lips to his searching tongue, to cup his stubbled face with your free hand.

-----

Other men might take you then and there.  They might claim you right on the couch, in front of a dying fire and a Christmas tree sparkling with lights.  They might rush it, make it some sweaty, sad fumble, then parting to each slink to separate bedrooms.

Dave York has always enjoyed the long game.  If he were a game hunter, he would enjoy it better to sit in a tree stand for hours before dawn.  He would relish the cool planning, the stalking, the calculating and recalibrating as needed.

Dave York doesn’t fuck you just yet.  He wants to give you a taste, just a morsel, because he wants you slavering for it.  He wants you looking at him with those wide eyes, that lower lip caught between your teeth, as you beg him for more.

So this night, he only pushes you gently back against the couch as he kisses you.  He lowers himself onto you—lets you feel the weight and heft of his body against yours, lets you feel how he can press you into the couch with his weight.  He lets you feel the length of his growing erection where it presses against your hip, and each little whimper makes him harder.

He kisses you deeply—tastes the glass of Moscato you gulped down, tastes the sweetness of you beyond the tart, sweet wine.  He slides his tongue against yours, licks the inside of your mouth, and he smiles inwardly when you shyly try to do the same.  You are mostly led by him but there’s little movements—your tongue pressing back against his, say, or the upward press of your hips as you search for friction—where you try to lead too.

He braces himself with one hand, which allows the other to roam free.  He cups your flushed face, feels the heat of your blushing.  He draws his hand down, traces a path down your neck, circles his palm there, feels how much he can fit in the span of one palm.  Not because he likes choking—he’s never been into breathplay or anything so risky, but he does like the tame feel of his hand partially around your neck with the feel of your pulse and the ragged breaths you pull in.

Then lower.  He grasps the softness of your breast, and even through the sweater and bra, he can feel your pebbled nipple.  He brushes the pad of his thumb over it, back and forth, and it makes your hips lift up again…and then you groan when you find nothing to meet you, no friction and no touch.

“Be patient,” he whispers in your ear.  He nips at your lobe, darts his tongue against the whorl of your ear, and you whimper at the sensation of his hot breath fanning over you.

He moves his free hand lower still.  He finds the hem of your sweater, snakes his hand under it.  Then he finds the waistband of your leggings.  He sends up a silent prayer that he gets to live in a time and place where leggings are a thing—no tricky buttons or zippers, just an elastic waistband so easy to slip his hand under, and he cups your mound through the soft cotton of your panties.  Dave chuckles near your ear, then lifts his head to look at you because you’re already wet there, the damp cotton cleaving to you as he skates his fingers over you.

“Bad girl,” he whispers.  “Getting wet for your boss.”

He’s watching you as he says it, and he sees the flash of hurt that crosses your face before your pupils get wider and your lips part, as you breathe out a heavy breath.  You’re such a good girl; Dave obviously vetted you before ever letting you into his girls’ lives.  Straight A student, honors, full ride in college.  Not even a speeding ticket in your history.  He bets you’ve never been called bad, never been a bad girl, and it seems to hurt you for a beat before you embrace this tamest step outside of your erotic comfort zone.

Dave has so many more steps he wants to lead you on.  He wants to take your hand in his and lead you into darker, deeper waters.  He imagines spanking you, binding you, blindfolding you.  He imagines twisting your innate desire to please into something sensual; he imagines training you to greet him on your knees.  He imagines rewarding you, calling you a good girl instead, fucking you senseless until you are left overstimulated and weeping, ruined for any other cock but his.

“Is this just from right now?” he continues, and he strokes you through your soaked panties, feels how they are molded to your folds and cleft.  “Or have you been thinking about this?”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me.”  He pinches you lightly—not enough to hurt, but the sensation pulls a gasp from you, and your hand flies up to grasp his bicep where his bracing arm is near your head.  “Tell me why you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been thinking about this.”  It comes out a whisper, barely audible.  Tinged in shame, and that’s the first thing Dave will burn out of you.  Guilt.  Shame.  He’ll break you down and tear those useless emotions out of you.

“When?”  Another light pinch, another gasp.  Your hand grips his arm harder, and Dave will see dusty little bruises there in the morning.

“Since….ah, since a while.”  Another pinch, and you add, “over the summer.”

The summer.  When Dave was around more due to his busy period at word dying off.  When Dave ran each morning and returned home to find you cleaning up the breakfast mess, when he shed his sweaty shirt and walked through the house on his way to shower.  When he pretended not to notice the way your eyes followed him each step, and when he pretended like he needed a glass of cold water, shirtless, that he drank down in your eye line.

Bad girl indeed.

“You touch yourself to the thought of me?”  Here he moves his hand, shifts it to slip under the lacy band of your panties, and he’s delighted to feel a strip of damp curls there, happy that you haven’t shaved or waxed yourself bare.  He drags his fingers through them, then finds your clit, slick and swollen, and he touches you lightly there.  Strums you with his thumb and chuckles at the keening whine that tears out of your throat.

“Answer me.  You touch yourself, thinking about me?”

“….yes.”

“Like this?”

“S-sometimes.”

“Not every time?”

You fix him with a pleading look, but you’re barely able to hold his gaze for long.  When he brushes his lips over your cheekbone, he can feel how hot your face is.  This is a challenge to you, possibly humiliating, but also arousing because you continue to lift your hips, chasing the touch you’re desperate for.  Such a soft little thing, the softest in the world, and yet you’ve been touching yourself to the thought of him.

Dave stills his hand, and he chuckles again at the groan of disappointment you make.  “Tell me or I stop.”

You swallow, nod.  “Sometimes I…I have a vi…a vibrator.”

He can imagine it; a sad little tucked-away piece of silicone or plastic.  You probably pull it out in the darkness of your room, ashamed at pleasuring yourself.  You probably bury it under your socks and blush when your hand brushes against it when you’re putting laundry away.

He hums, considers the mental image that rises to his mind.  Your legs spread under the covers, running the toy over your clit, maybe pushing it inside you.  Imagining it was him instead.

Not that different from the times he’s gripped his own cock, stroked himself in the shower or in his room and pretended it was you instead of his hand.

Dave could demand to know your fantasies.  He could make you tell him what scenarios you’ve used to get off to him.  Him bending you over the kitchen counter?  Him fucking you in the shower?  Him sneaking into your bedroom at night, sliding under the covers and slipping his already-hard cock into your tight little pussy?  He could make you blush harder and demand to know these things, but he wants to take this slow, so he kisses you instead, murmurs his thanks, calls you a good girl for answering his questions, and when your face lights up at the praise, Dave pushes one thick finger into you and draws the sweetest, throatiest groan from you.

Other men might take you then and there, but Dave only finger-fucks you.  He goes so slow, eases it out, pushes it back in so you feel every goddamned bit of him entering you.  He keeps his thumb firm on your clit, and just the pressure makes you whimper each time he presses a little harder.

He adds a second finger and feels the delicious stretch as your pussy cedes to him.  You’re unbelievably warm, slick, and your pussy twitches and pulses around him each time he breeches the confines of your body.  It’s tight, but you’re nervous, and each bit of praise—good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, just relax and let me make you feel good, baby—makes you unclench a bit more.  You relax, and you find the rhythm that he fingers you, and you lift your hips to meet his fingers.

When he adds a third finger, you hiss at the thickness of it, the tight fit.  He stills, watches your face for any pain, and when he doesn’t see any, he continues.

Three fingers is a good start to preparing you for his cock, he thinks.  He imagines the feel of pushing into you, mounting you, and he imagines your fingers digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out in you.

In due time.  Now he fingers you, he scissors his fingers inside you and feels the answering throb in his erection each time you whine or whimper or groan, the sweetest symphony of sounds he’s able to pull from you.  When he starts circling your clit with his thumb, when he crooks his fingers inside you, pressing gently until he finds the spot that makes you gasp out his name, but you call him Mister York again, and it unlocks something inside him, the power you’re letting him have over you.  He dips his head and sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, right at the pulse point, and you gasp again.  Your other hand flies up and cradles the back of his head, and you twist your fingers through his hair, but you don’t pull him away—you hold him there, and he licks against the dimpled marks he’s left in your skin, he breathes against the wet line on your neck, and he’ll see a lurid bruise there in the morning too that will make him instantly hard.

“You’re going to come for me,” he growls against your neck.  “You’re going to be a good girl and come when I tell you.”

And his mind boggles at the possibilities with you because you do exactly as he says.  You nod at his order, and you press your hips in time to his searching fingers, and he feels when your orgasm approaches because you lose much of your embarrassment.  You swear in a hoarse whisper against his head—oh fuck, D-Dave, fuck fuck fuck, I’m close, I’m gonna, oh, don’t stop—and you spread your legs wider to make room for his hand, and the lurid sound of his hand working against your wetness doesn’t seem to even register to you.  The entire living room smells like sex and you don’t care, and when you gasp and buck your hips up into his hand, he feels your orgasm break around you:  the pulse of your cunt gripping his fingers, the hot slick of cum that coats his hand, the way your body shakes under his.

He fingers you through it.  He draws out your pleasure until you shove at him lightly, tell him it’s too much, and he stops.  He feels the tension of your orgasm—the arching body, the trembling—leave you, and you lay underneath him, sated and heavy with your release.

Dave draws his hand out from under your clothing, and he straightens the hem of your sweater where it rode up a bit.  Then he fixes you with an unblinking stare and lifts his hand to his mouth, and he smiles at your shocked expression as he licks his fingers clean.  Then, with the taste of you on his lips, he lowers his head and kisses you again—deep and slow, so you can taste yourself too.

“Good girl,” he tells you when he breaks the kiss.  “You’re going to be such a good girl for me.”

#dave york #dave york imagine #dave york x reader #dave york x you #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales #the equalizer 2

[saintsinthecity]

the paper girls + the losers club

#this post is for molly and for molly ONLY #the paper girls gifs look crunchy bc the show is very dark and i am not very good at making gifs <3 #paper girls #it #it 2017 #it chapter 2 #and now i will be annoying and tag all of them. my apologies #erin tieng #kj brandman #tiffany quilkin #mac coyle #richie tozier #stanley uris #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #eddie kaspbrak #m #my edits #m*gifs

[bloodaria]

1.05 | 2.01 | 3.08 | 1.09

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibaledit #will graham #hannibal lecter #jack crawford #beverly katz #molly foster graham #the irony of hannibal being the only one who didn't see will's empathy as a tool #m* #long post

[wouldntyoulichentoknow]

people with destinies shouldn't make plans.

day 6: blood

#tesfest23 #Elder Scrolls #Oblivion #Martin Septim #Molly Cadoret #as her memory goes she only ever remembers him dressed as a priest. the rewriting and editing of memories how things were and how they WERE #you know? #this has some writing that goes with it but I am still picking at it bc I get so weirdly squirrelly about posting writing hfsdlkfjds #holding myself accountable by saying it here in the tags though 👊

[featherlesswings]

Sam “I don’t know how to play D&D” Riegel, I swear to god.

See, I made it all the way to “he’s MY boy,” and later Nott disguising herself as a very specifically described Halfling woman and knocking on a certain door before I realized the incredible mind he has. I fully thought up until those points that he just had a twisted sense of humor, and only wanted to be the comic relief. I had skipped campaign 1 because it was too hard to get through the technical difficulties in the first few episodes. I have since remedied that, and witnessed all of That.

And now we have this new tragedy. We all thought FCG was Pinnochio, but he was The Velveteen Rabbit. He became Real as he transcended the life he’d known, to protect the ones he loved most. Who had made him Real with their love for him.

#I don’t agree that there’s not enough time for him to add a new character #i want them to pick up Deanna and FRIDA to keep them alive until he returns as a myceit ot whatever #hearing him say he thought of FRIDA as well as Bertrand and Dorian in his last moment broke me in a million pieces #Matt please let Dorian show up too #we miss Robbie so much #he’s been gone so long #i want post Molly level guest players scrunched around the table #it’s the only proper consolation #critical role #cr spoilers

[weaponizedalibi]

Blah blah hazbin headcanons blah blah, theres much more I have to say in regards to lore but we can cross that bridge when we come to it!!! Also the skits where angel and Alastor are alive in the same time period and know each other are from me and my friend's AU called Headhunters!!!!!

#it will only let me post one video on this post for some reason #my art #hazbin hotel #alastor #angel dust #arackniss #molly hazbin hotel #mimsy hazbin hotel

[ducessaeva]

(sometimes he just needs to hear his heart’s still beating)

#my art #critical role #critical role fanart #critical role spoilers #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #mighty nein #i have no conception of how this would be as an au or whatever #it's just nebulously post canon i guess #wanted to draw more of molly's tattoos #but missing the eyes #idk i only have one braincell and molly ran away with it

[shokogast]

fuck it *cats your epithet erased*

this was a funny bit turned into Real Actual Project I devoted at least several hours to working out (my brain is fried but i’m glad i managed to still do it somehow!) closeups w/ some cat nerd shit under the cut!

Molly: chocolate smoke tortoiseshell wirehair with folded ears

Phoenica: cream and white van with rexed fur (Fleecy Cloud)

Trixie: black tortoiseshell shorthair with a bobtail (Manx/American Bob)

Giovanni: red silver mackerel tabby with a kinked tail

Sylvie: cream and white classic tabby with curled fur and a bobtail (Japanese Bob) 

Mera: blue colorpoint with low white and folded ears (mutation)

Indus: Giant Aphrodite’s Cat cinnamon classic tabby with low white

Percy: bimetallic (golden + silver) mackerel tabby shorthair

Ramsey: red golden shaded high white Cornish Rex (which is the cat breed closest to a rat as i could get)

Zora: chocolate sunshine torbie longhair

Yoomtah: apricot mackerel tabby with “white” (i took some color liberties you could say)

Naven: caramel lynx point with white gloves, curled ears, and a curled tail

Rick: silver charcoal tabby with rusting and a curled tail

Lorelai: chocolate smoke tortoiseshell with a bobtail (mutation)

#epithet erased #molly blyndeff #phoenica fleecity #trixie roughhouse #giovanni potage #sylvester ashling #mera salamin #indus tarbella #percival king #ramsey murdoch #zora salazar #yoomtah zing #naven nuknuk #rick shades #lorelai blyndeff #this is one and only time im drawing them all ever again /j #other characters like howie will be in the eventual part 2! #meow #im sorry this is my longest post ;w;

[ratguy-nico]

Geneuary prompt Crush / Birthday

This as a matter of fact was the firts Geneuary piece I drew, why? Cause... it was the first prompt that come to mind. yeah Im not that deep. At least not at thinking.

Scene from the movie Sixteen Candles, why? cause for me this movie combine perfectly the Crush prompt with the b-day prompt.

-ejem ejem- Starring in this piece not only my Genie Wieny Beanie but also co-starring as the romantic interest -dum duru dum- ALEXIS!!! oc, child of the awesome @golden--doodler also known as the person to whom we owe Geneuary @goldendoodlerlockerlove -fuegos artificiales, epic solo de guitarra, explosiones piu-piu piu-

fvk forget to mention draw Alexis heavily inspired in @drawthething commision with golden were they drew Alexis so kudos to them too. (love your drawings)

(more about the drawing down here)

... Yeah...

The thing is! As I said before this is a scene from the movie Sixteen Candles starring Molly Ringwald most known for The Breakfast Club movie that actually have an episode of Bob's Burgers dedicated to it. do you see the connection?

So yeah, don't remember if is actually mentioned but I'm totally sure Gene is a big Molly Ringwald fan, is just his type of girl icon.

The movie in itself is a movie that carries a lot of good memories for me. My mom loves to show me movies from her childhood and teen years.

I remember watching this movie with my mom we both laughing of all the craziest shit that this movie had, commenting how different movies were back then and crushing over Molly Ringwald.

And then just a couple of days ago as a way to find the inspiration again I decided to watch it again with my lil sis who almost cry in the end scene (not the romantic one, the one with the girl and her dad)

And we catch sight of a lesbian! Hunting lesbians in older movies since 2024

The thing is even though I love this movie I have to say is from the 80's, wich mean hella racist toward asian people, very misogynist, and it have boobs (that is not a real problem but since people on twit is trying to banned sex I added it) so yeah, watch carefully. But totally recommended.

There's a scene I would also draw with Tina and Bob from this movie.

Second fun fact. Even though this was the first drawing I made I didn't made the romantic interest until this wednesday.

Originally I though Alex, but I wasn't 100% convinced cause at that point I was heart broken at the realization they were probably discarding his character (note: I don't know if they are discarding the character) (read as a Mort situation) So yeah.

Then I though DAH! Courtney, but I don't ship them as a couple so that didn't seem quite right.

Then talking with Golden I got really fond of their OC Alexis and though, why not? I believed in signs.

The universe talk and I have to listen. The fact that Golden decided to tell me about their character right when I was starting to draw this piece was all I needed to know.

Also I though of just letting that spot blank and maybe made a dynamic were people put whoever they wanted with Gene. Which for me could been hella funny. But I don't think anyone would actually want to do that so yeah.

#bob's burgers #my art #geneuary2024 #dont know how to tag other persons oc #this is new for me #so yeah #sixteen candles #can we all agree Gene is a total Molly Ringwald fan? #im very tipsy posting this #cause this is not only my bean or my drawing #here is someone elses child #but I really hope you like it #drawing someone oc is been awesome #is like super fun #like a very endorphin experience #but i also feel at the verge of a panic attack #ha ha #but of course im not fully happy with the drawing #is pretty messy #trying new things #im still very bad at backgrounds #maybe to many effects #filters #dunno #but all in all i like drawing this two togethe #though I will actually like to know who you ship Gene with the most #why? #cause I love ships #if a watch...anything I have to ship #shipping is love

[weary1312]

Shoutout to @bennydwight for buying this for my poor ass and shoutout to @cheesysocsandart for making this beautiful ass (plus other goodies!) I can attest that the quality is great and you should check her out and commission her for art and all that good shit

Big fan of it, and I shall cherish it for my entire lifetime and afterlifetime which is a word now

#the ghost and molly mcgee #scratch mcgee #scratch #todd mortenson #i’m using tags for this post and this post only

[smittyw]

dailies 3.18 & 3.19.24

answering more oc asks w scroodles! my inbox is still open here & on ig.. smiles

#dailies delivery #ocs #no id #kita #noemi #ethan #frederick #nat #qamar #molly #u thought i was only gonna post stupid shit abt those other bozos?? NO!! i can pay attention to other cgaracters i swear it #my nonsense? fueled for days. unstoppable

[janepostsart]

My schemes be dammed,there going in the trash

I wanna have fun,not pretend to be a supervillain or something

Also BEHOLD

Medieval molly! I'll post more art of the au another time

#epithet erased #molly blyndeff #depression be dammed #im back baby #also in all seriousness ive been scheming all this time and the only reason to why i stopped is because i realized i didn't do the things be #because i enjoyed them anymore and that wasn't me #so ya im just gonna start posting art who gives a dam if its bad right?

[bloodaria]

3.08 | 3.11 parallels

Will and Molly failing to find refuge in each other during a difficult time in their lives, and turning to their first, or "true" loves as a source of comfort instead.

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibaledit #hannibal lecter #will graham #molly graham #m* #in 3.11 will also only gets comforted by hannibal after the dragon attacks molly and walter even though he literally planned the attack :/ #he goes in there snarling and a minute later hannibal has calmed him by giving him insight into dolarhyde's psyche and his own #long post

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

thinking now. I am not particularly combat-oriented myself (the fighting is always my least favorite part of any video game. and I do mean ANY video game. I play Pokemon to make friends with Eevees. my battle strategy is consistent across all genres and can be summarized as "get stupidly overlevelled so I can't die". ANYWAY) so it is not usually... something I gravitate towards when thinking about Things And Stuff. so we've got -

Hallie: ironically the most combat-prepared due to her exploration aspirations. had training with Neht (and he's still there to take over if things get dicey. It's A Surprise Tool That Will Help Us Later) but hasn't been in a real fight until she gets to Vvardenfell and so as demonstrated with the mudcrabs has to find her footing against actual opponents instead of "ghost who doesn't want to hurt a child" or "the tree out back". combat style: EXPLOSIVE ZAP + summon big knife x2

Molly: gestures. barber. rake. barber. rake. she has never held a sword before. learns how to use the sword from Baurus mostly and is very good at picking up all his worst habits, which he finds incredibly embarrassing. terrible form most of the time and doesn't care because if she learns it properly then it's real, right. constantly evoking the image of a wet cat trying to fluff itself up and hissing. combat style: hit it but with a sword now

Kharish: a lover not a fighter... startle response is tempered by not wanting to accidentally hurt anyone so nobody actually gets blasted. I have to imagine realistically not every old corpse is a draugr and also those that are behave less aggressively if you aren't charging in with a sword and Shouting at everything. combat style: oh, no thank you (local librarian horribly disconcerted by how easily things smash when you've been cross-country hiking and carrying books at high altitudes for a couple years)

#Mouse talks! #making posts on desktop feels so much more formal than rattling off a post via mobile. like penning an email vs texting myself 😭 #Molly 🤝 Kharish: just hit it really hard #Hallie: there's actually different techniques if you - #Molly & Kharish (in completely different tones of voice): you're a baby!! #only marginally related but someone remind me also to talk about This One and That One #desktop posting proving to be agony why did this take me like an hour and a half to type out. IT'S LIKE EMAILS

[flashhwing]

suddenly had a vision of warden molly and now I’m sad there’s no tieflings in dragon age

#warden molly would be so fun #he’d hate it SO MUCH #I imagine the only way to get him to join would be a ‘well im dying of the blight may as well give it a shot’ scenario #he plans to cut and run at the first available moment but then. well. fuck #suddenly I’m the ONLY gray warden left? I gotta save the world now? #like fine sure I’ll save the world I guess but he’s dragging his feet and being so sassy about it #does not get along with leliana but gets along with morrigan much the same as he does with beau #constantly flirting with Alistair just to fuck with him but then later. to fuck him #zevran joins and everyone’s like ‘oh maker there’s two of them’ #is not gonna kill Loghain until he realizes Alistair will actually divorce him over it then he’s like Well Okay old man murder time #ultimate sacrifice ending because unfortunately. is it molly if he doesn’t die </3 #this has been a post