#(plot) doodle doubts

[moeblob]

Merry, who I made for an AU, in another AU for a buddy.

[driftingballoons]

Day 6: Farewell

Imagining it takes Partner a while to feel comfortable letting Hero out of their sight

@heropartnerweek

[aashidoodles]

Not one night passed since they had their first kiss and Ares is already making a habit out of it

[quibble-auk]

Nah I really gotta get a name for this. But I suck at them. So part… I actually don’t know… like six I think? Maybe it’s five?

Yeah, more of that one thing where Jeopardy and Dropmix are being dysfunctional little guys.

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

—

It had been six days.

Six long, dragging, excruciatingly polite days, and he was not any closer to figuring out how much Jeopardy knew. Dropmix was still grasping at strings, trying to piece together what the medic had figured out.

Each interaction was tense, too professional, and suffocating. Each attempt Dropmix made to connect, to bridge the gap, was turned down with a calculated and cool response. The dark mech was never ignored, shunned perhaps, but always acknowledged to some extent.

He was turned down, locked out, and rejected. He had gained no ground with Jeopardy, but he hadn’t lost any, not exactly—the void between them got deeper instead of getting wider.

Dropmix had finally been deemed well enough to work again, his imprisonment in the private room was finally over. It gave him more opportunities to reach out, Jeopardy couldn’t avoid him as easily. They had to interact, had to speak and be around each other. It should have given Dropmix an advantage, he should have been repairing the damage and effortlessly slipping back into the normal routine. They should have talked about the incident and given Dropmix the opportunity to clear any suspicions.

Jeopardy never brought up the mission or the gas. Not even once. But he hadn’t really spoken, either. Not to Dropmix, not in the way he used to.

The large mech was starting to feel like he was bleeding out in silence.

Not literally—his systems were fine. No leaks. No critical errors. His ventilation systems were almost as good as new. But there was something in his chest that felt cracked open, raw and exposed, like every time Jeopardy passed him in the corridor without really looking, it carved a little deeper.

Dropmix felt like he was shouting across a canyon that swallowed up his attempts to reach out rather than echoing and amplifying them.

It stung, each failed attempt tore at something deep in his core, it buried its teeth deeper than humiliation or shame ever did. Every excuse and polite decline made a primal desperation rise in him, it clawed up his throat and tore into the seams of his mind. His mask slipped and cracked, and he was left fumbling for rehearsed lines, reading over the script he knew so well.

Dropmix was caught trying to dance with a partner who refused to move. Each attempt to dip or spin was met with resistance, so Dropmix improvised. He did what he must to keep the show going, he performed. He played his part, put extra effort into each smile and friendly chuff, forced tame works in hopes that something would spark and they could continue as a duet.

Nothing was working.

They still shared space—barely. Handovers, medbay tasks, and reports, each interaction swamped in a tension so thick it buzzed under Dropmix’s plating like faulty wiring. Jeopardy hadn’t been cold. Not exactly. Just... formal. Efficient. Controlled.

Distant.

Dropmix hated it more than shouting. At least yelling meant fire. Fire meant fuel.

With Theremin it had always been like that, things bubbling up under the surface until one of them snapped. They yelled, told the other what was wrong through harsh words and bitter feelings. Then they would split, dwell, simmer in the aftermath as they processed and eventually come together again.

They would talk, sort things out, explain. Apologize. But they would move on, try to do better, have the weight off their chest. Maybe not the healthiest, but it worked. They communicated, told the other what they did wrong or how they made them feel instead of leaving the other to guess.

This was not that, there was no fire.

This?

This was a vacuum.

Now, the medbay was quiet again—late shift, lights dimmed to that same tired, blue-toned glow. The music hadn’t been on in days. Jeopardy had shut it off and Dropmix had resorted to his internal comms to play it. The few attempts he made to turn the music back on the speakers were efficiently shut down. Jeopardy was never rude or crass, suggesting rather than demanding.

Dropmix almost didn’t listen, he wanted the music to be on, he didn’t want to deal with the additional effort it took to keep it running on his comms. This was his medbay, he was in charge, he would not be ordered around by Jeopardy. But he didn’t want to strain whatever was left with the other medic, so he listened.

The music was shut off without any further questions. Neither of them said anything about it, but Dropmix noticed the silence like a missing tooth. He saw the refusal for what it was, an act of defiance, a constant reminder that everything wasn’t alright.

The quiet was screaming at him in Jeopardy’s place.

Tonight was no exception, it seemed. The silence gnawed at Dropmix’s thoughts, picking apart the last threadbare hopes he hadn’t quite admitted he was clinging to.

He’d finished the inventory cycles two hours ago. All the supplies were aligned. All the data was clean. There wasn’t a single damn thing left to fix, except the one thing he couldn’t touch. The one thing that was most important.

Dropmix sat alone on the edge of a diagnostics berth, flexing a rag through his fingers. He mindlessly wiped down the surface in front of him, trying to keep himself busy. It was already clean. Everything in the medbay was clean. Immaculate, actually. Jeopardy had gone through earlier and done a full sweep, his movements efficient, surgical.

He hadn’t said a word the entire time.

Now, Jeopardy was gone again. Off shift. Probably in his quarters, or perhaps socializing with the other mechs on base. He once may have lingered with Dropmix, accompanying him even though he was free to go. Not anymore. Jeopardy only lingered as long as he had to.

The dark mech huffed, eye narrowing at the berth before him like he could somehow intimidate it into spilling all of the answers he needed. The music in his comms swelled, sweet strings echoing the melody with dainty steps as the woodwinds fluttered along. A gentle song, hailing from a distant organic planet. This one had been a part of Theremin’s personal collection that was left in the ruins of the Pits.

It was one of Jeopardy’s favorites.

Dropmix didn’t hear the door until it hissed open and boots stepped inside. He looked up too quickly. Some part of him still stupidly hoping—

But it wasn’t Jeopardy.

Rumbleclutch.

Massive, dented, always smelling faintly of ozone and engine grease. He ducked through the door like the frame was too narrow for him, his plates slightly flared with practiced discipline—they always were, it was a show of rank. It was not an angry display, but a confident one, it demanded respect. By all means, the hulking frame of the outposts Commanding Officer was an intimidating sight for most.

Not Dropmix. He could pinpoint each weakness within seconds of seeing the other, he saw the slight limp, the exposed seams, the restrictive armor. Rumbleclutch was a force to be recorded with—any military frame of his stature was—but so was Dropmix.

There always seemed to be a mutual understanding of that between them.

The mottled gray and navy mech was holding something in one large hand, a datapad, military-standard. His expression was unreadable, not warm but not unfriendly either. His amber eyes swept the medical bay once before lingering on Dropmix.

The dark mech straightened, reflexively. Quelling down any natural desire to challenge or defend what was his. The display was not meant to provoke or challenge, simply enforce—it made his plating itch regardless, the numb static of his mind buzzing obnoxiously in his skull.

“Sir,” Dropmix didn’t smile, but he carefully crafted his expression to be warm, welcoming and respectful. Rumbleclutch wasn’t one to drop by unannounced, and he wasn’t due for any maintenance either, “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Rumbleclutch didn’t answer immediately. He glanced around the medbay like he didn’t quite recognize it, then gave a grunt, half-thoughtful. “No music?”

The darker bot shrugged, ignoring the way his plates flared under his armor. “Wasn’t in the mood.”

Rumbleclutch grunted again, noncommittal. His optics slid to the speakers overhead, then back to Dropmix, expression still unreadable. His steady voice was as emotionless as ever, “Hm. I’ll have to inform Saberfire to update her betting pools.”

Dropmix blinked, single eye widening. “I’m sorry?”

The mottled mech’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile—he didn’t do those unless someone was dying or just got promoted, sometimes both—but the lines of his jaw eased. “She had money on you playing music until the war ended or you were physically incapable of doing so.”

“I’ll be sure to send my condolences.” Dropmix’s voice was flat, but he let a sliver of warmth seep in. A blanket of familiarity and fondness wrapped around each word as he continued, “You didn’t come down here for banter, I assume?”

“No,” Rumbleclutch agreed, stepping closer, datapad still in one thick hand. “I didn’t.”

The medic’s fingers twitched around the rag. He set it down slowly.

A beat passed. Two.

He extended the datapad, holding it out the same way one might offer a weapon mid-duel—neutral, cautious, with the understanding it could change everything depending on how it was received.

Dropmix took it.

He scanned the screen, expecting… something routine. A roster change. A new supply intake. A requisition order, maybe, or disciplinary notice for one of the rowdier interns who’d knocked over the coolant monitors again.

He didn’t expect the header—his vents hitched.

The slightly larger mech straightened—if at all possible—as his amber eyes looked over Dropmix. His plates flared more, just enough to almost be unnoticeable, the only tell the CO had. “With the reason specified it’s customary for me to analyze the subordinate’s officer and ensure that they are still fit for their role.”

Dropmix nodded mindlessly, the datapad oddly heavy in his hand. His armor pressed into him more, suffocating, making his straining vents hiss with effort to suck in air. His jaw tightened, dull teeth grating together as he stared down at the offending screen.

—

TRANSFER REQUEST: JEOPARDY.

Outpost: 06—Aubris Ridge.

Junior Medical Officer.

Requested Reason: Personnel Conflict (unspecified).

Status: PENDING CO APPROVAL.

—

Dropmix’s thumb hovered over the screen, the pad of his finger resting just above the edge of Jeopardy’s signature. Two days ago.

He’d submitted it two fragging days ago.

Dropmix’s spark gave a stuttering twist behind his plating. The silence of the medbay roared in his audials again, louder this time, more personal—hollow and accusatory. The music in his comms reared, amplifying and squandering any rising emotion. It stung, a migraine blossoming across Dropmix’s processor. His jaw tightened further, blunt fingertips gripping the datapad harder in an attempt to stabilize himself.

The betrayal twisted deep, hollowing out his compressing chest. His spark thrummed loudly, twisting into something cruel. That primal desperation and need roared, beating painfully against the armor that encased it, like a beast in a cage. An overwhelming possessive anger rooted in his frame, recoiling against the music. It spread like an infection, burning and unforgiving.

He looked up slowly, eye locking with Rumbleclutch’s. Somehow, he managed to keep himself composed. The CO didn’t look away. He never did. His gaze was a solid wall—one Dropmix had crashed into more than once, but tonight it was different. Not hostile. Just... braced. The way a structure braces before a blast.

"He's serious?" Dropmix asked, though his voice barely passed as a question. It was too even. Too calm.

Rumbleclutch didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the datapad still clenched in Dropmix’s hand, then slowly brought his gaze back up. “I was rather surprised, you both always seemed close.”

Dropmix’s hand twitched. He didn’t flinch. Didn't crumble. His entire frame was too practiced, too well-trained for that. But his plating shifted under the surface like a storm was building inside him, and only a brittle shell was keeping it contained. The music pressed against his helm, drowning out the rising unwanted emotions.

There was anger, hurt, betrayal, and fear—Dropmix hated it, the relentless terror that gripped his spark at the idea of Jeopardy leaving. It hid among the rising rage, seeping through the cracks of his anger.

It hurt, electricity running through his frame as programs fought to keep him compliant. His internal temperature rose as his vents struggled and the electrical current strengthened. He let himself lean against the berth in front of him, acting as if he was just shifting his weight.

"Two days," Dropmix murmured, the words bitter in his mouth, fingers flexing. “He couldn’t even—”

He cut himself off. His vents hitched again, his entire torso stuttering with the effort of breathing through it. Rumbleclutch watched him in silence.

“I’m assuming you came to assess if I’m the problem,” Dropmix said eventually, voice sharp around the edges now. Still not angry. Just dangerously close.

“You’ve never given me a reason to doubt your work, and I respect your privacy,” The CO’s tone remained level, voice sturdy and unwavering, “The evaluation has already been run, you have a perfect record, Dropmix, where he does not. There is no reason for me to inspect further, I’m simply here to inform you of the pending decision.”

Dropmix didn’t move.

He felt like if he did—if he shifted so much as a fraction of an inch—something inside him would break loose and start to burn. Like letting himself speak too much, move too fast, would mean the entire dam would give way and drag everything down with it. All his pride. All his restraint. Everything he'd spent cycles building just to stay functional.

He stared at the datapad again.

TRANSFER REQUEST: JEOPARDY.

He knew the phrasing. He’d read and signed enough of them over the years—transfers, resignations, post-battle reallocations. He knew what it meant when someone didn’t list a specific conflict. It meant there was one. And that the person on the receiving end of it would never be told the full reason why.

The dark mech would never get to know what pushed him away, just that something did. Some unraveling of the truth that he failed to mend would cost him Jeopardy—Dropmix would lose everything.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Dropmix’s voice, when it came again, was low. Flat. “What happens if I reject it?”

Rumbleclutch didn’t answer right away. Not because he didn’t know, Dropmix was sure—but because he knew exactly what that question meant, and what it didn’t.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, hydraulics whining faintly with the motion. “If you reject it, the request goes up the chain. I will have to do a more thorough evaluation of the situation and your suitability for your current position.”

The mottled mech’s voice wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a threat. It was fact—solid and irrefutable, like the weight of a locked door. The implication settled between them like a thick, choking fog.

Dropmix knew what it meant.

He knew how thin the wire was. How close everything had been to unraveling since the mission. Since the gas. From the moment Jeopardy started looking at him like he was a stranger.

It didn’t matter how hard he worked or how perfectly he performed—if it came down to a thorough search, revealing his secrets… he’d lose.

He’d lose Jeopardy anyway.

The datapad still trembled faintly in his grip, the flicker of his internal stabilizers barely compensating. His thumb dragged just above Jeopardy’s signature, not quite touching it, but tracing the shape like it would offer answers. It didn’t. It never did.

Dropmix inhaled, a deep, calculated vent. His optics dimmed briefly, a false calm washing over him like a shutter between stormfronts. When he spoke, it was quieter than before, but no less steady. “Let me talk to him.”

Rumbleclutch was quiet again. Not in hesitation—he didn’t do hesitation—but in consideration. Watching. Calculating.

And Dropmix could feel it.

That measured, tactical silence, the kind that could either open a door or seal it shut. It slid under his plating and curled around the back of his neck like ice. If Rumbleclutch said no, that would be it. No more careful silences. No more eye contact in the halls. No more Jeopardy in his medbay. Just a blank space where something vital used to live. Something fragile and strange and important.

Jeopardy would be gone forever.

The thought alone made his engine stall and his spark stutter.

After a few long seconds, the CO inclined his head, just barely.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow,” Rumbleclutch said. “You have one conversation. You don’t change his mind, I process the request.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they were heavy. Steel-clad and absolute.

Dropmix nodded once. He didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He just accepted the terms with a quiet dignity, like a soldier handed a weapon too old and worn for a clean shot.

Rumbleclutch didn’t linger. He turned with military efficiency, boots echoing once on the polished floor, before the door hissed shut behind him.

Then the silence returned.

It felt different now. Heavier. More final. Like a looming threat, the silence that would consume his life if Jeopardy did leave.

Dropmix stared at the datapad for a long time before he finally set it down on the berth beside him. He exhaled, long and trembling, and let his frame slump forward just a little, shoulders bowing like the weight had finally sunk claws into his joints.

One conversation.

One shot.

He couldn’t screw this up.

[heirloomgem]

Infatuation Series

Summary: Small snippets and cute scenes on your crush on Sung Jinwoo and how Sung Jinwoo courts and wins over you in high school after using the cup of reincarnation.

His sole purpose in this life is to win your heart, become your faithful husband, and have you be the mother of his children. No one else but you. (Mini chapters)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning/Genre: OOC, Romance, fluff, high school life (Sorry for the miss grammar)

Chapter 1: Chances

Lately, you have been too flustered for your own good but that’s because you’ve started liking someone.

In a classroom filled with students, the sound of pens scratching on paper echoed as students took notes while listening to their teacher.

Some people were diligent, some were dozing off and some were distracted, and you were among them.

Twirling your pen in one hand and leaning on the other, you did your best to listen to the lesson.

However, the calm spring breeze coming through the window seemed to lull you, and your mind gradually began to drift away.

Slowly, your eyes were closing.

Just as you were about to nod off, you caught yourself and quickly straightened up. Opening the back of your notebook you opted to doodle so you won't fall asleep.

It begins with a flower, followed by a bear, a knight's helmet, dragon wings, a dagger and various other unusual and unrelated items until finally you unconsciously draw a chibi version of him.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

Sung Jinwoo.

A second-year student in your high school, whom you started liking recently.

He was your senior by a year as you were in your first year. He was one of the handsome, popular and competent students in your school that most girls fawn over and for boys to idolize.

Like most girls in your school, you were no different from them, who accidentally glanced at him and were instantly smitten.

Foolishly and stupidly smitten.

You didn't know why, but after catching a glimpse of his soft black hair reminiscent of the night, his slender yet beautiful grey eyes, framed by long eyelashes, and his lips, which had a slight reddish tint.

That day, a deep sense of familiarity surged within you. Those feelings captured you and he entangled you with his very being without hesitation.

Even to this day, just remember that moment and how your eyes met made your body heat up, your cheeks flush and a deep aching echo inside you.

Finishing your doodle, you took a moment to admire your drawing of him.

Even though it's just a silly drawing, you couldn't help but caress his small face. A sweet smile appeared on your lips before shaking your head, catching yourself.

Looking at the front, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw that the teacher and your classmates didn't catch you making a silly face out of nowhere and were focused on the lesson instead.

You didn't want anyone, particularly your teacher, to catch you daydreaming especially when your mind wandered toward your silly little crush or else with just a slip everyone in your school would talk about it no doubt and soon he would hear about it.

Just imagining his uncomfortable expression made you shudder, scared and embarrassed.

There's no way you would be able to endure such humiliation if such a thing were ever to happen.

Slapping yourself awake, you flip your notes back and resume jotting down points.

Soon the bell rang, signalling for a break.

You gratefully took the time to stretch your stiff body, worn from sitting in class for almost half of the day. Hearing your bones crack, you let out a sigh of relief, you turn toward your friend before happily inviting her to go out and buy some snacks.

Walking down the hallways while talking to your friend, you furtively give a few glances at his classroom as you pass it. Hoping to catch a glance of him.

However, it seems that luck wasn't on your side, as you didn't even see a glimpse of his clothes. A sense of sadness envelops you, leaving you disheartened.

Unfortunately, you weren’t in the same class or year as him so there were only a few times when you could see him.

Although you envy the students that were in the same year as him, that didn’t dismay you from time to time to wander the hallways of his classroom to try to catch sight of him.

This was one of the few times you hoped to see him, but it seemed the gods were not in your favour today.

You haven't seen nor heard of him at all throughout the morning and now it's already past noon.

You were hoping to at least even just once, you would see him.

Glumly choosing some snacks, you paid right away and waited for your friend's turn before the both of you walked back to your classroom.

Your head hung low as you considered the rest of the day would be unmotivated and restless due to not seeing him.

You wonder why you weren't born in the same year as him. If you had been, you might have had the chance to be with him that year or, even better, have him as your classmate instead of your senior.

Probably because you were too busy weeping childishly, you didn't pay enough attention to where you were going, causing you to crash into someone.

Expecting the painful impact, you held your breath when suddenly, you felt a strong hand holding your waist and pulling you into a warm embrace, steadying your fall.

With your heart racing from fright and still dazed from the incident, it took you a moment to come to your senses before you looked up, ready to apologize.

But your eyes widened instead, your tongue stuck in your throat, and not a word came out.

You felt your face blush uncontrollably, and your whole body trembled. This time, you knew your heart was racing not from fright, but from the nervousness of your crush's sudden appearance.

Standing face to face with your crush, Sung Jinwoo, you could feel his breath as your faces were close to each other, his head bent down, looking at you.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” He asked as he gave you a worried look while you, in turn, could only look at him with your mouth wide open.

Both of your friends, who saw the whole situation stood frozen.

For one, your friend knows who your crush is while the other was bewildered with the whole situation.

Lifting his eyes, Sung Jinwoo’s eyebrow furrowed, concerned in his beautiful grey eyes, then brought a hand to touch your forehead which was now red from the earlier collision with his back.

“Your forehead’s bruised. We should go to the infirmary.” He murmured as he caressed your forehead.

Feeling his gentle touch, you snap out of your bewilderment and start rambling nonsensically, your arms flailing, your voice squeaking, and your face all messed up.

You couldn't help but cry in your heart.

Of all times, your bad luck just has to kick you when you least expected it and now you're making a fool of yourself in front of him.

Worst of all you just showed him yourself gawking at him unreservedly.

Not taking it anymore and embarrassed from head to toe, you immediately took your friend’s hand, apologizing before dashing away from the awkward situation.

You’re sure not only your face but your whole body is red as a tomato. Your back sweating profusely.

You’ve always imagined countless scenarios in your head. If you ever got the chance to talk to him, you would act smoothly and gracefully, ensuring that not a hint of your crush would show.

But now! BUT NOW!

You cried in despair.

God! You wish you could burrow yourself in a hole.

You were just grateful that only the four of you were in the hallway; otherwise, not only would you be mortified by your embarrassment, but you were certain that his fans would be furious with you for getting too close to him. And for sure you would be dead meat by the end of the day.

You were so grateful that wasn't the case.

As you and your friend were still running toward your class, a shameless thought popped into your mind, causing your once-red face to turn even redder.

Even though it was but a moment, you shamelessly recalled how his body felt against you.

His body was hard and built.

If you bet with anyone that he absolutely has abs even though he's only a high schooler, you will surely win.

With your mind clouded by immoral thoughts, you didn't notice the classroom door was closed, resulting in you running into it.

A loud sound echoed down the hallway, causing your friend to yelp in concern at your unhinged state.

You muttered a whole storm of curses under your breath.

You're certain the gods intended for you to die in shame today, leaving no corpse behind.

Meanwhile...

As Jinwoo watched you run off, he chuckled, his ears turning red from your cute reaction. After all this time, he had finally reunited with you.

He is eagerly looking forward to the days when you two can finally be together again.

A/N: Ahh, the taste of high school crushes! It’s so fresh but SO cringe at the same time, I couldn’t help but look back at my past crushes. SO CRINGE AND YET SO BITTER AND SO GOOD! Lol!🤣

Anyway, Sorry for the late post. Life has been too busy though I hope you enjoyed this fanfic!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

[hooffuloftootsierolls]

In light of the reveal of Abel's complete design, have this dumb doodle i made on magma a week ago based on an interaction my bsf @plushtoothpanic acted out while we were joking about Vivziepop's lack of diversity(the dog character is his sona).

Also, rant below involving Abel, I don't want this to become a critical blog since Hazbin has held a special place in my heart since 2021, but oh my God I am so sick of the shit that Vivzie is pulling

Making Adam white was already quite a choice, I had a pretty specific vision of a dark-skinned curly-haired man before his face was revealed. Although I had been expecting a biblically-accurate Adam, I didn't mind having him white as long as Eve wasn't made white as well.

Abel's design throws this out the window.

First let's focus on Abel being the child of Adam and Eve. This means Eve is white, and likely also blonde. Historically, the first humans were East/South African, and not white. Ok, well what about biblically? The popular depictions of biblical figures are mainly European interpretations from when Europe adapted the Bible and made all the figures pale, like them. It's more likely that the dark-skinned writers that originally complied stories into the Bible meant for the figures to look more like them. It would make more sense if one or both of them was dark.

Saint Peter is a whole nother' piss drawer that I don't wanna open, but whitewashing an actual human being that existed is just so gross.

Now, the other thing I wanna talk about that talks less about race and more about theories surrounding Abel being blonde... People were already theorizing that maybe one of the kids was Lucifer's spawn because of the implied affair with Eve. It wasn't the most popular theory but now it's making a comeback with the reveal of Abel's complete design.

I dislike this theory(besides the fact that it's just stupid) because

1. Cain is Adam and Eve's firstborn son. Abel is their second. Even if Eve and Lucifer had an affair in Eden, that would result in Cain, not Abel. Also we aren't entirely aware of Lucifer's powers involving entering the living world but I doubt he can canonically go there, or at least not after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden, since Hell was made as a punishment for him and any mortal that sins and I don't think he would be able to waltz back to Earth that easily. I suppose maybe they could be twins and Cain could just have been the first one born, but I don't think that's usually what "firstborn" implies, or how it's generally interpreted?

2. This is gonna look really bad on Lucifer's part?? Like, this implies that Lilith left Adam for Lucifer, then Lucifer got with Eve(possibly cheating on Lilith if she wasn't aware/didn't consent to the affair) and cucked Adam for a second time???? Lucifer would straight-up be getting the Stolas treatment where they keep making him more and more shitty then try to justify it anyways. Cmon guys.. I wanna be able to cheer for Lucifer too but he doesn't seem remorseful at all for anything he's done, more like he's been playing the victim for a decamillennium despite being a possible cheater and the one who destroyed Adam and Eve's life.

3. How would this be plot-relevant at all?? My closest guess is to make a disconnect from Adam like "oh he was never my ACTUAL father anyways" and also to try and make a bond with Abel and Charlie being blood-related so he would decide to side with her or something. Also on top of that I hate the whole trope of someone suddenly not giving a fuck about the parents who raised them in favor of their biological parents who didn't raise them. It's a dumb trope and if this theory is canon and they pull something like that.... ughh.

yeah. Overall, too many Aryans, pleasepleasepleaseplease pleaseeep please don't make Eve white even though I know they will anyways, and if that stupid theory is true then Lucifer is a snake-tongued, home-wrecking, unfaithful pile of shit that is disguised as a poor depressed dad that the fandom eats up and woobifies. Not that I don't want him to have flaws, but he doesn't seem very sorry for what he did(he has his whole snake and apple motif, that's like saying you feel guilty for a murder then using the hyper-specific murder weapon as your symbol) and also Abel being his son would be such an unnecessary plotline that would make him look soooo so so so so much worse because he wouldn't have much of a wholesome excuse for that.

The only good things I'm getting out of this are that I can post about Abel without having to tag it as leaks and also people are cracking jokes about Abel being the son of Lucifer and Adam

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

A link design!!! For a story that’s solid enough in my head to possibly become a comic ehehe

some notes:

Link has been Heroing for some time now, with minimal success. He’s a bit grumpy.

he also has a bulky brown overcoat, but I haven’t figured out what it looks like yet so i didn’t draw it lol

the gloves are to hide his scar, but also help in the cold. Because this Hyrule is rather cold :)

The overtunics are both pretty new, which is the only reason they aren’t torn to bits. The same person who made them mended his pants and made his hat, which is why the patches match cloth in other parts of his outfit.

the scar on his face is from a lizalfos. I figured, if the Dilophosaurus in Jurassic Park gets to spit acid, then shouldn’t a lizalfos get to too? So it’s an acid burn. He’s lucky he dodged most of it!

I’m still figuring out how to accurately depict the scars, so they don’t look quite right yet! With research and practice I’ll get there!

the other scar I will not get into for plot reasons hehe

This is the same story the above Zelda design is for!! I’ve posted her design in varying stages before, here, here and here, but the story in the previous posts has changed a bit since!! There are also some really old doodles of Link if you (hehe) follow the links.

the above is Zelda’s formal dress. I designed it with a girl a little younger than her in mind, because she loses most of her wardrobe when she’s about 12! So I really ought to draw this on her younger self XD

Finally, scrapped Ganondorf and Link designs!!!

don’t look into these too much as I’m only putting them here because I’ll never post them otherwise; they do not fit the story at all lol

Ganondorf is gonna be… really hard to design… I made him a very complex character and his personality is so intertwined with the story there is a lot to be taken into account XD

ummm that’s all for now!!! I doubt many people will read all this but feel free to send asks if you have questions nevertheless :D

[brights-place]

if you are still doing spiderman can you do a miles morales 1610 x a reader who’s a singer (billie eilish coded) do whatever you want with the plot I just wanna see this written

[ITSV] Miles 1610! & Singer! Reader Warnings: None A/N: This one was fun to write so I hope you enjoy this half assed writing of headcannons

Summary: Miles morales 1610 x a reader who’s a singer

- You as a singer have a haunting, ethereal voice and a dark, edgy aesthetic think oversized clothes, melancholic lyrics, and killer eyeliner.

- Miles was instantly intrigued when he first saw you perform at a community event. The atmosphere, the emotion in your voice it left him stunned.

- He's a little intimidated by your cool, mysterious vibe at first - He actually meets you after accidentally webbing into a fire escape near your apartment during patrol. He tries to play it cool, but ends up awkwardly fumbling. - You were sitting on the fire escape with headphones in and sketching lyrics in a notebook, just raises an eyebrow and says, “You good, Spider-Boy?” He’s both embarrassed and smitten.

- when your fame was starting to rise, and with it comes pressure managers, image expectations, nonstop rehearsals. Miles is their escape from that. - In turn, Your one of the few people who gets to see the real Miles, not just Spider-Man. - Late-night phone calls turn into jam sessions You singing softly over Miles’ beatboxing or him messing with sound loops on his laptop.

- He calls your voice “magic,” and you call his sketches “stories waiting to be drawn.” - Miles takes candid photos of you when your in element singing in a hoodie under neon lights, scribbling lyrics while curled up in bed, laughing over tacos.

- You keeps one of his doodles in your lyric journal a little cartoon version of you singing while Miles listens with heart eyes.

- Miles doesn’t get jealous easily, but when you have to do a moody duet with another artist, he definitely watches the performance twice... just to "analyze it."

- You see right through him and tease him for him “You want me to write you a diss track?” - But when Miles struggles with the weight of being Spider-Man, You always reminds him, “You carry the city on your back, and I carry you.”

-You eventually finds out about his secret identity after a close call. You patch him up and say, “I’ve written songs about heartbreak, but this? This is real.”

- You write a whole track inspired by him, filled with metaphors and coded lines about shadows, swinging through doubt, and loving a ghost.

[dailynoodlezz24]

I've drawn Marcille with the idea of her being a deer/elk as a chimera, that's also based off of her dungeon lord outfit, but then a goat appealed to me and it makes a LOT more sense. An animal often sacrificed, but could also be the one who is sacrificed to. In a way Marcille used herself as a goat reviving Falin, and yada yada-- I think this is going somewhere. Mithrun would go apeshit, no doubt. But I love doomed yuri, love it a bunch, so a pheonix is such an interesting choice because I already have a sad little intricate plot in my head with it in mind

A really old and really silly sketch, but I found bells on the types of animals who are known to be quiet are a fitting design

The goat one is quite literally the deer draft but with meaner horns and coined pupils. Both were based off of her dungeon lord outfit since: fluffy. But bruh?? I don't have creativity stores-- all depleted. Gone. Ate it all the night I came home with wrapping paper and a sword gilded sword(with sword prints ON the prints)

Now I got a WHOLE doc just for this one; see that flying serpent right in the corner? Took the multi wings and tail frizzle(it doesn't have that, but I didn't want to add a pair of pings on a tail) right from it. I had THOUGHTS and IDEAS

basic idea: she's got a LOT of new stuff only to be hindered by it because her body is NOT built to do the things it does. Her human half is still as flammable as it can get, which would be "compensated" by Phoenixes defining trait: resurrection Plays WELL with how destructive Marcille is, both to herself and foes And here are weeks OLD doodles that have marinated in my brain juice

[altocat]

i'm sorry I need more of that time travel au of cloud meeting sane sephiroth

HEHEHE

Sephiroth mostly spends all his time doing mundane paperwork in his office while Cloud spies on him in the vents. He gets really excited when he sees that Sephiroth is scribbling down something sus at the corner of one of the documents..........it's just a doodle of a cat.

SEPHIROTH BURNING DOWN THE ENTIRE BATTLEFIELD...and then immediately putting out the flames because he doesn't want his men getting burned. Fire safety is important!

Cloud bristles when Sephiroth starts hanging around Zack. Oh gods is he going to threaten to KILL him? Turns out Seph and Zack just went to engage in a casual training spar, complete with Zack telling Sephiroth about the history of cheese or some shit.

Cloud asks Sephiroth what the word "Jenova" means to him. Sephiroth perks up at once and shows Cloud the irl composite sketch he made based on his memory of his locket. He looks unbelievably proud of himself.

Cloud asks Sephiroth what he WANTS.

"Oh um...I would request that Lazard raise the AC a bit in the main office. It gets a bit drafty in the evening."

Cloud stalks Sephiroth in the kitchen. Sephiroth is just sitting there eating cup noodles.

SMUG SEPHIROTH SMIRK?!?!?! Oh it's because he "accidentally" spilled ketchup on the take-home medical form Hojo assigned him.

Sephiroth is sitting motionless on the couch, no doubt having a mental breakdown and plotting some sort of revenge!

....He's just looking at a scrapbook of memories Angeal made for him. The one in the middle featuring the First Trio dramatically pointing at a suggestively-shaped cactus formation in the middle of the fucking desert.

Cloud being so fucking pissed, so fucking DONE, so ready to find ANYTHING on this guy.

Sephiroth in the background asking Zack if knitting would improve his dexterity.

[frango-maconheiro]

remembered of this doodle just now after some days and colored the rest of it,,,,, when i was making it, i was thinking of what epic plot i'd make for an EW dating sim (ofc with a Matt route in mind)

epic yapping down ahead with doodles, all about the full concept of my silly idea ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Ok soooo matt's route plot in the first playthrough would go normal. Idk what i'd use for an introduction but it'd probably be like,,, one of those cliche first meetings, or with you just already knowing the whole gang and coming closer to hangout. Both options BEFORE meeting would have that one 'haha, you have like 5 options to go and each one leads eventually to one of the love interests introduction'

The first playthrough would feature a few months of development between you both, and it would end right before the start of the WTFuture eddisode, with the both of you in the beggining of dating.

(silly doodle i made of how a sprite of him would be in a date at a restaurant with you at first playthrough :b)

okay, okay, now hear me out,,,, if you went his route for a second playthrough, shit would be mad different.

At the second playthrough you'd be playing in the dimension in which he becomes the ruler of the world, following the ending of the first one.

You, along with everyone, became matt's loyal worshippers, meaning your relationship with him is now vastly different, creating a whole new dynamic. He'll be the one to approach you, immediatly ask you to be his, and from then on you'll follow along with him while he is still enjoying having the world at his hands.

Some time spent with him and the sparks of pure admiration are already dying down because matt would be insufferable. You'd be starting to question some things and doubt his legitimacy, because there's no way he wouldn't slip up about some shit, like, maybe you asked him about how did he do some grand event and he'd accidently mention the name of the REAL person who had such event occur.

The worse is that matt would think that the whole brainwashing he made across the world would make you unable of questioning him, so he'd be not cautious at all around you, especially because he's subconsciously thinking of you as the you from the first playthrough, but just a bit more praising and super eager to do what he wants.. is what he tells himself at least. you're not really the same as the you from the original timeline and a lot of things about you ended up changing because of how the world developed with him as a leader.

And that is how this idiot eventually slips up in less than a month together, and you discover that all this time, instead of being this powerful imortal being matt portrayed himself as, he was just some loser who time travelled and fucked up the timeline. That information would then break the whole image you had of him, making you distance yourself.

he'd panic and shit, because why the hell is his partner avoiding him and accusing him of being a fraud??? But, that's actually the perfect excuse to go back to the normal timeline!

matt would think he could escape all of this so easily so he'd just find a way of making shit go back to normal. Being on power has you crazy... not like he wasn't before, i mean, it's matt.

sooo anyway, at the same time he'd be finished with his timeline resetter, you'd be searching for him to finally confront him properly and you'd find him right before he restarted all.

You'd try stopping whatever he was doing as you heard him tell you that this was necessary, jumping onto him, but it'd be too late. The world ended up collapsing onto static and soon... you wake up.

(silly doodle of a sprite of him in an average situation of him being praised by you for no apparent reason.)

this part is more focused on your pov after those events, because is it really a good dating sim without you having a brain?

when you wake up, the plot from the first playthrough would be back but now you're conscious. You're confused at the strange memories surfacing in your brain, everything so real and detailed, you could barely began to consider it all a dream. What was all of that about?

And now it's just you now unable to see matt the same way, trying to act casual and after a day you somehow convince yourself it was all a silly dream and tell matt about it, creating an awkward silence in the room.

After that it's simple. The plot would follow another build up, but one in which you, as the normal person, would take the time to comprehend and accept what happened, rethinking your morals, your choices and just everything in general about your relationship with matt. you'd need that time, buddy. trust me. i think waking you after discovering your new partner brainwashed the whole world and had you .

What about matt? well this mf is right now at your doorstep, or the window, he could be even at the backyard if he finds a way there. Genuinely, don't open for him. He had you kissing his shoes in that dead timeline, have some pride, bro.. even if he might be looking like a wet kitten, puffy eyes, crazed look in his eyes, and begging for forgiveness on his knees multiple times.

You're the first one to ever actually want to date him, as much as he'd ever like to act nonchalant, he has NO idea if he'll ever find anybody else as patient. cool, and amazing as you. i mean,,, who else would be willing to do the most random boring shit with him, and still manage to have soi much fun besides you?

anyway,,,, at the end of it, you sort out your thoughts and you're ready to sit down with matt and sort it out.

Maybe you decided that the two of you should go separate ways, maybe you wanted to be just friends, or maybe you're still up for dating. I wouldn't like to force the player to just date him at the end of it.

and for the final treat, you receive this doodle of matt after you gave him a lil' kiss if you chose to stay dating. He wouldn't have guessed that you'd still want his crazy ass so he'd be way beyond surprised.

[leoruby-draws]

Decided to add another member to the Training Wheels Outlaw team, Gillian Wahrman aka Wyldheart!

This spirited young girl is a very obscure character seen in Grant Emerson's 1994 book Damage! She's only ever seen in relation to Grant, and Grant's a bit obscure himself, so she has very little appearances in the comics.

From what little we saw of her, she seemed fairly nice and pretty naive, I'm guessing she was pretty sheltered in life. Her adoptive father, Abriam Wahrman , found her in a spacecraft as a baby, so she kinda has a superman style origin (in fact, I thought she could fit the team as the superman expy, but I ended up having other ideas...).

Her father is part of the organization that gave Grant his powers but are also trying to hunt him down. She and Grant ended up as friends, but are keeping their friendship a secret for now. For now it works, tho I doubt that'll stay the case. She and Grant get along very well, he helps ground her and tries to prevent people from taking advantage of her naivety. In turn she helps him lighten up a bit and have fun!

Anyways, when she learned about Grant hanging out with this strange group, she decided she wanted in! And so she did! Jason is amused if a bit overwhelmed by her positivity, he's not quite sure how to deal with her but at least he has fun with her. The rest of the team likes her cheerfulness, bit of a break from the more serious and 'edgy' members attitudes.

Here's a couple of extra doodles of Gillian meeting the others:

This last one is was a first draft of her, I'll be real her outfit is kinda strange, simultaneously both overly designed and yet super basic. I didn't really like it honestly, but I could see underneath all that there was a way to make it work. I'm not sure if I succeeded, might've oversimplified it but I tried.

Now I'm gonna stop right here and talk about something real quick. If you go over to the DC fandom wiki and go to Gillian's page, here's what you see in the sidebar:

Is this some sort of mistake? I don't know if I missed something, but in none of her appearances was she shown to be a New God or Genesisian. Was she planned to be one but the writers dropped that plot point? Or did they not get the chance since Grant's book got canceled? If not, why did the wiki put that in? I don't know man, but I really do like that idea, like a lot. In fact in my au, she is in fact a New God! Perhaps her parents got in trouble of sorts and maybe sent her away to protect her? I'm kinda wanna make up a story of the parents being on opposite sides and their Romeo/Juliet romance caused an uproar. I'm not too well versed in New God lore, so I don't if that would work but it's one idea at least.

Here's a page of Gillian finding out her heritage:

Everyone looks shocked! (btw that guy in the back is Iron Munro, who helps out Grant sometimes). If Gillian's a new god, what would she be the god of? Maybe something like Harmony or Joy.

Well I hope to draw Gillian some more, she's a pretty fun addition to the team, and I hoped you liked all this!

A correction! Gillian is a New God, it's explained in Damage #8!

This is what happens when you speed 'read' and completely look over the details. Sorry about that, I can be pretty spacey sometimes. Thanks to @isfjmel-phleg for the correction! Still isn't it cool and unique that Gillian's a new god? DC should bring her back!

[dayntee]

[Fic] That Year at Arlathan University - Ch. 26: Bellanaris* (Finale)

The last couple of weeks have made the sprint to this final goal harder than I thought it would be. See, I started this fanfiction back in January of this year, mostly as a joke in response to a handful of hilarious doodles by @sky-blue-siha on the Fen’Harem server. I thought it was going to just be a series of silly, comedic vignettes and one-off jokes for fun and maybe a little bit of literary exercise.

Then, somehow, this fucking plot slapped me upside the head and demanded it receive my full attention. Half a year later, here we are—at the end of a long, strange journey with a group of alternative universe (alternate university?) characters that I’ve grown to love, a cracked new ship that has me in a death grip, and a final word count over 135,000 that makes up more than 70% of my current total content on my AO3 account.

What the hell, Solas, this is very clearly your fault in particular.

The difficulty came in wanting to get things right, but I realized (along with some encouragement and help from my friends at the Fen’Harem) that my instincts were always right. People have kept reading this because I’ve kept writing it and they see or at least enjoy the same vision I do. Once I stopped worrying about getting it perfect, it all just fit into place.

I’ve never committed to a project like this or finished writing something this long in my life. It’s taught me a lot of things, like how I actually am capable of finishing a creative project, where my strengths and weaknesses lie in my writing, that it’s perfectly acceptable and actually kinda healthy for me to write smut, and finally that I had lost sight of exactly how passionate I truly am about writing. And I will keep writing—both fanfiction and exploring my own personal stuff, because now, I know I can do it. And if I ever doubt that I can do it again, I can look back on this weird, wonderful journey and remind myself that I have the proof it’s possible.

Okay, anyway, enough introspection. Have some elves kissing, fucking, and talking about their future. There’s one last thing I’ll post next week (just going on a quick vacation and want to make sure I’ve made my finishing touches). It’ll be a short epilogue roughly 2.5-3k in length that covers where I think I’d go if I decided to pick these weirdos back up again in the future.

Preview below the cut and full chapter on AO3.

*****

Finally, summer had arrived. Ellana was thankful for the warmth on her skin as she took what had now become her daily afternoon walk through campus. Sleep was becoming more difficult by the day; the Anchor wore on her in every manner. It was physically taxing to use and maintain, it had painful flare ups that were become more unpredictable and frequent, and she resented it for the increasing weight on her soul at every reverent nod and deferential “Inquisitor” thrown her way.

She grew quickly to hate the title, though she understood the need for it. Leliana had masterfully woven a clever solution amid the chaos.

Her responsibilities felt endless. She was expected in Chantry delegation meetings, veritable war rooms where international politics were discussed and manipulated. The disaster that had occurred on campus impacted every faction who held an investment in the school. Everyone wanted to know the truth and what the future would hold.

Everyone also wanted it to be in their favor.

The official story the Chantry submitted was that, in her hour of need, the Inquisitor had been blessed by Andraste herself with the power to stabilize the Breach. While Ellana had agreed to become Inquisitor, the suggestion that she was some Herald of Andraste felt wrong, and she did her best to delicately sidestep and not offend when asked about her religious station. The various shemlen nations and the majority of media outlets were content to accept such dogma as fact.

The elves, particularly of Arlathan, knew better.

“You can’t hide from them forever, Solas,”

Once she had arrived to the recently reopened Haven Hall, she was unsurprised to find her beloved with his forehead firmly planted on the surface of his desk. He had tossed his glasses far enough that they teetered on the edge of the surface and, from what she could tell, he was literally heads down in a stack of inquiries and requests from the Veil Jumper Preservation Society.

The initial proposal had come in weeks ago, a plea for him to adopt his mantle of Fen’Harel more publicly and lead the charge in course-correcting the records of elvish history. Solas had been steadfast in ignoring these requests by leveraging his teaching burdens as an excuse.

It was a thin excuse and they both knew it.

Continue reading on AO3.

[merbear25]

Been thinking a lot about Caesar...

Been thinking about how difficult it'd be to set your suspicions aside. Despite his calming and inviting demeanor, his actions deteriorate those around him—decay and peril extending out of his finger tips.

A talented mind being applied to such chaos and suffering: when paired with a wide grin, doubt in his sincerity blanketed over you. Fearing what could happen if you were caught off guard, planning precautions ensued. However, he'd be keeping an eye on you, even when you thought you were alone.

You were refraining from getting too close to him; you'd witnessed too many fall victim to having the life sucked out of them or being overly trusting, leading them to nightmarish experiments. Naivete was acting as an opiate—omitting any sense to resist, making them malleable.

Keeping track of what exactly set him off, you'd jot each one in your notebook. In doing this, you were picking up on certain habits of his, which were ones that might be seen as endearing if it were anyone else: babbling to himself if he made a careless miscalculation, how animated he'd get around certain people, and the way he threw his hair up in a huff while working.

Danger comes in all shapes and sizes, though. Unbeknownst to you, he was just as cautious of you as you were of him. Having his fair share of trust issues, he'd been keeping tabs on you since you waltzed into his life. He kept an eye on everyone, but you and your most recent behavior set off alarms.

Lurking behind each corner, staying just out of sight, so as not draw your attention to him, he observed you. Distrust made his chest heave, while watching you scribble something in your notebook. Forboding casted itself, consuming any ability for reconsideration.

Hissing from what sounded like a busted pipe caused fear to wrap around your heart, making you break out in a cold sweat. Shortly after the first signal of his presence was released, the gas clouds trailed up and over your body and dispersed around you.

Too nervous to turn around to face him, you calmly closed your notebook and waited.

"What have you been up to?"

There was no malice in his words, yet you knew better than to take him at face value. "I was just finishing up the notes from earlier. You know, before I forgot."

Locks of his hair drapped over you as he leaned in. He whispered, "How long did you think you'd be able to hide this from me?"

Attempting to suppress your rising heart rate, you assured him you'd been keeping to your work as normal.

He placed a hand down firmly on the table next to your notebook. Going wide-eyed at his sudden falter in patience, you peared down at what contained all that you'd written down on him.

"In that case, you won't mind if I take a look, will you?" His other hand snaked around from the other side.

When he threw the cover open, you shut your eyes, not being able to bear witnessing death closing in on you. After a few moments passed, you were shaking from anticipation of the punishment he'd surely cast down on you—but nothing was happening. Cautiously, you opened one eye to see which page he'd opened to: those of his personal habits, along with the little hearts doodled next to some of them were glaring back at you.

Not knowing whether you would've preferred to be slain for plotting against him or from your own humiliation, you sat where you were—staring at the pages that'd betrayed you.

Breaking the silence, he let out a chuckle, "Had no idea you were the type to get 'love sick'."

NSFW below the cut!!! fem!reader, teasing, fingering, vaginal penetration

Shell shock still effecting you, you weren't able to muster an excuse.

"Don't worry, dear. Your little secret is safe with me," he laughed a bit harder this time, the irony was too sweet not to torment you with. Calming down from that outburst, he leaned in again and brought his hands nearer to you. "That is, on one condition."

With surprise replacing your fear, you'd unfortunately allowed yourself to fall pray to his trickery just as the others had. "What is it?"

Tilting his head up to ponder, he laid his hands on your shoulders saying, "Hm, I may have a suitable solution." Offering his hand, he lured you in with a simple command, "Follow me."

Finding yourself in his bedroom made you halt in your tracks. "Did we...take a wrong turn?" Denial passed over your lips of what was about to unfold.

"Surely you can't be as naive as the others." Grinning down at you, he ran his hand over your dress, cupping your breast just before you pulled away in disbelief.

"Don't tell me you were scribbling hearts in your journal next to my name as a bluff."

While backing away, you stumbled and tripped onto the floor. Having fallen on your tailbone, you winced from the sudden pain.

Cocking his head at you, he sighed, "You may, however, be more hopeless than the others." In one swoop, he tossed you on the bed. Not having enough time to process what was happening, he took advantage of your vertigo—climbing on top of you, releasing spores of arousal with each shift he made.

Having picked up on your nerves, he started out slowly: rubbing your legs, running his hands up your dress, and circling his thumbs at the top of your pubic bone. He was observing your expressions and body language, all of which were hinting that you were getting rather excited.

Laying down next to you, he had you wrapped in his arms. Opening your legs, he ran his hand over your panties, which were already set to be rung out. Witnessing the affects he had on you, he pressed his hardening member against your leg while twirling his fingers around your clit.

This was proving to be too much for you; you were feeling overwhelmed from the rushes of lust and uncertainty towards him. "I don't know if I can do this," you breathed heavily, trying to avert your eyes, which had already begun to blur from the much awaited release you'd secretly been after.

He nuzzled against the top of your head, caressing your weeping slit. "Your body is calling out for me though. Why should it be denied what it's obviously craving?"

You bit at your bottom lip as you felt him grind up against your thigh again; your chest was falling and rising from the build up which you were hanging on by a thread.

Sensing you were cracking, the drive to push you past your limits took over; he forced your delicates to the side, partcially exposing your needy pussy. Sliding his fingers inbetween your slick lips, he grinned at the sight of you: clinging to the sheets, already thrusting against him; you were still trying to resist, although your will-power was hurridly reaching its breaking point.

Watching you deperately chase after your repressed lust, he ripped the top of your dress down, revealing your breasts. Greedily grabbing and clenching them, care was especially given to your erect nipples. You whimpered as he pinched them, testing how easy it'd be to make you crumble from ecstasy.

Rutting against his stiffened length, your hand latched onto his hip to steady yourself. Paying no mind to how he'd been watching you, you failed to notice his dark fantasies coming forth.

Him abruptly tugging your panties off made you gasp―the material left behind red spots from the sudden force. Your shrieks only added to your delectable vulnerability.

After seeing him chuck them off to the side, you felt his bare cock proding you. Pressing against your thigh, the motions from him preparing himself jolted across your lower half.

He forced your legs further apart; a faint whimper came from him when he realized your lower half had been coated in your disgraceful abandonment of morals.

After taking a minute to admire the view, he promptly thrusted inside you. Knowing it'd cause some pain, the sadist in him still yearned to see you squirm. The initial twinge of discomfort wore off, now just fragments scattered amongst your spasming walls.

You both new you wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer. Settling on twirling your pearl against the pad of his finger, he allowed himself the pleasure of watching your breasts chaotically bounce and slap against each other.

Your self-control was failing you: slipping away with each thrust he rammed between your creamy lips. Your breath was shaking as your vision speckled. Feeling you unravel on him unexpectedly forced his own willpower to collapse―joining you in your rapturing frenzy.

As he eased out of you, you let the cum spill out; watching it drip down, you kept the tingles of bliss prickling at the sight of it a secret from him.

You looked over at him to catch a devilish look appear on his face. Forgetting what'd gotten you into this predicament, you casually asked what that look was for.

"Hm? Just thinking about the next secret you'll try to hide from me. You're constantly scribbling in that damn thing, so there should be plenty to blackmail you with."

Your cheeks reddened when thinking back to the incriminating ideas you had. When you shrank away from him, he alluded to his hunches, "This will surely make for a good compromise."

[scribbledpage]

"Fictional...?"

you're part of a fictional series the tmnt2k12 turtles watch

(THIS IS INSPIRED BY THAT ONE LMK POST WITH THE SAME CONECPT AS THIS!! CREDITS TO THE ORIGINAL CREATOR!!)

><><><><

[Leo]

this boy here is a space heroes fan (a super fan), and he's very open about it, so it would be no surprise that he'd be open to being a fan of your show.

he would binge watch the episodes that have you in it, or a you-centric episode constantly or whenever he's feeling down or demotivated.

no matter if it's an action series or a slice-of life series, you inspire him to become a better leader and example to his brothers.

you know that random feeling of motivation when you watch a study vlog or anything inspiring? he'd get that random burst of motivation to train while watching some episodes (in secret, of course).

his brothers, mainly raph, tease him for liking your show and talk about how childish it is(when in reality, they think its a decent series to watch).

no doubt this boy secretly makes 'x reader' fanfiction.

even if you're a side character or comdic relief, he still enjoys the scenes you're in and hyper analyze your traits and makes headcannons.

he'd sometimes use the episodes where there'd be mental health awareness as a guide to look out for signs in his brothers and friends so he can make sure they're okay ♡

he'll rant about your charcater the moment he hears anything related to you(or his headcannons), for example: your favorite colour, a word/phrase you use often, the style of clothing you wear etc.

[Donnie]

he is obsessed with your character.

considering with how obsessed he got with april (within seasons 1-3, i think), he'd have a chart or a notebook dedicated to you.

like, he'd have one whole notebook or chart listing the things you like, dislike, in between, headcannons, things the fandom agrees with, your style, etc.

he can't go about his day without thinking what you would do with him if you were real.

he loves your sass, jokes, and character development in the series (even if most watchers dont see the development at all).

this guy will drop everything at a second he sees merch of your character or a new season release.

he definitely thinks you're underrated in your own show and relates to some of the episodes a bit.

he definitely stayed up late to binge watch episodes instead of working on projects that can help them defeat the kraang.

if you can speak languages other than english, he'd go out of his way to learn said language because of you.

if you dont speak other languages, then he would try out (and love) your hobbies that he found boring at first.

[Raph]

casey had introduced your show to him and he'd rather die than admit that he liked it.

he'd secretly quote some of your underrated lines, and no one would notice (to his relief).

like leo, he'd get random bursts of motivation watching the episodes you're in.

he actually watches the whole series instead of skipping to the part you're in.

he enjoys the plot and your character, and he'd get giddy whenever he sees your character merch or your show's poster if he's patrolling.

he develops some of your habits yet no one pointed it out, until casey.

casey knew raph liked the show, and he'd never stopped teasing raph about it, occasionally ending up with bruises.

thankfully, casey keeps quiet about it.

he doesn't do things all out like donnie but enjoys your character.

his anger issues actually decrease when watching your show

he reacts very heavily to some of the plots like some arguments you had in the show, a betrayal by your trusted ones, you falling in love

like he'll want to scream at each of them(in a good and bad way)

[Mikey]

this man is obsessed.

any reference from your show, he's ranting to the first person he sees (leo is often a victim of this).

he doodles ur character on whatever space he can find. walls, tables, donnie's papers, receipts from april. that's right, he's doodling u

he daydreams. literally.

he'll create little fantasies (no nsfw stuff tho, that's gross) like what it'll be like when ur here in the real world or when u try his homemade pizza for the first time.

like raph, he is bound to squeal or grin whenever there are funny scenes

i feel like he's the type to go crazy whenever a single thought of u or ur show comes to his mind. he's on another level of hyper fixated

[average-riot]

I actually wasn't expecting some silly sketchbook doodles on an au which I didn't even explain properly to get that many notes!! 😭 but here we are, so with a drumroll please...!

Hi ! This is an actual-actual post on my au :)

My bicgest focus on this AU is definitely Noah and Alejandro which I'm not even ashamed in admitting to, but to get this started...

A Separate Peace is a book written in 1958, set during WWII, in all-boys boarding school, which follows Gene (in our case, Noah) and Finny (in our case, Alejandro!). I've heard from a friend it's actually school required reading in some places in the USA, but I'm not fully sure! However, I hope at least some people have read it before, considering it's such a good book...

For an easier time reading this, I'll be use Noah and Alejandro's names, instead of Gene or Finny, when explaining the plot! ✨️

It's all even more striking when he keeps dragging this sullen little thing after him

Both 16, Noah, and Alejandro strike an unlikely friendship during their summer session of 42'. Despite veing roommates, anyone would be lying if they claimed there was no difference between the two: While Noah carries a studious life full of cynicism, there's nothing Alejandro won't do. Full of charisma and athleticism, there is not one person on campus who would not recognize Alejandro's endeavours and who doesn't absolutely adore them.

There's not one single scheme which Alejandro proposes which Noah can refuse to participate in, albeit his existence. That included the creation of the Super Suicide Society of the Summer Session. Not as foreboding as it sounds, really- All in all. Just a club full of boys doing things considered mildly dangerous. Fighting rough, jumping from high places, playing the most obscure games.

So, then, where's the issue again?

You could suppose it's jealousy. Although Noah would hardly admit to that claim. He'd rather call it doubtfulness, as there is much to doubt. What causes someone like Alejandro to stick by him? Surely he has a plan. Surely he's just showing off.

It starts with two boys standing on the branches of a tree, Alejandro almost ready to jump off into the stream of the river below. The climax is a little more weight put forward, subtle, destabilization of the sacred place they both stood on, from Noah. And the scene closes with a fall, a broken leg, and denial.

But that doesn't mean an ending, no.

Autumn's coming, after all !

There's more characters, of course, and some people who I've already assigned! Alongside a few other pieces of art. I could technically put the entire plot of the book in here, but I think I'd rather do that over multiple posts, with a bunch of little art pieces— or maybe even start a fanfic on AO3 to sort of document everything!

But I'm definitely doing more about this. <3 ty for reading and paying even some attention to this silly little project