#the solution is just drawing faster

[drag00ni]

my beautiful wife

[catmask]

meowdy! looks like our move to a new apartment is not going to be so peaceful after all - our old apartment is currently leaking sewage water and we have to evacuate four people and two cats! donations are appreciated, but im opening an emergency sale + commissions too! (more under the cut)

KO-FI SHOP SALE + EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

DISCOUNT CODE IS 'LEAK' IN ALL CAPS

so for this section, i'm going to break down everything thats happening + when things will come off hiatus! i'm hoping that everything will be set up in the new place by JUNE 1st, so that is the hard deadline i'm setting to start all functions up again as usual.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

two years ago, my fiance and i were offered emergency housing when we (very suddenly and tragically) became the parents to his orphaned little sister. both of us are only 26 and had to move 8 hours from where we had been living at the time, so the housing we had was the best 2 people with few connections and no established jobs could find within a single weeks notice.

since then, we have been saving up and working to finally have a proper place to live. and we did so! at the beginning of this month we found an apartment where all of us can move to. we have a friend staying with us who is helping with the move as well.

i really wanted this move to be seamless - basically, you wouldn't have had to know it was happening. we were going to pay double rent for two months while i would stream and work from the old place, and begin sleeping at the new one. its expensive, but i didn't want my real life to trouble anyone here.

unfortunately this is no longer possible. the old building we were staying at had a pipe begin to leak, then eventually flood our entire apartment. this has been a reoccurring problem the landlord hasn't seemed to find a solution for, and it's led to a biohazard where we were planning on slowly moving from - leading to an immediate and emergency evacuation for the safety of everyone in our family.

SO... STREAMING?

will be back online as soon as possible! we moved out our tech as soon as we could due to fear of water damage, and it seems like everything is A-OK. we just need to rebuild my desk and sound proof the new room, so this will probaaabbly be back online within a week? im just going to take the week off to make sure everything is set up and there are no bugs. (digital. digital bugs.)

LAIKA'S COMET?

for the sake of not losing my buffer crazystyle, i'm pausing laika's until JUNE 1st. but i'm going to post one more page right now to leave you guys on a cliffhanger because i think it's funny. (the ko-fi will still update as regular as i finish pages! tbh, in between moving i am going to be drawing.... a LOT... it's like my only self soothing activity i have access to right now </3)

SHOP STUFF?

you basically won't notice a difference. orders go out every 2 weeks anyway, and literally the day before this happened we completely caught up to date. that + all of the goods we had were already moved over because (similar to the tech) we were worried about water damage, so nothing will be yucky... (i dont know if i can say the same about our furniture or clothes ; _ ; )

FINAL NOTES

while we did manage to get out with emergency bags and a weeks worth of outfits + things to sleep on + cook with, we have no real means of knowing the extent of damage until we bring things out of the apartment and clean them here. thankfully *most* things appear undamaged, its largely the flooring and the smell that are unliveable... walking through puddles of sewage water and having to wear a mask to breathe is not really liveable conditions.

however, considering this move is sped up way faster than planned, and i wont be able to work during it - any sales or donations are hugely appreciated. ; w ;

i'm sorry to ask for help like this, and its only if you are comfortable to do so!!! i can work hard, so i don't mind doing a little extra art to make money, this is just if you feel okay to help out and would like to.

if you read this far, thank you so much - hopefully next time i will return with good news - and maybe a new apartment tour...?

[jade-zzz]

INTERMEZZO

( platonic batfam x neglected reader)

SUMMARY : The family reels under a rising tide of public backlash. As headlines vilify their pursuit against crime, an unexpected solution is offered: reaching out to Bruce's estranged firstborn, a figure trusted by the people, ultimately forcing the family to confront their past. TRIGGER WARNINGS ! Child Neglect. No other warnings at this moment.

a/n : this is just me spitting out an old idea i had, most likely wont become a series or a p2. but a lot of neglected reader stories start off with them young and uninvolved with the vigilante scene and i was like 'oh yeah, let me make reader a badass crime fighter so they have a chance against these crazies. if this was longer it would eventually continue into batfam becoming yandere but theres none of that here dw Interactions and Reblogs encouraged!

The Batcave was bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the Batcomputer’s multiple monitors. A sickly blue light flickered over the dark, cavernous space, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch in every direction. The screens were awash in a flood of headlines, each one a blade dipped in poison. Bruce sat motionless before them, his jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin, hard line, as if the words themselves had weight enough to crush him. The same phrases repeated over and over, like the beat of a relentless drum:

“Vigilante Justice: A Dying Breed?”

“Do vigilantes cause escalation in criminal activity?”

“Batman’s War Against Crime: Our Cost”

Each headline felt like a knife twisting deeper, the rot of public opinion spreading faster than a wildfire. The truth, it seemed, no longer mattered—only the perception.

Jason’s figure loomed above them, leaning casually against the railing of the upper level. His arms were folded tightly, muscles tensed in a way that seemed natural to him. The flickering glow of the monitors cast eerie highlights across his face as he surveyed the headlines with squinted eyes. “I gotta admit,” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “This one... actually makes a few decent points.”

“Don’t start,” Dick shot back, his voice sharp but tired. He was sitting on the stone steps, his hand running through his hair in a frustrated motion. 

Tim, seated at the foot of the steps with his legs folded cross-legged and a tablet in hand, was already knee-deep in data, scanning through analytics with practiced ease. Empty energy drink cans—some familiar, some strange—littered the ground around him, a quiet testament to his dedication to stay awake for this situation. "They’re using our own cases against us," Tim said, his voice low and serious, his gaze never leaving the screen. "Even if we are the good guys, that only goes so far. Gotham knows we’re willing to work outside the law.”

The sharp clicking of keys echoed in the cave as Barbara’s fingers flew across the Batcomputer’s keyboard. Every keystroke seemed like a futile attempt to dam the rising tide of bad press. But for every article she deleted, two more appeared. "I won’t be able to keep this under wraps for much longer," she said, her voice tight with frustration. “Gotham Gazette ran the story last night, but now it’s on CNN, Forbes, The Times. The commentators are tearing it apart.”

Barbara paused, scanning an article that flickered on her screen. “It’s all cherry-picked data,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “They’re drawing correlations without even attempting to prove causation. It’s all smoke and mirrors. But people are desperate for a reason to turn against us.” She looked up, her eyes meeting Bruce’s. “And that’s what they want. Someone to blame.”

From the dark corner near the Batmobile, Damian’s voice cut through the tension like a dagger. He had been silent until now, observing from the shadows, his figure barely visible in the dim light. “They don’t want truth,” he said, his tone cold and detached, almost predatory. “They want a scapegoat. And Father”—his eyes flicked to Bruce, his expression unreadable—“is the easiest target.”

No one dared to disagree.

The Batcave settled into a thick, suffocating silence. The low hum of the machines filled the space, a soft, mechanical murmur that only seemed to highlight the oppressive quiet. From the cavernous walls, water dripped steadily, each drop a tiny echo in the vast emptiness. Above them, the city pulsed with life—its towering lights burning bright against the ink-black sky. Below, however, the family who had sworn to protect it sat, bound together by blood, sweat, and the weight of their shared past, in a silence heavier than lead, an unspoken acknowledgment of something that had shifted irrevocably.

Bruce stepped away from the console, his movements slow and deliberate. He stood for a moment, staring at the glowing screens before him, his face drawn, his expression unreadable. “We’ve survived worse.” His voice, when it came, was low—raspy, like it had been dragged through the years with him. Yet there was something different now. This wasn’t just another crisis. It wasn’t just the press or another criminal on the streets. This hit too close to home. This was a reminder of his very beginning, of the fragile thread that connected him to the man he had once been.

‘Armed robbery, double homicide, has a taste for the theatrical, like you.’ The words Jim Gordon had spoken to him long ago echoed in his mind, the memory of that first case—a playing card left behind, like a message that would haunt him forever.

Barbara’s voice broke through his thoughts, soft but firm. “But we haven’t mended worse,” she said, her gaze not leaving the screen in front of her. “This one’s different. People used to think of us as the lesser evil. Now, they’re starting to wonder if we’re just another form of crime.” The words struck Bruce harder than he cared to admit. She wasn’t wrong. In their attempt to be Gotham’s saviors, they had come to embody something far darker in the eyes of the public. They had always lived in the shadows, but now those shadows were threatening to swallow them whole.

Alfred, standing near the table with a tray of untouched tea—its warm fragrance drifting through the room—cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. "Perhaps what’s needed," he said carefully, his voice measured, "is not another war fought in the shadows, but a reminder that others still stand with you."

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward him, his gaze narrowing, as if weighing the butler’s words. The others followed suit, their expressions unreadable, waiting for Alfred to elaborate.

“What are you suggesting, Alfred?” Bruce’s voice was edged with uncertainty, something he rarely allowed to show.

The butler gave a small, measured nod, his hands setting the tray down with the practiced grace of someone who had spent decades in the service of this family. "I believe, Master Wayne, that what the people need is reassurance. A bridge. Someone they trust. A voice they still believe in."

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "There’s not exactly a waiting list of pro-vigilante influencers out there, Alf."

“On the contrary,” Alfred said, a quiet confidence in his tone. "There is one. Someone still admired by the people. A symbol of protection, not fear. They’ve worked openly with first responders, collaborated with officials, stayed in the public’s good graces and operated within the law..."

Tim blinked, his mind struggling to process the thought. “In Gotham?”

Dick’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. “Wait… you’re talking about—?”

Bruce’s expression darkened, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. But the question hung in the air, unspoken, like an invisible thread tugging at the edges of his resolve.

Alfred’s lips curled into a faint, wistful smile, his voice gentle as he spoke again, almost as if recalling a cherished memory. “Yes. I am referring to your firstborn child, Master Wayne.”

The silence that followed was absolute, a sudden detonation of shock and disbelief that rocked the room. Damian froze mid-step. Tim and Jason exchanged a glance, eyes wide with uncertainty. Barbara shifted in her chair, almost as if waiting for someone to confirm that she hadn’t misheard. Dick’s throat tightened, a knot of guilt coiling in his chest. The past was a fragile thing, fragile enough that sometimes it felt better to pretend it didn’t exist. But in moments like this, the weight of regret bore down on him like an anchor, pulling him deeper into a well of emotion he had long since tried to forget.

Bruce remained still, frozen, his gaze distant. "They haven't been involved in family matters like this for years..." His voice trailed off, thick with the unspoken history between them. The bitterness in his words wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

“And yet,” Alfred countered, his voice soft but unyielding, “they have remained exactly what this city needed from us.”

A long, heavy pause lingered in the room. The truth was that Bruce had not heard from them in years—not since they had left everything behind at eighteen, vanishing from the world they had known. Alfred had maintained a fragile connection, sending occasional messages through a burner phone, reminding Bruce of their existence whenever he saw their exploits on the news, despite his stubbornness to avoid all topics linked to them. But how long had it been since any of the family had tried to reach out? How long since anyone had even bothered to speak to them, beyond the occasional fleeting word, a distant acknowledgment of someone they once knew?

“People trust them,” Alfred continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. “They believe in their methods. Their clarity. Their distance from... all of this.” He gestured around the cave, to the monitors, to the chaos, to the shadows. “If there’s anyone who could speak to your cause and be heard, it would be them.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “They wouldn’t want to be dragged back into this.”

“No,” Alfred agreed, his voice calm, “but perhaps they deserve the choice. After all, they didn’t walk away without cause.”

Another silence fell, heavy with the weight of years and regrets left unspoken. Bruce’s mind churned, searching for answers in the fragmented memories of a younger version of himself. He tried to picture their face, but the years had stolen the details—just a pair of small eyes peering up at him from behind Alfred’s legs when they had first arrived at Wayne Manor. 

“It might be nice,” Alfred added softly, almost as an afterthought, “to have them on your side again.”

A/N: feeling devious hinting towards something happening in the past but not mentioning it,, meanwhile reader is sitting on their sofa, watching the news as their prayers for their families downfall worked

[sleepn0tfound]

That's MY Daughter

DC x Fem!Neglected!Batsis! Reader x Marvel [Just some midnight thoughts]

Bruce and Tim realised something odd about Stark Industries. Ever since a few months ago the technology being produced there had improved by an unbelievable amount. It was futuristic, nothing that this world has seen before. And the weirdest part of it is the fact that Tony Stark had offered to partner up with Wayne Enterprises. THE Tony Stark, Iron Man, the most egotisical man they knew had willingly offered to partner up with them? After years of being petty with Bruce and the JL?

Tim had been made to prepare to become the new CEO soon, thus he recently started taking up more work at Wayne Enterprises when the agreement was made. Though instead of Tony being the one to talk about ideas it was an unknown woman communicating with him about the ideas, the product, the marketing, etc. And the merge of the two companies was an absolute success, the marketing especially drawing in young adults. (courtesy of Tim and the mysterious women who seems to be around the same age as him)

Who was the mysterious women though? Well both Bruce and Tim could only come to one solution. The least known character to Bruce, to Batman, which says a lot considering the fact that he had made a contingency plan for every Avenger, every hero, including his own teammates, including himself, yet this one character was completely unknown, zero plans if she were to go rogue. And that drove Bruce crazy. Her file was blank. Every vital information was marked with the word 'unknown'. It had been making Bruce paranoid for years since she had appeared next to the Avengers.

The reassurance from the Avengers never helped. It was as if something was gnawing at him. After all how could he trust them anyways? (careful Bruce your trust issues are showing)

One of the only things they knew about her is that she is the main hacker/coder for the Avengers, hence the reason why the Avengers digital security was admittedly better than the Justice League's and how much faster they got, what should be, classified information. (no matter how much Bruce wants to deny it)

And her codename, Special Agent Reaper. No she wasn't originally an Avenger, she was crowned the most skilled assassin of this era, working under S.H.I.E.L.D and one of the sole reasons why all of the HYDRA agents that have sneaked into S.H.I.E.L.D have been successfully taken out, her name would pass by in the wind every so often, they might be rumours or the truth but no one truly knows. Hell even Ra's Al Ghul, The Demon’s Head, had acknowledged her once. Even Talia had admitted that Damian's fighting technique was made to mirror The Reaper's, the only difference is he used katanas while the Reaper, fittingly, uses a scythe.

But one thing was for sure. If you saw the shadow of a hooded figure you better run, though at that point it might be too late.

As the saying goes, "Beware of the Grim Reaper. Wherever it goes death follows closely behind.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“Ah! Brucie! Here you are!” Tony said, wine in hand as he approached Bruce at the gala. Well that was a first. He usually never played into the Brucie persona. Well nonetheless the show must go on.

“Tony!” Bruce threw himself at the other billionaire, acting as if he was drunk, ignoring the way Tony’s expression turned into a grimace for a split second.

As usual, they were both around other pretentious socialites who never seemed to run out of questions.

“Ah! Tony, I heard Stark Industries have been bringing in more money than ever.”

“Oh yes! It’s all because of this prodigy i had found. She actually was the reason why Stark Industries and Wayne Enterprises had a collab. I might even give the company to her when I retire!" He let out a laugh that seems to emanate the word 'rich', a small smirk stayed on his lips as he heard the guests at the gala begin to whisper.

"Oh? Is that so? Then I would love to meet the person I have been working with this entire time." Tim Drake-Wayne said as he finally came out of the corner where he would usually stay in to observe rather than interact.

"Be my guest." A subtle challenge, as if Tony was daring him to go through with it as they locked eyes. A smirk on one face while a well practiced smile on the other.

Bruce let out a light hearted laugh as he tightened his grip around Tony, a subtle warning to stay away from his son, "Well then I wouldn't mind arranging a meeting! I'm sure you wouldn't mind the others joining." His tone had a slight change that even the most observant wouldn't realise.

Bruce could barely keep up the 'Brucie' act with Tony bragging about how Stark Enterprises profits have shot up with him finding a 'prodigy' and someone who will take over the company once he retires.

"Not at all. The more the merrier. I assume you wouldn't mind me inviting more people as well." Tony sipped his wine, he wasn't one to back out from a challenge, especially when he is so confident.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

This certainly wasn't how the Justice League and the Avengers expected their next meeting to happen. A petty fight between the two men that singlehandedly funds their respective teams causing all of them to be in one room together.

"Well then, Stark. Where is this prodigy that you speak so highly of?" Bruce said as he sported his famous batglare.

"I assure you she is on her way. She should just be right about done with her mission." Tony replied with the same tone, shooting a glare as well.

Meanwhile the two teams were watching this as if it was the most entertaining show they have seen.

.

.

.

"Hey I'm here." Y/n entered the hall, still wearing her assassin suit, though her signature black hood was down, revealing her face.

Silence seemed to engulf the room.

"Kid... Your hood."

"...Fuck."

hi! i might have disappeared for a month :D To those who are waiting for more parts of DC x Super/Kent!Reader it will come... eventually. I'm having the biggest writer's block for that specific AU so uhm yeah! I wasn't really planning on making that AU a series since it was mostly just me being bored and writing for the lols but since it received so much attention [thank you guys so much!] I have to do it now. i was doing some worldbuilding and already know how I want the reader to be and allat but I cant really think of how to shape the story ukukuk. so yeah stay tuned for that! also this thing was also just a blurb. Might make somewhat of continuation parts if I feel like it. [Also the neglected!batsis! fanfics I've been reading is getting to me. i have a feral urge to create a diff AU series for that] Also would you guys be interested in me creating a twitter/insta account or like a tele channel to post random things

[mattsmedusa]

✎ 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✮ 𝐜.𝐬 𝐰𝐜. 𝟏.𝟐𝐤 [𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭]

your boyfriend, chris, loved hearing your sweet noises of pleasure. he would do anything to hear you moan his name in that breathy tone, all drunk on his cock no matter where you were. he didn’t mind how loud you got, it only brought him more pleasure. well, you weren’t usually that loud in bed, you knew you’d get a noise complaint if you let your voice out completely, but you can’t really keep quiet when all he does is try to make you moan even louder.

"o—h, chris," you sighed shakily, your head thrown back in ecstasy as he slowly pushed inside. chris groaned lowly when he bottomed out, feeling your velvety walls pulse around his cock. he leaned down and nuzzled in your neck, his hands caressing your sides as he started to move. "y’feel so good baby, so fuckin’ beautiful," he murmured against your neck, kissing and nipping on the skin there.

chris being chris, with his hyper fixation with your moans, groaned in pleasure when he heard you moan so delicately, but he didn't want you to moan softly—he wanted you to scream his name. he wanted the whole neighborhood to know who was fucking you so good, who was making you feel so good. your eyes rolled back briefly when he started to pound into you, the tip of his cock mercilessly slamming into your cervix.

your eyes closed shut, eyebrows knitted together and back arching as profanities left your parted lips along with louder moans. chris relished in them. a shudder went down his spine when he heard you moan his name loudly when he hit a particularly spongy spot. he knew what he was hitting, he knew your body inside and out, after all.

"oh, did I find your sweet spot ma?" he cooed, tauntingly, before slamming hard into that spot again – purposely this time, making your back arch more, hands scrambling up to grip onto his forearms that held your hips in place on the bed. your whole body shuddered and trembled as he kept slamming precisely into your g-spot with a relentless pace, your moans nothing short of pornographic.

chris let out shaky low moans as he heard your sounds grow louder, his fingers working deftly on your puffy slippery clit, bringing you closer and closer to something earth-shattering. your eyes teared up in pleasure, already so fucked to say anything except "harder" and "faster". what could he do other than give you what you wanted? after all, he wanted it as much as your needy self.

the bedframe slammed against the wall in rhythm with his pounding, the bed creaking with each movement. your body rose up the bed with each thrust, making chris groan in annoyance. he wanted your body to stay still so he could fuck you harder just like you wanted, but with the way your body was bouncing it was near impossible, and so, he quickly thought of a solution.

you whined when he suddenly stopped and pulled out, "all fours, ass up, face down." he ordered, his voice breathless with unfulfilled desire and exertion. chris watched as you scrambled into position, presenting your backside to him, your face flush against the pillow. he let out a low whistle, "fucking love this view," he gave your ass a sharp slap before grabbing the flesh there with one hand and your hip with the other. you moaned into the pillow when he filled you up again.

his thrusts were punishing, exactly what you wanted as he surged forward with renewed vigor. chris couldn’t help but notice the way the pillow silenced your screams of pleasure.

oh, he was having none of that.

his hand left your ass and tangled in your hair, wrapping your locks around his hand before tugging your head up. your moans immediately filled the room, making his whole body shudder. your moans were music to his ears.

"fu—ck, chris, cumming, o—h," you mewled, "m’gonna—gonna cu—m." he grunted in satisfaction when he heard your desperate – barely coherent – words. "oh yeah? fuckin’ come on this big dick," one hand came down and around to draw quick circles on your swollen clit in time with his thrusts. "c’mon ma, wanna feel you fucking suffocate my cock." his voice was a near growl as he worked you closer and closer.

your body shook and trembled when you reached your peak, pure unadulterated pleasure etched on your features as you moaned his name. he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when you were moaning his name like that. you gasped when he pushed you down fully, your front side now flush against the mattress as he started to pound into you.

this was it. this was the position.

chris moaned lowly in pleasure when he heard your loud gasping moans, the way your legs lifted whenever he went balls deep only spurred him on. he fucked you mercilessly, and you couldn’t move away, you were trapped between his body and the bed. his hand yanked your head back by your hair so he could hear all the sounds you were making without it being muffled by the bed or pillow.

"fucking love your sounds baby, your sweet fuckin’ moans, only for me." he moaned in your ear, causing shudders to ripple through your body. you were fast approaching your second orgasm, the feeling of him going so deep and so fast was too much for you. his hand that was on your hair snaked around and wrapped itself around your throat. not quite cutting air supply, but enough pressure to have you gasping.

his free hand snaked under your body and strummed your bundle of nerves, the stimulation on your clit along with him repeatedly hitting your sweet spots deep inside you was your undoing. you let out high pitched keens and cries as you came again, your whole body shaking.

your pussy clenched around his cock rhythmically, all while pulling him in more. "f-fu—ck, your pussy’s fucking pulling me in, greedy girl," he groaned as he felt his release so close that he could practically taste it. a few more brutal slams and chris let out a guttural moan when he finally felt the pressure in his lower abdomen snap, his hips jerking against your ass as he filled your welcoming cunt full with his seed.

his hand soon left your throat, his breathing ragged, matching yours as his body slumped on top of you, his cock still letting out little spurts of cum inside your quivering pussy, painting your walls white. he nuzzled his face in the side of your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried to control his breathing.

after a while, he finally pulled out, both of you moaning at how sensitive you’d become. and almost immediately after he pulled out, his cum trickled out of your well loved hole. chris couldn’t help himself, he just had to take a picture. he took his phone from the bedside table and nudged you gently, showing you his phone. "can I?" he asked and you nodded, chuckling in amusement, still breathless.

he sighed in contentment after taking the photos and plopping down next to you, pulling you closer by your waist and nuzzling his face in your hair. "i love you," he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his hands caressed your body, worshipping every inch as you two lay there on his bed, relishing in the afterglow and love.

୨୧

[𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞!]

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @chaossturns @mels4ngel @sturniolozbae @hearts4werka @strnilolover @matts-sidepiece

© 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐚

[littlelovelunette]

Sevika Gets Her Labret Piercing

The moment Sevika stepped through the door, you knew something was different. It wasn’t just the way she carried herself—shoulders squared, chin lifted slightly higher than usual—but the glint of silver catching the dim lighting of your shared space. Her lips twitched, almost smirking, but you caught the slight wince before she quickly masked it. That alone had you narrowing your eyes.

“What did you do?” You stepped closer, gaze flicking over her face, and then you saw it—the small silver stud nestled just below her bottom lip.

Sevika exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Got a labret,” she muttered, as if that wasn’t obvious.

Your breath hitched. The piercing suited her far too well, drawing attention to her lips in a way that made your stomach flutter. But you also knew her—knew the way she’d rather take a punch than admit when something hurt. And right now, the slight stiffness in her jaw and the redness around the fresh piercing told you she was feeling it more than she let on.

“You went alone?” You crossed your arms, tilting your head.

She scoffed, stepping past you to shrug off her coat. “Didn’t think I needed a chaperone.”

“You kinda do,” you teased, reaching up without thinking, “And I'm your wife.” Your thumb barely grazed the skin near the piercing before she flinched, jaw clenching.

“Still tender,” she admitted begrudgingly, her eyes flicking to yours. There was something there, beneath the usual bravado—a silent request for attention, for care.

You softened. “Did they tell you how to clean it?”

A snort. “What, you think I don’t know how to take care of myself?”

“Exactly that.”

She groaned but let you tug her towards the small bathroom. She sat on the closed toilet lid while you grabbed a clean cloth and a saline solution. Her gaze followed you, the corner of her mouth twitching despite the soreness. “You like it?”

You paused, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah.” Your voice was quieter now, more honest. “A lot.”

Her smirk widened, then immediately faltered as the movement tugged at the fresh wound. “Shit.”

You bit back a laugh. “That’s what you get for being cocky.” Dabbing the cloth in the solution, you gently brushed it against the swollen skin around the piercing. Sevika grumbled but didn’t move away, her hands resting lazily on your hips.

Her fingers flexed slightly when you leaned closer, lips barely an inch from hers. “Once it heals,” you murmured, voice teasing, “I’m gonna have a lot of fun with it.”

Sevika’s grip tightened. Her pupils darkened, even as she fought the smirk threatening to form. “That a promise?”

You only hummed, finishing up before pulling back with a satisfied look. “For now, though, you’re on a strict ‘no unnecessary touching’ rule.”

She groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Cruel.”

“You love me.”

Her gaze softened, the usual edge melting away for just a moment. “Yeah,” she murmured, squeezing your waist. “I do.”

And damn, if the sight of that silver glinting against her lips didn’t make your heart race just a little faster.

[22ayla21]

Their Children, Their Treasures

How the men of Amphoreus spend time with their children.

Mydei is not the type to just sit and tell children how the world works. He shows them. He trains with his eldest son, but he doesn’t turn it into a tough workout — more of a game, testing his agility and reaction. He can throw him a wooden sword, forcing him to catch it, and then laughs when he proudly declares that he has become stronger. He takes his time with his daughter. Instead of combat training, he teaches her observation: he shows her how to read facial expressions, discern lies, understand when a person says one thing and means another.

Sometimes, when the night is quiet and the palace is asleep, Mydei takes the children for a walk. His son walks alongside him, trying not to show that he is a little nervous about the mysterious atmosphere. His daughter sits on his shoulders, clinging to his hair with her tiny hands. They walk, talk about something insignificant, look at the stars. For the children, this is an adventure, for him, a rare moment when he can simply enjoy their presence.

He has small rituals that are dear only to them. Every morning when he is home, he always plays with his daughter, letting her sit on his lap while he drinks his pomegranate juice. She chatters, sometimes incoherently, but he listens, answering in short phrases, because it is important for her to be heard. He has a special tradition with his eldest son - they arrange small competitions, who can tie a belt faster, who will be the first to notice something unusual around. These are not competitions in strength, but simply a test of attentiveness and ingenuity.

If one of the servants or courtiers looks at his children too appraisingly, he silently gives a look that makes the blood run cold. After that, no one dares to say anything unnecessary to the children. If a son comes to him with a question that is difficult to ask out loud, he never ridicules him. He does not say "you are still small", but calmly explains, because he knows that if not him, then someone else will give an answer, and it is not a fact that it is the right one. If his daughter gets tangled in ribbons or can't fasten her dress, he silently helps. His rough fingers can undo intricate knots with no less dexterity than they can handle a weapon.

The son has almost gotten used to the fact that his father rarely talks about his feelings. But he notices how he always puts his hand in front of him if someone comes too close, how he discreetly straightens his cloak, how he puts food in front of him first. And his daughter... She is his little princess, and he doesn't even try to hide it. He picks her up in his arms without saying a word if he sees that she is tired. If she plays with his hair or jewelry, he simply allows it silently. When she reaches out to him to take her, he never refuses. Mydei does not say loud words. But his children know that there is no one who will protect them more.

Silence at home? Not in their family. When Anaxa has free time, he organizes intellectual discussions, where each of his daughters tries to prove her point. Usually this develops into a heated argument, and he, sitting with a cup of tea, calmly observes and only occasionally throws out provocative questions, forcing them to think even deeper.

"Theory without practice is meaningless," says Anaxa, and his daughters immediately find a reason to prove this in practice. "Scientific disasters" regularly occur in the house: self-igniting mixtures, strange bubbling solutions or a device that was supposed to make life easier, but almost destroyed the kitchen.

Anaxa comes up with logical riddles that his daughters must solve using reasoning. Sometimes he does this on purpose in everyday life: he hides things, leaves encrypted notes or deliberately draws false conclusions to see if they will notice the mistake. If the evening is quiet, he sits in a chair, his daughters on either side of him, each with her own book. The elder reads serious literature, the younger something more daring and provocative, and Anaxa just smirks, seeing how their reading tastes reflect their personalities.

Despite all their intellectual development, they remain a family. Sometimes Anaxa allows his daughters to braid his hair (even if he pretends that he is not interested), sometimes he himself makes things for them that seem completely unrelated to science - beautiful jewelry or unusual objects that carry a hidden meaning.

Anaxa rarely speaks openly about his feelings, but if his daughters face difficulties, he is always there. When they achieve success, he simply looks at them with a barely noticeable smile and says: "I had no doubt. After all, you are my daughters."

When his first son was a baby, Phainon still hoped that his child would be calm, obedient, and perhaps even gentle. He imagined reading to him, teaching him high ideals… But as soon as the baby learned to crawl, the house turned into an arena of chaos. And then came the second. And now Phainon has two little whirlwinds that run around, fight each other with toy swords, and turn everything upside down.

Phainon may be a hero, but when his two sons jump on him from the couch with battle cries, he sincerely wonders if it is his destiny they are trying to overthrow. They use him as a living arena, clinging to his arms, tugging at his hair, and demanding that he play battles with them, which he invariably loses.

Phainon still reads them ancient Amphoraean legends, hoping to instill nobility and greatness of spirit in them. He sits with a book, telling stories about great heroes... and his sons listen with bated breath. And then one of them suddenly asks:

"Dad, if you were an evil god, would you lose to us?" Phainon exhales heavily.

Although he would never admit it, Phainon loves to tidy up their tousled hair. When they are little, he gently combs it, sometimes combing it with his hands. Later, when they grow up, he continues to do it mechanically, and when his sons begin to complain, he only smiles with a note of melancholy that they are growing up too fast.

When his sons begin training, he becomes a strict mentor. He teaches them to take blows, to think strategically, not to waste their strength. But if one of them hurts another or behaves dishonestly, his gaze becomes icy, telling them that they must be strong not for the sake of destruction, but for the sake of protection. And they remember this for the rest of their lives.

Despite the chaos, he loves it when his sons, tired of playing, crawl to him and fall asleep next to him. At such moments, he carefully covers them with a blanket, looks at their faces and says with a slight smile, almost in a whisper: “But I wanted a daughter…” But there is no disappointment in his voice – only warm affection. Phainon is a father who wanted a little princess, but in the end got two little whirlwinds who make his life chaotic, but happy. And even if they turn the house upside down, he would never trade them for anything in this world.

[leighsartworks216]

Sleepy Kitty

Sylus x gn!Reader

What if you became the cat and also got that sleepy cat feature with the service?? Think about it

Warnings: fluff, silly, cat ears and tail, cuddling, panic, some sort of a relationship going on, Xavier cameo

Word Count: 1,672

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Your heart can’t sit still, torn between aching and frantically racing in a frenzied panic. Every time you look into the mirror, you start freaking out. You had to call in sick this morning with a poor excuse, cancel all your plans for today and tomorrow, and try to figure out a solution to your problem:

You are a cat.

Well, you have the ears and tail, at least. At first, you can’t believe it. But sure enough, they’re real. Real and not disappearing.

You tug desperately at the fluffy ears, yanking on them, praying they’ll just disappear in a poof of smoke like it never happened. Instead, all you get is pain that has you scrunching up your face as you keep pulling on them, begging for this nightmare to end.

“Oh, sweetie.”

You yelp, diving into the blankets of your bed. “Go away! Don’t look at me!” You hide in the warm darkness, keeping the blankets held down tight over your head so they can’t be pulled off.

Sylus’s sigh is muffled as he crosses from your bedroom’s doorway to your bed. The mattress sinks down with his weight. “This is why you cancelled our plans today?”

You stubbornly don’t answer.

“Sweetie, ignoring me isn’t going to make me leave faster. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine, just go away,” you insist.

“You really need to get better at lying.”

He grabs your tail as it flicks out from under the blanket. You have to release the blankets to grab it back from him, and he uses that opportunity to uncover you entirely. The jig is up, but you refuse to turn and face him. Your new cat ears lay flat on your head. Even in your hold, your tail is flicking with irritation.

He reaches out to touch the cute ears you despise so much, but you swat his hand away at the first brush. He can’t help his amusement - you really are a kitten.

“Stop laughing! It’s not funny!”

“Of course not,” he agrees, but the sincerity is obscured by his chuckle petering out. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened?”

You heave a long sigh. It hitches at the end as reality starts to crash down on you once more. “I don’t know. I mean, I just woke up this morning and,” you release your tail in favor of grabbing the fluffy tips of the cat ears, drawing them down on your head painfully, “these were here. And now they won’t go away!”

“Stop that,” he chastises you. He takes your hands, freeing the ears from your cruelty. His long fingers intertwine with yours as he wraps his arms around you, making you hug yourself at the same time, and drawing you into his lap. “We’ll figure it out.”

You give in, slowly relaxing back into his broad chest and the warmth he radiates. Your tail taps rhythmically against his leg as it swishes back and forth over your bedsheets.“What if we don’t? What if I’m stuck like this forever?”

He kisses your head. Your ears stand up and brush his cheeks. He tries not to chuckle at how plainly your emotions have been laid bare. “We can worry about that later, after we’ve exhausted all possibilities. Deal?”

“... Deal.”

-

It is now mid-day. The sun is shining bright, the rest of the day is still to come, and you are sleepy. The kind of sleepy that makes you feel heavy and sluggish; that makes a big blanket sound like utter heaven.

Sylus is tired, too. His exhaustion, however, comes from staying up far past his usual bedtime. He’s much better at hiding it. Meanwhile, you’re yawning every other minute, rubbing your eyes, leaning against him whenever you’re at a standstill. For those last several minutes, he’s been leading you back to his car. You don’t realize what’s going on until he’s already driving.

“Mm, where are we going?” You frown out of the passenger side window. It doesn’t take long before your head is resting against the glass, cushioned by the beanie from your closet meant to hide the cat ears.

“Back to your place.”

“What for?”

He shoots you an amused grin. “It’s bedtime, kitten. We both need a nap.”

“Huh? No, wait, I’m fine!” You sit up straighter, crossing your arms and staring determinedly out the windshield. “I’m up, see? We can keep going.”

“Fine. I’ll take a nap and you can watch.”

The drive is quiet. The expensive car blocks out most of the noise outside. The radio is off, but the AC hums as it blows warm air. Sylus glances over frequently, watching as you slowly, slowly sink deeper into the heated leather seat. Your head rests awkwardly on your shoulder as you blearily glare at the passing buildings. The next time he looks over, your eyes are closed.

He pulls into the parking lot with ease. You don’t show any signs of waking up as he kills the ignition. Honestly, he’s glad for it. The entire time you’ve been trying to piece together the mystery, you kept working yourself up into a panic. Any more of that, you would make yourself sick from stress.

He rounds the car and carefully opens your door. In between unbuckling you and lifting you into his arms, he can’t help admiring you. The beanie is crooked, there’s bags under your eyes, and he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you right now.

The apartment building is very nice, especially with your finances. He nudges the elevator call button with his elbow and waits for it to come down. The silver doors open to reveal a blonde man in a white hoodie. Instead of getting out, the man keeps the doors from closing, watching him with sharp blue eyes as he steps in.

“What happened to them?”

Sylus puts on an easygoing grin. “They aren’t feeling well today. Don’t worry, they’re in good hands.” He nudges the button for your floor and quirks a brow at the man. “This not your stop?”

The man lets go of the doors, standing opposite from Sylus with his arms crossed and staring him down. “I’m just making sure they get home okay.”

With the slightest of shrugs, Sylus looks straight ahead, seemingly ignoring the man as the doors close and the elevator starts to move. The tension in the small space is heavy; it extends to every corner and between the little numbered buttons. Neither of them do anything to dissipate it.

When the door opens again, it’s like the pressure it released. The air in the hall completely overwhelms the distrust in the tiny elevator. It doesn’t disappear entirely, but it’s easier to breathe out here than in there.

The blonde man follows behind as Sylus carries you to your apartment door. He thinks you’ve told him about this coworker of yours before; you go out on missions together often. Funny - of all the times you’ve mentioned him, you never said anything about him behaving like this.

Sylus slides your legs further up his arm to free his hand. The man stares at the knob as he places his thumb on the lock. When it beeps and lights up green, he seems to relax a little, so slight that it’s only due to Sylus’s lifestyle that he was able to pick it out.

He pushes open the door and turns back to the man. “Will that be all?”

Blue eyes stare down appraisingly. Sylus can’t shake the way it unsettles him deeply, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and his body preparing to fight if the need arises. Some background checks into this guy are now a necessity with how close he works and lives to you.

But the man nods. “Tell them I hope they feel better soon.”

“Of course.”

And just like that, the man is heading back to the elevator with a lazy yawn. Sylus shuts the door. He sighs heavily, looking down at your peaceful face. “You’re lucky I had the liberty of putting my print in your system,” he says. “I don’t think he’d have reacted well if I teleported in here.”

Your apartment is exactly how you both left it this morning. He follows the familiar path to your bedroom, bedsheets rumpled and covered in clothes from when you tried finding an outfit that could hide your tail. He gestures vaguely with his hand. Red and black tendrils of energy gather the clothes and stack them elsewhere to deal with later. Another tendril pulls down the blankets for him.

Being careful not to disturb you, he lays you down on your bed. You look soft, delicate. Completely vulnerable, and yet sleeping undisturbed even as he looms over you. He pulls the blankets up over your body and slides the hat off your head. Your fluffy cat ears shift and twitch slightly from being exposed to the open air once more, before they relax.

He stands up to go to the couch, but something holds onto his arm. When he looks, your tail has slipped from under the covers and the clothing you used to hide it, just to hold onto him. It was soft. It really would only take the slightest effort to slip free from its grasp, but when he started to step away, you started to frown. With an amused chuckle, he opens the blankets again and nudges you aside, before climbing into the bed.

You reposition yourself to use his chest as your pillow, arms wrapped around him and legs tangling with his. Your tail slips from his arm to curl around his waist.

And then you start purring. He smiles. Tentatively, he pets your ear. It twitches at first, before relaxing into his touch. You nuzzle your face over his heart.

“Sleep tight, kitten,” he whispers. His hand continues to lazily pet you as he closes his eyes. Your purrs act like a soothing balm to his soul as sleep slowly takes hold.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc

[kenzonuuun]

#ENHYPEN HEAD CANNONS⋆

✧ ⋆｡˚ ⊹ ᰔ ⟡ ܁ ₊ How enhypen hyung line would jack off -

p. enhypen!an. head cannons, fluff rc. ~70 each

Lee Heeseung -

The night’s heavy with summer heat, and Heeseung’s apartment is a small sanctuary of chaos—clothes strewn over a chair, a half-empty energy drink on the counter, and a soft neon glow from the city creeping through the blinds. Heeseung’s restless, as always, his lean frame buzzing with an undercurrent of energy that never quite settles. He’s in a loose white t-shirt and black joggers, barefoot, pacing the cramped space. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and he flicks it back with a quick jerk of his head, a habit that’s all instinct.

He drops onto the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping under him. The room’s quiet except for the faint hum of a fan and the low thrum of a synth-heavy track leaking from his earbuds, one dangling loose. Heeseung’s hands are never still—fingers tapping his knee, tracing the seam of his joggers. There’s a spark in his movements, sharp and fluid, like he’s wired for motion. He leans back on one hand, exhaling a slow, deliberate breath, and his gaze drifts, unfocused, to the ceiling.

His hand moves, almost on its own, sliding down his thigh, slow at first, like he’s savoring the anticipation. A small smirk tugs at his lips, a flash of confidence that’s pure Heeseung. His fingers brush over the front of his joggers, light but intentional, and his breath hitches, a soft, almost inaudible sound. He’s not loud, but he’s expressive in his own way—little hums, sharp intakes, like he’s having a conversation with himself.

He tugs the waistband down just enough, the cool air hitting his skin making his jaw tighten. His hand wraps around himself, grip steady, calluses from guitar strings adding a rough edge to the sensation. Heeseung’s movements are precise, almost calculated, but there’s a hunger beneath it. His hips shift, a subtle roll, and the bed creaks faintly, matching the rhythm he’s setting. His free hand grips the edge of the mattress, fingers digging in, anchoring him as his pulse quickens.

The pace picks up, his hand moving faster, wrist flicking with a practiced ease. His head tips back, throat exposed, and a low groan slips out, raw and unfiltered. The fan’s breeze grazes his skin, sending a shiver through him, and he bites his lip, teeth sinking in just enough to ground him. His t-shirt rides up, revealing the taut lines of his stomach, and his legs spread wider, one foot braced against the floor for leverage. It’s all motion now—fluid, urgent, like a dance only he knows the steps to.

The music in his earbud glitches, a pulsing beat that syncs with his racing heart. His movements grow erratic, less controlled, and his breathing turns ragged, a series of sharp gasps. When it hits, it’s sudden—a sharp arch of his back, a choked sound that’s half-moan, half-sigh, and his whole body tenses, muscles flexing under his skin. He rides it out, hand slowing, drawing out the last waves of pleasure until he’s spent, slumping back against the headboard.

Heeseung stays there, chest heaving, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. His lips curve into a lazy, satisfied grin, and his fingers twitch, already itching for the next move. That’s Heeseung—always chasing the next spark, even when the moment’s barely passed.

Jake Sim -

You know it well, he is very attached to you. You are literally his mud of softage, his survival kit, you are his water in the desert, without you - he is nothing.

Only, you can't stay together forever. Like everyday, you had to go to work, leave Jake cozy bed and adorable presence. You got used to it easily; just thinking about seeing him again that same evening was enough to keep you going for the rest of the day, but him… oh, no...him? he needed you like a drug, so if you were gone for just one day, he'd lose his mind.

Cradled in his blanket, his tears slowly fading with time, suffering from your absence. But… He had a solution. He would take his phone and scroll through your Instagram account. Rewatching photos of you from when you'd once gone to a restaurant, others on vacation—you were so beautiful ; in each photo, a slight smile was enough to make him curl his toes and tap the mattress. But as he scrolled back through your account, a photo of you at the gym resurfaced. Your back, broad and muscular, your lines so sculpted; he was fixated on the image, unable to understand how he had never seen it before.

And little by little… a warmth, a knot, formed in his lower abdomen. He recognized this sensation, which he could recognize from his arousal. So without hesitation, he undressed, naked on his bed, completely unused and abandoned. He need someone to ease his desires - but you weren't there, so he end up doing it himself.

***

Here he was, laying there, from his third orgasm, anyone could say he was about to stop here, due to his visible fatigue, his weakness. The way his chest was moving up and down from the breathless moan he let out, he was completty spent. But Jake cannot hold himself. He need it more, when he just think back of you, he just lose his mind again. So he join his hand again, and start some low and sensual strokes.

His voice break at his moan - the sound weak and memorable. His hands, all trembling and veiny from the restless mouvements, start some irregular mouvements. His dick, that was standing proud start to violently twitch.

"Fuckkkk..."

He let out, while his entire body shake brutally. His skinny hips start to move at the messy mouvements of his own thrust. And as he get more and more close, white and fluid precum start to leak at the the tip of his lenght, creating a lubricating to his already used cock. The wet noises echoed in the room, opening to an atmosphere of naughty sex, making his cheeks slightly pink.

In this moment, he needed you, and only you. So all he had to do was releasing his frustartion by touching himself. He increase the speed, his moan raising a higher pitch, and right here, he comes undone ; all his cum releasing from himself in a brutal and sudden force. He let out a broken groan, tears falling from his flushed cheeks as he roll up his eyes of ecstacy.

Then, a wave of shakes control his lower body, making him roll up in a small tiny ball slowly, his frustration of not having you near not even fading away...So he lay in the emptiness he hate so much, enjoying the afterglow of his naughty solo session.

Park Sunghoon -

Park Sunghoon always looked experienced. Everyone was sure he wasn't a virgin, nor that he'd never touched a pussy or even a cock. But, never trust appearances. Even though he looks naughty, with his little smirk at the corner of his lips and his way of carrying himself, always so fresh and sexy, yet… yet, he knew absolutely nothing about it.

Would anyone believe me if I told them that Park Sunghoon, the frat boy, the flirt, was a virgin? He doesn't even know the back of his own cock, nor what it feels like to touch himself, nor what it feels like to penetrate someone, nothing. He plays his game well. Always licking his lips whenever a girl with a nice ass walks past, even if he himself isn't sure of his own sexual orientation and wouldn't necessarily find himself attracted to one of those girls.

But this day had to come.

On his way home from school, he was taking off his clothes for a bath. And as he passed the mirror, his eyes caught on his reflection; he couldn't believe what he saw. He had always avoided this sight, and he had never really asked himself the question. But now, he couldn't help but stare at the view in the mirror :

His length, held so tightly against his defined abs, was a sight that aroused himself more than ever. His eyes couldn't believe what he was seeing. And hesitantly, he reach out to touch it. His finger meeting the hot surface of his own dick made him shudder and tremble. And right there, a strange feeling start to grip at the start of his lower belly, like a hollow, he understood that he was horny.

Of course he was afraid to explore this world, but right now, he didn't even question it. He was so desperate that he didn't even wait to grab the wall of the shower. His hand began to wrap around the length from the very bottom, before slowly moving up to the top.

He let out a long, deep moan at the exquisite movement. A small smile formed at the corner of his lips before he threw his head back. His soft, weakened legs immediately began to tremble as his knees met. When he remembered the pleasure the first stroke had given him, he felt compelled to make another, and then another, and another…

The pace quickened and his moans began to get louder and louder. Anxious, he didn't wait to turn the water on high to soften his naughty noises. But unfortunately, nothing could hide the pleasure he took in masturbating. His hips bucked deliciously. His hands moved with a senseless speed, creating wet noises.

The tip of his cock then began to release a bit of precum, making his eyes roll at the sensation. He was full, his cock waiting to be emptied, empty for nothing less than the consequence of his accumulated cravings. And as his body shook brutally, indicating his very, very near orgasm, his hand gripped the rim of the shower door with a considerable strength.

And instinctively, his other hand accelerated, again, again, and again. He looked at himself in the mirror on the left, and the sight shocked him. He never thought he'd get there, that one day he'll touch himself like that, so dirty, so shamelessly. But he found a certain pride in this gesture. Admiring how his body instinctively reacted to his impure gestures. His cock continued to release bits of cum, but not entirely, so he decided to surrender to the pleasure. His knees growing weaker, his hands trembling ; One wet, the other gripping the wall tightly, and his head jerks a second time as he empties himself.

A furious jet of semen sprays the mirroir wall as he literally tries not to fall from the insane pleasure. His orgasm causes him to let out a long, broken moan; his voice weakened and resonant. Using his hand, he tries to squeeze out the last white jets of his semen, making him tremble with the movement, then his hand leaves his member.

To reach his mouth, he licks a small remaining piece of his sperm. He can't believe what he's just done. But there he is, pathetically clinging to the only thing allowing him to stay upright - his entire body trembling and weak after what had just happened. And he can't help but smile at the thought that he was now open to all kinds of naughty pleasures, that he was no longer the same boy who pretended to know everything in sex even though he'd never experienced it. Tonight, he had become what he always wanted to be, well, almost…

Jay Park -

The room hums with a restless energy, a small studio apartment tucked away in the heart of a bustling city. It’s late evening, the kind of hour where the world outside Jay’s window pulses with neon lights and distant car horns, but inside, it’s just him, the faint glow of a desk lamp, and the faint hum of a lo-fi playlist spilling from a Bluetooth speaker. Jay’s been pacing, his bare feet scuffing against the worn hardwood floor, a restless itch under his skin that’s been building all day. He’s a man of motion, always fidgeting, always seeking, and tonight, that energy has nowhere to go but inward.

Jay flops onto his unmade bed, the springs creaking under his weight. He’s in a loose pair of gray sweatpants, the drawstring half-untied, and a faded black tank top that clings to his lean frame. His dark hair’s a mess, strands sticking to his forehead from the summer heat that lingers in the room despite the open window. He exhales sharply, one hand scrubbing over his face, the other twitching at his side like it’s got a mind of its own. There’s a spark in his movements, a kinetic edge, like he’s a coiled spring waiting to snap.

He leans back against the headboard, legs sprawled out, and lets his head tip back, eyes half-lidded as he stares at the ceiling. The playlist shifts to a track with a heavy bassline, vibrating through the air, and it seems to sync with the rhythm of his pulse. Jay’s fingers drum against his thigh, a quick, erratic beat, before they slow, deliberate, sliding lower. He’s not rushing—Jay’s never been one to rush when he’s in his own head like this. It’s a ritual, a dance of sorts, and he’s got the floor to himself.

His hand grazes over the front of his sweatpants, a light touch at first, almost teasing, like he’s testing the waters. His lips part, a soft huff escaping as he shifts his hips, sinking deeper into the mattress. The fabric of his pants tents slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle, a sound that’s half-amused, half-hungry. Jay’s always been vocal in his own way, not loud but expressive, little hums and murmurs that slip out unbidden. His fingers curl, pressing harder, and his head tilts to one side, neck exposed as if he’s offering himself to the moment.

The movement picks up now, more purposeful. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them down just enough to free himself. The air hits his skin, and he hisses softly, a sharp intake of breath that’s all anticipation. Jay’s hands are calloused from hours at the gym, from gripping weights and climbing ropes, and those rough palms meet sensitive skin with a contrast that makes his toes curl. He starts slow, deliberate, his grip firm but not tight, letting the sensation build like a song reaching its crescendo.

His free hand roams, restless as ever. It slides under his tank top, fingers splaying over his stomach, tracing the faint lines of muscle there. Jay’s not ripped, but he’s got that wiry strength, the kind that comes from constant motion. His hips buck slightly, a small, involuntary jolt, and he bites his lower lip, teeth sinking in just enough to leave a faint mark. The bed creaks again as he shifts, one leg bending at the knee, foot planted flat on the mattress for leverage. He’s all angles now, sharp and fluid, like a dancer caught in a private performance.

The rhythm changes, his hand moving faster, more insistent. His breathing hitches, a staccato pattern that matches the quickening pace. Jay’s not thinking about anything now—no work stress, no city noise, just the heat pooling in his gut and the electric buzz under his skin. His head lolls back again, throat working as he swallows hard, a low groan rumbling out. It’s not loud, but it’s raw, a sound that’s uniquely his, like gravel and silk mixed together. His free hand grips the sheets, knuckles whitening, and for a moment, he’s gripping so hard it’s like he’s anchoring himself to the earth.

He switches up the motion, twisting his wrist in a way that’s almost playful, experimental, like he’s chasing a new sensation each time. Jay’s always been like that—curious, tweaking the details, never content with the same old routine. His hips roll now, a slow, deliberate grind that makes the bedframe tap against the wall, a faint knock that blends with the music. Sweat beads on his forehead, a single drop sliding down his temple, catching the lamplight. His eyes flutter shut, brows knitting together, and his mouth falls open, a silent gasp that’s all edges and urgency.

It’s building now, a cresting wave, and Jay’s movements grow erratic, less controlled. His hand’s a blur, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each stroke. He mutters something under his breath, a half-formed word, maybe a curse, maybe nothing at all, just sound spilling out because he can’t keep it in. His chest heaves, tank top rucked up to expose the taut skin of his abdomen, and his whole body tenses, every muscle coiled tight. The playlist hits a glitchy, pulsing beat, and it’s like the music’s inside him, driving the tempo.

When it hits, it’s explosive. Jay’s back arches off the bed, a sharp, sudden curve, and a choked sound tears from his throat—not quite a moan, not quite a shout, but something fierce and unguarded. His hand slows, milking the aftershocks, and his body trembles, a fine shiver that runs from his shoulders to his thighs. He collapses back, panting, one arm flung across his face, covering his eyes as if to shield himself from the intensity of it all. The room feels quieter now, the music softer, the city outside a distant hum.

Jay lies there for a moment, catching his breath, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. His hand’s still resting on his stomach, fingers tapping out a faint, absent rhythm, like he’s already itching for the next move.

[princeguri66]

Leave a mark

MINORS DNI

Monster!John "Soap" Mactavish (with Poly Monster!141 at the end) x Male Reader

Cw: it starts off with Soap but the rest r mentioned and written but not as much as soap, marking with markers, nothing else I believe lmk

Silly thought but like imagine a monster reader who has crazy fast regeneration. Like deep cuts heal in seconds. Maybe you're a ghoul who just has crazy regen, or something like that.

Anyways,

Wouldn't a relationship between Soap, who loves leaving bites and see the aftermath due to his instincts as a werewolf and you who literally heals in seconds be interesting?

He loves getting fucked by you, but everytime he leaves a bit unsatisfied. It's not because you can't make him cum or anything, hell you can pull multiple orgasms from the guy and you have.

It's just that he can't leave satisfied knowing that he left a mark on you. He has bit you so much but the marks just won't stay. With the other members he can clearly see the marks he left on their neck and shoulders, even with Price who due to his dragon blood heals faster but the marks still stay for a day or two.

So everytime you two fuck, even if his ass if filled to the brim and his balls are empty he still whines because he can't leave his mark on you. You're a member of the 141, his pack, so it pains him that he can't put a claim on you like he has with the others.

So one day you get a bit creative.

One night in your room where he's riding on your cock, bouncing up and down while you lay your back on the bed, your hands gripping his hips and slamming him down on you as you cum. He leans down and bites as hard as he can on you as the feeling of you filling him up makes him cum. Pulling away and only being able to whine because he can't even admire his mark before it fades away.

"Aw, is puppy unsatisfied?" You tease and chuckle. And before he could insist that he was, you reached to the bedside table and picked up a red permanent marker, "why don't you mark me with this instead?" You say handing him the marker.

He huffs out a laugh at your little solution, but it's the best you got since you can't really make yourself regenerate slower. So he indulges, testing the marker on the back of your hand, the ink incredibly opaque so it stands out against your skin. Then he draws a bite mark at your neck then adds "Soap's Claim" in big letters, covering the whole left side of your neck.

He leans back, the bright red against your skin and the obvious letters, he finally sighs a sigh of relief.

It doesn't go unnoticed as well (just how he likes it)

The other members of the task force noticing Soap's eyes seem a bit brighter and his tail has been swaying peacefully the whole day. And that's where you enter, neck bare for everyone to see (it's the least you can do) Soap grins, happy to finally be able to show off his claim on you.

And now they want to have their names on your body too.

It's all color coordinated too now, Price who loves to write across your shoulder blades, with words like "Price's hoard" or just a simple "Price" with a heart next to it, it's simple but huge.

Gaz with a bright blue marker who likes to do it on your lower back (because he can also rest his head on your ass) writing something like "Gaz was here" and likes to draw wings on you. (Wing themed tramp stamp with 141 between the wings anyone?)

And Ghost with either white or black who loves to mark your chest, either a simple "ghost" or "Simon Riley" on each pec. Also likes to draw a ghost doodle on top of your heart.

And if you five fuck together, you aren't the only one who ends up having ink on you, but you'd have the most. And when you wake up to find a big arrow pointing to your dick and ass that says "Property of 141" written in multiple colors, you'd wish you could show it off.

[sirfrogsworth]

Falling into the AI vortex.

Before I deeply criticize something, I try to understand it more than surface level.

With guns, I went into deep research mode and learned as much as I could about the actual guns so I could be more effective in my gun control advocacy.

I learned things like... silencers are not silent. They are mainly for hearing protection and not assassinations. It's actually small caliber subsonic ammo that is a concern for covert shooting. A suppressor can aid with that goal, but its benefits as hearing protection outweigh that very rare circumstance.

AR15s... not that powerful. They use a tiny bullet. Originally it could not even be used against thick animal hides. It was classified as a "varmint hunting" gun. There are other factors that make it more dangerous like lightweight ammo, magazine capacity, medium range accuracy, and being able to penetrate things because the tiny bullets go faster. But in most mass shooting situations where the shooting distance is less than 20 feet, they really aren't more effective than a handgun. They are just popular for that purpose. Dare I say... a mass shooting fad or cliche. But there are several handguns that could be more powerful and deadly—capable of one bullet kills if shot anywhere near the chest. And easier to conceal and operate in close quarters like a school hallway.

This deeper understanding tells me that banning one type of gun may not be the solution people are hoping for. And that if you don't approach gun control holistically (all guns vs one gun), you may only get marginal benefits from great effort and resources.

Now I'm starting the same process with AI tools.

Everyone is stuck in "AI is bad" mode. And I understand why. But I worry there is nuance we are missing with this reactionary approach. Plus, "AI is bad" isn't a solution to the problem. It may be bad, but it is here and we need to figure out realistic approaches to mitigate the damage.

So I have been using AI tools. I am trying to understand how they work, what they are good for, and what problems we should be most worried about.

I've been at this for nearly a month and this may not be what everyone wants to hear, but I have had some surprising interactions with AI. Good interactions. Helpful interactions. I was even able to use it to help me keep from an anxiety thought spiral. It was genuinely therapeutic. And I am still processing that experience and am not sure what to say about it yet.

If I am able to write an essay on my findings and thoughts, I hope people will understand why I went into the belly of the beast. I hope they won't see me as an AI traitor.

A big part of my motivation to do this was because of a friend of mine. He was hit by a drunk driver many years ago. He is a quadriplegic. He has limited use of his arms and hands and his head movement is constrained.

When people say, "just pick up a pencil and learn to draw" I always cringe at his expense. He was an artist. He already learned how to pick up a pencil and draw. That was taken away from him. (And please don't say he can stick a pencil in his mouth. Some quads have that ability—he does not. It is not a thing all of them can do.) But now he has a tool that allows him to be creative again. And it has noticeably changed his life. It is a kind of art therapy that has had massive positive effects on his depression.

We have had a couple of tense arguments about the ethics of AI. He is all-in because of his circumstances. And it is difficult to express my opinions when faced with that. But he asked and I answered. He tried to defend it and did a poor job. Which, considering how smart he is, was hard to watch.

But I love my friend and I feel I'd like to at least know what I'm talking about. I want to try and experience the benefits he is seeing. And I'd like to see if there is a way for this technology to exist where it doesn't hurt more than it helps.

I don't know when I will be done with my experiment. My health is improving but I am still struggling and I will need to cut my dose again soon. But for now I am just collecting information and learning.

I guess I just wanted to prepare people for what I'm doing.

And ask they keep an open mind with my findings. Not all of them will be "AI is bad."

[tf2occontest]

The Courier VS Armani & Marcel, The Decoys VS The Therapist

(Final round! No match-up list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboard and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes wins the contest, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your FINAL contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

The Courier

@sicc-nasti

Image credit: @/sicc-nasti

Do you like receiving your mail on time and your packages in pristine condition - untouched by curious hands and peeping eyes? Do you love when your woefully embarrassing love letters filled with poetry from your soul are delivered with the utmost care and secrecy? Does it fill you with glee when your special snacks you ordered overseas finally make its way into your hands and not a SINGLE piece is missing?

If you said yes to any of these questions then WOW do I NOT have the guy for you!!!!

Instead-

TFI presents you something you didn't know was possible OR legal - weaponized postal services!

Meet your 10th Class-

The Courier!

By intercepting and opening someone else's mail, an individual can gain access to confidential information that can be used for identity theft, fraud, or other illegal activities. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we? That's why our solution to this simple problem is bringing the mail to the battlefield! Courier is equipped with MANN CO approved disposable stackable mail crates for your climbing or shielding needs. Just think of how nice it would be to build a tower to do taunts on or have cover from that enemy Heavy's hail of bullets. Sure it's clunky but nothing shreds paper faster than a bullet - that's science tested and math approved by TFI scientists! And monkeys!

Courier is THE MANN for the job.

If that ain't enough to catch your attention, let's take a peek at the men behind the uniform.

RED’s Courier is a Puerto Rican ex-felon hailing from the greatest place on earth! New York City! With an insatiable appetite for all things fraud, deli meats, and violence - what more could you ask from a guy?

BLU's Courier is a Puerto Rican-Italian ex-con plucked from the greatest place on earth! Jersey City! With an insatiable appetite for all things smuggling, deli meats, and violence - what more could you ask from a guy?

Not enough for a vote?

Well, listen, I'm not above bribery. If you vote for them, Courier promises to not read your mail for like a week and INSTEAD- will write you up a totally not fraudulent marriage certificate to any merc you want!! Just think! Finally legally married to Heavy! Or Engie! How’s that sound for incentive, boss?

THROUGH RAIN, SHINE, BULLET HAIL OR SNOW, THEY’RE YOUR COURIER.

VOTE FOR COURIER IN THIS UPCOMING TF2 OC CONTEST

Maybe there’ll be enough in the budget for a third one!

Armani & Marcel, The Decoys

@friendlyengie

Image credit: @/friendlyengie

When your job description is to be as obnoxious as possible, obviously you’re going to send in a clown! Armani is a Decoy, which means his purpose is to get on the field and draw as much attention to himself as possible. Sure, it probably means he gets killed frequently, but isn’t that half the fun?

Personally, Armani is rough and over the (big)top. He’s Italian, too. If that helps. If it doesn’t ignore that part. He’s got the flowery language exaggerated expressions of a performer and absolutely none of the social tact. He’s loud and in your face and simply does not care! Take him or leave him, baby! (Please take him.)

Marcel is just a guy. A little man. His mime-specific approach to the decoy class means he’s a lot less loud shouting and japes, and a lot more inconvenient tricks and hiding where you just can’t see him. He saves his breath unless he has the chance to be really funny. As a person, Marcel is eccentric and expressive. Cartoonishly so. A man of few words, since said words can only be spoken when he pulls the string on his back, he normally conveys his thoughts through actions instead. He’s annoying, and he wants you to know that specifically. He’s charming enough that he can make people forget how obnoxious he is just long enough for whatever stunt he pulls next to come out of nowhere. Ain’t he just so charming?

The Therapist

@hazardtoons

Image credit: @/hazardtoons

You wouldn’t expect an organisation like Team Fortress Industries to invest in something like mental health treatment for its hardened soldiers. The one giving them this generous care is a woman only known by those who work at the company as Therapist - a seemingly well-intentioned lady there to give everything from a shoulder to cry on to someone to seek advice from.

There is a catch, however. Not all the information she gathers from her clients is used for good. Underlying that comforting presence is another tool of oppression used in the company.

[miraclechatbug]

The way Marinette and Adrien consciously and unconsciously choose to portray themselves as Ladybug and Chat Noir respectively is fascinating to me. We can take just the first two released episodes S6 and see the differences and similarities.

Marinette is clumsy, forgettable, scatter-brained, and constantly in anxious, worst-case scenario mode all the time. She's frazzled, speaks faster than her brain can keep up with, fidgets constantly, and is always doing something or the other. She always over-prepares and has a plan for everything. Her mannerisms as Marinette resemble her dad (Tom Dupain) and when she is Ladybug, I think she unconsciously channels her mom's (Sabine Cheng) confidence.

It's clear that as soon as she transforms, she carries herself with more composure and certainty, something she only occasionally manages as Marinette.

As Ladybug, she moves with more certainty, effortlessly taking charge and trusting her instincts. But at the same time, she carries the weight of responsibility, bound by the pressure of being the leading face as the savior of Paris and the expectation to always have a solution. Even though she’s more confident in her abilities, she isn’t necessarily more free— if anything, she’s more constrained. Every decision matters, every mistake has consequences, and she has to think about the bigger picture at all times. As Marinette, she doesn’t have that same overwhelming burden. She’s anxious, scattered, and often lost in her own thoughts, but she has the space to obsess over the little things, whether it's an overly detailed plan, a small interaction with her crush, or a passing worry that spirals into something bigger. While Ladybug has to act, Marinette has the luxury of hesitation, of focusing on minutiae instead of the weight of the world.

And then in contrast there’s Adrien, in how he navigates his dual identity. As Chat Noir, he thrives in the freedom his mask gives him, in being playful, loud, and entirely unrestrained. He takes up space without hesitation, making himself seen and heard in a way he never does as Adrien.

As his civilian self, he fades into the background, careful and composed. He rarely draws attention to himself, moving through the world with quiet politeness rather than asserting himself wherever and anywhere he wants as Chat Noir. He’s considerate, always attuned to the needs of those around him, and I think he very much consciously and unconsciously he holds himself back. Where Marinette over-prepares and overthinks and often falls into spirals, Adrien is overly polite, often depressed even though he hides it very well, repressed, avoidant, and non confrontational. It’s only as Chat Noir that he allows himself to be messy, make mistakes, rambunctious, and completely unfiltered.

That’s why their conversation about being the best versions of themselves in Sublimation is so interesting to me. They both genuinely believe that they are better, be it more capable, more confident, more themselves when they’re transformed and fighting side by side. It’s not necessarily true, and in many ways, they underestimate their own strength as civilians, but it’s what they feel, and that belief shapes how they carry themselves once transformed.

What makes this so fascinating is that, whether they intended to or not, their masks have now became more than disguises. Over time, they’ve unconsciously crafted personas around Ladybug and Chat Noir, leaning into traits they suppress in their civilian lives. Marinette channels a confidence and decisiveness that she struggles to access as herself, while Adrien embraces a level of freedom and self-expression that he never allows when he's de-transformed. It's like when they are Ladybug and Chat Noir, they give them permission to be the versions of themselves they think they should be.

I’m really excited to see how they keep changing, how the lines between themselves keep blurring. And honestly, their best selves were never just one or the other. It’s not Marinette or Ladybug, Adrien or Chat Noir— it’s all of it, all at once. They just need to learn to find the balance in that.

[neo127]

pairing. spider-man!sim jaeyun x gn!artist!reader genre. fluff cw. none! notes. i love writing jake as spider-man it’s so fun

archive

“how about these?” you asked, holding up your sketchbook full of different spider-man suit designs. jake's face lit up as he observed the different ideas you had come up for him.

considering that you were the only person in his life who knew about his powers, jake often talked your ear off about anything spider-man related. you loved it, often offering the boy solutions or just simply listening to whatever he had to say.

recently, jake told you about how he wanted something different for his new suit. his current one had ripped badly during a fight with doc ock and he needed to come up with something new and quick. being an artist, who often dabbled in sewing and fashion in general, you offered to help.

“i know you said you wanted to keep the red and blue, but i was thinking that the red and black could also be cool. and maybe having a white or black spider emblem where the legs extend across the suit.” you explained, flipping a page and pointing to the drawing. jake looked at you with a sparkle in his eyes, making you squirm from the intense eye contact.

“would you mind making it for me? i swear i’ll buy you matcha for like, a month.” jake begged before getting on his knees in front of your sitting figure while gripping onto your legs. you held back a laugh and pretended to think, tapping your pencil against your chin for effect.

“…make it two months and we have a deal.” you joked, but jake perked up and grabbed your hand in a rough handshake.

“deal!” he was excited, very excited considering that his old suit had been torn to shreds. he had seen your work at your school fashion shows and exhibits, you were really good.

“don’t worry, i’ll help with the technology that goes into the suit, all i need from you is the design part.” jake explained, helping you up from the grass before dusting you off. your cheeks warmed up quickly from his touch and you tried to avoid his eyes as much as you could.

“i’ll start on it tonight, i finished my homework earlier today so.." you were cut off by a swift kiss on the cheek. the action made your breath catch in your throat and you turned your head towards jake. he looked just as flustered as you felt and you wondered if he even thought the kiss through.

"sorry it's just...you're amazing, really. thank you for helping me with all of my sider-man stuff, i couldn't do all of this without you." jake spoke up first, his voice shaking a bit. his nervousness was endearing, and you couldn't help but lean down and plant a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"of course, i'll always be there for you." you replied before walking off with your things. jake watched as you go, his heart hammering in his chest ten times faster and a small smile slowly forming on his face.

[libraford]

Multi-paper junk mini journal tutorial (low spoons version)

Last night, I mentioned that I like my blank books to have a combination of different papers: colored paper for sketching, blank paper for writing, dotted paper for lists, graph paper for schematics and maps, but there arent many manufacturers that make this. So I just make them myself.

And yall wanna know how to do that.

GREAT!

Here's the easy version. This is for:

-I want this for me, NOW, and I don't care what it looks like because I'm gonna cover it in stickers, and it's only going to be a few pages long. If it lasts a week, I'm happy.

You will need:

- desired papers, 8.5x11 inch regular ass sizes

- a piece of card stock or a thicker paper.

- stapler

- washi tape (optional)

- probably scissors

STEP 1

Take a piece of paper. Fold it in half. Tear or cut the paper along the fold line so you have two half sheets of paper.

If you want a larger book, you can just fold it in half and the book will be 8.5×5 instead of 5x3.25.

STEP 2

Fold the half sheets in half and crease them. Repeat this for every sheet you intend on using for the inside of your journal.* Try not to do more than 8 papers because it'll put stress on the stapler. The papers should now fit inside of each other.

*you could, if pressed, fold them all together in one big group. This is faster, however- if you've ever had a handmade zine that doesn't close cleanly it's likely that they stapled it together without creasing. To each their own. I don't run your life.

If there is excess on the ends that makes the book uneven, feel free to chop it off at this point.

STEP 3

Repeat step 2, but with the thicker paper, which is now your book cover.

STEP 4

Find the centerfold- which is the middle piece of paper. Lay it flat and make sure all the papers and the cover line up.

TIME TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH STAPLER!

Ah, yes- the zine-stitch. Three staples to hold it all together, one in the center and 2 an inch from the top and bottom. If you are doing a larger size, you may need more staples.

You can staple from the inside or you can flip it over and staple it from the spine. Stapling from the spine will make it smoother on the outside so if you're carrying it in your pocket it won't catch threads.

But sometimes stapling from the inside is the only method that works. I've got a fix for you at the end.

Stapling is easy because it's a fast fix, but you may find yourself wasting staples because they don't go all the way through. This can be that the paper is too thick or that there's too many papers. I have a more complicated version of this that's suited to this situation, which I'll write later.

Other, more obvious solution: better staples, better stapler. But I don't have that.

You can call yourself done now, or...

OPTIONAL STEP 5

If you stapled from the centerfold or if you plain don't like the way your spine looks, we're gonna use some washi tape.**

Gently find an unstapled flap in the cover and separate it so you can get some washing tape to adhere to the inside.

Run it along the spine with the book flattened.

Adhere it to the inside of the cover at the bottom and then fold.

**an advanced technique for this when you don't have washi tape: cut a strip of contrasting paper at least 1 inch thick and 2 inches longer than the spine (so in this case it would be 1 inch by 7 inches.) Coat the back of this paper with glue and then use in the same way the washi is shown. This will require extra curing time and you will want to put something heavy on top as it dries. Washi is just easier.

Now slap a sticker on it.

Nice!

And now you've got a little journal. Does it look great? Who cares? You don't have to look all over for a piece of graph paper when you wanna draw a map of something while you're out doing stuff.

It took me longer to write the tutorial than it did to make the thing. The hardest part was getting the staples to behave.

I have a higher spoons version that I will write up later, but this is the punkass way of doing something for yourself.

UPDATE: The tutorial for the nicer version is available here!

[catthepillarr]

After watching tfes, I seriously can't help but fixate on the uncanny resemblance Prowl has to cats.

This is slightly embarrassing to admit but I find the thought of Prowl being unusually similar to a cat genuinely amusing, so obviously I'm going to put him in a cardboard box.

And I obviously also have a scientific explanation as to why Prowl needs a comically large scarf and box. Listen, if you compare tfes Prowl to the rest of the cast, there's a pretty glaring difference in height. Prowl is tiny, so naturally, he'll be much colder than everyone else because smaller objects tend to lose heat much faster than bigger objects. And if you take into account the fact that they're, well, metal, an excellent conductor of heat, he's going to lose heat way faster than most. Therefore, if he doesn't want to freeze to death, he'll probably have to find alternate solutions because heaters don't solve everything. Scarves are insulators of heat due to the multiple air pockets in them, and similarly with cardboard boxes. So, technically.. it's pretty logical to put a scarf on Prowl and keep him in a little box.

Yeah sorry I may or may not have gotten carried away. Anyways, if you're somehow still reading, I just want to thank everyone for the overwhelming amount of support I've received the past 2 days. Seriously, thank you. I'm literally elated that there's a place where I can FINALLY dump my hundreds of Prowl doodles..

Since you're already here, I just want to know;

Also sneak peak on another Prowl w scarf comic ha... (I'm unhinged)