#Behold! My blob!

[krisseratops]

So I made a symbiote sona :3

Because why not!

After seeing @anisecandy 's insanely pretty symbisona I was inspired to make my own! I kinda started out with the concepts "spiky" and "feral" and went nuts from there. And yes of course it glows in the dark! It even has a rave mode:

Silly little inspiration board under the cut:

[chubunited]

OC Prompt: Shiver attempting to achieve flight (whether via squidcada(s) or a tamed cyan lizard is up to you) but failing in a hilarious manner (again, whether it is via funny fat shenanigans or good ol’ slapstick humor is up to you!)

something tells me it's probably not gonna get liftoff

[themurdochmemesteries]

favourite protagonists

[tortoise-teapot]

am i really about to sit down and draw ghilan'nain and solas taking fat rips from a bong and inventing increasingly fucked up little creatures

[paintedlepard]

🙃 🌈

🙃 Which is easier: faces facing left, right, or front view?

Absolutely fuck head on though, I find it really hard to do any kind of symmetrical work like that >_>

🌈 Do you use more warm or cold colors?

Also, I'm just realizing after I drew this that I sketch almost everything in red.... so even if I'm not finishing art it's usually warm colors lmao

🌼Artist Ask meme!🌼

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (I)

PART TWO

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Grown tired of living in your sister's shadow, you offered yourself to the one whom she had rejected once – Melkor. You regretted it quickly as he turned out to be a cruel lover and you became the very first subject of his twisted tortures meant to reshape one's spirit. In his eyes you were nothing by Varda's shadow but in the eyes of Mairon the Maia you have always been the only and the most holy goddess. When his master is gone, he can finally get close to you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I had two ideas for Sauron with Morgoth's ex and honestly? I will probably write one more because I like the other idea a lot, too. This fic is quite dark because of the nature of Reader's relationship with Morgoth. Not gonna lie, it was a challenge to write a Reader who is a literal Goddess but Sauron himself inspired me to explore this dynamic when he seemed to be so proud of the fact that it was a God himself torturing him... 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. In the next part there will be some goo/blob!Sauron + Halbrand and in this part our favourite ginger loser makes his comeback! 🦊 Apparently, I can't write him as a dom... 😂 Well, surely not with someone who is so much above him. Huge thanks to @dinsbeskar once more because we were brainstorming about this idea together. ⭐ Special thanks to @olchr-1 as well! 💚 PS – I haven't described how Morgoth looks like either but I imagine him as a tall, black haired hottie like on the fanarts. 💀😂 There is also a slight mention of the Reader being originally promised to Aulë, which was inspired by the story of Hephaestus and Aphrodite.

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), domestic abuse (with Morgoth), mentions of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, SMUT, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 4,330

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (I)

The very first thing you remembered was beholding your sister Varda being crowned one of the mightiest of the Valier and Queen of the Valar, Queen of the Stars, a beauty beyond the description of Men and Elves. So pure to reject Melkor and marry his brother Manwë instead – King of the Valar.

You followed your sister nearly everywhere, hoping to bask in her light but it never seemed to be enough to make you feel warm. You were greedy – at first, you were jealous of her husband and insisted on her spending more time with you than with him, striving for all of her affection. Once you realised that it was a lost cause, you began to detest Manwë.

You watched Varda situate the stars in the heavens above Arda as if they were jewels and you were the one setting them alight with the fire burning within you for they could lighten up the firmament. You were responsible for the treacherous element that the fire was – useful in many ways but also dangerous if not used correctly or with malicious intent.

Aulë The Smith began to court you as he watched you set the stars on fire. He was dreaming of how perfectly you two would go together if you were to fuel the fire inside his forge – the source of all his creation would come from you.

Everyone, including your sister, was encouraging you to become his wife for his heart was of a noble kind. Your own heart remained unsure but you wished to marry as well instead of only watching Varda and Manwë sharing a bond you could only dream of. Aulë, however, was not who you were dreaming about.

It was Melkor that you were drawn to; Manwë’s powerful brother, the very same whom your sister had rejected once and he had grown to resent her. You were observing him often because he fascinated you and you probably were the only one amongst the Valar who understood him. You were outcasts, both of you, but you were better at hiding it.

He was sometimes observing you as well, from the corner of his eye. You could feel his gaze on you and you knew that he had to feel the same way you did – he could see the malice inside of your heart for his was the same.

Whenever you would spend time with Varda dancing in the flower fields, you could feel Melkor creeping in the shadows and watching. Of course, he was there for your sister but still, some of his gazes were reserved for you only.

Therefore, on the eve of your wedding to Aulë, you forsake the light and seeked the shadow as you sneaked out of the palace you lived in and you found yourself knocking upon Melkor’s doors. There was no fear inside of you, only pure determination.

And you knew you could never replace your sister; your power was a mere shadow of hers. Yet, you offered yourself to Melkor on that night and he took you in, claimed you as his own and made you his bride. Before dawn, together, you fled from Arda for some time, leaving behind sorrow and dismay.

Your sister was most grieved by your betrayal. Alongside her, Aulë descended into a state of melancholy until Manwë mentioned to him the possibility of courting Yavanna instead and The Fruit-Giver became his wife – that union became one of harmony and love unlike the one you would have with The Smith.

You always fascinated Mairon the most – (Y/N), Mother of Flames, Aulë’s lost love. As his disciple, Mairon observed you humbly before and he knew his master’s heart enough to know that Aulë would always feel bitter towards you. Yavanna was his love match but she could not fuel the fire inside his forge and become the source of his creation.

What a source of inspiration you were for Mairon, though. The same way others worshipped Varda, Mairon worshipped you. Everytime he stared at the fire inside the forge, your image was all he could think of as the thought of you lingered in his mind constantly. You were long gone from Arda after eloping with Melkor but he hoped it was not yet over, that he would see you again. In the early days, when his spirit was still pure, he often fantasised about you being taken back by the Valar and forgiven by them, so he could build altars for you amongst the kins that would yet awake to inhabit Arda.

Some of his bolder daydreams were about another form of punishment for you – he would have you humbled in the name of redemption, bound to a lowly Maia. He meant himself, of course. He imagined the Mother of Flames becoming the source of his creation, fueling the fire within his forge and watching over his craft as his very own wife. He wondered how jealous Aulë would be then and how humiliated you would be, yet he was certain he could make you happy and fix the malice of your spirit with his undying love and endless devotion.

And perhaps that blasphemous dreams of Mairon the Maia, bold in their insolence, would be a kinder fate for both of you and the whole Arda. Because, in the meantime, you were starting to realise with bitter clarity why you should have stayed away from Melkor, the Dark Lord, in the first place.

In his greatness, he dwelt in solitude and his mind remained ungraspable for you. He would rarely let you inside to allow you to see the world the way he perceived it. Though he desired you, it was not as an equal, neither as companion nor as lover. And even in his desire, there was contempt, too, because as Varda’s sister you were a reminder of her rejection, which still lingered within your husband as a wound unhealed. And your beauty, your power, your holiness… They were nothing but pale echoes of your sister’s qualities; faint reflections of her no matter how hard you tried. And each one of your failures to meet Melkor’s towering expectations was met with your husband’s wrath.

None among his servants who would later know him as a cruel master ever dared to complain about his punishments in your presence because you were his first subject of torment, his earliest experiment in reshaping the will of another and they knew that you survived things they could barely think of. You were a Vala and you could endure the worst treatment, therefore in your suffering he reshaped you in ways that would shatter even the mighty Maiar. Melkor forged you anew and twisted your already spoiled essence to his dark design.

Alone in his presence you felt belittled and humbled. But by his side before others, you were exalted and invincible – cloaked in the might of his dominion – and that illusion of power became intoxicating. For allowing you to get sedated with such greatness was enough to worship him like he was Eru himself and out of all your offerings, he loved that devotion the most about you.

To be his wife was not easy – it was a torment and perhaps you were burdened with the most difficult fate out of all the Valar. Yet, it was what you had chosen willingly for yourself and you carried this responsibility with pride, trying not to think too much of the life you could have lived instead. You were made for much bigger things than spending your whole lifetime resting in the sunlight and being followed by the forest animals like some of the Valar ladies were. No, you were aiming for greatness and the price for it was pain.

When Mairon came to your husband’s service, you sensed immediately the amount of his worship and devotion towards you. You sometimes wondered if the Maia joined Melkor for him and his power or were you the real reason for his spirit’s betrayal. His devotion amused you but you offered him no kindness as his yearning for your favour was met with cold indifference. Even though he was desperate for more of it, he should know better and be grateful for your rejection. Because if Melkor would realise the true nature of Mairon’s feelings, he would not go easy on him and his wrath would be merciless. 

Sometimes you wondered how it was possible that Melkor could not sense Mairon’s admiration for you. Perhaps he thought of it as something innocent – something expected from his servants to feel towards his Queen. Perhaps he thought of it as silly and pathetic, unworthy of his attention, because he knew you would never humiliate yourself to betray him for a servant.

Or perhaps your husband cared about you even less than you suspected.

After Melkor’s defeat, you were hiding inside your fortress in the North from the wrath of the Valar. Your husband’s absence was welcomed by you with relief but also a huge emptiness within your soul. You had been his companion for ages and to be left alone now felt oddly wrong. Many of the creatures of darkness expected you to take the leadership but you stepped away instead, wishing for a calmer and more peaceful time at least. 

The power you had once craved now was something you dreaded. Your husband’s ways had drained you nearly completely, you were a shell of your old self. You wanted nothing but to crawl inside a hole and spend another eternity there, resting as a person unknown to the outside world. 

Mairon was the one who took all the responsibilities upon his shoulders and while committing to his duties, he would always emphasise he was fulfilling them in your name. Forever a servant he would remain. 

Now, without Melkor’s eyes observing him constantly, he gained more courage to bask in the remains of your corrupted light. You sensed his gaze on you wherever you would go.

Your wish, however, was to go much further away and Mairon knew about it, which was worrying him. He was trying his best – nearly desperately – to reunite your husband’s armies and dark creatures of the shadows, to become their leader and build a realm for you to rule over. To become worthy of you.

“My Lady,” he kneeled as he approached you and he kept his eyes low although you knew he dared to look up here and there, too tempted not to lay his gaze on you. “Please, grant me an audience,” he pleaded.

“You wish for an audience, Mairon? But is it not you preparing to get crowned very soon, my cunning spirit? Soon it shall be me asking for your audience,” you teased him and he looked up, his eyes filled with panic. Melkor would punish him for such schemes but you were not him and his influence was upon you no more. 

“I might crown myself the new Dark Lord, my Lady, but I would never consider myself to be above my Goddess,” he confessed and you smiled sadly as you approached him to grab him by his chin.

He swallowed thickly out of fear but his eyes remained soft, filled with nothing but pure admiration. In Melkor’s eyes you had been Varda’s unworthy shadow. Perhaps no one had ever perceived you with such devotion as Mairon.

“I shall build you altars in my realm; in every village, every town, every city. And in the capital of my kingdom where I will reside, I shall build a temple where you can find your peace,” he breathed out. “Just, please, do not abandon me.”

Your soft smile turned into a smirk when you let go of his chin and moved your hand to his ginger hair to caress it softly like he was your pet.

“I must, Mairon. When you build your temple for me, though, then I might come back to reside there. But until then, we must part,” you insisted and walked away at the sight of his eyes getting wet.

“Will they ever follow me without you by my side?” He asked, unsurely.

“They will not. Not all of them. Can you not see that it is a cursed path, destined to become a failure, to follow Melkor’s steps?” You turned around to look at his face once more. “Run away with me, Mairon. Forsake this realm, forsake your schemes,” you proposed and he gasped, visibly contemplating his answer. But the sparkles faded away from his eyes very quickly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I must stay and heal Middle-earth. I cannot abandon its people because of my own selfish desire,” he resisted you as you chuckled at that.

“You are no god, then, Mairon. Gods do whatever they wish. Spirits like you were created to serve,” you teased, cruelly as you sat on your armchair and he moved uncomfortably, looking away, but he remained kneeling and humbled.

“Allow me to serve you then, Mother of Flames,” he dared to whisper, nearly inaudibly, his breath shaky and lips trembling.

You tilted your head, thinking about his words. You would leave this realm soon, perhaps forever. He surely deserved a little treat before your departure for all the worship and devotion he had been gifting you with. And you deserved to give in to desires of your flesh as well after all the treatment your husband had given you.

“Come to me,” you ordered, harshly. You watched him trying to stand up slowly but you quickly stopped him. “On your hands and knees,” you explained.

Mairon glanced up at you as if he could not believe the amount of humiliation you would put him through now. It was true that back in the day you had often contrasted with Melkor’s cruelty but now Melkor was no more and you had been taught the craft by the very master of it.

Perhaps his influence was still upon you and it would remain there forever. 

You waited with an eyebrow raised and Marion gave up eventually, crawling on the floor towards you. He might have been humiliated and embarrassed but his eagerness was obvious in the way his eyes sparkled at the sight of your legs getting closer and closer to him. And when he was nearly in front of them, you opened them slightly as he gasped and looked up at you with admiration. He could not believe the access you had just given him while you smirked at his obedience.

“Serve me, Mairon,” you requested, wickedly. “Let my taste remain on your lips and might you never forget it while you build your kingdom in my name. I will come back to you then, my sweet, unless the Valar find and imprison me before,” you leaned in to caress his cheek with your finger gently.

“I shall fight them then. No matter how much it takes, I will release you and bind you to me instead,” he whispered.

“Bold of you, mighty Maia, to speak of such matters,” you let out a laugh. “Even as the greatest of your kind, you would still only be gifted with a mere shadow of my powers. We will never be equal, Mairon,” you reminded him and his eyes welled with even more tears at such a harsh reminder.

He cursed Eru himself for creating him as such a low spirit because this way he could never be worthy of you and to be able to walk by your side as your equal was all he had ever wanted.

“Let it be then… Anything to be close to you, my Lady,” he cooed. “Please, allow me to touch you,” he begged as he moved even closer to your legs.

“Proceed,” you nodded and watched him closely, observing his every movement, every gaze, which probably intimidated him even further but you could sense his desire to please you becoming too grand to care about anything else.

His hands wrapped around your ankles and moved up slowly, brushing your skin as the skirts of your dress pulled up, revealing your calves for him to admire. He had never seen them.

Well, perhaps he had. He had often sneaked up on you here and there and you had known about it but welcomed it with nothing but a chuckle as you had been pretending to be oblivious.

However, he had never been so close to them. To you. He crawled up even closer as he planted soft and devoted kisses to your exposed skin. You had never known kisses like these because Melkor had been mostly devouring you, tormenting you, using you. 

Mairon sighed and you felt a shiver go down your spine at the feeling of his fingertips brushing the back of your knees. You slid lower on the armchair as your skirts pulled nearly all the way up, exposing your thighs to him. Your obedient servant gasped and looked up at you once more as if he was asking if that part of you was allowed for him, too.

“Have I told you to stop?” You challenged him and he nodded before burying his head between your soft thighs to kiss and lick them softly, breathing the sweet scent of your skin as if you were the holiness personified.

Wicked thought it was for you were the most corrupted and fallen out of the female Valar and yet you doubted any of them were worshipped with such eagerness as you were now.

“If we never left Valinor and I never followed Melkor,” you breathed out, caressing Mairon’s ginger hair and playing with the delicate strands of his hair between your fingers, “you would be my disciple and we would spend forever in the fields under the sun with you worshipping me, my sweet spirit,” you shared your fantasy with him and he whined at that as he moved his face further and deeper, his nose nudging your glistening cunt as he requested for your legs to open even wider.

“So impatient,” you pointed out and grabbed him by his throat to pull him away. You felt him swallow underneath your hand and then you forced him to look up by grabbing his chin. It was slightly wet already from your leaking cunt and you leaned in to give him a possessive, open-mouth kiss; to taste yourself on him as his eyes widened but he gave in immediately.

While granting him with a kiss he would never forget, you opened your legs further and further, giving him full access to the sweet nectar between your thighs and he whined into your mouth like a brat when he realised what you were doing. He laid his trembling hands on your thighs and moved the folds of your dress even further to the back, making sure your cunt was all exposed for him.

The cold air of the room caused your clit to twitch and swell before his thumb found it and brushed it. Now it was your time to moan into his mouth. You broke the kiss and pressed your forehead to his as you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths in. Pleasure without pain was an experience brand new for your flesh and you had to steady yourself as he watched in awe.

“A-allow me…” Mairon pleaded and your eyes opened once more as you looked deep into his with a nod.

You laid back in the armchair and watched him with curiosity but also a hint of contempt to see a spirit so mighty humbled like this – perhaps you could understand Melkor more than you had ever expected to be able to but it was truly fascinating and pleasurable to humiliate other spirits. 

To be able to kiss and lick your cunt, to devour it – it was surely a life-changing experience for your sweet Mairon. His usually calm demeanour changed in an instant, reminding you of a hungry hound as he whined and whimpered, lapping on your juices as if it was the sweetest nectar granting him immortality. He was intoxicated as his hands squeezed your thighs to keep them open and allow him to feast eagerly. 

Your body of a goddess allowed you to go on without breaks; a peak after peak as you shivered and trembled, caressing his head and meeting his hazy, devoted gaze once in a while to let him know he was doing good. Your praise meant everything to him for all he had always known was your husband’s reprimands. 

Your flesh could go on and on but your mind of a goddess was a demanding one and soon you grew simply bored of his ministrations, therefore you pushed his head away and crossed your legs, taking away the access from him.

Mairon’s face was flushed, his eyes foggy and skin glistening from sweat and your juices dripping down his chin. He was kneeling and looking up at you mindlessly as if he would follow your every order now, no matter how self-destructive it would be.

“You’ve served me good, Mairon,” you grabbed his chin and smiled at him. “Good servant,” you emphasised.

“P-please,” he whimpered and you furrowed your brow before realising what he begged you for.

His own release.

“Was not your kin created to serve mine? I do not think our creator blessed you with such desires, Mairon. Do not be a dirty liar,” you teased him.

“Please, my Lady,” he whined, desperately.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Alright, then, let me see for myself,” you smirked and pushed him down onto the floor before getting out of your armchair and straddling him like a predator would trap her prey before sinking her teeth into him.

He looked so pretty like this – both excited and turned on but also absolutely terrified of you. You could do everything to him and he had no other way but to accept it. And he knew – he knew very well – that you could be as cruel as Melkor if you only wanted to be.

Melkor’s brutality had been driven by his own whim. Yours would be driven by your revenge for all the centuries of being treated like his dog. Beaten dogs tended to bite deadly and Mairon knew.

“Do not fear me, sweet Mairon. I only want to see for myself if it is true that you have fallen and corrupted yourself so much with your devotion towards me that you have been gifted with desires of the flesh,” you smirked. “Or cursed with them,” you pointed out as your hands worked on his robes and the trousers underneath them swiftly and quickly.

You gasped and laughed when you saw how hard he was already after all those hours he had spent between your legs. He blushed even further and his cheeks were crimson red now like his clothes.

“This must hurt,” you pointed out with a sinister chuckle. “Is it the first time for you?” You asked, brushing his thighs with your fingernails, making him shiver under your touch but refusing to actually pay any attention to his hard and reddened cock with its tip swollen and twitching, leaking precum.

“No,” he confessed, nearly inaudibly.

“Interesting,” you hummed to yourself and leaned in, your face so close to his that your noses brushed. “And what were you doing usually when it happened?”

“Nothing,” Mairon confessed, his face wincing out of shame. “Nothing, my Lady. I would never… I would never dare to…” He gasped after every word, so sweetly desperate and frustrated but not brave enough to ask you to do anything in particular. He would never order you around.

“Oh, my sweet, poor Mairon… You should have come to me each time and I would have helped you,” you grinned at him although you both knew it was not true. None of you would have ever dared to commit such an act behind Melkor’s back. “Do you want me to ease you now?” You asked.

“P-please…”

You reached towards his twitching cock and grabbed his wet length as you watched with cold fascination while he struggled and writhed underneath you. A few pumps of your hand was enough to make him spill himself with a whine, bucking his hips into your hand as you kept jerking him off to make more and more of his seed spurt out. 

His body of a Maia did not need breaks but there was always a limit to how much seed any male flesh could produce. And when you felt he could absolutely do no more, you stopped and watched him catch his breath as you giggled, laying on top of him and intertwining your legs. One of your hands kept caressing his sore and softening cock gently as your other hand pulled his head closer to your chest, burying his face between your breasts and caressing his ginger hair strands.

“Please, do not go… I will be so lost without you,” Mairon looked up to meet your gaze and you smiled sadly at that.

“Do not start again,” you scolded him.

“Can you at least stay for the coronation?” He pleaded but you shook your head.

“No. I must leave tonight, as soon as possible,” you leaned in to kiss his forehead and a short while of silence occurred.

It surprised you greatly but some part of you began craving to take care of him now. As if the sinful act you had just performed with him, which stained you in a way – because what else would you call lowering yourself to pleasing a Maia? – as if it had forged an attachment between you two and bound you to him indeed like he had blasphemously suggested before.

You definitely had to leave and hide from the Valar, seek your own peace of mind. But you knew already that you would be back for your sweet Mairon sooner than both of you expected.

MASTERLIST

[wordpress-blaze-242934854]

Widow Night Out: Reclaiming Joy in the Midst of Grief

There’s something deeply sacred about laughter after loss. For many widows, joy can feel like a betrayal — like smiling too wide might somehow erase the depth of our grief. But here's the truth: joy doesn't replace grief; it sits beside it. That’s what Widow Night Out is all about.

It’s not about forgetting. It’s about remembering that we are still here — still worthy of fun, of sisterhood, of music that makes us dance, and conversations that make us feel seen. It's a space where no one has to explain why they cry between laughs or why their ring still sits on their finger. Everyone already understands.

The Power of Togetherness

Grief can be isolating, but Widow Night Out reminds us that healing doesn’t happen in silence — it happens in community. When widows gather, there’s an unspoken bond, a shared strength that flows from one woman to the next. We tell stories, sip wine or tea, wear something that makes us feel alive again, and most importantly — we show up.

Healing Isn’t Linear

There are no rules for how long you're supposed to grieve or how quickly you're supposed to move forward. But one thing is certain: allowing yourself to enjoy life again is not dishonoring your past — it's honoring you. These nights are gentle invitations back to ourselves.

Why It Matters

Widowhood is more than a status — it’s a journey. And that journey deserves pauses for lightheartedness and reminders that we’re more than what we’ve lost. We are still becoming.

Widow Night Out is not just about going out — it’s about stepping back into life, slowly but intentionally. Whether it's a quiet dinner, a dance night, or just gathering with women who "get it," it’s a celebration of resilience.

To the widow who needs this reminder:

It’s okay to laugh. It’s okay to dance. It’s okay to live.

You are not moving on — you are moving forward.

Keep going, beautifully.

Source: Widow Night Out: Reclaiming Joy in the Midst of Grief

[norrisleclercf1]

Day 21 of 25 Days of Christmas: Painting Christmas Ornaments together

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 923

It’s a cozy December evening, and the aroma of gingerbread wafts through the air as you sit cross-legged on the floor of your living room, surrounded by a colorful array of ornaments and paint supplies. Most people would probably have their holiday shopping sorted by now. Still, you and Charles decided it was time to unleash your creative sides—specifically, through a fun and slightly disastrous ornament painting date.

Charles, with his expressive gestures and boyish charm, is adorably concentrated. He’s currently trying to figure out how to paint a snowman, but it’s slowly becoming an abstract interpretation. You can’t help but chuckle at his furrowed brow and the red paint splattered on the tip of his nose. “Do you need help?” you tease, leaning over to get a better look.

“I think I’ve got this,” he insists, his voice full of determination. “It’s just a snowman. How hard can it possibly be?” With a flourish, he adds a few blobs of color for buttons that look suspiciously like they’ve been spilled rather than carefully placed. You can see the intensity in his dark eyes and get lost in its charm briefly.

“Alright, Picasso, let’s see your snowman!” you laugh, challenging him to show off his creation.

He holds it up proudly, and it’s so lopsided you nearly spit out your hot cocoa. “Behold, my masterpiece!” he declares dramatically.

You’re still giggling uncontrollably when you say, “It looks like he’s just come from a very chaotic party rather than a winter wonderland!” The playful jab earns you a mock glare.

“Excuse me! At least I’m trying to innovate here,” he grins. “What are you working on?”

You point to the ornament you’re carefully painting—a lovely detailed reindeer turning out beautifully (if you do say so yourself). “This is going to be the star of the tree. Just wait and see!”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to show me up?” he gasps in mock horror. “I see how it is. It’s a competition, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” you reply, a playful determination in your voice. “And I intend on winning. Just watch; my ornament will be the first one hung on the tree!”

Charles leans closer, tilting his head as he inspects your work. “Fine, but you need to show me your techniques,” he presses. “Maybe I can take some pointers from my talented partner.”

“Ready for a lesson then?” you ask, unable to contain your excitement. You guide him step by step on how to create a perfect snowman. Each stroke of paint is accompanied by laughter as he tries to replicate your skilled hand movements. Soon enough, he’s turned his abstract sprinkles into something vaguely resembling a snowman, complete with a lopsided carrot nose.

“I think he’s getting a personality—look how cheerful he is!” he says, trying to defend his creation as it becomes more apparent that it has taken on a life of its own.

“He looks like he’s seen things,” you say, stifling laughter. “You may need to tone down the creativity there!”

The room's atmosphere is warm and filled with laughter, and you can’t help but find joy in Charles's silly antics. Seeing Charles covered in paint and his contagious laughter makes the evening feel special. There’s something satisfying about creating and getting your hands dirty; doing it together makes it even more fun.

After a bit more time painted on your hands, you both decide it’s snack time. As you take a break, you pop a cookie into your mouth and see him reaching for a paintbrush again. “You’re going to mess up your masterpiece even more!” you warn, grinning.

“I’m just trying to make him more colorful,” he says, waving his brush as if painting mid-air.

“Remember, less is more,” you advise, flicking off a bit of paint from his cheek while teasing him. “Art is about subtlety, my dear.”

“Subtlety is overrated!” He chuckles. “After this, I’m going straight to exhibit my work. You’ll see, everyone will love it!”

“Sure they will! And I’ll be there in a reindeer sweater, cheering you on,” you joke, making a mental note of the ridiculous festive outfit you might have to wear just for laughs.

Eventually, you both finish your ornaments—yours glistening with holiday cheer and his—a wild creation full of laughter and uniqueness. As you set them aside to dry, Charles glances at you, the light from the fairy lights dancing across the room, giving it a magical glow. “We said we’d paint ornaments, but I had way more fun than expected. Thanks for being my partner in this chaos.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” you reply softly, a smile lighting up your face. “It’s moments like these that make the holidays special.”

He reaches for your hand, a sincere look in his eyes. “Let’s make it a tradition, shall we?”

You nod eagerly, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Next time, we can even invite friends to join! More chaos, more laughter. And maybe I can help you paint…properly this time.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees, laughter bubbling between you as you both imagine future holiday mishaps.

As the evening winds down, you set your finished pieces on a nearby table to admire them. They’re not just decorations but reminders of this delightful night and the joyful banter that filled it. Leaning back against the couch, you realize that even a simple evening spent painting ornaments can become an unforgettable adventure with Charles. The holidays are about connection and joy; you’ve captured both beautifully tonight.

[herotome]

Devlog #181

Hi-ho, Wudge here!

I'm pretty excited to write this update. It feels like the past few(?) have been kinda downers that bum me out cuz I felt like I didn't do enough, but this past week I accomplished a lot!!!

A little preview...

ID: art of a phone. the screen displays a youtube apology video. The title of the video is "About the Smokescreen Situation," and the comments are turned off.

When I started out as a developer, I didn't really understand what would be built-in for me in ren'py, and I'd have to code in on my own.

Until this point, my playtesting process was....

play through the game from the very beginning

save the game at certain points

take a break for the day

come back another day and squint at the save files trying to determine where I left off, and what still needs doing

replay the game from the beginning again because the save files didn't contain the exact location/world state that I needed to test

...And as I made progress on writing and coding the story of Herotome, it became more taxing to playtest the game from the beginning.

It didn't hit me until very recently, many years into devving, that I could make my own devtool to jump between scenes.

I even wrote little recaps for myself per scene. :') feelsgoodman.jpeg

It took about a full day to code as test these screens, but they've worked beautifully. I'll likely still playteset Herotome from the beginning again sometime before releasing the next episode -- but I no longer have to playtest from the beginning almost every time I playtest.

For now, these screens are for my private use; but with some modifications and testing, I may make them available in the next edition of Herotome.. or in the release after that. We'll see. No promises, because jumping into the game from Scene Selection is useful for me as the developer, but it's a lotlotlotlot more likely to cause immersion-breaking bugs for a player.

And now that I have these screens, it made it soooooooooo much easier to jump to my newest story segments and to work on them - mainly to code in sprite/art positioning segments. Behold...!

I have art representing MC watching #superhero videos while jogging!

Phone and video stills art courtesy of @qkayoostudio

I worried a lot that this solo scene with MC would be boring, but having visible art has really helped it feel more engaging.

If you notice the video titles, view counts, comment section... that's all manually written and coded in by me. Having it all in code (rather than put together in a .png file) means I can alter the writing in renpy very easily without ever switching to an art program, it's an absolute treat I did for myself and I'm very happy about it.

I also uh... made these.. lol.

I've been feeling particularly unsatisfied with my sprite concept art lately, so my tactic to stop indefinitely fretting/fussing over them was to turn the sprites into shadowy stand-in blobs. I'm much more satisfied with the blobs. I no longer have to worry about their sprites' face shapes, fashion choices, body postures, or how I feel like my art isn't good enough.. because for now they're just blobs!

I'll be replacing the blobs with actual character art later, of course, NPC art is just soooo low priority that fretting over their imperfections felt like wasting time and energy.

I also did a bit of positioning for Katie... nothing new to show off from my success, but I do have a curious failure to share.

Somehow, Katie's cute little kitty sprite went to sit on the cabinet and fits there perfectly (aside from uh.. being a bit too big for a cat lol).

Going back to my Scene Selection screen - basically, I got through most of scenes 11-13! Having all the scenes numbered here in a list and immediately acccessible (in various worldstates of my choosing) is sooooo much better for me than the save file thumbnails... Idk if I've been able to explain it clearly at all, but I hope at least my excitement and relief shone through in this devlog.

Stay safe and keep warm,

Wudge.

[clarkeylesbian]

The Frog-Off

[Sypnosis : you and arthur attempt at the clay tiktok trend]

The camera turns on, and Arthur is grinning at it with his usual mix of smugness and charm. “Right, so!” he starts, his excitement barely contained. “Today, I’ve got a very special guest—my girlfriend, Y/N!” He gestures to the side of the frame.

The camera swivels to reveal you waving shyly. You’re already covered in a layer of clay because, true to Arthur’s style, you didn’t prepare at all before starting the intro.

“We’re diving into the clay modelling challenge that’s been blowing up on TikTok,” Arthur explains, picking up two lumps of green clay. “We’ll recreate a model we find online, and then you all get to vote on who did it better. But let me tell you, it’s going to be me.”

You fold your arms and raise an eyebrow. “You’ve never even touched clay before, Arthur.”

“It’s all about confidence, babe.”

Arthur pulls out his phone and shows it to the camera. The model you’ve chosen is a cute frog sitting on a lilypad. Simple enough, right?

Wrong.

“Alright,” Arthur says, squinting at the clay like he’s about to solve a complex maths problem. “Frog on a lilypad. This should be a piece of cake.”

You are already deep into your clay, focusing intently. “You say that now, but I’m already feeling like I’m failing this frog.”

The camera zooms in on your work, which resembles more of a squashed loaf of bread than a frog. Meanwhile, Arthur is still staring at his clay as if it’s the love of his life.

“You know,” Arthur muses, poking at the clay, “frogs are naturally lumpy. So, this is just me capturing their true texture.”

The camera pulls back to reveal Arthur’s creation: a round blob with legs sticking out at odd angles.

“I don’t know what that is,” you laugh, “but it’s definitely not a frog. It looks like a rejected Pokémon, bless.”

“It’s abstract,” Arthur defends. “You’ve got to feel the frog, not just mould it. This is art.”

“You seem more in love with your attempt at a frog than me,” you joke as Arthur kisses you on the head.

“I could never.”

You try not to laugh as you add eyes to your frog, which only makes it look high. Arthur plops two giant clay lumps onto his frog’s face, but they immediately fall off.

“Well, that’s just offensive,” he grumbles, trying to squish them back on.

There’s a brief pause before you point at the mess with a grin. “R.I.P. to your frog.”

Arthur shrugs. “We still have the lilypad. This is where I can shine. I can make circles.”

He grabs another lump of clay, slams it down on the table, and flattens it with his palm. “Behold, the lilypad.”

The camera pans to reveal something that looks more like a deflated pizza dough than a lilypad. You’re carefully shaping yours into a leaf-like form, too focused to notice Arthur’s attempt.

Arthur dramatically announces, “Oh, babe, get ready to be amazed.”

He proudly sets his “lilypad” on the table and places his pancake-like frog on top. It stays put, though it doesn’t exactly look stable.

You glance over and start laughing, trying to keep your own frog intact. “Is that… supposed to look like that?”

Arthur looks at his creation proudly.

As he adjusts his frog, one of its legs suddenly breaks off. Arthur throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Well, it seems like my frog’s had a bit of an accident.”

[] []

With your frogs and lilypads (if you can even call them that) side by side, you both step back to judge the results.

“Alright,” Arthur says, rubbing his hands together like a game show host. “It’s time to compare. Let’s see who's frog reigns supreme.”

You both lean in to examine the creations. Arthur’s frog looks like it’s had a rough day: half-melted, one eye missing and legs that are on the verge of breaking again.

Your frog isn’t perfect, but at least it’s recognizably a frog. It’s lumpy with one leg too big, and the lilypad looks like it was made from Play-Doh, but there’s a certain charm in its beady eyes.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Arthur says, trying to hold back laughter. “Your frog is.. fine. It’s decent. But mine has character. It’s got a story. It’s been through some things.”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Your frog looks like it’s seen the apocalypse.”

Arthur places a dramatic hand on his heart. “Exactly. It’s got emotional depth. My frog feels things.”

You both crack up as Arthur picks up his frog, and the legs fall off once more.

“Well,” Arthur shrugs, holding up the dismembered frog, “I think we all know who the real winner is here.” He turns to the camera. “But you guys, comment below! Who do you think made the better frog?”

You shake your head, still grinning. “Clearly me”

The camera zooms in dramatically on Arthur’s clay disaster as he whispers, “Art.”

“If you enjoyed this chaos,” Arthur says, trying to sound professional despite the mess, “don’t forget to like, subscribe, and hit the bell. And if you want more couple challenge videos—”

You jump in, “Please don’t make us do more clay.”

Arthur chuckles. “Yeah, we’re officially banned from clay. But seriously, let us know what you want to see next.”

“Vote for mi-” you attempt to say before the video cuts off.

[note: I've never made a fic before, so sorry it's not the best!]

[hugsandchaos]

I think if I added Little Baby Man to lu x dp, Twilight would guard Danny with his life. New little brother turned into tiny ghost creature to recover from something faster, unable to speak any living language, only making unholy noises that can only be described as distorted hisses, chirps, growls, and other admittedly terrifying sounds that no one wants to hear in the middle of the night. Sadly, it only lasts about a week.

Danny mostly hides in his backpack and talks to the ghost blob (whose name will be revealed next chapter!), so the others carry the backpack. He sometimes comes out to eat or just to say hi. He accepts being picked up, but asking for permission is appreciated and a must! Unless it’s an emergency.

Malon: A new member? I don’t see them.

Time: Well, he overworked himself a bunch and took on another form to recover faster. Twilight? You saw him last, right?

Twilight: *holds Little Baby Man Danny in his cupped hands for Malon* It is taking me all my strength not to yell “Behold!” at the top of my lungs.

Malon: ...I’m going to struggle taking him seriously until he’s back to normal.

[wordpress-blaze-242934854]

Widow Night Out: Reclaiming Joy in the Midst of Grief

There’s something deeply sacred about laughter after loss. For many widows, joy can feel like a betrayal — like smiling too wide might somehow erase the depth of our grief. But here's the truth: joy doesn't replace grief; it sits beside it. That’s what Widow Night Out is all about.

It’s not about forgetting. It’s about remembering that we are still here — still worthy of fun, of sisterhood, of music that makes us dance, and conversations that make us feel seen. It's a space where no one has to explain why they cry between laughs or why their ring still sits on their finger. Everyone already understands.

The Power of Togetherness

Grief can be isolating, but Widow Night Out reminds us that healing doesn’t happen in silence — it happens in community. When widows gather, there’s an unspoken bond, a shared strength that flows from one woman to the next. We tell stories, sip wine or tea, wear something that makes us feel alive again, and most importantly — we show up.

Healing Isn’t Linear

There are no rules for how long you're supposed to grieve or how quickly you're supposed to move forward. But one thing is certain: allowing yourself to enjoy life again is not dishonoring your past — it's honoring you. These nights are gentle invitations back to ourselves.

Why It Matters

Widowhood is more than a status — it’s a journey. And that journey deserves pauses for lightheartedness and reminders that we’re more than what we’ve lost. We are still becoming.

Widow Night Out is not just about going out — it’s about stepping back into life, slowly but intentionally. Whether it's a quiet dinner, a dance night, or just gathering with women who "get it," it’s a celebration of resilience.

To the widow who needs this reminder:

It’s okay to laugh. It’s okay to dance. It’s okay to live.

You are not moving on — you are moving forward.

Keep going, beautifully.

Source: Widow Night Out: Reclaiming Joy in the Midst of Grief

[marauroon]

I love your new fic Hypothermic and the whole trope of Jamie being a big cuddle bug and the best friend trope always has a chokehold on me. Can you write a romantic bestfriend!james maybe about a swim in the black lake or something with a summery vibe please (I miss summer so much rn)

BALL GAME — J.POTTER

James makes the most of being your favourite person to convince you out of the castle and into the lake.

cw — james picks the reader up at one point

james potter x fem!reader || fluff || 1.3k || requests open!

a/n: best friend james has my whole entire heart i fear

Sometimes James is half convinced you’re a vampire, that your skin is so delicate that even a pinprick of sunlight will burn you into a pile of ash.

If it weren’t for your ostentatious love of the summer season—and the privilege James has as your best friend—he’d be surprised you even agreed to his request at all.

Yet there you were, sat pretty underneath the shade of one of the small willow trees lining the water with a book in your lap and a picnic blanket separating you from the grass.

Was he a little sad you’d decided not to join the group in splashing around? A little. Was he going to ask you again later with his puppy dog eyes so you couldn’t refuse him? Probably.

But right now he was content with watching how your eyebrows furrowed and left small wrinkles between your eyes as you read a particularly interesting paragraph, and the slight fluttering of your hair against the small breeze.

A sharp splash of water to the back of his head tore James’ attention from watching the way your eyes scanned the pages of your novel with your nose scrunched in a mix of surprise and disgust at whatever was printed in the ink, and he turned around with an exaggerated gesture of annoyance only to be met with another splash straight to his face.

Whilst the icy water was a nice relief from the nearly 30° heat, it was still cold.

“What was that for?” James pulls his glasses from his face to try and wipe the water droplets from the lenses with his thumb, turning Sirius’ face into a blurry pale blob in the process.

“We’re picking teams for a makeshift volleyball game? You’d know that if you stopped gawking over there like a dog in heat,” James can vaguely make out Sirius crossing his arms over his chest, and lo and behold, when he slots his glasses back on, Sirius’ expression is just as smug as he expected it to be.

“I wasn’t ‘gawking’ anywhere you twat,” James sends a splash of water in Sirius’ direction as a retaliation. “I was just appreciating the fact that she actually joined us, that’s all,”

“Appreciating her face you mean,” Sirius’ tone matches his smugness perfectly, and James lets out a short scoff with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re such a dog Pads,”

“You know it,” Sirius shoots James a wink and he pretends to gag. “Seriously though, stop staring so we can play,”

“Orrr,” Marlene wades over to the two to interrupt the conversation, laying her arm over Sirius’ shoulder. “You can go over there and convince her to join us, we’re uneven,”

James shoots another glance in your direction with an uncertain hum. “I don’t think we should disturb her,”

“We can’t play 4 to 3 James,” Marlene tilts her head and shakes it lightly. “So go bat your eyelashes and use your favouritism to get us another player,”

She gives a dismissive wave of her hand and Sirius joins her, James sending the two a very unimpressed look as he drags himself out of the water to speak to you.

It’s not the new source of shade from the sun that informs you of James’s presence, nor is it the sight of him sitting down cross-legged beside you in your peripheral vision. It’s the water droplets that sprinkle the right side of your face and the pages of your book that give him away.

“James—” You let out a low groan to voice your disapproval at him shaking his head like a dog to dry his hair, something that very clearly didn’t work very well as water continued to drip from his curls onto his shoulders, disappearing into the already soaked fabric of his t-shirt.

“Sorry sorry collateral damage I swear,” He throws up his hands in an immediate surrender, and you let out a small scoff with a shake of your head as you pull his glasses from the bridge of his nose to dry them on the hem of your t-shirt.

“Having fun then?” You leave your book on the blanket to shift onto your knees, carefully placing James’ glasses back on his face so they properly catch behind his ears.

James nods with a smile at how gentle your fingers are as they brush the sides of his cheeks when you return them to your lap. “Yeah, we’re about to play a round of volleyball, fancy joining us?”

You scrunch up your nose slightly and he can immediately anticipate your answer. “…no?”

“Awe come on we’re uneven,” James tilts his head as he gestures towards the others in the water, a small pout etched onto his face. “We can’t play 3 to 4 that’s not how it works,”

He blinks at you softly, eyes filled with carefully curated desperation. “Please? We can team up together,” He adds the idea of teaming up like it’s an added bonus to your agreement, his voice sweet, sticky, and absolutely dripping in persuasion.

He looks perfectly pathetic when he looks at you like that, and who are you really to say no to him?

“One game,” Your answer is joined by an exasperated sigh, but James reacts like you’ve just told him all of Severus’ hair has fallen out rather than begrudgingly agreeing to play water volleyball with him.

“Perfect! Let’s go,” James holds out his hand to help you up eagerly, a smile beaming across his face that almost puts the blazing sun to shame in it’s brightness.

You roll your eyes at him, but take his hand nonetheless, and he’s a little too excited in pulling you to your feet as he sends you stumbling forward from his pull, and he uses the momentum to lean down and take the top half of your body over his shoulder, hoisting you off the ground in the process.

You can sense the inevitable immediately.

“Don’t you dare—” You arms wrap tightly around James’ waist as he straightens his posture, his arms secured around your thighs as he walks the two of you towards the lake, suspiciously quiet considering his earlier excitement. “James I swear to god if you do what I think you are going to do I will destroy you,”

You kick your legs the closer you get to the water, although it’s to no real avail compared to the arm strength that is James’ chaser practice, and all it really ends up doing is garnering you an audience as James begins to wade in the water.

“James, you better put me down right now.“ Your warning falls on deaf ears, and your half surprised at the amount of will power he has to keep ignoring you as the water reaches his knees.

“James—“ You barely manage to get his name out before he dive on a you both into the water, it’s icy temperature immediately sending a chill up your spine as you resurface with a gasp, James laughing as he breaks the water himself.

“You absolute twat—” You send a splash of water in James’ direction with an over-exaggerated show of your disapproval, and he blocks it with his forearm, laughter still steadily streaming from his mouth.

Needless to say, you didn’t team with him for the volleyball game.

[bahngnxxx]

FORGOTTEN DYSTOPIA 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

CHAPTER 1 

PAIRING. Bangchan x !F! reader  

GENRE. Thriller, action, horror(?), eventual smut, angst(?) 

WORD COUNT. 4.2k 

WARNINGS. 18+ mdni — explicit content, gore, knives, use of weapons, smut (in later chapters MUAHAHAH 👅👅), violence obv, fighting, all the action movie jazz.  

NOTES. Oh my god. Tuck yourself in rn, this is gonna be one of my first ever actual plot lined stories, yall will love it i swear. And thank you SO much for the likes and views I got on my last post, i did not expect that much when i woke up, i really appreciate you guys. I've been having a really rough day so excuse any mistakes or drousy shit, police and stuff waaah. (im gwenchana gang 💔) i luv yewz. Enjoyzers !! 

Waking up to the wrench of dust and grime was an everyday thing, it was like a daily smoke for free, not like the cannabis shops you used to drop by to daily, those are for the past. Thats what you would call a dystopia, a land not achievable, an alternate universe where we were once able to thrive the earth. Long gone to the crumbled houses around and mutant blobs that would thrive the creaky floors of the house. 

one you, and eight men left in this barren town. 

One might call it fate, but what use is there of such a hopeful word when hell is what we’re living in right now? It isn’t destiny, It’s a curse.  

You stretch a long stretch, trying your best not to take too deep of an inhale or you’d go into a coughing fit, adjusting your eyes to the fogged-up haze around the shared bedroom.  

There were 2 other men still asleep on the floor draped with jagged blankets, ones that were probably someone's childhood. Jeongin, second youngest but still your ‘hyung’ was wrapped up in a strawberry shortcake blanket, content as a ray of green sun streaked through the broken musted plastic blinds, particles of dust apparent in the rays. Opposite to him, with a leg over the younger man’s butt was Hyunjin, one remotely similar to a ferret, always sniffing and sleeping with his tongue bitten between his round teeth. He once had black hair that would tousle overtop of people, but now he remains bald, a kiwi. A new tease for his fuzzy hair. 

 You lean up against the creaky bed, being kind of spoilt because you were a female, one that came from afar and ended up here. Looking around the room, you find the usual set up, a sorry sight to behold. The previously brown painted wooden walls are now peeling off due to the moisture damage, curled like little shavings, the ceiling caved in, in some parts, leaving only streaks of sunlight to illuminate the room. The only few pieces of furniture in the room is an old worn bed that is pushed up against the wall which you rest in, and a table that is on a support beam with two legs, shoved to the side. The two males are curled up in different shapes on the floor, a split mattress underneath them, topped with thin blankets. The only disadvantage to you being up on a slightly more comforting bed is the loss of heat, but its alright, you already have enough to your advantage. The floors are littered with old bits of carpet and the window is slightly cracked up, allowing a cool, yet unbreathable breeze to seep in, slowly. The room overall was small and dingy, a faint unpleasent smell of something decayed lingered in the damp and stuffy air, but like how every house has their own scent, we are accustomed to it and breathe it like it is our own air.  

A few moments of staring out at the grey-yellow sky outside thanks to the pollution, and you were up and adam, carefully gliding across the men so you wouldn’t step on them like the numerous times you had before. You still pout at the sight of stepping on the younger male, IN, poor thing looked like those toys back in the days where you would squish it and their eyes would pop out.  

As you make your way out to the small grimy layout of the house and to the kitchen, your met with the deep voiced early riser, Felix, his eyes staring blankly at the tablet in front of him. Looking but not seeing. He rubs his eye and pops a pill into his mouth, catching sight of you and handing the bottle to you. “Here, breakfast. Eat up, we’re out of stock, ‘its hunting day.” he croaks in his deep morning voice, as Chan would say, a dragon man with an even dragon-ier voice. You glance up from his shoulder and to the countertops, narrowing your gaze to see the empty old water bottles laying in a pile on the floor. Great, your out, now you have to resort to dry swallowing. You squint your eyes and quickly take the pills up in your mouth, gathering up as much saliva as your weak body can before gulping them down.  

Felix is always the mother hen – having the same routine every morning, Felix will check the pills to make sure he’s taken all of his then keep watch of the others to make sure they’ve downed their amount as well. It seems redundant, and a tad bit excessive, but he always insists. He then shuffles out to the kitchen window, gazing outside the fog and to the barren lands, watering the indoor plants. Even the few that your able to keep alive will die eventually—there's only so much you can do against a dying word like this. 

“One for nutrients, one for vitamins,” Changbin hums from his spot at the table, tapping his hands on the wood. He’s already taken his dose for the morning, always the first one to snag all of the supply. You're assuming he’d finished all the water for some sort of punishment, as always. The male was previously a muscular one, one with a loud laugh that echoed across the hut, but nowadays he’d been a bit more silent, distant. All the men complain about feeling fuzzy due to the intake of the pills, even bangchan, despite him being one known to be strong and upholding.  

Eventually, a slender man sneaked up from behind you, making the hairs on your back stand up, a familiar peach fuzz skimming your neck followed by that hum he’d always do once satisfied with his scaring. Dramatic ferret, hyunjin is up, finally, but not his newborn, not yet atleast. He tickled a trail down the crack of your back, blowing a cool breeze of breath to your ear, to which you whipped back and ruffled up his non-existent hair for. He let out a playful chuckle.  

“Someone’s up early. Finally.” You scoffed out, eyeing him up and down, making sure you weren’t having hallucinations or anything. Speaking of hallucinations, the shorter boy jeongin peaked up from behind him and blew another breeze of air for revenge to him. This was a daily routine for you three, and since the younger one wasn’t into skin ship- this is the closest you could get to touch, letting out those ominous “hee hee hee’s” as he scurried away to munch down some nutrients with a grimace on his face. They tasted remotely similar to soap and vinegar with a hint of.. Old soggy sponge, but you’d bared up to custom to the taste, although you couldn’t hide the way your nose crinkled up when you swallowed them, and the taste would linger for a couple of hours after that until a new taste of grimey pills entered your throat, routinely.  

Felix was busy eyeing out and noting down who’d taken what until a creak of the second bedroom from the ominous light revealed the curly haired alternative aussie, the one you favored the most—bangchan, or Chris is what you’d call him. It’s a name that much of the other men had sort of forgotten, but the name stuck to you. He didn’t exactly look like a bangchan anyways... Not anymore. He used to have kind sparkling eyes, always being thumbnails for performance videos but those were now long gone. They went from 8 teenagers with a dream, to 8 men with a crowd, and now 8 friends trying to survive with their wits burnt to a crisp. He’d given up on his passions and youth only to be succumbed to being stuck with them for eternity, not that he was complaining, he’d rather spent the rest of his days with his dearest boys then die alone in this hell.  

You flashed him a smile and he bowed down slightly to give one back, running his pale, pink calloused hands through the kinky locks, examining the exchange between the two aussie brothers. He leaned down and flexed his arms in the wrong directions like a spider due to his.. Flexibility, discussing and mapping out things on the tablet for gathering, but as you eyed in the distance... Great. Just as you thought you had a day off, you were next on the list to seek out, and this time you were out at hick’s mall center. One of the most dangerous centrals around this time, filled with all sorts of things.. Just the thought sent shivers down your spine and a shudder to your throat. Luckily, your pair was Chan, the man you could always hide behind and sacrifice to the shadows just incase... but jokes aside you’d hoped it would be an easy trip, aside from the empty bottles on the floor nothing else seemed to be missing... But a holler followed your train of thought, those deep grumbled yells that came straight from the core, lee know. 

 You followed along the screams only for them to come to you, a soapy soaked male with a towel barely hanging off his body, bubbles covering half of his face, red eyes panicked and irratated with cleanser.  

“What the fuck happened? Loose your rubber ducky?” you groan. 

“I DROPPED THE TIN OF BATTERIES IN THE WATER BUCKET.” he cries. 

“...” silence. What else did you have to say? You pushed the wet boy aside and stomped to see the tin filled with wash water now having floating components in them. Not only were the amazing stock of batteries changbin and hyunjin found previously drowned in it, but the extra emergency flashlights were too. It was an electronic soup you didn’t dare to touch, unless you had a death wish. Great. 

 “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?? WHY ARE THE ELECTRONICS IN THE BATHROOM??” you yelled. 

“I-I’M SCARED OF THE DARK, OKAY?? I- I HAVE AN IRRATIONAL FEAR OF THEM RUNNING OUT A-AND I-” 

BAM. A slam to the wall is enough to silence his blabbering as you stomp out of the room, everyone is unfocused on the ruckus but Chan glances back at you and cocks a brow. “What’s botherin’ you? ‘seem stressed.” 

“leeknow dropped the batteries. In the water. All of them.” with a slow turn, everyone in the room is twisting their head almost animatedly, hyunjin is turning from his head in the cab nits, jeongin laying on the floor in a haze is now snapping his neck to you, Felix is.. Concerned and balling his fists, Chris is scoffing, barely containing a swear, and changbin is.. Zoned out. The first to speak up is the leader, walking past you wish a gush of wind, broad shoulders skimming past your unbrushed hair as he examines the doom soup, for sure the water is salvageable but the electronics? Not so much, no. Drying won’t do the trick, and he rubs his temples together in frustration. 

“Yah, Minho I.. cant deal with you.” he mumbles as the red cheeked embarrassed boy stands shivering outside the bathroom. He’s frozen, hasn’t even washed off the soap and still has one eye squinted shut as the bubbles slowly make their way down his face to his shoulders. Chris walks out the room with a hand on his hips and lets out a light disappointed nod to confirm the news, but you two are the main ones who let out a groan. Now two things on the list, water, and batteries. What else could go so wrong? A squeal can be heard from the bedroom Chan emerged from, followed by the sudden thumping of a burritoed han, only then do you realize what he’s covered in. Gauze, a heck load of gauze, he's mummified and not to mention, dirtied with it too. The menace and maker of the crime scene walks out, only to realize his fun has resulted with the first aid kit being used up. This couldn’t get any worse, we’re running out of things quick and everyone is fucking everything up. You let out a deep, shakey huffed breathe, barely containing your anger as you speak in a slow voice.  

“Kim seungmin. Now why would you do that.”  

“a-ah well.. It was a joke..?” he speaks in an unsure, sing song voice, trying to lighten the number of daggers being stared into him but that clearly is ineffective, and the anger clarifies it as he guiltily like a sad puppy slips out of the room and swallows down his take of pills too. Hyunjin works on cutting apart the dirty gauze from han so the poor timid boy can go around his day, but that only adds to you and Chan's platter. All nessacities are now to a waste, and the main location being stacked of is a dangerous place, so your out for a ride for sure.  

Looking around the room is almost nostalgic, really. It feels like a fever dream but it really has become an unfortunate reality. It all started with some sort of sick prank that aired on television, you’d came out fresh from a tiring day of university and to your shared dorm with your best friend, jung-hae, life was chill, honestly. You two were peas in a pod, you couldn’t loose her, you’d grown up with her, she was your life and only source of happiness keeping you alive, something you’d look forward to, someone that would put the spark in your eyes, light up your dark life. It all came to soon, came to an end too quick. You used to think the world would end with a bang, some dramatic explosion or a cataclysmic meteor. You never imagined it would start with a joke. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been late that night when the broadcast aired. You and Jung-hae were curled up in your shared dorm, textbooks scattered across your desks, half-eaten snacks littering the floor. The television flickered with a news alert: some supposed "leak" from an experimental lab, acid seeping into the rivers, mutating the wildlife. At first, you both laughed. Some sick joke, a prank blown out of proportion. Until it wasn’t. 

The reports kept coming. Footage of amphibians crawling onto land, their bodies grotesquely stretched and twisted, eyes bulging, teeth too sharp. Then the bugs—bloated mosquitoes the size of birds, cockroaches with exoskeletons so thick they crunched under bullets but kept moving. The infection spread to mammals next. Stray dogs foaming at the mouth, deer collapsing with necrotic flesh with a bright blood red seeping through the crevasse of their eyes, clotting and building up a bubbling liquid that spewed in toxic sprays, enough so to sting the skin, the air thick with the scent of rot and something worse: something alive. 

Jung-hae had always been the rational one. "We need to leave," she’d said, her voice firm even as her hands trembled. The university was too close to the river. Too exposed. You packed what little you could, stuffing clothes and food into your bags, shoving notebooks into your arms like they could somehow save you. But the roads were already blocked, the highways choked with abandoned cars, people screaming in the distance. 

The infection spread fast. 

Barricading inside your dorm became the only option. Nights passed in a blur of dim candlelight, hushed whispers, rationed food. The campus grew quieter—no more frantic running, no more desperate cries. Just the sound of something moving outside, something clicking against the pavement, searching. 

Then one day, Jung-hae was gone. 

You woke up to silence. The spot beside you on the mattress was cold. Her bag was still there, her shoes by the door. But she wasn’t. Panic clawed at your chest as you searched the hallways, whispering her name, begging for this to be a mistake. But the door to the stairwell hung open, the lock broken, and outside— 

Blood. Smears of it along the wall, a trail leading down to the courtyard where the grass had turned black, where the trees had wilted, where the bodies of students lay twisted in unnatural positions, mouths frozen in silent screams. And in the center of it all, Jung-hae’s bracelet. The one you had bought her on your first trip together. The one she never took off. 

You dropped to your knees. You should’ve stopped her. You should’ve— 

A noise behind you. A rasping breath, a gurgling sound like something drowning in its own throat. You turned, your heart hammering, your fingers curling around the knife Jung-hae had given you, the last gift she had ever pressed into your hands. 

And there she stood. 

Or what was left of her. 

Her jade eyes, once bright, flickered between life and death, pupils dilated in an eerie, unnatural glow. Her body was a twisted mockery of itself, half-decayed yet still moving, her limbs stretched unnaturally as if her skin struggled to keep her bones in place. Flesh hung from her in torn, rotting sheets, her ribcage exposed through a gaping hole in her torso. And yet—her heart still beat, pulsing weakly in its cage of bone, a sickening rhythm that did not belong in something so destroyed. 

Her mouth opened, lips cracked and bleeding, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too jagged. A strangled noise escaped her throat, something between a gasp and a growl, and her fingers twitched—longer now, nails blackened and claw-like. She took a step forward, her broken ankle bending at an impossible angle, but she didn’t fall. She wouldn’t fall. Not until the infection finished its work. 

A sob tore from your chest. This wasn’t Jung-hae. Not anymore. And yet, some part of her still lingered, trapped in the decaying prison of her own body, suffering, breathing, existing when she shouldn’t be. 

You raised the knife. Your hands shook. She made a sound—half a whisper, half a plea. You didn’t wait to hear more. You couldn’t. The blade sank into her chest. Right where her still-beating heart was. 

Jung-hae shuddered. Her eyes, wide with something that could have been pain or relief, met yours one last time. Then, finally, they dulled. The glow faded. Her body slackened, no longer caught in that grotesque state between life and death. She collapsed at your feet, her blood pooling around your shoes, hot and thick—a sick mix of her own and some sort of black tar. You had killed her. Or maybe—just maybe—you had set her free. 

The world around you blurred, but the horror remained. The bodies, the rot, the infection—it would continue. It would spread. And you would have to keep running. You had no choice now. You wiped your blade clean and turned away, leaving Jung-hae behind. 

The apocalypse had already begun. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You ran. Branches lashed against your face as you tore through the underbrush, lungs burning, legs trembling. The screams behind you were inhuman—guttural wails of creatures that had once been people, now twisted into something monstrous. The infection hadn’t stopped at the flesh. It had seeped into the air, the soil, the very bones of the world, turning everything into a nightmare. 

Something skittered too close behind you. The sound of clicking jaws, the rustling of too many legs. You pushed yourself harder, your vision blurring, the weight of exhaustion pressing down like lead. The forest was endless, a maze of shadows and tangled roots. And then— 

Your foot caught. Pain exploded through your knee as you crashed into the dirt. You scrambled to rise, but it was too late. A shadow loomed over you, a shape barely human, its fingers elongated into clawed horrors. Its mouth split open too wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth, a gurgling laugh spilling out— 

Hands grabbed you. You screamed, struggling, but the grip was firm. Steady.  

And warm. An unfamiliar feeling of which you haven’t felt in around... Two weeks? Three? You had lost count already, but you knew it had been a while since you’d have some sort of company. Your limbs were numbed out, you had lost all sense of touch and the ability to distinguish what's real or what's not, until now, and for certain this wasn't the cold grasp of a creature. 

Your breath caught as you were yanked backward, strong arms wrapping around you, dragging you into the thickets. You fought, twisting, expecting death. Instead, darkness took you. 

When you awoke, pain was the first thing you noticed. A dull, throbbing ache spreading through your body. Your fingers curled against rough fabric—a blanket. The scent of earth and metal lingered in the air. You blinked. Light flickered from a lantern, casting shadows against cracked walls. A shelter. A safehouse. Your body screamed in protest as you tried to move, and that’s when you saw them. 

Two figures. Watching. 

A man sat beside you, his gaze unreadable, his arms resting against his knees. His dark eyes flickered with something cautious, something measured. His cresented eyes ran up and down your figure, seemingly assessing your state—or maybe to tell apart a creature of human. He lets out a subtle nod, running pale and calloused hands through his ruffled hair. Not too ruffled, just right, atleast for you-- personally. Another man stood nearby, arms crossed, face tight with tension, but strong bulked up arms even tenser, hair messed in curls, thick glasses with no rim sitting at the edge of his nose, small doll-like lips perked up into sort of a pout. Neither spoke at first. The silence stretched, thick and uncertain. Then, finally, the one closest to you leaned forward, his voice low, steady. 

"You shouldn’t be alive," he murmured. "But here you are." You swallowed; your throat raw. Questions burned on your tongue, but you couldn’t force them out. Not yet. 

Outside, the night stretched on. And somewhere in the distance, the screams had not stopped. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The scent of burning wood brought you back to the present. Ah, they had lit a fire in the broken pit for some sort of warmth despite the humidity in the area. There was enough smoke already, but this type of fire didn’t necessarily emit any harmful things. It was a new apocalyptic type of invention. You sat in the corner of the room, curled up on a tattered couch, watching the fire flicker in the makeshift fireplace. The old world was long gone, swallowed by its own mistakes, and yet the warmth of the fire, the low hum of voices, made it feel like something close to normalcy. 

Across the room, the others lounged in a heap of blankets and discarded jackets. For as long as you had been zoned out and staring, the bored boys had already found something to do, and you let out a faint smile. Laughter rang out, soft and tired, but genuine. The kind that hadn’t been heard in a long time, and for once even changbins loud echoing laughs returned, alongside the dynamic of hyunjin.. Husband and wife, or wife for wife for that matter. For a moment, they weren’t survivors. They were just people, talking, bickering, existing together in a world that had tried to tear them apart, but 8 is fate. It always had been. Discluding you, you didn’t wanna ruin their happy moment. 

Alongside you, Bangchan stood with his arms crossed, leant against the wall, also previously lost in thought like your brains were interconnected, surveying them like a father watching over his unruly children. You let out a soft, nostalgic hum. "They act the same as they did before." 

"Yeah," he murmured, his gaze distant. "Like nothing ever changed." 

You glanced at him, the firelight catching in his tired eyes. "But everything did." 

A small smile ghosted his lips. "Yeah. It did." 

The memory of your first meeting lingered in the back of your mind. The chase, the fear, the moment his hand had closed around your wrist and pulled you from the jaws of something inhuman. He had saved you that day. And now, here you were, still standing, still breathing, still watching over the only family you had left. The laughter continued. Someone threw a pillow. Someone swore. Someone tried to sing. 

For a brief moment, in this ruined world, you let yourself pretend it was enough. 

But you had something else to worry about, a devil that eased its way into your moment of joy. It was getting late; you needed to restock back up on supplies. Now wasn’t the time to rest, not when you were running out of things and fast.  

Along you shot a glance to Chris and he knew what you meant, standing up and prepping yourself for the smokey outdoors, bringing up the last of the supplies were more important for you two then them, and there you both walked off into the murky air in search for supplies in a risky place. 

Heres where the chaos begins. 

--TO BE CONTINUED!! 

[rhaemaya-valwynn]

Dawnseekers- Father's Day (Arthas)

Wrote a father's day ficlet for my AU of Arthas married to my OC Scillea and their firstborn celebrating Father's day. Enjoy!

Returning to his room, exhausted from the day's affairs, Arthas paused at the door as the endless laughter reached his ears. Scillea and Anah'la were giggling and howling in delight at something. Heart surging in love at hearing his girls playing, Arthas opened the door to behold a sight that only made him smile wide and pause to behold them.

Scillea must have been painting, as Anah'la and her were covered head to toe in multicolored handprints and smears. Anah'la's face had been carefully done, making her look like a tiger. His wife, on the other hand, looked like a rainbow had vomited on her. Turning to the door, Anah'la let out a squeal of excitement and bolted toward him with her arms wide open. "PAPA!"

Laughing, Arthas knelt down at the little charging cannonball and scooped her up without hesitation. "What is Light's name have you been doing?" he teased as the paint was already smearing across his armor.

"Mama made me a tiger! ROAR!" Anah'la threw her hands up, making them curl into claws.

Smiling even wider, Arthas stood up as Scillea approached him, mirth alight in her eyes. "You can't show up to the tiger party looking like that!" she teased him.

"Oh, forgive me, I wasn't aware-" the Lich King's eyes went wide as Scillea quickly slapped a hand onto his chest and openly smeared yellow across him.

"There! All dressed!" Scillea laughed as he let out a mock noise of shock and amusement.

"What a devious thing you are, little lamb," Arthas murmured as he leaned in for a kiss, disregarding how utterly soaked she was in paint. Anah'la let out a 'BLECH!' at their kiss and began to squirm in Arthas's arms.

"I made you a present, papa!" the girl said as she wiggled out, plopping down with a soft, wet noise. Arthas and Scillea looked down in worry, fearing she had hurt herself, but relaxed as the lichling got up without complaint and hurried over to an easel that was much smaller than the one next to it.

"A present? Whatever for?" Arthas asked, raising an eyebrow at Scillea, who merely mischievously winked at him. Humming in curiosity, the Lich King let his wife lead him over to a chair with a large white sheet over it. They clearly had planned this, which only made Arthas more excited and attentive as his daughter ran over with what he could only assume was her gift.

Sitting down, Arthas bent down and picked Anah'la up, nestling her into his hold but giving her enough room to display her present. It was a large painting featuring a variety of colors and blobs of all shapes and sizes. As Scillea nuzzled in beside him, her arms wrapping around his neck to hold herself close, Arthas laid his head against hers as their daughter began to explain the shapes.

"I drew us!" Anah'la said proudly, her little hand quickly pointing to a large slate blob with spikes on it, "This ones you papa!" Arthas had to bite his lip in order not to laugh. It was….pretty accurate for a child's drawing.

"I'm quite….round…" the Lich King commented, only to stifle a snort as Anah'la turned to glare at him.

"Mama says you shouldn't judge an artist's take!" the girl huffed. Scillea nodded sagely next to him.

"Oh! Forgive me!" Arthas quickly placed a kiss on her head, "I meant no disrespect, my little mouse."

Anah'la harrumphed but accepted the kiss as payment for his crime. Moving her hand to the tall yellow figure next to 'arthas', "This ones mama," musing for a moment, Anah'la stated: "I like coloring in yellow. It's…bright."

The Lich King frowned for a split second, eyes darting up to look around the room decorated in greys, blues, purples, and silvers. Quickly making a mental note to add more bright colors for his daughter, Arthas resumed listening to each blob being named. Tirion, Calia, Lianne, Flaric, Marwyn, Invincible, hell, even Frostmourne in its beast form was there. The list went on and on. Next to him, Scillea was smiling at the girl, eyes full of motherly love. Subconsciously, she reached out and stroked Anah'la's hair, which caused the girl to wiggle in delight. Arthas chuckled, knowing that his daughter had inherited his love of touch and back scratches.

Pride surged in Arthas's chest seeing how big Anah'la considered her family. As if he had managed to do something right for once in his attempts to make the Lich King's daughter live a full life. When the girl completed her round, she turned to look up at Arthas with wide pleading eyes. "Do you like it?" she asked softly, suddenly worried Arthas was displeased.

Without hesitation, Arthas hugged her tightly and placed kisses on her head. "Like it? I love it! You did such a wonderful job getting everyone on there!" Anah'la let out a squeak of elation before hugging him as best she could.

Scillea gave them both a kiss before standing up, "May I give Papa his gift now?" she asked her daughter, who nodded.

"Mama's such a good artist," Anah'la said, looking up at her father, "She's been working on this one for months!" Arthas made no noise and merely stared as Scillea picked up the larger painting and moved back toward them. Heart pounding in his chest as his wife nestled back into his side and displayed her work.

Arthas inhaled sharply, a gasp but one with barely any air taken in. Tears were already forming in his eyes as he practically consumed the image before him.

It was him and Anah'la sleeping together, Arthas looking exhausted but peaceful as he held his daughter close. Her eyes were red from crying, but she wore a soothed expression as she was cradled in her father's arms.

The details put into it were astonishing, how each crease of skin or fold of silk was defined to perfection but also worldly accuracy that it was-

It was-

Arthas choked on his words, unable to speak or breathe. Eyes drinking in the tender moment with such ravenous hunger that it was several minutes before Scillea ended the silence. "You had spent so long trying to calm her down from that nightmare she had a couple of months ago… I thought you deserved to see your patience and love…Through my eyes," Scillea explained, turning to look at Arthas with an endearing expression.

A sniffle left Arthas as tears began to stream down his face. This had been what he wanted for so long. The dream he had since he was but a boy. Scillea as his wife, a child of their own. Moments, NORMAL moments of life happening. Love so abundant that they knew very little else, even during the hard times.

Hugging both his girls tightly, Arthas attempted to bury his face in their hair and hide, "It's beautiful!" he sobbed, whimpering for a moment as all the emotions he was feeling crashed into him like a tidal wave.

"Don't cry Papa!" Anah'la peeped, concerned at her father's sudden turn in mood. "Mama didn't mean to-"

"Shhh, shhh," Scillea cupped Anah'la's face in her hand, "Papa's not upset or angry, dear. This is a good cry!" Arthas tried to nod but could only manage a hiccuping sob as he clenched them closer to himself.

"A good cry?" the girl asked, perplexed at such an idea. Looking from her father to her mother, Anah'la's eyebrows knitted together.

"Yes, like being so happy you gotta let it out somehow," Scillea continued to explain as she laced a hand into Arthas's, holding tightly onto him.

"Like when I scream when Papa tosses me in the air?"

Arthas let out a laugh, which was quickly stifled by more tears and mewling. Again, he tried to nod at his daughter but could only sit there and shake as the adoration and all-consuming love he felt for them tore Arthas into shreds.

Scillea thankfully took over, "Yes, my love, like when Papa tosses you up into the air." Anah'la sat there in silence, her twin maelstrom eyes deep in thought.

"I love you, Papa," Anah'la finally said, hugging her father tightly back. "You cry as long as you need to, okay?"

This only brought on another bout of crying and gross sobbing from Arthas as his wife and daughter held him. He hated that his tears were staining their hairs with small icicles, but neither cared and continued to hold him in their arms.

Sometimes, to love was also to be loved. Seen in all aspects and heard. To cry and not be judged, merely held.

It took a handful of minutes or so before Arthas finally calmed down enough to quell his sniffling. Only a few hiccups here and there occured till Arthas lifted his head and quickly pulled off his helmet to swipe at his eyes. "Forgive me that was-"

Scillea kissed him, silencing the words before he could finish them. Anah'la looked away, counting her fingers as her parents 'mashed faces.'

Pulling back, Scillea pinched Arthas's cheek and said: "Let's get cleaned up, shall we?" Anah'la let out a cheer as her father nodded, gazing from his wife to his daughter with a tender expression.

[kara-knight]

CH1- Oya’karir Shereshoy: Chase Life with your Heart

First chapter of my Feemor/Jaster Mereel/Tarre Vizsla long fic that I am so very excited about!!!!!!

Lots of Jedi and Mandalorian culture! Mando'a! Archaic Mando'a! Time travel! Angst! Soft moments and hugs for all! Shenanigans! Go behold the ao3 tags!

The summary/Star Wars intro scroll text:

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away… The Jedi Army of Light battled the treacherous Sith, conflict all but consuming the galaxy. A thousand years later, the Sith are thought vanquished while the Jedi are beholden to a Senate mired in corruption. Visions of their violent return witnessed by Seer Sifo-Dyas may hold the key to preventing the galaxy falling to darkness once more. Tarre Vizsla fought the Sith and lead their people as Mand’alor, balancing the legacies of Jedi and Mandalorian. They’d rather be left to their weaving but thrown forwards in time by the Force they are determined to save both their peoples. Jaster Mereel, leader of the Haat'Mando'ade, guardian of Jango Fett, exile from his home planet Concord Dawn should have died betrayed on Korda IV. He holds his faction together by the skin of his teeth and the writings of his Supercommando Codex while fighting Death Watch and the growing piles of flimsiiwork, Codex rewrites and cold mugs of shig on his desk. Feemor became a Guardian of the Jedi Temple after his repudiation by his Master when his Padawan-brother Xanatos Fell. Masked and nameless, he tries to do what good he can now he's not a full time depressed blob of a mostly Human.

[mikanlardyclinic]

"ah for my next magic trick! I'll increase my assistant's weight tenfold and lift her up without issue! ! Behold and be amazed!"

The curtain closed and the lights turned off for a second the audience was totally in the dark about this new special trick

"okay toga now change with toh- wait wait no! Tohru is supposed to be chugging! h..hey what are you?! Kyaaaa!!!"

PUMP GLLOUNK.. SLOOOUSH.. GLUNK.. Ploorp..

The curtain opened to show the magician blob.. Wheezing while her body kept expanding little by little... The tube lodged in her butt and hidden by her massive frame overflowing a bit and dropping lard on he ground

"h..hnuugh.. Wheeeeze... T..tadaaa!.."

Ochako started floating slightly letting her gut flop down for a second before crashing down back to the floor

"hehe!~ let's all give her a big applause!~ the gravity magician Uravity!!"

"m..my heart huuuurtss...."

"next uuuup!! our beloved sponsors mt lardys! Have gifted us 3 vats of leftover lard and Uravity will finish them in seconds before your eyes!~"

"hnngh.. Nouuu... Pleashe.. .. I..im shou full.. Already!!"

"toga is changing the script again kero"

"let her!~ this is way more interesting than seeing a rabbit be pulled out of a hat!~ although i doubt miss mirko can still do that trick with us.."

[delicateartisantrash]

Wolf Lineart: Upgraded

Soooo... a friend @sinspark4 got me into playing this wolf game, and one of the cool things you can do is make custom gear for the game if you have a premium account.

And... they have some GORGEOUS Artwork for their wolf bases.

And... and then they have The Female Beta Pose.

The Beta Female pose. Like by itself it's pretty nifty like DAMN. COOL. But... BUT WHEN COMPARED TO THE OTHERS, IT'S SO SAD.

Sooooo... After my friend and I were talking about the art and blah blah i somehow got it in my head that i could try to Make It Better.

So I did!

Behold, the art I spent Way Too Many Fucking Hours On as a dual gift for my friend, a gift to the game's playerbase, and fulfilling my own personal desire to the wolves to all be equally badass XD

befores and afters for all six wolf poses!

(pardon the different eye colors, i used a different white wolf base for the actual art creation than their wolf editor previews)

Alpha Male:

Ngl not much changed on the alpha poses. They were already super well drawn and were my reference goal to match the other poses to.

Alpha Female:

Beta Male:

BIG DIFFERENCE HERE WE GOOOOOO--

Beta Female:

UGH. LOOK AT HER. SO PRETTY NOW. I LOVE. I LOOOOOOOVE.

Omega Male:

Heh... I had to remove the rock I put in there that was hiding this crappy little blob. The original shadow of this wolf was. just. fuckin'. You could see the artist just used a single round soft brush and did a dot and one line and then called it a day unlike how they blended the beautiful alpha shadows REEEE. Anyhow, i just had to suffer with the silly dot. Fortunately, it doesn't show up on most backgrounds in the game.

Omega Female:

Honestly, this one's my favorite :'D

;w; i can't stop staring at her she's so prettyyyy. Also FUCK I forgot to highlight one of her front claws sob sob cry cry I can't ever fix that. (Once the gear is accepted, it's in the game and live and No Edits Allowed)

I totally made a Lightshow, Megatronus/tron and Soundwave, among many other TF characters, in my den wolves:

Lightshow:

(with a Swindle puppy :D) (I didn't draw anything in this picture except the lineart upgrade on Lightshow)

Megatronus:

MEEEEGS :D

the wings / tattoos and lineart upgrade are my art live in the game! :D everything else was other people's work, like the blood splatter.

Soundwave:

;v; my wings again hehe

SOMEONE DREW A LITTLE BLACK KITTY CAT CUSTOM GEAR. SO SOUNDERS HAS A RAVAGE. YEEESSSS. Raven for Lazerbeak, and twin puppies for Rumble/Frenzy.

Breakdown:

Just hte lineart on this one is my art in the game, the Mjolnir necklace (Thor's Hammer) is an in-game event item

Aaaand last one i'll spam you with for today,

Knockout:

Lineart / wings / antlers/flowers all my art additions ;v;