#god i love these two goobers

[rubys-forest]

Ahem

A lil snatchuby. As a treat

[ricky-mortis]

S1 Pulp Musicals Gang my beloved

[riewiggles]

I thrive from chaos.

I read a goose fic on AO3 and I had to draw this. It was worth it. I may need to go to sleep with scolding from my lovely boyfriend but I did this and I’m damn proud.

Edit: He stole the bullet necklace.

Cross-posted from my fallback deviantArt (because my main dA is locked because I CAN’T GET A FREAKING RESET PASSWORD EMAIL).

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Hey @artastic-friend I scanned the rest of my notebook and I found these guys I somehow forgot about lmao these were the first attempts at Rudy probably?? That third one is literally just a teeny lil guy in the corner of a page of Chica doodles too he's just hanging out over there I guess lmao

Thought I'd might as well post them since I was intending to at the time, even though I think the first two at least where mostly me trying to figure out the shapes and proportions. That's a guess though since I don't remember drawing them lmao

[chronicbeans]

Can we talk about how this man-

This short king goober, stole TWO wives. From the same guy, too. What type of rizz does he have? He must have some sort of goofy silly swag or something idk.

I bet you if Adam got a husband, this mad lad would still try to steal him from Adam. His type has gotta be "Married to the first man God created" and I love that for him.

[gojos-whatnow]

『Mornin', Dollface』⇝♡

⭒Synopsis: How does your sweet boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, wake you up after living with you for over a year?

⭒Warnings: NSFW, fluffy smut, sleepy sex, oral (f receiving), afab!reader, LOTS of praise, princess treatment, somnophilia, reader is an eepy goober

⭒Setting: Gojo's silly lil apartment away from Juju tech

⭒Notes: I guess this could technically be considered a request from a friend, but all she gave me was "MORNING SEX" so.....

How does your boyfriend wake you up most mornings? With his tongue inside you, of course.

He was always up before you. He was a teacher, after all, and you...

Well, in his words, you were "living the good life."

He had talked you into quiting your job when the two of you had moved in together. He claimed that princesses shouldn't have to work. Especially when he could just shoulder the bill for anything you asked for. And so, despite occasionally feeling like a freeloader, you went along with it.

So, with nothing to do but laze around or go out for a stroll, you slept in most mornings. Sort of. There was the fact that every morning, despite being unemployed, you were awoken at the sunrise, even before, by Satoru's head between your thighs.

This morning was no different. You awoke to your own involuntary whimper, and hot pleasure in your core. You could feel your hand fumbling against your thigh, trying to grab for something. Satoru's hair, no doubt, which you'd expect to be muscle memory by now.

A chuckle reverberated against your clit where his lips were fastened around it. His hand found yours before it could find his head, and he pulled away with his mouth, instead pressing his thumb to your nub as he spoke to you.

"You awake, pretty girl?" His seductive, but clearly still tired, voice called up to you. God, did the sound of it make you clench on nothing.

You pried your eyes open with a struggle. You were lucid enough to give him a hum, signifying you were somewhat conscious.

"Hi, baby," he murmured, pressing a few kisses to your thigh. His mouth soon found its way back to your clit, licking and sucking it just a bit harder now.

"Satoru," you whined out, still sounding more asleep than awake. Nonetheless, a dopey grin spread across his face, and he had to pull away again.

"How's my sweet girl? Did she sleep well?" He kissed across your other thigh now. "Ready to get back to it, I bet. Don't worry, once I'm done making you feel good, you can pass right back out."

You squeezed his hand, an implied way of saying 'I love you'. Satoru, being such a physically affectionate person, had started coming up with physical ways of saying such things. When words didn't seem like enough, he'd tug you close, making sure the angle was right so you could feel his heartbeat, and squeeze you in his arms. He wished he could have you with him all the time, hanging off him. He'd wear you like a backpack if it wasn't so dehumanizing, and probably frowned upon in public.

Your exhausted, barely-open eyes looked down into your boyfriend's gorgeous ones, finding they were already on you. With his free hand, he waved playfully at you, even as he continued lapping at your clit, making you whimper.

Soon, that free hand replaced his lips again, one finger tracing around your hole as his thumb worked your clit. He leaned up from between your thighs and scattered kisses across your face, nuzzling against your cheek.

"You awake yet, baby? Need me to make you feel even better?" At that, one of his long fingers slipped inside you. Easily, considering how long he'd been doing this before you woke up.

"Sato..." you murmured.

"I'm right here, Sweetheart." He gave your hand a kiss before he let go of it and slipped his arm under your waist, pulling you close to him. "Take your time waking up." He pressed his lips to your neck, leaving wet kisses against the skin.

Once he slipped another finger into you, you doubted he actually wanted you to take your time. It was only a few moments after that that you were more awake than not, arms wrapped around Satoru as you moaned against the top of his head.

Your groggy moans were so sexy to him, and the way your body was twitching, your hips rolling against his fingers involuntarily - he doubted you even knew it was happening. He could feel your slick starting to drip down his hand, and he had to tilt his head up, lips close to your ear.

"Want me to make you cum now, pretty girl? Or you want me inside you?"

"I-inside," you stuttered out, almost sounding desperate.

"That's my girl. So good to me."

You took a moment's break as he pulled his fingers out of you and tugged his boxers down. He gave himself a few strokes before lining up his tip with your entrance. He gave you a soft smile as he spoke. "Ready?"

"Yeah," you let out, letting your eyes wonder down his body. He was absolutely gorgeous, from head to toe, and all yours every morning. How? You didn't have a damn clue.

His length pushed in embarrassingly easy, and he leaned down, laying against your chest. His hand found one of yours and held it gently, while his other arm snaked back under you and held you close.

"How's that feel? Doesn't hurt, right?"

"No, feels good," you responded, feeling the walls of your cunt gently clench around him. He groaned softly against your skin, then leaned up and smiled at you, kissing your cheek a few times.

"Ready for me to move?"

"Mhm."

At your confirmation, he carefully drug his hips back and forth, going slow to start. You let out a quiet mewl at the friction, gripping onto Satoru with weak, tired hands. He let out gruff hums against your neck, knowing how much you loved it when you could hear him. Your cunt was still clamping around him lovingly, and he could feel himself already getting close. Telling from your moans, though, you had to be too.

"Getting close, Sweetheart?"

"Mhm!" You gasped out.

"Me too."

From there, it only took a few more, quicker, thrusts to send you both over the edge. You grabbed aimlessly against Satoru's back, just looking for somewhere to hang on (and accidentally leave a few scratches over the ones from most other mornings), and stuffed your face into his shoulder to muffle yourself. Meanwhile, he did the opposite, making sure you heard every groan he let out as he painted your insides.

As you both caught your breath, you felt your boyfriend relax, going limp and stuffing his face into the nearest part of you, which happened to be your chest. He kept his arms wrapped around you, using them to squeeze you close you him and kiss across your skin.

The two of you laid like that for a few moments, with your nails scratching at Satoru's scalp in a way that made his eyes want to roll. After only 5 minutes, though, you were asleep again. Your boyfriend looked at you, a smile of adoration on his face before he leaned up to kiss your forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Love of my life."

He got up and got ready to go to Jujutsu Tech, cleaning the both of you up in the process. He shot your sleeping figure one last glance before exiting the room, wishing he could sleep in with you.

[itsokbbygrl]

Just Stay.

- A GN!Reader x Jackson!Joel Miller story

For my wonderful, lovely, kind, hilarious friend, Jo (@morgaussy/@merci-killing), who wants nothing more than to worship that old man. I hope this is to your liking ♡

Tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit content, BODY WORSHIP, slight size difference (reader is described as shorter than Joel), reader is generally able bodied and has hair but is otherwise not described, oral sex (M receiving), heavy petting, lots and lots of kisses, body hair appreciation, domestic fluffy smut, two goobers deeply in love, kink discussion (daddy kink, and per jo's request, "A secret barely there splash of mommy kink"), grief mention, TLOU2 Jackson Era (post-Ellie run away era, pre-snowstorm)

WC: 4.6k

A/N: this is full of lazy writing technique and i am aware! there is POV switching whenever i say so, get in both their brains, die mad about it POV purists :)

Warm water, straight from the tap. Straight from the tap and into the basin where Joel Miller’s aching muscles are learning to relax, still, years after their first reconnaissance with a god’s honest bath. He can’t quite believe it. More than 20 years after the end of the world, where people starve and maim and kill and hunt to survive, there are still hot baths. He takes a deep breath and sighs in relief, letting himself sink lower beneath the surface, only the top of his broad chest and shoulders remaining above in the cool air of the home. He closes his eyes for a moment, soaking. 

The jiggling of the sticky front door knob calls his attention. An alertness solidified in a world consisting only of predators and prey. Kill or be killed. He knows, rationally, he’s safe here. His eyes clock his hunting knife laid safely on the vanity anyway. 

He listens to the familiar sound of your steps, the way you insist on toeing off your boots at the front door, the soft pattering of sock clad feet as they maneuver around the first floor, the creak of the loose floorboard near the kitchen island that he’s been meaning to fix. He can tell just from your movements that you’re hankering for a cup of tea—hearing the cabinet door close softly, always gentle, the ceramic clink of the base of your favorite mug coming into contact with the stone countertop, the metallic clang of the filled teapot as you set it atop the stove. He relaxes further knowing you’re home, safe. 

The water is just turning tepid when he hears the stairs creak, signaling your imminent arrival. He pushes himself back up to greet you, the cooler air causing his wet skin to break out in gooseflesh. He turns his head to find you standing quietly, hip propped against the vanity, warm mug cupped between your palms, eyes trained on him already, his favorite soft grin gracing your lips, plumping your cheeks. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, starlight?” he asks. 

“Just admiring the art,” you respond, raising your mug to your mouth and taking a slurping sip, careful not to burn the fragile skin of your lips and tongue. The response makes him chuckle and flush, blaming the pinkness brought to his chest and neck on the temperature of the water if pressed. 

His starlight. A beacon in the dark, guiding him home. He found you at a time when he thought he’d lost everything. Ellie had run off, and, terrified, he’d run after her. Once she’d been found, she’d confessed how she hated him for the choices he’d made for her, how she didn’t want to be part of his life anymore, and he’d agreed to her terms as long as it meant she’d be safe and home. He’d spent the entire ride back to Jackson fighting off the grief that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope this time, losing another daughter. At least this time he knew she was alive, could watch from a distance as she grew, could talk to the other townsfolk and get updates on her life, make sure she was ok. 

That was where you came in. You’d been serving at the local watering hole, The Tipsy Bison, when he’d come in for a drink. You’d poured his whiskey neat, just as he’d requested, and quietly left him to his thoughts as you tended to other patrons. He sat quietly, sipping his drink and listening to your conversation. His ears perked up when he heard you mention your students having a hard time with an assignment you’d given recently. He knew everyone in town shared responsibilities, should’ve figured you would have more to offer to Jackson than to only be a bartender. When you came over to check on him, see if he wanted another pour he assumes, he cleared his throat and asked about your other role as a teacher and your entire face lit up as you gushed about your kids. He tried to listen, but found himself lost in the feeling of being a kid again, the awe he felt the first time his dad had taken him and Tommy out to the wide open Texan countryside and shown them how bright the stars could shine. 

He tuned back in when he caught you talking about one student in particular you had connected with—his Ellie. How she was a natural writer, so creative, always scribbling in her journal. Mostly doodles, but over time you described how you’d earned her trust and she’d opened up a little more, shown you some of her poetry, how you’d encouraged her to keep writing. You talked about how she was quiet, shy, kept to herself most of the time, but she had a lot to say on paper. Joel tried to tamp down the proud tears that threatened to well at the news. She was ok. She was going to be ok. 

Joel kept going back and you were always there for him, greeting him by name with a soft smile, pouring his glass of whiskey before he’d even had a chance to take a seat on one of the old wooden barstools. You’d formed an easy friendship and before he knew it, he was inviting you over for dinner. You’d gone a little speechless and he worried he’d overstepped, but then you’d let out a breath you must have been holding and giggled, burying your face in your palms for a second before you found his eyes again and the way they shone for him was nothing short of celestial. You’d agreed, and the rest is history. 

“You wanna get in?” Joel asked, motioning to the tub. 

You shook your head. “Not today. Just want to keep you company if that’s alright.”

“Course that’s alright, sweetheart. Make yourself at home,” he said before going back to relaxing, closing his eyes.

You watched him ease back into contentment in the water before you moved, opening the cabinet below the sink and stealing a couple clean towels. You placed them on the floor next to the tub before kneeling atop them. You took a long drink from your mug of tea before placing it aside. You looked over the products on the tub ledge and grabbed the shampoo. Quietly, you leaned over, laying a soft kiss to Joel’s exposed shoulder before whispering in his ear, “Tip your head back for me.”

He did as instructed, sitting up from the wall, keeping his eyes closed and tipping his head back. You grabbed your mug of tea, draining it before quickly rinsing it in the water, filling it and carefully soaking his sweat damp curls, using your hand to ensure none of the water dripped forward onto his face. You then uncapped the shampoo and squirted a small amount into the palm of your hand. You lathered your hands together, causing the shampoo to begin sudsing, and brought your fingers to his scalp. He hummed in bliss as you began massaging the soap into his tresses, the day’s tension easing from you both as you cared and were cared for in return. 

After a few minutes of gentle ministration, you guided his head back with your fingertip under his chin before rinsing the suds from his locks. You then reached for your bottle of conditioner, something you typically reserved for special occasions, and squirted a dollop into your hand before softly carding it through his hair. You let it sit for a bit, rinsing your hands in the water and allowing yourself a moment to admire the man in front of you. He was remarkably beautiful—strong, broad, sun speckled chest giving way to a softer stomach coated in a fine layer of soft brown hair that drew your eyes southward to where his thick cock laid softly against the crease of his thigh, his legs strong enough to walk or ride for miles. Scars littered his skin and you mentally pressed a kiss to each one as your eyes worked their way back up to his face. His eyes met yours there and he leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his own. He held you in place with his palm in its favorite place, cupped around the side of your jaw, thumb finding its place in the divot next to your ear. He kissed you deeply for a few more moments, pouring all of his affection for you into it. You smiled, effectively breaking the embrace, and left him with a final peck to his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, before maneuvering him once again to rinse the conditioner from his hair. 

Once clean, you helped ease him from beneath the water, wrapping him in one of the towels, now body-warm from where you sat, using the other as a soft barrier between his wet feet and the cold tile floor. He lets you care for him without a word, chest warming as you dry his body and leave sweet kisses in the towel’s wake as you go. He laughs good naturedly when you try to comb his hair back and have trouble reaching, bending down to make the job easier. His heart swells when he sees you grab your precious jar of aloe from the countertop, swiping your fingers through the gooey substance and working it between your palms. 

“Can you sit on the toilet for me, please?” You ask. He plants a kiss on your head and complies, thankful for the warm towel you wrapped him with saving his damp skin from the cold porcelain. You stand between his spread thighs and begin your work, piecing together a clump of curls and twisting them around your finger, effectively applying the gelled aloe before giving the little ringlet a squeeze and moving onto the next piece. Joel sits calmly, loving the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the way you love him so simply. He wonders, as he often does, how he got so lucky to find such goodness in a world gone so rotten. 

You take your time, dipping back into the jar of aloe you harvested earlier that week as needed, ensuring each ringlet receives the care it so deserves. You love doing this for him. You love this man—this man with his reputation for violence, this man with a karmic debt that may never be fully repaid, this man whose hands were made to create, not destroy, who patiently sits with children as he teaches them to play the guitar, who misses his daughters more than anything in the world. Joel Miller, who protects the least of these with his gun and his knife and his bare hands. The same hands that delicately carve in his workshop, drafting some of the most intricate pieces of woodworking you’d ever seen. 

You finish the last curl at the base of his skull, just behind his ear. You give it a little tug and watch as it springs back into shape, smiling at the sight, before leaning down to leave a kiss there…and there and there as you move down the column of his strong neck. You feel his large palms grip your hips and you move your kisses northward, along his jaw, to his mouth where he meets you, urges your mouth open to lick inside and explore. You pursue a deeper physical knowledge of him in return, giving as good as you’re getting, tongue dancing behind his teeth, cataloging every crevice, every bump and ridge, deciphering the taste of him as if he were a fine wine—notes of apple and coffee and his 5pm pour of whiskey and something uniquely him. 

You feel his hands roaming, making their way to the front of your jeans, pushing the button through its hole and tugging down the zipper before stuffing his hand inside. He gives you a few firm strokes over your underwear, just to feel, to be so close, and you allow him to explore for a moment before you break your kiss to rest your forehead against his. 

You shake your head softly when he attempts to move his hand beneath your cotton barrier and he stills his hand. “Not tonight,” you say quietly, “you first,” and you step back before sinking to your heels in front of him, grabbing the towel from in front of the bathtub and placing it under you before kneeling forward and meeting his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, mouth shiny and flushed with arousal, his chest and neck blushed a beautiful pink. You think he’s never more beautiful than when he’s about to get his cock worshiped by your reverential mouth. 

You reach up and gently unfurl the towel from where it’s tucked at his waist, allowing the soft graze of your fingertips to lightly tickle the skin of his stomach, the muscles beneath contracting in their wake. You unwrap him like the gift he is, allowing the towel to open fully, exposing all of him to the room. You take in the sight of him, hard and drooling at the tip, thick thatch of curls nestled at the base, strong thighs parted to cradle you between them. You turn your head to the side and lay a kiss to the inside of his knee, up his thigh, right to the crease of his sensitive groin, before repeating the motion on the other side. You hear him groan and look up to find his head tipped back, already losing himself to his pleasure. You’ll never get over how easy he is for you, how much he clearly loves the way you love him. You repeat your favorite vow to whatever god is listening, to love him forever if they’ll be so gracious. 

You reach up to grip the heavy weight of him in your palm, curling your fingers around him as much as you can, and give him a few gentle strokes, the velvety soft skin warm in your hand. You feel his pulse combine with your own as you glide your thumb along the veiny underside. A fresh drop of precum oozes from the tip and you’d be remiss to let it go untasted, leaning forward to meet the spongy head with the wet warmth of your tongue and lapping at it, thankful for its musky, salty gift. You’re sure at some point you’ve stepped out of your body because everything goes quiet as you taste and taste and taste him, lathing your tongue over and over the weeping head while your hand continues to stroke, kissing the very tip of him gently before trailing your lips along the length of him, down to the base and tonguing back to the top, mirroring your actions on the other side, lifting him to give attention underneath, not wanting to leave even a millimeter of him unfound by your mouth. 

“God, baby, there you go, so good at this,” Joel’s praises bring your head back above water, but all you want to do is drown. And so you do. You flick your eyes up to meet his before opening your mouth wide and allowing the thick length of him inside, sliding him along your textured tongue, and closing your lips around him tightly. You hold him there for a moment, watching his face as you roll your tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking in a stuttered pattern, allowing the pillowy softness of your inner cheeks to hug him briefly, before pulling off and refilling your lungs. His eyes glisten just as yours do. He cups your face in his palm and you turn to kiss him there. He pushes his fingers into your hair and gently scritches at your scalp. You close your eyes and lean into the gesture before returning to prayer at your altar. 

You take him as deep as your jaw will allow over and over, not caring for how messy things are getting as you continue the push and pull, saliva pooling on your tongue and dripping along his length, down the corners of your mouth, off your swollen lips and onto the towel below. You can hear him moaning with abandon now, knowing he’s loving this as much as you do. You tenderly roll his sac between your fingers and he tugs at your hair, so you continue your ministrations as you suck. 

“Shit, baby, gonna make me cum,” he warns. You pull your mouth off him and continue to stroke him with your hand. 

“Cum in my mouth. Please, want to taste you, want to, want to,” you stutter, mind focused solely on him, making him cum, easing him into blissful release. You open wide and take him back inside, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the feeling. You grab his other hand with your own, holding tight to each other as he helps guide your head exactly where he needs you. You suck and suck and suck until he grants you the prize you’ve eagerly anticipated, and he does it so beautifully. The sounds he releases from his throat resonate against the tiled floors and walls of the room, reverberating into your bones. His lashes fan and grace the tops of his cheeks where his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. His pillowy lips part, the plushness marred by his own teeth marks, bitten in an effort to not give too much of himself away too soon. He tastes so deliciously of man—clean, soapy, salty, musky—as he releases onto your tongue, into the back of your throat, and you make every effort to gracefully swallow everything he gives. 

Once he’s finished, you softly suckle the last of your combined fluids from his length, ingesting them to become one together inside you. You leave a parting kiss to his length in thanks for all he’s given you before you allow Joel to haul you up to meet his mouth. He kisses you fiercely, tasting himself there. You know him almost as well as you know yourself, and you know he’s itching to return the favor, but you slow him, softening the kiss until the temperature returns to a simmer. He holds you there against his bareness, one arm keeping your head against his chest while the other strokes your back and you mirror him, fingers running gently all along his back. You feel more than hear when he speaks as it rumbles from his chest. 

“Thank you, darlin’. Love you, more’n I thought was possible,” he says. You sigh and kiss his chest, wrap your arms around him tighter. 

“Feeling’s mutual, my love. I promise,” you assure him, giving him a final squeeze before stepping back, keeping his hands in yours, not wanting to completely break contact with him just yet. “Come with me, we need to get you dressed.”

You lead him by the hand to your shared bedroom and sit him on the edge of the bed. You turn around and find the dresser where you keep a majority of your combined clothes—yours on the left, his on the right—and pull out a well worn tee and pair of grey sweatpants. You bring the clothes back over to him, setting the pants aside for the moment, and unfolding the t-shirt. 

“Arms up, baby,” you instruct. He complies amusedly, raising his arms above his head while you drape him in soft cotton, paying careful attention to the collar, ensuring it’s stretched wide to not disturb his drying curls. Once the shirt is tugged down to cover his soft belly, you move to his pants, scrunching up one leg and feeding his foot through before repeating the motions with the other side. “Stand, please,” you request. He stands, allowing you to tug the waistband up over the swell of his ass, carefully pulling the material over his front to not accidentally overstimulate his now soft cock. You eye him up and down, nodding in approval of your handiwork. “Beautiful,” you say under your breath, not intending for him to hear, just for yourself. 

Joel doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way—so deeply cared for. For as long as he can remember now, he’s been the provider, the protector. He hasn’t had a moment to slow down since before Sarah was born, 30 some odd years ago now. And it feels…nice. He feels small in some ways, but not diminished, never with you. No, he feels almost young again, experiencing this kind of selfless love that he’s only ever experienced before from a parent, and something clicks for him. He sees you near the hamper, changing out of your day clothes and into your own pajamas and he gets you, understands you on a deeper level than he had just hours before. He lets you finish your routine and make your way back over to him, anticipating you getting into bed, but instead he’s met with your hand reaching out for him. He takes it in his own, he’ll always take it when it’s so graciously offered. 

“C’mon, let’s have a snack, worked up an appetite,” you say jovially. He snickers, thinking to himself that he fed you pretty well not 10 minutes ago, but he’d follow you to the ends of the Earth if it meant you’d keep smiling at him like that. 

You lead him downstairs to the kitchen and sit him in his chair at the breakfast table he made just for you. While you putter around, preparing the two of you a small meal to share, he thinks about how beautiful you look in the morning light, the early sun catching on your hair and in your eyes. And you, you give the sun a run for its money with how you shine, bright and golden, warming everyone you come into contact with. You make it so easy for him to forget where you all are, when you are. Nothing is simpler than time spent with you. And now he knows you even better and he isn’t sure yet how he’ll quite thank you for that. 

In what feels like just a blink, Joel watches as you plate a simple late evening dinner of eggs and toast for the two of you, an old favorite of Sarah’s, nothing sillier to a child than having breakfast food while the moon sits high in the sky. You bring the plates to the table and sit across from him. He hooks his foot around your ankle as soon as you’re settled. 

“Thank you, sweetpea. You didn’t have to do all this,” Joel tells you as he accepts the proffered fork. 

“I know,” you respond, stabbing a bite of your scramble with your own cutlery, “but I wanted to,” you finish simply, popping the eggs into your mouth with a smile. Joel returns your smile and digs in. 

The two of you quickly polish off your plates, leaving nothing but the crumbs from the bread you’d baked a few days prior behind. Joel moves to clear the table and you allow him to, but join him at the sink, grabbing the dish towel from its place draped over the left half, falling into your regular routine—Joel washes, you dry. 

“You know,” he starts, “I think I understand you even better now, after today.”

You turn to look at him with an amusedly confused face. “In what way?”

“You know how sometimes you ask me to be your “daddy” in bed? I love you and I would do almost anything for you, so I’ve never had a problem with it, and I love how it seems to make you feel, but I didn’t fully understand it before,” he pauses, giving you time to respond if you felt you needed to, and turns to see you’ve paused with plate in hand. He fully turns his body to face you now. “I think I get it now. The way you took care of me tonight? It was…almost parental? But it wasn’t at all at the same time. I think,” he tries again, “I think the only other time in my life I’ve experienced that kind of selfless…devotion, I guess…was from a parent. And obviously you’re not my parent, but…fuck, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” he asks self-consciously, unable to meet your gaze. 

You bring your fingers to his chin, lifting his eyes to meet yours before you speak. “You’re not fucking anything up. You’re right, that’s why I like it, why sometimes I need it. It’s the way you take care of me. You make me feel so incredibly safe, Joel,” you answer him. 

Joel pulls you into his chest, gently rubbing your back. “It makes me so, so happy to hear that, my sweet starlight. Always want you to feel safe, loved, taken care of here.”

Your hands snake up the back of his shirt, needing to feel him closer, flesh on flesh. “The same goes for me, you know? If you ever need, or want…I want you to feel that way, too. I love taking care of you, too.”

Joel leans down and kisses the top of your head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of you, wanting to solidify this memory for as long as his mind will allow him to hold it. He considers leaving the dishes in the sink to be tomorrow’s problem, wanting nothing more than to return to bed with you, but he knows he’ll be frustrated when the egg has glued itself to the pan and he has to really scrub to remove it. He reluctantly releases you from his embrace and turns back to the sink, washing the remaining plate before handing it to you to dry, and doing the same with the utensils and the old, salvaged steel pan. 

Once you’re both satisfied with your work, you close down the kitchen in tandem, flicking off the lights and heading back to your room. You move to your respective sides of the bed—Joel going left, you going right—before climbing beneath the old, soft comforter. You’re both wiped from the day’s activities, opting to just turn the lights out rather than do your usual song and dance of reading for five minutes and falling asleep with the book splayed open on your chest, leaving Joel to gently dogear the page and set it on your bedside table before clicking off your lamp in fond exasperation. In the dark, you hear him shuffle, turning towards you. 

“Hey, darlin’?” he asks, getting your attention. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you, umm, would you hold me tonight?”

“Of course I will. C’mere, my sweet boy,” you answer. Joel turns over again and shuffles back, allowing you to snake your arm over his torso and bury your face in his shoulders. He holds your arm in place and it feels…right, so nice and comforting and he gets it. 

“Thank you. For everything. Never known a love like this, but you make it so easy. Not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Just stay, Joel,” you answer simply, “stay with me. That’s all I want, all I need.”

And he thinks he can do that. And he sends up his own prayer, his favorite vow, to whatever god is listening, to let him stay with you forever, to let him love you until his dying day, that they owe you that much at least, your simple wish. He’ll do whatever he can to ensure it comes true. And as he drifts into unconsciousness, held safely in your arms, he thinks he never wants to be anywhere else. 

thank you for reading ♡ please reblog or leave a comment if you enjoyed!

[amerricanartwork]

Look at that! The little creatures are back! And there's two new ones this time!

Hey, what brings you guys around here—

Oh. My. God. This little blue one is so cute!! And those little frill things are so pretty!

What's it carrying, though? Come here so I can get a closer look!

Whoa! Calm down, purple one! I wasn't gonna hurt your little friend here!

See, it's alright!

Though I must say, you two are quite the interesting pair! I'd love to get to know you more! Both of you, feel free to stay as long as you'd like!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

At long last, a new update to Rain Wool is here! And to hopefully compensate for the very long time it's been since my last addition to this project, I've decided to showcase TWO new figures this time!

First up is everyone's favorite little wet goober, Rivulet! And I must say, this one's been the hardest so far! Like I mentioned in a previous ask, it was quite hard to find a suitable blue color for Riv, in the sense that it both matched the in-game sprite as closely as possible and looked nice with a pink color that fit for the gills (which was also a bit hard to find). Then, on top of that, actually felting all six gills and attaching them to the cheeks was rather tedious. However, the end result was definitely worth it! Rivulet's gotta be my favorite Rain Wool figure so far; it's just so cute, I wanna hug it every time I see it!!

And next up is the quiet yet deadly messenger, Spearmaster! This one was a bit easier to make than Rivulet, though dark-colored slugcats are always a bit of a challenge for me. Visually, it's the same as Nightcat in the body, with the main difference, of course, being that thick spotted tail. It was a bit of a challenge to gauge just how thick I wanted the tail to be, but once it seemed satisfactory, placing the spots was pretty relaxing, and I like the way they came out in the end!

And, like my last two figures, I made little props for these guys as well! Again, I tried to make things matching their characters and stories. Using the same mini bamboo skewers with some hot glue and white ink, I made three of Spearmaster's special white spears, while some black and blue wool was used to make a little rarefaction cell for Rivulet.

That's about it for now, though. I hope you enjoyed seeing these two new figures! I'm pretty excited myself, not just because they both turned out great, but because I now only have two more slugcats to make!

Stay tuned for more Rain Wool: Downpour! I'll see you next time!

[bensolosbluesaber]

Nowhere to Run: Part 2 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)

Read Part 1 Here

Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader

Warnings: Miguel helps reader through a panic attack (descriptions based on my own experiences but not necessarily perfectly written down), mentions of isolation and isolation-related trauma, references to child loss, scars

Summary: Living in Nueva York and working with the Spider Society is pretty great... except for Miguel O’Hara, the man who injured you, saved your life, and now refuses to speak to you. Luckily, Peter B. Parker loves interfering in Miguel’s life, so when you’re at your lowest, it’s Miguel who is there to help you through it. ~ 2,200 words

Angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending

A/N: This is still dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok as well as the people leaving the comments. There are light spoilers for AtSV (I made up an ending for BtSV since this is set after that).

--

Two Months Later…

Miguel O’Hara kept his promise. His Spider Society ran all kinds of tests, searching for an explanation for the rapid evolution that provided your the ability to travel the multiverse. Best they could guess, you had been close to the epicenter of your world’s implosion, close enough to absorb some of the energy leaking from what was essentially a black hole devouring the universe.

Another Spider-Woman had given you a more advanced goober - no, gizmo - to keep you from glitching and destabilizing the place they called Nueva York. It was Miguel’s home, she’d explained, and the home base of the Spider Society that kept watch over the multiverse. You’d started volunteering for missions with them, happy to be doing some good. It made you feel like a hero again, like there was a point to all the sacrifices that led you here.

But you hadn't seen Spider-Man 2099 since he dropped you off at a Nueva York hospital and huffed an order to “make sure she gets stitched up, and for god’s sake, get her some food.” That was two months ago.

--

“I can’t believe you bring a kid here.” You waved to Mayday who was sitting on her dad’s lap and trying to steal his food with her webs. For some reason, Peter had given her a web-shooter… as if toddlers weren’t difficult enough.

“Neither can I, honestly. But she loves these guys. Especially Miguel.” He frowned and took a bite of empanada. “She’s borderline obsessed with Miguel actually. I think it’s because he has such climbable shoulders. It’s good for him to see her too.”

“Meaning?”

“Ah nothing.” Peter waved off your question.

An awkward pause filled the space between you and Peter B. Parker. Just ask him, you told yourself.

“Is Miguel avoiding me?” Blunt. Right to the point.

“Ummmmm…” He drug out the word for far too long, looked to his daughter for help, seemed to remember she couldn’t do more than babble random sounds, and then sighed heavily. “Yes. He feels bad about…” Peter gestured broadly to you. “About a year ago we had a little situation with this kid - I mentored him. Good kid. Smart,” Peter added proudly. “This kid, Miles, made Miguel rethink a lot of things. We started handling anomalies... differently, a bit more gently.”

“He calls this gently?” You touched your scarred shoulder.

“Ummmmm… no.” Peter scooped Mayday out of the air where she was now dangling from the ceiling. “You freaked him out pretty bad. I mean you are a huge anomaly. Dangerous. He sort of, uh, how would those kids say it? Oh, yeah, he ‘went off the deep end.’ You should hear him tell the story.”

Mayday babbled incoherently.

“Yes ma’am, it does all seem a bit romantic when he tells it doesn’t it?” Peter cooed to Mayday then grinned at you.

You blinked once. Twice. Romantic?

Mayday went zipping away. Peter stood and sighed.

“Gotta get this kid, but I’m sending him to see you.” He took off after his daughter who was expertly navigating a minefield of other Spider-People (and animals). “Promise!” Peter tossed over his shoulder.

You seriously doubted Peter B. Parker would be able to convince Miguel to talk to you. And that was just as well because by the time you made it back to your room, it was turning into one of your bad nights. It was illogical. How could you could be fine for and suddenly a panic-stricken nightmare-ridden mess one random night? But then, the human mind is an enigma even to itself, the traumatized mind even more so.

It happened when you walked into your room and found yourself suspended in complete darkness. You followed the same routine every night, but today was different. Blackness surrounded you and closed in. You could see nothing, not even the hand in front of your face, and something tightened in your chest, clamped down on your lungs. For a second, you had control of the thing, were reaching for the light switch. Then you were spiraling.

Your mind was no longer in your safe room in Nueva York surrounded by the Spider Society who had taken you in and protected you and even become your friends. No. It was trapped in the silent and endless darkness of a collapsed universe, utterly alone, smothered in deafening silence. Your breath came in rapid, shallow pants, and you stumbled back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sat down on the soft mattress, drew up your knees, wrapped your arms around yourself, bowed your head, and tried to breath through it.

Caught in your panic attack, you didn’t even hear two familiar voices arguing, or see the light from the hallway fall across the room as the door was pushed open, or notice the shadows that loomed in the doorway.

“I know what you’re doing, Peter,” Miguel snarled.

“I’m not doing- why’s the door open?”

Miguel noticed you first. The dim room was the perfect environment for his sensitive eyes to make out your hunched form and trembling shoulders. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of you, an act that confirmed every one of Peter B. Parker’s suspicions. He watched for a moment from the doorway before taking a step back and closing the door with a click. Miguel had this under control. He was sure of it.

--

A deep voice, gravelly as if it were being drug over stones whispered your name. It wrapped around you, held you tight, and pulled you above the thrashing waves. That crushing feeling in your chest relaxed ever so slightly, and finally, you managed a deep breath. Then a second. It’s okay now. The worst is over.

After the third breath, you looked up and searched the dark room in a search of the voice’s owner.

Two dimly glowing red orbs shone in the darkness. You knew exactly one person with red eyes. Slowly, your own eyes adjusted, and the broad outline of Miguel O’Hara materialized. He wasn’t wearing his usual vibrant suit, just a dark colored sweater. Even kneeling on the ground he was still tall enough to be eye level with you. The two of you stared at each other for a long second before Miguel slowly raised a hand and... and brushed his thumb across your cheek?

What was happening? All you could do was blink stupidly at him, but when you didn't shy away he brought his other hand to your face. He smoothed his thumbs over your cheeks. He was wiping away your tears so gently and with such concern it seemed impossible. His hands were soft, softer than they had any right to be, and those dangerous claws that had done so much damage to you earlier were nowhere to be seen.

“You’re safe. You’re here with me.” Miguel’s voice was so commanding; he was obviously accustomed to giving order, but that actually made it more reassuring. “I’m here.”

I’m here. For some unexplainable reason those words reassured you more than anything. You didn't even think, just did. You slid forward on the bed and buried your face in the broad muscles of Miguel’s shoulder. His sweater was as soft as anything you could have imagined, and his warmth seeped through the fabric. He smelled like fresh laundry and something more woody and musky.

Miguel haltingly wrapped his arms around you, awkward at first, before he pulled you in closer. He held you like that for several long minutes, running his hands across your back and drawing small circles with fingers until your breathing synced with his. 

Since coming to this place, the most physical contact you had with anyone was the occasional hug or handshake or Mayday crawling up your arm. Before that it was Miguel holding you in the rain while he sucked his venom - you had confirmed that it was venom - from your body. Before that you had been trapped in a collapsed universe or on the run. Before that... well, being Spider-Woman was a lonely job.

To be held like this was the most comforting experience you had in longer than you cared to remember. You didn’t want to let go. Even when you realized that in this position Miguel was kneeling between your legs you didn’t let go.

Eventually, he shifted with a quiet huff. You pulled back immediately. What were you doing? Miguel definitely didn’t want you all over him. What could you have possibly been thinking, using the man who actively avoided you for comfort?

Miguel stood and stretched. You looked away, suddenly self-conscious.

“Thank you. I’m okay now,” you muttered.

That was an obvious lie. The man tilted his head as he gazed down at you. He knew what this loneliness was like, how it felt to have wallowed in solitude for so long that you forget how to feel anything but alone. His eyes shifted to your shoulder where a tank top did nothing to hide the four long scars he had left in your skin. You tracked his gaze and immediately tried to cover them with your hand.

“I’m okay,” you repeated, hinting that he could go even though part of you - an insane, irrational, needy part of you - wanted him to stay.

Miguel ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair with a sigh before sitting down, uninvited, on your bed. Next to you. He sat down next to you. On your bed.

Miguel O’Hara was handsome. You never denied that, especially now while he was inches from you smelling the way he smelled and radiating much needed warmth. The temptation to lean into him was strong, but not strong enough to override your embarrassment that he, of all the Spider-People, had seen you at your lowest point.

“I thought you were jumping through the Arach- the Spider-Verse with bad intentions. I had no idea you were running… from me.” The explanation came out of nowhere. Miguel turned to look down at you. “You had the potential to cause a lot of damage, and I panicked. I forgot you’re one of us, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” Another long pause. “My claws have never poisoned anyone before.”

The apology was genuine, you could hear it in his voice. Some invisible barrier between the two of you shattered then.

“Are you saying you didn’t mean to kill me with your venomous talons, you only meant to seriously maim me with your regular talons?” You could feel a smile growing as you tried joking with him.

Miguel looked back at the bed spread. Should you? Was this a good idea? You threw caution to the wind and leaned over to bump your shoulder against Miguel’s.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ve all made mistakes. Glad I was threatening enough to scare you like that.”

“That’s not what- okay.”

“You can look at them. If you want, I mean.” You nodded to your scarred shoulder.

Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, Miguel smoothed a finger over the scars. They were deep and jagged, but had healed rather well all things considered. His hand on your neck startled you for a moment before you realized what he was doing. Four tiny scars from his fangs still decorated your skin, and he was tracing his thumb over each one.

Miguel felt you swallow, realized what he was doing, and then froze. A single second stretched into an eternity during which you could confront every thought racing through your head. He’d chased you for months, but he had a good reason. He’d hurt you. Then he saved your life. There was that thing Peter said about Mayday being good for him. And Miguel’s sad eyes and ever-present frown. And how warm he’d felt while he held you. And the ripples of muscle across his entire body.

He’d kept his promise not to send you back. And he was handsome. Handsome and sad. So instead of pulling away and kicking him out and going back to avoiding each other, you leaned into him.

There was nothing awkward about Miguel’s movements this time. He wrapped an arm around you and maneuver you both until you were laying down, curled up against his side, head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist.

“What is going on?” You whispered.

“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Miguel whispered back.

“Okay, but why?”

“Because... because I know how it feels to lose everyone and have no one to hold you.”

You looked up at him then. He was staring at the ceiling, some memory you couldn’t see dancing across his eyes. Peter said Mayday was good for Miguel then refused to answer any more questions. The frown lines. How ferociously he protected the multiverse. Mayday was good for Miguel. Mayday. The kid.

It hit you then, and it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Miguel had lost his family, probably in circumstances not too different from your own. You wanted to know everything about the Spider-Man with the fangs and venom and the saddest eyes you had ever seen. Not now though.

Already, you felt sleep tugging at the edge of your consciousness, a sense of safety and comfort brought on by Miguel’s presence.

“You could stay until I wake up,” you offered drowsily and splayed a hand across his chest. “If you want.”

Miguel ran his fingers lightly over the back of your hand.

“I think I might.”

--

A/N: There is a teeny tiny potential for an 18+ Part 3. No solid plan yet, but possible. Thanks for all the love on this fic!

My Masterlist

--

Taglist (Want to be added? Click here.) 

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If you want taken off, just let me know! I’m doing my best with this, but it is starting to get pretty extensive. I am very very sorry if I missed you; please just resubmit!

[phlurrii]

It’s finally time to introduce the secondary project I’ve been working on >;Dc

I’ve had this queued for sometime in June, did not check when, so hello on [random date in june] ;D

I’m also here to explain how I’ll be posting this stuff going forward! Everything will be posted here, on my main account before being reblogged over to Soul’s Anchor a side bog with the place holder title. Unless it deals with more adult/suggestive content or heavier topics, of which will be exclusively posted to Soul’s Anchor side blog. As I don’t want certain themes alongside AM! I’ll also be referring to this series as Anchor for short! I will encourage any and all Questions, Mentions, and Thoughts to be directed there for those interested and those who are not, dw! You’ll only see the initial posts here, no asks or follows up, but this is still my art account and I shall enjoy it as I please ;3

Brief Synopsis about the Story:

A queer love story following a cursed pirate and a cult refugee implanted with a god’s eye as they combat the reality of living in a world which was created solely to feed the gods that govern it. All whilst a sapphic couple attempt to help guide the pair along a path to to a better future, one that’s validity comes into question. A dark fantasy story that aims to represent the disabled community, the LGBTQIA+, and SA survivors written by fellow members of these communities.

Also brief disclaimer, I, Phlurrii, am simply an ally to the disabled community, my partner in crime writing alongside me, ArtJunco on Instagram, is our resident community member ;]

Anyways onto the meat of this!

Below is a collection of some, emphasis on some, of the concept art and processes I went through to develop and create one of the two main characters, Lumae.

Here are some of the earliest ideas, the basic thoughts I had in my brain when developing this goober after a 3 hours pacing in my kitchen at 1 am when that inspiration struck. His hair was the HARDEST bit for me to figure out. Which sucked as usually the hair is one of the first things I figure out because of how much I love it, so it was Agony while brainstorming that part.

I also briefly considered a goatee, however it was so cruelly shot down by my dear friend. So in stead we compromised that he may get one later down the line story wise… and see how we feel then. However, upon finally figuring out his hair I was bloody elated, still has some tweaks now and then, but the base is there.

As for this next concept, this was actually the FIRST thing created for Lumae and what started everything else about his character/design! His eyes! They are still my favourite but about him and something I adore whole heartedly! They are the core of his character ;3c

These next few are early refs and mock ups of his full design, testing our colours, experimenting with shading, getting used to drawing humans again, and general concepts I had for him as a character! Also a sneak peak at Ayric, our second main goober for this story! Who was lovingly designed and created by ArtJunco!

And finally his most recent WIP ref! The only thing currently bothering me about his design is the colour for his boot covers, I have no idea what to do with them so I’d you have suggestion or ideas, sincerely, feel free to shoot an ask to the Anchor blog! I’d genuinely love outside opinions!

As for the main curiosity of why I’m doing this, for those that missed the last post, I’ll give a brief explanation below ;3

To help with burnout so I can hop between fixations, help to avoid losing interest in AM in the future!

Keep up practicing humans and critters alike.

To take a break from story telling to do story building! Give the telling part of my brain a break, while still making cool stuff ;]

To have a more interactive blog with ya’ll! One where I’ll likely be asking advice and discussing a lot more hypotheticals, doodling asks, and general audience interaction given I am not bound by any updates! Purely just “ooo… shiny-“ and anyone is welcome to join me ;D

Last thing I request is to please read Anchor’s blog bio/description before you follow, as this story will deal with subjects not suited for all audiences posted/discussed exclusively on that blog.

Anywho, that’s all for now folks, hope you enjoyed this brief intermission to kickoff the second project being public!

[infecteddaydreamz]

i think they scatter like cockroaches when you turn the lights on in a dark room /aff

coming up w funny captions is so hard guys what is this... anyway! more art of these fucking goobers that i cant seem to get enough of!

little explanation of the process thing / yap sesh below the cut smirks

i did the sketch on a 3 hour car ride coming back from the convention like 3 days ago and oh my god i hate drawing in cars !!! its not the sketching i so much mind, its moreso coloring, so thank god i did all the coloring and such at home!! but this piece took literally one million years but its done trust!! i have a lot of other *sketches* and doodles i could / should post from that trip! ill probably bring myself to actually posting more doodles and drawings and things bc i have tonsss especially of skwisgaar!! theyre literally all ive drawn for the past two weeks

anyway i just love to yap and man i just had the best midday sleep of my life! wake up and post ykwim mwahahahaha the grind never stops 😴😴😴

[softcitrus2345]

Happy (belated) Valentines!! I wanted to draw a little something cute and spicy with my two favorite goobers to celebrate, hope yall like it! >:3 I have a little comic/mini sequence as a continuation, but yall voted that I post this first and the comic later once it's finished I love drawing men in l*nger*e it's so FUN and just. Absolutely gender. God they both look so good I'm just O//////O

(don't worry, there will be weight gain in the next part >;3c)

[riewiggles]

“PEACHES  PEACHES  PEACHES  PEACHES  PEACHES”

This is from a scene in my fanfic sequel on AO3 when Kanji asks Naoto to play River Flows In You because of a meme he saw where someone recorded kittens meowing to it. Then after, Naoto plays that one song from Untitled Goose Game because Kanji is clumsy and the song is a reminiscent to Kanji himself.

I want to finish this because it’s our favorite tiny angy detective’s birfday.

[cerastes]

Bro any time I think about Valkyria Chronicles I laugh my nipples off, the game is fundamentally flawed gameplaywise but, simultaneously, it's stupidly fun, which is the recipe for any club banger, it has a story that weaves flawlessly between "that's pretty poignant" and "this is some goofy goober shit", it's got the horrors of war but also this fucking pig piece of shit mascot, Hans,

It's an amalgam of white and black without any gray: It exists on extremes, and it never intersects, it's playing two parallel lines and coming to terms with the fact that you'll never see cohesion but that somehow enhances the end product in ways evidently no one intended. You have narrative comparisons with the persecution of jews and, at the same time, the game ends with the bad guy getting German Suplexed.

But I think the funniest aspect of Valkyria Chronicles The First is that the main character is the farthest thing from a war hero they could possibly muster with the expertise of a stoic Japanese swordsmith from the mountains crafting a god-cleaving blade: Welkin.

This Scout From TF2 Put Through An Anime Filter looking mother fucker was chilling in his hometown talking about how much he wanted to be a teacher and showing people his really good sketches of animals because he's also a gifted artist, when suddenly, the Dudes attack, and his reaction to the Dudes attacking is "hang on, I recall my dad hiding his actual service tank in the shed in the back" so he goes and, yeah, his dad's tank from a previous war is just there, chilling, so he takes it for a joy ride while the town baker, Alicia, armed with a rifle and infinite action economy due to the afore mentioned flawed gameplay, sweeps the entire god damn platoon of heavily armed machine gun troops.

The entire game is Welkin using his love for nature and his baker love interest to inflict insane personnel and materiel damage to an entire empire: Welkin and Alicia will come across a heavily fortified bridge, and the dialogue will go something like

"Welkin! They will pulverize us with the heaviest machine guns known to man if we step one foot in that bridge! They practically developed wooden low-orbit bombardment stations! What's the plan!"

"Well... Look at that duck over there. It's flying from the east to the west, right? Well, YOU SEE, that duck is known as a Balkunese Socioduck, and those, during this season, migrate from west to east, and they only exhibit this irregular flight path if a Matrisgel Weasel family is molting by the juniper berry bushes, their favorite food. Matrisgel Weasels only ever molt if they are put under the exact amount of stress caused to them by the sound of distant tank threads on the road, and they are known to hide in sturdy, stable soil."

"Welkin, SIR, what the fuck does this all mean?"

"If we follow the smoldering shrieking of the molting weasels, we'll find a SECRET PATH that will, as always, let us ambush, flank, and surprise our foes! Alicia, you know what to do."

"Ogggeyyyyy"

and then, invariably, no matter the level, thanks to Welkin's impressive knowledge of fauna and flora, and Alicia's literally infinite action economy in a game that wasn't properly beta tested in-house during development, they combine their powers like a piss poor Captain Planet and kill the absolute shit out of an entire Empire's worth of dudes, and it's legitimately one of the most fun and charming games you'll ever touch if you remember to not take it too seriously. I fucking hate Hans but I love this game.

[idkfitememate]

Hi hiii a new idea come into moii!!

Since our litte Otter got stary eyes right? which means the eyes glow right? what if idk, at dead at night someone like Neuvillette or Furina(whatever character you prefer!!) get something to drink or to snack on, and at the dark hallway, they can see two glowing eyes staring at them at the dark, ofc they panic, is that a freaking intruder??? then slowly the glowing eyes move to the lights and out reveal themself, ✨Otter!!!✨ the character sigh in relief cuz, archons, thank god it wasnt some intruder!!

Idk this seems funny to me! cuz Otter scared them by their glowing eyes!

Just a little thought!

Otter anon🦦

Nighttime Shenanigans

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : Gn! Otter Reader x Neuvillette & Furina

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 278

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, crack

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Hehehehe ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱…

“AHHHHHHHAJDBFUFOENWBSKFHRJTSK!!!-“

A scream startled Neuvillette awake from his rather peaceful slumber.

Waisting no time, he jumped up and ran towards the sound of who he assumed to be Furina. Vision glowing with power, he was ready to attack whatever had caused her fear.

Bursting through a door, he found the girl on the floor surrounded by water and broken glass. She was shaking as she pointed down the hall.

Looking down, Neuvillette’s eyes met the glowing eyes of something he couldn’t see in the dark. Both had a stare down as he inched forward towards a candle, the matches right beside it.

Flicking the match and lighting a candle quickly, he raised the candle in the direction of the beast.

And when light covered the hall…

Both were met with their darling Otter standing at the end, a fish in hand and halfway in your mouth.

“Ah. “Oh.” Furina quickly stood and dusted herself off, coughing into her fist in embarrassment.

“Well, uhm… thank you for coming, Neuvillette! This was a uhm… a test! Yes, a test. To… err… ensure that you would uh.. come when I call. And you have passed. Alright good night!” And with that the Archon ran off down the hall, and into her room. The sound of the door slamming echoed through the corridors.

“… Then I suppose you will be spending the rest of the night with me, ma moitié?” You chittered in response, fully stuffing the fish in your face before running over to the man.

“Very well.” Neuvillette picked you up as you munched away, the stars shining in your eyes. He sighed before smiling at you.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Otter is just a little goober. I love them sm ໒꒰ྀི ^ ^ ꒱ྀིა!

[aquatint-101]

Random kataang headcanons

Awkward early relationship Kataang dating headcanons: Okay so the first big thing Aang does after the war is delivering ceasefire messages from the Fire Nation while Katara goes home to rebuild, and they exchange SO MANY LETTERS Their letters are so long with so many crossed out parts because they're trying to be romantic but all they end up doing is rambling about their daily lives Aang always signs his letters "yours" and Katara signs hers "with love" (Aang actually squealed when he got his first letter from her) Aang will get her ingredients for medicines she wants to try making that the SWT doesn't have and this one time he sends her a watercolor paint set from the Fire Nation and Katara is In Love Katara sends back lots of handmade stuff, and once she gets the hang of using her paint set she starts making cute little pictures of stuff she sees When they do reunite they spend most of their time in the SWT, so their PDA isn't ridiculous but expect lots of tight hugs they're suddenly too shy to give The first time Aang wears a parka he looks so cute Katara feels her heart is going to explode They do that thing where they're holding hands and looking away from each other while blushing furiously Katara kind of acts like she always has (compliments, hugs, cheek kisses) but when Aang starts mimicking that behavior Katara.exe stops working They are so shy that Sokka dies from secondhand cringe Speaking of Sokka, he will try to assert his dominance as Katara's older brother, like sitting between them when they're making heart eyes at each other Katara actually starts calling Aang "sweetie" out of spite just to make Sokka feel awkward, and Aang catches on because he also wants to make Sokka suffer, and it takes years for it to develop into an actual nickname they use When Katara gets into charcoal she tries drawing Aang but she gets so fed up with his intricate tattoos that she literally starts crying oh god Aang is in love with her and knows it but he's too scared of saying it so he'll keep whistling I love you in an Air Nomad whistle code, and he starts screaming internally when Katara repeats it without knowing what it means You would not look at these two goobers on a date and think that they'd kill and die for each other The first time they try making out it doesn't work because they're smiling so much A lot of the things they used to do casually, like training together or sparring or even just cuddling, become a little awkward but they grow out of it and become more comfortable with each other Aang tries to flirt, it Does Not Work, Katara tries to flirt, which somehow goes even worse because she takes advice from Suki and Mai This phase passes, like all trying times But yeah Aang and Katara from ages 13/14 to 15/16 are just two babies who love each other so much and are trying to show it but have no clue how