#oc serenity

[carnivorousyandeere]

Anyway the uptight Angel Bookkeeper/Secretary’s name is Serenity and they’re the *sigh, pushes glasses up nose, begins making lists* to the Heaven’s Gate Boss’ *spouts an impulsive idea then goes back to slacking off*

[inkyblotstrashcan]

They’re friends…. I think?

[ralts-quartz]

Day 15-21 of drawtober!

Posted earlier on Patreon

[sludge-cat]

large computing organism befuddled by creature who is not a large computing organism

[secondary-colorentimy]

haaah classic hornton

[themintsimmer]

can't reach her. serenity has no issue doing what...or whoever is convenient for her.

next | foxbury tales let's play series playlist

[leidensygdom]

Seren Gautier, for @ydteus ! Someone was in need for a surrogate and it's always a good time to revisit the world's best Holes Georg out there!! Please do give a good peek at the lines though, they're full of hatching and shapes and I'm pretty proud of them!

[kociamieta]

translator's note: "visions of serenity" is serene dreams abound's original name

[choccy-milky]

☼ seb & clora x elden ring ☼

SUPER self-indulgent thing i had to draw once i got the idea, bc i love FromSoftware and all their games (...& also bc i will never get tired of drawing clora like an ethereal lightbulb LOL 🔆) ↓ extra doodles and a lot of yapping below❗ ↓ (& elden ring DLC final boss spoilers)

their boss mechanics bc im a nerd LMAO🥰

if you target clora and kill her before seb, seb will be inflicted with madness/frenzy, and his stats will be raised for the remainder of the fight

with clora dead, seb will stop using holy/slash damage, and will instead use occult, madness/frenzied flame, and his own blood to inflict bleed damage

killing clora first makes the fight wayy harder, but also reaps much better rewards/a unique item (like the ornstein and smough boss fight in DS1)

if you kill seb first and don't finish off clora quickly enough, she'll just keep reviving him over and over (like the twin princes fight in DS3)

when you get seb down to like 10% health, he'll stop going on the offensive and will instead do everything he can to protect clora (while being visibly beaten up & limping😭kinda like sif in DS1)

this is the boss i re-skinned them as (promised consort radahn) bc i love this design...and even the lore makes sense bc the big guy (radahn) was brought back to life to serve miquella and fight for him (kinda like my seb and his horcrux👀) i also considered giving clora a halo similar to miquella's (but in the design of her hairclip) except i scrapped that bc i thought it looked weird LOL. i still like the idea tho so...just pretend its there LMAO🙂‍↕️🙏 ok im done 🗣️

[serene-sky-kid]

Too weak to reach, too silent to be heard, butterflies do not help those who cannot sing

But you all exist to help others so it was only a matter of time before you were found

I wonder what he saw in you at that time...

Moth Serene and her adoptive father/veteran I wanted to get this idea out of my head, I'm not really that good at making scenery, I just painted over screenshots to make my job of creating an environment easier.

[iingezo]

Seren for @ydteus !

[local-hyperfixation-beast26]

Oc art attack I just wanted to draw her being pretty and cool

[secondary-colorentimy]

“i walked with you once upon a dream” ahh

[httpsserene]

cabin getaway — 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟. toto wolff x fem!bipoc!reader (reader's appearance is not described < 3) 2k words. requested! by @omgsuperstarg not beta read. fluff. suggestive. established relationship. slice of life. domestic bliss. surface-level research was done for the setting. 

synopsis: snapshots of your post-season getaway with toto

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. surprisingly, i had so much fun writing this toto req 💀 it made me forgive him for fumbling lewis lol (do not confuse this is me hating kimi; i🤍 kimi antonelli, and i hope he continues to thrive at merc). to get back to the point, i am not writing for toto anymore :( bc -usually- writing for him is like pulling teeth.

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The mountainous peaks of Gräfenberg are bathed in moonlight and shadows. The cabin is blanketed in a dense layer of snow, the exterior illuminated in a soft glow from the dangling string lights. Toto called ahead to have the quaint cottage ready for your arrival, evidenced by the warm air that greets your cold-bitten cheeks as you step through the front doorway. He helps you out of your layered outerwear, and you do the same for him, stuffing the garments into the entryway coat closet. Toto huffs in displeasure when you bend down to pull off your boots, interrupting your motion to pull you into a hug, his arms cradling you tightly. With a deep sigh, you nuzzle into his sweater-covered chest, murmuring tiredly, “We forgot the bags in the car.”

“Tomorrow,” he grunts, the exhaustion from a strenuous season bleeding through in his tone, “I will grab them in the morning. Let’s head to bed.”

You have no complaints regarding that, letting him lead you toward the bedroom after your shoes have been stored away. After undressing, you two climb underneath layers of heavy quilts, hums of relief spilling into the air at the feeling of the cloud-soft mattress. The sound of falling flurries and a crackling fire lulls you to sleep within minutes.

The music from the random record you picked resonates throughout the cabin, accompanying the sound of running water as you wash grapes and the click of Toto’s knife against the wooden cutting board as he cubes a variety of cheeses. You delicately arrange the cured meats on the wooden slab, staying focused even as Toto pulls you into a heated debate over what the best cheese is.

He’s adamant about the top cheese being mozzarella, and you stutter around your vehement disagreement, claiming that you could name ten better cheeses. Your mind blanks after the third cheese you list, and the laughter that erupts comes easier after almost two glasses of white wine. Toto has to set his knife down, the force of his amusement blurring his vision with tears. It’s probably not that funny, but there’s no one around to tell you differently.

The Austrian claims that mozzarella is superior purely because of its importance in pizza, and at that point, you concede. The lighthearted conversation continues as you both progress to a third glass of wine, the layout becoming less neat as Toto adds the cheese and crackers, and you with grapes and meats. Thankfully, the charcuterie aesthetic mattered little as the two of you began eating the small bites at a quicker pace than you were placing them down.

In the middle of the tiny kitchen, you lead Toto through a drunken slow dance, giggling as he lets you twirl him around, your wine glasses ditched in favor of sipping straight from the chilled bottle. His grasp on your waist is delicate as he dips you, and as he guides you back upward, you complete the movement with the press of your lips to his.

Toto’s lying on his back between your legs, his head pillowed on your thighs as you gently massage your facial cleanser into his skin. You rub circles into his temples, careful to maintain the right amount of pressure to relax him, pleased at the quiet hum that rumbles through his chest. You ring out the cloth you had set aside in a bowl of hot water, draping it on his face,  letting the heat open his pores before wiping off the cleansing foam.

Silicon brush in hand, you paint a healthy layer of a grey-colored, skin-firming clay mask onto his face. You carefully keep the product from nearing his eyes and brows, quietly humming the tune of a track you loved from the random record. Toto grumbles about the tingling sensation after you’ve finished the application.

You roll your eyes, telling him, “Hush—and stop frowning…unless you want the face mask to solidify more wrinkles into your skin.”

He parts his lips, certainly ready to argue back, but pauses when your fingers rake through his hair, your nails deliciously scratching along his scalp. Toto forgets to respond, no longer minding the tingling effects of the mask on his skin when it’s paired with the tingling from a relaxing scalp massage.

The snow is starting to pile high, and the air is frigid, but you’ve never been warmer from your front-row seat to The Show.

The sight of Toto chopping wood stokes the kindling fire in your core, your thighs pressing together tightly as you begin to burn. The heat of your longing steams the air around you—though that’s realistically caused by the space heater next to you on the outdoor couch. 

Your mouth parts with an audible gasp as you watch Toto set the axe down, interrupting his rhythmic chopping to pull off his coat. The forest green sweater you gifted him wasn’t this tight when he wore it for the first time, meaning it either shrunk in the wash or that he’s grown bigger, more muscular, and possibly stronger. 

It seems to be the latter option, you determine, watching the corded muscles of his shoulders and back shift as he stretches to release tension before moving to place another log atop the stump. A moan you weren’t able to stifle slips from your open lips, the sweet sound remaining just loud enough for Toto to catch as you try to muffle it into your mug of hot cocoa.

He—carefully—drops the axe this time around, turning to grant you an amused, knowing look. Your eyes dart around the landscape to avoid awarding him the satisfaction of confirming his suspicions. The hulk of a man closes the space between you with ease, the sound of his boots shuffling through layers of snow grows in volume as he nears you. 

“What’s up?” You ask, your tone innocent as he steps onto the deck, his boots thumping heavily on the wooden flooring.

Toto doesn’t respond, coming to a stop at your feet and stealing the mug straight from your hands to set it on the end table.

“Hey!” A startled laugh bubbles out around your disbelief, “I was drinking that—“

You shriek as you're lifted into the air and thrown over his shoulder like a burlap sack, shouting gleefully as you kick your legs in a frivolously fruitless attempt to persuade him to put you back down.

He lightly smacks your ass and your laughter splits around a thrilled gasp.

Currently upside down and wearing a self-satisfied grin the Austrian can’t see, you exclaim, “Put me down!”

Toto grabs the space heater with the hand that isn’t keeping you put over his shoulder and walks to enter the cottage. 

“I will put you down…on the bed, to have my way with you. Don’t—do not whine like you were not the one moaning loud enough to be heard by every animal in these woods.”

“I did not!”

 “Did watching me cut wood make you this hot, schatz? Are you sure you are not in heat?”

“Toto. Put. Me. Down.”

The fire casts a bronze finish over Toto’s complexion. The warm lighting increases the sharpness of his muscle definition, the shadows deeper, and the highlights brighter.

You lay alongside him, head pillowed on his arm, your lidded gaze tracking your finger as it follows the toned lines of his chest down to his happy trail. His stomach jumps at the lightest brush of your touch below his belly button.

Toto’s hand rubs over your spine, the soothing motion helping your eyes grow heavy under the weight of sleep. Your lower back is starting to ache satisfyingly, the absence of anything between your thighs feels odd, your throat aches with overuse; all the sensations reminding you of Toto bedding you on the thick, downy, and plush rug in front of the hearth. 

He said the bed was too far. You don’t feel the need to point out that he was wrong.

Your blinks start slowing, your lids remaining shut longer by a handful of seconds. Snuggling deeper within his hold, you croakily mumble into his chest, “My hot cocoa is frozen...and you left the wood outside, too.”

Toto's body shakes with his chuckles, “Sleep, schatz. I will bring all of it inside after we nap. I will heat up a warm mug for you as well.”

Your walk is filled with the sounds of coats rubbing together, sniffling noses, snow crunching beneath boots, icicles falling from branches, and Toto’s voice. 

“Did you know that Andrea doesn’t have a driver’s license?” Toto asks.

He knows you know this. You think he’s just terrified of Kimi’s youth because while he may be a rising Formula One driver, he’s still very much a kid. 

“At dinner the other night, didn’t he say he made an appointment to get it during the break?” You question, even though both of you already know the answer.

“He did,” Toto nods to himself, “—Then, George also did say that he’d steal your G-Wagon to help Kimi get more learner’s hours.”

You snort, recalling the cheeky look plastered to the British driver’s face, “They just needed to ask to drive it—I would have handed the keys over. If the two of them scratched or crashed my car…the outlook of the Mercedes team standings this year is frightening.”

“I know George is an adult,” Toto speaks, coming to a stop as you pull him to do so, “but sometimes I feel like I have hired two teenagers to drive at the highest speeds possible. Dear God. I pray that they do not stress me out too much, or I may go bald and look like Fred this year.”

Laughing, you lay down on the fluffy whiteness, spreading your arms and legs to leave a snow angel behind. Wearing a miserable amount of layers was the right choice, because while the cold is faintly felt, the moisture doesn’t bleed through. You’re panting lightly with exertion when you stop moving, the heat of your body gathering a lot quicker underneath the pounds of clothing.

“Well,” you breathe deeply, “We can make a trip after Budapest. Or, Jeddah or Sakhir, I suppose—depending on how quickly you lose your hair. Lift me, please!”

Toto, manhandling you like a burlap sack once again, firmly grabs hold of you with a fist in the middle of your coat. He lifts you upward single-handedly, and you wonder if that’s how it feels to get beamed up by a UFO. 

He places you on your feet, brushing the snow and water off your back with a gloved hand, and makes a confused sound, “A trip to where?”

“Turkey. For your hair transplant, of course,” you grin, “I don’t know if I can justify being with you if you go bald.”

Toto fakes as if he’s going to push you back into the snowy field, and you turn to run back toward the cabin. He yells for you to take back your words, but all you can do is laugh as he chases you. The threat of him throwing you into the deepest snow he can find when he catches you isn’t enough to make you stop.

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos used in header are from pinterest. divider from @cafekitsune.

[beebfreeb]

An awkward conversation after school.

[kociamieta]

drew some of my iterators as ancients ^_^

i might do VOS and RFiM sometime, best to keep them separated for now though

the ancient versions are slightly different behavior [and thus sort of personality] wise from their actual, iterator selves.

thank you @skybristle for inspiring me to do this :]