#saucy asks

[lqtraintracks]

Is there a difference between what you find the hottest in smut and what you find the hottest in reality? Are there parallels?

You sure came in here with a banger, didn't you?

I let this marinate for a few days (a week?) something like that. The trick is probably going to be in giving a genuine answer that also doesn’t bare all of me and my secret fantasies to the internet. The answer would be a little more detailed in a circle of friends rather than shared on the tumbles. 

Be that as it may (under a cut because of sexual topics):

Is there are difference? Yes. Are there parallels? Yes, and even hell yes.

I write things I would never want to try myself. Watersports. Great on the page. SUPER hot. It can be hot to me when other people engage in it; under certain circumstances I could watch it. Have less than zero interest in doing it.

There are plenty of things I find hot both on the page and in my own mind that would be hard nos in reality. Deep-throating? Hot in fic. Sometimes in porn, though it has to be ~just right~. In reality, it’s a hell no for me. No shame to people for whom it is a hell yes! That’s why I love writing it! It’s hot. In theory. And when I’m in control of how it happens and to whom, and I can zoom in on their inner thoughts and desires while it happens. That’s what makes it hot for me more than even the thing itself. 

That said, yes, there are plenty of parallels. There are plenty of things that I write that I also love to do, have done, etc. I will leave that to your imagination! But I’ve realized pretty recently that I’m sort of gray ace and demi as well as queer. I would rather read about most things, write most things, than do them. Doesn’t mean I haven’t done and enjoyed a lot of them or won’t again. I’ve lived what I can safely say is likely more than half the life I’m going to get. I’ve done a lot. I’ve tried a lot that I loved, that I hated, that I’m neutral about, that was bad with one person but then great with another. I’ve been top, bottom, Dom, sub, tried lots of positions and role plays and places and kinks and sorts of people. I’ve had traumatic experiences and ecstatic ones. I’ve had boring sex and off-putting sex and one night stands and years-long relationships, good and bad. I have an extremely prolific sexual imagination, and I enjoy my own company. If you know what I mean.

But there’s a reason I write so much smut. I absolutely love it. When I’m writing sex, I’m both in complete control and absolutely uninhibited. I bare my soul with all my clothes still on. I write characters having near-religious experiences with each other and can simultaneously give them orgasms and soul-shattering love. It’s messy but only in the ways that I decree. If I want to do something realistic and have someone stop in the middle of anal sex because they feel like they’re about to shit themselves (and their partner) I can—but I don’t have to! It’s idealized, which makes it both less and more than real sex. I can experience hate sex without hating anyone! I can explore pain play more than I could probably stand in real life (giving or receiving). It’s a different kind of creative act, sometimes fueled by actual sexual fantasies but just as much by my writer’s drive to try something new with my art and to explore characters without limitations.

I hope this yes-and-no answer isn’t too unsatisfying. If so, just go read some smut instead! I’ve found that tends to do the trick. :D

Thanks for the balls-out ask! I had fun thinking about it! <3

[heph]

Elvish

[dragon-tidbits]

Hello! I hope you had a wonderful holiday!

Just wanted to thank you for blessing us with so many shirtless stans lately!💜

I was wondering if it'd be ok to ask for an almost nakey( only towel/underwear)Ford laying in bed(sexily...🙈😳)

I hope you had a wonderful holiday yourself! Mine went pretty well :D

Always happy to give some sexy Stans to folks~ and thank you all for the love for the art I doooo ❤️❤️❤️

Now then... a sexy Ford you say 👀

How could I say no

[avvail]

DETECTIVE X SUPERVILLAIN

tw: heavy intoxication, kidnapping, implied sc (dub-con, nothing explicit)

The detective swirled the liquid inside of their glass, staring at the ice cubes clattering inside. The atmosphere of the bar was loud in their ears, and heat was beginning to crawl down their cheeks and through the back of their neck.

They tossed the alcohol back, the contents burning their chest, before signaling for another.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

They tilted their head, glancing at the figure that had stopped beside them. They had a hand on the bar, lips pulled into a strained smile.

The detective frowned, stifling an offended hiccup. “And who are you?”

They knew it wasn’t a good idea to drown in their sorrows, but the investigation about Supervillain had just gone down the drain, and they’d been forbidden to indulge in the case any longer.

Apparently, it was being transferred to somebody else. They felt like snorting when they’d heard that. Detective didn’t boast often, but there was no way they would close this investigation without them.

They had been so close. So close.

“A concerned party,” the figure hummed, taking a seat next to them. “That’s all you need to know.”

Detective didn’t look at them. The bartender rolled them another drink, and they knocked a few large swigs down, a heavy sigh escaping their lips.

“Do I want to know any more?” They asked.

The figure smiled fondly. “I doubt it.”

They waved a hand sharply. Everything around the edges was starting to go fuzzy, yet they hadn’t drowned in their sorrows just enough yet. Pain bloomed in their chest, unsure whether that was from their lost case, or the whiskey.

The figure was still staring at them, head resting in their hand.

“Go on, scram,” the detective slurred. “Go away.”

They seemed a little closer than before, but maybe that the just the impossible heat catching under their collar. They felt fingers brushing their hair from their eyes, but didn’t bother to pull away. After squinting quite dramatically at them, they drunkenly deduced they had a pleasant face.

“If you knew who I was, you’d hold that pretty tongue of yours,” they hummed, smiling. “Though, I find you’re boldness very amusing.”

“I’m drunk,” they grunted.

“Quite.”

Detective leaned away from their touch, finishing their—how many glasses was it now?—whiskey in a foul gulp, ice cubes clinking against the intricately cut glass. They felt those fingers on their hair again, brushing them back behind their ear. The detective stiffled a hiccup.

“Got cut from my motherfucking case,” Detective frowned, their tongue seemingly unraveling from such a simple touch. It was cool against their skin, and they hummed as it travelled a little lower, to the corner of their jaw.

“Is that so?” The figure hummed. “Poor thing.”

“It was...mine,” they huffed, clumsily trying to wave the bartender over for another drink. “It was supposed to be mine. They ain’t gonna get ’em, without...my help.”

Their lips were barely even working. The figure’s hand was stroking gently under their jaw.

“Mm, what are you doing?”

They had a coy smile on their face that a detective might have been able to see wasn’t right, but there was also this pitiful softness beneath those alluring eyes that had them drawn into them instantly. Detective’s own eyes flickered, heart beating in their ears.

“Look at you,” a hushed whisper tickled their ear. “So upset that a simple touch has you practically falling into me.”

Detective braced their hand on the counter, stopping themselves. They tried to straighten up, feeling their stomach pool as the figure rose to their feet, towering over them. Their lips were by their ears, but not before pressing them to their jaw.

They shuddered.

“Alcohol isn’t going to help you feel better, but I can,” they whispered smoothly, dizzying their senses with that tone. “After all, you’ve done such a good job trying to find me. It won’t hurt to reward you a little, will it?”

The detective sucked in a cold breath. Their drunken mind could barely even fathom what they were saying. They were Supervillain? Were they just messing with them, trying to make them feel more miserable than they already were...?

“Yeah...” They weakly smiled, not believing them. “Yeah, right.”

The detective was still grumbling incoherent words under their breath as they were helped up off their chair, warm around their waist and guiding their own arm around their shoulders. They rocked and staggered, but the figure kept them steady.

“Maybe I might indulge you and show you where my base of operations are too,” the supervillain chuckled lightly, as if they weren’t sweeping the detective away in broad daylight. “You were rather close, after all.”

Detective snorted at that. “I...was, wasn’t I?”

Even though the detective didn’t believe it really was Supervillain, the latter had them crying out their name later that night regardless.

[todayisafridaynight]

old man yaoi sketch commission........

Commission Info

[magistralucis]

"I'm right here." - Trazyn/Orikan (requested by @beril66)

(Drabble for a prompt fill challenge, prompts available here.)

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

They debate the pros and cons for a while, but in the end Orikan gets his wish, as he must've always known he would. Trazyn feels some kind of way about it. It's odd - as he gathers the necessary tools and heads to Orikan's quarters, he feels not a single smidgen of hatred, only the weight of dread mixed with weary concern. This is not how he would've characterized his sentiments towards the Diviner before any of this happened. He feels out of himself, frustratingly passive, inadequate.

"Orikan."

But if the Overlord of Solemnace is not adequate for this task, no one else will be. He desires breath, deletes the notion from his engrams, and enters.

Orikan is lying silently on the ground. Sannet is watching over him. Outwardly the astromancer is closer to restored - his primary servomechanisms have regained their function and the necrodermis 93% regenerated, the scratches buffed out and his carapace polished a rich turquoise - but Trazyn doesn't need to scan him to know that little about Orikan's mental state has changed. He sends an interstitial greeting, receives but a tiny blip in return. Trazyn dismisses his Arch-Cryptek with a nod, then with some effort, kneels down beside Orikan.

"Don't suppose you want it done to the tiles." He says out loud, more to himself than the astromancer, then dares the slightest touch with a fingertip upon the other's blackened spine. Orikan tenses, a shiver passing through his circuits. "I'll be gilding below those (gesturing at the three orbucula along his spine), then your clavicle-collar, and your headpiece. Has Sannet updated you on my process?"

A small nod. Trazyn heaves a sigh-analogue. Three whole decans have passed since that fateful battle, and just as long their cohabitation in Solemnace - but Orikan is still so afraid, and refuses all attempts to clarify the problem. Hardly an encouraging atmosphere where hands-on work is necessary. Still, for Orikan, he will do his best.

"... Good. If you've no other qualms, dear colleague, I will begin."

-----

They don't talk. Not about each other, not even loosely to fill the time. Trazyn's working at the same speed as his living self once did, which is rather slow for necron engrams, and in the absence of Orikan's jabs and insults he finds himself dwelling on the strangeness of the other's request. No one among their kind has needed to hand-gild anything since biotransference. Few individuals remember the art at all, and besides, they have decorator-scarabs for the purpose. Trazyn certainly isn't painting on his own raiments whenever he's damaged or switches bodies, and he loved gilding with his hands, it was his finest skill among the scribal arts.

But even when Trazyn lived the practice was considered old-fashioned. It's not an art he imagined Orikan, with his dislike of the past, would be caught dead asking for. Their world has shifted about them and maybe it's everything Trazyn has ever wanted, except he knows they're not the things Orikan would've usually wanted, and the thought of the other's discomfort bothers him more than he'd admit.

(Then again they never thought all that seriously about being caught dead, full stop.)

The hand holding the brush trembles. He is thinking illogically again.

(Trazyn only foolishly thought they had.)

Enough of this. Trazyn forcibly focuses his oculars elsewhere and redirects extra core-flux to his fine-motor actuators. It's easier because he's not facing Orikan. The spaces between the orbs and his spine are narrow, and while Trazyn can zoom in visually for the little details, he has no choice but to physically lean in close to actually let his brush pass over those areas. He tries to be discreet about it, but ultimately he must hold Orikan against him as he works, or else lie beside him for a clearer view.

He's seldom been this up close and personal with Orikan without dying. Nor with anyone else, not in this context: the living Trazyn's handiwork belonged to books and scrolls foremost, stone second, with the occasional jewelry-burnishing for interest. And even if he were only working on those (and not Orikan's body), remembering how it was done before is not the same as putting the work to practice, especially since Trazyn's current technique is different to how it was done before. There's a brush and there is gold, and therein ends the similarity. Trazyn's pigments are no longer bound with gum, but with fluid living metal, which adheres directly upon Orikan's body once painted. There is no need for varnish, nor the bite of regal acid, nor heat produced from anywhere other than their cores. Trazyn's own nanoscarabs are following along, tidying up the edges and weaving the gold layers into necrodermis at a subatomic level. His artisan's pride suggests a filigree finish, though his rational side suspects Orikan won't care for it.

Nevertheless he ought to bring it up at some point. It's a pretty touch, a dignified thing. Trazyn finishes gilding the lowest orbuculum down Orikan's spine, sits up with the faintest creak of his knee-cabling, moves away.

The astromancer's hand darts out of nowhere to grab his wrist.

Trazyn bristles. Literally bristles, the epidermic layer of his necrodermis rippling visibly as his subconscious prepares for an attack. It dies down as soon as he regards Orikan, and the immensity of the panic radiating from him; no need to run a diagnostic scry, nor even ask what's wrong, since the Diviner is incandescent with alarm-patterns from every functional node. Without a word Orikan drags himself to kneeling, crawls forwards - then collapses right against Trazyn's ribcage, clinging on for dear life, or whatever passes for its illusion nowadays.

"Orikan!" Trazyn's voice crackles, then fuzzes out of his vocal emitters entirely. It comes back dampened, soft, despite his best efforts. "What are you... oh... oh, damn it all."

There's no answer. But the point is loud and clear: Orikan needs his company, he won't be left alone. This was never about mere gilding - something happened to Orikan during the brief moments of his godhood, and Trazyn's presence is the only thing that's been grounding him ever since, for he's the one other proof Orikan has that the interdimensional horrors could be overcome. "I was only going to move to the other side, you know I wasn't going away." Trazyn says quietly as he puts down the brush, sitting up as straight as his back will allow. He supports the other's frail body in his arms and drapes one half of his cloak over him. "I'm right here, Orikan. It's all right."

They're pressed turquoise against turquoise, core-flux burning hot. Trazyn would not have believed, once upon a time, that such a happenstance could've occurred in any other context than his unfailing triumph over Orikan: he'd have been all too happy to see the Diviner crushed, made centrepiece or vassal or a slave, the gold and turquoise proof of his ownership more than anything else. Those fantasies feel distant now, like they're a different lifetime and a dozen different Trazyns away. In the present day Trazyn the Infinite is merely staring down at their hands, two charred and two unblemished, his oculars dim and sad as he clasps their fingers in comfort.

Fleetingly the archaeovist recalls this was how the Nihilakh nobility welcomed additions to the dynasty. The newcomer, usually a child or a foreign spouse, would be granted a ceremonial robing of the dynastic colours followed by gifts of gold and turquoise goods. Seal-rings for a new groom, hairpins for a bride, amulets and jeweled rattles and gold-embroidered toys for the newborn babes. Trazyn has never had cause to perform this ceremony himself and remembers nothing else about it, and he certainly doesn't think Orikan had anything like this in mind - but as far as welcoming Orikan to his household goes, he supposes this is the most benign way they could've gone about it.

"My dear Orikan." He soothes, watching the glimmer of Orikan's discharge nodes slowing to a quiet blink, and rests a warm palm atop the other's cranium. "I will not leave you. Take as long as you like."

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

(Notes: This is a piece exploring a headcanon that Orikan wears Nihilakh colours because Trazyn gifted it to him post-TIATD, presumably during a recuperating period on or near Solemnace. Orikan got battered to hell and back during that battle, it's doubtful Trazyn would've let him go in that state; since I also enjoyed writing about necrontyr!Trazyn's scribal duties in Unravel recently, I've brought back the chrysography/hand-gilding angle for this piece. 🥰 It struck me as a low-key but very intimate image.)

[mayhemchicken-artblog]

i am. OBSESSED. with ur jonathan harker. particularly his hair. it's so lovely. also i binged the league of extraordinary gentlefolk yesterday and the scene with the knife!!!! with dr. kemp! lives rent-free in my head.

anyway. do u have a favorite jonathan moment? from dracula or lxgf, either one

aw thank you! jonathan's hair has undergone extensive evolution over the time i've been drawing him but i've always enjoyed drawing the curly bang

my favorite jonathan moment in lxgf is probably [redacted] in episode 2 or maybe [redacted] in episode 8

[isaacsapphire]

🔥

Dental care products for adults should come in flavors besides different intensities of mint.

[necrolexic0n]

Your Underfell and Swapfell sans got me like🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰👉👈😳😳😳😳😳😳🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🏃💨

“THOUGH I HOPE YOU WOULD NOT EVEN DARE TO GROUP ME WITH THIS…SCOUNDREL. SURELY YOU HAVE BETTER TASTE THAN THAT?”

“oh yeah like you’re one to talk, captain fuckin’ prissy pants.”

[puppyeared]

man ok so you know the spiciness scale on menus that show you how spicy a dish is so you can order based on your tolerance. can we have that for sauces too please

[khazadspoon]

Both Blondie and Rowdy have suffered in the desert (but only one sucked at it and it wasn’t Rowdy)

[funky-gobbo-art]

Twitter meme i did

[bleaksqueak]

Oh, for the record... I worry sometimes that when I get asks that have story relevant questions that people will worry that I find them annoying/don't like them. That's not the case at all, it just takes a tremendous amount of self control to reply to them either vaguely or picking on details that won't spoil their explorations when they get posted. They're actually very enjoyable and (let me know I'm picking the right topics to explore since people want to know about them lol). ... Granted I'm incredibly obsessed with world details and so maybe saying I'm "picking the right topics" isn't accurate so much as "well, you're constantly over thinking everything, someone's bound to ask about X, Y, or maybe even P. You know, to be spicy." (Speculations asks are fun too. I've gotten a few and have said I couldn't answer them, but it in no way meant I don't enjoy them) Speaking of, I've still got a few asks sitting in my inbox I haven't gotten to yet. I answer a few at a time between work and like knowing they're there to go to. Little fish to feed. At any rate, wanted to clear that up Just In Case while currently debating on if I want to do a single update tomorrow or if I want to do a multi update.

[knbposting]

i need to see a wakamatsu vs kagami showdown but also if wakamatsu is there, aomine is DEFINITELY there, and aomine would have to be seriously ill before he lets WAKAMATSU??? take the attention off of HIM???

[jopzer]

lil saucy wip for you guys :)

[hazzybat]

Fuck it posting this before bed. Dunno how I can tag this but uhhhhhh have a teasing Nace.

No I can't draw faces yet. I'm working on it. This is all drawing practice anyway. Had fun with this and I do have poses for the others as well so maybe ill actually draw them all who knows?