I Am Rotating Them In My Mind

Hey you guys! I have hit 100 followers so I made this quick gift! It’s another set of recolors using the same mesh as the Mod Abstract prints that I posted last week.  All images are from The British Library’s collection of vintage space & sci-fi illustrations.

❤ Thank you so much for the follows, everyone! I hope you enjoy the prints! ❤

Vintage Space Wall Art

5 original designs

standalone recolors

design tool enabled & custom thumbnails

DOWNLOAD: dropbox

TOU: Please do not re-upload or claim as your own. And, if you wanna, tag #sjane4prezcc so I can see what you make!

Credits: original mesh [BLACK], recolors by dailywizard

Made with Sims 4 Studio

My turn to make silly little memes

Part 2 / Part 3

gunnar hansen as leatherface THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE 1974 | dir. tobe hooper

More normal things

Imagine Sundrop Seeing Your Scars

TW: Self-Harm Scars

Relationships: Sundrop x Reader

Word Count: 1335

Tags: Sundrop is a sweetheart, Sundrop, Moondrop (mentioned), Daycare Attendant, FNAF, Five Nights at Freddy’s; Security Breach, Reader-Insert, Chubby Reader, Gender Neutral Reader, Established Friendship, Fluff

The day you finally were able to wear short-sleeves was a blessing. You’d been working at Freddy Fazbear's PizzaPlex for a hot minute. The uniform you got to wear as an assistant Daycare Attendant was hastily thrown together considering the idea was thrown out originally, but with all the bad reviews, they thought having an actual human helping out the animatronic would help. So, when you’d been hired, they had thrown a long-sleeved shirt at you, a pajama hat, poofy pants, and some ribbon bands to mimic the ones upon the Daycare Attendants. It hadn’t been ideal for you since you were pretty chubby as it is. Running around, keeping up and entertaining children was hard work. But, hey - as a suffering college kid, you managed. So, after about month three, they handed you a shirt in your size and said to wear it the next day, you could say you could feel some relief.

The shirt looked like the long-sleeved one, just with actual buttons on the chest for design instead of printed ones. It was nice though. Sundrop had complimented you on it, giving a little push to one of your buttons when you’d arrived. Everything went fine for the day, though you had basically been separated from Sundrop to have a side table of arts and crafts for the children to come and go as they pleased. It had been an idea you’d submitted to your boss, who begrudgingly let you do it.

Ever since you’d been hired, it had in fact had a positive effect on the PizzaPlex’s reviews. Kids felt more safe with you around during naptime as you were able to calm the Moon animatronic and make sure they were well taken care of in a more human-like manner. Don’t get me wrong, Sundrop and Moondrop definitely were human in their own way. You’d at first, found the animatronic to be quite creepy though fascinating with how advanced their A.I. system was. They both truly had their own personalities and flaws, but it wasn’t like error codes being thrown around. There was genuine human emotion. Sundrop with his need to please and OCD cleaning. Moondrop with his strict punishment towards human children despite not following rules himself when nighttime came. They shared some characteristics though not many.

Despite being freaked out at first, they’d grown on you. You’d spend many nights still there, playing with Sundrop or having deep talks with Moondrop. Tonight was no different. You’d been hidden by Sundrop in the room behind the curtains of his tower. It still was so exciting to see how strong he was when he picked up your chubby body to bring you up there. You didn’t trust any human to pick you up as you were afraid they’d drop you, but with Sun or Moon, you let them whenever the opportunity arises.

You were instantly being shown some new items that Sundrop had been given to entertain the children. He excitedly showed you the small versions of some instruments.

“See! Look at all these fun things! I have like three different drums, a few flutes, tambourines, ukuleles and guitars! Here, here! Try it out!”

The tall animatronic hunched over, your eyes trailing over his happy smile. You grinned at him, taking the tambourine from him, giving it a little shake. It was cute and small, definitely painted to match Sundrop's theme.

“Well, big guy, what are you gonna play?” You asked, glancing at the rest of the many different types of tiny instruments.

“Hmmm! Good question, little sunshine. I was thinking the maracas! Look! They have painted on them Moondrop’s and my faces!”

Sundrop turned to pick them up and held them down to your level. You couldn’t help but to giggle and nod.

“Those are pretty cool, my dude.”

The chittering noise of happiness came from Sundrop as he gave a little nod, face giving a spin.

“I thought so too. Okay, okay. Let’s go! Let’s start in - One, two, three!”

You felt a little silly, though in a good way. You held up the tambourine and began shaking it, with the occasional hit to it. Sundrop added in the unique noise of a shaking maraca, which made you giggle with glee. He was too precious.

You’d finally been able to let yourself be free and playful. It was something you struggled with, since you had to grow up so soon as a child. It was easier to have fun and be relaxed around Sundrop and Moondrop. They were literally unable to harm you, could be super silly and sweet. Overall, they’d helped you grow a lot in healing your inner child. That didn’t mean you still weren’t scarred from it.

That’s why after a bit of playing around with the instruments, you noticed the sounds of the maracas stop. You’d been giving the occasional spin around for flair when you heard a slight noise come from the animatronic. Your playing slowly ceased when Sundrop knelt down on his knees in front of you. For an animatronic, he was quite expressive without facial features. Your eyebrows furrowed and you stopped, mouth parting to ask him what was wrong, but was interrupted by Sundrop.

“Sunshine…” Sundrop croaked out, his large hand reaching out to grab your hand. He gently took the tambourine from you, setting it aside as his gaze looked to yours. His touch was warm, soft from the silicone padding he had. A little sniffle came from his voice box, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

“Who… Who hurt you?” This time, his voice was quiet. It was very different from his usual boisterous voice that could echo in the whole daycare if he wasn’t too careful. That’s when you realized what he was talking about. Your self-harm scars. They littered both arms but the one you’d been using to hold the small instrument was more affected than the other.

By the time you realized what he was talking about, you were engulfed into his embrace. This wasn’t the first time Sundrop had hugged you, but this time he was being extra gentle. Hand coming to press into your lower back, bringing you closer. The other cupped the back of your head as he craned his head down to press his face to the top of your head. You were grateful his sun spikes were soft as one gently grazed the top of your head. At this point, you were flushed. Hands up on his chest as he clung to your much smaller form.

“I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorrysorry so so sorry.” Sundrop began babbling this out, your eyes watering. For a moment, you felt ashamed of your scars. You were making this poor animatronic basically feel sympathy for your sufferings and in a way, it hurt. To have someone acknowledge your pain, to feel sad that you had it – It was more than any other human being had ever given you. If anyone else had noticed your scars, they never said anything, much less basically cry on you. This wasn’t pity. This was genuine concern and sympathy.

A tear slipped from your face, a lump forming in your throat. No one had ever made you feel more cared about and it was painful to realize that. That this animatronic showed more love and affection than anyone else. Sniffling and hiccup noises came from Sundrop’s voice box in a way that mimicked someone crying. That’s when you felt it. A cool wetness on top of your head. Another drop. Then another. You shifted a little, looking up at Sundrop, trying to blink away your own tears when you noticed a wetness streaking down his features.

Sundrop was crying. How or why they gave an animatronic the ability to cry was beyond you.

Sundrop was crying for you. He was crying for all the pain and suffering you’d been through. He was crying because he knew you were hurt and what that hurt led to because you didn’t know any other way to get it out. He was crying because he cared.

Based on this tiktok I found:

TikTok

🌸Bunny bubbles🌸 on TikTok

Reply to @0_moon.drop_0 He loves you dearly. #fivenights #fnaf #fnafsecuritybreach #viral #fyp #sundrop #moondrop #fypシ #sundropfnaf #fnafsu

Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.

Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.

P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?

Word Count - 4,091

Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.

His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -

He would be her past, present and future. 

(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered. 

She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it. 

Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin. 

She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something. 

When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there. 

Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg. 

His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state. 

He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain. 

“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” 

With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day. 

“Is it… Is it still the same night?” 

He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself. 

“How long has it been?” 

He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work. 

“One day…? But how?” 

He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her. 

“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?” 

Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head. 

“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?” 

His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again. 

“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?” 

Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes. 

“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer. 

The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities. 

She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake. 

(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully. 

He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked. 

The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal. 

Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them. 

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped. 

Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking. 

“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.

-

After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.

Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered. 

“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads. 

Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed. 

“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.” 

As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every - 

She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in. 

“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck. 

He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again. 

As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum. 

He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from. 

Then he spotted them. 

A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms. 

Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.

She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut. 

“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa. 

Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked. 

He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength. 

He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her. 

While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled. 

As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless. 

(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped. 

She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready. 

“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.” 

Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled. 

They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found. 

As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded. 

“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge. 

Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed. 

Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed. 

“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched. 

(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness. 

The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored. 

His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him. 

At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm. 

At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.

“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen. 

He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out. 

Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep. 

Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence. 

In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront. 

As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together. 

And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated. 

The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced. 

Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly. 

“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit? 

She called his nose cute.

“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.” 

He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off. 

“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.

Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call. 

The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried. 

“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.” 

Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child. 

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”

“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it. 

“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated. 

(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least. 

“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it. 

As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.

Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.

(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child. 

When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted. 

“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown. 

At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.

His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.

Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him. 

When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.

They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it. 

As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong. 

She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Can I get pegging with Thomas Hewitt?? Thank you!

i l o v e tommy and this is the only request i have for him :(( its a good one tho 👀 hope you enjoy dear anon

length: 1.8k

Thomas has massive hands. All of him is massive - he’s towering and barrel-chested, with muscles hard and defined from labor and a plush softness to his belly and thighs from Luda Mae’s cooking - but it’s his hands that always grab your attention: the broad palms, the long, thick fingers, the pronounced calluses on his knuckles. His hands swallow yours when you interlace your fingers with his, effortlessly span the breadth of your hips. They wield chainsaw and hammer with a butcher’s efficiency, but they touch you like something holy; an icon to be protected, cherished.

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Maybe it's just my proximity to middle age, but for my money, Halsin is the most attractive romanceable character in BG3 by a mile. He's kind. He's courteous. He takes responsibility for his mistakes and undertakes to fix them without roping you into a bunch of drama about it and then goes on to help you save the world just because he likes you. He's a leader with a healthy ambivalence about leadership. He's effectively an eco-socialist with deep and abiding convictions about the treatment of the underprivileged, especially children. He is passionately romantic about you while also decrying the constraints and jealousies of compulsory monogamy. AND he's built like a brick shithouse and will fuck your brains out. I'm just not seeing what's not to love about this man.

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