Tumblers Hiding My Posts & Not Showing Them In The Tags I've Posted Them With Again, So I'm Reposting

Didn’t think my first post on here would be Luigi fanart, but, hey- here we are

jesus fucking christ

✨Gloves off✨

the seed for the story

how borrower erich met* his bf :) the very first canon that started the existence of dunces back when I was in college. nothing new or unexpected but they dear to me very much

if you may wanna see the continuation of this seed please let me know in any comf way for you,, ill make it faster and will put 10 times better affort in it :"^) making it for my own pleasure but you know butterflies when someone likes something you've come up with ye?

Midnight inspiration struck, my hand slipped, and I have gotten exactly 0 hours of sleep this fine night.

Was it worth it?

… idk

Sorry if the piano’s weird idk how to draw them

Picture this: Fidgeting

You’re not even sure how it started.

Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was habit. Maybe they just needed something to ground them. But now, you’ve found yourself nestled in the crook of their hand, no more than a fidget to them—a living, squirming, whisper-soft thing to be idly toyed with.

Their thumb strokes over your back in slow, absent arcs. Over and over. Not unkind—never cruel—but aimless. Comforting for them. Your body shifts slightly with each motion, pressed into the warm plane of their palm, legs sprawled across the bridge of their fingers. You’re pliable, yielding. Small enough that they can wrap their entire hand around you and still feel like they’re being gentle.

They squeeze.

Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel you. To remind themselves that something small and real and warm is there, with them. Their fingers curl slowly, pressing your body between pads of skin the size of sofa cushions. You let out a quiet breath, barely a noise, but they hear it.

And they smile, lazy and fond, their thumb dragging lightly over your chest.

“Cute—,” they murmur, their voice a rich vibration that thrums through your spine. Their thumb taps your head. You flinch, half-playful, half-defeated, and they chuckle low in their throat like you’ve done exactly what they needed you to do.

You’re rolled gently between two fingers next—a shift of pressure here, a twist there. Stretched, squished, repositioned. Like putty. Like something soft and satisfying to keep their mind from spiraling. They don’t even need to look at you. It’s all instinct now.

And weirdly? You don’t mind.

There’s something comforting in being used like this—absently, affectionately. A warm, fidget-sized tether keeping their anxiety at bay. Their hand is a fortress. A place where pressure is control, and touch is intimacy.

Eventually, they let out a deep sigh. Their fingers uncurl slightly, opening like a flower to reveal you, tousled and breathless.

“Still alive?” they ask, teasing, brushing your hair back with a fingertip the size of your face.

You just nod, flushed and blinking up at them.

They press you into their palm again and exhale—steady now.

it’s-a looweegee

It started as a simple sketch but… I went a littttlleee overboard LOL 🌙💜🖤💚

[Please do not steal, trace, repost, or do anything with my work.]

Let's fuckin gooooooo

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MAJOR UPDATE ON THE WGA STRIKE

baseball cat 🥺