Yo. Am Doodleferp. You can call me Doodle or Al, whichever comes first.
I’m an aspiring comic author and I love to art. It doesn’t typically matter to me what I art. I do digital, some traditional, and I also like to ✨write shit✨ (which doesn’t always get posted because I hardly finish anything) I am a serial shipper and like to make ocs to ship my (typically male???) comfort characters with, but I also doodle my own stuff too.
Bottom line: don’t take my shit and say it was yours. I also DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK OR OCS TO BE USED FOR ANY SORT OF AI NONSENSE, including character bots.
👏 I 👏 AM 👏 ADULT👏 AND👏 TALK 👏 ADULT 👏 STUFF 👏 which includes but is not limited to GORE and BLOOD and SEX. Any minor or otherwise that chooses to ignore this and get upset with what I post will have set themselves up for disappointment because it is my blog and they were warned.
If you’re interested, you can find me at Instagram, Twitter, and Archive of our Own. If you ever feel like helping a girl out, you can check out my website or DM me for commissions.
I also have a sideblog for my senior capstone, Hell on Earth, if anyone were interested in following!
I need to start talking and posting more about Bard and Astarion. So here’s some musings about them.
Bard spends the better part of her life writing a song for Astarion. She pours so much of herself into it, and yet she's never satisfied with how it turns out and would always break down and start over from scratch. She knows exactly what she wants to convey, but she can't put it into words. She can't put it in a time constraint, because she never has time to say everything she wants to say.
Astarion teases her about it all the time. He asks if it'll be done before they have great-great-grandkids and playfully debates whether she’s writing one to begin with. But truthfully, he's seen everything. He snoops through Bard's writings when he feels restless and he's seen every iteration of the song from start to ambiguous finish. And even the oldest drafts make his heart swell and his cheeks warm and brings tears to his eyes.
Concept sketch for my Grendel design! I want to incorporate the design elements mentioned in the poem, but I also wanna try and keep away from the Jim Henson design as much as I love it. Gotta stay creative lmao
I hate that I have no motivation to draw. I hate that I have no “real” BG3 content to show off. I hate that I don’t have the same doodling drive I did in college. Here’s a Bard.
𑣲⋆ i promise i can write for law and faye too i just really have been in need of this man he makes me feel like im in heat... also this is kinda gross but fuck it we ball i 💗 fucking the zombie i promise im normal.
“Remy, behave yourself.” The command was thrown at the man, earning a grumble. Slowly, he removed his creaky jaw away from her neck, red eyes narrowed in his version of a pout.
It was hard to pout without a mouth. Or, in Remy’s case, decaying lips, where the bottom half of his jaw was pure bone. Vinnie should have been disgusted: the man was rotting flesh, bone, and some mold spots. Oddly, it turned her on.
She’d spent enough months with the bag of bones to grow accustomed to the putrid scent that clung to him, mingled with blood. Truth be told, the whole town stunk, rotting corpses and rabid zombies everywhere. Vinnie was shocked Remy was still intact (somewhat), and hadn’t completely succumbed to the Hunger yet. Maybe it was his deep affection for her, keeping that human side of his brain at bay?
His cold, leather-like skin brushed her jaw and neck, the zombie nuzzling into where he could feel every swallow… feel the way Vinnie’s skin twitch with each slight shift of her head. No, he knew the rules. No biting allowed.
But damn, did she look good. He wanted to eat her, but he knew he couldn’t—not in the zombie sense, at least. He could at least get a taste of her sweet, sweet cunt…
“Hungry? I’ll get the meat,” Vinnie offers, gently trying to move the dead weight off her.
“Non, cher”. A deep inhale followed his request, hoping to get his fill on the scent of her life—she was living, breathing, bloody, all he wanted. All he craved. “Remy wants you” he rasps, accent still present despite the vocal fry.
Vinnie could barely respond before the sluggish creature trailed himself down her body, past the curve of her breast, the soft, pierced belly, down towards her clothed cunt. He nosed her sleep pants, the bony ridge sending a flutter for her stomach.
Oh, he was serious. It wasn’t like this was her first time with him like this: she’d fucked the zombie plenty. It was just a challenge when he wanted to eat her out: would he actually give her head, or would he use it as an excuse to bite down on her thighs, tearing her part?
Honestly, she ignored how she wouldn’t mind being his food source, if worst came to worst. She’d planned for it. Vinnie trusted Remy enough, giving an eyeroll and a huff of ‘fine’ as she shoves the sleep pants down her hips, underwear following suit.
To say he was hungry was an understatement. Remy lunged, barely giving her a second to adjust her position before his decayed, half-rotted tongue was licking a stripe up her dampening folds. “Shit-” she groans, a hand resting on his head, careful to not rip out a clump of matted auburn hair like last time.
The cold muscle prods and laps, rumbled groans vibrating against her skin. He was messy and uncoordinated—his jaw didn’t work like it used to, tongue barely there—yet he made it work, the pleasure building up quickly in Vinnie’s gut. Maybe it was the fact he was dead and still craved her, if not more. Maybe it was the fact that in the end, it was still Remy.
He barely speaks, not the chatterbox he used to be during sex. Rather, he focuses on his thirst for her, fucking his tongue into her and groaning, like it was the only concern his rotted brain had.
The smell should have turned her off, the warm breath from his barely-there mouth, the way death clung to the couch they had been previous cuddled up on. Yet it didn’t.
The sounds were worse: wet skin squelching against leather, dried up zombie flesh, the occasional clack of an exposed bone, earning a lewd shlicking sound. Yet it didn’t deter Vinnie. Rather, it spurred her on, a manicured hand shoving his cold face closer in, gentle not to break or rip anything off on accident.
Tense hands grab at her thighs, groping the skin as he guzzles her down. Dirt and blood was caked under his nails, pieces of bone exposed without the usual leather gloves he wore. To Vinnie, it was nothing different than the hands of a lover—just slightly more dead than your average male.
Remy surges up, capturing her plush lips in a filthy, stiff kiss. The taste of death and her own arousal flooded her mouth as the zombie pushed his tongue in, letting it slide around and brush against her teeth. A free hand moves down to finish the job, curling between her thighs as she scissors her cunt open. A bony thumb brushes her sensitive clit, swallowing down the noises falling from his wife’s lips.
With a few more curls and spreads of his digits, she falls apart, gushing onto his molded hand. Remy removes his fingers, licking her off them with a satisfied groan.
The bat mutant catches her breath, letting the zombie climb back into her space, nuzzling against her again. Thankfully, she didn’t have to feed him the last bit of raw meat. He should be sated for the time being…
Or so she thought, until his hips rutted against her, hot breath and teeth ghosting her arm. "Remy, no! Or I’ll get the muzzle.”
He didn’t seem intent on listening, tongue licking up her arm, groaning at the thought of biting into warm flesh and sweet blood. Seemed like the muzzle was gonna have to be used, what a damn shame. Vinnie rather liked his half-dead mouth…
insanjity .✦. all writing on this page belongs to me. under no circumstances should my work be plagiarized, fed to ai, translated, or reposted anywhere outside of tumblr.
