#oc:lucian

[avoidcrowdraws]

Lucian sketches!

[jaysworlds]

every friendship group should have:

a mean bisexual

an even meaner lesbian

she/theys

and he/theys

a token straight that’s on thin ice

an astrology bitch who’s got everyone’s birth chart memorized

and a short king

(picrew by carrotkake)

[trixxedheart]

This is really badly drawn but I had to draw it because the idea kept nagging me.

Lucian with a bunch of his babs being like “I didn’t want this.” “I WANTED WARRIORS”

[avoidcrowdraws]

Been spitballing a new story with some friends today, so here's everyone we came up with!

Lucian - kangaroo/wallaby, 'Lucy', son of Patricia and Sawyer, is on the rugby team but isn't very good, wants to be a photographer

Sawyer - kangaroo, Patricia's ex-husband, has his life pretty well together after the split, still single though

Patricia - wallaby, Sawyer's ex-wife, had Lucian young and is still pretty youthful at heart, likes music and body mods, and her hair constantly changes colour

Diego - leopard, Patricia's current boyfriend, stylish and cool, knows all the best spots to take a lady to show her a good time

Joanna - fox, Patricia's next door neighbour and Lucian's best friend, either Jo or Anna, never Joanna unless you want to die

Mitch - deer, Lucian's teammate and friend, Lucian asked him out and they kissed a bit behind the bleachers before Mitch decided he is straight actually (but they're still friends)

[avoidcrowdraws]

I'm too lazy to finish this so here's a doodle of the first time Patricia brought Diego home

Lucian is a perfectly normal gay teenage boy, and Jo takes the mick

[avoidcrowdraws]

Just best friend things

[demouma]

he RUNS

[jaysworlds]

Whumptober Day Two

“Get off me,” Lucian snarls, slamming her head back and hitting the man behind her in the nose with a satisfying crack.

Another man fists his hand in her hair, pulling her head back a little, and she spits in his face.

He scowls. “You’ll regret this.”

“Like hell I will. Let me go.”

The man just tightens his grip on her hair and her hands are shackled roughly behind her back. She tries to struggle, tries to get away, but she’s so unused to having to fight on her own, and all her best moves require someone else there to back her up.

“Bastard,” she snarls, and the man only laughs.

Something’s clipped around her neck, a little too tight for comfort, and she tips her head back a little, though she has no hope of actually being able to see it, or to escape the uncomfortable tightness.

“What the fuck?”

“Behave like a bitch and you’ll be treated like one,” the man says, so obviously amused.

“Is this a dog collar?” she snarls, and the laughter she gets is answer enough.

She’s worn collars before, of course. They were a big thing for a few years, especially in the kind of circles she moves in, but this is different. Humiliating.

She can’t get it off, not with her hands shackled behind her back and she will not ask them to take it off for her, knowing they’ll only laugh at her for it.

So she does what she does best. Flips her hair, straightens her back, and pretends it doesn’t bother her.

“I hope it’s at least my colour,” she says airily, pressing down the fury bubbling in the pit of her stomach. “I’d hate to walk around looking like a fashion disaster.”

The men don’t know how to deal with that, of course. They’re men, and men are useless. Perhaps they expected her to cry, to beg them to take it off, but she’s stronger than that.

“You think it’s an accessory?”

“Collars are in fashion at the moment,” she says, although they’re not. “Didn’t you know?”

He just smiles, nasty. “This one’s special. Do you want to see?”

She can’t help but glare at him. Playing stupid is easy, to a point, but there’s so much rage simmering in her stomach that she has no way of stopping it from bubbling over.

He grins, clicks his fingers, and pain laces through her body from the collar, electricity firing through her. It’s one of those, the sort exceptionally cruel people use to keep their dogs in line.

“Fuck you,” she spits, doubling over, but she doesn’t cry out. She’s had worse than this, and she can deal with it. She has to.

It subsides a moment later, leaving her shaking, and she straightens her back again, fighting to keep her head up.

“You’d better learn obedience, bitch,” the man says. He’s calm, almost amused but her plight.

Dear sweet motherfucking baby Jesus. She’s going to tear him apart.

But not yet. For now she has to wait.

He pulls hard on the collar and she stumbles after him, fisting her hands tight behind her back. She can’t afford to get herself killed.

He’s still smug for now, but she knows what he doesn’t. She knows she’s not alone.

Forn will come for her. She just has to wait.