#self instert

[icryink]

WELCOME TO CRINGETOBER!

I wanted to post the prompt list a month in advance so people have time to work on it :)

There are no hard rules; it's just a fun art exercise to draw things that are considered "cringe" by popular culture. Don't stress if you miss a day!!

Even if you don't participate, it would mean the world to me if you just shared the prompt list because it took me a while to make it lol.

I hope you have fun with it!!!

[un-cafecito-con-niel]

Work is becoming more and more absorbing, leaving no time for anything.

Enough has happened, but we won't stop uploading drawings!!

Many times we run out of ideas, so if you have any proposal or idea, it will be welcomed with us.

[env10usness]

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽, 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽, 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖫 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗋, 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗁𝗍𝗍𝗍?

𝔇𝔬𝔏𝔏 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : ǫᴜɪᴄᴋ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ!! ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ's ᴀsᴋᴋss!! ɪ ᴀʟsᴏ sᴜᴄᴋᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɴsғᴡ sᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇs!

You should knock anymore. He wouldn't hear it over the sound of his own racing thoughts anyway.

The door clicks shut, a small tsk pops from it. He doesn't flinch, doesn't turn. The tension in his shoulders actually tightens. How much stress does he give himself?

You slide one palm flat against the leather headrest and lean down until your lips brush the shell of his ear.

"Still pretending you're going to finish this tonight? Your eyes are bloodshot, baby"

"I am finishing it," he snaps, his voice raspy but maintaining that softness he trys to hold for you.

"Go to bed... I.. Eugh.." His hand finding itself in his hair tugging it rather harshly.

"I'll help you." You smile against his neck.

Your free hand finds his shirt and unbuttons it loose. He lets out a shaky huff but doesn't stop you. his muffled whispers continued as your hands reach to his skin. Your fingers are at his collar dragging your hand inside the opened shirt and your thumb circles one nipple with lazy, maddening patience.

A single, shaky exhale finally betrays the wall he’s built.

"There it is, my good boy" you murmur, pleased.

"You're insufferable," he sighed. His eyes drating towards your touch and the paperwork.

"And you're hard." Your palm settles over the obvious bulge in his tailored trousers, giving it one firm, slow squeeze that makes his fingers stutter over the keys. "So maybe we're both struggling with focus."

He hisses through his teeth, hips twitching upward despite his best efforts to remain concentrated.

you don't tease for long (despite your urge to) you know he needs the release more. When you tug his Trousers and briefs far enough down his Thigh, he springs free, already flushed dark and leaking at the tip.

His knuckles go white as he grips the armrests, slight whimpers coming out due to the lack of clothing.

"Keep working," you command gently.

He trys, but his eyes fluttering close once in a while, hips bucking for friction, his hands shaking slightly for something he doesn't even know for. 

You pull his chair back slightly, before sinking to your knees.

The moment your tongue touches him, he chokes on a curse, quiet and strangled, nothing like the workaholic a few minutes earlier.

"You're... Hm..," a low, frustrated rumbles in his throat refused to come out fully. You hum in agreement and swallow him down in one smooth glide.

His head drops forward, forehead thumping against the desk edge. His paperwork is finally forgotten. One of his hands are now gripping the edge of the wood like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. While the other covering his own mouth. You continue with slow, deep pulls, tongue curling on the upstroke, one hand stroking soothing circles into the trembling muscle of his inner thigh.

"Why don't you thank me?" blabbers of thank you came out, most of them muffled due to his hand.

"Thank-hm-you..thank yo-hmm baby.."

"Good boy."

He shudders violently at the praise. You reward him by taking him to the back of your throat and holding there until his hips jerk helplessly. When you finally pull back, he's panting, blown, the "overworked executive" completely replaced by a man coming apart at the seams.

You wipe your mouth, and wrap your hand around his length.

"I wanna hear you"

"You're insane," he laughs coming out shaky.

You move your hand, going quicker as time goes on, and his laugh fractures into a moan.

Every time you move, the desk creaks, and his breathing hitches higher. His words becomes total nonsense. You don't care. You just keep the rhythm steady and deep, one hand braced beside his, the other wrapped around him.

When he starts to tremble in earnest—when the little punched-out "ah—ah—" sounds turn into your name—you know his stubbornness has finally met its match. You press your lips to his tip.

"Cum for me. Right here. Forget the work."

That does it. He cums with his whole body, his back arching, thighs shaking, a choked cry muffled against his own sleeve. You feel him pulse around you.

For several long seconds, the only sounds are harsh breathing, and you standing up.

"...im never allowing you back in here..."

You slaugh against his shoulder, kissing the sweat-damp skin.

"I'd said I'll help you, never said what way"

He huffs, but when you finally pull out and help him straighten, he leans back into you, finally letting someone else carry the weight for a while.

All your favorites!

(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴅᴀʀɪʟɪɴɢs <3

[scotchbum]

i dont have nothin new to post, or anything thats hetalia related cus im on shuffle rn but take thes crk stuf and my fronds homestucked

[turquoisesea01]

AHAHA YAN HARLEY TRAPPING DOWN JOSEY—

I may have drawn him a bit too big… OH WELL-

[chscke]

Bloodlust

Vampire!shamrockxreader

TW: Vampire shamrock x reader, angst, shanks is with his og family, shanks has two arms ToT, cheating?, no uses of Y/N, possesive shamrock, submissive reader, attachment issues, fear of abandonment.

CHARACTERS: figarland shamrock, reader, figarland garling, figarland shanks,

CREDITS TO: @cerberus-bites, i got the idea from her❣️

PREVIEW: The figarland family. Infamous as the most ruthless vampire family in the holy land—with a snap of their fingers they can obtain any slave they wish to consume. Figarland shamrock—commander of the knights of god, and the twin brother of figarland shanks—is used to get his way as he pleases with just a single order. Until one day…his father ordered exotic humans for his sons, and one of them, caught the eye of the long haired twin. Will this bring you luck? Or is this just another one of your unfortunate encounters.

IMPORTANT NOTE: this color(GREEN) means it’s a flashback.

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

Part 1?

ENJOY!❣️

-The Necklace-

You were a mere human being with a ridiculously gorgeous face, other than that, nothing special—you being a former princess was the only thing outstanding about you—however, your kingdom was defeated by an organization a long time ago whose goal is to eradicate irrelevant countries, most probably an order from the holy land for certain reasons. Possibly because they are no longer relevant, or something deeper like showing rebellion against the world government—resisting an order from them is an easy trigger to a pushed buster call button.

Victims of this organization—the oblivion archive—are reduced to a slave for the celestial dragons. Their organization—lead by someone who no one knows existed—organized, missions well-planned, and flawless, too flawless, as if the missions were created and executed by a phantom—immediately disappearing missions after missions. They made different classifications uniting every country they’ve vanquished. They put all the civilians together, labeling them as “regular slaves.” They put kings and queens together, labeled “high tier slaves.” And lastly, the prince and princesses. They were the highest form of slaves—the most exotic—labeled as “human pets”—barely acknowledged as slaves anymore. They were viewed higher than their parents because they’re young, fresh, and considering the fact that they were royalties meant they were well-trained, well-kept and clean. And to add something sinister—is because their parents would suffer with the knowledge that their children would most likely be taken as slaves—the fact itself, aggravating the former rulers of evanesced countries, furthermore adding fuel to the fire.

You—who was separated from your parents by the age of 9–was left with a three leafed clover gold necklace. A symbol of luck from a neighboring country your parents were once allied with. Also known as... A shamrock.

You were surprised when they didn't take away your necklace—but how could they? When the necklace around your neck looked like it was made for you, like the chains were perfectly measured for the perimeter of your neck, like the shamrock was carved perfectly to match every soft curves and sharp angles of your face, it's like it never wanted to leave your neck, like it was a part of your body or something.

You treasured the necklace—it was the last gift you received from your parents when you were 9—now 19, a decade had passed after that one fateful nightmare broke out.

-For sale-

Reader's pov

I stared down at my feet as i acted like i'm not listening to the bickering between the celestial dragons and the dealers of the organization.

I was being sold. To celestial dragons.

For the past 10 years my life had been a series of misfortunes, still holding onto my mother's words.

"Always wear this necklace, and trust on it. When it seems like nothing is ever good. Keep hoping and trust the necklace as it will bring light at the end of the tunnel"

But at this moment as i listen to the conversation before me. The fire of hope inside me is flickering, and is threatening to be extinguished.

"I'll take two of your most precious princesses!" Said one of the celestial dragons. "Deal." The man from the organization answered. I felt weak to my knees as i heard them close the deal. Finally, discreetly lifting my head up to study the said man who bought me.

My hope—forgotten. My luck—questioned. My future—now in the hands of an old celestial dragon—and judging from his looks? He is—unmistakably—a vampire.

...

The shackles on my neck has never felt heavier before than it did now, as they dragged me and the other girl—another former princess—using the restraints on our necks. They had a huge ship, it was obviously clean—a design to match a noble—it was pristine. If i didn't know who owned it i would've presumed that the ship was a piece of heaven that descended, and turned into a ship.

They brought us in a confined room—surprisingly not behind heavily guarded bars—but a room...fitting for a princess? It felt homey, and comfortable, as if we weren't sold against our will. The room reminded me of my old bedroom as a kid—light pink curtains that were tied by expensive holdbacks. The room was carefully decorated with pinks and whites, laces on the bed canopy and a vanity that would've made me jump if the trauma i experienced the past ten years didn't happen. It was a haven for a princess. When they left us in the room, the other girl and i exchanged a knowing look—we both knew that this expensive interior was a mere facade—a sugarcoat to what's about to come.

"I'm Eugene." The girl broke the ice. I smiled lightly and told her my name. "What do you think is gonna happen to us?" She asked, "I don't know...but surely we're doomed" i answered in a sorrowful voice, and watched as Eugene's expression turned to horror. She looked young, pretty, but inexperienced. "How old are you?" I asked, "I'm sixteen." I looked at her pityfully, but decided against saying anything.

...

We arrived at the holy land after three days and underwent a "cleansing" procedure to ensure our cleanliness for the gods. When we got here i quickly realized that we weren't here to serve—no—we were here for something more lethal. We were to be meals for the vampires. The slaves that took care of us told us everything they knew—gave us information on what to do to survive, and what not to do if we wanna prolong our lives.

After everything, we settled in an even finer room than the one on the ship. This one was heaven itself, everything from big to small details were carefully structured. Every corners of the room—from the ceiling to the floor—the walls and the windows...it was perfect. We stayed here for a week and got closer. We got treated with care and groomed carefully with a strict diet—a diet to nurture our bodies before they consume us.

The one that bought us was nowhere to be found, until one day.

we got separated, and the last glimpse i got of her face left me haunted—she was struggling—begging not to be separated from me. But to no avail, her begs weren't of any use as they brutally dragged her out of the room. "That was it." I thought to myself, tears falling down my lap as i sat on the floor with my head against my knees. "That was probably her end..." That night i cried myself to sleep, with the knowledge that i could be next.

I woke up the next morning to a meal on the bedside table—feeling lonely and empty with no appetite—I decided to eat regardless, to avoid angering the gods. Little did i know, that was the last meal i would have before my fate changed.

A few hours have passed and by dinner time, i was visited by one of the slaves that warned me before and she handed me a new white flowy dress, i hid the pendant of my necklace beneath it. I walked out of the bathroom and looked at the mirror—i looked presentable, pretty even. "you are to be presented to the twins later, and...Miss Eugene is dead."

The slave left and i mourned over the death of my short-time friend. Feeling numb to the thought of me being the next victim.

...

-Sweet delicacy-

I was guided to a room—where two tall men stood—i mustered up the courage to walk up to them, and stopped right before them. They looked similar in appearance, the hair length and the three vertical scars on one of the men being the only indicator which is which. The other one had a long hair, braids on one side of his head, while the other one with a scar had a short-medium length hair. They both had crimson red hair and prominent facial features—they were the epitome of a captivating and elegant face, stunning every every angle—They looked undeniably attractive.

"My name is shanks, this is my twin brother, shamrock." the one with the scar introduced. And that's when i noticed their fangs, They were both vampires. "Shamrock." I muttered under my breath, but they both caught it, and when i realized what i had done i lowered my head profusely and apologized. Shanks chuckled while the other one—shamrock—remained indifferent.

"Why say my brother's name and not mines?" Shanks playfully said, i shyfully kept my eyes on shamrock while i apologized, "It's fine sweetheart" shanks said and made his way to his brother and whispered something in his ear, then made his way to the door, leaving me and shamrock alone.

Shamrock's pov:

I was sat on my chair with my younger brother seated across me, two wine glasses placed on the table. We were waiting for our meal—i was starving—my insides hollering for a taste of blood. I wasn't able to get a taste of human blood last night as my selfish brother drained the blood before i could even return for dinner. A knock was heard at the door "finally." I thought to myself.

But as my meal for tonight entered the room my brain stopped on its tracks—i couldn't bring myself to say anything and forced a calm demeanor—she looked innocent, different from what i had feed on before. Her white flowy dress matched her complexion and the dress hugged her body on all the right places. The dress looked plain, but on her, it looked stunning, i was stunned to say the least.

My brother introduced us to her—to my utter surprise—she muttered my name, which stunned me even more. My brother eyed me, as if knowing what's on my mind, he joked and the sweet girl before us apologized "how cute." I thought. Damn my brother, stealing all the attention. My brother went to me and whispered "For compensation from last night, the lady's all yours" then left the room.

The air in the room was starting to feel thick, i walked back to my chair and grabbed two glasses of wine and handed the other one—my glass—to her. And i used my brother's glass, i don't know what came to me but i had to see her drinking from the same glass i drank from. She's gorgeous, l am smitten. I'm supposed to be feeding on her now, not give her a glass of wine. But I can't help it. I wanna keep her.

I made my way beside her on the carpet as she sat down and settled the glass away from her. Kneeling infront of her, i asked her what her name is. She answered in her soft sweet voice. I repeated her name and thought "what a beautiful name."

I was famished, i needed to taste her blood on my tongue immediately. I studied her face, beautiful—she looked better than any of the other women I've seen all over the lower world and the holy land combined. I caressed her face in disbelief of how someone from the lower world could look so perfect—even dressed in simplicity—i could only imagine what she would look like in extravagant dresses and gowns.

My face against her neck, i slightly pulled back to see her expression—she was scared. "Please don't be afraid i will not let you die, i intend on keeping you." I assured her. I felt her tensed shoulders lowering. I bit down on her neck carefully as she hissed in pain—her voice is a blessing to my ears—she tasted better than i anticipated. Her blood sweet and one of a kind, a taste vampires all over the world would sacrifice everything to taste atleast once in their lifetime. I carefully sucked her blood from her frail neck, savoring every drop. Her translucent tears cascading down her cheeks—i looked at her for a good second—appreciating her beauty. I licked her tears off her face—the remaining blood from my tongue stained her skin.

she opened her eyes and looked up at me—her eyes captivating—lashes damp with tears. She's perfect—Even if a disheveled mess—she surpassed any type of beauty. Her own blood staining her cheek was the cherry on top.

I studied the bite marks on her neck—no longer in a trance of bloodlust—i noticed a gold chain laying perfectly on her neck, i moved her shirt open to reveal the pendant that rested above her cleavage.

A clover. Specifically, a shamrock.

-is it destiny?-

Third person's pov:

Shamrock held the pendant and studied it, you looked at him intently as he did so. "A shamrock."

He softly said, your eyes going back and forth between his face and hand. "What are the odds, it's like you were made for me." He looked into your eyes as if looking straight into your soul. The look made you feel vulnerable—as if he harbored the power to annihilate you in an instant—which he did. You couldn't fathom if the look he gave you meant he's claiming you or devouring you alive. The feeling caused a dilemma in your pretty little head—causing you to feel lightheaded—the last thing you remember is the young man catching and embracing you in his strong arms.

Hours have passed and you woke up in an unfamiliar bed. You sat up looking at the soft sheets covering your body—realizing you were tucked in carefully—You stared around the room confused, appalled by the new clothing you had on. Did he change your clothes himself?

The room was equally good as the one you stayed in these past few days, however, this one felt more livable and personalized as it had frames of pictures on the dressers and on the walls, the burnt ashes on the fireplace told you that it had recently been used. The scent of the room was more comfortable. For the first time in ten years you've never felt more at home than now. It was like you belonged here better than anywhere else. Your heart oozing with comfort, it was only then when you realized tears had fallen down your cheek. You lifted your hands to wipe off the tears that escaped your eyes. You were overwhelmed by the immense comfort of the room—you were crying in happiness—you thought that maybe this was what your mother was talking about when she said that the necklace would bring you luck one day.

Maybe the necklace really is bringing you luck. Or perhaps, it was shamrock who is bringing you luck.

The piece of jewelry that your mom gave you—Claiming that it is supposedly lucky—the one that suited you perfectly, was apparently the same name as the man who is changing your life—claiming you his.

…is it destined?

-withdrawal-

Three months had passed since the room incident. Your relationship with shamrock only grew by then. He treats you with care, gives you warmth, lets you live with him in his room, lets you lay with him in his bed, sleeps with you, bathes with you, feeds you, and feeds on you occasionally, brings you everywhere he goes—except those that could bring you to danger. He wasn't even trying to hide it, he sat you on his lap on meetings with the elders. He's treating you like his...almost lovingly. And that? That scared you.

It terrified you, because you knew you were only there to satisfy his thirst for blood, this was temporary. He would eventually get tired of the taste of your blood and would start to look for a new flavor. But you? You already fell, you were attached. You tried to stop yourself from falling in love with him, but the way he treated you like he never wants to let you go—like he loves you just as much as you love him—you couldn't help yourself. It was inevitable.

You kept your feelings to yourself, though the months you spent with him made you feel more comfortable and open to share things to him. You were his personal slave that was tethered to him 24/7. You never failed to meet his needs, always cleaning after him, ironing his clothes, polishing his shoes, braiding and brushing his hair, serving him food, bathing him. And most importantly let him feed on you.

On those occasional nights—specifically four times a week—where he requests to have your blood for dessert, he would lay you on his bed—him on top of you— savoring your blood to the point of you passing out, you wake up the next day with a sharp pain on your neck. You had turned visibly pale due to lack of blood. but you admit, you enjoyed it. You liked how he consumed your blood like it was sacred—you liked how he groaned in satisfaction when it hits his tongue or how his face twists in pleasure—it was the most intimate thing you shared with him, how could you not?

Which is why you nearly lost it when he hasn't requested your blood for three weeks... it drove you mad, even insane. He started to become distant—the withdrawal—it happened faster than you thought.

He no longer let you touch his clothes or shoes, no longer bathes with you, and worse, he no longer slept in his room. He left you there alone, the once comforting and livable room, now an empty space where the loss of his presence haunts you.

At first he visited during the day, leaving before sunset. Until his visits became less frequent. Now he only visited you two times a week. Only a week left until your fourth month with him. You had nothing to do all week but stay locked up in his room, normally he would bring you with him. But now, he snaps at you, no longer gentle, no longer sweet.

You couldn't do anything but cry, crying was all you did. A slave was assigned to bring you hearty meals. You were lucky you stayed alive, with three meals in a day, you were privileged, your life was clearly better than before.

But you missed him, you longed for him, for his touch—you longed for how he cradled you in his chest to sleep—you needed him, you needed his attention. But he seemed to no longer need you. You wondered when he would visit you next, you cried yourself to sleep once again after dinner. You were a damsel in distress.

-the other woman-

The next day the slave knocked on the door early in the morning—on her hand was your breakfast—you were startled by the sudden sound.

She entered the room, she was the only person you talked to during these past exasperating weeks—though she could never stay too long as she had responsibilities—she looked bothered. And that look on her face is making you feel sick to the stomach, you knew something was up. "What happened to him?" You asked worriedly sitting up at the edge your bed. "He's fine, he's just...getting married." You felt the room crush you as she said those words. You fell back down on the bed. It was worse than what you'd anticipated, he was...getting married.

She left the room and you cried your little heart out, your heart hurting at the thought of him with another woman—the thought of him caring for other woman—it left a bitter taste on your tongue that made your face twist in grimace.

Now that you think about it he never loved you—he never said he did—you just assumed it. Because of the way he treated you. Now he was getting married to another woman, to someone who he actually loves. Someone who he cares about not just for the taste of her blood, but for deep affection.

You wanted to die, you felt betrayed, the man who you thought was your savior from misery. He just gave you a taste of a good life only to give you worse than before. Diabolical. Fate truly is diabolical.

You wanted to get out of his room, you wanted to get away from the place where he held you like you were the only one. You wanted to escape, you couldn't wait to see him and scream at his face for breaking and crushing your delicate heart. You loved him and cared for him. But you couldn't blame him, he never loved you.

[thatzmemars]

They both don’t know what their doing

[mortuaryrabbit]

I drew him and it’s good this time, idk why I can’t fucking draw profiles okay I prommy I’m not that bad of an artist