#I pretty much know how to deal with them now so

[starshinedreamer]

Alrighty y'all, grab a chair and get comfy whilst I yap about my son, my pride and joy, the greatest thing to ever happen to me, my D&D OC: Raymond Foxwood. He is a Wood Elf Druid with the Researcher background and a Neutral-Good alignment (Images at the very end).

I haven't figured out what his voice sounds like yet. I'm thinking he may kind of have an accent? But like it's barely there. I do have an idea for a possible Japanese voice claim: Souta from the movie Suzume.

His best friend? I guess it would be my friend's D&D character. Her name is Topaz and she is a Dragonborne. Not besties, but pretty close.

Ooooooo boy, I got a whole playlist my friend and I have been cooking up for this sad little fella. Here's a couple of them that I think describes him best:

-"The Moss" by Cosmo Sheldrake

-"Rom-Com Gone Wrong" by Matt Maltese

-"When She Loved Me" by Sarah McLachlan

-"Home" by Cavetown

-"Valentine" by Laufey

-"Love Like You" by Rebecca Sugar

He's like, dealing with a heavy breakup until "Valentine" when he meets his current partner :)

4. "I do Adore" by Mindy Gledhill

5. Nope! But I actually thought about it when I was first creating his character just to see how he would act with other dynamics.

6. A scientist. More specifically, an ecologist. He loves nature and learning about all there is to know about life and the world. He also likes finding ways to help others, so maybe even a pharmacologist?

8. Writing, researching, reading, gardening, and making little insect and animal models because he is a NERD™ /lh<3

9. He generally takes good care of his physical health. Although, his flaw is "Most people scream when they see a demon. I stop and take notes on its anatomy," soooo. "For science" he says. "It's for the greater good" he says.

10. Well he's trying his best. But sometimes anxiety just surprises you and all of the sudden you're spiraling and things seem much worse than they are and pfffft whaddya meeeeaaaan I'm sorta self projecting? But he is the kind of person who feels bad about asking for help and then sort of holds it all in.

11. Inspirations were taken Link from The Legend of Zelda series (mainly BOTW) and Howl from Howl's Moving Castle for his design. Everything else was based purely on my own self indulgences for a nerdy elf character (and the songs my friend keeps sending my for him).

12. Same response as question 2 :)

13. No not really, but he is fighting against an organization that keeps threatening and trying to burn down the library he works/lives in with the librarian: Amanita (Ama, Anita, or Nita for short). Amanita is the person who raised and took care of Raymond after his family died in a fire. A fire caused by the same organization who's trying to harm them now. This is his main reason for joining a campaign; to get stronger and protect his loved ones.

14. This one flippin poison dragon we fought. Or maybe that's just me because I really didn't want to let them leave alive. I don't think Raymond necessarily hates anyone.

15. That all honestly depends on how the rest this campaign will play out. My friend has told me that they all did die a couple times, and we almost died to the STINKIN DRAGON but that's not important right now. But L O R E wise, he'd probably still do his researcher stuff until he's really old. Then he'll write books and share his stories :)

16. If they were alive, then I could see him having a great relationship with his parents since they were also big nerds like him. His relationship with Amanita is also great, and he really wants to protect her since she has done so much for him.

17. YESSSSSS! He loves sharing his knowledge with others and would do such a great job teaching kids. Ohhhh this is such a good one, yes he would feel bad if he had to leave them.

18. He/Him :>

19. Biromantic Asexual. His love language in giving is Acts of Service, and Quality Time for both giving and receiving.

20. A longbow and rocks. He has a cantrip spell called "Magic Stone" which lets me make a ranged attack by throwing small pebbles or stones. I like to call this spell the "RAYMOND, STONE 'EM" spell because its funnnnyyyy.

21. hmmmmmmmmmm Actually, I'm not sure! I guess maybe "Nothing You Can Take From Me" from The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

22. Will generally go for the non-violent option (more of a lover), but if initiatives are rolling, he'll fight.

23. Extremely. He'll show up with a new tire to fix the flat one, and an extra one for any future situations.

24. Undecided

25. Not singing out loud, but he would definitely hum to himself! :)

26. Irises, forget-me-nots, and bluebells

27. Symbolism wise, a deer. 'Just because' wise, a rabbit, a fox, and a kitty cat :3

28. The Nerds™ (found at the end of this post:) ).

29. Cozy stuff, lo-fi, books, plants, leather notebooks, and an overall sort of cottage core mixed with academia aesthetic. (Mood Board made in Canva :>)

30. Accepts this as their new life(yippee!). They have now been adopted. Will try to find a way to bring up their interests in conversations.

Fuck it, OC brain rot won. Get ready for the Secret Ask List

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who?

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

3) What song describes your OC?

4) What song describes your OC and their partner/love interest?

5) Do you ship your OC with a Canon character? If so who?

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

7) Vice-Versa! If your OC is in the modern day, what fantasy class would they be? Would they be a different race?

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

12) Does your OC interact with other people's OC? If so, who's their best OC friend?

13) Does your OC have a rival? How did it start?

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive?

17) If your OC has kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

18) What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

20) If they fight, what's their weapon of choice?

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter?

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

24) Can they play any instruments? If so, what do they play?

25) Are they the kind of person who can't resist a good song? Can I catch your OC singing to themselves while they do the dishes?

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

27) What's their spirit tamagotchi? Or an animal you associate them with?

28) What clique would they be in? (Draw them in the clothes of said group!)

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

30) My OC and your OC are friends. This isn't a question. I'm not asking. (How do they respond?)

[no-144444]

abu dhabi- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

a/n: thank you all very much for your patience, this series means a lot to me and I've had a lot of personal stuff going on, so I felt bad for leaving you guys hanging for a bit. Thank you all so much for reading this series and I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I love writing it!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

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Abu Dhabi. World Drivers Champion. World Constructors Champions.

Holy shit. 

All those years of hard work, of giving up being a child, of giving up having friends or family. You’d done it. You were a winner. 

You jumped out of the car and ran straight to Oscar, jumping in his arms. He caught you (of course) and cheered with you. 

“You fucking did it!” he smiled, pulling your helmet off. “You did it!” 

Every emotion flooded through you, but one in particular stood out; gratefulness. 

You were grateful for Oscar, for how he treated you, for who he was. He was there for you through everything, he helped you whenever he could, and while yes, you had a rough start, in the end you couldn’t imagine F1 without Oscar in it. 

“Thank you, Osc, for everything,” you smiled, hugging him close. 

“Anytime. Whenever. Always,” he nodded. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He was drunk as fuck, but he was still watching you as you chatted with various team members. 

“You’re fucked, aren’t you?” Lando chuckled, joining his side. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I’m drunk, yes.”

“No. You’re fucked for her,” Lando pointed twoards you. Perfect, unreachable, you. 

“Yes,” he nodded, frowning. “I’m fucked for her.”

“It’s pretty clear.”

“I know it is,” Oscar scoffed. “Thanks for Baku, by the way.”

Lando sighed. “Look, I’ve said a lot of shit this season that I didn’t mean, and I’m sorry I was a dick to the two of you. It wasn’t right and I do feel bad about it. So, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but that doesn’t solve the fact that she’s being this mysterious weirdo and acting really into me and then really not,” Oscar whined. 

“She’s a very broken person-”

“You think?” Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly giving me much hope right now.”

Lando laughed at his drunk state. “Just talk to her,” he offered. “She listens to you no matter what.”

Oscar stared at him, then nodded. “Good idea!” he announced (a little too loud as it drew the attention of a few people around the two of them), and looked at you. But you weren’t there. Oscar frowned again. 

“You’ll find her before the end of the night, I’m sure you will,” Lando clapped a hand on his shoulder and passed him a bottle of water to sober him up. “Good luck.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar had decided to go find you, he wanted to talk. On the way there, he’d acquired about three more drinks and pissed off a small group of other McLaren employees by spilling one of his three drinks and apologised profusely (albeit rather mumbly), and that’s when you came in with a hand on his shoulder and a gentle smile that brushed it all over. 

“Are you alright?” you asked him, taking him to a corner to look him over. 

“Y/n?” he questioned, his vision blurry. “Is that you?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, it’s me buddy, you alright?” 

He nodded, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, Osc, come on, we get you to bed?” you offered, pulling one of his arms over your shoulder and helping him walk. 

“Bed sounds good,” he nodded, allowing you to walk him to his room. 

Drunk Oscar was what you assumed three year olds acted like. He pressed every button in the lift, ding-dong ditched people in the hallway, and stripped (almost) naked the second he got in the door of his room. After a few minutes of being in his room, he decided it was a good time to puke his guts out in the toilet, and you, being the good samaritan you are, decided to stay with him. 

“Feeling any better?” you asked, putting a cold cloth on his head as he lay in bed. You sat beside him, holding his hand. 

He shook his head, his eyes closed and a grimace on his lips. “Shit.” 

You chuckled lightly. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He opened his eyes and stared into yours, his hand resting over your hand. And time (as it always did when he was looking at you like that) stopped. The world melted away, and it didn’t matter that it was 2 in the morning, or that he’d just vomited, or that all of this was a lot more confusing than either of you had anticipated. You two just got to be with each other, and that was enough for the both of you. 

“Why don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice small and raw. He spoke to you with all the care in the world, but you could see he was hurting. You were hurting him. 

Fuck. Why couldn’t any of this be easy? Why couldn’t you just… talk to him? Confess to him? Be normal? The boy you love was sitting there in front of you telling you he loved you and you just… froze for a moment. You took a deep breath.  “Osc, of course I love you,” you whispered. “But you shouldn’t love me. I wouldn’t be any good for you.”

“I don’t care-”

“You’d end up hating me-”

“I could never hate you,” he shook his head, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. “I could never hate you.”

And you believed him. That was the scary part. You believed him when he told you he loved you. You believed him when he said he cares. You believed him when he said you look beautiful. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t hate you. “You should,” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes. 

“I couldn’t,” he whispered back, a soft smile on his face. He wiped away a tear that fell. “I don’t want you to be scared of how you feel.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” your voice broke. “I’m not an easy person to love.”

“I disagree,” he chuckled, wiping every tear away. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.” 

And you couldn’t take it anymore. You curled up beside him and sobbed. You didn’t know how long you’d done it for, but you woke up beside him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your head giving you something to ground yourself to. You remembered every moment of last night, every word he said, and everything you said. 

You just hoped he wouldn’t. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When Oscar woke up, he knew there was something he had asked you last night, but he couldn’t remember what. After his conversation with Lando, there was nothing else he really remembered, apart from the fact that you had brought him up to his room, and he pieced together that he’d probably asked you to stay (being the pathetic hopeless romantic he is), and that’s why you were in his bed. 

A few seconds after waking up, the hangover hit, and fuck it was bad. His entire body ached. 

“I’m never drinking again,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. 

You chuckled beside him. “Remember anything?” 

He sighed, turning to meet your eyes. “Nope.”

As much as that destroyed you, you knew it was for the better. Oscar was better off without you, that, you knew for sure. But, you also couldn't put aside the confession he'd made last night. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.” It played in your head over and over again, like a mantra that made every negative thought in your head silent for a few seconds. Oscar was good at that, making you question yourself. Either way, you were glad he hadn't remembered. It was for the better, right?

There was a split second where he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in your eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it was there, replaced with a smile. “Well, let’s go back to Monaco.”

He groaned just thinking about facing the day, but the fact that he woke up next to you meant it was better than any day he’d ever had. 

He definitely needed to know what he asked you last night. And you definitely needed him to not find out. 

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[xfgpng]

control …

— [ nsfw ] kissing, dry humping, first kiss + they’re both virgins

— wc :: 1.2k

caleb likes to think he’s in control of everything that happens around him. he’s always been pretty good at controlling his emotions and schooling his expressions and he tries not to overreact.


that’s the problem with her, she throws him off balance in the best and worst ways and it leaves him feeling so unsettled.

the thing about college, it’s supposed to be the best years of your life and he doesn’t know if he agrees or disagrees with that. if he really thinks about it, it’s bullshit but he knows why he feels that way.

he keeps himself composed most days, he has no reason to act out of character but this is something new to him.

caleb wasn’t naive enough to think this would never happen, he just always thought he’d be able to handle it well but he cannot. his hands feel clammy and his hot around his neck. is this even normal? he doesn’t fucking know.

he wants to lie and say he’s completely normal about her having other guy friends but he’s definitely not. his skin crawls whenever they touch her shoulder, grab at her wrists even if it’s completely platonic and innocent.


he especially hates when they lean in to close to talk to her when they’re at a party and the music is too loud. those are the nights caleb avoids alcohol like it personally offended him.

he cannot trust himself to be sober in these situations, he doesn’t want to imagine what he’d do with his evol even if the thought sends a thrill through him. he knows he has a problem, he’s just not going to deal with it.

not in a healthy way at least.

“caleb?”

he snaps out his thoughts, smiling down at where she’s laying on the floor in his dorm room. she’s supposed to be studying but she’s distracted and he shouldn’t enable her but he always does. she’s just too pretty, she has a face you cannot say no to and you’d be insane to disagree.


he’d like someone to disagree, that would be a fun day for him and a very unfortunate one for them.

“i’m listening” he lies. if he had been, he would’ve heard what she asked him and understand why she’s being all shy right now.

“wait.. what?” he sits up, looking at her properly. he definitely has a problem if he’s thinking about her so much and she’s right next to him.

“.. it’s stupid” she frowns

“it’s not” he reassures. he means it sincerely because he is willing to do whatever she wants. he hopes she doesn’t know that.

“i just .. i haven’t had my first kiss yet and i know some people think it’s a big deal and maybe it is but how will i know?” she looks up at him and she looks so upset by this so he tries not to panic.


was she seeing someone? did she like someone and that’s why she was thinking about kissing?

caleb could tell her it’s too early to worry about that and maybe she could just focus on college but that would be selfish of him. so selfish.

“i could teach you” he says and it’s out before his brain can even process any of that shit but it’s too late now because her eyes widen and she sits up so fast.

“what?” she asks because even he can’t believe what he just said.

“i just mean if you’re that curious” he smiles, playing it cool.

“you’d do that for me?” she stands now, moving to sit on his bed right in front of him and he will kill his roommate if the fucker comes back now.

“you know i would” he shrugs like it’s nothing even though his heart his beating so fast.

and that’s the thing about control, he always believed he was in control of everything in his life but the moment their lips touch, he feels his entire world shift and he doesn’t know if he’s breathing but she trusts him.

he has his hands on the side of her face before he can stop himself and she gasps softly into the kiss that he can’t help but lightly bite her bottom lip. she likes that, or so it seems because she doesn’t push him away.

her lips taste like the peach flavoured lipgloss she likes to wear and her skin is soft beneath his fingertips.

“is this okay?” he asks, running his thumb across her lower lip. she’s so beautiful, it hurts.

“yes…” she nods, “… can we do more?”

“more?” he tries not to show how excited that makes him.

“with tongue” she whispers

he doesn’t need to be told twice and her moan makes it hard to focus on anything other than her lips against his and how hard he suddenly is.

he slips his tongue into her mouth and she learns pretty quickly, he hasn’t even kissed anyone either but he’s seen enough videos and he’s always been a pretty fast learner himself and he would be damned if she had this experience with anyone that wasn’t him.

she moves closer, her arms around his neck and he can’t pull her onto his lap. if he’s being honest, he’s been hard since she said yes to the kiss but he would never want to overwhelm her. her first kiss is special because it’s them, he wouldn’t rush this.


that is something he can control.

“does that feel good?” he asks because her comfort is the most important thing to him.

“yes” she sounds less shy now, more like herself and she’s smiling so sweetly he can’t help but lean back in and this time she takes the lead and he likes how she lightly pulls at his hair. he didn’t know he’d be into that but he’s learning a lot about himself since being in college.

she climbs onto his lap on her own and if she feels how hard he is, she doesn’t comment on it which he appreciates. she’s always been considerate and just so perfect he thinks he might combust.

“put your hands .. on my waist” she tells him and he nods, as if he’s in some sort of trance now.

he’s not embarrassed about the grinding or the fact that he cums in his pants 10 minutes later. he’s still a fucking virgin and she doesn’t seem to care because she moans loud enough for him that he knows everyone down the hall heard her and only a small part of him hates that, he knows when he’s alone he’s going to be pissed that they heard how pretty she sounds but right now he wants to keep kissing her.

[mosoderbergh]

So as a trans guy myself, the way Veilguard deals with these topics has been really nice to see. Like... I am lucky enough to have a really supportive group of people around me, but I've had days where Emmrich's dialog options on the topic ("most people accepted me, but not everyone" - "they are fools") has meant more to me than I care to admit. This MIGHT have spun off into a little scenario in my head.

One where Rook gets wounded in battle. *Badly* wounded. He's pretty sure he's going to die. He can feel his life seep out of him. and even as someone else is already healing him, he calls for Emmrich. Even if all he's had with him were a few moments of passing flirtation.

Emmrich is at his side immediately, taking his hand, all practiced but warm-hearted bedside manner.

"You mustn't strain yourself now", Emmrich says, trying and failing to mask his concern. But Rook doesn't listen. He's wide-eyed, gasping. Panicked.

"Emmrich, my parents are going to bury me under my old name."

"No one is going to bury you, Rook."

"Please! They can't... Don't let them bury me as a woman."

And Emmrich, who still wants to tell Rook he's going to be fine, stops himself. Because he doesn't know. And because this is important. He leans in, professionalism replaced with rasped intensity.

"Never."

Then, and only then, Rook lets himself sink into unconsciousness.

He survives, of course. And after he's recovered a bit, Emmrich presents him with a stack of papers. Because it turns out it's not his first rodeo when it comes to this topic. And so he explains to Rook how, once your gender is cemented in Nevarran bureaucracy, there's nothing any ill-meaning relatives can do about it. And Emmrich was fully prepared to take care of this process for Rook - it's more difficult to do posthumously, but not impossible, especially not for a corpse whisperer of his standing.

"I must say, though: I much prefer doing it this way", he says as he settles in his library with Rook for an evening of tea and paperwork.

[ckret2]

Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them." 

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk. 

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly." 

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

[futbolfatale]

Origin Story

Pairing: Alpha Alexia Putellas/Omega Reader, Omega Mapi León/Omega Reader, Alpha Ingred Engen/Omega Reader,

Summary: You get invited to a Barca game by an Alpha at your school who wouldn't accept.

Tags/Warnings: Dubious consent, Bathroom sex, scent marking,

Note: Only is Mapi the only one in this but there will probs be a part 2 with the rest of the pack.

The only reason I've been writing lately is @insomniakisses who definitely doesn't know I exist but I love their blog.

Something about their writing has inspired me for better or worse.

Wordcount: 1.1K

When you got invited to the Barca vs Real Madrid Game by a girl at your college of course you accepted.  She was in a couple of your classes but all you knew about her is that she is an alpha and is kind of a dick. But you would be crazy not to know how expensive tickets are and surely she can’t be as bad as everyone says. But this girl surely has another motive for inviting you. It will come to light soon as you sit next to each other in the crowded stadium. Her scent is aggressive forward and fills the space around you it's almost like Lily and maybe an undertone of patchouli. Overall not the best when you're already surrounded by unfamiliar scents. 

You can’t help but grow excited as they walk out. Okay, so you may have a major crush on some of the players. By some you mean most but it makes since it’s pretty common knowledge that the different teams are packs. Which makes transfers even more devastating. Even so, everyone knows that Barca has two omegas already which is already more than most other packs. They differently don’t need another which is devastating to you but it's not like you could ever be with them anyway. It’s rare for a Futbal pack to mate with someone outside of the football world.

It’s around 20 minutes in before Maddie, whose name you’ve just learned, takes off her sweater revealing that she is wearing a Real Madrid jersey. “Are you seriously wearing that right now?” You ask incredulously. “Ya Real Madrid is going to win, I promise you. They are the superior team,” she responded as if you were stupid for thinking any different. “Barca is definitely better, they have a stacked roster.” You argue back, growing more annoyed. Most likely due to her attitude problem and overwhelming scent. “Real Madrid will win” She seems so assured of herself as if she can already see the outcome of the game. “That's never going to happen. I bet you Barca will win and If they don’t I will write your next essay for you.”. “Deal”

It's not even 10 minutes later that Hansen scores and you're left with a smile on your face. It’s a good feeling to know your rights. Maybe you’ll pick up a sweet treat on the way home. You deserve it after dealing with this idiot. But it's all worth it for free tickets. “I told you” You gloat but only a little. “They're going to pull through one goal doesn’t mean anything,” Maddie responds sharpley her scent turning sour. “One goal can be the difference between winning and losing” You count to praud her mostly for your amusement. “ You think I don’t know that. I know football better than you.” She growls her fangs obvious in her aggressive state. So maybe you fucked with her a little too much but god it was so funny. “Sorry,” You startle as Pajor scores. You definitely made the right choice when picking a team to support.

By the end of the game, you are bursting with excitement a 5-0 win is crazy. You can feel Maddie seething beside you but it doesn’t sour your mood. As you move to stand at the barricade watching the players trade jerseys and such. Then Mapi Leon comes to your section and you're practically vibrating as she strips off her jersey. She walks closer to you her scent is so strong probably from running for so long. “ Would you like it?” She asks looking directly into your eyes. It's like a shock to your system “Yes” You take it from her gratefully and she flashes a toothy grin. “You so pretty princess” Her voice is so low. “Thank you” You can’t help but blush as she sprints off to join her team.

You gather up your things and walk out of the stadium with Maddie. You are starting to feel overheated and are growing quickly annoyed by Maddie.  Her mood has only seemed to worsen since the end of the game. The heated feeling only grows as you move through the stadium. “I’m going to run to the bathroom before we leave.” You split off from Maddie not waiting to hear her response. You have all your things if she leaves you it won’t be the end of the world. You slip into the bathroom and lock yourself in. You lean against the wall and take a deep breath of the jersey. It smells strongly of citrus and has an undertone of cinnamon. It soothes some of the heat under your skin.

You startle as the bathroom opens and someone else steps inside. It takes a moment for their scent to register. Citrus and cinnamon same as the jersey. You open the stall door and peek out to see Mapi standing by the door looking directly at you. “I thought I could smell you in here” She hurried towards you and pushed you back into the stall. “What are you doing” You ask dropping the jersey as she grabs your wrist. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You smell so good” She nuzzles her face into your neck. “Let me have you please” She whispers her accent thicker than before. “You want me but you have Ona if you want an omega” You reason. Sure you want this but you want her to think clearly. “I can and have had Ona but I want you. Once I have had you im sure they will want you as well.” she pushes you into the wall and slides a hand down your pants. Her fingers trace along your cunt through your underwear. “Say yes please I need you” She whimpers into your shoulder tonguing at your scent gland. “Yes. Yes please” you moan rolling your hips against her hand. She slides her fingers past your underwear to rub at your clit. ‘Take me please I need it too bad.”You moan grinding against her. “Shh you can have it see” she slips two fingers inside you with ease. It makes you uncomfotbly aware of how slick you are. It only last a second before shes distracting you by moving her fingers and using her other hand to rub at you clit.

You cum twice before Mapi finally lets up. As you catch you breath she is collecting your things and straightening out your clothes and hair. “ Come with me we are having dinner tonight. Please,” she asks tacting on the please almost as an afterthought. “I'll go but I've got school tomorrow and I really can’t afford to miss any more of my lectures this semester.” You explain as the two of you head out of the stall. Mapi stops to wash her hands before leading you out of the stadium.

[hopepunk-humanity]

this is hope-punk to me but i'm not quite sure how this'll fit with the rest of the blog so i'm anon-ing. this is very heavy into the US's situation right now, so anyone that that may make spiral, maybe sit this one out

y'all know about the attempted "buy-out" of govt workers? my parents are govt employees. my mom told me the night before about the mass emails sent out basically saying "hey guysss if you quit now we'll pay your through september pretty pretty please quit"

mass emails don't usually get sent out from the OPM like this. workers receive emails from the individual department heads.

this is a massive fuck-up, because people knew it was fishy immediately. some even thought it was fake. people are confused and angry. my mom said "they're so tech-savvy yet they can't even write a convincing email", and thousands of other workers are saying the same. because this email is the exact same email that Melon Husk sent out to Twitter employees before he cut them

but this isn't Twitter. this is the entire US government workforce that hundreds of millions of people rely on to do their jobs every single day.

mind you, the govt is gonna run out of money March 15th (if the debt ceiling isn't raised). they CANNOT pay any workers who resign through september, if they pay them at all, which senator Tim Kaine (D-VA) is openly highly skeptical of and there is a video of him on the senate floor telling government workers to not take the deal, echoing exactly what federal unions are telling everyone

and now tens of thousands (probably hundreds, if i'm being honest) of govt workers are standing firm. they know what this means. the fed subreddit is just filled with "stand firm! hold the line!" posts and propaganda that i fucking love to see. one post has over 60k upvotes on it. saw dozens of comments that all say something like "i've been begging for a way out for the past few weeks but this email just reignited my passion for public service and upholding the law".

this is a war on the american people and they are ready to stand up to it. they know mass resignations will fuck up so much shit, and that there is NOT enough people wanting to work for the government to fill those holes.

as of 2pm today (1/29/25), a lawsuit has been filed by the AFGE about Trump trying to politicize the civil service, with special emphasis on how he's going about it. this will not go down quietly. add that to the list of every other lawsuit being filed against him

my mom sent out "keep calm and carry on" to her team and offered guidance if anyone was thinking about resigning (mainly, her younger team members who don't have tenure - understandable). this is a tumultuous time that is scary. my mom is never phased but she is so over this bullshit, as is my dad

this administration is trying to scare/threaten people into quitting because they know a gutting is not going to be easy or even possible and to be completely honest, that email was absolutely a threat to people's jobs.

this is a grand stand of solidarity to the american citizens these people took an OATH to work for. they are tired but they are re-fired up to fight this administration with everything.

and do you know what fighting tyranny looks like for government workers? doing their jobs well. making sure people get what they need. standing up for the constitution. because for some goddamn reason, the clown show believes that government workers just sit at a desk all day and do absolutely NOTHING

Donny may be smarter this time 'round and he knows what he wants, but he has no idea how to get any of it.

bottom-line is, a large chunk of federal workers are in republican-lead states in roles that encompass every department. a lot of government work involves blue-collar workers that get paid jack shit and are NOT partisan in any capacity. this is going to fuck people up, REGARDLESS of political affiliation

so stand behind the government workers who do so much. they need us just as much as we need them. and trust, WE NEED THEM.

if you want us to be okay, you have to believe that we CAN be okay first. and i'm believing that we will come out onto the other side of this. because american citizens hold all the power here, and not him, and this (so far failed) government takeover is just proving that even more. he is overconfident.

in the darkness, this is a spark of hope. people know what we have to lose and they are FIGHTING for it

As someone who was trying to get a federal job before this mess forced me to put those efforts on hold for now, I've been watching this situation unfold closely. I'm thrilled with what I've seen from the federal workforce. It makes me all the more confident that this is the career I want, because the people already there have the same mindset about it. It assures me, too, that there a huge swathes of the government (far more people than in congress) who have this country's best interests at heart.

Suffice to say, it's been really difficult to be hopeful about the U.S. government for the past several years. But for me at least, the federal workers are re-writing the narrative.

Hold the line. Don't resign.

[maxisodenoth]

Oops, forgot to block.

But anyways, it seems like you don't understand.

Let me put it like this for you.

You have been provided links with proof [that I'm sure you didn't even touch.] And instead of bringing up any point related to them you stick to your same arguments.

I asked you a simple yes or no question, and you seem to have taken it personally. It doesn't matter to me what you think the answer is, because the answer is always no. An infertile woman is just as much of a woman as any other. We are what we want to be. Your words mean nothing to me, and other peoples identity. [which let me remind you *again* that you've been provided links in the comments which explain this stuff better than I ever could]

[And let me tell you something. Just because we can't have kids right now doesn't mean it'll remain that way in the future. I believe that something will be figured out later in the future that will allow trans-people to be able to reproduce with their new reproductive apparatuses. Whether that takes years or decades doesn't matter. It'll happen.]

You used word meanings as "arguments". May I remind you that, words were created far before any research was done on this matter? [Not exaclty sure when or how much words change but I'm almost sure it's a pretty slow process, so they might be a bit or alot outdated. Not sure though.] And that maybe instead of etymology, you should be looking at psychology, and biology? [Links in the comments~] Trying to use words meanings as arguments doesn't really work out that well when we're not talking about words but people.

[And by the way. Where is your evidence? You've been provided links explaining this stuff, yet when pressed, you only choose to go to ... a dictionary? Really?]

[Also, since you've stooped into insults let me get in on that action.]

Why do you care so much? Like really. Why does this matter that much to you? Are you that miserable that the only joy you get is by hating on other people being themselves and happy?

Look, I know it's hard to find a purpose in life, or a job, but it'd be alot easier if you stopped being a prick and just let people be themselves. There's no reason to hate people who literally don't affect you in any shape or form. They're just being themselves. Cope. [Your final reminder that there are links in the comments!~]

Or do you just refuse to grow up and understand that it doesn't matter what you say. People will be themselves and happier than you will ever be?

I am not a debator. I'm just some angry penguin on the internet. I have left my piece here. And I won't forget to block this time. May this be the last time I see your miserable blog on my feed.

And for everyone else who comes across this post, trans or otherwise. Your identity is Valid. You know yourselves better than some stranger on the internet. Or anyone who's not you. Because it's Your Identity. Not these peoples.

Do not let the hateful words of bigots make you feel bad about youself. You are the only one who can choose your identity. Not some idiots on the internet. You. And let me say this again Your identity is always valid. No matter what others say. ❤️

Goodbye. 👋

[Even if you reply to this, I'm not wasting anymore of my time on you John. You've been given links, read them. The same goes for any asshole who wants to start another argument. I do not care for you. Find someone else to deal with your bullshit.]

Facts matter. #VoteBlue

[peace-hunter]

Question for baby prime Orion au: how do the rest of the gang take that Orion is the "lost" prime. Because here's the reaction I think they'll have:

D-16:oh primes my friend is a prime and I punch him in the face yesterday!?

Elita: oh primes, this trouble making bot is a prime!?

B-127: one of my new friends is a prime, this is awesome!!

"How well am I taking that one of my friends is actually a demi-god?" reactions from best to worst:

you're pretty much right with Bee. this has been the wildest day he's had since forever, he's very much just along for the ride and he's kinda just "this may as well happen :)"-ing through everything. he's also lowkey clinging to the one (1) good new he's gotten from this whole affair for dear life. like. he could freak out about the fact his entire life has been a lie and he's been working himself to death for a tyrant that's betrayed their entire race to their sworn enemies. or he could be happy his new best friend is extra cool now. so. y'know. glass half-full half-empty kinda deal.

Dee's reaction is,,,, complicated. obviously.

on one hand holy crap his friend is a prime that's the coolest fucking shit ever he's friends with someone directly related to megatronus prime-

on the other. this is just one more thing he's been wrong about for cycles. everything he thought was true is turning out to be a lie and even if this isn't a betrayal like sentinel's it's still something he has to accept is not what he thought it was. Orion, his best friend, the person he trusted the most, is not what he thought he was.

and even though Orion didn't know (which... is also a point of contention between them with Dee not being quite able to believe one could forget such a thing even as Orion swears over and over again he had no idea) there's still a divide between them that wasn't there before. now Orion is this almost mythological being directly created by their god for greater things while Dee is just... a miner.

now Orion is a Prime. and Dee has just found out what happens when you trust a so-called Prime.

and he also can't help but wonder, as he remembers all those times Orion ignored what he said and involved him in his crazy schemes with no regard for what he thought about it, if it's just in the nature of Primes to do as they wish without considering what it means for everyone else.

but the real victim here is elita who is experiencing a level of cringe that hasn't been seen in cybertron before nor will be seen again until maybe four million years and a war later during peace negotiations. pray for her.

baby prime orion au

[nayaesworld]

Deliver us from Eva

Pairing:Terry Richmond x Eva

Warnings: Drug use (cocaine), smut, love bombing

Summary: In a rush to stake her claim in the bedroom, Eva unknowingly signs a deal with the devil…

A/N: This will be strictly a one shot.(telling myself this bc ik how I am😗)

—

—

“Stuck up boujie bitch that thought she ran the office”. That’s what they all thought about Eva, but if she didn’t…who would? They were all dunces and lacked the overall beauty and intelligence that she held and quite frankly she wouldn’t apologize for it. Just a bunch of losers who couldn’t kiss her ass if it was engulfed in flames. She was just a young hot babe that overly excelled on the job yet they dwelled on the fact that she used work as a fashion show and the hallway as her runway..they simply couldn’t take her. But the newest work tea had her interested heavily…somebody had a crush on her. Well that explained all the little gifts being left on her desks, the bouquet of lilies, the little letters that explained how much they loved her work ethic and especially her radiant beauty. Well at least someone admired her hard work…and she had a feeling who that someone was.

She had noticed his affections…but everyone knelt down for her and kissed the ground she walked on. How was she supposed to know the difference? Terry Richmond was exactly Eva’s type. Tall and pretty with brains and strong arms that looked like they lifted twice her weight on a daily. His hypnotic puppy dog eyes would flick towards hers during group meetings, cheeks high and mouth upturned with a smile and she’d get suspicious of him and turn away with a roll of her eyes. He could try working that spell on another woman in the office, they were easier than her anyways. The fawning and gossiping made her gag on a daily, he was only ever cordial with the other women in the office and yet they acted as if he’d offered up his face as a seat. Pathetic.

But Eva still had an itch inside that needed to be scratched. She wouldn’t deny herself pleasure for one second. She wanted to ride that pony right off into the sunset, and she hated him for making her feel that way. If she only had to snag him and use him to get herself off then so be it..men did it all the time. A nice plan was settling in real fine in her head, the brainstorming room was Terry's playground it seemed, he spent more time in there than anyone and it showed. His business proposals for companies looking to work with theirs and diagrams were exceptionally detailed and straight forward. A man about his work. She knew where to find him and reapplied her dark brown lip liner to her plump lips. She sealed it with a clear gloss before puckering her lips and stuffing her compact mirror back into her purse, time to work some magic.

Terry had heard her coming before he saw her. Heels clicking to a beat so familiar to him that he could hunt her down in a building full of people. He had a thing for snobby pretty bitches, knocking them off their high horses and filling them with dick was his speciality and little miss Eva was his newest obsession…how fun. His matte black MacBook sat in front of him and he read through important work emails meticulously, a little bit of work before the play. She was getting closer now, just outside the door. Forcing his eyes to stay glued on his laptop screen, he tried to ignore her presence as she sat directly next to him. Notes of raspberry and saffron wafting into his nose. His ears began to ring and his foot tapped quickly underneath the table and she made it all worse by speaking to him in that sultry tone.

“I know your little secret Terry.” He paused his scrolling and arched a brow at her. Ahh so she had been receiving his gifts. Good.

“You have a crush on me, though I couldn’t really blame you.” There it was again, that air of arrogance. He liked that shit.

“Do I now..what makes you so sure?” He turned to her, giving her his full attention now.

Her full lips sat slightly open and her dark silk pressed hair fell around the cleavage that peeked from her blouse. Almond shaped eyes zeroed in on him suspiciously as she let his question sit with her. Fresh gel manicure tapping gently against the table brought his eyes downward where he watched the pretty manicured hand move to its own beat.

“Because I like you too. Believe me that was hard enough to say so don’t give me that look.”

“And just what do you like about me, Miss Eva…you ignore every other man’s advances so why me?”

“Because you’re smart and pretty..and I wanna fuck you.” Hmm a bit bolder than he’d expected but he’d bite.

“You wanna fuck me or do you wanna get fucked, there’s a difference mama choose wisely.”

The chair she sat in rolled closer and he was practically breathing in her whole existence. Her minty breath warm on his forearm as she dropped her hand onto his bicep, stroking against it like a sweet pampered house cat.

“I don’t discriminate, I’ll take whatever you’re offering and double it.” She was overconfident in her ability to overtake him and that stirred something deep inside him. Women didn’t usually challenge him this way and he was teetering on the edge of showing his hand…in due time.

Terry knew her type. Overly confident and arrogant to compensate for what she was actually lacking, he had clocked her months ago. Simply watching for an entry point into her head..to infiltrate her mind and body like a parasite. To control her. She had the workings of a good little sex slave…something to own and degrade. Something to tear down and build back up in his image.

“What if I’m not offering anything, what if I just wanna take. You willing to give lil mama?”

And willing she was. She had no idea what she was agreeing to..what she’d have to do to be down with him. The dark sinister side of him loved the art of ambush. The ability to play it up and source information about his prey while they stood in front of him. She craved something that he could only feign to give her, and he saw that present in her mind.

Terry didn’t know the true extent to his abilities or the origin of them. He assumed that they had been passed down through his bloodline..generation to generation. He knew things about people before they ever told him, he felt those things. Felt their turmoil and longing all around them, how it oozed from their pores like perspiration. And Eva was no different. She was desperate to feel any inkling of what she thought was love from people, underneath the facade she was heavily distraught by the lack of sympathy and kindness in her life. No one truly looked under her hard exterior and analyzed why she acted the way she did, said the things she said. But Terry would give her some justice tonight even if he was the only one that benefited from it.

Rushed lip locking and the sound of ripped garments filled his bedroom. There was no time to slow down. Not when her aura glowed blue with need and despair and not when his most carnal desires were coming to the forefront. There was wickedness at play there in the room, the lights turned down casting a warm glow over heated melanated skin and a tango of bodies that would frighten the gods. Terry withdrew his hand from her hair, the thick tresses so tightly bound that his knuckles rubbed against her scalp. And like a moth drawn to a flame, his brawny body carried itself to his dresser drawer. His guilty pleasure and the only white bitch that he had ever craved like air in his lungs —coke. It rushed through his senses like a dream, centering him and abusing him all at once.

The mini ziplock rested on the dresser as he snorted his first line of the night. Head thrown back in pure bliss as he felt the instant euphoric rush to his bloodstream. His back was to his dresser as he beckoned her to come to him.

“Do you partake?” A question so simple and yet she stared at him like he had two heads before shaking her head no.

“You do now… you’ll love it. It’s everything you’ve been missing I promise.” Her compliance meant little to him as he held the line up to her nose.

“Nice and slow, there you go.” He swept a thumb under her nose, gripping her chin gently in his hand. He wanted her fluttering around his space like a butterfly fresh from a chrysalis.

Her bare body twirled and wiggled in front of him like his favorite after hours show. Notes of Australian sandalwood and Haitian vetiver filled the space in his room, that intoxicating perfume that relayed signals to his olfactory bulb everyday. When she turned her back to him, hands thrown in the arm, he noticed the tramp stamp on her lower back. Heaven is what it read, but he had plans to take her someplace a little hotter, someplace she couldn’t come back from. A great satisfaction it would bring him to take her down so low he would be the only thing grounding her when he was finished with her.

He pulled her buzzing body to his. Naked chest to naked chest. His hands focused her whipping head forcing her to stare into his barren eyes, blown out pupils barely leaving room for the pretty brown he saw on a regular. He wanted all the signs of her snuffed out…aura slowly changing from blue to red. She placed her arms around his waist, lacing them together before she pressed her lips to his. A green light. An ok to wreck this helpless soul.

His mouth drooled and leaked for what seemed like the thousandth time already. Mustache and goatee drenched with pussy juice, he was getting his protein for the week and then some. Tongue curling around her clit to suckle it roughly while two of his fingers dig into her clenching hole. Her thighs had begun to bruise from his hold on them and the pain she felt from it made her moan and cry out loud. Euphoria wasn’t the word to explain what this was. This was splitting her mind in two, throwing her out and stuffing Terry inside. Did he love her? He had too, that’s what he had told her just minutes ago wasn't it? She wasn’t hearing things, couldn’t be.

“Fuck I love you too. Take it.. it won’t matter without you.” She was crying out those words to him, giving him something to hold over her. But what was she offering..,her own life perhaps?

Wild colors burst behind her eyes as she orgasmed again. Legs shaking and quivering in his tight hold, while she let him wipe tears into her hairline. He stood over her hand gripping her throat so tightly that her heart raced in fear that he wouldn’t let go.

“Love?That’s what you need right..what you’re missing? That’s what I’m giving you right…that feeling you feel right now, that’s the kind of love I offer Eva.”

Love? This newfound love made her heart race and beat rapidly in her chest, it squeezed and rattled against her ribcage begging for reprieve from his hold..the hold she felt all over her body. She wanted it tho, people never made her feel anymore, just made her realize how much she wasn’t. And when his body came to lay over hers, dick positioned just above her entrance she began to truly see.

“I own you from here on out. Forget your family..they never loved you. Forget your friends..they never offered you any solace. I can bring you that and so much more. If you just let me in.”

Her verbal consent unleashed something. And before she could protest in fear he sank deeply into her, and her mouth was caught in a permanent ‘o’ as he pistoned into her quickly. She cried quietly in his ear as the walls bled around them, her eyes wide in horror. It gushed all around them and she wiped her forehead feeling a drop splash there.

“Shh shh, there’s nothing there. It’s the drugs playing tricks on you I swear.” His deep voice cooed into her ear. His reassurance didn’t go far.

Her nails sank deep into his back as he bottomed out in her pussy. The lewd notices that came from between them were not even enough to pull her focus from the wall behind them. A pair of yellow reptilian eyes stared at them through the blood and she shrieked in terror pointing at the wall.

“He won’t bother us baby..he just likes a little show. You don’t mind now do you?” The unsettling grin on his face chilled her bones, but the fucking never stopped. He never stopped. Not when the headboard snapped in two, and not when she screamed bloody murder as another orgasm ripped through her body.

She made the mistake of shutting her eyes and when she opened them again she was watching herself and Terry on the bed. Her body stuck to the ceiling in a sort of lucid dream. She saw it all, the way he lifted her body and continued fucking her as he stood facing the wall now and how the Eva on the ground stared right up at her. Terry followed her line of sight and blew kisses up at you… the real you. Or maybe that was the real you, but how could you be sure. When you raised your hand hers raised too, and when you subconsciously asked her to wink at you she did.

Then came his voice, the lightest whisper in your loud mind. Softly pulling you back into your own body, and when your wet eyes fluttered open again viridian eyes met yours. Your body smelled fresh and clean like you had been bathed and your silky tresses sat wrapped securely under a scarf. Confusion set deep in your features and a pounding migraine to make matters worse, yet answers were all you needed. And like your mind was being read he provided one.

“Deals with the devil are best made sober…shall we try again later?”

@luvrsluxe @slvt4her @rawflwrs @thabiddie23 @blyffe @notapradagurl7 @sk1121-blog1 @dimepiece09 @playgurlxoxo @zillasvilla @23jammy @pocketsizedpanther @kenshisluvrgirl @brattyfics @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @melosliving @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @kirayuki22 @alyssawritcs @becauseimswagman1 @ranikyani @keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @simplyzeeka @blowmymbackout @kimuzostar @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @hotgrlcece @miyuhpapayuh @uzumaki-rebellion

[niftykin]

" Each kiss breaks a wall "

RUGGIE BUCCHI - Twisted wonderland

Sypnosis: He will always know when you feel insecure, and he will always made sure that each one of his kisses break every brick you have placed in every one of your walls, once his lips caress your skin as a symbol of his everlasting love for you, he will make you feel worshipped. Soft Dom! Ruggie

Request: could I request a similar prompt (love-making, maybe reader feeling insecure?) w a dom!ruggie and established relationship? i know the prompt was from a writing event so feel free to ignore this request or change it!! have a nice day mwah mwah ❤️🍒

A/N: I have decided to get full on writing again after a writer's block that lasted a lot. I was ill, I'm pretty much okay now and I'm truly on this now, very nice, request are open

Warning: Smut, MDNI, all characters portrayed are up to 18, AFAB reader, romantic, fluff and a lot of smut, actually just cunnilingus, I say that people made sculptures after people with body like yours I don't really specify it tho, reader is insecure by a part of her body and is also not specified which.

He has seen you, he knows you, more than anything in this world— He pays attention.

He watches, he has seen how you look at yourself in the mirror, the slight distaste that runs on your pupils, how you refuse to look at certain spots of your skin, how you ignore them. He has realized how you flinch when he touches that patches of skin, he knows why that is but he doesn't really get why. People made sculptures over people like you, how could you feel disgusted over something so gorgeous— So natural.

Ruggie admires you.

His gaze makes you feel vulnerable under his knowing eyes, every blink adds a layer of tension in the whole deal. He doesn't look at you with disgust, ¿How could he? He worships your body and your body is the very extent of your soul— just as beautiful as it is. You're his soulmate, he feels at ease with you, his mind tranquil, his gaze soft, his pupils dilated like a doped man, you fit. You for in his arms, you fit in his very soul.

You're his Oasis. The water in his desert, the gold in his ambition, the one who brings light in his eyes. He loves you, ¿how could you ever think otherwise? He doesn't get it, he tried to, multiple times, but ¿why do you feel like that?.

If you don't feel welcomed in your own skin, he will let you have his. You live in his insides without knowing, every emotion, every thought, every flavor, every sensation. Everything is you.

You're his muse— he is no soldier, nor poet, nor a prince, nor an artist. But he loves just as deeply. You're not portrayed in his battles, or his poems, or his rules, or his paintings but on every single action he takes every single day, in every moment of his life, to be better. For you.

He will close your eyes when you don't want to see and he will cover you when you don't want to be seen.

So every time he catches a glimpse of you looking with distaste a part of your skin his hands cradle from behind you, his touch reverent, almost feather-like as his fingertips run over your cheeks and stop to cover your eyes. The reflection— your reflection is no longer visible for you, but for him. His lips travel over your skin softly, his words like a soothing balm to your very soul: "You're beautiful", like a bandage in a wound.

The bandage won't heal the wound, but it will help to stop burning.

The kisses won't make your insecurities fade away, but they will show you that not everyone hates that part of your body. That you are beautiful. That you are oh so very loved.

Then, he will lead you to the bed, lay you on you back as he watches you with pure devotion glimmering in his eyes, the malice he shows when he laughs at Leona or anybody else is completely gone in this— your chambers. His lips curving themselves in a soft smile as he looks down at you, his head tilted and his tail swinging calmly "I love you" he would say while he looked at you right on the eyes.

He would kiss you after, a soft kiss in the lips that only lasted a second, it burnt but it didn't hurt.

You laughed. He did too.

Then, he leaned for another, and then another, each one being slightly longer than the last, his fingertips moving over the patches of skin you hate without distaste but adoration.

His lips over yours as his hand travelled down your thighs, caressing them softly. "Do you want this?" He asked, his tone calm, peaceful, respectful— once you nodded he started kissing your cheek, travelling down your jaw, neck and collarbone, his hands undressing you with a calmness you would have never expected of a Hyena beastman like him.

He kissed the middle of your ribs, travelling his lips further down as one of his hands played with one of your breasts until he reached your lower abdomen and he took a breath. "¿Can I?" Ruggie asked to you, his eyes doe and clouded with desire and affection for you and the moment you gave him the green light his head dissapeared between your thighs, his ears twitching in satisfaction in you sight as his tongue sucked and licked all of your wetness. It was heavenly, it felt heavenly.

You were his Oasis, and he made sure to drink you like it. His hands grabbed your hips to keep you in place as he continued his restless assault to your core, his legs moved slightly in the bed, trying to put him closer to your crotch as his face kept placed in it, he hummed around your clit, his breath ragged as he sucked on your sensitive bud before he released it and gave you a few licks, your juices dripping from his chin to the sheets, but he couldn't care less about it. You tasted too good to stop and think about those little details.

His hand travelled to your thigh, making you rest it agaisnt his shoulder as his hand quickly went to your chest, massaging it as he let out another him of appreciation. He was drinking you like a dehydrated man.

His other hand, on the contrary, went to your heat, his middle finger teasing your entrance as his lips sucked at your clit ruthlessly before he started pulling the tip of his finger inside and move it at a painfully slow velocity before he started to pull more and more deeply on you until he was knuckle-deep inside. His movements were like waves mixed with the sucking and licking at your clit, the pleasure became almost unbearable and before you could know, your back was arched, your head thrown back and your head dizzy for the amount of pleasure. His finger drove you off of that high and when you were recovering, he pulled his finger outside of you with a lascive "Pop" before he put it in his mouth and sucked it suggestively, moaning at the taste.

"¿are you ready for another round, my love? I don't think I can show you how badly I desire you in just one ¿you know?"

AAA I forgot to write smut, I apologize for any mistakes in the grammar, english is not my first language, my request are open and I write for almost every fandom! Just ask!

[i-dared-myself]

Skirt War

Requested by anonymous: Could I req a fic with the stray kids' ninth member being put in a short dress/skirt (you know those that don't look like it'll ride up if you move but it does and its annoying af??) for a performance with a dance dance - that she has to move around a lot and then she keeps trying to pull the skirt down but that piece of shit just keeps going back up. And she spends the whole performance playing tug of war with a bunch of fabric trying not to be indecent and humiliated. And backstage she feels shit bc she couldn’t dance well and looked pathetic and she's disappointed and frustrated and embarrassed and yk. Idk if this is understandable anymore

“Wow, Felix,” you say, “you look really good! The stylists worked really hard with this new set of outfits.”

Felix hums his agreement, adjusting his gloves. “Where’s yours?”

You glance down at yourself. You’re still in your normal clothes. “Ah, they haven’t called me back yet. I think they’re finishing with Seungmin now.”

Felix makes a small sound of understanding, reaching up to touch his hair. He stops himself and drags his hand back down to his side. “Should I dye my hair soon?”

You shrug. “Do you want to? Is your hair even alive at this point?”

You hear someone softly call your name, and turn before you head Felix’s response. A staff member is waving you over as Seungmin and Jisung walk by.

“Looking good,” you compliment them, smiling brightly. You’re excited for what you’ll be wearing for the performance.

So you’re handed the set of clothes that you change into. You don’t even get a chance to look at yourself in a mirror before you’re whisked away for makeup and hair.

You eventually step out, joining the others. It seems as if everyone else has finished with their own styling, and everyone looks great.

There’s one tiny little problem, though.

Your tiny little skirt.

Your shirt is amazing, and you can’t disagree with the fact that you look hot in it. But the skirt is as small as they get. You’re amazed that you’re even allowed to wear it.

You’re fairly certain it’ll stay in place during thr performance, but you really don’t want to take chances. So you do an experimental twirl, heart sinking when the skirt instantly flies up.

Hyunjin recoils when he sees you. “What the-“

“Watch it!” Chan warns, narrowing his eyes. He faces you, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh boy.”

You tug the material down, fiddling with it anxiously. “Is it that bad?”

Jeongin is averting his eyes, which does absolutely nothing to make you feel better. “Nope. It’s totally fine.”

“Did they ask you about this?” Minho frowns deeply, glancing out at the crowd between the curtains. The sound check is almost complete, so you’re running out of time to deal with this.

“No. I wasn’t aware that I’d be wearing this.” Your hands tremble. You feel sick with how short it is. You half believe you’re at risk of your most intimate areas just being on display.

Seungmin grunts a little. “Want my sweater? To tie around your waist?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Maybe later. I don’t want it to look like I’m disrespecting the stylists.”

“But it’s fine!” Jisung assures you. “These aren’t our usual stylists, and they don’t know our boundaries.”

“But we also don’t want to start something with this event,” you point out. They stylists had come with the gig, and you didn’t want to disrespect them if you didn’t usually work with them. It might ruin any other opportunities.

“Positions, everyone,” Chan suddenly says. He gives you a pitying look as everyone files into their assigned places. “You’ve got this.”

You’re not as confident as he is, but you force a smile. You tug the skirt down one last time before bounding out onto stage.

The music starts up and you begin to dance. Every movement that involves legs (pretty much all of them) has the skirt flipping up. Felix is behind you for the beginning, and when you catch a glance of his face it’s bright red.

You miss a hand gesture because you’re adjusting the fabric again, and your stomach tumbles. The media is going to have a field day with this. Everyone is going to be talking about how unprofessional you are.

Positions are swapped, and then you’re next to Changbin. He turns his gaze away to be respectful, but it just reinforces the idea in your head that the outfit is bad. That you’re indecent.

You blink back tears as you stumble over yet another move, too busy holding the skirt down to make it to the next spot in time. You’re falling behind, mind focused on your decency and not the dance.

Then your lines come, and your voice cracks. You’re lucky enough that you don’t have to hold your microphone up, because you honestly don’t have a spare hand.

It comes to an end, and you all bow. You walk off stage, perhaps the most humiliated that you’ve ever been.

Changbin loops his arms around you, tying his sweater around your waist. You mutter your thanks and wrench your headset off. 

“Hey.” Chan gently grabs your arm and steers you back to the group. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You keep your head ducked, gaze locked on the floor. Your throat burns and you’re struggling not to cry.

Jeongin comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think you did great.”

You shove him away. “Well I didn’t! I sucked because of this stupid skirt! I let it get in my head, and now everyone’s going to be talking about it!”

Minho sits on the ground and takes your hands in his. He gently pulls you down to his lap and lets your cry against his chest. “Yeah, it wasn’t your greatest performance.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Jisung hisses out.

“But Stay loves you no matter what. And if they don’t, they can go suck it.” Minho strokes your hair. 

Chan clears his throat. “I might not have said it in those exact words, but he’s right. And from now on, I’ll make it clear to our managers and staff about our boundaries. Including those that we work with for the first time.”

You hiccup between tears, burying your face further against Minho. “Really?”

Chan hums. “Absolutely. And we have time to change before our next song, so why don’t you go to the stylists again?”

You sniffle and push yourself out of Minho’s grip. Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile as you wander off.

“Excuse me?” you hesitantly say as you approach one of the stylists. “Would it be okay if I got a different skirt? Or maybe some pants?”

He tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “Why? Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, it’s just that-“ You toy with the material as you try and find the correct words. You don’t want to insult the man. “Dancing in this is very difficult. I don’t feel comfortable in this.”

He smiles mockingly. “Oh, really? Well it’s fine. It’s not even that short.”

“I just danced in it and it didn’t go that well.” You’re aware that you’re running out of time. You need to hurry up. “Can you please just direct me to-“

“Have you considered that maybe it’s just your skill?” he interrupts. He sighs and shakes his head, turning away. “But fine. I could find something else.”

You swallow thickly as you follow him.

Is it actually your own fault? Are you just not a talented enough dancer for these clothes? 

“Is this good enough for you?” The stylist holds up a new set of bottoms, and you wince. It’s even smaller than the one you’re currently wearing.

“Ready yet?” Jisung comes sliding in, eyes widening at the skirt being held up. “Wow, that’s small.”

“Uh, almost,” you weakly tell him.

Jisung’s eyes catch on your face and trembling bottom lip. His arms shoot out to wrap around you, and he pats your back. “It’s okay!”

“Are you wearing this or not?” the stylist snaps. 

“No, she’s not.” Jisung tightens Changbin’s sweater on your waist. “She’s wearing this and we have to go now, since we’re on in less than a minute. But I’ll be telling Bang Chan about you.”

The man pales. Having an idol complain about you was pretty much a death sentence, especially when that idol had as much influence as Stray Kids.

Jisung grabs your hand you the two of you dash out onto stage. You burst out and join the rest of the members, just in time for the music to begin.

This time it goes smoother. The sweater gives enough weight to keep the skirt down, and you’re able to focus on the dance. Your movements are fluid and well-executed, and you know even Hyunjin would be proud.

When you go backstage, you feel mildly more confident. You take a swig of your water bottle as Jisung tells Chan about the stylist.

Jeongin huffs, overhearing the conversation. “What an asshole.”

Seungmin hums his agreement. “A real dick.”

Chan holds up his hands. “Let’s watch the language, everyone. We’re professionals at work.”

Changbin snorts. “Right. If he’s a professional, why did he basically humiliate her?”

Felix hooks an arm over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I bet Minho will screw up soon and everyone will forget about today.”

Minho makes a sound of protest, narrowing his eyes. “Why me?”

Hyunjin wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Relax, it’s just an example.”

Chan calls the stylist over, who appears vaguely nauseated as he steps closer. He bows briefly to Chan before his eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second.

“I heard you had a bit of an issue with one of my members?” Chan blandly asks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. “Were you the one who put her in that skirt? Were you planning for her to humiliate herself and get kicked out of the industry?”

“Yeah!” Jisung cries out. He’s immediately silenced by Minho.

“S-Sorry,” the man mutters. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, continue.” Chan arches an eyebrow challengingly. “You just what?”

“Bet he just wanted to see her in it,” Seungmin drawls. “Is that it?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the stylist’s forehead. “Well- It wasn’t that short!”

“Would you feel comfortable wearing it?” Felix chimes in. “Because I thought it was pretty short.”

“Guys,” you say. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Poor thing.” Hyunjin pats your head. “Wanna eat a whole bunch of ice cream with me?”

“Maybe,” you slyly say, walking with him to the van. You ignore the sounds of Chan still scolding the man. 

“If you ever need my sweater again, just ask.” Changbin comes up from behind you to poke at the fabric of the borrowed clothes. 

“Are we just stealing these?” Jeongin questions once everyone is in the van. Everyone is also still in the performance clothing. 

Chan frowns. “Oops.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[xa3r1s]

✧⭑----⋆✩⋆-------⋆ ℂℍ𝕀𝕃𝔻𝕀𝕊ℍ 𝔹𝕀ℂ𝕂𝔼ℝ𝕀ℕ𝔾 ♡ [l. donghyuck & l. mark]

⠀⠀ ☆ (⠀ 꽃⠀ ) ...

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒..𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗.: “ MARK LEE & LEE DONGHYUCK ; ✧ ”

✦⊹﹒synopsis:ㅤit wasn't easy being stuck between two flames, especially when those flames are against each other. small arguments were happening here and there but when they both got the same intention with you, you're just completely left helpless, feeling like they teamed up against you. ✦⊹﹒warnings:ㅤnsfw!!, breeding, est. relationship, poly relationship, petnames, cussing, dirty talking, mean-dom!hyuck, mean-dom!mark, doggy, p n v, face fucking, oral, clit play, light spanking, cream pie, unprotected sex, hyuck calls u mommy, it's kinda just all filth im so sorry, multiple orgasms, lmk if i missed anything! ✦⊹﹒word count:ㅤ2,0k

a/n.: never wrote threesome, i don't quite know if this is how it works but enjoy my loves! [also i started working on this sooner than the requests so i'm posting this first]

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dealing with only one of them was already a challenge in itself, but making it the two of them? it quickly became an outright a big, hot mess.

treasuring an intense and feral personalities at once was something that could be easily overwhelming considering that you had to deal with their continuous fighting over and over. and once they start the argument just no one backs down really, their ego could crush people with its weight and we’re only scratching the surface.

“a girl? no way man, my genes are designed for a boy.” the younger boy declared proudly at himself, eyes skeptical and scanning the other one right in front of him. you could almost call him sassy with the way he puts his hands on his hips and familiarly scrunches up his nose, waiting -demanding- an answer.

mark on the other hand didn’t let his emotions got a grip of him so easily and stood his ground proudly. his back straightened up, only tilting his head down a few degrees to glance at hyuck through his thin eyelashes. he handled the situation much calmer and went for the root of it, attacking his dignity.

“what? your.. your genes?” the response was muttered, pronouncing the last words with his tone being laced with mocking while his index finger pointed towards hyuck’s chest as a cocky smirk rested on his face.

you never actively tried for a child, knowing these two would make the biggest fuss and argument about who’s child you gonna bear first —actually trying to even ignore the topic whenever it came up—

now, flushed skin and thin layered sweat covered bodies collided on your shared bed with little to no explanation given to you. clothes practically ripped apart and chucked to the other side of the room. the small lamp placed on the bedside table providing only enough light for them to admire your flushed skin rippling with every harsh thrust hyuck was delivering into you. the momentum pushing your mouth deeper on mark’s wildly pulsing cock, eliciting a muffled sound from the overwhelming pleasure you receive all at once on both ends.

they were always so smothering and compassionate, the main focus purely you, your pleasure and your well being shared between them. but now? as if they completely went nuts. it was a very rare sight, —not like you hated it— they saw red, the constant need to be better than the other drove them crazy and it seemed like they loved to take their dopamine out on you.

“shut up and fucking take it-..” he seethed, landing a sudden firm smack on your left cheek keeping up his relentless plowing. his fingers dug into your soft flesh on your ass as it jiggled with every thrust, feeling as if he’s trying to reach your guts, angling his hips for deeper penetration. hand leaving red print on your smooth, supple skin, the moan coming out as a strangled whimper, vibrating right against the other male’s cock stuffed into your pretty mouth, sending pleasurable shiver along his spine.

“d-don’t spank her, asshole..” mark’s eyes shot up with a harsh glare targeted towards hyuck behind you which he rewarded with a faint and throaty chuckle, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. concentrating on knocking you up.

“god-.. i’m trying to put a baby in her.. don’t you see, f-fuck-” his voice wavered with a harsh thrust, making your whole body jolt “.. from your eyes?” hyuck taunted, one hand gripping your waist, pulling you back on his cock with his every forward move, meeting you deeper and deeper even if his tip already brushed your cervix by now.

other hand snaked between your legs, his torso hovering over your back, his mouth coming right by your ear. your felt the familiar rubbing sensations around your clit, your body reacting with your muscles tensing tight.

“‘gonna be a good mommy, hm?” hyuck’s honeyed words made you absolutely melt, a high pitched whimper resonating from your chest straight to mark’s length pistoning eagerly in and out of between your lips. his precum mixed with your saliva dripped on your chin, your jaw aching and throat burning as he fucked you on your other side, the two of them moving in sync. “you’ll be stuffed so full, so fucking full of- my love-..”

“don’t you- don’t you fucking dare to get pregnant from him first-” noticing a sudden harsh grip in your hair, mark’s fingers digging into your scalp and tugging your head off from his throbbing, dripping dick and bending down to meet your eyes. his own burned with lust, his dark irises taking an even deeper shade. “cat’s got your tongue, my sweet whore? answer already..” he urged, placing small pecks and kisses on your jaw in the contrast of his painful grip on your locks. it was embarrassing but god it was so fucking arousing too, sinful blush danced across your face, doing your best to avoid his piercing gaze but no answer came from you, only pathetic whines and moans. —not like he even excepted you to say anything coherent, while being sandwiched between them.

his intense stare got your already needy hole rippling around hyuck instantly gushing on his cock, juices leaking down his shaft and dripping onto the already messy and crumpled white sheets under you. hyuck’s hips stuttered for a second before pushing himself in again, feeling the knot tighten in his lower belly too before snapping and hyuck now gripping your ass with both of his palms, practically slamming you back on himself, quickly sending you into over stimulation.

mark locked your jaw tight into his free hand, forcing you to gaze into his eyes while your body tingled all over. your head spinning and skin burning up as if you’re body is trying to push out hyuck’s stretching dick but his hard grip on your made it challenging to squirm away.

“you gonna take his load, you dirty slut?” venom dripped from the older man’s voice, the jealousy just filling up his veins if hyuck were to indeed impregnate you before him. you reached your head towards his dick dangling right in front of your face, eager to have it fill your warm, slick mouth again, swirling your tongue around it and have him moaning in delight but his hold on your face and fist in your tangled up, messy hair didn’t let you.

“mhm- gonna knock you up, my pretty girl.. you’d love that-” hyuck hissed quietly, teeth grazing your shoulder blades. “i fucking know you want it, you want my seed, huh? well- i’ll give it to you nonetheless, baby.” and with a low grunt, biting down harsh on your skin, warm, white fluid shot in thick ropes deep inside you, making sure to pump it well but still staring in awe at the way it oozed out around his cock from your twitching hole.

“pull out, fuck-face.” mark spat with a gruffy mumble, breaking the soft sound of your whines and moans echoing through the room mingled with hyuck’s fast and unsteady gasps. “you’ve had your fill.” reluctantly, the boy behind you obliged and with a squelching, wet pop he freed himself from your still quivering insides.

donghyuck pulling back to sit on his heels in the intention of pulling himself together after busting such an amount in you, mark was quick to maneuver you with your back facing his chest. one arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in for skin to skin touch, his other arm putting you in a tight headlock. his bicep rippling around your neck, not enough to cut your airflow but certainly enough to make your head even more dizzy, as if it was possible.

“holy shit-.. baby.” he cooed into your ear with fake pity “you look so fucked out already.. how you gonna put up with me?” his arm around your mid section moved to his pulsing and leaky dick, the flushed, red tip nudging your labia apart and squeezing its way deep inside you.

feeling every inch fill you, the ridges and bobbing out veins just scratching your warm walls as his hip stilled, his eyes taking in the amount of seed hyuck dumped into you getting pushed out while he bottomed out.

his strong muscles effectively kept you in place, preventing you from squirming away, your plump lips fell open in an attempt to gasp for air desperately when you felt mark immediately rutting his hips against yours without little to no buildup and hyuck suddenly holding onto your chin, tugging you to meet his lips in a hungry kiss.

he moved his lips against your fiercely, spit mixing and dripping past your mouth, him just absolutely devouring you. while the male behind tormented you with harsh thrusts, your body still tingling from your earlier orgasm, your body unwillingly fighting against their intense love making.

“aren’t i better, sweet thing?” mark’s low and throaty voice caressed your ears while the world spun around you, the only thing connecting you to your consciousness was their words that you barely even registered, drowning in the all consuming pleasure they showered you with. tears stung the corners of your eyes, spilling and rolling down on your flushed, hot cheeks.

while hyuck roughly explored your mouth, his hands came to the soft, meaty globes on your chest, cupping them and squeezing, pushing your breasts together, feeling it enticingly bounce from his torments—and mark’s rough fucking from behind—, made him smile.

“m-markie!” you mewled against the other boy’s lips, eyelids heavy, their sweaty locks dangling in front of their lust coated eyes, drinking up every bit of your expression and pleasure plastered across your features. “please—..”

“close, baby? are you gonna feel my seed deep too against your velvety walls, hm?” quickly locking gazes with hyuck for a few second, he turned his attention back to you, chasing his high like a wild animal in heat.

from your earlier, greedy oral work, mark was already pent up enough to teeter on the edge in the pass of a few minutes, having his abdomen burn with the promise of his release, his pace didn’t falter. your cunt eagerly clenched and fluttered around him, small moans escaping your lips only to have them vibrate against donghyuck’s mouth, aggressively making out with him while experiencing your second, really intense orgasm of the night, blurring your vision as your ears rang and your body felt like burning up.

the room echoed from their synchronized deep grunts and your sobs of pleasure, the bed’s creaking providing a quieter background noise between your moans. after a few, sloppy thrusts, mark shot his load deep into you, the headlock he was having you in tightening in for a few moments while his other hand held a tight grip on your hips as he emptied himself inside, thorough on pumping it in real good.

his cum was thicker, much thicker and there was a lot. just so perfect to impregnate such a pretty, needy pussy. their seeds blending with each other in your still wildly twitching depths, his softening cock stirring up the remained sticky fluid from hyuck, and pushing it out, a small cocky grin plastered on his face as he watched the white droplets track down on your quivering thighs.

you were full. just filled to the brim with their love, devotion and adoration, mostly physically.

your legs threatened to give out and have you fall face front to the crumpled up messy and sticky sheets, your brain turned to absolute mush, head spinning and your body threatening to pass out right there and then.

a drained to no end exhale slipped from your throat, not even noticing how the two men guided you to lay on the soft sheets between them, them trying to catch their breath alongside you but still staring at you in awe. of course, wondering whoever ‘won’ at the end with small smirks etched across their faces.

▚▚ @xa3r1s ▚▚ my works belongs to me! do not translate them, copy them or publish them on another site.

[letmereedusyou]

i'm not yours - part 9

summary: Daryl and you are friends. He dated Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

Daryl keeps looking for the clues connecting anyone to your beating incident, and you try to fix his vinyl player while he's out of the house. When he comes back you have a sweet conversation and finally go back to being friends again.

words: 2.8k

warnings: swearing, mentions of killing (walkers and people)

A/N: Hello, muffins! Here I am with another part. I checked for mistakes 3 times, but it seems okay to me. Again, English is not my first language so the errors will probably occur to the English natives. I can also say already that there are going to be 15 parts to this, so we have 6 parts to go! <3

Read previous part here!

Daryl visited you and took care of you every single day for weeks. It almost felt like nothing had changed between you two; like everything was normal again. But was it really? Or was it just a façade that you two put up so you didn't have to deal with the unresolved issues? You tried not to think about it too much and just enjoyed the fact that Daryl was close again, even though he wasn't very chatty these days. Maybe he's still holding a grudge about your feelings for him, or maybe he just doesn't know how to return to being your friend again. He would bring you new books and some comics to read, so you wouldn't get bored, but boredom got you pretty fast after reading your third book in a week. You started missing movies right about then. You thought about your favourite TV shows and how your family would watch them all together after dinner. Now, all you can do is push through with your memories of it and an incredible imagination.

He would cook for you, usually something simple and quick that you could reheat if you wanted to, before vanishing for entire nights, trying to find out who had beaten you up. You had your suspicions, but you didn't tell him about it. Why? You were scared of what would happen. The information, or rather a clue, would make him go into a fight mode, for sure. You knew him well enough to admit that. So you kept your thoughts to yourself.

That didn't stop him from continuously asking you about the details or anything you remembered from the fight. No matter how many times you told him that it was dark and you didn't see or hear them, as they did not speak, just occasionally grunted while driving their feet into your body. He kept asking and trying to make sense of who would want to do this to you. Your tongue itched with an answer. For you, it was obvious.

You were glad that he was clueless like this. Maybe he just didn't want to believe it or found it hard to create that type of scenario in his head. Maybe it was too much for him to handle right about now. You didn't blame him, he had a lot on his plate as of late - his best friend fell in love with him, his girlfriend broke up with him because of the best friend, and he has chores and duties in Alexandria that he has to do, even if he is tired and doesn't want to, and now he turned into a detective, trying to solve a case - all of it probably making a huge mess in his brain.

You busy yourself with some reading once again, but it was starting to get excruciatingly boring. How many times can you read the same plot in multiple books? Putting it down on the sofa armrest, you suddenly remembered that you still had Daryl's vinyl player that needed to be fixed. That would be a good distraction, you thought and slowly pushed yourself up. The pain was less prominent now, so you could move a little bit better, although Daryl would scold you for even trying. It didn't matter how many times you said you felt fine and walking and moving around didn't hurt much anymore, he dragged you back to the sofa every single time. This time, he wasn't here, so you could freely roam around for a while.

You step into your bedroom and open your wardrobe. Reaching up onto the shelf, you pull the vinyl down, alongside many different tiny parts in a white cloth bag. You also pick up your screwdrivers, glue and anything else you'd need before attempting repair. Once you got everything you needed, you took it to the living room and put it on top of the coffee table. Leaning down, just enough to not feel pain in your ribs, you examined the vinyl player. You were a good tinkerer and you had a good understanding of electronic shit, although the player was old which required some knowledge about old electronics. You didn't have that, but you decided to try anyway.

After hours of fiddling and fidgeting, glueing and trying to pull tiny bits apart and put them back together again, you sigh deeply realising that making that playing vinyl records on this thing is going to need more than just a couple hours of repair. You most definitely will need some help from Eugene, as he is the only person with enough knowledge about this stuff.

After another hour of carefully glueing the tiny, broken bits to the exterior of the machine, you feel drowsy and you close your eyes for a minute, just to rest them. Before you realise it, you start quietly snoring, a screwdriver loosely in your hand. Your mind is blank for the first time since the incident. You feel like you can fully enjoy some sleep. Using your brain for more than reading books was a good idea, after all.

Daryl's head started to hurt about two hours ago when he checked the path you were beaten up on for the bazillion times. He was trying so hard to find out who attacked his best friend that the rage of not knowing was slowly sipping out through his veins. He could've sworn there was a red, hot, bright aura around him.

He went to the place where she was beaten up, thinking that he would get some good clues - maybe a blood trail or some footprints, or maybe a goddamn piece of fabric that was tugged off of the aggressor's clothes, but whoever did this was smarter than that and cleared everything within a couple of miles radius, making sure that there was no way to track them. He felt impressed at how meticulously they'd worked to cover the tracks, but most of all he felt helpless and angry.

It's been weeks since he started looking and Y/N wasn't much help. She kept saying it was too dark to see and she didn't catch a glimpse of any of the people. It didn't help that they hadn't spoken during the fight either, because maybe if they did, Daryl could've track them by the tone of their voice, questioning everyone in Alexandria one by one. But since there were no clues, he had a hard time finding anything. It bothered him to the point he kicked and punched an innocent tree a couple of times.

He finally decided that it was time to go back and check on his best friend. He wasn't going to find anything anyway, so he may as well use his time to help her recover and get on their feet again. Frankly, helping her recover helped him relax, even after the hardest of days. He didn't speak much around her, his mind still recalling the fact that she was indeed in love with him, but he tried to move past it as best as he could. Nothing was more important than her getting better right now.

Besides catching the people who did this to her, and potentially beheading them.

When he opens the doors, the sound of her snoring comes to his ears and he can't help but huff a half laugh at it. He remembers the countless times they went on supply runs and her snoring attracted walkers to their location. He never told her about it, he just took care of the walkers silently.

He takes his crossbow off his back and leans it against the wall before walking into the living room. He stops in his tracks for a second when he sees what lies on the coffee table in front of her.

The vinyl player.

The same one that ended up being chucked out of the window by Leah when they had a fight a few weeks ago.

His brow furrows as he steps closer to the table. He realises that she must've been present when he and Leah had a fight. Has she heard them? What exactly did she hear? How did she end up at his house that evening? How did she get the vinyl player and why would she take it?

He looks at her, asleep with a screwdriver in her hand. She looks peaceful. The bruises on her face faded a little, changing colour from purple and reds to blues and greens. The cut on her lip was healing nicely, a scab was drying out. Her hair looked messy, brought up in some sort of ponytail, where many different strands were sticking out from the sides of her head.

He looks at the vinyl player again and takes another step closer. He wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping, in his confused and surprised state, and his boot kicks the coffee table, making one of the tools roll off and fall to the floor with a clash.

It wakes her up with a jump, and she rubs your eyes a little, trying to make her vision less blurry.

"Daryl?" her voice sounds groggy and faint.

"How did you get my vinyl player?" Daryl asks with no hesitation, the urgency in his voice is enough to make her come to her senses.

She looks at the coffee table and her eyes widen a little, like she was surprised to see the vinyl player too. But no, it wasn't surprise, it was... embarrassment. Like she got caught doing something she shouldn't. She keeps looking at the vinyl player and he can see her cheeks flush and uncertainty flashing across her face. She was definitely feeling the need to escape from the situation, but she knew there was no escape. All she could do was face it.

"I...I found it on the ground," her voice is quiet. When she looks at him, he knows the answer to the questions yet to come, but felt like he must ask them.

"Found it on the ground?"

"Yes."

"Where exactly did you find it?"

"Outside your house," she says, avoiding his gaze. Her cheeks burn a deeper shade of red.

"When?"

"If you are asking me if I've heard you and Leah fighting, then yes. I have," she says; a sigh escapes her lips.

The silence was deafening for good couple of minutes. Daryl decided to take a seat next to her, staring at the vinyl player. She stayed quiet, looking at it as well. He was trying to figure out how to ask more questions; how to prod about what she's heard... what she knew. His hand reaches towards the platter, dragging his fingers on top of it, feeling the cracks.

"I haven't heard much," she finally breaks the silence and he looks at her. "I left pretty much straight away."

"But you've heard something," he says slowly.

"Yeah," she licks her dry lips. "Is it worth getting into it?"

He thinks about her question. Is it? Is it worth it? Does he really need to know what she heard? It wasn't that important, Leah and him are over now. But part of his brain believed it was crucial to know. He needed that information, needed to know how much she knows...

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I want to know."

"Well, I've heard her screaming about me..." she starts carefully, biting the inside of her cheek. "Something about me knowing more than her."

Daryl looks at her for a second, maybe trying to gauge her reaction to it, or maybe he was trying to focus on anything else than Leah's words echoing through his mind. He knew that she indeed knew more than Leah, more than anyone ever. He felt the most comfortable sharing with her. He remembers all the times he opened up and it felt great to be heard and listened to, probably the first time in his entire life. Somehow, he knew she was the right person to tell things. Trustworthy.

Back at the CDC, when he first opened his mouth to share, he was nervous. What if she judged? But all of this melted away when she sat there, listening, nodding, not asking questions, just soaking the information in. Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins, but it made him want to open up even more, get the stuff off his chest. Once he finished, it felt... cathartic. Like he was lighter.

He looks up to her eyes.

"I also heard her saying that... you're not worth it," she added and looked away. He could sense her anger in the words spoken, spitting them out like they were acid on her tongue.

"Mm," he murmured quietly, looking away from her and at his boots. He doesn't get embarrassed very easily, and yet his cheeks seemed to burn a little.

Again, the silence resounded in the house, you could almost hear the buzzing of electricity from one of the lamps. Daryl couldn't look up. Leah's words seemed to be burned into his mind, slowly making him believe he is not worth anything. He started to believe he doesn't deserve good things in life.

"It's not true. Leah was wrong," she says, putting her hand on his knee and squeezing it tightly.

"And you say that as a person who's in love with me?"

"I'm saying it as your best friend," her words hit him like a tone of bricks and he finally looks up at her, eyebrow raised. "You are worth so much."

Daryl wants to believe her. No, he needs to believe her. For his sake, for the sake of his mental stability. He takes a few deep breaths and and then looks down at her hand on his knee. His hand gently places over hers and he squeezes it lightly. Her reassurance was everything. You could say the only opinion he cared about these days was her, even though they haven't been great friends for awhile.

He beats himself up for not reaching out sooner. He hated he fact he's lost her for so long, and lost himself in the process. She loves him. Yes, it is more than a friend, but ultimately, she loves him. For who he is. She never judged, never tried to change him or push him to do things he didn't enjoy. She's one person he always felt comfortable with. He still does, even after she told him she loved him.

He thinks back to the time and thinks about why he was so angry at her for that. She wasn't making moves at him. She just... shared her feelings. Angrily - that was an understatement - but still. He sort of understood why she'd blow up the way she did. He spoke about Leah quite a lot and thinking about it now, it may have been to convince himself and her that he was happy with her and he did love her. Part of him did love Leah. But maybe it wasn't as strong feeling as he thought it was...

"You okay?"

Her voice brings Daryl back. He huffs and nods lightly.

"Yeah. I will be," he says and his lips curve into a smile.

"I mean it, Daryl. You're worth it. And I hope you do find someone who appreciates you," her little smile makes him scoff.

"Someone like you?" he retorts.

"No," she shakes her head vigorously. "Not me. You made it clear it's never going to happen and I accept it. But I hope you find someone who can make you believe you are worth everything and more."

Daryl looks at her with a grimace on his face. He did say that, didn't he? He said that her and him will never going to happen. For some reason, her words made him feel sad, just for a second. He wouldn't have been able to register it if he wasn't focusing on it that much. He shakes his head.

"I've sworn off love and relationships," he leans back on the couch and put his head on the sofa back. "It's just going to be me, my crossbow and my best friend."

"Your best friend?"

Her smile beams from ear to ear and Daryl can't help but notice the shine in her eyes when he said it. Like she wasn't sure if he was serious about it. Like she waited months for him to come back, to finally be her friend again.

"Of course. Can't live my sorry ass life without ya," he sighs. "Who else am I going to tease and laugh at?"

"You mean laugh with?"

"That too."

She giggles and he realises how much he really missed her all these months. He missed her laugh and their banter. The way he felt so free around her. The way he knew she could tell him she killed someone and he would help her cover up the tracks. She was his best friend. And going back to being friends with her felt good.

[slytherinshua]

➷　CUPID SOCIETY　( 엔시티 위시 )

      summary . . . nct wish hyung line as cupids in training!!

genre fluff , cupid au , headcanons , nct wish hyung line x reader   cw arrows and potion consumption lol , like usual i struggled with yushi so i'm sorry if his sucks idk why i'm so bad at writing him :') , not proofread   wc 650   request no   note this was supposed to be an ot6 headcanon but i was running out of ideas for maknaes :( i will probably write the maknae line ver of this soon tho!! for now just the hyung line </3 maknae line version now posted   net @kstrucknet @chrimatanet

OH SION ﾐ 오시온

does not take his cupid training seriously at all

once he gets his own bow and arrows this man is a menace

shoots arrows at people for his own entertainment

will play evil cupid

if two people on campus hate each other he’s gonna shoot an arrow at least one of them and giggle while watching them fall for each other

his matches have a surprisingly high turnout rate though

once the effects of his arrows wear off the couple is usually still infatuated with each other

this inflates his ego though

will not use his “skills” on demand for anyone

no matter how much another student offers to pay him 

and his ability to refuse any offer he gets just makes him get even more

and this boosts his ego even more until he’s almost insufferably full of himself

his ego is eventually shut down by you though

when you start to compete with him over who can be a better cupid

and eventually one of your arrows ends up hitting him

the boy is down bad for you from that moment on

perhaps that was your plan the entire time 

MAEDA RIKU ﾐ 前田 陸

riku is the type of student that everyone loves

he’s always showing people around and helping them out

as if he’s been attending the school for decades

knows all the in’s and out’s

is somehow friends with every teacher

even knows secret pieces of knowledge about cupids and their magic

and he really likes to share the things he knows with people close to him

builds up a reputation this way as someone that is impossible to dislike 

and he’s seriously popular with the girls as well

not that any of them land a date with him though

the one thing he does keep secret is the person he’s been crushing on since he first stepped into the school

although he is very talented with a bow and arrow

and can also concoct a pretty strong love potion

he knows not to use his magic on you

it would be wrong to make you fall in love with him like that

and he would feel too guilty about it 

so he stays admiring you from the background hoping one day he’ll get the courage to ask you out

but lucky for him he won’t have to wait too long :)

TOKUNO YUSHI ﾐ 得能勇志

he’s quite inconspicuous  

doesn’t talk very much and is quite shy with other students 

so no one really gets to know him well

if they did, they would find out how passionate he truly is as a new cupid

he spends most of his time sharpening his arrows or trying new potion recipes

he even concocts his own potions that have never been done before

he doesn’t have anyone to test them out on, so he has to be his own test subject

they’re usually ineffective despite his attempts at researching

when the potions go wrong, he goes missing from classes for days at a time

you’ve noticed yushi from the sidelines and became curious about his disappearances

you decide to become his friend to find out why

which is hard at first because he’s incredibly awkward and it takes a while to get comfortable with him

but, with persistence, you do 

he tells you about his potions, which you find fascinating 

and finally having someone who is genuinely interested in him and what he’s doing is the push yushi needs to gain some confidence

you become best friends and always hang around each other

eventually, you test out one of yushi’s new potions with him

and it goes a little wrong right

yushi is so used to his potions failing that he hadn’t expected this one to work quite so well

now he has to deal with his best friend utterly enamoured with him every second of the day

but maybe that isn’t such a bad thing

nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,,

@lilly-cherry7,, @kpopandbookschild,, @taroddori,, @lexeees,, @voikiraz,,

@xikskrrrs,, @cupidslovearrows,, @yvshi

[carlarosenakilah]

I'm taking a break from The Osix Family and Wilted Ivory

Hi, you've read that right. I'll proceed to go into detail undercut

Warning that the following will be containing very sensitive topics such as su***idal thoughts, mental health issues, and whatever the fuck I went through to get me here and I don't know how to describe nor name them but overall its not pretty.

Getting straight to the point- im drained. I'm in a horrible place right now and I need to take a step back before it might escalate into something worse.

The Osix Family is always something that I will forever dedicate to. It has comforted me, carried me, and saved me from killing myself three years ago.

I asked myself, "If I'm not here, who will tell the story of The Osix Family?"

That made me stay alive, and im greatful for that because if not, I wouldn't have been where I am today standing with the coolest people I have ever met and my amazing partner in crime @alexusespido-dod.

I love Wilted Ivory too, and that's where it gets tricky.

My only plan for Wilted Ivory is to simply tell a story about growth expressed as a musical au. Hence why the art is so simple– not just to match the original Casino Cups style, but just to tell a story that I hope would inspire and comfort others. Of course, I'm happy it gained lota of love.

The Osix Family though is a different story.

Like I said, it means a lot to me, so I put so much time and energy into this series. I sacrifice time that could've been used to study for the next exam, but instead im working on the next few panels or planning the music and etc. Blood sweat and tears (literally) into making sure the art looks good, story is properly conveyed, scenes carefully picked. Even if it gained me bad scores in my exams that made me stress over about, in the end it was worth it to me. I didn't care if I'd be sick an unable to move, as long as I could at least think about it, then I would be happy.

Episode 3 was my worst.

I overworked myself for that episode. I was always in front of my tablet, I never moved out of my seat, I was just there, working on it even if it was 1 in the morning and that I should be sleeping. I told myself: "Everything will pay off! Sure you're in so much pain right now, but eventually it will all pay off! Episode 3 is looking good and interesting! This will FINALLY gain the audience and love the story deserves!"

I was proud.

Until I wasn't.

Reality hit me like a saw. The moment the episode was released I was hopeful. But nothing happened. It was all the same.

And it just hurt how something as simple as Wilted Ivory can easily gain attention and love because it was Cuphead related something well known. Meanwhile, The Osix Family–despite everything–is just barely seen.

I started to doubt myself. To question myself. Was I not doing enough. What more can I do. What should I do. Am I not good enough?

Is the story just not good enough?

That broke me. I began to have thoughts I shouldn't have. I wanted to end it all. I wanted to quit and disappear from the world. Because what was the point in pouring so much love into something only for it to dismissed.

Its not like I simply began having these thoughts.

I've had them over and over again.

As much as I hated involving him, my partner, Alex, had to deal with the many times I nearly ended it. To the point where even if he was in school, he'd go out of his way to stop me, I still feel guilty, even if he said it was fine.

I don't understand myself anymore.

Why do I even have such an attachment to this series? Its just a stupid silly series for funsies isn't it? Why does my life to depend on it?

Unfortunately, it just does.

It sucks. Pushing away my needs for the sake of this passion, only for it to just not go as I hoped it would go. Did I mention I'm also losing followers on the osix family blog? Thats so silly and coquette.

I'm so sorry if im coming off as guilt-trippy, please I don't want it to sound that way, I just want to express how deeply troubled I am because to me it actually DOES HURT.

I envy people who couldn't give a flying fuck about whether or not their stuff goes famous or gets love, I don't even understand why I am so dependent or hungry on whatever attention it gets. I hate that im like this. I want to be free from it but I just crave it.

So, for the sake of my mental health and whatever is left of my sanity, im taking a break, for good.

I will not be updating The Osix Family or Wilted Ivory at this very moment. For how long? It depends on how fucked up I have actually turned out to be today.

I might still post, keyword: MIGHT, its not any update but to just simply draw for myself, but the chances of me posting anything is horribly low.

I'm going to focus on myself, my needs, and whatever makes me happy or have fun with.

To those who supported The Osix Family or even bothered to check it out: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

It means a lot to me, you have NO idea. Every single like, reblog, comment, hype or even the silliest amounts of theories or thoughts, they make me so happy, it actually heals me.

I can't remember names im sorry, but there was a time someone expressed how they were invested in the lore and loved the world building, it really made my day. Or when someone pointed out some small details on my waiting in a miracle animatic, it warmed my heart.

I have troubles expressing it, but im so, SO greatful.

Especially when some of my mutuals started making OCS FOR THE SERIES?? Like– it felt like a HUGE compliment.

I cant believe im tearing up as im typing this haha im so stupid lmao, but

Thank you. A lot.

And to those who weren't really into The Osix Family, its okay, don't feel bad, sometimes things are just not our cup of tea, I just needed to express my grief, cause honestly bottling it up isn't going to end well for me (and it really didn't multiple times).

I apologize for any false hope or let down your hype as Wilted Ivory was just starting and The Osix Family was finally coming back– but this treatment is overwhelming me that I need to take a step back.

That's all for now.

Thank you for... actually reading, you listening means a lot to me too.

Goodbye.