#and this year i have an acrylic stand to show off

[hotwaterandmilk]

November 11 - Darker Than Black 15th Anniversary acrylic stand (2023)

[3d-wifey]

I've read that Johnny NSFW alphabet like 30 times, it was so gooddddd, there's been no good Johnny Cage smut or writing in general honestly. Your Johnny just feels so in character and you're feeding me crumbs, I need moreeee 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (that sneak peek made me levitate)

Show 'em Who I Belong To

Pairing: Johnny Cage x Reader Synopsis: Johnny has seriously pissed you off this time, like, royally. The "begging on his knees" kind of pissed off. But luckily, he knows just the thing to do to prove he’s sorry. Word Count: 2.58k Playlist: Here's a Johnny Cage playlist to read his smut or just get inspo from, I made it myself TW: Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, dom!reader, sub!johnny cage, switch!Reader, switch!johnny cage, dom!johnny cage, sub!Reader, Forgiveness, Making Up, Apology Sex, Vaginal Penetration, Recording, Sex Tapes, Exhibitionism, Begging, Hand Jobs, Grinding, Crying During Sex, johnny cage loves you, johnny cage is just really really dumb, celebrity!reader, No Spoilers, Making Out, "straight" couple, johnny's slutty little slacks, Johnny cage is a little shit, Pussy drunk, cock drunk, Praise Kink, simp johnny cage, no other canon characters show up in this, Smut, Shameless Smut, Gratuitous Smut A/N: Since the poll I put on Tumblr voted for switch!Johnny, that's what I'm doing! This chapter will mostly be sub!johnny and dom!reader with a switch at the end. It's a bit of a mixed pov, but it's mainly from the reader's pov. Nothing but Dom!Johnny in the next chapter and sorry if the quality was lacking, I've slept a total of 10 hours in a span of 72 hours. CHECK OUT THAT JOHNNY NSFW ALPHABET I WROTE, IT'S CONSIDERED CANON TO THIS! Part 2 (tbm) Ao3

Your acrylics tap a beat onto the arm of the plush white couch as you read the tweet on your phone.

" Johnny Cage spotted cozying up on set with Co-Star. Has the star finally met his match? " Your nails stop and you glance at where Johnny kneels fidgeting on the floor in front of you before looking back to the screen.

He spreads his hands. "Okay, I know this looks bad." His voice floats in the otherwise quiet mansion. "But will you please stop ignoring me?"

You look down your nose at him. "Is this enough attention for you?" You sneer and he grimaces.

"My PR team cooked this up a while ago and they've been hounding me about it for ages. It was so unimportant to me that it sorta...slipped my mind." He shrugs and your glare hardens him. " C'mon , babe, it's just a little publicity stunt our agents had us do for the movie. It doesn't mean anything." He laughs and his nonchalance about the situation is pissing you off more than you already are.

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" You fume and his brows furrow. "This isn't funny, Jonathan."

" Oof, " he winces, "government name."

You're both celebrities, you know what you signed up for when you agreed to date him after years and years of his begging and truly horrible pickup lines.

You're not mad about the situation itself, not really. You've gotten into drama before loads of times to drum up hype around a new project, but nothing like this. At least, not while you were dating Johnny. 

You're mad that you had to find out about it from the trending page on Twitter along with a slew of concerned messages from your friends, family, and manager.

You scroll down and read messages concerned fans have posted, worried that you and Johnny have broken up or, worse, that he cheated on you. But you know that he knows that you know he wouldn’t dare.

"Look at this shit." You shove your phone in his face. The screen reflects off the sunglasses that sit low on the bridge of his nose and he squints as the brightness nearly blinds him. "'I hope this isn't how she finds out.' 'I'd be so embarrassed if I was her.' 'I knew Johnny wouldn't stay faithful for long.'"

He looks from you to the screen and then back to you. "...You're mad."

You stare down at him.

"You are un- fucking -believable.” You move to stand up, but he grabs ahold of your hips.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry, I'm sorry ! I didn't mean to upset you. Next time, I'll give you a heads up— I mean I'll run it by you.” Johnny corrects, pulling you closer when you try to pull away again. "What can I do to make it up to you, huh?" The muscles in his biceps flex against you as he wraps his arms around your waist. You try to stay firm, but it's pretty hard when he's pressing reverent kisses to your stomach.

You shiver from the coldness of his rings as he runs a big hand up your calf, traveling up your outer thigh to hook the hem of your dress at your hip before repeating the process up your other leg.

You want to stay mad—you are mad. This is incredibly careless and he didn't consider your feelings at all and...and you don't want him to think he can get out of trouble by kissing up to you. But, begrudgingly, you card your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm still really upset about this, Johnny." You frown.

"I know, sweetheart. And I really am sorry. But, hey! I know something that'll make us both feel better." He grins up at you and you let him lead you back to the couch with a huff, dropping down once the back of your calves brush the white upholstery. 

“I’m sure you do.” You roll your eyes, spreading your legs to make room for him without thinking. “How would you —ahh !” You yelp at the sudden pinprick of pain on the skin of your inner thigh and it morphs into a moan when the pinch is quickly followed by a warm heat. You look down in time to see the pink of Johnny’s tongue as he licks over the tender spot—tender because he bit you like a damn dog!

“I’m sorry, what were you saying? I couldn’t really hear you over all those cute little noises.” You can feel the shit-eating grin against your skin as he talks. “You’re so sensitive. Definitely not a complaint—it does amazing things to my ego.” He laughs, hooking his hands under the back of your knees and pushing your legs up until the heels of your feet are balancing precariously on the edge of the seat.

He grips your hips, pulling you further down the couch and closer to his face. He moves your legs so your feet rest on his shoulders, the white polish of your toenails reflecting the light.

He leans in and you hold your breath in anticipation. You don’t want him to think he can just distract you and you’ll forget about being mad at him but—he leans in close to where the skirt of your sundress rucks up around your stomach, warm breath making you clench around nothing with each pant—but you like getting ate out almost as much as Johnny likes to do it.

You sigh as the warm, wet heat of his tongue drags across the damp seat of your panties. 

" Johnny. " You whine in frustration, fingers tightening in his sandy hair, as he pulls away as quickly as he came.

"Hold on, sweetheart. I think you're gonna like this." He grins, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. You pause as he unlocks it and presents it to you, camera on and recording you.

"What the hell are you doing?" You try to push as much disapproval into your voice as you can as you flip it from the front-facing camera to the rear one, but that’s an almost impossible task since he’s rubbing his nose up and down the crease of where your thigh meets your pussy. You end up sounding far more breathy than intended.

"What?” He grins into the camera. “You can watch this whenever you need a reminder of who I belong to." He says and if you weren't wet before, you definitely are now.

For as long as you’ve known him, Johnny has never been one to half-ass anything . It’s whole ass or nothing with him putting 110% into everything he’s faced with. However, when you first started dating, you hadn’t thought that would hold up when he had his head between your legs—yet another thing Johnny went out of his way to prove you wrong about.

The camera captures it the moment he pushes your panties to the side; he’s in his element.

There’s no preamble, no warning. Johnny dives in giving you no time to prepare for the shock of pleasure. You jerk away, but he holds onto your hips, hands becoming heavy weights you can’t lift. 

“You always taste so good for me, it’s insane.” He groans as your thighs try to squeeze his head, but he keeps them open easily. You sigh shakily at the casual show of strength. “I’d stay down here forever if you’d let me.” You bite your lip to muffle your soft moans, reminding yourself to steady the phone every few seconds, but forgetting to do so almost as soon as you do. But you can’t be blamed when Johnny gives head like he’s training for the Olympics; trying to break his previous record each attempt. You’ve been eaten out by people other than Johnny—of course, you have. It’s a requirement—but none of your past lovers come anywhere close to this. Johnny blows them out of the water every time.

That would be fine if you didn’t factor in his ego. Which would also be fine…any other day. But today, after the shit he pulled, you aren’t in the mood. This is supposed to be his way of apologizing, after all. So before he can get any ideas, you blink past the haze he’s put you in and grab the back of his neck. His back stiffens. He glances up at you and the shift is so swift that you doubt the camera even picked it up. His shoulders relax, almost limp against you, wide eyes going lidded as his grip on you softens.

“I know you can be louder than that, Johnny. I, hah , wanna hear how sorry you are. You are sorry, right?” You narrow your eyes.

His words are muffled since he refuses to take his mouth off of you, but you’re able to make out ‘yes’ and ‘princess’ which is good enough for you. Through the camera, you manage to get his pleading eyes and his hand unabashedly palming his bulge in the same frame and you smile around a moan.

"Are you hard, Johnny?" He doesn't hesitate to nod enthusiastically, and you feel yourself throb in his mouth. You're sure if your feet were on the ground he'd be grinding against your leg shamelessly. His body knows this too since his hips keep making aborted little thrusts, itching for relief from his tight gray slacks. "Heh, of course, you are. You can't help yourself, c–can you? Go on, then.”

He pauses, assessing you for a second to see if you’ll follow it up with anything else. You’re being surprisingly benevolent. He always has to work to earn your approval when you get like this, any pleasure he gets is dictated by you—not that he’s complaining—and that’s on the days when he hasn’t pissed you off. He honestly didn’t think he’d be cumming tonight, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He buries his tongue in you, licking from your pulsing hole to your throbbing clit as his hands work to unbuckle his belt and pull his dick out. He groans in relief once he’s free, squeezing the base of his dick so he doesn’t cum too quickly. You’re certainly not helping, shivering against him like a house in a storm and he moans in synch with you when you yank on his hair.

He freezes at the press of sharp nails at the nape of his neck. He shivers at the slight pinch of pain before leaning into it and you reward him with smoothing down the hair there. He stops the movement of his hands, but not his mouth.

“If you’re touching yourself, you’ll do it slowly or not at all. You wanna make it up to me, don’t you? Yeah ?” You hiss as he nods against you, mouth a tight suction on your clit. “Then you don’t cum until I do.” Normally he’s more bratty than this, making you fuck the submission out of him, but he must really be sorry because he does just as you say. He slows down as you instruct, his sharp brows furrowing as one of his hands grip the fat of your thigh. His other hand jerks him off haltingly like he actively has to remind himself to obey you. 

“You’re being so good for me, baby.” You gush, squirming in his hold. “ Mmh, s’fucking good.” You have to adjust your grip on his phone when he grunts at your praise, uncertain if you should jerk away or towards the vibrations. You run your nails over his scalp before yanking on his blond hair and he moans like a pornstar, hips thrusting into his hand. To the untrained eye—or ear—it seems like he’s playing it up for the camera, performing, but he’s always this loud. Especially when he’s got your pussy in his mouth.

It's almost embarrassing, the wet sounds of Johnny sloppily eating you out. Your moans mix with his and bounce around the mansion's walls with a filthy echo the longer this goes on. 

He stiffens his tongue and you know what he wants. You move your hand to the back of his head, gripping the soft strands to pull him forward. You thrust your hips with helpless, heady moans as you fuck his face. His heavy gaze burns through the camera to stare up at you with his tongue out. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk and he winks. You throw your head back, eyes closed with an obscene moan and he moves forward to press his nose against your clit, tongue flat as you move his head side to side.

“Johnny , mmh, ‘m gonna, f– fuck, ‘m gonna cum!” You cry and he moans into you in response. You glance down to see his foggy glasses riding low on his nose and he stares right back, brown eyes half open but full of lust. The apples of his flushed cheeks become accentuated, sharpening with his grin. The barest hint of teeth brush your clit before pressing against it and you jerk back with the strength of your orgasm. Your mouth falls open with a repeated whine of his name, legs shaking as you hold his head still.

“Damn.” He curses, pulling away when your muscles untense. He doesn't bother wiping his mouth, wearing your slick like a trophy as he smiles into the camera. “Should’ve got that on camera. It was a money shot.” You scoff, smiling despite yourself. You pull his glasses off and sit them on your head before you press stop on the camera and toss the phone on the couch beside you, pulling him to you by the open collar of his button-up. You kiss him deep, tasting yourself on his tongue with a groan. His hands go to your hips and you wrap your legs around his waist, licking into his mouth. 

“You played dirty.” You slide your hand down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as you go. You grab his dick, still hard and leaking against his stomach. He laughs before whimpering into your mouth at your touch, rutting up into it. You swipe a thumb across his tip where precum drips down the underside of the head. "You're so wet, baby. This all for me?" You pull away to lick yourself off him, tongue dragging across the skin of his chin as you twist your wrist with every upward stroke. 

"Are you joking? O–of course. Can, shit , can you blame me?” He puffs into your neck, hot air warming your neck as you alternate between licking and kissing his jaw. His fingers spasm around your hips, and your hands fly to his shoulders when he pulls you forward until your ass is barely on the edge of the couch. Now he’s in the perfect position to—

You gasp as he ruts against you, still sensitive as his dick slides between your pussy lips. There’s no friction with how wet you both are and with every upwards thrust he bumps your twitching clit. 

“Wait, I’m— mmnh —Johnny, I’m sensitive.” 

“Ah, ah, sweetheart. You said I can cum when you do,” you jump when he nips at your neck, strong arms wrapping around your back holding you tight to him. “Besides, I’m not done apologizing.” You rock against him despite your complaining. The overwhelming feeling only increases when he bends over you to reach something, and it’s enough to distract you from the sound a phone makes when you press record.

[scorpioriesling]

Dangerous Woman

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mdni

Summary: You've known the High Lord's oldest son for years, but he has never seemed to take much of an interest in you. Did he think you were perhaps too... simple? Boring? Safe? It all comes to a head when you finally reveal how dangerous you can really be.

SR’s Note: THIS IS FILTHY HAHAHA IM SORRY. I have boarded the Eris train and haven't even THOUGHT about getting off yet -- I really hope you guys like this eeeeeek

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

“Did you bring an extra pair of tights?”

“Always - top zipper. I think they’re a medium,”

“Ugh. You’re literally a lifesaver.”

*sigh* “Aren’t I?”

Your friend Amalia playfully winks at you, taking the extra pair of pantyhose from your overnight bag. You glance at her legs, eyes catching on the long rip down the side of her caramel colored tights she currently dons. Returning your gaze to the mirror you’re seated before, you continue to work on the black winged liner you were previously applying, tuning out the hustle and bustle around you. After a few moments of pinning down flyaways, powdering your nose once more, and practicing kissy faces in the mirror to yourself, you finally decide you’re ready.

You take a swig from the water canteen on your vanity, rolling your neck and swinging your ponytail in the process. Amalia catches your eye through the mirror from behind you, stalking closer with another blonde girl wearing nothing but a tiny shimmering bralette and skirt set.

“You look hot, Y/N!” She squeals, flipping your ponytail with her flingers and you beam at her, turning in your chair to meet her eyes. You might be “hot”, but Amalia… Amalia was beautiful. Her body curved in all the right places, and she knew how to move to draw the eye to each and every one. Not to mention her full lips, only matching the captivity of her almond shaped, chocolatey brown eyes that seemed to complement her rich skin tone in the best way. If you didn’t have such a life long… thing?… for the High Lord’s kid, you might even be attracted to her yourself.

“Ohhh, don’t flatter me too much Mal,” you say sweetly. She rolls her eyes, and stretches a hand to you. You take it, standing to your full height and smooth your short black skirt down your upper thighs. The leather matched the knee high black leather boots you chose for tonight - and, of course, the miniature, rather revealing bikini top you sported as well. Amalia’s whoops and whistles, twirling you around and you make a show of sticking out your butt and pursing your lips, which leaves you both in a fit of laughter at your show.

“C’monnn,” she says, taking your freshly manicured hand in hers once more and guiding you toward the door. “I heard there are quite a few High Fae in attendance tonight.” She tosses a wink over her shoulder to you, and you stop dead in your tracks. Her glittery blonde friend who’d been following close behind nearly bumps into your shoulder.

“Woah woah woah,” you say, black nails a blur as your hands wave in front of you. “High fae? Like… from this court?” You ask. Amalia allows a devilish grin to spread over her face.

“You heard me. Like… royal family, High Fae.” She responds, crossing her lithe arms over her chest. Your face immediately begins to heat.

“Ooh why? Is there someone you’re hoping to see?” Amalia’s bubbly blonde friend asks. The sequins on her bralette flutter as she practically bounces in excitement. You chew on an acrylic nervously.

“Only the High Lord’s oldest son,” Amalia starts, and you roll your eyes, feigning indifference. The blonde’s eyes widen in interest as she looks between the two of you, practically begging for more details. “Y/N has been in looove with him since she was a mere child-“

“Oh Amalia, you and your silly stories.” You huff, but the blonde claps her hands together, a wide smile taking over her face.

“Oh my gosh!! Really!” She is bouncing up and down now, and you can’t help the small smile that graces your lips as Amalia chuckles in amusement.

“Oh yeah, really. But, outside of this place, Y/N doesn’t actually speak to the guy,” Amalia clips, frowning at you. You return the sentiment. “I just don’t understand— you are such a good performer in here, why not show him any of that outside of Markov’s?” She asks.

“Uh, because I want him to like me for me? Not because I, ya know, sometimes hang out in a brothel?” You say, hands gesturing with each word. The blonde shakes her head.

“Wait a second. You actually know him? Like, in real life?” She asks. You nod, her crystalline blue eyes widening with the realization.

“She’s his family’s personal record keeper,” Amalia cuts in. “And, she literally grew up with the dude. Same school, same social circles, yada yada yada…” she says, waving a hand. The blonde takes your hand in hers affectionately, staring at you wide eyed.

“But, what will you do when he recognizes you? If he does come in here?” She asks. You open your mouth to answer, but stop as Amalia pulls something from her own bag beside the dressing room door.

“He usually isn’t seen in here,” she says, handing a black shiny … something? to you. “But, if he does, he won’t know. Because she has this to conceal her identity.” You arch a brow, unfolding the item placed in your hands.

“I mean, it even goes with your outfit. How could you refuse?”

ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Any luck?”

“Nope,” you say, tugging on the bottom of your black bunny mask with a defeated sigh. On a night like this, usually you’d have already found someone in search of your services, but… you couldn’t help but turn down just about every one with the High Fae rumor going around. You so desperately wanted to see Eris — or did you? Would it really be a good thing if he was hanging out in a brothel? You weren’t sure.

The fact of the matter was, Amalia was right — you’d been pining over this man for fucking centuries, and he never really seemed to spare you a second glance. You tried everything; being kind, being friendly, being honest. You’d opened up to him over time even, but no matter what he was just always that much more distant from you — like whatever step you’d take toward him, he’d take one backward. It hadn’t been until the last time you’d talked to him that you decided to try something different, to see if this new approach would get any rise out of him.

Was lying wrong? Yeah. Was it a punishable offense? Depends. Was saying you had a boyfriend to get a reaction out of him grounds for jail time? Absolutely not.

And ya know what? It didn’t even seem like he cared that much anyways.

“Listen babe, I’ve been keeping you company all night, but,” Amalia glances over her shoulder at a muscley brunette man eyeing her from a couch across the room. “…I’ve got a line of my own forming. Think you can manage on your own?”

Before you can respond, your new bubbly acquaintance from earlier beelines toward you two, out of breath when she finally makes it to you.

“I…. I think I found… your…” your head tilts as you try and make out what she’s saying between breaths, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Who?” Amalia asks in a hushed whisper. The blonde only turns, and both of your eyes follow her line of sight to the unmistakable head of auburn locks, standing and socializing in the room across the hall. Your breath catches in your throat; there’s no way he’s here.

“Ohhh… oh babes you know what you need to be doin’.” Amalia chuckles, and you glance at her, cheeks reddening.

“Now is not the time to be shy girl! And besides, you have on a damn mask, Cauldron’s sake; he won’t even know it’s you. Now go! Play up the “sexy” before someone else tries to snatch him away.” She shooes you on, and your feet spring into action. The heels of your boots tap tap tap across the wood floor, many gazes turning to you as you saunter toward the bar he’s standing in front of.

Play up the sexy, you remind yourself. He doesn’t even know you’re… you under here.

You approach the bar, leaning against it as the bartender walks up to you. The coolness of the steel eases the burning of your skin a little, and offers some stability in your nervous state.

“The usual,” you say with a wink, faking confidence. It works as Grevin, the usual bartender smiles, and begins on your Malibu with pineapple juice, *extra strong*, just how you like it. You feel your skirt riding up a bit as you lean further over the lip of the bar, exposing the backs of your upper thighs and you can feel his stare finally on you.

Perfect. Right where you want him. It’s not long before you hear his signature scoff next to you, as he leans on an elbow mere inches from where you stand.

“My my,” he begins, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. “What do we have here?” You slowly turn your gaze to meet his, and watch as his amber eyes drink you in fully, roaming from the very tips of your rabbit eared mask down to the toes of your leather boots. You gulp. Play up the sexy.

“You like what you see?” You ask teasingly, crossing one ankle over the other and folding your arms under your chest. Eris smirks, only inching closer to you and dragging his tongue over his lower lip as his eyes continue to feast on your exposed skin. Gods he’s so impossibly gorgeous-

“I do,” he says casually. He extends a soft hand, and you place yours in his. You feel like lightning ripples through you from his touch, and you want to relish in this most simplistic moment. “Eris.” He says.

Shit. Uhh… you didn’t think this far. He’s gazing at you like he’s expecting some kind of answer, and you try to quickly come up with a good fake name, but thankfully don’t have to — Grevin approaches and sets your drink down in front of you. You accept it, throwing it back and downing the whole thing.

“Impressive,” Eris drawls. When you finish, he pulls you closer, so close you can smell his familiar cinnamon and cedar scent. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in Markov’s?” In seconds, he’s given a glass of his own amber liquid. He swallows half of it, eyes returning to yours for an answer.

“I uh, I work here.” Another lie. You only came as Amalia’s guest sometimes to make extra cash, and in hopes maybe you’d see him here, finally getting some kind of fucked up chance to be with him.

He raises his brows, nodding slowly, and drains his glass. He catches Grevin’s eye, nodding when the bartender asks if you’d both like another round. Slowly, his fingertips have moved to dance along the edge of your leather skirt, his skin only skimming the tops of your thighs and you suck in a breath. He grins devilishly down at you, eyes tracing over the curve of your breasts spilling from your top. He suddenly leans in close, his breath warm against your neck, sending chills across your skin as he whispers darkly in your ear.

“Be careful, don’t you know how easily leather can…” his free hand twirls in a swift motion, a small flame eliciting in the process.

“…burn?” He chuckles. He pulls back to peer down at you again, and you roll your shoulders back, drawing your pointer finger to drag downward from his top lip to his chin. You barely notice the — not one round, but two extra rounds — of drinks Grevin has set before each of you as you take in Eris’ feral gaze.

The fire in his eyes only seems to ignite as you lean in, your cherry scent familiarly intoxicating as you reply lowly; “maybe I enjoy being a little dangerous.”

ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“I never really come to these types of places,” Eris says breathlessly, his hand grasping yours as you lead him drunkenly toward a room you know would be open for the evening. He let you lead the way after a few more rounds and some small talk at the bar, not complaining about the view from behind as he followed you up the stairs and down the dark hallway.

“Don’t worryyy,” you slur. He chuckles behind you, and you arrive at door #17. This one is reserved for you, rarely used, but yours nonetheless. You fumble to unlock and open it, Eris’ warm hands tracing up and down your sides as you fiddle with the door. Once inside, you opt to keep the lights off, allowing the moonlight from the open window to illuminate the room enough to your liking.

You close the door behind you, and no sooner than it clicks shut, his hands are pushing you against the back of it. The leather of your outfit squeaks in protest against the wood of the door and Eris’ body now holding you against it, his dark chuckle sounding in your ear. It was enough to release a bit more of the wetness already drenching the small cloth offered by your thong.

“Somehow, even after the… three? Four? Drinks we had,” his hands snake beneath the back of your skirt, shoving it up over the curve of your butt and palming your ass. You let out a soft groan — you’d only ever dreamed of this before, even if you could only half see his face in the moonlight. “…I never caught your name, gorgeous.”

Your cheeks redden, and you take the opportunity of his lips being so close to yours to crash them together instead of answering. His fingers squeeze your ass and you yelp, your soft cry muffled by his warm lips on yours. You yank open his shirt, the buttons easily coming undone and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. One of his hands moves to cup your face, thumb running across your jawline lovingly before he pulls away to meet your stare once more.

“Fine then, don’t tell me little rabbit,” he says, eyes wandering from your lips up to the leather rabbit mask you bore. “You’ll just have to be my little bunny to play with tonight.”

With that, his mouth was attacking yours again, lips in a tango with yours and tongue swiping along the edge of your mouth. You open, allowing him access and deepening the kiss as you both battle for dominance. You’re just content to explore so deep into a cavern so delicious — one you’d never thought you’d taste, not in any of the centuries you’d lived. His hands are all over you, first moving to knead your breasts harshly, relishing in the soft moans he draws from you in the process. Once he’s had enough teasing, he pulls you flush against him by your waist, his hard length pushing into the softness of your stomach. The feel of his long member only increases the ache between your thighs.

“Don’t make me wait anymore,” he says, pulling away breathlessly, eyes darkly boring into yours. In a moment of courageousness, you shove him backward, a feline grin on your face as he falls back onto to his elbows on the bed behind him. He smirks as you crawl on top of him, working to undo his corduroy confines, slipping them past the protruding tent near his navel and discarding them haphazardly to the floor. He helps by kicking off his undergarments and you can’t help but stare at his toned abdomen, his impressive length springing free with the absence of the confines.

Positioning yourself on your knees between his legs, you seductively lick a stripe up his shaft, and his chest begins to rise and fall unevenly. Your gaze meets his and you lick over the leaking tip of his cock, gripping half of his shaft in your fist and giving a few slow, tantalizing strokes. Your tongue continues to work around the exposed area, swirling around and teasing his length where a rather fat vein protrudes. He chews on his lower lip between his teeth, and you finally descend on his length, taking every inch you can down your throat while maintaining eye contact.

“Uh… ohhh my…” he utters, as you begin bobbing your head on his shaft slowly. Your hand pumps what can’t fit in your mouth, and one of his hands instinctively reach for the back of your head, softly pushing down with the rhythm of your motions around his cock.

“Fuck… oh fuck baby…” he softly pants, head rolling back as his hand pushes down on your head faster, harder. Tears begin pricking your eyes as his large member hits the back of your throat, and you try your best to hollow your cheeks and suck in as much as you can.

He continues to whimper and groan before you, and through your blurred vision, you can’t help but feel a twinge of pride. Sure, he may find you boring and uninteresting and anything else when you’re sitting in your office in his father’s palace. But now? He’s literally whimpering before you.

He’s pushed to an almost impossible depth and you choke a bit, his hips beginning to thrust up slightly to fuck himself into your sloppy mouth. Muffled groans emit from you as he thrusts in a few times, until you feel his dick slightly twitch in your mouth.

“Ohh fuck-“ he pulls his dick out of you in an instant, his hand moving to caress your jaw and tilt your head up to look at him. His wet length slaps against his stomach as trail of saliva drips down your chin, collecting near the valley of your breasts, and his eyes track it all the way. His thumb traces over your swollen bottom lip as he inhales sharply.

“Fuck sweetheart, I don’t want to cum just yet,” he says, removing his hand to slowly stroke himself once more. You take the moment to slide your skirt and thong down your thighs, discarding them to the ground. Eris watches intently as you continue to strip, left in only your tight little bra and him in his unbuttoned button-down. Kicking off your boots, you begin to seductively crawl atop Eris once more, and his fingers graze over your hips and round your ass once more before finding purchase on your hipbones. He grips tight and flips you, eliciting a soft squeak from you in the process. Now fully atop you, you can’t help the delight in letting him do as he wishes and be in control over you.

“Let me do this how I want?” he asks, eyes gazing at you in question. You lean up off the bed, biting his lower lip softly before releasing it and staring innocently back into his eyes.

“Use me however you want.”

Your words snap a chord of restraint in Eris, as he tosses your calves over his shoulders then, running his cock up and down your folds to collect your dripping wetness.

“Gods, so wet for me already…” he drawls, aligning his length with your needy entrance. Then, without warning, he grips your waist hard and slams into you, eliciting a sharp cry from you in response. He grunts at the tight squeeze, relishing in the way you clench around him.

“FUCK!” You shout, and he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in once more, a low growl reverberating in his throat.

“GODS, Eris-“ you gasp. He swipes his tongue over his lower lip, quickening his thrusts — only pulling out halfway but still slamming into you all the same. Your small moans of pleasure seem to egg him on, pants and grunts occasionally emitting from him all the same. His eyes stay trained on you; your boobs bouncing beneath the confines of your bra, your mouth agape as you scream in pleasure for him, down to the slick spreading across his dick as it slides so easily in and out of you. You’re a vision; one he’d only dream of. One so similar to the dreams he has over and over, night after night.

“Fuck… oh, fuck this pussy feels so fucking good bunny,” he grunts out, and you continue to allow your moans of pleasure free fall from your lips. Your nails rake over his muscled back, surely leaving scratch marks as he drives into you. One of his hands detaches from your hip, threading his fingers through yours and holding it to the mattress above your head. You tangle your other hand in his incredibly soft locks, illuminated by the rising moon outside. The heat in your stomach continues to build, the coil winding tighter with each snap of his hips into yours.

“Eris I’m… I’m so close-“ you gasp, and he slows only for a moment, pressing a deep kiss to your lips before continuing his thrusts, now slamming into you at an impossibly rapid pace.

“FUCK, ERIS, I’m-“

“Gods YES baby, please Y/N — let me feel you cum baby,” he groans, and with that, the red hot coil in your stomach snaps. You release with a loud moan, pussy clenching around his cock as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Within seconds his warmth is filling you from the inside, his soft whimpers filling the room as you both ride out your highs.

After a few quiet moments, he stalls his movements and pulls out of you, and you instantly feel… empty. He takes the spot on the bed beside you, laying on his side and tucking an arm under his head. He brushes his fingers along the curve of your face as he studies you, and after a few moments in silence, he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I, uh, I called you that.” he says, and you slide your eyes to his in confusion. He looks magnificent, even in the dim lighting, and you can’t help but feel a little sad that your night with him is drawing to a close.

“Whatever do you mean?” you ask. He sighs, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

“Uh… during.. I accidentally called you something I shouldn’t have.” He says. You continue to just look at him confusedly, and he continues.

“I said Y/N, and I uh, I didn’t mean to.” He explains, retracting his hand from you.

You blanch; when did he call you that? How did you overlook it? How didn’t you catch the sound of him saying your name?

You’re silent for a moment, contemplating the whole situation when he speaks again.

“It’s just,” he lets out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N is actually this girl, um, she’s someone I know. Well, I know her really well, actually. Known her quite a long time.” He says, and you can’t help the butterflies in your chest. He thinks he’s talking to a stranger, but you’re only hearing the love of your life talk about you.

“Mhm…” you urge. He turns to look at you, and you try to innocently mask the desperation in your eyes as they meet his whiskey colored ones. He props his head up on one of his hands.

“Well, I just got carried away I guess. I’m sorry, I was just… I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. I mean, I’m always thinking of her but… lately… I don’t know. It’s nothing you did! I mean you were great and all, I just… I can’t get her out of my head, I suppose.” You can’t help the guilt you feel as he looks away, sadness clouding his eyes as hope fills your heart. You never would’ve guessed he felt a fraction of this, based on how he usually interacts with you.

“So… why come here if you care so much for this girl?” You ask. He huffs a laugh, rolling on his back to stare at the ceiling.

“Honestly, I didn’t think she returned my feelings. And, now I know she doesn’t because she told me she belongs to someone else,” he says, and you mentally kick yourself. What the fuck were you thinking telling him that? “You just look a lot like her, and I don’t know, I just got so caught up-“

“Have you told this girl how you feel?” You cut in, pretending to be helpful. He shakes his head, staring at a spot on the ceiling above.

“No… she told me said she has a boyfriend, so. I don’t really think it would matter much anyways.” Your shake your head, and your hand reaches out to lightly take his hand in yours. His turns his head, gaze meeting yours again, and you give him a reassuring smile as warmth only blooms brighter in your chest.

“Eris, I think anyone is crazy not to fall head over heels in love with you,” you say, and he grins. “In my opinion… you need to tell this girl how you feel as soon as you see her next. I’m sure she’d break up with that silly boyfriend of hers if she knew how you felt.”

“You really think that’d do it, huh?” He asks, hopefulness in his tone. You give him a wide, honest smile.

“I really, really do.”

ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Overtime 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The sudden gust and subsequent chaos across your desk has you reeling. You wheel back as you raise your hands defenslessly and watch everything scatter. Mr. Hansen’s jacket knocks over your fresh cup of coffee and your favourite ornament of a little ballerina kitten. 

“My office now, critter.” 

You wince again, this time because of the cruel name. You hate when he calls you that. You stand and pick up your boss’ jacket before it can get wet in the spilled coffee. You hang it on the rack in the corner beside your own and go back to sop up the mess with a wad of kleenex. 

You have more down your tights and on your chair but it doesn’t matter. At least time, it wasn’t scalding tea. You gather up the rest of your things but leave them in an unsorted cluster. You know better than to keep him waiting. 

As you flit around the desk, you notice a pair of watching eyes. You almost forgot about Jensen. He was so quiet messing with the printer that you didn’t even notice him. He frowns as he sits up and shuts the drawer. 

“You alright?” He asks. 

“Ahem, yea, thanks,” you try to smile but these days, it just isn’t easy. 

He gives you a look. Sympathetic and something more. You’re too embarrassed to worry about that. More so, you’re too afraid to make Mr. Hansen even angrier. Clearly something is wrong and the days only just begun. 

You approach his open office door. That’s a clear signal that he’s been waiting. You enter as one of your flats slips off your heel and claps loudly. You cringe as he stands at the window, glowering at the courtyard below. You like the green square. You go there to eat your lunches. When you get one.

“Tell me why my ex-wife insists on making me miserable?” He snarls. 

He doesn’t want an answer. When he asks you things, he never does. It’s rhetorical. He often only speaks to hear himself and anyone else joining the conversation only gives him a target. 

“I will get you your brown sugar espresso and croissant at once--” 

“Fuck off!” He chops his hand in the air and faces you. “I didn’t just call you in here for you to feed my like some pet. Come here.” 

He snaps his fingers and points to the chair across from his. You always hate the setup. The one behind his desk is tall and cushy and makes him look like a tyrannical king, whereas the one facing him is too low and made of the most uncomfortable acrylic. It doesn’t even have armrests. 

“Take notes.” 

You open up the notes app on your phone without hesitation. The smell of coffee wafter up from your stockings. You shift and focus on him. 

“Melora, you ice cold cunt, it’s been two years since I left your dry ass. If you send your attorney to my house again, I will show up to yours with a crowbar. My dick feels good without frost bite, thank you very much. Your regretful ex-husband, Lloyd ‘Fuck You’ Hansen.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Fucking bitch.” You keep typing and he shakes his index at you, “not that part. Fuck. Oh, can you add the sick face emoji before you format that? Thanks, critter.” 

You hit save and stand up, “would you like your coffee now?” 

“Uh, sure, whatever. Make sure it’s hot. Oh, and you know what, I want that as a PDF before you forward it over to the former Mrs. Hansen. With letterhead.” 

He shoos you and you gladly take the dismissal. You never were one for arguing and never dared to say a single spare word to your boss. You assume that’s why he keeps you around. You’re no extraordinary assistant, just obedient. 

The tasks he gives you might not all be professional but as long as you get them done, you don’t get any trouble. You stride back out to your desk and stop short. Your things are all back where they belong and dry. Your cup is clean and rinsed out. 

Who did that? 

“Hey, uh, what kinda coffee do you take?” Jensen surprises you as he appears from around the corner. 

“Jake, uh I mean, Mr. Jensen, did you do all this?” 

“Ha, no one calls me mister but you,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Took like six seconds. I was just thinking, I’m going to make a run down to The Grind and maybe I could get you something fresh.” 

“Oh, that’s so sweet. I... no, please don’t waste your time,” you wring your hands, your chewed up nails aching from your nervous habit. “I gotta go get Mr. Hansen’s breakfast.” 

“Right,” he looks down and fixes his glasses, “well, I fixed that thing.” He nods to the printer, “shouldn’t eat anymore paper. I hope. You know, every tech bootcamp I’ve gone through and they never teach you about printers. I swear, they defy the laws of the universe.” 

You show your teeth in a half-smile. That’s silly. He grins proudly. 

“I didn’t mention, I... like that bow in your hair. It’s cute. Matches your little kitty.” 

You peek down at the figurine of the calico doing a pirouette. You blush. You only wish you were that dainty. You feel gawkish with the way you seem to loom over everyone else, yet somehow feel tiny at the same time. 

“Thanks. That’s... please don’t feel sorry for me. He’s not that bad and it’s my job,” you shrug. 

“Feel sorry? No, I’m just... being nice. Well, maybe another time. For the coffee,” he says. “Unless, I could go with you on your run?” 

“Uh, that’s-- you’re busy. Mr. Hansen only like Esther’s.” 

“Esther’s?” He exclaims as his eyes bulge behind his frameless lenses, “that’s all the way across town.” 

“I know some shortcuts,” you assure him as you bend to retrieve your purse from under your desk and drop your phone in. “Anyway, thanks for fixing the printer. I gotta go before he catches me dawdling.” 

“Right. Guess I should get to accounting. Guess they had a server crash and some stuff got lost. See ya round.” 

“Sure,” you agree. You don’t see too many people around. They avoid Hansen and more often, you’re running around at his beck and call. 

[ckret2]

At long last, we get to see: this moment.

Chapter 11 of Human Bill Being The Mystery Shack's Hella Depressed Prisoner, featuring: Mabel giving Bill a ✨beautiful makeover✨—and Stan and Ford almost dying from laughter. And thus begins Bill & Mabel's inevitable befriending. Previous chapters here!

####

Every time Mabel had to use the stairs, she paused to look at Bill sitting in his window.

He never seemed to move.

A few days ago, it was creepy. Now, it was just kind of sad.

Last year, after Mabel and Dipper's parents had heard the whole story about their summer, they'd immediately packed the twins off to therapy—which Mabel didn't think was necessary, but whatever, if it made their parents feel better. (It had taken them some time to find a therapist who would engage with their barely-averted-apocalypse story at face value rather than search for the root of these "delusions.") At their current therapist's office, before each appointment, Dipper and Mabel had to fill out checklists that they gathered were to measure whether they'd come down with a case of depression—Please read the following statements and circle the word that shows how often they happen to you. Never, sometimes, often, always.

She'd filled out these things so many times that she could practically recite the list of statements by memory. Nothing feels very fun anymore. I have problems with my appetite. I have trouble sleeping. I have no energy for things. I feel like I don't want to move. Far be it from her to try to diagnose an evil demon monster space triangle who'd tried to murder everybody she knew, but. Well. You know. Sitting curled up in a window seat, day after night after day, barely moving, barely talking, barely eating... Yikes. She could only guess how he'd answer statements like I feel empty and sad or I feel worthless.

In Mabel's mind, there was a piece of paper. On that piece of paper were the faces of everyone currently living in the shack. Herself, Dipper, Waddles, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, Soos, Abuelita, and Melody as an honorary part-time resident. Next to each of their faces, there was a sticker, reflecting their current overall mood. Right now, everyone had either a happy face or a flat-mouthed neutral face—not bad, but could be better.

As she looked at Bill, she mentally promoted him at last from "entity haunting the attic" to "temporary resident." She added his face to her imaginary paper. And she slapped a big blue crying sticker next to it.

She wouldn't stand for that. Not even from him. Not under her roof.

####

Today, Bill wasn't even in the window. He'd elected to curl up in a corner of the attic, hiding in the shadows with his stolen blanket. The window was probably too hot. Mabel typically used acrylic yarn, and she knew from experience how quickly Sweater Town could turn into Sweaty Town.

For the first time, Mabel sauntered, quite casually, across the invisible barrier separating the rest of the attic from Bill's nest. She offered her winningest smile and her cheerfullest, "Hey, Bill!"

The Thing Beneath The Blanket gave her a look that, she suspected, could probably be described as deeply suspicious. "Shooting Star."

"Yup! Haha! That's—that's me all right! You got me." Mabel laughed. (This was going great so far. This was very natural.) "So, anyway!" She grabbed one of the couch cushions Bill had been using as a bed, dragged it a little closer to the corner, and plopped down. "This is such a weird coincidence, but one time, I got gum stuck in my hair and had to shave it off! I mean, crazy, right?"

"Uh huh." Bill didn't sound impressed. "Second grade." (And Mabel was uncomfortably reminded of the first time she'd ever seen Bill. I know lots of things.) "Hey, since you brought it up, can I ask you something about that little incident?"

"Uh..." This was what you signed up for, Mabel. You volunteered for a conversation with Bill. You've gotta converse. "Sure, I guess."

He leaned forward, triangle face looming above her. "Did getting gum in your hair change your species? Did you still look like yourself when you shaved it off?" The face bobbed as he pantomiming looking her up and down. "You still look human to me! So what's your point."

Okay, so he'd immediately recognized she was trying to establish common ground, aaand he was throwing it in her face. Great start. "Jeez, don't be so mean! I'm trying to tell you I get it. Not... the species part, but the other part. I wanna help!"

Bill scoffed. "Sure you do."

"Really!"

"Why?"

"Because you're all sad and it's making me sad."

Bill, o wise and ancient being that he was, had heard of "empathy" in a conceptual sense. He was aware that it was a thing that happened to some people. He even knew that it was common among humans. But on some level he kinda sorta felt like it only really happened to mindreaders that didn't know how to establish proper psychic boundaries. He laughed in Mabel's face. "No, seriously! What are you getting out of this."

Mabel decided she had no interest in explaining compassion to an alien mass murderer. "Okay, I want Soos's blanket back. I gave it to him, not you."

"Fine. If you want his blanket back, make me one."

"What? No! Those are our Team Zodiac-That-Defeated-You blankets, you don't get one."

"Didn't you make one for everybody else on the wheel? I'm on the wheel, aren't I?" He pointed at his face. "Bam! There I am, right in the middle! Star of the show! If everyone else deserves a blanket, so do I."

"Why do you even want one? It's a symbol to kill you."

"It's got my face on it! It's not that deep." He crossed his legs and propped his chin in his hand, getting more comfortable. "So do I get to pick the colors? I'll take yellow if that's all you got, but if you get me metallic gold I think I can swing you a favor."

"I'm not making you a blanket," Mable said. "I was thinking maybe a wig?"

Bill shuddered. "Pass."

"Aw, come on! I bet I could find you a really cute wig. Summerween's coming up, I could go to the costume store—"

"Don't even think about it." Bill leaned away from Mabel, back into his corner. She was losing him. "Listen. Kid. Do you think I did this by accident?" He pointed vaguely toward his scalp. "Being stuck in a human body? Disgusting. Being a human and secreting fifteen miles of hair out of a hundred thousand of pores? Infinitely worse."

"Wait, wait, fifteen miles?" Mabel had never considered how long a full head of hair laid out end-to-end would be. "How much hair do I have?"

"Huh." Bill tilted his head consideringly. "How dense is your hair?"

"Super dense. I've broken multiple brushes."

"Could be up to fifty miles."

Mabel's eyes widened. "Whoa."

"And you've got fifty thousand miles of blood vessels," Bill added cheerfully. "Anyway, if you want this blanket back? You won't get it with a wig. All I want is to look..." he formed his fingers into a triangle, thumb to thumb and forefinger to forefinger, and held it over the face on the blanket, "... like this. Now, if you're offering to help me get my real body back—"

"Never in a million years."

"Didn't think so!" Bill retreated fully into his corner again, knees pulled back up under the blanket, like an eel hiding in a hole to await its next prey. "But hey, if you've got an offer that's a step up from the blanket, I'm willing to negotiate."

"Huh." Mabel frowned thoughtfully. Something triangly. Something triangly that was better than a blanket, without helping Bill return to full power.

She got to her feet. "Let's put a pin in this conversation and circle back to it later. I'll come back with some proposals for you to review."

Bill laughed. "Okay, business girl! Have your people call my people. You know where to find me."

Mabel leaped down the stairs three at a time, ideas already forming in her head.

####

"Hey, Grunkle Ford!"

Ford was sitting at the former controls of the interdimensional portal, studying some radar readings; but he glanced up with a smile when Mabel ran out of the elevator. "Mabel. What brings you down here?"

She dragged an office chair up beside Ford, plopped down in it, and spun a couple of times. "I need to ask some questions about Bill!"

Ford's smile faltered. "Ah."

"Last summer, when we were burning all your art of him—"

(Ford winced in embarrassment.)

"—you said he could do some kind of magic with pictures of his face? What's all that about?" She stopped spinning. "Do they give him more power? Can he fire lasers out of them, or...?"

"No, nothing like that, thank goodness. Depictions of his face granted him a different kind of power: the power of knowledge. When he was trapped in the Nightmare Realm, he could tap into our world's collective mindscape and see through drawings of himself as if they were cameras. Ironically, plastering images of his face everywhere to symbolically represent an 'all-seeing eye' is what made him so all-seeing in the first place."

Mabel nodded thoughtfully. "Did you know you talk like one of those experts they hire to explain things in history documentaries?" she asked. "You should be on TV. You'd be good at it."

Ford gave her a confused smile. "Er—thank you."

"So, if Bill's already here, making new pictures of his face doesn't do anything?"

He supposed she was wondering about the zodiac blankets she'd spread around town. "Probably not. At a minimum, he'd have to be in the mindscape to be at the right 'angle' to see through the eyes. As he is now, trapped in a human form?" Ford let out a slow, thoughtful sigh. "It's hard to say for sure, without knowing how he got to be this way or what kinds of powers he's still hiding... but based on everything I've seen so far, I doubt they do anything for him."

"And if somebody put a picture of him on his face, it wouldn't do anything at all! Because that's like, his face. He already has eyes there."

Ford chuckled. "I suppose that's true. It would be like he'd grown a third eyeball, that's all." He paused. Put a picture of him on his face? "Why do you ask?"

Too late; she was halfway to the elevator. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford! I'll see you at dinner!" And she was gone.

####

"What's all this?" Bartholomew asked.

Mabel was dumping a bag of costume makeup and cheap convenience store makeup palettes onto her bed. They sparkled in varying hues of tacky gold glitter. "Art project!" She scooped Bartholomew out of his cradle by Dipper's bed, climbed the rickety ladder to the storage loft over their bedroom, and set him down leaning against a box. "You're on guard duty. Stay quiet and if anything goes wrong, get Dipper."

"How do you expect me to get Dipper? I'm a doll. I can't move."

"Come on, Mew-Mew. You think we haven't noticed that you teleport when nobody's looking?"

Bartholomew paused. "Touché."

Mabel rummaged through her art supplies; put tape, glue, and a couple of flattened cardboard boxes on the bed; added all the yellow crayons, markers, and paints she could find; and finally, satisfied, she ran out of the room. "Bill!"

"Still here."

"I've got the perfect solution. I'm giving you..." Mabel posed, hands on her hips. "A makeover!"

Bill waited for the follow up. There was no follow up. "Heh."

"Laugh now, but before I'm finished, I'm gonna make you more beautiful than your wildest dreams!"

"Kid, with all due respect, your idea of 'wild' taps out where my dreams are just getting started."

"Then I'll just have to up my game, won't I?" Mabel held out her hand. "Just give me that blanket, show me that weird bald head of yours, and let me make it into a canvas for high art! Trust me!"

Bill contemplated her extended hand. Did he trust her? In most situations, he considered trust irrelevant. He expected most people to do whatever they thought would benefit themselves the most; sometimes that meant keeping their word, and sometimes it didn't.

On the other hand. Was he really curious to find out where she was going with this? Yes. And the worst thing she could possibly do to him was make him very slightly more ugly than he already was. And playing along would fill his empty afternoon.

"Okay, kid." He reluctantly handed the blanket over. "You haven't given me a bad makeover so far." (He hadn't actually seen her marker mask, but it never hurt to flatter the person about to paint all over you.) He stood and stretched. "Show me what you've got. But if I don't like it, you owe me a blanket."

"Yes!" She grabbed his hand—his whole arm immediately went stiff—and dragged him toward the bedroom. "Welcome to my salon!"

####

Sure enough, just like Ford had said—when Stan checked Bill's attic nest, there was no sign of him.

Stan didn't like that one bit. Where the hell had their prisoner gotten off to?

As Stan approached the attic bedroom, he could hear Mabel talking: "More glitter?! That's crazay! Okay, here goes! I bet you could pull off such a glam rock look." (That explained where the kids were. He'd been starting to wonder.) "Hold still, I'm gonna try something I saw on a Russian supermodel—"

"Kids," Stan called, "do you know where the demon went?" He opened the door. "Poindexter says he can't find him anywhere, and—"

Mabel was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the widest variety of makeup brushes and palettes Stan had ever seen. Her fingers and sleeve cuffs were coated in gold glitter and paint.

Kneeling in front of her, with his legs splayed awkwardly and his hands on the floor like he wasn't sure how to lower this body down to Mabel's height, was Bill. His face was liberally coated in acrylic gold paint and amateurishly contoured with a mix of craft glitter and golden eyeshadow. One eye was shut—the eyelashes delicately dusted with more gold eyeshadow to help it blend in—while the other was coated in a layer of mascara so thick it was a miracle his lashes didn't glue shut when he blinked.

And to cap off the gilded absurdity, his face was sticking through a hole in the middle of a cardboard triangle helmet, painted sunflower yellow with bricks shakily traced on in marker. Bill looked like the poor kid assigned the part of "the pyramid" in a fourth grade class play about ancient Egypt.

Mabel and Bill stared at Stan.

Stan stared back.

He covered a snort with a cough. "I'll—I'll tell Ford you've got it handled." He slammed the door.

He let out a bellow of laughter.

Mabel put a hand on Bill's shoulder. "He doesn't understand avant-garde fashion. You look like a million dollars."

"I know," Bill said. "All the same—maybe a hat would class things up a little?"

Mabel reached for a sheet of black construction paper. "You're so right."

####

"Well?" Mabel leaned around Bill, trying to see what he looked like in the full-length mirror. "What do you think?"

Bill stared in the mirror. A horrific abomination of flaking paint, cakey makeup, and taped-up cardboard stared back.

He grinned so wide it cracked his face paint. "I think that's the hottest human being in history."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist into the air.

####

Ford said, "Stanley, what is it?"

Stan wheezed until his lungs ran out of air.

Concerned, Ford leaned across the kitchen table, lacing his hands together. "Did you find Bill?"

"M—Mhmm."

"He hasn't hurt Mabel, has he?" Ford asked, flashing back to their conversation earlier. "Or—or Dipper? Anyone?"

Stan bit his lip and shook his head. Tears of laughter pricked the corners of his eyes.

"Did he... put some kind of laughing curse on you?"

Stan shook his head more emphatically. "H—" He couldn't get one syllable out before he had to choke back his laughter again. He pounded on the table.

Grasping at straws and defaulting to the first worst case scenario he could think of, Ford said, "He hasn't found a way back to his true form, has he?"

Stan let out a noise like a balloon that had been untied and unleashed to fly around the room. "I MEAN—"

"Gooood afternoon, gentlemen!" Beaming brightly enough to rival the sun, twirling an umbrella like a cane, Bill strutted in.

Ford clapped one hand on Stan's shoulder, clapped the other over his mouth, and turned away, shoulders shaking. Stan smacked Ford's arm in sympathetic hysteria.

"I see we're all in high spirits today!" With the brazen confidence of an illegitimate prince marching into a throne room to demand his crown, Bill strolled through the kitchen, barely sparing the Stan twins a glance. Mabel followed behind him, grinning from ear to ear. "I wouldn't mind some spirits, myself." He paused in front of the fridge. "Could someone—?"

As the closest person to the fridge, Ford pulled it open, then turned to watch so he could make sure Bill didn't do anything he shouldn't with the food. This required him to look in Bill's direction. He curled his lips into his mouth and bit down. His eyes watered.

"Finally." Bill hungrily surveyed the inner contents of the fridge, grabbed an armload of condiments, a jar of pickles, and a tub of leftover chicken nuggets, and dumped them on the nearest counter. He tried to reach for a bottle of spoiled corn syrup toward the back of the fridge, banged the sides of his cardboard helmet on the fridge's doorframe, and quickly backed off and felt the corners to make sure they weren't too damaged. He had to turn sideways to reach the bottle without hitting the edges of the fridge. One corner of his mask tipped over a bottle of apple juice. Watching this performance very nearly killed the Stans.

"There." Bill triumphantly set the bottle on the counter, grabbed a can of alphabet spaghetti off an open shelf, and asked, "Where do you have the bowls hidden?" He rapped on one of the cabinet doors with his umbrella.

The sight of the umbrella knocked Ford out of some of his hysteria. "Where did you—?" He snatched the umbrella out of Bill's hands. "No weapons."

Bill gave Ford a withering one-eyed look (Ford suspected his other eye was glued shut with paint), then elected to ignore him. "Shooting Star?"

"They're down here!" Mabel opened one of the base cabinets. Bill retrieved a bowl and started filled it with his condiment haul.

"Okay," Stan said, voice strained with suppressed laughter. "Okay, what—what are we looking at?"

"A masterpiece of cosmetic art," Bill said. Mabel's grin widened.

Ford elbowed Stan across the table. "Do you remember the 'living statue' performers on the Glass Shard Beach boardwalk?" he asked. "The ones who'd paint all their skin and clothes gold—?"

"Oh yeah!" Stan let out a bark of laughter. "That's exactly what he looks like!"

In his bowl, Bill had layered mayonnaise, Tabasco sauce, mustard, sour cream, and maple syrup, and carefully stuck in as many chicken nuggets as he could without the mix slopping over the edges. He got Mabel's help to stick it in the microwave, then turned toward the Stans with a smug grin. "So you agree that I look like a work of art."

"No," Stan said, "they looked like idiots, and so do you."

Bill scoffed. "You don't know anything! You look at a human body, and all you see is a human with things stuck on it. I can look at a human body and see a canvas. I've stripped this vessel of its association with humanity and transformed it into an idol of myself."

Mabel loudly cleared her throat.

"Okay, she did most of the work."

Ford seriously considered the artistic merit of Bill's proposed "human body sans humanity as art material" paradigm. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "You have cardboard taped to your face."

Stan slapped the table. "HA!"

Bill opened a can of alphabet spaghetti, slopped half into a glass, filled the rest with incredibly spoiled corn syrup, and then filled the can with corn syrup as well. The mixes bubbled threateningly. The absolute picture of good cheer, Bill announced, "I'm the most beautiful thing any of you have ever seen. It's just too bad your closed little minds can't enjoy the marvel in front of you." He stirred his toxic alphabet spaghetti concoction with a pickle spear.

Stan watched Bill mix his drink in mild alarm. "What in the world are you making?"

Bill held his wrist over the glass and a knife to his wrist. "A Bloody Mary."

Stan's alarm increased. "No you aren't."

"That's your opinion." 

"Where did you get—!" Ford leaned over to snatch the knife out of Bill's hand.

"It was in the fridge, it was sticking out of the leftover casserole!" Bill rolled his eye. "Re-lax! I wasn't pointing it at you." He lifted his drink, nearly poured it into his eye, caught himself at Mabel's shout of alarm, took a sip through the correct hole, then inspected the thick gold lip stain left on the rim. "Huh." He looked at Mabel.

She shrugged. "I could have set the makeup with baby powder, but I thought it might dim some of the sparkle."

"You chose form over function. I respect that." He sipped his drink more carefully.

The microwave went off, Mabel opened the door, and Bill scooped up his condiment-and-nugget stew and both alleged Bloody Marys. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go be handsome somewhere else—"

The corner of his cardboard helmet banged into the kitchen doorway. He dropped one of his drinks, stumbled against the wall, and looked in dismay at his syrup-and-spaghetti-sauce-soaked skirt. He turned to Mabel. "How's my head?"

She grimaced. "We... can fix that with tape."

Bill sighed. "Come on, let's do it before my nuggets get cold."

"Now hold on!" Ford stood up. "Are you going to clean this mess up?"

"No!" Bill was out of the room. Ford could already hear him tripping on the stairs. "You don't trust me with a mop!"

Well. It was true, they didn't trust him with a mop. Sighing, Ford trudged across the room. "I'll get it."

Stan said, "You know, I think I'm glad he looks like an idiot. He's been so mopey the last couple of days, I was almost starting to feel bad for him."

"Thank goodness, you too," Ford muttered. "I was afraid I was going soft."

"Nah, he really was that pathetic," Stan said. "Like a sad show poodle that doesn't understand why it's been shaved in weird shapes."

Ford barked a laugh.

Once the floor was clean, Ford confessed, "I've—actually really worried about that. Going soft, I mean. I'm... afraid that Bill could find a way back into my head."

"Literally or emotionally?"

"Emotionally." Ford paused. "Both, actually—but this time I mean emotionally. The night he burned his hair off, I..." He winced at himself; but he needed to tell Stan. There was no one else he trusted to give him a reality check. Maybe Fiddleford, but... Ford hadn't figured out how to approach him about all this yet.

He put back the mop, to have an excuse to pause and gather his words. "I... brought him something to eat," Ford mumbled. "And, told him I knew what it was like to be trapped in an alien universe, and—that he should take better care of himself, for his own sake—and I don't know why I said that, anything good he does for himself just makes things harder for us, it's not as though I forgot that, but—What? Stanley, why is this funny."

Stan had started laughing; but he cut it off a cough. "Sorry. It's just—do you remember how Mom would go 'Well, I can tell you two are related' any time we did something particularly—you know—twinnish?"

"Don't tell me you've been making sandwiches for Bill."

"Ha! No, but I've given my arch nemesis a pep talk when he was having a mental breakdown. I felt bad for him!"

Ford chuckled. "Really?" He dropped back into his seat. "I didn't know you have an arch nemesis, who's that?"

Stan considered Ford's reaction if he admitted that his nemesis was that ten-year-old with a crush on Mabel, and said, "Ah, he's been out of my hair for ages. So what, is that all you talked about?"

"Somehow it turned into him trying to convince me he'd been planning a welcome party when I fell through the portal."

"Ha! And did you believe him?"

"Absolutely not." Ford paused thoughtfully. "But—part of me wonders whether he believes it himself."

"He seems like the kind of guy to buy his own bull." Stan shrugged. "I don't think you have to worry about him getting in your head. Just don't let him fast-talk you into any decisions and don't buy anything he's selling without telling him you'll think it over for twenty-four hours. And the more he says decide now, the harder you say no. That's how the pros get you, they don't give you room to breathe, let alone think."

Ford was pretty sure Stan was just describing the Mystery Shack's souvenir sales strategy; but he nodded slowly. "I know exactly what you're talking about. When I gave him permission to pilot my body, between the first time he mentioned it was an option and the moment I agreed to it... well, I was asleep at the time, so I can't be sure how long it took—but I'd guess it was less than fifteen minutes. In retrospect, I couldn't believe that I'd agreed so thoughtlessly. But I suppose that's exactly what he wanted." No room to breathe was a good way to describe it. Never mind being nose-to-nose with somebody trying to pressure you into a sale—how do you take a step back to get a little space from somebody who's already inside your head?

"Did he make it sound like a limited-time-only deal? You know—'buy now while the price is low, you'll regret missing this offer'? But with more mystical woo-woo phrasing, I mean."

"Not exactly, but..." Ford tried to remember back that far, grasping for the details of the conversation—the real conversation, not the heady, excited version he'd summarized in his journal. "At the time, I'd been worried about falling behind schedule on the portal's construction. He wouldn't have had to introduce an element of tension—it was already there. All he had to do was exploit it." He shook his head. Falling behind schedule. What schedule—the one he, himself had made? He was sure Bill had encouraged him to finish as fast as possible, too.

"There, you see? You got swindled by a professional swindler," Stan said. "What's important is that you know what he is now, and you know his tricks. He won't get you the same way twice. I'm not worried about you."

There were a couple of odd thuds from upstairs, accompanied by a yelp from Bill. That wasn't odd; he'd proven to be remarkably clumsy in a human body. At any given time it was possible to tell where he was by the random bangs, and if he hadn't made a noise in the last five minutes it meant he was curled up safely in his window seat.

What was odd was hearing Mabel's voice: "Careful, careful—! Augh. ... I'll get another sheet of cardboard, we'll replace that!"

Stan and Ford looked warily toward the stairs. Stan muttered, "Mabel, on the other hand..."

Ford nodded. "I'll keep an eye on her."

####

(If you've read this far, I'd really appreciate hearing from you! Things you liked, things you're looking forward to, jokes, thoughts, even typo corrections. Thanks!)

[ripleyresonance]

Sweet Enough to Eat pt 2

Sugar Mommy Rhea! x OC

Part 1

Thank you guys so much for all of the love on the first chapter. Typically I am a one-shot Sm*t kind of girl but let's see where this story takes us. And don't worry I will still post some one-shots in between.

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As the two sat across from each other at a quaint cafe Cali’s mind was racing. She looked down at her freshly manicured nails tracing the outline of her stiletto acrylics with her thumb as Rhea sat down. 

“I ordered you a mimosa...I know it's 2 pm but I say we celebrate our new…relationship.” Rhea smiled. 

Cali blinked a couple of times studying the woman's face to see any doubt and yet the woman was dead serious. 

“So I was thinking we could talk about the…finer details?” Rhea winked finally pulling Cali out of her shock.

Cali was a lot of things but when it came down to “business” she could put everything else aside. 

“My weekly fee is 3k but if you do monthly I can let it slide to 10k,” Cali said taking a sip from her glass. 

Rhea laughed causing Cali to lift an eyebrow. 

“Sweet girl, I don't know what these other “Mami’s” gave you but I don't have a “Limit”. You like it I get it no question asked,” Rhea said.

“So I can tell you I want a Gucci bag because my head hurts and boom you get it?” Cali questioned.  

“I think that is a pretty valid reason to buy a bag” Rhea shrugged. 

Cali’s mood shifted a bit…maybe she wanted to emphasize the sugar aspect of this relationship. 

“And you expect me to be… “available” all the time? Cali whispered admittedly afraid of the answer. 

“Available?” Rhea repeated.

“Like in the sugar capacity?��� Cali said looking into Rhea's eyes as hers went wide.

“Oh god no that's not what I meant, I meant it in more of the way that you should be able to have everything you want without strings attached…well, I guess some strings because I want you to travel with me sometimes or be there when I come home but not make you think you have to have sex with me for it! It is not like I would mind I mean look at you, you are stunning but if we did that I would rather it be”- Rhea studdered as Cali burst out laughing. 

Rhea seemed very flirty and direct from all their interactions so far so seeing her loose composure made her comfortable again. 

“Alright then no sugar…for now. Any other terms you would like?” Cali smiled at her seemingly making Rhea blush. 

“Let's start the deal by making the contract last a year. Therefore if you don't like it or I don't like it we can go our separate ways. I just expect you to show up for me when I ask and I will give you the world. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” Rhea smiled extending her hand. 

Cali returned the smile placing her hand in Rheas as she lightly kissed Cali’s hand sealing the deal. 

Cali rolled her eyes that time making the Australian laugh. 

“What the hell was that for you can’t already be exasperated with me,” Rhea said.

“Sorry, you just go from so smooth and flirty to the most fuck boy gestures.” Cali laughed causing Rhea to gasp dramatically.

“I will have you know that women usually love gestures like that,” Rhea said.

“So you have done that to other women…like I said, fuckboy.” Cali playfully waved her off as she stood up. 

“And yet, it seems like you like that,” Rhea said pulling her into her lap. “Cali” Rhea whispered in her ear. 

Cali felt her cheeks heating up as she playfully pushed her shoulder. 

‘Hey hey! No sugar for you, YOUR rule.” Cali said standing up and fixing her skirt. 

“Plus I saw this bracelet in a window we passed move it “Mami”. Cali grinned. 

The two spent the day together Cali buying an impressive amount of stuff. To be honest she was not the most high-maintenance sugar baby. But after not having funds for a few months she went a little crazy. She started feeling bad as Rhea made her fifth trip from her car to Cali’s apartment. 

“I'm so sorry it’s such a mess in here,” Cali said frantically, trying to clean up some magazines on the ground and a pizza box on her table. 

Cali had originally been given this apartment by one of her sugar mommy’s. It was beautiful. It had a loft that was covered with plants. As the sun went down you could see the golden light reflecting off of every potted plant making a mix of colors shine through the apartment. But something about the large space seemed…cold. 

Rhea watched as Cali frantically ran around. She made a note to herself of the look on her face of embarrassment as she tried to hide her mess. And Rhea found it adorable.

“Please sit anywhere you like I think I have a cabernet I flew in a while ago from France,” Cali said grabbing two wine glasses. 

“It’s a nice place,” Rhea remarked.

“I know right? I have had some wild nights here..some mornings too.” Cali laughed. 

“It just seems so…” Rhea trailed off

“Luxurious, sophisticated, stunning?” Cali smiled strolling over with the wine.

“Lonely” Rhea whispered making Cali pause. 

“It’s not that bad! I am told I throw the best parties everyone talks about them the next day.” Cali cleared her throat setting the glasses down. 

“But when they leave…” Rhea prodded. 

“What is this the pity party or something? I said I was lonely last night because I was drunk and look It led me to you.” Cali winked trying to change the subject. 

“And we are both the better for it.” Rhea conceded. 

Cali smiled at the response picking up her wine glass to toast. 

“To a new relationship,” Cali stated. 

‘To new beginnings.” Rhea said as they lightly clinked their glasses. 

Cali made sure to cover her emotions with particular care but Rhea noticed immediately something she couldn’t hide from. 

No matter how many parties she had, bodies rushed in and out of the apartment. Cali tried to hide it by liking nice things, but she wanted someone to see her for who she was. 

In that moment Rhea made it a priority. In this year she would see it. She would see Cali’s true self. 

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Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list going forward!

Tag list:@bdalas, @babybatlover,@asherlilwitch,@littlemiss-fanficlover,@eepyslut,@cakeiloki,

[hearts4jean]

‎♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

- jean - art exhibition - modern au -

synopsis: jean makes an art exhibition based off of you; his muse ♡

Think of the relationship between an artist and muse. It is common to assume that the muse’ purpose was to serve the artist as they play a pivotal role in said artists work. This is far from the truth as muses often have great power over their artists they have inspired. The significance a muse stands as for the artists includes bringing emotional support and never-done-before creativity to achieve the artists objectives.

Jean, a struggling artist struck with everything but a hint of inspiration has been stumped with being unable to come up with any art pieces for an exhibition he was commissioned to create and curate; until he met you that is. He got the type of spark that every artist does when they find a specific specimen they desire to be included in their work and further explore and understand it. This first sighting is what made him to be infatuated with you.

While dating, he doesn’t ask if he could draw or paint you, much rather he does it in secret as his art isn’t something he enjoys to blatantly show off. Not only this, Jean is caught up in the fear that he’ll “mess you up” and does not want to deal with the embarrassment of showing it to you; he is fine with the pent-up frustration instead.

On multiple occasions, this has caused him to feel discouraged in his work as he does not to desire to make anything else in his artwork but you. How was he supposed to be the Alfred Stieglitz to your Georgia O’Keefe if he couldn’t even properly capture his accurate perception of you in his work? At least Stieglitz was a photographer, he would’ve had no issues with that. Jean would mainly work in oil and acrylic, ceramics if he feels like it. Any medium except pastels, over his dead body he’d opt for pastels; he says to himself. He takes a wide interest in love stories between artists and their muses as he likes to think that is what has happened with you and him.

This was the case until you found him in the indoor garage in his home he calls his ‘studio’ (which you were not aware of until this very moment), hands and knees on the cold concrete facing a ridiculously large canvas of an incomplete piece. You watch the man express his pent up frustration in spilling a string of cuss words in French, surrounding him a wooden paint palette with a pool of various hues, squeezed and almost finished paint tubes. You examined the space more and pinpointed the scattered photos of you and him together from past dates, you were able to make connections to those photos to the elephant of a canvas. It was you. To Jean, it was not. Not an accurate presentation at least that is up to the young artists standards.

After this coming across this sight, you then find yourself on that same cold concrete in front of Jean with his head buried in your shoulder as you cradle him. He was non-verbal for the time-being. He was embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state but also relieved that you were there with him.

“Please don’t look at the canvas” he utters.

“I won’t, but why?”

“Just don’t.”

“I never knew you were an artist.”

He scoffs. “Some artist I am. I can’t even paint you right.”

You continue paying all your attention to your lover rather than the dreaded canvas he won’t allow either of you to glance at.

“Say, how about you explain the hidden art talent to me later. Right now, do you mind explaining what this canvas is and why you refuse for me to look at it?”

Jean slowly lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you normally. Even while you both are leaning he is taller than you, only now his posture is slouched more than usual.

“I was commissioned by an art gallery to make a collection they would like to display at their venue in the next year, and the only description they added in with it is if was able to make it personally significant to myself on an emotional level. I asked if that meant that I could do it about someone that was personally significant to me rather than merely basing it purely on myself. They said it’s fine as long as it fits the stated criteria. I wanted to create the pieces based on our relationship. Well, based on my love for you basically” He felt his face getting hot.

“Jean-“

“Will you allow me to make you my muse?” He says with a stern look in his eyes.

“Well, of course. I mean, I’d love to if it’s so important to you.”

You watch his eyes light up. “Really? Oh my god thank you, love”

“No problem, but why am I finding about this whole artist thing just now? You seem very passionate about it all” You state with a short glance at his previous works hung up on the wall like trophies.

“Yeah, no one really knows except my mother and with exhibitions and stuff I go by a code name. Connie and Reiner knew I liked art in high school but those assholes made fun of me for it. I guess that stuck with me and just made me not wanna be able to freely speak up about it. I was planning to tell you eventually but I just..” He sighs.

“Just what?”

“I just wish you didn’t find out this way, especially with a piece I’m not proud of. I mean, look at it. It’s not doing you justice at all.”

You laugh. “You grant me permission to be able to look at it again?”

He laughs back. “Yes, I grant you permission to look at my shitty work”

You both look at the unfinished work for a second. It is a hyperrealistic acrylic painting if you want to get specific on its qualities.

“It looks fine to me-“

“Yeah no, it’s pure shit”

“Jean!”

“That wasn’t towards you, rather it was towards my poor skills of not being able to capture your righteous appearance in my work.”

“Either way I’m not letting you insult yourself like that”

“…”

It goes silent between the two of you for around 20 seconds until he lets out a sigh and returns to his original place of his face being buried in your shoulder again. You don’t mind it at all. It’s a type of habit he has when he’s upset or just simply fatigued.

You speak up. “You know, this could still be presented in the exhibition but maybe in a different manner?”

He looks up again. “How so?”

“You could have this as some type of statement piece, like displaying this whole scene from the dirty white sheet to the worn out brushes scattered in front of the canvas. It could like display your pent up frustration on attempting to perfect this exhibition. It can be called “The Failed Muse” or something along those lines. You can have a little plaque beside it explaining it all.”

He looks at you with a deadpanned expression. “Are you saying I’ve also failed with painting you with that name?”

“OH! No! I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to sou-“

You’re cut off by his laughter. Oh how you adore it.

“Kidding, kidding. I know what you meant. I’ll keep that in mind actually.

For the rest of that time on that cold concrete floor, the both of you discuss the other works that should go into this exhibition.

You were both able to come up with a few together.

The first artwork he plans to create is another portrait of you that will hopefully succeed in accuracy to your appearance unlike the last one. Assuming it will, it would’ve been because you were there in his presence, and you being there gives him some sort of reassurance that it will turn out fine. Alongside the words and actions of affirmation (little kisses and telling him that he’s doing great) that he will receive from you during the making of it. The way that he intends for this work to be sighted is that it is the first thing he wants the viewer to look at. Jean wants it to have that same captivating aura as the Mona Lisa; you just seem so attached to it and you don’t know why. Similarily to the Mona Lisa, it will be displayed on its own seperate wall that is a diluted version of your favourite colour to make the connection between you and the painting stronger.

The exhibition would also include specific monuments of your time together.

For instance, he would do is something related to your favourite flowers. Since flowers are not man-made, it’s hard to display them in an exhibition setting due to the bugs living inside them and they are considered a threat to the other works displayed. He would instead make wire-works of your favourite flowers as an alternative. Flowers are especially symbolic to your relationship with Jean as he gives you a bouquet every chance he gets. I think we have already settled that he is a huge giver.

Something you personally share together is your music taste. It is one of the things that first drew you closer to one another. In the exhibition, he would have a table set up with a record player and vinyls of albums you enjoy listening to together. The collection would be a mix of his own and a few borrowed from his parents. For instance, The Smiths; give or take.

One of your most treasured moments with him is when he tried to teach you French back when you were still in high school. A table and 2 chairs would be perched up. On the table there is a range of French dictionaries and literature. He will attempt to make it as accurate as possible to your memories of his moment, even down to the very positioning of the books and how they were stacked up on one another.

Another idea you were able to to come up with each other is a sculpture of two figures hugging each other; reenacting your “First Embrace” with one another in which is what the work will be called.

[amphetamine-keen]

Battle Jacket Tips! Yippee!!

I'm hyperfixating, so be warned that this might be rambly and a lot longer than it needs to be, but I promise these are good tips

I'll try to put all my rambles in small text and if it gets too long, I'll stick it under a read-more-- oh, would you look at that

For starters, what is a battle jacket? Maybe you've just stumbled across this post and have no context, or maybe you're researching bc you think you might be interested in making one, here's a short explanation:

Battle jackets are a popular garment in a lot of alternative communities. Punk and metal are the biggest two that I'll be focusing on, but there's genuinely no limit to the "genres" that a battle jacket could belong to. I don't like country music, but like, if you want to make a country battle jacket, do it! Have fun!

Battle jackets are typically either leather or denim and covered in patches and pins to the wearer's taste. Punk battle jackets might include more political sentiments and DIY than say, a metal battle jacket, but of course, there are no rules, and my battle jackets tend to be a bit of a mix of punk and metal. Remember: There are no rules, these are all just suggestions.

The Base:

A few suggestions for your first battle jacket:

Do thrift your starting garment. If you can't find something exactly like what you're looking for, don't sweat it. Find something "good enough" and get started. That's what fabric dye and scissors are for. DIY or Die is the motto here. My most recent battle vest started life blue and with sleeves. Now it's black with big yellow panels in the sides.

Do get your jacket a little bigger than usual. Patches can stiffen up the garment and make it feel tighter, plus, if you wear it year round you'll wanna be able to put it over your coat in the colder season. I actually have two vests, a warm weather and a cold weather vest. The warm weather vest is a lot smaller so it doesn't hang off me when I'm just wearing a shirt, but I recommend starting with a larger vest and doing the "warm weather" vest as a second project.

Don't buy a premade battle jacket, especially fast fashion. The whole point is to make it to your tastes, so buying a jacket with someone else's patches and pin picks kinda mucks up the best parts of making a unique, custom garment. Also, the fast fashion industry is horrifically exploitative, and supporting it financially isn't very punk. If you've already done so, don't beat yourself up. We're all learning and growing. Take the things you learn and grow from them in the future. That is punk.

The Patches:

The biggest patch on a battle jacket is your "back patch." They're huge and seen as the sort of "keystone" of a jacket. They're not a requirement, but I like them a lot. Usually, the patch is of the wearer's favorite album, or something similar, but they can be anything you want. Tarot cards, art pieces. Go nuts and find something that brings you joy. My first vest was very "traditional" with a Metallica Master of Puppets patch, but my second one has painted + embroidered handprints from all my long-distance friends so I can keep them with me <3

Do buy directly from band websites, or from the merch stands at live shows! That's my favorite way to get patches, even if they might be expensive or have iffy manufacturing ethics because it shows where my vest has been and what it's seen.

Do buy from small businesses and online vendors. Try your local craft fairs, or Etsy shops for patches you like. They might be pricier, but that's just because the seller isn't exploiting factory workers and valuing their own time.

Do make your own patches! I might go more into this later, or on a different post, but there are a lot of ways to make your own patches. Embroidery, paint, stenciling, etc. You can get fabric quarters at most craft supply places for like $3 USD tops or free if there's a local Hobby Lobby. Acrylic paint works, though it might crack a bit over time. Fabric paint is pretty widely available and gives a smoother look.

Don't just buy wholesale packs of patches on Amazon. Like the above point about premade jackets, bulk patch packs are often made in exploitative sweatshop conditions, and Amazon should be used sparingly because even if the manufacturer is ethical, Amazon's warehouses are not. Also like the above, don't beat yourself up if you already bought a pack of patches. I did it too, when I first started, you live and you learn.

Don't wear patches for bands you don't know. I mean, you can, I'm not a cop, but you will look like a poser.

Non-Patch Editions:

I said it before, and I'll say it again. There are no rules. You don't have to limit yourself just to patches to customize your jacket. Have fun with it. Here's a list of options to give you ideas, based on things that I've done or want to do on my own.

Embroider directly on the fabric! I put spider webs and violets on my vests just because I like them and think embroidery is fun.

Spikes and studs!! You can get packs of spikes from lots of places (some more ethically than others) or you can make your own. As a disclaimer, some music venues may raise issues with pointier bits, as they could cause injury to other people, so use your best judgment.

Add other metal bits! Can tabs, lighter hoods, chains, keys, washers, nails, bolts, and pieces of scrap metal are all pretty fun to play around with!

Corsetting. Whether as a resizing measure or just for the aesthetic, get some eyelets and throw some ribbon in there. Could be fun!

Pins! I've mentioned them before, but also you can make your own with some bottle caps and a safety pin. Or repaint buttons you already have. I've kept the same little pronoun pin I repainted with nail polish for almost a decade, and it's still in great shape.

Putting it all together:

These are some general tips for putting all the pieces together, and honestly was supposed to be the whole post, but I like to talk so here we go!!

Lay out everything first before sewing it down. I have ripped up more patches than I care to admit, just to sew them back down on another part of the jacket.

Big tip for the mix-patch crowds, keep all your political patches on the front of the jacket. The idea is, if some asshole has a problem with your opinions, you want to see them coming. You don't want them sneaking up behind you.

Thread. Elder Punks often recommend dental floss for fastening patches to your jacket bc of its strength and rightfully sew (hahaha!). However, if you'd like more colorful options, try upholstery thread. It's super strong, and it's what I use on all of my own jackets. Though, I do keep floss and a needle around for convenient repairs. The box has its own thread cutter!

Needles. If you're like me and have shitty old person hands at the ripe old age of 23, those tiny dollar store needles will make your hands cramp up like a motherfucker. For this reason, I use doll needles. My default needle came in a walmart pack, and I use the smallest gauge, 3 in long needle. The thicker ones are too hard to get through the fabric. It's much easier to grab and easier on my hands.

Thimbles. Even with big-ass doll needles, sometimes it's difficult to grab them well enough to get through really thick fabrics. That's what thimbles are for (not to keep you from pricking yourself with the sharp end). Get yourself one, or improvise something similar, it will save your life.

Stitching. Sew down all of your patches, even the ones that claim to be "iron-on" because in my experience the iron-on adhesive fails pretty quickly. I recommend a whip or blanket stitch, so the edges don't peel up or fray (as handmade patches might). If you're moshing, a lot of folks claim that floss is best because it keeps people from ripping off your patches. Respectfully, I think that's a bunch of horseshit. If you don't want your patches ripped off, make them harder to grab onto. Keep your stitches small and close together so assholes can't get a grip on them. That said, I've never actually had someone try to rip off my patches in the pit or otherwise, so use your own discretion.

Washing. A lot of hardcore crust punks will tell you never to wash your battle jacket, but crust punk isn't for everyone. I wash my jacket every year or so, and it's pretty easy to do as long as nothing on your vest is susceptible to damage in water (I had some early patches that I finished with Modpodge that were ruined in the first wash, so keep that in mind). If you're confident in your stitchwork, just toss the vest in a garment washing bag or a pillowcase and chuck it in the wash with everything else. If you're a little more cautious, it's easy enough to hand wash it in a tub/sink and hang it out to dry. Don't use bleach or you'll probably ruin something.

[deeisace]

I am. a little in need of bills money atm, so -

Commissions open!

I have this one already painted, available for sale -

(ID: a round canvas painted in acrylics with an abstract waterfall scene)

£15 covers the cost of that canvas, so I would be asking £30 for the piece, including UK postage, or +£5 for international.

Otherwise, I have a variety of canvas and board sizes available, from small 6inch squares, 5x10s, 8x10s, to large 12 inch square, and even one round canvas as above (12inch diameter) that has not been used yet.

A sliding price scale based on size and composition, £10-£50, examples below

(Lighthouse, Kraken)

£10

(Little Fox in The Forest [SOLD], Squirrel in a Tree [SOLD], Penguins!!)

£20

(Valleys, Red Sail, Rosy-Fingered Dawn Wine-Dark Sea)

£30

(Harbour 1 and 2)

£40

I haven't any photos to show, but I've got a 12inch square canvas and a 12x15, either of which I'd be asking £50 +postage for.

All prices include UK postage, add £5 for Europe, £10 for international and £15 for 12inch paintings

None of the above (except the round one) are for sale, they are just examples of my work. I will not copy exactly, but if any are particularly sought after I can do variations on a piece.

DM me here or @deeisart for further details.

5 slots open, and I will keep this post updated.

Any commissions I receive before 15th Jan will be completed by 31st Jan, and posted by 7th Feb.

I can also do any of these digitally rather than acrylics - take £5 off the price and no need to pay postage.

-

✨✨new year new sale ✨✨

Postage prices stand, cs I'm not taking a loss on that, but everything's half price!

£10 painting for £5+postage, £30 painting for £15+postage, etc etc

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

King of Your Heart

Chapter 13 "Let Me Suck Your D*ck in the Bathroom"

HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

summary: All that Frankie has ever wanted to be was your everything. After years of being best friends one phone call changes everything between the two of you.

inspired by The King by Sarah Kinsley

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (reader is 28-29, Frankie 38-39), friends with benefits -> situationship, Frankie isn't a dad, jealously, best friends with benefits, reader is toxic, reader wears makeup, reader has long hair, this chapter is literally just porn but make it halloween, dress code- SLUT IT OUT, smut, drinking, smut, benny's halloween bash!!, smut, frankie is fucking horny for a woman in thigh highs, smut, blowjobs, licking, oh yeah did I mention smut!, princess and frankie are like rabbits, frankie gets drunk, angst with a happy ending finally, no y/n, pet names, possessiveness, triple frontier boys, Tom is dead, reader is a flirt

an: WELCOME TO BENNY'S HALLOWEEN BASH, get ready for a lot of smut, Princess is slut for Frankie as a smooth-dressing cowboy (a little nod to our beloved Whiskey<3).

inside the world of king of your heart

playlist

series mainlist | main masterlist

taglist: @hiroikegawa

"Just sit down and I'm gonna do your hair," You patted the cushiony vanity seat, Frankie never did his hair ever. He liked his messy curls and finishing it off with his hat but tonight was the one night he would ever do this. You smiled and pushed Frankie down into the seat, your fingers combing through his damp curls, his eyes fluttering shut when you lightly scratched his scalp with your new acrylics. You looked at Frankie through the mirror admiring how he shaved his beard and trimmed up his mustache. 

"I like it that I can see your face," You hum, grabbing the comb and gel into your hands. "I get to see my handsome Frankie," your words made Frankie blush, and he rolled his eyes trying to act like he didn't care. He loves it when you tell him he's handsome. He feels like he could do anything all because his lady thinks he's beautiful. 

You smiled at Frankie and combed the gel through his hair, taming the deep chocolate curls. "Do I have to dress up?" Frankie mumbled, and you rolled your eyes at him. This is 3rd time around having the conversation. It's Halloween, Frankie. It's my favorite holiday. Please for me. You've been saying since you and Frankie got back together. It's time to debut as a couple officially. "Yes you are dressing up and you are going to look so sexy," You say in a sultry tone and smile sweetly at Frankie. 

The torture was over when you finished off his hair when a good amount of hairspray. Clean-cut Frankie was something you didn't get to see often and well it was a sight to see. His jawline, his face more chiseled out, and his hair out of his face letting his features be the star of the show. Frankie is beautiful, you always thought he was crafted by a higher power. Frankie is standing in the mirror buttoning up the white dress shirt, you turn him around and take over the last couple of buttons then grab the tie to go around his neck. You take a deep breath as you loop the fabric and pull it up to his neck- fuck. 

You set the hat on top of his head and step back looking at your work. Frankie loosened the ties just a bit and your stare was burning into his skin, that's what he always liked about you, never afraid to admire what you like. "Everything you hoped for?" Frankie tilts his head and smirks, jaw dropped and lust blowing your pupils. 

"Everything and more...okay I-I need to finish off my makeup, then we are leaving." You shake yourself out of the lustful haze and step around Frankie. Focus. You dip the end of a brush into the red bottle of fake blood. Focus. Frankie watches you drip the red thick liquid from the corners of your mouth, smearing it across your face for an effortless look. Focus. Dipping again but letting the tear of blood run down your chest and leak down your cleavage. Your costume was just an excuse to wear the black Body Con mini dress that you bought months ago, so you threw on the fake blood and glued fangs to your teeth. Just an excuse to slut it out. Frankie certainly appreciates the way your best features were on display. 

Frankie comes up behind you moves your hair out of your face and gently kisses your soft neck. You sigh, holding back from the intrusive thoughts of pushing Frankie on the bed and fucking him in costume. "I need to put on my tights then we are leaving," you unwrap yourself from his arms and pull out the black thigh highs, very sheer black mesh with a lace strap at the cuff. Frankie watched you sit on the edge of the bed lifting one leg in the air, he noticed the French tip pedicure that you got done. 

The way your body was just on display for him to stare at, Frankie wanted to not leave the house at all tonight. But you and Frankie are not having sex yet, because you think it would be a good idea to date properly, not having sex until 2 months which ends Halloween, that means he can and will make a move tonight. "Princess, you just look so good to eat," Frankie purrs, when he slides between your legs, helping you secure the thigh-high, you were rolling your eyes with a smile on your face. 

"Fish, we are not having sex, now let's get to the party it's already 10!" You push Frankie away from you, grabbing your purse, beer, and vodka. Frankie took his sweet time by grabbing the keys and his beer then locking the door, settling the beer in place, and strapping himself in, checking his mirrors. You grew tired of him being childish, your hands wrapping his tie and pulling him close. Your lips melted into his, the feeling of his mustache grazing your sweet soft skin. Frankie slid his tongue to meet yours, his hands caressing your waist and thighs, his fingers snapping the top of the thigh highs making you yelp and moan into his hot wet mouth. His touch was a white flash of heat inching toward your aching core. Desperate to be touched by his calloused strong strategic fingers. 

"Let me suck your dick in the bathroom...so drive," You pull away from Frankie, buckling your seatbelt. Frankie grins pulls out of the park and throws it into drive, you laugh holding on to the door. You love seeing Frankie be playful and just a boy. Knowing that you bring that out in him brought such warmth in your heart oozing it through your veins. The streetlights guide you to the front of Benny's house, with people piling in through the one door. You quickly get out of the truck and make your way through people, just a quick hello then you are dragging Frankie to the bathroom.  

Frankie was trying to catch up with you but people held him back, it felt like he was in his 20s again trying to get into parties. Once he pushes his way through, he finds you sitting on the kitchen counter serving yourself shots while talking to Benny's girlfriend Mari. You were smiling and making faces every time you took a shot. He thought you looked so pretty in the kitchen light, "There's my cowboy," You call out to him, Mari turns around and laughs at how Frankie looked in his get-up. "Don't laugh at him, he is the most good-looking cowboy ever," You reach out for Frankie, and he takes the bottle from your hands and pours himself a shot, knocking it back. Frankie taking shots was a big deal, he was just always about getting beer drunk. 

You don't know what it was but Frankie taking a shot had to be the hottest thing ever. You watched how his adams' apple bobbed when he downed the alcohol. "C'mon baby, let's go dance," Frankie leans into you and whispers into your ear, your face burns from how forward he was being. You want Frankie to like this more. He helps you off the counter takes you to the living room and slips you guys down the hall to Benny's room. Frankie slams the door closed and locks it. You could feel the shots starting to settle in. Frankie backs you into the bathroom and shoves you facing the mirror, your hands bracing yourself from falling forward. Your core started to ache when Frankie started to manhandle you. 

You drop down to your knees and your hands quickly undo his belt and unzip his jeans, without any hesitation, you giggled when you saw the tattoo on his plump ass. You turn his hips to show you the tattoo better, you lean toward his tattoo and lick his skin. Frankie hisses fisting your hair. "Be a good girl and suck my dick," Frankie's stern tone captures your attention, and drool falls from your swollen lips. You smile up at Frankie opening your mouth, and kissing the tip of his hard cock, "Sweet girl, you like kissing my cock?" Frankie smugly coos, fists your hair, and thrusts down your throat. You gag just a bit then moaned with a mouth full of cock of the man who makes you forget all common sense. Your eyes were stinging from the salt of your tears, your hands caressing his thick thighs, just letting Frankie take control of your body.

Frankie couldn't stop himself from fucking your throat, loving the sounds that spilled out when he pulled his wet hot cock from your whiny mouth. "F-fuck baby...If I'm gonna cum then it's gonna be in your tight pussy," Frankie growls, forcing you back to your feet, you automatically bend over the sink, spreading your legs, on your tiptoes to level with Frankie. He pushes your dress up, giving a breathtaking view of your ass with a black g-string and the thigh highs gripping deliciously on your plump thighs. His thumb brushes over the tattooed skin then slaps your cheek, watching it jiggle. 

"Princess, I need you to your rub your cute little clit for me while I fuck you," Frankie feels guilty for getting you off at least one time by his mouth. His finger slid inside you collecting your wetness and using it to coat his hard cock. His cock notches at your entrance and pushes in without warning.

You reach between your legs, and first, just lightly rub your clit on the palm of your hand, just tease yourself a little bit. "I said touch yourself, little princess," Frankie grunts, pulling himself all the way out and then slamming back into your slicked hole, you let a girlish moan loving how the tip of his throbbing length hits your cervix. Your legs trembled with each thrust, the sweet spot only Frankie can reach being hit and added pressure from the counter right on your pelvis. "Ooh-YES, yes, yes, Frankie baby right there!" You let out the most pornographic scream. Frankie smiling at how fucked out you look in the mirror, eyes crossing, a smile, and tits threatening to spill over the top of your dress. 

Frankie wraps your leg around his waist, forcing you to face him. He presses his hand down on your pelvis whilst fucking deeper into you. The white-hot waves crash through your veins, your juices splash on Frankie's button-up and slacks.

"You're so fucking hot," You slurred, letting your body go limp as Frankie chases his high. "You're so sexy, Frankie...only man for me-" You gasp for a breath as Frankie spills his seed into you, feeling his cock throb and spurt out a lot of pent-up cum.  He looks down and takes in the view of your cum and his mix together leaking out around his still-hard cock and down your thighs and ass. He looks up at you, glistening in sweat and smelling of sex, the vanilla base in your perfume, and the way his cologne smells on you. 

"I love you, Princesa." Frankie kisses your forehead gently as he removes his cock from you. This is the first time he ever used, Princesa. You smile and look at him with such love and happiness. Your eyes twinkled, giving Frankie a look into the galaxy. "I love you, Francisco" 

[putschki1969]

『Wakana 5th Anniversary Live ～The “VOICE” Stories～』 Live Goods

Details regarding the merchandise sale for Wakana's upcoming 5t Anniversary Live have been announced. Live goods will be available for purchase at the venue and in Wakana's Official Online Shop.

【Venue sale】 May 12th (Sun) @I'M A SHOW ◆Pre-sale 13:00-14:00 ◆Regular sale 1st Stage 14:45-15:30 / 2nd Stage 18:15-19:00 【Online sale】 ▼Space Craft Online Shop▼ https://spacecraft-shop.jp/wakana Order period: May 3rd to May 10th Scheduled to ship: Late May (mid-June depending on stock)

※Interesting that they chose to not have a pamphlet for this live. Maybe it's because another (bigger) live event/tour is planned for the second half of the year so they are waiting to do a pamphlet for that? ※The acrylic stand is currently NOT available in the online shop which is a huge bummer. There's no mention of the item being venue-exclusive so I wonder why it's not part of the online line-up. My best guess is that it is because they expect to run out of stock quickly at the venue sale so they will wait until that's over to make the remaining products available online. Update: They added the acrylic stand! YAY!

Botanical Tsushin Back Issues

Goods news for collectors of Wakana's fan club bulletin! If you have joined her fan club recently or are interested in additional copies, here's your chance! Back issues #7-#13 are now available for purchase at Wakana's Official Online Shop! Please note that you need to be a registered fan club member to buy these items.

Wakana on Instagram

Post #1: 2024/04/30 Wakana is sharing some off-shots of her Botanical Tsushin cover shoot. Issue #15 has been sent out a few days ago. Post #2: 2024/05/02 Wakana is busy rehearsing for her upcoming live

[la-principessa-nuova]

My Secret Trans Room

One of the cool things about the layout of my house is that I have a walk in closet that is extremely out of the way and pretty much safe from any guest ever going in it, and so when I say I am a closeted trans woman I mean I’m literally hiding in a closet.

It started as just a corner in this closet where I put my fem clothes and my wig, but then I started jokingly referring to it as my “girl cave” (euphemism not intended) or my “trans room”, and slowly I started wanting to make it a safe space where I can be in girl mode and feel comfortable and girly.

Back when I was trying out the name Alice, I got this cute wall decal and then never got around to updating it. To be fair I also never got around to bringing some other colors of dry erase marker downstairs, so I never got around to updating my whiteboard to be prettier.

Fun fact about that whiteboard sticker is that I had a roll of that from a project years ago and then when I started my current job, I temporarily had to work out of this closet while I waited for my new laptop to arrive (they gave me one that didn’t work with the dock I have upstairs as a placeholder but I had another dock hooked up in this room for writing that I barely ever ended up using because I never work on my book). So one day while I was working in there I got stuck on a problem and needed to work it out on a whiteboard and so I went and grabbed that roll and stuck this bit on the wall.

You can also see here the corner where I have some D20 stuff that gives up more masc energy. I didn’t want to kick it out of the room because I still like it, but I didn’t want it affecting the vibe of the room so it sits in the corner. You can also see a little bit in this picture and the next one the corner of masc shirts because my other bedroom closet doesn’t have a hanging rod so I needed to hang a few shirts in here. They’re my attempt to phase in more color to make my choice of clothes after coming out seem a little less uncharacteristic to my family.

Next up is the area where I hang my dresses and sweaters. This spot used to just be where I hung my trans flag, but as my wardrobe expanded I needed the space. I’ve also crammed my mirror and lamp in here. The lamp has to be behind the mirror because otherwise I’m in shadow when I look in the mirror. But yeah, it’s really crammed in there.

My purses are also there. I got a couple different styles to try out, also because they’re really just to complete outfits right now since I’m not going anywhere in girl mode yet.

The red and black striped sweater is a really cute cat hoodie that I wish I took a picture with while I was up taking photos. I’m in bed now, but maybe tomorrow or something I’ll put together an outfit to show off some of my cute cat stuff.

Next we have the other side of the room. In terms of decorations, we have LEGO flowers in a knock-off lego vase, Blåhaj with trans cat ears, some trans and lesbian flags, a Korok (Yahaha! You found me!), and Boggy the Froggy. If you look back to the first photo in this post, you can see Peppermint Preston and Big Blåhaj.

Oh yeah, and how can I forget the three little Dvärgtall guys next to the books? (BTW I didn’t remember the name so I googled “ikea decorative men” and it came up).

In the middle is an epic gamer sit/stand desk that I have slowly been turning into a vanity. I just got it ready to actually use, so I haven’t brought my make up in from the bathroom yet. That will go in the bins under the mirror.

Zooming in a little closer, we can see my cute acrylic tape dispenser on the left of the mirror and the unicorn diffuser on the right. I don’t buy into the essential oil pseudoscience stuff but I prefer them over chemically air fresheners and scented candles for making a room smell good. I usually diffuse rose in this room, so it always smells like a mixture of roses and new clothes.

Past the vanity, I have a couple bookshelves. This is mostly LGBT books and a few books that just look a bit girly, plus some very trans-adjacent manga. They’re partially in here to hide them so they don’t out me, but mostly just because they add to the aesthetic.

Below that I have some shoes, but not much because I don’t go outside in girl mode yet. Then I have a hanging shelf thing where I keep most of my bottoms, and next to it all of my tops.

Beyond that is what can only possibly be described as too many wigs. Of the 15 wigs, I would say that 8 are wearable and maybe 4 are something I plan on wearing depending on what style I’m going for in the near future. Some of them are obviously more for goofing around dressing up, but some are just bad wigs. The bottom right one is tangled beyond repair, but I keep it because it was my first wig that I bought the night my egg cracked.

Honorable mention to the “MAKE YOURSELF A PRETTY GIRL” box one of my wigs came in and my Sundry Sidney poster, positioned almost like a call and response.

P.S.

I went to walk back into the room to put my glasses down and the only light was the red charging light on this galaxy moon. Way creepier vibe than usual.

[gatalentan]

HOTEL ROOMS | AO3

Summary: The Young Melissa/Barbara cross an invisible line at PECSA.

She could feel herself sinking into something that might burn them both alive. This wasn't a game anymore.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh my god, I think my feet might actually fall off."

"I told you to wear comfortable shoes, but did you listen? No..."

Mel had been so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when Barbara had invited her to PECSA with her, a year-and-change into their friendship. "It'll be much more economical if we share a room and carpool," - she'd said - "and also a lot more fun." She couldn't say no to that argument, really - not that it took a whole lotta arm twisting. She was excited about going to the convention in general - it was such an amazing learning opportunity. But it had come at a weird time in whatever it was they had going on.

She'd caught Barbara, on the highway, staring at her just a little too long, acrylics digging notches into the steering wheel, and figured that this was maybe getting a little mixed up for her too. Mel knew she was hot, she wasn't a complete dumbass, had had enough (unfortunate, messy) relationships through high school and college and after it too. She was pretty self-assured about all that. Saw the look in mens' eyes whenever she went into a bar. But as far as she knew Barb was straight. Married, even. Which didn't explain why she occasionally felt, saw, her eyes, intense, on the side of her face, or sometimes, well, her tits, in the break room, like she was a Rubix cube or something that she was trying desperately to solve, like she'd somehow invented gravity, like she'd hung the moon, like she wanted to rip her shirt clean off, her hands knuckling her coffee cup like it was the fuckin' Titanic door. Maybe she wasn't as straight as either of them thought.

She never mentioned it, or caught her eye. But it did stuff to her. Made her wanna preen, a little. Show off, a little. Dress nicer. 'Platonically' (yeah, right) touch her arm, knee, just a little bit longer. Push her luck. Just to see if she could get a reaction outta her. Test how well she could keep up her mask. It was the uptight ones, y'know? It did it for her. The challenge was fun, and this was just a game, just teasing. It didn't have to mean anything. They were both just really, really, enjoying the view.

If she told herself that, it made it easier to live with the fact it was never just that.

So the thought of their bags sitting side by side for a whole weekend was, well, a little terrifying, if she'd been honest, ‘cause this wasn’t part of the game. It’s like they were driving, Thelma and Louise style, towards something else. Entering a third space, not home, or work, but neutral, untested ground, an unknown territory with less rules, no witnesses. The domesticity of it all wasn't lost on her, either. The thought of getting to see Barbara Howard in the wild, outside of her natural habitat, in her pyjamas and no make-up, comfortably away from the pressure of public view… the thought that she was being trusted with that came with its whole, additional, set of baggage that felt so fucking heavy. Like she was being offered something just to see if she'd take it. Of course she would. Every time.

They somehow survived that first day, knee-to-knee at the crowded panels and hand-in-arm in the busy hallways, swapping notes and sharing overpriced concessions at another, foreign, table, orbiting each other like they were somehow still the most interesting people in any room they were in. The baggage was up in their (shared) bedroom, though, and she could feel it hanging over them like a promise or a threat.

By the time they made it back to the room though, after so many hours of travelling and sitting and standing and queueing, she was that dog-tired and sore from her stupid (but hot) outfit that all she wanted to do was collapse and not think at all. Definitely not think.

Melissa peeled off her jacket and flung it on the floor before collapsing in an undignified heap face down on her bed. She wiggled her boots off with some difficulty and kicked them across the room with two loud thunks that would definitely piss off the people in the room below. Ha ha.

"Uggghhhh. Do we really gotta go back out?" she mumbled into the pillow. Her whole body ached. She wanted a hot shower and pizza and wine and clean, white sheets. Well, she didn't know how clean these hotel sheets were, probably better not to think about that. But they were white enough. Better than having to get up.

She peered at Barbara with one eye in the low lamp light; Barbara, who was in the process of neatly removing her blazer and placing it on one of those weird, non-removable hangers in the open closet. Her posture was rigid and upright, looking as fresh-faced and unbothered as she'd ever seen her, like they hadn't just spent the same 10 hours together that had left Mel feelin' like she'd been hit by a semi and probably lookin' like it too. Her ass looked absolutely ridiculous in that skirt, too. What a bitch. So unfair.

"Do you really feel that bad?" Barb turned to look at her, looking all concerned, hands hovering in the air as if ready to fix her. Cute.

"Ehhhhh. I'll live. Little sore." Her ankles throbbed like punctuation. Who the fuck invented heels? An ass man, that's who. Not someone who had to wear 'em all day.

Barbara shook her head at her, tutting, returning to the closet. She knew better than to expect Melissa to be honest about her discomfort.

"Well, technically, no. We don't have to go. It would be nice to go for drinks, though. It's been a long day." She looked at her over her shoulder briefly, smile bright as the sun, looking like it hadn't been a long day at all. "You don't have to come though, if you're too tired." She smoothed down the sleeves of the white blouse she'd worn all day, a little rumpled but still professional, tucked into her purple vest. "But I'd like you to."

Aw, nuts. 

Guess she was going for drinks, then.

What a sucker.

Mel grumbled again, louder this time, kicking her bare feet for dramatic effect and smooshing her nose back into the pillow. 

Barbara clucked at her fondly. "Stop it." 

"Ugh. Fiiiine." She rubbed her tired eyes, and a little eyeliner smudged off on her hand. "Ah, shit. Hey Barb, do I need to put my face back on before we go out, or can I get away with it?"

"Hmm. Let me see." 

Melissa swung her feet off the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, self consciously pulling her own dark shirt over her belly. Bottle blonde hair curtained her face in messy strands, which she puffed at to blow away but it didn't do much.

Barb hummed, her eyebrows furrowed a little, taking two steps over from her side of the small room and, with no preamble, no warning, gently pushed her hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear to take a closer look at her, fingers landing and making a home near the crest of her jawline.

Melissa's traitorous eyelids slipped closed of their own accord, whole face suddenly slack, her whole body slack. 

“Oh fuck.”

She’d said it, moaned it, before she could take it back. 

Even she could hear how thick with want it was, like shattered glass.

Like she'd been waiting for this.

(She had.)

The panic crested like a wave.

She needed to do something, make a joke, break the tension, apologise, but couldn't, was trapped in space, heart a hummingbird, pinned down in a museum case just by the light touch of Barbara's tender hand.

And Barbara, she didn't say a word, didn't make a sound, and that was somehow worse than pity or shame or disgust, gave her nothing to read into.

But the hand moved, now, in slow motion.

(or maybe Melissa was dying, stretching out her final moments as a last kindness. It felt like dying, or floating away.) 

Barbara's knuckles carved a smooth line from ear to chin and crooked it gently between her thumb and forefinger, cocking her chin up just-so. Her thumb was perilously, dangerously close to her mouth and felt white-hot. If she just parted her lips a little more, she could kiss the pad of her thumb, take it into her mouth.

She didn’t. Because that would be insane. But she thought it, as the tension held, in a loop.

She couldn’t help feeling like a prize, somehow, being displayed, admired, in the crook of her hand for much too long to be easily explained. Like this was an indulgence Barbara shouldn't be taking, being savoured. It did something to her. Something that pooled low in Melissa’s belly, lit her up like a roman candle.  

I asked her to check my make-up. She’s just looking at me. That's all.

Shaking, now, the hand left her chin, beat a matching path along her other cheek, pushing the hair off the other side of her face and over her crown, holding her there in her warm palm. Every hair on her body stood on end in a long shiver, crying out to be touched too. Her breathing was ragged, she knew she must hear it; she could hear Barbara’s, tense as a bow string, as it coasted across her lips in the dark.

"Lovely." Barb whispered into the silence of the room, like she hadn't meant to say it, just an exhale of a held breath, seeming to somehow fill the whole space with it, filling Melissa's ribs and cracking them open. 

It was soft, too soft, like she was being smoothed out. 

She could feel herself sinking into something that might burn them both alive.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

Beyond this point was a conscious choice.

They couldn’t.

Her ring shone in the dark.

“Please.”

“I know.” Her hand, a whisper, a spectre, against her lips, an apology, before falling away.

They couldn’t.

She suddenly felt all of the strain in her body and fell backwards onto the mattress, staring up at her, heavy lidded and her underwear undeniably very, very wet. She felt loose all over, like her marionette strings that held her up had been slashed. 

She could see a whole theatre of emotions playing on Barbara’s face, like she’d become fully unhinged, fighting an internal war that Melissa couldn’t see, eyes not really seeing. It hurt her, badly, to see her hurting this much. To have instigated it, poked the bruises.

“Do you want me to go?” A small voice. Must be hers, because Barbara looked like she might cry. 

“No.” Assertive, determined, immediate. “No, stay. I’m sorry.”

To respond Me, too felt like an admission of guilt, and she was undoubtedly to blame, pushing this whole thing between them too, too far, maybe impassively far, maybe broken beyond repair - but couldn’t burden it, right now, couldn’t take it, couldn’t bear if she’d ruined this, and the shock hit her, then, like cold water, all over, what she’d maybe done, played with fire too recklessly, with a woman with a husband, a man who loved her, let herself get too close, took too much, got greedy. She breathed, but didn’t, not reaching all the places it should, her heart hammering to compensate, curling into herself, the mattress, the floor, the earth.

“Hey, Melissa. Hey. Look at me.” Far off, away. “Melissa, you’re ok, it’s ok. I’m here. I’m…”  a hand, careful, on her arm, not tight, just there: “I’m still here. I’m here. Breathe.”

She tried, she breathed, she counted, she looked at her, her dark eyes almost feral with concern, it pulled her in and out at the same time, slowed the scrambling, eventually, caught her breath, eventually, faded back into the sheets again, hollowed out.

The hand stayed there, a warm weight.

She shifted back into her own body again.

It wasn’t tension that was killing her anymore, it was the silence.

It held all the potential for Barbara to care, to pity having seen what she just saw.

She couldn't take that, right now. Didn't deserve it.

“Do you still wanna go out?”

She punctured it.

Barbara barked out a laugh that sounded like it had been locked away for a thousand years. It rang through Melissa’s body like church bells. 

“I could use a drink.”

“Me too.” She sighed, feeling fully deflated. Somehow, the floor between them felt more even again.

“Room service?”

“Did you win the lottery?”

Barbara just looked at her, where she laid curled up on the bed, for a moment too long, like she almost said, kind of. Then sighed, stretching a smile across her face that was just a little too wide. Melissa knew a mask when she saw one.

“We’ll figure it out.”

They just wouldn't talk about it.

[macalo-veloce]

Today I want to show you my Banana Fish Merch! I was so happy they announced a rerelease for this stunning figure of Ash and Eiji <3.

The aftermarked prices where insane. I'm so in love with this figure and it's the only one with Eiji this size (give my boy some love too q.q).

I have a funny story to tell about this figure (spoiler: it is not funny). The day this figure arrived I got home late. I was so exited and unpacked the figure. As I wondered where to put it I looked out the window. There was a man starring right at me and it scared me to death. It scared me so much I dropped Ash. As wonderful as this figure is...Ash is not connected to anything he is just sitting there like the angel he is. Long story short nothing is broken (thank god!) but he has a red dot on one of his shoes because he fell on it and the color broke off. The man was btw the mail man with a package for me and he wasn't sure where he had to go to get to my door haha.

Now a funfact about this figure (this time it is funny. Trust me). Someone once mentioned how the window looks like a toilet and now i can't unsee it haha.

The last pirctures are my Banana Fish Manga, the artbook and some pictures printed on wood. I made them myself at school years ago. I plan on getting some acrylic stands too. :D

And yes I got the japanese manga bookset because I really wanted Eijis photo book haha.

Amyways this enough blabbing. Thank you if you read all that and i wish you all a nice day~

[deusexmachinawitch]

3DOLC + ROE + 12 hr Movement Challenge (Birthday Edition!) - Results!!

Yesterday I finished my challenge because it was actually my birthday. So here are the results!

❥ Purple things of my favorite purple characters! (Kuromi, Gengar...)

I haven't receive anything yet, the problem of my birthday being on a Tuesday is that most of my friends couldn't hang out. Still, my Mom told me she was getting me a Kuromi silk pajama and I'm getting several Gengar things soon apparently. My best friend is really bad at hiding secrets.

❥ A Kinder Bueno birthday cake! and pizza, especially fancy true Italian one, heck I want a feast for my birthday!

I didn't get a Kinder Bueno birthday cake, but I got a HUGE black forest birthday cake decorated with the acrylic stand of one of my favorite Vtubers. Didn't get pizza yesterday but I did get fancy sushi. Still, I'm getting FOUR other birthday celebrations besides the one yesterday and one of them include pizza. I did get a feast though, I will explain down below.

❥ Any gift from any of my favorite fandoms (which is difficult)

Same as above, because most of my friends couldn't hang out, I won't receive most of my birthday gifts til the weekend or even further since apparently some of my gifts are imported.

❥ New Joy-cons

I will have them next week but one of my friends actually did gift me Gengar joycons, but I won't receive them until I see them. They told me that they got them for me just in case I was getting them.

❥ Spending my birthday with my favorite friends

This was the most unexpected parts. One, like I mentioned above, my friends organized several birthday celebrations for me according to their schedules. Two, actually I had a surprise birthday party at one of the branches of my job where they closed up a whole arcade just to celebrate my birthday. There was a huge black forest gateau cake, lots of food and people could play games while also chat. It was a really nice birthday but it was really unexpected and I admit I was really tired to enjoy it as the party progressed lol.

❥ Free beauty treatments

Got a haircut and a beauty treatment for free. I also got a masterclass for skincare with rice and wow, my skin is glowing!

❥ SP (lol, come on baby, be my gift)

This has to be the one of the things that didn't happen for some reason, didn't even get a greeting. It is a bit discouraging and I admit I got a bit upset for a moment, but it's fine. At least this makes me not focus on him but at the same time, it opened a huge can of worms among the people that know him and I have to clear the air a little. Not giving up, a bit heartbroken tho. I guess I can use this as the thing I choose for @starbursts777's challenge tho!

Still, like I mentioned before, I manifested my brother apologizing to me after 3 years of "no contact" on my part. Which this should show me that I am powerful.

❥ Improvement on my desired appearance (Birthday glow up!)

My reverse aging and weight loss is doing well! Plus, my skin is so snow white, I barely have any blemishes and my dark circles are fading! In fact, my eyes look so big and amazing, I look like a doll!

❥ Money, why not?

Just got a little money, but hey, didn't specify an amount!

❥ A trip somewhere???

Most shocking result as well but I got invited to go to Paris with all costs covered. I just don't know IF I CAN ACCEPT YET because it's in a fixed date so I have to discuss this with work for days off.

BUT HEY! I got the trip!

I got everything I wanted except the SP part, I think that I will give it a try and use this as the topic for the "7 Days Miracle Maker Challenge" that my friend @starbursts777 is hosting.

I'll rest a little from yesterday's party and then do my post for the challenge plus write down everything.

Thank you so much for looking forward to the results!

[isekai-crow]

Cherry Magic Ep 3

I thought we were gonna get the partner for Masato in episode 3, but we got him in episode 4. INSTEAD HOWEVER, in episode 3 we got some other fun characters!!

ONE OF THEM BEING VOICED BY FUCKING YUUSUKE SHIRAI!!!!

Was not expecting his high pitched whiney voice to appear OUT OF A CHARACTER LIKE THIS but also I really SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED. HE'S A STAPLE IN BL ANIME AND AUDIO DRAMAS. High pitched whiney is a compliment by the way because its CUTE and made Capybara have conniptions while listening cause this is his favorite VA, and also DAMN THIS DUDE HAS RANGE.

GO listen to the character Ramuda's voice from HypMic and you'll see what I'm talking about. His other characters are friggen Sasaki from Sasaki and Miyano, Nikaido from Idolish7, Usui Masumi from A3!, and basically this man can SING and has RANGE and is bread and butter in the anime idol boy world.

So yea, Shirai, Yuusuke plays the annoying kouhai Yuuta Rokkaku, whose only purpose is to make Kurosawa jealous of Adachi spending time with someone and make Adachi jealous of Kurosawa's 'perfection' when Kurosawa starts showing off trying to get his attention away from Rokkaku. I also hope he becomes a Shipper On Deck with the other new character, Nozomi Fujisaki!

Koshimizu, Ami is the voice of Fujisaki sempai, who is so far just a stereotypical Japanese office lady, but having seen her in the opening we know that she is the CAPTAIN of this Ship, All Hands On Deck, and has fucking Acrylic Stands of these two that she's absolutely gonna make kiss like barbie dolls.

She also voices fricken Ryuuko fro Kill La Kill, Kallen Stadtfield from Code Geass, Sailor Jupiter from Sailer Moon Crystal, and a TON of other big name female characters!! Delightful.

LMAO if this isn't the first thing that pops up in episode 3!! I'VE TAKEN THIS MEDICINE BEFORE. It's OTC anti-hangover meds THAT FUCKING WORK. They're also really good for dealing with certain IBS symptoms. OTC Meds in Japan are Great. (*w*)b

Episode 3 is the Karaoke Episode, standard Japanese business life going drinking with your superiors to "improve moral" (This shit sucks, and I only had to deal with it the first 3 years I lived here. Bosses don't know what boundaries are, don't even know the word).

There's tons of funny faces. This episode was having so much fun.

Poor Kurosawa fails at impressing his love interest with Karaoke cause the man is too upset by how perfect he is. WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE GOOD AT EVERYTHING. I'm waiting for the moment when that perfection is peeled back to show the person underneath.

Adachi tries to rescue his female co-worker whose being catcalled / harrased by drunk dudes not even from their company, only to get rescued himself.

Fujisaki is all of us. She knows EXACTLY WHAT'S GOING ON. Even if Adachi doesn't lmao. She doesn't need to read minds. She's got Fujoshi-Senses.

Adachi is also not subtle at ALL ABOUT TOUCHING?????? But he's also NEVER successful???????? MY BOY. THINK. USE THAT SINGULAR BRAIN CELL TO FIND A BETTER WAY.

I guess Adachi like Rokkoku enough to go to a Sauna with him? And Kurosawa is of course tags along because he gets to see Adachi naked.

This is also SUCH a Japanese thing. Someone's hobby is always something boring like "listening to music" or "watching movies" or "drinking socially" which aren't REAL hobbies, OR IT'S WEIRD RANDOM STUFF LIKE GOING TO A SAUNA.

OH LOOK HIS NIPPLES ARE GROWN IN. (This is a running joke between me and Capybara about whether a character is an adult or not)

Bless this poor simping man. Some day. Just you wait.

STEAM CONDUCTS THOUGHTS!!!!! Poor Adachi clutching his towel and running like the fair maiden heart he is after seeing all of Kuroswa's fantasies.

So capybara and my theory is that it's BODY heat that transfers the thoughts, otherwise it wouldn't work through clothing. (What happens if we get an Adachi or Kurosawa with hypothermia? Sick Fic anyone?)

But also this is the kind of stuff I feel bad for Kurosawa about. He's allowed to have fantasies damnit! They shouldn't be held against him! Unless he does something to Adachi that he doesn't want or consent to LET THE MAN LIVE DAMNIT.

But also poor Adachi for having to experience that anyways haha.

We get a rare moment here of hearing Kurosawa's inner thoughts (mostly self pity about the situation his heart has gotten him into), and it's NOT filtered through Adachi for once! So it humanizes him a bit more (not that he wasn't human before? But like people idolize him rather than villanize him... I don't know the word I'm looking for... endears us to him?) and we get to see his thoughts on the situation, the damage that's been done from being basically a "Gifted Kid" in more ways than one, fucking SA'd by a CEO Lady and also WHY he likes Adachi and damn, it took someone seeing him as something less then Ken Doll Perfect for once in his life to fall for someone of the same sex. It's definitely more than that, but like. That's so story book sweet and a little sad type romantic. I love it.

It took one man giving him a Dom Face to awaken the Inner Sub in him, and his heart was stolen, lmao. (I think this might be Capybara projecting and wanting someone to look at HIM like that tho >w>) (im gonna get murdered for that)

I hope they continue to play with tropes and don't follow the standard "One of these MALE characters is just a stand in for a FEMALE, so one is the seme/top and one is the uke/bottom and they NEVER switch."

God I hope they switch. And/Or Adachi makes the first real move. Or like, Pins / Kabe-Don's Kurosawa to the wall. That would make me so happy.

CAREFUL ADACHI. HE'S ON TO YOU. HE'S STARTING TO SUSPECT YOU'RE USING WITCH CRAFT ON HIM.

also AHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE. Kurosawa is adorable and so in love and so worried, and it's fairly realistic! I can't wait for more.