#are they lycra? painted on?

[foxsoulcourt]

“I do understand Thanksgiving. It’s about giving thanks, as far I understand…”

@aprettyspy can we TAWK about his TrOuSeRs please??!! Not ... to ... mention... those hip moves. D A M N.

[incompleteloveletters]

I put my gangly nerdy white guy-ness to good use and cosplayed Flint Lockwood

(I also scientifically recreated the chemical formula for the spray-on shoes! They do not come off. They are stuck. Permanently)

[1800titz]

The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin. 

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places. 

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter. 

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals. 

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents. 

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes. 

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.” 

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder. 

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band. 

“Can I grab you another?” 

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip. 

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth. 

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?” 

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice. 

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures. 

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc. 

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation. 

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth. 

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again. 

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split. 

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation. 

It’s a different story behind the door. 

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges. 

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?” 

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again. 

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together. 

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.” 

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.” 

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.” 

“—Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway. 

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet. 

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters. 

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing. 

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to. 

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana. 

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.” 

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph. 

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough. 

Eventually. 

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat. 

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock. 

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.” 

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing. 

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head. 

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini. 

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Team work makes the dream work!

A shout out to all the players on team-merman for @ourflagonmax @rafaelvalladao 3D sculpted our scales in brazil. @metmobile printed the scales here in our studio and @an.introduction.to our master mould maker made fibreglass moulds into which we began casting casting and more casting…. 3000 individual scales in multiple colours with an array of glitters from @mysticartglitters … so so so much GLITTER! How cute does my man @metmobile look, delicately dusting glitter into scale moulds 😍

Then our lovely @homemade_byaline would come to the studio every evening and patiently trim excess silicone off scales with teeny tiny nail scissors late into the night. While this was all going on @thecreativetradecollective babes lent a hand with meticulously painting silicone scales onto our lycra tail skins (sewn and airbrushed by yours truely of course)

The idea was to have a combo of hand painted silicone scales and fully cast silicone scales. The end result was SEAMLESS!!! And again…. more glitter.

And I basically had my fingers in all these pies, sculpting, painting, sewing, liaising with our talented designer @gypsytaylor , casting, mixing, sparkling, sourcing, delegating, sleeping (no… no not sleeping!!!) Ironically myself and @an.introduction.to probably did the most hours, but we didn't get any fun posey photos with our work!!!

Always the way!!!!

And last but not least, we had a freediver Jose come and test run our fishy wares in my swimming pool (my neighbours must think I'm so weird!)… more photos to come of our resident merman.

source: hayleyegandesign on instagram

[ourflagmeansbts]

Source (Season 2 - October 10th 2023)

hayleyegandesign: Team work makes the dream work! A shout out to all the players on team-merman for @ourflagonmax@rafaelvalladao 3D sculpted our scales in brazil. @metmobile printed the scales here in our studio and @an.introduction.to our master mould maker made fibreglass moulds into which we began casting casting and more casting.... 3000 individual scales in multiple colours with an array of glitters from @mysticartglitters ... so so so much GLITTER! How cute does my man @metmobile look, delicately dusting glitter into scale moulds 😍 Then our lovely @homemade_byaline would come to the studio every evening and patiently trim excess silicone off scales with teeny tiny nail scissors late into the night. While this was all going on @thecreativetradecollective babes lent a hand with meticulously painting silicone scales onto our lycra tail skins (sewn and airbrushed by yours truely of course) The idea was to have a combo of hand painted silicone scales and fully cast silicone scales. The end result was SEAMLESS!!! And again.... more glitter. And I basically had my fingers in all these pies, sculpting, painting, sewing, liaising with our talented designer @gypsytaylor , casting, mixing, sparkling, sourcing, delegating, sleeping (no... no not sleeping!!!) Ironically myself and @an.introduction.to probably did the most hours, but we didn't get any fun posey photos with our work!!! Always the way!!!! And last but not least, we had a freediver Jose come and test run our fishy wares in my swimming pool (my neighbours must think I'm so weird!)... more photos to come of our resident merman.

[op3ra]

hi tumblr this is my wrench cosplay. I built her in 8 days in july for some reason

some build talk under the cut (and a picture of the kneepads). feel free to ask or reach out with questions!

she is built almost entirely of EVA foam and contact cement and is my first ever foam build. her leotard and gloves are prepurchased and my hair was already dyed these colors (blue velvet + cranberry + blood moon from lunartides)

her shoulder piece is actually an exceedingly simple build; it's just a bunch of 6mm (or maybe 8? I can't recall) rectangles + trapezoids, then smaller rectangles and triangles for the shoulder bits. the trim of the red part is just 2mm EVA foam cut into strips and glued on. it has a split velcro closure in the back.

the actual shoulder bits of the shoulder piece are held in place with black vinyl; which would allow them to flip up if I hadn't messed up the silver bits lol. the silver stripes are scrapbooking cardstock, cut to size and glued on after the pieces were painted. I would like to upgrade to vinyl-wrapped foam on future iterations

the belt is a 8mm base with 6mm silver parts, and the coupler rings are 12 inch EVA dowels glued into circles and then glued on and held in place with 4 mm strips. the belt has a velcro closure in the back.

the tabards are honestly the one piece that needs to be replaced the most at this stage; they're also 6mm EVA foam with 2 mm details, then spray painted silver and hand painted with the blue details. the lower tabard pieces have not held up well to movement :I the top ones are connected to the belt with two velcro straps at the bottom corners, and to eachother at the top with black vinyl straps. there's also Velcro on the leotard to hold flush to my body.

all of the foam construction was glued together, then heat sealed, then plastidip sealed, then spray painted, then coated with a clear coating. unfortunately only the shoulder piece was really properly sealed, but it SHOWS. my neighbor stepped on it on Halloween and the damage was like, NOTHING.

the neckpiece is pretty much a mockneck that I pull over my head, with a red vinyl collar that I sewed and then studded using leftover cats cosplay collar studs. the headband is just Eva foam with elastic. the kneepad base is pretty much a lycra sleeve dyed silver.

the kneepads are a two-piece EVA foam construction that I patterned off of... an existing kneepad, I think? they're glued, heat formed, and then have elastic straps around the back of the knee to hold them in place.

I know the lettering is ass but. recall that this was an 8 day con crunch and I have never painted foam before lol

finally, the elbows are just also 2-piece Eva foam constructions that I just patterned directly off my elbow. I actually built bumpers but ran out of time to figure out a way to attach them lol. the arm band is just a simple 4mm rectangle with 2mm trim and a velcro closure.

overall the velcro closures are one of my favorite things on this costume; they're all sturdy strips of velcro sewn onto neatly sewn black vinyl rectangles and are VERY STURDY.

my main issues with this build was mostly the paint I used, to be honest; it was an absolute nightmare and in the end I wish I had used krylon for everything, BECAUSE IT IS THE ONLY PAINT THAT IS STILL HOLDING UP (the red)

overall the build was a ton of fun! I spent up to 14 hours a day working on her bc i went absolutely insane. i still don't know what happened to me.

once my motivation returns, I will be rebuilding a lot of her and learning the proper techniques; my next major part of this project is building the proper unitard, coil legwarmers, and latex-cast wheels and bumpers

[covetyou]

jester little bit more

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x fat contortionist f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, vaginal fisting, protected PIV, inappropriate use of grease paint, drug reference, slightly subby Dieter, the hand tattoo, reader is referred to as Sparkles and has a briefly mentioned latex allergy. word count: 4.4k summary: Dieter drives you to distraction all day, so you go to give him what for, only to get more than you bargained for in return.

A/N: A gift to my beloved @sp00kymulderr - a simple mention of it a month ago (to the day!) is quite literally all it took to convince me to write a clown fist-it-fic, you are my muse, my inspiration. happy holidays bb

not clowny in an intentionally scary/horror way, but if you really hate clowns probably do not read. this is a different reader, same clown!Dieter to send in the clown.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

ooh ahh, jester little bit, ooh ahh jester little bit more...

You notice it through your whole act - the burning hot stare of Bravo the Clown as you twist and turn your body into shapes for the awed masses. You never felt more beautiful, more alive, than when you were contorting yourself like this, soft rolls bunching at your sides, rippling fabric and making your sequinned costumes glitter under bright lights with each undulation.

It's when you see him start to adjust his red clown pants that you have to calm yourself, stop yourself from unrolling from your position, stomping over to him, knocking that stupid wig off his head and slamming him into the ground. You don't want to kick up a fuss, not in front of a crowd, and you just know the bastard would like it anyway. He usually did.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you move through the motions of your set. Contorting this way and that, bending a leg here, twisting there, until you're taking a bow and hurrying backstage to give that fucking clown a piece of your mind.

But Bravo the Clown is nowhere to be found.

Probably in that filthy fucking trailer of his already. He never did like sticking around for the finale, always taking off his own performances, sometimes forgetting he even had two and leaving straight after the first was finished. So, you wait it out, standing with your arms crossed, ignoring anyone's attempts to communicate with you. By now they know the score - once Bravo the Clown had pissed you off, there was only one thing that would solve it.

You rush through the final bows of the night, plastering a sickly sweet smile onto your face before all but running back to the dressing room. No one bothers you, letting you tug off your costume in peace, the tight lycra slinking from your body and landing in a heap on the floor. Throwing on your shorts and a sweater, you stomp from the tent - your make up can wait, you're going to go talk to that asshole before he gets too high to function.

Approaching his worn trailer, you slam the flat of your palm against the old door. "Bravo! Hey! Asshole! Open up." The light is on and you can hear movement but you slam again anyway, imagining his face right beneath your palm as you smack it against the door.

The door wiggles, bowing a little where it gets caught on the latch, before flying open to reveal Bravo the Clown, who almost comes flying with it.

"What do you want, Sparkles," he grumbles from around an unlit joint. You snatch it from his mouth just as he's about to light it, and watch was he feebly reaches for it with a pathetic grabby hands and a scowl on his face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Bravo?" you say, pointing your finger into his chest, pushing him back into his trailer and following him in. "Do you know how distracting it is, you practically getting yourself off in public like that? I'd be just as much to blame as you if you were caught, and you are not ruining this for me."

You slam the joint down onto his vanity, the discarded grease paints rattling with the force of it.

He looks so sad and pathetic like this, though maybe it's his choice in make up. He usually opted for a classic, simple clown face, but lately he'd been mixing it up. Today he has sad eyebrows drawn above his own, making him look more like a sad puppy than a man.

"You took the outfit off," he mumbles, huffing out a sigh of disappointment.

"Yes, Bravo, I took my work outfit off, now that I have finished working. You can take yours off too y'know, you don't have to live in this shit." You gesture to his obscene get up, the red pants still strapped up and his striped shirt still buttoned to the top, collar securely in place. The only thing he was missing was his wig, which was thrown onto its shelf with the others.

He smirks at you, a ridiculous gesture beneath all the make up, and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it."

"Whaddaya mean?" he says, rubbing his hands down the front of his shirt to get to the last button.

You roll your eyes at him. You weren't in the mood for this, you tell yourself. Not for him, not for any of it. "Quit clowning around, Bravo. Just tell me you won't do it again. I can't risk this job."

"No can do, Sparkles. Y'know, your ass looks huge when you bend backward like that. Can't help what you do to me." He's adjusting his pants again, just as he was back in the big top, only this time you can see the tent in them easily through the thin fabric.

"You can help it, and you will help it," you say in a low tone, walking toward him to jab your finger into his chest once again. "Or so help me, I'll have your ass kicked out of here."

"Hey," he says raising his hands in surrender. "Can't help that I know what you look like all bent up like that under that tight costume. Bet the crowd would like it just as much as I would if you didn't wear it at all."

And there it was. You fuck a clown one time - okay fine two times...three times, it was only three times - and now he won't let you live it down, constantly chasing you whenever he couldn't get his dick wet by other means.

"I know you like to pretend you don't want a piece of Bravo the Clown, Sparkles, but we both know that ain't true. Who came to who first? I know I wasn't the one desperate to get my pussy pounded. And last time? You were wet before you even got here, you were practically humping my leg before I even got anything off you. Even now, don't think I don't know how this is going to end. You're not mad that I find you sexy, baby, you're mad that I turned you on in the middle of your set."

You're going to actually fucking kill him. It doesn't matter that he was right, it was the principle. You snarl at him, ready to snap, when he's pointing between the two of you, a question on his face.

"Are we gonna hate fuck?"

"You are unbelievable."

He's pulling his shirt off and sliding his suspenders over his shoulders already. With his discarded shirt, he swipes the sad expression from his face, exposing his golden skin. He definitely knows where this is going. "You didn't say no."

"We're not fucking, Bravo," you say, crossing your arms. If this is how he wanted to play it, you were going to play right back. "You owe me. Big time."

His eyes light up, this could be the best day ever for him for all you know. "Oh, hell yeah I do. I've been bad, let me make it up to you. Please?" He's on his knees hands clasped together, pleading, before he even finishes.

You roll your eyes at him again, biting the inside of your cheek. He knew you liked him pathetic, but this was new entirely, and you couldn't hide how much you were enjoying it, even if you were still angry. You nod down at him, giving him silent consent to do what you suspect he's been waiting to do all day.

Bravo the Clown, never one to disappoint a captive audience, dives right in. Head first. Straight for your crotch. He pulls your shorts to the side, exposing your pussy to him and starts licking at you with abandon, digging his tongue as far between your legs as he can, eager to taste you. You have to hold on to his hair, still sweaty from his wig, to stop yourself from falling over.

It had been a long time, you consider. At least a few weeks. It was the least you could do, and he did owe you. And if you ended up having sex, what did it matter, it would be because it was what you wanted and he owed you.

You spread your legs wider, and Bravo moans into your cunt, nodding along as you hear him mumble thank you straight into your pussy. That does something to you then, and you throw your head back with a moan of your own just as he sticks a finger straight into your slick hole.

Your legs can barely take it, already strained and exhausted from your set, and now desperately trying to hold yourself up as a clown eats you out on his knees. He sense it, sees how your legs start to quiver before you're even close, and within seconds he's pulling you to the messy floor of his trailer. He pushes you down onto your back, and you let your body go limp as he dives back into your pussy mouth first, tasting every inch of you. It's sweaty business, being a circus performer, but Bravo the Clown didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary, he seemed to love it, the hotter and stickier you were the better.

Pent up aggression had already seemed to do half the job for him it seemed, and when he curls another finger into your core you're shaking again for a wholly different reason.

"Fuck, so close. Keep going."

Between your legs, Bravo the Clown groans loudly. The sound is muffled, but that doesn't stop it from rumbling straight through you as his tongue swipes rapidly over your swollen clit. You grab his hair, your belly bunching and curling on one side as you reach for him. His hair is a mess, and your fingers tugging at the strands do nothing to help, but seeing him such a mess, framed between the thickness of your thighs makes you tug his face into you harder, bucking into his face as you go.

His free hand comes up to hold you, tattoo'd forearm pinning you down whilst his fingers grip your belly, creating soft little divots in your flesh with the pressure. You grab his wrist, fisting a fluffy robe discard on the floor in your other hand, anything to anchor you down as you get closer and closer to release.

It's the third finger that does it, slipping into you so easily where he'd worked you open with two, dragging his fingers from side to side to pull your walls apart, pushing down when inside you to make you feel fuller than you were. You're coming with your head thrown back and eyes squeezed tight, fingers clawing at his hair as his tongue continues its dance over your throbbing clit. Your hips go from chasing his mouth, pushing into his tongue, to desperately trying to be free from the overstimulation.

When he pulls back, his whole face is wet - forehead with a sheen of sweat from his efforts, and his lower face glistening with saliva and the wetness of your own cunt. The remnants of white paint caught in the creases around his nose are gone, likely smeared into your own skin and the matching halo of white around his face is further smudged into his hairline, looking like a mad professor streaked with gray where you'd dragged your fingers through his hair.

If you weren't still so annoyed with him you'd be licking it all off, tasting yourself mixed with the sweat on his face, paint be damned.

"Fuck, you look so good when you come, Sparkles."

He looks drunk, or high, or a combination of the two. You laugh at how ridiculous it is. A clown drunk off your pussy, fingers still slowly working away inside of you, your flimsy shorts still yanked to the side.

"Consider yourself lucky, Bravo," is all you say as you let your body flop back onto his floor. He shuffles forward a second later. Probably adjusting his dick for the millionth time tonight, you think.

When you finally open your eyes again, he's sat on his ass, his fingers inside you feeling more like a massage than anything else. You could, should, tell him to stop, but you're too boneless and relaxed to care. He catches you looking, and not a moment later a sly smile is pulling at his cheeks.

"You're so bendy," he says, wiggling his fingers in you. "And stretchy," he splays his three fingers wide.

"Bet you're stretchy everywhere," he says, waggling his eyebrows - his actual eyebrows visible for once now that he's swiped off all the paint.

"Bravo," you say as a warning. You knew what he was getting at. You'd made the mistake of making that little confession whilst high with him one night. It intrigued you, sure, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't tried to fit your own hand in yourself just to see, of course. But you couldn't quite reach, the angle wasn't quite right, and as flexible as you were, more than four fingers by your own hand seemed too awkward to fit. When he offered you a hand that night, you'd both descended into giggles and you thought it was all forgotten. Well, obviously not.

"Please," he begs, eyes softening behind the dregs of his eye make up - blue and smudged and looking more like icy bruises than make up now. You doubt your own looked much better, your eyes already feeling gritty from screwing them closed whilst covered in glitter.

"I owe you, remember?"

"...Fine."

It's with a triumphant look that he pulls his fingers from you, dragging your shorts down your legs and leaving a wet trail of your juices in his wake. He throws them into the pile on his bench, no doubt you'll have fun looking for those later, and he bends down to kiss the swell of your lower belly, thanking you in the process, before sitting back on his haunches.

You think you're wet enough, relaxed enough, his hand already coated with your slick, to take him. Bravo the Clown thinks differently, and reaches over to his vanity for the first grease paint he can get his hands on.

"Don't you -"

But he's already doing it, smearing a thin layer of white paint over the broadest part of his hand, almost covering the small tattoo by his thumb in the process.

" - dare." You sigh and he simply shrugs as if to say what before plunging two fingers back into your slick pussy, curling them up into you and dragging along your walls, making you fall back with a moan yet again. This fucking clown.

A third finger slips inside you, quickly followed by a fourth, and you're sitting up on your elbows on the floor of his trailer, watching him as he's singularly focused on your hole stretching to accommodate his digits. The triangular tattoo on his wrist may as well be a neon open for business sign with how it's directing his, and your, eyes straight to his fingers being slowly engulfed by your pussy.

A quick look up at you and a small nod of your head is all he needs to push forward, applying pressure to his hand and slipping it further and further inside of you.

You gasp when you stretch over his knuckles, your brows knitting together. Even with your legs spread wide, there's a small burn, a stretch, as he pushes into you. But then he sinks in past the hard ridges of his knuckles and his hand gives a little more, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You made a living off of stretching and twisting your body into seemingly impossible positions. There wasn't a stretch you hadn't felt, but this was something new - the ache of a stretch you'd never felt before.

"Amazing," he mumbles, fucking his fingers into you past the knuckle then back out again. They start to slip in with ease after a few moments, and you reach down between your legs to feel him as he pushes in.

"More," you moan, knowing only half of his hand is in you. If he hadn't smeared grease over his hand to lube himself up, you'd still be able to see that tiny tattoo. You wanted it inside you.

A slow push of his hand again and his whole fist is breaching you. He submerges his hand into your heat, the slick pooling at your entrance from your earlier release and the grease on his hand making his hand suddenly slip all the way inside of your pussy. If you felt full before it was nothing compared to this.

You whimper, watching him watch you as you take his fist.

"Oh fuck."

You're going to come again already. You know there's no stopping it. Especially not when he brings his other hand up to hold you still, swiping his rough thumb back and forth over your clit as he twists his fist from side to side, getting a feel of you from the inside out. You grab at his wrist, holding it steady and rock your hips, shallowly fucking yourself on his fist.

You feel the first spasm without warning, clamping around his hand so hard you'd expel him from your body if you weren't holding him so tightly in place. Your whole body quivers, quakes, shaking like some haunted hand puppet controlled by Bravo's fist.

Seeing stars, or maybe it's the glitter caught in your eyes, you fall back as you shake, the pulsing between your thighs unrelenting as you feel yourself gush and soak his hand. Your moans and twitches die down, and your death grip on his wrist finally releases.

Now that he's free, Bravo the Clown takes this as a cue to start up again, pulling his hand out of you in one continuous movement.

"Oh - nnhg."

Your back arches off the trailer floor at the slow drag of his fist, and caves back in when he pushes back in. You let yourself curl back up to watch again, too curious by how his fist looks moving inside you to fully give in to the fullness overwhelming your body.

Punching in and out, the rim of your swollen pussy stretches across his fist, and you watch, mesmerized and crying out, as the paint smeared on his hand fades and the tattoo usually hidden by his gloves comes back into view, only to make a disappearing and reappearing act inside of you. Before now you'd licked every single one of his tattoos, and now more than ever you wanted to do it again.

"Oh, god yeah."

"That good?" he finally asks, his voice thick and heavy. Looking up at you for only a second before being drawn back to your cunt with wide eyes.

"Your body is amazing," he says enthusiastically, as if you're the first person to ever be fisted, and he dives back in again to lick around your spread pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth with a wet slurp.

"Dee!" You squeal, falling back with a thud. You want to watch, you really do, but you just can't. Not when it feels like this.

"So now you know my name," he mumbles from around your clit, trying to suck it back into his mouth a second later. Your pussy is squelching, wet and dripping all over his hand, down his wrist, onto the floor of his trailer and whatever unfortunate item of clothing it is you're laying on. It's going to be soaked and you don't care. All you care about in the moment is his fist, still moving, fucking you so full and leaving you so empty, and the flick of his tongue over your clit.

"Gonna come, gonna come, Dieter, - oh, g- fuck."

He moans, nodding into your clit, shoving his fist straight into you and rocking it back and forth inside of you, leaving you full as he flicks your clit to orgasm.

You clamp down on him, pussy tightening around his entire fist as you come, spasms shooting through your pussy until you're a writhing twitching mess, begging him to stop the movement of his tongue. He does, but can't resist kissing your clit one last time, tongue peeking out to swipe across it, grumbling laugh leaving his chest when your entire body twitches at the act before collapsing into a heap.

He's breathing as heavy as you are when you look up at him a second later.

"Please can I stick it in? Please?" his eyes do that infuriating puppy thing again. You look down at him, still panting as his fist rocks in you slowly.

"Fine," you whine, the only reluctance in your voice from him having to remove his hand to get his cock in you. "But you know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah, wrap it up," he mumbles, pulling his hand from you with an ease you would've been embarrassed by if he hadn't got you so worked up and if the subsequent orgasms hadn't turned you into a liquid human being. He reaches over with the same slick coated hand to grab at a tin under his trailer bench. Opening it, it looks to be his weed stash, or what's left of it, but he knocks aside some loose rolling papers to pull out a gold packet.

"Latex free, baby," he says, shaking the packet between two fingers. It was sweet, really, that he remembered your allergy.

Dieter is pushing his pants down his thighs a second later, pulling his cock free from their polyester prison. You almost ask if he needs a hand, if he's hard enough, but a quick glance and you know. His pants have a wet stain on the front of them, precum leaking from the tip of his cock whilst he fisted you. From the looks - length rock hard, tip swollen and angry, slit still dripping for you - he's painfully engorged, desperate to relieve the ache in his cock with your warm, wet, pussy.

Tearing the wrapper with his teeth, he rolls the condom down his cock. As much as he owed you for distracting you all evening, you couldn't deny there was something about this man when he was a desperate, needy mess for you. It was your body that did this to him - the soft rolls of your belly as you contorted yourself, the swell of your ass as you bent backward, the broadness in your hips, the strength in your arms.

He fists his cock, and you watch him nearly lose it there and then. Biting back a laugh, you reach out, pulling him over you until he's slotted between your legs. Any other day and you'd be trying something more adventurous than missionary with him, but right now you didn't trust your limbs to keep you up, or Dieter to last more than a few seconds.

He lines up with your slick hole, and pushes in with a shaky breath, stilling once he's seated inside you. You think for a second that he might be asleep, but then his hips start slowly moving.

"Why d'you always feel so good?" he asks, face close to yours you can see the paint caught in his wrinkles more easily now.

"Magic pussy."

He laughs, raspy and scratchy in your ear, tucking his face into your neck. "Sparkles and her magic pussy. That's a TV special I'd like to see. Could probably pull a rabbit out of- oof."

You hit him, and it only makes his hips pump faster, snapping his mouth shut to concentrate.

The sound of the wet slap of his skin against yours fills the trailer, his balls squelching against your dripping cunt with each thrust. He's moaning and grunting in your ear, whispering about how good you feel, how great you looked, about that fucking bodysuit and how much he loves how wide your legs can stretch. At that, you wrap them around him, pulling him in tight to you, forcing his thrusts deeper. For as much as he pissed you off, you still trusted him, had an affection for him you would never admit to, neither publicly or to yourself.

"Uh - oh, fuck, Sparkles. Lemme. Please let me..."

Feeling between your bodies, he tries to touch your clit again. You knock away his hand, threatening to ruin his orgasm if he so much as tries to touch you one more time. He whimpers in your ear, settling his hand on your breast instead, squeezing and relaxing his grip as a distraction from his own orgasm tingling through his bones. You know what a threat could do to him and from the feel of him alone you know he's holding back more than ever. If his balls were any tighter and his cock were any harder you'd think he'd burst.

So, you do something you said you would never do for any man, and you beg, just a little bit, whispering softly and sweetly into his ear as his cock fucks you full.

"Come, Dieter. Come in me. Please."

And he does, groaning deep and low, deafening you in one ear with it as he empties his balls into the condom inside of you. You grip him hard, hugging him tight to you as he shakes on top of you.

He looks totally fucked out and ridiculous when you next look to the side and see him, face smooshed into the plush robe you'd been laying on. One of your own eyelashes is stuck to his cheek, along with a streak of glitter. You can't even imagine the state of your own face, but he doesn't seem to mind it when he finally peels open his eyes.

"You wanna get food and smoke pot?"

The man was a joke. Infuriating. A total and utter clown in every sense of the word.

But you always knew what you were getting with Bravo the Clown. It's what drew you to him, it's what made you trust him. Everything he did was written as plain as day on his face, or tumbling from his mouth in a stream of consciousness. Most of all, it was nice to be soft and pliable, as much as you were strong, with someone who wouldn't use it as a weapon against you.

And you would never say a single word of it to his face, opting instead to suck a hickey into his shoulder, tasting the sweat from his skin as you draw a bruise to the surface.

"Fine, but you're buying. You still owe me."

soz to my tag list for this: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights

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[chronically-ghosted]

Bite Me

rating: T

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 1258

summary: before a Halloween party, you and Dieter show off your “communal” costumes.

warnings: bad jokes, some sexy make outs, this is just fluff and two idiots in love, this is not kinktober by any stretch of the imagination

a/n: i really wanted to get something Halloween-ish out before spooky season is over and when I saw that text post go around, I couldn’t not think of Dieter. I apologize deeply to Dan Harmon and the rest of the cast of Community for so shamelessly rifting, and honestly, if you haven’t watched Community, do yourself a favor and get on it. Like, now. Reader’s costume comes from Abed’s costume in season 1 and Dieter dresses like Troy in season 2.

On a different note, my computer’s been acting up so I wrote and posted this on my iPad. So if there’s funky formatting or anything, I apologize!

Happy Halloween!

🤍Masterlist

The tip of your nose itches from where the cheap cotton mask dangles from over your forehead. You adjust yourself on the bed, only to catch the cape under your butt and accidentally choke yourself. Scowling, you lift your hips and twist and yank, opting to toss the cape over your thigh like a sexy blanket. Finally in a good position, you lay down, elbow propping up your head, and you tug at the eyeholes of the mask to get the lycra out of your eyelashes.

“Babe, are you almost ready?” You call out, your gaze fixated on the walk-in closet where your boyfriend disappeared thirty minutes ago. Arguably you had the much more elaborate costume and you still beat him getting dressed. He had yet to see the culmination of two weeks of sewing, stuffing (because of course you had to include the fake muscles), and painting, and you fully intended to seduce him with your TV-accurate recreation of a costume from a truly iconic episode. “Dee, we’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna see it’s worth every minute,” came his cryptic reply. You roll your eyes. Although, you should hardly be surprised at his flair for the dramatics. “Alright, feast your eyes, babe.”

Dieter steps out of the closet, make-up brush and tanning powder in hand, grinning from ear to ear. The white toilet guard has been cut to (slightly) resemble a collar — obviously including the word “Dracula” just in case anyone could possibly miss the obvious reference. The toilet paper bracelets are taped down to prevent any further unraveling, but you inwardly cringe at what happened to the rest of the no-doubt wasted toilet paper.

His dark jeans are slung low on his hips, the black belt undone preemptively, but it’s the make up job that really sealed the deal. While having had his ass whooped off the couch for a new role has slimmed his waist, Dieter could hardly hope to obtain Troy-Barnes-level of abs.

So he drew them on himself.

“I gotta call Silvia,” he grins manically, twisting and showing you just how “cut” he is from every angle. “She’s gonna be so proud.”

Referring to his make-up stylist and the hour-long make-up tutorial where he paid her to show him the basics of contours and shading, Dieter seems thrilled to have been finally able to put his knowledge to use.

“You look fucking sexy, babe,” you tell him, sneaker rubbing a suggestive circle on the comforter.

“That’s because I’m a sexy dracula.” He winks with his tongue out and then his eyes snap open. “Oh, fuck, forgot something.”

He sprints back into the closet — you hear something fall over — and he returns, mouth full of . . . something . . .

Dieter spreads his lips and drool slides out the corner of his mouth to reveal off-white, plastic vampire fangs.

“Jush in cath no one geths it.”

You nod, sagely, while trying to fight off a howl of laughter. He slips the dripping teeth out of his mouth and wipes his lips with the back of his arm.

“Show me yours!”

Grinning, you leap up onto your knees, knuckles against your waist in your best superhero pose.

“Crime spits and dances on the grave of justice, to the hot beats and infectious rhythms of all that is wrong,” you quote, your voice deep and gravely. “The night beckons. Its black fingers curl and uncurl going like, ‘hey, come here.’”

“Oh my god, baby, use that voice the next time you peg me.” Dieter’s eyes flutter as he stumbles to the edge of the bed, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. You giggle, trying very carefully not to squish the “collar”.

Dieter taps your too-long bat ears with his palm. “You did such a good fucking job with this. Are you sure you still wanna direct? You could go into costuming.”

You wrinkle your nose. “And develop arthritis before I get my AARP card? No, thank you. My hands and wrists are still sore from all the sewing.”

“Hopefully not too sore.” Dieter raises an eyebrow at you, his hands under your cape and investigating your ass in spandex.

“I’m not getting cum on this black outfit—,”

His mouth bites into yours, cutting you off, as he chuckles. His roving hands drop low on your hips, around your ass, then to the back of your thighs. He squeezes and you both inhale.

“I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the clock over your shoulder. If you left now, you’d get to the party on time, a first for anyone in a fifteen-foot radius of Dieter Bravo, the man whom needs a thirty minute head start for any event—

His lips press warmly into the arch of your neck, teasing up to your jaw, the mask guarding the soft skin below your earlobe that he knows turns you to putty in his hands. His hands, satisfied with their below-the-waist groping, map the curl of your spine, before smoothing over your ribs. He rubs the curve of your breasts with his thumbs and bites gently into the curve of your neck.

“Baby, please tell me this is not a one-piece suit.”

“But we’re going to be late.” Your voice is already a whine, arousal sinking in between your legs. Vaguely, you hope his “abs” haven’t rubbed off on your hips.

“I’m always late,” he murmurs distractedly as his fingers seek out a seam. Dieter Bravo has been, and never will be, above literally tearing your clothes apart to get to what he needs. “It’s bad luck to change tradition.”

His grip more insistent, you fear for the livelihood of your costume so you grab his hand and bring it to a zipper high on your back.

“There’s a clasp—,”

He pulls back, brown eyes heated and sweet. “Yeah? You’re gonna let me fuck you, pretty girl?”

“You’ve made a very compelling case.” You take him by the face and pull him into your mouth, tongue licking his bottom lip at first brush, as he tugs the zipper down your back. “Besides, we’re doing all the Troy and Abed shippers out there a favor right now.”

Dieter’s weight shifts forward as he crawls up the bed, cradling you to his chest with one arm as he lays you down between the pillows, his mouth sucking at yours and settles himself between your legs.

“So you’re saying you want to put this on the internet? You’re so hot,” he breathes on a long inhale.

“I’m saying we’re doing our due diligence to the characters.” He finally pushes that itchy mask over your head and you can feel the static pluck at your hair.

Dieter pauses, blinking, eyes wide and awe-struck.

And then he smiles.

“You make a sexy fucking Batman, you know that?”

With a grin, you rub your fingers against the thin collar.

“You make a pretty good sexy Dracula yourself.” You make a contemplative face. “Batman and Dracula. Bats fucking. There’s gotta be a porno for that.”

Dieter’s grin widens before dipping his head to kiss you again, hips slowly rolling into yours.

Oh yeah, you’re going to be very late to the party.

You lift your shoulder to peel your costume down when Dieter leans back into his knees and pulls something out of his back pocket.

It’s those hideous teeth.

He pops them into his mouth, immediately drooling again.

“The cheap vampire fangth thay ON during thex.”

[painting-warhammer]

Callidus Assassin in the style of Ann Takamaki/Panther (Persona 5)

My personal best miniature paint job yet! At least, it's a personal best to me. Still plenty of flaws! Commentary under cut.

This is where a lot of what I'd learned really started coming together! A lot of Warhammer and painting channels will talk a lot about edge highlighting and it's pretty important to be sure, but a YouTuber named Ninjon broke it down in a way where I understand how and where to do it. Namely, you're supposed to think about light sources. I did that for Ann's hair and her boots; the undersides have their darker shades, but anything from topside is very bright.

The next big change was learning Ardcoat. With my Sylvanas figure, I completely fucked that one up, but with Ann I definitely put a fun candy gloss on top of the Baal Red contrast and the boots after I edge-highlighted. True, I could have added those highlights in a risky attempt to recreate a lycra effect, but as Ann already sorta sneaks around and is constantly mobile, I thought it would sell the illusion to have the lights move with her rather than make a single stationary reflection pattern.

The pink gloves were almost a disaster; I got a cheap, super viscous acrylic that made this lumpy gel as I painted, but after some trial and error I got it to cooperate.

The basing is still touch and go. I genuinely did try to edge highlight the bullet decals and the rocks, honest; I was actually hyped because I wanted to make it the stylish red, white, and black that Persona 5 is famous for. But in the end it came off as looking unpainted when I added whiter highlights, so I just doused the whole thing in Black Legion contrast.

The base was a happy accident. It's not how I initially wanted it. I put Mordant Earth down, thinking I would flow some red shader through to make a weird lava-ish effect that had the bright red of Persona 5 again, but they just mushed together to make this weird mud. A bummer, but it did teach me how to make mud in the future!

And the base. Yeah you're supposed to put black on the rims, but I had to go for style.

Overall, I just feel proud of this one, whether or not I should. I'm always glad when I get to use a color scheme completely different from canon or at the very least different from the on-the-box demo artwork.

The boots were me flying blind, and admittedly on Ann/Panther herself, they're a slightly darker red rather than an outright purple, but I thought purple was a bit more dynamic and I did it for the belt and various other straps as well.

I'll admit I had no good ideas for the poisoned needles, I just doused them in Barak-Nar Burgundy and moved on. The guns and sword I had an idea for, I was going to go for implying they were a polymorphed Morgana, but it just didn't seem interesting. I definitely just half-assed them, but I think it's fine given I wanted the attention on Ann herself. So even the weapons, something I struggle with to make interesting, turned out okay, I think. I got 'em done and moved on.

A small detail I thought was fun: the goggles. I made them Ann's specific eye color! I think they stand out pretty well on the overall model and they don't clash with anything.

Also, Baharroth Blue is the color I love/use way too much, and if it's not on my figure somehow then is it really complete? I think not. 😜

This isn't my favorite figure, but it's the one I pull out when I want to flex a little. I still got one more where it's from a media franchise to go before I post my main army. It's not going to be as good as Ann, but then again I don't know if I'd call it finished per se. Until then!

[amazonmandy]

New commission: Heartsteel Aphelios of League of Legends! This one was fun, I love combining many different types of fabrics! Soft Lycra, spandex, metallic silver, and I custom airbrushed taffeta and holographic fabric as well! My mannequin doesn’t have much in the way of shoulders, so I’m looking forward to seeing it fit on my client properly! 3D prints from the shop Laaayel that I printed & painted!

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 321: A Date with her Chest, p1

MANIFEST: My breasts are perfect, and huge. He loves huge breasts. When he thinks of my breasts he thinks of comfort and good things.  My breasts are all he needs for warmth and protection. The larger they grow, the more they can provide for him. He wants me to provide everything for him. He wants me to be able to do it all and take care of him. Without me he is helpless and in danger. Without my breasts he is cold and afraid.

She had heard the doorbell - he’s right on time! - from where she stood in front of the mirror in the downstairs bathroom, doing her little pep talk with herself. It had made her tingle, the thoughts she’d been having, what she’d started talking about making manifest, making real. If it really worked…omg haha! Anyway, she hurried towards the soaring foyer - click click click went her high, high heels - and took a deep breath just to inflate her cleavage, right as she opened the door. There he is! And ooo he brought wine!

His eyes went right to her chest, she saw. He was so fixated by them, immediately, that he didn't even pretend to turn away, or try to say a word. Seemed like her manifestation was doing the trick already! Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, she thought, as she set her shoulders and let him take a good look. She’d worn this top - an off-the-shoulder lycra bodysuit of a pretty blue-green that she had tucked into her little white shorts - specifically because of how big and full it made her boobs look. She didn’t even need to use a bra with it and yet it gave her such a nice shape and support that she knew she’d have his attention and draw his stares. So, she was getting exactly what she wanted…but she figured she could scold him anyway haha. “Oh honey, look at you. You’re ooogling,” she laughed, smiling at him when his eyes tore themselves away and he mumbled a quiet apology, “So naughty! Most boys would get a slap for staring.” This was going great already, and she bit her lower lip fetchingly. “Hi there….welcome…” she finally purred as her eyes flashed in excitement, greeting him at her new place. Or, rather, her mom’s place. 

He blinked himself back to the moment, remembering his manners and having just had the image of her slapping him clean to the ground with one blow. “H-hi…” he stammered back, smiling wanly and looking at the grand, sophisticated doorway. He was eager, though nervously so, for this evening. Their alone times together, his and Melissa’s, had been mind-blowing so far, but he had concerns about, well…the developing power dynamic. He’d been struggling with his self confidence this week, and since the election there’d been a bit more distance between the two of them. He knew she’d been busy but it made him anxious, and he had to scold himself when he caught himself thinking like a schoolgirl, worried about interpreting everything she said or did, obsessed with reading signals, feeling himself becoming emotionally needy. This wasn’t him! 

He smelled something. Was something burning?

Melissa could sense the nervousness in him. She liked this, she liked him when he was nervous! It made him so adorable. Her outfit, painted tightly over the curves of her athletically voluptuous body, was having its desired effect and already she felt like the huge spider-lady that had just caught a fly in her web. She had him right where she wanted him, and could just wrap him up in her tendrils. Now, would she eat her prey right now or save him for later haha? She knew she should wait but the way he was looking up at her, as she stood nearly two feet taller than him made her want to gobble him up that instant! At the very least she needed-.

“Come here…” she said with a gentle voice and extending her arms, “...hug.”

He glanced down: as tall as she was, she was wearing heels. Big ones. Big white ones. He stepped to her, swallowing nervously and with every step she just looked taller. 

“Come closer, come on, I´m not going to bite,” she urged, giggling. She wanted him to come to her; in her six-inch heels she was - by god - seven feet tall and her head might not have cleared the oversized doorframe without ducking.

Step by step, he approached her, wondering how close was close enough, until he felt her arms reach around him and pull him into her. His head came to rest just below her massive breasts. He felt so awkward, standing there holding a bottle of white Burgundy. She was such an enormous woman to him. Melissa wasn’t skinny, but she was ultra slim in the waist, and his arms could still encircle her. She just seemed huge, and her hug was tight, strong, warm. She rubbed his back with one of her hands, and as she knew she was making him feel small in comparison to her, she finally spoke. “I wanted to give you a hug because hugs can make you feel calm,” she said girlishly, but then dropped a knowing warmth into her voice, “I know you’re nervous, sweetie, but settle your mind. It’s just us here tonight, we have the house all to ourselves. We can talk.” She continued to rub his back, holding him to her with her other hand palming the back of his head to her sternum.

He tensed. How did she know? How did she know how anxious he’d been? He breathed in her deep perfume; that made him feel a little better.

“I know you´re not feeling so good about this whole thing, what’s happening in the world,” she continued, indulgently, “And I understand it, I totally do.This must not be easy for you. Plus, I’ve been so busy - at work, moving - that I haven’t really been there for you.”  She petted his hair and couldn’t help but feel it: it may have been her imagination, but in their hug he felt like he was even smaller than last time they were together. She fought back a smile, and resisted the urge to mention anything just yet.

Finally, after another long, tender moment together just enjoying the feel of his body against hers, Melissa released him from her embrace and stepped back, into the foyer entry of the house. “Take your shoes off,” she directed as he took his first step in, “my mom doesn’t like shoes in the house. Here I’ll take the wine.” 

He handed it over, the bottle of ‘26 Pouilly-Fuissé.

“Oooo this looks fancy!” Melissa cooed, reading the label, “Did one of the girls pick it up for you?”

“I, um, ran in myself,” he admitted, remembering how just ten minutes ago he’d nearly had to retch at the counter of the liquor store, “I’d asked Aubrey to stop by the wine place over on Fairfield on the way over.” So weird how his stomach was these days, after…was it being in a car? Just being new places? I mean, he felt fine in the car with Aubrey, who had given him a ride and dropped him outside the wine store to pick up the bottle. Aubrey had urged him to look in her eyes and breathe deep when he’d got back in the car with the wine and a splitting headache, the world spinning; that had weirdly worked. And now that he was here, at Melissa’s place, he felt okay too. But even the walk from the car to her front door made him queasy and uneasy. So weird…  

“That was so nice, but next time you don’t have to,” Melissa answered, “My mom has a really big wine cellar thing downstairs and I know wine’s expensive.” She looked at the label…not that she really understood anything on it, despite the time she’d spent in France as a kid. But it actually gave her a weird little shiver, thinking of him paying for this bottle himself, all alone in the store with strange people. She should have asked Aubrey to go in with him. 

Trying to ignore the little twinge to his pride that her last comment left - it was true: he was nearly broke, but it was just a bottle of wine! -  he answered back. “Well, it was really nice of Aubrey to drive me over.”

“Oh, she was so happy to do it,” Melissa replied, shutting the heavy front door behind him with a portentous, sealing <shluup>. She had arranged Aubrey - who certainly seemed, yes, more than eager to oblige and have some time alone with him, have him all to herself if only for the twenty minute drive. All her girls liked him so much, but Aubrey had had a girlish crush on him for years. She had been giddy when Melissa asked her to help out tonight. She’d ask Aubrey for details on the ride later, but she’d given her specific instructions: hands off, for tonight. Tonight haha he’s mine! Aubrey was a good girl, and though hormones were running super high in the office these days, Melissa knew she’d respect her wishes. It really made Melissa excited that they were becoming this big, happy family together.

“Here, I’ll go put this in the chiller, then I’ll give you a little tour,” she said, turning to walk through to the kitchen. As she left she felt his eyes immediately go to her butt, and fighting back a little smile she purposefully put an extra sway into the already ultra-feminine swing of her broad hips.

Gulping, eyes fixed and unblinking, he couldn’t help but admire the form of her perfectly formed backside and bare, killer legs, hamstrings corded, powerful thighs narrowing to knees and then flaring out again to strong calves and down again to elegant, similarly corded ankles.  Melissa had big feet. She’d been keeping the house warm enough to wear shorts, and he in fact was now feeling a little - gulp again - warm himself. Her hips swayed in a hypnotic motion as she walked, and he watched the pendulum of her ample bottom sway like a huge steel apple under brief, tightly stretched shorts of white denim. His gaze then shifted up to her incredibly toned back, left half bare by the scoop back of her top. Her hair looked thicker and fuller than he had ever seen it as it swished back and forth over her well-muscled shoulders.

Melissa disappeared for a moment, out of the front foyer and around the corner into the kitchen, suddenly jolting him from his frozen reverie. Oh yeah! Taking off shoes! One hand on the wall for support, he leaned over to start untying. Her mom, he guessed, liked to keep things clean, or preserve her floors or whatever. 

But…wait. What about her, Melissa? She was wearing heels tonight, right?

He didn’t have even a moment to ponder the question before Melissa reappeared, holding a hand out and wiggling her fingers to urge him towards her. “Let me give you a tour,“ she beamed.

After clumsily removing his final tightly-laced-but-still-too-big sneaker and dropping it aside the door, he stepped to Melissa and, hand inside hers, was treated to a walk-through of the house. He smiled up at her, and tried not to stare at her tits.

Her perfume was lovely, but he got another whiff of something else, burned. 

“So, my mom moved in here a few years ago, so I never really lived here,” she began, as she took him first into the kitchen, a big, beautifully modern space done in whites and greys, stones and natural woods. “It’s so weird, at least I think so. It’s so big, and fancy,” she continued, running fingers over the marble countertops as they strolled through the kitchen, “and we grew up so poor. She’s all by herself, travels a lot. I don’t really know why she needs all this.” Big chrome appliances, lots of glass and white cabinetry, beautiful artwork. He admired it all, tried to take it all in, not able to help but wonder what Melissa’s mother did for a living, or how she’d come into money. Melissa tended to be evasive about her family and upbringing, and he was actually a bit surprised when she’d asked him to come over to see her mom’s place, dinner for date night. Speaking of dinner…he also noticed a tray, a baking pan, with something black, still smoldering. 

“That was going to be our lasagna,” Melissa laughed, “I’m still working on my cooking.”

“I’m sure it would have been delicious,” he joked, and she waved him off, assuring him otherwise. They casually made their way out of the kitchen, into the adjoining great room.

“But, with her away for a bit, I thought I’d move in for a while…me and Tiger,” she continued, name-dropping her cat who had not yet made an appearance, “the old place was…getting a little small for me.”

“I’m sure, uh, Tiger will appreciate all the extra…space,” he commented, as his gaze drifted around the enormous living area, with its huge windows and built-in bookshelves. He took particular note of the high, high ceilings and then secretly glanced down again at her long, long legs. This woman was growing, for sure, and he couldn’t help but imagine in a moment of fantasy why she might need these soaring, vaulted ceilings. His reveries were just that, pure fantasy, but again: gulp.

Through the great room they stepped, past some tasteful, expensive-looking sculpture that Melissa said was “African or something.” She led him to a set of wide, glass doors set in a glass wall. Behind it was darkness, but on opening it she released a wave of chlorine-scented air and deep purple lights came on to dimly illuminate a small indoor pool. “It’s not on, and really cold right now,” she explained, “but maybe next time you come over you can bring your suit and we can swim. If any of my bikinis still fit…”

“Hm. That’d be terrible if they didn’t,” he joked, immediately picturing a night of skinny-dipping with this enormous, buxom Amazon. At her height now and...gulp one last time...the size at which he'd just been imagining. In this warm, dark pool with a beautiful giantess…

“Oh that’d be terrible, huh?” she laughed, scolding him playfully as she slid the glass door closed again and admonished him with one powerful hip-bump that met his ribs. 

Oof! He had to catch himself. To her it had been just a casual gesture but her hip was powerful enough to nearly knock him off his feet, and he stumbled. 

“Ooo I’m sorry!” Melissa laughed, turning and reaching out a hand to help steady him. 

“Yeah watch that thing..!” he laughed back, maintaining his feet but half-embarrassed about losing his composure. 

“Hm no you watch that thing,” she then said, turning again to present him with another view of her big, round, muscular backside. She bent at the waist a bit, stuck it out towards him and heard him immediately go silent. She giggled, careful not to flex too much and tear through her tight little white shorts, and wiggled it at him. 

“Wow Melissa you really look amazing tonight,” he managed, softly, just barely able to restrain himself from reaching out and putting both hands on her hips. So wide she was, everything round and bulging with muscle and bigger than him. He dreamed that he’d need to climb her to mount her but nnnngh my god. This woman was built like a sex goddess, and his already-thick cock began to swell up further in his pants in tribute. “Jesus…”

She giggled again, and stood back up. “Flattery,” she purred, turning towards him and reaching out to take his face between her two hands, “will get you everywhere.” At that she leaned down, puckered, and planted a big, slow <mwah> of a kiss right on his lips. Both she and he felt the immediate magic, the magnetism that made the kiss hard to break, and his eyes nearly fluttered closed in pleasure. “Mmmmmm….” she purred again, a smile crinkling up her dimples in the most adorable way and bringing a sparkle to her eyes, “let’s do the rest of the tour later, and get you onto the couch…” 

==============================

[miasiegert]

I have a question about Cats costumes! I've been wondering, what's up with the tails? They usually looks to be tied around the waist that really disrupts the fur patterns and doesn't look that good to me compared to if they were attached to the back. Is there a reason for that? I also know Misto changes his tail for his number to be able to dance. Is there other such costumes? It's all so interesting to me!

Excellent questions re:tails!

It's a mixture of aesthetic and safety with the tails (aesthetic is the way they match the warmers so there's cohesion and suspension of disbelief), and some for practicality as another safety in case the lycra tears so there's no fallen tail since there's a lot of weight to them, way more than one would think. Tails also throw the actors off-balance so they have to rehearse in tails right from the beginning for their safety! If attached directly to the back, the actors wouldn't be able to adjust them if there was a problem or center of gravity changes, which could be incredibly dangerous.

We have a tail loop on ours keeping it in place to not slide around and hold it up. The knot on the tail belt is a second safety to keep it up. If either break, the alternate keeps it there. Actors choose where to tie it, front, side, etc, usually female characters wear the belt higher, male characters lower.

For the change of tails, it's basically whether the costume changes. So Misto has a new tail, Hench Cats, Macavity, Jenny's Gumbie suit (some do NOT have tails for this but our design does), Bustopher (different design though). Mungo and Rumple use the same tails but have to move them around their song pieces (again for safety but same principle).

I will try to take pics later if I remember--tech is always chaotic so I forget a lot of things and I've got SO many shoes to paint since right after I finished, many other cast members decided they'd love their shoes to be painted as well (very respectfully asking if I was able to!)

Safety always is our number one priority when it comes to CATS, or anything. Accidents do happen, which are scary, so we take our job very seriously, and fortunately since David was a dancer and we're friends with so many dancers, we know what to look out for to maximize safety. We also consult with every single actor at their fittings and throughout the time we're with a production (if in person) or via email with their costume department (if we ship it out).

Most recently, I had to do a lot of study and work with an actor who has rhinestones on his shoes as he doesn't just dance but he tumbles too. I needed to film him with the blocking to see where the sparkles were/which rhinestones were visible, take a lot of photos, feel his feet/ankles while he wore them, then film basically on the stage/hands and knees, just his feet as he danced so I could review the footage and see if I missed anything. Although I wanted to do fully encrusted sparkly shoes for this performer and I think they dreamed of that, I determined it was not safe enough to that extent so I designed something with fewer crystals in what I believed was a more aesthetically pleasing, although sparser, pattern.

Hope this was helpful!!!

[ares857]

internet find

[dyrewrites]

"Got your Nose" -- tentative title

I've always hated clowns. Not because of any phobias related, or even bad memories. There was simply something off about a man in that much face paint and lycra smiling all the time.

You read right, lycra.

The clown staring at me from across the party last night was either going for a sexy interpretation or mixing up the circus and a King's court. In monotone even, which was somehow worse.

A jester in black lycra with oversized buttons, a jingling hat and a bright red nose. His face was painted white, with a big black exaggerated smile and matching hearts smeared over his eyes. Hair tucked up in the hat with all of his skin covered by that lycra mess, its color too dark to gauge any real body beneath. 

He was a jester-shaped hole in reality, with comically large white gloves floating in nothing and that stupid nose glowing in his glaring lack of color.

And he was staring. At me.

A trick of the lights made his wide eyes as red as the nose, but he was definitely staring...and dancing. Gloves flashing around in a blur as he approached. I wanted to ignore the attempt but damnit if he wasn’t on rhythm. Never mind the goofy grin, infectious through the greasy black smear of lips.

Try as I might to scoff, to sneer, he made me smile long before he reached me.

God, I hate clowns.

A testament, really, to his skill. Or the sinewy muscles made clearer when he stopped, a few feet away, to bow with flourish.

“Good sir knight, might I trouble you for a dance?”

Eloquent, near-cooed his words, and I should have noticed how easily I heard them over the pounding bass of the music—but I didn’t.

See, I’d come to the party dressed as a knight in shining armor. ‘Shining’ was pushing it, if I’m being honest, but it was real armor. Had a friend with her own forge and an obsessive love affair with all things middle ages. It wouldn’t have withstood a joust or anything—too thin, meant to be a show I could dance in—but it was real, down to the chain mail underneath.

Which is to say I’d heard those exact words all night from all manner of clowns.

But none dressed like one, so I accepted. In character, as clearly that was what we were doing, right?

Playing parts.

[highwayking]

Have not been on here nearly as much as I used to-outside of my job I've been working very hard on my next cosplay build: Electra from starlight express

This is the most complex costume I've ever made, but I'm very pleased with what I have so far!

Still have a lot of ways left to go! But it's been extremely rewarding seeing things piece together so nicely

Write-up and WIP photos under cut

The very first thing I started with this costume was the bodysuit, it is the foundation that everything will sit upon so it should be out of the way first, and it would be easier to pattern my armour once I know how it will sit in relation to the rest of the costume

I also knew I would be wearing this to a convention and would want to have easy access for the washroom, so I actually turned a full bodysuit pattern into separate leggings and a leotard with a snap crotch closure

Did the leggings first-at first I wanted to be as accurate as possible with a silver chrome foil HTV that I cut on my Cricut machine with the circuit pattern cut out- but I found out after ironing that despite there being all these spaces between the squares that the fabric did not stretch enough to be able to fit(I had made mock-ups for my clothing pieces and those did fit correctly)

Red sections of clothing is turned edge applique done with water soluble stabilizer so it could stretch after throwing it in the wash

So after that didn't pan out I switched to a stretch HTV, just using the same design files, and widened the legs a bit, it helped a bit but the HTV not only did not stretch enough, but does not like the lycra I was using and in areas with the most stretch the squares were peeling and in some places even falling off

At this point I had spent almost an entire month on just my leggings-clearly I had to try something else because the HTV was just not going to work

I got jacquard lumiere fabric paint in silver-it's okay if I could go back I'd probably just have gotten angelus leather paint I find it has much nicer stretch and softer feel

I also widened the spaces between my squares to give them a little more stretch, and cut just a full grid of adhesive vinyl to use as a stencil and kept the wider pants pattern from my second pair

I did have to mask off the circuit pattern this way but it came out very nicely and finally had a method that gave me a wearable garment

So I moved onto my leotard next with significantly less headaches- though my arms did not stretch enough after being painted but that was easily remedied with a gusset on the underarm

Collar is interfaced with flexfoam

Since my thigh armour will attach to the belt that was next, honestly pretty easy, mostly rectangles, used real studs and then permanent vinyl for the red and silver bits

Couplers are flexfoam inside a tube of silver pleather, physical belting straps is a thick interfacing covered with the same silver, had to use grommets for the belt holes because it was very frayed when I punched them open

Tumblr mobile won't let me add more than 10 photos on mobile but for my helmet I duct tape patterned my head and then used 2mm foam covered in worbla, used wood filler and sanded that as much as I could, then covered in a few layers of flexbond and then wet sanded that

Painted with automotive paint to get those little silver flecks, and then painted the colour blocks and covered them with glitter

Still have to add the stripes and chinstrap, and going to be using magnet snaps to attach the Mohawk to the helmet

That's essentially what I have so far!

I 3D modeled the little arrow thing that goes on the front of the belt and elbows, my brother's going to 3D print them for me 🤭

Started foam patterning this week, my original goal was to have this done by November 7th(leaving for the con I'm taking them to) but again-i did have almost an entire month of setbacks so I'm going to try to not take it too hard if I don't

[mousemannation]

How did you get into fashion and what things do you want to design for like. Your career?

thank u for this question!!! hmm, when i was in primary school i did a little sewing with a friend's mum, and also my mum had to sew my costumes for my dance class end of year concert; so there's been sewing around me my whole life. We had a sewing class in year 7 too where I tie dyed and embroidered a pillow. I didn't take sewing elective though.

I properly started to get into it once I started watching historical sewing youtubers! People like Bernadette Banner, Morgan Donner, Bella Mae etc etc. I just found it so fascinating seeing the whole process of making clothes.

I also really enjoy cosplay and early on in my sewing journey my friend asked to do a Wicked the Musical joint cosplay as Elphaba and Glinda. My Elphaba dress remains my biggest ever sewing project despite technically being my first??? (technically bc I first wore it in 2020 after a year of making it but I've worked on it in the years since).

I'll also say, as someone who's always had issues with body image and gender, being able to make my own clothes massively helped me become more confident.

Gosh I keep having more points ejiejejej the next one is that I'm really invested in environmentalism and the fashion industry is one of the biggest polluters. Between overconsumption, overproduction, unsustainable materials AND massive issues with slavery there is a LOT of change that needs to happen within the industry. Some of that happens with the general public, a lot of it must happen from the inside, and if I can be a part of that I would love it.

On to the second part of ur question (finally) well the real answer is I don't know kwkeksksksk. After I finished my certificate in fashion I had the choice to pursue a diploma in fashion (think commercial production, designing for brands, focus on clothing that gets reproduced and sold in large numbers) or in costume (specifically for live production like TV and film, theatre, ballet, dance). I didn't much enjoy the commercial side of fashion, stuff like sourcing materials in bulk, creating and organising patterns to maximise number of garments made- so I decided I'd prefer to do costume. I find the idea of creating one off garments to represent a character, using fashion to enhance a narrative really really enticing.

Do I really believe I want to pursue costume design as a career? I don't know. That question is a little more difficult for me since my disability has prevented me from getting a job. I don't have any working experience and already my job prospects are on shaky ground. The idea of having people rely on my is scary... but I don't think I'd be totally opposed. I'd probably prefer to work in theatre out of the options. Ballet is far too serious i could not handle the pressure, and I don't really like sewing other styles of dance costumes (like leotards or kind of anything Lycra lol). If I can find a local theatre company that's relatively low-pressure that could be fun.

I do also like the idea of making clothes on a small scale. One offs or small batch that I would sell locally. I enjoy the freedom of just letting myself create without restraints! Starting without an end goal!

I am STILL yapping but my final point is i have so many interests that i don't think I'll ever settle into one career. Even if i did get a job making costumes I'd almost certainly still be pursuing other things at the same time. It's a long term goal of mine to (eventually) go to university and get a degree in pure mathematics!!! I also want to do exchange at some point, find some three month program and go kskskwk. I want to travel, i want to write poems and books and songs, I want to draw more, paint more, learn to sculpt! I have always been a very ambitious person and this is not at all what u asked about so I will leave it here 🙏🙏🙏🙏