#like tah dah

[edenfire]

🎲❤️ huskerdust ❤️🎲

I'm working on my hazbin & helluva buttons and stickers for @hellbentcon and of course I had to start with my babes🥺🥺💗💞🌸

pls check out @hellbentcon if you like hazbin or helluva👀🌟✨️

[queenie-ofthe-void]

WIP Weekend WIP Snip Share!

Didn't have time to do any WIP games this weekend, but here's a bit I've written for my Steddie (-Jonathan) fic. Because I thought, "huh, you know what this steddie angst fic needs? A Stobin fight."

Enjoy (or... you know)

~~~

Context: As Robin finally convinced Steve to tell Eddie how he feels, they're shocked when they go back to the party and find Jonathan and Eddie making out on the couch.

“Everyone’s gone home,” Robin consoles, tone grating against his skin. He doesn’t need her pity, or anyone else’s. Besides, Steve wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Meddling in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesn’t understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin.

Because why would anyone, let alone someone like Eddie, be interested in dating Steve Harrington, King of Assholes and Jocks. Compared to someone like Jonathan, someone who is so clearly a better match for Eddie, Steve brings nothing to the table.

He laments himself for believing anything she ever said about how Eddie apparently looks at him when his head’s turned, or how he always goes out of his way to make Steve laugh. None of it was real. It was all just lies. Bullshit.

“Then why are you still here?” It’s colder than he meant. Steve can already feel the crown sliding back into place. It’s sickening how much he misses it, an old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again. 

If only it wasn’t Robin.

Heavy silence weighs against him. It’s not the response he expected. People always have a reaction when they meet King Steve– whether it’s disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy. 

Steve still hasn’t turned around, his back to the door Robin had come through to find him. The inability to read her eats at his nerves. He denies the sharp urge to look at her– to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyes– to know what she’s thinking right now. But that would mean giving her the same opportunity which is something Steve can absolutely not allow her.

The crown is a cold comfort if yet still a bit ill fitting. It’s been too long since Steve’s had to wield it as a sword and shield to fend off the people closest to him. He’s forgotten how. It wobbles on his head no matter how hard he clings to it. The heat of shame still stings behind his eyes. Steve hates it. So he clings to the anger, if he can’t cling to anything else.

He’s ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder. Robin’s next to him now, appearing almost out of nowhere. Steve wonders how long the silence lingered, if she said anything to him as he was stuck in the swirl of ruminating thoughts.

“Steve, look at me.”

Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She can’t look at him, she can’t see him. He can’t talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. It’s all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he can’t name or pin down long enough to examine, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. Robin needs to leave before it bursts from him like a monster crawling through a hole in the ceiling, ready to hurt anyone in its path. Like a stupid, bigoted boy willing to throw a punch in an alleyway.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

[thicctails]

the danny phantom to nicktoons unite to fairly oddparents fandom interest revival pipeline is real guys

[petrichal]

when ur art gets reposted without ur consent on a site you don't even use and now it's getting fed into AI lmfao 😂🔫💥

[kamipyre]

@ptternminds sent in: Sarang's hands suit themselves perfectly to the task at hand, even though they're the hands of a killer. It's almost a shame, how easily she forgets they are, when she buzzes around Suki like a butterfly, a dragonfly, as opposed to the wasp she actually is. She's holding up two pairs of earrings. Right hand: silver, long enough to graze the jaw ever so slightly if the head is tilted just right, fine and soft to run through a palm. Left hand: the other, similar, but rather than appearing like a string, small light pink hearts cascade in a shorter length, ending in a larger heart carrying most of the weight between her fingers. Her eyebrows waggle. She lifts the left hand slightly higher. "You gotta pick a pair. It's all about exploring new styles, come on." ((i was writing this and realized in spite of Sarang being a WHOLE LOT ORDER when I think about these two, Suki feels more mature? in how she handles the past, in particular? BUT ANYWAYSD FDKLHGL))

UNSURPRISINGLY, SHE'S ALWAYS HAD A LOVE-HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH FASHION. On one hand, it is a means of expressing herself– if she dressed well enough, smart enough, or maybe even outrageously enough, would they notice that before her face? She's dreamt about it before, always wondering, always milling on the possibilities, but never quite bold enough to take the risk.

( Of the things to be timid around, it just has to be fashion doesn't it? Perhaps this is something she could ask her co-workers for advice once upon a time– man or woman or enby, most are decidedly bold in their fashion choice. From leather jackets to fur linings, to frills lining the edge of magenta overcoats, they are brazen in their choices. Confident and closed to any if not all critiques. )  

Of course Suki barely knows where to even start. It's not like she can ask her co-workers ( or at least the ones she actually still likes ) anyways– it occurs to her that just like with other areas in her life, perhaps getting a mentor is key to learning. It can't be a man though, no matter how well dressed they are and unfortunately, if not all of them happen to be well, men. Again, it occurs to her that having no femme-aligning friends is coming to bite her in the ass.

But even if it was a woman, her mentor would need to carry herself in the same manner as all the others: relentless, patient, and wise. Pro-active too– Suki's learning has always been more hands-on. So it'd have be someone like–

Jing holds up the two earrings, which as far as Suki is aware, are only different by the hearts dangling on the end of the right one. She tilts her head. "What about the rest of the outfit? I thought people are supposed to pick the accessories after they have one." Something she remembers from the one too many dramas she's watched. Would Jing also have seen and learned from them?

( Nowadays, her job is busier than ever, but in a strange contradiction, Jing has been around even more...almost as if she knew most of the people whom Suki used to hang around are gone. )

But of course, Jing, who handles everything with a light touch, insists on making a choice. That, Suki can empathize with. There is only so much time for one to deliberate before the waiting becomes the choice. And Suki?

Doesn't have the luxury of time. Especially not in her job.

She points to the one on the right. "I like the hearts but–" She pouts, exasperated. "I need them to look at me as an equal. I'll look more like a kid if I wear the other one."

[johnlocked-swiftie]

growing up nonwhite in america is just like *your white friends don’t do this* *your white friends have never heard of your favorite food* *your white friends think the way you celebrate this holiday is weird* *your white friends still don’t pronounce your last name right even though it’s been literal years* *your white friends

[duachai]

PAS DE DEUX - THE8 | SEVENTEEN

Minghao is the mentor for a new batch of trainees and catches M/n, an unmotivated and conscious trainee in a way no one can quite explain. They spend time in the studio together. Maybe too much. The others are jealous. But nothing is stopping him from teaching his boy his body is beautiful.

Do it like how you taught me, Make bands by my lonely

♱ PAIRING : XU MINGHAO X MALE READER ♱ CONTENT WARNING : This writing contains VERY explicit sexual content and mature themes. ♱ AUTHOR'S NOTE : Um... so once again I got carried away... 20 pages... tah dah! LINKS : Wattpad

The studio was alive with movement, the rhythmic pounding of feet against the polished wood floor syncing with the bass-heavy track playing overhead. The air smelled of sweat and determination, a reminder of the countless hours poured into perfecting every step, every breath, every motion. 

M/n stood at the back of the room, trying to blend in, but it was impossible. His movements weren’t sharp, his footwork not crisp. He could feel the stares, the subtle shifts in the energy around him and other trainees noticing, judging. 

“Again,” the dance coach called out. The music restarted, M/n clenched his fists before throwing himself back into the choreography. He knew he wasn’t the best, but he refused to be the worst. 

The murmurs started the second he stumbled. 

“He’s still struggling?” someone muttered under their breath. A quiet scoff from another trainee followed. 

M/n bit down on the inside of his cheek. Then, the music cut off abruptly. 

"Alright, take five. Everyone, except you." The unfamiliar voice was firm but smooth, and the moment M/n turned to look, his breath caught. 

Xu Minghao stood near the mirrors, arms crossed, eyes sharp and assessing. The dancer, Seventeen’s performance powerhouse, was watching him. 

M/n swallowed hard. His muscles ached from overwork, his chest tight from exertion, but nothing compared to the weight of Minghao’s gaze on him. 

"You," Minghao continued, taking a step closer, "stay back. The rest of you, get some water." 

The trainees hesitated, some exchanging glances before filing out. Their silent judgment burned against M/n’s skin. 

Minghao watched him for a long moment before speaking again, pointing to the floor, still comfortably leaning against the mirror. 

"Show me the last section of the routine." 

M/n exhaled sharply, nodding, wiping the sweat on his palms on his sweatpants. He stepped into position, body tense with nerves, and the music started again. He moved, he tried. He failed. 

Minghao clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You're too stiff," he said, stepping forward. "You're overthinking. Let me show you." 

Before M/n could react, Minghao was behind him, close enough that M/n could feel the warmth of his presence. Slender fingers traced his skin as he guided his arms into the right position, fingers skimming his wrist, adjusting his posture. 

M/n's breath hitched. 

"Relax," Minghao murmured, voice low, close to his ear. "Feel the movement, don't fight it." 

The words sent a shiver down M/n’s spine, but he nodded, forcing himself to focus. He had to. He couldn’t afford to fall behind. Not in dance, not in his dreams. And definitely not because of the sudden, unwanted spark curling in his chest. 

Not for his mentor. 

Not for Xu Minghao. 

M/n took a steadying breath, forcing himself to focus on Minghao’s instructions rather than the way his mentor’s touch lingered just long enough to make his pulse quicken. 

“Again,” Minghao said, stepping back. 

The music restarted, and this time, M/n moved with more fluidity. His muscles still burned from exhaustion, but the difference was immediate. The moment he stopped fighting the choreography, it started to feel… natural. 

Minghao watched intently, nodding slightly as M/n executed the steps with newfound ease. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. When the routine ended, the silence stretched, save for the sound of M/n’s heavy breathing. 

Minghao’s lips quirked slightly. “See? You can do it.” 

M/n wiped the sweat from his forehead, his heart hammering from more than just exertion. “Barely.” 

“If you were hopeless, I wouldn’t be wasting my time.” Minghao’s tone was calm, matter-of-fact. He wasn’t giving compliments; he was stating a fact. 

Still, something in M/n’s chest fluttered at the words. 

The studio door opened, and the other trainees filtered back in. Some shot him unreadable glances, while others ignored him entirely. The shift in atmosphere was subtle, but it was there; the quiet resentment of those who had watched M/n struggle, only to see him get special attention from Xu Minghao himself. 

Minghao seemed to notice too, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he clapped his hands together. “Break’s over. Let’s get back to work.” 

M/n exhaled, shaking off the unease creeping up his spine. It didn’t matter what the others thought. He wasn’t here to impress them. He was here to prove to himself, to the company, to Minghao; that he belonged. 

As the next round of practice began, M/n threw himself into the dance, pushing past the doubt and the whispers. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore the weight of Minghao’s gaze on him. 

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

`` Days blurred together in an endless cycle of training, evaluations, and exhaustion. The choreography became muscle memory, but M/n's mind never settled. The studio had become a battlefield; one where every misstep felt like a bullet, and every success only fueled the silent resentment simmering around him. 

`Minghao remained a constant presence, his mentoring sharp and precise. He pushed M/n harder than the others, but in a way that felt deliberate, almost as if he was testing him. 

One evening, after an especially grueling session, M/n lingered behind in the studio, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Sweat dripped from his temples, his shirt clinging to his body. He should have left already, but his frustration wouldn’t let him. 

Why do I still feel behind? 

The door creaked open. 

"You’re overthinking again." 

M/n startled, turning to find Minghao leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. His sharp gaze softened slightly as he stepped forward. 

M/n swallowed. "I just… I don’t get why it’s so easy for everyone else." 

Minghao hummed, stopping just a step away. “It’s not.” 

M/n scoffed. “You don’t see them struggling like I do.” 

"Because they hide it." Minghao tilted his head. "Like you're trying to right now." 

M/n froze. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was clenching his fists until Minghao’s gaze flickered to them. 

"You’re improving, M/n." Minghao’s voice was quieter now. "But dance isn’t just about the moves. It’s about trust." 

"Trust?" M/n frowned. 

Minghao nodded. "In yourself. In your body. In the movement. You fight it too much." 

M/n huffed. "Maybe because I keep feeling like I don’t belong here." 

The words slipped out before he could stop them. 

Silence settled between them. Minghao studied him for a long moment before speaking again, his voice firm but calm. 

"If you didn’t belong, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on you." 

The words hit deeper than M/n expected. 

For the first time in weeks, the tight knot in his chest loosened just slightly. 

Minghao didn’t offer more reassurance; he simply turned toward the sound system. "One more time. Just you and me." 

M/n hesitated before nodding. 

The music started, and this time, M/n let himself move. He let himself trust. 

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was chasing the rhythm. 

He was dancing with it. 

And Minghao was watching. 

M/n woke up sore the next morning, his body aching from the extra practice with Minghao. But despite the exhaustion, a sense of accomplishment settled in his chest. For once, he wasn’t drowning in self-doubt. 

Yet, as soon as he stepped into the practice room, the atmosphere felt… different. 

The other trainees were already stretching, but the usual chatter was subdued. A few pairs of eyes flickered toward him, whispers exchanged just low enough that he couldn’t make out the words. 

M/n exhaled sharply, pushing down the unease. 

He knew the others had noticed the extra attention Minghao gave him. He knew they probably thought he was getting special treatment. But they weren’t there when I stayed late. They weren’t there when I worked myself to the bone. 

"Suck up," someone muttered as he passed by. 

M/n’s jaw clenched, but he ignored it, focusing on his warm-up. 

When Minghao walked in a few minutes later, the tension in the room only thickened. He greeted the group briefly, eyes scanning the trainees before landing on M/n for just a second too long. M/n looked away, hoping no one noticed. 

They did. 

Practice was brutal. Minghao wasn’t holding back today, pushing them harder than ever. M/n did his best to keep up, but every time he executed the moves, he could feel the weight of eyes on him. 

Then, during a water break, the whispering turned into something worse. 

"Did you hear?" one of the trainees said just loud enough for M/n to catch. "Minghao’s been giving private lessons." 

M/n’s stomach twisted. 

"I've noticed he’s a lot more flexible." another voice joined in. "I think he’s getting stretched out a different way then us." 

Laughter. A sharp, bitter kind. 

M/n’s grip tightened around his water bottle. He forced himself to stay silent, to not let them see that their words had gotten under his skin. 

But Minghao had heard. 

"Line up," Minghao’s voice cut through the tension, sharper than usual. 

The trainees scrambled into position, but the mood had already shifted. 

Minghao’s eyes flickered toward M/n, unreadable, but something about his posture had changed. 

He had heard everything. 

And he wasn’t going to ignore it. 

M/n forced himself to focus, but his mind raced with the words he had just heard. Private lessons. Getting ahead. It wasn’t just whispers anymore; it was an accusation. 

Minghao stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he scanned the group. His presence was always commanding, but today, there was something sharper in his gaze. 

"Let me make one thing very clear." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it made the room feel smaller. "In this industry, you earn your place. No exceptions." 

No one dared to speak. 

"If someone is improving, it’s because they’re putting in the work," Minghao continued, his eyes sweeping over the trainees. "If they stay behind after hours, if they push themselves past their limits, if they refuse to give up no matter how hard it gets; that’s why they get better." 

M/n’s breath hitched. 

Minghao took a slow step forward, gaze locking onto the group. "But if anyone here thinks they can undermine someone else’s progress because of their own insecurities, you’re free to leave now. Because if I catch any more of this petty, baseless gossip-" he let the words settle, his voice dipping lower, "you won’t last here." 

Silence. Heavy and suffocating. 

M/n could feel the shift in the room. No one met Minghao’s gaze, but the shame was palpable. The whispers wouldn’t vanish overnight, but Minghao had drawn a line. 

Then, just as quickly as the moment came, Minghao clapped his hands together. "Now, unless you’d rather gossip, we’re running the routine from the top." 

The music started, and M/n exhaled. 

For the first time, he didn’t feel alone. 

Minghao had defended him. Publicly. Unapologetically. 

And no matter how much M/n tried to ignore it, his heart raced at the thought. 

The shift in the atmosphere was undeniable. After Minghao’s warning, the whispers didn’t completely stop, but they dulled into background noise. The jealousy hadn’t disappeared, but no one dared to openly challenge M/n anymore. 

Still, the weight of their eyes lingered. 

Minghao didn’t treat him any differently in front of the others, but there was something there, something unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. 

It was in the way he lingered just a second longer when adjusting M/n’s form. The way his gaze followed M/n when he thought no one was looking. The way his voice softened ever so slightly when speaking to him. 

M/n told himself it was just his imagination. 

But then came the partnering exercise. 

Minghao had decided to challenge them with a new routine; one that required working in pairs to test their synchronization and connection. 

And when it came time to assign partners, Minghao didn’t hesitate. 

"M/n, with me." 

The room was silent for a fraction too long. 

M/n swallowed. "O-Okay." 

As the other trainees moved into their own pairings, M/n found himself standing directly in front of Minghao. The height difference was subtle, but noticeable enough that M/n felt it as they took their positions. 

Minghao placed a hand on M/n’s waist, his grip firm but controlled. "Relax," he instructed. "You’re too tense." 

"I’m trying not to be," M/n muttered. 

Minghao smirked, just barely. "Then let’s fix it." 

The music started, and M/n focused on moving with the rhythm. But it was impossible to ignore how close they were; how every shift, every step, brought him within inches of Minghao’s frame. 

When Minghao guided him into a turn, his grip tightened, steadying him effortlessly. M/n’s pulse stuttered. 

"You’re hesitating," Minghao said. 

"I-" M/n faltered as their eyes met. 

Minghao’s gaze was unreadable, but there was something intense in the way he was looking at him. Something that made M/n’s breath catch. 

"Don’t hesitate," Minghao said, voice quieter this time. 

M/n nodded, but his heart was beating far too fast for reasons that had nothing to do with the dance. 

They moved together, the world fading around them. And for just a moment, it didn’t feel like practice. 

It felt like something else entirely. 

The music swelled, and they moved as one. 

M/n had stopped thinking, stopped overanalyzing every step, every motion. His body followed Minghao’s lead instinctively, matching his rhythm, his energy. It was effortless. Natural. 

Minghao’s hand was firm on his waist, guiding him through the turn. The proximity between them was undeniable, but M/n barely had time to process it before Minghao executed the final move; a deep dip, pulling M/n flush against him. 

M/n’s breath hitched. 

His back arched slightly over Minghao’s arm, and for a split second, they weren’t just two dancers in sync. 

They were something more. 

The studio felt too quiet, the air thick with something neither of them dared to name. 

Minghao didn’t let go immediately. His grip on M/n’s waist lingered, just a second too long. And when M/n’s gaze flickered up, their eyes locked. 

The tension snapped tight. 

It was in the way Minghao’s fingers curled slightly, holding him in place. The way his lips parted, as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself. 

M/n barely realized he was gripping onto Minghao’s arm until he felt the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips. 

Then Minghao inhaled sharply; just a small, barely audible breath and that was enough to jolt them both back to reality. 

He released M/n, stepping back. "Again," he said, voice neutral, but there was an edge to it—like he was forcing himself to sound unaffected. 

M/n swallowed hard, nodding. "Right. Again." 

But as they reset into position, his pulse refused to settle. 

And when they moved together once more, M/n couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just come dangerously close to crossing a line neither of them was ready to acknowledge. 

The tension between them didn’t fade. If anything, it only grew stronger. 

Days passed, filled with grueling practice sessions and lingering glances. M/n told himself it was just in his head, but he could feel it every time Minghao adjusted his form, every time their fingers brushed, every time their eyes met for just a second too long. 

It was a slow, torturous build-up, a silent push and pull neither of them acknowledged. 

Until one night, when the studio was empty, and there was nowhere left to hide. 

M/n had stayed behind again, practicing long after the others had left. He was exhausted, his body screaming for rest, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet. 

The music played softly in the background as he moved through the steps, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. But something was off, his timing, his balance. Frustration bubbled up, and he ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. 

"You’re pushing yourself too hard." 

M/n startled at the voice, whipping around to see Minghao leaning against the doorframe. 

"Thought you left," M/n muttered, trying to steady his breath. 

Minghao stepped inside, his eyes scanning M/n carefully. "I was going to. Then I saw the lights still on." 

M/n huffed. "Figured I’d get in some extra practice." 

Minghao crossed his arms. "You don’t need more practice." 

M/n scoffed. "You sure? Because it feels like I do." 

Minghao exhaled, stepping closer. "You’re not struggling with the choreography anymore, M/n. That’s not why you’re still here." 

M/n froze. 

Minghao studied him, his gaze unreadable but intense. "You’re fighting something. And it’s not the dance." 

Silence stretched between them. M/n felt his pulse quicken, his body growing warmer under Minghao’s unwavering stare. 

It would be so easy to deny it; to laugh it off, change the subject. But in this quiet, empty studio, with nothing but the sound of their breathing between them… 

Lying didn’t feel like an option. 

M/n swallowed. "And if I am?" 

Minghao’s eyes flickered with something, something dangerous. "Then stop fighting." 

M/n’s breath caught. 

The distance between them felt smaller than before. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, Minghao was right there, close enough that M/n could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that if he just leaned in… 

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Minghao murmured, his voice quieter now, lower. "I tried ignoring it. I tried pretending it wasn’t there. But every time I watch you dance, every time I correct you, every time you look at me like that-" 

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I can’t ignore it anymore." 

M/n’s heart pounded. "Then don’t." 

For a moment, they just stood there, breaths mingling in the stillness of the studio. 

Then, finally, finally, Minghao closed the distance. 

It wasn’t rushed or hesitant it was slow, deliberate, a silent answer to everything they had been holding back. M/n melted into it, his fingers curling around Minghao’s shirt, anchoring himself. 

M/n felt his world tilt on its axis as their lips met. It was soft at first, a gentle press of mouths, but quickly turned into a desperate kiss, the passion igniting. 

Minghao tasted of mint and determination. His hands, earlier strict and disciplined in their corrections, now explored M/n's back under his shirt with a tenderness that belied their usual professional demeanor. Fingers tangled in hair, breaths mingled, and the studio filled with the soft sounds of their mutual surrender. 

M/n was lost in the kiss, in the warmth and comfort of finally giving in to his feelings. He felt Minghao's arms wrap around him, holding him close as if he might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, becoming more frantic as their hunger for each other overwhelmed any remaining restraint. 

Minghao pinned M/n against the studio mirror, his body flush against the other's. He trailed kisses along M/n's jawline, pausing to nip gently at his earlobe. 

“Is this okay?” Minghao asked, keeping apart from M/n’s lips for just a second as he held his face close by the back of his head, fingers entangled in his hair. 

“Yes,” M/n reassured, looking through his long eyelashes up at Minghao.`  

"Good..." he whispered, catching M/n's bottom lip between his teeth gently. His hands started to trail down from M/n's neck, across his collarbones, to the hem of his shirt. "Can I..." he asked softly, fingers grazing the bare skin of his stomach. "Take this off?" 

“Mm,” M/n hummed. 

Slowly, almost reverently, Minghao eased M/n's shirt upwards. His calloused fingers brushed along M/n's sides, sending shivers across his skin as the fabric slid off completely. Minghao drank in the sight of M/n's bare torso, eyes darkening with appreciation. "Beautiful," 

“You’re just saying that...” 

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, his fingers hooking into the waistband of M/n’s pant. He wanted M/n to see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he was looking  at M/n like he was a prized possession. 

Minghao leaned in and placed a soft kiss on M/n’s neck, his warm breath fanning across his skin as he spoke. “I’m saying it because it’s true,” he murmured, his fingers slowly untying M/n’s sweatpants, “You’re so fucking beautiful, M/n.” 

He gently pushed M/n’s pants down, hooping around his thigh along with his undergarments, reveling his slim hips and thighs. He trailed kisses down M/n’s chest, his abs, and then finally his thighs as he helped M/n step out of his clothes, “Lift your arms,” he whispered. 

M/n followed instructions. The damp t-shirt slipped off his body, then their forehead pressed together for a moment, peppering kisses as Minghao drank in his junior's body, “Fuck...” he breathed, admiring M/n’s naked form in the studio mirror light, “You’re so perfect,” He trailed a hand down M/n’s side. 

Minghao began to remove his own clothes. His shirt was discarded quickly with the help of M/n, reveling taut muscles and smooth skin. His pants followed soon after, leaving his bare before M/n. M/n stood starstruck. He’d never in a million years think his idol would be au naturel right in front of him. 

Minghao stepped back closer, his hands framing M/n’s waist possessively. He nuzzled his face into M/n’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I wanna see you from every angle.” 

Guided by Minghao’s hand, M/n turned and faced the mirror. 

One hand snaked around M/n’s waist, resting low on his stomach. The other traced up his chest, brushing against a nipple. “Look at yourself...” 

M/n looked into the mirror. He was in awe at himself. He didn’t recognize himself. In Minghao’s arms, he felt sexier, more alive, more than what anyone could tell him. 

Minghao wrapped him arms around him, placing a kiss on M/n’s shoulder, smiling onto his skin, “See how stunning you are?” 

M/n’s lips curved into a soft smile as covered Minghao’s hands with his own, relishing the feeling of their naked bodies pressed together. “Every curve, every line...” Minghao cooed, his hands roaming over M/n’s torso, “Absolutely gorgeous.” 

“I want you,” M/n whispered breathy, almost not aware he said that out loud. 

Minghao’s breath hitched at M/n’s confession. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips as he felt a shudder run through M/n’s body. “Fuck, I want you too. You deserve it.” 

M/n leaned back into Minghao’s embrace as their fingers locked over M/n’s chest. His breath caught in his throat as he felt M/n’s weight settled against him. “Let me treat you like the prince you are.” 

Minghao slips his fingers into his own mouth, covering it in his spit. He slowly trails those wet fingers down M/n’s backside, pushing M/n gently into the mirror. 

He spread M/n’s legs apart with his thigh as he slowly circled his wet fingers around M/n’s entrance, teasing and preparing him gently. He looked at the scene in the mirror, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the reflected image of M/n panting, sweat sticking to his forehead and the mirror. 

His finger slowly pushed inside M/n, watching carefully for any signs of discomfort, “Good, baby.” He cooed, his free hand slid around to grip M/n’s erection. He saw M/n’s reflection, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he hissed and ahed. 

Pushing his fingers deeper, he started stroking M/n in rhythm with each thrust, his hand working the younger’s length perfectly. In the mirror he could just see how turned on M/n was, “Look at how beautiful you are taking my fingers,” His teeth nipping at M/n’s ear. 

Minghao withdrew his fingers, leaving M/n trembling with need. Holding M/n by the hips, Minghao guided him to bend forward slightly, pressing his chest his back as he hooked his chin on M/n’s shoulder, locking a hand together in front of him as his other positioned himself at M/n’s entrance. 

He slowly pushed in, giving M/n time to adjust. Minghao’s fingernails dug into M/n’s hips as gently as possible, M/n’s hand gripping tightly in his. Minghao pulled back slowly. Almost withdrawing completely before snapping his hips forward again.  

“Fuck... God...” Minghao groaned deeply, pleasure rolling through him as he watched M/n accept him so perfectly. In and out, he had a set steady rhythm, his hips rocking forward and pulling back, watching the erotic sight of their coupling in the mirror. 

“Hao, f-fuck,” M/n choked, the vibration of his moans and whines bouncing off the mirror. Minghao’s lips curl into a smile at M/n calling out his name so lude. His togue ghost his lips briefly at the needy whimpers. 

M/n could feel his release building in his stomach, his thighs shook and he practically was scream for a resolve. Minghao reached his hand back around M/m’s leaking length, stroking him in time with his thrusts, “Come for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire but so sweet like his smirk as M/n came undone, him following suit. 

He felt M/n’s released pulse through him, hot and west against his hand. The sight of M/n falling apart in the mirror, pleasure contorting his features, stuttered as he came hard, burying himself deep inside M/n with a choked groan, then a sweet string moans straight in M/n’s ear. 

As the final shudders of their releases faded, Minghao stayed buried deep inside M/n, holding him close. He peppered soft kisses along his junior's shoulder blade, murmuring praises between each gentle press of his lips. 

The next morning, nothing had changed. 

And yet, everything had. 

M/n and Minghao returned to practice like nothing had happened. They kept their distance, their interactions no different from before, strictly professional, strictly normal. No one batted an eye. 

But beneath the surface, there were cracks in the facade. 

It was in the fleeting glances they shared when no one was looking. The way Minghao’s hand brushed against M/n’s lower back for just a second too long when adjusting his form. The way M/n held his breath whenever Minghao got too close, because now he knew what it felt like to have that distance erased. 

And then there were the nights. 

When practice ended and the others left, and Minghao would find an excuse to stay behind. When M/n would linger in the studio just a little longer, waiting. When the silence between them carried an entirely new weight; one filled with stolen moments, quiet confessions, and the unspoken promise of more. 

They weren’t reckless, but they weren’t distant either. 

Late at night, after the world had gone still, they met in empty studios and whispered things they couldn’t say in daylight. Minghao would pull M/n close, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, murmuring things like, "You’re getting better." "You’re going to make it." "I’ll be right here." 

And M/n would believe him. 

Because despite the secrecy, despite the world they lived in; the competition, the expectations, the scrutiny, this felt real. 

And for now, that was enough. 

As M/n packed up his things after another long day, he felt the familiar presence before he even turned around. 

"You’re staying late again?" Minghao’s voice was quiet, just for him. 

M/n smiled. "Depends. Are you?" 

Minghao’s lips twitched. "If you are." 

The answer was unspoken, but they both understood. 

So as the doors shut behind the last of the trainees, and the studio emptied once more, M/n turned to face Minghao; his partner, his mentor, his secret. 

And in the soft glow of the practice room lights, as they stepped toward each other again, M/n knew this was just the beginning. 

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

Definitely nothing gross cause I hate stuff like that too. Im absolutely obsessed with his hands, and so I was kinda imagining an early seasons Spencer who doesn't understand why reader always stares at his hands so she shows him 🤭

If no thats okay 😅👍🏻

Oooo

I love Spencer's hands.

HAVE YOU SEEN HIS HANDS FOR THE NON BELIEVERS LIKE BROOO

CW: Lwk size difference. consent?

A/N: Mistakes? Comment. Compliments? Comment. Problems? cOmmENT!!!!

______________________________________________________________

Spencer was sat beneath you immersed in a book he bought a few days ago. You tried to follow the words but you kept getting distracted. You let put a shaky breath as your eyes followed Spencer Reid's fingers, how the flexed before flipping the page. You were so focus on his fingers you didn't hear Spencer.

NSFW BENEATH BE VERY WARNED

Spencer Reid was a damn good profiler so when he noticed your irregular breathing, dilated eyes and unresponsiveness he wondered if it was your thoughts till he noticed what you were looking at.

Rolling up his sleeved he moved closer to you.

"Angel?" he asked for the 4th time before you jerked back finally coming to.

"Huh? did you say something?" You asked as you peeled your eyes off his fingers.

"Bingle-bongle, dingle-dangle, yickety-do yickitey-dah, ping-pong, lippy-tappy, too-tah."

You blinked twice before coming to your sense, what were you doing?

His gaze on you made your cheeks feel hotter than usual.

"Why are you quoting Doctor Who?"

"My girl's not here, figured the Doctor could bring her back." You scratched the back of your neck as you looked away.

"I'm here."

"A survey conducted by the Journal of Sex Research in 2007 found that about 30% of participants reported some form of partialism."

"Partialism?"

"A type of paraphilia involving sexual interest in, or fixation with, a certain part of the body."

"I-?"

"My hands. that's your current sexual interest."

"Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"I don't know for maybe sexualising your hands."

"I'm your boyfriend, I don't mind...in fact, I'm interested in how you see my hands" his words made you gulped. Spencer smiled so innocently but his actions were anything but.

One of his hands disembarked from the arm of the chair and began to trail up your neck, a trail of shivers in it's wake. You froze, your breath caught in your lungs.

"Spencer..."

"Mhmm...?"

He knew what he was doing to you. How it affected you. His index finger traced your jaw before landing on your lips.

"Open." it was a simple order. You opened your mouth before your nerve disappeared like your reasoning. His finger trailed the inside of your mouth before landing on your tongue.

"Suck." your lips like clockwork clamped down on his knuckle and like someone with their favorite candy. You sucked. Your tongue wrapping around his finger.

His eyes were locked on your face. Only the whites of your eyes were visible as you all but sucked the skin of his fingers. He was losing his control by the day and it was you he wanted to take care of.

He chuckled at your eagerness. "You like how bigger my hands are huh? dirty little thing aren't you."

The sound that came from the back of your throat was primal. You didn't say anything but no words were needed.

Spencer pulled you down to the floor, his finger still in your mouth like a leash. HIs other hand moved to your bottoms and they were gone. He removed his finger from your mouth and you felt empty.

That was before you felt his fingers in you. Throwing your head back you realised the background noise wasn't just background noise. It was you moaning the entire time. Your thighs clenched around his arm as you wriggled and writhed under him.

“Such a slut you are, hm?” his tone changed slightly causing you to rock your hips even more. Teasing your entrance with his finger you wondered if he would give you his cock. "You’re so wet.” He chuckled breathlessly, you noticed just how much he was restraining himself.

His hair falling over his eyes , slightly hiding his lust filled gaze. Before He lowered his head towards his fingers.

The next few moments were heaven. Spencer ate puss like a starving man. Your starving mam

Spencer brought you down from your high, your breasts having joined the game, you briefly wondered when you lost your shirt.

"No nerd facts?" you finally spoke your throat slightly dry.

"You want, fuck, you want a fact?" his voice was breathless and windy.

"Yes."

"You drive me crazy."

You laughed as you laid on him.

"I'm glad, but i mean an actual fact."

"Alright but stop moving your hands." You tilted your head.

"It's my turn now."

You traced the buldge in his pants. Unzipping his pants.

"People who-who..." you palmed him.

"Who what?" you asked mimicking him. Tracing the tip you watch Spencer fight to stay together.

" A-Are hand fetish-fetishist usually admire the nails-" You pressed slightly along the sides.

"Long nails? short nails?nail-polished? clear?"

"Angel..." his voice was horse.

"Alright, no questions."

"And enjoy licking or sucking one's hand or fingers and the acts made with the hand (handjobs, fingering, slapping, scratching and so on)" You moved your hair as you began to do just that.

Licking

Sucking

Nibbling

Spencer came apart minutes later all over the floor, his head falling into the chair. His chest rising slowly again. He raised his arms and brought you closer, his face disappearing slightly in your hair.

"Angel, I love you so much." he mumbled.

"I love you too Spence."

"We should get cleaned up..." he began making no motion to get up.

"We should..." slumping into him further.

"Are we getting up now?"

"Oh no, you turned me into Spaghetti legs!" you exclaimed.

__________________________________________________________

Spencer Reid smut has been served. I don't know if I like this or not but what matters is that i overcame my writers block at 2am

[brucewaynehater101]

i just got an idea 🤩 Tim Drake is a villain, but he's like Dr. Doofenshmirtz!

Batman: *caught in a Batman-sized trap*

Tim: Ah, Bruce Wayne the Batman! About time you arrived! Look at what I have created!

Tim: *shows his skateboard contraption* TAH-DAH! I call this "The Red-Board 3000!" It took me 3000 tries to finally create a successful one. It runs on Joker Gas, and goes about as fast as Mach 4!

Bruce: Hrn.

Tim: Tsk-tsk-tsk, Bruce Wayne the Batman. You must be wondering why I made this. Well, it all started when I was 5 years old. My parents left me alone in a jungle and forgot about me.

DO YOU SEE MY VISION?!?!?

I do!!!!!

Might I add:

Tim becomes a villain because someone told him he needed therapy. He didn't really like that idea until he saw the Riddler monologuing to Batman about his bullies. That, unfortunately for everyone else, inspired Tim.

Sitting down and talking to a stranger who is also required to report child abuse? Nah. His parents aren't great, but he likes the freedom and doesn't want to end up in Gotham's CPS.

So, Tim "goes to therapy" every other week, or traps ones of the Bats and vents about his life to them. It's perfect for him.

He spends about a week setting up his schemes, outfits, lighting, and therapy plan. Then, he lures one of the Bats into the designated place. His favorite is Batman.

He loves watching their faces constantly switch between annoyed and concerned. Tim, who has a secret villain identity, is obviously a child. He's spouting true (but untraceable) facts about his life that are concerning as fuck. Bruce is going out of his mind trying to capture Tim to get him some real help.

The one aspect Tim always ensures he has is the ability to get away. He'll give the Bats a way to foil his plots and disappear while they do so.

So, Tim enjoys coming up with very real but ridiculous ways to destroy/take over the world and threatening the Bats with it. Could Tim actually succeed as a villain? Yes. However, that would make him a higher priority to capture. That's also not the reason he's does any of it either.

Now... does he get along with Riddler? Debatable. On one hand, they both have traps and stuff. They could bond and help each other (or test each other). On the other hand, Riddler might see Tim as competition or that Tim is making fun of him.

Catwoman likes Tim, though.

[kyoteugly]

We're talking away I don't know what I'm to say I'll say it anyway Today is another day to find you Shyin' away Oh, I'll be comin' for your love, okay...

I've been working on this for past 2 days... tah-dah! It's simple, but very special to me ^^ Hope you like it *^^*

Tags: @onkidahonki @hitorizu @lemotmo @steadfastsaturnsrings @eddiestightywhities

@buckbuckleybegins @buddiebeginz @macky-ccall @inell @mischiefbuckley

@queerprincesseddiediaz @icebergeddie @grnchickenpox @chaosandwolves @buddiesmutslut

(as always, feel free to ask to be added or removed from the tags)

I hope it will work ^^ never posted animation before (never made one before xP)

[mothwingwritings]

BTD/TPOF Valentine's Gifts To You~<3

Look I know Valentine’s was days ago but it’s one of my favorite holidays and I have no chill, so you all have to deal with the residual now. (*-`ω´- )人

THAT BEING SAID- here's a little 'what kinds of gifts/experiences the Boyfriend To Death/The Price Of Flesh crew would lavish you with on Valentine's day' imagine, let’s gooo!!! I hope you all enjoy!

18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

Warnings: Abuse, implied past kidnapping, reader getting hurt, torture, noncon, dubcon, (please forgive the pun but) horrible people taking a stab at an ounce of ‘affection’ and mostly just making things more dreadful for you.

I hope you all enjoy! ˘³˘

✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

Ren🦊- Will actually get you a sweet gift, something that he put time and thought into. Chocolates, a stuffed animal, a cute outfit, a figure of your favorite game/anime character that you have been eying, maybe even all of the above if he has the budget (honestly probably all of the above even if he doesn’t have the budget). He’ll present it really cutely too, like rose petal’s littering the ground leading you to the room where all the gifts are neatly displayed, giving a little ‘tah-dah!’ as soon as you discover them. He gets really excited watching you open them, explaining his reasoning behind each and every item he purchased/made you.

“All the chocolates in store looked boring, so I decided to make you some! I added your favorite ingredients, so I hope you like them!”

“This stuffed fox was too cute to leave behind and, well… I was hoping maybe it would sort of remind you of me? Anyway, I couldn’t leave the store without him! He belongs snuggled in your arms, just like I do!”

Just be mindful that in return he’s probably gonna put on a ‘cute romance anime’ of his choosing to end the night and that ‘cute romance anime’ is 100% just going to be hentai. From there, one thing will lead to another and he’ll make sure he gets a nice Valentine’s gift too. :) Oh, and if you don't like any of the gifts... It's best just to keep it to yourself. He'd hate to have to ruin the nice time you are having on this great holiday because you are being ungrateful.

➽───────────────❥

Lawrence🪴- Flowers is a no brainer, but he doesn’t want to give you something that’s too cliché or that you’ll just throw in a vase to watch slowly die. After mulling it over he decides to give you something with a little more meaning-a plant from his collection that he planted and grew himself. He would most likely pick something like an aglaonema (its valentine colored, right?) or some kind of succulent because they are easier to take care of. He’s a little worried that you are gonna find such a gift weird or see it as a hassle, that no matter how little maintenance the plant takes you’ll just let it end up dying regardless. But he supposes if anything this will be a good test of your bond-will you cherish and nurture the gift he gives you, or will you discard it and let it wither? Don’t make the wrong choice here, it would break his heart. (And your life honestly depends on it.)

➽───────────────❥

Strade🔪- You were dreading what kind of ‘present’ this man would concoct for you on Valentine’s day, but to your complete surprise he actually prepares something shockingly thoughtful for you. He’s set up a nice little homemade dinner for the two of you in the living room, complete with mood lighting (you hoped he didn’t have any surprise uses for the candles that burned around you), nice dishes and silverware (a rare luxury, considering how he usually makes you eat your food) and some wild flowers he had picked from out in the yard (did they have thorns? Were you gonna find that out the hard way?). The dinner itself is one of your favorite meals, and while it was maybe a tad bit overcooked and plated sloppily, it still tasted incredibly good. The catch? Well, I mean you have to have some kind of entertainment while you eat, right? Good thing Strade has a plethora of ‘home videos’ on deck to enjoy with you while you have your lovely little feast. Maybe watching them will spark something between you two, it’s certainly going to put him in the mood to reenact them with you. It’s Valentine’s Day afterall, why not have a little fun? <3

➽───────────────❥

Celia👩‍💼- It really just depends on her mood or what is happening the day of. You may end up getting  something nice, a little reward from her for being such a good and obedient pet.  She’ll gift you something thoughtful and sweet, like a nice piece of jewelry, expensive chocolate, or finely aged wine that costs more than you make in an entire month. She’ll be relaxed and pleased as she watches you enjoy her gift, taking satisfaction in how easy it was for her to delight you. On the other hand, if she is in a horrible mood or (god forbid) was forced to spend the holiday with her husband, the only thing you are going to be receiving is the brunt of her frustrations. If he bought her chocolates she’d force you to eat them all in one go, prying your mouth open to shove them in herself if you refuse to do it on your own, cramming them in until you nearly choke. If he bought her flowers she’d flog you with the bouquet, rose thorns tearing into your flesh until you were left in a pile of petals and your own blood, body littered with lacerations and angry red welts. Whatever half assed gift she was given or horrible date she was put through, has now become your problem as she uses you as an outlet for her resentment. And for the final celebratory Valentine’s act, she’d use you however she saw fit to get off (because she sure as hell isn’t getting any pleasure anywhere else tonight). Mine as well make the most of her time with her little sweetheart before she’s forced to go back and face whatever is waiting for her back home. You understand, right honey?

➽───────────────❥

Derek🦂- Honestly he forgets it’s Valentine’s Day, but it really doesn’t matter. He wasn’t going to go out of his way to get you anything or do anything for you anyway. If anything, he’d buy something for himself that he can either use on you or force you into for his own personal amusement. Some kind of constricting, demeaning latex gimp suit, or maybe a new whip he can assault you with. The more it hurts or humiliates you the better, because nothing brings him more pleasure than watching you suffer and squirm. Regardless of if he remembers the holiday or not, he’ll probably just spend the day mocking, assaulting, and/or torturing you anyway-once he recognizes the date, he may even go a little harder than usual as a treat to himself.  What are you gonna do, cry because your ‘Valentine’ is being mean to you? Hearing you beg, curse, moan, and scream in agony over all that he’s putting you through only makes it better, sweetheart. Like music to his ears! Even though it’s far from your intention, you are the best Valentine he’s ever had and though he won’t admit it, he’s thankful to you for that. Then again, maybe the holiday is just making him feel particularly sappy… Has he ever told you how pretty your tear stained face looks when you are choking on his dick, struggling to breathe as he forces himself down your throat? He’ll have to take a picture to show you next time.

➽───────────────❥

Mason🌲- He’s not very well versed with the ‘typical’ things people want or do for Valentine’s Day, and quite honestly, he finds it all rather obnoxious. To him it’s just some big show, a way for corporations to profit off people’s affections and sex drives to get them to spend money on cheap tokens of affection. Flower bouquets? They’ll just die. Stuffed animals? There’s no point to them. Jewelry? Useless baubles. No, the TRUE way to show your love for someone is through an EXPERIENCE. And what better experience is there then the thrill of nature? Maybe that makes him seem like a one trick pony- he did first meet you by purchasing you for his hunt, after all. But things were different now, you have proven yourself to him, proven that you have the know-how to survive out in the wilds. Now that you mastered it, you can truly enjoy it. He can tell you still didn’t really trust him (and honestly he isn’t sure you ever truly will) but he has faith you’ll eventually come around to this new way of life with him. He loves taking you out hunting and camping, the excitement he feels stalking his prey, the sense of purpose and connection he experiences living off of nature’s bounty, he’s found its much more enjoyable with you by his side. He hopes you feel it too- the buzz coursing through the air as he finally corners his quarry, how rousing it is when you land the final blow and get to drag your prize back home. He makes you watch as he skins and cleans them, finding importance in the act. You need to witness him doing his craft, learn from him, and really understand that you’re relying on him for your survival. Afterall it’s just the two of you out here now, it’s better to get used to it sooner rather than later. Come on, it’s time you took part in helping him prepare his slaughter. After you are done he’ll use the meat to cook you something nice, or prepare you some jerky so you’ll have something to snack on. This lifestyle is his ongoing gift to you, darlin’. Happy Valentine’s Day. ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

[notkingyet2]

• kittens born on Terror shown to Ross on warmed plate

• Jopson was captain's steward aboard Terror during Ross expedition

• stewards wait on captains and officers at dinner aboard ships

• ... did Jopson get to be the guy to whip the cloche off the warmed plate and be like "tah dah, kittens for captain!"

[forsaken-headcanons]

Silly 007n7 & C00lkidd Headcannons/Situations/Scenes:

You remember that headcannon about 007n7 vocal stimming with tongue twisters? Now imagine, pre-forsaken, that while his son enjoys his screen hours in his ipad watching Vocal Stimming videos, and 007n7 catch some of it because he's cleaning around only listening to that.

Imagine him being working at the pizzeria, waiting for a machine to finish a thing and he just goes like, "Bingle-bongle, dingle-dangle, yickety-do yickitey-dah, ping-pong, lippy-tappy too-tah-"

"what the hell are you actually saying?" And Elliot gives him the scare of his life by basically appearing behind him without warning.

C00lkidd makes obvious stimming stuff, like rocking themselves back and forth, flapping their hands and bouncing on their legs when they need to stay still. 007n7 stims in a more subtle way, hiding hands behind his back or just tapping his fingers together while counting.

007n7 had actually forgotten how it felt to flap hands until he, while playing with a still pill baby c00lkidd, he tried to make a bird flying with his hands.

That's all! maybe in the future i send some ideas about pizzaburger ship, wiwiwi

Aww. How silly.

[miasmaghoul]

Limelight

Rating: E

Pairing: Aether/Dew

Summary: Aether and Dew see the ghovie (gone sexual). Contains handjobs, semi-public play, teasing, hand kink and quintessence fuckery.

(Also contains mentions of Rite Here Rite Now concert footage ONLY - no spoilers!)

"I feel ridiculous," Dew grumbles, tapping the toe of his boot against the dingy theater carpet. The lobby is bustling, filled with people of all ages in Ghost shirts, face paint and costumes. Dew tugs at his jacket, restless.

"Why?" Aether strokes the back of his hand with his thumb. "I thought you were excited to see the finished product?"

Dew mumbles something as they move up in line, eyeballing the concessions menu. Nearby, a pair of young girls giggle as they take a selfie with their creepy little plush Copias in front of the Rite Here Rite Now poster.

"Looks like you aren't the only one, either," Aether chuckles, elbowing Dew gently. The little ghoul rolls his eyes.

"Just...feels weird," Dew shrugs, grabbing a packet of Sour Patch Kids from the display stand. "Seeing it all...y'know." He gestures vaguely with their joined hands and Aether gives him a nod.

"You're gonna be on the big screen, baby boy," he says with a grin, looping an arm around his shoulders, and Dew frowns in a very stern sort of way.

"Get me these," he grumbles, tossing his candy onto the counter as they step up. "And a blue Icee. Large." Aether chuffs as he pulls out his wallet, rattling off things to the scrawny kid behind the till. "And nachos. With extra jalapeños."

Aether gives him a look.

"How much do you think the infirmary pays me, Dew?"

"Ugh, fine," he says with another exaggerated eye roll. "A medium Icee."

Aether pinches the tendon on the inside of his wrist and Dew kicks him in the shin. Aether shakes his head with a sigh, but he can't hide his smitten grin.

They gather up the pile of snacks - large Icee included - and make their way to the theater. It's a decent space, with reclining seats and extra chilly air conditioning. It's only about half full with five minutes til showtime, but Dew doesn't mind a smaller crowd. Their seats are great, in the back with empites on each side and in front, and Dew crosses his fingers that it stays that way. He sets down his things, shrugs off his jacket and lays it over it lap when he sits.

"How are you not cold?" Aether shivers, sitting on his hands. "It's frigid in here."

"You know I run hot," Dew shrugs, reclining his seat and crossing his ankles as he settles in. He grabs his box of nachos and scoops up a glob of impossibly yellow cheese and pickled jalapeño. "Plus, this way I can use it as a blanket if I want to."

Dew pops the chip into his mouth and demonstrates while he munches, crossing his legs and pulling the jacket up to cover his chest. He makes a tah-dah gesture and Aether smiles, leaning over to swipe a little smear of cheese from his bottom lip.

"Whatever works, I guess," he says, licking his thumb clean. He grimaces. "That tastes like spicy, salty plastic."

"I know, isn't it great?"

Dew uncovers himself and settles in again, stretching his legs and covering his lap. He takes a sip of his Icee and grabs the box again, tucking in while the theater lights start to dim. That same wiggly feeling he'd had in the lobby hits again and Dew sighs, fidgeting with the loose edge of a patch on his jacket.

"This really feels weird," he breathes, and Aether reaches over to hold his hand.

"Relax, Dew," he murmurs, lacing their fingers together. "You're gonna be just fine."

The last thing Dew sees before the lights go down is the glint of Aether's golden tooth, and he struggles to swallow the lump in his throat as the screen flickers to life.

The first time he appears, Aether audibly gasps, and Dew can't explain the way it males him feel. He shoves another chip in his mouth and decides not to think about it.

Twenty minutes and three bouts of brainfreeze later, though, his snacks are gone and Dew finds himself with no further distractions. Seeing himself - well, all of them really, but especially himself - up on that screen is doing things to his insides he can't quite explain. There's a certain level of queasiness in play, though who's to say how much of that is from watching himself play in stunning definition and how much is impending heartburn.

He squirms in his seat and tries very hard not to focus on the mistakes he catches. Tiny things he's sure no one else can see or hear - obviously, judging by the people dancing in their seats - but he sure can. He watches his fingers fly over the frets and wishes he had arched his back a little bit more in that shot. Stupid things he shouldn't give a shit about, and yet can't help but focus on. This is exactly what he was worried about when Aether suggested this outing.

Aether, on the other hand, seems to be struggling for other reasons entirely.

Dew can hear how heavy his breathing has gotten, can feel where his palm has gotten sweaty where their hands are joined. Not from the warmth of connection, but a clamminess that speaks of stress. Dew keeps looking at him from the corner of his eye, every time he hears a huff of breath or a sigh he's sure Aether thinks he's hiding, but the other ghoul's eyes remain locked on the screen. Dew's sure that if he were to lay his head on Aether's chest his heart would be racing. After one particularly harsh sigh Dew finally gives in. He focuses and reaches down the invisible link between their minds, nudging himself up against Aether's consciousness.

You okay, big guy?

Dew squeezes his hand and Aether visibly sags, shoulders slumping and legs falling apart in the reclined seat. Even in the dark, Dew can make out the bulge that movement reveals.

Oh, he slips into Aether's mind, not entirely on purpose, and the other ghoul lets out a quiet groan.

Look at you up there, Dew. Aether's reply carries rich warmth, the kind that soothes the nerves. The tone is worshipful, like Aether's borne witness to something spectacular. Fuck, just look at you.

The screen cuts to a close up of him as if on cue, fingers effortlessly gliding over his strings, and Dew's attention shifts to their joined hands. Aether's stroking his thumb over the most prominent vein on the back of his strumming hand, tracing it with effortless precision. A motion he's done a thousand times over, but one that feels so different with the starved way he's watching the screen.

He doesn't fight it when Aether pulls his hand into his lap, and his eyelids flutter when he feels just how hard Aether's gotten in his jeans. His own cock gives an interested twitch as he rubs at that sizable bulge, feeling it pulse against his palm. He doesn't say a word as he shrugs off Aether's grip, but he does roll his eyes when Aether whines into his head.

Two seconds, he says, scooting as close to Aether as he can in his seat. He pulls his jacket from his lap and lays it over Aether's instead, sneaking that clever hand back under to fondle him again. There, that's better.

Aether's mouth drops open when Dew gives him a squeeze, gripping his armrests so hard they creak. His eyes never leave the screen, though. Not even when Dew's elegant fingers start fiddling with his zipper. Not tugging it down, not yet, just dragging a nail over the teeth and loving the way it makes Aether flinch.

You're really worked up, aren't you?

He can't hide the twinge of surprise the thought carries, a curious inflection pushed into Aether's clearly distracted mind. He knows Aether loves to watch him play - always the one to tag along with him for midnight practice sessions and sunrise acoustic sets whenever sleep eludes him. And every time, no matter how many years pass, Dew would find Aether staring at his hands. Fixated on the control Dew prides himself on, focused on the way his skilled fingers danced over the neck and strummed out the most complex riffs with what looked like no effort at all. Aether would always rub his hands afterwards, massaging in just a hint of quintessence to help relieve hours of soreness.

Dew would reciprocate with a little rubbing of his own, of course. He's nothing if not a gentleman.

Still, though, seeing Aether fall apart so very rapidly over the sight of him on that screen comes as a surprise. He isn't one to show his cards like this, usually able to hold a straight face through damn near anything. Dew knows, he's seen it - Aether remains the only one unfazed by Aeon's puppy eyes, no matter how much the kid tries. That's proof enough of his stoicism.

And yet.

It's different. The words float into his mind, wobbly and unsure. Like Aether's really struggling to form coherent thoughts. It's...it's so much different like this.

They're the last words Aether manages before Dew feels the connection between their minds falter. He's pretty sure that's his own fault, given the way he's started massaging Aether through his ever tightening jeans, but it makes Dew chuckle under his breath. He refocuses on that link as he leans closer, until he can rest his head on Aether's bicep.

I'll take your word for it. Aether throbs against his palm and Dew groans low in his throat. Fuck, you're really hard aren't you?

"Shit," the other ghoul hisses, harsh, and a girl two rows down turns to glare at them. Aether shrinks a bit in his seat, and Dew is absolutely delighted.

None of that, he scolds, popping the button under his fingers. If you can't keep quiet, I'm not gonna be able to help you. Don't you want me to help you?

Dew tugs the zipper down and sees Aether bite his lip hard enough to draw blood when he reaches inside. It's damn near impossible to keep in his own pleasured groan when he finally gets a hand on Aether, finding him stone hard and hot to the touch. He pulls it out, hidden by the jacket, and Aether's head thuds against the back of his seat.

That's what I thought, Dew snickers, and that's all the warning Aether gets before that warm, bony hand starts to stroke.

Dew works him slow, with tight, twisting pulls that make Aether's thighs tremble in seconds. He nuzzles further into Aether's arm while the movie plays on, soaking in his rich cologne and the subtle scent of arousal. There's no urgency in the way he touches Aether, pausing every few downstrokes to get a hand on his balls too. To grope them, weigh them in his palm and really make Aether struggle to keep his eyes open. He manages, but Dew is certain that it's only because of the action on screen. He thumbs over the head and the other ghoul grunts out a curse in ghoulish, a guttural sound that sends a frission of something dark down Dew's spine.

He's too focused on the fine tremors shaking Aether's belly to notice the other ghoul's arm moving, and Dew jolts when a large hand lands heavy on the back of his neck, squeezing. His cock jumps where it sits already chubby and dribbling against his thigh, filling out that much more. He lets a wanton, breathy moan drift into Aether's mind and grins to himself when that hand gets even tighter.

His grin vanishes a second later, when Dew feels a familiar crackle against his skin. He gulps.

U-uh, Aeth -

A sudden rush of quintessence floods his system, pouring into his veins and curling around every last nerve ending. It's like an electric shock of pure pleasure, one that sets his skin on fire and makes his eyes cross, and as his dick pulses hard enough to hurt Dew has no hope of holding in his choked moan.

Thankfully Aether's arm catches most of it, but Dew can't even be bothered to see if anyone else noticed. His hand has gone still on Aether's throbbing cock, pre streaming over his fingers, and he sucks air through his teeth as an aftershock hits. He shudders, pulling back just enough to give his head a useless shake. Anything to clear some of the haze. He looks up at Aether again, and this time he finds the other ghoul staring right at him.

Finish what you started.

It slithers into his head, rough and rasping. Aether's thumb caresses the side of his neck, just shy of his thrumming pulse, and another spark of power shoots through him - one that makes his balls draw up. Dew groans deep in his chest and pushes his face into Aether's arm once more.

That's cheating, he complains, nothing but token protest. Aether's eyes shine even in the dark, sparkling lavender that holds such promise.

Do it and I promise I'll lick you out tonight, Aether rumbles, rocking up into that tight fist, and as the words sink into the folds of his brain Dew whimpers.

He really hopes Aether doesn't hear it.

He doesn't respond, and Aether's attention returns to the screen. His hand still sits on the back of Dew's neck though, holding firm, and Dew wastes no time in picking up where he left off. Aether's stomach visibly clenches when he pauses to rub at the frenulum, and the pulse of want that pounds through him when Aether's forced to bite his knuckles makes Dew's head spin.

He's long since lost track of the movie, occupied entirely with making sure Aether gets everything he needs out of his favorite pair of hands. He doesn't mind - he'll get the highlights later, once he can think with something besides his dick. For now, he dedicates himself to the task at (well, in, really) hand. It only takes a few more practiced twirls of the wrist for Aether's thighs to starts quivering again, and Dew knows he's about to get exactly what he wanted.

Aether curses again, a barely audible grunt, and as his own hands fill the screen once more Dew feels him go even harder.

That's it, he encourages, focusing on the head until Aether's legs go rigid. Let me have it, Aeth, give it all to me.

Aether suddenly turns, burying his face in Dew's hair to muffle his pained groan. Dew relishes every kick of his fat cock as it shoots all over the inside of his jacket, the last of the heavy spurts drooling down his shaft and coating Dew's fingers. The little ghoul works him through it, until he's left spent, sticky and breathless.

"Fuck, Dew," he whispers, barely audible over the pounding music.

Dew hums, pulling back his messy hand and licking it clean while Aether catches his breath. He's still very aware of the hand gripping his neck. It's something of a threat, truth be told - one more pulse of quintessence and he'll be toast. Aether may he able to cum quietly, but Dew? Dew can't keep his mouth shut when it comes to the magickal stuff and they both know it.

Later, if you want, he replies, sneaking his not entirely clean hand between his own legs. Aether's fixated on the screen again already, so he risks giving himself a grope. Rubs at his aching cock through too-tight denim just enough to take some of the edge off. He shivers as a blurt of pre squirts out onto his thigh, and has to stop himself from pushing any further.

He tucks his legs under him and leans into Aether's arm again. The hand on the back of his neck tightens, and for one horrifying moment Dew thinks Aether’s about to make him embarrass himself. Instead, though, Aether moves. Wraps that strong arm around his shoulders and holds him close, and in a lull between songs he leans down to plant a kiss on Dew's temple.

"Told you this would be fun," he murmurs, nosing at the place one of his horns should be. Dew can't help his pleased hum as he leans into it.

"Hate it when you're right," he mumbles, and Aether laughs louder than he probably should. The girl two rows down turns to shush him again and Aether offers her a sheepish wave of apology. They settle in together, leaning against one another while the movie plays on.

If they show you doing your Mummy Dust thing I'm gonna cum again, Aether sends down their link, and Dew doesn't have a name for the noise he makes.

[serpentface]

WARDI VULGARITY:

A GLOSSARY:

Od y mesech [oʊd i mɛsɛk] (ohd ee meh-seck)

Literally means 'sever it from God', functionally close to 'god damn it'. It invokes the notion that being spiritually severed from God leads to suffering and potentially being deprived of a restful afterlife. This phrase can be used with great gravity and spite, but usually is just a general exclamation of frustration. Often used with intentional hyperbole, declaring that any object of annoyance (a bug, a loose sandal strap, your little brother annoying you) should be damned via Severance From God

Od kulpa [oʊd kulpɑ] (ohd kool-pah)

Literally means "fucked-God" or "God is fucked". Its usage is similar to "fuck my life" "fuck this shit", expressing frustration or describing a situation as unbearable.

(Various invocations of God's anatomy)

Profanity in which the parts of the deity's dual-sexed anatomy is invoked is very common. The most common of all is 'God's cunt' as a catchall expression of exasperation, but you'll hear a variety like "God's cock" "God's three horns" (may or may not use 'galga' to be euphemistic for a penis) "God's balls" "God's tits" "God's three holes", sometimes notably lengthy and creative descriptions like "God's fat fucking bull cock and fly-bitten hairy ass". While Extremely inappropriate for sacred settings, this kind of profanity is not considered notably serious or sacrilegious in of itself. (see notes at bottom).

!khitta [ǀ'kɪtɑ]

An unhappy exclamation, functionally similar to ‘damn it' 'shit' 'fuck' in colloquial english. Considered very mild vulgarity. This word is very old and its specific intended meaning is lost, beyond being an exclamation of displeasure. This is one of few words in the Wardi language where a dental click is standard (clicks are otherwise used as a filler sound, or an optional form of emphasis).

dagatse [x] tocouye [dɑgɑtse toʊkoʊje] (dah-gaht-say toh-koh-yay)

Literally means 'evil spirits take [it]'. (Dagatse is a catch-all term for any malicious/harmful spiritual entity, ranging from diseases to earthbound human ghosts). This is actually among the more serious forms of profanity, as it is believed to potentially have concrete effects of inflicting a minor curse or attracting the attention of spirits to oneself (and will usually be accompanied by spitting and performing a sign against evil to deflect this). In spite of its relative gravity, variants on this curse often involve vulgarity or crude humor- ie "get fucked by ghosts" "may spirits infest your penis" "spirits bugger your bitch mother" etc.

agonichetse da cholempan [ɑgoʊnɪtʃɛtsɛ dɑ tʃoʊlɛmpɑn] (ah-goh-nih-chet-say dah choh-lehm-pahn)

Means "rot on barren earth" (more literally 'rot on salted earth'). This is an aggressive death wish, specifically wishing for the person to decay in isolation (which additionally implies that they will not only remain trapped as an earthbound ghost without proper rites, but in a presumably awful place) In South Wardin, 'cholempan' is often replaced with the more specific 'Cholemdi', which a valley basin containing the region's only true arid clime and consisting largely of salt flats. Both the Wardinae and Cholemdinae tribes would historically send their exiles there to die, and it is widely regarded as extremely haunted and all around unpleasant.

y'tsolasti [i'͡tsoʊlɑsti] (ee'tsoh-lahs-tee)

Disparaging slang for a sex worker, means 'one who is for sale'. This is notably harsher than the english translation suggests, as the word 'tsolas' is otherwise used in the sale of livestock. (Sex work is heavily stigmatized and the act of '''selling''' one's body is seen as exceptionally degrading). Functionally similar to 'whore' (though not used in the same capacity as in english to insult non-sex workers). This is also the most commonly used word for sex workers in general (the most polite term available is a euphemism meaning 'hired hand')

hitta na y'tsolasti [hitɑ nɑ i'͡tsoʊlɑsti] (hee-tah nah ee'tsoh-lahs-tee)

Means 'son of a whore' (alternatively 'hitte', meaning daughter). Mostly used as an insult, though occasionally used as a ''''neutral''' descriptor for someone who actually has a sex worker as a parent.

chis na chetla [kis na kɛtla] (kheese nah keh-tla)

Literally 'bitch of the streets', could be translated with less nuance as 'bitch-whore'. A play on the word 'street dog' (chin na chetla). This is EXTREMELY degrading slang for sex workers. This is also used to accuse non-SW women of promiscuity, or occasionally accuse non-SW men of being sex workers. Extended into 'chisnops na chetla' to effectively say '(born) of a street dog' with the same connotations, describing a person's mother as a 'whore' or a promiscuous woman (and generally implying the person to be a bastard in the process).

Bibittandinae [bibitɑndɪne] (bee-beet-ahn-dih-nay)

Means 'far northerner' (dead literally "north-northlander"), best translated as 'barbarian'. It is a xenophobic insult suggesting 'uncivilized' cultural and religious practices. Its usage is Primarily towards the North Viper peoples (Finns and Royal Dains) but is in practice generalized and arbitrary epithet against any acceptable foreign/ethnoreligious minority target, or your own countrymen if they're behaving in ways you dislike. Can be compared/contrasted to "mesodinae" ('heathen'), which is a catch-all label for people who do not practice the Faith of the Seven Faced God (sometimes applied to members of non-doctrinal folk sects of the faith as well). Use of 'mesodinae' usually does not have the active hostile Intent of 'barbarian' (most in the Imperial Wardi sphere consider it a completely neutral label; a substantially smaller proportion of religious minorities at least don't mind it) but pointed usage often seeks to other a person in a public space without crossing the line to unambiguous insults.

atibati [ɑtibɑti] (ah-tee-bah-tee) or atibeti [ɑtibɛti] (ah-tee-beh-tee)

Atibati is literally a diminutive of the word 'man' but functionally similar to 'boytoy'. Refers to a young man as the sexual possession of an older man or woman (sometimes regardless of the parties' actual ages). Atibeti is the female equivalent, but with a somewhat different usage. It is the closest equivalent word to 'girlfriend' (while retaining a sexually possessive 'little toy' connotation) and is refers any unwed young woman in a sexual relationship with a man (or a woman, though this is rarer in practice), or a notably young and pretty wife to a substantially older man.

atiba meno [ɑtibɑ menoʊ] (ah-tee-bah may-noh)

Means 'soft man', an insult that implies failed manhood and effeminacy. This includes but is not limited to sexual behavior (though accusations of being a 'soft man' are almost always saying "YOU'RE A BOTTOM") In practice, this tends to be used in an accusatory fashion for men that are not overtly gender-nonconforming but are rather seen as inadequate, weak, and almost definitely hiding sexual passivity.

atiba tal [ɑtibɑ tɑl] (ah-tee-bah tahl)

Literally 'half man'. This term that invokes the (gradually increasing in recent history) cultural tension surrounding the gray area between unacceptable male effeminacy and acceptable akoshos femininity. It describes a man as effeminate but not akoshos, or an akoshos as too masculine but not a man, and in both cases suggests that they have 'failed' at their gender. This is more frequently used for men or akoshos who are overtly gender nonconforming (men who actively present/behave as feminine without conforming to the akoshos space, akoshos who present/behave in a 'masculinized' fashion without conforming to masculinity), or men who are openly sexually passive. But this is ultimately a bigoted term without thorough internal logic and may just be used as a degrading insult. This term is also sometimes used on eunuchs, in which case it usually carries none of these layers and is just saying "haha you don't have balls anymore".

mechi [mɛki] (meh-kee)

Means "gelding" (literally 'cut one'). This word is used neutrally for castrated animals, and mildly disparagingly for human eunuchs (though this not usually considered terribly insulting, many self-reference with this word). It is an insult when used on an intact man, suggesting impotence and weakness.

chinmachen [kinmɑkɛn] (kheen-mah-kehn)

Means 'dog faced', almost always used as an insulting epithet describing someone as cowardly, lowly, ugly, vicious, etc. Has many of the connotations of 'bitch' in english.

chis [kis] (kheese)

Chis means 'bitch' as in 'female dog'. It's not as divorced from the canine meaning as bitch is in colloquial english; when you call someone 'chis' you are Very specifically comparing them to a female dog (though its meaning is functionally the same when used as an insult, denoting cowardice, lowly viciousness, etc- the tone tends to be misogynist, and emasculating when used on men).

chisla [kislɑ] (kheese-lah)

Roughly means 'Crazy bitch'. This is the one usage of 'bitch' for a person that is not necessarily insulting (or emasculating when used on men), it is often used with a respectful honorific as a somewhat vulgar compliment, functionally similar to how one might say 'you crazy son of a bitch' with a tone of awe. In other contexts it can be purely insulting.

chisnops [kisnɔps] (kheese-nawps)

Literally 'bitch-born', functionally 'son of a bitch' (though exclusively used as an insult rather than an exclamation). This very, very occasionally can be used as a compliment in a similar capacity to chisla, but it's usually insulting (especially as it will be specifically perceived as insulting oneself and one's mother)

chismachen [kismɑkɛn] (kheese-mah-kehn)

Literally ‘bitch-faced’, functionally used as ‘bitch’, ‘slut’, 'coward' 'pussy'. More severe and more specifically vulgar than 'chis'. Implies a sexually degraded, lowly, cowardly, and/or inappropriately feminine nature of the person you are insulting.

chismache [kismɑke] (kheese-mah-kay)

Literally means ‘the bitch face’, but in actual usage is best translated as 'dogcunt' or just 'cunt'. It is used as an exceptionally degrading way to refer to the vulva/vagina, and as a vicious insult towards a person.

tup [tup] (toop)

Means ‘shit’, as a crude word for feces. Has several animal variants with different nuances- 'dogshit' is heavily disparaging and evokes the most disgust (used as 'this food is dogshit'), a phrase literally meaning 'humanshit' is better translated as 'piece of shit' 'human garbage' and describes a person as lowly and unlikable.

antsi [ɑn͡tsi] (ahn-tsee)

Means 'piss', as a crude word for urine. This has use in a lot of phrases that do not translate well- "You're pissing in my mouth" is an expression of disbelief, "drinking the piss" describes being conned or manipulated, "pissing yourself as you run" describes a hasty or foolish maneuver, "you pissed yourself and called it ablution" describes publicly making a fool of yourself. "antsi" and "tup" are combined in the distinctly nasty phrase of "you shat in your hand and washed with piss" (sometimes finished with "licked it clean and ate with it" for dramatic emphasis) which derides someone as having profoundly embarrassed themselves and being a general idiot.

atnuba [ɑtnubɑ] (aht-noo-bah)

"To have sex", a verb that probably originated from the phrase 'to rub'. This is used similarly to 'fuck' 'smash' 'bang' 'get laid' etc. Considered crude but not aggressive, it is positive in tone and exclusively used as a description for sex (rather than 'fuck you' etc).

matsouy [mɑtsɔɪ] (maht-soy)

Verb broadly meaning 'to penetrate' 'to poke (into)' 'to stab', often used as 'to have sex'. Its literal imagery is somewhat violent (and certainly reflective of a perceived power dynamic surrounding penetration) but its usage is not considered aggressive, in fact being considered less vulgar than 'atnuba' and somewhat clinical as a descriptor.

kulpouy [kulpɔɪ] (kuhl-poy)

Verb meaning 'to fuck', with connotations of rape. It is not commonly used to describe actual sex acts, rather most uses are comparable to ‘fuck this’ ‘fuck you’ 'go fuck yourself'. Also used in aggressive insults/threats like "I'll fuck you" "I'll fuck your mother", in which case the connotations are closer to "I'll make you my bitch" "I'll fuck you up". Has an adjective form as 'kulpa', meaning 'fucked' and suggesting 'destroyed', 'ruined', 'defeated', 'humiliated', etc.

hippegalga [hipɛgɑlgə] (hee-peh-gahl-guh) (some dialects drop the H sound)

Colloquial slang for 'small penis', from the name of an antelope meaning "small horn". Occasionally used instead to describe a clitoris as notably large.

galga [gɑlgə] (gahl-guh)

Inoffensive slang word for the penis, meaning 'horn'. Used in a wide variety of euphemistic phrases- "a bull led by his horns" for a sexually weak-willed man, "polishing the horn" for masturbation, "sounding the battle horn" for fellatio.

galgit [gɑlgit] (gahl-gheet) [gigit] gigit (ghee-gheet), gigi [gigi] (ghee-ghee).

Diminutive form of galga, often used by children. Gigit/gigi is specifically a childish nonsense word, similar to the english 'peepee' 'weewee' etc etc. Sometimes used by adults as a significantly meaner description for a small penis than "hippegalga" (functionally saying 'you have the dick of a child').

gemane [gɛmɑne] (geh-mah-nay)

A more vulgar slang word for the penis, specifically describing the glans exposed in erection. This one is often used as an insult describing someone as stupid or annoying (similar to ‘dick’ or ‘dickhead’), sometimes used as a crude term for an erection (similar to 'boner'). Saying "your gemane is showing" says "you look like an idiot".

buchegalga [bukegɑlgə] (boo-kay-gahl-guh)

A play on 'hippegalga', instead implying a very large penis (considered negative, clownish, suggestive of an excessive libido). Used in the phrase "atiba hippe si buchegalga" ('little man with a big (horn)") to describe someone as stupid, obnoxious, sexually weak-willed. Straightforwardly calling someone a 'big dick' (gemane buche) is an insult meaning 'stupid' or 'jackass'.

orra [oʊrə] (ohr-ruh)

Inoffensive slang for the vulva, meaning 'furrow'. Used in a broad variety of farming euphemisms. ("digging a furrow" "plowing out a furrow" "seeding a furrow"). This is a very common slang term with a lot of extensions, such as 'soil'/'dirt' being used euphemistically (ie "face in the dirt" being a euphemism for cunnilingus, "eating dirt" for performing oral on someone who is menstruating (generally regarded as disgusting)) as well as "plow" "plow khait" and "plow ox" being euphemistic for a penis, and "yoked" or "hitched up" being slang for "aroused/horny".

wotonna [woʊtoʊnɑ] (woh-toh-nah)

Inoffensive slang for the vulva, meaning 'oyster'. Naturally leads to additional slang terms for vaginal sex acts, such as 'shucking oysters' 'sucking an oyster'. 'Pearl diving' is one of few slang terms specific to same gender sex acts between women, largely stemming from the majority of actual pearl divers being women.

tsigod [͡tsigoʊd] (tsee-gohd)

Harsher slang for the vulva, derived from the word 'sheath'. Analogous to 'pussy' or 'cunt', but less insulting than chismache. It has a separate complimentary meaning in calling someone 'the cunt', which is understood as 'one who GETS cunt' and is basically used as a vulgar form of 'cool' 'slick' 'badass'.

chalitse [tʃɑli͡tse] (chah-lee-tse)

Euphemistic slang for the clitoris (connected to oyster related terms for the vulva), meaning 'pearl'.

hippe gemane [hipɛ gɛmɑne] (heep-eh geh-mah-nay) or gemanit [gɛmɑnit] (geh-mah-neet)

'Little dickhead/glans', a harsher slang term for clitoris. This one is also somewhat insulting in its intent of projecting 'masculine' physical characteristics on a 'female' body part, sometimes used to suggest that it is unnaturally large.

lepsiga [lɛpsigɑ] (lehp-see-gah)

Verb that means 'to perform cunnilingus', derived from 'to lick'.

hisippa na tsigod [hɪsipɑ nɑ ͡tsigoʊd] (hih-see-pah nah tsee-gohd)

Functionally means 'stinking of cunt/pussy', a derogatory description of a person (usually male) who likes to perform cunnilingus, and implies dirtiness. This act is broadly considered degrading and dirtying for the performer (though on the lower end of severity of unfavorable sex acts).

namechila coulikyta [nɑmetʃilɑ coʊlɪkitə] (nah-meh-chee-lah koh-lih-kai-tah)

Slang for masturbation with a penis, literally means 'skinning the snake'. (Foreskin is occasionally euphemistically referred to as 'the snakeskin')

asi tsimouna [ɑsi ͡tsimoʊnɑ] (ah-see tsee-moh-nah)

Literally 'like the horse', refers to the 'doggy style' sex position. Other animals can be substituted, but horses tend to be most popular as they are familiar + not particularly impressive livestock.

khatta ame somiche [kɑtɑ ɑme soʊmitʃe] (kah-tah ah-may soh-mee-chey)

Literally means 'lead mare', slang describing a woman as sexually dominant to other women (referring to the tendency for dominant female khait to mount others as a hierarchical behavior). This does not always reference a woman's (known or perceived) sexual preferences, and is sometimes just used to describe a woman as domineering.

tantlami [tɑntlɑmi] (tahn-tlah-mee)

Tongue in cheek euphemistic slang for the anus. This is the name of a wildflower with a ring of narrow petals, which, if you use your imagination, the human anus Kind Of resembles. Tends to be used more frequently in scatological than sexual humor (especially referencing the flower's sweet smell, which is funny because Ass Hole Smell Bad And Fart). A few uncommon euphemisms for anal sex are built upon this slang, generally using romantic poetic language for humorous effect (ie 'plucking her sweet flower'). This is unrelated to the verb 'flowering'/'blossoming' being used an obnoxiously rosy term for orgasm, but sometimes combined for similar effect ('and I blossomed again and again until his own poor flower had wilted').

cunna [kunə] (koo-nuh)

The most common slang for the anus and/or buttocks. Stems from the word ‘tail’.

dlacoupa [dlɑcoʊpɑ] (dlah-coh-pah)

Verb for 'to sodomize' (derives from the verb 'to split'). This is used literally as a description for performing the penetrative role in anal sex, or figuratively to describe the act of conquering or defeating something/someone. When used in the latter way, it's generally a form of bragging that is functionally a more vulgar version of "I kicked your ass" "I made you my bitch". This can be replaced with "kulpouy (to fuck/rape) cunna" for an EXTREMELY aggressive variant. This is usually used for aggressive threats of harm ("I'll ass-rape you" (Usually not meant literally)) or lamenting a profound defeat ("they ass-raped us"). This usage does not have a positive tone, and is significantly more aggressive than other uses of kulpouy (all of which at least Imply sexual violence, but much less explicitly).

dlacoupi [dlɑcoʊpi] (dlah-coh-pee)

Constructed from the verb 'dlacoupa'. This literally means 'sodomizer' or 'one who sodomizes', but in most instances it's used as a vulgar way to say 'badass' 'conqueror', exalting a man as notably powerful and capable of subjugating (figurative or literal) enemies. It still retains direct sexual connotations in some uses, particularly in the form of neutral-positively regarded male homosexual behavior. IE a man who is in good standing is presumed/known to have performed penetrative sex on another man, he might be referred to as that man's 'dlacoupi', (particularly if this is perceived as a deserved act of 'making the other man his bitch'). It's less frequently used in the context of heterosexual anal sex, but tends to have a similar element of congratulating the top for 'conquering' or 'taming' an unlikable partner in this case as well. (receiving anal sex in general is seen as degrading, MUCH more profoundly so for men but this is still the case for women). This can similarly be replaced with "kulpouyi cunna", which changes the meaning to effectively be 'ass-rapist' and wholly lacks the complementary element. This usage instead describes a person as exceptionally cruel and destructive. This is often at least somewhat hyperbolic in form, and tends to be used to describe a disliked authority figure.

cunnouy [kunɔɪ] (koo-noy)

Verb, slang for 'to be sodomized'. Similarly can either be used literally to describe receiving anal sex, or figuratively to say something/someone is 'destroyed' 'conquered' 'whipped' 'made a bitch'

cunnari [kunɑri] (koo-nah-ree)

Insulting slang that describes a person as passive in anal sex, dead literally translates as 'anus person', 'one who is sodomized'. Probably the closest equivalent to 'faggot' in the vocabulary due to its usage almost always implying disdained male homosexual behavior. It is almost always used on men as a harsh emasculating insult, very occasionally used on women as a sexually degrading insult.

lepsiti a cunna [lɛpsiti ɑ kunə] (lep-see-tee ah koo-nuh) or lepsiti a tup [lɛpsiti ɑ tup] (lep-see-tee ah toop)

Means 'asslicker' and 'shitlicker' respectively, either straightforwardly implies that the recipient likes to give rimjobs or more broadly describes them as dirty or debased. Very insulting.

gemane enyala [gɛmɑne ɛnjɑlɑ] (geh-mah-nay ehn-yah-lah)

Literally means 'cock hungry', can be translated as 'cocksucker' and/or 'slut' depending on its usage. It's predominantly used to describe a woman as promiscuous or overly libidinous, or as a standard issue emasculating insult for a man (in the latter case sometimes used in a similar capacity to 'suck-up').

ipasache gan ama [ipɑsɑke gɑn ɑma] (ee-pah-sah-kay gahn ah-mah)

Describes the cowgirl position, literally means 'bullriding' (humorously evoking the imagery of a bullrider being jostled around and clinging to a larger, stronger animal) Has somewhat similar usage to 'dickrider' in english, where describing someone as another person's "bullrider" implies them to be obnoxiously subservient and fawning to that person.

Side note on the religious vulgarity:

Religiously oriented vulgarity in speech is not considered notably more severe than any other vulgarity, as self-inflicted spiritual harm is, in the vast majority of circumstances, thought to occur via material Action (or inaction when action is necessary) rather than thought or speech. God is not regarded as vindictive or a being that can be offended, and one's personal feelings towards It is of little concern compared to material right-practice.

Beyond that, most people do not find religious profanity to be contradictory to venerating the deity (it's of note that most of the common ones are crude descriptive vulgarity rather than full-on Insults- someone calling God a cunnari Would make many people upset (and probably kinda confused), even if it's not considered outright spiritually harmful).

You will encounter very serious, devout priests who say things like "GOD'S STINKING CUNT" when frustrated. In general, there is not a lot of cultural restraint surrounding descriptions of dirty physical realities- God Itself is a spiritually pure being, but It took on the form of a bovine in creation, and bovines can be pretty gross. Invoking this is harmless (or boorish and annoying at worst) to most sensibilities.

However, if this form of vulgarity is WRITTEN, it is considered outright blasphemous to use the specific character for the deity rather than the syllabic character 'od'. Direct physical representations of the deity (whether in writing, imagery, statuary, etc) are considered sacred and can thus be profaned. The other exception occurs during the actual process of prayer and rites, in which God is being actively and directly communed with and thus speech has material power as a form of communication (also just not the kind of environment you want to be cursing in).

[seecarrun]

“Tah-dah.”

The combination of the deadpan tone and the perky little spirit finger wiggles is enough to make Eddie roll his eyes and scoff at Richie’s antics, so he opens his mouth and starts to call him a fucking idiot.

That is, until he actually gets a look at what it is Richie is showing him.

There, carved into the old wood of The Kissing Bridge, are the letters R+E.

He blinks down at them in something like surprise. “The fuck is this?” he asks. Richie frowns, irritated.

“It’s our fucking initials. What the fuck does it look like?”

“Well, why are our initials carved here?” Eddie asks, not meanly or anything, but definitely bewildered. “Who the fuck wrote our initials here?” He steps closer and bends down to get a better look. “This looks old. Is this from when we were kids? I never noticed this before. Did someone do this to make fun of us or something? Why wouldn’t they tell us? Did they tell you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Richie waits for Eddie to finish the worst game of twenty-questions in history, exuding the kind of patience he didn’t even know he was capable of as Eddie goes on for what feels like forty fucking minutes.

“Dude,” he finally bursts out, unable to take it anymore, “I carved those. Me. Jesus Christ.”

Eddie blinks up at him, all eyes and freckles, confused. “You did this?”

“Yes.”

“When we were kids?”

“Yes.”

“So…” Eddie looks at the wood and then back at Richie again, and Richie tries not to burst into a million pieces as he sees the cogs slowly turning in Eddie’s head.

“Oh my god, get there faster!” he finally snaps, and Eddie shoots him a glare.

“Shut the fuck up, dude! You had thirty years to know about this shit, I’ve had thirty fucking seconds, I’m fucking processing!” Richie throws his arms into the air and does a weird, exasperated little circle as Eddie continues to inspect the carving, his brows furrowed. “You carved our initials into the kissing bridge when we were kids,” he states again, just to hear the whole thing put together, and gingerly runs his index finger over the plus-sign. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Richie asks, cringing.

“Obviously not, if I’m fucking asking.”

Richie’s heaves a sigh. “I liked you,” he finally admits. Somehow, the world doesn’t end. He briefly thinks teenage-Richie would have been surprised by that.

Eddie traces his finger along the E now, slowly. “You liked me back?” he says, so quietly it takes Richie a moment too long before he realizes what Eddie said.

“Wait, back?!”

(Part 2 here)