#metal hood with studs

[what-should-we-call-1d]

Houston Transitional Kitchen Mid-sized transitional u-shaped enclosed kitchen with travertine flooring and beige walls Farmhouse sink, beaded inset cabinets, gray cabinets, quartzite countertops, gray backsplash, stone tile backsplash, paneled appliances, an island, and gray countertops are some of the features of this enclosed kitchen idea.

[astralnymphh]

car wrapper ellie tbh.. ౨ৎ

the vision is fresh in my mind, and nonetheless, i'm still THROBBING at the mere thought-up imagery of ellie thumbing and smoothing your car with such tender and trained pressure in her fingertips— you wish you were in its place. established as a side gig in joel’s auto body shop, she wraps cars day-to-day, hour by hour, arranged inside a well-lit, decently compact garage swarmed with the whole hardcore shebang of grunge rock and various metal genres (with a biased cling to nirvana tbh). notorious outfitting; bare, freckled, and sun-showered arms, cut delectably at the shoulders by an off-white ribbed tank worn and sweat through. those hips fitted in some low-waisted, slouchy denim, accompanied by a small metallic carabiner clip that holds all of her jangly keys. and— most markedly, stud-pierced lobes with an industrial bar bridging one ear; absolute hottie alert. now, besides appearance and attitude, i think she has some sort of inherent apt for making girls swoon. doesn't even necessarily intend to— actually, whenever she opens her mouth, a total nerd comes out! though what seems to shoot right over her head is the fact that all her oral mannerisms and idle chit-chats of, “you sure you don't want me to take a quick peek under the hood? could save you a couple of bucks..” which, with a tone so tempting and drawled in such a convincing ‘advertisey’ way, ends up easily persuading girls and brings the heat to their cheeks. so, when she sways you, you decide to slump somewhere and watch. witness; consume her expertise with your eager pupils. ellie assures she'll only be a couple hours— but to rephrase it, those handful of hours spent chatting, eye-flirting, and chuckling silently to yourselves, always routes the afternoon into her tiny office where she eats the fuck out of your pussy.

masterlist . daily click . read this . palestine mp

no i did not see those car wrapping videos on tt and no i definitely did not get this idea from them DENY DENY DENY

[jasmines-library]

It's A Trap

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY THIRTEEN : ALT Prompt: Used As Bait

Summary: In order to capture one of Gotham's infamous criminals, you are used as bait.

Warnings: Kinda creepy man, fake kidnapping.

Word count: 812

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“This is a terrible idea” Jason repeated for the umpteenth time as he finished fastening the ropes around your wrists, binding you to the chair. The binds were loose enough that you could slip out of them easily but tight enough that they looked real and effective enough. 

“Well, it's the only option we’ve got.” You retorted back, giving the ropes an experimental tug. 

You were currently trying to hunt down one of Gotham’s most troublesome criminals. He was a rather unusual guy, who was rather fixated on you. But he was sly and there seemed to be only one way to catch him. Under an alias, Tim began to befriend your target. He claimed that he knew you; that he could kidnap you and leave you at a rendezvous spot for him. For a price, of course. It had to seem realistic. So now, you were setting up your own trap for him. They had tied you up in the middle of the room, where they would hide in the shadows waiting for him to arrive before surrounding him and finally taking him to jail. It seemed to be a fail-proof plan, but none of your team were particularly keen on the idea of leaving you out as bait. 

“Still. Doesn't mean we like it.”

“Well tough.” You retorted. “Because this is what we’re going with. Any news?”

Tim glanced down at his burner phone that he had been using to message the target.  “He’s about 10 minutes out.”

“Alright.” You nodded as everyone took their place. Tim and Jason took their spots in the rafters above, and Dick and Damian took their places in the dark corners of the room as they waited anxiously for him to arrive.

When you heard the sound of the metal doors clanging shut a few minutes later, you took that as your que to lay on the tears. To begin the distressed civilian facade. Because right now you weren’t a vigilante. You were the daughter of Bruce Wayne who had just been kidnapped. You faked the tears, thrashing around as you pretended to try and break free from the binds. It was quite distressing for your brothers to watch; seeing you tied up and struggling, even if they knew it was all just an act. And then the figure stepped into the room.

He was a tall, lanky figure who wore a crooked smile on his face that only seemed to grow when he saw you struggling in fear at the sight of him. He stepped closer, pinching your chin between his fingers.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing….” He cooed, studding your body closely. 

You pretended to cower, trying to pull away from you. 

“I knew you would be even prettier in person….” he said turning your head to the side “and to think…..someone else did all the dirty work for me. How does that feel, Princess?”

“Please don’t hurt me–”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Hurt you? On no, Princess. You are going to make me a lot of money…how much do you think Daddy will pay to get you back unharmed…..” 

“Please—“ you begged, screaming for help. 

The man just laughed. “No one’s here to save you, princess. No Batman or any of his little birdies. It’s just me and you~” 

“Are you sure about that?” Jason asked, dropping down from the roof, his gun cocked in an intimidating matter. 

The man wasn’t scared however. He just scoffed. “Red hood. How nice of you to join us. Did the Batman send you?” 

“No.” Tim stepped out from the shadows, tossing the man the burner phone and revealing his identity. This time the criminal's face dropped. “I did.” 

“You—“ the man seethed. 

As the conversation unfurled, you began to work on the ropes, making quick work out of the loose knots. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble.” Tim took another step forwards. “And we have all of the evidence against you.” 

“It seems you’re not going to get your money after all.” You said. 

The man tried to flee, but Dick took a step towards to block the exit. He was trapped. 

“No. No—“ the criminal cursed, trying to find a way out. 

“There is no escape.”  Damian said. “The GCPD are already on their way. You’re going to jail for a long time.” 

“I’ll get you for this.” He spat. 

“I’m sure.” Dick said and he placed the cuffs around him. 

Jason had moved over to you. He place an anxious hand on your arm. “Are you alright.” 

“Yeah. Fine”

“You sure?” He frowned. Jason was a worrier. 

“I promise.” 

“Good……I’m never letting you do that again. Just so you know.”

“Why not? It worked didn’t it? And I’m fine. Really.” 

“I know. But I don’t like seeing you like that.” 

“I know, jay. I’m sorry. But I’m fine. I promise.” 

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY TWELVE ⛧DAY FOURTEEN ->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[primarisly-marooned]

first time posting a fic in this fandom aaaaaaa

warnings: none (but let me know if you think i should put something)

pairing: Titus x F!Reader

possible part one!

summary: Newly returned, and now Lieutenant, Titus finds himself adrift in his once home. In his wanderings as he struggles to find himself, he finds you.

tagging @vyzz-undercover @moodymisty and @beckyninja bc their writing got me into this fandom plz let me know if it was ok to tag you guys

bang bang

He had found you deep within the barge tending to some ancient mural. You were kneeling on the frigid ground, bent over and nearly touching the wall with your nose. Various paints and chemicals and tools lay scattered around in disorganized piles, a chaos only you understood to how they lay. It was an endless job, something that your family has been doing for generations. These murals were dusty and covered in layers of grime, splashes of what you're sure was once blood (human or not you remain uncertain), and chipped paint you'll have to color match once the wall is cleaned.

You had been here for hours already, having started just as the day shift ended and your fellow serfs went to their dorms, when you first heard him.

Normally nothing disturbed your work, having a preference for working during the simulated night cycle for that very reason. And this deep in the twisting halls it was rare to see anyone anyway. Much less one of the Emperor's Angels.

It was his footsteps that alerted you that you weren't alone, slow and heavy like a war drum. Boom, boom, boom. Your heart raced in surprised fear, never before had an Astartes traveled this deep within the ship in your memory.

You had never even met one before, but you knew the protocol. Scrambling upright on aching knees, back protesting as your joints crackled, you struggled to straighted your robe, internally lamenting that it wasn't even one of your cleaner ones.

His footsteps drew closer as you press your back against the wall, the frayed edges of you hood drawn down over your eyes, hands clasped in front of you as you dropped into a deep curtsey.

"My lord," you murmur hoarsely when you can see his shining ceramite boots at the edge of you vision. You haven't spoken for days, and your throat burns.

His steps pause in front of you and his gaze is like a heavy weight branding you with his attention. You freeze, thighs burning, when you see a massive gauntlet slowly reach past your head and touch the wall behind you.

The scrape of metal against the stone sounds like what you imagine artillery fire to sound like.

You're trembling now, legs shaking from holding your pose and you pray the Lord doesn't notice.

Then he spoke.

"I remember these battles told as stories when I was a boy." His voice is low, very nearly rumbling through you, shaking the air from your lungs. "You are restoring them."

It wasn't a question, but your mouth opened before your brain could catch up. "Y-yes, my Lord," you cough as discreetly as you could, throat clicking as you swallow. How long had it been since you had water? "It is my holy task to keep our great history alive."

Your legs were going to collapse, your shaking definitely noticeable now.

He was quiet for a moment before he was moving again, the hand against the wall coming around to tuck under your chin. Your helpless to the movement, rising from your suplication at the cold touch to your face. But he continues to nudge your face up.

Your eyes trace the intricate filigree of his chest plate and gorget, the gold almost tarnished against the deep blue of the Ultramarines. It made your fingers itch to restore it briefly before you caught sight of the Angel's face.

His skin was pale and weathered, small scars marking many fights. His service studs gleamed in the flicker lights of your meager candles, hair almost black in the shadows.

Then you saw his eyes.

His eyes were such a deep and clear blue, like nothing you have ever seen before. Not even the image you had once seen of the Avenging Son could compare, an almost blasphemous thought that you banished from your mind.

But when you looked deeper, breath still in you lungs, you saw more than just his stoic expression. He looked almost... lost. There was a darkness in his gaze that held you in pinned you in place better than if you had been bolted to the wall. An angry sort of... dare you say it...

Lonely. He looked lonely. Perhaps that why he stopped?

You shake yourself free from your thoughts as the Astartes moves back out of your space, air rushing into your lungs and clearing the fog from your mind. "My lord?"

He looks a second longer at you before he glances back at the wall. "How long until it is fully restored?"

It was said harshly, but the softening of his mouth gentled it.

"I-It's hard to say, my Lord," it was getting more difficult to speak, your voice cracking every other word. "No longer than a few weeks."

He hummed in what you could only assume was consideration, nearly subvocal as it vibrated your brain in your skull. "Very well then." He glanced back down at you and tilted one corner of his mouth up. Your heart sped up at the sight. "I look forward to your finished work."

As he walked away, leaving you stunned, you only had one thought in your dazed mind.

How the fuck am I supposed to finish this in less than a month?

[supercap2319]

Can you make a fic about Harlan × Cody. I keep rewatch Wolf pack cuz damn their scene at the parking car at gym (I think?)

Noble walked out of the gym for a little bit of fresh air. The air was cleaner, and less smellier than inside. He heard the sound of quiet moans. He looks around the parking lot and sees Cody and Harlan kissing against someone's car. Noble's car. He walked towards them. "Hey! if you guys are gonna do it, please don't do it on my car."

Harlan and Cody pull apart, turning to face Noble with mischievous grins. Harlan leans against the car, his hand possessively caressing the roof. "Aw, come on, man. Your car's just as good as any other."

"Yeah, but I don't want anything on it." Noble said, taking in their appearance. Cody and Harlan were both panting. Harlan was shirtless, a silver chain around his neck, but Cody still wore his yellow muscle shirt. "Having fun?"

Harlan smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just a little... foreplay. You know how it is, right?" Cody grins wolfishly, stepping closer to Noble. "Want to join us?"

"You want me to hook up in a parking lot?" Noble asked.

The young werewolf chuckles, pushing off the car and moving towards Noble. "What, you've never been adventurous?" Cody's eyes rake over Noble's body appreciatively. "Live a little. No one's watching..."

"Nice try, Harlan. Those tricks don't work." Noble smiled. Harlan laughs, a rich, deep sound. "Alright, alright. Fair enough. But... how about this? We'll make it worth your while. You join us, and we'll... clean your car. Top to bottom. Inside and out."

"You will?"

Cody nods eagerly. "Scout's honor." Harlan mimics the scout sign with his fingers, a mockery of the gesture. "So, what do you say? A little fun, a clean car?"

"Sounds great." Noble smiled.

Harlan's face lights up with a victorious grin. "Excellent!" Cody pounces, pressing Noble against the car and kissing him fiercely. Noble gasped as Cody's lips were on his own, feeling the side of his car against his back. Harlan takes advantage of the moment, his hands roaming over Noble's body as Cody kisses him. "Mmm, I've wanted this for so long," Harlan murmurs against Noble's neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Cody, help me get him out of these clothes..."

Noble groans and grinds as Harlan and Cody strip him bare in the gym parking lot. With a final tug, Noble stands naked before them, the cool night air caressing his skin. Harlan drops to his knees, taking Noble in his mouth hungrily. Cody watches for a moment, biting his lip before joining Harlan. Together, they worship Noble, their mouths and hands working in harmony. Noble gasped and moaned as Harlan and Cody service his cock. Licking and laping at his cock and balls. He threads his fingers through their hair, watching with hooded eyes as they make out on his cock. "So hot..."

Harlan and Cody look up at Noble, their faces covered in saliva and their hair mussed. Harlan gazes up at him adoringly, while Cody's eyes burn with desire. They continue their dual oral assault, their movements becoming more frantic as they fight for Noble's attention. He knew that Harlan was a slut, but he never expected it from Cody as well. Now, he had both studs on their knees sucking him off. It was so hot.

Noble's breathing hitches as they intensify their efforts, Harlan swallowing him whole while Cody focuses on the sensitive underside. The dual sensation is overwhelming, and Noble can't help but buck his hips, the cold metal of the car door pressing against his back. "I'm... gonna...gonna...shit!"

Both guys redouble their efforts, their hands gripping Noble's thighs as they eagerly await his release. Harlan's fingers dig into the flesh, encouraging him to let go. Cody's eyes flutter closed, his own desire evident through his pants. "Come for us, Noble. Please..." Noble groans and moans loudly as he spills his load into the eager mouths of both guys.

Harlan and Cody swallow every last drop, cleaning Noble up with gentle laps before they rise, their chins glistening. Cody leans in to kiss Harlan, sharing Noble's taste between them. "He tastes so good," Harlan murmurs against Cody's mouth. "Noble deserves a turn now."

[motherstone]

Design concept exploration

Would it be subjected to eventual changes? Likely yes, if I ever render them realistically is what allows me what designs works and what doesn't, for my sanity. I really tried my best to make the design not too overly detailed so if I ever have to draw them repeatedly, I get to draw them quick. Honestly, I think Max's and Leon's are close to pretty much final - they're almost exactly the ones in my head, Max especially.

Notes:

Max is def wearing Cielan clothing, a Griffins on his tunic. I'm pretty happy that I'm able to use my Worldbuilding hc of Cielans having gold on their outfits, from the leather to the cloth - to show that they're a rich city-state through conquering cough cough. A headcanon, his dad was a Captain of the Cielis Guard, Max is from a pretty important family of a long line of soldiers/stonekeepers. I'm still not sure whether to finalize it, but Max isn't undead here, but he's definitely cursed to die, and is dependent on the EK to keep him alive. Still, furs, because he never felt warmth again after Korthan (also, he uses ice).

OOMF EK is a struggle between "his iconic for his simple white design" and "he's egotistical and that should be shown by the opulence of his robes" and I'm still figuring out the balance. I might remove most of the gold. And also, oof, I realized if he's hooded, his ears should misshape the hood. But if I have his hood tucked behind the ears, he looks silly. So maybe I'd just trick people that if EK is looking at the side, his ears are hidden, but if he's fully frontal, you'd see his ears :P or maybe I should just add a slit in the hood. Aaah elf ears. You're pretty but a nightmare to work with. The idea behind EK is supposed to be "divine" or "holy", hence he has tippets, like a priest. You can even see it in the fancomic. But now I'm considering whether or not I should keep it... He has two fits: this one is for throne room only, hence it has a train. If he goes out, it'd be a bit different.

Leon already has great design, but I gotta make him a bit more unique - I maintained the general form, but the more specific details are different. Kanalian armor is a bit more different armor than those of other cities. The armor Leon wears is sorta? Leather? Studded, light armor for him because he relies on speed since he's no powerhouse. Spats, bc drawing laces are a pain. Simplified his arm guards to have metal plates. AM unsure about the white pants.

[niobiumao3]

I got tired of there being no Phee options for Lego and hit up Bricklink. I have a couple of other alternative parts on the way but this initial build came out real good!

Parts list below the cut.

Mini Doll, Hair Coiled, Pulled Up with Molded Dark Turquoise Head Wrap Pattern Item No: 79984pb02

Note that hair from 'Friends' minidolls does fit on most minifig heads!

Minifigure, Head Dual Sided Female Black Eyebrows Thick, Single Eyelashes, Dark Brown Lips, Open Mouth Smile with Top Teeth and Red Tongue / Smirk Pattern - Hollow Stud Item No: 3626cpb3015

Torso Coat, Silver Badge with Red and Blue Trim, Dark Bluish Gray Mesh, Reddish Brown Belt Pattern / White Arms / Light Bluish Gray Hands Item No: 973pb4503c01

Hands from :

Torso SW Hooded Shirt over Light Bluish Gray Undershirt and Dark Tan Straight and Diagonal Belts with Pockets Pattern / Tan Arms / Dark Brown Hands Item No: 973pb2205c01

Hips and Black Legs with Dark Brown Belt and Tassel, Dark Blue Coattails Pattern Item No: 970c11pb47

Minifigure, Weapon Sword, Cutlass / Saber (Pearl Gold) Item No: 2530 Alternate Item No: 35744

Minifigure, Weapon Gun, Blaster SW Standard Item No: 58247

Bar 4L (Lightsaber Blade / Wand) - Yellow Item No: 30374 Alternate Item No: 578, 21462, 28697

Minifigure, Weapon Lightsaber Hilt Straight - Metallic Silver Item No: 64567 Alternate Item No: 577, 15556, 23306

I have a Peli Moto torso on the way, which has the rust-red jacket and matching hand color for the heads I purchased, also an alternate legs (which has a holster for the blaster) and some other odds and ends like tools for the Tech minifig and a pair of closer-to-DC17-blaster weapons. We'll see once it all arrives!

[screebyy]

A something about Warlord's Ruin dialogue and Petra's exile and Uldren and Petra's relationship

“Petra, I’ve… never apologized to you. For what you’re still going through.”

The somber tone of Crow’s voice echoing through her radio sends an all-too-familiar jolt of unease down her spine. It’s uncanny how much the guardian sounds like him sometimes.

With a grimace, she shakes off the sensation, and clicks on her mic. “There’s no need,” she says, tiredly. “It wasn’t you.”

“I’m sorry,” The guardian radios back anyways. “He is too. Completely.”

She flinches again. He’s so much like the prince, it makes her nauseous sometimes - so self-obsessed he can’t help but shoulder the blame for any misdeed he can find some tangential reason to feel guilty over. What does Crow have to be sorry for? 

And what exactly does Uldren have to be sorry for? For the thousandth time she replays all the decisions she made during Mara’s years-long absence, all the mistakes she made. Uldren’s arrest, and the cold, cramped cell she left him in, because she didn’t know what else to do with the shell of her former prince, her former friend. The prison break, the hunt, the squeeze of her trigger finger…

Her hands curl into tight fists, her fingernails digging painfully into her palm. There was more she could have done. She knew there was something wrong with him, she knew that he was sick. Even before Mara’s sacrifice - after the Garden, she could tell he was no longer himself, that a darkness she still does not understand had burrowed into his heart, and taken root. She could have found a way to help him, to save him maybe - but… after Saturn, the Reef, it was all too much, she wasn’t enough, not on her own. If only Mara had been here, the Queen would have been able to…

“If I could wish it away…” Crow’s voice over her radio snaps her back to the present. A wish - he’s such a fool, she could almost laugh. Almost. She clicks on her mic.

“No,” she says, sternly. She won’t let him take the blame for this - not for Uldren’s mistakes. Not for her own. “You’re helping break the cycle. That should be more than enough.”

She kills the connection before he can respond. She suspects her words will do nothing to ease his misplaced sense of guilt - they never helped Uldren much, either. And she’s in no mood to listen to him find new ways to twist the lingering stain of Uldren’s mistakes into his own responsibility.

They are so much alike, more-so every day. She leans heavily over her desk, and closes her eye, remembering another apology, a lifetime ago…

—

The sun is so much brighter on Earth. Especially this time of year, mid-summer - it hangs high in the cloudless sky, just beyond the Traveler’s looming figure, and it’s so bright that the white concrete and iron railings of the Vanguard's Tower shine like marble and silver. Somewhere deep down, Petra knows it must be beautiful - but allowing herself to admit that feels like a sleight on her true home, the gentle golden rays of a sun always sitting low on the horizon, the refraction of purple light off the amethyst-studded walls of the Dreaming City. 

With a frown she sinks deeper into the shadow of the awning she's standing under, and squints against the blinding light. This place is a prison, she reminds herself - nothing here is beautiful. 

A hand on her shoulder startles her out of her musing - she whirls around, her knife whizzing up to the intruder’s throat, and finds Uldren Sov smiling ear to ear, hands held up in mock surrender.

“Your highness-!” She stammers, jumping back in surprise. “You shouldn't be here!”

“I'm not,” Uldren grins, pulling the hood of his cloak further forward to obscure his face. “Come on, let's get something to eat.”

—

They sit at a rickety metal table, in a cramped alleyway un-befitting a prince, with two bowls of hot noodles in a delicious, savory broth between them. It’s humble, but the noodle shop is one of the few places Petra has come to enjoy during her exile to the Tower - and discreet enough that Uldren is unlikely to be recognized.

“Everybody misses you back in the Reef,” Uldren says, picking absently at his bowl with a pair of chopsticks. “Jol says hello.”

“He isn't with you?” Petra asks, squinting up at the rooftops around the alley shop - searching for the silhouette of Uldren's shadow.

“No,” Uldren answers as he carefully pulls a few noodles up with his chopsticks, regarding them suspiciously. “He doesn't care for the Last City.”

Finally, he takes a bite, slurping the noodles into his mouth. He considers it, then scowls - Petra thinks for a moment it must not be to his liking, but the glimmer of irritation in his eyes betrays his true feelings. It's not the taste of the noodles that bothers him, but where they were made - he must be furious that such a delicious dish could possibly have come from the Vanguard’s Tower.

Petra smiles, and shakes her head. She wonders if he even bothered to tell Jolyon about this little excursion, or if he had just assumed he was doing the man a favor by leaving him behind.

“Anyway,” Uldren sighs, pushing his bowl across the table towards her. “When are you coming home?”

Her smile breaks, her heart twists with grief.

“Uldren,” she stutters. “You know, this isn’t-.... Queen Mara, she said-...”

Emotion wells up in her throat, sharp as knives, and she bites her tongue to keep it from spilling into her voice. This position is an exile, a punishment for her mistakes. She's never going home again.

“I know what she said,” Uldren sighs, waving his hand dismissively. “But do you really think she meant it? Come on, you're smarter than that.”

Petra stares at him blankly, mind racing. What does he mean? Did the Queen say something to him? About her? Uldren rolls his eyes, and leans forward.

“Petra,” he says seriously. “How long have you been away - five years? Six? This is a waste of your talents, and everyone knows it. You belong back home, with us.”

“All this-” He gestures around at the bare concrete walls, which look nothing like marble in this dark, dingy alleyway. “It's just a stupid show Mara had to put on, a political farce to stay in the Vanguard’s good graces. It doesn't mean anything, and it’s high time the show ended.”

He looks away, brow furrowed as he considers his next words for a long moment. Finally, he looks back at her, eyes flickering with emotion.

“I'm… I'm sorry, by the way,” he says. “For all of this. It's my fault you're here. For-”

“No,” Petra cuts him off, raising her hand. She will not allow him to debase himself, not for this. “I was the one who called for the bombing run, it was my decision that killed them. And this is my punishment.”

“But I was the one who dropped the bombs,” Uldren hisses, eyes burning. “I should have seen those guardians, I should have noticed-...”

He breaks off, biting his lip angrily, then slumps back in his chair, sulking. Petra looks down at his bowl of noodles, delicious and untouched.

“If you had seen them,” she starts, cautiously. “Would that have stayed your hand?”

Uldren frowns, and looks away.

“If I had known what would happen? That you'd be the one to take the fall for their deaths?” His frown tightens, the corners of his lips curling down in disgust. “Yes.”

Emotion swells in Petra’s chest again, but this time the feeling is warm and bittersweet. Pride, and gratefulness, for a prince who acts earnestly as a friend, not a sovereign. A friend so fiercely loyal he would try to take her guilt from her, and wear it himself.

“This isn’t your fault,” Petra says, quietly. “It was my mistake. My decision.”

“It was the right decision,” Uldren says, eyes snapping back to her with renewed ferocity. “It may have been an accident, but it was no mistake. You know that, Mara knows that. And she knows you don’t deserve to be rotting away in this tower for making the right call.”

Her eye opens wide, she sucks air into her lungs as she considers the truth in his words. He’s right. Of course he’s right. The Queen, she knows everything, so she must understand the depth of Petra’s loyalty, the veracity of her fervor. She must understand that there was no other call Petra could have made, there was no way to predict the guardians’ interference, no reason to believe they’d be anywhere near that valley. She must understand…

Uldren leans forward again, prodding his finger declaratively into the table.

“Write to my sister, plead your case, and she will listen, I promise you that,” he says. “The City’s had their pound of flesh from you.”

“If you truly believe the Queen will hear me…” Petra starts, but treacherous hope flutters wildly in her chest, sending a smile bursting across her face before she can finish the thought. She laughs, suddenly giddy. Of course, Mara will understand. The exile, it’ll be lifted, her guilt absolved, and she’ll finally, finally-

“Come home, Petra.” Uldren smiles, lifting his finger to point directly at her. “That’s an order.”

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 15. disciplined

chapter tags/warnings: someone becomes your special teacher ;) straight-up degradation. dick sucking and facefucking. spanking. pet names ("kitten", "slut", "whore", "idiot"). nonconsenual undertones. infidelity/adultery. strong language. humiliation. classism. can be read as stand-alone!

word count: 3.6k

notes: happy new year, dear readers! apologies for not posting in a while. not that i lost motivation or got writer's block, but i was so busy with my last semester at university. i'm thankfully done now! enjoy the update! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Because I wonder what would happen once I spread you over the car hood and took you right there.”

Holy—  

Choso’s words stirred awake fantasies that never before crossed your mind—how you would be perched on the Corvette, how Choso would press your legs to his chest, how he would slowly fuck himself into you, how your warm cunt would eventually get the better of him, how his cum would then drip onto the shiny blue metal of his car.

As the mental images left your heart seized in your chest, you twisted at your wedding band in anticipation—a habit you had yet to break.

“You…wouldn’t actually do that, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Although he exhaled to control his composure, nothing could hide the visible bulge under his black jeans, the sight sucking nearly all your willpower to avoid staring at the silhouette like a wanton whore.

“Because people would see us.” You then masked a thick swallow. “You would have to be crazy to fuck in public.”

“You think that’s crazy?” he repeated but did not seem insulted in the slightest. "Oh, I’ve done much, much crazier.”

Even crazier?

As much as you were concerned about the legality of his insinuations…That wild side of him, you wanted to see.

The thought alone left you holding your breath, blood rushing south when his hand began to run up and down your inner thigh.

The only thing that could distract you was how the inked ivy on his forearm flexed as he switched lanes, not that this new fixation stopped your squirming anyway. Still, you watched him swerve to the next exit and coolly navigate through a network of narrow and unlit roads, the convertible’s speed slowing considerably until he makes one final turn into an empty lot.

Choso, in one smooth motion, parked his Corvette in the spot where one could revere the Tokyo skyline glittering across the bay—although, in your honest opinion, the only view worth admiring was the stud beside you. The said man, however, turned off the engine and let go of your thigh, causing you to wince from the retracted warmth.

You nearly begged him to keep his hands on you until you watched him step off the vehicle, walking around the bumper with long strides to the shotgun seat, then gripping the handle and swinging the door open.

You stared dumbly at him, a gaze he returned with black-as-night eyes alive with some unreadable emotion. Before you could make any sense of your clouded thoughts, Choso leaned over slightly.

“Out,” he commanded. His voice had roughened up into a hoarse, his face shadowed with seriousness. “And get on your knees.”

The sheer egregiousness in his demand is enough to leave your heart stopping for a hard beat, especially since his height was formidable compared to the seated you. When you didn't respond immediately either, Choso’s long exhale from above grazed against your skin. He was losing his patience.

“C’mon now. I didn’t stutter. I gave you an order, idiot.”

Hands growing clammy, you avoided his stare. “But—"

Except Choso didn’t want to waste time dealing with your bullshit. He reached for you, his right hand darting outward and gripping your small wrist like a lifeline. Before you could even process much, Choso yanked you from your seat and essentially tossed you onto the ground.

You cried out as you stumbled and then fell onto your knees, hands instinctively planted on the concrete to support yourself. The new cuts on your palms would surely sting for the next few days, not to mention the red marks that his fingers also left on your wrist.

Although you try to stand up, the pain made you falter such that all you could do was sit up with your feet tucked neatly beneath your bottom. The gashes hurt, and Choso approached just as your eyes began to line with tears.

When his steps stopped mere inches away, your neck craned at an awful angle just to glare into the murky pool that was his eyes. “Are you insane?”

The jerk, handsome but enigmatic as always, shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So that’s a yes.” 

At that, a thumb thrust between your parted lips shut you up.

“Stop complaining,” Choso snapped, his voice the deepest and most demanding that it had ever been. His thumb shoved further past your lips, pressing at your tongue to keep you from talking, not caring how you were gagging on his finger by now. “I’m playing nice even after all the shit you’ve been pulling on me last night. I don’t see you whining with all those other guys you’ve been fucking. What’s the matter?”

Petty, you thought and then scoffed.

But Choso caught that.

He responded with a harsh pull at your jaw. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

Rhetorical question. Choso already knew the answer, and his nostrils flared with irritation even as his free hand dangerously toyed with his fly.

“You know, I’ve been real patient with you, so show some respect, alright? My fingers didn’t even play with your pussy, but anyone could tell how wet you were in my car. And don’t think I didn’t notice you stealing glances at my boner earlier, you lil’ minx.” Noticing your eyes blow wide, his frown twisted into a smirk. Except everything evil about this felt so good when you caught sight of the piercings that gleamed by his ears. “What a dirty, dirty girl.”

So, he knew.

His comments were downright embarrassing—mortifying, even. Nonetheless, the humiliation stoked the flame of arousal within you anyway, possibly more so than you cared to admit. Choso was much more perceptive than you expected, which made sense given the skills he needed to assess sex-deprived clients during the day and stalk targets at night.

Therefore, when Choso eventually tore his thumb from your mouth, you thought that he finally took notice of your sorry state and pitied you.

That was until his other hand popped his jean button loose and tugged his zipper down.

You were stumped at first. With knees still pressed to the floor, you glanced at him from under your lashes, your lips puckered perfectly into a confused pout.

However, that confusion morphed quickly into realization once Choso lowered his jeans and boxers together, his large hands pulling the thick fabric down until the waistbands rested underneath his balls. His cock—thick and proud—sprung free and into the newly found freedom. Precum from the head oozed shamelessly down his shaft, the pretty pink tip mere millimeters from your nose.

Despite the depravity of this all, your heart fluttered at the sight, your stomach folding in sick anticipation.

Then, whatever premonitions you had were all confirmed with Choso’s one-word order: “Suck.”

Immediately, you panicked at the command. Just one glimpse at his twitching cock indicated that you would have trouble fitting that enormous dick any more than a few inches past your lips. You would gag.

Hell, you were sure to choke.

When a fear-filled lump coagulated at the back of your throat, you glanced up at Choso with your poor little puppy eyes, hoping that would distract him from his primal desires.

As if Choso would ever let you off the hook that easily.

“What?” he asked in the end, voice split between curiosity and impatience. “Haven’t given anyone a blowjob before?”

You decided not to answer; this wasn’t any of his business anyway.

Rather, you approached him meekly. When you wrapped one hand around the base, Choso hissed at the contact. His cock was already so hard, and from what? You had barely touched him, yet his dick spasmed from your grip, the foreskin sweltering hot against your roughed-up palms.

A harsh sting bloomed on your right cheek, only then realizing that Choso had slapped you right across the face.

“You’re losing focus, idiot. Pay attention to me.” His thumb prodded at your mouth again. “C’mon. Open up wide.” As he waited, he caught a strand of tousled hair between two long fingers, then delicately tucked the loose strands behind your ear. He peered down, giving you the sweetest sickliest smile a man can give. “You’re supposed to be a nice slut for me. Right, baby?”

Baby. He had you right there.

“Y...es,” you murmured. He had you wrapped around his finger, and you're suddenly too entranced to notice. "Yes...I am."

“Good. Then, I’ll show you how I like my cock sucked.”

What?

Before you could even process that last statement, Choso dug one large hand into your scalp. Messy strands now threaded through his spread-out fingers, he tugged forcefully at your hair—his warm fingertips pressed against your skull, his girthy cock suddenly shoved past your parted mouth, his fluids a foul bitter on your tongue, and his dark eyes wide at the moisture and warmth that sheathed him.

Tears, both due to the pain at your scalp and the burn at your throat, trickled down your flushed cheeks.

Breathe...

Even with your nose smushed against his crotch, even with your eyes popped wide open as you gurgled and gagged, you still had to breathe and soon the only other sensation aside from pain was that faint maple leaf scent that was so distinctly his.

“Oh...no, no, bimbo,” he hummed when you attempt to dig your nails into his skin, swatting your feeble hands away. “No touching. Bad girls aren’t not allowed to touch. Only I can. That’s what you get for not following my rules the other night. So, I’m going to hold your head, and you’re going stay still and be a good cocksleeve for me.”

Even if alarm bells should be going off in your head now, your heart palpitated at the prospects of what he just might do. Therefore, when you eventually nodded instead, Choso chuckled and muttered something about how you were always such a pretty little mess, such an ‘eager little pleaser.’

He had jerked off plenty, but there was nothing he loved more than having you completely under his control, fucking into your mouth with long and languid motions. He also loved hearing the noises that spilled from your mouth—the choked sobs that soon became garbled whimpers and breathy squeals.

Choso also always thought you were rather pretty, but when his eyes managed to leer downwards and saw what you looked like, mouth full of cock and spit dripping down your chin, he knew you’d never looked better.

For a man like himself, letting anyone see him this vulnerable was something that Choso had promised he would never do. Nonetheless, here he was...hamstrings tensing every time his tip bumped the back of your throat, fingers flexing each time his dick went in deeper than he thought possible. There was just something so different about seeing you on your knees, taking in his dick when his precum had already been bubbling from the tip.

“That’s right,” Choso hissed at some point, although you couldn’t tell how long he had been abusing your throat by then. Nothing aroused him more than to discipline with his dick and boy, did he love watching the way you bobbed your head back and forth, letting your saliva trail all over him. “Real fuckin’ sweet and obedient now, aren’t you? Do you follow directions this well for all those other therapists you fucked?”

You shook your head as his scrotum smacked into your chin, which Choso approved with a satisfied tug.

“Good.”

Muffled wails dropped from your mouth as he kept fucking your face, but he ignored you. After all, this was what you got for being so naughty. Plus, even if you thought his actions were entirely degrading before, the crazy thing was that you found this morbid fascinating now.

“Dumb, dumb puppy,” Choso chuckled when you unconsciously moaned around his cock.

As though to prove his point, Choso pulled his dick out of your mouth, marveling at how you whined at the emptiness. He didn’t want to keep you (or himself) waiting for too long though. Wordlessly, he pulled you up from the concrete even bewilderment riddled your expression.

“What are you—”

“One more word and I’ll make sure you won’t ever be able to use that throat again.”

So just like a well-behaved pup, you decided to shut up.

Once he led you to the front of the car, he slammed you onto the Corvette’s hood. As disoriented as you may be, he swiftly made a home between your thighs and manhandled you to his convenience—flipping you to your back, spreading your legs apart, hiking up the hem of your dress. After pawing at your pink panties, he finally pulled the fabric off in one smooth motion.

You didn’t know how or when, but you were utterly soaked. How embarrassing, the way your folds had lubricated themselves in anticipation. You unsuccessfully hid a shiver, not expecting the cool evening air to graze your sopping cunt.

“Fuck,” Choso groaned, liking what he sees. Nothing could hide the perverted glint in his gaze.

Holding you by your torso, he slid you halfway off the hood to roll his hips right next to yours. His cock bobbed as he readjusted himself, a few drops of precum landing on your skin. When he lines his cock with your slit, the face that he made when he finally had your wet cunt kissing his tip was obscene, but that was nothing compared to how your entire body shuddered in pleasure.

“F-Feels good,” you breathed, barely audible. You tried to catch your breath, clawing at his white sleeves and feeling up his arm muscles underneath in the process. How you wanted to hold onto him for dear life. “Feels so, so good.”

“I know.” He could tell from how you were practically begging for him to stuff you and, when he finally eased himself deep inside you, from how you would roll your eyes right to the back of your skull. He grinned. “So fuckin’ slutty.”

A choked moan dissipated from your lips when you felt the head pressing against your cervix. Soft, trembling...you were trying much too hard to be good. Nothing could compare to this utter gratification, his hard pelvis hitting your clit each time he forcefully plunged into you, sending waves from your abdomen up to your nipples.  

“Just like that,” you would say, over and over.

Choso Kamo would never admit this aloud, but he sure thought your kitten-like mewls sounded real cute up close. At the office, he had heard you moan and cry out before, but there was something nice knowing that he himself was the one making you feel this good. He sure doted on your cute expressions as well, the way your face would scrunch in pleasure, plush lips shaping into a perfect pout.

“Desperate bitch,” he said upon the soft plea of his name, although he was the one rutting through your folds like an animal in heat. “Always crying for people to stuff you. Such a whore.”

Fucked dumb, you nodded, not processing the shame of what he was saying.

“Yes, I am,” you hummed. If anything, his cold voice had only made you feel hotter. “Am your whore.”

“That’s right,” Choso sneered, your babbles the only words he had ever wanted to hear. “Let me hear you again. Don’t be shy—it’s just the two of us here. Keep acting like that, and I...I might just forgive you.”

Forgiven. You want to be forgiven.

Spurred by the possibility, you obeyed. An eager little pleaser indeed. Look at yourself, muttering all sorts of crude declarations until there was one that caught the therapist’s attention: “Use me like I’m all yours.”

Acting just like his little whore should.

Wholly satisfied, Choso picked up the pace, increasing his speed until he was hitting your g-spot with stunning accuracy. He anchored you by the hip with a firmer grip than necessary, making sure that every thrust would bring him back to the right place.

“Oh...” you sighed. Without looking, you could feel a mixture of slick and saliva trickle from you as he pounded harder—the juices sliding out from your cunt, down along your crack, and onto the metal underneath.

“Shit,” Choso mumbled once he caught sight of the scene. He swatted at your ass as a warning, ignoring your gasps in pain. “You’re making a mess of my hood. Messy girl with a messy cunt.”

How filthy.

Right when you were about to make more of a mess on the scene too.

With the familiar pressure building in your own lower abdomen, your teeth clamped your lower lip. Even that couldn’t stop the involuntary noise that eked from your throat—a whimper. But that was only because you were suppressing a pitiful melody of painful pants and sharp sputters in its stead.

“Choso,” you squeaked, nerves on fire at this point. “If you keep doing this...”

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso to pull him in, only for him to push you away. To properly admonish you, he slid a hand up your thigh and roughly squeezed at the flesh.

“Who gave you permission to enjoy yourself?” Choso snarled while you winced. He cocked his head too, which gave you a glimpse of his black ink-covered ink by his sweatshirt's collar. “This isn’t for your pleasure. This is to teach you a lesson.”

Before you could try defending yourself, he raised his right hand, which came down hard to strike at your ass. You yelped, so for his own sick reasons, he did this again and again and again until reddened marks littered your skin. What a nice color, quite appropriate for a naughty lassie like you.

After a particularly hard swat, tears started to prick again at your eyes.

“Stop! Please!” you cried out.

“Not until you show me that you're sorry.”

As far as Choso was concerned, all he wanted to do was discipline you—more specifically, break ­you—so that you would know to never mess with him again. He realized then and there that he liked to fuck you as he spanked you because he could never confess how much your pretty faces would egg him on.

“This is what you deserve,” he justified right as a large hand punished you once more.

“I’m sorry! I,” you gasped at another strike, but you...liked the pain? “I'm a bad, bad girl! I truly am sorry.”

As your stomach muscles tightened, your heels dug into his lower back and Choso responded with a low grunt.

His unforgiving thrusts were quickly losing their precision as well. At this rate, he might just blow his load earlier than he wanted to. He had originally hoped to pull out of your pussy and let you take his load down your throat, but he didn’t think that he would make it. That dick sucking earlier pushed him much closer to the edge than he originally thought.

“Think you earned my forgiveness?” 

You nodded. “‘M promising I won’t spread myself for anyone else again.”

This time, he slapped you across the face rather than your ass. “A complete fucking lie,” he scoffed, completely disappointed by how your tears were streaming down now. Weak. “Loose women like you can’t help taking more dick than they can handle. Right?”

“Yes!” you prattled, afraid of how else he would punish you if you disagreed. Not that he was wrong, per se. Steadying yourself, your small hands buried into his sleeves, watching how your juices were just pooling on his hood by now.

From above, Choso complained—something about how you were getting distracted again, but you couldn’t quite discern the words as a haze messed with your cognition. To bring you back to your senses, he delivered the most forceful blow on your left cheek instead.

“Just...Fuck...!” you screamed when the pain rushed straight to your pussy, causing you to slide right into a heated orgasm. The tight strings that had built in your stomach suddenly snapped, your jaw slacked as electricity shot from your core to your fingertips, causing you to twitch in uncontrollable ways. “Too much!”

Choso’s gruff grunt sunk into the night as you came around his cock, your puffy pussy gripping his length. He chased his own climax and dug his fingernails deep into your hips, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks on your unblemished skin. 

Knowing that he shouldn’t, Choso still peered down at the space where you’re connected, unable to resist the temptation. He riveted in the lewd image before his very eyes, your wet cunt still convulsing around his fat cock, the image far too much for him to handle especially when you’re making such a fucked out face.

“Take it,” he found himself saying unconsciously. “Take me, baby. Fuck—"

His words stopped short, whittling to nothing more than a low haggard rumble as he met his own end.

“Fucking take it,” was the last thing he said before he slumped over, pushing deep into you as his balls seized and released repeatedly, thick ropes of hot cum painting your inner walls with white.

Choked moans chorused into the evening, the sounds sucked into the nighttime’s void. For the first time this evening, peace and silence settled in, the heavy pants slowly giving way to even breaths.

After several more moments, Choso slipped out with a wet pop.

You blinked past the post-orgasmic haze, expecting to see him offer a disapproving look only to find that he was smirking. This man had fucking beautiful eyes, even when he wore the most mischievous expression.

Asshole.

“I’ll accept your apology. Since you’ve made things up for me.” Leaning over, he planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, his nicest gesture to you ever. He pulled his pants back on and then gently swiped a thumb over your bum, at a spot where the bruises hurt the most. “I won’t even hold you for the mess you’d made on my car.”

Flustered, heat suffused your face. "Thank...you."

He fished his Corvette keys from his back pocket, ready to pop open the trunk. "Let me return your little dress from last night, too."

"Thank you...again."

"Of course, baby."

Choso would never say this, but he was smitten. Look at how polite you were now, almost as though you were a changed woman. All that took was a little teaching.

"Then, shall we head back?" That was no question. That was an order. "I want Naoya Zenin to see you like this."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: 1) choso is so mysterious in canon—and I LIVE for it. i did my best to convey that obscurity, dominance, and sexiness in his character here. 2) also, his blue corvette is a reference to that line in eiffel 65's blue. that 1990s song lives in my mind rent free.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @pulchritxde-blog @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan​ @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @nemoyr @tsukiyohanayome @tokyometronetwork​ @downtown-roponggi​ @the-cosmos-network

[blond-yallternative]

TSC boys will be TSC boys (ft. Cody, my beloved nb)

Low-stakes fanfic in which 3 backliners (Cody, Lucas, and Jean [included against his will]) bet 3 strikers (Jeremy, Nabil, and Derrick) that if the backliners can keep the strikers from making any successful shots on goal during a team exercise, then Jeremy will get his ears pierced.

Of course Jean balls out and so do the other 2 so the strikers lose.

Jeremy is deathly afraid of needles (in my head), and Nabil can't join them because he's going home to eat dinner with his family, but Pat joins in last-minute.

Pls be kind this is my first ever fanfic (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

By the time practice was over and they had all showered, changed, and dispersed to their cars, it was past six in the evening. The drive to their destination took less than fifteen minutes, and soon they were pulling into the parking lot of a low, dingy strip mall that looked like it had needed a fresh coat of paint about two years ago. The studio that Nabil had Googled for them was nestled in the far right corner under a large sign emblazoned Black Eye Tattoo. Between the second and third words, a large eye gazed out over the parking lot with a swirling design where its iris and pupil should’ve been. After they parked, Jeremy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel out of time with the pop song on the radio as he stared up at the sign. A few moments later, they spotted the rest of the boys and Cody heading towards them, and Jeremy twisted the key to kill the engine with a long-suffering sigh. He shooed Derrick off his car when he tried to strike a provocative pose on the hood, and Pat held the door of the place open for all of them as a doorbell chimed over their heads.

Jean was more than a little intimidated by the woman standing behind the counter inside. Her jet black hair hung in choppy bangs over her forehead but the rest was tucked behind her ears, making it easy to see the neon rings that stretched her earlobes to twice the normal size. Her haughty gaze didn’t change as the six of them filed through the door and crowded the small lobby space. Pat and Derrick flopped down on the low, bloodred velvet couch set against the far wall, so Jean and Jeremy leaned against the front windows. Cody and Lucas eagerly approached the front counter. The air felt near-frigid after the California heat outside, and Jean savored the sunshine warming his back.

“Aren’t you gonna go check out the options?” Derrick asked Jeremy, who cringed. “I’d rather not look at any of this until absolutely necessary,” he said, and Derrick smirked. At the counter, Lucas and Cody were explaining the situation to the indifferent-seeming woman. Jean squinted to read the cursive scrawl on her metal name tag. Cherie, with a little hand-drawn border of black flowers and vines. 

“All the stones here are available for lobe piercings, organized by size,” she said, dragging her finger in a line over one section of the glass counter that separated her from the lobby. Jean listened a little closer than he normally would, but her voice carried no hint of a French accent. “All our metals are surgical-grade steel, and they come in silver, gold, rose gold, or black finishes. No difference in price.”

“What’s the cheapest option?” Lucas asked. Cherie gave him an unimpressed look that said she was sick of servicing poor college students, but she tapped a black fingernail against the glass. “This one, three millimeter cubic zirconia. $65.”

“That’s quite the chunk of change for two little holes,” Pat muttered from the couch. Jean figured he hadn’t meant to be overheard, but Cherie said, “One.” 

The group looked at her. She clarified. “The $65 is for one piercing. And that doesn’t include tip,” she added, giving them a pointed look. When half the group made a sound of disbelief, Jeremy shushed them with a “Hey, guys.”

Lucas rounded on Cody. “So you’re loaded or something?” he asked, gesturing to their heavily-studded face. 

Cody grinned. “My friend’s aunt owns a tattoo shop. She does mine for free.” 

Lucas slapped his palms on the counter and sighed in dramatic relief. “Well, call her up then!” 

“Dude, she lives in Arizona.” 

Lucas sank to rest his head on his flattened hands in defeat. In the end it was decided that Jeremy would only be getting one ear pierced, but even when Cody and Lucas pooled the cash in their wallets they could only come up with $59.37. With a sigh, Pat chipped in a $20 bill to cover the rest plus tip, and Cherie swiped up the money to store it in the cash register. She surveyed all six of them now standing closer to her counter, and sighed. “You all want to come back, don’t you?” They nodded, and Jeremy said meekly, “Yes ma’am, if that’s okay.” She sighed again but tossed an impatient “Come on, then,” over her shoulder as she strode towards the back. She led them to what appeared to be the largest of the individual rooms of the main part of the studio, and bade Jeremy to sit on the black-cushioned chair in the center. There was one smaller plastic chair to the left of it, and Pat pushed Jean towards it before he could make a beeline for the back of the room. Jean sat as Cherie told the rest of them, “I’m going to need some space. Go stand in the corner over there.” The four of them obediently shuffled over and leaned against the graffiti-covered wall.

Cherie asked the room, “What’s the finish?” 

“Uhhhhh,” Lucas droned, and Jeremy looked to Jean, of all people. Cherie repeated the options to him. “Silver, gold, rose gold, or black.” Jean thought for a moment, studying Jeremy’s face. 

Well, it was not going to be black. But which of the other three? He narrowed his eyes, considering. Spray-painted daffodils, the Trojan statue from their first walk through campus, and a yellow cardboard dog flashed through his mind. “Gold,” he said decidedly, and Cherie nodded in agreement. Jeremy smiled at Jean, but the expression was a bit tight. 

“And which ear am I doing?” 

“Which one’s the gay ear?” Derrick asked, and Lucas snickered. Jeremy twisted in his chair to give them a look, but Patrick doubled down on it. “If the shoe fits, my friend,” he said with a shrug. “Cody, make them stop,” Jeremy complained, but Cody was too busy laughing along with Lucas. Jeremy sighed and faced forward again. “I’ll just do the right ear. I normally sleep on my left side.” After a beat he added, “Please don’t tell them whether or not that’s the gay ear,” and Lucas and Cody’s laughter rang out again.

He held still when Cherie commanded, and then inspected the purple dot she marked on his right ear with the handheld mirror she passed him. He turned and tucked a stray curl back so Jean could see it, too. It looked perfectly centered, so Jean nodded. 

Satisfied with her preparations, Cherie swiveled on her wheeled stool to rub hand sanitizer over her hands and pull on black latex gloves. At the snap they made against her wrists, Jeremy winced. “I like your nametag,” he said randomly, and Jean heard one of the boys snicker. Jeremy continued hurriedly, “You know, Jean here is French. You two might get along.” 

“Ooooh, parlez vous français?” Cody said in a ridiculous high-pitched voice. Lucas laughed maniacally as Derrick replied, “Oui oui, monsieur dumbass.” Jean looked around to see which of the instruments in the room he could use to put himself out of his misery as quickly as possible, but Cherie laughed, too. 

“I don’t speak French, actually. This is just what my grandpa used to call me. I don’t even pronounce it correctly, I know, but I still like it.” The entire room turned to look at Jean in anticipation. 

He gave Cody and Derrick a flat look. “I’m not going to say it.” Various sounds of protest arose from their corner, but Cherie started fixing the gold stud onto a long, sharp instrument and Jean saw Jeremy’s face go positively ashen. When she looked up, Cherie saw it too. 

“Are you afraid?” she asked bluntly, and Jeremy didn’t hesitate before nodding. The boys giggled from the corner. She kept her eyes on Jeremy, her expression unchanged. “That’s not a problem. It’s better if you look away, not close your eyes.” She dug her heels into the floor to wheel herself closer to Jeremy’s right side. “Would you prefer if I counted down, or just did it?” 

Jeremy swallowed. “A countdown, please.” 

Jean could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him with every breath. With a sigh, he shifted his chair to be parallel with Jeremy’s, and didn’t face him as he rested an elbow on Jeremy’s armrest. He cleared his throat. He could feel Cherie and Jeremy’s eyes on him but refused to look their way, and after another second he felt Jeremy’s hand curl under his arm to grip his bicep. His palm was warm and even sweatier than Jean expected, but Jean didn’t pull away. He ignored the whispered conversation happening in the back of the room. 

“Ready?” Jeremy nodded with a tense set to his jaw. Jean grimaced at the crushing grip his captain had on his arm but didn’t let himself move an inch. 

“Okay. Three, two, one,” Cherie said calmly, and Jean blinked in surprise. She had pushed the needle easily through Jeremy’s ear right after two. Jeremy blinked too, then loosed an exaggerated sigh of relief and said, “Dang, that actually wasn’t so bad! Do you do that trick with everyone?” His grip slackened, but he didn’t take his hand off Jean's arm.

“Only the wimps,” Cherie said matter-of-factly, and Jeremy laughed, a little giddy. The boys and Cody peeled off the wall to come admire the stud, and Jeremy only removed his hand from Jean when Cherie passed him the mirror again. Jean tried to be subtle about rubbing the now-sweaty inside of his arm against his shirt, but Jeremy was turning his head this way and that to see the piercing from different angles, completely oblivious. Cody gushed compliments, and Derrick said, “Yeah, gold was definitely the right choice.” Patrick clapped a hand on Jeremy's shoulder in approval.

Jeremy swung his legs over to hang them off the chair and face Jean with a beaming smile.

"What do you think?"

Jean considered the sparkle of the little earring in Jeremy’s lobe, bright against his flushed skin, and met Jeremy’s eyes. “It suits you,” he said simply. And it was true.

Somehow, Jeremy’s smile grew, and the stud twinkled like a miniature star as he kicked his feet.

As they all spilled back into the lobby a staggered chorus of “Thank you, Cherie!” arose from all five of the others. Pat already had his hand on the horizontal bar of the front door when Jean realized they had all turned to look expectantly at him again. He sighed and faced the counter. 

“Merci, ma chérie.” 

The sweet smile that curved Cherie’s lips seemed to soften her entire hardcore appearance, and she waved them all out amidst the chiming of the doorbell and the others’ whoops of triumph.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Go — Stay

Blue Jones (Sucker Punch) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: He was on orderly. She was a mental patient in the 1960s. Can I make it anymore obvious?

~ I had a super spicy dream starring Oscar Isaac last night so now I’m making it your problem ~

Warnings: Noncon, drugging with LSD, a little bit of blood, hallucinations, bad trip (thanks Blue), synesthesia, out of body experience, mild descriptions of gore, possessiveness, praise, creampie

🔞 18+ my loves. You know the drill 🔞

~~

The wall is melting.

Dingy beige oozes, drips off studs and rotten framing. There should be something beneath, but you see only darkness, a yawing maw of black stretching and twisting—

You look away, chest heaving. It’s not real. The rippling floorboards, the bright red insects skittering along the baseboards aren’t real, the clicking of their tiny legs isn’t—

Clenching your eyes shut only makes it worse when fiery rainbows explode behind your eyelids. Pulsing colors you couldn’t name if you tried match the beat of your fluttering pulse until you’re dizzy, overwhelmed by the intensity. Your eyes fly open and you do your best not to blink.

This isn’t new, this experience. The nurses force you to take something, some medication a few times a week that makes you feel like you’re losing your mind.

But that’s why you’re here isn’t it?

Your doctor had prescribed it, they said. You’re part of some study, something that will help people one day. It’s bigger than you.

What people, you wonder? This sure as hell isn’t helping anyone here at Lennox House.

It was almost pleasant, at first; enlightening even. There were moments of euphoria and beauty. Once upon a time, you’d looked forward to your next dose.

But now there is only dread. Beauty and awe turn to panic and paranoia the longer you’re kept here in this cell, the longer you’re drugged against your will, the longer you’re visited by—

As if on cue, the heavy lock thunks. Jingling of keys, the squeak of the metal door heralds the appearance of Blue. Your heart knocks into your throat, your nails curling into your palms until all you can see is the red of your eyelids.

‘Keep them open!’ something, someone hisses in your ear. You jolt, your head whipping around, but there’s no one here but you and Blue.

“Hey, listen to me,” Blue snaps. He’d been talking, you realize. Your breath shakes as you try to focus, but his leer is curling across his face unnaturally. Your saliva is so thick, nearly choking when you swallow and look back to the bugs clicking on the floor.

“Jesus, these higher doses make you girls crazier than normal, huh?”

“B-Blue…” you squeak, the color of his namesake painting the air in vivid streaks.

“Shhh,” he whispers. It’s a sound that should be comforting, but instead you feel it worming into your ears. You shrug your shoulders in attempt to rid yourself of the sensation.

The mattress dips and warm fingers caress your wrists. Blue tenderly uncurls your digits from your palms, clicking his tongue in disappointment when your fingernails come away bloody. From his pocket, he produces a wad of gauze. Dabbing it along the little grooves in your palm, he murmurs, “Look at me.” You obey immediately. You’d rather see his fucked up face than risk Blue’s ire.

Meeting his dark, hooded gaze makes you flinch. He’s closer than you thought, inches away. He’s not smiling, and for that you are thankful. Nothing for the drug to warp. However, there are fingers—shadowy tendrils wrapping around his shoulders, smoothing across the white frock. You don’t look away from his eyes.

“Relax, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.” You don’t miss the hidden meaning, as much as you’d like to. Blue’s words always mean something else. Yet, you can’t keep your shoulders from slumping, the muscles in your jaw from going slack. It’s so easy to do what he says when you’re like this.

The warmth of his fingers moves to your throat. They trace bright lines down your skin, lines you can see carving through the space above his head. His lips are next, hot and pink on your jaw, breath like fire puffing against your ear.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me.”

“Y-yes.” Your voice feels like buzzing on your tongue. You’re going to be good. He’s right.

His teeth on your neck make you squirm as hands on your hips pull, drag you down the bed until your head spins. You keen, high pitched, when sensation overwhelmes you, even the gentlest touch making you afraid your skin will split open so all this color can come pouring out.

“Quieter,” Blue warns tersely, his eyes darting to the door, back to your face. You shake your head, whimper apologies as he hikes the tattered hospital gown up to your waist. Suddenly, the ceiling above is cerulean sky, bright sun peeking behind clouds, blinding and beautiful. It distracts you as Blue rips open his pants, parts your quivering thighs, settles between them.

His palm slaps over your mouth as he pushes into your heat. It’s so, so slick and easy for him. Why are you leaking?

The sudden intrusion brings you back to earth, back to rotting, blackened drywall. A strained cry crawls up and out of your throat and leaks around his hand, brilliant orange smoke.

“Fuck yes, sweetheart,” Blue grunts, his lips finding your ear again as his hips snap up, up, up. A hot palm smooths over your rear, tilts your hips up to meet the feverish thrusts. His pounding heart you can feel against your own chest, purple pulsing between your bodies.

Your fingers find his shoulders, nails digging in and drawing a low groan from Blue’s throat. You stare in awe when white light explodes around your fingertips. Blue moans and nods when you push harder. Will your digits break through, plunging into the gleaming expanse of his shoulders—

You’re not sure when it happens, or how. It might have been slow; you might have melted out of your physical form and dripped upward. Or maybe it was instantaneous, like a flash of lightening. It doesn’t matter, not when you’re looking down at your bed from above, at Blue using your empty body, at your vacant expression.

You don’t feel anything he’s doing to you, you realize. You don’t feel the fingers pressing divots into the flesh of your ass, the teeth set against your throat, the thick length popping in and out of your slick slit. All you feel is weightlessness. You’re floating, hovering in midair, like gravity forgot you. It’s almost like freedom—

Your eyes snap open. The worn bedsheets grate against your back, rustle loudly in your ears. Around you is your skin, caging you in. A prison within a prison. Above is the water-stained ceiling, the panel in the left corner missing as always. Through the dark opening drips murky water and something thick, oozing, sticky viscera….

“There you are,” Blue purrs. His nose brushes yours. Sweat beads along his brow like dew, wetting his hair. You blink and meet his heated gaze with your own wide eyes. “You stay here with me,” he orders and you nod, unable to respond with the hand pressed against your lips. Frenzied breaths pour from your nose and your eyelids flutter when he pumps his hips, the wet slap of skin echoing off the melting walls.

Now you feel it.

Blue sinks his teeth into his bottom lip at the sound of your muffled cries. He speaks through gritted teeth, “I know, sweetheart. I wanna hear all those noises you make for me. I wanna hear you scream for me. But I can’t take my hand off, right? They would try and take you away if they knew our secret. They’d try and take you, but I wouldn’t let ‘em. You’re mine. All mine.” You respond by gripping his shoulders tighter, by squeezing your thighs against his hips.

He huffs, his eyes rolling back and closing, brows pulling together in a frown as he concentrates on fucking into your suckling cunt. You’re screaming now, like he wants. You can’t help it, the intense pressure in your belly as hot as the surface of the sun. There’s only him now and the place where you’re connected. So bright, so hot, so full, so, so, so, so….

“Christ, I’m close, cum on my cock, sweetheart. Fucking give it to me!”

It’s his. You’re his, he said so.

You explode, pleasure wracking your core until you’re shaking, every color in existence zinging up your spine, skin tingling like static, tears streaking down your cheeks. Blue chokes on a shout, buries himself deep as your twitching muscles milk him of liquid heat, molten gold.

“Ah, f-fuck,” Blue gasps through haggard breaths. The palm on your mouth is replaced by his lips. His kisses are soft, feather light. Your panting breaths mingle with his before his mouth moves to your cheek. Slowly, almost reverently, he drags his tongue through the tears staining your skin. “You were such a good girl. So good. My fucking good girl.”

Finally, he moves away, a little sigh leaving you at the lessening of sensation. It’s too much when he’s so close. Wetness drips from between your spread thighs and you must tell yourself it’s cum and not whatever was leaking from the ceiling. It’s him, it’s his. Blue’s.

Not as comforting a thought as you’d hoped. Emptiness settles in your gut and gnaws at the anxiety seeping back into your chest.

Clothes righted, Blue wipes his damp forehead on his sleeve. He presses a kiss to your hair as he tugs your gown back in place. Keys rattle.

In the doorway, Blue pauses. “Don’t go anywhere.” That twisting, eerie grin returns to his face and you must avert your gaze, but there’s nowhere to look where reality isn’t challenged. The door clangs shut behind him.

You are alone with your melting walls and chittering insects once more.

[ravenwriter16]

'Creative Minds Think Alike'

Episode 1---Episode 2 (You're here already!)---Episode 3—Episode 4--Episode 5--Episode Six--Episode Seven

Featuring the Amazing: @amarynthian-chronicles

Reminder! If the content creator doesn't approve of how I represented them or their AUs then a will edit my work or DELETE it. It's not my intention to mock or belittle anyone's work. This series is suppose to showcase amazing creators!

I do not beta read! I die like Solar from the Sun and Moon show (hehehe...I now have a target on my back)

If you don't like my work don't read it!!!!

I close the door to my home behind me as I step out. It was afternoon now, the sun starting to set over the horizon. My hood was down today unlike last night.

I walk down the path up to the castle, my pace a tad faster than usual since I actual had to schedule an appointment to meet with this Creator.

AND I was NOT going to be late!

My wings flap anxiously behind me as I put my hair into a braid. The tips of my pointed ears were turning red from the cold, so I brush some of my downy feathers (they're like baby hairs to me) to cover and warm them.

Though it was bothersome I still prefer the cold than the scorching heat of summer...

I enter the castle with a small sigh. A staff bot rolls up to me, holding its hands out. I shake my head and dismiss it with a wave of my hand. It backs off as I walk deeper into the castle.

Today I wasn't sticking to the lower floors. Instead, I was going up to one of the towers...

The creepy...PROBABLY haunted towers...

I was halfway up the stairs when a scream rips through the air and bounces off the walls. I shiver, wings closer to my shoulders now. Why do people like this sort of thing?!

I reach the top and find a single door. The metal frame was a tad rusty and had suspicious dark stains. I reach into my side pouch and pull out the second envelope from the pair I had before.

I look at the address on the envelope then step closer to the ruby-encrusted plaque on the door. They matched.

I pull out my pocket watch and check the time. Ten minutes early. What would be the harm if I'd knock now?

I raise my fist to the door. Inches away from connecting to the metal, it creaks open and a small cool breeze blows out.

It blows up some dust (why don't the staff bots clean up here?!) causing me to let out a sneeze.

"Bless you." A deep voice croons.

My gaze rises to meet sharp golden eyes. A tall animatron with marron metal and shiny bronze rays greets me. He had on a black suit that looks like it was pulled from the Victorian era. The black cape he had on made it seem like his shadow rose form the floor to rest over his shoulders.

A golden chain drapes across his chest and in one of his rays was a ruby stud.

White sharp teeth glint in the small light in this tower. "Good afternoon Archvist~."

"Grand Duke." I greet curtly. "I have an appointment this time. So don't even try to pull any tricks."

He chuckles and places a taloned hand on his chest, showcasing a golden ring with one ruby in the middle flanked by two diamonds. "You wound me so, darling~. Please come in."

He opens the door fully, standing to the side to allow me to enter. I eye him as I step through the doorway. He raises a brow, his grin never leaving.

I turn my attention to the room and the breath from my lungs leave. It was like something out of a fairy tale novel. The Grand Hall was elegant yet modern. The colors dark yet soft somehow. Beautiful pillars that connected at the top via arches hold up the domed ceiling.

A short distance in front of me is a staircase that leads up to a platform before splitting into staircases on the left and right.

At the platform is a giant stain glass window, showcasing in vibrant colors a scene of three high ranking fae (I interact with the species a lot, so I know fae when I see them) interacting with a female human. They seem to be trying to gain her attention from a small dark sphere in her hands.

I gasp as the glass in the window shifts, giving the characters life and movement. The yellow fae on the left attempts to give the woman a flower, the blue one from the right tries to give her a harp, while red the one above her (the biggest of the three) attempts to place a crown on her head.

My wings jerk, spreading out in alarm. I snap my pointed gaze at eclipse who retracts his clawed finger away from my spine.

"What have I said about messing with my wings?" I ask, annoyed.

"Sorry, Love. I couldn't resist the opportunity." He folds his hand behind his back, obscuring them with his cape. He saunters in front of me, "I will fetch my lady. Please refrain from touching any of windows."

"Why? Afraid I'll leave smudges on them?" I tease, my wings folding comfortably against my back.

"Oh no, darling~." he chuckles darkling, looking over his shoulder to pin me with his golden gaze. "But I am obligated to warn guest of their unique...talent of trapping people into their worlds..."

I shiver slightly, whether from the new knowledge of the windows (Relm Holders I suppose) or form his tone and gaze, I don't know.

He hums in thought before continuing up the stairs. I wait till he turns to the right stairs and reaches the top without trying anything.

I roll my shoulders and rub the back of my neck. I walk to the center of the Grand Hall and at the foot of the stairs. I take my time looking around, each stained-glass window leaving me equally breathless.

One was of scales of justice. On one plate was a gavel and a rolled-up scroll, while the other had a heart, which had colors of pink, blue, yellow, and red. They kept rising and falling, as if their fate was still undecided.

Right next to it was a scene of the ocean crashing against a rock cliff. Two leviathans and a VERY tall kraken look down at the cliff where a small human with shimmering blue patches of skin sings to them.

The final one was familiar. A certain viscount holds up a paint brush, red paint lining its path as he flourishes it while bowing. The Marquis has a violin under his chin, the musical notes showing and dripping with blood. His eyes closed but the smile on his face filled with mischief. The Grand Duke (Who was taking his sweet time getting his Creator) Holds up a large diamond, one of his fangs stained red.

The poor dear suffering the affections holds up one hand to stop the three from doing anything to rash, yet behind her back she holds a wooden stake.

I snort, "I'll have to meet this one. To be able to put up with those three...In fact all these Place-Holders have to put up a lot..."

I look back up at the stairs, crossing my arms. My shoulders tense as I hear the sound of heels clicking on tile. I bow as a regal figure starts her descent down the stairs.

"Amarynthian-Chronicles," I bow, "It's an honor to finally meet you."

"The honor's all mine." She responds.

I straighten up, finally getting a good view of her. On top of her head was a crown made of black shattered glass that seemed to shift and swirl as if there was mist trapped in each shard. A see-through red veil covers her face

Her black hair was down but curled around her elvan ears. Her red pixie wings flutter slightly behind her. Everything about her color wise was red, black, gray, orange or yellow. She had on a beautiful ball gown with a gorgeous closed shawl that had gems sewn into the fabric.

Her blood red eyes regard me with curiosity and mischief. If I didn't already know she was a creator, I would have mistaken her for High-Ranked Royal Fae.

She meets be at the base of the stairs. She gives me an apologetic look as she moves the veil over her head so that it was no longer covering her. "So sorry about the last time you tried to pay me a visit."

"It's alright, I should've known better than to not take Moon's threats for granted..."

"He does not joke when it comes to his booby-traps..." She hisses through clenched teeth.

She then gestures to a table with two chairs...That were NOT there before. Seeing my stunned expression, she laughs and puts a hand on her hip. "You alright?"

"Oh yes!" I blush, "Sorry...You'd think I'd get used to it by now..."

We both share a laugh as we sit down. She rubs her hands together< "Now! I believe you have something for me to look over and possibly sign, correct?"

"Yes." I nod. I bend over to the side a bit to dig through my side pouch while Amarynthian-Chroniclesclaps her hands in delight.

"I've been meaning to get this over with for a while but the old man who you took over for was SO forgetful..."

I nod my head, humming in agreement. I shout in delight when I find the envelope but then a shadow falls over me and my smile quickly morphs into a frown.

"Dear Duke," I get out through gritted teeth.

"Yes~?" He bends over me and I'm forced to look at his smug face.

"Can refrain from bothering me for at least two seconds?"

"I'm afraid not. It would be pure torture to let you go unbothered, my darling Raven~."

"Eclipse." Amarynthian-Chronicles warns with a snap of her finger. The Grand Duke pulls back with a small chuckle and then walks over to stand behind her.

"I apologize, my gem~. But the Archivist is too easy to rile up."

I shoot him a glare before handing Amarynthian-Chronicles the envelope. She opens it and pulls out an introductory letter and a stack of papers.

"Wow...it's really stacked up." She mumbles. With a wave of her hand the papers fly in a circle around her head. Her eyes quickly scanning each one.

I lean back in my seat with a sigh, stretching out my arms to relieve some of the tension. It works for a moment but when I look up to find Eclipse licking his fangs while maintain eye contact with me, the tension comes flooding back.

"Don't you have a Place-Holder to go bother?" I snap.

"Dear Y/n is with my brothers currently." Eclipse rolls his eyes and puts one hand on his hip and waves the other in the air dismissively. "They are showing her around the palace. Boring really. I'm here trying to entertain myself."

"Ahuh..."

"By the way Raven, how would you like to join in my blood gem collection~? Just a drop of your precious red and you'll be immortalized."

"Okay One, I'm already immortal you leech-,"

"Rude~."

"Two, you are not tricking me to become your servant for the rest of eternity..."

"But it would be so fun-,"

"FOR YOU-,"

"Alright, alright..." Amarynthian-Chronicles claps her hands together and the papers neatly stack on top of each. It lands on the table with a soft thud. She blows over the top form and her signature appears.

"I found no fault with these forms. You now have my John Hancock."

"Thank you, Madam." I stand up and grab the stack of papers, leaving the introductory note with her. "If you ever have any questions, concerns, or statements you'd liked to make about the castle, please feel free to message me or visit my mushroom."

"Mushroom...That sounds like fun!" She nods her head, "I will come down if the need arises...OR if I'm bored..."

I laugh, "I would appreciate your company all the same! Have a pleasant evening."

I give another bow to her. Then I turn my attention to Eclipse, "Duke." I nod.

"Archivist." He responds back with a softer tone and a small bow. But I could see the glint in his eyes.

I turn tail and get out of there, slightly flying as my wings anxiously beat.

I close the door softly behind me, hearing the two on the other side laughing at my behavior. I sigh and start the descent down the stairs to the first floor of the castle.

I have meet with two creators so far. And I'm sure there will be more to come...

***

Episode two is completed!

This was so much fun to write and I hope you all enjoyed reading it!

Have a fantastic day or night!

[taybatwo2]

Off White Raven Rhapsody Part 2 of 2

Now that Raven is undressed, let’s take a look at these expensive brand clothes!

All under the cut.

I know they are all based off of actual pieces. But I think they are kinda meh; like RH’s/SH’s clothing seem higher quality. Her jacket has a washcloth material, an actual snap in the front, NON WORKING PULL STRINGS ON HER HOOD, and silver printed “Woman” on the back (I would not be surprised if it peels after heavy handling).

Her shirt is a bit stretchy, it’s hemmed, and seems like a nice piece. The Velcro will catch very easily on this fabric.

Her pleather purse has a metal ring, but does not open to an actual pocket. It closes with Velcro and not an actual buckle. It also has three studs on the back for decoration.

I love her skirt. It is not hemmed though. It has four layers of the ribbed material over a short black, cotton like skirt (also these pieces have Monster High Off White tags in them).

Her shoes are fine and have the Off White logo on the underside of the sole. I like the texture of them, but wouldn’t it be cool if there was a gargoyle sculpted on the heel to combine MH’s style and the Off White shoes??

Her hat is a nice sculpt, the horns even look like they have a rough edge on the inner side. You can even see the little stitches.

Anyways, she also has some earrings that are a silver and a blueish metallic color in the shape of the Off White logo. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll keep many of her pieces. I don’t think they look bad on her, but I really want to dress her on some gothic pieces that go along with her skirt and shoes.

As an almost final note, my Neca Demona came down off her perch to check out this new gargoyle. She appreciated this new ghoul’s horns, large wings and the little horned thumb on her wings. She needs some claws though.

She had some pluses, but I really don’t see her being 156 bucks. ….will I try for Symphonie….yes, yes I will….

[aliensubstance-011]

Hi hello I absolutely adore your band AU!! I was wondering if you have any thoughts on the band's appearances, like clothes/hair dye/etc.? Especially given you've mentioned things past highschool

I rlly rlly want to draw these dorks practising together and want to stay true to your ideas :3

Hello I saw this just before I was going to go to sleep and then laid awake Thinking About It for the next 30 minutes so here I am!

Under the cut because there's a LOT!!

Richie

He layers just as badly as in canon

So in my head it goes:

Long sleeved stripey T-shirt

then a graphic short tee on top (which eventually becomes a band T-shirt nearer then end of senior year when Steph joins the band! (And when I design the logo lmao))

THEN a zip up hoode

I'm not done

Then a leather jacket he found at a garage sale (it's slightly too big for him normally so it fits over everything else.)

Ripped jeans + belt chains

He has one of those goth belts with all the metal eyelets in it

Boots!! He has loads of different coloured laces he wears each day!!

And ofc he has his blue hair

He has his ears pierced too- he has these skeleton studs and they're all he wears.

Oh and the green and black bracelet Max eventually makes when he becomes the band's friend. It's tied onto his belt loops every morning.

Peter

Pretty similar to canon in my head

He takes off his suspenders and bowtie when they practice though (he feels safe then)

His hair is longer! He wears it in a man bun because it made him feel more masc before he came out to everyone (in middle school)

When he felt more comfortable (and after he came out) he decided to keep his hair long and the man bun just kind of stuck

He gets an undercut maybe? I can't decide in whether that's good or not.

He had LOADS of ear piercings (industrial, tragus, three on each lobe, conch, helix) but he's too scared to get facial ones somehow

He wears dangly earrings in his main lobe piercing

After he makes friends with Steph and stops wearing his suspenders+bowtie altogether he unbuttons and untucks his shirt during practice.

(Steph almost passes out the first time he does this. She can see his collar bones. Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time core)

Richie clips a short chain onto his belt loops "So we match!"

His yellow and orange bracelet becomes his hairband- you can't usually see it unless you're looking for it/it's in a ponytail

Ruth

Ruth was actually so so difficult for me to decide

Her normal style just goes so hard yknow?

I think she starts wearing Docs like Richie

But she just has rainbow laces and that's it she doesn't change them

She gets a leather jacket too and paints the band logo on (badly)

The band tee she'll wear but it'll be over-sized and half tucked in

Logo front and back babey!!

I don't know what else for Ruth so if you have any ideas please feel free to use them

Her blue and white bracelet is just on her wrist like a normal person lmao

Steph

Nose piercing Nose piercing!! She has a little ring

Her style is already SO SO good for the band AU!!!

She has fingerless leather gloves

She also has tattoos methinks

The beginnings of a rose + thorns sleeve on her left arm

And a shitty stick and poke star on her right wrist (over her veins) she got when she was 16- it's started to fade so she gets other stars tattooed on her wrist around it (one for each band member?)

She's the one who commissions an artist to design the logo, and gets t-shirts made for each of them!!

She, and Ruth both get the logo put on leather jackets. Steph's is proper vintage and is more of a biker jacket though.

She tries to convince Richie and Peter to get ones too, but Richie doesn't want to damage his jacket and Peter refuses to wear one at all (he won't wear the shirt either)

(She catches him using it as a sleep shirt. She teases him about it for weeks)

She cuts her band top into a crop top but she doesn't always wear it.

She dyes the tips of her hair red for while

But it fades into pink weirdly quick

So she dyes it back to her normal ombre

Steph's pink bracelet hangs from a hole made in one of her drumsticks. Her bracelet was made first (Max cried when he saw it)

Max

Max isn't technically part of the band

But he is their #1 fan forever and ever

So he has a shirt too that he wears to all of their (eventual) gigs!! The logo is a bit faded/damaged and washed out because he keeps washing it the wrong way

He has a scar in his eyebrow from when Steph punched him after she first joins the band (this kickstarts his redemption.) (Punchstarts?)

And he has his purple and yellow bracelet around his wrist!

I still haven't figured out how to fit Grace into this AU at all. I do HC that she thinks all music other than Christian Music is Of The Devil™ and she plays the flute but that's about it honestly... One of these days I'll figure something out

[catt-nuevenor]

hi, sorry if this have been asked before, but do you have any refs/inspos of clothes that the characters use/is time/region appropriated for myrk mire?

(also, sorry if this question is confusing - english is not my first language :") )

Hi,

Your English is very good!

Clothing, this has proven a topic of flux in the development of the story. I'll include the original answers I gave concerning clothing style below, but I think it's about time I updated this for you all, as things have changed...

Original answers and historical resources concerning clothing:

Historical costume

Source Material 1

Where the world is currently:

I use a little source document to keep track of clothing, so for the most part I'll be copy pasting the text from that into the post. It's quite cliff notes style, but it gets the important information across and the reasons for various stylistic choices.

Quick terms breakdown for those not 100% up to date with the wider lore around the story.

The Four Shores is a collection of four realms containing Diota, Eard, Jǫkull, and Þinda, located on a collection of islands widely considered north of pretty much everything else. Eard is the realm in which the story of Myrk Mire and TBT takes place.

A Wealdend is a leader within the rulership structures used in the Four Shores, a male wealdend is called a Cyning, a female a Cwén, and nonbinary individuals use the Wealdend title itself.

The Riverlands is a separate region on the Southern Continent, with little to no political, social, or cultural ties to the Four Shores.

Falatu is another island in the north, but not a member of the Four Shores. They have sympathetic political and cultural systems, but maintain their own very separate identity in comparison to their unified neighbours.

The Eahtung is a ruling collective of skilled individuals who work alongside the Wealdend. More information than this would open up a deep rabbit hole...

"Warmth is everything to the Four Shores, so layers are favoured.

Rather than high necklines, shawls are favoured, these decorated with swirling patterns.

Lacking a clearly defined nobility, showing evidence of one’s craft or skill is favoured higher than material expense. A metal smith would display their skill by wearing more metal upon their outfit, a weaver a more elaborate hemming, a woodworker finely carved beads.

Amber is the sole reserve of the Wealdend, and should not be worn by anyone else.

All have their ears pierced, women both ears, men just one, others may choose. Rings are worn here, usually made of silver or gold, often times studded with gems.

Everyone wears stringed beads about their necks. These beads can be ceramic, wooden, bone, metal, or stone.

There is no shame in underdresses or tunics being shown.

Women wear linen underdresses, typically white, with woollen overdresses secured at the shoulders with preónas or brooches and lacing at the sides. The lacing only extends as far at the hips, and the overdress is either slit long these lines without further lacing, or it is one unified flair of fabric.

Men wear mid-thigh length linen undershirts with woollen overshirts that are slightly shorter. In colder months this is supplemented by a wraparound jacket secured by belts or ties. Men also wear trousers of ankle length similar to the Riverlands, but these are secured by fur, or cloth wraps up to the mid-calf.

Everyone wears calf height boots. In the winter months these are fur lined.

 Everyone wears belts.

Hair is traditionally worn long by all genders, and is braided back from the face and tied in horse tails or buns at the back of the head.

Hoods and hats are used out of doors in colder seasons, but it is seen as rude to continue to wear these coverings indoors as it implies that the host does not keep their home warm enough to be comfortable.

The finest of outfits are hemmed with embroidered banding, these vary from simplistic geometric patterns, to full scenes of foliage or animals.

Bracelets are seldom worn, favoured more by the peoples from Falatu, and rings are only really worn as a symbol of office, guild status, or position as Wealdend. The Tug Stone rings are the sole use of the Wealdend, Eahtung and the respective heads of each province.

The ruling families align themselves to animals incorporating them into their surnames, once picked, they cannot wear anything taken from that animal. Otherwise furs are used to line apparel for warmth.

Cloaks are not worn indoors for similar reasons to hats, but out of doors are acceptable, they range from calf-length to lower-hip length."

As for visual aids, I'm a bit lacking in those right now.

Basic rules:

Warmth and practicality are key.

Linen underclothes, woollen overclothes.

Head coverings for outdoor use.

Ear piercings for everyone.

Belts are the toolkit for all and hold pouches and exterior pockets.

I can do a bit of visualisation for weapons, though (surprising no one). The Four Shores use two main forms of bladed arms, the sæx, and the méce.

A sæx in this context is a short, single edged blade with a tapered point.

Image of the Seax of Beagnoth currently held at the British Museum. Image attributed to Wikipedia contributor BabelStone.

A Méce is a long single edged blade with a slightly curving profile. Wielded one-handed or two-handed, it favours a cutting sweep rather than a thrust approach. If you fancy seeing two chaps demonstrate the historical weapon that inspired this, the messer, I highly recommend this video:

The first section though, they later switch to different weapons.

Most important features to look at are the pin crossguard that sits at angle to the blade, how the single edge is used to advantage in the application of force, and the length of the hilt to suit the single versus two-handed approach to wielding it.

Anyway, that's enough to be chewing over, I think.

I'll keep an eye out for visual sources on dress and clothing, so folks have a clearer idea on all that.

[bitternace]

understand, understand, the concept of love, amiright?

y'all should check out @teenyzines Kingdom Hearts' Uncharted Worlds Zine! It's a hundred pages + four phone backgrounds, and it's completely free!<3

[ID: A digital drawing featuring Beat, Gum, and Pots from Jet Set Radio Future facing Sora, Donald, and Goofy from the Kingdom Hearts Series in a triangular formation. The background is reminiscent of the inside of Jet Set Radio Future's Tokyo Underground Sewage Facility, with bright blue light coming from a hallway on the left.

On the far left, Pots, a grey-green dog with a white muzzle and chest, crosses his arms with a placed expression. He is wearing shorts and a long-sleeve shirt in blue, a black belt with a star buckle, black studded bracelets, an orange bandana, a green vest, green and orange 3D glasses, and grey and blue skates.

To his right is Gum with a slight frown, one hand on her hip and the other pointing at Sora. She wears a blue and yellow helmet, a white bodycon dress with blue and orange detailing on the hem, her v-neckline, and her high collar. She also wears black upper arm bands, blue and orange sweatbands, black knee braces, and blue, black, and white skates with yellow wheels.

Beside her is Beat, looking unamused. He holds a can of spray paint with one hand, and the back of the other is against his hip. He wears grey headphones, blue and white round glasses, a green shirt with black sleeves and red hemlines, black leggings, gloves, and grey and blue skates with orange wheels.

On the left, facing Beat, is Sora, holding a paint-stained white and black curved keyblade over his shoulder and a placid smile. He is wearing his crown necklace, black headphones with purple, green, orange, and red detailing around a decorative keyhole, a red shirt under a half-blue, half-black cropped jacket with a white hood and rolled-up sleeves, a single white elbow brace, white and blue fingerless gloves, black pants tucked into black and gold skates with purple detailing, and silver crown for caps.

To his right is Goofy, holding a stained paint palette with a metal section as a shield. He wears an orange beanie, square goggles, a white bandana, a green vest, and yellow baggy pants with blue arrow decorations on the knee pockets. His skates are brown, with silver caps, blue wheels, and arrows as fastenings.

On the far left is Donald, holding a slightly glowing staff topped with a black and gold spray can. He is frowning. He wears a blue beanie, grey and blue headphones, silver round goggles, a blue plate with a high neck covering his shoulders and part of his chest, with gold, silver, and bright blue decorations, and grey skates with blue and gold detailing and red fireworks attached to the sides. /End ID.]