#mine always feel so plain and flat

[pennywises]

Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in DUNE: PART TWO (2023) dir. Denis Villeneuve

[xinghius]

Like A Madness

He'd dispute the notion growing up, but — if it shouldn't have already been obvious from the get go — Katsuki always knew there was something wrong with him.

Still, it's a bit too much. To keep watch over you while you sleep — eyes mapping the soft expression you wear in repose, then flitting down to survey the rise and fall of your chest — all while he's supposed to be on his morning run. And, by now, over with it too. Hitting the shower and scrubbing grime off his chest, his skin tender from the heat of it all.

Instead, he's acting all creepy like a stalker. Unmanly, Kirishima would comment if he were here. And for what?! To trace his index finger against your hairline, utilizing it as a defense machine to push back strands of hair that threaten to disturb your slumber?!

Fuck. He's personifying strands of hair now too? The fuck?!

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,"' he hisses.

You grumble underneath the insult, stirring from the noise, and he can't help the way his lips purse in silence, as if in reflex. His spine straightening in apprehension, complacent to the object of his complaints.

His eyebrows furrow at the realization. He's gotten soft — weak.

No, not weak. He isn't weak in the slightest. Far from it, actually. But he'd softened up where he used to harden and he can't help but feel a little stupid for it.

Learning this stings like a thousand wasps. It prickles his skin until red creeps into his cheeks and springs up to the tip of his ears.

Fucking fuck. Shitty fucking… FUCK!

"Um—" Disheveled in all your morning glory, you lay beneath him, eyes blown wide. You look messy as fuck — dried up drool gracing one corner of your lip — yet somehow also the most beautiful sight he could possibly come across before starting his day. A danger. "—Katsuki, are you okay?"

Fuck his life. "Shut the hell up."

You stretch your limbs out, toes curling in on themselves. "That's not fair now, is it?" You yawn. "I just woke up." Then, another. "Hey, help me out here."

Like clockwork, Katsuki latches onto the sides of your waist. He doesn't need to be told twice. You let him hold you as your back arches, unraveling every knot that twisted itself into you during the night. When you let out a final yawn, blinking away traces of sleep in your eyes, he's already onto you.

"No, Kats." You press a palm flat against his mouth.

The look he gives you is incredulous, almost accusatory.

"Morning breath," you remind. "Let me brush my teeth first."

He licks the plain of your hand, as if to say no. You draw it back in response, grimacing at the wetness and how smug he looks throughout it all. Still, you don't even have enough time to squeeze in a word of chide before he's onto you again, pushing you against the weight of the mattress, searing hot kisses to your mouth. Like an imprint.

You laugh between each one of them, giggling as he presses you further against the bed. "I just woke up," you breathe, your back now sunken into the mattress. "I've had enough bedtime."

"Shut up," he says.

You click your tongue, strike a flick against his forehead.

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you."

He hisses at the contact. And while you have enough grace to feel horrible enough to stroke at it, the inkling dissipates in an instant. "You don't feed me," he cavils. "Hell, you don't even know shit about cooking. Wanna talk about how you fucked up—Oi!"

"Don't bite. Stupid dog."

"HA?"

You giggle once more, and the sound of mirth tumbling from your lips is liquid gold to his ears. You spring up to lay against him, head on his shoulder, arms encasing his frame.

(What's yours is mine — he always said. Surely, what's his should be yours, too. And by extension, that means his personal space is for you to intrude on.)

"You're so needy, Katsuki," you coo.

"'M not," he grates. "The hell…"

He clearly isn't. Judging by the way he leans into you anyway, nosing at your neck and tracing the outline of his teeth as a preamble to sinking them into the flesh. Gently, of course. He's no vampire — and as much as everyone seems to think otherwise, he's no heathen, either. Still, your skin is soaked in sweat and you'd really like that bath…

"Hey," you poke. "Let me wash up before you eat me."

He grouses, rolling his eyes as he peels himself off you, murmuring something along the lines of big talk for someone who doesn't even wash her damn fruit under his breath. And in spite of the request being made in your name, you let out whines of protest when he untangles your limbs from his.

"You asked for this, damn woman."

"Ueegghhh."

"The hell?!"

You blink, beady eyes pleading.

"Carry me to the bathroom?"

You raise your arms, gazing at him expectantly. He dismantles all hope in you when he tells you there's a fat chance in hell you'd be getting princess treatment now — though, more sodden with attitude.

"Then when?" you ask, pouting.

The silent imploration doesn't go over his head.

It's practically a whine. Of fucking course it is. With how damned spoiled you are and how often he enables it — the answer to that being always — it's no surprise. Still, as much as he'd vehemently repudiate it in the face of another, Katsuki's guilty as charged, already hooking his arms behind your knees to carry you bridal style.

You make up for it, at least. Cycling through your pre shower routine before stripping him down and pulling him in with you. And even if he has to scold you for getting shampoo in his eyes and forcing him to scrub your back, he supposes it's fine. When you kiss him afterwards with no restraint, murmuring several sweet thank you, Katsuki's against the shell of his ear, he can't say he minds too much.

(He'll be your knight in shining armor for as long as you need it. Defender of foreheads and provider of back scrubs and whatever the hell comes with the terms and conditions of being a good boyfriend. Fuck, he'll even soften up however much you need him to, so long as it guarantees he can spend mornings like this forever — with you.)

[yellowjacketsfashion]

While there are lots of options as to where you can buy a replica of the Yellowjackets Letterman Jacket, they’re not always easily attainable. Last year for halloween I made my own letterman and I figured others could find my process helpful. (The supplies I used were things I already had or were accessible to me but there are other ways to create the same thing. If you have different materials that also work feel free to make suggestions or use them in your process).

HOW TO MAKE A YELLOWJACKETS LETTERMAN JACKET:

Supplies:

• Gold/Navy Letterman jacket

• Printer

• White Printer paper

• Gold Felt

•Chalk

• Heat ‘n Bond

• Embroidery floss in the colors White, Black, Gold and Gray (I ended up needing two packs of white).

• Embroidery needle

• White (or light colored) tissue paper

• White fabric (I used cotton)

• Embroidery hoop

• (Optional) White and Black thread

• Glue stick

Step 1: Aquire your jacket.

You can do a lot of different things for the plain base jacket. I bought mine off Amazon but if wanted too you could probably sew one or buy one second hand etc. The only specification is that it’s Gold and Navy. It is important to do this first because everything else builds off of this step.

Step 2: Print out designs.

Use the photos I provided below and paste them into a word document. From there you can size them up or down to reach the size that you like for printing. The “Yellowjackets” logo is for the back of the jacket so when I did it I kind of split the photo in half and put it on two different pages. In the end it turned out to be just shy of 13 inches length wise. The round patch goes on the front and mine was 4.25 inches in diameter.

Depending on the size of your jacket your patches can be bigger or smaller, but once your happy with the sizing you can then move onto the next step.

Step 3: Gather supplies.

The gold felt is to be used to create the back patch. Because of the size of mine I was able to get a little 50 cent sheet of it (I was able to place the logo at an angle to fit it) but because the patch sizes will be different it’s important to bring your print out of the logo when shopping to make sure you have enough. Most craft / fabric stores should have this in stock. It’s also a good idea to bring your letterman jacket with you to try to color match the shades of gold/yellow as best as possible.

The embroidery hoop, floss, white fabric, and thread are for the front patch as I hand embroidered mine but in theory you could use an embroidery machine or printable fabric sheets to create your patch. If you use these other methods you’ll need different supplies and different instructions that I can’t give.

The Heat ‘n Bond is to iron the patches onto your jacket so they stick (though I’ve had to re iron my back patch because the fibers of the wool make it hard to stick to). It will essentially act as double sided tape.

Step 4: Creating & attaching the back patch

• Cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the area where your logo will go.

(i am using colored paper in the example pictures. Yellow represents the felt. White represents the heat and Bond).

• Once you have the right sized piece of Heat n’ Bond, iron it onto the back of your piece of Gold felt (make sure to follow the instructions on the Heat n’ bond packaging).

•Use your printed template of the logo and cut out the words on the felt. You can cut out the logo on paper first and trace it or attach the paper to the felt and just cut them both at the same time. (I moved the dot on the J down so that it’s still attached just to make it easier but you can do whatever you want).

• Put on your Letterman and use the chalk to mark where on the back you want the patch to go. For this step it can be helpful to have someone else assist you (though it’s possible to do it yourself).

• Take off the jacket and lay it flat to align the patch up with your chalk markings. Once it is where you want it you can Iron it onto the back of the jacket (according to the instructions on the Heat n’ Bond).

You now have a finished back patch!

Step 5: Creating the front patch.

• Trace the design of the front patch onto tissue paper (I would suggest a dark pen or sharpie so you can see it really well). If you have trouble seeing the design underneath it can be helpful to hold it to a window pane when it’s sunny or another light source. The photo of the logo I included has a white border around the black words but the patch in the show doesn’t have it so I just ignored it. From there you glue the traced tissue paper onto the fabric.

• Cut out a piece of white fabric big enough for your embroidery hoop and glue the tissue paper sketch onto the fabric.

• Put the fabric/tissue paper into the Embroidery hoop.

• Thread the needle and start embroidering the design. I found it good to use different techniques on different areas of the patch (long white stitches on the wings versus short ones on the background etc. I also thought it was helpful to embroider in color groupings (so like white all at once or yellow all at once etc. so you don’t have to switch out the floss that much). Save the white outer circle and black outline for last though to help clean everything up. The white and black sewing thread can be used to outline smaller details or neaten up some of the floss.

• Once the patch is done cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the back of the patch.

• Put on your jacket and mark with chalk where you want to put the patch. In the show it’s placed by the second from the top button. (See Jackie reference photo at the top of the post).

• Iron on the Heat n’ Bond to the back of the patch (following packet instructions).

• Iron the Patch to the jacket based on your chalk markings.

• You have completed the front patch!

Above are some photo examples of my jacket (please ignore my messy hair in the left picture, being in the snow got it ruffled up).

Sorry for the long post but I think I got everything covered. I hope you guys found this helpful but if you have any questions about the jacket, my process, or anything else feel free to ask!

[mossyivy]

As a certified Country Girl™️, cowboy Leon is making me fucking FERAL.

Bonfires and late nights stargazing because there’s no light pollution, wearing his flannels as pajamas, having a little farm dog and early morning walks when then dew is still on the grass?? UGH.

(Also the cowboy hat rule??? I want to ride that man like a mechanical bull)

Love 🦈 anon

(I FORGOT ABOUT THE HAT RULE TY 🦈ANON)

(Try picturing his voice as a slightly softer version of Cassidy from OW cause Matthew Mercer is his VA and that cowboy is just 😭)

DI Cowboy Leon walking up to the farm house with your favorite horse at dusk. Your border collie, Buck, coming up from behind him, jumping at his mama on the front porch. You start scratching at his ears as Leon walks onto the porch with his hand out. That smug old man smirk showing up that you've grown to love over the years of being with him.

Care for a ride, sugar?

You take his hand, standing up from the porch swing and letting the dog into the house. He helps you on the horse, climbing on in front of you, reminding you to hold on tight. Your arms wrap around his waist, pulling yourself against his as her clicks and makes the horse move.

He ends up riding into the mountains not far from the farm, taking the riding trails all the way to the flat out look about half way up the mountain. Tying the horse up to a nearby tree, he joins you to look out of the rolling plains and the farm in the distance as the sun sets over the life you two made together. He seems a bit nervous as you both stare at the sunset bleeding into dark purples and blues of the night sky littered with bright stars.

Darlin'...

Oh that pet name always makes your knees weak. You look up at him, he stares taking you in in your full glory. The dim lighting casting a beautiful glow over your skin. Swallowing the lump in his throat he fidgets to face you. Heart beating a mile a minute.

You know how much I love you, right?

More than anything.

He nods, slipping his pocket into his jeans. Palming at the box as he pulls it out, flicking it open to a simple silver band. He takes his hat off, holding it against his broad chest as he lets out a shaky breath.

Now, I don't need no paper to show ya I'm committed, but I still wanna make an honest woman out of the love of my life. It's what you deserve, darlin'.

His smirk comes back as he takes your hand, crouching down on one knee. You feel your throat tightening, getting choked up as he says your name.

Would ya make me the luckiest man alive and marry me?

You nod, tears starting to slip out as he stands up. Pulling you to him, kissing your lips and wiping tears away with his thumb. He slips the ring on your finger, letting you admire it's simplicity as he slips the box back in his pocket.

Why were you so nervous? You know I would have said yes.

Still nerve wreckin'... Besides. I know you're mine.

He reaches up, plopping his hat on top of your head, giving you a quick kiss. You laugh, watching him bend down, wrap his arms around your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder with a firm squeeze to the ass.

In every way~

[kiwi-on-ice]

Kinktober 2024 day 13: Body Worship with Brigitte

fem reader, NSFW 18+

Also contains: kinda subby!Brigitte, cunnilingus, slight marking

"You're so pretty Brig."

No matter how many times you compliment your girlfriend, whether it be a quick word or two, or a long devoted confession, she always has the same reaction. With a bashful smile, she shakes her head slightly before moving on.

But tonight, you were determined to not let that happen. You wanted her to see just how gorgeous you think she is, how lucky you feel to be able to fall into her arms each and every night. When she looks away, tank top clinging to her muscles deliciously, you move forward to press your chests together.

"I mean it babe...you're so gorgeous."

Brigitte laughs softly, pretty blush forming on her cheeks. "sötnos you're too nice."

Reaching your fingers up to twirl the ends of her hair, you lean up to kiss her neck, causing her to gasp in shock. Hands tentatively grasp your waist, keeping you snug against her as your tongue drags its way along her skin. You feel her shiver beneath your touch, which only emboldens you further, pushing gently until she sits on the bed. She watches you climb onto her lap, settling with your thighs on either side as your hands rub her shoulders.

"Love your shoulders, how broad they are. How strong they make you look." you whisper, gently massaging which causes her to moan quietly. The blush on her cheeks darkens as she realises what you're doing.

"And your arms...god they look so hot." you breathe, fingertips tracing to her bicep, squeezing gently.

"You're t-too sweet." she gets out, thighs pressing together.

"I'm just telling the truth."

You punctuate your words by gently tugging on her tank top, wordlessly asking to remove it, to which she nods gently. Removing the fabric, you hold her arm up and kiss along it, causing her to giggle breathlessly.

“So strong Brig, you protect me so well.”

You know what you’re doing, appealing to the deep seated desire she has to protect you, and everyone she loves and cares about. But she still can’t help the electricity that jolts up her spine at your words, and the gentle caress of your lips along her muscles.

Dropping your hands a little, you start to gently caress her tits, carefully contained in a plain black bra. She bites her lip softly as you continue to massage her breasts, feeling her move into you. In response, you grind down into her lap instinctively.

Distracting her with your grinding works, because she doesn’t notice you quickly slipping your hands around her body and unclasping her bra. You immediately lean down to pepper kisses along the plump breasts, groping wherever your tongue isn’t lavishing.

A tweak of her nipple causes a stuttered gasp to leave her lips, hips shifting. “Oh älskling, you’re killing me here.”

You grin, soothingly licking where you’d pinched. “Need you to know how pretty I think you are.”

Her hands move to your hips, holding you tight as she rocks you over her lap, clothed clit catching on the seams of her pants. You whimper softly, but decide to teasingly get your own back by sucking a spot on her tit, biting to ensure you leave a mark.

“Now you’re mine.” You remark teasingly.

“All yours.” She replies quickly, smiling fondly at you as she slowly gets used to your attention.

Pushing her down, you watch in awe as her brown hair splays out on the mattress; she truly looks beautiful, like a Greek statuette.

You quickly undress the rest of her, starting to kiss down her chest, over her toned abs. Running your tongue along the definition, she arches her back a little in excitement.

“So stunning.” You murmur against her skin, kissing down to just above her soaked pussy as she almost shakes due to her desperation. You hold her thighs and start to kiss and bite teasingly at her inner thighs, the sensitive skin causing her cunt to throb.

“please…” she says softly, and you’d never hope to disappoint her.

Keeping your tongue flat, you lick a stripe up her, as an airy moan escapes her throat. Moaning softly at the taste, you practically make out with her cunt, needing her to know just how desirable you think she is.

You grasp at her strong thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around your head, keeping you where she needs you. Flicking your tongue over her clit, her hands find their way into your hair, gently stroking. She’s always so gentle with you.

You eat her out like you’re starving, even shaking your head gently to ensure no part of her goes unnoticed by your personal attention. Seeming to do a good job, her hips buck into your face, chasing her orgasm.

With a soft cry, she finishes in your mouth, and you dutifully lick up every bit you could. As you lift yourself back up, you kiss teasingly up her body before landing a peck on her lips.

“Pretty.” You repeat again, as you smile down at her.

[ganondoodle]

you know, i had a totk thought (uh oh)

soemthign thats really bothering me about the whole "actually, ganondorf didnt like the guy appearing out of nowhere marrying a hylian and just saying yep das our kingdom now and we can mine it barren under your nose and also i got laserbeam pebbles that i totally wont ever use on anyone come join me or die just bc of all of that but mainly bc the guy brought some weird tech with him that he dont like" - thing is that ......... we see almost not a single tech thing in the past (and for that matter see nothing of the oh so perfect and peaceful paradise hyrule was before big evil desert man didnt want to join our paradise- like what is the point about making the whole point of the game be -we need to restore hyrule to this paradise it once was- when you dont even see it or get to care about anything of it)

it might sound like a weird hangup but no really, the most we see is like two servant constructs, thats it, when they 'prepare for war' im pretty sure all you see is some lightly dressed ( ... is it just me or does their whole get up look alot like native american/other indingenous people too ... i still dont know how to feel about that- kinda adjacent to some of the sonau armor, the battery one i think??, also having that look...) hylians with spears, where the heck is all that tech?? is it implied to be all down in the mines hollowing out the underground (for no real reason either bc .... theres only two sonau left and no one else seems to want use nor need the tech otherwise there should have been more traces or soemthing left of it -unless it all just magically appeared out of nowhere in mostly prime condition while all shiekah tech jsut vaporized for bs non reasons just for it to be in tha game but oh dont you see its always been there lmao- so whats the point really????)

or up in the sky as most battle constructs are and they cant get them down in time bc *gestures vaguely*

or is it intentionally kept out of view bc idk seeing an army of robots on raurus side he can send out on a whim might not make him look as oh so good and perfect as they want him to look when he already got laserbeam pebbles (most of which hes been hoarding until ONE falls into hands not under his control) ?? like it just ... feels weird?? so many battle constructs that can even be a threat to link are jsut fully functioning strolling around in the present still, why wouldnt you want to use any of them to battle gan and if they DID why wouldnt you show that (no the 3 second unicorn cutscene doesnt count bc its just .. gan and his monsters isnt it) ?? (also ... why isnt there a big like battle ground , like fine you dont have to animate an army of monsters and robots clashing but... wouldnt it be cool to have you discover a giant flat plain in the underground (that magically got put under ground like gan just decided to stroll down there to get sealed lol) and its the only mostly empty field in the game littered with thousands of monster bones and dead constructs intermingled?? just to give it all a bit of weight?? evidence that it happened?? cool ass discovery????)

(also also i cannot let go of ganondorf apparently being sooooo anti tech but then clamgan uses the shiekah stuff??? shouldnt he also be against that then or is that suddendly fine bc- oh woops sorry, forgot clamgan is actually just something, not connected to gan at all actually, i mean why else would miasma turn into malice only to turn into miasma again haha none of that is connected actually what is a calamity anyway? also im sorry to bring this up again but i just cannot let go of the ppl in the present being so obsessed with using sonau tech in every part of their life now- they just lived through an apocalypse of a barely understood strange tech but CLEARLY this other even less understood strang tech is not dangerous at all lets make CARS OUT OF IT and what theres no danger in miasma and that tech existing at the same time LIKE SOMETHING ELSE BEFORE THAT IDK SEEMS LIKE A BAD COMBO--- oh sorry forgot that ceased to exist in both the world and peoples minds for *gestures vaguely* plot reasons- why why why are monsters mining the sonanium?? they dont even work with the yiga no that is also completely disconnected we dont wanna draw and interesting connections after all- whats the point if it means nothing but to be a loot box for the player-- actually, so much of totk is just a so built around throwing you into a box of toys with no substance to it- listen i know games are kinda like toys but if it doesnt make sense and offers you nothing interesting to think about even slightly whAT IS THE POINT)

[20dollarlolita]

Things to do when making a lolita garment from a non-egl pattern.

I have this blouse pattern:

[x]

And I have four cotton voile curtains and a pink bedsheet.

I know that I want to use this pattern and this fabric to make a lolita blouse. I want it to be a blouse that I can wear with JSKs and skirts. So, where do we go from there?

Let's find out:

Step 1 is to check our materials, and make sure that existing lolita fashion pieces exist that are like this pattern, and in this material.

Thankfully, lolibrary makes that really easy.

It's so very nice to have a dedicated team of nerds dedicated to documenting and tagging every single piece of our fashion's history.

And then we grab any picture that feels like it's the same construction as the blouse pattern we have.

Links: https://lolibrary.org/items/af-kawaii-vintage-chiffon-blouse https://lolibrary.org/items/lg-tulle-yoke-blouse https://lolibrary.org/items/aatp-michael-blouse-2024 https://lolibrary.org/items/ap-holy-doll-blouse https://lolibrary.org/items/ap-star-dancer-blouse

That's 5 examples, but I already had a pretty good idea what I was doing, so I didn't keep researching. Don't forget that, if you don't really have a ton of hands-on lolita experience, it's hard to over-research. Also, if you do a TON of research, and you cannot find an example of the thing you want to make in a fabric similar to the ones you want to make it from, that might be a sign.

Now, I went into my own closet, and grabbed the 4 blouses that I most often wear with skirts. I know that I want to wear this pattern with skirts, because I don't always feel comfortable in JSKs on blouses that have bibs/front yokes like this. I've made a bib front blouse before, and I had trouble coording it with JSKs.

Blouses: https://lolibrary.org/items/bodyline-honey-parish-blouse-l364 https://lolibrary.org/items/bodyline-l059-blouse-with-jabot https://lolibrary.org/items/btssb-princess-rose-lace-full-of-frills-blouse https://www.amazon.com/TanQiang-Womens-Lolita-Sleeve-Embroidered/dp/B07BFSLFYC/ref=sr_1_5?crid=2BE37ENMLLTXG&sprefix=lolita+fashio%2Caps%2C217

George and Ginger have a LOT of pictures of people who have made their blouse. I don't want to post any of them specifically here, but this is an example:

This is a HUGE resource for anyone who wants to make this blouse, because in addition to seeing how it looks in the technical illustration and in the sample, we can see how it actually looks when someone makes it. We can also look at the things that we don't like (for EGL fashion) and what we do like.

For example, in my examples, the front yoke is a place to put as many details as you possibly can. We have multiple layers of lace on the edge, and then detailing such as pintucks on the yoke itself. On these, the yoke is the design feature, so by comparison, it's relatively plain.

I also can see the different ways that people use lining, sheer, and sheer over a lining. I don't see a combination of lining/sheer that I like as much as the Axes Femme blouse in the top-right of my inspo collage. I'm going to make mine like that Axes Femme blouse, instead of how the instructions might recommend.

But the main thing that I'm noticing is that this blouse is LONG. That's just the style it is, but it would mean that I can tuck it into skirts but can't wear it over them. Since one of my favorite things to do is to make skirts with elastic tops for low-energy fun EGL, I don't want a blouse that I have to tuck into the waist. So, I look at this, and I know what I want to do:

Things that I can do without modifying the pattern:

Choose what parts of the garment will be lined/flat lined, and what will stay sheer

Add more detailing to the yoke with applied trim

Swap all of the ruffles for lace, to add more detail

Add a ruffle to the bottom.

And things that I will modify the pattern for:

Making the pattern shorter to match my existing blouses

Re-patterning the yoke to add tucks

In addition, I might add a ruffle or some ruffled trim along the button placket. The reason I say might is that I haven't checked if the shirt has a separate placket to apply to the garment, or if it's a self-made placket. If it's separate, it's a very easy adjustment, and if it's made of self, it's a very difficult adjustment. I sew to have fun, and that doesn't sound like fun to me.

Because I wasted a lot of my life trying to get a degree in something useless am a confident sewer, I can look at those pattern modifications and know that they won't be too difficult for me. If this was my first fitted garment made from a commercial pattern, I might elect to skip the patterning adjustments.

So, how do we make the blouse shorter? If you have a blouse you like it's pretty easy:

Step 1) print your pattern, and cut it out if you have to. Step 2) take your favorite blouse.

We're using this Amazon one because it's the longest:

The first piece that I grabbed said "center back", so we line it up with the center back and make a mark where the bottom ends.

For the side front and side back pieces, we measure the side seam with the armpit of the blouse.

For the front, we have to stack the bib onto the front piece, overlapping by the seam allowance, and measure along the center front.

To save fabric, I'm just chopping the bottom of the pattern off a few inches below the marks. This won't make an even bottom hem, but I can straighten the hem after we're done.

If your fabric is absolutely precious and you cannot waste any, there is a more proper way to do this, but if your fabric is absolutely precious and you can't waste any, you should really be making a mockup first anyway, so you can do what we do here, make the mockup, and then transfer your mockup adjustments back onto the pattern.

This is long so to add tucks you google a tutorial for how to add tucks and then do what that says. I took pictures of how I did it and it's so unholy that I can't dare to post it.

Anyway, stick around for me to actually finish this project for once and give my end results about the lolita-ability of this pattern.

[familyvideostevie]

october twentieth

day twenty: remus lupin you get sick and remus takes care of you | friends to lovers, sick!reader, fem!reader, fluff | 1.3k

You wake up feeling like shit. You should have known that yesterday’s fatigue and headache would turn into a fall cold. It’s typical for you to be under the weather for a few days this time of year, but each time feels like the first.

Climbing out of bed takes effort but you do it to brush your teeth and consider eating some plain toast. You feel feverish, but not too bad, and your body aches. You can’t help but feel a bit sorry for yourself.

Especially since you had plans with Remus today. Missing those makes you more upset than the headache and general ick feeling.

You soak up time with Remus like a flower does sunlight. He is one of your best friends and being around him is one of your favorite things, no matter what you’re doing. He’s kind, attentive, and funny. And so, so handsome. Fall is most definetly your favorite season on him — all of his sweaters and chords, pink cheeks and windswept hair. He looks so happy in the fall, so cozy and free.

Your friend, Remus. Your friend. Who you have a hopeless, hopeless crush on. How could you not?

The couch beckons, so you flop on it with a blanket and your phone. You have to call him to cancel. It’s early enough that it should leave him the day free.

The phone barely rings before he picks it up.

“Hello, darling,” Remus says. “You alright?”

“Hi, Remus,” you say. “Actually, I—”

“You sound sick,” he interrupts. His warm tone is laced with concern. “Are you sick?”

You sniff. “That’s why I’m calling. I can’t go today.” Your voice sounds sorry to your own ears, a pathetic whine.

“Oh, love,” he says. “That’s alright.” Shuffling, the clang of keys. “What do you need? I can be there in under an hour.”

Wait, what? “No, Remus, you don’t need to —”

“Hush,” he says. “You like grape flavor, right? You are a weird girl, you know that?”

You hope you’re not imagining the affection in his tone. “You’ll just get sick, too.”

His door opens and closes in the background. “It’s your fall cold, isn’t it? You know I’ve had mine, I’ll be fine. So, I’ll pick up whatever I can get from the pharmacy, alright? Don’t move from…the couch? Are you on the couch?”

“Yes,” you mutter. You’re feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“And what’s it feel like now? What hurts?”

You sniff again, this time because your nose stings. Remus always takes care of you. He’s your friend. “Headache. I think I might have a fever? I’m not sure. I’m achey.”

He hums. “Got it. Okay, darling. I’ll be there soon, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper. The call ends.

You’re hopeless. There’s no way you’ll ever be anything but completely in love with him.

You sink into the couch and wait. You try to wait up for him, you really do, but the next thing you know is the doorknob twisting and Remus’s footsteps. He’s had a spare key from the moment you moved into this place.

“Hi, darling,” he says, softly. You hear the rustle of bags, his soft footsteps in your flat. And then the couch dips near your legs and you feel the heat of him against your calves, his hand on your knee. You blink your eyes open.

“Remus,” you whisper. He’s like a dream. His brow is furrowed and you want to smooth the crease in the middle with your thumb. You shift so you’re sitting up, head rushing as you do so. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did,” he says firmly. “Alright, come here.”

You have no idea what he’s asking but you lean towards him anyway. He catches your shoulder with one hand and your forehead with the back of the other.

“Does that really work?” you ask. You’re leaning a little too heavily into his hands but you don’t care much.

“No idea,” he says, eyes sparkling as they roam over your face. “I’ve got a thermometer, too.” He taps your nose and stands, heading back to wherever he put the bags. You try not to whine at the loss of his touch.

“Did you bring me presents?” you call, voice a little hoarse, from not talking or the cold, you’re not sure.

“If you call grape flavored everything a present, yes,” he calls back. “I’ve got cough medicine and cold/flu tablets and electrolyte water and practically one of everything from the aisle.”

He returns and you feel yourself brighten at the sight of him. God, this is embarrassing.

“You didn’t have to—”

“What did I say before, hm?” He sits in the same spot by your legs. “Of course I did. And regardless, I want to. I’m going to look after you when you’re sick.”

You mumble an agreement.

“I put the kettle on and you’re going to drink a whole cup of tea after we use this, okay?” He holds up a thermometer. “Open.”

You hold the plastic under your tongue and he goes back to the kitchen to fix up your cup. It beeps and you pull it out and read it. It might be the headache but you’re not sure at all what the numbers mean. What kind of thermometer did he get?

You hand it to him when he returns. He sets your steaming mug on the table and reads it. “Low fever,” he sighs. “Poor girl. Take one of these, then. It’s cold/flu medicine. It might make you a bit drowsy, though.”

Remus presses a clear capsule into your hand. “Grape flavored?” you ask, smiling a bit.

He rolls his eyes. “You wish, silly.” You swallow it with a glass of water you hadn’t even noticed he brought over.

You settle back against the cushions and sip your tea. Remus watches you.

“I’m sorry about our plans,” you say softly.

“We’re still spending time together, are we not?”

You frown. “But it’s not the same, it’s not like this is fun —”

“Darling,” Remus says rather seriously. “I don’t mind what we do, just the fact that we do it together.”

Oh. Well, what are you supposed to do with that?

Your tea is gone after a while and you think the medicine is kicking in because you’re sleepy again. He gently tugs the mug from your hand.

“Can I do anything else?” he asks softly. “Tell me and it’s yours.”

Your eyelids are already drooping. “Can you sit with me?” you ask.

He chuckles. “I think I might already be doing that.”

“No, I mean—” You move around on the couch, shifting yourself around until you can spread out with your head in his lap.

“Oh,” he says, but doesn’t move. You wouldn’t normally do this, but he did ask what he could do, and this is exactly what you want. Remus, as near as you can get him. You always want him. He adjusts the blanket around you and you close your eyes. You can feel him take a few deep breaths and then his hand is in your hair, stroking lightly.

Maybe it’s the fever making you brave, maybe it’s his hand, maybe it’s the way he came over without hesitation.

“I like you, Remus,” you say. His hand stills for just a moment before he resumes his movements. You keep your eyes closed so you don’t have to see his face.

“Oh, yeah?” he says, voice light. “How much?”

“So much,” you mumble. “So, so much. Always have. Do you like me?”

His palm is warm on your cheek but you still don’t look at him.

“Open your eyes for me, darling,” he pleads. You manage to, peering up at him through your lashes. Your head feels heavy, your nose stuffy, your body a bit achey still. But he’s here.

“There she is,” he says. His thumb strokes your cheekbone. “I like you so much, love. I’ll tell you again when you wake up, and again after that, if you want to hear it.”

This feels a bit like a dream. Surely it isn’t. “Okay,” you mumble, eyelids sliding closed. Remus gently traces a line down your nose a few times.

“Sleep now, okay?” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[luvtonique]

I feel like my artist career might be nearly over.

Now mind you, not because I'm burnt out, or because of some kind of controversy, but entirely because I don't know how much longer I can keep trying to push forward with it.

I don't hate my art, I don't even dislike it. It's my passion, and I want my entire life to be a life or creating art and telling stories.

I love sharing what I create with the world and I love having support from my fanbase.

But as of right now, I just can't get anyone noticing anything I do.

I've been working on a video game for almost a full year now, have gameplay footage I've shown, sprite animations, story I've shown off, characters I've been drawing and describing and giving backstories, and I get like 20 notes tops on anything I post.

I do streams for an average of 5 viewers every Monday and Wednesday and Friday. 5 viewers.

I have had a fundraiser to get me out of California because I can't afford to live here, I'm disabled, and I have a 75yo mother and an autistic brother I'm trying to get out of here too, and I barely scraped together $3000 of donations over the last year.

I pour my heart and soul into music that I've been writing and I'm met with backlash or people flat out ignoring the songs I post because people say my lyrics I write aren't worthy of notice or a paycheck. Soundcloud outright denied my ability to monetize my music. Completely. I am no longer able to request monetization.

The state of California has spent the last 15 years denying my attempts to get SSI, state disability, any kind of social security for my rheumatoid arthritis, and I even got told by a disability lawyer that they had to decline my case because I don't take medication for my disability. When I told them I don't have medical insurance because I don't qualify for MediCAL, they said that isn't their problem.

I watch other artists with 170,000 followers on Twitter bashing me and saying I don't deserve my fanbase for reasons they're just making up, and when I try to defend myself they just bash me harder and block me while I'm over on Twitter with like 300 followers and not getting noticed by anyone.

I reach out to my friends to get retweets, reblogs, etc. and I get nothing. No help, no love, after literal years of me promoting them and doing multistreams with them and collabs with them to help them get noticed.

I've even been blocked by multiple friends of mine when I asked if they wanted to partner up for projects. Really! Blocked! Outright blocked because people want so badly to get away from me!

I am literally starving. I'm currently eating stale sourdough bread that my mom made 2 weeks ago because it's all we have in the house.

I'm sitting here suffering constantly and when I ask people if they wanna like do a collab or do an art trade they always tell me they don't have time, and then the next day I see them post 6-7 art trades they did with another artist.

I make fan-art or fan-music for my artist friends and they just completely ignore it.

I am planning to rework my Patreon into a game dev Patreon to help support my solo development on Melodi, and I guarantee with certainty it won't breach $300 a month.

I have spent my entire life from age 11 to age 35 just working hard to make a living off of my art and all I have earned is a reputation as "a shithead" who never gets given the opportunity to question or debate or be interviewed by the people who call me a shithead.

I'm on the verge of fizzling out.

I'm barely surviving.

And when my game comes out, some day, it may very well be the last thing you ever see from me. I may just leave the internet. I may give up and go find another life to live.

Because even though this is my dream, even though this is all I've ever wanted to do with my life, even though I'm talented and my few fans I still have love everything I make and constantly tell me that my creations are gorgeous, I just plain can't keep doing this forever. I cannot, and will not, continue to suffer alone and obscure.

Case in point: This post is gonna get 2-6 comments from the same people who comment on all my emotional posts saying "I wish I could help but I can't so here's a virtual hug," 16-25 likes and 2 reblogs. And then I'll delete the post.

[alexanderlightweight]

Happy Wednesday! Something fun?

Alec's reaction finding out his ass is, apparently, something the shadow world talks about. Like, maybe he overhead something but thought they were calling him an ass or hardass, rolled his eyes and kept going or was confusing cause he didn't do anything this week -so far, that he can remember- to be called that but one thing leads to another and then he starts connecting the dots and oh, boy!

Also, Magnus' thoughts on Alec's allegedly flat ass? Did he know all along about the ongoing debate?

im typing this note and i need you to appreciate that i gave up nightshade snuggles and delegated being his pillow to a squishmallow so i could keep writing! (i'm kidding btw, don't feel obligated to appreciate because he's a little spoiled and i honestly wanted to keep writing, i'm teasing)

I hope you have as much fun reading this as i had writing it, thank you for the lovely prompt! and it is a very happy wednesday!

-

Alec’s well aware of the many reputations that he's developed throughout the shadowworld. To his own hunters, he’s a hardass, protective and mostly fair but above all, he’s tough and holds them to a standard higher than the one the clave expects of them.

Considering that half of the things the clave wants are ridiculous or just plain stupid, Alec’s found that no one complains very much. If they do, they don’t last long and Alec is happy to sign off on their transfer.  

The other’s are interchangeable but he knows that everyone agrees that his ass belongs to Magnus, which fair, it does.  The other rumor he doesn’t really mind until he overhears something that makes him frown the whole way to Magnus’.

“So you think my ass is flat.” He says flatly, keeping any amusement hidden deep inside especially as he notices Cat and Ragnor are still over.

Ragnor chokes and Cat starts cackling and Magnus, Magnus looks horrified.

“Darling—” he starts, undoubtedly to try and explain but Alec forces his scowl deeper.

“Is this why you’re so insistent on feeding me? Magnus, are you trying to plump up my ass because it’s not enough for you?” He asks, feigning sadness as a wounded sound escapes his love and Magnus is hurrying to get up and knocking over his own drink and chair in the process.

“What? Alexander no! That’s not, I mean I always think you could use a little more meat darling, what with how much work you do, but thats—” 

Cat is crying now with laughter as Ragnor urgently opens a portal and pulls her through it, no doubt fleeing the domestic he no doubts thinks is about to go down. Which is smart, because this is definitely going to end in something Ragnor isn’t going to want to see.

“Magnus, really.” He interrupts, knowing that Magnus is too flustered too catch the mischief in his eyes and he lowers his lashes, “I thought you like me how I am? Bad enough the whole downworld doesn’t think my ass is good enough, but you too?”

Magnus wheezes like an ichor scalded hunter and he’s rushing forward, his hands immediately cupping Alexander’s ass if his tight grip can prove his appreciation and love. 

It’s perfect,” he promises insistently. “I love it, you know I—” and then Alec can’t take it and he’s laughing, head thrown back as Magnus realizes he’s been tricked. “Oh you— you little fiend.”

“Little huh?” Alec murmurs and leans closer to chuckle into Magnus’ ear, “does that make my fiendishness smaller or larger than my ass?”

Magnus makes a sound like an outraged teakettle and Alec can’t help but let himself be swept up over a shoulder as Magnus stomps over, carrying Alec and with a hand splayed territorially over his ass.

“I’m going to prove exactly how much I love your ass.” Magnus threatens, “and then I’m stomping this rumor for the last time. Who cares if your ass is a little flat,” Alec makes a protesting noise that Magnus ignores, “it’s mine.” Alec hums, because that’s a point he can get behind. “Why are they even talking about my things anyways?” He complains as he throws Alec onto the bed and then follows and pins him. “Who even has touched your ass to know?”

“Uh—” Alec suddenly wishes he’d thought through this better because he’s pretty sure he knows where the rumor started.

“Alexander.” And Magnus’ intense possessive energy focuses on him with a fervor that makes Alec’s throat dry. “Tell. Me. Who?”

“Simon?” He offers, forgetting all the reasons why he has hesitated to bring this up for so long, even when rumors of his ass and it’s lack of buoyancy made the rounds. 

“Simon?” Magnus is clearly flabbergasted, “when did he even?”

Alec throws an arm over his eyes because this entire thing has backfired on him. “Look, remember that time he got really drunk and stripped to dance in sunlight after Clary lost her memories. Okay? Somehow, while I was dragging him down and trying to keep him from exposing himself to the downworld and the mundane world, he decided I needed a hug.”

“And that translated to your ass, how?”

“He’s very… grabby. With his hands.”

 “Wait, isn’t that when you needed an iratze? I thought he’s broken one of your bones did he—” Magnus is seething now and Alec aborts all his plans and hooks his legs around Magnus’ waist as Magnus grows more and more incensed. “That ungrateful little leech! I take care of him for free and this is how he repays me? Bruising and groping my ass?”

“My ass—” Alec mutters indulgently, more amused by Magnus’ anger than anything else, though this better not delay Magnus’ proving just how much he loves Alec’s ass. Because Alec had plans and if Simon ruins them, well he’ll have two angry husbands instead of just one after him. 

“Mine!” Magnus says, even louder over him, “I’m going to make that, that ungrateful traitor wish he’d never crawled out of his grave!” Which might seem harsh, but Alec knows that Magnus has his own priorities and one of them is who gets to touch Alec’s ass.

It’s a very short list.

Only Magnus is on it.

[symphonic-scream]

More Akechi twins 15 years later. And. Other stuff

Thinking about the 15 years later outfits for the twins

Makoto, looking much softer and happier in a big crewneck sweater, with the logo for the diner on the front over their heart. Dark casual pants, big enough that they bunch up just a little, and they still stand around with their hands in their pockets. A light blue watch, wedding band a sparkling silver, and no more cap. They have no reason to hide anymore

Goro, free for the first time in years, has to wear Makoto's clothes for the first day until they can go shopping for him. And, he ends up following their lead this time. A softer collared shirt, black, under a tan crew neck sweater, sleeves rolled up. Black watch, a fancy one that tracks heart rate. More form fitting slacks, corduroy maybe? Yeah, hell yeah, corduroy black slacks. He goes for simple, plain black socks. Makoto wears fun ones that their kids picked out

Goro's hair is long enough that it usually goes up in a little ponytail. He starts this when he's in the facility cause it was bothering him. Makoto smiled when they saw it at their monthly visitation. "You look softer like that. More like my brother, less like a Prince."

"...I'll keep it up, then. You have to dress for the job you want, right, Koto?"

There's still an inn in Inaba, with a hot spring. Spending their birthday there is the first time Goro sees Makoto's surgery scars. "Hey. You actually did it,"

"Mm, didn't I tell you?" Makoto runs a hand down their front, patting their toned tum. "Best decision I ever made."

"Well, now we match in that regard. Flat siblings." Goro is more thin than muscle, not unhealthly so, but. Makoto is notably toned. "Let's head into the springs, your friends are waiting to wish us a another good year."

"...first, Brother promise." They haven't done one of these since Makoto thought they were just a trans guy. They were only 16 then. "Let's spend this next year together, okay?"

"Got it."

Haru has one photo she'll hold dear forever. It's Makoto and Goro, asleep on the couch, heads leaned together, a documentary on money laundering playing still. On their laps? Nonoka and Keima. Nonoka sitting on her uncle, drooling onto her brother's head. Keima is curled into his Papa, little face tucked into their sweater

Haru: hey, love, wake up

Makoto: hhmmoh? Haru? What time is it?

Haru: time to take the little ones to bed. I've got Nonoka, can you take Keima?

Makoto glances down, and smiles softly at their son sleeping against them

Makoto: yeah. I'll, wake Goro afterwards. Make sure he gets to bed too

Haru: mm, how considerate of you. Don't take too long, I want to spend time with you, okay? Maybe a bath?

Makoto: mm, as long as I get to pamper you silly, baby. Kiss?

Haru: kiss

They share a soft one, each with a slumbering five-year- old in their arms

Goro: ugh, thanks. My neck would've been killer stiff,

Makoto: I know, mine too. Sleep well

Goro: don't stay up too late boning your wife, Koto

Makoto: yeah yeah, go be a lonely grump or whatever. Night

Goro: night

Makoto is still silly affectionate. It hasn't tamped down at all, it may have even gotten stronger? They're constantly trying to touch Haru even a little, giving tons of hugs, little kisses, leaning their heads together, swinging her around

Makoto always makes sure they're strong enough to carry their wife. It's what Haru deserves, they claim

When the twins were newborns, Makoto kept rushing out of bed at the slightest whimper or cry so Haru could sleep longer. They'd heat up a bottle while swaying around the kitchen, humming softly to whichever twin had woken up hungry. They'd change them without a word, kissing their little heads once they'd put them back into the cribs in the nursery

Makoto: i love being a parent. Being able to show so much love to someone, to feel so much love? It's amazing. It sucks sometimes, sure, but I'd rather be here than where I was before. At your side, with our kids, this is where I belong

And Haru just bursts into tears, still a little off from hormones, and she tugs them into a big hug, smiling into their shoulder as they pepper kisses to her hair

Keima and Nonoka both have warm red eyes, Keima has a tiny, tiny dash of freckles. Their hair isn't as textured as Haru's, but it's wavy, and that bright auburn/bright pinkish brown. But they have Makoto's nose, and Nonoka has their eye shape, and both have their smart mind. Only, they use it for chaos

And of course we know Hirohide is a mini Makoto, with his little pout, but he's warm, and heavily curious. He loves learning new things, will sit all excited on his Papa's lap for a doc without needing to be sleepy, like his older siblings

All three get early screening for the mental illnesses that ran in their family. Goro is relieved when none of them have BPD or Schizophrenia like him, or bipolar like Goro and Makoto's father apparently had. He would've felt horribly guilty if they had to deal with what he has

Both are why he was put into mental care rather than prison. With his meds and counselling, he's much more tame

Keima and Nonoka don't show any concerning signs, but little Hirohide gets early support for what appears to be ADHD

Haru is also happy her kids won't suffer so much. She remembers the struggle of getting Makoto settled after the very late diagnosis of their later stuff. She's happy they caught Hirohide so young,

Makoto is just, so glad they're all happy kids. They wanted nothing more than that

Goro: so, no meds for your Mini Me yet, right?

Makoto: exactly. We'll see how he develops before making decisions with his doctor. I hope we can get him to 10 before we have to worry about meds with him

Goro: he'd soldier through. He wants to be just like you, anyways. You'd just have to say you take 'em too, and he'd jump to take em

Makoto: true, Haru absolutely adores that part of him. She was a little sad the twins don't look that much like me, y'know

Goro: it's cause she loves you, dumbass.

Makoto: yeah, she loves me,

Goro: bleh,

Makoto and Haru each having an apron. Haru's is a light purple, Makoto's is bright blue.

Haru, when they were first living together for school, slowly teaching Makoto to cook. Makoto standing behind Haru, hugging her waist as she stirs something, softly explaining when to stir, how long it takes, and Makoto listens so attentively. But, their hands are softly running over her tum, and sides, or they're nuzzling into her neck, all affectionate

Haru: are you listening?

Makoto: *parrots back everything she said, hugging her tighter*

Haru: mm, good job.

Makoto: good enough for a kiss?

Haru: *turns off the stove, spins around to kiss them, slow and deep and just-*

Makoto: wow,

Haru: alright, it's done, Love. Ready to eat?

Makoto: ***wow***

Haru: what do I use for you when I wanna say something like good boy, or good girl?

Makoto:

Haru: Mako?

Makoto: sorry, felt really gay for a moment. Uhm. How about just, "Very good"?

Haru: hmmm, that can work. Very good, Mako~

Makoto: *gayass eyes*

Haru: it's like living with a big puppy. Makoto's so touchy these days, it's so different than when we met

Ann: ...are you, complaining?

Haru: NEVER

So, during the 15 years later, theyre both running the diner. They have some staff, like a local college kid they met through Akira (Shinya), a few front end workers, and a few cooks for when they take days to be a family and shit. They've stepped back more, doing weekdays only during school hours

Only, since Hirohide isnt school age yet, sometimes one of them is home. He gets watched by Sojiro most days, along with the RyuAki baby

But two days a week, each parent is off to spend time with him

Cause I've decided Shiho and Ann have their daughter from Queers, Mifuka, the little hurricane

And there's two kids for Ryuji and Akira. An older daughter, baby boy

Daughter would be the age of the twins, for friendship. Mifuka is two years older, so 7

Daughter is Hikari Sakamoto, And baby Kota Sakamoto

Nonoka, Keima, and Hikari all walk to school together. Mifuka would as well, but she's always running ahead. Everything's too slow for her

Goro: you can cook now?

Makoto: yeah, Haru taught me. I prefer cooking with her, but cooking for her? Amazing

Goro: ...oh my god, you're a simp

Makoto: have you seen my wife? Of course I am

Makoto sometimes wakes up, and goes to roll over to hold Haru and finds Hirohide already there. And they just smile, and sandwich their son between his parents, kissing at Haru's sleeping face

Haru: hng?

Makoto: sorry, baby. Just, love you

Haru: mmm,

She tries to nuzzle closer, subconsciously holding Hirohide closer too

When Makoto went to help pack up Goro's room at the facility he was in, they paused at the little wall of photos. He'd kept the sonograms they'd give him of the twins, then of Hiro. And, in neat rows, the yearly photos of the kids. It makes them tear up. Especially when they see he used the plastic frame the facility provided for Makoto and Haru's wedding photo

Goro: hm? Don't cry, dumbass. It's the only stuff I had to look at when I was on lock down. Don't get the wrong idea

Makoto: sure, sure. You totally don't care about me, or seeing my family. I could just leave you here-

Goro: ugh, fine, prick. Let's go meet my nephews and niece, okay? And see the Fluffy one.

Makoto: yeah,

Hirohide: you look like Papa

Goro: your Papa and I are twins

Hirohide: tweens,

Goro: twins, say it like this, *says it super slow*

Hirohide: ...tweens,

Goro: close enough. We're like your big sister and big brother

Hirohide: Woah,

Hirohide: MAMA! UNCLE GOWO IS PAPA'S TWEEN

Makoto pats Goro's shoulder with a laugh. "He's still learning how to talk, don't be too hard on him, okay?"

"...you used to say my name that way. He really is a mini you,"

Haru, laughing openly, takes little Hiro from Goro's lap, rubbing her nose against her son's. He giggles, puts his hands to her mouth, so she does the raspberries, and just

Makoto tilts their head and smiles so lovingly. Goro pats their shoulder this time

Makoto moves around the living room to kiss his head, and Hiro giggles more when his parents share a little kiss

Haru smiles up at their partner one last time, and swoops away with Hiro to put him in the play room for a little bit so she can help Makoto with Goro's things

Goro: where are the other two?

Makoto: it's a school day, they're at school. They walk together with a, friend. You'll know when they're home, trust me

Goro: you let them walk on they're own? Makoto, they're-

Makoto: they're five, and this is how it's done in Inaba. There haven't been any incidents in years, Goro. They're fine

Goro: ...I'm sorry,

Makoto: you're worried, I get it. But, remember who you're talking to. We think in similar ways, my Brother.

And, he can tell them when they get home. The door opens with a bang, before two loud apologies follow

Haru: you're lucky your brother wasn't napping, my little monsters.

Keima: we're sorry Mama!

Nonoka: is he here?

Makoto: shoes off, bags on the hooks. Your uncle doesn't come before your routines, you two

Keima, wiggling out of his jacket: sorry Papa!

Nonoka, running into them for a hug: Papa, I'm sorry

Haru: alright, go wash your hands. Then, uncle Goro time

Makoto gives each a little hair tousle, and each hug Haru before going off too. Haru sighs fondly, and leans into her partner's side.

"Couple of goofs we've raised, huh?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Like. Sad, awkward teen Makoto, with their cap tucked low, hands twisting all nervous as they sit beside Haru, vs this. Older, adult Makoto, smiling so openly, so eager to show affection, so, just, open

Even just, the side by side of the twins. The old Detective Princes posters, of Goro with that fake smile and an inquisitive pose, and Makoto frowning, hands in pockets, all closed off

To them now, sitting on the same couch while watching some doc, talking about it in friendly tones, Makoto more relaxed in their seat, smiling. Goro with his arms crossed, leaning back, watching intensely

Haru takes a while to warm up to having Goro around. She never went to his visitations, just let Makoto have their time with him. So, she's wary he might do something to turn her lovely, happy Makoto back into their repressed teen self

She loses this way of thinking slowly. She even talks to him about it, and they bond over the big thing they have in common; caring for Makoto

Note about Hikari and Kota;

Hikari is Ryuji's bio daughter. They had a surrogate, the same one, for both kids. Kota is Akira's bio son

So Hikari has this dark brown hair, real dark, and Ryuji's big grin. Kota's only a baby, so he's only got tiny little black curls, and his Dad's grey eyes

Ryuji walks around with a baby Bjorn at all times, he loves being a dad. Plays with Kota so much. He runs around and plays Horse or Heroes with Hikari too, so it's rare that what he's wearing is completely cleab

He and Makoto spent a lot of time bonding over that when the twins and Hikari were babies. Play dates would have three babies babbling on the floor, and the two parents sharing photos, stories, and just enjoying being parents

Akira: damn, this is the hottest he's ever been to me

Haru: mm, I know, right? It's so hard not to just, pull Makoto into our room all the time. This has to be some weird biological thing, right?

Akira: or we're horny bastards

Haru: mm. Yeah, probably that

Makoto: I'm glad we're friends

Ryuji: yeah, besides Ann and 'Kira, you're like, my best friend

Makoto: mm. Beside Yusuke and Haru, you're my best friend too

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #34

34. CYPRUS Silia Kapsis - "Liar" 15th place

Decade Ranking: 128/153 [Above Benny, below Reiley]

15th place? Generous. Good floordrops only get you so far if that's the ONLY thing you've got.

Every year there's a few acts that I thought just plain sucked, and yet can't really muster feelings of dislike for. Like, what's the point of putting in the effort of emoting if I can simply choose to focus my attention on better, worthier songs? They're shit, but that's their problem, not mine.

And that awkward little spot where those acts go is also where dear young Sillia lands. "Liar" is bad, I think we all agree? Laurel Barker still hasn't shown her busted face since "Sober" (GOOD.) but her spirit lives on in mediocre, poorly written girlbops with no substance, and this season had multiples of those. "Liar" stood out the worst to me by virtue of, well, not really standing out at all, other than for its horrible libretto.

CUZ YOU'RE A LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR YEAH YEAH YEAH YOU LIE IE IE IE YEAH YEAH YEAH

that THIS is a chorus of a Eurovision FINALIST. 😳 Futhermore the lyrics also rhyme "oolala" with "truth la la" (okay this one is ACTUALLY funny) and present Silia as some sort of... intrusive busybody calling out pther people's adultery and philandering? I suppose it's a little LESS scuffed than have Isaiah Firebrace hone his gaslighting, uglycrying and concern trollery skills at the same age. But if you're going to tweak the narrative in function of her being a minor, and attempt to steer her away from sexualization, then perhaps don't style her in a top that accentuates her cleavage? And don't end with this:

(always a telltale sign of a losing battle when you have to splice THAT into a song/act that doesn't call for it just to get a Q.)

Unlike a Nutsa or a Sarah, you can't quite say that Silia was at the top of the performance game. She was a 17 year old with limited on-stage experience, and it showed. She had memorized her stupid lines and rehearsed her stupid TikTok dances and delivered both as flat and robotic as one does when they go through the motions. The Dance Break lmao what the FUCK was this epileptic seizure:

If you want a true Performative Piece emulating a neurotic disorder, got tho say Il Senso did it better.

"SHARP. BLADES. OF. TIME. CUTS. THE. SPACE. :twitches: " 😍

Silia was in the Reiley zone where nothing she did was particularly bad but also none of the things she did were objectively good, and it balances out in blandness. It was all just a little bit too much "Participation Trophy" material, which is the Cypriot special by now. Btw, did you know it is a Greek hand-me-down? ("Liar" starts at 0:59)

That's right, this was the song that lost to "WHAT THEY SAY" and then tried to fight its loss in court and lost the appeal. This song is so embarrasing it lost in an internal selection to Victor Vernikos.

Ofc behind all of this lay a huge shitstorm of a selection with Cyprus planning to do an NF on Greek soil based on a format ERT had planned and trashed sometime in the past. Greece found out and threatened to blank Cyprus completely if they appropriated their NF concept, which forced Cyprus to recruit another Australian and contact Kontopoulos who still had "Liar" in his folder, with the hopes that the badness would fly under the radar.

But don't worry Cyprus repaid Greece by ranking Eden ahead of Marina in the jury vote. 🙂 I wouldn't blame the Greeks if they invaded and annexed (or bribed the Turks to do it for them) 🙂

So yeah, Cyprus made the final. Unfortunate because it rewards an entry that deliberately plays lowest base on several levels. I suppose I would find Liar's advancement offensive in most cases, but like... it's semi 1. Half of the acts in that shitshow deserved to get the boot including Silia yes, and all five acts that were eliminated, so whatevs. Do we really care which shitty acts made it in, if at least three of them were advancing anyway, idfts. Finland was the only one I wanted to see dead (not literally. i think.) and that was never happening in a full televote from that second half.

Besides, the finale had a much bigger fish to fry, and Cyprus's generous-AF 15th place overall (reminder: this is the same placement Maraaya and Zalagasper got in WORSE finals) feels like such a trifle in comparison. So, I'm FINE with ranking her barely into yellow today. Pray that we're spared more degenerative nonsense from this clown country next year if there's a next yeah and and if Poseidon doesn't make the disrespectful island sink into the sea for its many crimes against Marina Satti.

THE RANKING

[diodellet]

unremarkable (belphegor x gn!reader)

i think im Going Through It. i wanted to write messy makeouts and heavy petting in your boyfie's lap but jokes on me🥴🥴theyre not even tgt and theyre not even sitting down. please make sure to read the content warnings before continuing. content warnings: -reader is gender-neutral but described as flat-chested (no mention of any genitalia) -self-image issues and self-hatred (in both the reader's dialogue and internal thoughts) -mild degradation (from belphie) -dubcon (reader says stop multiple times but belphie doesn't immediately stop) -codependency (whatever relationship is being shown here may be tender, but its not healthy) ++ gratuitous foreplay, frottage, crying, reader as an unreliable narrator, 0.5 seconds of belphegor's gentle side. mildly unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. word count: 3.3k words minors do not interact

"You seem like you're doing well."

"Jesus!" You jump at the sound of Belphegor's voice, almost knocking the back of your head against the cabinet door.

"Wrong name."

Somewhere from the mess of blankets, pillows, and the comforter on your bed, the seventh-born's voice brings you out of your quiet daze. He sits up, clutching his favorite pillow to his chest.

You plaster a scowl on your face. "Why are you in my bed?"

"It's comfier than that thing you call a sofa. Why wouldn't I be in a bed?" He doesn't seem well-rested either.  His hair was messy and unkempt, the startings of dark circles lined the underside of his eyes. Nice to know that you weren’t the only one who’s been having a shit time.

"No! I mean, why not be in your bed, with the rest of—actually, forget that. Nevermind.” Your hands pull the hem of the fresh t-shirt over your head, straighten out the edges and sleeves before shutting the cabinet closed.

More importantly, for how long has he been there? You’re sure you don’t recall hearing the door creak open or the rattle of the window’s screen. But when a demon invites themself over to your actual living space, they could choose not to arrive in a flash of brimstone and sulfur. They didn’t need the flourish of summoning sigils, nor the light of the moon in a specific alignment with the planets. If you cast a shadow or owned a mirror—simple things like that, then it was already enough of an invitation to let them in.

And for Belphegor, finding his way to your home was as simple as slipping into a dream. Or so he said.

“Oh? Do you want to hear about how the rest of us are doing at the House of Lamentation? We’re doing just fine, thanks for asking by the way.”

It’s not his words that make you flinch. It’s the accusatory tone underneath his words that cuts into you, the ‘without you’ that goes unsaid.

“I said nevermind,” you grumble. It’s been a while since you’ve been in the presence of an otherworldly being, your nerves buzz with the need to stand up and move around, or at least to clean the mess that was starting to accumulate in your room.

Or maybe the unease stems from the plain fact that it’s been a while since you’ve had someone in your company. And it had to be Belphegor, who liked inserting himself into whatever you were doing. Especially when you wanted some peace and quiet, especially when you wanted to be alone.

(Why did it feel…nice to suddenly see a familiar face?)

“Did you just come by to give me shit or did Lucifer ask you to pass a message?” Your irritation builds when you can't twist an old plastic wrapper into a neat knot. Couldn’t steady your hands to pass the end through the knot, instead throwing it in the direction of the wastebin and missing. Ugh. You go to pick up the other scattered trash instead.

“He wasn’t happy when he found out you got rid of your D.D.D.” Belphegor stands up, throwing the wrapper you discarded and bringing the wastebin to you. “What’ll you do if he visits?”

“There’s no way he would.” Lucifer’s loyalty was always to his family. You were just an outsider. You take the wastebin from Belphegor, brushing past him to continue picking up litter on the other side of your bed. The old receipts that started yellowing and the plastic pouches that your online shopping orders arrived in and everything in between.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” You hate the way Belphegor says your name, laced with slow sarcastic condescension.

Instead you swallow down the heat of annoyance building in your throat. Let it build and build and pinch at your brow. “What do you mean?”

“I might’ve overheard him talking to Mammon. And to Lord Diavolo.” He only meets your gaze with a shrug, rests his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Just saying.”

It doesn’t take long for you to piece together the barebones message. The fact that he was here without securing much permission meant that he was expected to bring you back.

Just saying, my ass. In the end, you didn’t have a choice.

You set the wastebin just outside of your bedroom, end up setting it down with too much force. “...How long did they give you?” Bite your inner cheek, control yourself, keep your voice even.

“Dunno.” Belphegor sighs, blowing away the tuft of hair falling over his eye. “I already left when they said I could go.”

“Why.” Your voice pitches high, a note just short of hysteric. “Do you—are you hoping to get locked up again? Why did you come here, Belphegor?”

“...Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?”

Then what was that earlier part of the conversation about? Was he just stringing you along? To see your reaction? The building anger inside of you skids to a stop.

Your voice turns icy. “You and I both know that no one in their right mind would waste the time to look at me.” 

“What are you saying?” The expression on Belphegor’s face mirrors your own. Why were you saying this all of a sudden? Was it because you have been carrying these unwelcome thoughts throughout your time alone? No, it was simply because—

“Because it’s true.”

You were no longer the remarkable exchange student.

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” Belphegor says your name sharply, making you flinch.

In the moment, you just wanted to make a point. You wanted to be right for once, so your damn brain would stop buzzing. With echoes of your worst insecurities. With too much pent-up energy morphing into excitement. But no matter how much you chastised yourself for it, you were being dragged along by those feelings.

You lift your shirt up, giving Belphegor an unobstructed view of your bare torso. No more pact marks, no more blemishes from the little accidents during your stay. 

“There’s nothing remarkable about this.” Not anymore. 

At this point your mind catches up with your words and actions.

Cheeks heating up from embarrassment, you inject a mix of nonchalance and slight annoyance into your voice. Furrow your brows and play off the shame you felt towards yourself your body as irritation. "There, see. Nothing of note." 

Utterly human. Plain, nondescript, unremarkable.

You're not prepared for the warmth of his hands settling at the base of your ribcage. Rough thumbs tracing the shallow curve of your chest, just shy of making contact with your nipples. The touch to your skin alone sends a shiver through your frame.

"I don't think there's nothing of note here though." And he has the audacity to mimic the deriding cadence you used for the word.

You let go of your shirt’s hem, let it fall down to obscure his hands which stubbornly remain in place. (Never mind the fact that the sight—one palm large enough to engulf one half of your chest—stirs an all too familiar heat in your lower stomach.)

On second thought, maybe you weren’t able to play it off as easily as you thought.

“That’s because you suddenly touched me.” You muster a disinterested expression and meet his eyes. “Mind letting off?”

"Oh, really?” The way Belphegor draws out your name sends you further along your arousal, making you gloss over the fact that he ignored your request. The subtle change in his expression—an upwards quirk of his lips, his eyes narrowing and appraising you—makes you take a step backwards.

Now your back’s against the wall. How were you just making one mistake after another? Maybe your body’s impulses were taking the lead now and dragging your unwilling consciousness along for the ride. Leaving you as a helpless recipient to the stimulation.

“How about you let me touch you a bit more then I’ll back off?”

Fuck no. The answer should be easy, but then again, this was you. 

Lonely and isolated, starved of touch, craving to be desired. And when you were being propositioned by the only “person” who seemed willing to put up with you, well.

You tentatively wet your lips. The pressure settling on your chest doesn't let up (and it’s sending your brain into a fog). Belphegor's hands are lightly stroking up and down your sides. It’s as if the heat radiating from his skin was consuming you. You want to run away from it, but at the same time, the simple gesture was almost enough to make your knees buckle.

You tsk, “fine. Do what you want.” 

You fight to keep your expression neutral as Belphegor leans closer to you. Fight against the twisted sense of satisfaction seeing him pleased by your reluctant obedience.

You don’t expect his expression to morph into a small pout. “Don’t give me that look. It’ll feel good for you in the end, won’t it?” One of his palms gives your chest a light squeeze.

Your lips press together in a thin line as you consider your next words. “Do your worst then.”

And maybe it’d feel good for a bit, even if it’ll hurt once the wave of pleasure has run its course because Belphegor liked touching you as your nerves screamed for relief. And then you’ll hate yourself afterwards. You’ll spend the night curled up in bed hating yourself for feeling good and only feeling good for that brief moment.

(The aftermath was always the worst part. With clarity filling your mind and vision, making you hate the remnants of your arousal. With exhaustion settling into your nerves but never letting you slip into unconsciousness.)

Belphegor’s features darken, irritation swirling in his violet irises. There, that was a more familiar sight. One that suited his character more. Behind the sleepy and affectionate demeanor as the youngest lay a demon who was just as crafty and manipulative as—scratch that, maybe more than—the other high-ranking officials of the Devildom.

Yet at the same time, he was the youngest. You can’t help yourself from wanting to annoy him a little bit.

The satisfaction is short-lived however. Belphegor pinches the nubs in between the tips of his fingers, teasing them erect. A choked gasp falls from your lips, your eyes squeeze shut and the back of your head lightly knocks against the wall.

“Ha, please. I don’t even have to do much of anything,” he remarks in a low voice. Something along the lines of amusement colors his tone. “You’ll rub yourself against me at the slightest. Touch.” He gives a harsh tug to emphasize those two words, tearing a pained whimper from you.

“Well that’s because a demon like you could yank ’em off if you weren’t careful—” Your retort dies in your throat as he thumbs over the tips of your nipples. An agonizingly slow but pleasurable back-and-forth stimulus that makes your frame relax. As if you were some nervous thing to be tamed.

“What was that? Hm?” This fucking asshole.

You can’t muster a reply, too focused instead on keeping your mouth clamped shut. On keeping yourself still and trying not to arch into the traitorous heat of Belphegor’s palms.

“That’s what I thought.” And you can hear the deriding smirk forming on his lips. “You’ll just take anything I give because you’ll like it.”

It’s those words that send you further down your body’s sensations. Annoyance, humiliation, arousal—in spite of your pride, no that was wrong, in spite of your disgust towards yourself—all mix together into this ugly heat that makes your thighs press together, makes your core throb with need and desire and you want.

More.

You’re not prepared for the feeling of his tongue against your chest. Not prepared for the feeling of his lips sealing around your nipple and sucking gently.

“Hnnh…” Your knees tremble from the exertion of holding yourself up.

That doesn’t stop him from palming at the other unattended bud, rolling it between the fingers of his free hand. The light scrape of his nails against your skin, the way his thumb grazes against your areola while tracing the underside of your chest pulls a shaky sigh from you.

Belphegor continues to press into your space. He releases the nipple with a pop, leaving it red and shiny with spit. And when he toys with the damp numb using his fingers, a soft moan leaves your lips. “F-fuck…nnh…” Your fingers twitch, almost reflexively reaching for him.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling it just from this.” He turns his attention to your other nipple, laving it with the flat of his tongue and a generous amount of saliva. 

“...It’s—hah—just…been a while…” you grit out. “I—”

“Whatever you say,” Belphegor drawls before suckling at the bud. Gently mouthing at it before nipping lightly with his teeth.

When the pleasure starts tipping into overstimulation, your resolve and facade crack. Your hands clench into fists, feebly attempting to ground yourself. Little moans of pain escape from you with each graze of Belphegor’s fingers against the nubs. With each swipe of his tongue against the small, unremarkable, but worst of all, sensitive buds betraying your body—betraying the fact that, if you were in better circumstances, you would have completely enjoyed this.

Your reprieve arrives the moment it becomes unbearable. Belphegor’s digits withdraw to settle just above the waistband of your shorts, stretching out the elastic and revealing the skin of your hips.

“Heh, you seemed to enjoy that.” One of his hands grips your chin and pulls your gaze downwards to look at the mix of sweat and arousal staining your underwear. “Look at the mess you made.” You don’t have anything for a rebuttal. You can only stare with burning cheeks. Stare at your skin and his other hand dipping into your shorts. And you notice how close he was standing to you, a scant few inches in between your hips and his. And—god why was the slightest touch ghosting down your navel, the slick sounds of his fingers stroking you—sending your nerves into a frenzy?!

"Hnn…fuck—” A weak keening sound leaves your throat. “Wait…I don’t wanna cum,” you protest, the sounds coming from you drowned out whatever words Belphegor was saying, your face feels too hot. “Stop, stop…" 

His pace quickens, you start meeting the movement of his wrist. His fingers curl into a tight fist. You might come like this. You just might come undone completely. And you don't want that. Your breathing hitches. "Belphie, stop!”

He stills, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. Slowly releases you—clear, viscous strings of your arousal cling to his digits. The motion elicits a disgusted full-body shiver from your frame.

You hate yourself. God, you hate yourself so much.

You belatedly register the tears sliding down your cheeks. A sob nearly escapes before you clench your jaw shut. Your hands furiously wipe at your eyes and cheeks but the tears. Just wouldn't. Stop.

“...you’re…” he speaks up, voice soft. Almost hesitant to complete that thought. Crying? Yes. Unsightly? Yes.

“Of fucking course I am, asshole! You weren’t—” Ah, but he wasn’t under a pact anymore, why would he listen to you? “You just kept—” And whose hips were rutting to meet each slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers? You had nothing to say that was worth listening to. 

(You’re not sure if you’re shaking because you started crying, or if your body was still anticipating, teetering at the edge of a climax.)

"I'm sorry I—god, I hate myself."  If you were going to burn up, you wanted every part of yourself to be consumed without leaving a single trace. You hate the complete, utter silence of the room. You’d rather take Belphegor’s rough treatment and his cutting words. Take any kind of pain over this, over the burning in the corners of your eyes.

Belphegor's clean hand comes up to cup your cheek. "Close your eyes," he murmurs as he leans in. You only get a brief glimpse of his expression—soft and torn—before you obey and feel the press of his lips against your own. Slightly chapped but nonetheless gentle against the salt and shame that stain your cheeks.

He doesn't completely pull away when the kiss ends. His breath fans against your lips, warm. "Don't say that."

"...but it's true,” you counter. Though the thickness in your voice does little to emphasize the bite of your words.

Belphegor frowns.

You especially hate the expression he is wearing on his face, that small unreadable frown. Or rather, you hate that you can't parse the specific emotion behind it. Can't tell if he was disgusted or just, outright bored with you because of your outburst. "I'm sorry," you repeat. How badly your body wanted to lean into the touch of his palms. Let the guilt pour soundlessly with your demeanor, and hope it would suffice for an apology.

(A part of you desperately hopes his silence is from the part of him that understands. That being spun empty words of comfort was more painful.)

Strange, isn’t it? Your tears have stopped flowing after a few beats of silence have passed. The worst of the emotions have run their course, yet in their wake, you only feel empty. Still resentful towards yourself.

"...there, you had your little touch. Will—" A hiccup escapes you. You don't like the weight of Belphegor's gaze on you. Your head turns away, shoulders curve inwards, arms rise to discreetly cover your chest."—will you let me go now? O-or are you going to…" Use me?

No matter how much his outward apathy colored his interactions, Belphegor was a curious being. And to stand in front of him unsightly as you are, to have him discard the blotchiness of your face and the little hiccups shaking your frame…

To have him regard you as the sole recipient of his curiosity, well.

It stirs an inkling of…something warm inside you despite your warring thoughts.

“...I don’t think I’ll let go of you just yet.” His knee slots itself between your legs. “Didn’t I tell you that it’d feel good for you in the end?”

“I don’t care about that anymore, it won’t even feel good for you…!” The heat in your voice dissipates with each nudge against your neglected arousal.

Belphegor shushes you, hands coming back up to touch your chest, thumbs stroking your neglected nipples. Just start feeling good already. Combined with the slow deliberate grind of his knee against your core (or were you the one desperately rutting against his leg?), the sensations are enough to pull a shaky whine from your lips.

“Belphie, it f-feels weird…”

“Hurts?"

You're past the point of distinguishing pain from pleasure. You just feel.

"Does it hurt?" He repeats his question, hands slowing.

You shake your head, fisting your hands into his shirt. “N-no…” It’s a feeble attempt to pull him closer to you.

You’re sure you’re making a mess of his pants with each sloppy cant of your hips. Even the guilt mere thought of that sends more warmth rushing through you. Building and building until you’re cumming with a choked cry. A fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks.

With the strength sapped from your legs, Belphegor’s the only thing holding you up. Keeping you grounded.

Through the haze of your vision, you’re not sure what expression he’s wearing. “Can you give me one more?”

“...I…don’t know if I can…”

In the end though, you’ll give in to his demands. You’ll give in because your lonely self wanted something good—no matter how small or shallow it would be in hindsight.

You just hope that he would still be there with you when you were hating yourself for it.

A/N: yeah i think i just have one or two more drafts to work at.... and then... intense planning for my next major uploads (wcidfy ch 3 included).... unless my brain swerves and starts writing alt scenes/essayifying my current uploads.

[the-chronicle-of-holy-days]

Day 4

Liber Liberi vel Lapidis Lazuli

Adumbratio Kabbalae Aegyptiorum sub figurâ VII

VI

1. Thou wast a priestess, O my God, among the Druids; and we knew the powers of the oak.

2. We made us a temple of stones in the shape of the Universe, even as thou didst wear openly and I concealed.

3. There we performed many wonderful things by midnight.

4. By the waning moon did we work.

5. Over the plain came the atrocious cry of wolves.

6. We answered; we hunted with the pack.

7. We came even unto the new Chapel and Thou didst bear away the Holy Graal beneath Thy Druid vestments.

8. Secretly and by stealth did we drink of the informing sacrament.

9. Then a terrible disease seized upon the folk of the grey land; and we rejoiced.

10. O my God, disguise Thy glory!

11. Come as a thief, and let us steal away the Sacraments!

12. In our groves, in our cloistral cells, in our honeycomb of happiness, let us drink, let us drink!

13. It is the wine that tinges everything with the true tincture of infallible gold.

14. There are deep secrets in these songs. It is not enough to hear the bird; to enjoy song he must be the bird.

15. I am the bird, and Thou art my song, O my glorious galloping God!

16. Thou reinest in the stars; thou drivest the constellations seven abreast through the circus of Nothingness.

17. Thou Gladiator God!

18. I play upon mine harp; Thou fightest the beasts and the flames.

19. Thou takest Thy joy in the music, and I in the fighting.

20. Thou and I are beloved of the Emperor.

21. See! he has summoned us to the Imperial dais.

The night falls; it is a great orgy of worship and bliss.

22. The night falls like a spangled cloak from the shoulders of a prince upon a slave.

23. He rises a free man!

24. Cast thou, O prophet, the cloak upon these slaves!

25. A great night, and scarce fires therein; but freedom for the slave that its glory shall encompass.

26. So also I went down into the great sad city.

27. There dead Messalina bartered her crown for poison from the dead Locusta; there stood Caligula, and smote the seas of forgetfulness.

28. Who wast Thou, O Caesar, that Thou knewest God in an horse?

29. For lo! we beheld the White Horse of the Saxon engraven upon the earth; and we beheld the Horses of the Sea that flame about the old grey land, and the foam from their nostrils enlightens us!

30. Ah! but I love thee, God!

31. Thou art like a moon upon the ice-world.

32. Thou art like the dawn of the utmost snows upon the burnt-up flats of the tiger’s land.

33. By silence and by speech do I worship Thee.

34. But all is in vain.

35. Only Thy silence and Thy speech that worship me avail.

36. Wail, O ye folk of the grey land, for we have drunk your wine, and left ye but the bitter dregs.

37. Yet from these we will distil ye a liquor beyond the nectar of the Gods.

38. There is value in our tincture for a world of Spice and gold.

39. For our red powder of projection is beyond all possibilities.

40. There are few men; there are enough.

41. We shall be full of cup-bearers, and the wine is not stinted.

42. O dear my God! what a feast Thou hast provided.

43. Behold the lights and the flowers and the maidens!

44. Taste of the wines and the cates and the splendid meats!

45. Breathe in the perfumes and the clouds of little gods like wood-nymphs that inhabit the nostrils!

46. Feel with your whole body the glorious smoothness of the marble coolth and the generous warmth of the sun and the slaves!

47. Let the Invisible inform all the devouring Light of its disruptive vigour!

48. Yea! all the world is split apart, as an old grey tree by the lightning!

49. Come, O ye gods, and let us feast.

50. Thou, O my darling, O my ceaseless Sparrow-God, my delight, my desire, my deceiver, come Thou and chirp at my right hand!

51. This was the tale of the memory of Al A’in the priest; yea, of Al A’in the priest

(Years favorite is with bold as always) and I can’t even explain this days choice haha

[plz-you-princess]

This is partially fiction, based on true events.

"You know I can't stand being away from you, right?”

“What?” the question stung my ears, causing my ears and face to burn. “I-I’m sorry, I'm not sure what you mean.”

He let out a soft sigh with a playful grin perched on his lips.

“I love you. Haven't you noticed?”

I felt my breath stop in my throat.

He loved me? He loves me?

Yes, I noticed him always catching at the scent of my perfume, complementing the clothes I wore, always seeming to have a hand on my waist or shoulder or hip. I'd never even entertained the thought that someone like him could like someone as plain as me. I have memories of the nights he'd strip me down to nothing, pushing his face into my chest. For hours he'd complement my perfume, his perfume, until he was asleep, drooling on my breasts. I never thought of that as anything more than an experiment. I never thought he'd loved me, not from that. I thought an infatuation at most.

But love? What a ridiculous thought.

“I…” Love isn't real. Not from him.

“How else could you explain all the things I've done for you? And all the things I've had you do for me?” Thoughts of us tangled in bed, rocking and groaning, shot through my vision.

All the things I did for him.

I worshiped him, I sacrificed for him. Not a memory of him sacrificing for me went through my mind. I had loved him. Me. I don't believe him when he says he loves me.

I tried to speak, to say anything, but no words came. They all got stuck on their way out.

He watched my neck as I swallowed.

“God, you're so beautiful,” his hand reached out, his thumb rubbing the vein on my neck as he kissed me. It was difficult to breathe.

He kissed me again. Deep, slow, hard. Intimate. His tongue was everywhere in my mouth. He pulled back, just enough to say, “Take off your clothes,” and I obeyed. If this is all I had to do to keep his attention, keep his focus on me, I'd do it. Every damn time, I'd do it.

“I…” I started again, but no words followed.

He shushed me, a gentle brush against my lips.

“I know. You don't have to say it,” His hands traced my curves, pinching at sensitive places, smacking my backside. A sharp moan escaped my lips. “I know this is what you want.” Our eyes stayed locked. My green ones on his brown ones.

He wasn't wrong. This is what I want. To be used. To be used by him. To make him happy. To give him release from whatever it was in his life that distracted him from me.

I wanted to tell him. Tell him the thoughts I have of him when I'm so far from sleep that I have to tire myself out. Tell him every time I've touched myself thinking of him. Every time he's fucked my mind.

“On the bed,” he took a small step back. Enough for me to feel how cold the room really was. “Now.” I felt my spine tighten. Would he get mad? Would I mind if he did? Would I encourage it? I slid past his slender frame and took my place on his bed.

Always his bed, never ever mine.

Flat palms and bent knees. I held my plank.

I felt his fingers over my neck, shoulders, back, breasts, stomach, waist, then finally my hips. He gripped hard, pulling my ass against his cock. He rubbed me with it. Teased me.

“Is this what my filthy slut wants?” One hand stayed on my hip, the other slapped his tip against my entrance. I pressed my lips together. I managed a short “Mm-hm,” and nodded, no words daring to ruin the moment.

He smiled, devilishly. His teeth parted slightly and his lips curled up. His dark eyes were so hungry, so filled with greed at all he can do to me and all he knows I wouldn't care if he did to me.

A pressure pushed between my legs.

I moaned and I felt him laugh, short and sweet.

He leaned over me, his chest on my back, skin to skin. His warmth filled me.

“How do I feel? Filling your empty pussy?” My arms gave way to him. My arms stretched out in front of me, hands softly gripping the sheets.

“It's what you were made for.”

He reached around me and grabbed both of my biceps, pulling my arms behind my back. He held my wrists together with one hand as the other whipped red hand prints on my backside. Every time I winced and moaned, knowing how much more wet it made me.

“Oh, Y/N, you're soaking wet,” he said through a smile. I smiled into the mattress.

“It's all for you,” I managed to whine. He pulled my hair, lifting my mouth off the sheets.

“What did my slut say?”

I swallowed, hair stuck to my face already.

“It's all for you,” I tried arching my back more. “Daddy.” He smiled between my shoulder blades and bit me. He forced hickeys across my back as he slammed all 7 inches into me. Over and over.

I couldn't help but moan. It hurt, but it felt so good too. I knew I was too small to take all of him but I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to me. Make him feel as good as he could feel. My fists clenched tighter as he sped up more and more.

He was getting close.

He grabbed my neck, gripping bruises into my hip, slapping his balls against my skin. Oh my god, that sound. He rutted faster and faster, bruising deeper between my hips. Both hands wrapped around my neck now, squeezing, pulling me over him over and over and over.

My eyes rolled back. My voice was hoarse. I couldn't breathe.

“Is this what my slut wants? I'm gonna breed this pussy. I'm gonna fill you with my cum,” I couldn't breathe. He squeezed tighter and tighter. I couldn't breathe. I tried to pry his grip but just scratched my neck.

I couldn't breathe.

“Fucking worthless slut. Nothing but Daddy's fucktoy.” I felt my vision start to go. Spots at first and then everything went dark.

I heard his climax and felt him fill me. He whined a high-pitched whine. Everything was fuzzy when he pulled back out of me, dripping with his ‘love’. My head buzzed and burned. I couldn't move. I found myself holding my breath, I forgot I could breathe freely now.

He slapped my ass once more and I hear his footsteps walk down the stairs and the shower turns on.

I cry. I don't know why I'm crying. I'm so happy. I have him and he has me. The shower is on for an eternity. I just lay there, feeling the ghost of his palms strangling me.

[ladylooch]

more kempe😩

A/N: Bless you. Yes. Always gonna be a yes for me. This is a blurb of continuation from the Friends to Lovers I posted last week.

New Girlfriend- Adrian Kempe

Word Count: 951

Warnings: swearing, sexual content if you squint.

“Hey.” I tug at my boyfriend’s fingers as we are leaving our date night spot. He’s trying to head back towards the car, but the ice cream he promised me earlier today is in the other direction. “Don’t make promises and not keep them.” I jokingly narrow my gaze at him. He pauses, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he shimmies it into place.

“It’s that way?” He points.

“No.” I point the other way to where the cone is lit up in neon blue, purple and pink.

“Oh, you want that ice cream?” He cringes, sucking air in quickly between his teeth. “I don’t know if I can afford that.” I snort, eyes widening as I slap at his arm.

“Rich people jokes.”

“I’m not rich.” He chuckles, weaving our fingers together to head towards the “expensive” ice cream.

“That is exactly what rich people say as they wander around L.A. in $900 sneakers.”

“These were more than that.” He says, looking down at his Dior shoes.

“You’re not helping yourself here.” I giggle against his arm, pressing my lips to his bicep. “What even is expensive to you?”

“This $10 ice cream.”

“Oh my god. I’ll make it worth your while later. Maybe suck on something else.” 

“In that case, you can have two.”

“Two!? I’m worth 20 dollars?” We are both laughing hard, bumping into shoulders as our bodies shake with joy.

Our laughter catches attention from other patrons on the sidewalk. A group of girls is hovering outside a popular sushi spot. One of them, a brunette, locks eyes on Adrian and visible lights up. She must be a fan, I think. Adrian being stopped is common for us when we are out.

“Adrian!” The brunette squeals when she steps out to stop him. She rushes forward with her arms stretched out. His hand drops from mine as she wraps her hands behind his neck. Her nails are so long they look like claws against his neck. By the way she touches him, I imagine she’s dragged those along his back before. The thought makes me step further to the side. 

She’s beautiful- stunning really with her shimmery dress, expensive high heels and perfect face. I feel painfully plain. 

“Hey Becca.” He says, hands shoved in his pockets. He glances to me on his right but I’m still looking at her. 

“How are you? Haven’t heard from you lately.” She drawls and sweeps a hand along his tattooed forearm. My skin begins to crawl, getting hot and sensitive at her hands on him.

“Ah, good. Been busy with my girlfriend.” 

“Oh.” Her face falls flat. She glances me over quickly then kind of snorts like it couldn’t be me. Like we weren’t just holding hands. 

Adrian sees her dismissal and doesn’t like it. He steps away from her to sling an arm around my waist. He pulls me into his body, kissing my hair. He leaves his mouth there, speaking to her through my hair as red dusts my cheeks at his affection.

“Yeah. Anyway, we have places to be. Enjoy your night.” He nudges me to walk forward, not even sparing her another glance. I turn my face into his rib cage, grinning against his jacket.

“She was so disappointed by us.” I say as we stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “I don’t think I ever met her.”

“No.” He coughs awkwardly. 

“One night?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. Ah, shorter then.

“Wham bam thank you ma’am?” 

“Babe.”

“I’m not mad, A. I sat across the table from you and your girlfriends over the years.”

“Yeah, it’s just.. I don’t want to look back. I’d rather forget about everyone before you.”

“Poor Becca.” I chuckle, wrapping my arms around his neck. The light changes and other people begin to cross the street. I keep our bodies flush together, watching intently as his face moves closer to mine.

“Lucky us.” He murmurs against my lips. Soft pecks connect us until our tongues lightly flick together. I sigh into his mouth as his hand drops lower on my back, pressing me tighter into what’s building between us. “I have a better idea for dessert.” 

“You’re gonna be better than ice cream? Tall task.” I whisper, feathering kisses along his beard until I get to the smoother skin of his upper jaw. Sweet lips follow a path along my collar bone. His mouth opens along my warm skin, letting his tongue dig a wet circle. His teeth scrape against the same spot until I soften into him. 

“I think we both know the answer to that is yes.”

“Let’s go.” I moan as he sucks my skin into his mouth, nibbling, stroking, igniting a million embers in my soul. “Adrian.” I whine when he continues, making my core flutter with each nip at me. 

“What? I want people to see me marking you as mine. Everyone should know.”

“I’d rather you take me home and mark me where only you and I can see.” His kisses pause. He gradually pulls back to meet my eyes.

“Might need you to show me.” His voice is rough with desire. “Have those pretty fingers touch prettier parts of you.” I let out a light chuckle as he drowns in each flicker of my devious eyes. I step forward, my foot going between his legs, feeling him thick against me.

“Sure, baby. Might even teach you a thing or two.”

“Fuuuuck.” He breaks eye contact, tilting his head back at the sky to laugh. “Let’s go!”

His fingers slide between mine and he pulls us down the street, our excited chuckles trailing along the avenue as we run.