#or at the very least sideburns

[erigold13261]

Creating a design for Mama's father has been so difficult! Argh! I've gone through like 10+ designs but I think I am finally onto something!

[protagonist-art]

"Uh- I'm Arnold. Bennett. It's profoundly difficult to get your lifes works and studies accepted if your name isn't... yes, oh! Are you a fan of moths, sir?"

NEW RDR2 OC!! a reclusive, clumsy entomologist and bug collector; cooped up in his study of uniformed clutter

[squintsintwink]

Oh this is gonna take FOREVER

[ruthytwoshakes]

WHO ARE YOU?!!?!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH SNIPER??!??!??!!??? WHERE IS HIS HORSE FACE?!??!!???

shakjkinng in me boots,,, , , , arrggh

last reblog reminded me how bad the fem fortress sniper model is eeRUGGHHHH THESE ARE NOT THE SAME CHARACTERSSSSSSS

[miriellesandthegiantpeach]

Curls | Bucktommy

In the bathroom, Buck is grimacing in the mirror, swiping his hands back and forth over his freshly cut hair. His eyebrows are furrowed with indecision; was this a good idea? He hears the front door open.

“Evan? Where are you?” Tommy voices rings out.

“Up here,” Buck calls back, he closes the bathroom door most of the way before Tommy gets up there.

“Oh there you are, what are you doing?” Tommy tries to push open the door but Buck stops him.

“I got a haircut from the place Hen suggested. You’re not allowed to laugh, okay?” Buck’s voice is hesitant.

“I promise I won’t laugh, did they botch it?” Tommy replies with total sincerity. This time Tommy can open the door and step into the bathroom. He examines Buck’s hair, very relieved it actually isn’t botched or a buzzcut.

Tommy takes it in and can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips. His boyfriend looks damn fine; curls in full force and not reigned in like how Buck usually styles it. The hairdresser added a fade making his neck look a lot longer.

“What? It’s awful. Your silence is making me nervous,” Buck rambles out.

Reaching a hand up, Tommy carefully pinches a wild curl and is surprised how soft it is, not at all crunchy with gel. His hand slides down to touch the equally soft hair on the back of his head. He absolutely loves it. “It’s definitely not awful. I always love your curls, babe. I like seeing your natural hair be free for once, and it’s so soft too. You look really really hot actually. It’s trendy for sure, but not in a bad way.”

Buck is still frowning at the mirror and rubs his fingers on the side of his face. “She even shaved off my sideburns,” he pouts and Tommy laughs.

“They will grow back in no time.” He wraps his arms around Buck’s waist and rests his chin on Buck's shoulder, watching him still fuss with his hair. “You know, it does make you look undeniably not straight, if that’s what you were going for.”

”Not really my intention, but I mean I’m not, so I guess it works?” Buck huffs drops his hands. “I’m itching for my gel, I feel so naked without it.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s just new, it’ll grow on you.” Tommy smiles, catching Buck's eyes in the mirror.

“Hey, what about your natural curls, huh? I don't see you easing up on the hair products.” Buck turns his head to look at Tommy.

“Shhh we're not talking about me right now,” Tommy replies and slides a hand up to cup Buck's jaw and kiss his lips. “I'm sure there's something in the pilot handbook about hair regulations,” he mumbles against Buck's mouth then promptly leaves him in the bathroom.

When Buck walks into work the next day he’s greeted with a wolf whistle from Hen, “Damn, Buck! I knew my girl would make you look fresh! You’re looking damn fine.” And he can’t help but smile at the praise. He gets compliments and light teasing from the rest of the crew. Maybe he can live with it.

One of their calls is at the famous gay night club, The Abbey, in Santa Monica. One of the cages that the dancers was in fell with the dancer trapped inside of it. Buck and Eddie had to break out the saw to get the dancer out, luckily he walked away with minor injuries.

They attracted a small crowd of the other dancers- all in skimpy speedo like underwear. Most of them had their eyes on Buck, giving him flirty compliments and asking if he’s ever been there. At first Buck was confused why he was getting most of the attention from these objectively hot men, especially when Eddie and his stache was right there.

Oh right, the hair, he thinks. The ‘undeniably not straight’ hair style he is sporting right now. He couldn’t help feeling a small blush creep into his cheeks.

His attention gets pulled back to one of the dancers, “Are you single? I know it’s really forward of me, but I thought I’d shoot my shot.” At least he’s polite about blatantly hitting on him.

“Oh wow I’m really flattered but yeah, I am taken,” Buck says proudly. He takes out his phone and shows the dancer and his friends his phone lock screen - a selfie of him and Tommy from one of their recent dates. Buck is laughing and Tommy is smirking at the camera with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Oh my God! I know that guy! That’s Mr. August from the 2019 LAFD calendar! I’ll never forget that year,” one of the dancers muses.

“Lucky bastard,” another one says to Buck, which makes his smile grow wider.

Tommy’s phone pings with a picture from Chimney, which there is no doubt this was his idea. It’s of Buck in the middle of a row of speedo clad club dancers. He doesn’t have his jacket on, so it’s just the fire T-shirt with red and yellow suspenders and the turn out pants. He’s holding an ax resting on his shoulder with the cockiest look he could muster; a sexy smirk on his lips with his left eyebrow cocked. The dancers around him are all looking at him, hamming it up for the picture acting like he’s the hottest thing on earth. Tommy couldn’t agree more and immediately makes it his phone background.

Yeah, the hair is growing on Buck.

[womaninwinter]

scenes from mass

Young man with incredible sideburns and bad posture. Walks everywhere with his head ducked as though mentally apologising

50ish skinhead with facial tattoos and what looks like a knife scar on the back of his head (not kidding). He turns around as soon as mass ends to tell me I have a good singing voice

Innumerable old ladies with perms

Innumerable old men in shapeless jumpers

African woman with beautiful headscarf. After mass, she makes a beeline for the priest and gets him to bless a 2L bottle of water

Young couple with kids. Young couple without kids. They stay in the church praying for a while once mass ends, and I wonder if they’re praying for children

stylish older woman with immaculate hair and makeup and rings on every finger. Sits behind me and sings the alleluia with a very pure voice

2 short men from the Asian subcontinent

Joyce was right about one thing at least. Catholic means, here comes everybody.

[fox-guardian]

forgot about this post. remembered it again. doing things about it.

everyone here knows of my tim having graying hair headcanon right? or do I need an excuse to draw more of tim with un-dyed graying hair

[askthestans]

Hey Stan, can you tell us stories about your brother Sherman being a total square?

Stan and Ford: At the same time. You mean Square-mie?

Both of them laugh, not in a harsh way, but the kind of lighthearted chuckles that usually come from one sibling teasing another. It's obvious they love their older brother, but... like most siblings, they'll always jump on a chance to make fun of one another.

Stan: Oh, he always hated that nickname! Look, Anon, lemme first introduce ya to the official scale of Pines fun-ness. At the top, there's me, for obvious reasons. Second best is Mabel, also for obvious reasons. And... He pauses, putting his hand to his chin. Damn, I gotta say, I think Ford's next-

Ford: I am as much of an adventurer as I am a scientist.

Stan: Yeah, definitely Ford, despite his dorkiness and obsession with... He gestures at Ford's honors and trophies for grades and intelligence related successes from childhood. That garbage. Good grades and other crap. And then-

Ford: Definitely our nephew, Dipper and Mabel's father. Works in IT, very smart, has a little bit more of Mabel's fun-loving nature. But far less adventurous than you or I. You and I could never live a boring suburban life like he does.

Stan: Grinning. Then, near the very bottom, you've got Dipper. No offense to the kid, but he's Ford's smarts but minus Ford's rebel streak. Walkin' wet blanket at times, always askin' how many laws we're breakin' while we're out havin' fun... although me and Ford are teachin' 'im to grow past it, as much as his parents will let us corrupt 'im. But he at least likes to have fun, I'll give 'im that. So that leaves us at-

Ford: Way at the very bottom of the Pines fun-ness scale, you have... Square-mie. He coughs. Shermie, sorry.

Both men howl with snorts and laughter again, barely able to explain why.

Stan: Wiping a tear from his eye, wheezing a bit. Okay, okay, Anon, picture this: take Dipper and his dad's wet blanket crap and crank it up to 1000. This guy? Our brother? Good ol' Saint Sherm? Guy's never even had a parking ticket his entire life! He won't even jaywalk! He never goes even one mile per hour above the speed limit! He's like the human equivalent of white bread. Of unflavored oatmeal. Got average grades, got a boring old suburban house with a literal white picket fence, had an average job-

Ford: Shudders. I have no idea how he worked as an IRS accountant for decades.

Stan: Ugh, don't remind me. He's always barkin' at me. "Stan, you pay your taxes yet this year?" this. "Stan, you need to contribute to your civic duty.", that. Cripes, ol' Sherm is like the anti-Pines. A Pines is supposed to laugh in the face of rules and authority. This guy huffs whatever authority's smokin' like he's part of a cult. Even when we were kids, he'd always do chores even when he wasn't asked. Kept his room clean as a whistle. Barked at me to do my homework and foiled our pranks when he could. Pure goody two shoes, so much he'd make an angel blush. I think all of our Ma's rebellion genes went to us, and Pa's strictness went to Sherm.

Ford: Yes, so after I returned and we explained to him what had happened, he...

Both men fall into a snicker fest again, unsure who will stop laughing first long enough to tell the story.

Stan: Holy mackerel, he... he... Snort. Picture Dipper at, like, seventy years old, but with an even bigger stick up his ass and even less muscles somehow. Gets told this long, convoluted as hell tale about me fakin' my death and pretendin' to be Ford for three decades, Ford gettin' lost in sci-fi sideburn land for just as long, the world almost ending with Sherm's grandkids along for the ride... just mind bendin' stuff... and the first words outta his mouth... and for reference, this guy never swears, and he never has thrown a punch at anyone... he's so square he's a cube! But he just says...

He wheezes, so Ford has to finish the story.

Ford: Snort. He raises his voice a bit, likely to mimic Shermie's. "I just knew I shoulda kicked your asses more when we were kids."

The two howl and cackle with laughter, leaning on each other for support.

Stan: And then he just... walked away, out his door, down the street to the gas station, bought beer for the - and I'm not kidding - the first time in his life, and sat back down in his old man chair and faced us as we just stood there, gobsmacked, while he cracked one open and drank it with an expression like a man betrayed. And he said-

Ford: "You two knuckleheads are lucky I'm even older than you, 'cause if I wasn't, I'd plant my loafer up your ass! You're gonna sit down, shut up, and let me drink this crap while I process whatever the f*ck I just heard and how many goddamn taxes you owe. And then maybe I'll think about huggin' your sorry asses."

More laughing.

Stan: I'm not sure if he was more mad about the taxes, or the fact that I'd faked my death all those years ago, or... the world ending part where Dipper and Mabes coulda been hurt... or maybe because we drove him to drink and swear and threaten someone for the first time in his whole goddamn life, all in the same day, he... Chuckles. He never really said. All I know is, is I don't think I've ever had my jaw that close to the floor in my life.

Ford: Honestly, I think we just kind of... broke him. Even still, I think he blew our minds more than we blew his.

Stan: He laughs a bit more, then shakes his head. Pfft, can you imagine Sherm kickin' our asses, anyway? He'd probably gently nudge one of our shins and give up. He's too nice for anything worse. That's the thing with our brother: he may be boring as sin, but... he's a good guy.

Ford: He always protected us from bullies when we were kids. Carried us home whenever we sprained an ankle or broke a bone.

Stan: And bought us ice cream whenever we asked, and fixed our bikes, and patched us up, scared the "monsters" outta our closet, and taught us most of what we know. Kind of like a second Dad, honestly, and one a lot less grumpy. A bit more somber. And he helped our parents out in their old age when we weren't around, until the... well, you know. 'Til the end.

Ford: His smile fades, then he sighs, expression a bit bittersweet. And he did actually hug us.

Stan: He scratches the back of his head, a bit embarrassed, but smiling fondly. For three hours straight.

[lindseymcdonaldseyelashes]

Can't believe I'm not seeing more about the Leverage: Redemption Season 3 opening scene they showed at Electric Con (details—to the best of my recollection—under a cut because SPOILERS):

It starts with Hardison and Parker dressed to the nines, walking down the hallway of a big manor. They're on a date in Paris. Kind of. Parker wishes they could be out stealing things, but Hardison reminds her that they're trying to stay on the right side of the law, at least for the time being, because Sophie has been working on mending her relationship with Astrid in London. Parker's still not sold on the concept, given the conflict of interests between their work and Interpol.

We hear a woman speaking German from across the hall. The camera swings over to Sophie, on the arm of a mark as she aggressively butters him up. As Hardison and Parker pass, Sophie hands Parker the man's wallet. Parker takes what she needs before returning it to the mark before the couple strolls away.

Eliot pops in and knocks out the mark (I think) with a good punch. They walk along, and Sophie mentions she's hunting for the perfect gift for Astrid, but doesn't know what to get her—struggling particularly because it'd ideally be a non-stolen object. Eliot says it's also been a bit of a learning curve to reestablish his relationship with his dad. They also mention that Breanna's been looking at colleges along with Harry and his daughter (implying this is going to be an original crew-only episode).

Hardison reenters the scene, now dressed in coveralls and clearly stressed, muttering something to himself about a special ring. Eliot punches out another goon before asking Hardison if "Parker knows."

A door swings open, with Parker hanging upside down in her coveralls on the other side. She asks Hardison what Eliot was talking about, but Hardison manages to dodge her question, walking her across the hall and boosting her into a vent. Parker makes a comment about how the vent has a smell—event the vents in France smell like cheese.

Before long, she's back with a small golden trinket, stolen from a nearby vault from some rich jerk. Problem is, said rich jerk comes around the corner, trying to impress the lady he's with, and they beeline for the vault. He sees it missing and sounds the alarm. Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Eliot are trapped, and they're going to have to think up an exit strategy, fast.

Not to mention all of this happens in one continuous shot (faked with movie magic, but impressive nonetheless).

They also showed a quick cut of bits from later in the season. We got a very fast shot of Alexandra Bligh—implying a possible return of RIZ—and some scenes with some of the costumes from the exhibit—including Harry with a beard and a disguise with some wild sideburns.

Super curious about whether this is going to be a straightforward proposal arc or something more interesting, given that Hardison and Parker's relationship is anything but ordinary and they don't necessarily seem the traditional marriage types. Can't tell you how excited I am for this season to air.

[serpentface]

Full ref outline of the main White Calf characters, a dysfunctional noble family and two monks, all tied with the titular sacrificial wild oxen calf.

Left to right: Couya Haidamane, Faiza Haidamane, Janeys Haidamane, Hibrides Haidamane (née Uryashta), Brakul 'Red-Dog', Palo Apolynnon, Tigran Otto.

Design notes and very brief character summaries below the cut

Couya Haidamane

Odonii priestess, assigned to the sacrificial white calf, pretty sure that God has chosen her as Its emissary. Half sister to Faiza and Janeys. Constantly three seconds away from killing Janeys with a rock. Friends with Hibrides.

Has an awkward demeanor, doesn't talk much, borderline humorless, both intentionally and inadvertently intimidates those around her, regarded as strange and unsettling, very much in her own head most of the time.

32 years old.

Wardi and Titen-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Wardin.

5’9’, yellow-brown eyes, light brown hair, lanky muscular build

Usually wears a men’s styled robe.

Wears a standard issue Odonii's veil and headband.

Almost always carrying her pistol with no sheath, and usually positions it to be prominently exposed.

Often wears her hair unbraided, which is somewhat unconventional.

Terminal resting bitch face and signature cold, dead eyed stare.

Has a mole on the left side of the face, above the lip.

Routine bloodletting scars on the side of her left index finger.

Doesn't wear jewelry unless she has to.

Faiza Haidamane

Senior Odonii priestess, personal friend of the king and a de-facto leader of the pilgrimage, sister of Janeys and half sister to Faiza. Just desperately trying to make sure everything goes alright.

Skilled with diplomacy, shrewd and pragmatic, charismatic and confident, has a bit of a martyr complex about protecting those around her and enjoys power.

35 years old.

Wardi and Titen-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Wardin.

5’6’’, gray eyes, brown hair, wiry build

Hair is almost always braided and worn down the front.

Wears a standard issue Odonii's veil and headband.

Likes to keep her arms bare, and usually wears her cloak around the waist outside of blazing sun or very cold conditions.

Wears a lapis lazuli necklace

Has a serpent pelatoche bracelet she wears on her left wrist, a gift from the king Stavis Amanti.

Really likes the color blue (blue clothing is typical wear for Odonii but it's a thing for her specifically)

Routine bloodletting scars on her lower left forearm.

Janeys Haidamane

Unaccomplished wealthy brat mercenary, is in command of 25 soldiers entirely due to nepotism via Faiza. Married to Hibrides and sworn brother/lover to Brakul.

Generally regarded as unpleasant and an all-around jackass, perpetually anxious and spiteful, superstitious and intensely religious, low self esteem.

34 years old.

Wardi and Titen-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Wardin.

5’6’’, gray eyes, brown hair, wiry and stocky build

Upper arms, thighs, chest and back are covered in razor scars inflicted by Brakul.

He and Brakul have a matching scar through their left eyebrow.

Routine bloodletting scars on his palms and left thumb.

Hair is usually worn slicked back with (obnoxiously scented) oil. When untreated, it’s wavy and falls in a part down the middle.

Has sideburns and a thin beard on his chin. This is the full extent of facial hair he can grow.

Almost always wearing at least one pelatoche charm, usually as a cloak clasp.

He and Faiza look very alike and can pass for twins.

He and Couya share a signature dead eyed stare

Hibrides Uryashta

Daughter of an Erubinnos chancellor, brought along with the wives of noblemen attending the pilgrimage. Miserably married to Janeys. Has a strained platonic emotional affair with Brakul. Friends with Couya.

Shy and somewhat lonely, very nervous about her presentation, very intelligent, frequently condescending, puts up a serious and tough front but is very sensitive. Heavily germaphobic.

5’2’’, hazel eyes, dark brown hair, delicate build

Yuroma-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Erubinnos.

29 years old.

Always well protected from the sun, rarely seen outside without a hat or veil.

Her hair is kept in very long braids, worn down the back.

Wears closed toed high heeled shoes, which keep the wearer away from dirty city streets.

Usually bedecked in jewelry, especially fond of pearls. Has a particularly fine odatochent necklace.

Really likes wading birds and ducks, a lot of her clothes have bird motifs.

Routine bloodletting scars on her right thumb.

Brakul 'Red-Dog' (actual full title- Brakul virsum Kuligan et Borunil an Briyonis ne-Taig an Bict-Urbinnas)

Originally of the Bict-Urbinnas people and considered a 'heathen' by most compatriots, mercenary with a passion for riding sports. Mostly present on the pilgrimage due to nepotism by proxy. Illegitimate father of Hibrides' children, sworn brother/lover of Janeys.

Usually quiet and placid, calculating and thoughtful, prone to startlingly intense emotional outbursts and fits of melancholy and just really fucking annoying self-pity.

37 years old.

Bict-Urbinnas, born and raised in southeastern Greathill in the Erubin River Valley.

6’2’’, brown eyes, light red-brown hair, heavyset muscular build.

Doesn’t particularly like cloaks, and usually wears a less common tunic over his robes.

Has tattoos- clan identifiers on his face and family history on his upper arms, a purely decorative dog over his heart.

Usually keeps his arms covered in public to minimize annoying questions about aforementioned tattoos

Face and forehead is frequently sunburnt, a problem of his own creation (he doesn’t like hats)

Usually wears riding boots and spurs.

Head shaved close to the scalp

His upper arms, shoulders, chest, back and thighs are covered in razor scars inflicted by Janeys. The dog tattoo is avoided.

Matching eyebrow scarification with Janeys.

Palo Apolynnon

Newly initiated Galenii monk, son of glass traders from Godsmouth, assigned with Tigran to the sacrificial white calf.

Thoughtful and analytical, somewhat catty and vain, suspicious of others and slow to trust. He's going through several personal crises that have him under a lot of stress, and has a fairly pleasant (if guarded) personality under normal circumstances.

23 years old.

Kos-Wardi, childhood spent in the imperial city of Godsmouth with a few years in Kosov.

5’10’’, brown eyes, light ash-brown hair, very skinny, lanky build

Has dark purplish-gray patches on his skin from use of hidije in his youth, an (ineffective) alchemical treatment for epilepsy

Only wears his sunglasses in particularly bright conditions/around water (having picked up on sunlight on water being a trigger)

Large forehead and long face.

Benefits socially from not being visually identifiable as a eunuch, though his facial hair has stopped growing.

Usually keeps his hair in a single braid, wrapped around the front (somewhat unconventional)

Has one iron ring per ear, showing he is a 1 year Galenii initiate.

Usually wearing a standard issue Galenii robes, cloak, and sash.

Tigran Otto

Galenii monk since the age of 11, son of immigrant Ubiyan laborers, assigned with Palo to the sacrificial white calf.

Nervous, cowardly, impulsive, a fast and excessive talker, superstitious, very book-smart but devastatingly foolish in action.

19 years old.

Ubiyan, born in a farming village on the Brilla river, has lived in the city of Wardin since the age of 11.

4’11’’, brown eyes, brown hair, short and heavyset build

Perpetually sweaty

He has five iron rings per ear, a sign of a fully initiated Galenii.

His features are considered soft and androgynous, and he is easily visually identified as a eunuch.

Keeps his head shaved to stubble.

Usually wearing a standard issue Galenii robes, cloak, and sash.

Wears a Galenii ceremonial dagger and routinely takes it out to fidget with it.

[highlandwhackamole]

A Grand(ish) Theory of What the Heck

I love the utterly unhinged, super detailed theories about what's going on in Good Omens, especially in season 2. I hope one or more of them turn out to be true, as some kind of glorious puzzle-box-hidden-code monstrosity. And also I think that there has to be a simpler explanation for things, for the people who are at least Somewhat Normal (tm) about this show. (... I assume such people do exist somewhere...) This is what I have been pondering recently.

The thing that started me thinking about this was this post, containing some promotional materials for season 2 that feature main characters with scenes in their heads. Like this:

Seeing this created a very similar situation in my own head, but with a nice shiny lightbulb.

All the weirdness: the car, the sideburns, the clock, the behavior of the folks of Soho, the vanishing storefront signs. The absence of God. I think this is all because everything we see is in their heads.

I don't mean it's made up. At least not entirely. Memory is already a plot point. Why not explore it on a deeper level? I've read theories emphasizing the minisodes' stories being retold by Aziraphale and Crowley. I think the whole season is like that.

You know that sort of conventional-wisdom-fact-concept that you can only dream faces of people you've seen before (or variations therein), because your brain can't make new faces up? So it just fills in what it thinks is close enough? I think that idea, applied to remembering or recollecting things, could explain so many things that are wonky in this show.

Wonky Things

Crowley parking in an impossible London location? He definitely remembers it was in London, so his brain just stuck some obvious London landmarks in there.

Awkward clattering happening when Crowley throws the stacks of books he's inexplicably carrying around the bookshop? He wouldn't actually throw Aziraphale's books! But he'd like to think he's cool and nonchalant enough to do that, and if he did it would definitely make Some Kind of Noise.

Jim walking toward the bookshop from somewhere mysterious? Maggie and Nina saw him first, and he came from that direction, so he must've walked all that way. They don't know about the elevator in the Donkey.

Aziraphale remembers tartan hills and the Loch Ness monster because he was having a jolly time driving through Scotland, so obviously the scenery must've been whimsical Scottish things.

Nina put the Honolulu roast sign up, so she remembers its presence, but perhaps the occult/ethereal visitors to her shop do not.

Maggie really did text Aziraphale about the rent, but a note through the mail slot is a much more dignified way for a scholarly angel to imagine he received a message.

On the Fallibility of Recall

This season is loaded with unrealistic inclusions. The colors are turned up to 11. Some of the scenes are more caricature than believable interaction. Remembering things never copies or reproduces them with what one might call high fidelity.

Scenes recalled by separate memories will inherently vary. One person's hefty jigger might be another person's dash. Who knows for sure where the sun was that day? You and I might recall an event having different lighting or a different color palette, sort of like viewing something with different lens filters.

According to Neil, Crowley is an unreliable narrator of the story of his Fall. He labels the variations in clock times as a continuity error in a show where Everything Is Meant, but he doesn't say whose continuity error it is. He insists that the Bentley is the same through the whole season; maybe it was the same, but remembered differently. Maybe this is part of why there's more CGI but it's harder to spot.

So What?

Is this all there is to it? I sure hope not. I like my Good Omens with enough layers to put to shame an onion wrapped in a cake and covered in a parfait.

Is this possibly the fancy footwork that's distracting from the real magic trick? I wouldn't put it past Our Gaiman. There are a lot of things one could hide in the narrative of unreliable memory.

Is this going to stop me from rewatching and repondering and remaking theories for the next couple years? Not even at gunpoint.

[monster-disaster]

Request for a Grotesque? (Gargoyle is the popular name, but not the correct name).

It’s been a long time since I’ve read a lot of your stories, so please forgive me if I’m repetitive with plots you’ve already done.

Can you make him have DILF energy? Not an actual man with kids or an ex, just a man who’s good with kids, and is on the older side of course. I’m in desperate need of a very affectionate and gentle lover who just wants to overwhelmingly dote and take care of his future wifey. Is being someone’s baby girl too much to ask? T^T I can’t really handle super dominant and aggressive lover types. Like being ridiculously sweet, indulgent, intelligent, and manipulative is such a better archetype to get the girl. Bro don’t hit me in the bedroom. I’m delicate and bruise super easily.

Male x Female reader, if that’s not too much to ask :)

Thanks love!

Gods, I really need a boyfriend like that right now. I hope you will like it! :)

gargoyle/grotesque x Reader Warnings: smut

There is a slight pain at the back of your head. It throbs in sync with your pulse, making you scowl at the screen. The document stares back at you with bright, white lights. The long rows of black text become blurry for a second, and you need to close your eyes to stop yourself from tearing up. "Did you drink enough water?"

The sudden voice makes you jump with a startled gasp. In the process, you push yourself away from your desk, and you need to grab onto the wooden edge. Your eyes snap open, staring at the entrance of your office. "Garog," you say his name, watching him approach you. He is still in his work clothes with a paper bag in his hand. The scent of your favorite takeout fills your nostrils when he puts it on the table in favor of focusing on you. "Did you drink enough water?" He asks again, slipping his thick fingers to the back of your neck, drawing small circles on your tense muscles. A relieved breath leaves your lips at the feeling. You hum. "You can't solve everything with water," you tell him. Garog chuckles, reaching into the bag to put a bottle of water in front of you. "Are you sure about it?" "Thank you," you reply, reaching out for the bottle. You know the gargoyle won't leave you alone until you drink at least a few sips. He massages your neck and shoulders the whole time while you do so. "And eat too," he says after a while, stepping away to grab a chair and put it next to you. The thing creaks under his weight. "It's still warm." "I thought you were at home," you tell him while he is busy with the plastic containers. He shrugs. "I was," he says. "Then I called you twice, and when you didn't answer, I thought you had a rough day." "Did you call?" You ask, wanting to reach for your phone, but Gargog stops you with a gentle smile. "I'm sorry." "It's fine, love," he says. "As I said, I knew you had a busy day." Silence settles between you two while you openly stare at him. He is broad with sharp edges and gray sideburns. His nose is crooked, and you can barely see the color of his eyes when he smiles at you. The grayish shade of his skin seems lighter under the office lights. "Do you need anything else?" He asks. "No," you reply, a bit dreamily. "Sometimes I just forget how lucky I am." He grins at you before leaning down to kiss your lips. It's short and chaste. "I am the lucky one."

You could argue with him but decide against it.

For a while, both of you say nothing and just enjoy the calmness of your office while eating. Every bite and sip of water reminds you that eating and drinking weren't in your priorities today.

You glance at Garog from the corner of your eye. Damn, you really are lucky.

"I can throw them out," you tell Garog after your late dinner when he stands up to clean up your desk. "I want to make some coffee anyway." He frowns at you. "You shouldn't drink coffee this late." With a tired sigh, you lean back on your chair, massaging the side of your head in circles. "You still hurt, huh?" He asks, coming back to your side to rake his fingers through your hair. Your eyes fall shut immediately. "It will be fine," you tell him. "It's not that bad anymore, thanks to you." "My poor baby," he coos, and you laugh at his tone. "But lucky you, I know how we can get rid of it." "Water? Sleep?" You guess, still enjoying his caresses with closed eyes. "Those too," Garog agrees with something in his voice that makes you look up at him. He towers over you with wide shoulders and his wings that peek out from behind him. Your fingertips tingle with the urge to touch them. "But later. Now, I have something else in my mind." You know the heated glint in his eyes too well. He doesn't even have to say or do anything, and your body reacts immediately. "Here?" You ask him, shocked. "What if someone comes in?" You glance at the closed door a few meters away. Garog scoffs at your worry, pulling on your chair to separate you from your desk. "Nobody is here anymore, Y/N," he replies. "You are the only one still working." "Oh." He is right. "Do you trust me?" You almost frown, hearing his question. "Of course." "Then let me have my dessert, love." Something warm and giddy lits in your stomach as you laugh. "It was horrible." "It was not," he grins, getting rid of your pants and panties with one swift motion. "Are you really laughing at me?" He asks, amused. "No," you lie. "At least not for long," Garog grins at you wolfishly, settling on his knees between your legs. Whatever you wanted to say a few moments ago is long forgotten.

His hands are firm but gentle on your legs as he slides them up to your inner thighs, opening you up even more in front of his hungry eyes. "You are already wet," he states, running his thumb over your pussy, gathering your slickness on the tip of his finger. Your stomach flutters with excitement and anticipation. The muscles of your thighs almost hurt in the wide spread you keep them to give enough space for the gargoyle. "Garog," you breath out his name, impatient.

Your hectic day and the bright light of your laptop are forgotten. The only thing that still exists in your world right now is Garog, kneeling and leaning closer to your center. His breath fans over your slit, making you clench around nothing. And you don't have to wait for long to feel his tongue swipe over your wetness. "Fuck!" You groan, letting your head fall against the headrest of your chair. Your nails dig into the leather. He grunts something you don't understand, but to be honest, you don't even care. The rumble of his words surges through your body, searing over your nerves and veins. Your back arches when his tongue runs along your slit, flicking your clit repeatedly until you are a panting mess. Your fingers rake through his hair, keeping him against your pussy. "Oh!" Garog's lips close around your clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth with fever. You feel like a raw nerve, ready to burst. "Don't!' You cry, tightening your hold on his hair when he moves lower to bully your aching hole. "Please!" He hums again in answer, smiling into your pussy for a moment before returning to your clit. Electricity pumps your blood down to your center, and you writhe under him while pleasure builds in your belly. "There!" You mewl into the quiet office, filled with your moans. "Please! Garog!" His tongue rolls around your clit, taking it into his mouth again for a few last sucks to chase you to your orgasm. Your body trembles and shakes. Your hips twitch and push against his warm mouth while he drinks up your juices, humming and groaning with satisfaction. Waves of ecstasy crash through you, and white-hot circles dance in front of your closed eyes. "My girl," Garog hums, petting your thighs. His palms are warm on your skin, massaging your flesh and bringing you back to real life. "Take your time."

When you finally calm down after a few minutes, you feel tired but happy. Your eyelids are heavy, and Garog can't help but smile at your slugged form. "Can you come home with me?" He asks softly, glancing at your laptop. "And maybe we could stay at home tomorrow?" You hum, nodding. "But I need my laptop." "Of course, love," he says. "I put everything away while you get dressed." "I love you," you tell him, and he smiles.

[esteemed-excellency]

1) joke's on you, sideburns were so fashionable in the 70s

2) congrats we made Johann Strauss

like 2 weeks ago i said i would draw grace with different facial hair styles and maybe it should have stayed forgotten. i am so sorry to this man

(stolen facial hair courtesy of @esteemed-excellency & @thunder-threnodies , terrible decision courtesy of @viric-dreams , thank you all >:3 )

[quack-quack-snacks]

Flaming Hearts

My Navigation and Masterlist

Pairing(s): Void Stiles x Phoenix!Fem!Reader Summary: You were always treated like an outcast by the pack. When the nogitsune takes over Stiles's body, he shows you how good being the outcast can feel Warnings: smut, pwp, mean McCall pack, EXTREME OVERSTIMULATION, fingering, cunnilingus, praise kink (tehe), eye contact, vaginal penetration, masochistic Void (kinda for like half a scene), sweet Void, commentary during the deed which is lowkey cringe in some spots my bad y’all, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, reader is not on birth control, Void lowkey baby trapping reader, a lil manipulation but like not bad, updated to have no use of (y/n), I think that’s it lmk if there's more. MINORS CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK. YOU KNOW THE WARNINGS YOU’VE READ THEM A THOUSAND TIMES. Word Count: 10,086

This was a very self-indulgent fic and I’m not sorry.

Pt 2 will be linked here when done.

BRO IS BEAUTIFUL WHAT

(GIFs are by @scuddish thank you scuddish for your wonderful contribution)

Life was cruel, but it made up for it with gifts.

You were new in town, a transfer student, living in a single bedroom apartment that was provided for you by your mother as well as helped by the government of Beacon Hills. You’d felt a calling to be here for the longest time and you were relieved your mom let you go. All throughout the first two weeks of your time attending the new school, you were desperately searching for friends or somewhere to fit into with no luck. On one extremely anxious day, you escaped your class to go to the girl’s locker room and break down there.

Until you saw two boys in there. The shock of two boys being in the Female locker room was enough to shake you out of your panicked state and make you wipe the tears from your eyes. With your vision no longer blurred, you could see the claws on his hands and the intense sideburns and fangs.

When once brown eyes turned a bright glowing amber, your body decided that was too much.

And you fainted.

The pack took you in after that - almost as an apology for making you faint - and allowed you to join their group since you knew about the supernatural now. They let you sit with them, invited you to sleepovers - Allison and Lydia mostly but Scott and Isacc surprisingly asked once. You were so happy to finally find a place that you fit in.

Except they never really let you join completely. No trust other than friendly-non supernatural related matters trust was placed in you despite the continuous ways you proved yourself. Being human, you were outcasted in the group of outcasts. Stiles was human but he was the brains. He discovered things no one else could, he was the detective of the group.

You were more like an emotional support human that was only needed like 2% of the time.

Noah Stilinski, the sweetheart that he is and despite his son’s deepest complaints, took over your living situation and let you stay with them for the year while you attended school at Beacon Hills.

Perfect fucking precious Stiles. He was infinitely the worst one in the group. At first he just avoided you at all costs until his dad decided to room you in the same house as him. Ever since, he’d been sending you glares anytime you were in his visibility and would blame you for the simplest of things despite obviously being the cause of them. He was so hard to get along with. Seeing how he acted around everyone else besides you and how everyone else acted around each other made everything worse. You knew you couldn’t leave because of Noah’s insistence to stay here and your mother not paying for housing anymore since she knew of your improved situation.

You also didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to leave these people. The only friends you can remember having. Those who, despite how they cast you out, have treated you decently well, at the very least sometimes, and took you in at your most vulnerable moment.

Stiles just seemed to hate you for whatever reason.

You sighed as you walked through the front door to the Stilinski household. A sigh escaped your mouth as the door closed behind you.

You called out into the house to let anyone home know of your presence. “I’m back!”

The house was eerily quiet and no response hit your ears. You shrugged it off with the thought of all occupants just being out and were a bit relieved you could have the house to yourself for a bit. They barely let you off on your own. Even now when you spent your time out of the house, you were accompanied by Lydia.

You shrugged your rain coat off your shoulders and took off your muddied boots, not wanting to track it into the house and have an excuse for Stiles to hate you even more. Your bones ached from the long day, having been running around all day trying to do whatever you could to help find Stiles. He had been missing for a while and the group barely filled you in on what was happening, just giving you the quick and vague summary about a nogitsune and a missing Stilinski.

With a sigh, you plopped down onto the living room couch and leaned your head on the back cushion. Your eyes closed and you took a moment to just listen to the quiet around you, the only sound the pitter patter of the pouring rain on the roof and windows. It was calm, peaceful even. You couldn’t remember a time where your life wasn’t a chaotic mess since meeting the pack. You sunk more into the cushions and pulled your knees to your chest while grabbing the TV remote and switching it to your favorite channel.

It was all so dark. So dark yet so comforting. Calloused fingertips caressed your forehead and brushed the hair out of your face. You could feel yourself being brought out of the heavenly ignorant bliss the darkness gave you and groaned in complaint. The fingertips stilled on your hairline, slowly retracting and you let out another sound of complaint.

A soft chuckle that sounded familiar but just out of reach for your sleep hazed brain echoed through the room. You felt yourself slipping back into the darkness when the familiar voice spoke.

“They don’t treat you very well do they, dove?”

Your eyes opened almost hesitantly and when you saw the voice’s face you gasped.

There he was. Stiles Stilinski in the flesh, and yet he seemed so different. His skin was paler, his eye bags sunken in and were a light purple. He looked… hot.

You shook that thought away the moment it popped into your head.

His hand, now resting on your cheek with a gentle grip, was feverish, almost to the point of uncomfort, but not quite.

And then you realized.

It was Stiles.

“Oh my god! Stiles what the hell?” You shot up to sit straight but his hand holding your cheek quickly traveled to your throat and he forced you back down, not holding enough to restrict air flow or hurt, but enough for you to get the message not to move. That and the glare he gave you. A sound of surprise sounded from your mouth unwillingly. “Um.” your eyes traveled from his unnaturally dark eyes to the wrist of the hand wrapped around your neck. “Okay, haha, you’re really funny but you can let go now.” You tried to laugh it off and deescalate the situation despite your growing weariness.

“Now why would I do that, when you look so pretty wearing my hand as a necklace?” He tilted his head and his eyes ran over your body slowly, seeing you shift under his gaze and his smirk growing with each movement.

“Wha- huh?” That was about all the words you could say, nothing coherent coming out of your mouth as you weren’t sure if you were flustered, annoyed, or turned on.

Maybe it was all three.

“Stiles, stop messing around. Everyone has been worried sick about you, they’ve spent the last 2 days searching for you nonstop. We need to call Scott and let him know you’re here and okay.” Although ‘okay’ doesn’t seem like the correct term. Sure, Stiles seemed unharmed, despite the obvious lack of sleep showing on his face - although that was relatively normal for him and his insomnia - but his tone, posture, and manners were way different. It almost seemed as if he had become a different person overnight.

He chuckled again, even his voice seemed deeper. Darker. “Oh I’m sure Scott knows exactly how I’m doing, considering I was at school earlier today. Oh… wait, they didn’t tell you, did they?” His face shifted into a mocking pout. “Poor little dove, outcast even in a place surrounded by people of supernatural abilities. The outcast of the outcasts. A fitting title don’t you think?” His words stung a little but it was nothing you yourself hadn’t already thought of. Him saying it just confirmed your thoughts.

“I mean, they don’t trust you at all. Despite everything you have put yourself through to prove yourself to them, they’ve just pushed it all to the side just because you’re different.” You were getting sick of him taunting you, just approving everything you’ve been telling yourself for the past two months. You rolled your eyes in annoyance and, fed up, you raised your hands to his wrist and tried to pry it off your neck. As soon as your fingers touched the skin of his hand - with a speed you barely saw - he removed his hand from your neck, using both hands to grab your wrists and pin them above your head to the couch’s armrest. He smirked at your dumbfounded expression and shocked stutters.

“You see, I’ve been watching it for a while now, the faltered smiles when one of them would make a comment to the group and cast you out. When they talked about their plans at lunch when you weren’t sitting with them yet and immediately shutting up when you got into ear shot. The way when even you don’t know, they are always following you, always watching. Making sure you were being a good girl.” He smirked once again and shifted your hands to be held by only one of his. The, now freed, hand forced your curled up legs to straighten and then he moved to straddle above you. You were pretty sure your eyes could just pop out of their sockets by how wide they were. His face dipped down and he pressed his nose to your jugular, his lips just barely touching your skin and lightly brushing against it when he talked again.

“But you’ve always been a good girl, haven’t you?” Your breath caught as his teeth lightly skimmed over your neck, canines feeling more elongated and sharper than normal. A shiver went down your spine as his tongue peeked out and slid up your neck until he was right next to your ear.

“Will you be a good girl for me now, dove?”

A whimper almost escaped your bite swollen lips at the pet name, your cheeks heating up and a warmth swirling in your core. “S-Stiles, what’s gotten into you?”

He growled and bit down on your neck harshly, making you release a yelp before it transformed into a muffled moan as he smoothed his tongue over it. “Don’t. Call me that.”

“Call you what? Your name?” You asked, so confused by everything that was happening. Confused on why Stiles was acting this way, confused by why he wouldn’t call Scott, confused on why now of all times your attraction to Stiles had to come out.

You’ve always thought Stiles was attractive. The muscles he hid underneath his baggy flannels, the short glimpse you would see whenever he took his lacrosse jersey off after practice or a game before heading to the locker rooms, and that pretty face that haunted your dreams. Now, it seemed the attraction was even worse because of this new arrogant, cocky, full of himself, and confident attitude. He wasn’t pretty anymore, he was bewitchingly hot.

It also didn’t help that something unmistakable was poking your lower stomach.

“That’s not my name.” He said before quickly positioning himself to be kneeling on the couch in front of you between your legs, your thighs wrapped around his waist and his clothed erection so close to your heat a soft whimper escaped your mouth against your will. He grabbed your neck again, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he smirked and jutted his hips forward.

A gasp that quickly turned into a moan left you and you struggled against his grip on your hands as your cheeks heated, embarrassed by the sounds you were making. You didn’t necessarily want him to stop, you just wanted to cover your mouth so no sound would come out.

As if he could read your thoughts, he spoke. “Oh no no. You’re not going to hide those pretty little noises from me. In fact,” he leaned his face in close, your noses touching and lips inches apart. “I’ve decided I’m going to make you unable to stop making them.” His lips met yours as he thrust his clothed sex against yours again, swallowing the moan that left your mouth. He grinded against you, teasingly slow and you could feel his lips turning into a grin as you tried to quiet your whimpers and moans.

Just as his hand managed to unbuckle your pants, your phone rang from the kitchen counter. Stiles broke the kiss and stared at you with an outraged and lust filled look. He let you get up to go answer the phone with an eye roll.

It was Scott.

“Hey Sco-”

His frantic voice panically calling your name cut you off. “Where are you?”

“Uh, I’m… at home? Or- shit, not my home, the Stilinski home.”

A short sigh of relief was heard through the phone. “Okay, good. Stay there. Lock the doors and windows, do not let anyone in. Absolutely no one, do you understand me? No one! Not until we tell you it’s safe.”

“Scott, it's a bit late for that. Stiles came home a while ago, I’m not sure when bu-”

“Stiles is with you?” Scott’s voice yelled through the phone and you winced before replying.

“Yeah we’ve been… in the living room for the past 20 minutes or so.”

“Get the hell out of there,” Scott said sternly with a bit of fear and anxiety mixed in.

“What? Why?”

His voice broke a little as he spoke your name with a fearful tone. “That’s not Stiles.”

A hand landed over your mouth just as you were about to say something else while another gently took the phone from your grasp. The shock and slight fear of the situation took over both your flight and fight senses, leaving freeze as the only option. Stiles, or not-Stiles, brought the phone up to his ear as Scott shouted through it, his every word stated clearly despite being heard through the phone when not on speaker.

“Sorry, Scottie. Why don’t you call back later? Your girl's a little busy right now.” With that, he hung up.

You turned around slowly only to have Stiles, or not-Stiles, standing inches away from you with a massive evil grin shaping his face. You took a step back only to realize you had no room because of the kitchen counter. Not-Stiles took a single step forward and then grabbed the counter on either side of your body, trapping you. He stuck his face into your neck again, breathing deeply before speaking.

“And here I was wanting to drag it out for a while longer.” He leaned back and looked you straight in the eye with the most genuine smile you had seen from him all night, if not ever. “But alas, not today.” He raised his hand and swiftly brought it down to a pressure point on your neck, knocking you out instantly and catching you with a soft grip as you fell. “Until next time, dove.”

A violent shake and iron tight grips on your biceps violently woke you up, Allison standing above your lying position on the Stilinski couch and looking at you with frantic panicked eyes that calmed when she saw you awaken.

“Oh thank god. You had me worried for a moment there.” She grabbed your hand and lifted you more harshly than you would have liked and you rubbed your wrist when she turned away. “Something’s going on. We need to go to Scott’s house, everyone is already there waiting for us.”

You knew better than to ask any questions. They would tell you what they would tell you and nothing more.

Looking around for your phone, you noticed it was nowhere to be seen and you remembered the events of last night.

Last night…

It had been a whole night since you had seen him. Since Scott had called.

Did they really take a whole night to come see you? To make sure you were okay?

The car ride there was silent and you could feel your anxiety rising the more the silence dragged on. A breath of relief left you as you saw Scott’s house pull up. Allison rushed straight into the house, leaving you behind without a second thought and you rolled your eyes to hide the pain it caused you.

When you entered the house, the chattering from the pack in the kitchen stopped abruptly and they all looked at you. Scott hesitated before he took a few steps toward you and brought you into an awkward hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay. We were all worried.”

You looked around once he let you go and almost scoffed. Oh yeah, they all look really worried. Didn’t have enough time to send someone over to make sue I was alive but they’re so worried.

Over time, they casted you out more and more and became more distant. You were completely left in the dust. Not even just for supernatural matter. Lydia and Allison stopped inviting you for sleepovers; Scott and Isaac stopped having lunch with you outside underneath the apple tree near the lacrosse field; Stiles, funnily enough, was the only one who stayed the same, if not lessened up on the glaring.

You heard a soft speaking from behind you and whipped around to see a sight that made you gasp.

There was Stiles. He was sitting on the couch with a piece of black tape covering his mouth with Melissa sitting next to him, her head in her hands. His eyes shone brightly when he caught sight of you and he tilted his head slightly to the side in a way that made you shift. It was like yesterday’s events were playing on repeat in his eyes and you couldn’t look away.

“I think it’s time we filled you in.” Scott said from behind you and it brought you out of the trance like state Stiles/Not-Stiles had you in.

“Yeah, you’re goddamn right it is.” You said and crossed your arms over your chest. Scott looked slightly shocked at your behavior and scratched the back of his neck. Just as he was about to open his mouth, you interrupted him. “Don’t even. I am getting so sick of how you all treat me. I have proven myself over and over again and you all just refuse to believe that I am on your side. What do I have to do for you to trust me? Do I need to sacrifice a lamb for you to trust me, oh my Lord Jesus Christ?” The last sentence was uttered with as much sarcasm as you could muster. Your outburst left everyone temporarily paralyzed in shock - as you had barely ever raised your voice at them - before a loud, albeit muffled, cackle interrupted the odd silence. You didn’t even have to turn around to know the Stiles imposter was looking at the show with mirth filled eyes.

“We- we never meant-” Scott started.

“Oh shut up, now is not the time for your excuses. Not to mention you practically left me for dead last night after you called, Scottie.” You spat his name out with a venom coated tongue as you interrupted him again and rolled your eyes. “Just fill me in on whatever the hell has happened to Stiles so we can all move on in our lives.”

He nodded and started to tell you everything about the nogitsune, how he had taken over Stiles, how he had stabbed Scott, how he almost killed Kira. By the end of the story you were surprisingly not even phased, whether that be because your mind was used to everything being crazy in your life while involved with the pack or how you just didn’t care. It’s not like they ever treated you that well, sure they were your friends but they were your friends by convenience and force, not choice.

And Void, that is what the nogitsune possessing Stiles’ body was called, well, he was just something else. The events yesterday may be shifting your bias but it was undeniable. You had felt an attraction like never before during those short and blissful moments. It didn’t even feel like Stiles. You know that even if Stiles had ever done something like that, he would never have had the confidence like Void did. And it was a feeling that made you squirm in your seat on the kitchen stool.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled and you risked a glimpse behind to see Void already glaring into your eyes, his eyes darkened by a feeling you could only describe as complete and utter desire.

He wanted you. And if the chance were to come, who were you to deny him?

After 10 minutes of trying to figure out a plan and speaking in hushed tones to avoid Void hearing, Lydia had given in and called someone, you didn’t know who but it seemed everyone else did.

Once again they left you out. Even after you lectured them about how much they did that.

More waiting happened until the bang of the front door being slammed open interrupted your increasingly anxious thoughts. With a too gleeful expression for the situation on his face, the one and only Peter Hale stood in the doorway with his arms opened in a grand gesture.

You all gave him a deadpan stare.

He rolled his eyes and walked up to all of you, more specifically, to you. He tilted his head as he noticed your eyes. You turned your head to control yourself. When you were anxious, or just feeling any strong emotion, your eyes seemed as if the irises caught on fire. They were frighteningly beautiful.

And you hated them.

As your heart steadied and you raised your head back to the group again, Peter’s interested gaze had shifted away from you and to Lydia with a knowing look before walking to Stiles. As he crouched in front of him and inspected his state of being, he spoke. “He doesn’t look like he would survive a slap across the face, much less the bite of a werewolf.” You assumed Lydia already filled him in on what the situation was and what the plan was.

“You don’t think it would work?” Scott asked anxiously as he picked at the skin around his fingers.

“This is more a war of the mind than the body.” Peter stood back up to his full height. “There are better methods to winning this battle.” The mischievous glimpse in his eyes made you worried about what these ‘better methods’ were.

“What methods are you thinking of?” the veterinarian, Deaton, asked, his expression also showing concern.

Peter turned to face the rest of you. “We’re going to get in his head.”

As soon as he said that, he walked toward Lydia and roughly grabbed her by the elbow. With her being right next to me, you instinctively reached out and grabbed the wrist attached to the hand holding her. Peter’s loud unbridled yelp of pain made you rip your hand off him and he cradled his wrist as you caught a glimpse of it.

It was completely scorched.

Your face morphed into one of horror as your eyes flicker between the burn marks on his wrist that were, thankfully, already healing and the ashes on your palm.

“Oh my god! What did you do?” Lydia screamed at you and panicked as she grabbed Peter's arm, careful not to touch the wound.

“I- I didn’t- I don’t-” You kept trying to speak but your mind was panicking and your body was overwhelmed with shock and fear. Fear of yourself.

“It’s quite alright Lydia.” Peter said after a second when his hand had healed for the most part, it seemed the wound looked much worse than it actually was and all that remained was a red handprint and some ashes.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what happened.” You held the hand you used to your chest as if to protect everyone else from it. Deaton walked up from behind you and put his hand on your shoulder before flinching away.

“Your skin is burning. Scott, get her some ice.” Scott rushed to the fridge and brought out an ice pack. He practically shoved it into your hands before pulling his hand away quickly. He tried to hide it but his eyes showed fear.

It hurt, seeing them all looking at you like that. They tried to hide it but they looked at you the same way they looked at Void. They looked at you like you were a monster.

The ice pack in your hands was such a contrast to your burning skin that it forced your brain to focus on its contrasting temperature until you realized it was melting through your palms. You quickly hid your hands and the melted plastic of the ice pack in your pockets before anyone could see.

Anyone besides the boy sitting on the couch that is.

Peter reached for Lydia again, slowly this time and much gentler than before. You didn’t even look at them as they walked away, choosing instead to just stand there with your eyes focused on the hand you burned the man with.

After a while, they came back to the group and you all migrated to the couch where Stiles sat. You avoided his eyes like the plague, knowing they were zoned in on your every move and smiling in delight when he knew he’d gotten to you with just his mere presence.

Lydia was seated on one end of the couch, Void the other, with Scott standing behind the couch in the middle of them. Peter moved Scott’s fingers to align with the correct place to connect them all into Stiles’ mind palace.

“So what do we do if we do find him?” Scott asked.

“You’re going to have to guide him out somehow…” Peter replied vaguely which caused Scott and Lydia to both become increasingly annoyed and you rested your elbows on your knees before holding your head in your hands.

“Could you elaborate on ‘somehow?’ It’s not feeling very specific at the moment.” Lydia sighed with a slight roll of her eyes.

Peter shrugged, “Improvise.”

“Mm. Improvise he says.” you muttered under your breath but everyone ignored you.

Everyone except the murderous brown eyes burning a hole through your skull.

“What if this is just another trick?” Scott worried.

The grown wolf groaned in annoyance and exasperation. “When are you people going to start trusting me?”

You scoffed, thinking the exact same thing.

Scott’s eyes flickered between you and the hyena before he said, “I meant him.” And pointed to the possessed body on the couch. You finally raised your gaze to watch the scene unfold and felt your heart settle into your lower region when you saw Void. His head leaned against the back of the couch, tilted to the side as his eyes were focused on you, an enchanting and hungry look settling in his eyes as they gazed at you. He gave you a slow once over and everything around you tuned out as you felt your body heat up and pool in your panties. You could tell, if the black tape covering his lips was off, he would be sporting a very arrogant smirk.

A synchronized gasp from all three members near the couch broke your gaze with him as his eyes closed and his head fully fell against the back of the couch, face now facing the ceiling.

You almost stood up to go to him before a sigh from Peter faltered your movements and he spoke.

“Now we wait.”

And wait you did. It seemed like time was not in your favor when everything your life had become to know as normal was at stake. It couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes, but to you?

It felt like hours.

Blood dripped down Lydia’s nose and Peter ran up to her, shaking her as he screamed at her to concentrate and that she was stronger than this.

Personally, you couldn’t draw your eyes away from Void. His breathing was soft, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swallowed and chest rising and falling with each inhale and outhale.

Meanwhile another Hale was pissing you off.

Just as you were about to call him out for being too loud, A collective gasp from the two non-possessed members near the couch once again interrupted you.

Melissa rushed toward Lydia to help her and Scott took a few deep breaths before focusing all his attention to the Stiles look-alike. “Did it work?” He asked frantically. You sighed and rested your head against your knees, arms wrapping around your shins to hug yourself in disappointment, the anticipation disintegrating into the thin air.

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” Lydia stood up quickly and rushed to Peter, demanding answers he evidently couldn’t provide.

“Because it’s not science, Lydia, it’s supernatural.” Peter sighed before grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him menacingly and they spoke in hushed whispers before Void shot forward onto his knees to the floor.

Like a circus act, a seemingly unending length of fabric spit from Void’s mouth and he used both hands to pull it out. Unnerving moments went by as everyone watched before all the scarf-like material was out of his mouth and he scrambled back to sit on the couch again, panting with his head resting against the cushion and his eyes closed.

There was clattering and yells to the side but you just stood carefully and walked to where Stiles was sitting on the couch. You sighed in nervousness before touching his shoulder softly and attempting to comfort him since all the others of the pack were focused on the clump of fabric behind you.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, everything will work out. Just calm down.” You went to pull your hand away as his breathing slowed but he reached up and grabbed it with a speed non-human. Your heartbeat started rising again as the realization dawned on you.

He opened his eyes and looked at you with a smirk and heavy lidded eyes. “You’re right dove.” He tugged on your hand and you fell forward into him, his free arm wrapping around your waist aggressively. Or was it possessively? “Everything will work out.”

You awoke in a cold concrete walled room, the only warmth over you being your clothes and a soft woven blanket that did a surprisingly good job at staving off the chill. A soft padded queen size mattress with no support laid underneath to separate you from the frigid floor. You couldn’t remember passing out but you knew exactly where you were.

Or rather, who you were with.

Getting a sense of deja vu, calloused fingertips traced over your forehead to your hairline before going back again in a figure 8 pattern.

Your heart beat rose and his fingers trailed from your forehead to your neck, right over your pulse. You opened your eyes and looked at him where he sat; he looked genuinely happy, in a sick, twisted way. Despite how comforting the smile was, it sent shivers down your back that you couldn’t tell were pleasant or not.

“Hi dove.”

His voice broke you out of the trance his hypnotizing eyes put you under every time. You sat up quickly and scooted away from him, falling off the bed - luckily not falling down far because of how low the mattress was to the ground - and looked at him with conflicted thoughts and emotions.

He looked faux surprised and hurt by your actions, standing up and walking toward you as you scrambled to your feet to get away from him. “What’s wrong? You were so enthusiastic about it earlier, what changed?” You gasped as your back hit the concrete of the wall and he cornered you, one hand going to rest against the wall next to your head and the other holding your waist under your shirt. His fingers against your skin felt incredibly hot compared to the cold seeping through your shirt from the wall. He leaned in to speak again and his breath hit your lips with every word. “I promise I won't bite.”

Liar.

He leaned into your neck but didn’t touch you, only letting you feel the heat emanating from his body but not the skin. He took a deep breath in and you had to bite your lip and clench your eyes shut to stop yourself from falling to his feet.

It hadn’t gone away. The undeniable urge to just jump his bones and feel more of that pleasure he seemed so willing to offer.

“But of course, it's no fun if you don’t consent…” he leaned back and the hand that was previously on the wall next to your head traveled to your neck which he tilted upwards to lengthen your neck and looked at you with a smirk and hungry eyes ready to devour you. “So why don’t you be a good girl and tell me how much you want this,” he leaned in and his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, “I can practically hear you throbbing.”

A soft whimper left you when his hand on your waist drifted to tug your pants down the slightest bit but never went farther without you answering. A few moments of silence passed, only interrupted by your soft pants, and he sighed in disappointment, his grip on your neck and waist slowly being removed.

Your eyes shot open from their closed state, you didn’t stop to think about when they had closed, and you grabbed his hands before they could leave your body. He looked at you expectantly and you opened and closed your mouth like a fish a few times before answering him with a soft and whispered: “I want it.”

His grip returned to your skin but his hand tugging your pants traveled back to your waist to draw little shapes there, tickling you just the slightest bit. “Oh dove, I’m proud of you for trying, but that’s not what I want.” His hand around your throat tightened pleasantly. “I want you to beg.”

Your eyes widened and you forced your cheeks to cool and swallowed your pride.

“Please?” You tried, weakly.

“Oh I know you can do better than that. Try again.” He didn’t say it as a suggestion.

With a deep breath and your hand, still around the wrist grabbing your neck, tightening, you did what he wanted.

You begged.

“Please, please I want it. I do, please, just… just do something, please! Anything! Please… P-please.”

He had a pleased smirk on his face as he leaned in so you were only a few inches apart. You could feel his breath on your neck with every exhale.

“How much do you want?” He taunted.

“Everything. Whatever you'll give me.” You told him with a tone of desperation.

He smirked and looked at you approvingly before crushing his lips against yours in a brutal kiss that sent you to cloud 9. Your hands traveled to his hair and you pulled on it roughly as you kissed back with just as much fervor. You felt him groan into the kiss and you grinned, but it soon faded as a moan formed when he pressed his fingertips to your core through your pants.

“My, my. All this just from kissing? You flatter me.” He spoke against your lips in a low tone. You knew exactly what he was talking about. You were absolutely soaked. The moment he started walking toward you, you felt the warmth in your core building and it hadn’t stopped since. Your head fell back against the wall and Void kissed down your neck to your collarbone, leaving bruises and hickeys in his wake. Applying more pressure, he dragged his hand up your core, pausing momentarily to draw tiny intense circles to your clit before using his hand to skillfully undo the buttons and pull your pants down. He broke the kiss to kneel down before you and look you straight in the eyes as he dragged the pants down your legs excruciatingly slowly. You hadn’t noticed previously but now realized your shoes were gone.

Who would’ve thought Void wouldn’t want dirty shoes on the mattress. Huh.

He stood back up to his full height and looked down at you as he rubbed your heat over your panties. He studied every expression you made and committed them to memory. His expression soon changed to one of annoyance, angry at the lack of skin to skin contact between the two of you. He ripped the undergarment into pieces before taking a step back to strip off his shirt. He paused just as he was about to step to you again.

You squirmed under his gaze as he gave you a long once over and his eyes stopped on yours. Another emotion in his eyes, one you couldn’t quite recognize, clouded over his lust temporarily. “What?” You asked self consciously and moved your hands to cover yourself, thinking he didn’t like your body.

Before your hands could even reach past your hips, he reached out and grabbed each wrist, ignoring your shocked gasp and pinned them against the wall beside your head. “Don’t ever fucking do that again. You’re insecure? You don’t think you’re attractive?” He taunted angrily. He pressed his lower body into yours, his rather large, clothed, erection pressing to your bare clit as he grinded it into you. You moaned and he leaned into your neck again, being much rougher than he was a minute ago. “Ya feel that? That is all you dove. You fucking did that to me. You do that to me wearing baggy clothes and no makeup. You do that to me fresh out of bed in the morning with your hair in knots. You’re doing that to me right now, trapped between me and the wall, a silly shirt covering your divine breasts and nothing else.” He bit down on your shoulder hard enough to draw blood and you let out a loud moan. “You’ll take responsibility for it soon enough.” He arranged your hands to touch and he grabbed them both with one hand, the other sliding down, spending time to caress your breasts and pinch your nipples through the thin shirt fabric. He moved lower and lower until he reached your heat and thrust two fingers in with no warning. Without even letting you adjust, not that you really needed to with how wet you were, he started pounding his fingers into you. You started moaning uncontrollably and struggled to get out of his grip to hold onto something. He humored you and released your hands. Immediately they fell to his shoulders and then wrapped around his neck to pull his face into your neck where he started to leave his love bites. He grabbed the back of your right thigh and lifted it, wrapping it around his waist which allowed him to hit deeper. With every thrust, he curled his fingers and they hit you right in your pleasure spot.

Soon enough you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. It built and built and you warned Void about what was incoming.

“Oh that’s right, cum on my fingers dove. Let me know who makes you feel this good. Stiles could never fuck you like this. He could never bring you to such pleasure. To the point where your every bone quakes and sings in an overwhelming amount of pleasure that I alone am giving you.” His grip on your waist tightened to the line bordering between pain and pleasure just as his thrusts sped up to a pace faster than you believed even possible.

“Cum.”

And you did just that. Your bones really did quake and sing with pleasure. Your body writhed and you thrust yourself against Void’s fingers, grinding yourself through your orgasm despite him not slowing down and riding you through too.

Your orgasm slowed down to a stop and you took a deep breath before another loud and unrestricted moan released during your exhale and you noticed Void had yet to stop or even slow down.

“Ah, st-slow do-down-! It’s-ah-it’s too much!” You begged and yet he just smirked and increased his pace.

“Oh sweetheart, isn’t this what you wanted? You told me you wanted everything, you wanted all of it.” You swallowed in a lust filled fear as he smirked even wider. “So darling, you are going to take all of it.”

He led you on to another orgasm by his fingers alone. Your puffy clit was begging for attention after being neglected for so long. When you reached your high, he slowed down and pulled his fingers out. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from whining at the emptiness. He brought his fingers to his lips and stared you straight in the eyes as he brought them into his mouth and moaned at the taste.

You blushed and tried to look away until his free hand came up to grab your jaw roughly and force you to face him as he licked and sucked at his fingers, prolonging your embarrassment.

When he was satisfied with how much embarrassment he could feel radiating off you, he pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a pop before he grinned. His hands gently placed themselves on each of your hips and he leaned in until your lips barely grazed each other’s.

“That little taste just makes me want to have more. Which reminds me, I haven’t had my dinner yet. Do you mind?” You tried to lean forward and kiss him but he just leaned his head back until you gave an answer. You nodded your head no and he grinned.

“There’s my good girl.”

He leaned in and kissed you softly, so softly it distracted you from the hands on your hips traveling to your butt and quickly lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist. Without moving his feet an inch, the wall behind you suddenly disappeared and he threw you down onto the queen bed mattress. You landed with a small bounce.

You looked at him in shock and confusion but he just grinned and winked.

Teleportation. Huh. Must be a nogitsune thing.

He kneeled down in front of the bed and ripped your shirt off before grabbing your thighs to bring you to the edge. You yelped and stared as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, the backs of your knees curving over them. He gave another little wink before diving in.

You moaned as his lips finally gave attention to your clit and a shock of pleasure swarmed through your veins. Your head fell against the mattress and your eyes clenched shut when the euphoria became too much to your, still sensitive, core.

A loud slap and the stinging on your outer thigh caused you to flick your eyes open and look at the man between your legs.

“The next time you look away from me I will edge you for three new moons.” He spoke right against your cunt and you could feel the vibrations surging through your clit. With a moan, you nodded and adjusted yourself to lean on your elbows and look at him. He brought his tongue out to lick a long stride up your cunt and collected your slick in his mouth before going straight back into his meal.

You had no doubt he would stay true to his word if you looked away, so you kept your eyes firmly on him, despite every protest in your veins to close your eyes when it became too much.

When the coil in your gut built up again, he could feel you approaching your orgasm and looked you right in the eyes. You blushed and were so tempted to look away but he tightened his grip on your thighs in a warning.

You came again for the third time. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him but they fluttered shut every few seconds as he kept licking and sucking at your overstimulated clit.

When he seemed satisfied two mind blowing orgasms later, he climbed up your body, one of your legs falling to surround his waist while the other he kept suspended over his shoulder.

“You did so well. You’re such a good girl, following orders with no questions.” He kissed you and you could taste yourself on his tongue. “They don’t deserve you, they never did.” He murmured against your lips before his head traveled to the curve of your neck and shoulder.

He took his pants and boxers off in no time, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds and over your clit.

Your mind was racing with too many conflicting emotions to comprehend: want, fear, lust, panic. You looked down and saw him.

He was big. Bigger than any guy you’ve ever seen, not that that was many considering you were a virgin.

“I am going to ruin you. No one else will ever be able to make you feel the way I do. Every time you cum from this point on will be from my body, no one else's.” He spoke menacingly while he watched in awe as your overstimulated clit twitched whenever he ran the head of his dick across it. The mushroom tip of his cock caught along your entrance through every glide up and down until he stopped and pushed it fully in.

“Wait, wai-ngh!” You tried but got interrupted by your own moan when he thrusted all the way in to the hilt, his tip pressed against your cervix in a mind blanking way. The sting of the stretch was there but was completely oversighted by the immense pleasure that came with it. You gasped at the feeling and wrapped your arms around his shoulder to scratch at his back. His back quickly covered in nail marks and marks of ash and burned skin.

You gasped in horror at the unwilled release of your fire until he moaned loudly - filled with both pleasure at the pain and entrance of your slick walls. Any sounds he had tried to hide completely spilled out. “Shit, keep doing that d-dove. Mark me all you want. Make me yours. F-feels so good; you’re so tight. Are you a virgin or something? You’re squeezing me to death, I don’t know how much longer I can take with you so tight around me.”

You froze at the accusation and turned your head the opposite of his, not answering his question.

A sigh escaped you when he started leaving kisses on your neck, slowly dragging out of your entrance before entering back just as slowly. An elongated moan left your mouth when he hit a certain spot on his way back in.

“Oh it’s alright my sweet girl. This just means I’m able to take another thing Stiles has been longing for. If only I was able to take your first kiss too.”

You almost missed what he said when he snapped his hips into yours harder and you sputtered unintelligible words at the movement.

“He-agh-he what?” You asked him as he left a soft bite on your clavicle.

“Oh yeah, I don’t think there was a corner of his mind that wasn’t filled with the idea of you. Poor little Stiles couldn’t stop imagining you like this.” He mocked. “He would’ve fucked you with your chest to the bed and you ass sticking up all nice and pretty but I don’t think you’d like that, would you sweet girl?”

Your heart skipped as he rose to look into your eyes. “No, I don't think you would.” He roughly snapped his hips to yours again before putting on a mock sympathetic look. “You want them to look at you as you’re getting pleasure you’ve never before received.” Another harsh thrust and you moaned loudly which he silenced by sticking two fingers in your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. Your lips immediately wrapped around his and you grazed your teeth along the sensitive skin. He tasted like salt and your cum along with a hint of blood. “You want that skin to skin contact as they bring you within an inch of your life and back.” Another thrust. “You want someone to make love to you, no fucking around.”

You moaned especially loud at that. You didn’t want to lose your virginity for something that wasn’t going to mean anything. You’ve known Void for less than two days and yet you feel more connected with him than all the McCall pack combined. It seems he feels the same way from how he’s talking.

“I'm the one who took your first time, and I will be the one to look into your eyes as you receive the pleasure I am giving you; I will be the skin you feel against your own as I move inside you;” He paused for a second as he leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, biting softly on the nub, and smiling as you whimpered in return. “I will be the one to make love to you.”

You grabbed the hand thats fingers were in your mouth and pulled them out before grabbing his cheeks between and pulling him into an aggressive kiss. You whimpered and moaned as he sped up, reaching deeper and deeper with every thrust. The hand that was once in your mouth traveled down your body slowly, smearing your saliva across your nipples as he played with them before settling against your clit. Just the slightest graze from his fingers made your spine arch up into his chest in anticipation and pleasure. He started rubbing figure eights into the pleasure bud, matching them with the pace of his thrusts.

Your lips opened in a moan and Void took the opportunity to shove his tongue against yours. He took control of the kiss instantly and rubbed his tongue along every inch of the inside of your mouth, exploring it like looking for treasure marked on a treasure map.

You tried to speak and warn him about your upcoming orgasm but you couldn’t drive his mouth away from yours, needing to breathe in through your nose every minute or so so you didn’t pass out. He pressed the fingers against your clit down harder as if to encourage you to cum and and you came beautifully. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve experienced tonight if not ever. Your body was shaking in exhaustion after the multiple orgasm you’d received within the last 30 minutes, or was it closer to 2 hours? You weren’t sure but honestly didn’t care. You could feel by the way Void broke the kiss and pushed his head into the crook of your neck along with the tensing of his back muscles that he was nearing his orgasm as well.

Then it occured to you, this whole time he was using no protection.

And you weren’t on birth control.

“N-no-agh-you gotta pull o-out. ‘Might get pre-ngh-pregnant. I’m not on birth c-control.” You focused all your energy on speaking despite the overwhelming overstimulating feeling of him driving his dick into your cervix and his thumb making you lose every thought that came to your head with his torturous but amazing touches.

He suddenly came to a complete stop inside of you. His dick twitched as the only sounds heard were your heavy breath and whines of complaint despite your better judgment.

“You’re not on birth control?” He asked into your neck, skimming his lips along your carotid artery.

“No.” You whispered.

You felt him grin that same evil grin you’ve seen before against your neck before biting down hard on your neck and withdrawing his hips from yours. You cried out at the feelings of pain and emptiness overflowing your senses.

“You don’t wanna have my babies, is that it?” He whispered into your neck with a tone that sounded almost heartbroken. You knew it was fake yet something in you just wanted to comfort him.

“N-no that’s not-”

He sat up abruptly, his cock now only half an inch in your entrance. The leg that rested on his shoulder fell to surround his waist with the other one and he sat back on his heels while grabbing your hips. His face looked so sad as he gazed down at you and yet his eyes seemed to hold a completely different emotion.

“Why not, dove? I’d give you everything.” His grip on your hips tightened and he slowly pulled your hips into his using only the strength of his arms. He slid back into you easily and his tip settled against a spot that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head and mouth opening in a low moan. Void grinned as he saw your reaction before returning to the pitiful look as he drew his hips back out again. His lips quirked up the slightest bit as you whined out. Pulling your hips into his roughly, he kept you there as you moaned louder. “I mean, if you really want me to stop…” He slowly started retreating out of your warmth as he trailed off before your arms wrapped around his neck.

“No!” You yelled before whispering almost like an echo, “No.” You breathed heavily in his ear, sputtering as you tried to get the next sentence out with his tip prodding against your cervix ever so delightfully. “Please don’t stop, y-you just can’t c-cum inside.”

He thrusted roughly into you again and your arms lost all strength as the mind blowing pleasure took over your mind. He repeated that cycle. Slowly pull out, roughly snap back in. Over and over and over. It made you whimper and cry out every time, wishing he would just bring you to the ecstacy you’ve been nearing instead of leaving you teetering on the edge of relief.

“Oh you feel so good baby, gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum.” He repeated like a mantra as his hips fastened and he pushed into you even harder.

Your mind was fogging over as you finally got the pleasure you needed to reach your orgasm. You barely had the strength to move your tongue and speak out your protests that were weakening by the second, you actually wanted his cum. You want it to be spilling out as you stand up, soaking your underwear as you walk around. You just were so scared of being pregnant. Your sister got pregnant when she was around your age. Your mother completely freaked when she found out and banished - yes, banished - her from the house forever.

Would Void stay? You still weren’t exactly sure what his intentions with you were. Was he going to kill you after this? Was he going to make you pregnant and leave you alone to raise the child on your own?

Apparently, Void could sense the onslaught of fear and panic creeping into your mind because he shoved his face into your neck and dug the pads of his fingers into your hips even harder. There was surely going to be a bruise the next coming day.

“Oh you’re going to look so good pregnant with my kids. God it just makes me so hard thinking about it. I wonder what they’ll look like, will they have your eyes or mine? God I hope they have yours so I can stare into them all day no matter where I am. This is the one thing I need to do to make you mine. You gonna let me make you mine, Dove? You gonna let me cum inside?” His pace slowed to a comforting, intimate pace. It brought you even closer to the edge just thinking he liked you enough to stay, maybe even loved you from how he was thrusting into you now.

You took a few moments to think about it before your mouth outran your thoughts. “Yes! Yes, Void, please. Please fill me up.”

He kissed your neck softly as his pace fastened again but still kept the intimacy from before. He pushed back the hood of your clit and started rubbing harshly on the overstimulated puffy bud of pleasure, making you lose all coherent thoughts and abilities to do anything but moan out his name. With a stuttered thrust, he pushed in all the way and came inside you. The feeling was enough to make you fall over the edge right with him. You both laid there in each-others arms while you tried to catch your breathing.

Void caught his a lot faster.

With a chuckle, and his dick as hard as when you started, he grabbed both of your legs, raising them so they were resting on his shoulders and he had you in the mating press and pressed your thighs against your breasts as he thrust into you with no reprieve. He pulled out of you before pushing back in, a torturously slow pace that made your body writhing and squirming. You gasped at the feeling and squirmed in his hold from the overstimulation. This new position made it so he hit your g-spot on every thrust in with no effort. As he brought one hand down to your clit again and rubbed so deliciously hard and slow, just like the pace he had set for his thrusts into you, you couldn’t take it anymore and came yet again. He had brought you to another orgasm in less than 2 minutes.

“Oh, you didn’t think we were done yet, did you, Dove? We have to make sure it sticks, don’t we baby? Gotta get you nice and knocked up with my kids. We can’t just stop now.”

With each slow thrust and the overstimulation, it didn’t take long before you came again and Void had the biggest smirk on his face as he watched you.

“V-void! P-ple-I can-can’t take anymore. I can't, I can't, I can't!”

He just laughed at you and your protesting words, capturing your hands that were weakly trying to push him away and forcing them to stay above your head where they were restricted of all movement. He pressed down even harder on your clit and you let out a yelp of a moan as you could feel another knot forming. “Darling, you don’t get to decide what’s too much. I'm in charge here, Dove, and you’re done when I say you’re done. You’ll take as much as I give you.”

His words turned you on so much more which surprised you as you didn’t think you could be any more turned on. You came once more and could tell by how Void’s face scrunched up in pleasure that he was reaching his limit as well. His dick pulsed inside of you, each vein had a throbbing heartbeat that struck so painfully good against your walls.

“One more, just one more, Dove. Give me one more.” He groaned out as he held his own orgasm back and rubbed rigorously at your clit while his pace increased to an unfathomable level. Finally, as you came yet again, Void released inside of you again.

He collapsed on top of you, his head landing on your chest, pillowed by your breasts. He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth as his slick fingers resumed their torture of your extremely overstimmulated clit. They rubbed slowly but it felt so much more intense than all the previous times that he had brought you pleasure. It burned in the best way possible.

“One more, come on, I know you have one more in you.” He encouraged, again. It seemed like he would just never stop.

He was utterly insatiable.

You came once more for the final time of the night and Void rewarded you with kisses scattered all across your chest for all of your efforts.

With your eyes barely able to remain open. and your limbs drained of any energy, Void looked at you with a soft look and gathered you in his arms. He grabbed the blanket that had been kicked off during the time of your… activities, and covered the both of you with it.

With his cock still deep inside of you, keeping everything he spent trapped within you, he whispered, “Good night, Dove,” and pressed a kiss to your temple. That night, you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling more safe and at home than you have ever been before.

[legacygirlingreen]

My silly little HCs for Sebastian Sallow

Some of these are really random but I’ve just had an abundance of HC lately so I thought I’d share:

✨ I GENUINELY see a world in which Sebastian could be slightly messy in some areas and very orderly in others. I don’t think he’d be messy in EVERY aspect of his life. Sure his hair is messy (this i attribute to it’s natural texture and the fact he’s a teen boy and likely doesn’t care that much about it), that large stack of books near his bed and on his desk are messy and I’m sure his life can at times be pretty chaotic - but I get the vibe he still cares on occasion. He’s always dressed properly for class, no less than Ominis or his other classmates. I’m sure his papers and class notes are very immaculately organized and he’s got a system that on surface level looks chaotic but to him makes sense for his books and other possessions. I also don’t see it possible that he can be a complete slob either given how small the feldcroft house is and having to share it with Anne and Solomon (and Ominis).

✨ I think as a child he definitely had to learn how to self sooth, or find ways to entertain himself. We get hints that his parents were often locking themselves downstairs to research, leaving him and Anne to their devices and he seems very well liked by his professors - so this leads me to think that with the exception of the resitricted section and occasional mischief, he may not be as “high strung” as he’s often made out to be. With the amount of time he spends reading, snacking and just overall finding ways to keep from boredom, I can see a world where afternoons with Sebastian are much more laid back than one would imagine.

Which leads me into some loose ideas I think he’d conceive if he was dating you/MC:

* laying in the grass together on sunny days, reading silently, pointing out cloud shapes or looking for 4 leaf cloves together

* swimming in the sea in summer, sunbathing on the shores, skipping rocks

* baking the muggle way and enjoying homemade pie over candle light and engaging in thought provoking conversations

✨ I don’t think that Sebastian cares too much about his physical appearance as a teenager but I can definitely see it slowly becoming more and more a priority as he ages. Several people have pointed out that there’s a razor in their dorm and if you zoom in you can see he’s got the appearance of hair follicles on the high resolution zoom in screen grabs, so I think by seventh year he’s experimenting with facial hair. Probably sideburns or just a mustache as that would’ve been fashionable for the time, but I can see him letting his sideburns go in his least year at hogwarts. He’d claim it was “more convenient that way” since he “didn’t have to waste as much time shaving his whole face” but in reality he just feels more grown up and mature and he likes it - but likely wouldn’t want to be seen as vain.

✨ Sebastian grew up with a twin sister and is likely quite well versed in female anatomy and issues… he’s more than likely a SAINT when it comes to that time of the month, however I don’t think he’d see it as anything to mention. Likely just know it’s roughly that time again, casually offer more snacks, perhaps offer a simple back rub without saying anything, or other varieties of comfort without acknowledging WHY he’s doing so. If you ever bring it up he’d likely just shrug and say “just tying to be helpful since I know you likely don’t feel well” And leave it at that.

✨ I can see a variety of the love languages being important to him. I do agree he likely responds well to physical touch. You cannot convince me otherwise that he would not adore having someone play with his hair. He turns into a puppy immediately and it’s canon as far as I’m concerned. He also likely knows some mild form of braiding due to Anne so he probably equally enjoys returning the favor in that way. Sebastian gives me more strong touch in private but little to no PDA . Exceptions can be made for timely acceptable actions like a hand on the arm to escort but nothing crazy like necking in halls.

✨ however… private Sebastian could be a mixed bag. Initially I see him slightly nervous. Sebastian seems confident and headstrong in areas he’s familiar but we don’t see him ever feel unprepared. I get the sense he’d be anxious when he’s going in completely blind to new arenas like physical relations with a girl… So early on here May be apprehensive. I agree with the thought he would research all he could and go out of his way to make sure they were comfortable and he prevented pain. But once he’s got a good handle in it… he’s always looking to improve until he’s confident he’s making you feel incredible…

✨ Sebastian finds feminine hands to be so interesting. Despite not liking PDA I can see him constantly grabbing yours, examining them, admiring the softness, pressing kisses to the back of them, and just all around finding them so insanely beautiful despite being so simple.

✨ Sebastian sallow definitely is the type to practice his signature constantly. He gets bored in class I imagine, with as much reading as he does, he’s likely way ahead of his peers. It’s common to see him doodling out new ways of signing his name and he still hasn’t found the way that’s quite him yet but he will eventually…

✨ deep down I think he can be very self conscious. I imagine he’d find certain features less than perfection … such as his wide nose or bushy eyebrows. Dark eyes and dark features are quite common , I can see a world in which he so often feels quite plain. However the right partner coming along and kissing that button nose or playfully stroking his brow while he rests his head in their lap would slowly make him feel better about what he sees in the mirror. Being complimented on his appearance, something I’m sure gets lost in his many talents, would mean the world to him.

✨Sebastian has a sweet tooth and would 100% rock the dad bod when matured . He’s lean now with all the hogwarts cardio, but once he slows down he’s getting thicker. Just look at Solomon and tell me the sallow genes aren’t slightly husky (Also check out @rednite-dork bc she’s got some awesome art depicting a more aged up, dad bod seb and they are mouth watering 🤪)

I have soo many more but here’s some loose HCs , and I’m always down for a part 2💚

[aquarianshift]

Monkee Noses: A Quick & Dirty Guide

Analyzed, compare/contrasted, and rated by a certified nasophiliac.

Mike

A lot has been said of Mike's nose, and deservedly so. On an otherwise soft, even delicate face, it is his strongest feature (sideburns excepted). He doesn't have a heavy jaw or particularly strong chin, so the line of his nose balances his profile well, lending an air of masculine distinction. And it's not even that big.

...Okay, it's big. The bridge is quite tall—almost as high off his face as his forehead—and long. For those of us who (like me) got into the Monkees by way of the Beatles, you may have been expecting the schnoz of the group to have a Roman bump or at least some kind of down-slope. But Mike's nose is almost perfectly straight from brow to tip, level enough to balance a glass of water if he leaned back a bit.

Mike's nose is so long ("How long is it?") that it begins to crowd his mouth, which doesn't take up much real estate as it is. But he has a very symmetrical face, and his tall, narrow nose anchors his other features beautifully. It makes his eternally boyish face look older.

It's cute!

(Fun nasolinguistics fact: the French word for "nose" is nez.)

Micky

When the angels were handing out extra helpings of nose, Micky was in the hair line getting seconds. In terms of his profile's nose-to-chin ratio, he is essentially Mike's opposite. The bridge of his nose is mostly flat, and the body more wide and round than narrow and long. This is most evident in the way his nose widens when he smiles. A broad nose is perfectly suited to a face as smiley as Micky's, making his grin seem to stretch a mile from cheek to cheek. Though, like Mike's, his mouth and nose are fairly close together, Micky's ends so high on his face as to make him look perpetually youthful—and mischievous.

When compared side-by-side, we can see that Micky's nostrils are more left-right horizontal, while Mike's go straighter out, almost perpendicular to his face.

To clear up some Micksconceptions: Micky's nose may be small, but the prominence of his chin makes it look smaller than it really is. And most importantly, he does not have a PUG NOSE! A pug nose would have virtually no bridge and turn upwards such that his nostrils faced forward while looking at you straight on. (Though not for nothing: just as a bulldog is bred to latch onto a charging bull without letting go to breathe, Micky's pushed-in nose was made to give head without coming up for air.)

Davy

I naively went into this exercise thinking I would have nothing to say about Davy's nose. Neither long as Mike's nor short as Micky's, neither wickedly sharp nor softly rounded, Davy's nose is not his most distinctive feature. But upon closer study, it is as interesting and complicated as Davy himself. First, it is set rather high on his face, pulling on his upper lip a bit to complete that slightly pouty look. Second, his profile is not totally straight. He has the barest ridge of bone (not prominent enough to be called a bump), and the tip of his nose actually hooks down the tiniest bit. This down-curve is exacerbated by the severe arch of his nostrils. From beneath, we can see the opening is more pointed than smoothly curved, making him look like his nostrils are always flared.

These features in addition to Davy's deep laugh lines (another fun linguistics fact: those are called nasolabial folds) result in a very aristocratic nose. It lends all too easily to a sneer, which is unfortunate re: his height—he's probably never been able to look down it at anybody.

Next to Peter, whose nose points out and slightly up, we can see Davy's very slight down-turn. We can also practically see our reflection in that shine. A little more powder, please?

And speaking of Peter...

Peter

My thoughts on Peter's nose could fill a library, so I'll try to be brief. It has a high bridge with a gradual concave slope, but it's when we reach the tip that things really get interesting. Though the bridge is slender, the lower half of Peter's nose is slightly bulbed, giving him a sort of Snufkin/Little My look. The underside of his nose comes out from his face at a nearly perfect 90 degrees, but the slope of the bridge is so steep that it has the appearance of being daintily upturned. This is not to say his nose is unmasculine, or god forbid, delicate. In the shape of Peter's nose, there is a gentle masculinity, like the alternative spark of peacenik sensibility in the man himself. It is sensitive.

All the Monkees have expressive noses, but Peter uses his the most in his acting. As soon as you see the corners of his mouth start to droop in an Emmett Kelly frown or his upper lip curl in a snarl of confusion, his nose becomes the star of the expression.

When Peter crinkles his nose, as he is wont to do, it loses some of its slenderness. I would say that out of the four, Peter has the most awareness of his nose, and how to make it work for him rather than vice versa. It is as much a part of his look as his profound dimples, sandy mop, or smiling eyes.

Sex appeal: Do I have to start over?!

bonus:

Thanks if you've read this far! I may be an obsessive and a self-professed expert, but I am not the final authority. I welcome any other thoughts you might have. (Should I do one for the Beatles?)