#sequins sewed to shit

[shiftythrifting]

Some shifty clothing at work today!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Two strangers, not strangers

Only lacking the knowing

So willing, feeling

Infinite growing

While we're here, the whole world is turning

We should be, one, fulfilling the yearning

You can see inside me, will you come inside me

Do you wanna ride, inside my love"

Trina Broussard— "Inside my Love"

A.N.: Content Warning. Smut ahead. Grown folks only. 18+.

Celeste's left hand jerked out wildly to flip on the light switch inside her home. The cottage lit up with a bright pink glow from her vintage stained-glass Tiffany lamps. Her legs were still wrapped around Terry's hips. She climbed down his tree-trunk body and stepped aside, letting him swagger past the threshold of her home. A black baby grand piano that belonged to a deceased aunt had bags of feathers, beads, unfinished patches, and sequins strewn all across it, making the front of the place look messy and disheveled.

"I'll just move these into the other room where they belong," she said.

Terry looked past her into the living room. A smirk crinkled his lips. Celeste looked over her shoulder.

"Oh my, God. I'm so sorry that you see that…give me a second…"

She hurried past him to pick up the ten-inch dildo left in the middle of the floor with the camera set up.

"I know this looks weird…shit…shit…" she sputtered, frantically pulling up the dildo that released with a loud suction pop from the wooden floor. She gathered up the bottle of lube, pillows and dumped them into her sewing room.

Terry took a seat on the recliner end of her purple leather sectional that took up most of the space in the living room right after the baby grand. He watched her pick up the pillows and a sheet, tossing them into her bedroom. She walked back out with her hands on top of her head, embarrassed beyond measure.

"That looked bad…I know."

"Well, you're single now. Looks like you planned a fun night for yourself," he said.

The playfulness of his voice relaxed her, and she pointed toward her kitchen.

"I'll make us those hot drinks," she said, grabbing his bag of leftover food and scampering off.

"Take your time," he called out.

Celeste put his food in the fridge and pulled out a container of half and half. She rested her hands on the kitchen sink and closed her eyes. The shame! She browbeat her own self for not straightening out the living room before she left. Of course, she hadn't planned on inviting him over. Time to save face.

She poured water into a stainless steel percolator and opened a tin of chicory coffee from Café Du Monde, then poured a measured scoop into the coffee filter. After it started bubbling, she grabbed two coffee mugs from her cupboard and prepared their drinks with half and half and a couple of sugar cubes.

"Get it together…pretend the dildo never happened," she whispered to herself before carrying the mugs out into the living room.

She set their coffee down on two coasters and sat demurely next to him. Her locs flowed over her shoulders, giving her a regal appearance.

"Your home is very eclectic…feels cozy too," he said, surveying her taste in vibrant, colorful decorations.

She filled her walls with Mardi Gras feathers and personal beadwork that she mounted on frames, along with pictures of mid-century carnival second lines and jazz funerals. There were whimsical art nouveau pieces from specialty shops around town she purchased of stain-glassed butterflies and Black fairies. French doors that led to the small courtyard out back stayed hidden behind saffron double-laced drapes that her grandmother made for her.

She jumped up and dimmed the setting on the lamp lights. Her purse sat on top of the baby grand. She checked the front door lock to make sure it was secure.

"Your phone kept buzzing in your purse," he said.

He'd lifted his coffee mug and puckered his lips to blow the hot steam away from the drink. Celeste rummaged through her purse and pulled out her cell. Mercy and Nae Nae had both responded to the group text she sent out. She ran her fingertip across the keypad, letting them know he was in her home having coffee. Three green chat bubbles danced on the screen as Mercy typed back something.

YOU BROUGHT THAT MAN HOME WITH YOU?!

Celeste glanced at Terry who sipped his drink and surveyed the surroundings like it was a museum installation. Her artsy style always impressed visitors, especially with the limited space a cottage afforded her. She typed a quick message back.

I'LL LET Y'ALL KNOW HOW THINGS GO IN CASE I NEED THE CAVALRY!

Celeste carried her silenced phone back to the couch and placed it on a side table. She joined Terry and savored the coffee after a pleasant outing.

"This is very good. A nice way to end the evening with you," he said.

She fretted in her seat, wondering how to salvage the poor impression she made on him. He reached over and stroked her arm.

"Are you still thinking about the sex toy on the floor?"

Celeste's head slumped forward, and he laughed again, the rich baritone filling up her home and taking the tension out of her shoulders. Those emerald eyes worked their magic again like they did in the restaurant, driving her to spill out her life in intimate ways she'd never do with anyone else on a first date.

"I can explain—"

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

She tucked a thick loc behind one ear and left his side for a second and retrieved the plantation pictures from her refrigerator.

Handing them to Terry, she sat next to him again.

"One day I want to buy a home like these. I've been saving money and working two jobs for the last two years. On top of my sewing and hustling extra money, I ventured into online fetish content. I have pretty feet, so…I created a website on a BDSM platform to sell explicit pictures and videos. I filmed my first video tonight…right before you called me out for dinner."

"Okay…is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you need a director?"

Celeste cackled and threw a hand over her mouth, and Terry grinned, looking at her legs. He lifted her left foot and tugged at her modest heel.

"I want to see these pretty feet men are paying to see," he teased.

She brushed at his hand, but he already pulled the heel off. He gently massaged her toes through the thigh-high, sheer black stockings and his touch shot ticklish sparks up her leg.

"You stand on your feet all day…working hard to achieve your dream. I'd never judge you for doing something that helps you do that. I think it's sexy. You do have attractive feet, by the way…"

He stared at her foot as he kept kneading out the day through his fingers and she leaned back in the sectional to give him more room to work. She even kicked off the other shoe, and he worked on that tired foot, too.

"You deserve the world, Celeste Profitt," he said.

He kissed each toe of her left foot and inched his soft lips to her ankle and further along her leg until he stopped above the kneecap, just at the junction where the stocking and her uncovered skin met.

"Is this okay?" he asked, waiting for permission to continue.

"Yesss," she hissed, bewitched by those eyes that transformed into something dangerous…predatory.

Was this how the devil tricked Eve inside the Garden of Eden? Not by ripe red apples or promises of wisdom, but jade jewels for eyes that blazed with seduction. His lids nearly closed to mere slits, and the blood in her veins chilled at how viper-like he looked arched across her leg.

The cautious voice of Celeste's cousin rattled in her ear with his warning from the night on Bourbon Street.

"Uh uh…no ma'am. Leave that one alone."

Dangerous.

Sinful.

Unholy.

Her eyes blurred. She looked at Terry as if she'd plunged under water and the liquid distorted her vision. His canine teeth seemed sharper than she remembered them being. He slid his tongue across them and she blinked, thinking the pink lighting in her home played tricks on her.

"Terry…"

He slithered his lips onto her lower inner thigh and pushed her dress up to her hips, revealing her thong underwear. Licking her thigh, the moisture from his tongue soaked through the stocking. Celeste stayed still, afraid to break the spell he had over her.

"May I keep going?" he asked.

"Please," she said, with a quiver in her voice.

He gave the crotch of her thong a delicate kiss with his plush lips, moving higher until the tip of his tongue twirled around her clit. The friction from the thong combined with the pressure of his tongue on her sensitive jewel arched her back high. She palmed his head with both hands, hoping to tether herself. Her vulva swelled with juicy arousal and her inner labia puffed with engorgement. He hooked a finger and slid her thong aside.

"Here is the real meal," he hummed, pushing his mouth into her vulva.

His tongue traced invisible sigils of circular shapes and Celeste watched her pussy slicken his mouth until it glistened with her wetness. He slathered her labia with saliva and dragged his wide, hot tongue along her inner thigh. She yelped when she felt a nip from his teeth on her flesh and then a sharp numbness flooded that area, removing the sting of pain.

He licked her vulva again before feasting on her clit, sucking it with a dexterous mouth that never stopped tasting, teasing, and licking every inch of her pussy.

"You taste so good…the blood…your pussy…so good…" he hummed into her flesh.

Her skin aflame, Celeste let all the exquisite sensations flow through her body. She needed this. Needed this man. Needed his mouth. His tongue. His rough teeth…

Another quick stinging sensation pricked her thigh again, and Terry took his time sucking on that spot and fingering her clit. He plucked at the responsive bud.

"Terry!" she cried out, unable to endure the pleasure of his mouth on her thigh and his fingers playing a symphony on her clit at the same time.

The palm of his huge hand pushed her back down and held her in place.

"Do. Not. Move."

The stern tone forced her into submission. She wanted to obey. Badly. His tongue and lips became savage instruments on her pussy. He pushed her legs back, and she held them for him while he ripped her thong into shreds yanking them off. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling as she noticed the feeling of intoxication taking over her body. It was like being high on exceptional weed or rolling on high-grade ecstasy. Their shadows mingled above her, performing their own sexual dance separate from them.

Terry rose above her, and she could clearly see the heavy erection bulging through his pants. She whimpered at the sight. His shit was big. Gold help her. He lowered his face and kissed her, the taste of her pussy and chicory coffee delicious in her own mouth. She licked her wetness from his lips and he held still to enjoy her tongue's affectionate ministrations.

He maneuvered himself comfortably in the recliner and tugged on her dress.

"Take this off for me," he said. "I want to feel you against me."

Celeste stood and pulled her dress over her head. It tangled in her hair and she fussed with the long locs until she became free, standing before him in her bra and stockings.

"It should be illegal for you to be this sexy," he said, his eyes lifting up and down her shapely physique like an elevator.

He zeroed in on her vulva and licked his lips again.

Celeste unhooked her bra from the back and let it slip down to the floor. Her breasts looked tantalizing in the pink lighting. Terry palmed their fullness and pushed them together. He gently pinched both nipples until they stood like dark cinnamon hard candies. Delectable and sugary sweet.

He engulfed the left nipple and sucked on it, causing it to grow stiffer and more sensitive. She moaned and tilted her head back. The pleasure of his licking and sucking increased her lust for him. She stroked the waves in his hair and he pushed his face between her breasts. Her fullness pleased him because he groaned and spoke her name into her chest, the warm air from his mouth arousing her to a fever pitch. Her pussy throbbed, and he continued sucking and fondling until her legs quaked. She thought she would faint in his arms.

"Beautiful breasts, heavy the way I like them…should I cum on them now, or later?" he asked.

"Later," she said with a breathy moan, wanting to keep him there longer to stretch out her pleasure.

He turned her around and stood. Pushing her locs aside, he kissed the back of her neck and trailed a methodical line down her spine with his tongue, waking up every nerve ending on her back. She whimpered and allowed herself to stay focused on every part of her body that he catered to, like he was priming her for something extraordinary.

He sat on the sectional again and kissed each of her ass cheeks. Afterward, he struck each one with a fully open palm.

"The recoil is crazy," he said.

She turned to face him and lowered her lips for another languid kiss, pleased that every part of her body excited him. Her locs shrouded him in a curtain of thick coiling ropes, reminding her of Medusa trapping an unsuspecting victim who stumbled into her lair. His tranquil eyes stopped her from making contact with his lips. They stared at her in wonder, and she recognized a kindred spirit within them. Yes, there in the center of his pupils, reflected back to her, was a yearning for something more in the world. A longing for another soul to banish the loneliness with true companionship. He was the only legacy of his family, a widower with just an elderly grandmother to care for. Her eyes welled up, and he brushed away her tears with his thumb.

"Why are you crying, beautiful Celeste?"

"I want what you want."

He wrenched his eyes away.

"And what do you think I want?" he asked.

"Someone for yourself. Just like me. When was the last time you had anyone in your life…for a relationship?"

His eyes snapped shut, and he tilted his neck.

"Long enough that I don't care to remember."

"But you want that, right? A chance to have someone of your own again?"

An inner struggle flashed behind those emerald eyes.

"Maybe this was a mistake. I should leave before this goes any further," he said.

"Please…don't leave. I like you and I want you here with me."

He stroked her cheek and pushed his fingers into her locs, tangling them until his hand became lost in the thick forest of hair.

"I like you too…you sweet, sexy…vulnerable woman."

"Vulnerable?"

She rose, and he didn't let go of her hair.

"Your heart is so open…so wide open…and pure. People sense that, and you attract them like a beacon of light in a shadowy world. You can't even see what a safe harbor you are for others. It's why you have so many friends and why so many people gravitate to you…want to be near you."

"Except for people I want to be with," she said, thinking of all the boyfriends she pinned her hopes on over the last five years.

"The one made for you just hasn't arrived yet. You must be patient. Steadfast."

"Maybe you're the one for me."

He pressed the side of his face against her breasts and rested there. She rubbed his hair and hummed a soft, made-up tune until he stood abruptly.

"Terry…don't…don't go," she pleaded.

Her tone kept him from stepping further from her grasp. She threw her arms around his waist and refused to let him go. He circled his arms around her shoulders and they stayed in that position for a long time, listening to each other breathe. Her heart beat out an anxious rhythm and she couldn't stop trembling, fearful he would still walk out on her. He gave her peace. Pleasure. A hope for something better.

"I want you to stay."

Those words must've been the magic key to get him functioning again. Lowering his lips, he kissed her, and his arms instinctively relaxed around her, as if they were always meant to be there.

She pulled away and held both his hands, leading him to her bedroom. Feeling confident in her choice for the night, she lit the large gold votive candles on both of her low, bed-side tables to create a romantic ambiance. She thanked Jesus that she made her bed up after breakfast that morning. The room was in less disarray than the living room. Without trepidation, she unbuttoned his dress shirt and gasped when she revealed the gift that was his chest. The chiseled abdominal V lines looked unreal and she glanced at his eyes to show him how much she appreciated the effort he made to keep his body tight.

Terry slowly pulled off his shirted and kicked off his shoes while Celeste unfastened his leather belt. The thin gold buckle had an intricate square design, and as she unzipped his slacks, he grabbed the back of her neck and smashed his lips against hers, sealing the deal in her bedroom. His tongue snaked into her mouth with such force that she gasped for breath, putting a pause on further actions until she could touch his clothing without her fingers shaking.

A corner of her mind buzzed with a subtle warning, but the rest of her brain worked on autopilot. She might never see this man again, but she was going to enjoy him for as long as he was in her presence. He slipped his pants and underwear down, wiggling his legs free. She helped slide his black dress socks off and willingly dropped to her knees as he gripped his dick and stroked it.

In the candlelight, the girth and length went beyond what she imagined, and the color was also a darker shade with the engorgement of blood. His balls hung like fat, round fruit with a thick, dark brown seam down the middle. His erection had a slightly upward curve and the wide head showed a slit already dripping with pre-cum. Her clit twitched at the sight and she moaned when her pussy throbbed deep within her walls. She touched her vulva and the glossy natural lubrication there caused Terry's nostrils to flair. He sniffed the air and his eyes latched onto hers.

"You want me?" he asked.

"I do."

"Show me."

Celeste gripped the weight of his dick in her hand. Hot, thick, and ready, the veins crossing the sides pulsed and the entire thing felt alive. He thrust the head inside her eager mouth, stuffing it so full of hard dick that she choked on it, gagging until she pulled it out to adjust her ability to handle all of it. He grasped a few of her locs by the root and held her head steady, pushing his erection down her throat again. The gawking sounds she created with his face fucking seemed so shameless in her bedroom. Saliva dripped down her chin and dropped onto her breasts and he pinched one of her nipples to keep her focused on deep-throating him.

She pushed a hand against his stomach to control the depth, and that didn't stop him from fucking her mouth into submission. This is what she wanted. She held her hands against his rock-hard thighs and worked her neck to the best of her abilities. He threw his head back to bark out her name in a heated rush of sound and fury. She took that tiny respite to lick her tongue across the veins on his dick and lifted it so she could tend to his balls. Licking down the seam, she opened her mouth wide to suck on each sack, paying close attention to how sensitive he was between his legs. He accepted her skillful licks on the underside of his dick as she worked her way back to the bulbous tip. She let it sit on her lips and stared up at him.

He reached for her waist before he released any cum, his breath full of heavy pants and moans barely articulating her name clearly. Terry lifted her up, and she locked her legs around his hips again. He crawled onto the bed, carrying her with his dick wedged between her slick folds that spread against his length.

Their shadows mirrored their movement as he dropped her onto the firm mattress, covered in a fluffy orange and pink blanket. Celeste kept her hands draped around his neck. Their lips joined, and they shared slow, deep kisses that had her mouth watering like a river and her pussy constantly throbbing, yearning to be stretched and filled. He reached down to her clit and fingered her slowly. While kissing, her mind spun into a funnel of euphoria. Every stroke on her clit from his thick fingers forced delirious pants from her into his craven mouth.

"Would you like to cum on my fingers, Celeste?" he purred in her ear, dipping his tongue in and out. He licked the shell of her ear and moaned her name like a sacred mantra.

Words failed her as she murmured indecipherable sounds. Two of his fingers dipped lower and plunged into a molten pussy that squelched with his tender, shallow thrusts.

"Tight pussy…" he moaned.

In the candlelight of her bedroom, his eyes shined with an eroticism she didn't know could exist. Every breath she took stayed in synch with his, as if he were orchestrating a love-conquering like some forbidden dark lothario sneaking into a young maiden's boudoir. Her upper half rose from the bed as he fingered her pussy with such care that she couldn't see straight anymore.

"That's a good girl…I love how you squeeze around my fingers like that. Deeper? Is that what you want, my love? Oh, yes…you know how to take it deep…"

He removed his fingers to taste her wetness, and a weak mewling sound fell from her lips. It turned into pitiful whimpering as he returned those thick digits to the center of her being, digging deeper and deeper. Whipping her head back and forth, Celeste couldn't contain the surge of pleasure that coursed under the dermis of her skin and not just the top layer. Whatever he was doing crept into a deeper part of her carnal need. He tapped into something primal.

"Cum for me, Celeste. I want to see you break apart on my fingers. Can you do that for me? Look how beautiful you look jumping on this bed…just for me."

Hunched over her writhing frame, he kept his gorgeous face three inches away from hers and the lustful scrutiny in his eyes burst a damn within her. She broke down and begged for an orgasm.

"Make me cum, Terry! Ohmigod…I can't take any more—"

"Yes, you can. You're a big girl…you can take whatever…I…give…you."

His index and middle finger tapped against her walls, and his thumb rubbed hard circles into her clit. Celeste's eyes rolled back and her body jerked on the bed. Her pussy spasmed all around his fingers.

"Terry!" she wailed.

He pushed his lips against her mouth and swallowed the shouting she couldn't contain. A full body shudder took over, and he talked her through that too, his baritone becoming a lullaby of praise.

"That's my good girl. You lasted longer than you thought you could. Look how proud I am of you. See how hard my dick is? See it? All for you. Your beautiful body still shakes and clenches my fingers. You're wonderful, truly wonderful baby…"

He kissed her from the top of her head and all across her breasts. His moist lips gave butterfly kisses down to her belly button and beyond. Celeste didn't think her body would ever stop shaking. He lingered on her pussy, giving her a loving aftercare with his tongue and mouth. His patient touches brought her down from the explosive orgasm, and she drifted into a comfortable, dreamy state of bliss.

"My beautiful queen," he murmured into her thighs.

Bathed in sweat, Celeste glimpsed the flickering of her shadow on the ceiling from the candlelight. She blinked sweat from her eyes.

Why did it look like her shadow was the only one up there?

She rose onto her elbows, trying to understand what kind of optical illusion she was witnessing, but Terry hooked her attention away from the lone shadow and cuddled with her on the bed.

"I loved watching your face as you came," he said.

Feeling shy and unable to think of anything to say, she rubbed on his bicep and looked at the star and crescent tattoo.

"Are you Muslim?" she said, tracing her index finger under the crescent.

"No."

"But this is a Muslim tattoo."

"It's not. This is actually an old symbol for the sun and the moon. It represents the balance of power that comes from those heavenly bodies."

"Masculine and feminine energy."

"Not exactly, but that is a cool interpretation."

"It's shaped like New Orleans…this crescent is the mighty Mississippi River…the sharp bend in the water that curves around my city like a smile that says bon matin when the sun comes up and…what is that?"

She pointed to the glint of pale iridescent ink that wasn't visible with the naked eye until another form of light struck it above the eight-pointed star. Here, it was the candles on the nightstands. The tattoo turned into a fully closed circle with the star in the center.

"I had a clever tattoo artist experimenting with new ink," he said.

"As above, so below," she said, touching the top part of the circle. "Or…night and day."

She kissed the star on his bicep and studied the features of his face.

"Can you stay with me all night, Terry?"

"I will stay for as long as you want."

She smiled and lifted herself so that she could look directly into his eyes.

"I want to make love with you. I want to feel you inside of me so deep that I cry," she said, her lips trembling with emotion.

He brushed back the hair from her shoulder and rubbed on her hip.

"I will give you everything you want. Ask and you shall receive," he said.

His lips didn't move, but she heard his voice in her head clearly. Succinctly.

"Give me what I want," she said, lying back on the bed.

Terry wasted no time hooking her legs over his arms and settling between her thighs.

"I love how the brown gives way to the delicate pink," he said.

The tip of his dick pressed against her labia, parting them, revealing the inner flesh the color of pink cotton candy surrounded by the chocolaty brown of her vulva. Celeste glanced over at her nightstand drawer, knowing there were condoms inside. In her heightened state, prophylactics were the last thing she cared about. She didn't even ask Terry if he carried any. It didn't matter. Her body floated on a current of biological urges that she couldn't control. The quiet part of her mind latched on to the brown plastic baby on top of the nightstand that she nearly swallowed eating the King Cake two nights ago. Protect your womb. She ignored the warning.

"Look at me, Celeste," he said.

She turned her head and luxuriated in the feel of him holding her. This she would remember as the before time with him, the small window of opportunity to escape that she squandered because of the overpowering persona Terry presented to her. She caved into her libido.

Unprotected heart.

Unprotected sex.

Unprotected soul.

"Say yes," he said above her, those sensual eyes piercing her psyche.

"Yes—"

The world slowed to a crawl.

Terry pushed into her depths and she accepted all of his thickness as a blessing. She clawed at his back and watched the lone shadow dance across her ceiling as tears pricked her eyes and coursed down her cheeks.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened…and I will give you rest," she murmured to her shadow above, not knowing why that passage in the bible slipped from her mouth.

With each stroke Terry gave her, the shape of his dick tugged on her clit, causing Celeste to cry out to God, emphasizing the ecstasy she experienced. Their union shattered any perception she had of what lovemaking could be.

His mouth stayed buried in neck, sucking on it and speaking life into the delirious flesh that submitted to his will. Her bed squeaked and bounced with the headboard smacking the wall so hard she thought for sure they would crash out onto the street.

He leaned back to watch his dick plunge in and out, the ramrod brown parting her labia that fit around him like a second skin for his erection. Her pussy turned into a magician, making that dick disappear and re-appear shinier than her mama's polished silver. The hard heat of it kept her panting and clinging to his arms. Every part of her body, from a single follicle on her scalp to the callous on the bottom of her right foot, felt the rapturous gratification. Full body orgasms washed across her in steady waves until it reached a feverish pitch. Terry sensed the coming explosion and flipped her over onto her stomach. He straddled her thighs, hunkered down, and pounded her pussy. The loud smacks of their bodies colliding added to the intense carnality. He held her neck down, but she could still look back at him with glossy brown eyes that pleaded for him to never stop.

"Fuck me!" she yelled.

Terry's brows furrowed while putting his back into it, and perspiration dripped from his forehead, landing on her back. She could feel it rolling down to the crack of her ass and mingling with her own sweat. Awareness of all sensations grew tenfold. Even his grunts created vibrations she could feel across her skin.

"Celeste!" he roared, bucking harder against her ass, stretching her pussy wide open.

The sound of her name fell onto the back of her neck and burrowed into the raging skin like the tactile sensations of a finger stroking it. Their fucking was outrageous. She reveled in it. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth and he kissed her, keeping his stroke game going.

"You feel so good…all around my dick…make me feel you more, baby…I'll give you what you need any time you want it. Hear me? Shit! Right there, right there, right there…lemme hit that spot deeper right there…so fucking tight on this dick!"

She twisted on her side slightly so that he could still see the side of her ass, as well as her breasts. He volleyed those wondrous eyes on her ass and face, not wanting to miss any action on either one. He grabbed a fistful of locs and used them like reins to slow his gyrating thrusts. Agonizingly slow, Terry rolled his hips and varied his hard pumps from deep to shallow, driving her to the edge.

Eyes locked, he spoke five devastating words.

"Can I cum inside you?"

His body moved with sinuous elegance, rocking into her with a heat on the verge of losing control. She clenched her walls around him and he groaned, his lips forming a startled "O" shape. His head fell back, and Celeste watched sensual pleasure twitch every muscle in his cheeks and forehead. He had the face of an angel, and she seared that image of him in her brain forever.

"Lemme cum inside you…please…lemme cum…."

"I want you to cum."

"Tell me…"

"I want you to cum inside me."

"Say it again."

His eyes trapped her. She would do anything he said. Follow him anywhere. Give him anything.

"Cum inside your pussy," she begged.

"All this is mine?"

He tugged on her locs harder.

"Yours…all yours…"

He pushed her left leg over until she was back in missionary. Twining both legs around his hips, she gasped at the friction of her clit brushing against his wiry pubic hairs that were soaked by her wetness. He was so deep inside of her that her stomach moved with each thrust.

"You belong to me now. Do you understand this?"

In the hazy glow of their lovemaking, Celeste nodded. He palmed her breast and fondled it.

"All of this belongs to me. No harm shall come to you as long as you belong to me…"

His words sounded more like an incantation than love talk. She squeezed her pussy to show she had love magic, too.

"Damn, Celeste, I'm 'bout to bust…I can't hold back…"

"Cum for me…please…take this pussy…oh…shit!"

She let go.

Her climax started behind her eyes, watching him seize up and cum, his semen spilling into her, hot and fast, coating her walls, filling her to the brim. Her pussy throbbed, milking his dick, and they both watched the lower part of his erection pulse as it pushed out an elixir that would doom her future.

"Fucckkk!" he shrieked, falling forward and covering her with his big, heavy body.

She held him tight, delighting in every after-climax shiver and shake his body made because of her. Her own body quivered with aftershocks, too.

"You are incredible. I was not expecting all that," he said, falling away from her, panting and rubbing sweat on his chest.

She snuggled against his side and he pulled her in close, both needing to feel their warmth and sweat co-mingling. Unfortunately, her bladder called for attention and she crept away to pee.

Inside her bathroom, she giggled at her reflection in the mirror. Her nipples were still hard and her pussy kept twitching, missing the feel of his dick stuffing it full. This was going to be a problem. Sex that good could become dangerously addictive.

Her face took on a somber expression, thinking about not using a condom. She quickly opened her sink cabinet and pulled out a small box of Plan B. She ripped the box open, popped the pill in her mouth, and used sink water to wash it down. A trip to the clinic would be in order to check for STDs. She was too grown at twenty-seven to be moving ass backwards with her sexual health.

How many times had she told younger cousins to use protection at all times?

Hypocrite.

Celeste grabbed a clean wash cloth from the wall shelf above the toilet and gave herself a quick PTA cleaning. She padded back to her bedroom and lost her breath looking at the fine man lying on his side under the covers waiting for her.

"Hey beautiful," he said, lifting the blanket for her to join him.

Celeste wasted no time climbing in beside her favorite lover.

He spooned around her backside and she noticed something peculiar before she blew out the candles. There were two shadows back on the ceiling again. Hers. And his.

Chapter 7 HERE.

Masterlist

Taglist:

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@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

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@notapradagurl17

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@hrlzy

[im-just-a-simple-tailor]

It is done!!! three days of doing this almost nonstop but I’m finally done! The photo really doesn’t do it justice, it glitters and shifts colours like crazy, it looks so, so cool! :D

Now just the planet patches and the star sequins for the rest of the jacket, but that’s so easy compared to this (:

this is definitely not going to take me years

[theclaravoyant]

ok but HOW do they get izzy to try drag though

i can't wait to have him walk through it all with that shine in his eyes like he's at his first pride like holy shit, i'm part of something

or what if he's keeping himself off to the sidelines like he always has because yes he's been Touched By The Muppet but he's not Like That you know and wee john offers him an eyeliner

maybe starts telling him a story about sewing with his mother. izzy never sewed with his mother. did he even know his mother ? who knows, we know sweet f a about him, but he didn't sew with his mother and he certainly wouldn't have been allowed to look at sequins and teal and silver ! maybe it would have been nice

(or maybe he did wear more colours back then. back before the dawn of time before he was Like This . who the hell knows. this MAN .)

maybe he says something that's kind of meant to be a compliment because he loves and admires them more deeply than he's capable of expressing but it comes out as an insult because of course it does and Jim looks him in the face all dressed up in that frilly masc number and says: "You calling me a fruit, Hands?"

maybe he just tries a little bit at first because he doesn't really get it, because if he wanted a moustache why wouldn't he just grow one? he already HAS one but they still draw one on? but he kind of sits with it a while with it, with the theatre of it, and he he offers hey you could um. do my hair. i mean if you want.

maybe it's an expression of gratitude or maybe the band strikes up and has him feeling some type of way but he soldiers past that part of him that insists they'll lose love or respect for him if he has a good time and fuck it he sings. he's the unicorn. if they want him to be their soldier their shield and the gayest most rainbow ass creature of all time with a golden leg then they shall have it . and maybe that way he can let himself have it too

and let's not let slip the fact that the one most tightly clinging to his toxic masculinity is the one in the drag king aka queerest campest deliberately OTT representation of masculinity that's gotta be coincidence right :P

(lucius shouts TWAT over the music but he's smiling and what he means is I see you , welcome)

[aerodaltonimperial]

katy's community poll-fic 2k24

part 1

(Well, so here is your next part, as decided collectively! I had to decide whether or not to bring the lads into this, and ultimately decided not to, since despite Bowens' best efforts, that shit ain't kayfabe, at least for Hook. ENJOY PART 2. Remember, 24 hours to pick the next bit.)

Bowens, it is: he’s got to know better than anyone how to deal with Max Caster and missing objects. Turns out, he’s relatively easy to find, but only because Jack accidentally stumbles across him sitting out by the row of sewing machines and the people sewing with somewhat reckless abandon. Jack actually almost skids right past him, coasting on his heels before realizing he spotted Bowens’ head half-hidden by one of the coat racks brimming with sequins and bright colors.

Honestly, the garish pink should have given it all away.

“Hey,” Jack says, perhaps more demanding than he should, because Bowens looks up from his phone screen with a frown. “Have you seen Max’s title belt?”

“What?” Bowens asks, and that might just be because Jack came barrelling out of nowhere without much of a greeting, but this feels like a Bowens problem.

“Max’s belt. It’s missing. Have you seen it?”

Bowens’ frown intensifies, tugging his face down. “What do you mean, it’s missing?”

“Don’t tell him anything!” Hook screeches, coming around the corner and nearly taking out the whole coat rack in his haste to stop. As soon as he does, Jack reaches out and covers Hook’s face with his hand, trying to push him back and away. He ends up getting Hook sputtering against his palm, which, ew.

“Okay, what is this about again?” Bowens asks.

“Max’s belt is missing,” Jack says, again. “I’m trying to find it.”

“I’m trying to find it,” Hook interjects, though it’s a bit muffled given that Jack still has his hand smushed up against Hook’s mouth. He finally withdraws once Hook licks his palm. Gross. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Bowens looks at Hook, and then at Jack. His face betrays nothing. “Oh. So… you’re both trying to figure out what happened to it?”

“Yes,” Jack and Hook answer at the same time, and then, disgusted, both try, “No.”

“It’s nice that you seem to be working together again,” Bowens says. The worst part is, he sounds genuine. The soul-crushing horror nearly takes Jack out at the knees.

“I’m not working with him,” Hook replies. “I hope his own hair strangles him in the middle of the night.”

“I hope that he inhales a joint and ends up choking to death on it,” Jack says.

“Well, I hope that his stupid little briefs are too tight and cut off circulation to his legs and he gets gangrene,” Hook says, with a glare.

Jack rolls his eyes. “I don’t even wear those anymore, so this just goes to show how much attention you pay to your surroundings.”

“Oh, sorry I’m not staring at your crotch,” Hook snaps. “You know, not everyone is, you perverted egomaniac.”

“Hook, I sincerely don’t think you are staring at anything except the god damn sun,” Jack says, “and I’m amazed that you haven’t gone blind yet. But there’s still hope it might happen. Today, if we’re lucky.”

“I feel like we’re getting really off-topic here,” Bowens comments.

Right: Max’s title belt. Jack turns back to Bowens, whose expression has gone, for lack of a better word, befuddled. “Have you seen the belt? Or anyone take the belt?”

“You think I saw someone take my partner’s title belt and then just… came here to sit for awhile?” Bowens asks.

“Fine, fine,” Jack amends. “If you had to guess, who would you think would take it?”

“Are you sure someone took it?” Bowens asks. His brow remains furrowed. “Max would misplace his ass if it wasn’t connected to his body, honestly.”

“He says he had it, and now he doesn’t,” Hook says, like a chump.

Jack pushes Hook away again, with his shoulder this time, to avoid the guy’s tongue touching his skin again. “Would, say, the Assboys take it?”

“But we’re in a group now,” Bowens says.

“Yeah, and that always works out so well,” Hook grumbles.

“Do you have any other enemies?” Jack asks.

Bowens, finally, seems to take this line of questioning seriously. He sits back, tapping a finger against his chin as his eyes slide up to the ceiling tiles. Then he says, “Well, I guess we did kind of declare war on the Undisputed Kingdom, back before we knew they were the Devil Goons. They might be pissed about that.”

“And they’re clearly assholes,” Hook agrees.

“But why would they give a shit about Max’s title belt?” Jack asks. “It’s not like they can do anything with it. It’s bright fucking pink. Everyone knows who it belongs to.”

“Maybe just to fuck with him,” Hook grumbles. “Get him all riled up.”

“I mean, they did steal MJF’s little mask and all,” Jack muses thoughtfully. “So they clearly have a history with this kind of thing.”

Hook nods, mouth pursed. “Wouldn’t be out of character.”

“Still feels like small fries compared to everything else they’ve done,” Jack continues. Then he realizes that Hook has been standing next to him for, like, five minutes, and is agreeing with him, which makes him feel like maybe he needs to go take another shower or something. “Go away. I’m doing this by myself.”

“No, I’m doing this by myself,” Hook says, all pissed and pink-cheeked again. “You’ll just stab me in the back the second I turn away.”

“Actually, I’d probably stab you in the stomach. I’d want you to know it was me.”

Hook growls. “Oh, trust me, I already would.”

“So, you guys are friends again?�� Bowens asks. He’s gone back to his phone, scrolling through social media like somehow Jack and Hook have already lost his interest. Shouldn’t he be worried about Max’s missing belt? Whatever. “That’s nice.”

“Gross,” Jack says. “No. I hope he gets hit by a car jaywalking like a douchebag New Yorker.”

Hook’s nose crinkles in distaste. “Spoken like a true bitch.”

“Okay, cool,” Bowens replies, without looking at either of them. “Good luck with finding Max’s belt.”

“I’m finding it first,” Hook promises, and then turns to head down the hallway with his hands jammed into his hoodie pockets as though he doesn’t look like a bum that just rolled in from beneath the nearest bridge.

What an asshole.

[chrisevansonly]

Baby Bee & Daddy’s First Matching Outfit 🦋 (Harry’s Angel au)

pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader (Angel)

summary: sometimes your sewing skills come in handy when you can surprise Harry with a custom baby outfit to match one of your favourite concert fits of his

warnings: none, just very cute and fluffy

a/n: baby styles is making me v excited, I came up with baby bee from angel since she works with flowers, but that’s subject to change, i’m v excited for this chapter in Harry & Angel’s Life

word count: 684

You wouldn’t call yourself crafty or artistic when it came to anything outside of flowers and floral arrangements but looking at the tiny baby sized pink sequin tracksuit, just like Harry’s birthday show outfit he wore in Palm Springs. Obviously, it was too early for the two of you to know if you were having a boy or a girl, but either way the little outfit would get worn and the more you admired it, the more excitement spread through you. The one thing that was good about being on tour with Harry is you had some free time during the day when he was out working out, or just going over rehearsals for the nights show. After some last minute touches, you neatly folded the outfit and wrapped it in some silver tissue paper, placing it gently into a black box, just in time for Harry to get back from rehearsals, a smile on your face as you turned to face him

“Hi handsome”

He looked at you through his sunglasses, a smile on his face as he slid them off 

“Hey mama”

Oh yeah, the new nickname Harry had been using every so often, it made you flush, but you still weren’t too sure how you felt about it, maybe that’s why Harry used it, simply to tease you 

“You like that nickname huh?”

He smirked moving to wrap his arms around your waist, a gentle kiss pressed to your lips before you pulled back, his hair was pulled up in a little bun keeping it out of his face, a subtle amount of stubble starting to grow in

“I love it, m’gonna make you love it too”

“Mhm sure you will, keep trying baby”

He laughed, his pleasing tote now resting on the ottoman at the end of the bed before his eyes found the black giftbox by your open laptop 

“Did you get a package today?”

“S’not for me love, I got it for you…”

“You got me a present?!”

Laughing you nodded, his excitement never failed to fill your stomach with butterflies, nerves slowly taking over in the end when he picked up the box and sat down to open it 

“What’s the occasion?”

“I just wanted to…”

Harry glanced up at you another smile tugging at his lips and when he opened it, pulling back the tissue he froze, it only took him about 20 seconds to figure out what was in the box 

“Is this-you got me-how did you find this angel!?”

“Well, I actually made it”

His eyes locked on yours and you watched his mouth open slightly as if to say something, but he was up and holding you to him before any words came out 

“Y/N, holy shit, you-wait you made this!”

“Mhm, took like five or so days, and I did it very secretly, because I know how nosy you can be”

That had Harry laughing, his arms still holding you gently 

“I can’t believe it, this is perfect angel, thank you for this, m’so excited to be a parent with you, and watch you be the best mum in the world”

“H…”

“I mean it angel, you’re going to be the best mum and the best wife, and I’m just grateful I get to be a part of it”

Blinking back a few tears, Harry was never shy about his feelings for you and about you, not to mention being vulnerable and open throughout your entire relationship, but that didn’t mean it didn’t make you emotional, even after all these years 

“I love you and I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else”

Harry truly was over the moon excited for this next chapter in your lives, albeit it wasn’t planned, and you both were still on tour, he was ready for it all, especially if it was with you. There was a good chance the wedding would be pushed back, knowing you wouldn’t want to have all that attention on you at that stage in your pregnancy, and he would do everything to ensure you’d stay comfortable and happy through it all. 

[alarajrogers]

Dream log

The whiplash in my dreams is sometimes hilarious.

The available reality, the world that exists, is a circle with an edge that goes around three times. (I have tried, while awake, to figur out what the fuck this means, and the best I can get is that the circle is the top of a cylinder, viewed straight down, and the edge is a spiral? In the dream, however, this is not the case. The edge goes around three times.) There is a river running around the edge. I experimentally extend the river into the part that would be the fourth time around, which is not real. This creates an area of river that is not actually reality, and things in this area start to slowly fade out of existence. I investigate. There's a barrier at the far end of the river where it stops, and a much smaller, easier to traverse, barrier at the edge of reality, and all the space in between, and all the hallway that runs alongside the river (yes, I said hallway) is not actually real, but you can go in it. You just shouldn't. I am trying to figure out how we can maybe move the far barrier nearer so that it actually blocks off the unreal part of the river, when a teleporting monster teleports my youngest child (who is like 5 in the dream) to the far end of the hallway, squarely in unreality. I pursue even though I know this could dissolve me. When I reach my child, there is a staircase below me, but I am upside down; gravity is reversed on the other side, where things are real. I lower my child through the space between flights, where people in the real can grab them and pull them to safety. But now I am drained, and start to fade out of reality. I am rescued by a woman named Janeane Garofalo, who does not look anything at all like the comedian of that name even though I think she's supposed to be; she's a big red-haired butch who's fat and strong and very, very solid, so she can safely survive unreality longer than I could, and she carries me back to the real.

My youngest child (now about 8) and I are in New York City shopping for sparkly purple beads and sequins that we are going to sew into a star on their shirt. People working at the department store we are in are rather unhelpful.

Later on there was something about a trip to Mexico with Donald Trump, who was an absolute has-been no one gave a shit about, which had ironically improved his personality very slightly. He had these snacks that were like bread pudding bites that were very tasty, and also Korean fried chicken wings.

Quite aside from my dreams having an obsession with food (seriously, the worst nightmare I've had in years involved saccharine-covered apple fritters that were all that were available for me to eat, because I was told that I had ordered them; this is despite the fact that I've more recently had a dream about a black hole destroying the earth. Saccharine-covered fritters are actually that bad. It wasn't just the saccharine, they were also like hockey pucks), I think it's absolutely hilarious that I have this action-packed, weirdly philosophical dream in which reality absolutely does not work like it actually does, followed by a dream about shopping for decorations for a child's shirt.

[shiftythrifting]

One of those reversible-sequin pillows featuring prison mike

[pink-as-punk]

Oh shit so do I! So many more sequins to sew on!

omg WAIT I NEED TO WORK ON MY COSTUME

[love-fireflysong]

It’s Wednesday baby, so here’s a sewing update of all the shit I’ve been able to do since posting that pic of my pile of fabric and notions last week!

Day 1 (10am - 1pm): pre-wash fabric and cut out the fusible interfacing

Day 2: (10am - 1pm) pre-wash the rest of the fabric and cut out more fabric (the pink, the gold, and half the grey)

Day 3: (12pm - 12am) finally finished cutting everything else (rest of the grey, the black, stiff netting, and sewable interfacing) after kneeling on concrete for 12 hours (it hurt to bend and sit the rest of the night lol)

Day 4: (1pm - 10pm) start finally pinning and sewing the bolero! yay! managed to complete the entire outer portion and by the time I quit all I had left of the lining was to attach the sleeves (shoulders now hurt so bad from leaning over a sewing machine for close to 12 hours jashdksajhd).

Day 5: (11am - 1pm) attached the sleeves and pinned the lining to the outer facing

Day 6: (10am - 1pm) sewing the lining and facing together and turned inside out. did some minor tacking in the shoulders so the lining wouldn’t shift and sewed half of the collar before my work alarm went off

Day 7: (10am - 1pm) finished the collar off as well as closing the big ass hole in the center of the lining (had to turn it inside out somehow lol!) and attaching the lining of the wrists to the facing. Plus I managed to add some trim to one wrist.

And here’s some pics as proof that I kinda-sorta know what I’m doing lmao.

All that’s left now on the bolero is to add trim to the other wrist, the entire bottom edge, and along the edge of the popped collar and neck. All that’s needed after that is to add the clasps to the front of the jacket so it closes and it will be done! (May or may not post a pic of what it looks like worn once that happens. Who knows!) Crossing my fingers that I manage to finish those steps in the next couple of days so when the weekend rolls around I can center completely on the corset!

[parvuls]

Eric has been sitting next to Jack Zimmermann for two and a half months before he hears him utter more than three words in a row.

“Can you meet in the library? Tomorrow morning,” his voice is quiet, bland, and his eyes are trained on the paper detailing the assignment outline Mr. Liddell handed out. Eric doesn’t think they’ve ever actually made eye contact, even though they’ve been sharing a desk since the semester started. “I have practice after school.”

“Uh – yeah, yeah, sure,” Eric stammers, nervously fiddling with his own assignment paper, folding the edges inwards and then smoothing them out. Meeting in the morning means he’s going to have to ask Coach to leave the house even earlier than usual, but he’d rather fail the whole class than explicitly remind senior ice-hockey captain Jack Zimmermann that he doesn’t have a driving license yet. Or a car he can drive to school. 

“Okay,” Jack says, but his eyebrows draw together and his mouth pinches in that way that always makes Eric shrink away in alarm. He looks vaguely angry, and since Eric can’t think of a single thing he could’ve done to inspire that, he tentatively assumes Jack isn’t angry at him. Which leaves –

“I’m actually, uh, real good at these – stuff,” Eric says hesitantly, in case Jack’s anger stems from worrying about his final grade in Family and Consumer Science. Jack doesn’t immediately go for the obvious jab (“‘Course you are, Bittle, you’ve always been into all that girly shit, huh?”), so Eric gathers his courage and elaborates, “Well – well, maybe not the personal finance stuff, but the cooking and the sewing. Um.”

He’s opening himself up to a world of pain, here, considering that he’s good at cooking because he spends most of his free time in the kitchen with his mother and he’s good at sewing because up until a few years ago he still sewed the sequins onto his leotards. But either Jack doesn’t care enough to make fun of him, or doesn’t think class is the best time for it. 

“Right,” is Jack’s response. He doesn’t seem inclined to say more, so Eric swallows the flood of words clawing up his throat and grips the edge of the desk to ground himself. There’s a faded J+M engraved in the metal. He traces it with a blunt fingernail while Mr. Liddell drones on in the background.

Class is dismissed with a rush of chairs scraping and voices rising and school bags’ zippers opening. Eric stuffs his creased assignment paper into his bag and stands up, half-heartedly wishing he was brave or cool enough to skip school. He has calculus next period. Facing Coach’s wrath might actually be a better fate than that. 

“I’m alright with finances.”

It takes Eric a very long moment to realize who is speaking, and who they’re speaking to. He turns around, almost certain he’s misheard, and blinks at Jack Zimmermann, who is shoving his water bottle into his bag and folding the assignment paper into weirdly even halves before slipping it in as well.

“So. We can divide the work,” Jack finishes, confirming that he was in fact talking to Eric. 

He looks up then, and for what is certainly the first time, their eyes meet. Jack offers a stilted nod, shoulders his bag, and disappears into the sea of other students jostling out toward the halls.

His eyes are such a striking shade of blue. Eric’s not sure how he could have possibly missed that until now.

[milf-harrington]

Hi! I'm really sorry step dad's still an ass- your annoyance is very justified- but I just wanted to ask: are you currently making/ have a battle/patch jacket? If yes could we see some pics for inspo? I've been meaning to finally get started on mine for a while and I love seeing what other people do!

💞

kia ora!! i am currently making a battle jacket, it's not come that far yet because i don't want to stick anything down until i have more patches and shit but i can lay out what i do have and show you, it's just not very impressive yet:

the fabrics on the side are things i might add later on but idk yet, i'm very fond of the old plaid tho - also yeah im sewing sequins under the collar.

it has been,,,,a process.

sequins because i like them, and they're also a nod to rocky horror

the rainbow for lgbt reasons and also it's cute af

the orange pin says 'stop the violence' which is for domestic violence

the smaller black pin says "wake up, coffee, repeat" and was a birthday present from my 18th

trans flag pin

a little jar with stars in it, a birthday present from my 20th

the ponyo patch was a random gift from a friend who saw it and thought i'd like, she was right, ponyo rocks

the oamaru patch from when i visted my family in aotearoa and my cousin took me to the steam punk museum (oamaru also has a lot of history for my family)

i have a list in my notes app of random ideas i get for pins/patches so i recommend making your own bc it really does help down the line if you ever find yourself Head Empty about what to add; i'm also happy to give updates whenever i do add to my jacket if that's something you're interested in?

OH I ALSO HAVE THESE PATCH PANTS - i made them when i was like,, 17?? 16?? they might help too:

plaid that i spent a ridiculous amount of time hand-sewing onto the waist band bc i love the pattern

"i am a monster. i am a monster. i am a monster. i am a monster. i am a monster. hate me. destroy me.", a frank iero reference

ACAB for,, obvious reasons i think

a shitty little painting of Korse from the Danger Days comics with "this man ate my son" written underneath it which was a reference to a silly fan comic that i barely remember now

a painting for 'our lady of sorrows', an mcr reference

"THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS IS A FUCKING RIGHT"

the hesitant alien mascot, a lovely little creature named Lola, holding a sign that says "be kind" that i painted on the floor of my bedroom

my jeans were pretty much entirely a diy project bc i didn't have the money or the resources to buy actual patches, but they were really fun to put together

[cmivr]

stuff about the madrigals in my dr! [ 1 / ? ] just wanted to talk about this since i just think the madrigal’s are so cute and cool and quirky and i might turn this into a series-ish thingy idrk

okay. mirabel does get her own room after the movie events. i know because i helped out with it ��‍♀️ it wasn't a surprise or anything because how tf are you gonna keep that a secret from her?? who knows her own house like the back of her hand? it's mainly blue themed with a bunch of butterflies hanging from the ceiling (courtesy of me 🙄), also some new sewing stuff just for her! she was really grateful for it

camilo doesn't flirt a lot! at least not on purpose. you see, i see tons of fics portray him as some super sensual teen who throws compliments at every little lady he sees down the street, which is totally what i expected as well! instead, he's more just really nice, he's not trying to make you flustered or tease you or make you fall for him. it's a genuine compliment with no intention other than to make you smile or state his opinion even though it leaves my face burning most of the time. though yes, he's definitely completely capable of full on flirting, especially when you two are close (as someone who's been a victim) 😭

pepa is a fashionista. she's an icon, she's a legend, she is the moment. no but really though. i come from a family of refined tailors (which is hard to believe due to my clumsy hands) my mami had already done a few orders here and there for pepa before i even formally met the madrigals! i soon found out that the commissioner for the dresses that i cut pieces of yellow tulle for, had to gather and color code a bunch of little sequins for, and even the one where i had to take a break every 5 minutes to stop my hands from shaking from the precise cuts i had to make, all of those fancy and intricate dresses were for none other than señora pepa 😟

casita has preferences and a personality! i visit la casa madrigal a lot and my favorite part of being there has always been communicating with the lovely house. i remember holding up flowers once for a crown i was making in the nursery with mirabel, asking casita if it prefered marigolds or daisies! to which it replied with forming a small lump in the floor, pointing up to my left hand with the daisies. it also rumbles the floor a bit when me and camilo are being too loud for dolores' liking

mirabel is a cryer. she's really emotional and sensitive. yes, the treatment from her family made her a tough girl, but after casita was rebuilt, she was able to relax a bit more. she cries a lot when you give her gifts cause it makes her feel so special. so you imagine the waterworks when we told her we're giving her her own room

julieta is scary. like she's very sweet! but like i don't know, maybe cause she has that mom energy, but her sweetness makes her so intimidating. i literally love her and i spend a lot of time with her since i like doing the dishes, but me and mira accidentally broke a vase once and all hell broke lose. she didn't yell, she didn't hit us. she was eerily calm, but not a trace of sweetness left in her voice. 💀 and she called bel by her full name. fucking terrifying shit

i'm pretty sure i made a post about this before but camilo can cook! yes, still very capable of burning down casita 😔 but at least he can make a good meal while at it! what started off with sunny side up eggs, is now natillas, buñuelos, and ugh he makes killer empanadas. when he cooks, he's so.. relaxed. like he's not trying. he looks adorable with a brown apron around his torso and his hair in a bun. i don't know, camilo in the kitchen just looks and feels so.. right? he seems so chill but at the same time, so confident like he knows what he's doing. (no i totally don't hang out in la cocina just to stare at him while he cooks 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️)

[coldflasher]

it’s time for another oddly specific leonard snart headcanon, let’s go!!

my latest (inspired by this post, and yes half of it is my own commentary, i simply can’t help being right) is that len can sew.

like many of my headcanons for him, this is something he would have initially picked up for practical reasons, the most obvious one being that lewis was a shitty father and wouldn’t have paid attention to his kids’ clothes, or bothered to replace them when they got damaged or no longer fit. i think len’s initial repair efforts would have been simple and all done by hand. we’re talking patching up holes, mending seams, letting down hems, fairly basic stuff. all self-taught, of course, and done in secret, because i can’t imagine lewis snart, circa 1970-whatever, having a favourable reaction to his son sewing. (this is another reason why i like to headcanon len having some less traditionally masculine hobbies, because i like to imagine lewis snart turning in his grave while len gives him the middle finger.) i’m never sure if i prefer len to be a little defensive about his interests due to lewis being a piece of shit and trampling all over them, or for him to have reached a point where he simply does not give a fuck, i think it’s case-dependent.

so yes, as a kid/early teenager len performed basic repair jobs on his clothes. i could also see him doing other practical things, like for example, sewing extra pockets into his clothes to make it easier to steal things. and as he grew up, his skills would have improved. i like to imagine him making lisa a dress for her high school prom because no way would lewis have bought her one. len could, of course, have just stolen one, but lisa’s classy, maybe she wanted a custom job, not just something off the rack with the security tags still on. besides, any second-rate thief can steal a dress from a store. but it takes a thief of an entirely new calibre to steal the CONCEPT of a dress and make it from nothing. lisa just throws a stack of fashion magazines at her brother and he goes out, steals the fabric and makes it happen. 

there’s lots of fun things you could do with this concept tbh. of course, the rogues’ costumes aren’t that exciting on the show, but with a little retconning to imagine them in comic-accurate clothing, and where else would they have gotten outfits like that? is there a central city villain boutique? NO. these villains do all of that themselves, lovingly hand-sewing every sequin and insignia. (though i will say that the idea of central city having a store that specifically caters to heroes and villains and their ridiculous outfits is very funny to me. it’s no man’s land. the city around it may be razed to the ground, but no one touches that store, lest every villain in the city be left without a tailor for their head-to-toe custom leather bodysuits.) 

one could also easily imagine that whenever len needs an outfit for a heist, he DIYs it. we know the man loves to play dress-up. he doesn’t need to steal a costume; just one look during the recon mission and he can replicate it himself. 

and of course, it’s nice to imagine len fixing up the flash suit. cisco either isn’t around or barry just doesn’t want to admit that he damaged yet ANOTHER suit (cisco’s like “DO YOU THINK THESE THINGS GROW ON TREES??”) so he just. quietly brings it to len and knows that he’ll have it back in the morning, neatly hanging in the wardrobe with perfect, almost invisible repair work, no questions asked.

[spookysecretfriendday]

for @groovy-bear by Emery

“This is stupid.”

“No no no, trust me, it’ll be PERFECT!”

Glanni let out a frustrated sigh, the pokes from his needle still showing through his skin. He placed down a couple more sequins, trying (and subsequently failing) to patch them down in their proper places. “I was the one who taught you how to sew, you have no right to be better at it than me..!” Robbie twiddled his fingers, secretly holding the sequins in place so his cousin could sew them in. “Batman is not nearly as glitzy as you think he is, though…you sure he’ll like it?” “Shut up it’s perf.” “Fair, fair….I suppose it’s all about the personal touches, anyway. It’s going to look cool no matter what.” Triumphant, he held up the batsuit, modified a bit to match Ithro’s physique. It glistened in the light, a few extra fabric details added, and some sparkly bits for show because he just Had to. Still, even with the pride of his handiwork filling him, a soft little doubt crawled over his chest. “What if he already has plans and I’m doing this for no reason?” “He is so ridiculously public about EVERYTHING he does. I doubt he has anything going on.” Robbie held up the glossy plastic mask to his face, looking at himself in the mirror. He took the cape up in his arm to give it a big swoop. It was a little simple- after all, the Phantom didn’t have very many details in his outfit- so he added a few extra touches of red-and-gold trim in intricate embroidered patterns. His classic signature of “R.R.” was hidden among the swirls. “Do I look fit for an OPERA?” he said dramatically, a dark and suave tone to his voice. Glanni nodded excitedly. “MAN, this is gonna be so cool.”

— “B-b-b!!!! But it’s so silly…!” Totally indifferent to his brother’s stresses, Ithro shrugged. “Nah, you can wear a dress if you want. I personally wouldn’t, but I think it’d look good on you. Plus, people crossdress on Halloween all the time.” “Mm, I suppose so,,,,” “Isn’t that more blue than Christine normally has, though? Not like I watch it often.” Sportacus smiled with something that would have been indignance if he weren’t so sweet. “I like blue! Besides, the stripes and swoops make it look nicer.” He twirled a bit, just for the fun. It was quite a bit shorter than the dress normally would be, falling to about knee-length, so he could still adequately move in his… flamboyant fashion. “Shit, I don’t have any lipstick. Do you think he’ll have some?” Sportacus looked at him and held back from guffawing. “This is GLANNI GLAEPUR we’re talking about, and you’re worried about him having LIPSTICK?” A nervous laugh escaped him, accompanied by blush. He gathered everything together, laying it out. The electric green wig, the royal purple suit, and the wacky eccentricity of the green-and-orange to match it. It was a little haphazard, some parts having been put together by his meaty and unrefined hands, but he made it work. “Are you planning anything for yourself, brother?” Sportacus asked curiously. “Nah, I’m probably just gonna go as the same thing I did last year, honestly.” The blue elf smoothed out his skirt, fluffing up his hair as much as he could to bring out the curls and putting a small silver barrette in it. “Too much?” piped up his sheepish voice. Ithro shook his head. “Don’t worry, you look great.” “Then come on, let’s go give your gift to him!” “All dressed up like this, though? Is it too early to reveal the costumes though?” Sportacus had already done a double-backflip out the door, so he had no choice but to follow with his plain wrapped box.

— It was a short trek down the hall to Glanni’s apartment. They couldn’t hear the voices on the inside of the door. “Come on, let’s go give it to them!” Robbie said excitedly, bouncing on his heels with devilish glee. He LOVED surprises, even if they weren’t for him. All Glanni had was a purple and yellow box, which he tried to make more rugged and “manly” with a burlap ribbon- he hoped more than anything that Ithro would appreciate it. Just at that moment, that hand nervously gripped the doorknob- he was so close, this should be so EASY, goddammit- and with a LURCH he was sent tumbling in when Robbie threw open the door from the inside. “GAAack-“ he yelped on his way in, narrowly missing Glanni and crashing to the floor. “Holy shit Ithro??! I!! Didn’t know you were there!” Robbie helped pull him off the ground, but Glanni clutched the box tighter to him, flushing a bit- god, he wasn’t expecting the confrontation so soon. Sportacus piped up from behind them. “WAIT?! Robbie, you’re- we match??” He looked up, confused, to see a wide-eyed blond Christine that was more gorgeous to him than any lady. His mouth fell open. “Oh wow, you guys both did Phantom of the Opera? That’s incredible!” Glanni chuckled. “Was that coordinated at all…?” (to which they both shook their heads brightly.) It was then that Ithro noticed the box. “Oh, who’s that for? Me?” he joked. Taken aback, Glanni didn’t answer at first, and then just. Thrust it towards him! But gently. “Yea. Just…here.” “Ironically…” Ithro trailed off, switching off the packages, both of them blushing quite a bit. “Holy shit you-“ “-The Batman…” “THAT’S.” They both burst out laughing, holding the matching costumes they had made for each other- Joker and The Batman. A glance at each other, a little nervous, a little silly, a little incredulous at it all. Robbie and Sportacus looked on too, giggling with it all.

Unintentional, but wonderful- a matching double date.

It was going to be an awesome Halloween spent together.

[korva-the-raven]

I love junk. I love wandering thrift shops and sifting the shelves for "junk". Digging though boxes full of random crap and pulling out random bits of weird junky shit is pure joy. I'm pretty open to finding anything weird and interesting, but I do have a mental list of peculiars I like to collect. Craft supplies and sewing materials are on my list; especially sewing supplies. Here are my two lastest junk finds, a couple bags of vintage sewing supplies and materials:

I usually spot couple of junky items of interest and just take the lot. Once I get home and sort the bag, I end up with several pieces of interesting junk. Found an interesting tool in the small bag:

The larger bag is full of buttons, sequins, rhinestones, thread and other miscellanous sewing stuffs. Sorting through the bag, I got the impressions it belonged to a seamstress or something similar. Im sure the contents were in a basket or a box orginally, and when it arrived at the thrift shop, it got tossed into a bag. And then I found it and sorted it into a bunch more bags.

I haven't completely decided what to do with my "junk" yet. I feel like the big bag has a story to tell, and I want to sort the contents into little glass bottles. Most, if not all, the buttons and such, are in little baggies and belong togeather. I don't want to seperate them. So I'm still turning ideas over in my head. Both bags are inspiration for new Curiosity Boxes.

I dunno, I just love little bits of metal and shiny junk. What Raven dosen't?