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itneverendshere · 4 months ago

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we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s.

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it.

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa.

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard.

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head.

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull?

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way.

oh, wow, big spender.

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first.

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has.

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you.

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go.

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.”

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there.

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration.

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it.

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed.

real, scary, big girl feelings.

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

“better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to.

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

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emptymasks · 5 months ago

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They're done! I really want to try and make prints again as it's been years and I've never felt like I was very good at making whole posters. Dipping my toe back in with these silly chibis of each Papa with every Ghoul they've had. Perhaps they can also work as a guide for those wanting to learn all the characters? I added in a fair amount of little references with the Ghoul's poses so it'll be interesting to see what you guys figure out and notice!

The prints are on pre-order and won't ship out until November. I've put up 25 of each to start with but if they get low on stock I'll keep adding more until I have them printed and then it'll be a set amount in stock.

Also a reminder about the stickers of every Ghost Papa and Ghoul that I made earlier this year that are also available as customisable badges! Thank you so much to everyone who already bought them and got Etsy to list them as a 'bestseller' for a while. They're still up and in stock.

EDIT: someone informed me Delta was not in Secondo's era so sorry little water ghoul but he got edited out of that drawing.

Characters featured on the prints and are also available on stickers and badges: Papa Emeritus I / Primo, Papa Emeritus II / Secondo, Papa Emerirus III / Terzo, Papa Emeritus IV / Cardinal Copia, Aether, Air, Alpha / Fire, Aurora, Chain / Water, Cirrus, Cowbell, Cumulus, Delta, Dewdrop / Sodo, Earth, Ifrit, Ivy, Lake, Mist, Mountain, Omega / Quintessence, Pebble, Phantom, Phil / Special Ghoul, Rain, Sunshine, Swiss, Zephy.

I can’t link to my Etsy without risking Tumblr hiding the post from tag search results, but the link is in my pinned post, my carrd, I’m emptymasks on Etsy. Reblogs help support artists more than likes ❤️

[ID: Four landscape drawings, one for each of Ghost's Papas and the Ghouls that were in the band with them while they were the lead singer. Each Papa is in the center with each of their ghouls standings to their sides. Every character has their name written above or below them, on brightly coloured backgrounds for each Papa's robe colour. Also, individual pixel art chibi drawings of 69 characters from various European musicals (listed above) that are available as stickers. These drawings are also available as badges where they are placed inside circles to show what they will look like as physical button badges, some of them with plain colour backgrounds and some with 1-3 different pride flags as examples of how you can customise the backgrounds.]

For those who want to know what the little references in the prints are and don't want to guess, they're under the cut:

Omega can be a stompy boy when he's playing guitar, Alpha likes to throw up peace signs, Air is very found of the rock horns hand symbol, there's one close-up photo of Lake out there where you can clearly see his black sclera contacts and he's doing double 'horns' hand symbol, Mountain infamously takes his shoes off when playing the drums and leaves them on the stage at the site of his drumkit, Dewdrop likes to like.. most things including his guitar and his picks and sometimes his own hand, Pebble liked to hand out his drumsticks at the end of shows by dropkicking them into the crowd, Omega wore a flower tucked into his guitar strap during one show and Terzo constantly flirts with him more than other ghouls, Delta is suspected to be the ghoul that attempted to kick an audience member off stage when they climbed onstage and attempted to kiss Terzo, Zephyr was the only band member and only keyboardist who sat down while playing, the special ghoul played by Tobias wore a nametag 'Phil' in an interview, Swiss constantly is showing all his teethies with his smiles and always wiggling and moving around, Aether and Dewdrop often interact with Dew teasing/bothering Aether, Dew and Rain also often interact with Dew constantly reaching to grab his neck and attempt to kiss him, aaaand I think that's everything I intentionally included other than just generally tried to get the poses and expressions to match the personality we've seen from each ghoul.

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modmad · 22 days ago

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TPoH: Update!

Read the new TPoH Update here!

Read TPoH from the start here.

Thank you for your patience! A HUGE HUGE THANK YOU to my friends for helping me out with the art for this page! Please check out there work at https://gwinverarrouz.tumblr.com/ and @lizzybeanbutt

This is the first time collabing with anyone on TPoH so it was a huge leap to have the courage to ask my friends, and I had so many offers! You will see work from others in the near future, too!

Have you still not got your cute cosy Assok socks, or a dazzling butterfly pin? Head on down to Topatoco town and introduce yourself to my store for books, shirts, stickers and more! Oh, and you can always support me on patreon for little extras

#TPoH #the property of hate #RGB #Hero #Assok #and...?#sorry for slow art posting but trust me im been. working. my butt off.#you'll see.#oh hi ggg folks i make a webcomic too yeah

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mattastr0phic · 6 months ago

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MSpaint docm77 and painted rendog Design notes: - cloven hoof crocs (designed to still have functionality equal to his hooves) - hairy goat. upper body is only fuzzier so it doesn't catch fire as easily. - 2 butterflies: one pin, one sticker - very well loved fanny pack. - rendoc if you squint - denim apron to protect his front when he works on close up projects - prosthetic arm balance goes around his back and connects by his heart

#docm77 #rendog #rendoc #renthedog #hermitcraft #hermitcrafting #doodleys

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mikeystrawberry · 1 year ago

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Today is Dungeons & Daddies’s 5th Anniversary!

I haven’t been listening for nearly that long but the podcast and all its characters means a lot to me. Happy Anniversary!!!

Throwing the cropped sections under the cut because there’s a lot of stuff going on and I know Tumblr likes to throw half the pixel quality out the window. And also so I can ramble a bit about this piece!!!

This piece has been months in the making, possibly an entire year. And by that I mean I’ve had a sketch of the comp scribbled on my whiteboard for ages because I wanted to save this specifically for 5th anni art. Now onto design stuff!

(First off a random thought: I really love how the garlic knot came out, I kind of want it as an enamel pin.)

I knew I wanted to make this a stained glass piece since the beginning, but I was also going to add flowers at one point but quickly dropped the idea. It felt like too much and I also didn’t want to fuss over flower language assignments for everyone. I was also going to add Doodler tentacles, but also dropped that idea pretty early. Kind of on accident, right at the end, I figured out how to make it even more stained glass-like but taking a duplicated lineart underneath the regular layer and turning the brightness all the way down, then setting it to overlay and adding a guassian blur. It’s very subtle but it adds that tiny bit of depth that makes it look more real. As for shading on the lineart/gold, I tried adding more highlight on the characters who died but once I evened everything out it wasn’t as noticeable anymore so I’m throwing that thought here so the attempt at least known lol.

The order of characters only changed a little bit from my original comp, I flipped the Wilsons and the Oaks so the rainbow could work. As for the anchors, specifically in season 2, I lined them up to the teens since the season 1 anchors lined up with each dad:

Tony —> Scary: his death was the beginning of Scary’s betrayal arc and also Willy killed him.

Guitar Pick —> Taylor: it’s not really aligned with Taylor at all, but the anchor was with Glenn so I put it next to his blunt.

Scroll —> Normal: was only because it was the last left to give him, but there’s the whole scene of him and Hermie in the Green Room so it still works!

Garlic Knot —> Link: one of two that he broke, but the more significant of the two with him telling Grant he never wants to see him again.

Small notes on the season 1 anchors: I put the layer of mold in the overnight oats but you can’t really tell with the overlay. And to make the supper bowl more interesting I added the fantasy sodas mix they dumped into it. The lure of actually drawn before so I just traced my own art lol.

As for the other smaller triangles, it took me a bit to figure out what I wanted to put there. I didn’t even think of adding the vehicles until two days ago but I’m so glad I did. I don’t really have my own take on the mascot version of the Doodler (yet?) so I borrowed the design from one of the stickers in their merch shop. Teeny was terrifying as just a front facing head so I made him cute again.

In the outer circles, I put what I felt was the most significant quotes for each family. I really wanted to use “It’s okay to be angry, it’s not okay to be cruel” but it was just a little too long.

That’s all I can think of! If you read all the way through, thank you for indulging me in my excitement to gush over this piece.

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the-flaneur · 4 months ago

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hi flan! Could i pleas have charles leclerc and a boiling flask labelled with a sticker (i dont mind a marker if you would prefer) to mix together phosphorous, cobalt and tin with a blue pill and bath water?

double trouble (cl16)

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

phosphorus "you know, i could always get you off here right now" + cobalt "please..." "you need to learn to be better with your words, don't you think? tell me what you really want" + tin "i know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that” & blue pill sub!reader + bath water size kink

warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut ft. rough sex, public sex (or sex in a public location aka the bathroom), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), size kink, bratty!reader, very little plot

wc: 1865

a/n: first request ever! hope you guys enjoy, and feel free to send me more requests :)

[masterlist] [requests]

the quiet jazz in the restaurant was of little comfort to charles tonight.

usually, he was excited at the prospect of a double date with you, max and max’s girlfriend, eager to be able to catch up properly with his friend and their lives outside of racing (albeit max’s still very racing dominated off time)

however tonight you were being a fucking brat.

you had been teasing him all day, from your grocery shop this morning where you “accidentally” backed into him, rubbing your ass against his bulge, or when you went to take leo on for a walk, and you accidentally bent down too far while scoping up leo’s poop, showing charles your gorgeous lace panties under your skirt, or even just before the date, when you walked into the bedroom, stark naked except your heels, and then cheekily asked if you looked good and then shutting the door so you could change in “peace”

charles was hard, horny and desperate to get his hands on your hips.

so when you started your teasing again, charles knew he had to do something about it.

it being the fact that your hand was trailing up his thigh, your manicure tickling the skin near his bulge, before you pressed a firm two fingers into his bulge and rubbed it.

“merde,” charles groaned quietly, leaning back into the plush booth couch and very grateful that the jazz trio had started their music once again, so that his exclamation remained unknown to max and his girlfriend.

“mmm cherie, please move your fingers away,” charles muttered, trying to grab your wrist, but you giggled, before moving you fingers instead towards his belt, and toying with the buckle.

"you know, i could always get you off here right now,” he bit his lip, watching as you slowly pulling his dress shirt out, revealing his gorgeous waist and lightly defined abs which you loved.

“you say otherwise but you love this, don’t you…imagine me giving you a handjob while our friends are just sitting across from us,” you teased, and charles almost growled aloud at your teasing words, and now he was done with you.

snatching your wrist away from his bulge, pinning them to his lap, before working his own hands beneath your dress

“yeah you would like that you slut, wouldn’t you? me at your mercy for once in your life. well too bad, cause you’re my slut, and my brat to play with tonight,” he whispered, pressing his mouth against your earlobe, before tapping his fingers against your soiled panties

you whimpered softly as charles' words sent shivers down your spine, the touch of his fingers against your damp panties making you clench around nothing, "y-yes... i'm yours," you breathe out, a softness creeping into your voice against your brattiness tonight.

as charles continues to whisper dirty promises, you suddenly feel an urgent need to escape, "wait, i really have to use the restroom," you address the group, trying to sound casual while squirming slightly in your seat and pulling charles’ fingers away.

charles raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "oh? and why's that, little girl?" he leans back, folding his arms across his chest as he watches you intently. "trying to get away from me already?"

you bite your lip, avoiding eye contact as you fidget with the hem of your skirt. max and his girlfriend exchange knowing looks, aware of the brattiness you bring to the relationship and charles’ rough hand to bring you back down to earth.

feeling flustered under their amused gazes, you quickly stand up and make your way towards the restrooms, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. once inside the stall, you take a deep breath, letting the cool air hit your flushed face. leaning against the wall, you run a shaky hand through your hair, attempting to calm your racing heart.

after a few moments, you hear the door creak open behind you. glancing over your shoulder, you spot none other than charles entering the stall, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"well, well, well... looks like my little fucktoy needs some privacy," he says, closing the door behind him and locking it. his voice is low and husky, sending a thrill straight to your core. without warning, he steps closer, his large frame crowding you against the wall.

your breath hitches as charles looms over you, his presence both intimidating and exhilarating. the smell of his cologne mixed with the musk of his skin fills your nostrils, making your head spin.

"what do you think you're doing, coming in here with me?" you manage to stammer, even as your body betrays you, pressing back against the cold tile in a futile attempt to create distance from his overwhelming nature.

charles chuckles darkly, his hands finding your hips and gripping them tightly. "i could ask you the same thing, sweetheart. you're the one who insistently teased me on this little alone time."

he leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he whispers, "but since we're here together, let's put that pretty pussy of yours to good use, hmm?"

“please…” you whimpered pathetically, watching in a haze of arousal as charles rips your delicate panties to shreds, the torn fabric fluttering to the floor. your cheeks burn with shame and desire as he teases your sensitive clit with a single finger, circling the swollen bud with maddening slowness.

"you need to learn to be better with your words, don't you think? tell me what you really want," he growls, tracing his fingers maddeningly close and smirks when you attempt to push yourself down onto him.

"i-i want... i want you to fuck me," you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, "please, charles... use me. make me yours..."

his dark chuckle vibrates against your skin as he presses harder against your clit, coaxing out more of your needy whimpers, "that's more like it, baby girl. now, let's see if you can handle something a bit bigger than just my fingers, shall we?"

"i-i want... i want you to fuck me," you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, "please, charles... use me. make me yours..."

gasping sharply, you nod eagerly, craving the sensation of being stretched wide by charles's girthy cock. the thought sends a jolt of liquid heat pooling between your thighs. "yes, please... i need it," you plead, spreading your legs further apart in invitation. "fill me up, charles,"

with a wicked grin, he frees his impressive erection from his pants, the thick shaft bobbing menacingly as he lines it up with your entrance. "brace yourself, darling," he warns, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure.

then, with a powerful thrust, he sheathes himself fully inside you, the sheer size of him forcing a strangled cry from your throat. you cling to him desperately, nails digging into his back as he begins to move, each deep stroke dragging you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

you cry out loudly as charles plunges deeper, the stretch of his massive cock tearing a raw moan from your throat. each brutal thrust hits a spot within you that sets off sparks of electric pleasure, making your toes curl and your back arch involuntarily. you attempt to clasp a hand over your mouth, trying to curb the wanton noises escaping between your lips, but charles has none off that.

"i know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that," charles purrs, his lips brushing against your ear as he pounds into you relentlessly. "let me hear how much you love taking my big dick,"

despite your best efforts to keep quiet, your quickly body betrays you, moans spilling past your lips with every merciless stroke. the shame only adds to your arousal, your inner walls clenching tighter around charles's throbbing length as he fucks you with wild abandon.

"you're so fucking tight, baby,"

wailing shamelessly as charles ravages your aching cunt, you lose yourself in the overwhelming sensations coursing through your veins. the obscene slap of flesh against flesh echoes through the small stall, mingling with your desperate cries and charles's guttural grunts.

"so full... oh god, charles!" you keen, fingernails raking down his muscular back hard enough to leave marks. "fuck me harder!" he obliges with a feral growl, pistoning his hips faster, driving his huge cock impossibly deeper. your vision starts to blur at the edges as the coil of tension in your belly winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"gonna cum soon, aren't you?" charles rasps, nipping at your neck roughly. "go ahead, slut. cum all over my fat cock."

with a final keening wail, your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, every muscle seizing up as pure ecstasy consumes you whole. your pussy spasms violently around charles's enormous shaft, milking him as you convulse helplessly in his arms.

"f-fuuuuck!" you sob brokenly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure borders on pain. it feels like charles is splitting you open, reshaping your insides to fit him perfectly.

in response, he snarls savagely, burying himself to the hilt one last time before erupting deep within you. thick ropes of molten seed paint your quivering walls, marking you as his property in the most primal way possible.

shuddering through the aftershocks of your climax, you feel charles' hot release flooding your already oversensitive pussy. the sensation of his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he pumps you full of cum only heightens your bliss, leaving you limp and boneless in his grasp.

as charles slowly softens inside you, he pulls out with a wet pop, his spent cock glistening with your combined fluids. you can't help but gaze up at him

"look at you," charles murmurs, tucking his softening member back into his pants. "such a good little cumslut, taking everything i give you without complaint." he smirks, adjusting his clothing with a satisfied air.

still reeling from the intense fucking with charles, you stumble out of the bathrom, blinking in the bright lights of the restaurant. to your surprise, max and his girlfriend are nowhere to be seen, the table where you ate is cleared of their presence.

a folded piece of paper catches your eye, sitting atop the now-clean tablecloth. curious, you pick it up and read the brief message scrawled across the page:

we know how much fun you guys like to have so here's dinner on us, but you owe us for next time ;)

a flush rises to your cheeks at the implication, and you quickly crumple the note, tossing it aside. just then, charles appears beside your shoulder, looking every inch the self-assured boyfriend once more.

"well, looks like our friends made themselves scarce," he remarks, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

“wanna go back home for round 2?”

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma

#⭑ : my work.ᐟ #the-flaneur #chemical attraction ♥︎#smut #x reader #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

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moldspace · 29 days ago

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hey, all! new year, big news! i'm moving to california! to go to college! wow!

sadly this means i'll be away from my kiln and clay for four months :( that said, i have a backlog of art to post so you'll still get to see some of the stuff i've been working on over the fall and winter soon. BUT, that does mean no new shop updates for a little bit! you'll still be able to grab zines, pins, and stickers from my shop, though, because my wonderful sibling will be running it while i'm away. i'll also probably do some more crochet and polymer clay and plain old drawing while i'm kilnless, so hopefully you'll still get to see some fresh new temperate rainforest inspired stuff! i'm super excited for this new chapter, even if it means i've got to put art on the backburner for a little bit, and i hope y'all will stick around while i'm off gallivanting around in the redwoods. i'll be sure to post lots of banana slug pictures!!!

#my art #art

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rainbow-banana-slug · 8 months ago

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eye strain warning

gummy 🌈🐬

[plain text: gummy 🌈rainbow emoji🐬dolphin emoji]

(^ shark emoji not blue enough)

[id: dark skinned black person with williams syndrome in decora kei fashion walk with posterior walker. person have pink hair with rainbow bangs n all sorts hair clips in hair & stickers on cheek. have many rainbow necklace include one with double yoke egg. wear blue sweater with white cloud where one sleeve is yellow horse with pink leash thing. there many pins on sweater include gummies (gummy shark, peach ring, gummy worm, gummy bear) & green crayons & others. she wear cross body green dino plushie (bag?). rainbow vertical stripe pants with rainbow n star chain. one shoe red one shoe blue. posterior walker made of different color crayons. there text around character describe her which be functionally described below. end id]

🌈🐬.

girl (complicated gender) with williams syndrome n love decora kei fashion & bright colors (she call them happy colors/excited colors)!! she has lotssss of bows n head pieces n hair clips n necklaces n bracelets n other decoration & big wardrobe with bright colored clothing! she love wear different outfits but it consistently decora kei.

she love gummy candy & named herself after them >:) blue/red gummy worm & blue gummy shark her favorites (blue gummy shark also my favorite. to look at.)

williams syndrome (also known as williams-beuren syndrome) is genetic developmental disorder micro-deletion of some of chromosome 7. for gummy, WS lead her have moderate intellectual disability (ID) & global developmental delay, level 2 autism, ADHD-c; congenital heart defects (CHD); hypotonia (low muscle tone), & loose joints.

like many people with WS, gummy very friendly & social! she love hugs & talking to people & talk lot & very physical in show affection! but also often struggle tell when other people not want be social / be social with her, be called “a lot” & “too much,” which lead her have trouble make n keep friends n make her sad—even tho WS make her extra outgoing, she also still get sad n mad n not hide it. she also struggle with danger awareness & often treat strangers like would with friend, n it been something that her support team very focused on work with her entire life because this lead her be very easily taken advantage of n be put in danger.

also like many ppl with williams syndrome, language & verbal abilities her strong suit—tho it’s relative to her moderate ID, so one shouldn’t expect she write speak communicate like average person without struggle. her words more simple, n still need many help for communication, including various form of AAC & aide person.

she has aides that pretty much 24/7 present because WS & moderate ID but working on skills so can be more independent! it something she been work very hard on entire life n she quite proud of progress.

she has many classic facial features associate with williams syndrome, like epicanthal folds at eye, upturned nose, wide mouth & small teeth, small jaw, full cheeks (badly drawn), n large ears.

70% or more people with WS have some sort cardiovascular problem, n so do gummy. she has supravalvar aortic stenosis (narrowing of aorta) which form of congenital heart defect (CHD). hers not very severe n be closely monitored.

she also have hypotonia & loose joints due to WS & uses posterior walker full time to get around. she really like her posterior walker, it shaped like many crayons :D also wear SMOs but forgot write it so oops

art fight character profile

[reblog welcome but please no repost]

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peachglazewrites · 12 days ago

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Hiiii could you write for hyper fem reader abby? It's totally fine if you don't write for super feminine reader tho

𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚞𝚛𝚐𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: abby/femme!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: none ♡︎ 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: established relationship, fluff 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n, outfit descriptions, modern au & canon 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2,478

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Abby helps her overthinking femme with her cute little date outfit + a brain dump on how this dynamic would work in canon!

a/n: thank you so much for the request! this is my first one so i’m suuuper nervy posting it haha but I wanted to do this between writing chapter eleven of dream of us In a year! i hope you enjoy! ✿

“Honey, I think you look fine.”

“Fine?” you ask, peeking around your closet door, eyebrow raised. “Just fine?”

Abby stutters from where she sits on your bed. “Not—” Bringing a hand up, she rubs at her forehead. “Fine as in good. Cute. Hot... I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

You laugh, crinkling your nose. “I know what you meant.” You retreat from the closet, stopping in front of your full-length mirror once more. It’s almost a struggle to see past all the stickers and photos pasted along the edges. “And thank you, I just…” you sigh, posing in the mirror, smoothing down your top. “I’m just not feeling the white, I don’t think.”

The two of you are in your bedroom, getting ready to go out for lunch. Well, you’re getting ready to go out— Abby’s been ready since before she got here. She even arrived extra early, early enough to catch you still in your pyjamas, hair curlers hanging on for dear life, smudges of yesterday’s mascara darkening under your eyes. You let her in, obviously, leading her by the hand as you sleepily shuffled back to your room.

She’s been sat there patiently the whole time, watching you pad around as you get ready for the day. It’s mesmerising to her, the way you do yourself up. Expertly brushing and pinning your hair in place, dabbing concealer and blush and a whole bunch of other things Abby doesn’t have the vocabulary to name along the soft planes of your pretty little face.

You’d just finished up, clipping a pair of sparkling earrings to your lobes when you caught your reflection in the mirror by your closet. Abby could tell just from the dip in your brows that you were second-guessing, overthinking the outfit that you had meticulously put together, deciding, ‘no, this wasn’t it.’

So, Abby keeps sitting, looking so out of place your bed, plush pink sheets threatening to swallow her up as she sinks into them, surrounded on all sides by an impressive wall of decorative pillows and plush toys— most of which have been won for you by Abby herself.

Her ripped denim jeans, loaded with too many pockets to be purely functional, are belted at her waist with an impressive buckle-- something that makes her look like she walked right off a ranch. Tucked in to the waist of her jeans is a plain white tee, short sleeves rolled up to show off more of her freckled arms, muscles bulging as she wraps them around a heart-shaped throw pillow. Her usual braid has been passed for a low bun this morning, keeping the hair off her neck in anticipation for today’s sunny weather.

The only accessory she wears is a simple necklace, a locket you got her for your anniversary, a photo of you on the inside. Technically there’s two photos, one hidden behind the other for a very particular reason, meant for her eyes only.

You turn again in the mirror, chewing on your glossy lip as you look over the white tennis skirt peeking out from under your ribbed top. It’s a delightful shade of pink with capped sleeves. You just received it in the mail the other day and haven’t had a chance to wear it, and what better time to debut it than on a lunch date with your love. The buttons along the front are shaped like hearts. It’s perfect.

Just not with this skirt.

The vision was to add something white, try and match the colour of Abby’s top, but it’s simply not working out.

With a sigh, you unzip the skirt, letting it fall off your hips and pool at your bare feet, stepping out of it and walking back into your closet. Your top is longer than usual, but not long enough to completely hide your naked thighs from Abby, let alone the peek of your underwear from her wandering eyes.

“I think I like this outfit the most,” Abby says, a sly smirk playing on her lips as she runs her gaze lazily across your bare legs.

Rolling your eyes, you grab the closest ball-shaped object (a pair of bundled up socks) and throw them at her. You manage to hit her square between the eyes with your impeccable aim. “Keep it in your pants.”

She chuckles, a low sound as she picks up the bundle from her lap. They’re a ribbed white pair, a delicate ruffle along the top. Abby hums in thought, chewing on her cheek, unrolling the socks and smoothing them out. They’re about knee high, and she recognises them from the few times she’s seen you wear them.

Her eyes flick up to you, on the tips of your toes as you shuffle through your hanging skirts, then back down to the fabric in her hands.

“Hey, babe?”

“Hm?” You keep shuffling through your skirts, metal hangers screeching as you slide them along the pole.

“Why don’t you…” she trails off, feeling a bit silly for even attempting to give you of all people clothing advice. She clears her throat, starting again. “Why don’t you wear these, and that uh—you know that denim skirt you have? With the layers? It’s got that--”

“Oh!” You pop your head out from your clothes, looking over to your girlfriend perched on the bed. “The one with the ribbon on the hem?”

“Yeah, that one. That way we’ll both be wearing denim, and your socks will match my top… right?” She tacks on, almost shyly.

Ugh. She looks so cute sitting there, socks in one hand, frilly heart pillow clutched to her chest with the other. Her lips are doing that pouting thing she does when she’s thinking, a pretty pink from all her chewing on them.

“Let me see if I can find it.”

Turning back to your skirts, you riffle through each one until you spot it, neatly pressed and folded over the hanger. It’s just how Abby remembers it, a washed denim in two layers, a lovely pink ribbon weaved in and out through the slightly ruffled hem.

Not wanting to give any room for your brain to overthink, you shuffle the skirt over your hips, buttoning and zipping it into place. It sits at that perfect length above your knee, just long enough to be modest, but short enough to be a bit flirty.

Abby lets out a whistle as you exit the closet, stepping in front of the mirror.

“There she is.” She grins, loving the way she can see you blush in the mirror, watching as your already pink cheeks darken in colour under your makeup. The shade matches your eyes, similar pinks and reds brushed over your lids, blended delicately and precisely.

She loves it when you coordinate like this, tying everything in from head to toe.

You’ve got to hand it to her, she did a really good job. Your top sits smooth along the skirt, not looking too lumpy or awkward along your middle. It hides a fair bit of the waistband, but just like the tennis skirt, it lets the bottom peek out in a way that you can’t help but find adorable.

You don’t even have to have the socks on to know that this is a winner.

“Not too shabby, Anderson.” You grin back, turning to face her properly.

Abby sits up a bit straighter, chest puffed out in pride. Letting the pillow fall to her lap she raises one of her hands, making a spinning motion. “Give us a twirl, pretty lady.”

You let out an embarrassed giggle, cheeks burning hotter as you give in, spinning in place and finishing with a pose. You meet her gaze, warmth blooming within your chest at her soft eyes, so clear and filled to the brim with affection.

“Perfect.”

“Not yet.” You reach out, making grabby hands you walk over to her spot on the bed. “The finishing touch.”

Abby removes the pillow from her lap, patting one of her muscled thighs as she holds the socks out for you to take, smirking.

“You’re impossible.” You huff playfully, making a big show of spinning on your heels before perching on your girlfriend’s lap, taking the socks from her hand.

She chuckles behind you, her strong arms coming to wrap around your middle, pulling you back to sit flush against her chest. You can feel the cool press of her locket between your shoulder blades, her hot breath fanning across your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder.

You have to navigate around her grip on you, but you eventually roll the socks up your calves, adjusting the ruffles so they’re sitting neatly under your knees.

There. Now it’s perfect.

Abby’s arms tighten around you, squeezing you gently. With a soft hum you lean back against her chest, bringing one manicured hand up to lightly scratch at her scalp. She won’t admit it out loud, but she loves the way your nails feel. It’s part of the reason she offers to pay for you to get them done. That, and the way you get so giddy over a fresh set, staring at them for hours after you come back from your appointment.

“Thank you for being so patient. This must get so annoying.”

“Never annoying,” Abby murmurs, tilting her head to press a soft kiss to the skin of your neck. You shudder lightly, sinking into the feeling. “Like watching you get all dressed up.”

You can’t help the sigh that leaves you as she kisses up your neck, pressing her strong nose into the skin, finding the source of the perfume you spritzed there. A sweet scent that contrasts the spicy cologne she likes to wear.

“Mm… Like it when you wear this one.”

You giggle, letting out a soft gasp as she nips the skin gently. “I know, it’s why I put it on.”

She continues her path up your neck, kissing along your jaw and cheek. Holding her head in place you tilt your own to meet her, pressing your lips together in a lingering kiss.

It’s sweet. She’s sweet. Unbelievably so.

“Love you,” she mumbles against your lips, pressing in for another kiss before you can answer.

You pull away, hand sliding from the back of her head to her cheek, cupping it gently. “Love you, too.” Your thumb swipes across her lips, wiping off the tacky residue of your tinted lip gloss. “Want to head out?”

Abby nods, pressing in for one last, quick kiss before unravelling herself from you, giving your hip a loving pat. “Let’s go, before they sell out of those muffins you like.”

𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

Working in any capacity for the WLF doesn’t leave a lot of room or time for you to indulge in your physical appearance. Practicality always takes precedence, and you would never ever jeopardise yours or others safety because you were too stubborn to wear a pair of ugly cargo pants. Even as one of the dog trainers you don’t get a lot of leeway, having to be prepared and able to run, play, train, and bathe the couple dozen dogs you keep on site every day.

You live with what you can get, fussing over your hair and wearing the small amounts of makeup you have. It’s very DIY, a couple of the women in the stadium making kohl for the eyes, lip tints and blushes from extracts of things like beetroots. It’s not perfect, but it beats the expired stuff by a longshot. That’s just an infection waiting to happen.

The thing you take the most pride in are your nails. You have your routine perfected at this point, sitting down to file and shape them, rubbing oils into your hands to keep them nice and soft as you push back your cuticles. Your favourite part is painting them, switching out the colours each time you need to redo them.

No matter what you wear or what your hair looks like that day, you’ll have your nails pretty and painted, and that’s enough to get you through.

Your girlfriend Abby is the polar opposite to you, content to spend every waking (and even sleeping) moment in her cargos and muscle tanks. Not that you’re complaining. You both know she looks ridiculously good in them.

Everything about her is practical, and she doesn’t care for putting more effort into her appearance than she has to. Even her braid is entirely utilitarian, keeping her long hair out of her face. If she does it right, she can keep it in for the couple of days while she’s out on patrol, not needing to waste moments redoing the entire thing.

She doesn’t entirely get it, the want for femininity. She’s more than comfortable leaving it behind. If she’s being honest, she likes rejecting it— finding comfort in her broadness, the boxers she slides along her hips, the spicy cologne she spritzes after her showers.

She lives for the moments when you look up at her, eyes smudged dark and lips her favourite shade of pink, manicured hands running along the planes of her face or up to scratch the back of her head as you call her handsome. She’d do just about anything for you in those moments. Fuck everyone else, you’re the only thing she can think of.

Which is why, even though she doesn’t really get understand, she goes out of her way to find things for you, bring you home little bits and pieces from her patrols that she knows you’ll love.

She takes a few minutes to step away from the others and walk the aisles of that old pharmacy, eyes roaming the displays of nail polish. She ducks through broken windows to stuff a hairclip or hair tie into one of her pockets. She pretends to go take a piss when really, she’s jogging back to the jewellers she saw on the corner, snatching a dainty chain from a display cabinet.

And it’s all so worth it when she comes home after those long days, meeting you in darkened hallways or up in your favourite spot in the stadium bleachers, kissing your tinted lips as she presses her gifts into your palm. When she can watch the smile that breaks out over your face, eyes sparkling as you turn the items over in your hand, thanking her as you pull her in for another kiss.

She’s addicted to the way her heart thumps in her chest when she sees you the next time, newest colour on your nails or that clip she just got you holding your hair back. Almost as much as the grin she gets when you spot her looking, kissing the tips of your fingers before blowing it in her direction.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ request your own here! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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