#they're tacky on purpose

[polymerclay]

Graphics i made for a web design project

[thriftedtchotchkes]

a matter of time

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel can't remember the last time he took things slow and let himself feel. you give him a gentle reminder.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, late boston qz era, joel's pov, smut, porn with a twist ending, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, slow/intimate sex, finger sucking, premature ejaculation, nostalgia, internal monologue, tess doesn't exist

word count: 2.4k

It's been a long time.

Joel's all but forgotten what it feels like when it's this gentle. There's almost a tenderness to it, even though he doesn't know much of anything about you at all. Not your name or how you ended up here in this hellhole of a safe haven.

Nothing but the sweet, tacky taste of your 20-year-old Lip Smacker gloss and the tang of sweat and something sweeter lingering on your skin. But he's learning.

And he likes this new knowledge. Even if he never gets the chance to use it again, he'll devour it hungrily because it's a worthy distraction from the monotony of life in a quarantine zone. Day in and day out, he returns to this shitty apartment with its peeling floral wallpaper and rotting mahogany furniture—memories of a distant past that aren't his own and, yet, sting just as viscerally.

Tonight, the space hums with a different energy. Highlighted by the soft rays of the setting sun, the room's only purpose is to serve as a backdrop to you, and that alone changes everything. Your beauty, your responsiveness, as he lays you across his moth-eaten duvet is reminiscent of a different time, and he'll happily accept that reminder.

It's one of the few pieces of nostalgia that doesn't ache or eat away at him the longer he lets it in. No, you feel good. You're warm against his fingertips, soft and pliant under the path his lips follow from the sticky smear across your cheek, past the breath hitching audibly in your bared throat, down to your soaked, coarse curls.

You want him. More than that, you want to take your time with him, and he's surprised at how much he wants that, too. Trapped within these walls, what else does he have but endless, empty time? And there's nothing he'd love more than to spend it taking care of you, just like you asked him to.

He hovers above you, refusing to part his lips from your body as he urges you up the bed to rest against his pillows. They're flattened and scratchy from years of use and abuse, but they smell like him, and you like it. He can tell. The moment your hair fans across them, rich and lively in contrast, you bury your face into the fabric to breathe him in, and your body's reaction is instantaneous.

Your back arches with a heavy sigh of contentment and your legs fall apart naturally, welcoming him closer, but he waits. Reverently, he slowly leans back onto his heels to appreciate the sight in front of him, and he can't help but feel grateful. You're already glistening for him, preening under his undivided attention as your delicate fingers trail up to your breast to tweak a nipple.

As your eyelashes flutter and a gasp escapes your parted lips, his hand quickly drops to squeeze his twitching cock over his boxers and he keens, nearly doubling over at the pleasure that overcomes him. A coy, knowing smile quirks at the corners of your mouth, and he decides he needs to taste you again. Now.

He lurches forward, and you let out a surprised squeal as he licks into your mouth and commits to memory the faint taste of artificial root beer and mint on your tongue. The familiar fight for dominance he's so used to after years of quick fucks and one-night stands isn't there, and, instead, you set a languid, passionate pace that makes his head spin. It's a slow, deep caress—wet and warm and all-encompassing—and it's everything he hopes fucking you will feel like.

He's so hard it hurts. God, when was the last time he was this fucking hard? He's leaking messily through his boxers, desperate to be touched and enveloped and claimed.

And how could he not be? He's kissing the perfect woman. A patient goddess who's leading his hands across every inch of bare skin, showing him exactly how you like to be stroked and gripped, sighing encouragingly when he heeds your lessons just right.

You're one hell of a teacher, and he thinks he might just be your favorite student. He separates from you with a lewd smack and a string of saliva keeps you connected for a fleeting second before you lean up to lick it off his bottom lip. Your eyes lock with his and they're dark, almost completely consumed by desire, and it's further encouragement to continue on to his next assignment.

This one might just send him over the edge. You guide his hand down to cup your wet heat and you're drenched, dribbling and smearing slick patterns onto his sheets that he'll probably trace with his tongue while he jerks off to the thought of you long after you're gone.

Bathed in the dwindling embers of twilight, your silhouette—the plush slope of your breasts and soft curve of your belly and thighs—is cast around the room in artful shapes and shadows, and he wishes you were a permanent fixture. That your visage covered these walls instead of false depictions of growth and life. It's a dangerous train of thought, but he's too lost in the haze of your warmth and wetness to think about anything else.

He needs to feel you. He needs to fuck you.

He barely even realizes he's already slipped inside you as if he's been there all along, stroking your walls with the rough tips of his middle and ring fingers and honing in on that hidden, spongy spot with such precision, you'd think he'd done it a million times before. Thick, cording veins strain against his forearms as he tenses with the effort of keeping his thrusts long and purposeful, and he watches, captivated, as your cunt sucks him in greedily and fruitlessly tries to hold him inside you.

Tight—fuck. You're so tight. He's bucking into his unoccupied hand, jerking himself off over his boxers, and he doesn't remember when he started, but he can't stop. It feels too good...you feel too good, and the steady, simultaneous rhythm he sets for both of you isn't nearly enough.

Faster. Harder. Still so goddamn tight. He'll never be able to stretch you out enough to take him, and he's starting to worry he'll cum before he even gets the chance to try. His cock throbs violently against his palm, and he bites back a groan at the vision beneath him. Christ, how did you get here?

You can't possibly be real. Your thighs are quaking on either side of his waist and your pussy clenches dangerously hard around his scissoring fingers. There's a thin sheen of sweat matting the wispy hairs around your temples and pooling everywhere your body connects with the mattress, your searingly hot skin an addictive, sticky trap he willingly and faithfully succumbed to.

And those sounds.

You need his cock. Fucking hell, you need it. Greedy, patient, needy fucking woman. He can hear it in your soft pants and hitched breaths. You're quiet and subtle in your pleasure, so unlike any other woman he's ever been with, but when you whimper—fuck. Fuck.

He's going to give it to you. Right now, after taking the time to map and explore and discover, he's going to use his newfound knowledge to hollow you out, then fill you up until you're overflowing with him.

He slows to a stop and pulls his glistening fingers from your cunt, and there's that faint, perfect sound again. A stuttered, broken whimper that lilts with each knuckle that catches on your entrance. He sucks his ring finger into his mouth and adds your taste to his list of all-time favorites, right alongside your Barq's root beer-flavored lip gloss.

Then, he offers you his middle finger, and he swears he can feel your lips sealing tightly around his cock as you wrap them around it. You work your mouth up and down, bobbing your head eagerly like he's about to blow his load down your throat, and—

He's going to fucking cum.

With his finger still nestled between your lips, he wrenches his boxers down his thighs and lines himself up with your entrance, ignoring how close he's suddenly teetering on the edge. His balls are already taut between his legs and it worsens as he inches in his aching, neglected tip.

"S'time, beautiful," he grits out, still tender in his touch as he splays his hand across your waist to stroke your heated skin. "You ready for me?"

You nod quickly, humming your affirmation around him, and he gives you another shallow inch. He was right. No amount of preparation was going to ease the stretch. You're gripping him so hard, it almost hurts, and the thought of how tight you'll be when you cum—he feels delirious with it.

Yes. Yes. Squeeze him. Let him feel you wringing him fucking dry. Let him pump you so full of his release, you'll be dripping him for days, an intimate, lingering reminder of this night. You have no fucking idea how long he's been waiting for this, for you. He doesn't even know your name, but that doesn't matter. Right now, all that matters is this.

This deep-seated, unspoken connection. It's been a long time. And, right now, his time is up.

He slides home in one long, deep thrust, the tip of his cock tenderly nudging your cervix, and your body struggles to accept him. He lights up every nerve ending like a live wire, drags against every sensitive pressure point in perfect succession, and your walls begin to mold around him as if they recognize the sensation. Like your body's remembering him.

Sharp nails dig into his side and drag from his shoulder down to his ass, urging him closer. You're trembling beneath him, your breasts thrumming with sharp, rapid breaths akin to a hummingbird as he fucks you further up the bed, one slow thrust at a time. You're fluttering around him, a delicate spasm and, then, an indicative clench, and it forces a sob from his chest that he barely recognizes.

That's it, beautiful. It's right there. C’mon, give it to me.

He doesn't speak it aloud. He hasn't coaxed or rushed you with his words this entire night and he's not about to start now. He knows, for some inexplicable reason, that he doesn't have to.

But you do. It's barely a whisper—a single, hushed syllable that trembles and passes your lips like a plea. A prayer only he can answer.

"Joel."

Christ. He knows you.

Christ, he's cumming.

His vision whites out, and he's only vaguely aware of his tightening grip on your hips and the long, drawn-out groan that tapers into something devastatingly familiar. Your name.

Now, it's his turn to pray. He repeats it like a mantra, breathing it into your lungs as his lips crash onto yours. It's almost as if he's afraid he'll forget it again if he stops, but your body's response quickly convinces him otherwise.

You bear down on him harder, driven closer and closer to your peak each time he calls out to you, for you. You're molten hot around him, searing each letter into his skin with every pulsing clench of your cunt, and he does the same, thick spurts coating your walls.

He can't help himself. He stays deep—he knows he shouldn't, knows how dangerous the consequences could be, but he needs to—and your ankles digging painfully into his back to hold him in place wordlessly tell him you need it, too.

So good, you're so good. You're perfect. You're his. You're—

Gushing, squeezing, finally moaning for him. You’re cumming.

With it, your orgasm brings every memory of you flooding back at once. Late summer afternoons spent in bed while Sarah visited her grandma. Champagne-flavored kisses on New Year's Eve, soundtracked by Dick Clark and cheers from the crowd in Times Square filtering through the plasma TV in his living room.

He loved you. He loved this. He should've known the moment he kissed you, the moment he saw you, but he's been surviving for so long. He can't remember the last time he lived.

Your limbs surround him, pulling his entire weight down to rest on top of you, and you continue to swivel your hips into his pelvis, riding out your high as his name falls breathily from your lips. He works you through it, frantically blinking away the sudden blur that engulfs his vision so he doesn't miss out on another moment with you. Not ever again.

He's...he's crying. He didn't even know he was capable of that anymore. Sensitivity starts to set in, in more ways than one, but he doesn't want to leave the heat of your embrace. He thinks he might break at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and seeping into the undeserving fabric of his co-opted sheets, far away from where it belongs.

But, then, your lips meet his tanned, weathered cheek—a stark contrast to the young man he was when he was yours—and you kiss away his tears. He feels more fragile than he has in decades, and that's surprisingly okay. Because you're here to protect him, now.

Trailing from the apple of his cheek to his lips, up to the years of tension creasing his forehead, back down to kiss him tenderly, you establish a comforting repetition. He chases you every time you part, but, after a while, he's struck with a realization. What you've been trying to convey with your actions all night.

You always return to him. So, maybe this was just a matter of time. A slow smile spreads across that beautiful face he hadn't allowed himself to think about since the outbreak, and you huff out an affectionate laugh, your fingertips curiously running across his back and tracing raised lines and jagged shapes you've never felt before.

"Hi, Joel," you murmur fondly, still close enough for the tacky remains of your gloss to catch his bottom lip, and his tongue darts out to taste you.

It's real—it's too vivid not to be real. His eyes dart between yours, and he can still see everything your future together was supposed to hold. He still sees forever.

"Hey, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with tears and disuse, and something unidentifiable that sounds a lot like hope.

He hasn't felt this way in a long time. Not since you.

thanks for reading!

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

i literally spend at least 2 hours a week just looking at various pictures of the terracotta army. utterly entranced. look at the details in the hair. you'd never see ANY of this when they're lined up in formation, but they're there.  

theres about 8000 of these guys down there, no two faces are alike. they're works of art. they're the manifestation of a cruel despot's delusions of grandeur. a talisman against the terrible inevitability of death, both pathetic and strangely pitiful. like watching a child clinging to his blanket, begging you not to turn off the light. they were a bunch of insignificant clay statues from a side chamber that was so small and unremarkable, no one bothered to write down the location. they were modelled after real people. their only purpose was to serve qin shi huang in the afterlife, so he could reign in heaven as he did on earth. now the emperor is just a ghost and his pawns are immortal. my dad and i visited them in the dead of winter, on a weekday, just so we wouldn't have to deal with tourists like us. the place had easily 500 people--not including the ones below ground. we traveled to xian via the old "green skin" diesel train. there are faster means, like highspeed rail but dad insisted i try the authentic way, the same way he would have traveled when he was my age it was also like, a quarter of the price but im sure that had nothing to do with it! back in the 80s carriages would get so packed people had to have their luggage passed in via the windows. as we chugged along, i read my book and my dad made us cup noodles. car is just a shortened version of "carriage", the word is the same but the mechanism is different. it's the same in chinese. i think if i told someone from the warring states period i could travel from the Kingdom of Qi to Qin in just four hours with my metal carriage, i'd be laughed out of town--or accused of being a spy and sentenced to 'death by carriage.' we hopped off the train at 4am and took a different "carriage." the taxi driver joked; "basically every dynasty put their capital in xian, stick a shovel anywhere and you'll turn up some national treasure or another." i wonder what it would have felt like to be a farmer digging a well and then out pops a remarkably realistic human head. statistical analysis show the soldier's faces bear a strong similarity to people living in the region today. the taxi stopped in front of a jewellery-hawking tourist trap and refused budge an inch until we went inside. did you know the terracotta soldiers were originally multi-coloured and painfully gaudy, just like the greek marbles? they were made assembly-line style. the arms and legs were made from the same workshops that made clay plumbing pipes and roof tiles. for quality control, the artisans were required to stamp their names. the workers who built these tombs were executed shortly afterwards, because only dead men can be trusted with secrets. qin shi huang's mausoleum is unlikely to be excavated in my father's lifetime, or mine, not unless i'm willing to take a BIG ONE for the team... instead of the tomb, they built some kind of qin shi huang-themed theme park next to it. not only was it tacky as hell the entrance fee was like $50. we went to the museum and i looked at bronze tools and pottery shards for three hours. look why can't we just crack the thing open i can't be the only one here whos dying from curiosity what if we all just took turns digging

[ghostsprobably]

immediate thoughts on the new winx trailer

- I LOVE FLORA'S VOICE but girl why are you on earth im sorry this isnt ur moment. i'm interested if this will mean she and bloom will be even closer as room mates but stella needs to be blooms psuedo sister

- IS THAT KNUT???? DID THEY MAKE KNUT HOT? I DONT KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THIS

- no sign of kiko other than her notebook which to me implies he won't exist as a pet (maybe he'll show up later?)

- i do not like stella's voice. its hard to place why but it just doesnt fit her imo.

- why does stella put on a wig in her fairy form? those thick ass bangs look like a wig. why are they v bangs. why does she only have them as a fairy

- blooms voice is very generic sounding but i mean. yeah

- ummmm the wings. i think they are so tacky 😭 they look like they were designed with the sole purpose of making it as easy as possible to turn them into cheapo merch wings that are awful quality and even uglier. AND the two we've seen (stella and flora) fuck up their color palettes!!!

- why is knut big and sexy.

- im glad we're restarting. i hope they're able to do as good of a job as all of the amazing reboots in the fandom, but im so worried they just wont put the heart in that the story needs

- the trix look GOOD. they look better than the winx lmaooo. icy is my favorite but i have to say i loveee stormy's new design. she's still white tho, but we dont know if they'll actually be sisters or not.

- aisha is here!!!!! shes here in season one!!!! i am so excited about this aaa i cant wait to see how that changes her dynamic with the group

- im still a tad worried but im more excited than i was, and i am dying to see the boys. i wonder if nabu and helia will be in season one as well

[rinashinki]

some soft old men eruri headcanons

levi does not allow any food to be eaten in bed, but he will make tea on sundays so they can lay in bed together and erwin will read the news out loud to him and levi dozes in and out of sleep

erwin likes to bring back a little souvenir from his trips, but levi doesn't like pointless tacky gifts that end up being wasteful, so its usually food or clothing or something to use in the kitchen

they're both early risers and like to go for a run at dawn before the world wakes up. erwin insists on showering together after to save money but really, who would turn down the opportunity to have a naked wet levi in their arms?

when erwin is experiencing pain in his arm stump, levi will massage it and apply a warm compress to make it feel better

erwin loves to dance, and levi does too, but he's too shy and feels awkward doing it on purpose, so erwin will put on some music at home, dim the lights, silently hold his hand out for levi to take, and they'll slowdance in the kitchen until the music fades

as he gets older, erwin tends to misplace his glasses so levi makes a note to remember where hes left them

levi gets a little bit insecure about losing his physical abilities as he gets older, and erwin gets a bit worried about his memory and strategic abilities lessening as he ages, but they help each other remember what a blessing it is to be able to grow old together

[utilitycaster]

what are those 5 things? 👀

Seeing people start admit that maybe Imogen and Laudna did in fact pressure Fearne excessively hard to take the shard. I think it's good Fearne took it in the end, but yeah they really made it difficult for her to express her doubts and that was shitty of them. I got extensive hate for saying that at the time from people who are literally saying the same thing now. It's very funny.

The (entirely valid) complaints I've seen that people care more about imo/dna as a ship than Laudna as a character and are making her book solely about the fact that Imogen will show up in it. I pointed out this exact same problem occurring while Laudna was dead, almost two years ago.

Caleb considering leaving the Nein means they aren't really bonded. Imogen considering leaving Bells Hells means she's so perfect and caring and selfless and noble and good. Anyway yeah sure I definitely believe that if Imogen were a man played by Liam everyone would definitely be totally uncritical and love everything she did. (This is also a layered one, given how Twitter has been bashing Orym nonstop for over a year).

I know it's been a month and I've said this repeatedly so this is a bit tacky but I'm still riding the absolute Irony High of people being like "STOP TALKING ABOUT HUBRIS STOP TALKING ABOUT HUBRIS anyway of COURSE Bells Hells would NEVER see the gods as a messed up family, just like them" and then jump cut to Laudna literally saying that. It's just genuinely so funny that people mad at everyone calling Aeor full of hubris proceeded to get their wax wings straight up vaporized at the top of episode 102.

People calling imo/dna the bestest most organic most slow-burn sapphic ship ever (it's not even the longest slow-burn f/f ship on Critical Role; even if you're stupid enough to count the two years we know virtually nothing about just for the purposes of padding out the time to eliminate Beauyasha on a technicality - nevermind that slowburn is about the length of the story itself and not the length of time the characters have known each other, since it's obvious that if someone said 'here's Jane and Kate, they've known each other for 300 years, now they are kissing' this would not be a satisfying slowburn unless like, you went back and filled in the 300 years - Kimallura STILL wins) but as someone who received a decent amount of harassment for saying it wasn't very interesting and as such kept tabs on the people engaging in that harassment...they've been dropping like flies. If it's the best sapphic ship ever and it's canon and you're in the top 5 ships for the show of all time on ao3 and Delilah's gone and they're going to get their cottage, funny how a good chunk of the shippers haven't even managed to stay interested in CR. Also why are half the people who HAVE kept up like hmmmm what if I threw Fearne or Ashton in there. Like believe me, I support a poly hells situation, but uh. quite a tumble for what people used to call the Beating Heart Of The Campaign (TM).

Bonus! This is below a cut because it has spoilers for next week's Re-Slayer's Take that's only out for Beacon subscribers but

we see Devexian, and he meets Frog (an aeormaton PC) and his overall statement on Aeor is "it created us to serve, and we fought for our autonomy. It was both a beautiful and terrible place. Anyway the past is past, what's important is that we as aeormatons take our chance to live now, and my personal goal is not just to bring back as many aeormatons as I can, but learn how to make more aeormatons." He is completely uninterested, at least in 839 PD, in any sort of action against the gods. Like, I think he regrets the fall of Aeor because a lot of Aeormatons and knowledge died in it but he literally is like "your life is defined by your own choices, not your designation at the time of Aeor." The actual survivors of the fall of Aeor are like anyway, we want acceptance, autonomy, and the means to control our own production in modern day Exandria. Ludinus whomst.

[trippingontheescalator]

Snape Headcanons

He's bad at geography. Sure, he knows this super rare, obscure potion ingredient can only be found in this one area in Laos, but ask him to find Laos on a map he won't have a clue. There was a time he dreamed about seeing world, but he quickly realized he would never get the opportunity and so doesn't see any purpose in learning geography.

A lot of the Marauders' claims about him, like knowing curses as a first year, are exaggerated, but the one thing they're right about is Snape was very nosy. Part of it was because it was useful; knowledge is power, after all. He could trade gossip with his fellow Slytherins, or use it to keep one step ahead of the Marauders (or taunt them with it). But most of it is just his natural curiosity. He's a people watcher. He doesn't often understand people, is bad at human interaction, so he watches from a distance.

Severus knows half the first years think he's some sort of vampire and he revels in it. He knows exactly the kind of image he creates, dressing up in those long black, swishing robes, the spooky dungeons with the jars full of animal body parts. His taste is 33% Mad-Scientist-Run-Amuck, 33% Sad-Victorian-Boy-Dying-of-Tuberculosis, 33% Tacky-Post-Halloween-Discounted-Decor, and 1% Lucius's-Increasing-Despair-to-Make-Severus-Into-a-Functional-Human-Being.

In addition to potions and reading, Severus also does a lot of writing. He's been working on-and-off on a novel since he was fifteen. At this point, it's almost 500,000 words long. One of the few ways he's able to express his thoughts and feelings is through fiction. The main character was heavily based on Lily, especially in the early stages when they were still friends, but as he grew older he put more of himself into the character and now she's become the version of himself he wishes he could be. The night before he kills Dumbledore he burns the entire thing.

Severus knows the DADA position is cursed. Everyone knows it's cursed. He still asks to teach it every year because he also knows that it's the only way he can escape Hogwarts, and he's willing to risk death to do it.

His feelings for Lily have gone through the entire spectrum. At times, she was a sister to him, especially the years before Hogwarts. He used to be incredibly jealous of Petunia, wished he could be Lily's sibling and live in their house and have their parents. It became romantic as a young teenager, especially since she was the only person he felt safe enough with for his pubescent mind to fixate on and explore his budding sexuality. Later, as he became friends with the other Slytherins in his year, it was strictly platonic but nonetheless a very deep friendship. They were both trying to control the other, and Severus was especially worried that Lily would end up like Eileen if she gave into Potter's charms. After his failed apology, he grew angry and resentful and he tried very much to hate her (but he couldn't, not even after she married Potter). And then, after her death, it circled back around to brotherly. He liked to remember those early years best of all, and his devotion to a better cause after her death parallels that of Dumbledore's after Ariana died.

Look I know there's a lot of confusion about godparents, and HP didn't help by being coy about religion, but a godparent isn't a legally appointed guardian. Like, they definitely can be if the parents want that (as it appears to be the case with Sirius Black), but that's not the default. A godparent sponsors a child's baptism and is in charge of their spiritual upbringing, making sure they know their catechism, etc (hence the god part of godparent, its a Catholic/Anglican thing). And the most widespread religion in HP does seem to be Christianity with Christmas being celebrated and whatnot (though I do headcanon the purebloods have their own Druidic/Christian hybrid religion going on). With that being said-- Severus Snape is Draco's godfather. He's also Merula Snyde's godfather. And Pansy Parkinson's godfather. And, like, the godfather of 10 other kids of former Death Eaters. Severus Snape climbed the Death Eater ladder; he was one of Voldemort's favourites during the First War and these other Death Eaters were like, "Damn. I got to get on his good side. Please sponsor my child's baptism."

[agentoffangirling]

And on the topic of redesigns, here's how I would redesign the D4 characters. If a character isn't mentioned here, it's because I like their outfits in the movie and wouldn't redesign it much:

Chloe: Brown hair, often styled in braid(s) so they're away from her face from sword fighting. Looks as though she came from the lap of luxury itself with high-end fabrics and materials. A deeper blue for the majority of her clothes, with lighter blues and whites as accents. More feminine, again going into that luxury angle with bits of gold jewelry and sparkly boots. Maybe a slight skirt train when she's not fighting, or a sparkly shirt with ruffles at the end, resembling a skirt

Red: Keeping the red hair, but more muted; I think brown roots would look really nice on her, as though she dyed her hair out of rebellion, which adds to her arc. Natural brown hair could also play into her being less of a VK. Also keeping the leathers, but a ton more black into her outfits to help with the bright red. White is also an accent color, but she has less of it compared to Chloe. More harsh angles and shapes to set them apart, tank top girly instead of the standard t-shirt

Bridget: Red hair, but muted like Red's. Definitely a lot more curls to her, though, and I think she'd also look really cute with a bow. Very extra and ultra-feminine, is obviously rich but doesn't necessarily flaunt it. While her fabrics are high end, she has minimal jewelry and prefers to stick to a more modest style of dressing. Lighter pink for the majority of the outfits to match her hair better but some hot pinks here or there to help her stand out. Puffed up sleeves, short skirts that are similarly puffy (and sparkly) with some type of bottom. Flats instead of boots, nails painted with card designs

Ella: Exact opposite of Bridget. Braids are done in a similar fashion to Chloe's, but a more utility-esque purpose. Denim for the majority of her clothes, keeping that "scrapped together" feel, and very very minimal makeup. Oversized clothing occasionally due to hand-me-downs from Anastasia and Drizzella. Nailbeds are cracked from working so much, and her boots are muddy, form and function over style. Her outfit from "Get Your Hands Dirty" is really what I'm going for

Maleficent: Out with the hair-wrapped horns. Out with them. They're also going to be shorter, not as grown in, and more standing up to resemble the ones from D1 and "Sleeping Beauty". Dark purple hair, darker than Mal's, kept up in a ponytail braid. Victorian clothing with lace, a lot more drapey, almost trailing on the ground. Long nails, purple with green decals. Her outfit is primarily black with dark purple and neon green accents, and her boots are leather with a sharp heel. Black lipstick and a smokey eye to finish

Morgie: I really don't like that scarf. I know it's supposed to resemble a snake, but it just looks tacky. Tighter clothing made of fine materials, a vest with an almost scale-like design to it. Leather pants with that similar scale style running down the sides. Drapey sleeves are alright, but I feel like he could also do without them. Painted nails for sure, though, he would rock a green. More gold decals and a mild green for his color palette Also I think the eye thing should be permanent

[drgarrisonandpaul]

Rolando 'Fluff' Headcanons

Minors DNI, as per usual

Well! The other one went nicely, so maybe I ain't half bad at this. Might as well keep it flowin

The scenario is on a fourth date... or is it the fifth? They're so spaced out due to his shitty scheduling that you have no idea anymore.

You decided to go to his place though, which is really just his own room in his own Hotel. Why bother having a whole separate place when he owns a whole damn building of rooms to stay in?

He may be unconventional as a partner, but that doesn't mean he's any less of an old-timer. I mean, do you SEE those tacky, tinted glasses? He picked out a horror movie to lounge with. Grabbed some popcorn. It's a classic date idea

You were an interesting human... he'd found himself attached to you and unable to tell you what he was. Not really sure if he wanted to tell you at all. That constant tick in the back of his mind, trying to separate you from prey was... weak. You were still a toy to torment in some ways, just maybe not as aggressively. There are romantic ways to mess with someone

He lets you snuggle up to his side and watches with a toothy smirk as you yelp at the occasional jumpscares in the movie, glad that he'd picked a good one

"You holdin' up there, fidget?~"

His voice is always so teasing. Maybe even a little rude, making you scoff and grumble as you clutch his arm for security. The way his legs are spread makes it a little difficult for you to snuggle up to him in exactly the way you want to and that is 100% purposeful on his end. Watching you reposition every few seconds, unable to focus properly

Regardless of form, his expressions are very toothy and wide, so you KNOW that he's smirking down at you with those smug-ass eyes

After the movie, he'll let you snuggle him more properly, just... on his own terms. Maybe in his leather chair instead of the couch, making you straddle him awkwardly

He does still love you, even with how strangely unpleasant he can be at times. He's not the 'I love you like the moon loves the sun! Never touching and yet complimentary in every way, my darling!!' type of man and he LOATHES that gushy shit. He's been a player in the past and this is... his version of trying. He IS trying, just maybe not in the best, most healthy way

[damnfandomproblems]

6171:

"It becomes an issue when a canonically masc/femme character gets changed completely for shipping purposes. It's like reading an OC/canon ship."

No, it doesn't become an "issue". It becomes annoying to some people, yeah, or even many people. But an issue? No. It's super annoying to see people strip down characters and sand off all the recognizable aspects of them to the point they read like OCs, but it's still a valid exercize, even if we hate it, even if it's tacky, even if it's cringy, even if it's "oh god, they're projecting or missing the point so badly".

Fanworks are transformative by nature, and I'm not about to draw arbitrary lines dictating what kinds of transformative decisions are inherently bad or problematic. I'd sooner look at the person behind the work. If they're not a raging bigot (which is most people in fandom, unlike what a lot of too-online antis and other people will claim)? Good to go.

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[heyitschartic]

I love the Harrow Nova AU a ton, it is one of my favorite fanfic concepts to read for TLT. I think as a concept it's so intriguing just because of how much it turns everything on its head. Gideon the favored, Harrow the reject. The different ways that authors decide to depict this dynamic can be so fun and interesting. Despite this, I've only read one fanfic that didn't partway through break my suspension of disbelief beyond repair.

Something writers need to recongize is that most of the appeal in Gideon the Ninth is the relationship between Gideon and Harrow. It's fun, it's fucked up, it's interesting, and it's tragic. This AU inevitably breaks that usual bond and almost calls for some new, interesting fucked up dynamics. And you'd better deliver it or else you're stripping away some of the best parts of the story for a tacky coat of paint.

I think the problem is that you need to make some serious changes and stick to them without cracking the narrative like an egg on the sidewalk. Gideon as the Reverand Daughter is interesting, but it also requires her to, you know, act like the Reverand Daughter. A lot of the fun byplay in Gideon the Ninth is that the two of them are putting on that facade that the Ninth are fine, everything is okay, we're just two nuns. Their entire house relies on this bluff. But if Gideon is the Reverand Daughter, unless you're gonna completely change her personality, then it's gonna hit the point where you go "why is she still doing this? Gideon wouldn't care about preserving the Ninth the way Harrow would." And if you've stripped that rigid structure from her, then you better have something interesting to replace it, some fun reason that she needs to play the devout nun, or else, inevitably, everything else will start collapsing in on itself.

Harrow's situation is just so interesting on its own. The horror, the grief, the rage, the purpose of a generation given to her and then stripped away. There's so much juicy stuff to work with and if she's playing off a wet noodle, I'd almost wish she'd just do both of us a favor and kill Gideon off.

I like Harrow Nova. I like the concept and I like the stories, but it requires a pretty fundamental change to keep the narrative flowing. Maybe they're sent to something not Canaan, somewhere they're being watched and need to keep up appearances or risk having major plans blow up in their face. Maybe their new personalities force Cav Harrow to take the lead, playing mouthpiece for a Necromancer who can't handle people. Maybe Harrows life is literally on the line and Gideon cannot do anything but play-act the nun or Harrow will get killed.

There are so many fun possibilities for this what if, please use them! Otherwise it will become a fix fic and nobody wants that.

[viisoul]

MAKE IT UP TO YOU!

{dom!sanemi , sub!reader , degrading , overstimulation , use of the word ‘bitch’ , choking , modern au.}

when y/n’s new pair of shoes are ruined because of her clumsiness enemy, her enemy is forced to apologize and make it up to her, but it seems to go a little further than just that.

"you fucking asshole!"

"oh, shut up, you whiny bitch!"

"you ruined my shoes! i hope you die!"

"shut the hell up! the shoes were ugly anyway!"

y/n l/n, the forever enemy of sanemi shinazugawa, was currently fuming because of his clumsy actions. y/n was always a spoiled daddy's girl since birth. her dad bought her anything and everything she wanted. he was filthy rich, after all. she lived in a huge mansion with a huge bedroom just for her. she'd always gotten the latest designer clothes or bags, and the newest shoes.

today was yet another day in college, y/n and sanemi arguing over every little thing. however, it was lunchtime. sanemi doesn't usually eat lunch food, so he just got a red fanta out of the vending machine. unfortunately for y/n, she was walking towards sanemi and she hadn't realized it.

the poor girl bumped into him, the red drink spilling all over her brand new white shoes and her outfit. though, she was more concerned about her shoes.

"you shut up! i think they're cute! you just don't have any fashion sense, you tacky motherfucker!"

as sanemi was about to say something else, his eyes shifted over to his friends before he spoke. "tsk. you're embarrassing me. i don't have time for you."

sanemi purposely bumped her shoulder before walking over to his small group of friends, as she walked off to the bathroom to clean off her shoes as much as she could.

when y/n made it to the bathroom, she sighed lowly. she put soap on a tissue and wet it, scrubbing her shoes roughly. although y/n was spoiled, she was very appreciative. she was happy with anything her dad gave her. it'd hurt her deeply to know that the thing that was given to her from one of the only people that actually loves her had gotten messed up.

she exhaled, throwing her head back as she let the shoes fall from her hands and onto the ground. despite scrubbing as much as she could, there was still a reddish pink color on her shoes. now she had to deal with the embarrassment of walking around with dirty shoes. hopefully bleach would do the trick when she got home.

y/n slipped her shoes back on, throwing the napkins away in the garbage before walking out. as she walked out, she saw sanemi leaning against the wall next to the boy's bathroom.

"what are you doing, you creep?" she murmured.

sanemi pushed himself off of the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"tsk. i already don't wanna do this."

"do what?" she stared at him in confusion.

"look, i'm sorry. okay? i'm sorry about messing your shoes up." his cheeks were tinted with the reddest color possible, and his expression showed his embarrassment.

"oh? sanemi's apologizing for once?" she teased.

"shut up!" he hissed. "if you want, i can... make it up to you."

she paused. "...who's telling you to do this?"

"shino— nobody! i'm doing this on my own! now, do you want me to make it up to you or not?"

"um... how?"

"i'll take you out to dinner—, to your favorite restaurant."

"ha! unless you're planning to spend a couple hundred dollars at least, i think not."

"...whatever. it doesn't matter. so, do you wanna go or not?"

"um... sure." she replied quietly, thinking that if she said that, it'd change his mind.

"give me your number. i'll pick you up at six." he held his hand out, expecting her phone.

after exchanging numbers, y/n left to go home early with her dad. she ranted to her father, who was off of work that day, for what felt like hours on end about sanemi. her father could only awkwardly listen to her as she paced around the spacious living room.

y/n's father was used to listening to her rants. especially about sanemi. he'd suggested switching schools, yet, for some reason, she always insisted on staying.

"his dumb white hair and those ugly scars all over his disgusting face—! i hate him!" she groaned, holding her head in her hands.

"listen, sweetheart, i'll just buy you another pair."

she sighed. "daddy, that's not the point. he ruined my shoes on purpose!"

"mmh. did he apologize...?"

"w-well, yeah. he said he'd take me out as an apology..." she said lowly. "it's not something he always does."

"maybe he finally realized what he did wrong." her father smiled, though, on the inside, he was raging.

how dare someone as poor as him make his sweet baby girl so angry like that?! he was just as furious as she was, if not worse. he wanted to pounce on sanemi as soon as he got the chance.

"okay, fine." she exhaled.

"where's he taking you out at?"

"i don't know. he said he would take me out to my favorite restaurant—, but you already know it costs a couple hundred."

he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "that boy... i'm gonna have to give him a good talking to."

"what time is it?"

he checked his watch. "five thirty."

"ah! he said he was gonna pick me up at six!" she rushed to leave the living room, hurriedly going to her bedroom.

she looked through her huge walk-in closet, looking for a dress that wasn't too over the top, yet fancy enough. she wore a tight black dress with a slit going up to her thigh, that had a black belt with her first initial in gold on it, laced with small diamonds. the dress had spaghetti straps and was quite low in the chest area. she'd also worn some black heels to go with her dress.

for her accessories, she wore some expensive gold hoop earrings and one necklace that had a famous brand on it. lastly, a gold tennis bracelet and her watch.

she then put on a small amount of makeup, having the thoughts of impressing no one—, not even sanemi... maybe just a little. she glossed her lips and stared at herself in her vanity. y/n couldn't help but take a picture and post it.

"y/n!" hearing the loud calling of her name, she stood up. she checked her watch, seeing it was already six fifteen. she was fifteen minutes late

the boy had just arrived at y/n's house, and god, was he shocked. he knew she was rich and all, but to live in such a large house? he'd almost thought she lived in a castle. he whistled as he got out of the car.

sanemi then walked up to her porch, which that alone was big.

he rang the doorbell.

not long after, her father came out. his eyes were practically piercing into sanemi's soul. sanemi swallowed thickly.

"hi—." his voice cracked. he then cleared his throat. "hello, sir. i'm here for y/n."

"why are you here for my daughter?"

"to take her out."

"on a date? so, you think you're worthy enough for her?"

"uh... it's not really a date. i'm just— making something up to her."

"you messed up her brand new shoes, didn't you? the ones that cost more than you could ever afford?"

sanemi clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, deciding not to respond.

"however, not many people would do this for someone they dislike. i appreciate it. i'll handle getting her another pair, just make her happy tonight. you understand?"

"yes, sir."

in an instant, her father grabbed sanemi's collar, pulling him close to him.

"and you better have her back home by nine. even one minute later than that and you're gonna get a piece of my mind. i want her here like she was before she left. i may not be here by nine, but i have cameras everywhere outside and inside of the house besides her room and a gps on her phone. if she comes back pissed off like she did today, you better fucking believe your life will be over and you'll see the rusty gates of hell. you hear me?"

"y-yeah, i hear ya." he muttered, nodding his head slowly.

"y/n!"

after her father called her name, the girl rushed down the stairs and to the front door. the sound of her heels clicking against the floor indicated that she was close. the clumsy girl bumped into her father's back, rubbing her nose.

"ouch..." she muttered. "sorry, dad."

"mmh. it's fine."

she stepped away from him, standing right in sanemi's view. sanemi could feel his cheeks grow hot upon seeing her.

"hi, sanemi."

"hey, y/n."

"well, i guess we should hurry and go now. i know my dad has some type of curfew for me."

"yeah, nine pm. any later than that, sanemi. remember what i told you."

"yes, sir. i'll bring her back by nine."

"good. that's what i like to hear. now, let's see if you'll make it happen."

the man then kissed his daughter's cheek, hugging her side.

"love you."

she giggled. "i love you too, dad."

she walked off with sanemi, as her dad watched her leave.

sanemi opened the door for her, and then went inside of the car himself. she looked through the tinted windows, watching as her dad closed the front door.

"sanemi,"

"huh?"

"honestly, i'm not that hungry. if i ever do get hungry, i could just go for a fast food restaurant on the way home."

"what are you implying?"

"i don't wanna go out to eat. i wanna do something fun."

"like?"

"let's go to a club." she grinned.

"hold on, your dad has a gps on your phone. what if you get in trouble? no, wait, i'm gonna get in trouble."

"oh—, come on. don't be such a pussy."

"i'm not being a pussy. if you think i'm gonna get in trouble because you wanna get drunk and party your ass off, you're thinking wrong."

"you're so lame."

sanemi rolled his eyes. "fine."

"there's one across the street from my favorite restaurant. it's less expensive, too. on ******* street."

"oh... that one."

"hm? you been there before?"

"yeah, once. it was fun, i guess."

she smiled. "well, come on! let's go!"

—

as the two arrived, they were greeted by the blaring music, colorful flashing lights, and people talking loudly. she grasped his hand, pulling him over to the bar.

when he sat down, he stared at her confusedly.

"i wanna have a couple drinks before we party, 'kay?" y/n said, taking off her jewelry and placing it inside of her purse.

"i didn't know you were a drinker."

"i don't do it much. i just have two or three before i stop. it's pretty rare of me to drink anyway."

"so, what's with the change now?"

"i just wanna have fun. take this night as a night to forget about what happened today, i guess."

he sat there quietly, lips pursed together as he stared at her. whatever this swelling feeling was in his chest, he wanted to get rid of it immediately.

when the bartender took their orders and gave them their drinks, they had a quite nice conversation with each other. honestly, the two realized they weren't as bad as they'd thought. however, they were only convincing themselves that it was just the drinks getting to their heads.

after y/n's third drink, she let out a relieved sigh.

"that was good. you drunk yet, sanemi?"

"i should be asking you that... but no. i'm nowhere near drunk."

"okay, let's go party, then!" she grinned, running off to the dance floor.

he paid and tipped the bartender, rushing after her. sanemi grasped her shoulders, stopping her where she was before she could get any further.

"calm down! at least wait for me."

"okay, sorry. come on."

she walked with his hands on her shoulder towards the dance floor in the huge crowd of people. she then grabbed one of his hands, bringing him in front of her. the smile on y/n's face made sanemi's heart flutter. he shook his head.

he was embarrassed to be seen with y/n, being that she was dancing nonstop to the loud music. he just stood there awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest.

"sanemi~!" y/n groaned. "you're being lame again!"

"uh? how?"

"why aren't you dancing?"

"i don't dance."

"okay—? no one's gonna judge you if you try."

"no."

"please?"

"absolutely not."

"i'm not having fun if you won't dance with me!"

"oh, well."

"i'll tell my dad."

"okay, okay! how am i supposed to dance?"

"want me to show you?"

"um? how're you gonna do that?"

"just do whatever your mind tells you to do, 'kay?"

"what do you m—?" his cheeks began to get red as he watched the girl stand in front of him, the slight contact of her hips on his his making his adam's apple bob when he swallowed. "w-what're you doing?!"

she laughed. "dancing, duh!"

she danced in front of him, their bodies touching and grinding against each others. sanemi could only awkwardly try to follow what she did. feeling her pressing against his dick made him horny, however. he wasn't thinking about dancing.

he was getting turned on, and so was she. she could feel his hardness pressing against her inner thighs. sanemi moved his hand down, grabbing her waist and pulling her closer to him. they followed each other's movements, enjoying the fun of dancing until he moved his hands down a little too far.

"y-you—! stop, you dickhead!" she turned around, glaring daggers at the boy.

"mm? you don't like it?"

"we— we're in public...!" she stammered, not wanting to admit that she did, in fact, enjoy it.

feeling sanemi's big bulge in between her thighs made her even more turned on.

"so... you do like it?"

she crossed her arms, refusing to answer.

he could only smile arrogantly. "you do."

sanemi grabbed her leg, placing it on his hip. she struggled to keep her balance, but he kept his hand on her waist.

"what time is it?" he muttered.

"it's only seven..."

"mmh. you wanna go back to your place?"

"huh— why? we've barely even been here!"

that cocky grin on his face told her exactly why. she swallowed the knot in her throat, smiling right along with him. she put her arms around his neck and brought him in closer.

"you wanna fuck me?" she asked him.

"hell yeah."

she pursed her lips together. sanemi removed her arms from around his neck, grasping her hand as he walked out of the club.

—

stumbling inside of her room, sanemi kicked it closed without departing his lips from hers. he pushed her against the wall roughly, items on her shelves rattling and some even falling over. he groaned, hands roaming up her dress. the mere contact of his cold fingertips on her skin was enough to get a moan out of her.

he pulled away from her, unzipping her dress. he gave her a look before gradually tugging it down. she stepped out of it, kicking it elsewhere. sanemi unclasped y/n's bra, letting it fall from her shoulders. his calloused hands immediately grasped onto her breasts, kissing her once more. she let out a dragged-out whine at the feeling of his fingers pinching at her nipples.

he moved his lips down her jawline and her neck, sucking on her skin harshly. his teeth scraped at her delicate skin as he bit on it, the flat of his tongue pressing against the spot he'd bitten. she could feel herself getting wet at his touch, getting more turned on than before.

"sanemi—," she choked out, instinctively placing her hand on his chest. "let's go to the bed."

he then scooped her up in his arms, walking over to her bed. he dropped her down, her eyes widening in surprise as she stared at sanemi's expression. y/n's lips curled into a nervous grin as she sat up, only to have him crawl on top of her.

he grasped her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"you havin' second thoughts?" he raised an eyebrow.

"w-what—? hell no."

"mmh. thought you'd chicken out."

"i'd never. even if i did, you probably already came in your pants from just kissing me." she said with an arrogant grin on her face.

"oh, is that right?" he smirked, looking down at her bare chest before staring into her eyes.

she nodded. he roughly pressed his lips against hers once more, the two falling back onto the bed. she wrapped her arms around his neck. he moved his hand down her abdomen and between her legs. he played around with her underwear, leaning back down to kiss her.

before he could, she spoke up.

"go on, take them off. you know you want to."

hearing her words, sanemi unabashedly ripped her panties off, throwing them across the room. he dipped down to kiss her, spreading her legs out wide. he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, rushing to get his garments off.

he pulled his pants down, palming his erection through his boxers. he ogled at her rather vulnerable figure, grinning to himself.

"you're kinda hot."

"yeah, i know." she replied. "y'gonna fuck me with your eyes or?"

"nah, i'm gonna fuck your brains out."

"i'd sure like to see it."

"oh, you're gonna see it." he began pulling his boxers down, only for her to grasp his wrist. he raised an eyebrow, confused at her actions. "what?"

"can you uhm—... take your shirt off?" she muttered, eyes trailing off elsewhere.

he hummed, unbuttoning his shirt. he let his shirt fall from his shoulders and down on her bed. she stared at his abs and the scars going across his chest. it was so hot. she could barely keep her composure.

"yeah, i know." he repeated her words. "don't cum yet, i haven't even put my dick in you."

she rolled her eyes. "uh-huh, okay."

sanemi pulled his boxers down, his dick springing out and tapping against his abdomen. digging in the pocket of his pants, he pulled out a condom. she watched as he opened it, getting ready to slide it on. she could only grin, giggling at him.

"what's funny?" he asked, grasping his cock in his hands.

"you were planning this, huh? i'm that irresistible?"

his eye twitched. "shut up."

"make me."

sanemi grabbed one of her legs, holding it up so he could align himself with her entrance. he pushed himself in without a second thought, a loud squeal coming from her mouth. she covered her lips with her hands, staring up at him. the two locked eyes, a cocky grin growing on his face. he laughed derisively, sending a light slap to her thigh as he shoved himself in deeper.

"ha! you should see the look on your face right now!"

"s-shut the fuck up!" she said, her voice slurring and a string of expletives coming from her as he began moving his hips back and forth.

he chuckled, mocking the noise she made. feeling her clench around him, he groaned and picked his pace up. she grasped onto the sheets, feeling pure bliss at how deep he was inside of her. he didn't hesitate to touch all over her, grasping onto one of her tits while his other hand was tightly holding onto her thigh.

he bent down, kissing her lips sensually. she moaned into it, her stomach getting butterflies once he forced his tongue in her mouth. their tongues pressed together, mixing their saliva with each other's as he relentlessly thrusted into her.

pulling away, he stared her in her eyes while he began to speak. "y'like me fuckin' this slutty pussy? hm?"

y/n nodded absentmindedly, the feeling of her being pounded against the bed by sanemi much better than she'd ever imagined.

"use your words, bitch."

she choked out a 'yes', her eyes beginning to roll back. his hand suddenly went around her neck, squeezing it tightly, but not enough to hurt her. the feeling of sanemi's rough hand around her throat was turning her on even more.

y/n would have never thought she'd be in a position where sanemi was fucking her brains out.

"s-sanemi," she mumbled.

"what?" he asked, the pace of his thrusts not ceasing.

"rub my clit." she said.

"you really are a dirty slut." he said with a laugh, moving his free hand down so he could find her clit.

once he did, it was like paradise for y/n. he was balls deep inside of her, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow while he choked her, called her names, and added more stimulation by rubbing on her clit.

she was a moaning mess, whining and practically screaming his name and several different curse words.

"it feels good, yeah?" he asked her, slightly panting.

her eyes were squinted shut and her face was a bit scrunched, biting down on her lower lip.

"yeah—!" she nodded quickly.

"you're a whore for me, right?" he circled his fingers faster on her clit, making her whimper loudly.

"mhm~!"

"say it." he tightened his grasp on her neck, making her chest raise.

"fuck, i'm a whore for you! i'm a slutty little whore just for you!"

"that's what i like to hear, bitch." he let out a throaty groan, his adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. he stared down at her, seeing how vulnerable she was just for him.

she heaved a short, yet rough exhale. "sanemi!"

"what is it?"

"m-make me cum, please." she blurted out.

"mmh? you wanna cum on my dick? is that what you wanna do, bitch?"

"yes!"

"don't worry, i'm gonna make you cum, whore. more than once, too."

"d-do it then."

and so, sanemi was like a monster. he made her bed rock back and forth, creaking as it tapped against the wall with his movements. he'd also successfully made her scream and claw at him for mercy. it was quite a sight for sore eyes, if someone were to ask him.

moving his fingers around her cunt, he gathered some of her wetness on his fingertips and continued rotating them at a face pace. it was then he let go of her neck, holding one of her legs up close to her chest. it was then he'd hit a whole new spot, making y/n's back arch.

"oh, god, sanemi! t-there, right there! m'gonna cum!"

"right here? that's what you want? you want me to fuck you just like this? yeah?" he questioned her with a grin, thrusting into her pussy harder. it'd created a squelching sound, along with the sound of their wet skin clapping together.

she yelled out a curse, sanemi tensing up as she clenched around him. he grunted, slowing his quite animalistic pace and staring down at her. she breathed heavily, covering her eyes with her arm.

"holy shit." she muttered. "that was so—..."

"it felt good, didn't it?" he laughed.

"very."

"i could say the same with you... but we're not done yet." narrowing her eyebrows, she moved her arm away from her eyes and stared at his cock that was still rock hard.

she swallowed thickly, a smile growing on her face. she didn't mind. nodding her head, she spread her legs once more, welcoming him for a second round.

—

y/n's hands rested on sanemi's shoulders as she bounced mindlessly on his dick, her head thrown back to give him space to kiss on her neck. his hands were grasping on her ass and he couldn't help but laugh at how worn out she was.

she was so sensitive, she'd orgasmed several times that she lost count. honestly, she'd probably gotten all of her hate for him fucked away. she let out a drawn out moan, biting her lower lip.

she rolled her hips against his, going so slow so she could calm herself.

"sanemi~." she slurred. "it hurts... i can't take it anymore."

"you can. you can take it." he mumbled against her skin, leaving yet another mark. "i think you just need help."

"then help me, dumbass." she said, stopping her movements.

tightening his grip on her skin, he began bouncing her up and down on top of him more roughly, and she could only whine at how sensitive she was. it hurt so bad, but the pain felt great.

pressing her lips against his, she moved her hand down in between her legs and began rubbing her cunt unrelentingly. they shared a sloppy, yet slow kiss, both of them getting tired and ready to finish things off for the night.

their lips smacked together as sanemi moved his hands off of her, hoping she'd take the lead. curses slipped from her mouth as her eyes were shut closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and beads of sweat fell down her body. their chests would press and stick together as they leaned in closer to each other.

they were unable to resist one another's touch. he hummed, moving her hand away from in between her legs. she opened her eyes, watching as he licked her fingers, soon sucking on them. her eyes widened, her stomach tingling.

"tastes so good." he muttered, tensing up and groaning. "keep riding, baby. i think i'm close."

her heart fluttered at the name, but she nodded and continued moving her hips so slowly, but in a way that felt so good. her moans were like music to his ears, so melodic, and not the mention how good she rode him. he knew that after this, no one could compare to her.

staring at her figure, he saw one hand down on her bed while the other gradually massaged her cunt at the same pace as her riding. her eyes were closed and her lips were pressed together, so concentrated on getting him to reach his climax.

he exhaled, feeling his orgasm creep up on him. he groaned, catching his lip between his teeth. he cursed, feeling his cum spurt into the condom. she smiled, reaching her own with a soft, drawn out whine.

they panted, y/n's hand going on top of his. she leaned her forehead against his, kissing him gently as she slowly inched off of him. he caressed her face, deepening their kiss. it felt so romantic and meaningful.

sanemi sucked on her bottom lip before they pulled away with a smack of their lips, y/n falling onto her bed. she stared at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath. it was then that sanemi sighed, staring up along with her.

"y'know, your dad's gonna fucking murder me?"

"yeah... i know." she mumbled. "good luck."

♡

[droewyn]

RedSpidey plot bunny, free to a good home

Because I'm not confident enough in my BatFam to write them, but this lives in my head rent-free, and I'd love to read it.

Peter Parker / Tim Drake crossover by way of the multiverse.

"Lost objects" soulmate AU. In this AU, anything that you lose winds up in the possession of your soulmate. You can't game the system by throwing things away on purpose; it has to actually be lost.

Six months after the events of No Way Home, Peter Parker is going through the motions. "Peter Parker" himself barely exists anymore; he's faked his own credentials -- not particularly difficult after the Blip -- but those carefully forged ID papers are really all that's left of him. Peter Parker is the nonentity who delivers photos to Jameson. He's the bane of his landlord's existence. The rest of the time, he's Spider-Man.

Peter Three said that he'd eventually stopped pulling his punches. Peter One has stopped ducking them. Oh, he dodges the flung busses, the vaporizing energy rays, and the mutagen grenades. He's not suicidal. Not... not really. He takes the big threats seriously; the city can't afford for him not to. But the street-level thugs and muggers really can't do too much to hurt him, even if they're armed. He'll heal. He always heals. And while they last, those cuts and bruises (and occasional gunshot wounds) remind him that he's real, that he's not just a ghost, haunting New York, possessing his own superhero identity. The pain is a reminder that he's not dead. Which is important. Probably.

He's long since stopped wondering about his soulmate. He still keeps the random objects that he finds, storing them safely in a shoebox under his bed, but it's mostly out of habit. Whoever keeps misplacing the coffeeshop punch-cards, the occasional roll of film, the weird-looking charging cables and bits of disassembled tech, and that one really tacky, bat-shaped throwing star that probably came from the same mall kiosk that sold knockoff Lord of the Rings swords... whoever that person is, they are better off far, far away from Peter. From Spider-Man.

It's been a particularly bad night. He's bruised. He's bloody. He hasn't bothered to look at the camera's memory yet, but he's pretty sure that there won't be anything usable on it. His third eviction notice has been taped to his door, and the contents of his refrigerator should be classified as a bioweapon. He's just. So tired. He barely manages to peel the mask off before flopping into bed, the fabric still clutched between his fingers.

And when he wakes up again, he's in a bedroom larger than his entire apartment, in a bed softer than a cloud (and quite possibly also larger than his entire apartment), and the only thing more astonishing than the thread count of the sheets he's tangled in is the sleeping face of the pretty, black-haired boy roughly his own age, whose nose is eight inches from his own.

Blue eyes blink open, going from sleepy to alert in an instant. The boy's feet kick out, and ow, did they have to connect with the kidney that was still recovering from the stab wound? He finds himself literally booted out of bed, blinking dazedly at a ceiling that doesn't have any water damage at all, and it's only his Peter T... spider sense that gets him to move in time to avoid the staff that slams into the carpet where his head had just been.

Who the hell sleeps with a weapon within reach? A quick thwip, and a practiced jerk of his wrist, and the staff sticks harmlessly to the wall. (It's not a double-standard, okay? Just because he's been sleeping in his costume more often than not lately doesn't make it intentional, just... efficient.)

The black-haired boy also enjoys efficiency. He's firing question after question at Peter, even as he chases him around the room. Who is he working for? What does he want? How did he get inside the bedroom? Something about the main character of Persona 5? Peter's not sure about that one. They're all excellent questions, and ones he'd also like to know the answers to. But he can hear other heartbeats nearby, other voices, running footsteps. He's about to be outnumbered. He also just woke up, hasn't had a chance to pee yet, and his mouth tastes disgusting.

He goes out the window and keeps going, until he gets to a city that definitely isn't New York, and he's managed to lose all of the weirdly competent rich people.

It doesn't take him long to realize that he's in another universe. He's also pretty sure this one isn't his fault; he's stayed as far away from Dr. Strange as he has everyone else from his former life, and he hasn't had any big villains in a while. Not that it really matters; he's back to square one again, only this time, all he has is the suit on his back, a phone that won't connect to anything, and a handful of spare web fluid cartridges tucked into his pocket.

He needs to find a way home. He needs to figure out what happened, and how and why, and fix it. Doesn't he? He doesn't exist here, and okay, he barely existed back home, but that's where he's meant to be. Isn't it? Where every familiar landmark is a bad memory, and "I Believe Mysterio" shirts are commonplace. Where he's just as likely to be cursed at as thanked, and no matter what he does, nothing ever seems to get any better. Not for him, or for anyone else.

He's hungry. He's more alone than he's ever been in his life. He finds a place to squat for the night, and falls into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up in the black-haired boy's bed again.

[riacte]

Some thoughts about writing dialogue (coming from someone who basically transcribed the Blue9 MCC stream for fic purposes):

Real life dialogue is messy. People make mistakes, voices overlap, it gets unintelligible, people repeat themselves instinctively (even if they get their point across the first time)

And this is about Blue9 - four streamers (people who talk as a living) with effective communication / chemistry. It's still messy at times because that's simply how people communicate, especially in fast paced / stressful scenarios

Which makes it a bit tricky to translate to text, because if you repeat dialogue too much, it looks tacky even though it sounds perfectly normal.

Juggling between character voices in tense moments is also annoying because in audio form, you instinctively know who's speaking. But in text form, you have to add indicators so you just can't have paragraphs of dialogue (unlike speaking scenes between two characters)

^ although that could work if your characters have distinctive speaking styles (or mentioning characters by the name in the dialogue), but that also relies on the readers' knowledge of their speaking styles

^ even worse when it's a group and the voices are overlapping. The more characters you have to juggle in a scene, the more it feels like "[Character A] said" then "[Character B] said" and on it goes. It's already difficult to transcribe when it's a group of 5/6 and they're all talking.

At least there's one set of she/her pronouns in the Blue9 team. Actually this is partially why I like writing about men and women - it's easier to juggle pronouns (my skill issue lol)

I tried to keep it as close to canon as possible, but sometimes you have to edit down and add bits of exposition for clarity's sake. Like if you watch the stream, it makes sense. The repetition and messiness adds to the experience, honestly, But if you read the transcript, it doesn't work the best.

Tone is such a big thing. It comes instinctively in audio format, but it really is difficult to describe it in text sometimes, especially when it's a tense moment and you have to keep pushing forward instead of spending words to describe tone.

The good thing about writing about streamers is that if you use the right cues, readers can pick it up and picture that specific tone in their head. The bad thing is that this depends on the readers' knowledge and how good you are at describing. (The bad bad thing about this personally is that my OCs have weak character voices because I don't have canon basis.)

^ Bits of informality like stretching syllables and italics help. Like "oooh" is fundamentally different from "oh" and that is different from "ohhhh". And sometimes irl people do stretch syllables or pronounce them differently for humorous effect, but it can look unprofessional on text. (Like Scar's "a-maize-ing".) <- actually this can create distinctive character speaking styles and it's a cue to let readers immediately know who's speaking

Back to the action thing. These streamers are playing in a vc and they all hear each other, but realistically in action scenes, characters are gonna be in different places. There's volume to care about and voices getting lost in the chaos. But when writing, your focus is to push the story forward sooo realism is definitely not the priority

... Yeah. I'm giving my characters high quality communicators. And excellent hearing.

Dialogue in text is... intentional? You can see it in people snarking movies for having unrealistic dialogue. Its purpose is to convey something clearly. Dialogue in everyday life can contain a lot of blunders but that doesn't translate well in storytelling because we expect to learn something from dialogue. That's why it's there.

Transcribing videos and turning them into text based stories is an interesting exercise (and one that I keep on doing lol). It makes you more aware of the gap between irl and written dialogue and why there's a gap.

Godspeed to people who write dialogue between a group during an action scene. We all praise comms in MCC but it does give me a headache to write hahahaha.

[creation-help]

Miscellaneous character design tips (that everyone could find useful)

- Feathers in hair, behind the ear, on the head, in some headress ect? Just don't. Unless you're indigenous I strongly, strongly advise against it, bc native people have criticized this design trope time and time again. Accessories and clothing like this can be very difficult to get right if you don't know what you're doing.

• Also! W*ndigos. Don't. If you wanna design a character that "looks like" (or is what you imagine when you think of a) W*ndigo, just. Design a character that looks like that and call it some other monster (Disclaimer: I'm mainly talking about things like those skull headed monsters with antlers ykno). These creatures have alot of deep meaning to the cultures they're from, and people are tired of them being appropriated and misrepresented. It will cost you nothing to just make a generic monster rather than butcher something from a marginalized culture. (Also, I've censored the word because in the past I've been told that using it's name is bad luck/harmful, so I'm doing this to be respectful)

(Natives/indigenous people are welcome to add on discussion about this if you feel like there's anything I could've said differently)

- Unless your character design is meant to be flexible, up to artist interpretation, or just messy, place patterns and decorative characteristics on distinct, memorable places. For example if your character has spots, put the most notable ones on places that're easy to remember and replicate, like on particular body parts. I'd also advise to make just a bit less of these patterns. Generally, if you're not aiming for a cluttered looking design, prioritize quality over quantity, when it comes to patterns.

- A character design's intent is just as important as the actual character design. You'll see me mentioning this on the previous point as well. Unless we're talking about offensive caricatures, there's teeechnically no such thing as a "bad" character design. Just rather a failed or unsuccessful one. What I mean by that, is that if your design is meant to look cliche, tacky, messy, or just plain unappealing, and it looks like such, that is a successful design! If you designed a character just to be something fun for you to draw, that's a successful design! I often see this point applied more professionally by other art advisors, to mean more like "You should be able to tell what kind of character it is based on the design", which is also true! But intent and purpose matters in storytelling. Obviously, not all aspects of a design need to be there for some very specific reason (looking at the people who ask "Why was this character made fat/gnc/black/poc?" and so on.) just keep in mind what this character is supposed to be. I think it's better to worry about if the character design does what it's supposed to, rather than if it's ""Good""

(And yeah, there are still things that just objectively don't look very good together, according to human perspective and color theory and whatnot, but again, if you're aiming for that, you go buddy!)

- Sorta coinciding with the previous point: Don't be afraid to use "ugly" traits when designing. I think the reason why is obvious (beauty standards can go suck a dick), but there's more to it than just radical acceptance! By giving more unique, weird, or "ugly" traits to your characters, you make them more memorable and distinct from one another. If there's a billion smooth faced perfect pretty characters who are the exact same kind of flavorless vanilla sexy, it gets boring, and they blend together! And please don't limit these traits to just villains or characters who are supposed to be disliked!! My other advice on this point, is, pllllease don't design villains "ugly" and heroes "pretty", I feel like that should be a given, but alot of people may be doing it without even realizing. And that's understandable, but I heartily recommend taking a second to think about it more deeply. Why is this visual trait "Bad", or "Evil"? I just feel like so many artists are deathly afraid of having their characters look the least bit unappealing or challenging. I could go on about this but I'll stop here to keep it concise. Don't beauty police your oc is all I'm sayin

- Reference! I don't necessarily mean take inspiration from other existing character designs, although that can also be helpful. I mean that look around you, think broadly! If you have a certain theme for your design, try to round up all the little things (items, concepts, colors, animals, traits) that could be associated with it! And try to reflect that in your character design. You can get a little wacky and experimental. You can literally just broaden your inspiration to things like everyday objects, a specific fabric texture, an element, or a fungi that lives in moldy houses. Anything! My main point is to try to think outside the box and consider more unconventional things to reference for your character design, you'll never know what might work and look really interesting. Often, a bland design is worse than a weird one. (Disclaimer: Unless you're aiming for bland ofc, per my prev points, but ykno). You can also just go by "Hmm, I'm making a character who is X, what does that remind me of?" or, what I also recommend "Hmm, so X kinds of characters remind me of these things. Let's ditch that and think what one usually wouldn't associate with X kinds of characters!". Ykno, defy convention, think about things you might not usually do. I know it can be easier said than done but once you get into a habit of trying to think more broadly, it'll come to you easier. Don't be afraid to get odd and unusual

- While I don't condemn designing a character in a way that just, is that way, because you designed it like that, I also recommend thinking about how and why the character is like that in-story. Might seem like an obvious tip, but I'll elaborate. I for example, have a pair of bug demon characters who grew up on the streets and didn't have the normal amount of nourishment for their age, so, due to that their mouth pincers and other buggy parts were left much smaller and more "plain" looking than others of their species. They never developed to their appropriate adult size. Things like this will reflect on a character design! And that's just one example. If your character has a habit of nervous picking, or sensory problems, or live in an area where certain resources for clothing aren't available, all of this will reflect on the design! Of course, you can also work backwards from a design and think "Hmm, what justification will I think of for the character having these traits (especially if they're uncommon for their story setting)?"

I may do a part 2 sometime later, I just had some thoughts I wanted to compile for now! Obviously you can have your own design principles but these are ones I consistently use (also the first one being as specific as it is, is just something I particularly wanted to say).

[donnerpartyofone]

Halp I'm having social anxiety about something I'm probably not even gonna do. Recently my former boss from the lecture series thing said she'd be passing through town and wanted to meet up. I was a little surprised by this because I didn't think she actually liked me, or at least she might have been totally neutral on me. She was impossible to get to know, which is a funny thing for me to say since I'm not the greatest at connecting. She always seemed really sad and anxious about our little company, so I'd try to engage with her about our successes, and that wouldn't work; then I'd try to commiserate with her about the hard parts, and that wouldn't work either. Allegedly we were both doing this labor of love because of our personal enthusiasms, but somehow I never once had a conversation with her about film or horror or anything. The few times that something controversial happened she was really cold and sort of deceptive about it; I felt like I was back in my dark corporate job instead of in a small group of volunteers who are basically hobbyists and just trying to create something cool together. (That wasn't totally her fault I think, there were some Personalities involved, but it still shouldn't have resulted in this clandestine atmosphere) When she left I wrote her a really personal, appreciative email (this is all remote work), and her entire response was basically "Yeah, it was just too hard to make money," there was nothing about the parts she was proud of or that were just fun, and actually that was the only thing I could ever really get her to say. This makes her sound like some sort of evil accountant, but that's the confusing part, because she's actually a borderline hippie whose other main interest is poetry, and she says things like "thank the gods" in earnest, and her apartment looks like it's all full of earthy folk objects. I always thought the sad hippie poet lady could use a little connection but all my efforts to make her feel comfortable and appreciated never worked out and I just never got a handle on her. I thought we were probably both relieved to not have to deal with each other again...

But lo and behold she asked if I wanted to hang out while she's in my neighborhood, which I thought was really nice...and now I'm like Jesus do I really want to do this? Smartly she only invited me to some group activities so she's not dependent on me for anything, although that's a bit of a double-edged sword because I think they're wandering around a museum and then going to what looks like a loud, tacky pub. Which sounds like a lot of work to me, socially, in order to not just be a straggler/creeper/fifth wheel. On the other hand I've been trying to make myself say yes to more activities because I'm desperately unemployed and lacking purpose/direction/etc at the moment, and I think it would behoove me to practice being brave and also to take every opportunity to meet new and potentially relevant-to-me people because you never know what might come up. But also the activities in question are a pain to get to. But also but also but also. Ugh.

I'm already cycling through my catalog of near-truths to get out of it, and it's not going to hurt anyone if I do. A funny manifestation of my executive dysfunction is that consciously I will be fretting over something while physically I am already preparing to do or not do the thing, sometimes it just starts happening with or without me even as I'm still arguing with myself all the way to the door. My dad is a philosophy wonk and he once told me that thought and emotion follow action and not the other way around. This outraged me, like what so we just get random electrical impulses that make us dance around for no fucking reason? This is like something you hear from narcissists all the time when they do something terrible, that everything is somehow out of their hands and they're a victim of circumstance or only guilty of being human, but it made even less sense. And I think he refused to explain himself just because he was enjoying how much it bothered me, but years later on my own I read the William James bit about this, which was like: If you encounter a bear in the woods, you don't have feelings about it, evaluate those feelings, and subsequently develop the motivation to run. Your brain automatically goes into emergency mode, and all the chemicals involved in the self-preservation impulse create the feeling of fear. (More or less, forgive me, it's early) In such a case you're not running away "for no reason", you're having a legitimate reaction to something, it's just that the feeling of fear and your thoughts on bears are symptomatic of the situation and not the beginning of a decision-making process per se. Dear old dad just likes it when I get upset and confused so he didn't tell me himself that he did NOT mean that we're all just flailing around randomly for absolutely no psychological reason, performing unmotivated actions and coming up with ideas about them later...but anyway I'm entering that type of process now, where I seem to be gearing up to take a certain course that my subconscious believes is best while emotionally I'm still arguing with myself about it. TGIF I guess.