#sequin head scarf

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

🌵👽The Juno Collection - A Collaboration with Juno Birch and Surely-Sims👽🌵

🚀Download🚀(Patreon - Free)

PAUSE!!!

YES TODAY, the absolutely stunning collaboration between @surely-sims, the alien queen herself, Ms. Juno Birch, and I is finally here 👽!!!

Surely-Sims and I have both been longtime fans of Juno, so getting to do this collab has been an absolute dream, and we're so excited to finally get to share it with you all!

Let's get into it!!

Alien Glam Hair - There's nothing more camp and fabulous than a full head of rollers, other than perhaps a roller behive! Get ready in style with this gawjus hairstyle! Not hat compatible.

Swatches - 24 Polys - 26786 (so demure)

 Incognito Hair - Who is that absolutely stunning woman? It's just Juno doing her shopping and looking like a completely normal human woman with this modest behive in a scarf! Not hat compatible (other than the scarf overlay)

Swatches: 24 (hair) 35 (overlays) Polys: 2432 (actually demure)

More after the cut:

 Attack of the Stunning Gown - A glamorous take on Juno's glamorous take on Alien Girl's gown from Mars Attacks! Check off floor length fishtail sequin gown from your Ice-CreamForBreakfast bingo cards!

Swatches: 20 Polys: 9460

Katelyn Dress - A typical Juno silhouette with an a-line shape, bishop sleeve and a feather trim! This dress comes in a variety of swatches and is sure to turn heads!

Swatches: 50 Polys: 8182

 Kristen Outfit - Another Juno go-to is this blouse, skirt and waistcoat combo! Show your friends who's the true alien fashion queen (still Juno, sorry diva) in this 70s get up!

Swatches: 38 (outfit) 54 (blouse overlay) Polys: 5144

 Erin Outfit: Sister to the Kristen outfit, and probably one of Juno's most recognisable looks. Make a statement with this giant collar!

Swatches: 38 (outfit) 54 (blouse overlay) Polys: 5606

Untitled Sausage Dancer Costume - Juno reaches full power in a hotdog costume, so it only felt right to include one! True to the original, this features realistic bread textures and lettuce that isn't quite lettuce... Oh and who can forget the stunning flippy fringe? She's technically a hat!

Swatches: 6 (costume) 24 (fringe accessory) Polys: 4998

Attack of the Stunning Boots - Where would an alien queen be without a pair of patent platform boots? Probably in some other type of shoe, but perhaps not one quite so stunning! These quintessential boots will really complete any alien's look.

Swatches: 35 Polys: 3244

Vivienne Heels - Inspired by a particular pair of 1990 Vivienne Westwoods, these heels really make an impact...especially if you're landing from space!

Swatches: 35 Polys: 786

 Stunning Sunglasses: Aside from the blue skin, Juno is known for her very specific sunglasses with the incredibly realistic painted highlights that allow her to blend seamlessly with the Earth's population. Also available in regular tinted and clear lenses.

Swatches: 38 Polys: 1876

 Gawjus Gloves: Your regular kitchen gloves made better with some stunning nail polish! An important piece of the human disguise. Comes in fitted and loose versions.

Swatches: 35 Polys: 1748 (loose only)

Cucumber Eye Mask & Facepack - Look after your gawjus blue skin with this hydrating facemask, paired with some ominously floating cucumber slices! Swatches: 12 (mask) 1 (cucumber) Polys: 192 (cucumber)

Juno's Sickening Makeup - She's a makeup queen now...well no, I'll probably never do makeup again, but it would be truly rude to deliver a Juno set without her stunning drag makeup! This includes brows, eyeshadow, blush, lips and highlights.

 Pop Earrings - Are they popped gum, are they shiny brains? Answers may vary, but these earrings are iconic and bring some 80s flair to an outfit!

Swatches: 35 Polys: 7788

 Cyberslut Ear Stretchers - Lovely, and very shiny hoop ear stretchers when you want to make a statement, but a regular hoop just isn't doing it.

Swatches: 35 Polys: 1461

 Circe Earrings V1 - Simple button earrings in a truly 60s/70s style!

Swatches: 45 Polys: 260

Circe Earrings V2 - The same Circe earrings, but bigger!

Swatches: 45 Polys: 260

 Noodlesoother Earrings - Oversized, abstract 60s/70s earrings for that truly mod look!

Swatches: 41 Polys: 4584

Stunning Cat Glasses - A pair of sunglasses for Juno's sweet baby Cyril! Now they can blend in with the humans together! The space cats are gatekeeping these glasses from the space dogs. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Swatches: 35 Polys: 1476

Gawjus Wall Paint - 35 Plain paint swatches with white crown and skirting in the expanded Juno palette! Gawjus Wallpaper - A collection of camp, kitschy, mid-century and mod patterns to brighten up your spaceship or home. Country Carpets: Yes, the 'r' is silent. Lovely carpets in the same swatches available for the wall coverings!

 Juno's Stunning Artwork: Juno's art explores the world as an alien, often pulling inspiration from the trans experience. Add one of these statement pieces to your home for a truly unique talking piece your neighbours will covet but never own (apart from Sylvia-Marie Mashuga. She would totally own at least one). Also comes in a SFW version for the streamers among us...and also anyone who likes a PG experience.

Swatches: 10 Polys: 3036

Joy Despret Begone Sign - The most wretched and cursed vermin in the Junoverse, the Joy Desprets! When they see that you have all this stunning content, they'll come visiting. Head them off with this sign.

Swatches: 4 Polys: 246

Mind Boggling Mirror - Want to feel like Juno is always watching you? Perhaps even judging that outfit? Of course you do. Bring that feeling home with this mirror fashioned after her iconic glasses.

Swatches: 35 Polys: 1437

Judith Louise Doll - What Juno set would be complete without the Christina to her Joan, Ms. Judith Louise! Judith comes in a somewhat clean swatch, as well as a trashed swatch. That's not all, she also comes in a flying version as an oscillating fan!

Swatches: 2 Polys: 14910

 Juno in the Moon Neon Light - What is your house/ship missing? This. Why wouldn't you want a neon light version of Juno's face in your living room?

Swatches: 1 (adjust with the light options) Polys: 8566

And that brings us to the end of my part of the collab! If you're not following Juno, check out her socials here! Go check out @surely-sims' part of the collab here (preview below)!

[mickyschumacher]

need another isack smut omg pls 🙂‍↕️🙏

[CONSTELLATIONS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: isack isn't as socially available as everyone thinks, especially when he's next you. or in which isack can't keep his hands off you.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), established relationship, very fluffy and sweet, technically public sex, fingering (f. receiving), squ*rting, vv bad french translations, a seriously down bad isack // poorly proof-read

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: isack reader x gf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.8k+

𝐀/𝐍: i truly envisioned a desi reader for this but honestly go with whatever you feel, i just included this GORGEOUS saree to give the reader's outfit some vision for you ♡︎ potential pt 2... one day

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Isack had been dreading this event the moment his publicist had put it on his calendar. It was a evening gala that was supposed to "expand his network."

What it really meant was talking to important people who thought important thoughts with histories of wealth that birthed them into the very room Isack fought to stand in.

The only consolation Isack had was that you were his plus one. His salvation would be the proper term but unfortunately, that wasn't what the invite said.

From the moment Isack had met you, he had thought you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. And that wasn't exaggeration or dramatisation. You just... were.

Your smile healed him. Your eyes made him nervous. Your laugh sent shivers down his spine. Your very essence made his heart beat at an inhumanly possible rate.

You were Aphrodite herself.

But today, somehow, in one way or another, you had outdone yourself.

Isack was having troubling breathing the moment he checked up on you before you both had left.

You wore tight cropped blouse, sparkling with gold and sliver sequins and diamonds, leaving your midriff bare. Draped around it was a yellow dupatta (long shawl/scarf) with a white trim, also laced with diamonds in intricate patterns, tucked into your skirt of the same design. Your neck was adorned in pearl choker with a small flower embellished in the middle. Your earrings and bangles were of a similar motif, sparkling on your skin.

Isack had fought every fibre of his being to not cancel both of your attendance. It was bad enough that he had you worrying with his barely audible muttering under his breath.

He had simply walked out of the house with a sharp inhale, believing he could make it through this event.

But by God, you were making it difficult for him.

Every discussion Isack had, he couldn't help but let his eyes drift towards you. It was like you were sucking the literal air from his lungs, leaving him speechless mid-conversation.

Here he was supposed to be networking but you... you were radiating.

Isack had found you on a secluded balcony of the building after he lost his sunshine. He had to stop at the door, lips parted as he saw you.

You were leaning slightly over the balcony, holding yourself the stone balustrade, chin in your hand as you admired the evening sky, oranges and pinks painted haphazardly painted across clouds.

You weren't real.

He was sure of it.

Isack swallowed hard, feeling his trousers tighten around the semi he had been sporting all day. He forced himself to take some steps towards you instead of just staring at you. "L’amour de ma vie," he called out softly. Love of my life.

He could've sworn his heart stopped as you turned your head to him, the prettiest smile gracing your face. He smiled gently, hand reaching your bare waist, revelling in the warmth of your skin. "Tired?" He questioned, tilting his head as he pushed a loose tress behind your ear.

You shook your head lightly, smilingly softly when you felt Isack's fingers caress your cheek. "Enjoying the view. Well," you paused, eyeing him carefully. "I was. Now I'm enjoying this one," you remarked, teasing grin etched onto your face.

Isack mended his brows slightly as though he was unsure of why you would say something like that when you were in front of him. He shook his head gently. "You look beautiful," he said, voice low, reverent.

You chuckled quietly to yourself. "I know. You tell me everyday. And told me ten times before we left the house," you cooed, moving your arms so they hung around his neck.

Isack sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing his hands over your arms. "And I mean it every time," he murmured, kneading soft circles into your skin.

He was sure you were teasing him with that comment. But everything he was feeling... it was all so much. It genuinely felt like his heart was going to burst by looking at you. "You don't get it," Isack sighed, making you close your mouth. "I think you're driving me crazy," he stated, almost sick with love.

"Yeah?" You mumbled, hand moving to rub his tired brow. "How crazy?" You queried, eyes slightly wide with curiosity.

You could barely understand the strained noise escaping Isack's lips. It was a mix of a small moan and a helpless sigh. "Let me show you," he suggested, teeth softly chewing down his bottom lip while his fingers grazed your waist once again. "Please."

It was your turn to swallow hard. The plea was just so... desperate. Dripping with need.

Clenching your thighs together, you nodded slowly in agreement.

Wordlessly, Isack guided you to the corner of the balcony. Although the area was empty, he didn't want everyone seeing you. He just needed to show you what he was feeling. And oddly enough, the lingering thought that the balcony door could open slightly thrilled him.

You watched Isack hold your gaze, his hand bending down to climb under the yellow fabric of your skirt. You sucked in a sharp breath, body shivering was his fingers grazed past your legs, inching closer and closer to your heat.

He sighed at the warmth of your thighs in his hand. Brown eyes focused on your expression, taking in every movement as he cupped your pussy, feeling the immense heat take over his palm. He mended his brows. "Oh fuck," Isack whispered.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, knowing exactly that Isack was feeling the damp wet patch of your panties. Your hands pressed on the cold stone wall behind you, bracing yourself for what was to come.

The evening wind was crisp and slightly cold against your burning skin. You watched Isack lean down into you, head almost pressing against yours as his fingers rubbed you through the thin fabric – slow and teasing. The heat between your legs coiled tightly like layering waves, unhurried unlike the rapid heave of your chest.

"Tu es toujours si belle. Chaque jour, tu me coupes le souffle. Mais aujourd'hui... tu ressembles à un ange. C'est irréel. Comme si le ciel était descendu lui-même et m'avait fait don de toi," Isack breathed, whispering against your lips. You always look so pretty. Everyday you take my breath away. But today… you look like an angel. Unreal. Like heaven came down itself and gifted you to me.

You whimpered quietly, breath hitching as his fingers snuck past the waistband of your panties and found your drenched hot folds. He strokes you slowly, slick quickly covering his hand.

You couldn't even moan – it was a choke of the air, drowned with arousal. Your body jolted at his touch, head falling back to the stone wall behind you.

A groan was pulled out of Isack's throat. "Tellement mouillée, putain," he rasped, breath fawning over you. So fucking wet.

It wasn't even a question but you nodded, barely breathing. Your hands curled at your side, knuckles so tight they were turning white.

Isack barely had it within him to tease you today. Not when you stood in front of him like this. Like a goddess. He slid in one finger, breathing slowly at feeling of you clenching. Fuck, you were so tight.

Your hips bucked forward instantly, a wave of pleasure rolling over your core. You could feel Isack tilt your head towards him, focusing your eyes on him. Silently his lips parted, gasping with you as he hooked his finger into you, sneakily adding another before thrusting in and out.

"Taking my fingers so well, chérie," he rasped, cock tightening at the way the evening light made your skin glow, highlighting your teeth sinking into your lips, whimpers falling from your throat. He could feel the trickles of your pussy run down his knuckles and God, it made him feral.

Your moans were quiet and airy – anyone could catch you right now. All it really took was an open door and a few steps to their right. It should terrify you. Yet your body was jerking and convulsing at Isack's movements. “Yes, holy shit, yes,” you mewled, eyes shutting as the pleasure began to build up.  

Your eyes were hooded and clouded with lust, but you could see Isack's resolve breaking with every passing second. He inched closer to you if it was possible, pushing his fingers deeper into you while his thumb pressed down on your clit, exactly where you wanted it.

"Sound so pretty," he breathed, feeling you buck your hips against his hand, head falling down to meet his forehead. The soft pants from your mouth were spilling faster than you could even breathe as he flicked his thumb on the nub.

Your stomach was churning. His fingers were curling just right. Working past all the barriers your body held. You gasped, hand shooting out to hold his arm. "Isack," you wheezed, eyes beginning to roll. Something was wrong. "It feels too good."

Isack knew what you meant. Your cunt was pulsing. He had memorised all the sounds before. Your moans, the lewd squelch of his fingers in your pussy, the slam of his cock... this sounded different. Softer and loose yet so dirty. He blinked, feeling his cock strain against his pants, begging for some more friction. He swallowed thickly, increasing his speed. "Whatever it is, let go. Let go for me, pretty girl."

You couldn't help but cry a little louder as the barriers came down. Your thighs clenched around his hand, legs trembling. Your vision turned white. The orgasm hit you, your pants turning silent and your head unable to carry it's own weight as the heat flooded from your insides. You can feel the hot liquid gush out of your pussy in pulses, soaking his hand, dripping down his forearm. "Oh fuck!"

"Putain," Isack moaned deeply in disbelief, fingers still fucking you, rubbing you so nice in the inside while he thumbed your clit, letting your body shake under his touch. He rushed to bunch your skirt up to confirm what he was feeling entirely.

Isack could've cummed from the sight of it alone. Your liquid running all over him, drenching him, coming out endlessly as if it was defying your body. You squirted. He had made you squirt. "Oh my God," he groaned, slowing his fingers down.

You breathed heavily, hand falling off his his arm with exhaustion. "I..." you gasped for air, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "I.. I'm sorry," you sighed out.

Isack furrowed his brows. "Sorry?" He queried, detecting the embarrassment in your voice. He huffed, pulling your soaked panties back up and your skirt back down. He brought you closer, placing a long deep kiss on your lips. "Mon amour, when we get home I'm going to put you on the bed, lift this skirt again and make you do it all over my face so I can drink it."

Your cheeks burned at his words, letting a familiar feeling unfurl at the bottom of your stomach. "Isack," you exhaled, looking down at his bulge. "Let's go home."

Isack sucked in a sharp as your hand skimmed his clothed cock and nodded frantically. "Yes please."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[sweetimpurity]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ day 14!! thank you for everyone sticking with me, it means so much! love you guys 🥺 little bit of bodyguard!Miguel for your feed wc: 1.5k ⋆

“You’re not wearing that out.” He says so bluntly. Leaning up against your bedroom door frame and looking you up and down. He’s hired to protect you and going to a club in a dress like that… it’ll make his job that much harder. 

“Come on… it’s cute. And it’s new. I’m wearing it.” You say, turning away from him towards your vanity mirror. And you can feel his eyes on your ass. Because who could resist? You see the way he looks at you. Even when he’s all grumpy says he’s all business. Your father was always a gruff and serious man so of course he’d hire someone like Miguel to protect you. You’re determined to make him break. 

“Find something else… or put a sweater over it.” He steps forward, crossing his big beefy arms over his chest. His expression is serious. “I don’t have anything else…” 

He scoffs at your comment. Knowing you have more clothes than any one woman needs in her life. “You have a closet full and many options… this is… just please go change, nena…” He says. His voice is as soft and smooth as ever. Glancing at his pleading eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Fine…” You huff. Turning around to face him. “You pick it out then…” 

He scoffs, starting to protest but you grab his huge hand, pulling him to your big walk in closet. Ignoring his refusal and pulling him to sit in a seat in the corner. “Esto es estúpido…” He sighs, frowning up at you. He’s decked men twice the size of you in the face before, knocking them unconscious, but he can’t seem to fight back or even push back a little when you’re pushing him into the armchair. Huffing and pushing his rolled sleeves up. 

“I will present you with a few different options and you can let me know…” You say formally as if you’re giving a presentation. Clasping your hands together and smiling cheekily at his deadpan pissed off expression. “Just hurry up you’re gonna be late… Hey-” He protests when you start to wrap a silk scarf around his head. Covering his eyes. “I don’t like this.” He grumbles. Gentle giant hands holding your wrists with the slightest of pressure. But he doesn’t force your hand. If anything he’s just noticing how soft your skin is against his rough fingertips.  

“Just relax…” You coo to him. Tying the scarf at the back of his head and pushing his shoulders to lean back in his seat once more. Hearing him mumble Spanish profanities under his breath. 

Over the next ten minutes you try on a few different outfits. Letting him take the blindfold off everytime and see. Ensuring he puts the blindfold back on when you’re changing. Despite his protests that he can just close his eyes. But when you pout pretty please he can’t argue. Sighing and pulling the silk over his eyes. Hearing you rustle around with what he can only hope will be the final outfit of this little dress up party. “Are you done yet?”

“Not yet…” He hears the rustling and sounds of fabric. His legs spread as he sits, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The baby pink silk looking so foreign with his all black attire he always wears. “Okay I want you to feel this one and guess…” 

“Feel it and guess…? Nena…” 

“Just feel it.” 

“I guess it’s a dress.” He huffs. Wanting to get this over with. 

“Feel it.” 

He sits up a bit in his seat. Reaching his hands out and trying to guess what the material might feel like. Whether it will be silk or sequined or stretchy, soft, scratchy, cold… but it’s warm. It’s so warm and soft. It’s your skin. 

His brow furrows under the scarf, reaching his hands around to find where the fabric starts. His fingertips dancing across your stomach. “What is this?” He mumbles. Feeling increasingly flustered and confused. His hands move up some more. His blindness causes a delay in what he’s feeling to what he knows is there. His fingers spread out, running across, feeling the soft supple roundness of your breasts. But he can’t figure it out. His thumbs run over your perked nipples before it clicks. Instantly pulling his hands away with the quick swish of his blazer. “You-”

“Sorry… I couldn’t help myself…” You whisper. He can feel his cheeks burning under the blindfold. His fingers clenching and fidgeting some. His head down and trying to ignore the desire to feel you again. It was like the softest feeling in the world. So warm and soft and smooth. Like you. Although he has known you to have some sharp spiky edges to you from over the years. But no, your body is soft and supple and perfect. He can’t get the mound of your tits out of his mind. 

“Feel me, Miguel… I want you to touch me, please…” You whisper. Those words making him weak. Feeling the pressure tightening in his pants. He’s trying to find the willpower to refuse you until he feels your hand under his chin, tilting his head up. You step forward, your tummy brushing against the tip of his nose. And he gets to smell you, the perfume you wear mixed with the natural, light smell you exude. It’s maddening. It’s arousing. His head tilting to press his nose to your bare stomach to smell and satiate himself. His lips soon following. Small pecks across your diaphragm until he’s leaving open mouth kisses down to your navel. “You… you’re completely naked?” He hums. And you can feel his warm breath across the expanse of your stomach. “Mhm…” 

You feel a huff of breath leave his lips. Hitting your skin and making you shiver. He curses something under his breath, long arms coming to wrap around you and pull you in. Pulling you to stand between his legs. “You’re a brat, you know that?” 

“I know…” You respond, feeling out of breath already. He smiles between smooches to your soft skin. Pulling you closer still until you have no choice but to climb onto his lap. His big hands move down from your waist to your ass, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh there. Then up to your bare shoulder blades. His lips, his tongue, leading him since his eyes are useless. Moving up and nuzzling blindly into your breasts. Before latching onto one of them with wet warm kisses, sucking and marking your skin. Your fingers running through his hair and pulling gently on the strands. 

You grind on his lap, feeling his growing erection, his need. A swell of satisfaction knowing you made him this way. Knowing he wants you this badly. You knew it all along but he’s always so serious. He needs to loosen up. Or loosen you up. 

His fingers are quick to find your pretty pussy. Blindly yet still expertly finding all the sweet spots. Fingering you with experience that reflects his age. That being a bit older than you. His fingers delving into your velvet perfection and making you drool all over his digits. All over his lap, over the tent in his pants. No one’s ever made you feel so good this fast. And he can’t even see what he’s doing!

“Mmmiguel…” You sigh, invoking growls from his chest. Like his fingers were made for bringing you to orgasm. Your hips rolling into the heel of his palm as you come with a whine. Your sounds are so beautiful when his senses are dialed in like this. Like when his vision is taken away, his hearing becomes even stronger, hanging on your every moan and whimper. Sounds he’s dreamed of hearing you make. Once you come down, his strong arms instantly lift you up, carrying you like it’s nothing. Walking through the walk-in closet with your bedroom his destination in mind. 

“You’re gonna hit the door!” You squeal with a laugh. Reaching a hand out as a bumper so you both don’t wipe out. “This is your fault, I can’t see a thing.” He grins, holding you with one arm and using his other hand to feel for where he’s going. Finally making it back into the bedroom unharmed. “Where’s the bed?” 

“Just take it off!” You giggle, pulling the silk from his face and watching his eyes adjust. A satisfied smile on his face. His lips crash into yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth and tasting you, needing you, finally. He lowers you down on the bed with steady strong hands. Making sure you can lie down comfortably. His lips never leaving your and his body slotting between your thighs. 

He’s always been rough and serious, always been able to resist temptation or his own desires, especially when it comes to his job. But he finds himself weak to you. He’ll probably be fired but it will have been worth it…

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[torchflies]

The real reason why our favorite green-eyed gremlin has no family besides Carole, Bradley and Goose. (WARNING, READ TAGS).

Maverick was born behind a neon-lit bar on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, sometime in 1964. His father, a traitor who went down in ‘Nam. His mother, a dancer who disappeared as quickly as she arrived, left him sitting in an alley at two years old, wearing a paisley scarf and holding a handful of pictures and papers. But the queens found him.

They were the performers of The Garden of Eve, a half-underground drag revue known for its peacock-feathered glamour, subversive laughter, and the kind of love you didn’t talk about in broad daylight. All they had was each other and now — they had a little boy to raise. Miss Ruby D’Vine was the first to pick him up. “Well hello, little love,” She said, cradling him in rhinestone-covered arms. “We didn't ask for you, but some of the best things come from the clearance rack, darling.”

By the time he was ten, Maverick could hot-roll a wig, cinch a corset, and quote lines from Mildred Pierce with frightening accuracy. His guardians — Ruby, Charis, Maude, and Auntie Legs — raised him not just to survive but to dazzle. He learned early that strength could wear false lashes and walk in six-inch heels through a thunderstorm, baby. That was how Maude came to his after-school functions, holding out her perfectly manicured hand for him to take. “Come along, Peter Pan.”

In the seventies, The Garden was more than a nightclub. It was sanctuary. It was the school of life. It was church. The queens taught Maverick everything — how to lip-sync and sew, how to stand tall when people sneered, how to throw shade that could cut and how to use glitter as both armor and gospel. They brought him to balls, they taught him how to charm his way through the doors of life.

He was sixteen the first time someone in their tight circle got sick. Miss Loretta Love started coughing backstage. “Just the flu,” She said with a painted-on smile. But she never got better. They took care of her, even as she wasted and forgot her favorite songs, forgot her dances.

They didn’t have a name for it yet — only rumors, only whispers. “Some kind of gay cancer,” The papers muttered, GRID, as if their very existence was an affliction and this was the solution. And then one by one, Maverick’s world began to vanish. Charis stopped performing and lost weight until her sequin gowns hung on her like mourning veils. Maude couldn’t hold a tune or a spoon, she went blind and then it was Maverick who buffed and painted her nails for her casket. Auntie Legs died in a hospital room alone, misgendered even on her death certificate. He screamed and hollered when they put her in a suit for the viewing. He was the only family she had left, and his mother would be buried in her best evening gown.

Maverick would sit in the dressing rooms, now quiet and haunted, staring at empty styrofoam heads. He tried to keep the club running. Ruby, who had always been the strongest, still painted on her smile but no longer performed when she couldn't cover the lesions anymore. “They’re forgetting us, Peter.” She whispered to him once, in the dark as she fought going to the ward. “Like we were never here. I'm so sorry, Peter Pan, I'm going to have go on without you.”

She found that second star and she was gone too.

But Maverick fights. He takes their lessons and carries them, even as the city turns its back. He makes flyers for memorials. He marches. He screams at politicians with no faces as he buries more friends and family than any teenager should have to. He meets the two people who are going to mean the world to him one day — at an ACT-UP march. A pair of twenty-somethings from Nowhere, Tennessee.

By the time the eighties roll in, The Garden of Eve is long shuttered, its sign rusting above boarded doors. But Maverick — no longer a boy, not yet a man — keeps a shoebox full of polaroids, press-on nails, lipstick tubes, and old ticket stubs. He calls it his inheritance.

And whenever he puts on one of Ruby’s old coats, he stands just a little taller. Because he was raised not by a village, but by a galaxy of stars, and even in grief, they taught him how to shine.

No amount of Academy rejections or Navy men bellowing in his face will ever tamp down that shine — and if he still gravitates to bar mics like the queens who raised him? Well, he's still their Peter Pan underneath this get-up.

[meiplays]

Barbed and Beautiful

𝑫𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 & 𝑫𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 🍝

(formally DirtyGirl) ~ Ch.2

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Warnings: SFW but spicy, grinding, implied intimacy/smut, teasing, (Reader's bedazzled bat), Rick walks in, obsessive romance, possessiveness, reader is a red-flag hot badass

Word Count: ~3,000

Set during Season 7, Episode 4 ("Service") — Alexandria, Rick’s house.

PART 1: Dirty Girl ♡

Bridge: “His Favorite Girl” - Aesthetic Board

Negan stirred the spaghetti sauce with surprising care, humming low under his breath like he was running a cooking show. The simmering aroma filled Rick Grimes’ kitchen, and for a moment, the world didn’t smell like ash and blood. It smelled like garlic, crushed tomatoes, and twisted power.

You sat on the couch like you owned the damn place. Legs crossed, boots up on the coffee table, one finger lazily tracing the hilt of your beloved weapon—Valentine. She was just as dangerous and decked out as you: a barbed aluminum bat covered in red rhinestones, with a heart-shaped hilt and jagged spikes at the tip. She gleamed under the lamplight like she had something to say.

You wore a cropped red tank that hugged every sinful inch of your torso, paired with a tight black skirt and a Gothic-styled belt. Negan’s iconic red scarf was draped around your neck like a collar—his scent still fresh on it. The leather jacket he’d gifted you earlier? Draped across the chair, but close. Always close.

He glanced back at you and smirked.

“Spaghetti’s ready, sugar,” he said, licking sauce off a wooden spoon. “C’mon and get it while it’s hot. Just like you.”

You popped up, strutting into the kitchen with hips that knew they were being watched. “Mmm,” you purred. “Smells good, daddy.”

He chuckled and pulled you close by the waist. “Goddamn right it does. Man’s gotta keep his queen fed.”

You nuzzled into him, pressing a kiss under his jaw. “You do spoil me, Negan.”

“And you fuckin’ love it.”

Dinner was candlelit. The lights in Alexandria flickered, but Negan made it feel deliberate—intimate even. You both sat at Rick’s table, eating with silverware stolen from his drawers, sipping wine from mismatched glasses. It was a performance of dominance, and you were the lead actress.

“Rick must be stewing outside like an overcooked pot roast,” you said sweetly, twirling spaghetti around your fork.

Negan snorted. “He’s lucky I’m not stewing his damn head.”

Under the table, his hand crept along your thigh. You smirked and didn’t stop him.

After dinner, while Negan cleaned the dishes like a househusband from hell, you slipped upstairs. A little exploring of Rick’s closet led to treasure: a sparkling, silver dress, sleeveless and tight in all the right places, from the time before the world fell apart.

When Negan finally climbed the stairs, towel slung over his shoulder, his footsteps paused.

His eyes widened. “Holy. Shit.”

You twirled. “Like it?”

He looked like he might combust. “Baby… you look like Vegas and violence wrapped in sequins.”

You walked toward him, every step deliberate. “Thought you’d appreciate a little sparkle. You made me dinner. I owe you a show.”

You slid Lucille from his hand and gently leaned her against the dresser. Then you grabbed his belt, pulling him to Rick’s bed.

“Sit,” you whispered.

He obeyed.

You danced—slow and teasing. The dress sparkled with every sway of your hips, every glide of your hands down your own body. When you climbed onto his lap, dress hiked high, it was more than a performance—it was a ritual.

Grinding. Teasing. Your lips brushed his. His hands gripped your arse through your skirt.

Your mouth found his, and the kiss was filthy. You tugged his hair. He bit your lip.

Somewhere, your bat Valentine leaned against the bed, watching. Just like Lucille. Your weapon.

Later that night, candlelight flickered and danced on your bare skin. You straddled Negan, the candles shined upon you.

“You know,” you murmured, running the bat’s barbed heart up his throat, “Valentine says you’re hers too now.”

Negan grinned. “Shit, I’m flattered. Tell her I’ll take her to dinner next time.”

You leaned in, grinding slow, lips bruising his. He whispered filth against your mouth. You gasped, clutched his shoulders, and then—

The door creaked open.

You both froze.

Rick.

He stood there, mouth open, expression locked between rage and disbelief.

You, red lace and leather jacket, straddled Negan like a damn throne. Valentine glinted nearby, sparkling wickedly.

Negan looked at him, calm as a storm. “Get the fuck out, Rick.”

Rick slammed the door so hard the frame shook.

The next morning, sun streamed in through blinds that didn’t quite close. The house smelled like leather, sweat, and candle smoke. You woke slowly, tangled in sheets that weren’t yours, you leaned over and smiled at negan

Negan lay shirtless next to you, one arm slung across your waist.

You traced the bruise on his collarbone, giggling softly. “Still breathing?”

“you about killed me darlin' ”

You kissed his shoulder. “Blame the dress.”

“I blame Rick. Bastard walked in and made it even hotter.”

You blushed and threw a pillow at him.

Valentine glinted beside you, as if she’d enjoyed every second.

“ She was my Dirty Girl. ”

[covetyou]

send in the clown

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, dubcon, unprotected P in V, anal play, grinding, titty play (clown motorboating), drug use, hotboxing, the shoes stay on, unconventional use of grease paint word count: 4.1k summary: You lose your scarf on a visit to the carnival. Send in Dieter Bravo - washed up actor turned circus clown.

A/N: Happy Halloweekend, friends! Originally this was going to be some dark evil fic with a murderous clown and some non-con, but basically I can't do that. So here you have washed up actor clown Dieter instead, and he's going to rock your world. You're welcome.

This is not inherently scary, but probably something to avoid if you really hate clowns. It's essentially just clown porn. I'm not sorry.

10 points to anyone who can spot the Oscar.

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Want Dieter at the carnival, but don't want the clowns? Check out Candy by @secretelephanttattoo

Loud noises and knives and fire and bodies bent into strange shapes.

It sounded more like a horror movie down on paper, but the lights and music were dazzling, amazing, turning something terrifying into something beautiful.

You sipped too sweet drinks and munched on overpriced snacks as you watched on with your friends, laughing and gasping with them as the sights before you unfolded. A tiny woman bending herself over backwards, shooting apples off of people's heads with a bow and arrow clenched in her delicate feet. A couple swinging through the air, no wire in sight, fabric fluttering along behind them as they flew. Sword swallowers, fire breathers, acrobats, magicians, clowns.

Clowns.

You were mesmerized by it all, taken in so completely, that when you all stumbled out after several hours and made your way home, you didn't even notice you'd left your scarf until you moved to pull it off as you stepped in your front door. They weren't in town for long, things like this never were, so you turn around and head back to your car, driving back the way you came until the big top comes back into view.

It had been almost an hour since you left and the parking lot was mostly empty now, save for a few cars closer to the entrance. The sign was no longer illuminated, but lights shone brightly from inside the gate as a handful of people bustled around, packing up for the night.

You make your way to the ticket booth, spotting a grizzly old man with a toothpick between his teeth closing up, pulling a small box filled with ticket stubs and loose change out from the desk.

"We're closed," he grumbles, not bothering to look at you as he turns the key, locking the booth, and stomps away.

"I know," you shout, feet squelching in a wet patch of grass as you stumble after him. "I lost something, left it here. Do you have a lost and found?"

He stops, eyes you up, then sends you inside, directing you to an open sided tent. You walk in semi-darkness, listening out for the shouts and jokes of the cast and crew ending their day.

Two people sit there, feet up on a box and cards in hand. One has a threadbare sweater thrown on over a skimpy lyrca outfit adorned in sequins, the other looks like he could have been in the audience if it wasn't for the peak of tattoos from the top of his hoodie and across his hands.

They don't notice you standing there, so you clear your throat. Sequins is just about to play a card, but halts mid way through the movement and looks up, raising his painted on eyebrows at you.

"We're closed," Tattoos repeats, not bothering to turn to look your way.

"I lost a scarf. Was told to come here," you explain. You just want your scarf back.

Sequins slaps the card down on the box then sits back, eyeing you up and down just as the grizzled old man did, crossing his toned arms over his chest. "What's it look like?"

"Woolen, red and brown kind of checks. It's pretty big, almost like a blanket?"

Tattoos scoffs, finally turning to look at you. "Oh yeah, that one. Bravo the Clown took it. No one ever comes back for shit they lose at the circus, toots. If you want it back you're gonna have to go ask him."

"Okay, and where can I find this Bravo the Clown."

They send you off to a trailer on the other side of the camp. You hear their laughter as you turn your back and walk away, squelching back through patches of wet grass that hadn't been boarded over.

The trailer is worn and old, a colorful tarp covering the front window and stapled into the ground. "Bravo" is scrawled on the door in sharpie, scribbles of other color around it so it looks like the name has exploded from the door. There's a faint light from inside, and you can hear music playing, but there's no answer when you knock.

You try the handle, the door opening a crack before jamming. You tug harder, and the door swings open, nearly knocking you down onto the wet ground.

Smoke billows out. You almost think there's a fire when you smell something earthy and herbal. Definitely not a fire.

You call out over the music, a repetitive carnival jingle, and when there's no response, you climb up the few steps and step foot into the trailer of Bravo the Clown.

It's dark inside, the smoke barely cleared and the tarp masking any light from outside in a red haze. The herbal stench in the air is thicker inside, covering the stale musky smell of sweat and dust.

When your eyes adjust to the dark through the haze of smoke, you see the place is a mess. Wigs of all shapes and colors are thrown haphazardly onto a crooked shelf on the wall, something shiny hidden behind a puff of rainbows. Shoes litter the walkway, and clothes and costume pieces are strewn over a bench seat. There's a patch where it looks like someone has been sitting, and next to it, your scarf, screwed tight into a messy ball and pushed down into the rest of the clothing.

You approach, going to grab your scarf and leave, when you're distracted by a long mirror sitting to one side, a worn chair in front of it. There's a vanity where brushes and pallettes are thrown, pots of grease paint left open and discarded.

You drag your fingers across the worn wooden vanity. Picking up one pot of paint - a vibrant white - you are moments from swiping your finger across the pristine surface when a gruff voice startles you.

"What the fuck?!"

You spin, paint falling from your hand and clattering to the ground. Stood there is a half man, half clown, joint perched between his lips, makeup smudged over his face. His hair is sweaty, sticking up at all angles, wig nowhere to be seen. You cast your eyes down him. An oversized striped shirt is pulled open, graying undershirt beneath on show, sweat stains at the armpits and a wet patch on the hem. His red pants are unbuttoned, slung low on his hips, his suspenders unclipped at the front and hanging down low behind him. Large shoes jut out from the bottoms, bulbous and curving slightly upward.

"What the fuck are you doin' in here," he says from around the joint, throwing his hands up in the air.

You stumble over your words, stuttering a few times before you can spit it out. He looks at you like you're stupid, like you're the one with paint smeared over your face.

"I- I lost my scarf. They said you had it, I'm sorry, I-"

"What? Do you think breaking and entering is okay because I'm a fuckin' clown," he yells, pulling the door closed and slamming it hard when it gets jammed again.

He stalks toward you, blowing a puff of smoke into your face, making your eyes water, before he flops down into the worn chair in front of the vanity. It creaks as he stretches back, the tip of one of his too big shoes running up your leg.

"Do you think stealing is okay because you're a clown?" you retort, hands on your hips, shaking your head in disbelief. You never pictured your evening ending in an argument with a half-dressed clown.

More smoke puffs from his mouth as he laughs at you, face contorting strangely as he smiles with a down turned red mouth smeared across his own.

"What're you going to give me," he says, pulling his shirt off and throwing it onto the pile on the bench.

"What?"

He takes another long drag on his joint, and lets the smoke billow from his lungs before he sits back and replies. "For the scarf. What's it worth to you."

You watch his hand stroke down his belly, past the wet patch on his t-shirt and down to the front of his pants. He adjusts himself, rolling his hips as he palms his cock through the fabric.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Maybe it's the smoke going to your head, the haze of the room making you feel stuffy and floaty, clouding your judgement. Or maybe you've always had a fucking thing for clowns, you flithy b-

"Anything," you say, before you can stop yourself. He laughs, throwing his head back as he flicks ash onto the floor.

"Then take that coat off and come here. Show me them pretty tits."

You unbutton your coat, throwing it onto the bench with your scarf. You look down, thick sweater obstructing any view he'd have of your chest, and decide to yank that off too, pulling it over your head and discarding it with your coat. You take a deep breath, lungs filling with smoke and the sweaty smell of Bravo the Clown, before you pull down your tank top and bra, pushing your tits out of their cups and exposing them to the cold air.

"Can I have my scarf back now?"

"No! I want a closer look," he pats his lap, visible tent now forming in his red pants. "Come sit down on Bravo the Clowns lap, sugar tits," he says with husky laugh.

You shuffle forward trying not to trip over his shoes as you wonder how you'll perch on his lap with his knees spread so wide. You don't have long to think when he grabs you by the hand and pulls you onto him, your knees straddling either side of his thighs on the chair. It creaks and groans, and you shift on him, terrified the old chair is going to collapse with the weight of you.

He takes a final long drag from his joint, before snuffing it on the vanity and blowing the rest of the smoke into your face. You cough and splutter, blinking back watering eyes, when two large hands come up and grab your tits, massaging them as your chest heaves.

"Nice."

You blink again and look down to see him smiling at your tits, nodding as he massages them. He squeezes them together, watching as the skin squishes and puckers under his fingers. His hands are rough, fingernails painted with chipped polish that glitters in the dim lighting of his trailer. The grimace painted onto his face a stark contrast to the man underneath having the time of his life.

He's entranced, looking at your tits as he squeezes them. Painted fingertips come and pinch your nipples, pulling at them and making you gasp. Your back arches as he tugs, jiggling both as he pinches and laughing as they ripple with the movement. Your hips shift forward, nudging the hardness in his pants, and you fight to still yourself and not grind against him.

Before you know it, he's mashing your tits together again and shoving his face between them, rubbing the scruff of his jaw across your delicate skin, smearing paint all over your chest. He breathes in, and you feel him start to nip and suckle at your flesh as he rubs from side to side, burying his face in you as you push your hips down hard onto his cock.

As quick as he started, he flops back with a sigh, letting your tits fall heavy from his grasp. He smiles serenely as he looks at his handiwork, white and red and blue smeared into a mess of lavender across your tits.

"Think you liked that as much as I did," he taunts, gesturing to where your crotch sits flush against his stiff cock. "Shame you're in so many fuckin' layers." He runs a hand up your thigh, pinging the thickness of your tights against your leg before fingers play with the edge of your skirt where it's bunched around your thighs. He tugs it higher, pulling it to your waist.

He slides his hands back down, thumbs tracing down the front of your tights, teasing the apex of your thighs. One hand holds you there, stopping you from rocking into him again, whilst the other slides between you, rubbing broadly over your damp, covered crotch.

You close your eyes, letting him massage your pussy with his large hand, the sensation muted by so many layers. You rock into his palm as you float along on his lap, lost in his heavy breathing and the monotonous music still jingling along in the background.

He starts muttering, playing with the waistband of your tights, looking for a better way in, a way to get to your cunt that means you don't have to get off his lap. Your eyes snap open, you watch as he shrugs, a wicked smile pulling smeared makeup across his face. He pulls at your tights, gripping in both hands, tearing the fabric and exposing your inner thighs and panties to him. You can't help but moan as you feel his hand find your bare skin, and push against the wet front of your panties.

He lets out a low whistle, he'd barely touched you and you're dripping, grinding against his hand. "I can do one better than my hand," he says, waggling his eyebrows and looking down to his crotch. He's fully hard now, tent more impressive than the big tops outside.

Before he can say another word, you're reaching for his pants, pulling the zipper down and fishing out his rock hard length. He pulls both his arms back holding them up in mock surrender.

"Woah, woah!" he laughs.

You start to stroke his cock, pumping up and down, drawing the precum dripping from his tip over your palm and down his length with each stroke. He's watching you as you play with him, teasing his tip, reaching down into his red pants with your other hand to stroke his balls. They're heavy in your hand and sticky with sweat, but you squeeze them as you jerk him, making him groan, throw his head back and grip the arms of his chair.

Your pussy is cold without his hand, neglected. You don't want to let go of the weight of him, so you rub his tip over the front of your soaked panties, dragging it over your clit and applying pressure as you circle it with his head. You need more, more friction, so you hold him against you, rocking your hips against one side of him as your palm holds him to you in the other.

"Oh, hell yeah. Are you gonna come just from grinding on me?!" he says in disbelief, listening to your desperate moans as you jerk him against your pussy.

"No," you gasp, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face over the layer of greasy paint. The look of him alone is almost sending you stratospheric - the hair, the paint, the sweat - but the friction against your pussy isn't enough. "I want to put it in me."

He looks like he's won the lottery, wide eyes and thrilled face covered in paint nodding back at you, gesturing down to his dick as if to say help yourself.

You yank your panties to the side as you rock your hips into his cock, still holding him tight to you. Your slick pussy glides up and down his length, his head rubbing directly over your clit with each cant of your hips. You're moaning, wiggling on him as he watches straight down at his cock gliding against your bare cunt.

"Do you have a...?" you say, looking around the room for anywhere where he might stash a condom.

"Nope," he says, popping the P. "If you want it, you gotta take it like this."

You don't even consider any other option, you simply plunge your two middle fingers deep inside you, gathering your slick before smearing it around yourself and down the other side of Bravo the Clown's cock. You raise up on your knees, the chair creaking again as you move, and tease him against your entrance before taking him inside you.

"Oh, Bravo," you moan as you sink down onto his cock.

"Thank you, I'm here 'til Tuesday," he jokes, miming a bow from where he's seated. You bet he uses that on everyone. You soon wipe the smug grin off his face when you lift up and slam back down onto him, moaning his name once again before you begin fucking yourself on him in earnest. "Fuck."

"Dieter," he whines as you bounce on him, chasing a high that seems so out of reach with the high already muffling your head, "Name's Dieter."

"Dieter," you groan, bottoming out and groaning as you rock your hips over him, his cock seated deep in you.

"Fuck yeah, that's it," he grunts, clown shoes planted flat on the floor giving him leverage to pound up into you as you meet his every thrust. The chair is creaking, the trailer shaking, your lavender colored tits bouncing with each pound. His glazed over eyes watch them bounce in front of his face, a frown knitting his brows together and creasing the paint slathered on his skin as he tries to focus on your jiggling breasts. You think you see him go cross eyed as he tries to look at both of your nipples at once.

You're about to reach your hand down, circle your clit and bring yourself over the edge when arms wrap around you pulling you toward him, face falling into his neck. You can smell him more strongly here, the smell of sweat and weed clinging to him like a second skin. He holds onto your ass as he pounds up into you, pulling your cheeks apart. From this angle you can feel the grind of his hair against your clit with every thrust, and you muffle your moan into his neck.

"Ohhhhh."

"Gonna have to give me more than that, ain't been long since I last came," he huffs into your ear as he pulls you apart. You can feel the slick smear of grease paint on the side of your face.

There's another loud rip, your tights being torn again, this time from behind to expose more of your ass. He slows down the roll of his hips into yours as he pulls you deeper, and deeper, letting you grind down onto him even easier, the rub of him against your clit almost perfect now. The feel of his throbbing cock deep in your pussy, rough hands pulling your ass open and the scratch of his pubic hair on your clit feel so good, but you can't quite get there, whatever end you're trying to reach chased away by the fuzz in your head.

You whine from his neck, shifting your hips, trying to see if another spot would work better. Bravo - Dieter catches on and you hear his voice rumble from his chest as you rock on his lap.

"What's your favorite color?"

Now hardly seems like the time to get to know each other, but you humor him. "Blue," you breathe, rubbing your nose against his cheek, the smell of grease paint strong.

"Blue it is."

One arm lets go of you and you hear something on the vanity. You keep rocking your hips, still so close but not close enough. He brings his hand back and you gasp at a foreign sensation between your cheeks.

It's thick and slick, swiping smoothly across your asshole. You moan and gasp against his face, halting your movements and lifting off him a fraction. He laughs, swiping his slicked finger back and forth over your ass, circling the tight ring before dipping a fingertip in just as he pulls you back down flush onto his cock.

It's intense, and you moan so loud Tattoos and Sequins can probably hear you.

"And that's improv," he says, grunting as he picks up the pace of his thrusts again.

"Fuck, more," you beg, as he slips more of his fingertip into your ass, fucking you hard now as you grip his neck and bring your face in line with his.

He laughs at you, panting with the effort of fucking you. "Oh you're freaky, I like it."

"Watch who you're calling a freak, clown." Your grip his neck, holding on for dear life, unphased by the spread of his face paint onto your own skin.

Both arms are wrapped around you, one feeling at your entrance where he pounds into you, creamy slick coating his fingers with each thrust, the other between your cheeks, finger hooked into your tight hole. His finger tugs at you with each bounce onto his cock, stretching you and making you feel fuller than you are. You tilt your hips again, clit colliding with his thick hair, gridning against you, and you see stars glitter around your vision. They're so close now, the haze in your brain diffusing the light as it draws closer and closer.

"Hnnnng, I'm so close," you groan, rubbing your nose against his.

"Fuck," he mumbles as you pull his mouth onto yours. You kiss him, moaning and grinding against his lap, his tongue flicking against the seam of your lips just as the stars align and burst in your vision.

You come with a deep groan into his mouth, clenching tight around his cock as he frantically pounds up into you, hips stuttering as sweat drips down his face. You feel him start to twitch and then his cock is slipping from you, the remnants of your own orgasm fading as his cock slides against the outside of your cunt and spurts thick ropes of cum up against his belly, catching the already damp hem of his t-shirt.

You sit, faces together, panting for a moment, kissing him again just before he slides his finger from your ass, wiping the slick onto your exposed skin. When he looks down at his spent cock, he groans and huffs.

"Not again. I like this shirt."

He tuts at himself, flopping his arms down and looking around for something to tidy up with. He gives up, instead grabbing a tin from the vanity, popping it open, and starts to roll another joint on his chest.

You take that moment to climb off him, covering your pussy with the scrap of fabric of your panties, tugging your skirt down and your tank top up to cover as much of you as you can. The paint on your chest will stain, but you'll think about that later.

You throw your coat back on, not bothering with your sweater or the mess on your face, when Dieter addresses you again.

"Don't forget your scarf."

You roll your eyes, casting an exasperated look at him only to see him looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You take your scarf, unbunching it and immediately sticking your hand in something wet and sticky. Even in the darkness, you can tell it's almost definitely cum. You look over to Dieter, disgusted look on your face as he shrugs his shoulders.

"If I'd known you'd come here begging for some of this," he gestures down his slouched body, "I never would've done that sweet cheeks. That one's on you."

"You're an ass."

"I'm not an ass, I'm the one and only Bravo the Clown." He spreads his arms wide, looking obscene with his flaccid cock hanging out of his bright red pants, belly covered in cum and face paint smeared all over his face. He places the unlit joint between his lips and you walk past him, pushing open the door to his trailer and stepping outside into the clear air. You take a deep breath, head already feeling clearer when you turn back, a question on your lips.

He's stood at the door of his trailer, tucking his cock back in, looking even crazier now that your head is clearer.

"The music?" you ask. It'd been playing this whole time, the same tune over and over.

"It's called method acting, sweet cheeks," he says with a wink, lighting his new joint and tilting his head back to expel a plume of smoke into the night sky.

You laugh, you can't help it, the man is a caricature even of himself, but there's something so intoxicating about it.

"Goodnight, Dieter."

You walk back to your car to the tinkling of fairground music and Bravo the Clown's raspy laughter.

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[twofoursixohjuan]

Judging Costumes: Part 3

Dua Lipa (left). This one's just a bit all over the shop, really. The little beaded bolero is very cute, but you've got the very light necklace and then the brown collar and that jacket and that Meccano set of a midriff piece and then the feathery thing and then the sheer underskirt... it's just too many textures for my liking. The 1920s spit curls are kind of adorable, though.

Doja Cat (right). Leotard again. The huge fuckoff power suit shoulders are pretty neat, and I congratulate her on actually managing to pull that off. I like the way the bodice is integrated into the jacket, but that neon yellow furry stuff is... not the option I'd have gone with. Opinions on the headpiece are oscillating wildly between "that's pretty cool" and "the fuck have you got on your head?" so I'll refrain from comment.

Nicole Kidman (left). Boring gown. It's okay, I suppose, but it seems to have a high waist and a dropped waist, which is interesting in theory but in practice just gives her a big dull bridge over the hips. Construction on the bodice is pretty neat.

Rosalía (right). Also pretty boring. We have the tight skirt and train look again, which I do genuinely like but am getting a little sick of, and a top half that is just a whole lot of nothing. The little cap sleeves are kind of nice but mostly it just looks like she's been dipped in glue.

Jodie Turner-Smith (left). TOP HAT HUUUUUGE COAT SNAZZY SHOES DOUBLE COLLAR we have an entry in the Dapper Pirate sweepstakes! I love those puffed sleeves and the way the coat fastens at the hip, and how the shirt collar's coming out over the coat collar. No idea what the coat's made from but the shine is magnificent, especially alongside the matte pants.

Miranda Kerr (right). Like, I see what she's doing there, but I also think it looks silly. The way the shape's being played with is interesting but it doesn't feel like it's been thought out. The use of velvet in the bodice washes everything else out a little and the welt pockets on the skirt are just kind of extraneous. I like the opera gloves, though.

Anok Yai (left). Halterneck made from a collar is always going to be a winning look for me, but the bow tie, while fabulous, is getting a bit lost in the rest of the bodice. Not sure if that black scarf thing is attached to the skirt or a wrap that she's carrying but either way I don't much like it. It's that same skirt AGAIN but two-toning it works quite well.

Chappell Roan (right). Well, I don't think I'd call it a boring suit, but I kind of wish it was because I don't like that. The patchwork texture is pretty cool, but that's just too much pink and too much sequin for me, and the soft collar just looks crumpled. Clashes with the hair, too. Cut-wise it's nothing special, but I do like the split pants over the boots.

Cardi B. (left). Now that is how you use texture. Good goddamn. Looks like some kind of velvet in the coat and pants, which are gorgeous, and the shirt ruffles are fabulously dandy. (I might have gone with a ruffled stock rather than neck edges but that's personal preference.) The fringe adds interest without being overpowering and the smooth cummerbund makes a neat little contrast. Not sure about the brooch (is that a dead fish?) — I think it does need something there but maybe not that.

Lana Del Rey (right). Boring gown. The pleats in the skirt do puff it out quite nicely and I like the shoulder bow, but unfortunately it just isn't very interesting.

[xichilie]

Two sides of a Gem (part8)

Aventurine x (stoneheart)reader

Part7

I'm posting 2 parts today since it's new year♡

Happy new year to everyone ♡♡

______________________________________

The boutique was a sprawling dreamscape of luxury. Shelves glimmered with golden accents, and mannequins showcased flowing coats and shimmering scarves. Dreamlike light filtered from ornate lamps, casting a warm glow over the store.

March zipped between racks like a whirlwind, holding up clothing pieces that ranged from chic to outright absurd. “Y/N! Look at this scarf—wait, no, this jacket—wait, this hat! Oh no, we need a cart!”

Y/N followed calmly behind her, hands lightly folded in front of her, a serene smile on her face. Her eyes occasionally flickered over the other patrons, sharp and observant despite her outward cheer.

The Trailblazer, meanwhile, had wandered off to a section with feathered hats and coats so heavily sequined they could probably double as emergency reflectors.

Y/N paused, letting her eyes wander over an intricately embroidered coat, her gloved hand reaching out to feel the fabric—

Clink!

Another hand reached for the exact same coat at the exact same time.

“Oh? Well, this is awkward.”

The smooth, unmistakable voice made Y/N’s gaze lift sharply. Aventurine stood across from her, his mismatched magenta and cyan eyes glinting with amusement. His usual confident smirk played across his lips as he tilted his head slightly.

Y/N’s polite smile remained firmly in place. “Aventurine. Funny seeing you here.”

March peeked out from behind a clothing rack, her blue eyes narrowing the second she spotted him. “Oh, you again? Are you stalking us or something?”

Aventurine raised both hands in mock surrender. “Stalking? Friend, I would never. I simply have excellent taste in boutiques—and apparently in coats.”

March crossed her arms. “Oh sure, because this is totally a coincidence.”

Y/N placed a gloved hand gently on March’s shoulder, her voice calm and warm. “March, it’s fine. Accidents happen.” She turned back to Aventurine, her smile unfaltering. “Right, Aventurine?”

Aventurine’s grin widened slightly. “Absolutely, friend. Nothing but coincidence and shared good taste.”

“Hmm,” March muttered, clearly unconvinced.

From somewhere behind a velvet curtain, the Trailblazer emerged dramatically, wearing what could only be described as a feathered catastrophe. Bright pink and neon green feathers stuck out from the shoulders of a sequined blazer, paired with mismatched checkered pants and a fedora that had… antlers attached.

March gasped. “Trailblazer, no!”

Aventurine raised an amused eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Well, friend, I must admit… that’s certainly a bold fashion statement.”

The Trailblazer turned to Aventurine, their eyes bright with mischief. “You think so? You should try it!”

March’s eyes went wide. “Oh no, no, no. Don’t—”

But it was too late. The Trailblazer was already pulling Aventurine toward the racks, shoving a bizarre blazer into his hands and adding a feathered hat to the mix.

Y/N watched, her lips twitching as she struggled to contain a laugh.

“Now wait a minute, friends,” Aventurine began, his usual smooth demeanor faltering slightly as Trailblazer shoved him into a changing room. “I’m more of a classic look kind of guy—”

The curtain was pulled shut with dramatic flair.

March crossed her arms, looking far too pleased with herself. “Serves him right. If he’s gonna follow us around like a suspicious weirdo, he can suffer.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, her hand covering her mouth. “This might actually be worth waiting for.”

Moments later, the curtain was pulled back. Aventurine stepped out, his usual confidence fighting for dominance over his clear discomfort.

He was wearing a neon-purple blazer with glittering gold trim, paired with a wildly patterned scarf and a floppy hat with dangling tassels.

March froze, her jaw dropping. The Trailblazer gave a slow clap. “Magnificent.”

Aventurine adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, his expression flat despite the absurd outfit. “Well, friends… how do I look?”

Y/N bit her lip to stop herself from laughing outright. “You… wear it well, Aventurine.”

March couldn’t hold back. She doubled over with laughter. “You look like a space magician!”

Aventurine sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is… character-building, I suppose.”

Trailblazer gave him a thumbs-up. “Style is about confidence, Aventurine!”

The boutique clerk appeared nearby, holding a selection of even more outrageous accessories. “Would sir care for matching boots and gloves?”

Aventurine’s eye twitched. “I think I’ll pass, friend.”

Y/N finally spoke up, her voice warm but firm. “Alright, let’s not torment Aventurine too much. He’s already been a good sport about this.”

March wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Fine, fine. But I’m never forgetting this moment.”

Aventurine smirked slightly, his usual confidence returning as he removed the feathered hat and blazer. “Don’t worry, friend. I’m nothing if not memorable.”

Y/N watched him carefully as he returned the clothing to the rack, her smile soft but her eyes sharp with quiet calculation.

“Come on, let’s check out and head to the next stop,” Y/N said, gesturing for the group to follow.

As they headed toward the counter, Aventurine fell into step beside Y/N, his voice dropping just slightly. “You know, friend… you’re quite different from the rest of your crew.”

Y/N glanced at him, her smile unwavering. “We all have our roles to play, Aventurine.”

He chuckled softly. “Oh, I’m well aware.”

March called from ahead, waving a bundle of accessories in the air. “Y/N! Hurry up, we need your fancy credit card again!”

Y/N sighed with a mock look of defeat. “comming"

Aventurine’s sly grin returned. “seems like your their personal ATM”

The group laughed as they made their way to the counter, leaving behind a boutique clerk still trying to process the sight of Aventurine in a neon blazer.

___________

The Golden Hour’s glow bathed the luxurious shopping district in hues of amber and gold as Y/N, March, and the Trailblazer weaved their way through the crowd, shopping bags piling up in March’s arms like trophies from a victorious campaign.

“Alright!” March spun on her heel, nearly smacking Trailblazer with a bag. “One boutique conquered, a thousand more to go! Next stop: That one!”

Trailblazer squinted at the glowing neon sign. “March… that’s a pet accessory store.”

March froze, her finger still pointing. “…Okay, but hear me out: tiny hats for tiny animals.”

Y/N laughed softly behind her hand while Trailblazer exchanged a look with her. Before anyone could respond, Trailblazer bolted towards something shiny in the corner of an alley.

“Wait—No! Not again!” March groaned.

Y/N and March turned the corner to find Trailblazer halfway inside a trash can, rummaging around with intense focus.

A familiar voice chuckled behind them. “Is… this normal behavior for your crew, friend?”

Aventurine strolled up casually, his usual charming smirk in place and his mismatched eyes glinting under the golden lights.

Y/N’s smile didn’t waver as she glanced over her shoulder. “Surprisingly, yes. You’d be amazed at what they’ve found before. Ancient relics, lost jewelry… once, half a sandwich.”

Trailblazer popped out of the trash can, holding up a squeaky toy shaped like a star. It let out an embarrassing squeak when squeezed.

Aventurine deadpanned, “Truly, the definition of excellence.”

March dragged the Trailblazer away by the arm. “Okay, treasure hunter, let’s keep going before someone calls security.”

As the group moved into another boutique, a luxurious clothing store lined with velvet and satin, Y/N lingered for a moment before Aventurine stepped beside her, hands in his pockets.

“So, friend,” Aventurine said smoothly, his voice like silk. “Are you the responsible one in this merry little group, or just better at hiding your chaos?”

Y/N’s lips curled into a sweet smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before Aventurine could respond, March’s voice rang out from inside the store. “Guys! Look at this outfit—wait, Trailblazer! That’s not a scarf, it’s a curtain!”

Trailblazer emerged wearing an outfit pieced together from mismatched garments: a glittering jacket, overly frilly cravat, and a feathered hat perched sideways on their head.

Aventurine actually paused, raising an eyebrow. “Is… is this a statement piece? Should I be taking notes?”

“Actually—yes!” March piped up. “Aventurine, you should totally try something ridiculous. You’d look amazing in… this!”

She grabbed an absurdly sequined blazer with feathered cuffs and tossed it at him. Aventurine caught it effortlessly, holding it up like it might bite him.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Go on, Aventurine. Show us your best fashion walk.”

Aventurine smirked but shrugged off his coat and actually put the blazer on. He turned dramatically, one hand on his hip and the other gesturing towards the sky.

“Do I dazzle you, friends?” he asked theatrically.

March was on the floor laughing, Trailblazer clapped awkwardly, and Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, stifling her giggles.

“You’re… surprisingly good at this,” Y/N managed between laughs.

“Gambling isn’t my only talent, friend.” Aventurine smirked as he slipped the blazer off and returned to his usual polished attire.

____________

After several more chaotic shops and Y/N insisting on paying for everyone (much to March’s exaggerated protests), they eventually found themselves at an elegant outdoor café.

The faint glow of golden lanterns illuminated the outdoor café, their light dancing across the velvet tablecloth and the array of colorful desserts scattered across porcelain plates. The hum of distant music and laughter painted a dreamlike atmosphere, blending seamlessly with the faint golden mist hanging in the air.

March and the Trailblazer were absorbed in devouring a decadent strawberry tart, leaving Y/N and Aventurine seated a little apart from them at the edge of the terrace.

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his mismatched eyes glinting with faint amusement. "So, friend, when exactly do you plan to venture deeper into this gilded illusion? Or are you planning on just enjoying pastries and window shopping for eternity?"

Y/N smirked lightly as she stirred her tea, the spoon clinking softly against the porcelain cup. "Would you like me to take you along on such a perilous journey, Aventurine? I’m not entirely sure you’re… equipped for the rugged demands of exploration."

Aventurine raised a brow, clearly amused. "You wound me, friend. What exactly about me screams 'unfit' for adventure?"

Y/N’s eyes drifted down his tailored coat, the perfectly pressed seams, the golden cufflinks, and the gleaming shine of his boots. She tilted her head. "Oh, I don’t know… maybe it’s the fact that you look like you stepped out of a luxury fashion catalog. Do you even own something… practical?"

Aventurine placed a hand dramatically over his chest, feigning offense. "I’ll have you know, these boots are extremely comfortable. And they’re waterproof—in case of unexpected puddles, you see."

Y/N chuckled softly, taking a sip of her tea. "Yes, because puddles are the biggest threat in the layers of a chaotic dreamscape."

Aventurine leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly in curiosity. "And yet, despite my supposed impracticality, you’re still considering me as a travel companion. Why is that, friend?"

Y/N matched his gaze, her smile steady but her eyes sharp. "Because, Aventurine… while your suit might not be ideal for hiking through dream debris, your mind is sharp, and your tongue even sharper. I might just need someone like you when the layers start twisting reality into something unrecognizable."

Aventurine’s smirk softened ever so slightly, his eyes briefly flickering with something thoughtful before he quickly masked it with a playful grin. "Ah, so you do trust me a little. Careful, friend—you’re starting to sound fond of me."

Y/N leaned back in her chair, tilting her head. "Fond? That’s a strong word. Let’s just say… I find you useful."

Aventurine placed a hand over his heart again, dramatically tilting his head back. "Reduced to mere utility. How tragic."

Y/N laughed softly, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Despite his theatrical charm and carefree demeanor, she could tell Aventurine was always observing, always analyzing. His mask was impressive—but not impenetrable.

A comfortable silence fell between them for a moment, the faint sounds of March squabbling with the Trailblazer over a crème brûlée filling the space.

Finally, Aventurine broke the silence, his voice lower this time. "You know, friend… if you do decide to take me along, you won’t regret it. I’m… resourceful, in more ways than one."

Y/N raised a brow, her smirk returning. "I’ll keep that in mind. But tell me, Aventurine, why are you so eager to explore deeper layers? I thought you preferred your comforts—fine drinks, velvet chairs, and high-stakes poker tables."

Aventurine’s smirk didn’t falter, but something flickered in his mismatched eyes—something sharp and calculating. "Oh, friend… sometimes, the greatest treasures aren’t found on velvet tables, but buried deep where most people are too afraid to look."

Y/N held his gaze, her smile faint but knowing. "Well then, let’s hope you’re not afraid of getting your fancy boots dirty."

Aventurine chuckled lightly, leaning back once again and raising his glass in a mock toast. "To future endeavors, friend. May they be profitable… and entertaining."

Y/N lifted her teacup in return, her smile bright and unreadable. "To profitable endeavors."

Before either of them could add more, March’s voice rang out across the table. “Y/N! Aventurine! Look at this!”

The Trailblazer was holding two spoons like drumsticks, lightly tapping on their empty dessert plate as March stood behind them, holding what appeared to be an entire cake.

Y/N blinked. “March… did you buy an entire cake?”

March grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Technically, no. They gave it to me because I said we’d finish it in ten minutes!”

Aventurine raised an eyebrow. “Friend, that sounds less like a gift and more like a challenge.”

March gasped dramatically. “It’s both!”

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. Let’s not cause too much of a scene.”

As March began divvying up the cake, Aventurine leaned slightly towards Y/N, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

“You have interesting companions, friend. But I must admit… you stand out among them.”

Y/N glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable before her smile softened. “Careful, Aventurine. You might start sounding genuine.”

He chuckled under his breath, and for a moment, they were just two people enjoying the calm before an inevitable storm.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 45, 7 novembre 1908, Paris. Advertisement. Grand Echarpe très élégante. Costume Tailleur. Manteau. Modèles des Grands Magasins de la Samaritaine. Paris. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Grand Echarpe très élégante, véritable renard du Japon, doublée ventre de gris. (Dernier chic de la Saison). Le manchon assorti, Modèle grand ganere. Chapeau satin, garni draperie velours, boucle acier et 4 tètres de plumes autruche belle qualité.

Costume Tailleur beau drap amazone teintes fines, jupe à plis garnie écharpe, paletot doublé orné soutache et boutons. Chapeau velours collé, garni ruche de tulle, boa plumes autruche et roses linon.

Manteau en beau drap fin, noir, mordoré, mousse, corinthe ou chamois, doublé paillette blanche tout soie, garni galon et motifs passementerie, col et poignets garnis velours. Chapeau en ottoman, garni draperie velours et fantaisie plumes souples.

—

Large, very elegant scarf, real Japanese fox, lined with gray belly. (Latest fashion of the season). The matching sleeve, large Ganere model. Satin hat, trimmed with velvet drapery, steel buckle and 4 heads of good quality ostrich feathers.

Suit: Beautiful fine-dyed Amazon cloth, pleated skirt trimmed with scarf, lined overcoat decorated with soutache and buttons. Bonded velvet hat, trimmed with tulle ruffle, ostrich feather boa and lawn roses.

Coat in beautiful fine cloth, black, bronze, moss, corinth or chamois, lined with all-silk white sequins, trimmed with braid and trimmings, velvet trimmed collar and cuffs. Ottoman hat, trimmed with velvet drapery and fancy soft feathers.

[nahisummerhold]

All I Want for Winterveil Performance

(Nahi’s Performance for the Succulent Tarts “All I Want for Winterveil” celebration. A couple pieces here got cut out for time so sorry to those who got missed - especially Gertrude. ) Tal’s magic scene setting leaves a holiday tree with sparkling snow coating each branch, perfectly placed decorations from little rainbows to ornately decorated masks, even the hooks shimmer in silver. At the base there is a fuschia tree skirt embroidered with Merry Winterveil, all in all it is decorated impeccably as any Tart tree should be. As the music begins Nahi is on the stage curled up asleep near the tree, her head on a pink, purple and blue satin pillow. Sitting up and yawning, a hand covering her mouth, the other extending up in the air, she is wearing what looks to be a man’s red flannel shirt, the size making it look like it was liberated from a lover’s closet. A deep green scarf is twisted up on top of her head, one of the ends falling down to cover one of her eyes, blowing upwards to try and move it, frowning when it only lifts slightly, trying again harder with the same result. Sighing dramatically, giving up on the fruitless effort, Nahi reaches her up to just untie the scarf, two long purple braids tumble loose with their ends tied off with patterned red and green ribbons.  Standing up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, the Sin’dorei stretches up tall, wiggling her fingers into the air and raising onto tippy toes. Mismatched socks hug her calves, one red with a dog in a Greatfather Winter hat on, the other green with mistletoe over a sign that says, ‘I’ve been naughty, now what?’. Nahi picks up a raggedy Omen plushie, putting it under one arm as she walks half-asleep across the stage tripping over a red sack, spilling presents across the ground. Picking up the bag, she bends over allowing a peek at the hem of little green booty shorts, beginning to put the brightly colored packages quickly back inside.

Pausing after just replacing just a couple, she looks around, taking her bottom lip between her small fangs, Nahi quickly moves to the side looking backstage. A little sparkle begins to show in her violet eyes, she dances gracefully to the other side and peeking back around the other side of the curtain. Skipping to the front the dark skinned woman puts her hand up looking past the audience, a totally unneeded gesture in such a small space. Relaxing as she doesn’t spy who she is looking for, she deftly snags a Greatfather Winter hat off %t with a wink placing it crookedly on her head, her ears sticking up outside the white boundary, before she returns to the loot-filled bag.  

Flopping down and setting Omen beside her, Nahilvi picks up a present, shaking it beside her ear, checking over her shoulder before reading the tag, turning it to show everyone a tag with ‘Ho Ho Ho, for Ryland’. Nahi kicks her legs a little with excitement, untying the green and white striped ribbon and opening the box. Reaching in, she pulls out a pair of booty shorts covered in bright red, almost pink, sequins, brushing her hand over the sequins shifting their color to beautiful forest green. Turning shorts around to show the backside to the audience, pictures of Greatfather Winter graced each cheek. Placing them back in the box, she ties the bow and sets Ry’s gift aside next to her plushie.

Nahilvi looks through the boxes pushing different ones aside without checking any tags, covering her eyes with her hand and picking one at random. Peeking between her fingers she beams a smile, holding it up to show the audience a tag that looks like a deer's head with ribbons tangled around the horns ‘Leon’ in sharply blocked letters. Slipping her finger under a taped edge Nahi looks inside, then quickly tears the paper pulling out a shallow box that is the deep purple of a night sky with a glowing silver dusk lily on the top, she mouths, “Yesss.” Opening the lid and setting it against her leg, everyone can read the elegant raised script, ‘Suramar’s Finest Chocolates Filled with Liqueurs from Across Azeroth’. Pulling one of the candies of the package, taking a bite and rolling her eyes in ecstasy, slumping a little as if she had just passed the pinnacle of pleasure. One by one she picks up some of the decadent dark, almost black, rich chocolate, randomly throwing them out to people in the crowd.

Nahi leaves the rest of the chocolates next to her, and reaches all the way into the bottom of the big red bag, pulling out a silver and gold wrapped rectangle box, turning it over in her hands and not finding a tag. Setting it down she looks into the bag, digging through it, frowning when she comes up without a tag. Putting the gift aside she grabs another present, tugging at the end of the bow the red striped ribbon falling into her lap. Removing the top of the box she looks inside and pulls out a mechanical chew toy in the shape of a chick, blinking at it then picking up a snowman shaped tag, nodding her head and letting the others read it, ‘To Jack’. Carefully returning that to its box she ties it back up and sets it over with Ry’s.

Going back to digging through the assorted presents looking for a certain one, she checks tags on a number of boxes then grins. Holding up a present wrapped in paper with ugly sweaters all over it, Nahi shows it off with the ‘Dicenne’ on a sticker that says ‘Do not open until Winter’s Veil’. Carefully unwrapping it she holds up an apron, then giggles, standing up she slips it over her head, the front reading, ‘This Guy Rubs His Own Meat’. Modeling it, then sinking back onto the floor with it on, she just pushes the packaging aside, taking another of the chocolates and eating it. 

The Sin’dorei’s gaze is drawn to the box without a tag and she taps her fingers on her knees, drawing her lips to the side in a puzzled look. Shaking her head, she goes back to the main pile and selects another present, a red bag with a hot pink ribbon, Nahi looks at the tag and smiles, her consternation at the mystery box fading away. Lifting the bag in the air she holds up the tag where everyone can see the gold laminated background with ‘To Tartt’ in a scrawling script. Nahi begins to pluck all different kinds of tissue paper from white with blue snowflakes to plain green from the bag, finally discovering a black box that opens to display a black leather choker with a pendant that reads, ‘Metal Chic’. Sometimes Father Winter just *got* people.

Setting aside the presents Nahi turns her head, listening and looking around double checking that no one had found her in the chaos of her pilfering. Scampering over to a small table next to the tree, she picks up a plate of cookies and a glass of milk, taking a drink while walking back. In for a copper, in for a gold at this point. Lowering to her knees she sets her treat haul down with the chocolates, taking a cookie off the plate and nonchalantly biting the leg off a gingerbread man. Pushing packages aside she picks up a pink bag with crowns stamped all over it, checking the tag she smiles, the wicked gleam gone, her expression softening as she holds up a tag that says, ‘Gertrude, the Best Little Princess’. Immediately she adds that to the pile that seemed safe from collection. 

Taking another bite of the cookie, she idly moves packages this way and that, but her eyes keep falling to the mystery box, picking it up again she tips it this way and that, something inside moving enough to make noise. Controlling her inquisitive nature Nahi once again sets it aside and focuses on a long, thin box wrapped in green and red paper. Smiling as she lets the others read a snowflake tag with ‘To Cythion’ on it. Slipping a candy stripe manicured fingernail under the seam of the paper, she pops the tape and opens the box. Purple eyes light up as she pulls out black fishnet stockings with pink sequins on them. Lifting her eyebrows she shifts to her butt pulling off her red and green socks, then in a little reverse strip tease Nahi rolls one stocking up, placing it over her foot and drawing it slowly up her leg, when the band tightens around her toned thigh she snaps the elastic with a wicked grin. Repeating with the other one, she finishes then sits with her legs to the side and runs her hands teasingly up her legs. Clearly she was going to owe her pink haired friend a replacement.

No longer able to resist, Nahi picks up the silver and gold wrapped box, making quick work of an artistically crafted ribbon, pausing as she stares at the gift without opening the lid. Going back to the bag she picked it up and dumped presents over the ground, then shook it, not a single misplaced tag fell out, not knowing who it was for seems to take some of the fun out of the opening. With a frustrated expression she shook it next to her ear and a buzzing sound came from the box, shaking it again the buzzing stopped. Slowly she opened the lid and a louder buzzing noise began to fill the room, she put her hand into the box so fast she almost dropped it and the sound stopped. With a sweet smile and a wide eyed blink she put the lid back on, Nahi shoved it behind her, whispering “Oh, that one is mine.” Completely composed even with the possibly embarrassing almost reveal of her gift, Nahi chooses a box off the dwindling pile, it is the largest that the bag had held and she tosses it up into the air, light as a feather. Delicately untying a huge pink bow she opens the lid looking at a box tag decorated to mimic the present itself ‘Barry and Phe’ in purple ink. Her expression becomes puzzled when she reaches into the box, and pulls out a pillow that says, ‘Woke Up Sexy as Fel’ on it. Dipping in again she pulls out a second one, reading it then turning it out for the audience to read, ‘Get Naked’. Nahi chuckled, while she put them back into the box, tying it back up, the woman was good with knots and pushes it over to the growing ‘not for me’ pile.

Dropping her eyes to the ground with a sly smile, she found a shirt sized box wrapped in a pretty paper with hearts and snowflakes on it, reaching for a glittery ribbon, the chimney shaped tag with the name ‘Kaisina’. Nahi works to slowly unwrap the gift, it was clear by now that she had to have done this before with her expert level of unwrapping, there was not a single tear in the wrapping paper. Opening the box with a curious look, pulling out a purple cropped tee that says,’You Are in My InappropriateThoughts’ on it. Holding it up to her chest, covering part of the slogan on the apron she had yet to take off, tipping the shirt side to side. With a sigh she folds it up, putting it back in the box, carefully wrapping it with skill, every crease matching as if it hadn’t been touched.

Reaching for another set of boxes that were tied together, she turned a star shaped tag over, ‘Trixany’ is written in a beautiful flowing script. Nahi reaches for the bow and then her head lifts looking like a doe caught in a clearing, looking around, a finger placed to her lips she stands. Running over to look backstage Nahi whispers, “Oh crap…” Pulling Dice’s apron over her head, she shoves it back into the box it came in, hastily tying a ribbon around it, not the one that came with it, but no one should notice that, she hopes. 

Grabbing the boxes she had not gotten into, shoving them back in the bag, tackling the pile she had set aside after rewrapping, Nahi mixes them in with the others. Looking around at the chaos with her eyes wide she snags up the remainder of the chocolates, tossing them out to the crowd. The rest of the paper, bows and opened boxes she flattens as much as she can, dumping the whole mess behind the tree, frowning at how much still shows, Nahi arranges the tree skirt to help hide the evidence. Quick feet carry her back to pick up Omen and her ‘special’ gift, shoving that into her pillowcase, Nahi laid back down, tucks her arm around her plushie and closes her eyes.

(Tags to everyone! @succulent-tart , @rylandfalkov , @noonmutter , @dicenne , @tarttsweetshriek , @cythion , @straightouttatheashes , @jackarychaoti @trixcuomo sorry if I missed any - sneaks in to add @talthorn-sylvoran 💜💜💜)

[salternateunreality2]

Miscellaneous Neurodivergent (ND) AGSZC Headcanons/Alternate Universe

Disclaimer: not an expert

AU setup: all the boys are neuro-spicy except Angeal, who has depression/anxiety. I HC that GZ are more ADHD-leaning and SC are more Autism (ASD)-leaning

From: the archives of my convos with @strayheartless

--------------------------------

Fidgets

Everyone has a fondness for really dense, tiny objects. Cloud has a heavy, cold wolf charm that has tiny shards of ice-type materia for eyes. It's always cold and reminds him of home.

Zack definitely has a slap bracelet that doubles as one of those reversible sequin thingies. It has a frog head. He either violently slaps it on things when he's wound up, or meticulously makes all the sequins go the same direction when he's hyper focusing on it, or roughly pets it up and down to change colors rapidly, or digs the sequins under his fingernails. He also fiddles with the felt tongue and makes it go floopfloopfloop and lick his friends.

Sephiroth doesn't understand at first, and Zack's the one who buys him a plethora of toys. Some of them he hates, some he loves, and most of them he keeps in a basket for his friends at his flat. There are a couple noisy ones he hides from Zack, or "accidentally" lets Zack steal. I think his favorite would have to be something that goes with his uniform, probably the ornate belt buckle he has in canon. He can trace the design with his fingers or fiddle with the tassels. I'm mostly thinking of the round one, but it could be other parts of his uniform too.

Genesis has puzzles of all sorts around him at all times. He prefers quieter ones made of wood and string that he can carry around, but has loud metal ones, large boxes, etc. He sadly broke the water ring puzzle Zack gave him in a fit of rage and never solved it. It's just as well, the thing was tacky. (It is not just as well, he still gets angry thinking about it and wants to beat it SO BADLY, feels guilty for breaking it, and feels ashamed for letting it best him).

Angeal enjoys solving Gen's puzzles from time to time.

----------------------------

TINY SPOONS

Angeal: is bewildered, but bought extra to keep on hand

Genesis: LOVES THEM, and won't say so in those exact words; rather, he has a myriad of scientific evidence to back his opinion up

Sephiroth: every spoon is a tiny spoon to the lorg boi

Zack: likes them, but also needs normal and big spoons to shovel food in

Cloud: secretly really likes them, but also likes comically large, inappropriate spoons, like wooden stirring spoons

------------------------------

Living Spaces

Filled to overflowing, but mostly tastefully arranged: Genesis

Spartan by choice: Sephiroth

Spartan by necessity: Cloud

Neurotypical: Angeal

Messiest apartment: Zack

------------------------------

Stims

One of Seph's subtle stims is swishing his hair. Idk if you've ever done that with like a high ponytail or something, but you just very subtly move your body and all the hair goes whoosh whoosh.

Zack starts squatting subconsciously.

Cloud likes ducking his head into his shirt/scarf.

Genesis is very rhythmic, he likes tapping, humming, whistling, and reciting certain poems.

Angeal will find himself tapping along to Gen sometimes.

---------------------------------

Food

Angeal makes an absurd amount of buttered noodles with milk for Cloud when he's suffering with mako, and figures out how to make bland enough noodles from scratch because he's a legend.

(yeah, this is a bit of a stereotype, but have you HAD buttered noodles when you can't eat anything else?!)

-

Meanwhile, sensory-seeking Genesis and Zack bring home the weirdest, most flavorful things they can find.

Zack: Cloud! Look at this! I have crawdad claw fingers now!!! RAWWRRR!!!!

Cloud: ...enjoy your creek bug.

-

Not that Cloud can't eat almost anything; growing up poor forced him into many sensory experiences with food he Did Not Enjoy, but now that he has more of a choice, he saves the DEMON SPAWN FIRE SAUCE HOT WINGS foods for Zack.

-

Genesis pretends to be a snob, so his weird food has fancy names and costs a pretty penny, like escargot.

-

Sephiroth, much like Cloud, can choke down almost anything in the name of ingesting calories, but he likes simple, tasty things that aren't mushy.

Angeal will try most things and is a member of the clean plate club.

-----------------------------------------

Deep Pressure

All the boys love hugs from their partners, and these 5 gentlemen give the best deep pressure hugs ever. The strength in their arms makes the pressure so strong, satisfying, and secure. They can also be found laying on each other just to get smooshed and feel grounded.

----------------------------------

Meow (Echolalia)

Zack wanders around meowing, setting off Cloud and Sephiroth.

Angeal joins in because he thinks he hears a cat, and he's a good sport.

Genesis: Angeal. Why are you meowing.

Angeal: just talking to the cat, don't mind me 🙂

Genesis: ....YOU DON'T HAVE A CAT

Angeal: ...I don't have a cat, what the heck?

Zack, Cloud, Sephiroth: meow

-

Sephiroth is very good at imitating sounds; it makes sense though with his alien shapeshifter genes. He also chirps, like, a LOT, like a cat luring in his prey

See also: why he quotes Loveless.

-

Genesis: *spiraling about something, overstimulated, self esteem in the toilet, pacing, babbling*

Sephiroth: My friend, do you fly away now?

Genesis: *instantly snaps out of it, comes over for snuggles*

Sephiroth: *purrs*

[missfishersmurderpolls]

[Image ID 1: Screencap from Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries. Phryne walks down a red carpet at a fashion show. People stood either side applaud. /End ID.]

Best Phryne Fashion Tournament: Round One

Thanks to all of your wonderful submissions, we've narrowed our favourite looks worn by our favourite detective down to sixteen. Over the few weeks they'll go head to head to determine what is our very favourite Phryne fashion.

The matched up brackets are included below. Full details of looks one to eight are included in this post while looks nine to sixteen are in this one.

There will be one poll a day, posted at 12pm BST/GMT, and each poll will last for twenty four hours. Timings for each round is below. Make sure to vote!!!

[Image ID 2: Image showing brackets for first round of tournament. Details of match ups are reproduced in text below. /End ID].

Round timings:

Round 1: 25th October - 2st November

Round 2: 3rd - 7th November

Round 3 (semi-finals): 8th - 10th November

Round 4 (final): 11th - 12th November

Match ups:

Match up one: 1. Gold gown vs 2. Duster with hat and red scarf

Match up two: 3. Beret and grey tweed coat vs 4. Green waltz dress

Match up three: 5. Sequin swing coat and beret vs. 6. Silver patterned kimono

Match up four: 7. Lilac damask dress and gold shawl vs 8. Santa ski look

Match up five: 9. Fan dance outfit vs 10. Lilac and green coat and hat

Match up six: 11. Red and cream beach look vs 12. Brown & red kimono with pink collar

Match up seven: 13. All black trousers and sheer blouse vs. 14. Blue floral jacket and purple hat

Match up eight: 15. White 'at home' cardigan vs 16. Fighting cock robe

[sanjanachanani]

"Cozy Yet Chic: Winter Blouse Trends to Keep You Warm and Stylis

Winter is the perfect season to experiment with fashion, blending practicality with style. When it comes to winter blouses, the ideal choices not only keep you warm but also add a touch of sophistication to your wardrobe. From luxurious fabrics to modern silhouettes, this season’s blouse trends are designed to help you look effortlessly chic while staying cozy. Let’s explore some of the must-have styles and how to incorporate them into your winter outfits.

1. Velvet Elegance

Velvet is a quintessential winter fabric, exuding warmth and luxury. Velvet blouses are trending this season with rich jewel tones like emerald green, deep burgundy, and sapphire blue. Opt for designs with puffed sleeves or high necklines to keep the cold at bay while adding a dramatic flair to your look. Pair a velvet blouse with tailored trousers or an A-line skirt for a sophisticated outfit perfect for dinners or holiday parties.

2. Oversized and Layerable

Oversized blouses are not only comfortable but also incredibly versatile for layering. Choose styles with turtlenecks or button-up collars that can be worn under cozy sweaters or jackets. For a modern twist, try an oversized plaid blouse paired with skinny jeans and knee-high boots. The relaxed fit ensures comfort, while the layering adds dimension to your outfit, making it perfect for casual outings.

3. Knit Blouses for Extra Warmth

Knit blouses are the ultimate blend of warmth and chic. These blouses, often made from soft wool or cashmere blends, feature stylish details like ribbed textures, balloon sleeves, or asymmetrical hems. Pair a fitted knit blouse with high-waisted pants for a polished look, or opt for a cropped style to wear with a maxi skirt. Knit blouses are versatile enough to take you from a cozy day at home to a stylish evening out.

4. Embellished Blouses for Festive Flair

Winter is the season of celebrations, and embellished blouses are perfect for adding a festive touch to your wardrobe. Look for styles adorned with sequins, beads, or metallic threads to make a statement. Pair an embellished blouse with faux leather leggings and ankle boots for an edgy yet glam look. These blouses are also great for layering under blazers or cardigans, allowing you to stay warm without sacrificing style.

5. Flannel and Checks for Casual Cool

Flannel blouses in classic checks or tartan patterns are a winter staple. These blouses are perfect for a laid-back yet chic vibe. Layer a flannel blouse over a turtleneck and finish the look with straight-leg jeans and combat boots. For added warmth, accessorize with a wool scarf and a beanie. This style is ideal for coffee dates, weekend outings, or cozy nights by the fireplace.

6. Sheer Sleeves with a Twist

If you’re looking for a blouse that balances warmth with elegance, opt for one with sheer or mesh sleeves. These styles add a delicate touch while keeping the body lined for insulation. Choose a blouse with embroidery or lace details to elevate the look. Pair it with a midi skirt and heeled boots for a chic winter ensemble.

Styling Tips for Winter Blouses

Layer strategically: Pair blouses with thermal undergarments or turtlenecks for added warmth without bulk.

Choose rich fabrics: Velvet, wool, and heavy silks work best for winter while offering a luxe appearance.

Accessorize wisely: Scarves, statement earrings, and belts can enhance your winter blouse outfits.

Experiment with textures: Mix soft fabrics like knit with structured materials like leather for a balanced look.

This winter, stay cozy yet chic by embracing these stylish blouse trends. Whether you’re heading to a holiday gathering or enjoying a casual day out, the right blouse can transform your outfit and keep you feeling warm and fabulous all season long. So, layer up, experiment with textures, and make a statement with your winter wardrobe!

[irishhills]

neck bruise

Blair’s life is one of comparison. Whether she’s evaluating metaphors or looking to see if someone else’s dress at the school dance is prettier than hers, she’s always judging. And no matter what happens, she never feels like she comes out on top.

Take her eighth-grade graduation, just about two years ago. She wore this unusual dress, made from patterns that shouldn’t go together, but somehow, they worked. It was the perfect length, the perfect cut, her hair bounced whenever she walked, she had the perfect lip gloss on. And when she and her family took pictures on the front porch, she felt on top of the world.

But then, they got to school. Blair looked around at all the other girls in her class. And with no rhyme or reason, with no hatred for anyone but herself, she felt uglier. Worse. Like there had been a memo to wear taffeta or sequins, and she missed it. She felt like Little Orphan Annie when all she wanted was to be part of the group. It wasn’t that she liked taffeta or sequins, or even the satin contraption Eliza was wearing. It was that she wanted to feel like she was part of something, like she was part of a moment, like she was doing age fourteen correctly.

Nobody was mean to her. Nobody laughed at her dress or made her feel left out. As a matter of fact, Blair got tons of compliments from all sorts of girls in her class that night, and it seemed like they were really being honest. Everyone was nice, and Blair tried her best to be nice back. But every few minutes, she just wanted to cry. They were being fourteen correctly, somehow, and Blair was being fourteen all wrong.

That’s mostly how she feels today, at sixteen, when Eliza pulls down her thick winter scarf to reveal her neck bruise. Except this is so much worse than not feeling like she’s wearing the wrong dress because Blair didn’t want to wear any other dress. She wants that kind of neck bruise. And she wants it now.

“Will you stop calling it a neck bruise?” Eliza asks, wrapping the scarf around herself again, in the cold February air. “It’s a hickey.”

“I deal in translations,” Blair says. “To me, it’s a neck bruise.”

And that’s a lie. Blair would call it a hickey, too. It’s just easier to downplay it now, like it doesn’t mean anything, like it could happen to anyone. Blair knows that’s not true. Eliza gets a hickey because she’s doing sixteen correctly, because she has a boyfriend, because that boyfriend makes out with her nearly everyday. Luke is older, wiser, and more aware of how his body works. More aware than Chris, his brother, Blair’s best friend who wouldn’t look at her romantically for all the money in the world. Not that she’d ever think about paying him.

But what must it be like? She’s dreamt of it a million times. She and Chris in the backseat of a car, uninhibited by years of best friendship, making out like the present has always been worth more than the past. That’s the problem with Chris. His mind is a scrapbook, and he never closes it. Not like Blair. Blair wants to get the jump. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t hesitate, and yet, she can’t seem to give up the guy who doesn’t want her. If she wants a neck bruise – a hickey – she’ll have to turn to someone else.

The thought of giving up on Chris makes her want to vomit.

When she graduates from high school in two years, they’ll know. Somehow, everyone in the audience will know. Blair Donnelly will graduate having never been kissed, never been touched, never been thought about. She’ll walk across the stage like Snow White in the first two acts, and everyone will know. No one will care. But everyone will know.

She’s doing it wrong. High school. All wrong. She’s supposed to live like Eliza, in the backseats of senior boys’ cars, or at parties and games and all the places where you get stories. You don’t get stories from your head. They all stop somewhere. It’s why every time Blair imagines going further and further with Chris, her imagination gets blurry until it fades to black. They fade to black in all her favorite movies, on all her favorite TV shows.

“Do you want me to talk to Luke?” Eliza asks, scaring Blair out of her thoughts.

“What?” Blair asks. “Eliza, I don’t … I’m not gonna make out with your boyfriend.”

“No, you sure as hell aren’t. I meant … do you want me to talk to Luke? See if he could get through to Chris?”

Blair sighs. Nothing more pathetic than a game of telephone.

“No,” she says. “If Chris wants something from me, he’ll ask for it. And if he doesn’t …”

“You’ll buy some cats?”

Blair snorts. Just like Eliza to jump to stereotypes. At the end of the day, she’s still the daughter of a prom queen, still trying to fit into the crown for herself.

“Sure,” she says. “If that’s what you think I should do.”

They try not to talk about it for the rest of the day, but it hangs in the air between them. Not jealousy, not really. Blair would rather die than make out with Luke Egan. But inadequacy.

That’s the word of her life.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day 11! apparently, i can't count, and i scheduled seven days for this blog, not eight. so expect five more vignettes from this blog in february!)

[casualneonglitterpainterposts]

So, um, I watched the One Piece live action. I's action-packed and badass, and I think I have a thing for kooky pirate clowns 😅 🤡

And to be honest, I'd never known anything about one piece until after watching the live action, where I began to watch the anime.

Either way, here's a drawing of live action Buggy minus his little head scarf and minus an arm. They made him way too attractive in the live action (god damn it) 😳

And yes, I did a bonus mini comic to where his arm has gone, featuring my character/ a love interest for him. Her name is "Sequin," a pirate, performer, and assassin

"Sequin belongs to me !!!!"

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Y'all my eldest bonus child, Vin who turns 14 sunday, asked if I wanted to meet his friend from the other room. I enthusiastically said yes obviously.

I round the corner only to find him on the couch with a 5 ft tall posable skeleton named Frank that I then shook hands with. Apparently, he purchased Frank with cash from helping out our neighbors with stuff. I'm 100% dead. Frank is now on the weight bench, lifting, while draped in sequined fabric.

My personal Spawn has been hilarious as of late. She's living her best life. Her job is great, she's hitting concerts with friends on the reg, & in (her words) 'her hoe phase'. Which is why when she started making mini cheesecakes for a tall goth boy that she 'definitely isn't dating' because his bday is this week and sometime in the 3 weeks they've known each other he mentioned liking cheesecake, I was deeply amused. She said it was because she didn't want to buy him anything since they are 'definitely not dating'. Half way through she looked at me & said "Mom this is SO much work." I laughed & told her it's one of my easiest recipes. After a beat I quietly said "You do realize this is more effort than buying something & means more right?" She sighed & aaid "Omg I know. What the fuck am I doing? I'm having a hoe phase. I'm not supposed to LIKE the hot goth."

The Man started his new gig & loves it. It's so much less stress despite being the behavioral health alternative school for like 5 districts. His students love him and he gets them to do more work than any other teacher thus far.

His students like me because if they ask him about obtaining something, he says he will ask Lady [last name] & I am resourceful enough to come through. First 3 weeks I made a pocket notebook for a kid with an emo aesthetic to write lyrics in. He drew me a dope thank you note. I'm sewing another kid a head scarf. So they wanted to know what I look like & The Man showed them a fairly recent pic. Apparently they've decided my aesthetic is "goth punk druid" & when The Man commented that he supposes that's accurate but also good, he was told by the kids that everyone wants a goth punk girl who looks like she controls the forces of nature.

He finds this deeply hilarious.